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By:

Quaid Najmi

4 January 2025 at 3:26:24 pm

Kamble lusted for women, animals: Judgment

Mumbai: Pune rape-cum-murder convict Bhimrao Prabhakar Kamble, 65 - who was slapped with triple death sentences and triple life imprisonments - has emerged as a deeply depraved sexual predator who, according to the historic judgment of a Pune Special (POCSO) Court, spared neither women nor animals to satisfy his lust. The verdict records that he routinely "misbehaved" with farm animals and had once even attempted to have sexual intercourse with a goat. Special Judge S. R. Salunkhe sentenced...

Kamble lusted for women, animals: Judgment

Mumbai: Pune rape-cum-murder convict Bhimrao Prabhakar Kamble, 65 - who was slapped with triple death sentences and triple life imprisonments - has emerged as a deeply depraved sexual predator who, according to the historic judgment of a Pune Special (POCSO) Court, spared neither women nor animals to satisfy his lust. The verdict records that he routinely "misbehaved" with farm animals and had once even attempted to have sexual intercourse with a goat. Special Judge S. R. Salunkhe sentenced Kamble to be “hanged till death” and awarded life imprisonment on each of the principal charges of rape, murder and kidnapping, besides convicting him under various provisions of the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act. Describing the crimes as “brutal, inhuman and barbaric”, the court held that it fell within the “rarest of rare” category deserving the ultimate punishment. Hailing from Salwade village in Bhor taluka of Pune district, Kamble was notorious for persistently harassing women and exhibiting sexually deviant behaviour, eventually forcing villagers to socially ostracise and expel him years ago. Depraved Personality His disturbing conduct towards animals first surfaced in 1996, when he was grazing goats on a nearby hillock and allegedly attempted to have sex with one of them. He was caught in the act by another shepherd and the incident spread in the village like wildfire. Though Kamble is the father of seven daughters and one son, all now married, he was driven away from his family and the villagers after he was declared persona non grata. Thereafter, he drifted from village to village, surviving as a daily-wage labourer, taking up odd jobs for meagre wages and sleeping wherever he could find shelter. In 1998, he was accused of sexually harassing an elderly woman from his extended family and later in 2024, he again faced allegations of molesting his minor niece. Although he was acquitted in both cases, current investigators view a pattern in his long history of predatory behaviour. Labourer to Murderer Most recently, Kamble worked as a farm labourer by a farmer Sandeep Gayawal in Nasrapur, around six kms from his native Salwade. Gayawal had allowed him to sleep on a cot inside a tin storage shed adjoining a cowshed. From April 25, Kamble and five other labourers were engaged in transporting bricks for renovation work at a nearby Ram Temple. After discovering that Kamble had begun storing his personal belongings inside the tin shed, Gayawal ordered him to vacate the premises on April 30. On the morning of May 1, Kamble left his belongings near the temple and loitered around. It was there that he spotted the victim - a girl aged three years and two months - playing with other children, but subsequent events serve as a grim lesson to all parents who allow their children to play outside but fail to keep an eye on them. The victim and her six-year-old elder sister had come from Dhayari village, nearly 20 kms from Narsapur, to spend summer vacation with their grandmother. Belonging to a priest’s family, the grandmother performed all rituals and managed the temple since the death of her husband in 2022. Incidentally, Gayawal was their neighbour. One of his four cows had recently calved, and the victim, her sister and other neighbourhood children frequently visited the cowshed to play with the newborn calf, which was tethered beside the same tin shed where Kamble had been staying. Black Day On the afternoon of May 1, the children were playing hide-and-seek around the temple precincts when Kamble targeted the little girl. Waiting till she was left alone inside the temple, he hurled bricks and drove away the other children, before implementing his nasty and lusty plans. Investigators later pieced together, through CCTV footage and other forensic evidence, that over the next 39 minutes, Kamble committed the horrific sexual assault before murdering the child, and again indulging in sex with her body. Meanwhile, at around 4 pm, when the grandmother realised the child was missing, an extensive search began, and other residents combed through CCTV footage. Initially they spotted a man dressed in white carrying a large bag. Suspecting he had kidnapped the girl, the villagers intercepted him, only to discover that the bag contained nothing more than loaves of bread, and he was allowed to leave. Probe End Soon afterwards, officers from Rajgad Police Station joined the investigation. CCTV footage from a neighbouring property showed Kamble emerging from a public water tank area before approaching the Munjoba Temple, where he was seen taking the child's hand and leading her towards Gayawal's tin shed - the very place from which he had been evicted a day earlier – and 39 minutes later, the footage captured him walking out alone. Suspicious villagers eventually found Kamble sitting casually on a bench near the Kalubai Temple. During questioning by Gayawal and others, he confessed to the crime, terming it as ‘a mistake’ as outrage erupted all over the state.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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