“Let’s Call Him Vasu” by Subhanshu Choudhary offers an illustrative and informative account of the Maoist movement in Bastar, presenting vivid depictions of life, struggle, and conflict in the region. However, while it succeeds in portraying the lived realities of those affected by the conflict, it falls short of offering a comprehensive or analytical understanding of the Maoist movement itself.
Choudhary, a seasoned journalist who has reported extensively from Chhattisgarh, draws on seven years of research and fieldwork in areas under Maoist influence. His narrative is built around the search for a long-lost friend, Vasu, an individual who may have risen high in the Maoist hierarchy. Through this search, the author traverses the terrain of Bastar, meeting tribal communities, Maoist cadres, and state officials, documenting stories of displacement, resistance, and state repression.
The book sheds light on the impact of industrialisation and state-led development on Adivasi populations—homes destroyed, villages razed, and communities uprooted in the name of progress. It also highlights the deep injustices faced by local populations, including caste-based violence and gendered atrocities. Choudhary’s account captures the sense of alienation and resentment that fuels the insurgency, while also noting how state initiatives like Salwa Judum and Operation Green Hunt often exacerbated rather than mitigated the crisis.
At the same time, the book resists romanticising the Maoist cause. Choudhary records instances of Maoist extortion, coercion, and violence, and acknowledges the limitations and contradictions within the movement. His engagement with Maoist leaders—such as Kosa, Sonu, and Ganapathy—adds depth to the narrative, though his conversations do not always yield clear insights into their political ideology or long-term vision.
A significant section of the book explores state-sponsored campaigns like Jan Jagran Abhiyan and Salwa Judum, situating them within the broader context of counterinsurgency and political mobilisation. Choudhary draws connections between these movements and the growing influence of right-wing forces in the region, illustrating how adivasi society became trapped between state and insurgent violence.
Critics of the book have pointed out that its investigative methods at times verge on sensationalism. Choudhary’s references to individuals such as Binayak Sen and others suspected of Maoist links have drawn controversy for potentially endangering lives and compromising journalistic ethics. Some of his claims, presented through informal conversations rather than verifiable documentation, appear speculative. The portrayal of Maoist leaders’ lifestyles—such as comments on their use of branded goods—has also been seen as trivialising.
Despite its strengths as reportage, the book lacks a coherent analytical framework to understand the Maoist movement’s ideology, trajectory, or future. It provides limited examination of the movement’s political structures, governance models such as the Janatana Sarkar, or its links with broader social movements. Choudhary’s reliance on anecdotal evidence and personal encounters gives the book immediacy but also leaves gaps in depth and critical assessment.
In its conclusion, “Let’s Call Him Vasu” gestures toward the need for dialogue between mainstream India and the marginalised Adivasi population, suggesting that communication rather than conflict may hold the key to resolution. While the book’s narrative is rich in detail and empathy, it ultimately functions more as an eyewitness account than as a rigorous political study.
As a work of journalism, “Let’s Call Him Vasu” contributes significantly to documenting the human dimensions of the conflict in Bastar. Yet, for readers seeking a critical or theoretical exploration of Maoism in India, the book offers more of a field narrative than a structured analysis.
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*Freelance journalist
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