The establishment of India as a Republic on January 26, 1950, was announced by then governor-general C Rajagopalachari. Chief Justice Harilal Kania administered the oath of office to Rajendra Prasad—country’s first president—who was nominated by Jawaharlal Nehru and seconded by Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. The moment marked the foundation of Indian nationhood. Equally significant in the country’s history was the appointment of Droupadi Murmu—first person from the tribal community and the second woman—as its 15th president.
In her book, Droupadi Murmu: From Tribal Hinterlands to Raisina Hill, journalist Kasturi Ray narrates, in an immersive way, the life and times of a leader who overcame all challenges to command the highest honour of the Indian Constitution. The biography is a tale of inspiration for any subaltern: a saga of fighting odds in everyday life—as a tribal and a woman—and a narrative of triumph over fear of failure. “As a tribal woman from Uparbeda village of Mayurbhanj district in Odisha, I had not thought of becoming the candidate for the top post,” was Murmu’s first reaction after the BJP declared her the NDA presidential candidate.
The author, through interpretative interviews and analysis, tracks Murmu’s life from her childhood till she became the president. She was a disciplined student—equally bright in studies and sports—and also excelled in extra-curricular activities such as music, dance, crafts and arts. Born as Puti Tudu, her name, Droupadi, was given by one of her teachers in primary school.
Ray seems to have been conscientious in reaching out to the President’s family members and close friends to cull out anecdotes that display her resilience. Murmu was the first girl from her village to attend college. At Rama Devi Women’s University in Bhubaneswar—she studied economics and political science—education took up most of her time, but she was also actively involved in issues related to both her college and hostel. Once, as the mess in charge, she protested against the poor quality of food being served in the hostel and got the menu revised.
Politics came naturally to Murmu. Her grandfather was a sarpanch of the gram panchayat, and her farmer father a village pradhan. To her, it seemed obvious to follow in their footsteps. In 1997, she contested for the first time and won the Rairangpur Notified Area Council (c) polls. Five years later, she won again from the same constituency as an MLA. In her election campaigns, Murmu always mentioned Sri Ma Anandamayi and Sri Aurobindo, of whom she is a great admirer.
Murmu, notes Ray, was always conscious of her Adivasi identity, and used it as her strength. In her community, women joining politics meant inviting the wrath of adversaries and backlash of the community, but that only made her resolve to work for the tribals, stronger. She was instrumental in getting the Santali language included in the Eighth Schedule to the Constitution in 2003.
Murmu lost both her sons in quick succession, barely a year before she took charge as the Jharkhand governor, a stint that, the author says, was one of a true stateswoman. During her tenure, she had disagreed on amendments to the Chota Nagpur Tenancy (CNT) Act, 1908, and the Santhal Pragna Tenancy (SPT) Act, 1949, as they were inimical to the welfare of tribal masses. Having always been a grassroots worker, she became the face of the tribals, and a mascot for BJP’s sabka saath, sabka vikas slogan.
Murmu’s greatest quality though, Ray points out, is how she has managed to keep the controversies—her responses on Missionary attacks and Graham Staines case or silence over arrests of social workers such as Sudha Bhardwaj—at bay, and remained duty-bound to constitutional morality and obligations. The book, tracing Murmu’s footprints, is kind of a celebratory encomium to her, in the hope that subalterns in India may rise.