In the dense forests of Bastar, where every rustling leaf speaks of struggle and courage, Mukesh Chandrakar emerged not just as a journalist but as a voice of the voiceless. For me, he wasn't just a colleague; he was a companion-a confidant who shared in moments of love, laughter, and even scoldings. Mukesh was someone you couldn't ignore, a relentless spirit who made you believe in the power of storytelling.
A Friend, A Learner
I remember how we used to talk every week, sometimes every 10 days. He would share stories about Bastar, his latest reports, or just chat about life. Once, I noticed he had a habit of wearing a chunni (scarf) during his piece-to-camera. I teased him about it, saying, "Mukesh, you're a journalist. Project a professional image." He laughed it off, but the next time he appeared on camera, the chunni was gone. That moment reflected his willingness to learn and adapt without taking offense.
Patience In Tough Demands
As editors, we often demand perfection-multiple takes, different angles, or additional shots. Mukesh handled it all with grace. Not once did he complain or lose his temper. Instead, he delivered what was needed, every time, with the same unwavering dedication.
The Roots Of Resilience
Mukesh's bond with Bastar ran deep. Once, during a journey from Bijapur to Basaguda with our colleague Nilesh, he pointed to the ruins of a house hidden amidst tamarind trees and said, "This was my home." His voice was calm, but the weight of history was unmistakable.
Born in Basaguda, Mukesh lost his father in 1993 when he was just two years old. His mother, an Anganwadi worker, raised him and his elder brother amidst the shadows of conflict. In 2005, as Salwa Judum terrorized Bastar, Mukesh, then in the 8th grade, saw his village torn apart. Naxalites targeted those who attended Salwa Judum meetings, while Judum members attacked those who refused.
"Earlier, we roamed freely, played, fished without fear. But soon, even going 500 meters to the river became a risk," he once recalled.
A Mother's Strength
Mukesh often spoke of his mother's bravery. When rumors spread that his elder brother and a friend, Tikku, were joining the police, Naxalites summoned them to a Jan Adalat. Mukesh's mother, in his brother's absence, stood before the Naxalites, pleading for their lives. Tikku was brutally beaten, but her courage saved her son.
By December 2005, the family moved to a Salwa Judum relief camp. Life there was harsh-rations were filled with weevils, and survival was a daily struggle. For two years, Mukesh and his brother communicated with their mother only through letters. When they finally reunited in 2008, Mukesh recalled, "Maa hugged me for half an hour, as if trying to make up for all the lost time."
The Storyteller In The Making
Mukesh's journalism was shaped by these early struggles. He saw firsthand how Salwa Judum leaders turned contractors, profiting from substandard rations supplied to camps. He witnessed boys his age armed first with sticks, later with guns, as they became Special Police Officers (SPOs). His stories were personal because they reflected his own life. He would often say, "We collected Mahua not for happiness, but for survival."
In 2011, Mukesh lost his mother to cancer. Her final wish was to be buried beside her husband, with a piece of their home's roof placed near her grave-a tradition in their community. Mukesh spent hours searching through the ruins of their home for a piece of the roof. "I didn't know if it was ours or someone else's, but I had to fulfill her wish," he told Nilesh.
Mahua Collector To Journalist
Mukesh's journey was one of transformation. From collecting Mahua and working in a garage to becoming Bastar's most trusted journalist, his life was a testament to resilience. Education in Basaguda was a luxury, yet Mukesh pursued it with determination. He dreamt of becoming a collector, but journalism became his true calling.
His YouTube channel, Bastar Junction, reached over 1.65 lakh subscribers. At NDTV, Mukesh reported fearlessly on issues ranging from tribal migration to crumbling infrastructure and government corruption.
Courage That Knew No Bounds
In 2021, Mukesh risked his life to rescue CRPF Cobra Commando Rakeshwar Singh Manhas from Naxalite captivity. Riding a bike with Manhas behind him, Mukesh brought him back safely-a moment that symbolized his courage and dedication.
The Cost Of Truth
In his final report, along with Nilesh, Mukesh exposed a road with 35 potholes in a single kilometre, highlighting the negligence of corrupt contractors. The report led to swift government action, but it also cost Mukesh his life. Those implicated in his story silenced him forever.
A Friend's Memory
Vijay Morla, Mukesh's childhood friend, said, "We collected Mahua together, dreamt of better lives together. Mukesh made those dreams a reality-not just for himself, but for all of us." He remembers Mukesh's resourcefulness: setting up a small shop, forming a carrom club, or simply finding joy in small victories.
NDTV's Vikas Tiwari, who worked closely with Mukesh, recalls, "Once, a district collector asked Mukesh, 'Weren't you planning to become a collector?' Mukesh replied, 'In the race to become a collector, I became a journalist instead.' That was Mukesh-always rooted, always honest."
A Legacy Etched In Bastar
Mukesh's story is a reminder of the price of truth and the strength it takes to pursue it. His life and work reflected the struggles of Bastar and the spirit of its people. As his voice echoes through the forests of Bastar, it reminds us that while truth can be silenced, it cannot be buried.
(Mukesh Chandrakar, 1991-2025)
Anurag Dwary is Resident Editor, NDTV.
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
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