September, 1943 CE Padang (open field) within Kuala Lumpur, Malaya (present-day Malaysia)
Seventeen-year-old Janaki cycled slowly, mulling over everything she’d heard that week. Everyone from the customers of her father’s flourishing milk business to the street-vendors had talked of nothing else. “Outrageous!” Some said. “Unusual,” marvelled others. “Interesting,” thought some — and Janaki was one of these — not that she revealed these thoughts to her parents. In fact, she hadn’t even told them that she was going out …
Later, that night. “… so I donated my diamond ear-rings, because — what else could I do?” There was a dreamy expression on Janaki’s face as she relayed her experiences of that day to her half-sister, as they sat chatting in her bedroom. “And I’m going.”
“You what?” Papathy demanded, horrified. “You dare — you’re going to get whipped — and I certainly won’t help.”
“Also,” was Janaki’s confident answer. “You’re coming with me.”
“But...what do you imagine we can do?”
Ipoh, State of Perak, Northern Malaya (present-day Malaysia)
“No,” snapped Nancy Navarednam. “That’s final.”
“But Mum,” pleaded Rasamma, an enthusiastic 16-year-old. “It’s all for the good, and after all I read about...”
“So worthwhile,” chimed in her sister Ponnamma, who was 18. “You cannot believe how fascinating it was! An amazing speech and besides...”
“No,” Nancy’s voice quavered. “Girls, you can’t possibly ask me to let you...”
“Lakshmi’s in Ipoh now — why don’t you meet her?” Rasamma wheedled. “She’ll explain things. Please, Mother?”
Nancy paused her knitting, worried. “But what on earth can you two do?”
Singapore
“I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” Mr Suppiah said, looking extremely anxious.
“Come now,” laughed his daughter Anjali, who’d just celebrated her 16th birthday. “I’ve heard so many stories from Grandmother and here’s a chance to do something about it!”
“And I’m supposed to be satisfied with that explanation?”
“I’d like to see a little of the world, frankly,” Anjali shrugged. “Maybe even India?”
Suppiah was not sure if this was reason enough, but his three daughters were adamant — and as usual, he gave in. “But I’m not sure … what do you think you girls can do?”
Indian Women’s Organization, Rangoon (now Yangon), Burma (present-day Myanmar)
“All I can say, Aruna, is that you must be careful,” warned Mr. Ganguli, when his daughters asked for his permission. “You’re going where men and women will be forced to mix — and I don’t like it. Beware, my dear.”
“Of what, Baba?” Aruna asked, naively.
“Nothing,” Mr. Ganguli shook his head. “Not that I can, for the life of me, imagine what you girls could possibly do,” he muttered under his breath.
Rubber Estate, Perak, Malaya (present-day Malaysia)
“I’m sorry, Daughter,” Eelavan caressed Muniamma’s head. “But you must go.”
“Isn’t it enough that we men are leaving,” her uncle objected. “Why must she?”
“Because we’ve been deprived of even rice to eat, what with the burning up of all so many crops,” Eelavan snapped. “You know we struggle for even two meals a day. You know we cannot survive endlessly on sweet potatoes and tapioca. Where she goes, she can be sure of food.”
“But she’s just a 14-year-old girl; what’s she going to do?” demanded Muniamma’s uncle, a question which went unanswered.
Rubber Plantation Seremban, Malaya (present-day Malaysia)
“Finally, we are marching towards our destination... our goal is in sight,” exulted Dhirendra Chandra Bhowmick. “All the years we spent... our efforts are bearing fruit. Ah! if only …” he groaned, in his bed. “If only my health allowed me to join my brothers...”
His daughters, Anjuli and Shanti traded looks. “We could go, Father. We could take your place.”
Their aunt stared at them. “You’re 14 and 12. What age is that to go...”
“We have raised them to know their heritage and history,” answered their mother. “We may live outside India but I brought them to Bengal every year, so they would not lose touch with their motherland.”
“Perhaps all is not lost,” Bhowmick murmured. “Perhaps children can lead where adults cannot.”
“But what can they do?” snapped the girls’ Aunt.
October 22, 1943 CE, RJR Training Camp, Waterloo Street, Singapore
Captain Lakshmi Swaminathan stared at the gathering.
No one had ever attempted anything of this kind, ever. Certainly not in India. Whoever thought of recruiting women to battle the British! Whoever came up with the idea that women could make warriors? But then, that was the genius of their leader who... here he was, now. The hall erupted in cheers as he ascended the stage briskly and began his address. “ … You, the women of our great land, deserve the right to march along the men, and claim freedom from the British...”
“But we’re girls.” There was shocked silence at the comment. It was little Anjuli Bhowmick, who hadn’t realised the enormity of interrupting a great man. “Everyone says only men can fight. This is too dangerous. Too much. What can we do?”
Before Lakshmi could rise, horrified, the leader answered. “Ignore the talk, the pamphlets, the comments. Imagine your home. Imagine it’s burning. Would you wish to just sit inside?” He leaned forward. “Or run out, find water, and put out the fire? Would you just wait for your father or brother to do it?”
“But can we?”
“You will never know until you march into battle. Because that is the true test. Not winning. Not killing. Just knowing that you can face your enemy. You can do what the Rani of Jhansi did. You can all be Ranis. You can take arms. Shoulder to shoulder with men.” Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose smiled. “You can participate. That you can do.”
Historical Note: The Rani of Jhansi Regiment was a battalion of freedom fighters instituted by Netaji in 1943 to fight against the British, as part of the Indian National Army. Its courageous members came from South East Asia — and were all women.
