The bustle of any election, even today, makes me think of an older, quieter contest. I recall the Lok Sabha battles of Dr. Sushila Nayar, Behenji, fought far away in Jhansi. This was long after she had begun her great work, establishing the Medical College, right here in our own Sevagram.
By 1971, the great Congress party was no longer one. It had fractured, like glass hitting a pavement. Behenji found herself standing with the respected old leadersโmen like Morarji Desai.
This placed her firmly in the Opposition, against the powerful Prime Minister, ๐๐ป๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฟ๐ฎ ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ๐ต๐ถ. That year, the Prime Minister was celebrated everywhere. She had just won a war, creating Bangladesh. The ensuing public mood felt less like a wave of voters and more like a great, unstoppable flood. Behenji stood her ground in Jhansi. But the flood was simply too strong, and she lost her seat, swamped by the tide.
But the real story of those elections wasn’t the counting of ballots. It was the story of two small wheels.
In those days, owning a ๐๐ฎ๐ท๐ฎ๐ท ๐๐ฐ๐ผ๐ผ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ was nothing less than a dream. It was the machine everyone wanted. The waiting list stretched for ten long years. If you were impatient, you might pay an immense premium, perhaps a thousand rupees, just to skip the queue. Behenji, though, used her quiet, profound influence. She approached ๐๐ฎ๐บ๐ฎ๐น๐ป๐ฎ๐๐ฎ๐ป ๐๐ฎ๐ท๐ฎ๐ท, the patriarch of Bajaj Auto, and managed a great kindness.
She secured a small, precious quota of these scooters just for her MGIMS staff. Suddenly, the doctors and the clerks became the proud owners of this prized machine. They didn’t pay the premium. They didn’t have to wait. It was a simple, generous gift that bound them to her with deep, personal loyalty.
When the 1971 campaign began, the staff repaid this kindness. They packed small cloth bundles. They mounted their new Bajaj scooters. The engine coughed to life. They rode the long, dusty miles from Sevagram to Jhansi. The roads were rough tracks across Vidarbha and Madhya Pradesh.
Key people went along. ๐ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ถ๐บ๐ฎ๐น๐ฎ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐๐ฑ๐ต๐ฎ๐ฟ๐โBehenji’s closest friendโwas there to keep her spirits up. ๐๐ต๐ถ๐บ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ผ ๐ฃ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ต๐ฎ๐ป carried the accounts book; he meticulously ensured every rupee spent on the election was both well-used and fully accounted for. And ๐๐ฎ๐ท๐ฎ๐ป๐ฎ๐ป ๐๐บ๐ฏ๐๐น๐ธ๐ฎ๐ฟ was the artist. He made the simple cloth banners, sketching the farmer and the plough, which was the Janata Party symbol in those years.
The comfort of hotels was forgotten. Their lodging was a large, cool tobacco shed, tucked away near Jhansi’s Manik Chowk. The pungent, dry smell of stored leaves was their constant companion, sinking deep into their bedding. Still, they rose with the light, fresh and keen to work. Drivers such as ๐ช๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ๐ถ๐น๐ฒ, ๐ช๐ฎ๐ธ๐ผ๐ฑ๐ฒ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ฎ๐๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐บ managed the small fleet: the sturdy Jonga, the Station Wagon, the simple Fiat, and the venerable Ambassador. In the towns, the young doctors waved flags and walked the lanes. They would then clamber into the open Jeep or another vehicle, speaking persuasive Hindi, appealing to the villagers to support their cause.
In 1977, the whole company went back. The same vehicles. The same earnest faces. But the atmosphere had changed completely. The political mood was sour; the people were tired of the Emergency rule. Behenji didn’t have to push hard this time. She rode the mighty Janata Wave that swept the country, winning by a huge margin. The opposition swept the entire Hindi belt clean.
๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ซ๐ช retired from politics after that momentous win. Why she stepped awayโwhy she did not stand from Wardha, the place her hospital had changed foreverโremains one of lifeโs quiet puzzles.
Yet, the image that stays is not one of political victory or defeat. It is the sight of those young doctors and devoted staff, fueled not by ambition or mere transaction, but by sheer love and reverence. This loyalty stemmed from the motherly warmth that this matriarch showered equally on everyoneโfrom the senior doctor to the supporting staffโmaking no distinction between them. They were traveling hundreds of miles to support their leaderโa devotion carried by two wheels, bearing the steadfast heart of Sevagram all the way to the hustings of Jhansi.
