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 leaders—men like Morarji Desai.
This placed her firmly in the Opposition, against the powerful Prime Minister, 𝗜𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗿𝗮 𝗚𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗵𝗶. 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 𝗕𝗮𝗷𝗮𝗷 𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗿 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 𝗞𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗻𝗮𝘆𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝗷𝗮𝗷, 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. 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗮 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘆—Behenji’s closest friend—was there to keep her spirits up. 𝗕𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗿𝗮𝗼 𝗣𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗵𝗮𝗻 carried the accounts book; he meticulously ensured every rupee spent on the election was both well-used and fully accounted for. And 𝗚𝗮𝗷𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗻 𝗔𝗺𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗸𝗮𝗿 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 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗹𝗲, 𝗪𝗮𝗸𝗼𝗱𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗗𝗮𝘆𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺 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.
𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘪 retired from politics after that momentous win. Why she stepped away—why she did not stand from Wardha, the place her hospital had changed forever—remains one of life’s 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 everyone—from the senior doctor to the supporting staff—making no distinction between them. They were traveling hundreds of miles to support their leader—a devotion carried by two wheels, bearing the steadfast heart of Sevagram all the way to the hustings of Jhansi.