The Bandit Queens

“Contrary to neighborhood chatter, she did not ‘remove her own nose ring’ by killing Ramesh. She never had any desire to destroy him, just parts of him. The part that drowned himself in drink, the part that was quick to fury but slow to forgive, the part that blamed her for their childlessness, though it could’ve just as easily been him.”

Geeta herself knows that she is innocent. She is also painfully aware that she is not the only one who knows of Ramesh’s past abuse; the entire village knows that he was physically and verbally abusive, and yet Geeta again bears the responsibility for this. For many women in this heavily patriarchal society, this is the price to pay for the passing affection and “protection” of a husband.

“Of course she didn’t believe him. Saloni was hers. They weren’t just on the same team, they were the same player. Their victories doubled, the losses halved; loyalty was as given as gravity.”

After Ramesh suggests that Saloni is jealous of Geeta’s relationship with him, Geeta initially scoffs, but Ramesh’s words poison Geeta’s thoughts eventually. The simile here—that loyalty is like the law of gravity, unyielding—ironically turns out to be true, though the two women must go through a period of separation and reunion in order to accept this, especially Geeta.

“Geeta dumped the necklace back in the box. She identified with the Bandit Queen’s disappointing revelation about marriage: the necklace men tied to them, it was no prettier than the rope tying a goat to a tree, depriving it of freedom.”

As Geeta deals with her years of isolation, she comes to different conclusions about a woman’s role in society, especially in marriage. Rather than looking to the examples set by Sita, the mythological figure of the “ideal” woman who remains loyal to her husband no matter his failings, Geeta begins to connect instead with more rebellious images like the Bandit Queen. Geeta values her independence over her dysfunctional marriage—though she is still haunted by the trauma of abuse.

“And yet, the Bandit Queen hadn’t had any children, and she was remembered. While serving her prison term for killing twenty-two men in one day, she’d been rushed to the hospital for an emergency hysterectomy, where the doctor apparently joked, ‘We don’t want Phoolan Devi breeding more Phoolan Devis.’ It didn’t escape Geeta that the ‘we’ he meant was not civilians, not officers, but men.”

Another way in which Geeta identifies with the Bandit Queen is in her own childlessness. Motherhood is the primary role of a woman in this society, and women who do not achieve this goal are considered “unnatural”; Geeta’s reputation as a churel, or witch, comes about not just because of Ramesh’s disappearance but also because of her own childlessness. Geeta pinpoints the motivation behind Phoolan Devi’s forced surgery: men’s fear of free and fearless women.

“Cradling an ego, she told herself, was as useless as throwing water into the sea.”

Using a metaphor, Geeta ponders the futility of nurturing self-confidence; it has been too long since anyone has supported her sense of self-worth. However, at the same time, Geeta is rarely successful at wholly suppressing her ego. This reveals the contradictions at the heart of her character, as well as the change she undergoes as the book develops—from outcast to agent of her own fate.

“Geeta discovered a few awful things under Karem’s light, unsuspecting palm. That she’d spent years assuming she was no longer a creature of want. That despite this first fact, she’d been starving for touch that entire time. That despite the first two facts, there was absolutely nothing to be done, not in a speck of a village where her name was mixed with dirt.”

Karem assists Geeta in her journey of self-discovery. Again, while Geeta has long repressed her natural desires, they still exist despite her best efforts to ignore them. She slowly begins to realize that her isolation has been as much of her own making as it has been of the village’s view of her.

“Farah came that evening, bearing her usual gourd. She wore a white salwar-kameez and no jewelry. A white scarf covered her crown, but her dark hair was visible through the diaphanous cloth. She was smiling.”

Farah’s response to the murder of her husband, Samir, is one of glee. This is in direct contrast to Geeta’s response, which is filled with guilt and anxiety. While Farah herself did the actual deed, Geeta assisted in deciding on the method and gathering the materials for the act. Farah is confident in the justice of her actions, while Geeta is not so assured—at least not yet.

“Anger and guilt competed across Saloni’s face. Her lips pulled in, souring her beauty in a way Geeta recognized immediately. It was odd realizing that sixteen years later, they were the same people they’d always been.”

Geeta mentions the suicide of one of their friends, Runi, after Saloni publicly shames her. While Saloni will later admit that she does feel some guilt over the incident, she insists that it the suicide was Runi’s decision alone. As the friends talk about this incident, as well as Ramesh’s interference, they begin to heal their relationship. As Geeta notices, they are still the same people, the same friends they once were.

“How, Geeta wondered on the walk home, did these things keep piling up? Also, in other disturbing news, was everyone a better Bandit Queen than she was? Why was she the only chump saddled with qualms and compunctions over this new village pastime?”

Geeta is saddled with a conscience that contributes to her unreliable understanding of herself: She is sensitive and caring, though she has spent many years trying to isolate herself and to shoulder the role of witch that the village has unjustly imposed upon her. The abuse she has endured leads to her tendency toward self-shaming and self-doubt. She will gradually regain her sense of strength as the novel progresses, and it is also humorously telling that Geeta’s role model, the Bandit Queen, has been appropriated by the others.

“Geeta’s grown was baleful. ‘One woman’s blackmailing me to kill her husband and the other is blackmailing me for killing her husband. God knows which unlucky star I was born under.”

Saloni responds to this complaint with characteristic sarcasm, saying “I told you the crazies flock to you” (172). This banter not only serves to soothe Geeta through an unprecedented series of causes and effects, but it also further cements the bond that is slowly rebuilding between Saloni and Geeta. Their friendship is built on humor, their different personalities which complement each other, and mutual support—even in the direst of circumstances.

“Oh, she thought, the rasp of his zipper guiding her from anger to dear. This was how the Bandit Queen had felt. No, not the Bandit Queen. Not a divinity or legend. This is how Phoolan had felt when each and every one of her rapists had pushed himself past her nos.”

The very real, very human pain of sexual assault comes through in this scene with scintillating clarity. As Darshan tries to force himself on Geeta, she realizes that the Bandit Queen was no legendary force or divine being when she was raped; instead, she too was a frightened woman who survived horrific violence. Geeta kills Darshan in self-defense, echoing Phoolan Devi’s vengeance.

“Geeta did not notice when she’d begun crying. It was humiliating to narrate it all for them—like she was announcing her appeal and how much she thought of herself. Opening herself to ridicule with the notion that she, looking as she did, could be the object of lust. She felt not only violated but conceited. Shame coursed through her and she couldn’t even look at the others.”

The sense of shame surrounding sexual assault is clearly depicted here. When she experiences such an assault, Geeta blames herself and worries that others might have doubts because of her perceived lack of attractiveness. This is part of the difficulty in processing the aftermath of sexual assault: It is a crime of violence, not of passion, an act of power not an act of desire.

“Saurabh looked at Geeta. “Arre! You two are friends again? Shabash! You know, Geetaben, my wife talks about your childhood days all the time. The mischief you stirred!”

Saloni’s husband, Saurabh, is delighted that the two friends seem to have reconciled. He belies Saloni’s earlier objections that she has not thought of Geeta often. He also uses the affection suffix -ben when addressing Geeta in his cheerful acceptance of this possibility.

“Her hands had performed an act her mind couldn’t yet accept. Geeta looked at them, distorted with fading orange henna. In the moonlight, the patterns looked like the faint breath of a dragon.”

Geeta is haunted by the killing of Darshan, even though it was an act of self-defense. The henna metaphorically represents the idea that she “has blood on her hands.” The final simile emphasizes the unacknowledged power that resides in her hands, in her agency, like a sleeping dragon.

“‘Really? Well,’ Sushma Sinha, ASP, said with a shrug, ‘we’ll need more than that to nab him. Animal cruelty is a ten-rupee fine.’ She stopped. ‘I mean, unless it’s a cow of course.’”

After Geeta and Saloni are summoned to the police station to be questioned about Darshan’s murder, Geeta tries to throw the female officer off the scent by referring to Bada-Bhai. She mentions that Bada-Bhai tests his tainted alcohol on dogs, which prompts Sinha’s uninterested response. The officer’s comment about cows reveals the influence of Hindu religious belief here: The cow is considered sacred in much of Indian society.

“Listen, I’m Brahmin and I grew up with way less than Khushi’s sons. And my duffer brothers were so proud. They could’ve died of starvation, but at least they’d have died ‘unpolluted Brahmins.’ Never mind that we ate whatever we could get our hands on, meat, too. […] Forget caste, Geeta, money is power.”

Saloni both affirms and dismisses the power of caste in her retort to Geeta. They are discussing the Dalit woman, Khushi, and her surprising wealth. Caste may keep Khushi and her sons barefoot in the marketplace, but the wealth she amasses from her business in dealing with dead bodies feeds her family well, provides them with shelter, and affords them an education. Still, many adherents to the system, like Saloni’s brothers and Bada-Bhai, would rather starve than to share a meal with a Dalit, supposedly polluted by their association with death and decay.

“Evidently, it didn’t matter how much time had passed; if her reaction to the man was this visceral, she needed him gone no matter the cost. Like with Farah, she needed to start protecting herself instead of just reacting.”

When Ramesh returns, Geeta finds herself trembling and silenced in his presence. The trauma of past abuse comes rushing back, robbing her of her agency. She tries to talk herself into action rather than instinctual reaction, but his power over her inexorably reasserts itself. She loses her independence and authority in the face of old habits.

“Thus, they found themselves knee-deep in ersatz domesticity: Ramesh pleased with each minor victory, Geeta reassuring herself that she was not losing ground because she was in control of the privileges she’d extended and could withdraw them at any time.”

In this passage, Ramesh is able—by pretending to be blind, apologetic, and sober—to worm his way back into Geeta’s life, creating a parody of domesticity. Geeta’s false sense of control reveals her loneliness and trauma; she allows Ramesh back into her life, in part because she is so desperate for companionship. She is also still reeling under the spell of trauma.

“Geeta sat very still, frozen and pallid under her brown skin, as Saloni spoke of the dowry. At one point, Farah, noticing Geeta’s gooseflesh, opened the door and whistled. No further invitation was necessary. Like an actor in a prompt corner waiting for his cue, Bandit burst through the doorway, heading straight for Geeta’s lap.”

Saloni reveals the secret Geeta’s parents had asked her to keep: Ramesh’s family demanded a steep dowry that left Geeta’s parents deeply in debt. Geeta is clearly in shock, and Farah’s gesture is a small step toward friendship, calling Bandit in for assistance. The simile is apt as the dog bounds in on cue.

“Even before Ramesh had left, her existence was a travesty: latched to a man who not only gobbled her birthright and beat her (the side effects of most marriages), but who’d dressed his theft as love, worn the skin of a somewhat principled man.”

As Geeta gains strength in the solidarity of friendship and in her own burgeoning sense of self-worth, she realizes that her limited existence was problematic long before Ramesh’s leave-taking and the village rumors. Her world was circumscribed by Ramesh’s—and, by extension, his family’s—abuse, in the threat of physical violence as well as in the extortion masked as dowry.

“She’d begun to regret allowing Saloni to handle the matter alone; Ramesh would never know that Geeta had conspired in his demise. But hubris trapped lesser murderesses, Geeta reminded herself. The Bandit Queen had pride, surely, but she also had brains.”

It finally dawns on Geeta, especially after a brief talk with Karem, that the timing in Ramesh’s return is suspect. It coincides with Bada-Bhai’s desire to get revenge on the woman who released his dogs. She realizes, slowly then all at once, that, if Ramesh is stealing from her and lying about the drinking, then he is perfectly capable of lying about his blindness, as well. Saloni is in danger.

“Dying at the hands of this fool after killing two men and evading the police would be like the Bandit Queen being felled by a mosquito bite.”

Geeta is referring to Bada-Bhai, who, as Karem earlier noted, is no real mafia don; he just wants to be one. A knock on the door has startled him (it turns out to be Farah), and he reacts not with certainty or strength but with fear and weakness. The metaphor suggests that Bada-Bhai is nothing more than a bug who can easily be swatted away.

“But, in exchange, you take him and make sure he never comes back here. You get our silence, your freedom, your reputation and your tharra business. But Ramesh never bothers me again.”

After the bungled confrontation with the women, Bada-Bhai is in no position to make demands. Geeta has shot Ramesh and admitted to killing other men, as well. Geeta, in deciding to act rather than react, takes control of the situation—and, by extension, her life and future.