From Arms to Advocacy: Former Maoist Women Cadres Attempt Rehabilitation

Two surrendered women Maoists are now helping other Naxals leave the path of violence.

(Aroop Mishra/The Quint)

Two women from different generations and states, one in Odisha, the other in Jharkhand, are reshaping what life after militancy looks like for women once caught in the Maoist conflict. Buri Sahu, 67, from Bolangir district in Odisha, and Mani Oraon* (name changed to protect identity), 26, from Latehar in Jharkhand, are both former Naxalites. Their paths into the movement were very different, but both now focus on helping others exit and rebuild lives beyond violence.

Their stories reflect broader shifts in the landscape of Left-wing extremism in central and eastern India. More importantly, they expose the gendered violence that came to define the later years of the movement, and the quiet but determined rehabilitation efforts led by women survivors themselves.

Different Roads, Same Destination

Buri Sahu, now a schoolteacher in a remote village in Bolangir district, joined the Naxalite movement in the early 1980s. At that time, the movement in Odisha had a strong ideological foundation. “Back then, we were fighting oppression to restore our dignity. We believed we were correcting injustice,” she says. Landless labourers, including Buri and her peers, were drawn to the movement by its promises of equality and redistribution. “But by the early 1990s, ideological purity had dissipated”, she recounts.

In contrast, Mani Oraon, now running an NGO in Jharkhand's Latehar district, was forcibly inducted into a Maoist squad at the age of 17. “They didn’t ask. They just came for us one night. Two more girls my age were taken along with me,” she says. For four years, she worked in camps spread across the forests bordering Palamu and Latehar, often as a cook, courier, or lookout.

On the other hand, around 2008, many long-serving male members also began exiting the Maoist revolution, disillusioned by the protracted violence and unfulfilled promises. Faced with harsh realities of state crackdowns, fractured leadership, and diminishing local support, they sought stability outside the movement. Some were drawn to government rehabilitation schemes, while others simply yearned for peace and a chance to rebuild their lives.

I walked out when I realised our leaders had moved on; land in hand, stipends in pocket, with the state on their side.

Bhanu Bhushan Pradhan, Former Maoist Commander, Bihar

Transition from Armed Life

In the mid 1990s, Buri voluntarily left the movement. She was disillusioned. “The leadership had changed. Violence became the default strategy. Women were no longer considered equal; just background support, or for sexual benefits.” She returned to her village and was monitored briefly by state authorities, but was left alone once it was clear she was no longer active.

She eventually opened a non-formal school near a field. “There was no school in our village in 1994. Most children had dropped out after Class 3. I decided to teach with whatever I knew.”

Mani’s exit was far riskier. She escaped from a Maoist camp in 2019 after enduring physical and mental abuse. With support from Jharkhand Police’s surrender and rehabilitation policy, she enrolled in Ranchi University and completed a degree in Psychology in 2024. “Education was the first thing they took from us. I wanted it back.”

After her graduation, she returned to Latehar and started Punobor, an NGO that supports surrendered Maoists, especially young women, in accessing skills training, healthcare, and legal support.

Gendered Violence: A Pattern Emerges

While Buri’s generation of women cadres initially had a more egalitarian space, both women say the situation worsened over time, especially from the late 1990s onwards.

“In the beginning, women were in leadership roles; area commanders, unit heads. By the time I left, that had started to change,” Buri says. Internal discipline declined, and cases of sexual exploitation began to surface within squads. Mani’s experience confirms this trend.

There were girls younger than me; 12, maybe 13, who were picked up. Some were ‘married’ off to senior leaders. Others were abused for days, even months,  and discarded. If you complained, you were punished. Sometimes, they would make an example out of you.

Mani Oraon, Founder - Punobor NGO and Former Maoist Cadre (Latehar, Jharkhand)

Recent investigations by state intelligence agencies and civil rights groups also highlight this shift. A 2022 Jharkhand Police report noted that over 40% of surrendered women cadres under the age of 25 had faced sexual violence while inside Maoist ranks. Many reported being forced into sexual relationships under the guise of revolutionary marriage.

Reintegration: Policy vs Ground Reality

Both Odisha and Jharkhand have surrender-and-rehabilitation policies, offering cash incentives, vocational training, and legal support. However, implementation varies widely.

Mani credits her own reintegration to an NGO worker who helped her apply for state benefits. But she adds, “Many others are still living in fear. The stigma is worse for women. Even after surrendering, their own villages treat them as tainted.”

Buri did not go through any formal rehabilitation process; she never surrendered in the official sense. “There was no scheme when I came back. But maybe it was easier then. There was less surveillance, fewer cases filed. Now, everyone is tracked, and women especially feel watched, and often abused again by police under different pretexts.”

Both women agree that rehabilitation must include mental health support, shelter for survivors of sexual violence, and continued education; especially for minors forcibly recruited.

"DSP (Retd.) PN Singh played an important role in helping Naxalites leave the armed struggle and start new lives", recalls Buri. "He believed that force won't end the insurgency. So, he supported programs that gave former Maoists education, skills training, and chances to join their communities."

Social challenges, isolation, and lack of opportunities often push individuals toward extremism.

DSP (Retd.) P. N. Singh, Jharkhand

“No one is born a criminal. Circumstances lead people astray,” says Singh. “What they need is a chance; not punishment, but purpose. Through many rehabilitation programs, we’ve helped over 3,000 former Naxalites reclaim their lives. Many are now living with dignity and hope.”

The Work on Ground

Punobor, Mani’s NGO, has helped more than 70 former cadres (most under 30) in Latehar, Garhwa, and Gumla districts. Some have found work as tailors, drivers, or in small cooperatives. Others are undergoing vocational training in local government ITIs (Industrial Training Institutes).

She runs outreach drives with the help of local police, district administration, and youth groups. “Our aim is to help people who want to leave. We help them reintegrate into society.”

Meanwhile, in Bolangir, Buri’s school has grown. It now teaches 43 children from Class 1 to 5. She recently got support from a local trust to buy fresh slates, notebooks, and new desk sets.

When asked if she still believes in the movement, Buri says: “The idea of justice was right. But what it became, that was not our revolution.”

Women at the Centre of Reform

Dr. Arpita Sen, a researcher on gender and conflict at TISS Mumbai, notes: “State interventions often fail because they ignore the social trauma women face after exiting insurgent networks. Women-led recovery initiatives are more trusted by communities.”

“Women like Buri and Mani are playing a crucial role in the quiet demilitarisation of Maoist-affected areas, not through force, but through local trust-building”, she adds.

Most women returned with deep, unspoken trauma. This was the first time they were being heard.

Dr. Mandira Pattanaik, Rural Physician, Bolangir

However, risks remain. Former Maoists, especially women, are often under pressure from both sides. Maoist groups view them as traitors, while local communities may be suspicious. Despite this, both women say they feel safer than they did in the camps.

For Mani Oraon and Buri Sahu, the gun is firmly in the past. Their lives now revolve around education, rehabilitation, and quiet rebuilding. “Until deeper issues of poverty, inequality, and gender violence are addressed, the Maoist movement will continue to find recruits, especially among vulnerable youth”, laments Buri.

“There are girls being picked up in remote Latehar even now,” Mani says. “Until there is justice for them, my work isn’t over.”

Buri asserts, “We don’t need slogans anymore. We need schools, clinics, jobs. That is the real revolution.”