On The Ground In Kolkata And Ayodhya: Heartbreaking Tale Of Kothari Brothers In The 1990 Karsevak Massacre

In 1990, amid the upheaval of the Ram janmabhoomi movement, the temple town of Ayodhya in Uttar Pradesh became the epicentre of a grave and controversial episode in India's modern history.

Security forces, acting under directives from then chief minister Mulayam Singh, opened fire on Hindu demonstrators, killing over 50. Among these tragic killings, the story of Ram and Sharad Kothari stands out in its poignancy. 

Rajesh Agarwal, now 52, was with the brothers in Ayodhya. The three were thick friends and close neighbours, living in the vibrant Bara Bazar locality, known in Kolkata as a hub for Marwari migrants from Rajasthan. 

The friends regularly attended a nearby Rashtriya Swayamsewak Sangh (RSS) shakha. Rajesh recalls how they engaged in physical exercise, participated in sports, and delved into passionate discussions on issues of national significance.

The previous year's shilanyas ceremony (laying of the foundation stone) for a Ram temple in Ayodhya had sparked a Hindu movement nationwide.

People were eager to contribute to the construction of the temple at a site historically revered as Ram janmabhoomi — the birthplace of Lord Ram — but seized in 1528 by Babur’s commander Mir Baqi who erected a mosque there.

Rajesh recalls, “Bricks from Ayodhya had started arriving. Devotees purchased them as their financial contribution to the cause. Each brick was priced at one rupee and twenty-five paise.”

Soon, a flame, or jyot, followed. Many used this sacred fire to light diyas in their home shrines. "The atmosphere was charged with devotion to Ram, with every household keen to make their contribution," he says.

Like many across India, the friends yearned to do more. Their chance came in October 1990.

Hindu organisations such as the RSS, Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and Shiv Sena were actively rallying support for the temple. They called for people to join in 'karseva' — a term derived from the Sikh tradition denoting physical service or labour for a religious cause — in Ayodhya on 30 October.

Mulayam Singh Yadav, then UP chief minister, in response, strictly prohibited karsevaks' entry, famously stating that not even a bird would be allowed to breach Ayodhya's borders. (“Ayodhya mein parinda bhi par nahi maar sakta”).

Their shakha responded enthusiastically to the call for karseva, Rajesh recounts. The friends, eager to join, were part of a group of 70 men prepared to go to Ayodhya.

However, they faced significant hurdles. The UP government cancelled train and bus services to the city, barricaded all routes and imposed a strict curfew.

Their shakha pramukh (chief) chose 22 October for the group's departure, hoping they would reach Ayodhya well before the event.

How The Kothari Brothers Set Out For Ayodhya

The Diwali of 1990 was an especially joyous occasion for the Kothari family. Their only daughter, Purnima, then 19, had got engaged, with her wedding planned for December.

The family had got new clothes stitched for the occasion, which they wore for Diwali festivities. "The household was abuzz with an abundance of sweets, snacks, and dry fruits, more than we had seen in many years," recalls Purnima.

Four days after Diwali, when the Kothari brothers prepared to depart for Ayodhya, the family packed a large aluminium canister filled with sweets and dry salty snacks, for the brothers to enjoy and share during their journey.

The parents had swiftly approved of their sons' ambition, with just one stipulation: they were to write a letter every day. The Kothari household, much like their neighbours, did not have a landline phone.

The group was scheduled to board a 7 pm train bound for UP's Mughal Sarai station (now renamed Pandit Deen Dayal Upadhyay Junction), located near Varanasi. 

When they reached the station, they learnt the train had been cancelled. "It seemed the authorities were tipped off about our jattha coming from Calcutta," Rajesh says. 

Suspicious of a possible plot to thwart their journey, the group decided to stay put at the station. Their suspicions seemed confirmed when, around 10 pm, a train started for Mughal Sarai, though no official announcement was made. 

The distance to Ayodhya was nearly 250 kilometres, but the vehicle had to navigate a significantly longer route to evade detection. That night, they stopped at Lalganj near Raebareli, where arrangements had been made by Sangh volunteers at a school.

In the night, a member of the jattha ventured out for a stroll, was identified as an outsider by police and was swiftly apprehended.

In the morning, the volunteers were summoned for a hurried meeting and told that all vehicles to Ayodhya had been stopped. The only way they could reach was on foot.

This too came with a caveat: they could not use the main roads. They had to go stealthily, passing through villages and agricultural fields, and it would be wise if they split into small groups, ideally consisting of two or three individuals. 

They were told to reduce their load, leaving any extra luggage at the school that they could retrieve later. Rajesh recalls, “Someone in the group asked the leader how much time it could take. The answer was — a week.” 

Over the seven-day trek, the groups made stops in various villages along the way. “Each time we revealed our identity as karsevaks, the villagers welcomed us warmly, offering shelter and food,” Rajesh recalls. The villagers would often accompany them in the mornings, guiding them along the route.

They finally arrived in Ayodhya on the morning of 30 October.

After inquiring about the route to Ram janmabhoomi, the trio made their way towards it. The paths were heavily barricaded, and policemen were ubiquitous. At that moment, VHP leader Ashok Singhal emerged, walking alongside some policemen, blood trickling down his forehead. The sight sent a wave of anger rippling through the crowd.

In a dramatic turn of events, a sadhu managed to take control of a police vehicle. He quickly filled it with karsevaks and drove it straight through the barricades to reach Ram janmabhoomi.

Once there, Sharad Kothari, of slender build, swiftly scaled the domes and mounted a saffron flag atop them. “This act marked the fulfillment of our karseva,” says Rajesh. “We had defeated Mulayam Singh, reached the disputed site and asserted it as a Hindu place of worship.”

Having accomplished their mission, the friends moved into the city, where they found a temple to shelter them for the night.

The following day, a sabha (gathering) was held where the karsevaks were briefed on the plan for 2 November, which coincided with Kartik Purnima. "We were to chant 'Ram naam' and march towards the Janmabhoomi. If we were stopped, we were to sit down right there and begin singing Ram bhajans," recalls Rajesh.

This approach was designed to be a peaceful yet powerful demonstration of their devotion and dissent.

On the afternoon of 2 November, 1990, the police fatally shot Ram and Sharad. 

From the terrace of his house near Hanuman Garhi temple, Bajrang Gupta witnessed the chilling murders. "They were merely walking when suddenly, the police started firing," Gupta recounts. 

The cops looked up, and he and others lay prone on the ground, the harrowing image of the bloodied young men seared into their memory. 

The gruesome aftermath was captured by Mahendra Tripathi, a photographer and journalist based in Ayodhya. Operating a photo studio near the Janmabhoomi site and working freelance, Tripathi found himself in the midst of the chaos.

He vividly remembers the intense scene: a helicopter was circling overhead while on the ground, police were indiscriminately shooting at karsevaks. A police vehicle was hastily gathering up bodies, tossing them inside, ostensibly to be disposed of in the Sarayu river. 

Tripathi himself was picked up. Paralyzed with fear initially, he managed to scream at the last moment — "I am alive!”

How The Kothari Family In Kolkata Learnt Of The Deaths

When their first child was born, an astrologer predicted to Hiralal and Savitri Kothari that they would have four sons. The deeply religious couple decided to name the children after the four sons of legendary king Dashrath from the Ramayana.

Contrary to the prophesy, the third child turned out to be a daughter, which brought immense joy to the family. They named her Purnima and renamed their second son as Sharad.

The family, originally from Rajasthan’s Bikaner, had moved to Kolkata a generation ago. Badri Nath Kothari, a member of the Maheshwari caste among Marwadi Baniyas, ventured into the textile business in Kolkata. Eventually, his son, Hiralal, shifted to the iron parts business.

On 2 November, Hiralal was unusually late in returning home. He looked uncharacteristically quiet. Sensing that his wife and daughter had noticed, he sat down for dinner. He ate a chapati and declined further food. He quietly retired to his room. 

The next afternoon, Ram and Sharad’s uncles showed up unexpectedly. Purnima and Savitri grew worried, but the men offered no words. Doordarshan was only broadcasting Mulayam's statements. 

By evening, the harsh truth was revealed: The brothers would not be coming back. The family had to bid them farewell without a final glimpse. Ram and Sharad had vanished from their world.

How Rajesh Learnt Of The Kothari Brothers' Killing

Rajesh heard the gunshots but did not witness the killings. When he reached the spot, he saw Ram had been struck by a bullet in the skull, and Sharad was lying upside down, his chest bleeding from two bullet wounds.

Despite the shock, the friend faced an urgent task: to stop the police from further dishonouring the bodies by discarding them into the Sarayu river. With help from residents, he hastily arranged for two cots and moved the bodies to safety. A funeral was organised the following day, where Rajesh found himself as the only person known to the brothers in attendance.

He shares a poignant memory from the morning of that fateful day. The trio had taken a dip in the Sarayu river just after dawn. En route to the disputed site, they encountered a tailor crafting saffron headbands for the karsevaks.

“Both Ram and Sharad picked up the bands and inscribed the word 'kafan' (cloth used for wrapping a dead body) on them with a pen. This is something I haven’t shared with anyone, not even with the Kothari family," Rajesh recounts with a heavy heart.

Upon his return, Rajesh completed his college education and joined his father’s textile business. In recent years, he has expanded into the organic kitchen products sector. Moving from Bara Bazar, he now resides in a neighborhood near the Kolkata airport. 

He went on to marry and have a family. Despite these changes, Rajesh continues to live a solitary life, without close companions. “I never found friends like Ram and Sharad again.”

How Their Only Sister Coped With The Tragedy

Purnima called off her engagement and pledged to remain unmarried until the Ram temple was built, a monument to her brothers’ sacrifice. It was only two years after a provisional temple came up on the site of razed Babri structure that influential figures from the VHP and the BJP successfully convinced her to marry. Among others, she names Acharya Dharmendra Shastri for his enduring support to her family.

The letter have since vanished. Purnima says that many items connected to her brothers' legacy have been irretrievably lost over time, having been lent to media outlets and never returned.

Purnima and her daughter are the last of the Kothari family, after the demise of her parents in 2002 and 2016. Residing in a rented home under a lease set to expire in 2032, Purnima has consistently declined any financial assistance related to her brothers, be it from the government or private organisations.

In 2020, she participated in the bhoomi pujan for the Ram temple. Now, she awaits an invitation to the temple's inauguration on 22 January.

In Ayodhya, the Kothari brothers are revered figures for their uniquely tragic story as siblings from a single family who laid down their lives in the service of Lord Ram.

Purnima, who has visited Ayodhya almost every year since 1991, recalls an emotional incident: On one such visit, as she and her parents approached the temple, her mother's eyes brimmed with tears. Security officers inquired about the cause of her distress.

Upon learning that her tears were for her two sons lost in karseva, the officers realised her identity — she was the mother of the Kothari brothers. They bent down and held her feet.

The Kothari Brothers' Painting In VHP's Karyashala In Ayodhya

In a workshop established by the VHP in Ayodhya in 1991 for the Ram temple construction — a place where stones are gathered and sculpted — resides a painting of the Kothari brothers, their shoulders draped with Bajrang Dal sash.

The caption beneath reads, “Ayodhya andolan mein shaheed Kothari bandhu” (The Kothari brothers martyred in the Ayodhya movement).

Purnima reveals the backstory of this image: Just before their journey to Ayodhya, the brothers, along with other volunteers, were assembled at a photo studio in Bara Bazar by their shakha head. Each participant was photographed, their names meticulously recorded. It was during this session that they received the Bajrang Dal sash.

Following the brothers' demise, the photograph was passed to the family. Months later, their shakha head, Pradeep Gupta, presented Purnima's family with an oil painting based on that photograph, which she has put up in the room at the entrance.