History, as it is so often carved, favours the flash of the sword over the quiet resolve of the hand that strengthens it. We are aware of those who spearheaded accusations, pursued incarceration, and lost their lives in the act of defiance. However, in India’s struggle for autonomy, existed a cadre of women, whose battlefield was the movement’s unseen scaffolding rather than the trench or the gallows. Though they still linger in the shadows of the independence struggle, their contributions were indispensable to the cause- they were the supervisors, authors, and medicos—the unarmed architects of resistance.
The hidden hands of freedom reigning the underground
The 1930s and 40s were marked by constant monitoring – the nationalist movement being eyed under strict vigil. Leaders were imprisoned without trial, meetings raided, and presses confiscated and censored. In such a sombre atmosphere, organising even the smallest meetings required dexterity, patience, and a certain dauntlessness. Several women, despite being bereft of formal designations in the movement’s hierarchy, extended support, frequently at great personal risk.
For instance, Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay not only raised financial resources but also pioneered an enduring organisational framework for women’s involvement in the Salt Satyagraha, bridging remote villages to the national movement. Amidst harrowing days of Partition relief, Sucheta Kriplani stood tirelessly as an epitome of strength and resilience in the underground Congress network, proving her mettle as a primary participant. Usha Mehta, still in her university days, rose as the reverberating heartbeat of the clandestine Congress Radio in 1942. Despite the police’s relentless scouring across the lanes of Bombay, her voice could never be silenced- broadcasts rallied the nation, instilling national pride and confidence in its people.
These women possessed a talent for blending in while orchestrating operations that kept igniting the fire of rebellion even in the leanest of years.
Ink and paper, defying the empire
While striving in a digital age, it is challenging to recognise the perils once associated with the printing press. During the colonial era, editors were prosecuted for their choice of headlines, and presses could be confiscated at the slightest hint of sedition. Nevertheless, women weaponised the pen- ink became the ambassador of their voices.
Begum Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain, through her notable work Sultana’s Dream, subtly recast the notion of India as a land yearning for liberty, fusing political fervour with poetic intricacy. Equally deft in rhetoric, Aruna Asaf Ali defied colonial authority by unfurling the tricolor at the Gowalia Tank Maidan in 1942, while serving as the editorial pen for underground publications. Mahadevi Verma, via her political essays and verse, preserved the cultural memory of resistance, swiftly inculcating nationalist ideals into allegory, thus evading censorship.
Defying colonial propaganda, reclaiming history, and—perhaps most importantly—maintaining public morale during protracted periods when the movement appeared to be stagnating were all part of their narrative war. A well-written essay could establish what hundreds of rallies failed to do: slip into homes, gain a prominent spot in conversations, and disseminate patriotism into the hearts of those who were not prepared to march on the streets, demanding and exhibiting libertinism.
Medics, and their healing of the ‘revolution’
History has been unkind to those women who, without ever lifting any weapon, have tended to the bruises of the freedom struggle. As they still struggle today to save a spot in the luminous pages of our national heritage, they nursed and nurtured wounds- both physical and unseen. The demonstrations, protests and police crackdowns often resulted in fatalities- a grave repercussion paid for showing the audacity of questioning the ideals of the Raj.
One of the first people to merge medical practice with political activism was Dr Muthulakshmi Reddy, who assisted in helping injured protesters while advocating for women’s rights and sanitation. Dr Kadambini Ganguly, the first female Indian doctor to practice medicine in collaboration with her spouse, Mr Dwarkanath Ganguly, tended empathetically towards the brave hearts of Bengal, while providing free treatment to the marginalised. Captain Lakshmi Sahgal, who would later go on to lead the Indian National Army’s ‘Rani of Jhansi’ Regiment, initiated her public career by nursing for both soldiers and civilians, refusing to let the injured rot in colonial cells. Annie Mascarene worked hand in hand with coordination and relief in Travancore, making sure that injured activists could heal without relapsing into the hands of the British authorities.
They gradually turned out to be messiahs for the fallen, and healing was promoted as an act of defiance. Yet, they did not step back, bolstering courage in those broken by brutality. They assured that resistance does not equate to abandonment.
The burden and the discretion
For many of these women, recognition was a luxury they neither sought nor received. Since visibility invited danger and the patriarchal currents of the movement could relegate women to the periphery, their roles were often purposefully subtle.
Yet the lack of formal acknowledgment should not be mistaken for an absence of influence. The national movement was not a monolith – rather, it was a living entity, breathing and crying in outrage, just like us. These women were like the phoenix, rising high, breaking barriers that tried to chain them, and utilising them as a counterattack against the tyrant.
It is also worth noting the dual burden these women bore. In contrast to their male counterparts, whose public identities could be, in entirety, vested in political scheming, women were expected to maintain the equilibrium of domestic life as they simultaneously navigated the precariousness of underground activities. While the day would begin by catering to the needs of the family, it would conclude with passing coded messages under the hawk-eyed gaze of an informant.
Beyond the nation’s first dawn
The midnight of 15 August 1947 brought jubilation to the streets, but for women, it brought neither instant equality nor the promised dismantling of the patriarchal hierarchy. After toiling for years in the shadows, it was more of an increased responsibility rather than some momentary recluse. While their sacrifices remain unmentioned in the new republic’s formal honours, for not a split second was there the presence of spite or anger. They demanded neither name or fame, naming their years of valuable service to the nation as ‘duty’ instead. While some channelled their acumen into the fledgling nation’s social and cultural upheaval, for some, the struggle simply changed its course- it never diminished.
Usha Mehta, who single handedly braved arrest for being an active voice for the clandestine Congress Radio during the Quit India Movement, returned to academia, offering lectures in political science across universities. She shunned the lure of political office, declaring that she aims to mould the youth under public ethics rather than seek and enjoy consolidated power.
Captain Lakshmi Sehgal, who once encountered British troops in the Burmese jungles, being named as an icon during the INA years, returned to Kanpur without any pomp and show. She resumed practicing medicine, never turning away a patient for lack of means. Her patients, especially immigrant workers and rickshaw pullers looked up to her as a motherly figure, unbeknownst of the fact that this kind and compassionate figure once soared with rage and a burning zeal in her heart. Sucheta Kriplani swore as the first woman chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, strengthening integrity in governance, rendering her deserted in the topsy-turvy of electoral politics.
By recognising these forgotten names, we are not merely filling in the historical crevices. The fact that liberation itself is sustained by both the heroic and the unheralded, by the hands that hold the banner steady and the one who waves it, is something we are acknowledging. From the planner who hides leaflets in her market basket, the writer who risks prosecution for publishing prohibited nationalist content, to the medic who binds a wound while the police knock violently on the door, with a search warrant in hand—each is engaged in the same essential act: the defence of human dignity.
These are the women whose unwavering will stood as a skeleton of all successful quests for liberty. Their story is not an afterthought, but a fable in itself.
The writer is a freelance contributor.