Jenabai zindabad!

Jenabai zindabad! — "Long live Jenabai!" — is the rallying cry that erupted from the crowd behind Jenabai Daaruwali as she led a peace demonstration through the burning lanes of Dongri during the 1992–93 Bombay riots. The chant, screamed loudly by her supporters as police closed in with lathis and shields, transformed an elderly bootlegger into the living symbol of communal resistance and peace. It is the most direct expression in the book of the public adoration that a woman of the underworld could command, and it crystallizes the central argument of Mafia Queens of Mumbai: that these women were not blank slates written upon by dangerous male mafia members, but active agents who pushed the boundaries of dominant moral codes.

The March That Inspired the Chant

The cry was born in the darkest hour of the riots. The Suleman Usman Bakery firing on 9 January 1993 had been the last straw for Jenabai. The Special Operation Squad, suspecting terrorists were holed up on the terrace of the bakery, had opened fire inside under the direction of joint commissioner of police R.D. Tyagi. Jenabai had peered through her windows and heard the gunshots and helpless cries of people from inside; she was spectator to one of the most gruesome and unwarranted killings by the police. The firing had resulted in the death of nine Muslims, but the police failed to apprehend terrorists or seize firearms from the spot — the truth being that there were neither. Now, even a hundred warnings by the forces would not shake her determination to step out of her home. In her long white chikan nightgown and a shawl that covered the grey in her hair, this fair and heavily jewelled lady, with a rosary in one hand and a white flag in the other, went out onto the street. In a few seconds, a group of young men had gathered behind her as she led the demonstration.

The Scene at Pydhonie Junction

She walked between the torched lanes of Dongri towards the Pydhonie junction, unconcerned about danger. The junction, with the Hamidiya Masjid on the right, Khatri Masjid on the left and three Jain Derasars, had become the dividing line for the two wounded communities. The Pydhonie police station, a gift of the British era, stood at right angles from these religious houses. When she reached the junction, she stopped. Here she stood, flanked by hundreds of young men and women, waving her flag and screaming for peace and harmony even as injured bodies lay strewn and mobs openly ransacked shops in the vicinity, setting them on fire. On seeing the demonstrating crowd, the police with their lathis and shields began closing in towards them. Her tired old legs had given in, but Jenabai stood calm, unafraid of the mob fury and the police lathis. From behind her supporters screamed loudly, "Jenabai zindabad! Jenabai zindabad! Jenabai zindabad!"

The Slogan's Place in the Book's Argument

The chant is not merely a moment of drama; it is the emotional and ideological heart of the book's preface. The author, reflecting on gender dynamics in the underworld, notes that it is much easier to be a Dawood Ibrahim than a Jenabai Daaruwali. If one sifts through the gangs of the Chhotas — Rajan and Shakeel — one finds clones galore, but rarely a Sapna Didi, a woman who dared to stand up against Dawood and was given a dastardly death by the don's acolytes. Of the twenty-two stab wounds inflicted on her, four were specifically targeted at her private parts, a grisly message of warning to other women not to dally with the mafia. The book is an attempt to understand the complex minds and the psyche of women criminals, and it is in no way meant to glorify them. Yet the author insists that for these women, crime was not only a way of transcending their poverty and limitations but also a life-saving concept. The cry of "Jenabai zindabad!" is the book's proof that a woman of the underworld could rise to a moral authority that transcended her criminal past, becoming a figure that a community would rally behind in its most desperate hour.

The Slogan as a Contrast to Other Women's Public Roles

The chant stands in sharp contrast to the other public performances of women in the book. Gangubai Kathiawadi, the brothel madam of Kamathipura, commanded a different kind of reverence. When she arrived at Madhu's room, dressed in a white saree, other sex workers bowed in respect as she entered the building. Gangubai's power was expressed through her famous speech at Azad Maidan, where she stunned her organisers and audience with the opening line: "I am a gharwali (a brothel madam) not a ghar todnewali (home wrecker)." She argued that the notorious women of Kamathipura should be partly credited for the safety of Mumbai's streets, comparing prostitutes to the jawans of the country who fight endlessly in the battlefield. Gangubai's political connections also won her an appointment with the then prime minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, at his residence in New Delhi, making her the only local brothel madam to secure an appointment with the head of the country. Where Gangubai's authority was built on political maneuvering and oratory, Jenabai's was built on moral courage in the face of mob fury and police violence. The chant "Jenabai zindabad!" is the spontaneous, unscripted response of a community to that courage, a cry that no amount of political calculation could have manufactured.

The Slogan's Resonance with Later Generations

The echo of "Jenabai zindabad!" reverberates through the later stories in the book, even as the underworld changed. Asha Gawli, wife of gangster Arun Gawli, came to be known as "Mummy" by her husband's gang members, a title of respect that mirrored the reverence Jenabai commanded. Asha headed the women's wing of the Akhil Bharatiya Sena, which was used as a shield for the don against arrests and police encounters; a group of women would constantly surround Arun every time he walked out of Dagdi Chawl, a strategy that other dons made fun of but which worked. The public acclamation of women in the underworld took different forms — from the roar of the crowd when Tarannum Khan danced to Kajra Re at the Deepa Bar and Restaurant, to the millions of hearts won by Monica Bedi on national television in Bigg Boss 2. But none of these later moments carried the moral weight of Jenabai's chant. The cry of "Jenabai zindabad!" remains the book's purest expression of the idea that a woman of the underworld could become the conscience of her community, a figure whose name was invoked not for her crimes but for her courage in the face of state violence and communal hatred.