For years, Anil Punem and Gauri Kuriyam would exchange glances during meetings, never speaking. “He was dressed in the PLGA (People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army) uniform, holding an INSAS rifle. I was impressed by his looks, but for six years, we couldn’t speak because we were in different units,” says Gauri.She was then an area committee member in the Maoist ranks and Anil a divisional committee member in the PLGA, the Maoists’ armed wing.Marriage followed some years later, and the couple agreed to leave the movement. But before they could do so, Gauri heard on the radio that Anil was dead — killed in an encounter.The Maoist movement views personal intimacy and relationships as a distraction from its revolutionary goals, with male cadres often required to undergo sterilisation before marriage. Love, desire and marriage are perilous paths for those within an armed rebellion. But Gauri was too young to know. She was 18, hopelessly in love, fighting her own rebellion.Now, as security forces push to end the Maoist insurgency and with the movement at its weakest, many like Gauri who surrendered with their leaders are hoping for a life beyond the forests, free of the ideology and dogma that shaped their youth.The Indian Express tells their stories of love and loss, as they search for new beginnings. Gauri Kuriyam (Express Photo)Anil Punem & Gauri Kuriyam: A tragic turnA snakebite that killed her father in 2002 had forced Gauri to drop out of Class 8, and follow her younger sister into the Maoist fold. “After my father died, there was no money at home. I always wanted to be a maths teacher, so when I joined the Naxals, they told me to teach at their training school,” she says.Story continues below this adShe first saw Anil at a Maoist meeting in 2013. “For six years, we would just gaze at each other when our groups met for meetings,” says Gauri, 30.Gauri and Anil, 32, married in 2022. “The marriage proposal was sent to Anil through seniors,” she says. “After we got married, I taught him how to write and some basic maths.”They continued to live apart, meeting occasionally at party events. “Bearing a child in the jungle was never a thought; all we wanted was to live together,” she says.When they last met in February 2025, Gauri told Anil she wanted to leave. “I had been unwell for two years. I used to have dizzy spells and felt a lot of pain in my hands,” she says. Though initially reluctant to walk away from the movement, Anil agreed. “He promised me that we would run away together,” she says.Story continues below this adThen, in April, Gauri heard on the radio that Anil’s unit had come under fire — he was among the dead. “I couldn’t eat anything for days after,” she says. Gauri could not attend his funeral.Anil was later identified as the mastermind of an IED blast in Ambeli that killed eight security personnel and a civilian driver.In January this year, Gauri surrendered. “My sister left the movement 12 years before me and is now married with children,” she says.Jyoti & Mallesh: A vicious circleIt was in 2008 that Jyoti Poyam met Mallesh. She was then a divisional committee member and he, a platoon commander. The two met when their groups assembled in Gangaloor in Chhattisgarh’s Bijapur, a training ground for cadres.Story continues below this adGroup chats and communal lunches brought them closer. “Cadres of the opposite sex are allowed to mingle only in groups. So we would cherish our group conversations,” says Jyoti, now 43. “We were in different units and constantly on the move, so we met once every few months. In 2014, Mallesh proposed to me.”Originally from Shamirpet village in Andhra Pradesh’s Warangal, then a Maoist stronghold, Jyoti had joined the Chetna Natya Manch (CNM), the CPI (Maoist)’s cultural wing, in 1994 at age 11, driven by her love for music.Her father had died, and she lived with her mother and four siblings. An uncle in the Maoist party introduced her to the Manch. Over the years, Jyoti rose through the ranks — from Bal Sangam to area and divisional committees, eventually heading the Krantikari Adivasi Mahila Sangathan by 2015.Mallesh, too, knew little else but to join the Maoists. A tribal from Kotarapal village in Bijapur, he joined the organisation in 2005, rose to become divisional committee member, and was allegedly involved in several violent incidents, including the 2012 attack on BJP MLA Mahesh Gagda’s convoy that killed three people.Over time, disillusionment — driven by ideological shifts and personal turmoil — set in. The couple began to dream of leaving the movement.Story continues below this ad“I used to tell Mallesh I wanted to go home to see my family. I wanted to marry and settle down,” says Jyoti. “The organisation had changed and I was disillusioned.”Their decision was not taken well — Jyoti was expelled in 2015. They planned to elope separately and surrender, but friends warned against it.“They were afraid that we could be targeted and killed in a police encounter,” she says.Despite expelling her, the outfit delayed her release. In February 2015, Mallesh went home to Kotarapal, contacted senior police officers, and surrendered. From custody, he contacted Jyoti, who escaped in March.Story continues below this ad“I quietly left my AK47 [at the camp] and made an excuse about going to a hospital,” she says.They married a month later in Hyderabad, in a ceremony attended by close friends and loved ones under police protection.Later that year — nearly two decades after she first left — Jyoti contacted her family. By then, her mother had died and her siblings had married.Mallesh joined the District Reserve Guard (DRG) in 2015 — first as an informant, later as a constable.But their joy was short-lived. On January 28, 2021, when Mallesh returned to his village, Maoists — including his sibling Kosa — killed him and burned his body before the family.Story continues below this adLeft to rebuild her life, Jyoti took his job and now serves in the DRG. Ramdayal Kumhre and his wife Sanmati and two IVF children.Usari Koram & Asmati: Dreams for their daughterIf there’s one thing Usari Koram is firm on, it is that his daughter will choose her own life. Watching his six-year-old playfully tug at his phone, Koram says, “We want her to study and pursue whatever she wants.”A former Maoist, the 45-year-old is now in the DRG, the anti-Naxal force that’s drawn from the local tribal population. From a family of farmers in Padeli village, in Kondagaon district of Bastar, Koram grew up on his father’s stories of how forest officials would “harass” villagers. So when the Maoists began recruiting youth, asking the villagers to “push out the forest guards”, Koram signed up readily.In 1995, the Class 3 dropout left his parents and four siblings to join the outfit, rising through the ranks to become a divisional committee member.Story continues below this adHe was among the 100 Maoists who allegedly laid siege to Geedam police station in Bastar’s Dantewada in August 2003. A policeman was killed and seven personnel were injured in the incident. He says he was also involved in the 2004 raid on the district headquarters town of Koraput in Odisha.And then, in 2010, he met Asmati. While Koram was commander of company 6 — the East Bastar wing of the PLGA — Asmati provided first aid to wounded cadres, a skill she learnt from a doctor.Unlike Koram, Asmati, who was from Kongera village in Kondagaon, had resisted Maoist pressure to join the ranks. A police raid on their village in 2008 changed that. “I ran away fearing arrest, and ended up among the Maoists,” she says.When they met, Koram had already been married once, and seniors disapproved of the relationship. Asmati too faced hostility. “I was subjected to abuse for speaking to him, which eventually made me leave the outfit in 2013,” she says.Tensions rose further when Koram clashed with senior Maoist leader Ramchandra Reddy alias Vikalp. “He started suspecting me of being a police informer and I began to fear for my life.”After Asmati left, Koram went looking for her and found her hiding in a village. For two months, they were on the run, keeping a low profile to evade Maoists.“If they found me, they would have killed me,” he says. “Eventually, I managed to contact my brother back in my village, who alerted the police. We surrendered on August 18, 2014,” Koram says.In 2020, the couple decided to reverse the vasectomy procedure he had undergone while in the outfit. “The doctor told me there was only a 50% chance of success. But I had faith in [tribal god] Budhadev, and in 2018, our daughter was born,” says Koram.Also Read | Guerrilla vs Guerrilla: How Bastar’s own took on the Naxals Dinesh Modiyam with his wife and daughterDinesh & Kala: Life reimaginedFor some, fear lingers. In a small park next to the district police headquarters in Bijapur, Dinesh Modiyam pushes his daughter on the swing as the seven-year-old squeals with delight. Nearby, his wife Jyoti alias Kala plays with their six-month-old.“I’m happy, but I fear that if I go back to my village, they will kill me,” the 36-year-old says.It’s a fear that has followed him since his surrender in March 2025. Three months later, his former Maoist comrades extracted their revenge — they went to his village and killed his brother.Once identified as one of the most violent Naxal commanders in Bijapur, Dinesh was allegedly involved in a string of encounters and killings of civilians. At the time of his surrender in March last year, he was a divisional committee member, allegedly involved in recruiting 260 cadres.“I escaped nearly a dozen encounters in all these years. In two (Pedia in 2008 and Korcholi in 2013) encounters, bullets grazed my leg, but I escaped,” he says.From a farming family in Gangaloor, Bijapur district, Dinesh was 14 and studying at an ashram school, when he saw a performance by the Chetna Natya Manch and was inspired. “They spoke about a casteless society, eradication of poverty and protecting jal, jungle and zameen,” he says.Kala says her entry into the Maoist fold in 2008 was more personal — the Salwa Judum had burned down her family farm, along with their food stock. “I was furious,” she says. “My parents asked me not to join the Maoists, but I said we will have nothing if we stay here.”She joined the Manch, writing songs for the outfit. It was there that she met Dinesh in 2010.“Dinesh liked my dancing, singing and my dedication towards the party,” she says. “In turn, I was impressed by his stature. He was a political leader and a mass organiser then.”The two worked closely. A marriage proposal was sent through senior leaders, but she delayed it for two years. “I wanted to focus on party work,” she says.They married in 2016 — without priests or rituals, in PLGA uniforms, guns in hand. “Hundreds of villagers attended the wedding and danced to local music. A Naxal song was played in Gondi. A senior leader made us take our vows — that we would work for the outfit until our death,” she says.The ceremony ended with a handshake.Like most Maoist men who intended to marry, Dinesh underwent vasectomy, with the procedure performed by a trained comrade. But the sterilisation failed, and the couple had two children, in 2018 and 2025.With no space for parenthood in the rigid Maoist system, resentment grew, faith wavered, and Kala began to question her place.“After my first daughter was born, I was not allowed to give her much time. If I was late, the leaders would tell me off. I left her with my parents and later put her in an Ashram school,” she says.Six years later, she gave birth to her second child and she decided to walk out of the party. “I told Dinesh I couldn’t do it anymore. The forces were continuously conducting operations and everyone in the organisation was scared.”Dinesh held on despite setbacks, until 2023, when his cousin Raju Modiyam hanged himself, fearing he would be targeted as a police informer.“I was told that the Maoists suspected Raju of being in touch with security forces. We gave him a warning. He feared he would be targeted and killed himself,” says Dinesh.Meanwhile, intensified operations deepened suspicion within the outfit — especially around Dinesh, whose cousins were in the DRG. Then, an encounter left him with a bullet wound.“I started thinking about who will take care of my family if I die,” he says. “At this time, security forces were conducting multiple operations and killing many of our cadres. Kala and I were convinced that it was best to surrender.”In March 2025, the couple walked out of the forests. Now in the DRG, Dinesh lives with his family in the Bijapur police quarters.Watching his daughter on the swing, he says, “I can never go back to my village. The Maoists are still there.”