The autobiographical novel “72 Miles” by acclaimed Marathi storyteller Ashok Vatkar is one of those rare works that lingers in the reader’s mind for weeks or even months after finishing it. Vatkar’s creation is neither just a novel nor merely an autobiography — it is a powerful combination of both. Originally published in Marathi under the title “Bahattar Mail”, the book was later translated into Hindi by Sulabha Kore, connecting Hindi-speaking audiences to the heart-wrenching childhood story of a storyteller emerging from a marginalized community.

Published by Radhakrishna Publications — Part of the Rajkamal Prakashan, Bahattar Meel poignantly narrates the author’s own three-day journey as a child. Without any pretensions, the author lays bare all that he endured during those seventy-two miles. Readers encounter the world of a Dhor community boy, facing insults, abuse, humiliation, the brutal deaths of innocent children, and the relentless struggles of a Mahar woman, Radhaakka. As one reads, the experience is filled with pain, sorrow, compassion, and a deep sense of humanity.

At the center of the novel is the author himself — Ashok, who is known as “Assukya” in the narrative. The novel revolves around Assukya, a boy from the Dhor caste, and Radhaakka, a woman from the Mahar (Dalit) caste, along with her children. From the beginning to the end, the author elevates Assukya — a child who endures unimaginable trials — to a place of reverence, remembering him as the reason he undertook the writing of this autobiographical work, in an attempt to repay the moral debt he feels toward Radhaakka.

The novel opens with the author’s sharp, often bitter memories of his father, whom he describes as negligent. Readers gradually sense that if Assukya’s father had been a better parent, perhaps the events that shaped “72 Miles” would never have occurred. The author writes:

“My father lived in Mumbai, while we were stuck in Jawaharnagar, Kolhapur, considered barren land! My father visited home only every six months. I was the eldest child. I often overheard my parents’ fights. My father was too ambitious. He had an old B.A. degree and a wife who was illiterate. After gaining a bit of fame, my father began seeing his illiterate wife as a mismatch, and under the influence of some educated woman in Mumbai, he boasted of doing big things. He wrote plays, made a film, did big business, spent money like water on an unmarried woman, and finally fell into a deep pit… Whenever he came home, my parents would fight. Maybe he thought his illiterate wife was the reason he wasn’t progressing. For a few years, both parents abandoned us. My mother had to take refuge at her parents’ house, living in humiliation for two and a half years. That’s when we realized there was a rift between them. Our maternal uncles treated us as if we were guilty just for being the abandoned children of their sister.”

This harsh portrait of a father who failed to provide love sets the tone for much of the book. The mother, too, is distant, perhaps partly due to the author’s own mischievous nature, which he honestly admits contributed to his parents’ frustrations. Eventually, the father, eager to rid himself of Assukya, enrolls him in a distant boarding school in the Bombay hills.

However, the twelve-year-old Assukya, placed there against his will, soon runs away. What follows is his desperate, painful, and chaotic seventy-two-mile journey from Satara to Kolhapur, driven by humiliation, fear, helplessness, and the desperate longing to reach home.

Throughout the novel, suspense builds at several points, but the author often breaks the tension by revealing the next part of the story quickly, something readers may interpret as emotional urgency. Yet, despite these breaks, the story holds the reader tightly.

During his escape, Assukya joins a poor, helpless woman from the Mahar caste (Scheduled Caste) and her children. By the end of the journey, three of her six children die tragically — the youngest, an infant, dies of illness; the eldest son dies from a snakebite; and another son is fatally crushed under the hooves of cattle.

Assukya’s three-day, seventy-two-mile journey is filled with grief, vulnerability, and raw pain. On one side, there is overwhelming compassion and maternal love, and on the other, there is the terror of a cruel, indifferent world — a world where poverty, sickness, and hunger routinely shatter families.

The novel makes it painfully clear how Dalit families, lacking the money for even a simple bus ride between cities, are forced to walk long distances on foot, exposing themselves and their children to unimaginable dangers. What unfolds along the way is enough to tear apart even the hardest heart.

Assukya, having run away from his hostel, joins this family on their trek from Satara to Kolhapur. Begging becomes their only means of survival. The woman’s six barefoot children stumble, fall, cry, and cling to the endless road, facing social neglect and cruelty at every turn. Along the way, when the children die, they are simply buried in roadside pits before the family moves on. Each death adds a heavy, invisible burden of grief on the reader’s mind.

At one point, Ashok/Assukya tries several times to sneak onto an S.T. bus headed home, only to fail again and again. Each time, Radhaakka is by his side, comforting him, even offering protective lies about his caste and identity to shield him from harm. She tells him in the local dialect:

“Let them come, those bastards! Let’s see who dares touch you. I’ll tear them apart. They call me Radhi! You just say your name isn’t Assukya! Say you’re Mahar (SC), your father’s name is Haralya Mahar. Say Kolhapur isn’t your village. Say you don’t even know how you got to Satara…”

It’s important to note that although the author uses his real name in the novel, the woman — who becomes his companion and protector over those seventy-two miles — affectionately calls him Assukya throughout.

In their hunger, they even beg for food at a bus stand. For Assukya, it’s the first time he’s ever begged to fill his stomach. There, too, they are met with insults, rejection, and scorn. Radhaakka tells him:

“Assukya, today you too had to beg with us. But begging food is poison; food earned through hard work is nectar. Our birth is meant only for poison. Yours is not.”

On the second night, when they have nothing to eat, they stop near a roadside shack where drunken men and truck drivers loiter. To secure even a handful of snacks for her starving children and Assukya, Radhaakka is forced to stake her dignity. Before going, she says:

“Assukya, I’ve only carried the burden of my children’s lives, never the burden of their sickness. But now I’m carrying the burden of their hunger. You’re smart, you’ll understand… don’t blame me…”

The author never forgets how a woman — who shared no blood relation to him — offered up her body just to feed a hungry boy from the Dhor caste. It’s perhaps no surprise that Assukya comes to see Radhaakka as a mother figure, finding the maternal love he never received from his own parents.

By the end, Radhaakka has lost two children, and with the death of a third, she is emotionally shattered. As they near the point where Assukya will separate from them and reach home, Radhaakka gives him parting instructions:

“Walk on the left side of the road, baba, on the left side… stay close to the edge… Assukya… these drivers are ruthless, they’ll crush you like a goat…”

As Assukya walks away, he looks back and sees Radhaakka and her remaining children fading into the dust, their tattered clothes blending into the landscape.

In clear, unapologetic terms, 72 Miles shows readers what it meant to be Dalit in 1947 Bombay (now Maharashtra). It is a piercing, unforgettable window into the brutal realities of poverty, caste, abandonment, and the quiet heroism of those who carry others’ burdens simply out of humanity. Ashok Namdev Vatkar, born on October 20, 1947 in Vadgaon, Kolhapur, Maharashtra, has also had a Marathi film made on his creation - '72 Miles'. His another novel 'Melelam Paani' has received the Maharashtra Government's Best Novel Writing Award.