Yet I shall never give up. With each passing day I get more and
more determined that this is a fight to the finish. Convictions get stronger and firmer.
The conviction that ultimately I will prove my point that women are human beings first and
women next, and that women expect to be treated as humans.Where do I get the strength
from? From God above, from within, from the moral conviction that truth is with me:
My story is a saga of unending pain, nightmares and agony beyond human endurance. And yet I retain my sanity while the perpetrators of these dastardly crimes dare call me insane.
There is nothing else left to lose REALLY ! At 30 years of age, life is almost over before it has begun in the sense that there is hardly anything else left in life for me to experience. Yet I won't give up. You will understand why as you read my story: a saga of unending pain, nightmares and agony beyond human endurance. And yet I retain my sanity while the perpetrators of these dastardly crimes dare call me insane. I leave it to your fair judgment and your conscience to decide who's sane and who's insane.Born on May 11, 1969, in a so-called elite, enlightened family of Orissa, I spent my childhood with all its uncompromising bliss and divinity, snuggling in a loving family. Having a convent background was a rare privilege and a feather in my cap.
I was chubby, bubbly, and effervescent, the real roly-poly type in keeping with my pet name. I basked in the happy warmth of the school-home day and was happy despite ours being a very typical disciplined home with its list of don't dos exceeding the dos.
Conjugal life started on a bitter note.... The demand for dowry and the sexual abuse by Subash (above, being received by Anjana's father on the marriage day) started on the wedding night itself.
Unlike my siblings who were sort of mini-geniuses, extraordinarily talented, academically brilliant, determined and ambitious and who have gone a long way in life today, I was the happy-go-lucky type willing to accept life as it came. The third child in a family of four children, I am sandwiched between two brothers apart from having an elder sister. I was always inclined more towards extracurricular activities than academics. I did pass my ICSE examination with flying colours in March 1984. English was always my favourite subject and I positively hated Mathematics.
I did share a special relationship with my father and I remember my elder sister being my best friend for all heart-to-heart talks. Where are all of them now and why? Read on.
When I was in the final year of plus-two science, my elder sister, an electronics engineer, had a registered marriage with a boy of another caste defying stiff opposition from our parents and relatives. That created a scandal of unprecedented dimensions in Bhubaneswar.
I was the real victim. My sister's marriage could not be reversed, but to restore their shattered prestige and to dissuade me from taking any such revolutionary action in future the immediate preventive step was to get me married off.
Whatever little romantic illusions I had of prince charming were shattered when I found my husband in his sister-in-law's arms (Rajalaxmi, middle in picture below right) two days after our marriage.
My parents could not have been luckier, for Subash was the boy of their deams: Oriya brahmin, IFS (Indian Forest Service), Orissa cadre, fair, good-looking, etc. etc. Dowry demands, age disparity and cultural differences were all set aside. It was a sort of mini-royal wedding.
I had been crying myself hoarse against dowry all through my school days and it came as a shock to me when two days before my marriage I learnt that bargaining for dowry was on in full swing. I threatened to walk out of the marriage pandal if anything of that sort took place and my father emotionally blackmailed me into the marriage by placing his hand on my head. No dowry transaction took place on the marriage pandal. It was only four days after the marriage I came to know that dowry had been paid after the wedding and before I was taken to my in-laws' place.
Conjugal life started on a bitter note, damning all predictions of friends and relatives of a fairytale marriage with a "they lived happily ever after" ending. The demand for dowry and the sexual abuse by Subash started on the wedding night itself. The entire married life was an unending nightmare, a saga of pain and agonising trauma with very few soft moments thrown in. Even those very few happy moments were terribly insecure; I could never really be happy deep down because I felt that they were a prelude to some worse unhappiness, the lull before the storm which always happened.
Whatever little romantic illusions I had of prince charming were shattered when I found my husband in his sister-in-law's arms two days after our marriage. The price paid for witnessing it was being beaten up heavily with shoes by Subash.
The final prick in the bubble was when, contrary to expectations, things became worse after we had a child. I was trapped in a marriage out of which there was no escape. The birth of Nisith reawakened my senses which I had cocooned into a Snow White slumber. I woke up with a start and with a taste of happy tears remembered the forgotten notes of a million songs and tried to piece together shattered dreams, for I was willing and determined to start life all over again.
Nisith, who came into my life on March 18, 1989, was a mother's dream come true. Snow white, bubbly and peaceful. For a few moments, life became so complete and my happiness so total, for after I came out of the labour room, my family informed me that Subash was crying when I was undergoing labour pain.
The birth of Nisith (above) reawakened my senses.... I woke up with a start and with a taste of happy tears remembered the forgotten notes of a million songs and tried to piece together shattered dreams....
But the nightmare worsened as he tried to prove me insane. After being physically abused for dowry by Subash and Rajalaxmi, I would be injected with all sorts of medication. Repeatedly I would be reminded why I was living and not committing suicide, and that insecticide and pesticide kept in the outhouse would help me for a safe, quick death. Though in those moments I inwardly wished I were dead, externally I became more and more determined that I would certainly not die for the sake of people who wanted me dead, never surrender. Tender child-mother moments spent in the company of Nisith are the most precious moments I would look back on in my life today.
I battled my way silently, standing firm and grim as life became a perpetual nightmare. Basically, the penultimate factor leading to the culmination of agonies was his obsession with his paramour sister-in-law. What made this shocking relationship even more ugly was the candid revelation of my in-laws that Subash and Rajalaxmi, in wanton disregard of all societal norms, had procreated a love-child. Rajalaxmi was to me "the quintessence of all evil inclinations to which his senses were completely prisoner". Adding fuel to fire were his habits like drinking, smoking, pan chewing, bhang, zarda, etc., while Rajalaxmi fanned the flames.
All the while I tried to fight it out with delicate persistence, not realising the heavy price I was paying for it; my traditional upbringing dictated to me that a marriage is for keeps and "loving and forgiving" comes only when a loved one wants to be forgiven. As the tornado raged, Subash, realising that the fragile I was collapsing under the weight of such heavy demands, tried to cut a long story short—in one word, "divorce", and of course what he had mistakenly comprehended to be the "instant formula" for it, "insanity".
One can imagine my agony and helplessness when I was administered six electric shocks in a desperate bid to make a sane girl insane.... I would have "memory fade out" and could not even remember who I was.
A brief moment of triumph for me was when the Berhampur University bestowed upon me the honours degree in English Literature with distinction in 1991 as a non-collegiate student. But life took the fatal morbid turn, spelling inevitable doom, when Rajalaxmi shifted bag and baggage to Subash's official residence at Sambalpur in 1994. I was then in an advanced stage of my second pregnancy, which was accidental and never terminated because I was against abortion. Also, I felt that Nisith would have a happier childhood with a companion, but could only watch in quiet desperation and mute stupefaction this grotesque play in black humour.
My second bundle of joy, son Nihit, was born on June 9, 1994, bringing a fresh wave of happiness into my stale life.
Subash became completely wild after my mother-in-law passed away in October 94. On April 4, 1995, I found myself in a psychiatric nursing home ‘Prashanti' in Rourkela, where Subash had admitted me. Incredible as it may sound, I had regained consciousness that day.
My protest that I was normal and this was another game plan of my husband and in-laws to prove me insane worked, and I was discharged on April 6. After that I was kept under heavy sedation till April 10 and to my utter horror and dismay, found myself again abandoned in the same nursing home. This time round my in-laws won, for the doctor's palms had been greased.
One can imagine my agony and helplessness when I was administered six electric shocks in a desperate bid to make a sane girl insane. After the shocks, I would have "memory fade out" and could not even remember who I was. Shattered and heartbroken, I found relief when my parents rushed to my rescue after getting an anonymous call, which in all probability, had been a from a nurse who had grown quite fond of me and whom I had requested to put through the call.
I was forced the go back to my parents' home by Subash without my two sons whom he promised to send to me. For ten months I waited patiently; I was not even allowed to talk to them over telephone. One of my cousins, a senior administrative officer, tried to work out a reconciliation and was told that there should be no contact even with the children for two years. Only if I agreed to this absurd proposal would I be allowed to go back to my children.
Memories of my two sons, especially my younger son whom I had been breast-feeding when we were separated, haunted me, prompting me to take a decision to go back to my husband. On January 30, 1996 I went, setting aside all indignities and humiliations, including the nightmare of the electric shocks and the psychiatric nursing home. As a result of such a foolhardy step, events followed leading to the final cataclysm.
First I was forced to swear in an affidavit against myself and my parents, the obvious objective being blackmail and this was used to initiate a criminal case against my parents at the Human Rights Protection Cell in Cuttack. Efforts were made to convert me into a Bramhakumari in June 1996 by dumping me at their headquarters in Mount Abu by making an entry there that I, a legally wedded mother of two children, was "unmarried".
When all these plans failed, it culminated in the ultimate diabolical plan of cold-bloodedly disposing me of alive by abandoning me in a mental asylum. And Subash took particular care to dump me in the country's premier institution for lunatics, the Central Institute of Psychiatry, Kanke, Ranchi.
Under threats of dire consequences and the promise of the inevitable fool's paradise or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I was told I would only be treated for depression for a few days and then go back and live eternally, happily with my children. I gave in writing in Ranchi that I was willing to be treated.
Though the asylum authorities wrote to Subash on the seventh day saying that I was perfectly normal and he could take me back, he never turned up. Ironically, the State Human Rights Protection Cell failed to protect my rights as a human being as I was taken to Ranchi with the complete knowledge of the state HRPC authorities who had promised to immediately rescue me from Ranchi if Subash failed to do so.
Though the institute sent repeated discharge letters to Subash, the state HRPC and my parents, nobody responded. I wrote at least 30 letters to Subash and my father begging for rescue. Subash never responded but my father acted through the HRPC. The HRPC responded after two months by sending an inspector of police, Bidyutlata Nayak, to conduct an inquiry. She informed me that she was convinced on her own and from the doctor's talk that I was normal and would rescue me in ten days, but I waited in vain to hear from her.
As the HRPC played truant to my father's pleas for help, he turned to the Utkal Mahila Samiti, the leading women's organisation in the state. It actively took up the case and pressured the HRPC to rescue me from Ranchi; I had spent nine months and ten days in the gloom and horror of the lunatic asylum.
Except for Rs 100 pocket money at the time of admission, Subash had not given me anything during the entire stay, and for seven months I was without soap, toothpaste, shampoo, detergent, etc. I had only two pairs of outfits and had to face the chill and the biting winds of the Ranchi winter without so much as a sweater.
From Ranchi I was brought to ‘Basundhara', a home for the destitute and orphans, on April 27, 1997 by the HRPC. I can never forget that touching moment of introduction to Saila Behera, the secretary of Basundhara, who infused into me a fresh lease of life. I just told her, "I am Anjana Mishra from Ranchi", as tears flowed as if it was a homecoming and she was my mother and I need not explain. She caressed my rough arms and I felt that in that touch she understood.
Underfed, undernourished, I was shivering and too weak even to stand up. The unhygienic
condition, the unpalatable food at Ranchi had made me too weak. The skin was rough with
sores crying out for soap. The horror of the asylum and the terribly unhygienic conditions
I had to cope with there will probably take a lifetime or more to forget. The crucial
question to which, I felt, mankind owes an answer is, "Even if a person is insane
doesn't he/she have a right to come back and lead a normal life?" Probably the people
who had created the Penal Code had not even conceptualised a penalty provision for such
A reconciliation meeting was arranged with Subash on May 13, 1996 by the chairperson of the women's commission. I felt I would have been much better off without having gone through it considering the humiliation and outright rejection Subash subjected me to in it.
I filed the FIR against Subash, Rajalaxmi and other family members on May 30, 1997 under Section 498A. Subash and Rajalaxmi were arrested and remanded to custody for four days when their bail was rejected.
S.N. Swain, DIG central range, known to be the most honest and judicious officer of the state, took up investigations. They were proceeding smoothly when I was summoned on July 2, 1997 to the High Court by the then advocate-general on the pretext that he would produce me before the Chief Justice. I went accompanied by Saila Behera and met advocate-general Indrajeet Ray for the first time in his High Court chamber. He seemed to be a gentleman and expressed his shock, regret and support to me and even presented me a copy of Hanuman Chalisa
On the fateful day of July 11, 1997 I received a call from Pitambar Acharya, special public prosecutor appointed by the state in the Subash case, asking me to speak urgently to Indrajeet Ray over telephone. Ray told me that he wanted to discuss some urgent developments in the case and was waiting to have lunch with me.
On the advice of Pitambar Acharya and informing Saila Behera I went to Ray's official residence accompanied by Dolly, a staff of Basundhara. At his residence, he outrageously molested me and attempted to rape. I managed to escape only because there was a knock on the door due to which he relaxed his hold and I wriggled free.
Apprehensive of not getting justice and even our FIR being registered, on the advice of DIG Swain we met and petitioned the Chief Minister for justice for the atrocity. Though he assured the women activists accompanying me that he would render justice, the scenario changed on July 18 after his return from Delhi, with his office pressuring me for a compromise.
Outraged at such audacity I lodged the FIR at the Cantonment Police Station in Cuttack on July 19, 1997. There was stiff resistance right from the beginning, with the police attempting to tear the original FIR to exclude Sections 376/511, that is for attempted rape, and getting it registered only under Section 354 for molestation.
My lonely fight against the establishment, with Chief Minister J.B. Patnaik openly
supporting Indrajeet Ray, has never ever been a peaceful one. The only redeeming factor in
the entire ghastly affidavit occurred when the High Court granted a CBI inquiry and Ray
was subsequently chargesheeted by the CBI in November 1997 for attempted rape. Despite
this, he continued serving as advocate-general till August 1998 with the active support
and backing of the chief minister. He also managed to get anticipatory bail.
It was only after the entire chargesheet went public through the media, and the opposition and some members of the ruling party made a firm and continuous demand for his ouster, that he tendered his resignation in August 1998.
I was offered all terms for a compromise with Ray by him and the chief minister's men. The first compromise proposal was brought by the woman minister Bijaylaxmi Sahoo and then subsequently by other ministers like Kishore Patel, Jagannath Patnaik, Durga Shankar Patnaik and Harihar Swain.
As I stood firm they tried to con me into a reconciliation with Subash which would have led to a subsequent reconciliation with Ray. I was given threats of dire consequences, like I would be gang-raped or acid would be thrown on my face or there would be a repetition of the tandoor case in Orissa.
Threat calls, crank calls day in and night out and all sorts of pressure (can't pinpoint which was the biggest) forced my father to petition the High Court for my transfer of residence to a destitute home. This was after I had stayed for barely a year at his Nayapalli residence in Bhubaneswar; I had shifted from Basundhara on August 28, 1997.
I was paralysed and shocked beyond numbness, as the grief was too transparent, too deep, when my lawyer informed me about this development. It was as if the whole world had collapsed under my feet. I felt betrayed that my own parents, too, had succumbed to these hoodlums. At that moment I realised how alone I was, fighting such a terribly grim battle against mighty odds, and found that God was my only saviour and only He could instil strength in me.
I went on a hungerstrike and managed to stay without water for seven days. At the request of activists I broke my fast, and also went on to my first victory when the court declined my father's petition and gave me permission to stay in his house. In a remarkable landmark judgment, it said, "Anjana is an adult and she can stay anywhere."
As my parents left the state for my father to take up his new assignment in New Bombay, just handing over the keys to the house without even informing me of their address, shock and disbelief actually gave way to the realisation that in my fight for justice not only had I lost my home and children but my parents too.
The doors for employment were shut everywhere because everybody was terrified of invoking the wrath of the mighty chief minister. I also found to my utter horror that the telephone line had been disconnected by my father who had written for "temporary safe custody" not believing that his daughter on whom there were dire threats was entitled to the company of a telephone even for security reasons. Financially I was down and out. Six months passed by in struggle with emotional support mainly from friends, and a solitary relative, my elder sister-in-law, throwing in a single visit.
The New Year passed off uneventfully except that the local television channel OTV believed in awarding me joint winner along with cricketer Debasis Mohanty as ‘Personality of the year' in accordance with subscribers' voting.
A desperately traumatic mother for whom the pangs of separation were too long and too painful waited in anticipation of the High Court order for visiting rights. The last time I had seen my younger son Nihit was on May 6, 1996 and I had briefly seen Nisith for ten minutes on May 14, 1997 in DGP B.B. Panda's office.
I took advantage of the reconciliation meeting arranged in Justice P.K. Mishra's chamber on January 6, 1999 to tell the honourable judge that I might find it difficult to live if I was not given visiting rights to see my children. I was not even to talk to them on telephone, not even to wish them happy birthday; I had made at least 30 calls to wish them happy New Year but was not allowed to do even that.
The unhygienic condition, the unpalatable food at Ranchi had made me too weak. The skin was rough with sores crying out for soap. The horror of the asylum ... will probably take a lifetime or more to forget.
My lawyer Debashis Panda informed me that the High Court had given a temporary interim order that I could visit my children before February 15 with seven days prior intimation to the school principal. I got information in general that Indrajeet Ray had managed to get an exparte stay of the trial which had been proceeding at a smooth pace in the CGM court, Bhubaneswar, with at least six witnesses corroborating my story. My lawyer had been terribly non-cooperative and adamant about a reconciliation with Subash on his absurd terms for a long time. I was surprised that he had not informed me of the stay Ray had got.
That day I decided that enough was enough and I would take the bull by the horns. Knowing that if I informed him he would never give me an appointment, as he was evading me in the past one month, I decided to pay him a surprise visit.
Harassment and deliberate non-cooperation by security officers and especially by the Nayapalli police station inspector in charge, Premanjan Parida, had become a part of my life. I had resigned myself to it for neither had a petition I had moved in the High Court in the end of June 1998 against Parida nor letters addressed to the Bhubaneswar SP had yielded any result. I have affidavits and legal documents to prove that PSOs have been deliberately in the past under pressure from Parida, an identified henchman of Ray.
On January 9, from four o' clock in the afternoon I had been requesting the security personnel present outside my house in the tent to contact my PSO Itisree Das as she doesn't have a telephone at home. When they refused to respond despite four hours of persistent requests I was highly disappointed and wondering what to do when Sutanu Guru, head of news, OTV, turned up to collect information on the stay of trial in the Ray case. He had also been interested in writing a book on my life story which is why he had visited me on earlier occasions. As I desparately pleaded with him to give me a lift to Cuttack, as the circumstances seemed fishy and I had to talk to my lawyer he agreed and we set out at about 8.30 p.m.
I preferred the Barang route as I always take that route to avoid the heavy highway traffic. Also, that evening it was quite late and I thought I would reach earlier rather than be stuck in a traffic jam on the highway.
Somewhere in Barang, where I had a feeling that the taxi driver was deliberately slowing down, I looked ahead and saw a man blocking the road with outstretched arms. Two of his friends waited alongside a parked scooter.
The guy who had blocked us came over with a revolver, pushed Guru to the front seat and forcibly sat beside me molesting me, holding the revolver to Guru's head. Another man with a curved weapon like a sickle pushed the driver to the pillion seat of the scooter, where the third man waited, and took charge of the wheel. We told them if it was robbery they could take whatever valuables and money we had and allow us to go but the man said he wanted to eat me. He drove slightly ahead, took a turn on a kuchcha road and drove quite a long way to a deserted spot. There he dragged me out of the car and took the sickle while the driver, Sahoo, and the man on the scooter, called Mian, held Guru back in the car at revolver point. He took me to a lonely spot and said he would eat me. When I told him that he could kill me, he told me that even a whisper of protest and Guru would be shot through his head.
As I was stripped completely naked on that chilly winter night and repeatedly raped by the man who called himself VK and his friend Mian alternately, I was told that this was the price I was paying for being stubborn, for being uncompromising in my stand against Indrajeet Ray. That if only I would say yes, I could be the queen of the chief minister and I would be kept in luxury, otherwise this would be the price I would be paying not just then but throughout my life.
I was finally brought back to the car, and Guru on his request was allowed to sit beside me. Mian sped away on the scooter, VK occupied the front seat while Sahoo took the wheel and our taxi driver sat between them.
Somewhere on the main road in Trisulia Chhak, a mobile patrol squad motioned the driver to stop but he sped away, and they never cared to stop him. A kilometre or so away, Sahoo turned the car to a small village where VK jumped off.
Sahoo then said that he would drive us back to Bhubaneswar via Chandaka jungle and turned to another lonely jungle spot, parked and with a revolver in hand tried to pull me out of the car. When I stubbornly resisted by clinging on to Guru, he threatened to kill us both. When Guru told him that he could kill us, he bashed up Guru badly, gave me a few tight slaps and with the revolver pointed at Guru raped me right there in the back seat of the car before him. As I desperately pleaded with the taxi-driver to help us he stubbornly turned his head away and refused to help.
We returned to Bhubaneswar as Guru said they would kill us; two vehicles tailed us all the way back to Bhubaneswar. We took the national highway route and reached my lawyer's chamber at Cuttack. There was another gruesome shock awaiting there as we were told that my lawyer was absent, having gone to Bhubaneswar the previous night as his wife had suddenly taken ill.
My desperate pleas to his mother that I wanted to use the telephone as I had been gang-raped yielded no result as she banged the door shut on our face. A polite shopkeeper of a shop opposite his residence offered that I could sit in his shop and we used the telephone as the driver returned the cell phone saying that they had dropped it in the car.
As I desperately called up my lawyer I was further frightfully shocked when he calmly said, "Everything is over what is the use of giving FIR?" And when I persisted he refused to come, saying that he was not in a condition as he had been partying up to 2 a.m. I called up friends and activists and went to the mahila thana and lodged the FIR.
There was hope even in December 98 but you live and learn. With a never-say-die spirit the struggle for justice, for ensuring my basic human rights continues. I will never give up but I barely see much hope if there is no mass revolution. The barbaric crime continues with a fresh crime reported every day in the newspaper except that I can now painfully identify myself with the victims.
The battle is no longer personalised, the dignity of womenfolk of the state at large being involved in this I carry forward come what may.
After all is there anything else left to lose? I have lost everything, now I am confident of winning.
Why should I apologise to Anjana?
Republic Day, Anjana Mishra hoisted the national flag at A.G. Square in Bhubaneswar at the
behest of some university students and women activists. The significance of the event may
not have been lost on Chief Minister J.B. Patnaik whose name has been dragged into the
alleged gang-rape. On the same day, Dhirendra Mohanty alias Tuna Mohanty, one of the three
accused in the gang-rape and suspected to be a leprosy patient, was arrested. Within hours
of the crime one of the accused, Padia Sahoo, had been arrested, while a search is on for
the third, Biban Biswal.
The trauma is too deep for description, the struggle has become even more deep-rooted, difficult and bitter but certain pertinent questions haunt my mind with painful rapidity.
O If it was an
ordinary case of rape and robbery why would they return our expensive cell phones which
they were using? Why didn't they just take our valuables and go off when we told them to?
O Why Premanjan Parida continued as Nayapalli inspector in charge despite my persistent complaints against him?
O Why has he just been transferred when he was my overall security in charge when the PSO and havildar were suspended?
O How was a police jeep supervising the entire operation, as we saw a police jeep at a distance during the four hours I was raped, and those rapists discussing that there was no problem as OIC Barang PS and Havildar Barang PS were protecting them?
O Why did the mobile squad not follow our car when it sped away, despite them indicating it to stop, and stopped just 500 metres away?
I was offered all terms for a compromise with Ray by him and the chief minister's men. The first compromise proposal was brought by the woman minister Bijaylaxmi Sahoo and subsequently by other ministers.
O How were the rapists so knowledgeable about my background and Guru's background?
O Was my lawyer's sudden visit to Bhubaneswar purely coincidental?
O Why did the driver deliberately slow down the car?
O Why is the police not circulating the photographs of the accused over television and newspapers when they have previous criminal background, and their photographs must be surely available?
O How did a single-member team conduct my medical test?
O Are the police really not able to locate the other two accused or is my information correct that they are in safe custody in some minister's house?
O Is Padia Sahoo linked to minister Bijaylaxmi Sahoo? Why is madam Sahoo, who was all through maintaining a conspicuous silence on all Anjana cases, suddenly going overboard in defence of the chief minister in this particular case?
O Will J.B. Patnaik kindly explain to the womenfolk of the nation the difference between rape and super-rape? Why is he scared of a CBI investigation?
O Isn't Sonia Gandhi able to exercise her own intelligence to assess that I am a totally non-political person?
O Sutanu Guru has been officially terminated from his services. His livelihood gone, life is also under severe threat. If the key witness is harassed like this which other witness will dare speak up, and if not how do I get justice in other cases? Conscience pangs kill me more than the trauma of rape because I feel morally responsible for what happened to Guru. He is an innocent victim whose life has been shattered because of the conspiracy.
O Why was a PSO not available in the tent when I have been granted 24 hour security cover by the High Court? Should this not be treated as a custodial crime?
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