The Final Salute: Jharkhand’s Epic Farewell to Shibu Soren, The Father of A Movement

As the monsoon clouds gathered over Ranchi, Jharkhand’s capital became the epicenter of an event the state had hoped would never come—the final farewell to Shibu Soren, the lion-hearted architect of Jharkhand and its truest son. His passing at 81, after a hard-fought battle with illness, triggered an outpouring of emotion and memory that swept across the region like a tidal wave.

Under gray skies, the people of Jharkhand came together, not just to mourn, but to remember; not simply to bid adieu, but to pledge that the light lit by “Guruji”—the revered leader who once led their struggles and gave them a state of their own—would never be dimmed.

A State Shrouded in Grief

The air outside Soren’s Morabadi residence was thick with incense and grief from the first light. By noon, once news broke of his body’s arrival from Delhi, the trickle of people grew into a human river. Nobody needed to send invitations; the collective instinct of a people touched by Soren’s life summoned farmers, students, miners, politicians, and countless others from every corner of the state.

Dozens of senior political figures cut short their engagements: current Chief Minister Hemant Soren, the late leader’s son, led the mourning, his brothers by his side. Former Chief Ministers—including Babulal Marandi, Raghubar Das, and Madhu Koda—stood shoulder-to-shoulder with old rivals, a living testament to the rare power of Soren’s legacy to unite.

The scene inside the Morabadi residence was solemn but proud. The tricolor draped gently over the casket, and the bow-and-arrow JMM flag laid at his feet, reminded those present just how far he and his people had come.

The Tears of Everyman

It wasn’t merely the politicians who filled the residence. Ordinary workers and their children waited quietly, sometimes for hours, in long columns stretching far out into Ranchi’s soaked roads. Small children, some with painted faces bearing Soren’s image, clung to mothers who had walked for hours, while tribal elders led prayers in their own ancient language of thanks.

Soren, after all, was never a mere politician. For India’s Adivasi population—who have long struggled with marginalization—he was the living proof that hope and dignity were not just slogans, but achievable victories. “He gave us our state, our voice, our pride. Who will do this again?” one elderly woman wondered aloud, eyes shining through the rain.

Statesman and Storyteller: Soren’s Timeless Legacy

Born in the remote village of Nemra, Soren’s early life was shaped by poverty, colonial wounds, and the dreams of his forefathers. He saw injustice everywhere—landless tribals, lost rights, and violent indifference from those in power. Quietly at first, and then with fiery conviction, Soren raised his voice.

By the 1970s, he was leading mass protests, organizing the region’s dispossessed into the Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. His mission: end land dispossession, demand jobs, and—most daringly—win a separate state for Jharkhand’s indigenous peoples. He endured threats, jail, and exile, but Soren’s resolve only strengthened.

In 2000, after decades of agitation, the dream was realized. Jharkhand was carved out of Bihar. Soren walked through the new state capital of Ranchi as “Dasom Guru,” bowed to but not broken by the long road behind him. As chief minister—three times—he was a builder and a defender, striving to keep the peace amid the constant storms of Indian coalition politics.

The Outpouring Across India

The shockwaves of Soren’s death resonated far beyond Ranchi, echoing through parliaments and village squares from Kolkata to New Delhi. President Droupadi Murmu, Prime Minister Narendra Modi, and opposition giant Rahul Gandhi made public statements, their voices unusually sincere.

“He did not just create Jharkhand—he gave dignity to its people,” said PM Modi. Scores of parliamentarians and leaders flew in for the last rites, showing that even bitter enemies respected the moral weight Soren carried. College students across the state paused classes for minutes of silence; major companies and government offices lowered flags.

Rituals of Farewell

On the day his body lay in state, a continuous line of mourners filed past. The air trembled with the sound of drums and songs—the same music that had once carried Soren’s message to the farthest hills. Security was discreet, but tight: yet, so hallowed was Soren’s presence that even the busiest officers seemed somber, almost deferential.

As the afternoon wore on, the family—Hemant, Basant, and Shibu Soren’s grandchildren—led the casket through the crowds. The way was made by party workers and police, but it was the people themselves who held back, respectful, as if not wanting to disturb the foremost champion of their cause.

Symbols That Will Not Die

At Morabadi, tributes could not be contained. Portraits, garlands, tears, and banners jostled for space. Poets recited verses hailing Soren’s spirit; children read essays on his life, the meaning of land, and the unending search for justice.

As twilight came, older JMM activists told tales of hiding with Soren as fugitives, the thrill and uncertainty of their secret rallies, the joy when the state flag rose atop government buildings for the first time in 2000. “He carried us in his heart and on his shoulders,” wept one grey-haired comrade, “now, for us, the burden is to carry his dream forward.”

Nemra: The Final Journey

On the following morning, the body traveled one last time by road, in a miles-long convoy, to Nemra, Soren’s birthplace. Here, among his own people, the last rites were performed with tribal and state honors.

The funeral was massive: not just political titans, but the real “salt of the earth” of Jharkhand—miners, farmers, teachers, women’s groups—came, carrying earthen lamps, flowers, and hand-written notes for the leader they considered kin. The fire that consumed Soren’s body was, for many, the symbol of renewal: a challenge to take up where he had left off.

The Unfinished Work

Even as his ashes cooled in Nemra, conversations across radio, TV, and WhatsApp groups turned to the future. “Who now for Jharkhand? Who has Soren’s courage and love for the poorest?” Local editorials were resolute: the greatest tribute is to continue Soren’s work—resisting exploitation, building schools, preserving forests, fighting poverty—and to reject cynicism.

Hemant Soren promised to “walk the same path with even greater resolve.” Yet the state knows there was—and may never be—another Guruji.

In Every Heart, Forever

Soren’s passing is more than a private sorrow. It is the closing of a historical circle; the proof that one man, armed with faith and defiance, can change the destiny of a nation’s forgotten millions. The state of Jharkhand is his monument. Its people, his living legacy.

In the hush and drumbeat, the fragrance of incense and wildflowers, one message echoed from Ranchi to Nemra: “Guruji is gone, but Guruji is with us, always.”