As the ballots were opened, the true status of voter education became clear. Most ballots had thumbprints (laptches) instead of swastikas. Some, perhaps because of confusion over which symbol to choose, had all the available election symbols stamped on them.
We use Google Cloud Translation Services. Google requires we provide the following disclaimer relating to use of this service:
This service may contain translations powered by Google. Google disclaims all warranties related to the translations, expressed or implied, including any warranties of accuracy, reliability, and any implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose, and noninfringement.
A narrow room in the Achham District Court. Inside were 32,408 ballot papers, while outside, even on the cold night of Mangalsen, hundreds of people were seen blazing with election fever.
I never imagined that the counting process of Achham-2, which began on the morning of Falgun 22, would turn into a non-stop 'mental and physical marathon' lasting 60 hours. But when the counting began, for a journalist, it was not just news gathering, it became a difficult test of patience, mathematics and social responsibility.
The Election Commission talks about the right to information, but there was an extreme drought of information at the Achham counting site. There was no official 'information center' or 'digital display' to provide instant information. At the counting site, only a crude and scattered description of how many votes were counted in which booth and how much each candidate received was provided.
The Chief Electoral Officer's office would make the final tally public, but it would be so late that by then the counting of the next ward or booth would have been far advanced. If we had to wait for those 'official' results, it would have been impossible to give the reader a 'hot' update. It was forbidden to take mobile phones to the counting site. So for 60 hours, my diary, pen and calculator never left my hands. As soon as the votes of every ward, every booth and every center were counted, I had to add and subtract to calculate the 'total lead' and 'gap' myself. When there was only one point difference, the mental pressure was very high due to the fear of sending the wrong message to the excited crowd outside and causing a clash. I felt like I had to stand there as a reporter, a data analyst and an information center myself.
When the official data of 1,555 votes being invalid came out during the counting, more than my tiredness, a serious question bothered me. It is not uncommon for more than 1,500 votes to be lost when counting 32,000 votes. As the ballot papers were opened, the true status of voter education became clear. Most ballot papers had thumbprints (laptches) instead of swastikas. In some, perhaps due to confusion over which symbol to choose, all available election symbols were stamped.
What this proves is that the Election Commission representatives and voter education programs did not reach the remote and remote settlements of Achham. Candidates went to ask for votes, but no one considered it necessary to teach them how to vote. As a result, the right of 1,555 citizens to choose their representatives ended up in the trash due to lack of technical knowledge.
During the 60 hours of counting, my mobile phone probably did not ring for a minute. Phone calls from outside added to the tension. People were more interested in the ‘micro-updates’ of their ward and booth than the overall results. Calls would come from remote corners of Dhakari, Turmakhand, and Kamalbazar – ‘Journalist, did the ballot box of our village open or not? Who got the most votes in my booth?’
While the staff confined to a narrow room were counting 32,000 votes on a single table, it was a Mahabharata to distinguish which ward’s vote was in which box and which was being counted. However, there was also a social responsibility to satisfy the people’s curiosity. The burden of having to become a center of trust for everyone in the absence of an information center cannot be described in words. While I was calculating in my diary with teary eyes for 60 hours, I felt that this was not just a census, but also a test of a journalist’s professional ethics.
The counting site of the Achham District Court was very narrow. It was difficult to even get back into the crowd of security personnel, employees, and political party representatives. Citing security and lack of space, the office of the Chief Electoral Officer refused to divide the counting into two or three places. As a result, a single team had to carry the burden of 32,408 votes for 60 hours. However, the employees who were counting the votes worked in shifts of 8 hours each. The disputes that arose when ballot papers were found without the signature of the polling officer and the fuss made by party representatives over small matters made the process even slower.
Finally, after 60 hours, the count of 32,408 votes was completed. The victory celebrations began after the results were made public. But the faces of those 1,555 invalid votes and the people who were desperate for information are still lingering in my mind. This experience has taught us that reporting in remote areas is not just about writing news, but also about standing as a bridge between the weak management of the state and the high expectations of the people.
This vote counting in Achham-2 has also sent a message that it is too late to make our electoral system technology-friendly and to truly reach the villages with voter education. Finally, I must say this – in the upcoming elections, no reporter should have to sit idle for 60 hours with a calculator and no voter’s dream should be limited to ‘thumbprints’.
