Captain of the first Indian team to win the hockey gold in the 1928 Olympics, member of the Constituent Assembly responsible for framing the Indian Constitution and a life-long activist for tribal rights, Jaipal Singh Munda remains one of the more underappreciated figures of modern Indian history.

Born on January 3, 1903, in the same Khunti subdivision of Ranchi district (a separate district in present-day Jharkhand) as fellow freedom fighter Birsa Munda, who had only died three years earlier, Jaipal grew up in the Takra Pahantoli village of the erstwhile Bihar Province.

Like many Adivasi families of the day, Jaipal’s parents, who were simple farmers, had also come to embrace Christianity and studied at a village church school. It was a group of missionaries affiliated to the Church of England, who first spotted a young Jaipal’s leadership qualities, talent and intelligence. He was soon drafted into the missionary-run St Paul’s College in Ranchi, where teachers took further note of his intelligence in class and outstanding talent in hockey.

With the principal of St Paul as his patron, Jaipal took off for Oxford University for higher studies after completing school. This is where his talents in the game of hockey really began to shine, and a short while later, he was selected for the Oxford University team.

“The hallmarks of his game as a deep defender were his clean tackling, sensible game-play and well-directed hard hits. He was the most versatile player in the Oxford University hockey team. His contribution to the university hockey team earned him recognition, and he became the first Indian student to be conferred the Oxford Blue in Hockey,” according to this account in the Forward Press.

Besides playing the game, he was also a prolific columnist, often writing about hockey for different British journals. Nonetheless, the course of Jaipal’s life would forever change in 1928, when he was selected as captain to lead the Indian hockey team in the 1928 Amsterdam Olympic Games.

By the time, however, he had obtained his Economics (Honours) degree with distinction and passed the prestigious Indian Civil Service (ICS) exam, topping the interview segment.

It was when he was undergoing training as a probationer for the ICS that Jaipal received a call for the Indian hockey team. Initially, he sought a short leave of absence—a request rejected by the India Office of the British government—so that he could play in Amsterdam.

Between representing the Indian hockey team and ICS, Munda went with his heart and chose the former, forgoing a career in the civil services. This isn’t the first time an Indian freedom fighter would forego a job in the civil services to follow his passions.

The Indian team blazed through the tournament with the world getting their first sight of the legendary Dhyan Chand. Unfortunately, the selection of Jaipal, an Adivasi, had created discontent among the many Anglo-Indian players and team management and differences between both sides erupted just days before the final. After a row with the team management, Jaipal decided not to play the final match against Holland. Fortunately, it had no repercussions on the team as they went onto win the match, and subsequently the Olympic gold medal.

Following his return to Oxford the then Viceroy of India, Lord Irwin personally congratulated Jaipal for his leadership and the team’s performance. This success had even brought about a change of heart in the India Office, which requested Jaipal to re-join the ICS under the condition that they would extend his probation by a year, a demand he felt was both insulting and discriminatory.

Miffed by the India Office, he rejected a second opportunity at joining the ICS and instead found work with the multinational oil company, Burmah Shell, where for a brief time he worked as a senior executive.

However, his heart was in academia, and soon he took up teaching positions in various universities across India, before joining the Prince of Wales College at Achimota in Ghana, in 1934, as a commerce teacher. Three years later, Jaipal returned to India and became principal of the Rajkumar College, Raipur, an “exclusive preserve and grooming ground of young men from Indian princely and feudal families in the company of European students,” according to the Forward Press.

After a year of standing up to discrimination from students and parents alike for his tribal background, Jaipal joined the administration of the Bikaner Princely State, as revenue commissioner and subsequently foreign secretary.

It was also during this period when he began his extensive campaign for the rights of indigenous communities. Unhappy with the inability with the efforts of the Indian National Congress to advocate more vociferously for tribal rights, he set up the Adivasi Mahasabha in 1938, in which, among other things, he raised the demand for a separate Adivasi state carved out of Bihar called Jharkhand. This demand of an independent state for tribals earned him the moniker of ‘Marang Gomke’ or ‘great leader’ in Mundari, a language spoken among members of his Munda tribe.

Success eventually came in 1946, when he was elected to the Constituent Assembly from a ‘general constituency’ in Bihar. He addressed this august gathering for the first time on December 19, 1946, introducing himself as a “Jungli” (a forest dweller), speaking of how the Adivasis were the “original people of India” and why India must afford them the space to practice their distinct culture and identity.

“I rise to speak on behalf of millions of unknown hordes—yet very important—of unrecognised warriors of freedom, the original people of India who have variously been known as backward tribes, primitive tribes, criminal tribes and everything else, Sir, I am proud to be a Jungli, that is the name by which we are known in my part of the country. As a jungli, as an Adibasi, I am not expected to understand the legal intricacies of the Resolution. You cannot teach democracy to the tribal people; you have to learn democratic ways from them. They are the most democratic people on earth,” he said.

Among other interventions, Munda famously spoke up against any prohibition on intoxicating beverages, as ensconced in the Directive Principles of the Constitution. In a debate on November 24, 1948, he spoke of how this provision was a direct assault on their way of life.

“Now, as far as the Adibasis are concerned, no religious function can be performed without the use of rice beer. The word here used—the phrase used is ‘intoxicating drinks.’ Sir, that is a very vague way of describing the thing, and, also ‘injurious to health.’ My friend Prof. Shibban Lal has tried to put forward the argument of economic efficiency. He thinks that if prohibition were installed in this country, the economic efficiency of the workers would be enhanced. I dare say it would be. But what I want to tell him is that it is not merely the industrial workers whom he has particularly in mind, that are affected. I would like to point out to him the position of the very poor people, the Adibasis, and, members who come from West Bengal and other places will bear me out in what I say about the Adibasis who are in such large numbers in West Bengal, Southern Bihar, Orissa and other places. In West Bengal, for instance, it would be impossible for paddy to be transplanted if the Santhal does not get his rice beer,” he famously said.

One could surmise that such interventions compelled the Constituent Assembly from shelving the very idea of prohibition into its Directive Principles. Thanks to the likes of Jaipal Munda, the Constituent Assembly inserted multiple constitutional safeguards for the Adivasi communities, recognising them as minorities and establishing reservation in government jobs, among others.

Continuing to strive for tribal rights even after Independence, Jaipal eventually passed away on March 20, 1973, as a result of cerebral haemorrhage. However, his dream of carving out an entirely new state of Jharkhand from Bihar would take another 27 years to realise completely. Having said that, Jaipal brought the Adivasi story into the mainstream political discourse.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Madhumala Chattopadhyay is a senior research officer with the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment today. But on January 4, 1991, she was the first woman anthropologist to establish friendly contact with the traditionally hostile Sentinelese tribe in the North Sentinel Island in the Andamans, 1200 km off the coast of the Indian mainland.

Nowadays, there is a feeling that this tribe is violent and dangerous. However, the actions of Chattopadhyay prove – this is far from the truth.

Living in the North Sentinel Island for an estimated 60,000 years, the Sentinelese are among the most genuinely isolated tribes in the world.

Also Read: ‘Hostile’ Sentinelese? Here’s What the First Anthropologist to Meet Them Says

However, for Madhumala, the only woman in the expedition which arrived close to the shores of North Sentinel island on January 4, 1991, the experience of establishing contact with the Sentinelese didn’t end in an attack or hostility.

“Never ever in my six years of doing research alone with the tribes of Andamans did any man ever misbehave with me. The tribes might be primitive in their technological achievements, but socially they are far ahead of us,” she told this Bengal publication back in 2015.

Madhumala’s fascination with the tribes of the Andaman & Nicobar Islands began as a 12-year-old when she came across a news clipping at her home in the Shibpur suburb of Kolkata talking about the birth of a child among the nearly-extinct Onge tribes.

After successfully navigating university studying anthropology, she applied for a PhD fellowship to the Anthropological Survey of India for conducting field research in these remote islands.

With very few Indian women in the field, however, there were fears in the committee overseeing Madhumala’s application that it may not be safe for her to conduct research in these islands.

A solution came when the committee asked Madhumala’s mother to sign an undertaking that the ASI would not be liable in the event something unfortunate happened to her during research.

Willing to further her daughter’s dream, Madhumala’s mother Pronoti Chattopadhyay signed the dotted line. For the next six years, she conducted research on the tribes of the Andamans.

As explained in this article, initial attempts at contact with the Sentinelese by the ASI in the 1970s were met with hostility, not a surprise since past attempts were by British colonialists – who were brutal and dangerous.

Fast forward to January 4, 1991.

The MV Tarmugli dropped its anchor near the southwest part of the North Sentinel Island.

From there a crew of 13 were taken on a small boat to the island. As they made their approach, that’s when officials and researchers on the boat first sighted the Sentinelese – some of them armed with bows and arrows.

The visiting party took the initiative of dropping coconuts in the water. Suddenly, a small group of Sentinelese approached them on a canoe and took the offering.

However, it’s when the 13-member team came back with a second set of coconuts for the Sentinelese when something remarkable happened.

First, the Sentinelese reached the visiting party’s boat, touched it and collected the coconuts directly. Then a young Sentinelese on the shore had his bow and arrow targeted at the visiting party.

“As the marksman was about to release, a Sentinelese woman standing nearby gave a push to the marksman, and the arrow missed its mark and fell harmlessly in the water. The woman had done that on purpose, thus saving the contact party from severe injury or even death,” says this Probashi profile.

Seeing a woman in the visiting party, one could posit that the Sentinelese now believed them to be non-threatening. Following the incident, Madhumala got into the water and began handing over coconuts in person.

This was history in the making. The first peaceful contact between Sentinelese and outsiders triggered by the presence of a woman. The Sentinelese are known to be fiercely protective of their women. Madhumala would subsequently visit again on February 21, and this time her team were received with welcoming arms.

However, the Government of India stopped such interactions, fearing the spread of an epidemic among the Sentinelese. A sensible decision at the time, considering what has happened to another tribe in the Andamans the Jarawas.

The government has since then established a 3-mile no-entry zone around these islands.

On the recent killing of American missionary John Allen Chau, Madhumala brings a unique and much needed perspective.

“But it’s not like they attack first-off, they show warning signs — through facial gestures, knives, bows and arrows — and then take action if those are disrespected. John Allen Chau must have faced a similar situation,” she told The Print.

Moreover, she is at pains to explain how missionaries seeking to spread a particular form of institutionalised religion in different parts of the world have no any business approaching these tribal communities in the Andaman who have for centuries lived in perfect harmony with their natural surroundings.

These tribal communities are animists or nature worshipers.

“The Sentinelese and other tribes don’t need to be oppressed with religion, because doing so will make them more hostile. They understand nature, and that’s all they need. For instance, when I was with the Jarawas, I was travelling one day from one village to another, but they asked me not to go since it was going to rain. This was a bright sunny day! But it did rain within half an hour, such as their understanding of nature,” she tells The Print.

The only time mainlanders should ever consider approaching them is during natural calamities conducting rescue operations, she says.

Her remarkable research on the Jarawas, Onges and the Sentinelese have become mandated reading for any anthropologists or anyone around the world looking to study them.

Despite receiving multiple offers for research from Ivy League varsities, mitigating family circumstances compelled her to take up a job with the Government of India in the national capital.

It’s astounding, yet unfortunate that her work remains mostly forgotten in the broader public discourse even though they offer such a unique insight into these isolated, primitive tribal communities. It’s time we gave this woman her due.

(Edited by Vinayak Hegde)

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One of the things we take for granted in our lives is a library. Perhaps it is because we can find one at a stone’s throw in most cities, towns and even some villages across India.

But for the Muthuvan tribal community living in Edamalakkudy, one of the remotest hamlets in Idukki district of Kerala, the possibility of borrowing books from a library or even have one in their locality was a distant dream.

Until 2010.

That year, two things happened in the hamlet: one, Edamalakkudy became the first hamlet in Kerala to have a tribal gram panchayat and second, a ‘library’ was established at a tiny tea shop at Iruppukallu area of the hamlet.

Perhaps this is the only library in the world that you’d find in the middle of an impenetrable forested region, where one could only reach by foot till a jeep made its way to Edamalakkudy for the very first time in March this year.

With a total of 160 books when it started, this little library, quite literally in the middle of nowhere, charts a fascinating tale that revolves around the contribution and dedication of two individuals: a tea shop owner, PV Chinnathambi and a teacher, PK Muraleedharan.

Muraleedharan is no less of a living legend amidst the Muthuvans, who made Edamalakkudy his home two decades ago to make education accessible to the Adivasi community.

In conversation with The Better India (TBI), he shares the catalytic incident which led to the founding of the library.

“One of my friends, Unni Prasanth, who used to work with Akashvani and RedFM in Thiruvananthapuram, had visited us in Edamalakkudy sometime between 2009 and 2010. Lodged at Chinnathambi’s hut, we discussed the state of education here and the lack of reading habits. That was the first time the idea of creating a library here was first broached,” recalls Murali Maash, as he is known amongst the locals. (Maash is an endearment in Malayalam for teachers.)

A few months later, he shares that Unni along with his friend, BR Sumesh, a sub-editor at Kerala Kaumudi, came back with 160 books that they had collected themselves.

“Together, we carried all these books and walked to Edamalakkudy, covering several hamlets along the way. Otherwise, there was no other way to reach here. We planned to establish the library at Iruppukallu, but we had no building or even an area to set it up. That’s when Chinnathambi stepped up and offered to maintain a library in his humble tea shop,” he says.

Chinnathambi’s logic was simple. “People would come to his shop for tea and snacks and they could either read the books or borrow them at a minimal fee. Shortly after, our library took flight, with more and more people in the community visiting the shop for books and not just tea,” Murali Maash says.

Like how any library functions, this one, christened Akshara, also maintained a lending register and had a one-time membership fee of Rs 25 along with a monthly charge of Rs 2.

Interestingly, the library’s stash of books didn’t comprise of magazines or best-selling novels. Instead, there were translated literary works like Silappathikaram, other classics, political works and books authored by famous Malayalam writers including Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, MT Vasudevan Nair, Kamala Das, M Mukundan, Lalithambika Antharjanam amongst others.

How the world came to know about this small library in a rather obscure place is when a troop of journalists lead by none other than P Sainath visited Edamalakkudy.

“For them, ‘kaatil oru library’ or a ‘library in a forest’ was something unheard of and they wanted to help Chinnathambi expand the library. One of the journalists, KA Shaji, put up a Facebook post, which led to a massive collection drive for about 1,000 books. Alongside, IV Babu, Mangalam’s editor, teamed up with his friends and donated an almirah to safeguard the books,” he shares.

Until then, Chinnathambi would keep all the books in jute sacks that one usually uses to hoard coconuts or rice. However, the almirah couldn’t keep all the books together, and they had to put some of them in different boxes.

In nearly one decade of its existence, Chinnathambi, quite dejectedly, shares with us that despite being promised funding and infrastructural resources from the panchayat, he hasn’t received any support till date.

“We were told that an amount of Rs 50,000 had been earmarked and even allocated to the local body. When the library was established, we were motivated by the panchayat to keep up with the work but on loose promises that never saw the light of the day. Initially, it was easy to maintain these books at my shop, but how long can I keep doing it entirely on my own at this age,” he adds sadly.

At present, Chinnathambi is in Adimali, owing to his wife’s ill health and could only spare some time to talk to us. In the last few years, Murali Maash shares that Chinnathambi’s health has been failing. This made the former step in.

“Also, the maintenance of so many books was taking a toll on Chinnathambi. In June 2017, we moved these to the school and set up a library here. We retained the name Akshara,” he adds.

Murali Maash also adds that the local community has played a crucial role in maintaining the library and keeping it running all these years.

He mostly attributes G Raju, who is the President of the Parent Teacher Association (PTA) at the school.

“He is one of the few elderly individuals in Edamalakkudy who were lucky enough to study till high school and understands the significance of a library. Along with the PTA, he has been incredibly supportive,” he concludes.

You may also like: 50k Books, 120 School Libraries & One Big Dream You Can Make Come True!

A library might not mean a lot for most of us living in cities and towns, but for people living in the remote hamlet of Edamalakkudy, it is a privilege that is offering them a window into worlds far away from their own, thanks to people like Chinnathambi and Murali Maash.

If you wish to help Chinnathambi, you can reach out to him at 8547411084.

Courtesy: Murali Maash.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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In 1999, when 29-year-old PK Muraleedharan left for Nenmanalkudy, a tribal settlement in Kerala’s Idukki district, little did he know that his life was to change forever.

Muraleedharan was a volunteer with Kerala’s District Primary Education Project (DPEP), which had to set up Multi-Grade Learning Centres (MGLC) in remote tribal locations across the state and run these as single-teacher schools.

At that time, the only tribal LP (lower primary) school was in Edamalakkudy. It was supposed to cater to children from 28 oorugal (tribal) settlements, which were scattered across the forested region.

However, some of these settlements were so far away that it would take an entire day or two for children to travel to school. Additionally, the trail was heavily dense with wildlife which served as a major deterrent.

Taking cognisance of these issues, the state education department decided to open single teacher schools in these settlements, and Muraleedharan was one of the volunteers sent for this mission.

Nenmanalkudy was home to the Muthuvans, a reclusive tribal community known for its unwavering adherence to their ancient customs and practices. Also, the kooragal (small huts) here were scattered across a forest replete with reed bamboo and not in close vicinity of each other as observed in most tribal settlements across India.

Muraleedharan was aware of what he was getting into, but he hadn’t foreseen the many barriers that he would have to overcome.

“There were about 35 children aged between 5-15, who had no prior schooling experience. There were no infrastructural facilities, and the only available option was a small shed, which was a former granary,” recalls Muraleedharan, or Murali Maash as he is lovingly referred by the community, to The Better India.

The unavailability of a proper school building wasn’t the only problem he would face.

First, there were no teaching materials. “Let alone a blackboard, the state education department did not even allocate any notebooks or slates for the kids,” he shares. Second, the children didn’t have any clothes other than the ones they were wearing, and an inherent lack of hygienic practices was evident in their way of living.

Furthermore, they were not exposed to routine or discipline, making it impossible to get them to sit together to study.

“In the Muthuvan community, children are exposed to the wilderness from the time they are about three months old, and there is no restriction regarding movement. This makes them unaccustomed to closed spaces. So, getting them to sit together in a class was extremely difficult,” he says.

But one thing would prove to be the ultimate barrier—language.

The dialect used by the Muthavans has its roots in Tamil and is exclusive to their community.

“I’d never come across the dialect before, and apart from a few male elders, who could somewhat understand Malayalam, no one knew any language other than their own. Here I was, entrusted with the responsibility of teaching these kids, but how would that be possible when the closest we came to communication in the initial days was through improvised sign language?” he says.

To overcome this issue, instead of teaching them Malayalam, Muraleedharan decided to begin with exposing them to the importance of good hygiene and sanitary practices.

“I would take the men to the nearest stream in the forest so that they could bathe and wash their clothes. Since they had nothing else to wear, we’d wait till these dried up. That is how the initial months were,” remembers Muraleedharan.

Slowly, he started to pick up their dialect, and to familiarise the kids with Malayalam, he began to teach them songs and rhymes and make them sing along with him.

While he was hoping for a positive change, things did not go as planned. The number of children going to school kept dwindling until there were only three kids, who were all from family.

Muraleedharan couldn’t figure out what had happened, so he began visiting every single hut in the area. To his surprise, they were all empty, and there was no sign of human presence anywhere.

“After a three day investigation, I found out that the entire community had migrated to an ooru (singular for tribal settlement) named Vazhakuthu, where cardamom farming was underway. They were planning to return to Nenmanalkudy only when the harvesting was over,” says Muraleedharan.

Understanding that they had a better scope of livelihood in Vazhakuthu, Muraleedharan decided to stay on and continue his role in the new ooru. Here, he would be teaching 55 kids from both colonies.

The classes were held in a small structure named sathram, where teenage boys and unmarried and widowed men lived together.

The sanitary conditions in Vazhakuthu were the same as Nenmanalkudy, and Muraleedharan had to run through the same cleanliness initiatives as before.

His continued dedication and eagerness to learn the language eventually helped him break the ice, and he established a good rapport with the kids. He also adapted his teaching ways to suit their needs.

For example, he understood that they were not used to the four walls of a classroom, and would instead conduct lessons outside. He also began to get more involved in community activities.

As DPEP hadn’t provided these teachers with learning materials or resources, they were left to figure out innovative ways to teach the kids entirely on their own, using a monthly allowance of Rs 750.

Muraleedharan spent money from his own pocket to purchase notebooks, stationery and picture charts for them.

“The charts were all relatively new for the children, as they had never seen most of the things included in them. Slowly, we progressed to writing basic Malayalam, starting with names of things and animals around them,” he adds.

This, too, was an arduous task as there was no common ground between both tongues. So, Muraleedharan taught them how to write names of things and beings from their dialect but in the Malayalam script.

“I also got them to recite and write songs from their community, to help them present something in front of a group. Around this time, DPEP provided me with various multigrade training programmes entirely focused on teaching tribal kids from different age groups together. It wasn’t possible to follow the state syllabus here, so one had to improvise with systems like flash cards. This proved to be a rather successful methodology and became a self-teaching tool,” Muraleedharan remembers.

The mechanism also helped him differentiate between kids who were fast learners, and the ones who were not. He then made groups with mixed capacities, where quick learners would help out the late bloomers.

By then, three years had passed, and Muraleedharan became well versed with the Muthuvan dialect. This helped him bridge the gap with the womenfolk and converse with them. 

“I would speak to them about the importance of education, and how that could prevent them in so many ways. There was a time when these parents would consider these classes as a waste of time, but they eventually saw the benefits of doing so,” he adds.

However, Muraleedharan’s problems were far from over. This mode of education could never equal the teaching methods in mainstreams school or their syllabus. Another major roadblock was was that the kids were much older than their city or town counterparts.

Also, the UP (upper primary) schools were in towns like Adimali and Munnar, which required travelling for a day through the jungles on foot, and then taking a bus. The parents were simply unwilling to take the risk.

“I was adamant and wanted to help a few deserving kids progress further, so I took a risk and managed to successfully get them enrolled in a school in Adimali in 2003. I was responsible for getting them to school and home safely,” Murali remembers.

All this time, Muraleedharan lived with the Muthavans at their sathram and ate whatever they would cultivate and consume themselves, mostly including paddy and ragi.

“There was no other way because one couldn’t travel this far to the depths of the forested area on foot. However, living there helped me not just educate the young ones but also the adults and elders of the community,” he adds.

Muraleedharan also helped the tribal community become aware of the local governance system and how things worked. Seeking help at both political and government levels, he helped them get voter IDs as well as ration cards.

In 2008, the increasing wild animal attacks forced the community to move from Vazhakuthu to an area named Olakkayam. A few huts already existed there, and the children from these houses also became Muraleedharan’s students.

This move proved beneficial for the Muthuvans, in terms of a stable income. Though they were traditional farmers, they would rarely produce anything other than grains and cardamom. Thanks to Muraleedharan’s intervention, they began growing and selling pepper.

“The Employment Guarantee scheme was already functioning across the country, and I felt that it would benefit the community, so I travelled to Munnar, where I met the regional scheme coordinator. He came back with me to collect the necessary documents of all interested individuals. By this time, Kudumbashree had also spread its wings in the region and helped the women earn a livelihood through various agrarian initiatives. Things slowly began to look better for the Muthuvans,” he adds.

In 2011, Muraleedharan started an adult literacy drive wherein the children taught their elders to read and write.

During this time, Muraleedharan also penned down two books, Edamalakkudy Orrum Porulum and Gothramanasam, both of which cover the history and life of the Muthuvans in detail.

“There was no electricity in these areas. One had to walk for kilometres to purchase kerosene for lamps. So, simple hearths were what illuminated these oorugal, and I would write these books in that light. This was our life in the woods,” says Muraleedharan.

He also remembers the struggle of feeding the children during school hours. “The midday meal scheme was yet to come, and even then, it would take a long time before our children would be able to access these benefits. I took it upon myself to provide these kids with kanji (rice gruel) at noon, as most of them probably came to study on empty stomachs. It was only after 2005 that I started receiving an allowance of Rs 8 per child from the state,” he adds.

While certain aspects of the education system had significantly become better, Muraleedharan knew that there was a lot of change still needed.

It would, however, take a decade for this to happen.

In 2017, Muraleedharan and other like-minded teachers teamed up and formed a cluster of five single teacher schools in Edamalakkudy, with support from SCERT (Kerala).

“We zeroed in on the tribal community hall in the Mulagathara area, and today, four teachers (including me) run the schools. We also offer lodging to kids who can’t travel every day. They stay here from Monday to Friday and go home over the weekends,” he explains.

He further shares that this establishment has managed to progress from the initial multigrade structure to a class-like system, which follows the state syllabus for tribal schools, mainly because most kids have learnt Malayalam by now.

As they were now following the class system and lodging, the kids had to be provided with three meals and evening snacks.

“But we only had funds for midday meals. Thankfully, many of our friends, folks at SCERT as well as VV Shaji, a social activist and educationist, offered to help. In fact, Ramesh, a research officer from SCERT, became a close acquaintance. I also contributed eight months’ salary for this purpose, ” adds Muraleedharan.

Finally, the Edamalakkudy panchayat offered to help, and since January last year, the funds to provide the meals for morning and night is supplied by them. The local body also provided an amount of Rs 3.5 lakhs to upgrade the school.

“With that money, we were able to buy chairs and desks for the kids, as well as necessary resources like whiteboards, mic sets, a computer, a projector as well as a generator for the school, since electricity is still a problem here,” he proudly adds.

The school even has a library, about which you can read more here.

As for the kids who were staying at the school, Suneesh Babu, the DySP of the Janamaithri police station, and SI Fakhruddin and ASI Madhu in Munnar, provided them with mattresses and pillows.

In addition to that, they also bought bags, umbrellas, notebooks and other supplies for the kids and chairs for the teachers.

Muraleedharan says that the constant monitoring from SCERT researchers has been helpful. There is immense support from all these quarters as well as national bodies like the Child Rights Commission and the Parent-Teacher Association (PTA).

“Today, I can say that the school gives equal value to academics as well as art and cultural activities. I feel that these kids are happy and that they’re no less than any other child across the state,” he says.

As we conclude one man’s two-decade-long journey of bringing education to one of the most remote tribal regions in Kerala, we wonder about his personal life and if that ever came in the way of his selfless commitment to the cause.

“My wife was a teacher, just like me, and passionate about this cause. Sadly, she passed away in 2006. I have a son and daughter, and because of the nature of my work, I had to leave my kids with my parents in Mankulam. I visit them every month end and spend a day or two before returning to the tribal settlements. My son has just completed his degree while my daughter is in Class 8,” he informs us.

Murali Maash is no less than a living legend for the Muthuvans.

You may also like: This Dedicated IAS Officer’s Novel Ideas Are Preventing Tribal Kids From Dropping Out!

Eschewing a life of comfort, he wholeheartedly embraced uncertainty, discomfort and risks for the welfare, upliftment and most importantly, education, of an extremely reclusive tribal community who consider him as one of their own.

We salute this teacher and hope his incredible story inspires you all.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Beyond the mandate of nature conservation, forest officers often have the delicate task of balancing these elements with the interests of tribal communities who live in India’s forests.

“During the British period, the sole purpose of forest management became to redistribute economic gains in favour of the colonial empire. The whole enfolding of policy was built on economic concepts favouring higher efficiency, increased control over the people and the resource, and centralisation of power. This was achieved by commercialisation of timber, restriction of the rights of local people, and large-scale deforestation,” writes Sreejith Aravindakshan, an Erasmus Mundus Scholar, in a 2011 academic paper.

In other words, those who lived off the forest—the tribal communities, were exploited for forestry work and deprived of even basic amenities.

Post Independence, India’s record in this regard has not been great either. Making matters worse, particularly in the post-liberalisation era which has seen massive deforestation in its own right, the trouble of finding a balance between forest conservation and the rights of tribal communities to consume natural resources has become harder.

There are two ways of approaching this problem. One, you either cede more control of the forests to these tribal communities, who have always been their true guardians, or give them an alternative source of livelihood.

What if you can do both?

In the dry teak forests of Khandwa district of Madhya Pradesh, surrounded by the enchanting Satpura hills, where Gond, Korku, Bhil, Baiga and Sahariya tribal communities reside, it was SS Rawat, former Divisional Forest Officer, and now Chief Conservator of the Khandwa Circle, who helped facilitate the creation of the Skill Development Centre (SDC) at Amwalia for tribal youth in 2010.

Utilising funds from tribal sub-plan of the Madhya Pradesh government with contributions from the Centre, the SDC was set up with the objective of offering vocational training to the local tribal youth. Sanctioned in 2005-06, SDC is state-driven endeavour, that works in collaboration with a non-profit called the Self Employment Education Society (SEES), which imparts vocational training to the tribal youth across various professions.

For its services, the non-profit receives about Rs 8,000 per candidate.

“Our objective is to assist people from tribal communities, who live across 51 forest villages. Their livelihood depends on the forest. However, beyond living off the forests, why not offer them skills that could help them find work outside their villages as well. This is just to offer them an alternative source of livelihood, while they continue to life off the forest,” says SS Rawat, in a conversation with The Better India (TBI).

Alongside the Korku and Gond tribal communities who contributed much of the labour, it was the forest department that helped set up the infrastructure.

“In these forest villages, we would train the educated men to become security guards who are then deployed in the forest itself or sent out elsewhere. We even train those who want to learn driving, who are then employed by the forest department for the delivery of rural services in the adjoining villages, and help them get a driver’s licence. There is also a government scheme which helps them finance the purchases of light motor vehicles that they can use to start their own businesses.

“For the women, for example, we train them in tailoring, stitching and hairdressing, we gave them training,” he says.

The students are selected based on the recommendations of the village protection forest committees, and the local forest department passes a proposal to train. Each batch has about 30 boys and 30 girls, who are given basic training for two months, following which they are placed in different jobs. In fact, the training period extends anywhere between 35 days to 60 days based on the skills they want to learn.

Besides skills, there is additional emphasis on what local forest officials call ‘personality development’.

In it’s time, the SDC has trained over a thousand youngsters, of which 650 were boys and 450 were girls.

“It was heartening to learn that out of the 450 trained girls, 176 are working at a textile company in Bengaluru and others have taken up independent work in nearby places. One of the girls, who had come home from Bengaluru for Holi, was present with her baby during my visit and she informed me that they are provided safe accommodation, dining, crèche facilities and a good salary of more than Rs 8,500 during their initial appointment,” writes VK Bahuguna, a retired civil servant, and Chairman at Foundation for Integrated Resources Management.

Also Read: Teacher Lives in Forests For 20 Years, Uplifts One of Kerala’s Most Underprivileged Tribes!

Another textile producer in Mandideep near Bhopal recruited 450 boys as security guards. Those, who were trained in driving, are on their own and self-employed, he continues.

Despite his efforts, Chief Conservator Rawat is quick to give credit for the idea of setting up a skill development centre to a former cabinet minister of Madhya Pradesh government. However, it was Rawat, who played an integral role in ensuring that this skill development centre saw the light of day. The forest department in Khandwa has gone about their business without too much fanfare.

Having said that, more can be done, particularly in terms of expanding the number of trades taught here. Besides, a greater emphasis must be laid on livestock and horticulture development, and that will need more financial assistance.

In a nutshell, the implementation of such modules sends out a larger message to our planners to reshape developmental programmes by interlinking conservation of forests with income-generation and growth of primary sector activities through infusion of technology. Emphasis of forest management should be on conserving the forests, soil moisture and bio-diversity and making people less dependent on forests through such activities that ultimately not only lead to better livelihood but can help in climate change mitigation and adaptation on broader scale by covering the entire landscape, adds Bahuguna.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Draupadi Waghmare, a resident of Khalapur in Raigad begins each day at 5 am to make sure she gets the freshest vegetables for her regular customers.

After preparing lunch for her children, the ‘bhaajiwaali’ (Marathi for vegetable vendor) treks her way to a sabzi mandi or vegetable market and spends her morning choosing the best produce that she can get. Around noon she begins her daily rounds in the village selling vegetables and within a couple of hours her cart becomes empty.

By the time Draupadi wraps up her work, her kids are back from school. Though she cannot read or write, the single mother spends the evening monitoring whether her children are revising what they learnt in school.

She earns around Rs 20,000 every month from selling vegetables and has repaid half of the loan that her late husband had taken. She hopes to repay all the debt in the next couple of months.

To put things in perspective, she now has her own house, a stable source of income and children who study in school.

However, Draupadi’s situation in 2018 was completely different after her husband succumbed to tuberculosis. He was a daily wage labourer and had taken a loan of Rs 20,000 from a fellow villager. For his cremation she was forced to borrow another Rs 5,000.

Just when life was going downhill, Bhagwan Sawant and his wife Poonam came into the picture to solve her problems.

The husband-wife duo run an NGO, Jan Kalyan Sanstha, that works towards empowering the tribal (adivasi) community in four talukas of Raigad district namely Karjat, Khalapur, Pali and Sudhagad.

To begin with, the couple helped Draupadi get a tribal caste certificate. Under the Pradhan Mantri Awaas Yojana (Gramin), the government gives Rs 1.25 lakhs to adivasis to build a pucca house. Meanwhile, the State Tribal Development Department (TBB) gives Rs 25,000 to widows for starting a small-time business under the Tribal Sub Plan’s special scheme, the Nucleus Budget.

Draupadi judiciously utilised both schemes and started afresh. Meanwhile, Bhagwan solicited the help of the Mumbai-based Rajani Foundation to sponsor her children’s education.

Draupadi is one of the many beneficiaries who has used the existing government schemes to make life better.

Having been born and raised in the tribal community, Bhagwan always wanted to emancipate his people. Though his primary source of income is farming, Bhagwan has been working in the social sector since 2009, and finally in 2015, started his own foundation.

Speaking exclusively to The Better India (TBI), he says, 

While growing up, I noticed the difference between being literate and being educated. Literacy is of no use if you cannot benefit from government provisions made specially for us. Issues like education, health, housing can be resolved just by procuring a tribal certificate from the gram panchayat. And for this, education and awareness is important.

He further adds, “We often tend to ignore speeches where our politicians talk about various schemes. Some wrong perceptions of using these schemes are the innumerable visits to the government offices and standing in long queues. However, with the right procedure, it does not take much time.”

Most of the people residing in tribal hamlets are daily wage labourers earning up to Rs 300 per day. Hence, when there is an unforeseen situation, wedding or any occasion that requires a huge sum, they borrow money.

Most of the tribals are brick workers who sit at home for four months during the monsoon season. This further escalates their poverty. Children are forced to drop out of schools and work when parents cannot repay the debt or cannot afford even one meal a day, says the 34-year-old.  

As for Poonam, she has studied till class ten post which she moved to Khalapur to join an NGO, “I always wanted to help the needy so I volunteered with Pravaha NGO where I met Bhagwan,” she tells TBI. She is now a part-time tailor and helps Bhagwan to spread awareness.

Here are some other government and non-government schemes that the couple is using to change lives:

Caste Certificate

The duo has helped 219 tribals across four talukas in procuring the tribal certificate. Poonam has been leading the awareness programmes on the certificate. “When you educate a woman, you educate an entire family,” she quotes the famous African proverb.

From time to time, she holds discussions with the women from every tribal village and tells them about multiple benefits that can only be availed with the help of the certificate.

Health

Having worked with other NGOs in the past, Bhagwan has a strong network that involve experts of various subjects. He pulled a few strings and got MGM Medical College & Hospital on board.

Around 15 doctors visit Raigad once in a year and organise health camps for the tribals. From checking diabetes, HIV, Blood Pressure to even conducting ECGs, free tests and medicines are given to the people.

In case if anyone gets detected with a serious illness like HIV, then the couple avails the Mahatma Jyotiba Phule Jan Arogya Yojana. Under this scheme the yellow ration card holders can get an insurance of Rs 1.5 lakh rupees. Their treatment and medicines are covered under this scheme.

Last year, a cataract camp was also organised and around 14 elders were treated for free by a Panvel-based eye clinic.

Sanjay Gandhi Niradhar Anudan Yojana

This scheme is applicable to:

-destitute persons below 65 years of age

-orphaned children

-all types of disabled people; people suffering with critical illnesses

-destitute windows including those of farmers who committed suicide

-destitute divorced women or women who are in the midst of a divorce and

-outraged women and women freed from prostitution.

Under this scheme, Rs. 600 per month is given to a single beneficiary and Rs. 900 per month if there are two or more beneficiaries in the family. In case of an early death, the wife is eligible to Rs 25,000, says Poonam.

Around 52 women and 15 people with a disability have benefited from this scheme.

Education

Under the Suvarna Mahotsavi Pre Matric Scholarship, tribal children studying between class 1 and 10 are provided financial assistance to fulfil their minor educational needs. Depending on the class, the students are given Rs 1,000 to Rs 2,000 every year.

41 tribal children were enrolled in school by the couple via this scheme, “Parents’ main motivation is the money. The government introduced it to put an end to child labour. This scheme is one of the path-breaking schemes that can uplift the future generations,” says Poonam.

The couple has reached out to more than 1,500 tribals and benefited close to 100 families with government schemes.

While the impact figure may seem huge, the challenges and difficulties have been innumerable.

From convincing the tribals that the NGO is working to empower them to the many trips to government offices to avail schemes, the couple has been running from pillar to post since the last four years.

Building trust was the most difficult part. It took us a lot of months to break into their social circle but it was all worth it. Our reward is seeing them benefit from these schemes. We will continue our mission for as long as we can, the couple signs off.

Also Read: Couple Began Hospital in a Hut 25 Years Ago, Now Treats Over 1 Lakh Tribals Every Year

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Abujhmad forest in Chhattisgarh is considered to be one of the most unknown and disconnected regions in the world. Even after 72 years of Independence, it does not have a revenue map or civil administration. The presence of Maoists is so strong, that even the government has only been able to get a partial control of the region.

Many backward communities across India who are highly talented and artistic still struggle to meet ends. Check out some of the best indegenious products created by them at The Better India Shop here. 

The hilly area is home to indigenous tribes like Gond, Muria, Abuj Maria, and Halbaas and comprises Narayanpur, Bijapur and Dantewada districts.

In terms of basic facilities, there is no public transport except the four buses that run along the 66 kilometre stretch between the district headquarters in Narayanpur and the Orcha gram panchayat. As for connectivity, the interiors of the forest have no roads and phone connections are available only in certain areas.

It is only in the recent past that the state government has increased the number of police officers in the maoist-affected area.

Since Orcha is less dangerous compared to other areas and is also the block headquarters, a market is held every Wednesday, when most people have to walk for hours.

Due to maoist insurgency, the only Jan Aushadhi Kendra that provided medicines at affordable prices in Orcha, was forced to shut down a few months ago. This meant that people would have to travel for 70 kilometres to procure medicines.

Against this backdrop, a 23-year-old girl dared to take charge and give people access to medicines and other daily items like toothpaste and sanitary napkins.

On April 13, Kirta Dorpa of Muria tribe opened a medical store, giving a much-needed relief to families in Orcha and neighbouring villages.

Her courage stemmed from her stint with the UNICEF in 2014. After completing class 12, she had to drop out of school due to financial constraints. It was during the same time when UNICEF volunteers were spreading awareness about malnutrition in the region. Kirta became a translator for the volunteers and travelled extensively to more than 70+ villages.

Speaking exclusively to The Better India, Kirta says:

I came across local issues like malnutrition, poverty, lack of basic healthcare, and nutrition when I visited the villages. It did not make sense to me when these people, who can barely afford a four square meal, travelled for many kilometres only to buy a Rs 20 medicine.

When Kirta expressed the idea of opening a medical store, her brother, Dr Sukhram Dorpa, encouraged her to present a proposal to the village authorities. Sarpanches and locals came on board, encouraging her to open the store.

Her brother, who works in a clinic, financed her project and helped her get in touch with pharmacies in Raipur to supply the medicines.

As per the needs, she updates the stock every month and asks for the prescription for heavy dose medicines. The store is open for 12 hours and gets 15-20 customers daily.

What’s more? Kirta who couldn’t go to college, now earns up to Rs 2,000 every month.

While the locals are happy to get a medical store, my parents are proud of me as I am contributing financially. So far, there has been no backlash and it is safe enough for me to run the store. This has given me the confidence of opening more medical shops in other areas of the region, she says.

Anand Ram Gota, Chief Medical Officer, Narayanpur district, is all praises for the young woman who did what no one else in the region would.

“It takes a lot of courage to even think of running a store in an area where violence could break out any time. Malaria, diarrhea and skin infections are very common in Abujhmad and getting medicines for them on time is crucial. She is an inspiration for us and the villagers,” he tells The Better India.

We, at The Better India, cannot agree more. Kirta’s efforts will save money, time, and even lives!

Also Read: No 15 km Treks For a Doctor: Man Gives An Uttarakhand Valley Its 1st Health Centre

(Edited by Shruti Singhal)

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Have you ever heard of a tribe in which the women get married only when they are about six months pregnant?

Will you be surprised to know that this tribe, named Toda, is known to follow polyandry and is located in the Nilgiris, a district in the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu?

With this unique, three-day travel experience, explore the Nilgiris in its truest form for just Rs. 20,125. Book now at The Better India Shop.

One usually associates the Nilgiris with beautiful mountains, tea estates, and a weekend getaway. What gets overlooked is the vast culture, tradition, and the richness that the people of the place bring forth.

Maria Victor, the founder of Make it Happen, an experiential holiday curating company, speaks to us about how the district has so much more to offer to travellers who are willing to look beyond the scenic landscape and cushy hotel rooms.

“The underlying theme of most our tours is to promote sustainable living and bring our guests face-to-face with the ill-effects of over-consumerism, thus encouraging them to adopt a more organic lifestyle. We are really big on ensuring that each of our guests gets to experience the place like a local, and we also try and nurture inter-cultural understanding and bringing about respect amongst these diverse cultures,” says Maria as we begin our conversation.

In the Nilgiris, there are two tribal communities that Maria and her team help their guests experience—the Todas and the Kurumbas.

“These tribes have their own unique ethos and customs,” she mentions.

Maria started Make it Happen as a hobby travel club in 2011, with the intent to change how people view holidays. In 2014 she quit her corporate job and plunged into this full time, and the company was officially set up in 2017.

Her husband, Murali Shankaran, also joined her, and today, the team consists of 6 employees and 25 different hosts from across India.

So what do these holidays entail?

While guests will get to experience all the ‘touristy’ aspects of the region, like visiting a tea estate and taking in the scenic beauty they will also get to spend quality time with the members of the Toda and Kurumba tribes.

Additionally, as part of the trail, guests are taken to visit one of the last surviving artists of the Kurumba tribe who lives in a hamlet within the forest. She says, “He conducts workshops and teaches the guests to paint with paints made from forest gatherings. This gives him a sense of pride in his community and the work he does.”

‘Maria says, “It opens you up to a world which you are completely unaware of. In all our curated holidays there is a lot of interaction and exchange of ideas between the guests and the locals.”

What impact does this sort of travel create?

“Speaking from what we have seen, this kind of curated travel helps in introducing people to local communities; it also creates a platform for the local community to showcase their art, local skills, and culture to the rest of the world. We see that this creates a sense of pride in them,” explains Maria.

Besides exposing both the guests and community members to a different sort of experience, Maria mentions that periodic training programmes are held for the communities to help them showcase and market their skills and history better.

She says, “Very often while they have all the knowledge of what and how things are done, they are unable to convey the same to the guests. We have seen that the training programmes gives them the confidence that they sometimes lack. What Make it Happen also does is create various employment opportunities for the local communities; whether it is by showcasing the art work does by the members or other handicrafts,” she says.

The Nilgiris tour, known as the ‘Mystical Nilgiris trail’ is a fairly recent launch, but Maria says that the number of people who have visited the region is slowly increasing, and the team is taking this as an encouraging sign.

“A group of students recently visited the Toda village, and each of them came back with a wealth of knowledge that no book or class could have ever provided them.”

“There is still so much that even anthropologists who have been researching them, haven’t yet uncovered, and therefore, the trip becomes even more fascinating,” says Maria.

Concluding our conversation, I ask what sustainable travelling means to her. Maria says, “First and foremost there must be economic benefits to the community you are visiting. While there will be a lot that the guests take away from their trip, it must also be enriching for the host communities.”

With this unique, three-day travel experience, explore the Nilgiris in its truest form for just Rs. 20,125. Book now at The Better India Shop.

She also mentions small efforts like refusing plastic bottles and plastic bags while travelling, carrying recyclable cloth bags, ensuring that one does not litter while on tour, are all ways by which we can become conscious travellers.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Santhali (Santali), a tribal language primarily spoken in India, Bangladesh and Nepal, received global recognition when it got a Wikipedia edition in its own script, earlier this month. Spoken by over 6.4 million people in the states of Jharkhand, West Bengal, Odisha and Assam, efforts to bring Santhali to the mainstream were going on, even before the Wikipedia page went live.

The initiative to get a Santhali edition for Wikipedia, began six years ago, in 2012. Workshops were held to make people aware of the language, but the initiative had to be paused because of a lack of contributors. The Bangladesh chapter of Wikipedia restarted efforts towards opening a Santhali Wikipedia page, last year, in September.

This time, contributors from India, Bangladesh and Nepal stepped forward, and the project was a success.

Santhali, written in the Ol Chiki script currently has content of about 70,000 words. Jayanta Nath, who works for the Indian chapter of Wikimedia Foundation told the Hindustan Times, “The Santhali Wikipedia got approval from the language committee of the Wikimedia Foundation on June 28 and went live on August 2.”

The home page of Santhali Wikipedia features an article on Raghunath Murmu—the inventor of the Ol Chiki script.

Scheduled languages like Dogri, Bodo and Manipuri have no Wikipedia versions. Assamese does but in the Bengali script. Speakers of Santhali hope that this initiative brings more importance to the language and that it is preserved over generations.

You may also like: Tigers, Tribals & Volleyball: Melghat Is Hosting A Sports Event Unlike Any Other!

Shikha Mandi, a radio jockey, became India’s first to host a show in the language in November 2017. Pashupati Prasad Mahato, an anthropologist, told HT, “The scope of higher education in Santhali is increasing over the past few years. Coming at this juncture, this will increase the scope of reading in Ol Chiki script and enthuse Santhali speakers to pursue higher education in their mother tongue.”

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Judhaiya Bai Baiga’s painting recently travelled all the way to a Milan exhibition in Italy and was sold instantly. This was not the first time Baiga’s painting was displayed in an exhibition along with paintings of other talented artists.

A resident of Lorha village in Madhya Pradesh, 80-year-old Baiga who belongs to a tribal community, has the distinction of seeing her art travelling to several art galleries in India and abroad.

If, at her advanced age, her paintings are appreciated by people, it’s because she knows that an artist can never claim perfection, but always aspire to better their art.

Become the proud owner of a small part of India’s rich cultural heritage. Check out these beautiful paintings inspired by indigenous tribal communities here. 

“Age or fame has nothing to do with the errors. Perfecting any art is a myth as there is always scope for improvement,” Baiga repeats the sentence from the other end of the phone in case the message was not heard.

Despite being a Diwali week, Baiga is kind enough to oblige for an interview. The excitement to share tales of her village and paintings is clearly evident in her voice.

When asked how she feels about getting international recognition, she says, “It has not changed my life as such. But yes, a change can be seen as more and more women, including my daughter-in-law are taking an interest in painting. Some of these women always wanted to paint but did not have avenues back then.”

How Age Worked In Baiga’s Favour

Baiga belongs to a tribal community heavily dependent on forest resources for their livelihood and some engage in menial jobs. Education, roads and employment are still to reach the interiors of the region.

She lost her husband when she turned 40 and now lives with her two sons. Her only daughter is now married.

Baiga decided to start her second innings with a colourful attitude, literally.

Happy in their world, her community loves to dress in the brightest and most colourful clothes and lead life with the belief that there is no substitute to hard work.

This is probably the reason why Baiga took up painting at 70, an age when most people retire and indulge in rest. But Baiga, who worked in the fields for most of her life, finds relaxation in painting.

“Painting takes me to another world where I am as free as a bird. When I learnt about a teacher who is willing to teach for free in our village, I decided to give painting a try, something I was never interested in. Yet, on the very first day, I found my passion,” says Baiga.

She joined Ashish Swami, a well-known art teacher and an alumnus of Shantiniketan, West Bengal. He runs his studio ‘Jangan Tasweerkhana’ in several tribal belts of Madhya Pradesh to prevent local cultures and traditions from becoming extinct.

“We have such rich cultures across India that are on the verge of dying. Painting is an effective means to save them. By articulating the local practices or customs in paintings, we can also tell other people about local traditions,” Swami tells TBI.

Almost a decade ago, Swami opened a studio in a small room of Baiga’s village. He teaches painting for free and also helps them get fair monetary value through art dealings. Close to 15 local women have been a part of Swami’s classes for the past ten years.

Swami, particularly enjoys teaching people from Lorha village because of their peculiar imagination that colours the canvas.

“Even if they draw something as basic as a tree, their outlook is so different from the rest. They manage to capture innocence in wild animals and serenity in clouds. Their definition of a perfect nature lies in the harmony or co-existence between trees, birds, animals, water bodies and humans,” he explains.

Initially, Baiga and Swami would be happy with whatever amount the painting would be sold at. But soon, they realised the value of the paintings and stood firm on their quotations.

“Paintings are sold on craft and not on how creative they are. We are trying to change that and promote creativity by taking the painters to exhibitions that take place across India. Currently, paintings by Baiga are valued anything between Rs 300 to Rs 8,000,” he says.

While Baiga is content with the money her paintings are making, it is not the motivating factor behind her passion. For Baiga, its her way of putting her village on the global map and keeping traditions alive.

People like Baiga prove that there is no age to learning, and even nature can educate, one only has to be receptive.

Also Read: TBI Blogs: This Couple Is Trying to Preserve Telangana’s Fascinating Cheriyal Scroll Paintings

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps, the quaint 3,000-acre Aarey Milk Colony of Mumbai lies in a world of its own. Flanked by the green belt of Aarey forest, the colony is home to nearly 8,000 men, women and children belonging to the tribal communities of Maharashtra. Spread across 27 padas (hamlets), people from the Warli, Kokna, Mallar Koli, Katkari and several other indigenous tribes residing in the Aarey Colony strive to keep their traditions, cuisine and culture alive, amid the encroaching urbanisation.

The Better India spoke to Prakash Bhoir, a prominent tribal activist from Aarey to know more about their way of life.

“Traditionally, we procure all our dietary ingredients from the forest. Now, we grow paddy, some vegetables and fruits like banana, guava, jackfruit, mango, Sapodilla (Chikoo) etc. In fact, I myself might have planted over 500 fruit trees around my home which provide for a lot of families.”

Decorate your living room with this Warli art vase designed by rural artisans

The walls, floors and ceilings of the Bhoir household is adorned by intricate Warli paintings since his daughter, Shital Bhoir, is a skilled Warli artist – upholding one of India’s primitive art forms in the best possible ways. Her adept skills are evident from her Warli artworks on walls, canvas, paper and even dried wild mushrooms!

Art, craft, music, and cuisine — all the fine things of life in the Aarey Colony stem from their traditional roots of wisdom that flows from generation to generation. Prakash gets nostalgic recounting his childhood, a time when basic necessities of modern civilisation like calendars, clocks or televisions had not made their way into the Aarey colony.

“My mother and other women would rehearse songs while toiling on the paddy fields, that’s how we would sense that the festive season is near.”

Aarey Colony and their Gastronomical Art

Fresh jheenga (shrimps) from the river, soft bamboo shoots from the forest, a tinge of salt, turmeric, few cloves of garlic and the quintessential tamarind water – that’s all is needed to churn out vaste or vaskal, an ancient recipe of Aarey forests.

This is one of the many hundreds of minimalistic forest-based recipes from the Aarey tribal kitchen. Interestingly, tamarind is an indispensable ingredient in their recipes, since the fruit is abundantly available in the wilderness. The soupy texture of tamarind water mixed with some condiments serve as a substitute for ‘dal’, as pulses are often expensive.

Karande, a locally-sourced aerial yam is also a favourite staple, though its proper preparation demands strict adherence to the traditional style. Unless cooked overnight on coal, karande might be too bitter to consume. The first harvest of karande every year is offered to the god during Diwali.

Incidentally, Prakash Bhoir’s son, Shyam Bhoir, has taken up the initiative to present their indigenous recipes to the world through YouTube, in collaboration with the social media platforms – Adivasi Lives Matter and Qisa Labs. In his recent video, he has shared snippets about the Kadha (Adosa/Adulsa) leaves – a potent herbal cure for the common cold and cough.

Aarey Colony—A history

Once upon a time, before the ever-expanding Mumbai city spilled over onto its surrounding lands, Aarey was a dense forest inhabited by tribal communities, living in perfect harmony with the beasts and birds of the jungle. Since they were not essentially cultivators, they sourced most of their food from the wild— fruits, vegetables, tubers and herbs. The fish, shrimp and prawns thriving in the adjacent Oshiwara river also featured steadily on their platters. Alongside, the forested communities often reared poultry and goats.

The Aarey Milk Colony was officially established in the year 1949 by the then Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, based on the ideas of Mr Dara Khurody who pioneered the white revolution in Mumbai. At that time, some of the tribal settlements were displaced to set up dairy farms, but the affected tribal people were compensated with jobs at the farms and factories.

However, over time, urbanisation penetrated into the pristine Aarey colony to accommodate the exponential expansion of Mumbai. Slowly, the deciduous forests and lands, which once solely belonged to the tribal communities, were utilised for various purposes – ranging from a Film City to metro railway projects.

The Carefree Way of Life

At present, though the Aarey Milk Colony spreads over 3165 acres, only a small percentage of it is inhabited by the tribals. But, amidst the hullabaloo of a thriving city around, the Aarey tribals still cherish the rustle of fallen leaves, the rustic drum beats on an autumn evening or the tangy sting of tamarind with their Bombil fish fry (Bombay duck).

The Aarey tribal festivals are drastically different from any known religious or cultural festival of India. Unlike other known religious sects, these people are nature-worshippers – Vagh Baras (which celebrates the power of tiger), and Gaon Devi puja (the Goddess of villages) are some of their main festivities.

They also organise one annual programme which particularly hail all aspects of their culture, heritage, language, attire, music and dance, and most definitely, the food.

Even in the face of ongoing controversy with Aarey Forests and the looming fear of encroachment, the tribal families of Aarey ensure to celebrate their distinguished culture and pass it on to the younger generations.

“We are not poor. Maybe we do not have enough in monetary terms, but we are enriched by the blessings of nature,” says Prakash Bhoir.

Also Read: 80-YO Tribal Woman Learnt Painting At 70. Today Her Art Sells In Milan & Paris!

Picture Courtesy: Ankush Vengurlekar

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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“One of the main problems with the common development paradigm is that Adivasis are considered underdeveloped. People do not recognise that their prosperity lies in their unique lifestyle and world views. That is why the government and the NGOs tried to intervene and impose modern-day practices on them. The result was appalling,” reveals Debjeet Sarangi from Living Farms, a non-profit organisation helping Kondhs in Rayagada to uphold their unique culture since 2008.

Flaunt this beautiful bamboo necklace and earrings, handcrafted by tribal artisans of Bengal

Much like the iconic Chipko movement, despite threats of imprisonment, repeated interventions from the forest department, and the ever-present pressure to give into the so-called ‘modern’ methods of cultivation, the Kondhs stayed unflinching on their resolution – to bring back their forests and way of life.

Living Farms has helped the Kondhs in over 800 villages of Rayagada in their struggle against the invasion of modernity. Gradually, the expanse of the movement spread like wildfire all over Rayagada, bringing 1,06,000 Adivasi and Dalit households in 2000 villages under its ambit.

The Kondhs and Their Way of Life

Just like the majority of Kondhs, Landi Sikoka and Tulasa Kurangalika from Khalpadar village have little idea what ‘global warming’ means. There is perhaps no translation for the term in ‘Kui’—their native tongue. But, their plates are vibrant with rich and healthy forest harvest, their homes are abodes of peace, their air fresh with the musty petrichor after rains.

The Kondhs lead a sustainable lifestyle—in perfect harmony with nature—teaches a lot to the modern generation, bearing the brunts of its mindless consumption.

The southern hinterlands of the coastal state is lined by a thick foliage of tropical forests, inhabited by wild beasts, birds and the Kondh community. Their quaint huts of mud and thatch are never huddled together to delineate a settlement, rather they build their homes in groups of few at naturally-secured locations, like atop a hillock or beside one.

Accustomed to the traditional livelihood of hunting-gathering, the Kondhs were never rigid cultivators, but the passing years saw them practising dongar cultivation (shifting agriculture) of vegetables, fruits, grains and leaves that constitute their traditional diet.

They periodically clear patches of forests to make way for seasonal farming.

“On these plots of lands, manually-run implements are used, for multiple millets-based crops that cover millets, oilseeds and pulses needed for subsistence of the household,” social activist Kavitha Kuruganti describes about the Kondh style of agriculture.

Keeping the Traditions Alive

Among the community, the traditional practice of game hunting had faded through the ages, but forest gathering of fruits, berries, mushrooms, tubers, leafy greens, bamboo shoots etc. still continued, which actually defined their characteristic cuisine.

Living on the ideals of sundi (trust) and mitho (friendship), the minimalistic lifestyle of the Kondhs is characterised by beautiful customs that brings the Kutumb (community) together.

“When a newly married couple wants to set up a house of their own, the entire village would help them in building their house, without expecting any wages,” informs Kuruganti, for instance.

She also states how women enjoy greater autonomy among the Kondhs than any other aboriginal communities, as they remain at the forefront of their contact with the outer world. Be it trading at local haat (market) or choosing their life partners independently, Kondh women exercise ample independence.

From granary banks to village funds in kind (seeds, grains, even domestic animals) – the Kondh economy was least dependent on paper currencies. In fact, the older generation might even have never held money in their hands. They had always been content with their traditional economic structure, without any influence of the rapidly changing outer world.

When Modern Ways Intervene

However, things slowly started to change. The government intervened in their lives, so did several non-profit organisations. The flawed notion was that these Adivasis were ‘backward’, ‘poor’ and ‘illiterate’.

The community faced the infiltration of modernity in several aspects, especially agriculture. Accustomed to sourcing nearly 275 varieties of wild fruits, vegetables and herbs from the jungles, the Kondhs were suddenly instructed to practise monoculture of crops like paddy, a practice alien to them.

“A government agricultural scheme designed keeping a Punjab farmer in mind will never work for the Adivasis. The imposition of monoculture cropping by forest officials reflected badly in the health of the tribals as their dietary diversity disappeared,” shares Sarangi.

The intention was good, the execution was bad. Both the government and the non-government entities failed to understand and relate with the Kondh culture and compelled them to resort to mainstream habits. “If one crop failed, the people now had no alternatives on their plates,” says Sarangi, explaining the drawbacks of monoculture.

“The diversified food basket thereby provides a vital safety net against hunger, increasing crop failures caused by climate change, erratic rainfall, mounting ecological degradation including water scarcity, and depleted soils,” describes a Living Farms representative.

There were additional issues as well. For instance, the Kondhs had inherently been patrons of 100 per cent organic farming. But now, chemical fertilisers and pesticides were handed over to them to support the singular crops. This inevitably ruined the soil richness of the forested zones, which once used to be hotspots of flora biodiversity.

Also, they were now forced to diverge from their internally sustainable economy, as they ventured into the towns and cities to source the chemicals. The hefty investment cost was an additional woe.

The natural forests comprised a rich trove of mangoes, Jamun, jackfruit, tamarind, berries etc. But officials coerced them into replacing their orchards with cash-yielding trees like teak and eucalyptus. The forest department even cleared out parts of the natural forests to make way for these ‘profitable’ plantations.

Kondh youngsters, who ventured outside for education or employment brought back instant noodles or soya nuggets with them – foods which were gravely detested by the community leaders. They yearned for the forest to be back on their plates. And when the authorities threatened or warned them with consequences, they countered back with their silent protests.

Taking Back the Forests

Women, once again, pioneered the Kondh war against modernity by leading resistance movements in many villages. Farmers decided to refrain from chemical agriculture and monocropping. They stopped sowing hybrid ‘corporate’ seeds and reseeded their mandua (finger millets).

The farmers refused to cower down to the forest officials and stopped their natural forests from being destroyed further. They had seen in their neighbouring villages how these economic plantations destroy the forest’s sanctity and degrade soil quality. They would not let the same happen to their own zones.

The men, women and children from every family worked on a war footing to replant, restore and replenish the beauty of their aboriginal mother – the jungle.

The results have been exceedingly prominent in the past five years, with the forests once again glistening with vibrant colours and a captivating aura. Their plates are once again ‘full’ with bounty from the forest.

Living Farms continue to conduct local food festivals and workshop to showcase the beauty of the Kondh culture. They predominantly focus on a deep sense of respect for the community and keeping their dying traditions alive. Their support programmes are designed with the basic aim of retaining the communitarian fabric of Kondh society, while also introducing them with the indispensable aspect of modernity.

Even after sustained and cumulative resistance from the locals, self-appointed “saviours” still continue trying to ‘reform’ them. And thus the Kondh’s struggle to combat such imposition persists parallelly. Amid the disappearing diversity and rampant cultural appropriation in India, the unknown story of the Kondhs will remain a glorious chapter.

Also Read: Warli Art on Dried Mushrooms? Peek Inside a Unique Tribal Hamlet in Mumbai’s Aarey

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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“Every time you eat food, you are not just tasting the dish, but also experiencing the culture of its source community and its evolution. It is true when they say that food indeed is a mirror to the society,” shares Aruna Tirkey, explaining her deep relationship with food that led her to start a unique project, Ajam Emba.

Tucked away on the sidelines of the busy Kanke road, in Ranchi, Ajam Emba, which means tasty and healthy food in Kudukh, the language spoken by the Oraon people, looks and feels like a regular restaurant.

However, there is more to this unassuming place than meets the eye.

Back To The Roots

From preparing forgotten indigenous recipes to cooking in earthen pots over wood fires, and serving on leaves of native plants, Ajam Emba is trying to revive the lesser-known sustainable and simple rural life of the hinterlands, at the heart of Jharkhand’s capital.

It wouldn’t be far off the mark to call it a museum of the region’s culinary culture, but unlike most museums, you can touch it all and eat it too.

Aruna is a former rural development professional, who started this restaurant-and-catering company hoping to popularise India’s tribal cuisines and indigenous flavours among the urban populace.

“My former career took me to remote areas across different parts of India, where I was exposed to the growing disintegration of tribal food culture. It was painful to see this, and I decided to do something about it. As Jharkhand is my home, I decided to begin from here itself,” says Aruna.

She slowly shifted her focus towards the revival of indigenous food through participating in fairs, exhibitions, school demonstration, and even setting up roadside stalls. This went on for five years before she opened Ajam Embe in 2018.

Whether it is the fermented rice tea or traditional delicacies like sanei phool, jute flower curry, or marh jhor—herbs cooked in the starch of brown rice—all the dishes on the carefully curated menu are unique and authentic.

A Movement in a Bite

A native of Jharkhand’s indigenous Oraon community, Aruna shares how she grew up eating millet as a staple grain. The gradual transition to rice and wheat also affected the community and endangered many of their heirloom recipes.

“My parents were school teachers, and I am one of the 12 children they had. Both of them slogged hard to raise a large family, so eating local food based on the use of local resources was an affordable and healthy option for us,” she adds.

After years of being ignored and labelled as food fit for animals, millet is back. However, its revival is tinged with a hint of sadness for Aruna because she believes that it is not the food for the masses anymore.

“Although urban supermarkets are advertising it as an organic and healthy alternative, the steep prices make it inaccessible, which on a larger scale might curtail its comeback. Ajam Emba, at this juncture, is a step to bridge that gap,” she mentions.

As mentioned earlier, Ajam Emba is also a social project whereby Aruna and her team not only research and revive lost recipes but also teach the staff, all of whom come from various tribal communities, to cook them properly.

“In the indigenous societies of Jharkhand, women play an important role in the production process and economic activities, but with little or no recognition. So,  we don’t just employ women but ensure that they receive adequate training on how to cook these recipes. Being a chef or a kitchen worker gives them a sense of dignity and pride and breaks open their barriers,” she says.

Furthermore, their quest to serve authentic food also involves sourcing the lesser-known regional ingredients and organic supplies directly from the source.

For instance, all the non-veg dishes are cooked using desi or local chicken instead of the industrially farmed chickens.

“Not only does it enhance the flavour and its health benefits of the food, but it also ensures the communities get their deserved due, without any middlemen. We have linked up with at least 30 farmers practising traditional farming or forest produce collectors who are getting a fair price for their produce. We have also started working with NGOs and individuals to support backend rural suppliers/ producers/collectors. This is to reach out better income to more communities and promote sustainable production and harvesting of natural produce,” adds Aruna, who has priced every single dish at a reasonable rate going as high as Rs 300.

You favourite snack, with a twist!

For anyone who is on a pursuit to taste exotic and new flavours, Ajam Emba provides plenty. And now, in addition to authentic tribal dishes, they have also begun to serve popular dishes with an indigenous and healthy twist.

Aruna says that this has not only helped them expand culinary boundaries but has also encouraged young people to take notice.

One of those dishes is the millet momo, inspired by the popular flour dumplings native to the Himalayan regions.

“Everyone loves momos, and you can find food stalls selling them in practically every corner of the city. We decided to give it a healthy twist by using madua or finger millet to make them, in place of maida or flour. And now it is one of the most sought-out dishes here!” she shares in a video.

Fighting several layers of social barriers, Aruna has finally arrived at a point where her work is positively impacting hundreds of families across Jharkhand. A true inspiration for her community as well as the country, she believes this venture to be just the beginning to a larger socio-economic movement.

Also Read: Tracing Uttarakhand’s Ancient Tradition of Making Flavoured Pahadi Salts by Hand!

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Two years into their corporate career, engineering graduates, Anurag and Shikha Jain, decided to quit their jobs to start their own venture. Today, their company is a national award-winning enterprise empowering thousands of farmers and women from rural communities.

“Ever since college, Anurag and I wanted to lead a life of ‘self-enquiry’, to get to know ourselves better and do something more worthwhile,” says Shikha. “At the same time, we wanted to support ourselves. After quitting our jobs, we reached out to many NGOs and foundations,” she adds.

And thus began the couple’s journey of improving the lives of rural children and women.

With the vision to empower the rural communities in India, the couple started the NEEV trust (New Education and Environmental Vision) in 2006 in a village in Jharkhand. In a span of 4 years, they reached out to different organisations to collaborate for various ventures and set up around six learning centres, a Tuberculosis and a leprosy health centre across the state.

“We also conducted health camps within the state which catered to around 300-500 patients and collaborated with hospitals in Jharkhand to provide free medicines and treatment to patients. We also reached out to around 600 farmers, providing them with training and employment opportunities,” says Shikha

Neev Natural Handmade Soaps

Despite all their efforts, the couple felt that they were not able to solve anything permanently for the underprivileged. They then thought of conducting workshops to upskill rural women in the art fo natural soap-making.

“We decided to conduct soap-making workshops for the women of the tribal community in the village, Hurling, Jharkhand. I myself didn’t know how to make soaps, so I joined these women and slowly we understood the art of soap-making,” Shikha explains. This later expanded and soon became ‘NEEV Herbal Handmade Soaps.

When the couple started selling the soaps, they were pleasantly surprised at the kind of response their product received. The soaps started selling so quickly that they had to hire more women at the production unit. Today, NEEV has expanded their range of products to creams, face masks, scrubs etc.

Registered under the Khadi Village Industries Commission, the company mainly aims to empower women from rural communities through employment opportunities and at the same time produce something that is beneficial to the planet and society at large.

Transparent and Natural Process

Neev soaps are made with vegetable (coconut, castor, olive and mahua) and essential oils. They have no added chemicals or artificial colours.

The couple’s organic farm which is about 25 square feet of land, provides most of the ingredients used in the soaps including mehndi, ashwagandha, Shatavari, bhringraj, Brahmi, clove, basil, cucumber, lemon etc. Other ingredients like papaya, neem, tomato, carrot, drumstick, custard apple, are organically grown in the village.

The soaps are made in small batches using the cold-process method, which preserves the beneficial qualities of herbal ingredients. The entire unit runs on solar power with no wastage of electricity and the runoff water is used to water the unit’s farm.

Neev employs only rural women for the production process. Though the current number of women working at the unit is about 50, till date, the unit has improved livelihoods for more than 400+ rural women. Most of whom also go to college and pay tuition fee through their income at the soap unit.

The trust has also expanded into other areas like making incense sticks and carpentry.

NEEV Trust has received many state-level awards and also the National Award in Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises for being the best REGP KVIC(Khadi and Village Industries Commission) Unit in the East Zone of India in 2010.

“We’ve never invested our time in marketing and all of our responses have been through word of mouth. We’ve always grown organically and it’ll keep expanding with new knowledge coming our way,” she adds.

Located in the remote village of Hurling in Jharkhand, India, NEEV provides an honourable source of labour for women living within the village community.

You can find a range of NEEV products here.

Also Read: Say Bye to the Unhealthy: 5 Sustainable Tips for Intimate Hygiene

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Deep into the thick, dense forests in Gadchiroli district in Maharashtra’s Bhamragad area, live the Madia Gonds. This endogamous tribal community is one of the country’s most under-developed tribes.

This is why they are one of the 75 tribes that have been categorised by the Ministry of Home Affairs as Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTG)s in the country. Additionally, the region is a witness to clashes between the naxal groups and the armed forces, which further secludes it from the rest of the country.

When Manuj Jindal was posted in Bhamragad in November last year, the 30-year-old IAS officer knew the challenge that lay before him. From the moment he took up his duties in the district, the Manuj has brought a sea of difference with his progressive and innovative initiatives.

From upskilling the tribal people in art and crafts to working in the field of education, Manuj’s hands have been full, to say the least.

And, the resulting transformation is astonishing to look at and more so because it happened in a short span of time.

One of the biggest success stories has been the renovated tehsildar’s office. The IAS officer changed the face of the old, dilapidated building into a training centre for arts and crafts as a source of earning for its tribal students.

Currently, the centre, which opened its doors mid-Jan this year, provides six-month training to the participants at a stipend of Rs 3000 per month. The learners get a portion from the sale of handicrafts they make. Additionally, the centre makes provisions for accommodation and food for them for free.

Currently 36 learners between the ages of 18 to 45 are under training at the centre.

“When people think about this region, they only focus on how underdeveloped or disturbed this region is. But, when you truly try to understand their culture, you realise that they are actually progressive in their beliefs. The men and women are treated as equal and there is no kind of caste system prevalent. There is so much to learn from these communities,” states Manuj.

Rising up to the Challenges to Enable and Empower

Since the region is deeply forested, it is often very difficult for people in the region to access facilities in the hour of need. Furthermore, the region is malaria endemic and prevalence of sickle cell anemia is high, informs Manuj.

Other than that, during monsoons, the region gets flooded as it has four rivers — Indravati, Pearl Kota, Pamul Gautami and Pandya — flowing through it, making it more cut off from the rest of the state.

Before Manuj began his work, he knew that it was going to be difficult to win the confidence of the people who have lived the majority of their lives amidst violence and political tensions. Creating channels of smooth communication was, indeed, going to be an uphill task for the newly appointed IAS officer.

Yet, the adamant officer found a way in.

“Through interaction, I found that they are very simple people who just wanted to come out of the cycle of poverty. So, I knew that I would have to show them quick results,” shares Manuj.

In the early days of the posting, Manuj explored the area and spoke to the people, a strategy that helped him understand the landscape well. He also visited the tribals’ homes in the region and during these sojourns, the one thing that leapt at him was the streak of creative talent that ran throughout the community.

“I was amazed to see how the tribal community made use of every thing that we would normally throw away. Like, I saw a water bottle that was made by drying the body of a gourd. They made pipes using bamboo, and made musical instruments using wood. They also made beautiful objects using brass and bronze,” recalls Manuj of his first visits.

Such a close connection with all things natural and the many ways the people were leading a sustainable life had a lasting impression on the IAS officer and was instrumental in the founding of the arts and crafts centre.

The Arts and Crafts Centre—from a Hovel to a Home for many

One day Manuj was walking around his office compound when his eyes fell on an abandoned, dilapidated building.

“My first thought was why was such a building not being put to any good use. It was on a big compound and I saw a potential in renovating the structure after looking at the official records of the building,” says Manuj.

He then got in touch with Suresh Poongati, a local artisan who belonged to the Koyanguda village. Talented in Dokra art, bamboo work and wood work, Poongati shuffles his time between his village and Pune where he runs an art centre.

“I knew he would be the perfect person who could teach the artisans as he understood them well. That is when I approached him and he really helped with his inputs which were instrumental in making the art centre a reality,” he says.

However, what the art centre really needed was people and the tribals in the region were already very apprehensive of the administration. But, Manuj had a plan in place. Proving how even the smallest of details can help make big changes, Manuj appointed managers who were bilingual.

“We appointed a few field managers who would go and speak to the tribals. These people are known as ‘duibhasis’, as they can speak two languages — Marathi and Madia,” explains Manuj. The plan actually worked and the art centre with many people eagerly coming forward for upskilling after the duibhashis spoke to them.

And now the results are visible to all.

Take Ajay Malugawade, a 25-year-old from the Arewade village in Bhamragad taluka for example.

Ajay is has been learning bamboo art at the centre. He finished his bachelor’s degree from the Gadchiroli University and also pursued a degree in Physical Education from Nagpur University. However, he had to discontinue due to family problems.

“The reason I enrolled as a student in this arts and crafts centre is because I wanted to learn some skill. Once I finish this art course in six months, I will be able to do this at home and make money,” says a hopeful Ajay.

Ajay’s mother is a farmer and he has two younger siblings who are still studying. His father passed away a few years back. “In a taluk like Bhamragad, setting up an art and crafts learning centre can help so many people in the region. I am really happy about what is being taught to us,” says Ajay contently.

Inclusive Development

Manuj also realised that in terms of development indices, the district was lagging behind.

As far as the field of education was concerned, Manuj saw that the literacy rates in Bhamragad stood at 54.71 percent, lower than the national average of 59.5 per cent. The parents in this tension-riven region were reluctant to send their children to school in fear of untoward incidents. Thus, the schools would see high drop-out rates.

“When I reached here, I saw that the illiteracy levels are really high in the region and I really wanted to understand their point of view,” says Manuj.

Manu first approached the private residential schools to talk to the teachers about the challenges they were facing. Upon speaking with the teachers he found that having to live away from their families, the teachers were very demotivated. Also, the poor network only made things worse, leaving them with very little incentive to do well in the circumstances.

Therefore, to overcome this challenge, Manuj decided to host monthly meetings with teachers from across the eight residential schools in the region.

“I think this is really helping because the communication channels are clear now. The teachers share with us about the new creative art or music related initiatives they want to start in the schools and we release the funds for that immediately. They also feel now that their grievances are being heard which is great,” explains Manuj.

Furthermore, the IAS officer was also a part of an exhibition (mela) that was organised in collaboration with Artificial Limbs Manufacturing Corporation of India (Alimco), where the main objective was to make disability aids accessible to the differently-abled. “Here, there were measurements taken for the prosthetic limbs. These will be made available to them by the end of April or early May,” says Manuj.

Also Read: This Tribal-Grown Coffee From Andhra’s Misty Araku Valley Has Fans in Paris Too

Just three months in, and having brought about positive changes in the region, what does Manuj hope for the future?

“When we think of development, we see giant buildings as a marker for progress. But, after coming here and learning about these communities, I realised that there is great value in conservation, being sustainable and having an equal society. These are the values that I want to also take forward wherever I go,” says Manuj signing off.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Overcoming impossible odds, N Rangaswamy, a resident of Attapadi in Kerala, has become the first PhD holder in the tribal village.

“I grew up in a small hut with my sisters and parents who were daily wage workers. The income that our family earned was very minimal, and it was barely enough to send us all to school. So, once I reached Class 4, I had to discontinue my education,” says Rangaswamy.

The situation was so bad that the family had to move in with some relatives, and help out with farming and other agricultural work. Rangaswamy pitched in as well, but his family knew that he was distressed about not being in school.

“They knew I was keen to continue my education. So, finally, my brothers, Ramachandran and Ramankutty sent me back to school,” he adds.

The relieved young boy studied hard, and by Class 7, he was the top student. Unfortunately, tragedy struck, and his father passed away.

“The grief was unbearable. I was torn and couldn’t see the way forward. But my family was incredibly supportive and helped me bounce back and focus on my studies.” he says.

After passing out from MR School Mananthavadi, Wayanad, he went on to pursue his bachelors in Hindi at Palakkad’s Victoria College.

“I actually wanted to study English, but the seat i got was for Hindi. At that time a lot of people asked me why I went on to pursue an arts subject, as I had chosen the science stream after Class 10, but this was my plan from the very beginning. I just wanted to explore my options. My ultimate goal was to become a professor.” he explains.

All of Rangaswamy’s college expenses were taken up by his family. Many times, even his professors helped him meet his monetary needs.

“I’ve had professors even buy me clothes after noticing that I only had a single pair of shirt and pants to wear every day,” he says.

Tired of the constant struggle for money, Rangaswamy decided to take up a part-time job after college. “I worked from 5 pm to 9 pm, every day at a stationery shop in the bus stand for a salary of Rs 700. This barely met any of my expenses, but it was still the start of something,” he adds.

After completing my BA, I went on to clear my MA in Hindi from Calicut University. This was followed by an MPhil, and I also cleared the UGC-NET exam, alongside.

In 2015, Rangaswamy got married to Naveena, and he mentions that she is an incredible source of strength and support. He is currently working as a guest lecturer in the Rajiv Gandhi College of Arts and Science, Attapadi.

“My goal was always clear. Even when everyone urged me to try out PSC exams, I was focussed on completing my studies and becoming a lecturer. Today as ‘Dr Rangaswami N,’ I hope I can be an example for the children from the community to follow their dreams and continue education,” he concludes.

Also Read: #CoronaWarrior: This 10-YO Kerala Kid Has Built A Mini Hand Sanitizing Robot!

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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“It was a conversation with a friend – an Indian army officer, posted in Kashmir, that changed things for me. While describing his 100 KM run in the harsh climatic conditions, he said that he had controlled his mind into believing that he could feel no pain from the blisters. Stopping was not an option. These words resonated within me. That’s how Abhedya NGO was born in 2015,” says Amitabh Soni.

Soni had already failed twice to launch his developmental works in Indian villages – his life’s dream – due to logistic problems. But invigorated by these encouraging words, he finally quit his job in London, UK and returned to India to start his NGO.

Five years down the line, Abhedya has a presence in five tribal villages near Bhopal. By working in different sectors like education, organic farming, governance and water solutions, the NGO taps the inherent skills of the villagers to help them become self-reliant especially during the off-seasons. Soni is actively helping village youth to find work opportunities in their villages instead of migrating to urban areas for employment opportunities.

Among their many ventures, a small IT initiative called ‘Willage Quest’ is Soni’s most successful project that accepts year-round freelancing work related to data entry.

While it is no doubt that Soni is making a difference in the tribal belts, he humbly says that there are no revolutionary ideas, “I aim to provide tools to the villagers so that they can solve their challenges. I am not here to preach on what they should do. All I want to do is give them opportunities to develop their own lives.”

A Step Towards Social Development

It was during his BA course when Soni found his true calling. Studying subjects like Political Science, English Literature and Economics pushed him to question the social structure of our society. He found several answers but none that gave a concrete explanation about the burgeoning economic gap between the rural and urban society.

In search of answers, he went to London to pursue Master’s in State, Society and Development in 2003. However, he had to drop out due to a severe spinal injury. He found an alternative route to understand social development by applying for a job at the UK Government’s Social Service Department.

His decade-long career at the department helped Soni gain experience of dealing with people. In his words, “I saw how social inclusion could do wonders in the overall development and growth of a country. The idea is to empower vulnerable communities by penetrating growth opportunities in the remotest parts.”

Once he was confident of what he wanted to do, Soni left his job and moved to India in 2014.

Establishing A Connect

Soni had skills, knowledge and ideas; he lacked the knowledge of ground realities of rural community life.

He chose to start his activities in Kekadia village (23 km from Bhopal) with a population of around 1400. With the majority of the houses engaged in agriculture activities, he observed the lack of importance accorded to education and the problem of youth migration to cities for employment.

Soni spent months with the families to understand their needs, “Often, NGOs and governments provide things that they think will help the vulnerable communities develop. But they fail to establish a dialogue with them and don’t factor their needs. It widens the gap. I saw things from the people’s perspective,” he explains.

Generating Incomes Via IT-Centre

One of the most essential lessons Soni learnt was that if given a choice, the villagers do not want to leave the villages during the off-seasons for a livelihood, but they did not have the luxury to choose.

That’s how the idea to start an IT-centre struck. It would be an extra source of income without having to migrate and at the same time, make the villagers technology-literate. To that end, Soni began with teaching in a government school. He conducted several awareness sessions with parents and students about building the centre.

Once he had identified students who were keen on learning basic computer skills, he asked for second-hand computers from his friends and family. Meanwhile, the Gram Panchayat Committee agreed to accommodate the IT Lab and a Youth Centre at its Community Centre Hall. Along with computers, Soni also set up a library for students.

Soni trained around 20 youth from Kekadia and the neighbouring villages in Microsoft Softwares, typing and data entry. Every month, the NGO approaches companies in urban areas for freelance projects. There are times when there are no projects but it’s still a good beginning. Of the total members, three are on a pay-roll basis, while the rest are paid based on the needs of the project.

“Our customers vary from publishers, individuals to technocrats who sublet basic data work to us. Monthly, each member of our NGO earns up to 7,000. Also, we have given laptops to girls so that they can work remotely,” says Prem Kumar, a BSc graduate, who manages the activities of the centre.

What makes this job lucrative for Prem is that he can dedicate his time to his family farm and get an extra source of income. He also saves money that he otherwise would have spent on rent and travelling if he were working in the city.

Other Projects

Banking on the success of the IT-centre, Soni is running a campaign inviting people to fund children’s education in private school.

“Children have a lot of potential, but limited access to funds and resources forces them to go to government schools which may not run on full capacity. The campaign worked, and our well-wishers sponsor the education of 52 kids (47 girls),” says Soni.

Speaking of one of the students, Mukesh Tomar who is a third-year student at the National Law University (Bhopal), Soni says, “Mukesh and his family were going through turbulent times when I met them. The young boy, with a phenomenal drive to pursue law, was working to save his land. We mentored him for the entrance exams and the NGO is sponsoring his college fees. He is setting an example for all the children in the village. If this isn’t a sign of growth, then I don’t know what is.”

Soni and his team also regularly invite NGOs and government officials to conduct workshops on political rights of individuals and the panchayat.

Among other things, Soni has worked with the farmers to adopt organic farming and is also planning to build a series of dams and planted trees to address water woes. They are currently awaiting its execution through government or private partnerships.

One of the main challenges in implementing projects is to meet the expenses. Though Soni relies on donations and crowdfunding, these options are not stable. So on certain occasions, he has to postpone or cancel the projects.

But that hasn’t stopped Soni. Every time there is a hurdle, he remembers his friend’s encouraging words and embarks on yet another noble work.

Get in touch with Amitabh Soni here

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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With The Positive Collective, The Better India’s COVID-19 coverage is available to regional language publications for free. Write to editorial@thebetterindia.com for more details.

Even when her entire life came to a standstill, Chitra Nilambur refused to give up the fight against the injustice shown towards her community.

The 34-year-old belongs to the Kootanaykar tribal community in Malappuram, Kerala. She was born in the Appankapp Colony in Pothukallu Village, Malappuram, completed her primary education from the nearby tribal school and studied upto Class 10 at the Catholicate High School.

Although she was a good student, circumstances prevented her from pursuing her education any further and was married off at the age of 16. By 18, she had a child.

But that didn’t stop Chitra from pursuing her dreams.

Knowing that most children from tribal communities in the remote forests didn’t have access to education, she started working as a teacher and as a tribal promoter with the Tribal Community Development Team of the state government.

Chitra’s efforts to go visit different tribal villages, organise seminars and classes to spread awareness about the importance of education and her enthusiasm to speak to each family individually enabled many students to continue their school education. She even helped students procure the necessary documents to join school.

“It was a great feeling to be able to act as a bridge and give these children a chance to fulfil their aspirations and dreams,” she explains.

During this time, while working closely with various government schemes, Chitra came across several instances where land contractors were taking advantage of the uneducated tribal communities.

“These contractors and government officials would take money from tribal families claiming to speed up the land allocation process, but eventually refuse to give them ownership of their land. I started speaking up against them, and they soon tried to bribe me with money. When that didn’t work, they started threatening me. By then, I had even lost my job,” she explains.

Chitra had to face several false accusations during her fight for tribal rights. Some even tried to frame her as a Maoist, but that just made her even more determined to continue the work.

Forest Rights

It is estimated that 25 crores of India’s population lives in forest lands, out of which 10 crores are tribal communities. Although the 2006 forest rights act came into being, Chitra is still fighting to claim the rights over lands that belong to certain tribal communities.

“Almost 104 families in Neliyampathy, Palakkad were given claim over 1 acre each, but only 28 families were allocated the requisite plot of land. When we enquired about it, the government officials kept delaying the process and denied to give us a proper answer. A similar situation happened in Wayanad as well. Whether it is through the forest rights act or otherwise, at the end of the day, our (tribal) community ends up bearing the brunt, and I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing,” says Chitra.

To make the community aware of their rights, Chitra conducted various classes and seminars explaining tribal rights and how to write petitions to the various tribal communities in Wayanad, Malappuram and Palakkad districts.

Along with this, she and her team of volunteers identified leaders from these communities and trained them specifically to ensure that petitions would be filed at the right time and that the matters with regard to the forests rights would reach the respective authorities without any corruption by area leaders and contractors.

“As a result of the work that my volunteers and I have put in, we’ve been able to claim most of our land, and today the community is aware of their rights,” Chitra adds.

Into The Light of Education

Besides her fight for forest rights, Chitra has been a part of groups like Mahila Samakhya and the Neeti Vedi that empower tribal women to pursue their dreams and aspirations.

“After joining the group, I was motivated to continue pursuing my studies. So I completed Class 12 and acquired a BA in Malayalam. Now I work as a paralegal worker for Neeti Vedi, Malappuram,” she explains.

As a paralegal, Chitra has been able to sort out cases for many tribal communities. In 2017, she even rescued a hearing-impaired tribal man from bonded labour and was able to get him Rs 7 Lakh as compensation.

She also founded ‘Patika Varga Seva Society’ (Tribal Upliftment Society) in 2017 to address the various issues that the tribal communities face including education, land rights and employment opportunities.

Her work for the empowerment of the tribal communities won her the MJ Joseph Outstanding Commitment Award in 2018, given to grassroots level innovators and leaders.

“Documentation and paperwork can be quite overwhelming for the tribal communities due to the lack of awareness. I’m trying to bridge that gap and ensure that we get what we deserve,” she concludes.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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In an earnest attempt to eliminate plastic from our lives, we all have adopted many changes in our lives. However, the one thing that we have not been able to replace is the ubiquitous jhhadu (broom). Mostly, the handles of these brooms are made of plastic, and every time we discard a broom, the plastic ends up in a land-fill near us.

While individually it might not seem like a big amount, but in India alone, almost 40,000 metric tons of plastic is used for broom handles. And inevitably, all of them end up in landfills.

To reduce the use of such plastic, an Indian Forest Services (IFS) officer Prasada Rao, xcurrently posted in Tripura, has come up with a sustainable solution.

Bamboo To The Rescue

Prasada Rao and his team have replaced plastic with bamboo for broom handles. Not only is bamboo easily available, but is also a friend of the environment. Broom-making is an important forestry enterprise in several parts of the country and is also an important source of income to local communities, according to Rao.

Supporting The Tribal Communities

In a conversation with The Better India, the 2010-batch officer says, “This started about seven months ago as a project under the Van Dhan Vikas Karyakram, which means ‘Forest Treasure Betterment Scheme’. The idea was to use naturally available resources to produce a commodity that is widely used.”

Moreover, his initiative has helped around 1000 tribal households get employment. They are involved in all the processes of the project – right from procurement of material to assembling and the packaging of the bamboo handles.

“Working toward the upliftment of the tribals in the area is one of the most passionate areas of my work,” he tells me. It gives me immense happiness to see the kind of impact we are making,” he says.

The team working under the name – Tripura Rehabilitation Plantation Corporation – now aims to make about 4 lakh brooms this year and hopes to increase the production by tenfold in the next year.

“We are gearing up for larger production and are sure of reaching our target. Where earlier, the raw material had to be sent outside for processing, now we are equipped to process and produce the product ourselves,” he informs.

When he told me about the price difference between these brooms and ones that come with plastic handles, I was amazed. A plastic broom can cost you anywhere between Rs 50 to Rs 170, depending on the brand and the place of purchase. These bamboo brooms are priced between Rs 35 to 40, making them a cheaper, sustainable alternative to plastic.

What’s the impact on those making the product?

Rao explains the math behind making the brooms. He says, “If we take the cost of each broom to be Rs 35, then the cost for procuring the raw materials to make the broom comes to Rs 15, cost of making the bamboo handle is Rs 6, and then putting it together is another Rs 6. This total amount of Rs 27 is given to the tribal who makes it. With more and more orders coming in, the opportunity for the tribals also increases accordingly.”

Furthermore, there are reasons behind using bamboo as broom handles.

• Bamboo is one of the fastest-growing grass, and the more you cut the bamboo the better it grows. Just like grass.
• One species of bamboo can actually grow to a massive 35 inches per day (or 1.5 inches per hour)
• While it takes many years for a tree to grow, bamboo plants take around 5 years to fully grow and mature.
• Unlike the popular belief that a bamboo handle will be heavy and may cause discomfort, it is very light and easy to maneuver.
• They are elegant and aesthetically designed as well

How to Buy One?

“We have been getting many calls from all across the country and have just received an order for almost 15,000 pieces,” says Rao. As of now, the product is available only in Tripura and you can reach out to Rao at +919402307944 to place your orders.

“We are in talks with e-retail platforms and hope to list the product on those very soon.”

The intent behind this social initiative is simple. Help the tribal community become more economically independent while helping the environment at the same time.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Do you know about Sama Veladi, a man of the Madia-Gond tribe from the deep forests of present-day Gadchiroli district, Maharashtra, who was conferred with the Albert Medal (Lifesaving) on 9 November 1924?

At the time, the Albert Medal was the highest peacetime gallantry award under the British Empire, and was conferred upon Sama by King George V for his incredible act of gallantry.

Sama was one of only two Indian civilians to ever receive this award, alongside a boatman named Gharib Shah, who had rescued 45 passengers from drowning in the Yamuna a decade earlier.

So, what happened?

According to the London Gazette report on 12 May 1925, HS George, the Deputy Conservator of the South Chanda Division (present day Sironcha tehsil of Gadchiroli district) of the Central Provinces, had just completed a forest inspection. He was returning to camp along a jungle path accompanied by Sama Veladi [referred to as Veladi Sammai in British news clippings], who was carrying George’s gun and walking ahead.

“Suddenly and without warning a man eating tiger jumped upon George’s back, seized him by the neck and proceeded to drag him into the jungle. Veladi Sammai behaved with extraordinary gallantry: he rushed at the tiger, placed the muzzle of the gun (a 12-bore shotgun) against it and pulled the trigger but was unable to discharge the weapon owing to the safety catch with which he was not familiar,” notes the report.

In the violent struggle that ensued, he resorted to beating the tiger with the stock of the gun on its head until the animal let George’s throat loose. It was an almighty struggle, and later, the tiger’s teeth marks were found eight inches up the barrel of the gun. He then shouted and waved his arms thus driving the tiger off for a short distance. After the struggle George got up, but collapsed immediately into Sama’s arms.

“Mr. Geroge was badly bitten in the neck and covered with blood with the Gond’s assistance he managed to stagger slowly along and reached his camp which was about two miles away,” adds the report.

During this whole journey, however, the tiger kept following Sama who was carrying George on his shoulders while running towards  ‘Murwai Forest Village,’ the the nearest British camp. It wasn’t a simple journey as Sama had to navigate steep ridges and streams as quickly as he could while the tiger followed the scent of blood.

“The tiger followed them for some distance but was kept off by the shouts and demonstrations of the Gond,” reports The Guardian on 14 May 1925.

They somehow reached the camp at Murwai, where George was immediately taken into Chanda (present-day Chandrapur and capital of a district in the Central Provinces that also included present day Gadchiroli district) for treatment and subsequently to Mayo Hospital in Nagpur, where it took him 11 months to make a full recovery.

Sama was awarded the Albert Medal but since he couldn’t travel to London to accept the award, he was called to the provincial capital of Nagpur. He received it from the Governor of the Central Provinces, Sir Frank Sly. Reports indicate at the time that Sama showed up merely wearing his loincloth. So, instead of pinning the medal, the Governor gave it to him in his hands. Besides the medal, he was granted a silver belt and a silver armlet with his name inscribed on it as well.

Finding Sama Veladi

We would not know anything about Sama Veladi and his bravery, if it wasn’t for Amit Bhagat, a 33-year-old independent researcher who is also an administrative officer with the United India Insurance Company.

A Mumbai native, Amit was posted in Chandrapur back in November 2014. Aside from his day job, this history buff began visiting all the famous tourist sites in the district.

Tired of the conventional tours, he soon went into the jungles of the Chandrapur-Bhandara belt where he discovered eight megalithic (memorial consisting of a very large stone forming part of a prehistoric structure) sites, nearly 30 stone age sites and rediscovered a unique archaeological site on the cusp of encroachment by the State government, which wanted to build a Rs 1000 crore medical college and hospital.

Through his own extensive research, he rediscovered the long ignored pre-historic site of Papmiyan Tekdi inside the compound wall of the hospital. Located on the banks of the Jharpat river, a tributary of the Wardha River, the site was first discovered by LK Srinivasan of the Archaeological Society of India (ASI) in 1961. At the site, archaeological finds like stone tools and fossils date back more than 150,000 years.

In fact, this ancient region has a remarkable repository of archeological marvels dating back to the times of dinosaurs that roamed these parts nearly 200 million years ago. Evidence for the same came from finding dinosaur eggshells discovered in the nearby Pisdura area.

“Instead of meekly watching the destruction of this precious site, I wanted to save it and thus reached out to all the authorities, including the CM’s office. After a brief tussle with local authorities, including the State archaeology department and ASI, the Maharashtra Chief Minister took cognisance of my demand and allowed for the establishment of a museum displaying Stone Age tools and a preserved prehistoric site within the college sometime in November 2018. They even issued a grant of Rs 5 crore for the construction of a prehistoric park on that site. It would be the first prehistoric park of its kind in South Asia,” says Amit, speaking to The Better India.

Besides all this work, he even visited nearly 800 villages in these parts during the four years that he had been posted in Chandrapur as part of his research work. However, thanks to his confrontation with a State minister on the Papmiyan Tekdi issue, he was transferred back to Mumbai on 29 January 2019.

Now, posted far away from the region, he decided instead to dig into some British newspaper archives about the larger Vidarbha region.

“Even though the Gonds had ruled the hilly regions of Central India for 500 years from the mid 13th century to the 18th century (1751) either independently or as vassals of the Mughals, there were very few historical documents written about them. The only reliable source of their history was available in British sources. While going through a May 1925 edition of the London Gazette, I came across the short article about Veladi Sammai. The name of the village noted in the London Gazette, ‘Murwai,’ sounded very strange because I had never heard about it despite my extensive travels. But the story was so fascinating,” he notes.

During his research, he started digging deep and first discovered the work of sociologist Govind Sadashiv Ghurye, followed by Stanley Jepson’s book ‘Big Game Encounters’ and finally Brigadier-General RG Burton’s treatise, ‘A Book of Man-Eaters.’ All of them had briefly written about how Sama saved a British forest officer and was conferred the Albert Medal.

He also looked at British newspaper archives and found almost 10-12 such news clippings with the exact same story. Maybe, he thought, it was a news wire agency that may have supplied the report to publications in Australia, Scotland and Britain around May-June 1925.

This led him to believe that this was big news since it was covered by so many publications.

What followed was his research into the Albert Medal. First instituted by the Royal Warrant on 7 March 1866, the medal was named after Prince Albert, the husband of Queen Victoria, and was bestowed on those who performed extraordinary acts of bravery and risked their own lives to save others in peacetime.

But, besides the series of news clippings on Sama Veladi, there was no other record or mention of his act.

“In the newspaper clippings, there was a mention of ‘South Chanda Forest’. Since this nomenclature was defunct and didn’t exist presently, I collated the names of all villages in Chandrapur and Gadchiroli district—there were around 3,500 of them—but found no village named ‘Murwai’ which was the name mentioned in the British records. So, I decided to find names of villages that sounded similar like Murmadi, Murmuri, Murumbodi, and Morawahi, etc. There were around 20-25 of them,” he recalls.

He contacted all the forest officials in these parts and asked them whether they knew of this personality and such an incident ever happening. However, they replied by emphatically stating that had the incident happened in their areas of jurisdiction, they would have known about it. Unwilling to give up, he began researching the contact details of retired forest officers who had served in the region in the 1960s and 70s. However, they too, had never heard about this incident.

“How can they not know of such a big incident? The antique medal he was awarded was a matter of pride for our country and to the forest-dwelling Gond tribe. So, I then contacted the Tribal Research & Training Institute in Pune, and its director. When I asked him, he had no idea, and instead gave me the contact of the institute’s library supervisor. I kept calling the supervisor for three months, but didn’t hear from him,” he recalls.

Breakthrough

He soon came across a retired Indian Forest Service Officer, VT Patki, who had retired as Chief Conservator from the Chandrapur region. Patki, who was in his 70s, he had once served as Divisional Forest Officer serving the Allapalli division of the Chandrapur district between 1978 and 1981.

While he had no information about the Albert Medal, and when that incident actually happened, he told Amit about a village named after a Britisher called ‘Georgepetha’ after the former British forest officer. On Google maps, it was called by its corrupted form ‘Jarjpetha.’

“This was my first major breakthrough since HS George was a central figure in this story. While scouting for the village, I finally came across Mudewahi, which was located deep inside the Aheri Taluka in Gadchiroli district, and was Naxalite territory. However, I packed my bags, arranged for a translator there who could speak their dialect of Telugu and native Madia Gond tongue, and began my 1,100 km journey from Mumbai to learn more about Sama Veladi,” says Amit.

Following a 26-hour journey, he arrived at the Range Forest Office of the Bamani Range, which is barely 15-20 km from the village. However, the range officer there told him that despite serving three years, he had never once visited the village because it was considered too dangerous. The last time he stepped out anywhere, somebody had burned down his vehicle.

“It had taken me a month to gather all the clues, but I actually went into that village blind not knowing whether it was the same village Sama Veladi encountered. Neither the forester nor the forest guard, who were deputised to go along with me and used to live in a nearby village, had ever heard of such an incident ever taking place nearly 100 years ago. Once I entered the village on 18 March 2019, however, I first met Sama’s grandson Linga, the de-facto Sarpanch of that village, and then Sama’s son Joga, a man in his 70s. After hesitating a little, their family was kind enough to bring out Sama’s prized possessions, including the Albert Medal, a silver armlet with his name inscribed on it, a silver belt and even the charter giving him 45 acres of land,” he says.

Linga told him everything about Sama’s story in Madia and Telugu and even took him to the site of the tiger attack following an arduous trek through the dry deciduous forests. Through Linga’s stories, Amit found out how indebted George felt towards Sama. Such was the relationship they developed that George established a forest village adjacent to Mudewahi, named it after himself, planted a small reserve forest and set up systems of irrigation in those parts.

“Moreover, Geroge knew that Sama was landless and didn’t have any assets to fall back upon since he had left his home village 100 km away after a quarrel with his brothers. So, he reached out to his contacts at the Forest Department and requested them to financially reward him as well, and he was soon given a cart with a pair of bullocks, a house and issued a Sanad (charter) granting him 45 acres of land 20 years later in 1945,” notes Amit.

However, the irony was that the aboriginal Madia Gonds were hunters and not farmers, and Sama never took possession of that land. HS George retired as the Chief Conservator of Forest for the entire Central Provinces in 1947 and went back to Britain. He died in 1967, while Sama passed away in 1968.

Nearly 40 years later, Sama’s descendants reached out to the authorities and requested them for that land. Since the authorities had no idea about Sama or the incident and their records showed that the piece of land hadn’t been assigned, they refused.

“His descendants are still fighting that battle. So, I contacted the DFO of that area, RFO, and a local social worker, who are helping the family regain that land. This process is still undergoing,” informs Amit.

Meanwhile, in remembrance, Sama’s family erected a memorial stone (Menhir), where a large bamboo bottle, symbolising his love for toddy, hangs in his honour. They regularly pay tribute to him on every festival and as per local customs, offer the first grains of their harvest every year to the memorial stone.

Respecting Tribal Culture & Heritage

Amit has always held a deep fascination for the Vidarbha region’s rich history, natural resources, wild forests and vibrant culture. But what he notices is also a deep divide between Vidarbha and the modern cities of Western Maharashtra.

“They always look down upon people from the region, particularly adivasis living in the forests of Gondwana calling them ‘jhadipatti’ or ‘people from the jungles’. They are regarded as backward, and the region and culture receives little respect. In their imagination, Vidarbha extends just to the city of Nagpur. But when I was posted in Chandrapur, I found a region with a unique topography, beautiful inhabitants and a fascinating history that include the presence of pre-historic sites, dinosaur fossils, medieval forts, ancient temples and a unique proliferation of tribal culture. Their ‘backwardness’ so to speak was because they had not realised the strength of their own heritage. There were barely any records of the Gond dynasty that lorded over these forested hills for five centuries,” he says.

To uplift these communities and battle the scourge of Naxalism, he believes, the Maharashtra government must give the Madia Gond community not just guardianship of these prehistoric sites, through which they can earn some tourism revenue, but also include stories of Gond heroes like Sama Veladi in their state textbooks as well.

“I cannot emphasise this any further. Their stories must be told,” he says.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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