Jyoti

Vishaka George

Editor

large_01-IMG_20220726_132156_Bokeh-JS-A_historic_moment-ignored_voices.jpg

medium_01-IMG_20220726_132156_Bokeh-JS-A_historic_moment-ignored_voices.jpg

small_01-IMG_20220726_132156_Bokeh-JS-A_historic_moment-ignored_voices.jpg

thumbnail_01-IMG_20220726_132156_Bokeh-JS-A_historic_moment-ignored_voices.jpg

01-IMG_20220726_132156_Bokeh-JS-A_historic_moment-ignored_voices.jpg

Set against the backdrop of green hills, small waterfalls and clean air, a young man is watching his buffaloes graze.“Are you conducting any kind of survey?” he asks when I approach him. I say, “No,” and add that I’m here to report on incidents of malnourishment.We are in Mokhada taluka located in Maharashtra’s Palghar district where 5,221 children have been identified as severely underweight – the second highest in the state, according to this <a href="https://icds.gov.in/Forms/View_MPR.aspx">report</a>.We are only 157 kilometres from the capital city Mumbai but the lush landscape here is a world apart.Rohidas belongs to the Ka Thakur community, listed as Scheduled Tribe in Maharashtra. In Palghar district, 38 per cent of the population is tribal. The young buffalo herder is unable to tell me his age, but looks to be in his late 20s. An umbrella is slung on his shoulder, a towel is draped around his neck and he has a wooden stick in hand. He is looking over his two grazing animals as they feed on the grass. “It’s only on rainy days when they get to eat a bellyful,” he says. “In summers they have to wander a lot [to find food].”

“My house is there,” says Rohidas pointing to a hamlet on the opposite hill, “in <a></a>Damtepada.” I see 20-25 households there nestling in a grove of trees. To access their homes, residents have to cross a small bridge over a stream that comes from the Wagh river. “We drink this water [from the stream] and use it in the house; animals also drink it,” he says.During the summer months the Wagh river starts to dry up and he says the community struggle to get drinking water.“This month [July] the bridge was under the water. No one could come to our side and nobody could go to the other side of the bridge,” he recalls.Life in Damtepada hamlet can prove to be very difficult in these times, says Rohidas. “There is no road, no gaadi [government bus] and shared jeeps are few. During any medical emergencies it is difficult,” he adds as the Mokhada Government Hospital is roughly eight kilometres away.In such times, residents have had to carry pregnant women and other patients on a doli – a bed sheet tied over bamboo poles. Adding to their woes is the very patchy phone network coverage in the area making it impossible to call an ambulance.

Rohidas never went to school and neither did any of his three older brothers. Men in the Ka Thakur community have a literacy rate of 71.9 per cent as per this <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/library/resource/statistical-profile-of-scheduled-tribes-in-india-2013/">report</a>, but Rohidas says, “There are some boys in the pada [hamlet] who have completed Class 10, but they all do the same thing as I do. What’s the difference?” he asks.Rohidas got married a few months back. His wife, Boji, his parents, three siblings, their wives and children together cultivate kharif paddy on two acres of forest land that is six kilometres from their home. “The land is not in our name,” he says.After the harvest between October and November, the entire family migrates to work on a brick kiln, a hundred km away in Bhiwandi taluka of Thane district. “What we earn from the brick kiln we spend on cultivation,” he points out. His family’s experience is typical of many tribal families in Palghar who move annually between kharif cultivation, harvesting and migration.On July 21st 2022, Droupadi Murmu scripted history by becoming India’s first Adivasi president. Murmu belongs to the Santhali Adivasi community in Odisha and is also only the second woman to occupy this high office.“Do you know that we have Adivasi rashtrapati?” I ask, waiting for his response. “Who knows? What difference does it make?&quot; asks Rohidas, and then adds, “मला गुरंच राखायचीत [I continue to herd my animals].”

A historic moment; ignored voices

آدیواسیوں کی اندیکھی کے درمیان ایک تاریخی لمحہ

ఒక చారిత్రాత్మక క్షణం; పట్టించుకోని స్వరాలు

வரலாற்று முக்கியத்துவத்திலும் புறக்கணிக்கப்படும் குரல்கள்

ਇੱਕ ਇਤਿਹਾਸਕ ਪਲ ਅਤੇ ਅਣਸੁਣੀਆਂ ਅਵਾਜ਼ਾਂ

ଏକ ଐତିହାସିକ କ୍ଷଣ; ଅବହେଳିତ ସ୍ୱରଗୁଡ଼ିକ

ചരിത്ര മുഹൂർത്തം; അവഗണിക്കപ്പെട്ട ശബ്ദങ്ങൾ

ಒಂದು ಐತಿಹಾಸಿಕ ಕ್ಷಣ ಮತ್ತು ನಿರ್ಲಕ್ಷಿತ ದನಿಗಳು

एक ऐतिहासिक अवसर और उपेक्षा की शिकार आवाज़

એક ઐતિહાસિક ક્ષણ અને અવગણાયેલો ગણગણાટ

ऐतिहासिक मऊका अऊ उपेच्छित अवाज

মুখর ঐতিহাসিক মুহূর্তে মৌন যত স্বর

ঐতিহাসিক মুহূৰ্ত: উপেক্ষিত কণ্ঠ

ऐतिहासिक क्षणातला दुर्लक्षित आवाज

Mokhada

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


Let’s get you acquainted

Welcome to PARI

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

A historic moment; ignored voices

Rohidas Nadge is a Ka Thakur tribal living in Maharashtra’s Palghar district. He shares his thoughts on India’s first Adivasi President

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit