This is part two of a series that looks at one of India’s most significant environmental movements, led by the indigenous communities of the Hasdeo Arand forest in Chhattisgarh. Through a sociological and legal lens, it investigates the complexities surrounding an area designated under the Fifth Schedule of the Indian constitution, yet allocated for coal mining to Rajasthan Rajya Vidyut Utpadan Nigam Ltd (RRVUNL), with operations subcontracted to Adani Enterprises Ltd. Since 2013, the villagers of Ghatbarra, Hariharpur, Salhi, and Fatehpur have actively resisted these developments, fighting for their identity, economic autonomy, legal rights, and communal way of life. Read the first part here.
In the dense and vibrant Hasdeo Arand forest of Chhattisgarh, once home to towering sal trees, orchids, and endangered wildlife, the village of Kete thrived, nestled deep in the green heart of one of India’s most biodiverse regions.
Today, however, Kete exists only as a memory – an early victim in the ongoing decimation of Hasdeo’s forests, cleared to make way for coal mining. It was here, in 2013, that the Parsa East Kete Basan (PEKB) coal block, granted to Adani Enterprises, began its operations, setting off a chain of events that would irreversibly alter the lives of Kete’s residents.
As India’s energy needs grow, forests are being sacrificed to the relentless march of coal mining. Historically, more than 90% of the country’s coal has been mined by state-owned companies. However, under Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s administration, private enterprises – led by corporate behemoths like Adani – have gained unprecedented control over mining operations. Adani, in particular, has been the subject of heated debate. Critics point to a slew of policies that appear tailor-made to favour the company, leading to accusations of cronyism. While Adani denies such allegations, the true cost of this shift is not measured in political scandals but in the suffering of local, often tribal, communities, such as those of Kete.
Once vibrant and full of life, Kete today exists only in whispers among the residents of neighbouring villages like Hariharpur, Salhi, Ghatbarra, and Fatehpur. Mentioning the name “Kete” is like invoking a curse. Eyes avert, heads lower, and voices trail off into murmurs. “No one knows where the people from Kete went,” says a villager. “They are all gone.” The fate of Kete haunts the residents of these villages, all too aware that their turn might be next.
A decade after displacement: The wreckage of Kete
The people of Kete, displaced nearly a decade ago, have been scattered in every direction. Many relocated to Basan, a government-designated rehabilitation site. Many of those relocated fell into poverty, alcoholism, or despair, with some losing their lives to accidents fuelled by alcohol addiction. Social worker and activist Mehendi Lal Yadav says, “Almost 50-60 women from Kete were widowed because of extreme alcoholism among the men. Many men died crossing roads while drunk. In 10 years, they lost their families, land, homes, and their entire community. Did the state account for this cost?”
Yadav, who led protests against the establishment of power plants by Indian Farmers Fertiliser Cooperative Limited (IFFCO) and Chhattisgarh State Power Generation Company in his own village of Chandan Nagar, managed get operations to halt in 2013 after a fierce struggle. He had raised critical questions during negotiations. “We didn’t just ask how much money per acre we would get. We raised questions like: How will we access the 100 litres of the water we need daily for farming after relocation? What about our access to herbal medicines from the forest after we have relocated? How will we find the wild foods we rely on for nutrition?” These were not just theoretical questions but ones rooted in the daily realities of forest life, essential for locals’ survival.
By contrast, the people of Kete were unaware of the full scale of what they would lose.
Ram Charan, a former resident of Kete, now displaced and working for Adani, vividly recalls the day he took a check from the company in exchange for his land. “Such a huge land I had, and it was reduced to a piece of paper,” he says. “All the gold I owned turned into a rock.” Ram Charan’s family once cultivated nearly 100 acres, growing crops like potato, paddy, and mustard. The company compensated him with Rs 3 lakhs per acre which was divided among his family. He managed to buy 16 acres of land in nearby villages, but nothing has been the same.
‘We weren’t told that the houses we’d be given would be like this.’ Photo: Shubhanghi Derhgawen.
Now 50, Ram Charan juggles farming his land while working a menial job for Adani’s afforestation team, earning Rs 14,000 per month. “They plant these green canopy trees, like the Gulmohar, which they brought from outside. It’s not the same as the forest we had.” Ram Charan’s sense of loss is palpable. “This is what we got in return for our land and village, right?” His voice is weary, resigned to the daily fight of demanding wages that the company often delays for 20 to 25 days. Despite his disillusionment, he doesn’t quit. “No matter what, I will not quit. It’s my only reminder of what was.”
When asked about the day he left his home, Ram Charan recalls how his children wept. He spent five days cutting down his paddy fields for the last time, carrying the crops with him, each day ending in tears. “The Gram Sabha was manipulated,” he says bitterly. “We weren’t told that the houses we’d be given would be like this.”
The harsh reality of life after displacement is visible in Basan, where many of Kete’s former residents were relocated. The houses built for rehabilitation are small, modern cement structures, cramped together with little space for the ‘badi,’ or kitchen garden, that once sustained families. These 25-square-metre dwellings, a far cry from the traditional homes of mud and bamboo that once dotted the villages of Hasdeo, stand in stark contrast to the sprawling, nature-integrated courtyards people were accustomed to. Devoid of farmland and locked up, most of these homes are now deserted, overgrown with weed. The people of Kete have long since abandoned them.
Very few families who are working at the mine live in Kete now. It’s been 10 years since the relocation. Most have moved towards the cities of Ambikapur (70 kilometres away) and some took up daily wage jobs in Udaipur (28 kilometres away).
‘In Basan, where Kete’s former residents were relocated, the land was forcibly acquired from the Uraon and Baiga tribes’. Photo: Shubhanghi Derhgawen.
Displacement beyond Kete
In Basan, where Kete’s former residents were relocated, the land was forcibly acquired from the Uraon and Baiga tribes, groups who have deep ties to the forest. Their land should have been protected under the Forest Rights Act (FRA) of 2006, which grants indigenous communities the right to their ancestral lands. Yet, like so many others, their claims to the land have been left unresolved.
Across the country, the FRA has struggled to deliver on its promises. By October 2023, around 2.34 million land titles, covering over 18 million acres, had been distributed under the FRA, according to the Ministry of Tribal Affairs. However, this represents only half of the claims submitted since the law came into effect. More troubling still is the slow pace of progress. Many claims, like those of the Uraon and Baiga communities, remain stuck in limbo for years, leaving the fate of countless villages uncertain.
The issue extends far beyond Chhattisgarh. National data from November 2023 highlights a significant increase in claims processed under the FRA since the Modi government came to power in 2014. The number of Community Forest Rights (CFR) and individual forest rights (IFR) claims settled rose nearly fourfold, from 23,578 up to May 2014 to 86,621 by June 2023. The amount of land distributed under these claims more than doubled, growing from 5.5 million acres to 12.3 million acres during the same period.
Yet, progress on paper often fails to reflect the reality on the ground. For people like 33-year-old Amar Sayid, the FRA has offered little protection. Amar’s family, part of the Uraon community, lived in Basan for generations, farming the same land. In 2012, however, their land was taken by Adani Enterprises despite ongoing legal claims. “They said, since I don’t have a document recognizing this land as mine, I cannot fight the company,” Amar recalls. His family was forced to take compensation or risk losing everything without any recourse. “We are nobody. How could we have fought them? The company had the biggest weapon with them: the government.”
Amar lost his three acres of farmland, leaving him with little to support his family. Though they managed to hold on to a small kitchen garden near their home after much pleading, their livelihood has been destroyed. Today, Amar survives on forest produce and occasional odd jobs, a shadow of his former self-sufficient existence. He often walks by the deserted rehabilitation houses in Basan, reminders of the forced displacement that destroyed his community. “I don’t hold anything against the people from Kete. They lost their land too. But you know who gained? Adani and the government.”
Shubhanghi Derhgawen is a freelance journalist and a lead researcher with the Visual Storyboard Team of the Centre for New Economics Studies (CNES), O.P. Jindal Global University.
Deepanshu Mohan is a professor of economics, Dean, IDEAS, and Director, CNES. He is a visiting professor at the London School of Economics and an academic visiting fellow to AMES, University of Oxford.
This research forms part of a series of field-based essays produced by the Visual Storyboard team at the Centre for New Economics Studies (CNES), OP Jindal Global University, dedicated to amplifying the voices of tribal communities in Chhattisgarh.
