The circumstances immediately preceding his death have become a central part of the investigation. Doolla was reportedly the invigilator during Wakode’s examination and, according to the institute’s initial account (later regretfully denied by IIT Mumbai), Wakode had been found using a mobile phone and had uploaded the examination question paper to ChatGPT to obtain answers. IIT Bombay initially stated that no disciplinary action had been initiated against him and that he had been counselled by the concerned faculty members.

But that account quickly became contested. Students and Wakode’s family alleged that the incident involved threats of disciplinary action and suspension and that Wakode had been humiliated. The Indian Express has since reported that Crime Branch investigators are examining CCTV footage from the examination hall showing Doolla approaching Wakode and asking him to leave the hall. The footage is now part of an investigation that is attempting to reconstruct what happened between the examination and Wakode’s death.

What remains equally important is what happened before September 18. Wakode’s family has alleged that the examination incident was not an isolated interaction but occurred against the backdrop of months of caste-based and mental harassment. Those allegations have not been established, and the Crime Branch investigation must determine whether they are supported by witness statements, communications, institutional records and other evidence. But the absence of a prior formal complaint cannot, by itself, be treated as proof that discrimination did not occur.

Breaking: IITB accepts that cheating allegation against Sahil Wakode are not proven, backtracks earlier letter

This is what we have been saying

Cheating allegation are not proven. IIT already backtracking

Prof Dulla should be arrested and investigated properly… https://t.co/BHjmciyQNv

— Ravi Ratan (@scribe_it) September 21, 2026

IIT Bombay has now suspended Professor Suryanarayana Doolla and also apologized over the matter.

The professor had falsely accused Sahil Wakode of using ChatGPT to cheat, an allegation that seriously damaged his academic career. pic.twitter.com/oQUlAb8WrM

— The Dalit Voice (@ambedkariteIND) September 21, 2026

Four suicides in one year at IIT Bombay. This is not a tragedy. This is institutional failure. This is institutional murder.

SFI stands with the students of IIT Bombay demanding action, accountability and transparency. pic.twitter.com/wSz7CastFD

— SFI (@SFI_CEC) September 20, 2026

It was never about cheating.

People justifying cheating leading to student ending his life in another pathetic view I came across.

I wish none of this happens to their kids. https://t.co/TaP02RiYKP

— Ratna Singh (@whattalawyer) September 21, 2026

अब तो IIT Bombay ने भी बिना किसी जांच के साहिल पर चीटिंग के आरोप लगाने पर माफीनामा जारी कर दिया है।

पहले साहिल को आत्महत्या पर मजबूर किया गया और अब उसके सांस्थानिक हत्या को जायज भी ठहराया जा रहा है! शर्मनाक है! https://t.co/e5cg5jPdNB pic.twitter.com/pjkLlCT16B

— Priyanka Bharti (@priyanka2bharti) September 21, 2026

The apology came only after the institution had already framed the story

The most troubling aspect of IIT Bombay’s handling of the matter may be the speed with which the institution initially presented a particular account of Wakode’s final hours. Its first public communication foregrounded the alleged use of a phone during the examination and the uploading of the question paper on ChatGPT. That communication effectively placed an allegation of academic misconduct at the centre of the public narrative before the circumstances surrounding the death had been independently established.

On September 21, however, IIT Bombay apologised and acknowledged that it had been inappropriate to set out or characterise details relating to the events preceding Wakode’s death before they had been established through the appropriate investigative process. The Times of India reported that the institute apologised for its earlier communication concerning the examination incident, while The Indian Express reported that students had specifically demanded an apology over what they described as the “defamation” of Wakode.

That reversal matters as the question was not whether academic misconduct should be taken seriously. It should. The question is whether, when a student dies hours after an interaction with institutional authority, the first responsibility of the institution should be to establish facts carefully rather than to publicly foreground an allegation that potentially shifts attention towards the student’s conduct.

The institute itself has now acknowledged that the circumstances had not yet been duly established. That acknowledgment should also invite scrutiny of how institutions speak about students after their deaths, particularly when those students belong to communities that have historically experienced discrimination within educational institutions.

Doolla has been removed as Dean. But only as Dean

IIT Bombay has temporarily relieved Professor Suryanarayana Doolla of his duties as Dean of Administrative Affairs pending an investigation. But, as The New Indian Express reported, Doolla continues to remain a professor in the Energy Science and Engineering department. The Times of India similarly reported that the action was limited to his administrative responsibilities and that he would continue as a professor.

This distinction is important because students had demanded that Doolla be removed from his academic duties as well. Their concern was not necessarily a demand that the professor be treated as guilty before investigation, but that a person named in an FIR concerning the death of a student should not continue exercising academic authority over students while the circumstances are being investigated.

The institute has justified his removal from the administrative post as a step intended to ensure an independent and unbiased investigation. That is understandable as an institutional measure. But it also leaves an obvious question: if independence from administrative authority is necessary for the inquiry, what safeguards are in place to ensure that students who may have information relevant to the investigation do not feel vulnerable when the professor continues to teach and exercise academic authority?

The FIR is not the investigation. But neither is institutional denial

The FIR records allegations made by Wakode’s family. The Crime Branch investigation must determine what happened, whether there was sustained harassment, whether caste-based discrimination occurred, whether any conduct contributed to Wakode’s distress, and whether any institutional response failed him. At the same time, IIT Bombay’s statement that no complaint had previously been made to its SC/ST cell or administration cannot settle the question either. The Indian Express reported that the institute relied on the absence of any such formal complaint when responding to the family’s allegations.

Caste discrimination does not necessarily announce itself through a formal written complaint. Students may hesitate to complain against professors who control grades, academic progression, recommendations or other aspects of university life. The possibility of retaliation, stigma or simply the belief that an institution will not act can itself become a barrier to reporting. That is precisely why an investigation into allegations of discrimination cannot be reduced to a search for whether a complaint was filed in the correct institutional forum.

What exactly is IIT Bombay defending?

The response from sections of the IIT Bombay faculty has introduced another dimension to the controversy. The Faculty Forum of IIT Bombay publicly expressed solidarity with Doolla, saying that he had been discharging his duties according to institute-approved academic procedures and that the faculty was distressed by what it described as the tarnishing of his reputation. The Indian Express reported that faculty members gathered in support of Doolla after he was removed as Dean, while faculty bodies at other IITs also expressed support for him.

There is nothing inherently improper about insisting upon due process or resisting a presumption of guilt. But due process cannot mean that institutional solidarity with a faculty member becomes a substitute for investigating allegations made by a student’s family. The two principles can coexist. Doolla is entitled to a fair investigation and should not be declared guilty merely because he has been named in an FIR. At the same time, Wakode’s family is entitled to have allegations of caste-based harassment and institutional failure investigated seriously, independently and without the investigation being overshadowed by a defence of the professor’s professional reputation.

The concern becomes particularly acute when the institution itself had initially issued a public account that it later apologised for.

This is not the first IIT Bombay student death to raise questions about caste

The most difficult part of the present controversy is that IIT Bombay cannot claim to be encountering these questions for the first time. In February 2023, Dalit student Darshan Solanki died by suicide at IIT Bombay. His death generated allegations of caste discrimination and intense campus debate over whether students from marginalised communities were adequately protected within the institution.

Three years later, Solanki’s father, Ramesh Solanki, has returned to the IIT Bombay campus in connection with protests following Wakode’s death. The Indian Express reported that parents of previous IIT Bombay suicide victims joined the protests and raised concerns about transparency, accountability, discrimination and the treatment of students from reserved communities. Ramesh Solanki reportedly continues to question aspects of the investigation into his son’s death.

The significance of Darshan Solanki therefore cannot simply be historical. His death forms part of the institutional memory against which the present case is unfolding. The question now is not only what happened to Sahil Wakode. It is also what IIT Bombay learnt from Darshan Solanki’s death, what institutional mechanisms were changed afterwards, and whether those mechanisms could identify and address the forms of exclusion that students may experience without ever making a formal complaint.

And then there are the other deaths

Wakode’s death has also occurred amid wider concerns over student suicides at IIT Bombay. Reports have referred to other student deaths this year, adding to the sense among students and parents that the problem cannot be treated as a single tragic incident. Moneycontrol, reporting on the aftermath of Wakode’s death, noted that the episode had once again brought student suicides at premier engineering institutions into focus. The protests at IIT Bombay have consequently expanded beyond the circumstances of one student’s death to include demands relating to mental-health support, institutional accountability and student welfare.

This is important because individualising every death can prevent institutions from examining common structural conditions. If students repeatedly experience academic pressure, fear of disciplinary action, inadequate grievance mechanisms, social isolation or discrimination, then treating each death as an entirely separate personal tragedy leaves the institutional environment itself largely unexamined.

The 18 demands show how much larger the crisis has become

The student protests have made clear that the controversy is no longer limited to the question of what happened inside one examination hall. According to The Indian Express, students placed an 18-point charter before the IIT Bombay administration. Their demands included an independent inquiry, changes to student welfare mechanisms, student representation on committees, a formal mechanism for complaints against professors, greater accountability of institutional authorities and stronger mental-health support, including access to psychiatric care.

These demands matter because they reveal what students themselves see as the larger problem. They are not asking only for an answer about September 18. They are questioning how decisions affecting students are made, who exercises authority over them, what happens when a student has a complaint against a professor, and whether students have any meaningful role in institutions that make decisions about their academic and personal lives.

An institution can have rules on paper and still leave students without meaningful protection if those rules are difficult to invoke against powerful members of the faculty.

The protests have also brought the role of IIT Bombay Director Professor Shireesh Kedare under scrutiny. Students demanded his resignation as part of their broader charter. Reports also emerged suggesting that he had agreed to resign, although IIT Bombay subsequently denied that he had stepped down.

A campus divided between solidarity and accountability

The response to the protests has also raised questions about how dissent is being handled around the campus. The Indian Express reported that police detained activists from different organisations who were protesting outside the IIT Bombay campus. Ramesh Solanki, whose son Darshan died in 2023, was among those participating in the protest and seeking accountability over the earlier case.

The present situation has produced an uncomfortable divide. Faculty groups have rallied around Doolla and emphasised academic integrity and due process. Students have demanded accountability and institutional reform. Wakode’s family has alleged caste-based harassment. The police are investigating. IIT Bombay has apologised for its initial public account while simultaneously maintaining that the circumstances remain under investigation.

The question IIT Bombay must now answer

The academic misconduct allegation has also become central to the public discussion. But academic integrity and caste discrimination are not mutually exclusive questions. Even if the investigation establishes that Wakode violated examination rules, that would not automatically disprove allegations that he may have experienced caste-based discrimination or harassment. Conversely, allegations of caste discrimination cannot be used to establish that an examination rule was not violated.

The two questions require separate examination. The tragedy is that IIT Bombay’s initial public statement blurred those questions by placing the examination incident at the centre of its account of Wakode’s death. Its subsequent apology acknowledged that the circumstances preceding his death should not have been characterised before they were established through investigation.

The most important question is not whether IIT Bombay can defend its procedures. It is whether those procedures are capable of protecting students when the person they may need protection from is someone who exercises institutional authority over them.

Detailed reports on Darshan Solanki suicide case may be read here, here, here, here and here.

Related:

Mumbai Dharna for Darshan Solanki makes calls for law against caste discrimination

The Normalisation of Suicide at IITs: Institutional blindness and failure

A Long Battle, A Swift Stay: The Fight for Equitable Campuses

The Anatomy of Humiliation: Defining caste violence in the Constitutional era

Another student lost to suicide at IIT-Delhi

IIT Kanpur: Third incident of suicide in five weeks, a 29-year-old PhD scholar found dead in her dorm room

Another student, belonging to the Scheduled Caste community, dies by suicide in IIT

Crucial evidence overlooked by IIT Committee, internal survey by SC/ST Cell contradicts report findings

The post Three years after Darshan Solanki, Sahil Wakode’s death shows IIT Bombay still has no answer on caste, power and student deaths appeared first on SabrangIndia.

On September 19t and 20 2026, representatives of NAPM from Maharashtra and several other states across the country met and interacted with fisherfolk, Adivasis, farmers, die-makers, landless people, workers, and other affected communities in the Vadhavan area.

The Vadhavan Port project proposes to reclaim approximately 1,448 hectares of the sea to create land. In addition, large areas of land will be required for roads, railways, and other associated infrastructure. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis has publicly stated that Vadhavan Port will transform Maharashtra’s economy, turn Palghar into a “Fourth Mumbai,” and create lakhs of jobs. But the fisherfolk, Adivasis, farmers, die-makers, and other local communities protesting along the Vadhavan coast do not want a form of development that destroys their lives and livelihoods.

The proposal for a port in the Vadhavan area had been questioned earlier as well on environmental grounds. Today, various agencies of the Union and State governments are taking the project forward. Yet the environmental and social concerns raised earlier remain unresolved, even as the scale of the project has expanded many times over. The experience of JNPT and other ports must be studied – including the traffic, urbanisation, pollution, impacts on fishing, and expansion of infrastructure that they have brought to coastal areas – and an independent assessment of the overall impacts of Vadhavan must be carried out. The damage already witnessed elsewhere should serve as a grave warning.

“We do not want a Fourth Mumbai. Our sea, our farms, our forests and our villages must remain as they are!”

With this demand, communities across the area have united under the leadership of the Vadhavan Bandar Virodhi Sangharsh Samiti to oppose the port. Beyond the port itself, the project entails approximately 1,448 hectares of marine reclamation, over 10 kilometres of breakwater, large-scale dredging, road and rail connectivity, storage and logistics infrastructure, and industrial and commercial development. In other words, this is a project that will transform the entire coastline. In NAPM’s view, this is not a chain of development, but a chain of destruction. The government speaks of an investment of Rs. 76,220 crore and the creation of lakhs of jobs. But alongside government agencies, major international port, terminal, logistics, and dredging operators are participating in this project. Who, then, will count the cost to the generations-old livelihoods of local fisherfolk, Adivasis, farmers, and small producers?

According to government studies, the 16 fishing villages in the project area are home to 20,809 fisherfolk belonging to 5,333 households. Fishing is the principal livelihood of these communities. Skill training or compensation of a few lakh rupees cannot replace the sea for a fisher. Traditional fishing, local fish resources – including lobster – and the entire economy built around them must be protected. Vadhavan lies within the ecologically sensitive Dahanu region. The cumulative impacts of massive marine reclamation, dredging, and the breakwater on sea currents, sediment movement, fishing grounds, and tidal ecosystems must be examined seriously.

A fundamental question remains: Have the traditional knowledge of local communities, their lived experience of the sea, and data on local biodiversity been adequately reflected in these studies?

If mangrove areas are affected, marine ecosystems could be destroyed. Such ecosystems are nearly impossible to recreate elsewhere, making their protection and conservation critically important. The impacts of sourcing material for Vadhavan’s reclamation and associated infrastructure – including quarrying in hilly areas, impacts on Adivasi areas, and deforestation – must also be taken into account. Cutting down a forest in one place and planting trees in another district cannot compensate for the loss of that ecosystem.

Official information indicates that private land, Adivasi land, forest land, and government land will be required for the roads and railways connecting the port. The impact of the project will therefore not remain confined to the port area. For Adivasi communities, land cultivated over generations is the very basis of survival. We cannot accept taking away these lands in the name of development – blasting hills, cutting forests, and dumping reclamation material, and calling this “development.”

It is misleading to present Vadhavan as simply a “container port.” According to official documents, it is a deep-draft major port with the capacity to handle bulk chemical and crude cargo in addition to containers. Under the Central Pollution Control Board’s classification, ports, harbours, jetties, and dredging operations fall under the Red Category, while ports handling only containers fall under the Orange Category.

Government documents claim a sea depth of 20 metres. However, the local Sangharsh Samiti says that measurements taken at low tide found the depth to be lower. Activists say that although this issue was raised during the public hearing, no satisfactory response was provided.

The NAPM has demanded:

—Put a halt to the Vadhavan Port project immediately.

—Immediately halt tree-felling and all related infrastructure works.

—-Conduct an independent and transparent cumulative impact assessment, with the participation of local fisherfolk, Adivasis, farmers, and women.

—-Independently re-measure the depth of the sea, including verification of the claim of a 20-metre depth. The exercise must be public and conducted in the presence of local communities.

—-Protect the generations-old livelihoods of fisherfolk. Traditional fishing must not be destroyed in the name of compensation or alternative employment.

—Protect Adivasi land and forests, and safeguard all their legal rights, including rights under PESA.

—-Protect the local ecosystem instead of afforestation in distant districts as compensation for the destruction of local forests.

—-Instead of imposing uncontrolled urbanization in the name of a “Fourth Mumbai,” establish schools, colleges, hospitals, healthcare services, and employment opportunities based on the needs of the local people.

Finally, the statement issued by NAPM states that the people’s movement at Vadhavan is not a struggle against one port alone. It is a struggle to defend the coastline, fisherfolk and Adivasi communities, agriculture, forests, and biodiversity.

“The people of Vadhavan do want development – they want schools, a college, hospitals and doctors; they want markets for their agriculture and horticulture; fisherfolk need facilities and fair prices; and young people need dignified employment in their own region.

“NAPM stands firmly with the Vadhavan Bandar Virodhi Sangharsh Samiti and with the fisherfolk, Adivasis, and local communities fighting this project. We reject a model of development built by destroying the sea, forests, land, and livelihoods.NAPM appeals to people’s movements across the country to express their solidarity with the sit-in protest that has now continued for the past 48 days.”

NAPM has been part of this struggle, which has continued for several decades, from the very beginning. Medha Patkar, the late Thomas Kocherry, Rambhau Patil, N. D. Koli and many other activists have stood with this struggle over the years.

The statement has been issued by Sanjay Mangala Gopal, Suniti S. R – National Convenors (from Maharashtra), Sujay More, Sirat Satpute, Maharashtra State Convenors. The Solidarity Team Members include Prasad Chacko, Ahmedabad; Pranjali Tripathi, Jaipur; Adv. Mini Mathew, Bandra; Siddharth Chakravarti, Bengaluru; Sakshi Samant, Thane; Nandkumar Pawar, Mumbai; Ramesh Koli, Uran; Mangesh Koli, Uran; Mayur Koli, Uran; Dhananjay Shinde; Rajshree Shinde, Mumbai

Related:

Dahanu locals reject JNPT survey that pushes for a new port at Vadhavan

Maharashtra’s fishing community fights to protect its ‘golden belt’ coast

50,000 strong Adivasi, farmers march from Charoti to Palghar, hold indefinite dharna for land rights

The post Stop construction of Vadhavan Port, have open discussions with local communities: Climate change activists appeared first on SabrangIndia.

It’s worth asking because the answer may say less about literature than it does about the way we have learned to read caste. We have, as readers and viewers, built a fairly narrow set of terms under which we are willing to engage with caste at all, and sorrow fits neatly inside those terms. Anger doesn’t.

Sadness is an easier thing to host. A Dalit character suffers, we feel for them, we close the book or leave the theatre a little shaken -quietly proud of ourselves, even, for having felt something at all. It’s a tidy transaction. The pain stays over there, on the page or the screen. We stay over here, safely watching.

But anger doesn’t play by those rules. “Look what was done to me” is a sentence we can pity from a comfortable distance. “You were part of the world that let this happen” is different. It doesn’t ask for our sympathy. It asks what we will do with our discomfort.

Beyond this literary pattern, it played out in real life in July 2016, in a small town called Una in Gujarat. Four Dalit men were skinning a dead cow, their traditional, caste-assigned occupation, when a group of self-declared cow vigilantes accused them of killing it. The men were stripped, tied to a car, and beaten in public with sticks and iron rods while onlookers filmed it. The video spread within hours.

It wasn’t the usual cycle of outrage, sympathy, silence. Thousands of Dalits marched across Gujarat. Tens of thousands eventually joined what came to be called the Dalit Asmita Yatra, the Dalit Pride March. And at the end of it, they didn’t ask to be pitied. They pledged: they would stop removing dead cattle from upper-caste villages altogether. Let the carcasses lie where they fell if no one else would touch them.

That was a refusal. And refusal is harder to watch because it changes the position of the person watching. An entire social order had quietly depended on their silence and that silence had run out.

The instinct to prefer sorrow over refusal has a longer history.

In the 1870s, Jyotirao Phule’s Gulamgiri was asking why a system of oppression had been built in the first place. Later, Dalit writers and theorists would continue to challenge the expectation that Dalit lives should appear on the page primarily through suffering.

The same discomfort appears in the Marathi film Fandry. Jabya, the protagonist, spends the story being humiliated, and the audience is given every reason to feel for him. Then, in the final shot, he picks up a stone and throws it straight at the camera- straight at the viewer. He is no longer simply someone to pity; he is someone looking back. It is harder to sit with than anything that came before it.

That moment matters because the viewer can no longer remain comfortably outside the scene. The stone crosses the invisible distance between the character and the audience.

None of this makes Dalit anger the “right” emotion, any more than suffering ever was. The ask is simple: let people be whatever they actually are, on the page and off it. Let them suffer if that’s true. Let them refuse, the way Una refused, if that’s true too. Nobody should have to stay pitiable to be taken seriously.

Maybe that’s the real thing being asked of all of us: not compassion, which is easy to hand out and feel good about, but the willingness to face Dalit anger without demanding that it make us comfortable. Some voices were never meant to comfort us. They were meant to make us listen.

(The author is a postgraduate student of English Literature with interests in Dalit studies, South Asian Literature, media, cultural identity and representation based in Bengaluru.)

Related:

Thirty years on, justice remains elusive for Dalits in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand and Haryana

Dalit Justice Demanded: CJP exposes 30 brutal anti-Dalits atrocities, urges NCSC to confront nationwide caste violence under Article 338

No to Dalits who are Christian, Muslim, how the AP HC limits its understanding of caste and faith

The post Outside the World, Outside the Page: Why We Are More Receptive to Dalit Suffering than Dalit Anger appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Sent as a personal message, Prof Ghanshyam Shah drew my attention to the fact that, at one point, the sect’s top sadhus had declared that they were not Hindus during a case in the Supreme Court. He further told me that its temples once did not allow “untouchables” to enter.

Nothing unusual, I thought, for a groundbreaking study, supported by an Ahmedabad-based Dalit rights NGO, Navsarjan Trust, “Understanding Untouchability”, had found the widespread prevalence of untouchability in 1,589 Gujarat villages it surveyed. It said that more than 90 per cent of rural Dalits reported facing “no entry” in temples during religious ceremonies. The 2009 survey became such an eyesore for the state government that the latter sponsored a parallel study to counter the Navsarjan claim.

I looked it up, and sources told me that the case was Sastri Yagnapurushdasji and Others v. Muldas Bhudardas Vaishya and Another. It so happened that in 1947, the Province of Bombay passed the Bombay Harijan Temple Entry Act—later superseded by the Bombay Hindu Places of Public Worship (Entry-Authorisation) Act, 1956—to eradicate untouchability by legally granting Dalits (then referred to as Harijans) the right to enter and worship in all Hindu public places of worship on equal terms.

Following the law’s passage, leaders and followers (satsangis) of one of the major Swaminarayan sects, operating from Ahmedabad, filed a suit seeking a permanent injunction to prevent non-satsangi Dalits—those not initiated into the spiritual teachings of Swaminarayan—from entering their temples.

The sect’s argument for exempting its temples from the social reform legislation was that the Swaminarayan faith, or Swaminarayan sampradaya, was an entirely separate and distinct religion, not part of the Hindu religion. Hence, the Bombay temple-entry laws—which applied specifically to “Hindu” places of public worship—did not apply to Swaminarayan temples.

The case, which began in Ahmedabad, went up to the Supreme Court, whose Constitution Bench, led by Chief Justice P.B. Gajendragadkar, ruled on January 14, 1966, that the Swaminarayan sect was an integral part of the Hindu religion. The court observed that Hinduism, unlike prophetic, monotheistic religions, does not depend on a single founder, a single holy book, or a uniform dogma. It described Hinduism as a broad, inclusive “way of life” capable of accommodating diverse theological views, reform movements, and sub-traditions. It went on to trace the theological foundation of Swaminarayan (Sahajanand Swami) to the Vishishtadvaita philosophy of Ramanuja. It noted that the sect accepts the authority of foundational Hindu scriptures—the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Bhagavata Purana—and worships traditional Hindu deities alongside its founder. Consequently, internal reforms or distinct sectarian practices did not sever it from the Hindu fold.

The court held that freedom of religion under Articles 25 and 26 cannot override constitutional mandates aimed at ending social evils like untouchability. Article 25(2)(b) specifically preserves the state’s power to provide for social welfare and reform by opening Hindu religious institutions to all classes and sections of Hindus.

Therefore, Swaminarayan temples fall squarely within the scope of public Hindu temples, making it unlawful to bar Dalit Hindus from entry.

Sources tell me that neither BAPS nor the Maninagar group, the two largest branches of the sect, were parties to the litigation, and that the case was fought by followers and sadhus of the original Swaminarayan sampradaya—specifically the Northern Gadi, centred at the Shri Nar Narayan Dev Temple in Kalupur, Ahmedabad.

Yet, despite claims of equality before God, the fact is that historical and sociological evidence suggests that Dalits (formerly untouchables) faced significant exclusion and separate worship practices within the Swaminarayan framework, and BAPS was no exception between the late 19th and mid-20th centuries.

While BAPS and “modern” Swaminarayan organisations emphasise spiritual equality, there have been several ways in which caste distinctions were enforced.

The primary ethical manual for all Swaminarayan followers—including BAPS—is the Shikshapatri, was written the 19th century. The Shikshapatri no doubt sought to initiate followers across caste lines and preached against outward notions of pollution in bhakti, yet it explicitly accommodated traditional Varnashrama Dharma. It referred to Slokas 17–20 and 91 in order to instruct followers not to abandon the duties and ritual observances of their own caste. In fact, there were ritual purity rules which dictated that touching members of the “lowest castes” (antyaja or outcastes) caused ritual impurity requiring purificatory bathing.

An authoritative interpretation of Shikshapatri published by the temple authorities under the title “The Epistle of Precepts” states that the caste system is “designed for effective organisation and management of society. It provides a distribution of manpower for various necessary jobs.” Comparing it with “White collar/Blue collar separation of the work force in the West”, the write-up insists that it is “enforced by birth”, and that depending on “one’s past karmas”, one is “born to endure the miseries or pleasures arising from a particular caste”. It adds: “If the caste system and the duties for each caste were followed then there is no doubt that we could return the former glory of ‘Rama Rajya’. The caste system is in no way a burden and needs to be preserved.”

Because caste rules prevented low-caste followers from worshipping alongside upper-caste Patidars and Brahmins in major temples, the sampradaya is said to have historically addressed Dalit devotion by building separate shrines or requiring external worship. Sociologist Raymond Brady Williams is cited for documenting that in parts of Gujarat (such as Chhani near Vadodara), separate temples were maintained specifically for Dalit devotees, where they could manage and perform rituals themselves without entering dominant-caste shrines. Further, early colonial observers and 19th-century commentators noted that while untouchables were inducted as disciples, social conservatism among dominant-caste followers led them to build segregated shrines or sit outside during satsang assemblies.

It is within this framework that BAPS (or, for that matter, the Maninagar Gadi) never claimed to be non-Hindu. Unlike the orthodox Ahmedabad litigants in the 1948-1966 Yagnapurushdasji case—or groups like the Ramakrishna Mission, which in the 1980s famously petitioned courts for non-Hindu minority status under Article 30 to protect its schools—BAPS never made any legal, institutional, or theological claim of being a separate, non-Hindu religion.

Instead, BAPS took the opposite approach, establishing itself as an assertive, global champion of classical Hindu identity, identifying itself as a “socio-spiritual Hindu organisation” rooted in Vedic Sanatana Dharma, whatever that may mean. Today, its literature, constitutional charters, and global temples—such as the Akshardham complexes in Delhi, Gandhinagar, and Robbinsville, New Jersey—are officially branded as Hindu mandirs and centres of Hindu culture.

In fact, sources insist that BAPS protagonists have sought to justify the claim that the assertion “We are not Hindu” was primarily an expedient legal defence, not an authentic theological shift.

The 1948-1966 court plaint (Sastri Yagnapurushdasji v. Muldas Bhudardas Vaishya), originally filed on January 12, 1948, in the Civil Court at Ahmedabad, explicitly argued that the religion of the Swaminarayan sect was “distinct and separate from the Hindu religion”, just to bypass the Bombay Harijan Temple Entry Act.

Further, BAPS never sought to endorse the “non-Hindu minority” legal trend that prevailed across India during the mid-to-late 20th century, when several prominent Hindu-origin organisations filed official court petitions seeking status as distinct, non-Hindu religious minorities to protect their institutions from state control or social legislation—something the Ramakrishna Mission in West Bengal, as well as the Lingayats in Karnataka, did.

Yet, for a long time, in BAPS, while non-Brahmin dominant castes (predominantly Patidars) made up much of the sadhu leadership, Dalits were not accepted into the ascetic order. Dalit satsangis, it was claimed, historically observed customary caste restrictions as part of their caste duty (dharma), resulting in a virtual absence of Dalit ascetics. It was only beginning in the 1980s and 1990s, under Pramukh Swami Maharaj, that BAPS formally began breaking this precedent by initiating sadhus from Dalit and Adivasi backgrounds and integrating them into full temple rituals and sanctum priesthood.

And what is the Dalit status today in BAPS temples? Sources tell me that while officially there are no caste-based restrictions on Dalits in its temples, neither BAPS nor any other Swaminarayan Gadi publishes an official caste census of its monastic order. Doctrinally, the sects maintain that upon taking initiation (diksha), a sadhu renounces their worldly identity and pre-monastic caste.

However, detailed field studies and academic documentation by sociologists and historians such as Raymond Brady Williams, Rachel Dwyer, David Hardiman, and Ghanshyam Shah provide some idea, stating that while BAPS formally ended caste-based exclusions for monastic initiation in the late 20th century, the actual proportion of Dalit and Adivasi sadhus is estimated to be well under 1%—representing a tiny handful of individuals out of more than 1,100 to 1,200 living sadhus. And most of the marginalised-community inductions into the sadhu order have come from Adivasi (tribal) communities in eastern and southern Gujarat, rather than Dalits. Adivasis, in the caste-based structure of Hinduism, do not fall under the “untouchables” category.

As for other Swaminarayan sects—the Vadtal and Ahmedabad Gadi (the original sampradaya)—the proportion of those wearing saffron robes is effectively 0%. Patidars overwhelmingly rank across almost all Swaminarayan sects and are heavily concentrated among dominant landowning and mercantile castes—estimated by sociologists to make up 60% to over 80% of the sadhus, while Brahmins and Banias comprise most of the remaining portion of the ascetic order.

In several Swaminarayan establishments, the low-caste candidates who entered the monastic path were permanently relegated to the status of parshads (also called palas or bhagats). They wore white clothes, performed manual labour, and were barred from receiving full saffron renunciation (bhagwati diksha).

As for BAPS, in the 1980s–1990s, as part of its expanded youth initiatives, there was tribal/backward-class outreach. At the 1981 Swaminarayan bicentenary mega event in Ahmedabad, Pramukh Swami initiated a massive cohort of young, educated men into the monastic order, beginning a formal systematisation of the training pipeline, which included initiating youths from backward-class and tribal (Adivasi) backgrounds into saffron robes, granting them new ascetic names and the sacred thread.

According to Williams, Pramukh Swami “abolished for BAPS the caste-related category of ascetics permanently in white”. From that period onwards, the parshad (white-clad) status in BAPS ceased to be an indicator of lower caste. Instead, it became a mandatory, temporary probationary phase (typically lasting one to three years) that every novice—regardless of caste or social background—must undergo before taking full saffron vows.

David Hardiman, a prominent subaltern historian and sociologist of modern Gujarat and Professor Emeritus of History at the University of Warwick, noted in “Class Base of the Swaminarayan Sect” (Economic and Political Weekly, 1988) that while the Swaminarayan Sampradaya historically served as an ideological vehicle for the upwardly mobile Kanbi/Patidar agrarian elite, the sect incorporated lower-caste and Adivasi groups through moral reform (temperance, vegetarianism), which structurally limited Dalits from rising into spiritual leadership or ascetic power within dominant institutions.

I would like to end with the following observation by Prof Ghanshyam Shah in “Untouchability in Rural India”, co-authored with Harsh Mander, Sukhadeo Thorat, et al.:

“While the evidence … suggests that the more blatant and extreme forms of untouchability appear to have declined, discrimination continues and is most prevalent in the religious and personal spheres.”

Further:

“Removal of untouchability was on their agenda; it was however primarily confined to removing the taboo of physical touch rather than socio-economic discrimination and inequality.”

Courtesy: CounterView

The post Swaminarayan, untouchability and the ‘we are not Hindu’ argument appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The first reports of children falling ill emerged in the early phase of the crisis, with fever, rashes and other symptoms being reported from the tribal belt. The official account initially placed the number of deaths far below the figures subsequently reported by villagers and local representatives. According to Dainik Bhaskar, the government initially reported eight deaths, while the toll later rose through figures of 19, 22, 24 and 27. By September, Congress leaders were citing 30 deaths and media reports had placed the number at 31, although the administration had not released a final official figure.

Scroll, in its September 4 report, said that at least 25 Baiga and Gond children had died since May and reported that a suspected measles-malaria outbreak had remained undetected for two months in remote Adivasi habitations because of the absence of an adequate healthcare system. The report brought into sharp focus what villagers had been saying: that the crisis was not merely about an infectious disease, but about how little access these communities had to functioning public healthcare in the first place.

The Press Club of India strongly condemns the suspension of the Instagram accounts of three independent journalists following their ground reporting from Balaghat, Madhya Pradesh, on a public health crisis involving the deaths of children from the Adivasi community. pic.twitter.com/3lcjVXcbEd

— Press Club of India (@PCITweets) September 8, 2026

The deaths cannot be reduced to a single disease

The investigations have identified measles, malaria and, in some cases, possible measles-malaria co-infection. Children were also found suffering from dehydration, anaemia, respiratory complications and severe malnutrition. Officials have said that different children presented with different clinical conditions and that no single disease has been established as the cause of every reported death. Some children reportedly died at home or before reaching a healthcare facility, leaving investigators without medical records or diagnostic samples in several cases. A retrospective case-by-case review, including verbal autopsies, is consequently being undertaken.

But the absence of a single pathogen does not make the crisis any less serious. In fact, the health data emerging from the region points towards a much deeper structural failure. A Central government screening exercise covered 32,433 people. It identified 7,711 children with severe acute malnutrition, of whom 518 required admission to Nutrition Rehabilitation Centres. Another 13,406 children were treated for diarrhoea and 274 for severe pneumonia. Since July, 431 children had reportedly been admitted to hospitals, with 52 still undergoing treatment at the time of the report.

These figures make it difficult to view the deaths simply as an isolated outbreak. They reveal communities in which infectious disease, malnutrition, unsafe or inadequate water, poor sanitation and delayed access to medical treatment are interacting with one another.

Balaghat was not an unexpected health-risk zone

The crisis also did not emerge in an epidemiological vacuum. Balaghat has been identified as a major malaria hotspot. According to the health data, of the 2,126 malaria cases reported in Madhya Pradesh in 2025, 685 came from Balaghat. By July 2026, the district had already recorded 174 of the State’s 583 reported malaria cases.

The question, therefore, is not simply why children contracted malaria, measles or other infections. It is why children living in communities already known to face severe deprivation were allowed to reach such critical levels of illness before an adequate response was mounted.

That question becomes more pointed when viewed against the Union government’s own welfare architecture. The Pradhan Mantri Janjati Adivasi Nyaya Maha Abhiyan, or PM-JANMAN, was created specifically to improve the socio-economic conditions of PVTG communities. The scheme carries an outlay of ₹24,104 crore over three years and includes interventions intended to address basic services and infrastructure in PVTG habitations. Yet a Parliamentary Standing Committee, as reported by The Hindu, subsequently questioned why there were still no clear answers about the causes of the deaths months after the first cases had appeared.

The contradiction is difficult to ignore: government schemes may report near-complete sanctions and high aggregate levels of “saturation”, but the reality on the ground was children falling severely ill in settlements where access to basic healthcare remained precarious.

The protests exposed what official figures did not

As the number of deaths became increasingly contested, anger grew in the affected communities. One of the most disturbing allegations concerned the death of four-year-old Luvkush in Baigatola. Villagers alleged that the administration arranged his cremation without a post-mortem while his parents were away in Hyderabad looking for work. The allegation was followed by villagers blocking the Balaghat-Baihar road. The protests were not simply expressions of grief. They were also demands for recognition, accountability and answers.

The issue deepened when the administration issued an order restricting photography and media coverage in hospitals. The order was withdrawn within hours following protests, as per Scroll. The Collector subsequently clarified that it had been issued in haste and was intended to prevent demonstrations rather than restrict media coverage. But in a crisis already marked by conflicting death figures and allegations that cases were not being adequately recorded, even a short-lived attempt to restrict what could be documented inevitably raised questions about transparency.

There was another serious institutional controversy. According to The Hindu, then Chief Medical and Health Officer Dr Paresh Uplab continued to describe the illnesses as seasonal ailments even as the reported death toll had risen substantially. He was subsequently removed, with Dr Manoj Pandey taking charge, followed later by Dr Shatrughan Singh Dahiya.

The issue, therefore, was no longer simply whether the children had died from measles, malaria, malnutrition or a combination of conditions. It was also whether the State had accurately recognised the crisis while it was unfolding.

The State’s response came in stages

The government has since substantially expanded its response. The 50-bed paediatric facility at the district hospital was expanded to 150 beds, while a Covid ward was temporarily converted into a paediatric ward. Mobile Medical Units were deployed in Birsa and Baihar to provide fever screening, outpatient consultations, maternal and child healthcare, tuberculosis and non-communicable disease screening, medicines and primary diagnosis in remote areas.

According to the Dainik Bhasker report, more than 600 drinking-water sources were purified, insecticide spraying was carried out in 4,338 households and fogging was undertaken in affected and adjoining areas. More than 14,000 children aged between one and ten received an additional Measles-Rubella vaccine dose.

The government also expanded surveillance to around 50 villages, increased sanitation interventions and strengthened treatment and referral arrangements. As reported by The Sun Today, the Chief Minister visited Balaghat on August 30, met affected families and announced ₹2 lakh assistance for each family of a deceased child. The government also announced a ₹225-crore development plan covering 100 villages formerly affected by Naxal activity.

These interventions are necessary. But they also raise an uncomfortable question: why did many of these measures become visible only after the deaths, protests and national attention?

Parliament asks the question the villages had already been asking

The Parliamentary Standing Committee on Social Justice and Empowerment questioned representatives of the Tribal Affairs Ministry, the Jal Shakti Ministry and the Department of Telecommunications about the Balaghat deaths, The Hindu reported. Members asked why, months after the first cases, there were still no clear answers regarding the causes of death. The Committee also questioned the implementation of PM-JANMAN and sought village-wise saturation data rather than aggregate figures.

A scheme cannot be considered successful merely because projects have been sanctioned on paper. A health intervention cannot be judged by the number of mobile units deployed after an outbreak. And a welfare programme cannot be called saturated while children in the communities it targets remain severely malnourished and struggle to reach medical care.

Political intervention followed public outrage

The Opposition also intervened. Times of India reported that Leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha Rahul Gandhi described reports of 30 tribal children dying in Balaghat as extremely concerning and distressing, and called on Chief Minister Mohan Yadav to ensure immediate investigation, treatment and relief. Madhya Pradesh Leader of Opposition Umang Singhar separately wrote to Prime Minister Narendra Modi seeking a high-level medical inquiry and questioning how children could die from illnesses that may be treatable with timely intervention.

LoP @RahulGandhi Ji Writes- “बालाघाट, मध्य प्रदेश में 30 आदिवासी बच्चों की मौत की खबर बेहद चिंताजनक और पीड़ादायक है। इस घातक बीमारी के साथ पीने के पानी, पोषण, और समय पर इलाज जैसी बुनियादी सुविधाओं का अभाव बच्चों की जान ले रहा है।

ये सरकार की पूर्ण विफलता है। मुख्यमंत्री स्वयं… https://t.co/dUc5of2PSl pic.twitter.com/hrAlC0J2wD

— Mumbai Congress (@INCMumbai) September 5, 2026

बालाघाट, मध्य प्रदेश में 30 आदिवासी बच्चों की मृत्यु की खबर बेहद चिंताजनक और पीड़ादायक है।

इस घातक बीमारी के साथ पीने के पानी, पोषण, और समय पर इलाज जैसी बुनियादी सुविधाओं का अभाव बच्चों की जान ले रहा है।

ये सरकार की पूर्ण विफलता है। मुख्यमंत्री स्वयं इसका समाधान करें और क्षेत्र… pic.twitter.com/1fkfehcdnN

— Rahul Gandhi (@RahulGandhi) September 5, 2026

Recently, Cockroach Janata Party founder Abhijit Dipke also visited Balaghat.

I’m on my way to Balaghat, MP, where 30 Tribal children have died.

I’ve received information from one of the Tribal activists that MP Police is now moving to detain some of the Tribal students coordinating my visit.

Why is it always a BJP-ruled state that seems so afraid of the…

— Abhijeet Dipke (@abhijeet_dipke) September 11, 2026

The Gondwana Gantantra Party went further, giving the administration 15 days to provide ₹50 lakh compensation to the family of every deceased child and demanding a CBI investigation. These interventions have ensured that the deaths cannot simply disappear into the administrative language of “seasonal illness”, “surveillance” or “ongoing investigation”.

The High Court steps in

The Madhya Pradesh High Court sought a response from the State government on a public interest litigation concerning the deaths of more than 30 tribal children. As reported by LiveLaw, the petition alleged inadequate medical care and pointed to around 400 children being treated in a facility that initially had only 50 beds. The petition was filed after media reports brought the deaths to public attention.

The Court initially directed the petitioner to personally visit the affected areas and verify the claims rather than proceed solely on newspaper reports. After the petitioner submitted a ground report, the Court issued notices to the State Health Department, Women and Child Development Department, the Balaghat Collector and other authorities. The ground report alleged that handpumps in affected areas were producing yellow-coloured water, that children and women had not received nutritious food on time for months, and that poor sanitation was contributing to infections. It further alleged that significant administrative action followed only after the number of deaths had crossed 30.

What does Balaghat reveal?

The most disturbing feature of the Balaghat crisis may ultimately be that none of its individual components is entirely new. Malaria was already a known problem. Malnutrition was already present. The affected communities were already among India’s most vulnerable tribal populations. Remote settlements already faced difficulties accessing healthcare. Yet the crisis escalated to the point where dozens of children were reported dead and hundreds became ill before the State response reached the scale now being described.

Whether the final death toll is 25, 30 or another number, whether individual deaths are ultimately attributed to malaria, measles, malnutrition, respiratory complications or combinations of these, the underlying failures remain visible: severe malnutrition, inadequate healthcare access, sanitation concerns, difficulties with transportation and referral, questions around drinking water, delayed detection and serious disagreement between communities and the administration over the scale of the crisis.

The tragedy in Balaghat is therefore not only about how these children died. It is about how long they were allowed to remain vulnerable before the State responded with urgency.

Related:

Satya Niketan Collapse: When students and neighbours had to rescue students from a system that had failed them

‘Forum for Electoral Integrity’ petitions NHRC over mass voter disenfranchisement under SIR

‘Forum for Electoral Integrity’ petitions NHRC over mass voter disenfranchisement under SIR

Beaten to Death Outside His Own Home: What Delhi owes Chongtham Vikram Singh

Midnight Arrest, Daylight Questions: Why was Santosh Pandit taken into custody?

The post Deaths, Denials and Delayed Action: The Balaghat crisis appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The Shompen of Great Nicobar Island stand out as one of India’s most distinctive and endangered tribal communities. Living deep within the island’s forests, they have traditionally followed a semi‑nomadic life of hunting, gathering and horticulture. Their diet—coconuts, bananas, tubers, fish, wild animals and honey—reflects a sophisticated understanding of the forest ecosystem. Their indigenous methods of storing water in bamboo, their linguistic uniqueness and their customary practices have long fascinated anthropologists and administrators. Yet these very characteristics also make them exceptionally vulnerable to external pressures.

Historically, the Shompen have maintained minimal contact with outsiders, a factor that helped preserve their culture but also left them exposed to new risks as interactions increased. Their population numbers tell a story of extreme demographic fragility. Estimates have fluctuated sharply over the past century: 348 in 1901, 375 in 1911 and 1921, dropping to 200 in 1931, plummeting to 20 in 1951, rising again to 212 in 1981, falling to 135 in 1991 and reaching 229 in 2001. These swings must be interpreted cautiously, given the difficulty of enumerating isolated communities, but they nonetheless reveal how even minor disruptions—disease outbreaks, habitat loss or food scarcity—can have catastrophic consequences for such a small population.

Health remains one of the most serious concerns. Indigenous groups with limited historical exposure to communicable diseases are at heightened risk when contact with outsiders increases. The Andaman Islands have witnessed outbreaks of measles, mumps and tuberculosis among other tribal communities, underscoring the dangers of uncontrolled interaction. For the Shompen, healthcare policy must strike a delicate balance: ensuring access to essential services without exposing them to infectious diseases or creating dependency on external institutions. Preventive, culturally sensitive strategies—surveillance, vaccination where appropriate, nutritional support and emergency response—must be designed with respect for autonomy and minimal intrusion.

The Shompen’s survival is inseparable from the forests of Great Nicobar. Their traditional economy depends on access to wildlife, water sources and forest produce. The Andaman and Nicobar Islands (Protection of Aboriginal Tribes) Regulation, 1956 sought to safeguard indigenous territories by restricting land transfers and outsider access. Yet protected areas can create dilemmas when conservation measures unintentionally limit indigenous communities’ access to resources they have relied on for generations. Protection must therefore prioritize tribal rights rather than impose rigid administrative boundaries. Encroachment, agricultural expansion, commercial extraction and unauthorized entry threaten both the forest ecosystem and the Shompen’s livelihood security.

Contact with outsiders remains one of the most sensitive policy issues. Tourism, settlement and infrastructure development have increased opportunities for interaction, often with harmful consequences. Experiences involving other indigenous groups in the islands reveal how treating tribal communities as tourist attractions can lead to exploitation, cultural disruption and nutritional decline. When traditional food systems are replaced by market commodities, diets may become inadequate or unhealthy. Policy must follow the principle of minimum necessary contact, ensuring that interaction occurs only for essential purposes such as healthcare, protection or administration.

Tourism, in particular, demands strict ethical safeguards. The controversies surrounding the Andaman Trunk Road illustrate how commercial interests can overshadow indigenous rights. The Shompen must never be approached, photographed or displayed for entertainment. Their privacy, dignity and right to determine the nature of contact must take precedence over tourism revenue. Responsible tourism requires prohibiting exploitative encounters and preventing entry into protected tribal territories except under strictly regulated conditions.

Education presents another complex challenge. The Shompen possess their own language, ecological knowledge and cultural practices. Conventional schooling, if imposed without sensitivity, may erode indigenous knowledge and produce limited outcomes. Experiences from Tamil Nadu and Madhya Pradesh show that educational programmes become more effective when they incorporate local languages and traditional learning systems. For the Shompen, flexible, community‑based approaches—introduced only with their consent—may be more appropriate than mass‑schooling models.

Government policy in the islands has evolved from colonial settlement and penal administration to post‑independence efforts aimed at protecting tribal communities. The 1956 Regulation established a legal framework for safeguarding indigenous territories, and subsequent measures strengthened restrictions on unauthorized access, tourism and photography. Research institutions have contributed to documenting tribal societies and informing policy. Yet legislation alone cannot ensure protection; effective implementation, monitoring and coordination are essential.

The Shompen require a policy approach tailored to their unique circumstances. Their territorial rights must be protected from encroachment. Contact with outsiders should be strictly regulated. Healthcare interventions must prioritize disease prevention and nutritional security. Cultural preservation—including documentation of language and traditional knowledge—should be undertaken only with community consent. Traditional food systems and livelihoods must be strengthened rather than replaced. Tourism must never compromise their dignity. Governance should respect their choices and customary institutions. Data collection must be careful, ethical and non‑intrusive.

The way forward lies in protecting the Shompen’s relationship with their environment. Their traditional practices—hunting, gathering and horticulture—are finely adapted to Great Nicobar’s ecology. Development interventions must avoid disrupting this balance. Infrastructure and economic projects in the Nicobar Islands must be planned with sensitivity to ecological and tribal concerns. The goal is not assimilation into mainstream society, nor romanticized isolation that denies essential services. The appropriate path lies between these extremes: protection without exploitation, assistance without dependency, development without displacement and contact without coercion.

The Shompen’s future depends on decisions made today. Their small population, isolation and dependence on natural resources make them acutely vulnerable. The history of tribal administration in the islands shows that even well‑intentioned interventions can produce unintended harm when indigenous autonomy and ecological realities are ignored. Policy must therefore place the Shompen’s life, land, health, culture and dignity at its centre. Their survival should not be measured by integration into mainstream society, but by their ability to retain identity, knowledge, territorial security and dignity while receiving essential protection when needed.

*Associate Professor (Retd.), National Institute of Rural Development (NIRD)

Courtesy: CounterView

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In the letter, Rahul Gandhi said that tribal students across the state had been protesting for more than ten days. “Many Adivasi students come from remote villages and depend on government hostels to study in the cities. A new rule bars anyone over 30 from these hostels, excluding many who are still completing their studies or preparing for exams,” he stated. He added that hostels for these students are unsafe as they reportedly lack food, sanitation and medical care. Incidents of snakebites have also been reported. “I was shocked to learn that female students returning after an extended absence must undergo pregnancy tests and a range of other medical tests, to prove their ‘fitness’. It is a humiliation that presumes them guilty until they prove otherwise. This rule is an attack on their dignity and their humanity,” he said.

Adivasi students across Maharashtra started their protest after the BJP-led state government introduced a government resolution (GR) on Aug 4, which fixed the age limit for staying in hostels at 26. However, after the decision sparked protests, the GR was revised on August 14 and the age limit was increased to 30. The students, however, are demanding complete withdrawal of the GR, besides seeking better facilities at hostels run by the Tribal Development Department across the state. They are also demanding immediate recruitment of aspirants from tribal community for 12,500 vacant posts which they claim have been stuck for a long time.

In his letter to Mr. Fadnavis, Mr. Gandhi followed up on interactions with students in Pune during the Chhatron ki Gunj (echoes of students) programme last Saturday. He said students from across Maharashtra had told him about hostel rules that “strip them of their dignity and shut off their path to education”.

Mr. Gandhi expressed particular concern over facilities for women, saying female students returning after an extended absence were required to undergo pregnancy tests and other medical examinations to establish their “fitness”. “It is a humiliation that presumes them guilty until they prove otherwise,” he said, describing the requirement as an “attack on their dignity and their humanity”. Mr. Gandhi also flagged a rule barring those above 30 from hostel accommodation, saying it excluded many students still completing their studies or preparing for examinations.

He also alleged that hostels were unsafe and often lacked food, sanitation and medical care, with students suffering injuries and deaths, including from snake bites.

“These students are not asking for charity. They are demanding what is theirs by right,” Mr. Gandhi said, urging Mr. Fadnavis to hear the students’ concerns and resolve them immediately.

Earlier in the day, the party had sought a special committee to probe the deaths of tribal children allegedly due to malnutrition in Madhya Pradesh and of tribal girls following snakebite in Maharashtra and demanded action against officials found responsible.

Adivasi Congress chief Vikrant Bhuria also called for a safety audit of tribal hostels, citing alleged lapses in facilities in the two States. Addressing a press conference here, Mr. Bhuria claimed that 22 children from the Baiga tribal community had died of malnutrition and related diseases in the Balaghat district of Madhya Pradesh. He alleged that a nutritional meal delivered to households had been discontinued for six months and that the nearest primary health centre was 20 km away. Vaccination coverage in the area was also below 80%, he claimed. “I had asked in the Madhya Pradesh Legislative Assembly how much budget was allocated for preventing malnutrition in the State’s tribal blocks and projects from 2020 to 2025, and how much of it was spent. The response was extremely concerning. The government said malnourished children are given a nutritional meal worth only ₹12 per day,” he said.

On Maharashtra, Bhuria alleged that more than 70 girls at a tribal hostel in Gadchiroli were made to sleep on the floor in a single room. Six girls were hospitalised following a snakebite incident, of whom three died, he claimed.

Mr. Bhuria said students protesting in Nashik were continuing their hunger strike, demanding better facilities at tribal hostels. He sought a probe into the Balaghat deaths and action against officials found responsible.

Related:

Bihar: Not just Delhi, Patna, Siwan too saw brute police violence against demonstrating students: PUCL

Maharashtra: After backlash, govt. moves to withdraw FIRs against student protesters but questions remain

Youth Uprising: A protest, a brute crackdown, a continuing countrywide response

Mumbai stands with students, but the state pushes back

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When India’s speaks of women’s rights, it often collapses all women into a single box. In the meanwhile, it ignores the distinct and compounded forms of suppression endured by lower-caste women. The tragedy is – Dalit women are invisible not because they are women but because they sit at the intersection of caste, gender and poverty.

The Nation’s selective outrage and Yashika Dutt 

Lower-caste women are raped in what appears to be more of an organised and systemic way. Dalit women are raped whenever they or the men of their community are seen as transgressing the caste hierarchy as evidenced by the Khairlanji rapes and murders in 2006 and the prevalent devadasi/jogini practices (temple prostitution).

Dalit women experience caste violence aimed at controlling and monitoring their sexuality as their bodies are symbols of honour and caste authority and their exploitation has been justified by their lower social status. Dutt has noted – “every time a Dalit woman is assaulted, abused, raped or murdered, her caste matters. Even if she was not raped simply because she is Dalit, the conditions that lead to her assault are almost always affected by her status as lower-caste woman in an upper-caste male-dominated society”.

Unfortunately, this is palpable in the context of public outrage – rapes, and murders of Dalit women rarely make headlines. This closely resonates with the mainstream media’s conspicuous apathy in covering the struggle for the most basic human rights in Manipur. The refusal of institutions to recognise the dehumanizing ordeal of Dalit women compounds psychological harm. Coverage of caste-based sexual violence is often episodic, with sustained public attention reserved for only a handful of extreme cases – the Hathras case of 2020 being one of them – where a 19-year old Dalit girl was gang raped and murdered in Uttar Pradesh’s Hathras district.

The erasure of caste trauma from public discourse compels survivors to internally bear harms that are rooted in structural discrimination and require collective reckoning.  The accounts and experiences of the Dalit women get obscured within the folds of the dominant narratives.

The Protectors Are Perpetrators

The Constitution guarantees equality, dignity and protection against caste discrimination. Yet Dalit women continue to experience sexual violence not merely because of social prejudices (to which the Indian female population is generally subjected to) but because the very foundational institution of the criminal justice system systematically fails them. As very little information or government data concerning the particular situation of Dalit women in India is available, I will rely on the commendable ground work done by the People’s Archive of Rural India (PARI) and the Swabhiman Society.

Many incidents of sexual violence and rape against Dalit women that should be registered under the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act are not recorded as such by the Police. This has been attributed to political pressure seeking to project a decline in caste-based atrocities in order to exhibit their purported commitment to the appeasement rhetoric of cracking down on caste-based atrocities.  Survivors of sexual violence, Dalit women and girls are silenced through threats by dominant castes. The constitutionally invalid Khap Panchayats often have an upper hand in refraining the victim families to report such instances.

The most precarious fact about violence against lower caste women is the complicity of the administration. The police, a part of the state machinery, has been reported to decline the registration of complaints. Charges are not filed because the case is designated as false by the police. The authorities often belonging to the dominant upper caste shout caste-based slurs and sexist remarks. They take money from the financially influential accused persons and direct the evidence in their favour.  In the Hathras Rape case in 2020, the girl’s brother testified that no arrest was made by the police even after 10 days of the incident was reported. A 15-year-old Dalit girl who was gang raped by security personnel in Odisha was incessantly threatened, harassed and lured by the police to say that she had not been raped by security personnel but by other local persons. When she refused to put up with the falsehood, her medical examination was re-done to obliterate any evidence of rape. Three months later, she committed suicide and, that she was raped, was written in the suicide note.  The sanction and continuation of these forms of sexual violence come from the powerful kinship networks, beginning with the families of dominant caste groups. These networks extend to the local governance, as well as the police and legal systems.

The regressive and ignominious two-finger test that has been ruled out by the Supreme Court of India is still used for the medico-legal examination of the Dalit victims. Survivors are often not provided with a copy of the medical examination report, or the families of the dead (in cases of murder) are not provided with the post-mortem reports. These are tampered with by the state authorities to show lack of evidence.

The incitement to declare oneself the subject of violation is the first step in seeking recognition and redress. This requires strategic enactment of a perception about law- one must act as if legal structures are capable of delivering justice once the harm is presented in familiar legal vocabulary. Thus, the police being the first rung of the criminal justice system, it remains to be seen how can laws instil faith in the Dalit women that the justice system is alive and will come to their rescue.

Women, Dalit women, Rege[1] and Bama[2] 

The author’s assertion that addressing women does not mechanically translate into engaging with Dalit women is aptly substantiated by Sharmila Rege. She pointed out that the category ‘woman’ was conceived as collectively, based on their being oppressed by the fact of their womanhood. The three categories were deployed in combination and this often led to exclusions around race, class and ethnicity. Since most of the vocal feminists of the 1970s were white, middle class and university educated – it was their experience which came to be universalised a ‘women’s experience’.

Bama remarked “All women in the world are second class citizens. For Dalit women, the problem is grave. Their Dalit identity gives them a different set of problems. They experience a total lack of social status; they are not even considered dignified human being.” They must endure triple oppression – class, caste and gender.

Today, the plight is such that Dalit women constitute one of the most vulnerable and marginalised groups within India’s female population. They suffer from, what is called the triple burden of gender bias, caste discrimination, and economic deprivation. They are more susceptible to sexual violence due to their caste than other women. Experts write that the bodies of Dalit women are weaponised maintain and perpetuate the status quo – the oppression and subjugation of Dalit. Uma Chakravarti wrote that violence is inflicted on Dalit women’s bodies as a means of controlling caste dominance and maintaining caste purity. Lower-caste women have been denied the right to seek justice for sexual violence as it is often considered that they have no honour to be stolen.

Politics and Casteism in India 

B.R. Ambedkar observed that the caste system can be maintained only through the constraints on women’s sexuality and in this way, women are the gateways to the caste.  Sexual violence against Dalit women perpetuates and entrenches casteism in the Indian society. It is indeed ironical how such violence continues seventy-five years after the Constitution promised equality? This crisis is almost out of the mainstream political discourse. Caste-based sexual violence has occupied a relatively limited place in the election manifestos of major national parties compared to other issues.

The highest rates of crimes committed against Dalits (NCRB, 2019) were in Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar and Gujarat. The others with rates above the national average were Telangana, UP, Kerala, Odisha and Andhra Pradesh. Remarkably, despite the pervasiveness of the menace across States in India, violence against Dalit women finds no mention in the manifesto of the ruling party in power in most of the above-mentioned States or the Indian National Congress (INC) (in power in Telangana and leading the UDF in Kerala) and cursory treatment in the manifesto of the CPI(M) (leading the LDF as the opposition in Kerala). The reason why I found it relevant to refer to the election manifestos of the political parties is because they are instructive in revealing the manner in which political institutions conceptualise and more importantly, fail to conceptualise violence against Dalit women.

The belief that reforms aimed at women as a homogenous category will inevitably serve the needs of lower-caste women is merely a façade. Neither women nor Dalits are a monolithic category. Violence perpetrated on Dalit women is a structural and intersectional menace.  The rhetorical commitments to do away with “caste-based violence” or “gender-related crimes” or “women empowerment” or “Dalit atrocities” does not per se address the plight of Dalit or lower-caste women.  Today, Dalit women are a more vulnerable constituency within Indian women, whose experiences cannot be comprehended through a universalised lens of womanhood. In India’s caste-ridden society, upper-caste women are bestowed with greater honour, whereas the bodies of Dalit, Adivasi, and lower-caste women are considered impure and sexually accessible to dominant caste-groups. None of the existing frameworks in India are equipped to undo centuries of inherited stigma.

Promises of political representation or reservation or economic empowerment of women through financial inclusion do not even superficially cater to the misery of the lower caste women. The perception that empowerment of women is assured through economic means abandons the idea of emancipation of the lower caste women as the latter is not possible without meticulously studying the specificities of their subordination. South India is a testament to this assertion. Higher literacy rates, positive indicators of economic development and other manifestations of modernisation have miserably failed to eradicate the blot of casteism.  To borrow from Mema Chongtham, “a mirage of equality only shields prejudice, giving a lifeline to discrimination behind a façade of civility.”

Conclusion – Listen to them

Given the now proven ineptitude of governments across successive administrations and States in meaningfully assuaging the plight of Dalit women, it must now directly turn towards the lower caste women and ask – What do you need? What do you want? What do you think will help you in rising? How can the State actually support you? It is imperative for the Government to pay heed to the voices and recommendations of the Dalit women organisations, who have much more nuanced understanding of the community.

There is a need to lift them from menial jobs like manual scavenging and transform them into producers in the workforce. Dalit women are almost invisible in public life and positions of power. Though no data is publicly available on the representation of Dalit judges in High Courts and the lower judiciary, Parliamentary Committees, Commissions and high-level government officials have acknowledged the issue of acute lack of caste diversity in the justice system needs to be immediately addressed. Years of oppression and subjugation has obliterated the very confidence of lower caste women in their being. They need tangible beacons of hope to enable and equip themselves.

In my very personal opinion, though I have been generally hesitant in the deliberation over Indian issues in the international arena, it is precisely these factors that propel me to concur with what Dr. Shiv Visvanathan, a prominent social scientist, known for the concept of cognitive justice who wrote, – “One is forced to manoeuvre for international attention because only external politics might be able to leverage current paradigms”.

(The author, as student of law at the Symbiosis Law School, Pune and is grateful to Dr Ankita Chatterjee for her invaluable insights and guidance, that significantly informed and enriched this article)

References:

Cases buried by caste

Dear upper caste Indians, Hathras is not another Nirbhaya. It is a Khairlanji

The Khairlanji Massacre: Unveiling the Intersection of Caste, Gender, and Violence in Modern India – Round Table India

Dalit Women in India: At the Crossroads of Gender, Class, and Caste | Global Justice : Theory Practice Rhetoric

Unveiling the Oppressed Body: Female Dalit Body Politics in India through Baburao Bagul and Yashica Dutt

Progressive On Paper, Prejudiced In Practice: Why We Cannot Look Away From The Persistence Of Caste In South India | Feminism in India

Hathras victim was gang-raped, murdered: CBI – The Hindu

Caste Based Sexual Violence and State Impunity (English and Hindi)

EN-Haryana_Report-ENG-PDF-1.pdf

Caste and Race: Discrimination Based on Descent | Economic and Political Weekly

Dalit_Women_Talk_DifferentlyA_Critique_of_Difference_and_Towards_a_Dalit_Feminist.pdf

Disciplinary power and practices of body politics: an evaluation of Dalit women in Bama’s Sangati and P. Sivakami’s The Grip of Change through Foucauldian discourse analysis | Humanities and Social Sciences Communications

Nine states have 54% of Dalits, see 84% of crime against SCs | India News – Times of India

‘I’m a Dalit woman, and my mental health matters’: Christina Thomas Dhanaraj

Dalit Women’s Rights Manifesto 2026 demands internal reservation in governance – The Hindu

Justice denied: Sexual violence & intersectional discrimination – Barriers to accessing justice for Dalit women and girls in Haryana, India – Equality Now

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sharmila_Rege: Sharmila Rege was an Indian sociologist, feminist scholar and author of Writing Caste, Writing Gender.^[2] She led the Krantijyoti Savitribai Phule Women’s Studies Centre at the University of Pune since 1991

[2] Bama (born Faustina Mary Fatima Rani in 1958), also known as Bama Faustina Soosairaj, is a prominent Tamil Dalit feminist writer and former teacher from Virudhunagar district, Tamil Nadu; She rose to fame with her 1992 autobiographical novel Karukku and subsequently published Sangati in 1994, which translates to “Events” in English.

Related:

January 2024: Alarming surge in attacks targeting Dalit women

Not a Dalit Women’s Day in India

Urge Modi to dismiss Yogi, set up international enquiry into rapes of Dalit women: South Asian groups to UN

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In a press release issued today, August 3, the SKA has raised the following key issues:

A staggering 593 persons have been killed in sewer and septic tanks, from January 2021 to date (July 2026) but Government has reported only 332 such deaths to the parliament. The SKA has demanded to know

• Why the remaining 261 deaths are being concealed.
• SKA data shows 47 deaths in 2021, 93 in 2022, 102 in 2023, 117 in 2024 and 121 sewer and septic tank deaths in 2025.
• This year alone, 2026, in just 7 months from January to July 2026, 113 persons have been killed in sewer and septic tanks all over the country.
• In the month of July 2026 itself, 15 persons were killed.

Strongly criticising the dismissive and arrogant attitude of the government that, the SKA alleges is “concealing figures”, the SKA also states that this attitude extends to labelling these figures of lives lost as “mere workplace accidents.” Instead of taking policy decisions outlines clearly in the 2013 law to abolish the abhorrent practice, the SKA states that “the government is only focussed on obscuring the truth.”

Hence, women, youth, workers engaged in cleaning sewer and septic tanks and families of those who were killed, will gather at Jantar Mantar on August 4, 2026 at 3 p.m. to demand that the Prime Minister should accept full responsibility for “these deaths and to constitute a Parliamentary Standing Committee inquiry into these killings. Government should present a timebound national plan for the immediate stop to sewer and septic tank deaths.”

Read Citizens for Justice   & Peace’s legal primer on the laws periodically passed to abolish this abhorrent practice –that remain grossly unimplemented—here and here. More on the efficacy of a law to ban a practice where, tragically, local government bodies remain the main practioneers/ offencers may be read here.

The post #STOPKILLINGUS Protest at Jantar Mantar on August 4 against GOI’s “cover-up” of Manual Scavenging deaths appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Gumiapal is a small village in Dantewada district that remained under Maoist control until very recently. I first visited Gumiapal many years ago when I was trying to meet the Maoist leader Ganesh Uike (not his real name), who exercised firm control over the region. There was no electricity then—and in parts of Gumiapal, that is still the case. I vividly remember Ganesh Uike telling me how solar power and LED lights had transformed his revolutionary life.

He was a voracious reader. “Earlier, I used to read beside a bonfire,” he told me. “During the day there was never any time, and nights without LED lights made reading almost impossible.” To reach him, we literally crossed the red-coloured waters of the Shankhini River, stained by iron ore dust from the nearby mines of the National Mineral Development Corporation (NMDC). The river, the principal source of drinking water for many villagers, had become completely unfit for consumption.

Aarti Sponge obtained a mining lease for the Tularmeta Hills in 2017, covering 31.55 hectares within Gumiapal panchayat. Yet it could not begin mining because of Maoist opposition. Following the Maoists’ withdrawal earlier this year, democratic protests emerged alongside renewed efforts by the company to commence mining. The Gram Sabha conducted earlier had been dismissed by villagers as a sham. About two months ago, however, reports began to emerge of a dialogue between the company and the villagers.

Earlier this month, villagers belonging to the registered Malla Moitor Gram Vikas Samiti—named after Malla Moitor, the tribal deity of the Tularmeta Hills—submitted a MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING (MoU) between the company and the village committee to the District Collector. Mining operations have now commenced. At first glance, however, the MoU appears weak. It states that the company will provide 10 per cent of its CSR allocation directly to the village committee. CSR and royalty, however, are entirely different concepts.

I hope the district administration will help draft a stronger agreement—one that provides the villagers with a defined share of royalty or a production-linked share of profits to create a permanent Village Development Fund. While the present MoU refers to routine labour benefits, it makes no commitment to guaranteed local employment or skill development. A village committee has been constituted to oversee mining operations, but the agreement is silent on what happens if the company ignores its recommendations.

In short, the MoU appears amateurish and requires considerable strengthening. For the moment, villagers are pleased that employment has come to their doorstep, sparing many of them the annual migration to Andhra Pradesh and Telangana in search of work. Yet the agreement does little to protect their long-term interests. Ironically, many social activists who could have contributed to strengthening the agreement remain occupied with protests and anti-mining padyatras (foot marches).

Somaru Kadti, an independently elected Zila Panchayat member from one of the affected villages, says: “Earlier, everyone opposed mining. Now, almost everyone in my area supports it. I don’t know whether they are right or wrong, but I could not join the protest rallies because I have to stand with my people. In fact, hardly anyone from the affected villages attended those rallies. Most participants came from outside our area.”

Soni Sori, one of the leading protesters, offers a different perspective: “When we opposed mining, we stood together. Now that some people support mining, that decision too should be taken collectively. Everyone from South Bastar—not just the people of Gumiapal—must decide because the Tularmeta Hills belong to all of us. People accuse me of taking money from the company, but what has really happened is that the company has succeeded in dividing the Adivasi community. That is the tragedy.”

The Gumiapal MoU should be viewed as a work in progress. Much remains to be improved. Yet it also offers a small ray of hope in the long-contested debate over mining reform in central India, where jhagra remains the defining reality. The current social and political context presents a historic opportunity—one that should be seized by building trust between Adivasi communities, mining companies and the state.

Mao launched the Great Leap Forward in China after the Communist Revolution. The campaign itself failed to deliver the economic transformation it promised during his lifetime, though China later emerged as a global manufacturing power under very different policies. Likewise, an absolute “no mining” position is unlikely to be a practical solution today. The Gumiapal MoU, despite all its shortcomings, may point towards something more achievable: better mining—mining that gradually expands ownership, benefits and decision-making power for local communities.

Can mining one day brighten the lives of Adivasis as dramatically as LED lights once brightened the life of Ganesh Uike? This question rings out alternatively loud and muffled in contemporary Chhattisgarh, even as the state copes with new social and political realities.

Courtesy: theaidem.com

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