Kalahandi’s name in the headlines reflects the haunting reality of its perpetual suffering. Despite countless initiatives and high-profile campaigns, the region continues to churn out stories that shock the nation’s conscience. Tales of marrying off a minor Nanad (sister-in-law) to an older man for just 40 rupees and a saree, selling a newborn for survival, or a grieving husband carrying his wife’s corpse on his shoulders—each story adds another grim chapter to the book of despair. Yet, some tragedies barely raise an eyebrow. Young girls becoming unwed mothers or being sold as brides to faraway lands like Mewat have become so routine that they hardly disrupt the fabric of daily life. These harrowing realities have faded into a chilling normalcy. In recent years, state-led propaganda has painted a rosy picture of Kalahandi, celebrating its so-called transformation. But amidst the noise of these grand claims rises a figure like Bablu—a stark reminder of the truth. Bablu’s story cuts through the facade, exposing the emptiness behind development slogans and revealing the fragile skeleton of progress that the government so proudly touts. His story isn’t just an exception; it’s a mirror to the unchanging reality.
The boy shared the story of how he lost his mother at a young age, followed shortly by the death of his father. Since then, his elderly grandmother has been his sole guardian, supporting him with a small government pension of INR 500/- and basic ration supplies. Bablu revealed that they lack basic necessities, living in a crumbling shack constantly at risk from rain and scorching sunlight.Following his interaction with the Collector, Bablu expressed hope that he and his grandmother might receive a stable home and the support needed to continue his education—a hope shared by many children in India’s marginalized communities, striving for a better future against all odds.He wrote a heartfelt application to the District Collector, outlining his daily struggles. He expressed his determination to continue his education but voiced concerns about the difficulty of doing so with such limited resources. With childlike sincerity, he wrote to the Collector, “I heard you listen to everyone’s problems, so I came to meet you. I don’t want much, sir—just the chance to study,” he pleaded. The incident was widely reported in local newspapers, bringing Bablu’s plight to light. However, there is no update yet on what actions the Collector’s office has taken in response.
This episode of destitution has dramatically exposed the deep flaws in government schemes, unraveling the stark reality behind some of the headlines we’ve seen in recent years, like Hunger deaths to ‘rice bowl’ and ‘How Odisha’s Kalahandi-Balangir-Koraput corridor turned a corner‘, suggest a simplistic view that increasing rice production alone could resolve hunger, ignoring the far more complex and systemic issues at play. This shallow narrative fails to address the underlying causes of poverty and food insecurity. The then Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik’s bold claim, in a public address, that Kalahandi had transformed from a land of hunger to Odisha’s rice bowl, stands in sharp contrast to the lived experiences of children like Bablu—highlighting the gap between government rhetoric and reality. If we set aside the government’s free rice scheme for rural populations, addressing hunger becomes a far more complex and elusive task. It is by sheer coincidence that Bablu and his grandmother have avoided starvation, thanks to the basic regular ration supply, but this relief is not a solution. It is not an achievement but a temporary fix, a stopgap measure at the cost of depleting the government’s treasury, rather than a sustainable resolution to the deeper crisis.
The government’s claims have become little more than empty boasts, masking reality with superficial grandeur. Kalahandi, though abundant in agricultural potential, continues to grapple with deep socio-economic issues. Despite its agricultural success, systemic neglect, limited access to basic resources, and economic hardships have left the region trapped in cycles of poverty and deprivation. Kalahandi’s hunger seems to have found a solution, but this relief comes at a cost, otherwise, till 2000, five per cent of the population went to sleep without two square meals a day. Government schemes have brought food to people in Koraput, Balangir and Kalahand
The haunting image of Dona Majhi, who carried his wife’s lifeless body for miles on his shoulder, exposed the brutal reality of healthcare in rural Odisha. But has anything changed since that heartbreaking day? Even now, the agonizing stories continue—patients being carried on makeshift stretchers, unable to reach Primary Health Centers (PHCs) due to inaccessibility. Over a hundred villages in this district remain forgotten, with no government intervention in sight. Eight years after Dona Majhi’s tragedy, PHCs are still plagued by severe shortages of doctors and resources. The bitter truth is that local medicine shopkeepers are now left with the impossible task of managing these centers, while the cries for help go unanswered. Even today, there is a prevailing perception in government circles regarding Kalahandi that working here is akin to a punishment posting. As a result, officials and employees from coastal Odisha are reluctant to come here. If they do arrive, they often carry out their duties half-heartedly or remain absent for months. This widespread issue reflects the larger state of disarray.
The application submitted to the District Collector paints a painful portrait of life in Kalahandi, where survival itself is a daily battle. Without a home and burdened by countless struggles, a young boy is gripped by the terrifying prospect that these hardships may rob him of his education. His fear isn’t just of the present—it’s of a future where his only option might be escape. For many in this district, like one-third of the population who migrate each year in search of labor, the hope of a better life is nothing more than a desperate flight from despair. The same fate might await Bablu—dragged away to a brick kiln, or worse, forced to labor in the searing heat of Firozabad’s glass furnaces. This isn’t a distant reality—it’s the harsh truth of Western Odisha, where countless lives continue to be ensnared in this cycle of poverty and abandonment. In the tribal areas of this state, it is no longer uncommon for children to drop out of school, and when it happens, there is little outcry. However, the frightening reality is that Odisha is grappling with the highest dropout rates at the secondary education level in the country. While there has been a significant 22.2% reduction in dropout rates between 2014-15 and 2021-22, Odisha still holds the highest dropout rate in India at 27.29%. Kalahandi district had the highest rate of school dropouts (6,731) in the state.This alarming statistic poses a major obstacle for students seeking to enter higher secondary education, leaving countless futures hanging in the balance. Despite efforts to address this issue, the path ahead remains challenging, and the promise of education is slipping through the hands of many young minds.
Thousands of Bablu from Kalahandi may not grasp the complexities behind these statistics, but all of them live the harsh truth every day. If hunger truly has been eradicated, then attention must shift to strengthening the systems that ensure stable homes, healthcare, and education. Kalahandi is home to numerous welfare schemes, but the real challenge lies in their effective execution. In this new, reformed framework, the people have placed their trust in the hope that a harmonious collaboration between the government, local bodies, and civil society organizations will create conditions that genuinely serve the interests of the vulnerable.
Bablu’s dilemma, worries, and fears are not just his personal struggles; they reflect the harsh reality that has engulfed the entire ST and SC communities, who are among the economically poorest of the poor. Can the innocent curiosity of children, their natural childhood, and tender minds remain unaffected by the persistent poverty, degraded environment for personality development, and relentless deprivation? Do the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) and the Commissions for Protection of Child Rights (NCPCR) lose their relevance for a childhood gripped by fear, which stands before a District Collector with a plea for its future? This question challenges not only the system but also our collective sense of responsibility and compassion.
It’s crucial to acknowledge that the mismanagement of water resources is not solely a governmental failing—we can never forget this—non-governmental organizations have also been complicit.Breaking this vicious cycle of mistrust is imperative, for only then can Bablu’s anxieties and doubts be resolved, paving the way for sustainable solutions and collective action. If the issues of water and education are resolved, the land here, which has been yielding gold as crops for centuries, will be adorned with the colors of prosperity. Bablu’s plea is able to convey that all is not well in areas like Kalahandi.
