About 200 km from Hyderabad, the well-paved road is covered with mounds of dust and dotted with gigantic unplanned speed breakers. It leads to the almost barren village of Amarigiri in Nagarkurnool district, soaking in the heat of the sun, the withering trees providing no shelter.

Home to 45 families of the Chenchu tribe, the land’s aridity is deceptive for it has a lifeline—the Krishna river running below the village. The fish in this river has been their source of income.

However, the entire village has suffered due to debt bondage, some for generation after generation. They were rescued from their plight three years ago and soon the company they have established will be ready for business.

Generations past

Kudumula Venkataiah, now in his 60s, has seen more than the average burden of hardship. Seated below a tree which acts as a meeting point for the villagers—it is perhaps the only tree around giving enough shade for the people—he tells us how he got here.

Growing up, Venkataiah’s village was closer to the river bank, where they had agricultural land: fertile fields for them to live off. But by his teenage years, a project known as the Srisailam Dam came and destroyed their homes and livelihood.

The village of Amarigiri.

By the age of 15, he was married and his village resettled to where it now stands. Unable to continue with their previous form of livelihood, Venkataiah’s father decided to borrow ₹1,000 from a neighbour to start fishing in the waters of the Krishna. The creditor belonged to a higher caste, creating a distance that could never be bridged. But their interaction continued because his father continued to take loans for survival.

At night, the family would leave their nets in the water and go home. Sometimes, strong currents would take these nets along with them. This meant again borrowing money to buy new ones.

With no other means of livelihood, having any extra cash was made even more impossible by the moneylenders. They were obliged to sell the catch only to the creditors, that too for a fraction of the real cost. Also, half of that money would then be taken as repayment of the loan.

So, if they made ₹30, the buyer-cum-lender-cum-neighbour would take away ₹15. Sometimes they would also borrow ₹100, but Venkataiah says it would be written down as ₹200, and when he borrowed ₹400 it would be marked as ₹500. With no reading or writing skills, duping the families was an easy task.

Venkataiah was made to help his father at a young age. Later, his children continued this practice.  

We meet Kudumula Raju, one of Venkataiah’s five sons, who at 25 has one of his own. By the age of eight, he would go with his father, helping him fish. During the peak season they would go away for two weeks, setting up camp on the main banks of the river.

If they didn’t go fishing everyday, Kudumula Venkataiah says they would be beaten or abused.

Raju speaks softly in Telugu, his eyes downcast, when asked about how life was back then. “I wanted to study but my family’s condition was such that I had to be involved.” And so life went on, with the continuous circle of borrowing money, being abused physically and verbally, and cheated of their produce.

They had no freedom. If one fell ill, another person from the family would have to go work. If not, they would be beaten and abused.

When the rescue team—consisting of non-profit Foundation for Sustainable Development (FSD) and International Justice Mission (IJM) with the Revenue Divisional Officer of Nagarkurnool Devender Reddy, and the police—liberated 96 people on January 7, 2016, including him, his family was ₹3 lakh in debt. This amount was waived off, as well as for all others, by the authorities after a detailed inquiry was conducted and release certificates given.

Now, things are different. Venkataiah’s wife Kurumala Devamma tells us that they are happy with whatever they get. Even if it may not be enough always, they are not bound by a people who control their every move.

Displaced from home

The welfare state’s responsibility of ensuring justice to all its people is visible. Barmala Kurmiah, now a village elder, came to this village through a rehabilitation programme.

But let’s map what events led to him coming to the place where he would be part of a cycle of abuse. His forefathers lived in a village called Bollaram which was submerged by the Srisailam Project—a dam whose construction began in 1960. A book titled The Economics and Politics of Resettlements in India tells how 49 households of Bollaram village became submerged, with 113 acres of land destroyed. For this, it says, no compensation was given.

Similarly, it says, 16 families in Amarigiri village lost 21 acres, supporting the earlier case. The book cites the Lokayan study (1981:17) of recording as many as 12 such cases.

After Kurmiah’s grandfather lost his village, they moved to Chetrupulli, where he was born. Twenty or so years later, he and his wife moved to a village called Gundlapenta. But the police soon came and asked them to leave the area, citing heavy Maoist activity. This village is also now submerged.

And that’s how he and his family reached the village of Amarigiri. “I built a thatched hut, and later my uncle helped me build one with bricks,” Kurmiah says.

Barmala Kurmiah first lost his home to Maoist activity and then to the Srisailam Dam. 

Earlier, when the catch of fish was low, he would go and collect gum in the forest and sell it to Girija Cooperative which comes under the Integrated Tribal Development Agency. Tribals are allowed to collect non-timber forest produce, but with declining resources, their other source of income is the MGNREGA.

He tells us that earlier they used thread nets which helped them catch about 30 kg per day. This would be bought for a meagre ₹6 per kg by the money lender. Now, they make about ₹100 per kg.

Some done, others remain

While 96 persons have received their release certificates, three years later,  none have been given their initial rehabilitation amount of ₹20,000 each. They are also still living right beside those people who kept them under bondage for generations. The people maintain that now they don’t have any contact with the creditors but sometimes when they are in a market place, the family approaches them in a threatening manner.

No legal action has been sought against the abusers, who live uncomfortably close to the rescued people.

Each family has received a moped from the fisheries department. But they also need boats to survive. They presently have only three which are shared between the 45 families living there.

One of the three boats shared between 45 families.

They have ration cards, bank accounts, and Aadhaar cards. The families have a registered company which will in a couple of months, sell their fish directly to the Hyderabad market. On average, they make ₹200 per kg.

A bit of empowerment

The village folk of Amarigiri perhaps never thought that they would be part of a decision-making body. But this is how much their lives have changed.

The Telangana government under Chief Minister K Chandrashekar Rao announced that tribal villages in the state will have a separate gram panchayat. From the upper caste member of the village, there are about 120 voters, while the Chenchu people of the village have 80 voters.

From them, three won seats in the gram panchayat. With tragic irony, however, the sarpanch is from the community which kept them in bondage for decades.

But it has not deterred them from hoping they will be able to work together for the betterment of their village. To bring in drinking water, toilets (they still don’t have them), agriculture land and more homes.

Kudumula Venkataiah and Devamma’s home is an example of why they need more. The one-room house has four couples sharing space, along with five children.

Barmalla Anjama, who has been elected ward counsellor.

Of the three elected, there are two ward counsellors which include Devamma, and the other is Barmalla Anjama—a young woman who looks determined to bring in change. The deputy sarpanch is Barmalla Malaya.

This report is part of NFI’s National Media Award Programme