Chhatarpur/Bhopal- On Saturday morning, when The Mooknayak team was heading towards Kishangarh, about 80 kilometers from Chhatarpur, there was no inkling that within a few moments they would witness such a scene of struggle, helplessness, and hope that would be difficult to encapsulate in words. Under the under-construction bridge on the banks of the Barana River, hundreds of tribal villagers had been fighting for their rights for several days.
Women were in the majority. Some were sitting in waist-deep water, conducting satyagraha; others were raising slogans with the Jai Kisan Sangathan's flag in their hands; some women were lying on symbolic funeral pyres made of bamboo sticks. Somewhere there was a symbolic display of hanging, and elsewhere, a "mitti satyagraha" (soil protest) was underway.
Amidst the flowing river, echoing slogans, and faces silently enduring everything, this was not just a movement but a picture of displacement, justice, and the struggle for existence-a scene that made it clear who is actually paying the price of development. The Mooknayak will tell you the story of the last two days of this movement- a story that encapsulates struggle, pain, and hope.
This movement, under the leadership of social worker and Jai Kisan Sangathan coordinator Amit Bhatnagar, had been ongoing since July 3. The day we arrived was the 13th day of his fast-unto-death.
Amit Bhatnagar was lying semi-naked on a symbolic funeral pyre made of bamboo placed in the river water. The bamboo sticks of the pyre were constantly poking into his back. People sitting around would repeatedly lift him and make him sit, but within moments he would lie back down on the pyre. Fatigue was clearly visible on his face, but there was no sign of abandoning the movement.
At the protest site, some demonstrators were performing symbolic hangings by swinging from bamboo nooses. Water, funeral pyre, and noose, these three symbols were presenting the pain of the movement more effectively than words ever could.
A young girl sitting among the women in the river water caught our attention. Her face was smeared with mud. Her name was Divya Ahirwar. She was participating in the 'Mitti Satyagraha' (Soil Satyagraha).
In a conversation with The Mooknayak, Divya explained that this struggle was not new. Earlier in April, a 12-day satyagraha had also been conducted. At that time, the administration had promised to sympathetically consider the demands through dialogue, but no concrete action had been taken afterward.
She said, "When we didn't get justice, we had to start the movement again. Until we get justice, our satyagraha will continue."
When asked whether any representative from the government or administration had come to meet them, the answer was—"No one came this time. No one even spoke to us."
After this, she said in an emotional tone, "Either the government should give us justice or kill us. If the government is so concerned about us, then pray to God that there is a flood in this river and we all get swept away."
Hearing this, many protesters sitting nearby became emotional. After a while, slogans of "Inquilab Zindabad" and "Hamara Haq Do" (Give us our rights) started echoing again.
Rakesh Kumar Adivasi, sitting in the waters of the Barar River, had been participating in the satyagraha for several days. He said that the government had taken their land and homes but had given such compensation that neither new land could be purchased nor could a respectable life be rebuilt.
Rakesh said that with compensation of about 12 lakh rupees, buying land and building a house today was almost impossible.
He said, "The government says that tribals are the original inhabitants of this country, that we have rights over water, forest, and land. But the same government is evicting us from our land, forests, and homes."
On the question of development, Rakesh said in very poignant words, "We also know that the country's development is necessary, but what is happening to us is not development—it is our destruction."
Social worker Amit Bhatnagar, who was leading the movement, alleged in a conversation with The Mooknayak that there had been large-scale corruption in the compensation and rehabilitation process of the Ken-Betwa Link Project.
He claimed that many eligible families neither received proper compensation nor rehabilitation arrangements. He demanded that the entire matter be impartially investigated, action be taken against the guilty, and those involved in corruption be sent to jail.
Amit Bhatnagar said, "Until the displaced people get their rights, my fast-unto-death will continue."
From morning until about five in the evening, the banks of the Barana River remained the field of protest. Amidst the sound of flowing water, slogans like "Inquilab Zindabad," "Humain Nyay Do" (Give us justice), and "Jal-Jangal-Zameen Hamara Haq Hai" (Water-forest-land is our right) continuously echoed. Women, men, elders, and youth sat for hours in the river water, conducting satyagraha. But as evening approached, the nature of the movement would change. As soon as they came out of the water, the same people would engage in the difficult struggle of their daily lives. Under the under-construction bridge, makeshift hearths were built with bricks and stones, and within minutes, the entire place would transform into a temporary kitchen.
Someone had dry wood in their hands; someone was kneading flour taken out from a sack; someone was cutting potatoes. There was a severe shortage of resources, but after a full day of struggle, it was necessary to satisfy hunger. There was no gas, no complete utensils, no organized kitchen. Yet every family, according to their capacity, was engaged in preparing food. This scene showed that the movement was not just about raising slogans but also about surviving in difficult circumstances for one's rights.
Meanwhile, on the 13th day of the fast-unto-death, social worker Amit Bhatnagar was also made to sit under the bridge. Physical weakness was clearly visible, but his morale remained intact. While addressing the protesters, he kept repeating that the struggle would continue until the displaced families received justice. People sitting around him were listening attentively and trying to keep each other's spirits up.
At this point, the weather suddenly changed. Dark clouds gathered in the sky, and with loud thunder, torrential rain began. Initially, because of the bridge's roof, people thought they were safe, but within moments, the flowing rainwater began reaching under the bridge. Before long, people's belongings started getting wet. People started running here and there to save their bedding, rations, and utensils. The hearths that were burning had to be moved to other places. The heavy rain that lasted for about two hours disrupted the entire arrangement at the protest site.
Even after the rain stopped, no one gave up. Once again, hearths were lit; somewhere rice was cooking in pots, and somewhere the hand-made thick rotis called 'Tikkad'—a symbol of Bundelkhand—were being baked. Simple potato curry without oil was being prepared. This food, cooked with limited resources, was not just a means to fill stomachs but also represented collective life and hope amidst struggle.
During this time, in a conversation with The Mooknayak, protester Karadha Bai said, "We have been staying here since the first day of the movement. Every morning and every night of ours passes under this bridge." When asked whether the administration had made any arrangements for the protesters, she pointed to the surroundings and said, "Whatever you are seeing is the arrangement. There are no toilets here, no food arrangements, no doctors, no health camps. But until we get justice, we will stay here, no matter how many difficulties come."
As night deepened, the food was ready. Someone served rice on their plate; someone broke a Tikkad and started eating with potato curry. Here, no one's food was just their own. Whatever was available was shared and eaten together. The struggle had united these people like a family.
After dinner, preparations began to spend the night under the bridge. One mat, one sheet, one blanket, and a bag brought from home for a pillow, this was their bed. The exhaustion of sitting in the river all day for satyagraha was clearly visible on many faces.
The most poignant scene at the protest site emerged when a woman was found lying on a mat under the bridge with her three small children. The youngest child was just eight months old, sleeping in his mother's lap. There was no bed around, no safe shelter. Under the open bridge, with limited belongings, this had become their temporary home. In a conversation, the woman said she had been staying here with her three children for the past week. She said, "We are here out of compulsion. We are enduring all this for justice, but the government doesn't care about us at all."
Some people fell into deep sleep as soon as they lay down, while others sat for a while, talking about their village, their destroyed homes, and their hope for justice. The night passing under the bridge was not just a night of protest but also the story of people who, displaced from their homes and courtyards, were now fighting for their rights under the open sky.
The next morning, preparations for another day at the protest site were just about to begin. This was the 19th day of the movement. Many protesters who had slept under the bridge overnight had not even woken up yet. It was around six in the morning when suddenly a large number of police and administrative officials arrived at the scene. According to the protesters, within moments, the entire area was surrounded by police from all sides. This sudden action caused panic among the people present there.
According to the protesters, upon seeing the police force, social worker Amit Bhatnagar, along with the demonstrators, moved to the other side into the flowing waters of the Barana River. During this time, sloganeering continued at the protest site. Bija war's SDM Vijay Dwivedi, along with several police and administrative officials, were present at the scene. Attempts at dialogue between the administration and the protesters also began.
The demonstrators alleged that the administrative officials appealed to Amit Bhatnagar to come to them for talks and assured him that his demands would be discussed. The protesters claimed that on this trust, some people brought Amit Bhatnagar to the administrative officials. They alleged that some kind of powder or substance was thrown on Amit Bhatnagar there, after which his health deteriorated and he became unconscious. The demonstrators claimed that during this time, police personnel picked him up and took him into custody. They also alleged that other protesters present at the scene were forcefully removed and the satyagraha site was cleared.
The administration's side is different from this. Administrative officials said that the protesters were counselled and asked to leave peacefully, after which they voluntarily left. According to the administration, Amit Bhatnagar, who was on a fast-unto-death, was hospitalized for treatment due to his deteriorating health.
After this action, the satyagraha that had been going on for several days on the banks of the Barana River suddenly ended. Where just a day earlier protesters were sitting in the water demanding their rights, the next morning the same place appeared almost empty.
When The Mooknayak team reached the protest site again, the banks of the Barana River, which had been buzzing with hundreds of protesters just a few hours earlier, appeared completely empty. The mats spread under the under-construction bridge, the ashes of extinguished hearths, and the scattered signs of struggle scattered here and there bore witness to the fact that a major movement had been ongoing here for the past 19 days. But now only policemen were stationed there. The protesters had been removed from there. The place that had been echoing with slogans of "Nyay Do" (Give justice) just a while ago had suddenly fallen silent. In that silence, only the sound of the flowing Barana River could be heard.
When The Mooknayak team was returning towards Kishangarh, about two kilometers from the protest site, 10 to 12 women were seen walking on the road. They had bundles of clothes, utensils, and daily necessities on their heads. The same women who had been sitting in the waters of the Barana River just hours ago, conducting satyagraha for their rights, were now silently walking ahead with their entire world on their heads. Fatigue was on their faces, pain in their eyes, and uncertainty in their minds about what would happen next.
Among these women was around 50-year-old Sita Bai Adivasi. With a heavy bundle on her head, she told The Mooknayak while walking that between six and seven in the morning, a large number of police and administrative officials had arrived at the protest site. According to her, the police surrounded the entire area from all sides, causing panic among the protesters. She claimed that due to fear, everyone went to the other side of the river. Sita Bai alleged that later, administrative people called Amit Bhatnagar, who was leading the movement, on the pretext of talks and threw "some powder-like substance" on him, after which he became unconscious. Then the police took him with them. She alleged that after this, the protesters were forcefully removed and many people were beaten and mistreated.
Meanwhile, another protester, Phool Kunwar, also mentioned what happened to her during the action. She alleged that women police personnel pushed her, punched her, and forcefully removed her from the protest site. Becoming emotional, she said, "The government first took away our land, homes, and livelihood. Now when we sat down to demand our rights, we were treated like this. Where should we go?"
These women, walking on the road with bundles on their heads, were not just carrying their belongings but also the burden of displacement, struggle, and an uncertain future. Just hours ago, their place was on the banks of the Barana River, but now they were faced with the same question again—where should they go now?
This movement by tribal villagers affected by the Ken-Betwa Link Project was ongoing in protest against rehabilitation, compensation, and alleged irregularities. The protesters were alleging that their land and houses were acquired for the project, but many affected families neither received proper compensation nor satisfactory rehabilitation arrangements. For these demands, satyagraha and fast-unto-death had been ongoing since July 3 under the leadership of the Jai Kisan Sangathan.
Protester Divya Ahirwar raised serious questions about the police action. She alleged that on Sunday, Jai Kisan Sangathan leader Amit Bhatnagar was about to make public documents related to alleged corruption of about Rs. 400 crores in the Ken-Betwa Link Project and other schemes. Divya claimed that before this proposed disclosure, early in the morning, police force arrived at the protest site and removed the protesters from there. According to her, this action was taken to suppress the movement and prevent the issue of alleged corruption from coming to light.
Jai Kisan Sangathan leader Amit Bhatnagar, who was hospitalized after the police action, has said that he will continue his movement. According to him, administrative action or custody will not end his movement. He said that he will neither take a drip nor consume food. He said that if necessary, he will continue his fast-unto-death even while in jail.
The eyes of these tribal families sitting on the banks of the Barana River held not just the sorrow of losing land, but also the pain of the broken trust they had placed in the administration's assurances. For them, this movement was not just a demand for compensation, but a demand for respect, rehabilitation, and justice.
On one hand, the infrastructure of the development project is being erected under the under-construction bridge, while on the other hand, hundreds of people carrying the story of their devastated lives are waiting for justice. The question remains: Will these voices be heard in this journey of development, or will these voices be lost in the flowing waters of the Barar River?
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