50 years of Abolition Act: How 3 lives forced into backbreaking work broke shackles of bonded labour

Ranjita’s childhood, village life

Ranjita Rana, who hails from Tanmaya village in Odisha, remembers being just 12 years old when her family — mother, father and two sisters —  struggling with extreme poverty, survived on her father’s meagre earnings.

“We used to wear school uniforms. We didn’t have new clothes, so we wore the same uniform all day,” she remembers. She says her dream was to drape a saree — just like the teacher she really admired in school — and teach children. 

But her life took an unexpected turn.

In 2011, when the family was struggling financially, a middleman approached the father offering a “lucrative” chance to improve their predicament in life.

Ranjita is now actively engaged in providing training to officials about various aspects of the bonded labour system.

With the promise of decent working conditions, a generous income of Rs 20,000, and education for her daughters, this agent enticed him to work in Bengaluru.

Ranjita’s parents weighed their options and made a desperate call to trust this middleman and move to Bengaluru.

Small huts, saree curtains and no sleep

For the next two days, Ranjita and her sisters were confined to the lavatory of the general coach as the trip to Bengaluru began. “Those two days felt endless as we travelled,” she remembers.

After the train reached its destination at Bengaluru Railway Station, and the family got off, a few men bundled the five members into a van and drove them off to an undisclosed location.

Upon their arrival at Ramanagara, 50 km away from the city, Ranjita’s father was given his first assignment: to construct their own living space. He was also given some supplies to construct a gudsi, or shanty, for their family. The directions were quite clear. His family should be able to sleep in the hut at night.

“Even a five-to-six-year-old girl won’t be able to stand straight in the hut, and I would have to crouch down,” Ranjita recollects as she described her “new home”. The huts – theirs was not the only one – had no doors, electricity, clean water, a kitchen or sanitation since they were meant not for shelter but to control these families from escaping the premises. The brick kiln owner, who used to watch over her family, recruited strong men who persuaded them about the small hut by saying that if they were provided with facilities, they would not get up from their chairs and would not work.

Due to the lack of a kitchen in the hut, Ranjita’s mother was forced to prepare meals outside every day using polluted water, and on rainy days, she would have to let the family go hungry. The mother created the appearance of “privacy and safety” by sewing her own saree into a curtain and weighing it down with a brick at night in order to protect the family from wild animals.

But every night after dark, the real horror came to light. There were no restrooms. “It was torturous,” she continues, gesturing to the henchmen’s night watches as they escorted men, women, or children into the forest when they needed to urinate.

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Back-breaking work, fearful minds

Though promised an education, the three sisters, including Ranjita, had a very different experience. “All day long, we had to keep flipping bricks, she recalls, “The strongmen threatened to rip our parents’ skin off their backs if we did not comply with their demands.”

Her parents had to get up at 4 am and work until midnight. They had no other option. “The men, with their bloodshot eyes, did not hesitate to scare us with their sticks and constantly threatened to beat us up if we did not comply with their demands.”

Every morning, the henchmen stormed into their huts with complete recklessness, brandishing sticks and waking them up to go out on the fields. She adds, “They also threatened to give us electric shocks.” The family never thought of escaping the premises since the atmosphere of fear had such a “tight hold in their minds” that they would not even entertain the thought of ever going outside.

Eating ‘white powder’, using grease

The henchmen frequently gave the children an “unknown white powder” and asked them to swallow it without raising questions. According to Ranjita, they were kept “energetic and productive” by using painkillers.

On the other side, due to the difficult working conditions, the parents frequently had cracked hands and feet. They would rub the grease from the parked cars for relief and a cooling effect. When Ranjita’s parents received their weekly wages of Rs 300, they would frequently wonder, “How would these girls cope and what would we do about them?”

Her eldest sister managed to secretly keep a Micromax mobile phone with her all this time, but the family never mustered the courage to call the authorities out of fear for their lives and were stuck in the cruel bonded labour system.

Ranjita is determined to help as many people as possible and contribute to curb the bonded labour system.

Even when they phoned the middleman who had enticed them to this location to discuss the situation, Ranjita recalls feeling powerless, even though she had a phone in her hand. “He would say that he would call those strongmen, but he wouldn’t do anything and switched off his phone later,” she says.

A visitor at the brick kiln

One day, a man who had come to see his parents, who were employed at the factory next to the brick kiln, recognised her family. He resided in the village next to theirs, and Ranjita’s parents opened up to him.

“I now know a little bit that the man filed a complaint later, telling the authorities all the things about us,” she says. Despite the development, a sense of fear prevailed among the family members.

As the days went by, her father, who was routinely taken by the musclemen to the closest market to purchase provisions for his family, met a stranger when he was momentarily alone. The man went up to him and enquired about his family and living circumstances. Her father had no idea who this person was and responded to all of his questions as though he were a significant figure. The man also asked for her father’s contact information.

Footprints to the forest ‘save’ kids

As far as Ranjita can recall, a few days later, a rescue team arrived at the kiln at the start of the year 2012 – five months since they were forced into labour at the unit after the festival of Diwali.

What followed played out like a cinematic thriller.

It was pouring rain on the day of the rescue, and all of the kids of the bonded labourers on the premises were taken off the property and deep into the forest by the handlers, who claimed that some officials were on their way to check the quality of the soil and would be furious if they saw children at the kiln.

When the police, media persons, and photographers arrived, they found the parents but not the kids.

State-wise data of the number of bonded labourers released from 1976 till 2018. (Pic Credit: Press Information Bureau, Government of India)

Once the parents were rescued, the authorities detected the children’s footprints in the wet mud leading into the dense forest. The kids were found crying and shattered in the wilderness as the officials reached them by tracking the footprints.

For Ranjita’s family, life was better after the rescue, although there were still many difficulties. She remembers how her father would routinely go to court to testify against the brick kiln’s owner and middlemen, who would often threaten him. He vehemently rejected their attempts to silence him by offering money in exchange for not testifying against them.

Ranjita assists in the rehabilitation of bonded labourers to reintegrate them into society.

Ranjita, the trainer, paralegal volunteer

Once caught in the paradox of social evil, Ranjita secured a second division in her senior secondary education with the help of her teacher and initially did odd jobs in grocery stores and clothing stores to support her family.

Today, Ranjita, who experienced the horrors of the bonded labour system, is the secretary of Shram Vahini (servitude wing), an organisation dedicated to helping those who have been freed from bonded labour. “I want to help all those who need my help in rebuilding their lives after escaping the bonded labour system,” she declares.

Ranjita Rana (right) was honoured at an event organised by the Anti-Human Trafficking Unit (AHTU) of Rajasthan Police in July 2025 for her contributions in raising awareness against the bonded labour system.

A civil court judge not only observed Ranjita but also lauded her on Labour Day in 2024 for her hard work and commitment in offering assistance in the rehabilitation of bonded labourers, recommending her for the position of paralegal volunteer in September 2025, based on her efforts and practical expertise.

As a volunteer paralegal and secretary, in the last few years, she has travelled to many locations, such as Rajasthan and Jodhpur, where she teaches future generations of law students and police officers how to recognise and comprehend the realities of victims.

Ranjita’s parents (on the left) and Ranjita (on the right). Ranjita conducts awareness talks among villagers on the issue of bonded labour.

Today, she proudly drapes a saree and meets lawyers, police officers, and ministers with confidence. Now 24, Ranjita has reclaimed her life and looks ahead to a future filled with hope. “I am donating as much money as possible and will definitely donate more in the future to help rescued people,” she shares, outlining her plans to uplift those in need.

A 2,000-km journey that ended in bondage

Promised a salary of Rs 12,000, an eight-hour shift, food, basic amenities, and a decent life, Govind had travelled to Bengaluru with great expectations. A resident of Bihar’s Sitamarhi, he had recently gotten married. It was a neighbour, whom he affectionately referred to as chacha (uncle), who manipulated Govind into bonded labour in 2017 on the promise of gainful employment.

He undertook a 42-hour journey, covering 2,182 km, to earn a decent livelihood in the cosmopolitan city. He first boarded a rickety bus to Patna, where he got on a train to reach Bengaluru.

Once again, Govind boarded a bus from the new city’s train station to get to his new job at the factory. There was a lot of chaos at the plastic plant that dealt with waste, and the living conditions and appearance of the factory were terrible, with dirty restrooms and subpar mattresses. He recalls, “The water was thick and trash kept seeping in as we washed it.”

The poor living arrangement where Govind used to sleep during his time as a bonded labourer, stuck in the cruel system.

An uncertain period

During his early days at the factory, Govind received extensive training on how to operate the large machines. He made numerous acquaintances, aged 13 to 40, who subsequently became his friends. Frequently, they would sit together and discuss their lives, hardships, and uncertain futures.

Govind was paid a paltry Rs 6,000 a month, and his typical 12-hour bonded labour involved melting and scrubbing plastic garbage without the use of gloves or other safety equipment.

Govind’s factory in Bengaluru, where he used to wash and melt plastic waste.

“The food was too stale to be palatable and too raw to eat,” he claims. His world was confined to the factory and a single balcony. He was barred from leaving the building or speaking to a soul outside.

Escaped, beaten and humiliated

Govind recalls how factory workers who attempted to flee were ruthlessly hunted down. The owner’s goons pursued them to the train terminals, often travelling two or three stations further just to intercept them.

Describing the brutality of these captures, he notes, “They would thrash them with dandas until they were bleeding and urinated from the sheer pain and terror.”

The gate of the factory that separates the workers from the outside world.

Witnessing the brutality that followed the escape attempts, Govind never tried to flee, as the very thought of running away sent chills down his spine.

‘Govind has been killed’

Govind’s days at the factory were made even worse by an unforeseen event: the chacha, who had forced him into this predicament, informed his family that he was “killed and his body thrown somewhere in Bengaluru.” The news devastated the entire community, and his parents broke down. Govind was not aware of their hardship because he lived far away from home.

Later, the family reached out to the henchmen in the factory and were relieved when Govind spoke to them, assuring them that he was alive and still working at the same factory. The neighbour was later diagnosed with a mental condition.

Exhausted, lost, and broken after having spent six excruciating months of bonded labour, Govind and his group of friends finally decided to break the chain of slavery and called 108 using a phone that one of the labourers had secretly kept. 

They told the authorities everything and received assurances that they would be rescued soon. A police team arrived after a few weeks in five vans. All bonded labourers from Govind’s factory were rescued and safely put in the vans. As the rescue unfolded, Govind’s face was a mask of hesitation—the visible friction between his recent trauma and a lifelong habit of obedience.

The bonded labourers who were rescued from the factory.

He was relieved after a police officer sensed his anxiety and said, “Don’t worry. We will send you back home.”

‘I don’t trust people now’

Once reunited with his family, Govind vowed to remain in his village for good. He abandoned all thoughts of leaving Sitamarhi and invested in an autorickshaw to build a sustainable life right there.

Govind shows his release certificate issued by the Karnataka government.

The nightmares, however, still trouble him. “I do not trust people now,” he says. Today, Govind works as a local paddy trader and manages a mango orchard, where he employs several villagers to help harvest and bring his produce to market.

A catalyst for social change

Govind decided to speak out against the bonded labour system and is now part of a group of 14-15 people called  Nai Pehchan Sangathan Sitamarhi (New Identity Organisation Sitamarhi) to raise awareness about the evils of the bonded labour system. He even gets invitations from different authorities who offer a platform to narrate his ordeal and raise awareness about such practices.

Govind is also the ward secretary in his village and sanctions various requests.

“One of the police officers even awarded me with a prize money of Rs 7,000,” Govind says about one such speech where the crowd as well as officials praised him for his confidence and strength. In addition to his activism, Govind now serves as the ward secretary in his village, reviewing public requests and authorising the allocation of funds to ensure his community’s needs are met.

Wings for future

Today, Govind lives in his village alongside his wife and three children, dedicated to providing them with the stable, joyful life he was once denied. He often piles his family into his autorickshaw for local outings, ensuring their childhood is defined by laughter, rather than labour.

While he protects them from the harsh reality of his past as a bonded labourer—fearing the knowledge might weigh on their spirits—his own horizons have expanded beyond the village. His dreams have literally taken flight; travelling by plane to attend various advocacy camps, Govind recalls his first time in the air as a moment of pure, soaring exhilaration.

“I don’t want my children to ever learn about my predicament as a bonded labourer. I feel my traumatic experience would discourage them,” he says.

When fish nets trapped humans

For nearly 11 years, starting in 2003, an entire village was held captive by the riverbank. They were trapped in a gruelling cycle: casting nets at dusk and labouring by 3 am, regardless of illness or exhaustion. Families, elders, and children alike were forced to live at the water’s edge, and were granted passage back to their actual homes only once or twice a month.

This was not by choice; if anyone failed to appear, middlemen from the “upper community” would violently drag them from their beds, forcing even the sick into the water. Among them was also the family of Purusaala Lingamma, 50, a Chenchu tribal woman, from Amaragiri village in Telangana.

Displacement from village to riverbank

Lingamma, who belongs to Nallamala forest, was displaced and forced to move with her three children to Amaragiri, a village on the banks of the Krishna River, to earn a livelihood from fishing activities in the early 2000s. This migration, however, did not bring good fortune for Lingamma’s family.

“We moved in search of a livelihood, but became the prey of the bonded labour system in the village that was followed by years of oppression and exploitation,” she says. Lingamma and her family would spend their days at the riverbank, fishing, collecting and selling fish to the middlemen.

“If any of the families would not show up at work, the middlemen would go to our places in the village and threaten us to get to work immediately,” she explains. With a heavy heart, Lingamma recalls how her entire village was ensnared in the fishing trade that served only to enrich the “upper community” and its middlemen.

It was a system that stole the childhood and education of the young, while denying the elders even a single day of rest. For generations, their families would be trapped in a relentless cycle of debt and constant, haunting anxiety.

‘They came with small boats’

After luring the villages into debt by feigning to help the tribal people, the “upper community” used the severe bonded labour system as a tool for years of exploitation and extortion. Lingamma also initially took an advance of Rs 20,000 from these “upper community people” and ended up being in debt of almost Rs 5 lakh in the next few years.

Later, the middlemen completely banned the villagers from engaging in commercial activities with anyone other than the “upper community people”, and if anyone tried selling their fish outside, they were threatened to repay the entire advance money immediately.

Lingamma is now helping her village in her role as sarpanch. (Pic Credit: Foundation for Sustainable Development)

Bonded labour to sarpanch: ‘I will ensure freedom’

From being trapped in the bonded labour system along with her entire village to being the voice of her people, Lingamma has come a long way as the sarpanch of her village.

In 2016, a rescue team got a tip that some children were working as labourers in Amaragiri village. However, the whole team was in “complete shock” on learning that the whole village was under bonded labour without even knowing it. 

For the villagers, the rescue sparked an outpouring of pure joy as the weight of years of misery finally lifted. Even now, they speak of the rescue team with a sense of reverence, viewing them as “saviours” who appeared at their darkest hour to restore their lives.

“I will not let anyone in the village be crushed under the bonded labour system and will ensure freedom for all. When I get the information, I will immediately rescue them, and I will approach the government and carry out the rescue,” says Lingamma, who became the village sarpanch on December 14, 2025.

Amaragiri village and its residents during an event celebrating their life and freedom. (Pic Credit: Foundation for Sustainable Development)

Vasudeva Rao, state project coordinator of the team that rescued Lingamma’s village comprising 36 families, highlights the peril of these villagers and revealed that the then revenue divisional officer had told him that “these Chenchu tribes cannot be empowered”.

Almost 10 years after the rescue operation, Amargiri has now flourished and has even held panchayati elections for two consecutive terms, reflecting empowerment, political participation, and integration with government systems.

‘State working constantly to eradicate inhuman practices’

Additional Chief Secretary and Development Commissioner of Karnataka, Uma Mahadevan, underlines the efforts of the state government to combat the still-persisting inhuman practice of bonded labour. “The state is constantly working to ensure that employers adhere to labour laws, uphold human values, and eradicate the inhuman practice of bonded labour,” she says.

Mahadevan adds that a “step forward” has been taken in enforcement, rescue, and rehabilitation efforts, and noted that the government has notified 52 authorities across 15 departments as bonded labour prohibition officers.

She also mentions that several vigilance committees have been constituted at the district and sub-divisional levels to monitor the implementation of the Bonded Labour System (Abolition) Act and to prevent bonded labour.

“The state has implemented the 2016 revised and revamped guidelines. The released bonded labourers will be provided with immediate assistance of Rs 30,000 from the Bonded Labour Corpus Fund,” she added.

When asked what steps he took to curb bondage, Randeep D, secretary in the Rural Development and Panchayati Raj Department of Karnataka, says, “Proactive measures have been initiated by the government of Karnataka to curb the practice and eliminate the same systematically.”

Randeep points out that the state ensures the rehabilitation of released bonded labourers and provides monthly assistance of Rs 2,000 for a period of 24 months as part of social security to rescued bonded labourers.

He also noted that the government has constituted a seven-member committee to study the prevalence of the bonded labour system across the state and to make suitable recommendations.