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Do you know how to swim?” asks a boater. I reply in the affirmative, and he directs me to sit on the raised edges of two dongis, pushed together. As we set off on the small, handcrafted boats from the banks of the Kotri river in Narayanpur district, Chhattisgarh, the boater explains that the dongis are about 20 years old and have some holes, so in case of leaks everyone would have to swim.
Even from the vast expanse of the Kotri, the desolate nature of this area in Bastar is evident. Our destination is Abujhmad, a forested tribal settlement which has long been closed to the state; or rather, country. Half a century ago, when Chhattisgarh was part of Madhya Pradesh, the dense forests of Abujhmad became a haven for Maoist insurgents. In 1980, the then Madhya Pradesh government banned entery of outsiders into the forest. This isolated the region’s Madia, Gond, Muria Gond and Hill Muria tribes, together called Abujhmadiya, a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG).
The restriction was lifted by the Chhattisgarh government in 2009. Even then, fear kept people away from the region, according to Laxman Mandavi, president of the Tribal Students’ Organisation in Abujhmad, and my guide to the region. In the past four-five years, with government efforts to clear Maoist insurgents, Abujhmad has become more accessible. On October 16, 2025, Union home minister Amit Shah declared Abujhmad free from Maoist insurgency.
Stuck amid all this have been the Abujhmadiya—whose number vary from 40,000 as per Census 2011 to t 23,330 recorded in a 2015-16 survey by the Raipur-based Tribal Research and Training Institute. How has the long period of isolation impacted them? This question has brought me here.
As the dongis move along, one of the boaters, Soma Mandavi, explains that the boats that can carry six people at a time along with livestock and two-wheelers, serve as a vital source of income for 20 of the 237 villages in Abujhmad. With no bridge or causeway, it is only through dongis that the Abujhmadiya can cross the Kotri to reach other parts of the state. This makes even the modest fares that the boaters make—R10 per person and per bicycle, R20 for livestock and R50 for a motorbike—lucrative. Hence, the Gram Sabha of Kandari village, closest to the river, assigns boaters every day, so every household can earn.
Overhearing our conversation, another passenger named Mankoo adds that for five months of the monsoon when the Kotri overflows, even dongis cannot move. The Abujhmadiya have persistently demanded for a bridge across the river for years, in vain. In 2016-17, they changed their demand to at least a better boat; while they did get one, its quality was so poor that it did not even last a single season. It also came at a hefty price of R1.7 lakh debited from the Kandari Gram Panchayat’s funds.
Soon the winding, serpentine footpaths into the forests get closer, and I disembark the dongis to head to Kandari village. The first structure in sight is the ghotul, a community centre. A resident passing by, Makram, stops to explain that the ghotul serves as a hall for recreation, co-education, hospitality and community gatherings. Children start evening visits to the centre from the ages of 8-10 years, and continue until they are grown and married.
However, nowadays, very few people visit the site in the evenings, says Makram. Walking by the structure, one can spot a small, dilapidated room, with a sign marked “Toilet”. Later, I learn that this crumbling room is the only formal washroom in Kandari...
This article was originally published in the June 16-30, 2026 print edition of Down To Earth
