Marginalised Yanadi and Chenchu communities in Andhra Pradesh struggle for land

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Children play close to makeshift shelters at Prabhu Nagar in Poranki, on the outskirts of Vijayawada. | Photo Credit: G.N. Rao

On one side lies the bustle of Poranki Centre in Vijayawada city, where gridlocked traffic, thriving shops, and a sprawling residential colony dictate the rhythms of everyday life. On the other, about 40 Yanadi families are living in a world completely detached from urban civilisation. Though separated by barely a few kilometres, the true distance between these two worlds is measured in their access to education, healthcare, secure livelihoods, and basic amenities.

Poranki, a prominent neighbourhood within the Penamaluru mandal of the Vijayawada revenue division, contains pockets where contrasting realities exist side by side. In Prabhu Nagar, a spacious residential area reached by a narrow lane branching off the main thoroughfare, the contrast becomes stark just beyond a pre-primary Anganwadi centre.

Here, a pathway covered in mud and slush gives way to a cramped, filthy alley of makeshift shelters. Pieced together from frayed plastic sheets and tarpaulins, these dwellings lack even basic doors or windows. A short walk through this landscape reveals children running barefoot through the muck, and women sitting on iron cots outside their shelters—some quietly combing their hair, others talking in hushed tones. There is little movement here, and even less cheer. It is a settlement suspended in a state of deprivation, despite being within easy reach of the mainstream world.

The true depth of the families’ predicament becomes clear within minutes. Their makeshift shelters sit precariously on a small portion of private land that doubles as a Christian burial ground. A few graves lie startlingly close to the dwellings. Pointing toward one of the weathered mounds, Thupakula Pottamma, a woman in her fifties, quietly says it is where her mother-in-law was buried a few years ago. “We live where the dead rest. We too will join them when we die,” she says, her voice choking.

Making matters worse, the landowners have repeatedly asked the families to vacate the property. Yet, the residents insist they have nowhere else to go. Over the years, they have knocked on the doors of local officials and ruling party leaders, pleading for a piece of land where they can finally relocate and build secure lives.

“Years have passed, but no alternative has materialised,” says Subbamma. “The one time we pressed for a solution, the authorities said they would shift us to either Onkuru or Pulipaka. But it seemed like they were only saying that to ward us off,” she adds.

And their problems don’t end there. When it rains, the settlement is quickly inundated, forcing the families to take shelter in the Anganwadi building or in the cellar of a nearby apartment complex, an arrangement facilitated by a local TDP leader.

“The pathway to our homes becomes so slushy that we can hardly walk on it. After repeated requests, the local authorities laid gravel on it, but the recent heavy rains washed it all away. There is no sign of the gravel now,” says Durga Bhavani, pointing to the muddy, slush-filled pathway.

Another problem is that no one in the community, young or old, seems to know their age. “I don’t know. It is mentioned on my Aadhaar card, which I got only recently,” says Eega Eeswar, who looks barely old enough to be the father of three children.

For a living, the men go fishing in the nearby canals or scavenging for recyclable waste, while some of the women venture out to collect waste to supplement the meagre household income. Even before the break of dawn, they go out, rummaging around for plastic, tins, metal pieces, and other discarded material to make anywhere between ₹200 and ₹300 by selling them to the local scrap dealer.

For children in the settlement, the divide begins early, making education a distant dream. However, intervention by a local NGO has helped a few children enrol in the nearby Zilla Parishad school, offering them a chance to break out of the cycle of deprivation.

Charmadi was immersed in her school work while sitting outside her shelter at Prabhu Nagar in Poranki. | Photo Credit: G.N. Rao

“It took us a long time to persuade the families to send their children to school. They take time to trust outsiders,” says Vasantha Kumari from Navajeevan Bala Bhavan (NJBB), an NGO working for the rescue and rehabilitation of children and youth from troubled backgrounds.

For Lakshmi, that trust has transformed into a sense of pride. Watching her 11-year-old daughter, Charmudi, return home in a school uniform alongside a few other children, her face lights up. “She is very talented,” Lakshmi says softly. “She even won first prize in a drawing competition.”

In a settlement otherwise defined by deprivation, Charmudi’s success, and her mother’s quiet pride, stand as living proof of what can be achieved if only the children here are given an equal opportunity.

The lack of access is also evident inside these dark, dingy dwellings, which contain little beyond the bare essentials—such as iron cots, a few cooking utensils, and, in some dwellings, old wooden tables piled with used clothes and other belongings. Each shelter has a bulb, but electricity is available only from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. A couple of solar lights donated by the NGO in the common area provide some relief, allowing the children to sit outside and do their homework after dusk.

The picture is much the same across the plains of Andhra Pradesh, with several Yanadi settlements caught between insecure housing, precarious livelihoods, and poor access to basic amenities, even when they are located within or close to expanding urban and semi-urban settlements.

“The Yanadis are a historically mobile community, with Reddy Yanadis generally better off and Challa Yanadis among the more impoverished sections. Their problems are particularly acute in the plains, where many continue to live on the margins of society,” says Alladi Deva Kumar, founder and executive secretary of Dalit Bahujan Resource Centre that works to empower marginalised communities.

One of the most serious concerns, he says, is the lack of institutional deliveries among Yanadi women. “With many children born outside formal healthcare facilities, securing birth certificates and Aadhaar cards becomes difficult. The absence of identity documents, in turn, can prevent children from enrolling in schools and accessing various government welfare schemes,” says Deva Kumar.

Citing another example of about 250 ST (Yanadi) families living in Kala Chakra Colony in Amaravati mandal of Guntur district, who have been struggling without basic amenities for nearly two decades, he says the colony lacks drinking water, sanitation, and toilets, while 37 children have no Anganwadi facility and 55 students have to travel 3 km to attend school. As many as 130 families continue to live in makeshift tents.

If the Yanadi experience illustrates the vulnerability of a historically mobile community in the plains, the experience of the Chenchus points to another dimension of tribal displacement: the movement of a forest-dependent Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) community toward the fringes of towns and cities.

Although Chenchus’ vulnerability is officially recognised through their classification as a PVTG community, many of them, after being pushed out of their habitats in forests, have moved to the fringes of towns and cities, where the loss of traditional livelihoods has not necessarily translated into better access to housing, education, healthcare, and other services.

A stark manifestation of this crisis unfolded nearly a decade ago at B.B.R. Nagar in Kankipadu, Krishna district. Today, a row of makeshift shelters lines the main thoroughfare—a settlement that surfaced after about 20 Chenchu families were driven out of a nearby locality by residents who demanded their removal from the area. “The good thing about this place is that it is beside the canal, where our men can catch fish. But living here has its own challenges. We have put up temporary shelters, but rainwater drips through the roof during the monsoon, and snakes and other creatures also get inside because there is no proper flooring,” says Avala Sivamma, a mother of three. Sivamma, who works as a domestic helper in a few households in the nearby localities, does her best to keep the family going and put food on the table, as whatever little her husband earns through fishing is spent on alcohol.

Despite their living challenges, the 20 households have managed to obtain a public tap for water supply. Earlier, their children, who went to school without taking a bath for want of water, were sent back by teachers who asked them to bathe and come. Housing is another major concern. “Grant of pattas for the land we occupy will solve our major problem,” says Mariyamma, a mother of three.

For activists working with these communities, however, the problem goes beyond the immediate deficits in housing, land, and basic services. It also raises questions about political representation and the ability of fragmented communities to articulate a common demand.

“Along with the Denotified Tribes (DNTs), the communities that were historically brought under the colonial Criminal Tribes Acts and subsequently denotified after Independence, it is true that Scheduled Tribes like Yanadis and Chenchus have also faced severe socio-economic vulnerability,” says M. Subba Rao, an activist fighting for DNT rights for the last three decades.

Political representation of the communities, he says, is the only way out. “Lack of political maturity has kept fragmented social and political groups belonging to these communities from uniting for a common cause,” he says ruefully, alleging that some activists seek proximity to upper-caste power centres, which exploit divisions among DNT communities and leaders to retain their influence.

The scale of the challenge is reflected in the State’s own data on its most vulnerable tribal communities. Andhra Pradesh has a total population of 4,95,77,700, of which the ST population is 27,39,504 (5.53%). According to the 2023 PVTG survey, the State had a PVTG population of 4,88,329, comprising 1,28,663 PVTG households belonging to 11 communities, including Chenchu, Bodo Gadaba, Guto Gadaba, Kondareddi, Dongria Khond, Kutia Khond, Bondo Porja, Khond Porja, Parangi Porja, Konda Savaras, and Kolam.

Several government initiatives have sought to address these shortcomings. The State Tribal Welfare Department officials say efforts are being made to improve the socio-economic status of PVTGs by bridging gaps in health, education, and livelihoods, and by saturating PVTG communities and families with basic facilities and services under the Central scheme PM-JANMAN (Pradhan Mantri Janjati Adivasi Nyaya Maha Abhiyan).

According to officials, the scheme is being implemented through 11 interventions, including housing, roads, drinking water, healthcare, education, electrification, mobile connectivity, and livelihood support. Under the housing component, 43,593 houses have been sanctioned against 50,636 identified gaps, with 11,074 completed. For road connectivity, 303 works covering 866 km have been sanctioned to connect 341 habitations, of which 132 km has been completed.

The officials claim that under piped water supply, 99,865 of 1.80 lakh PVTG households have been provided tap connections, achieving 55.54% coverage, with works sanctioned for another 500 habitations. Healthcare is being provided through 156 Mobile Medical Units covering all the PVTG habitations. “The Government is also trying to reach out to the ST population through Dharti Aaba Janjatiya Gram Utkarsh Abhiyan (DA-JGUA),” said the department’s Additional Director M. Saraswathi.

Despite the existence of schemes aimed at uplifting ST, PVTG and DNT communities, many continue to face issues involving landlessness, casual labour, insecure housing, education, documentation, access to welfare and integration into society.

Scattered settlements along canals and tank bunds and on the fringes of villages and towns may be located close to mainstream residential areas, but they face severe isolation. The question is not merely whether government schemes reach tribal communities, but whether the schemes are designed around the way those communities actually live.

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