The wrinkles on Seth Singh’s forehead are timelines marking the past and present of the Gadhiya Lohar community. He is the oldest of a 75-member settlement in Narnaul, a town in Mahendragarh district of Haryana. He has spent 70 years of his life in this area, the generations that followed spreading around him like the tails of his turban.
Members of the community were traditionally reputed to be skilled craftsmen of swords and shields, blacksmiths who possessed immense skill and were known for their decorated iron bullock carts, ornaments and utensils. Hence, the name Gadhiya Lohar (gadiya meaning “cart” and lohar meaning “blacksmith”).
Legend traces the community back to the 16th century, when the Rajput king Maharana Pratap was forced to flee from Chittorgarh (in Rajasthan) on account of the Mughal invasion. The community, naming themselves his descendants, vowed to leave Chittorgarh, giving up the comfort of a bed, a house and fire in the lamp and return only when the Chittorgarh fort was reclaimed by their king. However, that victory never came.
“Our grandfathers used to say it’s been 646 years since the vow. Our community survived as long as there was support from the society. But we don’t know that world. We grew up here and have been scrambling to make ends meet,” says Amar, a garbage seller.
The traditional occupation of making iron tools, shields and utensils has now come to a standstill, the craft and skill lost to the hands of modernisation. The present generations have no knowledge of the trade. Consequently, garbage selling, contractual labour, and other temporary jobs are the only options left, which are most often taken up by the male members of the community. “By selling scraps we earn rupees 200-300 a day and all of it is used in buying food for the family,” adds Amar.
Education has been elusive to the community, as they find themselves cast out from society. It is easier for them to send their children to a low-fee private school than a government school. “Teachers do not teach our children. They don't allow us in schools. They say, what do Gadhiya Lohar need education for?” says Amar.
“We even tried our hands at sewing and stitching but no-one was ready to teach us or give us work,” says Aarti, one of the many women in the community who depend on the income of the male members. “I studied up to class VIII but then dropped out due to lack of resources to study,” adds Aarti.
Living in makeshift homes with no proper shelter and sanitation has its consequences—Aarti’s father lost his life to a stomach infection 10 years ago. “We don’t have toilets here, so when we go out in the open, those who have houses nearby say we are dirty people who spread diseases. Where else would we go? When it rains, sewage water comes till here,” says Lehri, pointing to her neck. “When someone is ill or a woman is pregnant, we take her to a private hospital 3 kilometres away. They ask for rupees 30,000-40,000 for a delivery. We all then have to contribute rupees 100-200 or more and collect money like this for a delivery,” she adds.
“I am seven months pregnant and I cannot visit the doctor for regular check-ups. They say first get the injection," says 24-year-old Pooja. She was in a dilemma about getting the Covid-19 vaccine as she is pregnant. Local transportation services do not allow the community members to travel without being vaccinated. She could not even travel to visit the doctor to confirm whether pregnant women could get the vaccine or not.
The Haryana government identifies the community as Scheduled Castes, informed Amit Kumar, District Welfare Officer, Mahendragarh. “There are no specific schemes for the Gadhiya Lohar community but by being identified as SCs, they are eligible for some benefits, such as the rupees 80,000 that is given to families with houses that need repairing. A fixed amount of money is given as kanyadan in marriages of girls belonging to the community. Scholarship is also given to the meritorious students of the SC category.”
However, these benefits can be availed of only when they have proper documents and a permanent address. Central government schemes such as MGNREGA, the Public Distribution System, and the PM Jan-Aushadhi Yojana identify the community as beneficiaries but due to lack of awareness and a mismanaged administrative system they are not able to avail of these benefits.
“What is the point of having all the rations when we have to buy flour from the market,” says Angoori Devi, daughter of Seth Singh. “My daughter is about to get married but we do not have anything to give her. Several politicians and government officers come and make promises of giving us land and pucca shelters but all in vain,” she adds.
Producing their ration cards and bank account documents, Sobharam and Shantidevi say they have been making fruitless trips to the government offices to get their documents updated but the officials misguide them. “We end up not receiving ration for some reason or the other,” says Sobharam. During Covid-19, as movement was banned, there was no option for even the meagre income that the male members earned to support their families.
“We depend on what the generous people came to distribute. Rice, vegetables, etc. we ate only when they gave it to us. Other days, we slept with hungry stomachs,” says Shantidevi.
Vineet Kumar, Block Development Officer, Bhiwani, says a shortage of employees in the administration, mismanagement and corruption are also some the reasons due to which these benefits do not reach the marginalised populations.