While Diwali lights up cities across the country, the narrow lanes of Bhopal’s Polytechnic area remain silent. Behind Manas Bhawan lies a 70-year-old tribal settlement, home to more than 200 people from 27 families, including laborers, elderly, women, and children. Traditionally, this area sparkled with diyas and children’s laughter during the festival, but this year the glow has been replaced by black-and-white posters reading, ‘Why is there darkness in our Diwali?’ and ‘We are not asking for houses but justice.’ Eviction notices spark fear The silence is rooted in fear. On August 25, the district administration issued eviction notices to residents, stating that the land falls under government or forest property and must be vacated within seven days. The notices came with fines and warnings that bulldozers would soon be deployed. According to local lawyers, this action violates the law. Many families have lived here for three generations, and under the Forest Rights Act, they cannot be removed from this land. Posters reflect anguish In response to the eviction notices, residents have plastered their homes with posters expressing their pain. Some read, ‘Why darkness in our Diwali?’ while others say, ‘We are demanding justice, not houses.’ Children are also part of this protest, holding posters that state, ‘They broke our homes, crushed our dreams.’ The festive spirit has vanished, replaced by a visible expression of fear and helplessness. Voices of anger and helplessness Ayesha, a resident standing outside her house, expressed the despair that has gripped the community. What Diwali should we celebrate now? They have given notice to demolish our homes. Should we wait for the bulldozer or destroy the house ourselves? Homes built with years of effort will now be buried under someone’s parking. Nearby, Rajkumari, whose in-laws have lived here for 60-70 years, added, Our children were born here. They go to school here. Where will they go now? On one hand, the government launches schemes like Ladli Behna, but on the other, we are made homeless. 3 generations at risk Eighty-year-old Raela, sitting outside her small house with its worn wooden door, recalled the history of her home. Our parents and siblings lived and died here. Now they are telling us to leave. They’ve shown us a one-room multi, but where will we keep the children if we go there? Her words resonated with the women around her, all sharing the same question: ‘Is it now a crime for the poor to have a home?’ Demand for Permanent Housing Zulekha Bi, a resident for the past ten years, emphasized that they are laborers who have built their homes with their earnings from working long hours. If the government doesn’t like our slum, at least provide permanent houses. Don’t make us homeless. Children too have begun raising their voices, reflecting the fear and uncertainty that now overshadows the settlement. Diwali celebrations abandoned This year marks the first time in seven decades that Diwali will not be celebrated in this settlement. There are no diyas, no house painting, no sweets for children. A housewife said, When there’s fear of bulldozers at home, how can there be lights and festivities? This won’t be Diwali—it will be a night of sorrow. Children ask, ‘Why didn’t you bring diyas?’ What answer should we give? Eviction against Forest Rights Act Lawyer Mohan pointed out that the settlement is about 70 years old, housing 27 tribal and a few non-tribal families. The administration’s notice gave only seven days to vacate, but since this land is registered as forest land and families have been living here since before 2005, eviction is prohibited under the Forest Rights Act. Despite this, administrative staff continue to engage with residents, adding to the uncertainty and fear. Posters speak for the people Every home now carries posters reflecting their anguish. Some declare, ‘Those whose homes are destroyed celebrate struggle, not Diwali,’ while others read, ‘Save homes, increase belongingness,’ and ‘People build their homes by breaking others’ homes.’ Children hold paper posters in place of colored pencils, and mothers clutch government notices instead of earthen lamps. The absence of festive light mirrors the distress and helplessness of a community fighting for its right to remain in the place they have called home for generations. ​ 

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