In the heart of Baghmundi’s rugged terrain in Purulia district, amidst the dense green cover of Sindri village, lives a man whose unwavering dedication to afforestation earned him the nation’s fourth-highest civilian honour. Yet today, Padma Shri recipient Dukhu Majhi survives under a crumbling tin-tiled roof, the laurels of his glory no match for the rain that seeps through his walls.
Since childhood, Dukhu had nurtured a profound love for planting trees. Even after leaving school, that green passion consumed him—his life intertwined with the soil, roots and saplings he so lovingly tended. That very passion eventually took him from the dusty lanes of Charida-Birgram to the polished floors of Raisina Hills. In April 2024, Majhi was conferred the Padma Shri by President Droupadi Murmu, an honour that echoed with pride across not only Sindri but the entire Purulia forest belt.
But beyond the flashes of the camera and the applause of the nation, reality paints a grim picture.
Today, Majhi lives in abject poverty. His dilapidated mud house, patched with tarpaulin and reinforced with bamboo poles, barely stands against the monsoon fury. With each downpour, the structure weakens further, as rainwater seeps through the cracked mud walls and damaged roof. His wife, Fungi, stands beside him, visibly anxious. “The rain didn’t stop the entire night a few days ago. I couldn’t sleep. I feared the house would collapse over us,” she recalls, her voice laced with despair.
Inside the fragile dwelling, he lives with his disabled younger son, Shambhu. His elder son, Nirmal, resides elsewhere in a government-allocated house—ironically the very housing that was supposed to shelter the Padma awardee himself. “My name wasn’t included. There’s only one household allowed under the housing scheme. So, my son lives there,” Dukhu says with resignation.
Despite having rubbed shoulders with dignitaries, his circumstances remain dire. “I requested everyone I met for just one thing—a proper home. But nothing has happened. Sometimes I wonder, had I been given a house instead of the Padma Shri, I would at least have a place to lay my head.”
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Dukhu’s story began alongside his father, Mangal Majhi, a daily wage labourer. It was while accompanying him to work that young Dukhu first heard a speaker say, “Without trees, there’s no oxygen.” Though he didn’t fully grasp the science behind it, the message struck a chord deep within him. From that day on, he made it his mission to green the barren lands of his region.
Officials from the forest department affirm that the towering trees lining roads like Charida-Birgram and Dava-Sindari are a legacy of his relentless efforts. He has planted banyan, palash, shimul and countless other native species, turning vacant lands into flourishing groves. Yet, inside his crumbling home, his prestigious awards lie tucked away in tin boxes. “There’s nowhere proper to keep them,” says his wife, adding, “We have to stuff them into a bag like old clothes.”
Baghmundi Block Development Officer (BDO) Arya Tah offered a bureaucratic explanation: “He received a house under the housing project, but since it’s one household and his elder son lives there, Dukhu’s name couldn’t be separately included. Officially, he’s still the head of the family.”
Still, Dukhu soldiers on, planting trees as he always has, asking for nothing but the basics he was never afforded. “I’m doing my work, as always. Whatever happens, happens,” he says with a weary smile. As his village bathes in the green canopy he helped grow, one cannot help but question: is this the reward a nation offers its silent environmental warriors?
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