Just when you think you finally understand the ground reality, the field humbles you. It shows you how much more there is to learn. That’s exactly why I love fieldwork. It never lets you live in assumptions.
For the past few months, I’ve been on field and visits almost every day. Bastar, with all its complexities, made me believe I was witnessing one of the most difficult situations in the country. I started thinking that if I could handle Bastar, I could survive anywhere.Then Umaria gave me a reality check.Umaraiya is a village so deeply nestled inside the forest that even an ambulance cannot reach it. I had heard people say this before, but seeing it with my own eyes was something else entirely.During one visit, there was a man who urgently needed medical help. But no vehicle could enter the village. So the community did what they’ve learned to do in the absence of systems they tied him to a wooden bed. Four men lifted it onto their shoulders and began walking.Four to five kilometers. Through the forest. Just to reach a point where a vehicle could finally take him to a hospital.
Watching them carry a human life like that slowly, carefully, helplessly broke something inside me.And that wasn’t the only harsh truth.The condition of schools is even worse. Many government schools remain closed throughout the entire monsoon season. For something as basic as drinking water, children and teachers have to walk 4–5 kilometers. Most childbirths still happen inside the village because ambulance services are simply unavailable. And when complications arise, the same wooden-bed method is used, a method that is neither safe nor feasible, yet it is the only option people have.Standing there, I couldn’t stop asking myself .
How is this still someone’s reality?
On one side, we proudly celebrate historic milestones becoming the first country to land near the south pole of the moon. A moment that fills us with national pride.
On the other hand, a man’s survival depends on people walking miles through dense forests because a basic ambulance cannot reach his home.The contrast is unbearable. Too sharp. Too heavy.And the more I reflected, the clearer it became this is not merely a problem of money. It is a problem of intention. Of priorities. Of political and administrative will. Of whether we truly believe that every life, no matter how remote, deserves dignity and access to basic services. Yet, amidst all this, something deeply inspiring stayed with me.The fighting spirit of the community.
“We don’t ask for big things. When someone is sick, we just want a way to reach the hospital in time. Carrying our people on wooden beds through the forest is not tradition-it’s helplessness.”-Radha Didi, Nighari village
Even in such difficult conditions, the people of Umaria spoke about their willingness to work, to increase their income, to improve their lives. Their resilience moved me. Their warmth humbled me. The way they welcomed us, trusted us, and treated us with respect and kindness was nothing short of extraordinary.It reaffirmed my belief that this is exactly where Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) like Chaitanya play a crucial role. They act as bridges between policy and practice. They understand the art of mobilization. They empower communities through practical interventions in fisheries, NTFP-based enterprises, nursery management, and many more turning resilience into sustainable opportunity.
True development is not measured by headlines, awards, or global milestones.It is measured by how accessible, humane, and responsive our systems are to the most remote and forgotten communities.And until villages like Umaraiya no longer have to carry their sick on wooden beds through forests, our work is far from finished.
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