Roads into Abujhmad, Rhythms Across Bastar

Red Reckoning

Part 5

Our five-part series examines the rise and decline of India’s Maoist insurgency, once described as the country’s “greatest internal security threat” and the uneasy transition from conflict to control in its last strongholds.

From the Puvarti bridge to the Bastar Band, connectivity and culture are reshaping India’s last Maoist redoubt.

For decades, Abujhmad (literally “the unknown hill”) was less a place than a void on India’s map. Sprawled across the dense forests of Chhattisgarh’s Bastar region, it functioned as the de facto headquarters of the Maoist insurgency, a “liberated zone” where the writ of the Indian state barely ran. The silence of its isolation was strategic, enforced and, for the insurgents, indispensable.

That silence is now being broken by the determination of the Indian state. Early this year, the roar of engines and the clatter of steel announced a shift long in the making. The construction of the Puvarti Bailey Bridge over the Indravati River by the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) is the physical manifestation of a “development first” strategy that seeks to dismantle left-wing extremism not only through force, but through access.

Development Strategy

The choice of location was deliberate. Puvarti is the native village of Hidma - also known as Sanjeev Mandavi - the Maoist commander who has for years evaded capture while orchestrating some of the insurgency’s deadliest attacks, including the 2013 Jhiram Ghati massacre. His Rs. 45 lakh bounty remained unclaimed not for lack of pursuit, but because of terrain. Abujhmad’s inaccessibility was his greatest defence.

The bridge has changed that equation. Spanning 120 metres, the prefabricated Bailey bridge connects this remote bastion directly to National Highway 30. What was once an eight-hour trek through treacherous forest trails has been reduced to a 90-minute drive. For security forces, the implications are immediate. Units of the Central Reserve Police Force can now reach Puvarti in two hours instead of an arduous, fraught journey that previously required days of high-risk foot patrols through improvised explosive device-laden jungle.

The execution reflects the BRO’s experience in far-flung terrains. Drawing on techniques honed in Ladakh and Arunachal Pradesh, its General Reserve Engineer Force deployed a rapid, modular approach. Over 1,200 tonnes of high-tensile steel were airlifted to Jagdalpur. Construction moved from survey to completion in just 45 days, between December 1, 2025 and January 15, 2026. Work continued despite the discovery of five improvised explosive devices, which were neutralised even as supplies were delivered by helicopter drops.

The result is a structure capable of bearing 70-tonne loads - sufficient for armoured vehicles as well as ambulances. More importantly, it bypasses the need for heavy construction infrastructure in a region that, until recently, had none.

The bridge integrates roughly 15 villages on the Abujhmad plateau - home to around 8,000 tribal residents - into the broader economy. For decades, isolation functioned as the Maoists’ greatest asset, restricting trade, information and mobility. Its erosion has triggered what officials describe as a ‘domino effect.’

Economic indicators point to change. The tendu patta trade, a crucial source of income, is expected to double in productivity, reaching an estimated value of ₹35 crore. Agricultural output of rice and millet is projected to rise from 2,000 to 4,500 metric tonnes. Wages under the rural employment scheme have climbed to Rs.18 crore, a 2.25-times increase that offers a viable alternative to the insurgent economy.

Yet, it is in human development that the impact may be most pronounced. Access to mobile health units has expanded from 30 percent to 90 percent. Officials report zero maternal deaths in the immediate aftermath of the bridge’s opening. Education, too, is improving. School dropout rates, once as high as 25 percent, are falling as bus services begin linking remote hamlets to residential schools. Government schemes - from housing to clean cooking fuel - are reaching areas that were previously beyond administrative reach.

The Maoist strategy relied on isolation to sustain control, enforced through “jan adalats” and coercive authority. Connectivity disrupts this ecosystem. Intelligence inputs suggest a 60 percent reduction in youth recruitment and a 40 percent increase in actionable tips regarding insurgent movements. Drones now patrol a 50-kilometre radius, shrinking the operational space available to an already diminished cadre.

The shift is reinforced by a broader push toward digital inclusion. Under initiatives such as Niyad Nella Naar, tens of thousands of tribal residents have been issued Aadhaar cards, while hundreds of telecom towers extend connectivity deeper into the forest. The “red corridor” is being overlaid, gradually, with a digital one.

For policymakers, the implications are clear. The ambition of eradicating Maoism by 2027, once aspirational, now appears operational. The Puvarti bridge offers a template: rapid, prefabricated infrastructure that delivers both security dividends and economic returns. For every unit of investment, officials argue, the gains are measured not only in reduced violence, but in expanded opportunity.

As buses begin to reach settlements like Kutul, once considered insurgent strongholds, they carry more than passengers. They carry the slow but unmistakable arrival of the state.

The Bastar Band

Yet infrastructure alone is only part of the story. In Bastar, where the forest is both geography and identity, another transformation is under way - one that is less visible, but no less consequential. It can be heard in the sound of the todi, the beat of the mandar, and the chants of tribal communities whose cultural traditions long predate both insurgency and statehood.

This is the domain of the Bastar Band. Founded by theatre artist and Padma Shri awardee Anoop Ranjan Pandey, the ensemble represents an attempt to reclaim and preserve the region’s indigenous cultural heritage. For the Gond, Maria, Muria and Bhatra tribes, music is not performance but expression, a sonic reflection of the forest itself, from the rustle of leaves to the stillness of the night.

Recognising that tribal identity was being squeezed between insurgency and administration, Pandey set out to document traditions that were at risk of disappearing. He travelled to remote villages, collecting instruments fashioned from bamboo, gourds and animal hide - objects embedded with ritual significance.

In a region marked by suspicion and conflict, assembling musicians from different communities required persuasion and trust.

The band’s ethos is captured in its slogan: “Banduk chhodo, dhol pakdo” (leave the gun, pick up the drum).

In areas where young people have often faced a binary choice between insurgency and marginalisation, the band provides a third path. Its performances are less concerts than communal rituals, with dancers adorned in traditional attire moving to rhythms passed down through generations. There are no written scores, no conductors; the music is intuitive, inherited.

Recognition came in 2010, when the Bastar Band performed at the opening ceremony of the Commonwealth Games in Delhi. For many Indians, it was a first glimpse of Bastar not as a conflict zone, but as a repository of cultural richness. Since then, the ensemble has performed internationally, carrying the sounds of the region to global audiences.

Yet preservation remains precarious. As younger generations migrate for education and employment, the oral transmission of these traditions faces disruption. The band has responded by documenting songs and instrument-making techniques, attempting to ensure continuity even as circumstances change.

By documenting the songs and the specific craftsmanship required to make their instruments, the Band is ensuring that even if the forest changes, the sound of the forest will remain.

The story of the Bastar Band is a testament to the resilience of Indian folk traditions. It proves that culture is often the most effective tool for conflict resolution. While policy and policing have their roles, it is the dhol that has the power to heal the social fabric of a wounded region.

Taken together, the stories of the Puvarti bridge and the Bastar Band illustrate the dual approach reshaping India’s Maoist heartland. One builds access; the other rebuilds identity.

In Abujhmad, the transformation is still incomplete. Pockets of resistance persist, and the terrain remains challenging. But the direction is evident. Steel has begun to bridge what insurgency once divided. And in the spaces that open up, the sound of drums is beginning to replace the echo of gunfire.

Concludes...

(The writer is a political consultant and an international relations expert. Views personal.)