The Battle of Buxar took place in 1764 — a brutal clash between the East India Company and a coalition made up of Bengal, Awadh, and the Mughal Empire. In this battle, the East India Company completely crushed the combined forces of Siraj-ud-Daulah, Mir Qasim, and Shah Alam II. The result? The East India Company tore down India's central authority and established British rule.
The British wanted to make money off India and ship it back home, so they started collecting land revenue. Since farming was the backbone of the Indian economy, the British squeezed farmers as hard as they could — demanding 60% of their crop yield as tax. The tax was so brutal that farmers often couldn't pay on time. Month after month, the debt piled up, until eventually farmers had nothing left. That's when the British would seize their land. Before long, the British had accumulated massive amounts of farmland. But land alone doesn't generate cash — so they rolled out the zamindari system, handing over control of land in regions like Bihar, Bengal, and parts of Uttar Pradesh.
The problem was, the British could seize land under this system, but they still weren't cashing in directly — so they turned moneylenders into landlords, or "zamindars." These zamindars would seize the land of farmers who couldn't pay, then force those same farmers to work that land as laborers. Whatever the harvest sold for, 60% went straight to the British.
So now farmers were working their own former land like hired hands, while the zamindar owned it outright. The British kept raising taxes, which pushed zamindars to slash wages even further. Farmers weren't even getting fair pay for their labor anymore.
Those who refused to accept this kind of exploitation started settling near the forests, building their lives there instead. When they were hungry, they ate fruit from the forest. When they needed shelter, they cut wood from the forest. The forest gave them everything — food, clothing, shelter. Slowly, as more and more farmers lost their land to zamindars, they moved to the forests and built new communities. These are the people we today call India's tribal, or Adivasi, communities.
The British still needed more money, and land revenue was their main source of income. They figured: the land we have is fixed, and the tax we're collecting has hit its ceiling — but our expenses keep growing. If we want more revenue, we need more farmland. And the only way to get more farmland is to clear the forests. So the British introduced a new law: the Forest Act. Under this law, no one was allowed to take wood, fruit, or anything else from the forests. The British government now claimed ownership of every forest. Overnight, the tribal communities lost their entire way of life. Anyone caught cutting wood was thrown in jail. Meanwhile, the British openly cleared forest land and handed it over to zamindars, who then forced tribal people to farm it — with 60% of the proceeds going straight to the British.
The British began clearing forests across every region, including in Bihar. That's when Birsa Munda rose up against them. He rallied people together and told them plainly: these British are cutting down our forests to line their own pockets. The forest is like our mother, and they're trying to tear us away from her. It's time to teach them a lesson. After that speech, people started physically blocking the British from entering the forest. Every time the British showed up, they got chased off. Furious, the British arrested Birsa Munda. He spent nearly two years in prison before being released.
After his release, Birsa Munda went underground and continued organizing. He told people: we used to get everything we needed from the forest — wood for building, fruit to eat, water from the rivers. We didn't have to serve anyone. But the British wanted more and more tax revenue, and the only way to get more revenue was through more farmland, and the only way to get more farmland was by clearing forests. That's exactly why they created the Forest Act — to seize control of the forests and use them however they pleased. Now it's time to fight back. It's time for the Ulgulan movement. We won't let them cut down the forest. If they want to clear any land, they need permission from the people who live around it. Only with everyone's consent can a single tree come down — otherwise, not one falls.
That speech lit a fire of resentment against the British. People began burning down British police outposts in the area — roughly 89 police stations and zamindar homes were set ablaze. The local District Magistrate panicked and requested military reinforcements to secure the region. Soon, no British official dared come near that forest. The British had grown afraid of Birsa Munda.
Eventually, Birsa Munda came out of hiding to address crowds directly. One day, he was set to speak at Dombari Hill. The Ulgulan movement was at its peak. To crush the uprising, British Commissioner A. Forbes and Deputy Commissioner H.C. Streatfeild led two military units to Dombari Hill. Several other revolutionaries were expected to join the gathering — around 5,000 people showed up on that hill. As the speech began, British troops surrounded the hill from every side and opened fire on the crowd. Within minutes, the hillside turned from green to red. According to The Statesman newspaper, roughly 400 people were killed. The hill was left covered in bodies. The British threw the dead down the hillside, and some of the wounded were buried alive. Officially, the British reported only 11 deaths from the shooting. A few people survived the massacre — Birsa Munda among them.
He managed to escape and went underground again. Desperate to find him, the British announced a reward across every village: 500 rupees to anyone who revealed Birsa Munda's location. He was living in a hut hidden beneath the forest floor. Eventually, someone close to him gave up his location to the British. British forces tracked him down. He was sitting inside the hut, unarmed, when Superintendent Ross forced the door open with his bayonet and seized him.
The British moved him under cover of night, deliberately avoiding the village route and taking forest paths instead — determined to keep his capture secret for as long as possible. He was imprisoned in Ranchi jail. By then, word of his arrest had already spread through the villages. When he was taken from jail to court, his hands were shackled and his body bore visible whip marks — a clear message from the British: this is what happens to anyone who defies us. The court sent him to solitary confinement, where he was denied visitors for three months. His health deteriorated there. He developed a throat infection, began vomiting blood, and eventually died. The British officially attributed his death to cholera. But the true cause remains disputed to this day — some historians believe he was slowly poisoned, with the British allegedly lacing his food.
Fearing that news of his death could spark riots, the British quietly cremated Birsa Munda's body near the Swarnarekha River, hoping to keep it under wraps.
But the news got out anyway. Within days, word of Birsa Munda's death had spread across Bihar. People rose up in protest, demanding what he had always asked for: that no forest be cleared without the consent of the communities living around it. About eight years later, in 1908, that demand became law. Under the Chhota Nagpur Tenancy Act, no government could sell forest land without the consent of local communities, and not a single tree could be cut without the permission of the tribal people living there.
At the time, it might have seemed like Birsa Munda's Ulgulan movement had failed. But looking back, it clearly succeeded — that same protection exists today under the Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution. Even now, the state has no authority to clear forest land without the consent of the people living nearby — for example, in West Bengal, not a single tree can legally be cut without local approval.
Jharkhand was granted statehood on Birsa Munda's birthday. Today, an airport is named after him. His portrait hangs in India's Parliament. But what does any of that really mean?
Even today, someone fighting to enforce the Sixth Schedule in Ladakh has been thrown in jail. And this isn't an isolated case — there are others. This isn't just a BJP issue either; the same thing happened under Congress rule. G.D. Agarwal, who fought to stop construction projects along the Ganges River, died in the course of that struggle. In Uttarakhand, when forests were being cleared, people physically clung to the trees to stop it — police broke it up with batons, and the logging continued anyway.
All of this is happening right in front of us, and we just watch — the same way the whole country watched when Birsa Munda was arrested. Birsa Munda didn't fight for himself; he fought for all of us, for the nation's own good. He opposed the destruction of the forests, but the British told the public that his speeches had incited violence — that his words led people to burn down 89 police stations and zamindar homes — branding him an enemy of the state. And people believed it. The same thing is happening today.
Sonam Wangchuk's only demand was that Ladakh be granted statehood so the Sixth Schedule could be enforced there — so the tree-cutting could be stopped. Instead, the government threw him in jail.
And it's not just Sonam Wangchuk. Umar Khalid, G.D. Agarwal, and others — anyone who's spoken up for the nation's genuine interests — has ended up behind bars.
Back in Birsa Munda's time, people watched in silence. Today, we're still watching in silence. If that's not a form of servitude, what is? Back then, the British kept us quiet through fear and violence. Today, these modern "British" are doing the exact same thing.