Biswabrata Goswami
KOLKATA, 29 DEC: Under the winter sun of western Purulia, the rocky silhouettes of Tillaboni and Panjaniya hills stood witness on Sunday to a rare, quiet resistance. Villagers, students and scholars gathered at the foothills not with slogans or barricades, but with folded hands and placards, urging the authorities to halt granite mining that they say is slowly killing their land, water and breath.


The non-violent movement was organised by research scholars from Sidho Kanho Birsha University, to protect the Precambrian geomorphosites of Tillaboni and Panjaniya—ancient landforms that carry geological, ecological and cultural significance stretching back millions of years.
Granite mining continues at Panjaniya Hill, around 300 metres high, affecting villages like Panjaniya, Deshra and Sindurpur, with a combined population of nearly 1,500. Tillaboni Hill, rising to nearly 400 metres, supports another cluster of villages—Tillaboni, Ledabana, Madhapur, Gopinathpur, Tilagora and Kalaboni—taking the total population dependent on these hills to around 3,500.

“These hills are our lungs and kidneys,” said Sudarshan Mahato, a resident of Panjaniya village, standing near a scarred rock face. “The stone companies see only granite. We see water, forest produce, grazing land and the air we breathe. When blasting happens, our wells dry up and dust settles on our crops. How will we survive if the hills disappear?”
According to researchers, the Tillaboni–Panjaniya hills are part of the Precambrian geological formations—among the oldest on Earth—making them invaluable records of the planet’s evolutionary history. Beyond geology, they sustain multiple ecosystem services: non-timber forest products, drinking and domestic water supply, groundwater recharge, grazing grounds, and spaces for local festivals and rituals tied to indigenous traditions.
For villagers, the loss is not abstract or scientific—it is immediate and deeply personal.

“Every crack made by mining shakes our houses and our hearts,” said Prabir Mahato, another villager who joined the protest. “Our ancestors worshipped these hills. Our children climb these rocks, graze cattle here, collect leaves and fruits. If mining continues, we will be left with dust and disease.”
Participants in the gathering argued that unchecked extraction threatens not only the physical landscape but also the fragile socio-economic lifeline of tribal communities that have lived around these hills for generations.
Biswajit Bera, who has been documenting the geomorphology of the region, said the movement aims to push for official recognition of the hills as geo-heritage sites. “These geomorphosites provide provisioning, supporting and cultural ecosystem services. Declaring them as geo-heritage and promoting responsible geotourism can generate sustainable livelihoods without destroying the land,” he said.

Experts point out that geo-heritage status could open pathways for conservation-driven development—nature education, rock climbing, eco-guided trails and cultural tourism—while preserving groundwater systems and forest cover in an already drought-prone region of Junglemahal.
However, villagers fear that without immediate intervention, mining will advance faster than policy. Several participants said they had submitted complaints to local authorities earlier but saw little action on the ground.
Sunday’s gathering ended without confrontation, but with a shared resolve. As dusk settled over the red laterite soil and granite ridges, villagers dispersed quietly, leaving behind a message etched not in slogans, but in the enduring stone they seek to protect: development, they insist, cannot come at the cost of erasing the land’s memory—and their future.


