Did Sayaji Shinde Pay the Price for Opposing Tapovan and Kumbh Tree Felling?
This is not an abstract fight. This is not a poetic lament about forests. This is about Tapovan. This is about trees cut in the name of the Kumbh. This is about power, permissions, and punishment.
Sayaji Shinde did something most people with comfort, visibility, and social standing carefully avoid. He directly opposed tree felling at Tapovan and questioned the logic of destroying mature green cover under the excuse of Kumbh-related infrastructure and development works. He did not oppose faith. He did not oppose public gatherings. He opposed the idea that ecological destruction can be brushed aside as collateral damage every time a mega event needs space.
Tapovan was not a random patch of land. It was a symbolic green zone, repeatedly projected as protected, spiritual, and ecologically sensitive. Yet when the Kumbh required parking, roads, access corridors, and temporary structures, trees fell with astonishing speed. Permissions moved faster than explanations. Justifications came later, if at all. And those who questioned this were told to be practical, to be silent, to not obstruct “larger interests.”
Sayaji refused to comply.
He said publicly what many locals whispered privately. That compensatory plantation does not replace old ecosystems. That religious events do not need environmental amnesia. That development without restraint is not progress, it is vandalism with paperwork.
Then his Devrai burned.
A forest grown patiently over years was reduced to ash. No accused. No clear answers. No urgency. Just the convenient classification of an “incident” and the expectation that everyone should move on.
This is where Maharashtra must stop pretending this is coincidence.
The question is not whether a chargesheet exists. The question is whether dissent against sanctioned destruction carries consequences in this state. Whether opposing Tapovan tree felling and questioning Kumbh-related environmental damage makes you inconvenient enough to be taught a lesson. Whether silence is rewarded and resistance punished.
Sayaji had no material incentive to fight this battle. He was not demanding land. He was not blocking livelihoods. He was not seeking political mileage. In fact, his position only made his life harder. He antagonised contractors, irritated officials, and disrupted the smooth narrative that everything done in the name of development or religion must be accepted without scrutiny.
If his intent was selfish, he would have stayed quiet. If his motive was fame, he would have chosen safer causes. If he wanted peace, he would not have stood against Tapovan tree felling at all.
Common people in Maharashtra need to understand what is really at stake here. Today it is Sayaji’s Devrai. Tomorrow it is the hill near your village cleared for an event. The forest near your town cut for “temporary infrastructure” that quietly becomes permanent. The trees near your home sacrificed for convenience, while you are told to light diyas and feel proud.
Standing with Sayaji Shinde is not about celebrity worship. It is about refusing to normalise environmental destruction wrapped in religious or developmental justification. It is about demanding to know why those who question such actions are left vulnerable, isolated, and unheard.
If Maharashtra does not ask hard questions now, the message will be loud and clear. Forests are expendable. Opposition is dangerous. And silence is the price of safety.
Sayaji’s fight is not his alone. It is the fight for Tapovan. It is the fight for every forest cleared in the name of Kumbh. It is the fight for the right to say no without paying for it in ash.
