People are coming back to the ‘cursed’ village of Ajabgarh thanks to water-conservation efforts

The fear of witchcraft drove residents out of Ajabgarh a century ago. But something is drawing them back

The goatherd in Ajabgarh

A State highway cuts through Ajabgarh village in Rajasthan’s Alwar district. On either side of it are homes, plots of land, the odd grazing cow. But there is, oddly, no one in sight. The houses — some of them with carved arches and ornate doors — are locked. Grasses have taken root between the exposed brick, the fields are overgrown with weeds.

For close to a century, no one has lived in Ajabgarh, which lies within a fort of the same name, translating into 'strange fort’. Nestled in the Aravallis, Ajabgarh is named after its founder Ajab Singh Rajawat, grand-nephew of Raja Man Singh I, one of Emperor Akbar’s generals.

Dark matter

The village also happens to be in the vicinity of the 17th century Bhangarh Fort, considered 'the most haunted fort of India'. Tourists are restricted from entering the fort after sunset.

Ghost stories abound about the fort, in particular about a princess named Ratnavati. Lore has it that a ‘sorcerer’ smitten by her beauty tried to lure her with black magic; Ratnavati found out about his ploy, the sorcerer’s plans were foiled and he was eventually killed. But before he died, or so the legend goes, he ‘cursed’ the village.

The ruined village

Ramdhan Meena, 63, who has just retired from a government job and lives a few kilometers away from the fort, also has a story to tell about ‘paranormal activities’ here. “My friend once took a photograph inside Bhangarh fort and when he developed it, he could not believe his eyes: there was Princess Ratnavati, larger than life, standing inside the fort.” Terrified, Meena’s friend quickly destroyed the picture.

I ask Meena about the abandoned village. “Until around a century ago, Ajabgarh was a haven for sorcerers,” he says. “They specialised in black magic and witchcraft. They cursed the village and everyone fled in fear.” Farmers abandoned their fields and homes and moved to Jaipur, Delhi, Mumbai and Surat, where they found daily-wage work.

But today, just a kilometre from this foresaken village, is emerging a thriving new Ajabgarh, where Meena is sarpanch, populated with residents slowly returning from the cities they had migrated to. The reason: water is finally available in this once parched landscape.

A traditional, decentralised water conservation project initiated 35 years ago has yielded results: it has recharged aquifers, created ponds and rainwater storage tanks, increasing agricultural yield. So what started as a small group of people who settled in this relocated village four decades ago, is now a bustling farming community of about 2,500 households. “Earlier we struggled to grow just one crop but now we grow three crops,” says Suresh Raikwar, a farmer and water conservationist.

Black to green

I see trucks carrying wheat, brinjal, mustard, ladies finger, tomato, green chilli and coriander out of this village. I am told they are headed to Delhi and Jaipur. Houses have come up, some with lilac or green facades, shops sell groceries and clothes and there is a government school. Bikes outnumber camel carts.

Then, of course, there is a series of rainwater storage tanks. A large part of the credit for this transformation goes to ‘Water Man’ and Magsaysay Award winner Rajendra Singh, who has worked extensively in this region for the last four decades. He motivated

The main street of new Ajabgarh

the community to conserve water through traditional water-harvesting methods. “The Ajabgarh basin is located 12 kilometres away from the village. We started work on creating johads (rainwater storage tanks) and ponds to recharge groundwater some 35 years ago. Eight ponds were constructed in Ajabgarh too. Slowly, the valley became green, and residents started returning.”

Lakkha Ram, a goatherd in his late 60s, who owns half a bigha here, left for Jaipur with his parents as a young boy. “During those days there was no water, so farming was not possible. We had a few goats but there was no fodder for them. We had to leave,” he says. But Ram and his wife returned to the village about 10 years ago, “when things started improving because of better water availability.”

I meet a woman in her early 30s, who identifies herself only as ‘Kanchan’s mother’. She and her husband, a landless labourer, had migrated to Alwar when they realised the village offered them little in terms of livelihood.

Her in-laws stayed behind as they were too old to make the move. But a few years ago, she decided to move back to the new Ajabgarh. “There are more people in the village now, I can sell them firewood and earn a living,” she says. Her daughter is now a Class III student at the local government school.

Real magic

Chet Ram, who owns five bighas a couple of kilometers from Ajabgarh, says that although rainfall remains scant, he has been able to cultivate wheat this year, thanks to the water conservation efforts, and the yield has been good enough for him to break even.

The “real sorcerer,” says Singh, was the drought. “People attributed the lack of rain to sorcery.” But the fear of ghosts and evil spirits, sorcerers and witches still grips many residents. Rituals to ‘ward off evil spirits’ are still practised. After any cremation, for instance, residents guard the cremation ground for three days so no ‘sorcerer’ conjures the spirit of the deceased and uses it for evil. Ravatlal Sharma, a 60-year-old goatheard, has never seen a ghost here, although his father has, he claims. “We cannot take chances,” he says.

But the returning villagers are taking chances, this time with the magic of water.

The writer is a senior journalist and filmmaker based in New Delhi.