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The lush valleys of Araku, Paderu, and Chintapalli in the Eastern Ghats — where terraced fields glisten in the morning light and tribal farmers begin their day as their ancestors once did — are witnessing a slow but profound change.
The hills that once echoed with the songs and rhythms of Adivasi life now bear the weight of another presence: the quiet influx of non-tribal settlers, traders, and land speculators. The balance that sustained these communities for generations is being disturbed, and the very landscape that nurtured their identity is turning unfamiliar.
These are not just stories of land; they are stories of survival. They speak to the steady erosion of the constitutional promise that once protected India’s tribal heartlands.
A story told in numbers
The story of tribal displacement is often buried under statistics, yet the numbers tell a compelling tale. Between 1961 and 2011, census records reveal a gradual but consistent demographic transformation in Andhra Pradesh’s Scheduled Areas.
In the erstwhile East Godavari District, particularly the Rampachodavaram and Yellavaram taluks, the non-tribal population was 30.58% (34,308) of the total population 1,12, 199 in 1961 as per census. By 1971, it had climbed to 33.85% (46,692) of the total 1, 37,935, dipped marginally to 32.70% (52,392) in 1981 of the total 1,60, 228.
In 1985 the taluk system was abolished replacing larger taluks with smaller administrative units called mandals in Andhra Pradesh. The non-tribal population was settled at 31.27% (61,557) of the total 1,96,823 in 1991. The next two decades saw oscillations: 32.56% (70534) of the total 2,16,629 in 2001 and 28.16 % (61505) of 2,18,385 in 2011.
In the erstwhile West Godavari District’s Polavaram Agency, the story was even more pronounced. The non-tribal population grew from 18,605 in 1961 to 68,191 in 1991, then 71,285 in 2001, and further increased to 73, 362 in 2011.
Even the remote and forested Visakhapatnam Agency tracts — once bastions of tribal life — witnessed a steady incursion. In the erstwhile Paderu and Chintapalli taluks, the non-tribal population rose from 9.22% (16,232) in 1961 to 9.56% (24,032) in 1971, and then 11.51 % (41,092) by 1981 (including 9,314 in Araku taluk).
What the Constitution envisioned as a tribal-majority domain has slowly become a mixed, unequal space, where the original inhabitants are being pushed to the margins — socially, economically, and politically.
Migration and the quiet invasion
Between 1991 and 2011, the influx of non-tribals into the hill tracts continued — often quietly, but with deep consequences. After the formation of mandals in 1985, the population of non-tribals in Paderu mandal rose from 7,952 to 10,289; in Munchingput, from 1,217 to 2,880; and in G Madugula, the increase was steady. The Araku Valley saw a steep rise from 4,970 in 1991 to 8,954 in 2001, before dropping to 4,798 a decade later — a brief pause, not a reversal.
What is striking, however, is not just the population growth but the economic footprint non-tribals have carved into these regions. According to 2022 Tahsildar reports from the Paderu Revenue Division, 92% of non-tribal households in Araku Valley are engaged in cultivation. In Paderu, 77% are involved in agriculture; in Munchingput, 100% are in business; and in G Madugula, 60% are active in both cultivation and trade.
This reveals a deeper shift — not just demographic but economic. Non-tribals now control trade, agriculture, and local markets. Tribal families, once landowners, are increasingly reduced to wage labourers on lands they once tilled.
What began as quiet migration has become structural displacement, where the tribal loses not only land but also livelihood, autonomy, and dignity.
Law on paper, lapse in practice
India’s legal framework for protecting tribal land is remarkably strong on paper. The Andhra Pradesh Scheduled Areas Land Transfer Regulation (Regulation I of 1959, amended in 1970) explicitly prohibits the transfer of tribal land to non-tribals and also among non-tribals.
The Supreme Court, in P Ramireddy vs. State of Andhra Pradesh (1988), reaffirmed this protection, warning that unchecked non-tribal settlement poses an existential threat to tribal survival. Yet, enforcement remains patchy and compromised. As of August 2025, tribals in the scheduled area of Andhra Pradesh won 12732 cases covering an extent of 57076 acres of alienated land under the Land Transfer Regulations . Of the total, tribals in the erstwhile East and West Godavari districts won 6768 cases under the Land Transfer Regulation (LTR), regaining 32,448 acres of alienated land.
But these legal victories are overshadowed by state-sponsored displacement. The Polavaram Project alone submerged 27,917 acres of tribal land. Of this, only 10,719 acres have been compensated through land-to-land rehabilitation.
Thus, while one arm of the state restores land through court orders, another takes it away in the name of development. The contradiction is glaring — and tragic.
The DPTF proposal: A legal loophole
Amid this backdrop, a new government initiative is in circulation — the District Permanent Tribal Fund (DPTF) — designed, ostensibly, to channel profits from commercial ventures in Scheduled Areas toward tribal welfare.
Its stated intent is noble, invoking the Samatha judgment (Samatha vs. State of Andhra Pradesh, AIR 1997 SC 3297), which reaffirmed the constitutional protection of tribal land. But its design risks undermining that very protection.
Under Section 3(1)(a) of the LTR, the state cannot transfer or lease tribal land to non-tribals — ectly or indirectly. Yet, the DPTF allows state agencies such as the Andhra Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation (APTDC) to hold land and partner with private operators for tourism or agribusiness ventures through management contracts.
This effectively creates a backdoor entry for non-tribal entities into the Scheduled Areas, allowing them to profit from tribal land under the guise of “public-private partnerships.”The Samatha judgment permitted land use only by state instrumentalities for public purposes, not for private profit. The DPTF, by enabling private participation — even with a promise of 20% profit-sharing with tribals — violates both the letter and spirit of that ruling. Any such move, if implemented, would certainly affect the interests of the tribals.
Moreover, the scheme sidelines the Gram Sabha, which, under the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act 1996 (PESA), holds exclusive powers over land, water, and forest resources.
In effect, the DPTF replaces tribal self-governance with bureaucratic control, turning constitutional safeguards into administrative formalities. What is being projected as empowerment could become a new architecture of exploitation.
A history of apathy
This crisis is not new; it has been growing for decades under the shadow of state inaction. As early as 1976, the Andhra Pradesh Tribes Advisory Council warned against the growing presence of “notorious non-tribals” in Agency areas and urged the government to restrict their entry. The response — a routine circular — was predictably toothless.
The same pattern continues today. Enforcement of the Land Transfer Regulation is sporadic; monitoring mechanisms are weak; and the Gram Sabhas, meant to be the foundation of self-rule under PESA, are often reduced to rubber stamps.
The problem is not a lack of laws — it is a failure of governance. Protective legislation exists, but the institutions meant to enforce it have abdicated their responsibility.
The soul of the Scheduled Areas
What is unfolding in Andhra Pradesh’s tribal belts is not merely a question of demography or economics — it is a crisis of constitutional faith. The Fifth Schedule was envisioned as a moral covenant between the state and its most vulnerable citizens. It guaranteed protection from exploitation and assured self-rule through the Gram Sabha.
Today, that covenant stands broken. The Scheduled Areas are witnessing not only the loss of land but the slow erosion of identity. From landowners to tenants, from cultivators to wage labourers, tribal families are being pushed to the margins of the very society they helped build.
If the state continues to look away, it will not only lose the trust of Adivasi people but also violate the very principles on which the Republic stands.
The way forward: Restoring the constitutional promise
Reversing this slow dispossession demands both moral urgency and legal clarity. Three immediate measures are essential:
First, the Land Transfer Regulation must be strictly enforced. Illegal occupations — no matter how old or politically connected — should be vacated. “Long-standing possession” cannot override statutory protection. Special monitoring cells and fast-track tribunals can ensure effective implementation.
Second, the Gram Sabha must be empowered in both letter and spirit. Under PESA, it is the constitutional authority over land and natural resources in Scheduled Areas. Its consent should be mandatory — not consultative — for any project involving land, forest, or water.
Third, the state should consider introducing an Inner Line Permit (ILP) system under Paragraph 5(2) of the Fifth Schedule, modeled on north-eastern states. Such a mechanism would regulate the entry of non-tribals into Scheduled Areas, ensuring that business, employment, or tourism occurs only with community approval and oversight.
A constitutional reckoning
The ongoing transformation of Andhra Pradesh’s tribal regions is not just about land — it is about justice, trust, and survival. The Scheduled Areas were meant to be bastions of self-rule and dignity for India’s Adivasi people.
To allow their quiet dispossession is to erode the moral core of the Constitution itself. The state now faces a stark choice: between development and displacement, between bureaucratic convenience and constitutional faith.
Only when the hills of Araku, Paderu, and Chintapalli once again echo with the voices of free and secure tribal communities will the promise of the Fifth Schedule truly live again.
Palla Trinadha Rao is a lawyer and an activist working for tribal rights for more than three decades. Views expressed here are the author’s own.