Source : INDIA TODAY NEWS
An eyewitness account from the ground in Sagar district, where a quest for cheap alcohol ended in death, shattered families, and raised troubling questions about an illegal liquor network.
It was raining in Bhopal on Sunday morning when my phone rang.
On the other end was our correspondent from Sagar, Himanshu. His voice carried urgency. Several people had been rushed to hospital after allegedly consuming spurious liquor overnight, he said. At least nine had already died.
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The moment I heard the news, I knew this was not a story that could be covered from a newsroom desk. I had to be there.
By 9 am, I was on the road to Sagar. Rain lashed the highway for most of the journey. Ongoing construction on the Bhopal-Kanpur corridor slowed traffic, turning the trip into a long and exhausting drive. By the time I reached Sagar, it was around 2.30 pm. There was no time to stop in the city. The real story lay 35 kilometres away—in Banda, where grief and anger had engulfed entire communities.
When I arrived, the atmosphere was tense. Residents had placed bodies on the road and blocked traffic in protest. Police personnel were deployed in large numbers. There was outrage, frustration and, above all, heartbreak.
But the true scale of the tragedy became clear only when I reached Nauraj village.
A VILLAGE WHERE EVERY HOME SEEMED TO BE MOURNING
Nauraj had lost four residents in the suspected hooch tragedy.
As I entered the village, an eerie silence hung in the air. It felt as though the entire village had lost its voice. Most of the victims were young men between 25 and 35 years old—daily wage earners who supported their families through hard labour.
By the time our team arrived, the bodies of Kartar Singh Lodhi and Rajendra Lodhi had been brought back home.
The grief was overwhelming.
Women wailed uncontrollably. Elderly fathers sat frozen in disbelief. Brothers buried their faces in their hands. Young children wandered around, perhaps too young to understand that the man who had been with them just a day earlier would never return.
KARTAR SINGH: A FATHER OF TWO, GONE AT 30
Kartar Singh Lodhi was only 30.
He had two small children.
According to his family, he consumed liquor around 3 pm on Saturday before going to rest. By evening, his condition deteriorated rapidly. He was rushed to hospital but was declared dead.
His death was more than a statistic.
A family had lost its breadwinner. Two children had lost their father. A wife had lost her partner. A brother stood trying to comprehend how a routine day had ended in tragedy.
A RAKHI THAT BECAME A FAREWELL
Then there was 32-year-old Rajendra Lodhi.
He was preparing to leave for Indore for work but had delayed his departure because his sister had come home for Raksha Bandhan.
Just days earlier, she had tied a rakhi on his wrist and prayed for his safety and long life.
No one imagined she would soon be standing beside his body.
When Rajendra’s body arrived in the village, his sister broke down. Her cries echoed through the neighbourhood. She repeatedly fainted as women from the village tried to console her. Rajendra’s father also collapsed after seeing his son’s body.
The image was haunting—a rakhi tied in hope and affection, and within days, the wrist that wore it had fallen silent forever.
FOLLOWING THE TRAIL OF CHEAP LIQUOR
As I walked through Nauraj’s muddy lanes, one question kept resurfacing:
Where was all this liquor coming from?
Residents spoke openly about alcohol consumption in the area. Most victims were poor labourers. But what drew them to the liquor being sold locally was not just availability—it was price.
The next day, we followed a lead.
A short distance from Banda stood a roadside eatery that locals claimed had become a hub for cheap liquor sales.
What we found there was striking.
Empty liquor bottles and discarded water pouches littered the surroundings. Behind the establishment were signs that large numbers of bottles had been burned. Among the remains were bottles of Sagar Gold, a brand that had already come under scrutiny during the investigation.
The presence of bottles alone does not prove the liquor originated there. That determination will depend on the investigation. But the site raised difficult questions.
If alcohol was allegedly being sold there for a long time, how did authorities fail to notice?
Villagers claimed that for the same Rs 200 that bought around one-and-a-half bottles at a licensed outlet, buyers could get up to four quarters through such channels.
For daily wage earners, the attraction was obvious.
Residents said crowds gathered there every evening “like a fair”.
EMPTY BOTTLES EVERYWHERE, UNANSWERED QUESTIONS EVERYWHERE
Back in Nauraj, another disturbing pattern emerged.
Stacks of empty liquor quarters—mostly Sagar Gold and Bombay Whisky—were scattered across the village. Some were piled outside homes.
The sight suggested widespread consumption of these brands.
Several villagers claimed they had repeatedly complained about illegal liquor sales. If complaints had indeed been made, they wondered, why had action not followed?
And if action had been taken, how had the trade continued on such a large scale?
THE UP CONNECTION
Sagar Superintendent of Police Anurag Sujania told Aaj Tak that around eight people had been detained and that preliminary investigations pointed to a supply chain originating in Uttar Pradesh.
Police are also probing links to an illegal factory previously discovered in neighbouring Lalitpur.
FIRs have reportedly been registered against around 20 people, and more arrests are expected.
Investigators are now examining the entire chain—where the liquor was manufactured, who transported it, who sold it and who allowed the network to operate.
METHANOL AND THE DEADLY COST OF GREED
Later, at the Sagar Circuit House, I met Madhya Pradesh Health Minister and Deputy Chief Minister Rajendra Shukla.
His revelation made the tragedy even more alarming.
According to him, post-mortem examinations found large quantities of methanol in the victims’ bodies.
Unlike ethanol, which is used in alcoholic beverages, methanol is highly toxic and can be fatal even in small quantities.
Shukla said the substance may have been mixed into liquor to reduce production costs.
A liquor carton that would normally cost around Rs 2,200 could allegedly be produced for roughly Rs 700 through such adulteration.
In other words, a few hundred rupees in savings may have come at the cost of human lives.
ACTION AGAINST OFFICIALS
Following the deaths, the state government initiated action against several excise and police officials.
Senior excise officers were transferred or suspended, while Banda police station in-charge Rajendra Singh Kushwaha and Gugra outpost in-charge SI Puran Lal Ladiya were also suspended.
The government’s message was clear: accountability would follow negligence.
ONE TRAGEDY, TWO CONFLICTING STORIES
At Banda Civil Hospital, where several victims were undergoing treatment, another layer of complexity emerged.
Some patients said they had purchased liquor from local vendors or roadside establishments.
Others claimed they bought it from licensed government outlets.
If true, the scope of the investigation becomes much wider.
The question is no longer just where illegal liquor was being sold. Investigators must also determine whether the contamination entered through illicit channels alone or whether the licensed supply chain was compromised.
TWO DAYS LATER, THE BIGGEST QUESTION REMAINS
After spending nearly two days in Banda and surrounding villages, certain facts are clear.
There was significant alcohol consumption in the area. Villagers speak openly about the availability of cheap liquor. Allegations of illegal sales persist. Empty liquor bottles are everywhere. Police are investigating a possible Uttar Pradesh connection. Methanol has been detected in victims’ bodies. Officials have been suspended.
Yet one question refuses to go away.
If villagers had been warning authorities about illegal liquor for so long, why was action not taken before lives were lost?
Did the system fail to see what was happening?
Or did it choose not to look?
Because this is no longer just a story about liquor.
It is a story about fathers who will never return home, sons whose families depended on them, sisters who tied rakhis only days before attending funerals, and mothers forced to watch the bodies of their young children being brought back home.
And it is a story about whether a tragedy that claimed so many lives could have been prevented long before the first bottle was opened.
– Ends
SOURCE :- TIMES OF INDIA
