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In the image below, a Dalit worker (formerly known as “untouchables”) trudges past an openpit coal mine in the Indian state of Jharkhand, where underground fires have raged for more than a century.
The photo is part of a black and white series titled “Broken” by Asha Thadani, which has been portraying the lives of Dalits for seven years.
India's 200 million Dalits are among the country's most marginalized citizens, condemned to the lowest rungs of society by a rigid caste hierarchy.
Quotas for Dalits in state institutions have reduced gaps in education, income and health. Dalits now have a thriving chamber of commerce full of millionaires. Many organizations actively defend their rights. Two Dalits were heads of state.
However, a significant number of Dalits continue to do the work that others avoid, such as removing dead animals and cleaning sewers.
Theyyam is a religious ritual that originated in the northern part of the state of Kerala.
The image shows a Dalit Theyyam artist from the state, where these trance dancers are believed to embody the very deities they worship.
“When they become Theyyam artists, they become storytellers and living representatives of the gods. Although Theyyam is rooted in the caste system, the upper castes have to respect and obey the divine dancer, who is from the lower caste, during the performance,” says Thadani.
The Musahars, which literally means “rat people,” are so poor that their staple diet often includes rats.
Musahars, a Dalit community in Bihar state, work primarily on farms and are unemployed for up to eight months a year.
Faced with the challenge of survival and dependence on the unpredictable generosity of landowners, the Musahars have found alternative livelihoods such as the Nachaniya a group of genderfluid artists within the community.
These male artists, aged 10 to 23, dress up as women and perform at village weddings, especially during the monsoon season.
In a visual hymn to devotion, a Ramnami woman looks pensive near a door, her face and shaved head tattooed with the rhythmic repetition of “Ram” in the Devanagari script used to write Hindi a eloquent manifestation of singing in written form.
With each stroke of the wooden needle, impregnated with ink from the soot of the kerosene lamp, intricate concentric circles and linear patterns are created, forming a sacred tapestry on your skin. The tradition extends to a shawl that is gracefully draped around their shoulders with the sacred word.
Born out of an act of defiance in the late 19th century, the Ramnamis of the state of Chhattisgarh embody a distinctive protest that imprints devotion in skin and soul a timeless fusion of faith and identity.
From the sacred depths of the Ganges in the religious city of Varanasi, an experienced Dalit diver emerges with coins between his teeth a powerful image of a life woven into the river's narrative.
Known as a “Gotakhor,” or expert diver, he holds the coins offerings from absolution seekers between his teeth, leaving his hands free to navigate the river’s current.
According to Thadani, divers are also tasked with recovering the bodies of people who drowned in the river and are compensated with cheap alcohol for this.
“Every dive is a ritual and every coin found serves as an offering to ease the symbolic journey through difficult waters,” she says.
In a corner of Bihar, these Dalit women defied upper caste jewelry restrictions by developing a unique form of jewelry tattoos.
They used cow dung, bamboo, straw, twigs and palm leaves to build their huts and turned the walls into privacy screens.
“As they were forbidden from depicting Hindu deities, they found inspiration in nature. Today their paintings are famous and serve as a livelihood and a testament to the creativity and courage of these women,” says Thadani.
These women are professional mourners who practice the ancient Oppari mourning ritual, which has deep roots in a Dalit community in Tamil Nadu.
Opparis are traditionally sung as an emotional response to the loss of close family members and are sung on behalf of or directly for the grieving family.
These women are called into the homes where the death occurred and skillfully express grief in a profound ritual.
The task, considered “polluting” and reserved for Dalits, challenges social norms that associate outward displays of grief with weakness, a perception traditionally reserved for women.
Shiva, from a Dalit community in Karnataka, is part of a group that burns goat heads outside the meat market in the city of Bangalore.
Goat heads are processed by fire to remove the skin, making it easier to produce and sell the most expensive organ the brain. This process is a necessary step in preparing the meat.
Those who do this work are exposed to scorching heat, toxic smoke and coal dust every day and have a life expectancy of 35 to 45 years. The metal skewers used become extremely hot when burning, which affects the sensitivity of the hands when holding them during the working day.
The work is carried out exclusively by male Dalits, some between the ages of 10 and 12, who are paid 15 rupees (18 cents) for processing a goat's head.