Baghpat Bonded Labourers: Attacked, Rescued, Then Abandoned

In the quiet, dusty expanse of Baghpat, Uttar Pradesh, a chilling tale of exploitation and systemic failure has come to light, revealing the persistent realities of bonded labour in India. On February 22, 2025, authorities rescued 18 labourers from the BBF brick kiln, where they had been held captive and compelled to work under exploitative conditions.

Yet, weeks after their rescue, these workers find themselves trapped in a different kind of limbo—shuffling between government offices, desperate for the release orders that would officially acknowledge their freedom and unlock rehabilitation support. Their story, however, is not just one of delayed justice; it’s a damning indictment of an administration that appears to have turned a blind eye to their suffering, even as they were brutalised in plain sight. 

What sets this case apart, and casts a harsh spotlight on the district administration, is the brazen impunity with which the labourers were attacked by the employers—not in some hidden corner, but in front of district officials. The rescued workers allege that even as they were being assaulted, the authorities stood by as silent spectators. 

The difficulties for the labourers began on January 3, 2025, when 18 individuals from five families in Baghpat district were offered an advance payment of ₹10,000 per family to work at the BBF brick kiln. Given their financial hardship, they accepted the offer, expecting fair compensation for their work. However, upon arrival, they were denied wages and instead subjected to forced labour under harsh conditions. The brick kiln, which they had anticipated as a place of employment, became a site of confinement, where any attempts to seek release were met with resistance from those in control.

Bonded Labourer Surender’s Secret Letter That Led to Rescue

One of the 18 bonded labourers, Surender, secretly wrote to the District Magistrate of Baghpat on 22 February 2025. The letter contained explicit details of the plight of all the bonded labourers including women and children. 

His account highlights the difficult conditions faced by the workers and raises concerns about local oversight. In his letter, he detailed how he and 17 others from five families in Baghpat district were recruited to work at the BBF brick kiln in Bilochpura village by its owner, Ravinder Rana, and an associate named Bittu. Each family received an advance payment of ₹10,000 as a commitment to their labour. However, instead of fair wages, Surender wrote that they endured violence and mistreatment. He concluded his letter with an appeal to the District Magistrate for their rescue, stating that if any harm befell them, both the kiln owners and the administration should be held responsible.

Rescue or Betrayal? How Officials Stood By as Bonded Labourers Were Attacked

The rescue operation conducted on February 25, 2025, three days after Surender’s letter reached the authorities, was intended to free the 18 bonded labourers from the brick kiln. However, it instead highlighted official negligence, leaving the workers injured and disheartened. Surender described the operation to The Probe as poorly executed and deeply flawed.

“The labour enforcement officer Arvind Madhesia, a policeman, and another person in plain clothes—these were the only three people who came for our rescue. There was no police personnel for protection or anything. The rescue team first went to the owner of the brick kiln, Ravinder Rana, and then talked to him. The team and the owner of the kiln—they were laughing and talking in friendly terms, and then the rescue team came to us,” Surender recounted. 

"Rescue Team Made Us Sign Blank Papers"

He went on, “What happened next was shocking. Arvind Madhesia, the labour officer told us, ‘Only those who will sign on the blank paper will get rescued, otherwise we will leave you here only and leave.’ We asked him, ‘Why should we sign on blank paper?’ We told him, ‘Please record our statements first.’ He refused. He said, ‘Your statements will only get recorded in the District Magistrate’s office.’" 

Surender continued: "We had no choice. So, all of us signed on the blank papers, and as we proceeded towards the vehicle, the owner of the brick kiln, Ravinder Rana, his son Abhimanyu, and four to five goons started attacking us with bricks and iron rods. They also gave us casteist abuses as we belonged to the Dalit community. Many of us were badly injured, and some, including the women, were bleeding profusely. The most unfortunate part about this whole incident is that this happened right in front of the government officials who came to rescue us, but they did not do anything. They didn’t even attempt to stop them. They were just watching the show while we bonded labourers, including women and children, were brutally attacked.”

Surender continued, “Somehow we managed to escape in the car after facing the violent assault. The officials did not even come with us during the rescue. They were still standing there at the brick kiln as mute spectators. The vehicle that came for the rescue was also arranged by us. The labour officer told us, ‘You arrange a vehicle if you want to get rescued.’ After getting beaten up, we somehow got into the vehicle and then reached the DM office covered in blood. Then we were taken to a nearby hospital for treatment.” 

He added that the struggle didn’t end there: “After that, we had to continuously beg and plead and also write letters to the Superintendent of Police and the District Magistrate to get our statements recorded so that we could get our release order.”

When asked why the group hadn’t tried to escape the kiln earlier, Surender explained, “We tried, but we couldn’t. There was heavy security. They would beat us up. They would brandish guns at us. And they would threaten to shoot and kill us. Abhimanyu, the son of the brick kiln owner, had a gun.” 

The Fight for Release Orders

The struggle of the 18 bonded labourers did not end with their rescue. Weeks later, they continue to face bureaucratic hurdles in their fight for justice and recognition, with their freedom still incomplete in the absence of official release orders.

Each attempt to file an FIR against their former captors ended in dismissal, Surender recalled. “Each time we went to the SP’s office seeking help, we were simply turned away,” he said.

Despite their rescue on February 25, their statements were only recorded on 3 March 2025 and the process offered little reassurance. Among those present was Labour Enforcement Officer Arvind Madhesia—the same official who had allegedly coerced them into signing blank documents during their rescue. “The same person, Arvind Madhesia, had come to record our statements, along with the member of an NGO and some other officials,” Surender said, the irony evident.

But this was just the beginning of a protracted struggle. Weeks after their release, the labourers were still without their release orders—documents essential for securing compensation, rehabilitation support and recovering unpaid wages. Letters they wrote to the District Magistrate, accessed by The Probe, laid bare their predicament: freed in name, but trapped by fear and bureaucratic inertia.

The letter read: “Respected Sir, our statements were recorded, and we were released, but we have yet to receive our release orders or our due wages. No FIR has been registered against the brick kiln owner and his men, who attacked us. The perpetrators walk free while we, the bonded labourer families, remain in hiding out of fear.”

Their appeals have so far been met with silence. “On March 6, 2025, we approached the district police, and on March 7, we submitted an application to the District Magistrate. We have received no response from either,” they told The Probe. Now, they have renewed their plea to the DM, urging immediate intervention: an FIR against kiln owner Ravinder Rana, his son Abhimanyu, and their associates; the issuance of their release orders; and action to secure their unpaid wages.

“Bonded Labour Exists, But Officials Won’t Admit It”

The Probe spoke to Nirmal Gorana, Convenor of the National Campaign Committee for Eradication of Bonded Labour (NCCEBL), who has been assisting the 18 bonded labourers to get justice. “The most shocking part about this rescue was that the bonded labourers were brutalised during rescue operations and they were attacked by the brick kiln owner and their goons in front of the rescue team and the rescue team did nothing about it. The labourers had to virtually beg both the Superintendent of Police, the labour officer, and the District Magistrate to get their statements recorded. The statements of the 18 bonded labourers were only recorded very late, on 3 March, even when the rescue happened on 25 February. Without us and the labourers fighting for it, the statements would not have been recorded at all. How can the labour inspector say that the statements will be recorded at the DM office? Why didn’t the police protect the labourers when they were being assaulted? Why didn’t the police arrest the brick kiln owners and their goons, because this violent crime happened right under the eyes of the administration?” Gorana questioned.

Gorana pointed to a broader, recurring issue in such cases. “This is the same pattern in earlier cases also. We have seen how the district doesn’t issue a release order or release certificates. We have seen the same pattern in the Moga case in Punjab also. They don’t issue the release order because they don’t want to accept that such a heinous practice like bonded labour exists in their jurisdiction,” he explained. 

On 24 March 2025, Surender wrote a letter, this time to the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC). In his appeal, Kumar sought urgent intervention for himself, the other 17 freed labourers—including children—and their families, asking the NHRC to secure their long-overdue release orders, ensure payment of their withheld wages, initiate legal action against the brick kiln owner and his associates, and order a thorough investigation into the failures that have plagued their case.

In the complaint, Surender detailed their ongoing plight: “Following the brutal attack on us and our eventual rescue, even after the statements of the bonded labourers were recorded on 3 March, the administration did not issue any release order nor took any legal action against the perpetrators of this crime.” 

The Probe has reached out to the District Magistrate of Baghpat, the Superintendent of Police and the Labour Enforcement Officer. So far we have not received any response from them. This story will be updated as soon as we hear from the district administration. 

From Moga to Baghpat: A Pattern of Denial in Bonded Labour Cases

The systemic failure to acknowledge and act against bonded labour has played out with eerie similarity in two states—Punjab and Uttar Pradesh—exposing a pattern of official inaction that leaves victims stranded in bureaucratic limbo.

In February this year, The Probe reported on the plight of 56 bonded labourers, including women and children, at Sandhu Brick Kiln Industries in Moga, Punjab. Their ordeal came to light only after two of them—Ankush Kumar and Arvind Kumar—managed to escape and alert Gorana and The Probe. They recounted how they, along with ten families from Uttar Pradesh, had been trafficked with the promise of meagre advances as low as ₹10,000, only to be forced into unpaid labour.

Following our exposé, the Moga district administration conducted a rescue operation. But instead of ensuring justice, they filed a report dismissing the labourers’ claims, concluding that they were not bonded labourers. The National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) later intervened, sharply criticising the administration’s flawed investigation. In a letter dated 28 February, the NHRC tore into the Moga administration’s report, calling it riddled with loopholes. It accused officials of failing to verify wage records, check compliance with labour laws, or offer rehabilitation. Instead, the authorities hastily sent the rescued families home—empty-handed.

Across state lines in Uttar Pradesh the story is no different. Here, too, the 18 bonded labourers, including children, suffered enslavement at the brick kiln. But their rescue did not come through proactive governance. Instead, it was only after one of the labourers risked his safety to write to the authorities that the situation was even acknowledged.

What happened next in Uttar Pradesh was even more egregious. Unlike in Moga, where the administration denied the existence of bonded labour, the Baghpat rescue was marred by outright violence. The labourers were attacked by the brick kiln owner and his men—right in front of the so-called rescue team, which did nothing. The workers were then allegedly coerced into signing blank papers and left to arrange their own transport to safety. Weeks later, as of late March, they remain trapped in uncertainty. They have not received release orders—crucial documents needed for rehabilitation—nor have they been paid their wages. No legal action has been taken against their attackers.

The similarities between what happened in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh go beyond administrative negligence; they reveal a deeper reluctance by local governments to confront modern slavery. In Moga, officials claimed the workers left voluntarily, brushing aside evidence of forced labour, unpaid wages, and the absence of basic rights like education or healthcare—factors that, under the law, should automatically establish a case of bonded labour. In Baghpat, despite recorded statements from the workers detailing their enslavement and assault, the administration has refused to issue release orders or register an FIR against the kiln owners. In both cases, officials have reframed human rights violations as minor labour disputes—a deliberate move that shields powerful kiln owners while erasing the reality of bonded labour from official records.

Enforcing the Law, Breaking the Silence

The bonded labour crisis in Baghpat lays bare a gross violation of India’s Bonded Labour System (Abolition) Act of 1976, a law designed to eradicate this scourge and protect the exploited. The law also empowers labour enforcement officers to monitor compliance with the Minimum Wages Act and mandates Superintendents of Police (SP) and District Magistrates (DM) to uphold justice through Vigilance Committees and swift legal action. Yet, in Baghpat, these safeguards collapsed—not only did brick kiln owners Ravinder Rana and his son Abhimanyu allegedly enslave and assault 18 labourers, but the rescue team, including Labour Enforcement Officer Arvind Madhesia, and the broader administration failed them at every turn.

The rescue team’s conduct suggests negligence or complicity that must be investigated. Equally alarming is the casual handling by the SP and DM, whose inaction has prolonged the labourers’ suffering. How can such serious matters—violence in plain sight, documented enslavement—be treated with such indifference? This isn’t mere oversight—it’s a systemic refusal to acknowledge bonded labour, shielding the administration from accountability. Investigating these officials is not just a moral imperative—it’s a legal necessity. 

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