27-05-2025
In Madhya Pradesh, a village long associated with crime is now producing doctors
On April 28, police set up a surrender camp at Kadiya Sansi, a village deep inside Madhya Pradesh's Rajgarh district, at the end of which over 80 villagers, many with long-standing criminal records, turned themselves in. The event wasn't anything out of the ordinary for a village that's dominated by the Sansi community, a historically marginalised people who are caught in a relentless cycle of crime and state retribution.
When Mohan Yadav took over as chief minister, he had laid emphasis on bringing these villagers to the main stream. Since then, a quiet change has taken over Kadiya Sansi — of the village's 1,000-odd residents, at least 25 are doctors and over a dozen youth are enrolled in medical colleges across the state. 'We were once known as thieves. Now, our village has become known for its doctors,' says Rahul Sisodia, 27, a doctor from the village.
Preparing for his postgraduate medical entrance exams, Rahul was born into a family that clawed its way out of poverty. His grandfather, a farmer, sold his land to educate his five children. While two of them stayed back to farm, the rest became the first generation of white-collar professionals in the family — a bank manager and two government teachers.
'My father, a government school teacher, realised early on that education was the only way out. He sold his six bighas to educate both my brother and me. He sent me to a hostel 15 km away to keep me away from crime. I didn't understand his reasons back then but I do now,' says Sisodia.
Before turning his focus to medicine, Sisodia played volleyball at the national level. Crediting his teachers who 'chose to see his potential over his caste and address', he says discrimination is still rampant in the village. 'Some schools denied admission to children from our village. I had to fight to get them admitted,' he says.
His cousin Chetan Sisodia, 29, a radiologist at a government medical college in Vidisha, says he took a loan of Rs 30 lakh to complete his degree. 'We were all first-generation learners. There was no one to guide us. We just had to figure it out,' he says.
Dr Chetan Sisodia says he has no illusions about the stigma still attached to their community. 'You can literally smell the discrimination in the room. It's obvious in how people look at you, how they talk. When someone in our village does something wrong, the police punish everyone. My cousins were booked in criminal cases. I decided to keep away so as not to risk my own career,' he says.
His cousin Rohan Sisodia, 22, is in his final year of MBBS at a government medical college in Vidisha. Rohan says his parents shielded him from the village 'to keep him out of trouble'.
Dr Vishal Sisodia, another cousin, heads the community health centre at Khilchipur, around 70 km from Kadiya Sansi. 'I studied under a peepal tree and repeated Class 6. My teachers wrote me off. Luckily, I shifted to Bhopal, then to Indore, for coaching.'
Residents credit Dr R C Sisodia, a retired director with the Central Health Services, with bringing about the change in the 1980s.
'I targeted those selling alcohol and women, and those involved in theft. I rescued 39 women from Mumbai, Delhi and Kolkata — all sold into prostitution — and brought them home. We arranged their weddings in this very village,' he recalls.
Dr R C Sisodia also helped set up community committees, lobbied state and central ministers, and secured loans so families could buy livestock and start afresh.
'As our incomes grew, people started shunning crime. He was our messiah,' says former sarpanch Padam Singh, adding, 'You won't find another village like ours. We have crime, but we also have MBBS degrees on our walls.'
Despite the infrastructure gaps — the village lacks a hospital, has unreliable power supply and its water tank, built two years ago, is yet to see a single drop of water — there have been other changes too.
Agriculture remains the economic backbone, with farmers growing soya, chickpeas, wheat, onion, sorghum and pearl millet, harvesting a yield of nearly 30 quintals. Many supplement their earnings with seasonal labour work, earning nearly Rs 60,000 during the harvest season, besides taking advantage of Central and state welfare schemes to keep afloat.
Many village women are a part of local self-help groups, while young men have enrolled in vocational training programmes like plumbing, electrical work and farming. Over 250 residents from the community are doing high-skilled private and government jobs. Around 25 have become doctors, 15 are in the police force and at least 100 are school teachers.
Though nearly every family in the village has at least one government employee (teachers, doctors, clerks and police personnel), literacy rates are up and school dropout rates down, the locals know they are just one arrest away from losing it all. 'One mistake by one person, and the police round up the entire family,' says Dr Rahul Sisodia's father.
Scrolling through the photo gallery on his smartphone, he stops on one showing a man with a bleeding leg. 'My brother was shot during a police raid. I was once picked up from school for questioning. The stigma sticks,' he says, pointing to the photo.
Despite being Dr R C Sisodia's grandson, Dr Vishal Sisodia says he walks on eggshells when he returns to Kadiya Sansi. 'A young man preparing for MBBS was recently picked up by the police. He's in judicial custody now. His future is gone. I too was named in an FIR over a village dispute earlier but managed to escape because the other party confirmed that I wasn't around,' he says.
The only school in Kadiya Sansi has classes till Class 8. For higher education, most children walk several kilometres or shift to towns like Pachhore. The brightest, if they can afford it, move on to coaching hubs in Bhopal, Indore, Guna or Kota.
Laxmi Sisodia, a primary school teacher, says, 'Our aim is to ensure that children don't drop out of school. If that happens, they will turn to crime.'
Dr R C Sisodia, who admits to being 'out of touch' with the village 'for the last five to six years', says he has heard that alcohol is being sold in the village) again. 'People are slipping up. Our only hope is that the education revolution kicks off. We need a steady flow of doctors to inspire others,' he says.
His comment is not unfounded. At local kirana shops, bottles of whiskey are sold along with lentils and shampoo sachets. However, education seems to have done wonders for at least one family in the village.
At Boda police station, around 10 km from Kadiya Sansi village, a senior officer is glued to his walkie-talkie to collect intelligence from three crime-prone villages nearby.
'Earlier, we would send 10 police teams. Now, just one goes,' he says, scanning the reports. 'The nature of crime has changed — it's mostly bag lifting at weddings. They (the accused) dress well, blend in and vanish with the valuables. After the wedding season, they move on to other targets.'
The crime might appear petty, but the scale is organised, he says. Though only a fraction of villagers are directly involved in theft, the fallout affects everyone.
Sarpanch Mor Singh says, 'Just 5% of the people doing all this (theft) but the police book the whole family if one person gets caught. Everyone gets painted with the same brush.'
In 2023, officials from 460 police stations across India visited Rajgarh in connection with criminal cases tied to Kadiya Sansi. In 2024, that number rose to 557.
Dharmendra Sharma, thana incharge, justifies the broad sweep, 'When we go to make an arrest, the village starts throwing stones. We have to book the others to maintain order. Around 25% of the village is still into theft.'
The police have countered this with an aggressive geotagging and profiling exercise: every known accused's address, family tree, mobile number, known aliases and criminal associate are mapped.
Technology has become integral to enforcement. Officers now rely on an all-India WhatsApp group of police stations that track suspects' movements across state lines — particularly during peak wedding seasons. Recovery of stolen goods is strict. 'Even if it has to come from the accused's pocket, we ensure full recovery. No one leaves custody until every rupee is returned.'
