Scene 1On the evening of June 27, around 9 PM, the Howrah-Purulia Superfast Express pulled into Bankura station in West Bengal. It was the day of the Rath Yatra, and the number of passengers was noticeably lower than usual. Outside platform number 3, a line of toto rickshaws stood waiting. Interestingly, there were more toto drivers than passengers alighting from the train. Most of the drivers were actively trying to secure fares, calling out to commuters and negotiating trips.At a slight distance, a middle-aged toto driver, around 50 years old, stood silently with a worried expression on his face. He wasn’t calling out or approaching anyone. Just then, a 16-year-old youth was seen bringing two passengers over to him. The young man said gently, “Sir, please take them.”The older man hesitated, “You brought them here, so why are you giving them to me?”The young man replied with quiet dignity, “Sir, you haven’t had a single passenger all day. You have a family to support, and you still need to pay the daily rent for your toto. I have a small family, and I managed to earn some money today with my trips. I can get by. Please, take them. They’ll pay Rs 100.”A mixture of pain and relief flickered across the man’s face. This man is Moinuddin Mandal, once a teacher at a child labour rehabilitation school. The kind-hearted youth is Mohammad Khan, one of his former students. The school where they met was closed down three years ago following a directive from the Union government. Today, both of them drive totos for a living.“When I rent a toto, I have to pay Rs 300 to the owner,” said Moinuddin Mandal, his voice heavy with emotion. “When the child labour schools were shut, we – teachers, staff, and students – all became low-income workers. I hold a Diploma in Education, but now this is what I do to survive.”Mainuddidin Mondal, at Khethardanaga Bankura, riding a toto to make ends meet, West Bengal.Scene 2A few days ago, in the Lalbazar area of Bankura town, a 14-year-old boy was seen cleaning a scooty with a torn, grimy piece of cloth. He was working at a local motorcycle wash shop under the watchful eye of the shop owner, who directed him where and how to wipe the vehicle.The owner said, “He’s new, so I’m showing him the ropes – how to wash and repair bikes. His father came to me recently and requested I take his son in. Their school shut down three years ago, and the boy had no work. They’re in serious hardship.”The boy’s name is Bhoirob Kalindi, son of Gour Kalindi, a farm labourer from Ekteswar village near Bankura. Bhoirob is visibly malnourished.“I used to study at a child labour school in the Murra area,” he said. “After the school shut down, I didn’t know where else to go for education. I worked as a dishwasher at a hotel in Dhaldanga for a while, but the job was too hard. I couldn’t even sleep at night. I quit. Now my father has put me here.”Bhoirob Kalindi working at a motorcycle washing shop.Bhoirob said the shop owner provides him with lunch and pays Rs 50 a day, which he gives to his father. “He promised to raise my wages once I learn the work. I hope if I learn to repair motorcycles, I can earn a good living,” he added with a glimmer of hope.Like him, many other teenagers now work in repair shops around Lalbazar and Bankura Bypass Road. “I wanted to study. I used to go to school every day. Our teachers really cared about us. But after the school shut, many students like me simply stopped studying,” Bhoirob said, his voice tinged with confusion. Then he asked quietly, “Why were our schools closed? Who decided that? Can you tell me?”On March 14, 2022, in a sweeping move under the directive of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)-led Union government, all child labour rehabilitation schools across the country were closed. Even now, both teachers and students from these institutions continue to question the necessity of this decision.Back in 2017, Prime Minister Narendra Modi had declared that India would become a child labour-free country by 2025. As 2025 unfolds, the question remains – has child labour truly been eradicated in India? And if not, why were these vulnerable children deprived of their right to education?When were child labour schools started in India?“In 2001, child labour schools were started under the National Child Labour Project (NCLP), funded by the Union Ministry of Labour,” said Sandhya Bauri and Sunil Khan, former members of parliament from Bishnupur and Durgapur, respectively.The NCLP itself was launched in 1988 by the Ministry of Labour and Employment under the Rajiv Gandhi government with the objective of rehabilitating child labourers across India. With this aim, schools were set up throughout the country to rescue and educate children involved in hazardous occupations such as brick kilns, stone quarries, mines, construction sites, hotels, restaurants and tea stalls – children who were not part of the formal education system.According to Sunil Khan, these schools were meant for children aged nine to 14 years and offered classes from Grade 1 to 4. School timings were arranged locally, based on the children’s working hours. “We would visit their workplaces and speak to the employers about their enrollment. Most owners cooperated. Classes were held at times convenient to the children, either early in the morning or in the evening,” said Chironjit Garai, a postgraduate teacher at the Bankura Patpur Child Labour School.Following the school closure, Chironjit Garai now runs a snacks stall with his wife Chhaya Garai at Machantala footpath area of Bankura town.After completing these initial classes, students were encouraged and helped to get admission into nearby government high schools. Teachers and staff were responsible for facilitating this transition and often personally accompanied students during the admission process.In 2014, these schools were officially renamed as special training centres. “Each school had a teacher, a clerk, a peon, and, in some cases, a vocational instructor who trained the students in basic handicrafts,” said Garai.Many students were deeply impacted by the care and dedication of the staff. Rahul Rana, a former student from Bikna village under Bankura I Block, shared, “With the sincere efforts of the teachers and staff, within a few months, we became focused on our studies. Many of us even gave up our jobs to concentrate fully on school.” Rahul’s education was abruptly halted when the school shut down. Now 17, he works at a tea stall in Bankura’s Sotighat area.Kousik Gupta, a 52-year-old teacher from Sendra village, had rescued Rahul from working at a sweet shop and enrolled him in school. When the school closed, Rahul was still in Class 4. With nowhere else to continue his education, he returned to his previous job. Later, aware of his former teacher’s unemployment, Rahul helped him get work at the same tea stall. Today, both student and teacher earn Rs 200 a day making and serving tea.Sheikh Firoz, a resident of Titagarh in North 24 Parganas and secretary of the All India Staff Association of the NCLP, told The Wire, “When the schools were shut down, there were more than 10,000 special training centres across the country, with over five lakh child labourers enrolled and around 36,000 teachers and staff working in them.”In West Bengal alone, 619 such centres were operational at the time of closure, with approximately 3,000 teachers and around 32,000 students. Districts like Bankura, Purulia and Birbhum had a larger concentration of these schools. Notably, most of these centres did not have dedicated school buildings. Classes were conducted in vacant rooms or verandas of local clubs, temples, ICDS centers or community halls.Did the schools bring change for the students?In the Jangalmahal regions of Bankura and Purulia in West Bengal, where poverty is especially severe, a large number of children worked in brick kilns, stone crushers, roadside hotels, sand collection sites and construction areas. Some were nominally enrolled in primary schools but rarely attended.Chironjit Garai, now the secretary of the West Bengal State Committee of the NCLP Staff Association, stated that Bankura had 66 such child labour schools, and Purulia had 59. Subhendu Mandal, a clerk at Saltora Special Training Center in Bankura, said, “We made great efforts to motivate children working in stone crushers, brick kilns, and tea stalls – or even those begging at bus stands – to join school.”Md Mustak Shah, a teacher from Mukundapur village in Joypur Block of Purulia, added, “Convincing their parents was not easy. They would often ask, ‘If our children study, when will they work?’ So we had to adapt. We held classes early in the morning or late in the evening.”Students also shared emotional stories of how teachers and staff visited their workplaces to bring them to school. Rahul Rana recalled that he was admitted to Class 1 at age 10. Teachers Aloke Rana and Kousik Gupta taught him with compassion. “Seeing my interest in studies, my parents, who were farm labourers, stopped me from working at the sweet shop,” said Rahul. But once the school shut, he had to return to the hardship and manual labour.Saraswati Bauri, now 17, from Safagara village under Bigna Gram Panchayat in Bankura, was working as a maid in a nearby village when teacher Kousik Gupta visited her home and persuaded her father, a rickshaw puller, to enroll her. The school ran from the local temple premises in the evening. “I had learned to read and write. But after the school was suddenly closed, I went back to being a maid,” she said with a deep sense of loss.Saraswati Bauri of Safagara village under Bankura 2 Block returned to her old housemaid work. She was studying at the special training centre in the village.Priya Dutta, 18, also from the same village, said she was admitted to Bigna High School by her child labour school teachers after the closure. “I studied there briefly in class five, but soon after, my family arranged my marriage. Now I have a two-year-old son,” she told The Wire.S.K. Firoz highlighted that these schools not only taught reading and writing but also gave children the courage to hope. “These children came to school through immense struggle. Many had never imagined they would be part of a classroom. But they developed resilience and confidence.”He mentioned the story of Apsona Khatun from Purulia, a student of the Special Training Centre, who became a role model. When her family tried to marry her off as a minor, she stood up against it. Her courage was widely appreciated across the state and even nationally. Firoz also noted that several students from these schools went on to become athletes and football players.Parimal Mahato, a teacher from Keshra village in Rainibandh Block, and teachers Krishna Dutta, Sila De and Pronoti Garai from Bankura town, confirmed that many students from these centres have completed graduation, post-graduation and even engineering degrees.Salaries and stipends withheldThe teachers of these Special Training Centres used to receive Rs 7,000 per month. Clerks were paid Rs 5,000, peons Rs 3,000, and vocational instructors Rs 9,000. However, during the nationwide COVID-19 lockdown (2020-22), while regular school staff continued to receive salaries, the teachers and staffs of these schools were left unpaid.Chironjit Garai pointed out that even before the closure, teachers and staff in several districts had salary dues for 30 to 45 months. In Bankura district alone, dues up to 30 months remain unpaid. Additionally, students who once received a monthly stipend of Rs 400 also stopped receiving any financial support.“This inhuman behaviour by the central government shows how neglected the child labour schools became under the BJP-led administration,” said Garai. “This was not the case before they came to power.”Teachers and staff protesting in Bankura before the school closed, demanding payment of outstanding dues.‘Importance began declining under BJP’“The importance of these schools began to decline after the BJP-led [Union] government came to power in 2014,” said Chironjit Garai. “Earlier, child labourers were to be educated for three years, but the new policy shortened this to just two years.” He further explained that the Union government instructed schools to admit new students only if they were identified through official surveys. However, the government stopped conducting these surveys altogether. The Trinamool Congress-led state government in West Bengal, he alleged, also followed this approach, resulting in no new admissions.According to guidelines, a school would remain operational only if it had a minimum of 40 students. Due to the reduced duration of education and the lack of new enrolments, the number of students dropped significantly. In 2019, the Union labour ministry launched an app-based monitoring system called the “Pencil Portal”. Teachers were required to submit live location videos during school hours. If fewer than 40 students were seen attending, the school was shut down.“On one hand, there was the ongoing issue of unpaid salaries, and on the other, new technical and administrative pressures,” said Moinuddin Mandal, a teacher from Bankura. “We were constantly under mental stress.” Teachers and staff submitted deputations multiple times to the respective project officers of the Samagra Shiksha Mission in each district, demanding payment of dues. While in districts like Purulia and Malda, salaries were cleared, in most others it remained unpaid. The district officials often responded by saying that the project was solely under the Union government and state authorities had no role.In 2019, the Union government conducted a national review of the centres. A field report submitted to the Union ministry of labour and employment concluded that these schools no longer needed to operate separately. Based on this, the ministry issued an official directive on March 14, 2022, instructing that all such centres be closed. Students were to be transferred to the nearest government primary or secondary schools by March 31, 2022.“This decision was taken in alignment with the New Education Policy, implemented in 2020,” said Sheikh Firoz. “As a result, more than 10,000 special training centres across India were closed. Around 36,000 teachers and staff lost their jobs, along with approximately 30,000 poor women who worked as mid-day meal cooks in these schools. Most tragically, the education of over five lakh underprivileged children was disrupted,” he said.Although efforts were made to re-admit these students to government schools, many did not return to study. Some, however, did. For instance, Jesmina Khatun from Khethar danga in Bankura is now studying in Class 10 at a local government-sponsored madrasa. Her mother, Jiyasina Khan, was previously a peon at a centre.Students of special training centre at Noihati in North 24 Pargana.But there are contrasting stories too. Sukumar Hansda, a resident of Bhataspur in Saltora Block, Bankura, said his son Chhoton was in Class 3 at age 12. After being transferred to a government school where most students were younger, he developed a sense of inferiority and eventually dropped out. He now grazes cattle instead.“After the closure of the schools, we went to New Delhi several times to appeal directly to the labour minister and the education minister,” said Sheikh Firoz. “We demanded our pending salaries and urged the government to arrange alternative employment for us. But we eventually realised that no one was willing to take responsibility.” He said that the Union ministers insisted it was the state government’s duty. But when the matter was brought to the West Bengal state secretariat at Nabanna, state officials said the project was entirely under the jurisdiction of the central government.Several teachers and staff members expressed that they hold all the required qualifications to teach, but their age now prevents them from finding new employment. They live in extreme hardship, doing whatever work they can find to survive.Chironjit Garai, who was the state secretary of the NCLP, now runs a small snack stall on the footpath with his wife to make ends meet.When contacted for comment, Samar Kumar Kar, additional project officer of the Samagra Shiksha Mission, said, “We have nothing to do with this matter.”All photos are by Madhu Sudan Chatterjee.