Prakash Baba Amte: A Social Worker

Prakash Baba Amte is a social worker from Maharashtra with his wife, Mandakini Amte, was awarded the Magsaysay Award for 'Community Leadership' in 2008 for their philanthropic work in 2008 amongst the Madia Gonds in the Gadchiroli district of Maharashtra. S. Nundy: Describe your childhood. Was it not very unusual? You and your brother were the children of the great Baba Amte who treated people with leprosy with so much care and friendship at his home in Anandvan. Prakash Amte: I am a wanderer who treads the path blazed by my revered parents, Baba Amte and Sadhnatai Amte. Their legacy, etched in the very soil of Anandvan, resonates within me – a heartbeat that transcends time. Anandvan, the name itself evokes reverence. Within its verdant embrace, we were kin, bound by threads of shared purpose. Our hands, calloused from toiling in the fields, bore the weight of humanity's suffering. We swept the roads of despair and cooked sustenance for souls. As a child, Anandvan was my universe – a sanctuary where compassion flowed like a river, and kindness was currency. We played hide-and-seek with shadows, our laughter echoing off ancient trees. The ink-stained pages of our notebooks bore witness to our aspirations, etching stories of healing and redemption. We were family, stitched together by love's golden needle. Anandvan had imprinted its essence upon my soul, and I carried its legacy – a lantern against the darkness – as I navigated the labyrinth of healing. And so, I walked, my heart echoing my parents' footsteps in the tapestry of life. Thus, I embarked on my journey, a wanderer with Anandvan's soil clinging to my shoes, and the stars as my compass. And as I tended to wounds and whispered hope, I knew – I was home, even in the unfamiliar. For Anandvan was not a place, it was a state of being – a sanctuary within, where love blossomed like wildflowers against adversity's rocky terrain. S. Nundy: Did this affect your relationships with other students in your school? Prakash Amte: In those days, the corridors of government schools echoed with the footsteps of countless children – farmers' sons, labourers' daughters, small shopkeepers' offspring and the progeny of government officials. Amongst them, my brother Vikas and I trod the same worn paths, our young minds absorbing knowledge alongside our peers. There was no fanfare, no preferential treatment; we were just two more pupils in the vast sea of eager faces. Special privileges? None that I recall. Attention? Not a whisper. We shared the same wooden desks, the same chalk-dusted air, and the same dreams as every other child in those humble classrooms. Our aspirations were woven into the fabric of the institution, indistinguishable from the collective yearning for a brighter future. We were equals, bound by the pursuit of education – a beacon that illuminated our shared journey through those government school days. S. Nundy: Do you remember Baba being awarded the Ramon Magsaysay Prize? Prakash Amte: In the quietude of Hemalkasa, where newspapers were scarce and the transistor radio served as our window to the world, the first evening of August 1985 etched itself into memory. The regional news, its cadence familiar, flowed through the airwaves. And there, amidst the mundane hum of daily life, a name resounded – a name that stirred ripples across continents. Baba, our beacon, had been honoured with the Magsaysay Award. A prestigious accolade, bestowed upon him for his tireless service. Yet, Baba, ever the unassuming sage, had never toiled for praise or laurels. His hands, calloused from healing, had woven a tapestry of compassion – a legacy that transcended mere recognition. We, Mandakini and I, stood on the precipice of that moment. The news, like a gentle breeze, whispered its truth: our work, too, had found resonance. Lok Biradari Prakalp, our larger family, bore witness to our joy. No phone connected us to Baba; no words passed between us. We simply savoured the news, our hearts alight. On 31st August 1985, Vikas accepted the award on Baba's behalf. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows upon the land, we knew that this recognition was but a ripple – a testament to the quiet revolution Baba had sown. S. Nundy: In Anandvann, Baba's headquarters, there were snakes and scorpions and leopards and bears. How did you adjust to living with them? Prakash Amte: In those days, Anandvan lay ensconced amidst forests on three sides, a sanctuary where the rhythm of life pulsed with the movement of untamed creatures. Wild boars, graceful deer, elusive leopards and a myriad of serpents – pythons coiled in the underbrush, and insects by the thousand – wove their way through the verdant landscape. Some, perhaps, found clandestine refuge within its leafy confines. Whispers circulated, tales of nocturnal visits by tigers or stealthy leopards, their feline forms slipping through the darkness to snatch a dog or a hapless bovine. The vigilant residents of Anandvan stood guard, their senses attuned to the symphony of the wild. My father, Baba Amte, epitomised fearlessness. Under the moon's watchful gaze, he wandered the shadowed paths of Anandvan, a solitary sentinel. Often, he would test my mettle, challenging me to match his resolve. And I, resolute, never faltered. In my tender years, an innate curiosity about the animal kingdom stirred within me. Snakes, sinuous and mysterious, slithered through the undergrowth. I observed them from a respectful distance, noting their habits and their cryptic beauty. Yet, I refrained from capturing them, content to be an observer rather than a captor. The seeds of attachment, dormant in my childhood, would later blossom – only after my arrival in Hemalkasa, where destiny awaited. Indeed, the annals of Anandvan harbour countless tales – narratives etched upon the parchment of time. Within the pages of my biographies, 'Pathways of Light' and 'Triumph Over Leukaemia', these stories unfold – a tapestry woven with threads of struggle, compassion and resilience. To those who seek deeper insight, I extend an invitation. Read, explore and discover – the journey of a thousand steps, each marked by the indelible footprints of service. S. Nundy: You went to Nagpur Medical College which you apparently did not like. After qualifying you decided to help Baba in Anandvan but he decided, in December 1970, to locate you amongst the Madia Gond tribals in Bhamragad which was 250 km away and reached only after crossing rivers and creeks. The tribals had emaciated bodies, a few clothes and were scared of other human beings. There was no food as they did not know how to grow any and they had eaten up most of the animals. Prakash Amte: Upon my graduation from Nagpur Medical College, my brother Vikas and I made a solemn pact: we would stand by Baba's side in Anandvan, our shared commitment to a higher purpose. But fate, ever the capricious weaver of destinies, wove an unexpected thread into our narrative. Baba, with his indomitable spirit, whisked us away to the sylvan embrace of Bhamragad's forests. A picnic, he called it – a respite from our earnest endeavours. Yet, beneath the dappled sunlight and the rustling leaves, a revelation awaited. The lives of the Madia people unfolded before our eyes, stark and unadorned. Their existence, a testament to resilience, bore the weight of centuries-old struggles. The present, it seemed, was but a fragile bridge between their past and an uncertain future. Surprise coursed through our veins. How could it be that even in this modern age, pockets of humanity persisted in such austere conditions? The answer, like the whisper of a hidden stream, stirred within me. I resolved to remain, to serve these forgotten souls. And so, my journey began – a pilgrimage of compassion, guided by the compass of my abilities and the lantern of understanding. S. Nundy: You were then allocated land in Hemalkasa and Nagepalli in December 1973 and after that you began your remarkable work on helping the Gond tribals become part of the mainstream of society. Prakash Amte: Upon our arrival in Hemalkasa in 1973, the formidable task that lay before us was to forge a bond of trust with the Madias. These forest dwellers, wary and elusive, would vanish into the foliage at the mere sight of a fully clad stranger. Conversation? A distant dream. Understanding? A bridge too far. Medical treatment? An alien concept. S. Nundy: You write that they were initially scared of you and did not understand Marathi so you learned how to talk to them in their own tongue. Prakash Amte: Gradually, we shed our urban attire, donning instead the simple garments of the locals. We stepped into their world, our footsteps echoing through the ancient trees. Their lives unfolded before us – a tapestry woven with threads of tradition, superstition and resilience. We witnessed their unorthodox methods of healing, rooted in exorcism and folklore and far removed from the scientific rigours of modern medicine. Malnutrition gnawed at their vitality, and the plight of children and women was particularly dire. And then, after months of patient persistence, a breakthrough. The first soul sought our aid – a hesitant step toward hope. The chronicle of that encounter, etched in the pages of my biography 'Pathways of Light', bears witness to the fragile bridge we built between our world and theirs. S. Nundy: You have lived and worked here for 20 years often performing operations without electricity. Since then you have established a hospital, a residential school and an orphanage for injured wild animals as well as. A large animal conservation facility in Hemalkasa where rare, protected and endangered animals are cared and have the freedom to roam. Many of the tribals are now doctors or engineers. Prakash Amte: Mandakini and I, both having pursued medicine, embarked upon our mission within the hospital's hallowed walls. Yet, upon our arrival, no throng of patients awaited us. The trust of the local tribes, a delicate currency, eluded our grasp. But gradually, like the slow unfurling of a morning mist, they began to seek our aid. Their ailments, their hopes, their whispered family feuds – they entrusted them all to us. During this juncture, a revelation dawned: the Madia tribals, ensnared in the web of exploitation, bore the weight of their own ignorance. Businessmen, contractors and government officials preyed upon their vulnerability. Rights remained elusive, money unaccounted for and shadows of darkness clung to their existence. It was then that we resolved to illuminate their path – a beacon of knowledge for their children. Our school became a sanctuary of transformation. Madia-Gond children, once bound by circumstance, now soared on the wings of education. Some became doctors, others engineers, lawyers and teachers. Their footsteps echoed through government corridors, and their voices shaping policy. And as they returned to their villages, tilling the soil or donning the mantle of Sarpanch, they carried with them the promise of a brighter dawn. In those bygone days, the Madia society thrived on a primitive existence, their sustenance was based on the forest. Their survival hinged upon the hunt. Yet, within this delicate balance, a seed of transformation took root. We, the stewards of change, stepped forth. Our voices, gentle as the rustling leaves, urged them to till the soil, to coax grains and vegetables from the earth. A shift from the chase to the harvest – a vision that transcended mere survival. The wild animals, once pursued, now found sanctuary in our hearts. Orphaned and wounded, they sought refuge within our embrace. We tended to their wounds and nursed them back to health. And thus, the Animal Ark was born – a testament to compassion, a haven where the boundaries between species blurred and the pulse of life beat as one. S. Nundy: Your work has been carried over by your sons Digant and Aniket and their respective families. Prakash Amte: Digant, having completed his medical studies, resolved to dedicate himself to the service of Lok Biradari Prakalp. His life partner, Anagha, a specialist in gynaecology, stood by his side, their shared commitment weaving a tapestry of healing. Together, we assumed the mantle of responsibility for the hospital – a beacon of hope nestled amidst the verdant forest of Bhamragad. Lok Biradari Hospital, once modest, has blossomed into a formidable institution. Fifty beds stand ready, each a sanctuary for the ailing. Within these walls, the hum of life reverberates – a symphony of care. X-ray machines, their silent gaze penetrating the veil of flesh, reveal the inner workings of our patients. The dental department, with its gleaming instruments, tends to the oral health of young and old alike. And the eye examination room, where light dances upon retinas, seeks to preserve vision. In the heart of our hospital, an operation theatre awaits – a sacred space where skilled hands mend broken bodies. The sterile air hums with anticipation, the surgeon's blade poised to carve a path towards healing. And beyond the theatre's doors, we nurture the next generation of caregivers. Nursing training, a torch passed from hand to hand, ignites the flame of compassion in local youth. They, too, shall tend to the wounded, their footsteps echoing through the corridors of care. Beyond the hospital's walls, in the embrace of the countryside, rural treatment centres bloom like wildflowers. Each a lifeline for those who dwell in the shadow of remoteness. Here, we dispense medicine, hope and solace – a testament to our unwavering commitment. Aniket, having honed his engineering acumen, shoulders the mantle of administration within our organisation. His wife, Samiksha, tends to the nurturing of our educational endeavours. Within the verdant embrace of the Lok Biradari campus, a residential school stands – a sanctuary for young minds. Here, approximately 650 students, their footsteps echoing through sunlit corridors, pursue knowledge from the earliest days of Class 1 to the final strides of Class 12. But that's not all. Beyond the campus, in the hamlets of Nelgunda and Jinjgaon, Sadhna Vidyalayas bloom. These schools, nestled 25 km distant from Hemalkasa, serve as beacons of learning. Their classrooms resonate with the cadence of English – a medium that bridges the gap between tradition and modernity. And as for Mandakini and me? Our hands, once immersed in the daily toil, now find respite. The children's affairs, entrusted to capable hands, allow us the luxury of contemplation – a quietude that mirrors the rustling leaves and the whispered dreams of generations yet unborn. S. Nundy: Looking back what do you think have been your greatest achievements. Prakash Amte: I do not lay claim to greatness, nor do I consider myself a singular figure. My journey has been one of navigating challenges and seeking solutions where others might falter. When the Lok Biradari Project unfurled its wings, I stood at the threshold – a young man of 25, brimming with resolve. Five decades have since passed, and within its threads lie stories of healing, progress and salvation. Numbers, mere digits etched upon the sands of time, fail to stir my soul. The pulse of my purpose beats elsewhere. Did I kindle a smile? Did I ease a burden? These are the metrics that matter – the quiet victories that ripple through lives like a gentle breeze. Today, a chorus of youth echoes my name – a symphony of inspiration. They, too, tread the path of service, their hands outstretched to the deprived and the marginalised. As I reflect upon my journey, I find solace in knowing that I have woven my thread into the fabric of Baba's legacy. From leprosy patients to the Scheduled Tribes, health and education have become my compass points – a new dimension to an age-old mission. And as the sun sets upon each day, casting shadows across the Lok Biradari Prakalp and beyond, I find peace. For in their tireless endeavours, the torch bearers of tomorrow illuminate the path towards a brighter dawn. Indeed, witnessing the tireless efforts of the youth within and beyond the Lok Biradari Prakalp brings me a profound sense of peace. Their dedication and their unwavering commitment to service echo through the corridors of time. Each act of kindness, each step taken towards a better world, resonates such as a quiet hymn – a melody that soothes the soul and kindles hope. S. Nundy: How would you have done things differently if you had had the power and resources? Prakash Amte: I harbour a suspicion, a quiet whisper that dances on the edge of consciousness. If bestowed with boundless power and limitless resources, would my path have unfolded as it has? The comforts of privilege, the allure of abundance – these, I imagine, might have veiled my vision and softened my resolve. But Baba, our guiding star, imparted a different wisdom – a lesson etched in the marrow of our bones: the art of judicious expenditure. Resources, like the shifting sands, have never eluded the Lok Biradari Prakalp. Our endeavours, fuelled by purpose, carved pathways through the dense thicket of adversity. We did not petition the heavens for alms; it is not in my nature to ask. Instead, we toiled – our hands shaping classrooms, hospitals and dreams. The need and the utility – these were our compass points. And when kind souls extended their hands, we accepted their gifts with humility, weaving their generosity into the fabric of our mission. That, perhaps, is the only way – to tread lightly upon the earth, to serve with open hearts and to find solace in the quietude of purpose. S. Nundy: What message do you have for the young Indians of the present generation on how they should live their lives. Prakash Amte: I am no sage, nor do I claim the mantle of leadership. My role, humble and unassuming, is that of a social worker – a mere mortal navigating the currents of service. To any young soul who aspires to shape society's destiny, I extend an open invitation. Dream boldly, yes, but let your feet remain rooted in the soil of reality. Work, not for accolades or applause, but because your heart beats in rhythm with the cause. Expectations, like fragile glass, shatter upon impact. Seek no recompense, no ledger of debts repaid. Whether wealth graces your palm or eludes your grasp, whether society's gaze rests upon you or turns away, there lies a singular truth: a smile, etched upon a grateful face, is the currency of the soul. It transcends all measures and all calculations – a reward beyond measure. As for my own journey, its compass points towards the horizon. How far have I come? The answer, perhaps, lies in the quietude of service – the lives touched, the ripples cast upon the waters of existence. Financial support and sponsorship Nil. Conflicts of interest There are no conflicts of interest.