In an age when development and conservation often proceed at the cost of those most intimately tied to the land, Ita Mehrotra’s graphic novel ‘Uprooted’ stands as a stark and necessary act of visual testimony. Through minimalist, monochrome illustrations and narrative vignettes drawn from extensive fieldwork, Mehrotra presents a haunting portrayal of India’s forest-dwelling communities — particularly in central regions — who face displacement under the banners of industrial expansion and environmental protection. Her work gives voice to those whose lives are often omitted from mainstream narratives.

What distinguishes ‘Uprooted’ is its layered storytelling. Rather than following a single protagonist, Mehrotra crafts a mosaic of lived experiences — snapshots of dispossession, resistance and dignity. Women emerge as key figures, anchoring their communities in the face of state neglect and corporate intrusion. These are not passive victims, but agents of collective action and resilience. The sketches reinforce the theme — unpolished and emotionally resonant, often layered with testimony song and folklore. The B&W palette heightens the contrasts central to the book: rootedness and exile, power and vulnerability, tradition and disruption.

As someone familiar with the Van Gujjars — a nomadic pastoralist community residing in the Shivalik foothills — I found Mehrotra’s work evocative. The Gujjars are traditionally believed to have accompanied a Kashmiri princess who married a Garhwal prince, settling along the Shivalik belt from Mohand to Timli. Over time, they were granted customary grazing rights along fixed migratory routes. However, what began as a small population with modest herds has now expanded to tens of thousands of families and lakhs of cattle — far beyond the ecological carrying capacity of both sal forests and alpine meadows. While Mehrotra justly critiques the marginalisation of such communities, one must acknowledge the emerging ecological stresses and the challenge of balancing tradition with sustainability.

The notification of Rajaji National Park in 1983 disrupted this historical symbiosis, reclassifying customary practices as encroachments. However, change management requires more than eviction or romanticised resistance. A well-conceived transition — grounded in capacity building, alternative livelihoods, and long-term support — is essential. Such transitions are taking root: several resettled Van Gujjar families have leased their allotted lands to more affluent farmers while continuing dairy work, or migrating to nearby towns like Chhutmalpur and Saharanpur. Moreover, rising aspirations are reshaping generational perspectives within even the most rooted.

Nationwide, the rehabilitation and resettlement (R&R) of tribal and forest-dependent groups for development projects has been inconsistent. Mehrotra’s critique of the flawed implementation of progressive legislations like the Forest Rights Act (2006) and Land Acquisition and R&R Act (2013) demonstrates a nuanced grasp of the policy landscape. Still, a more explicit engagement with ecological limits and the adaptive potential of the displaced could have added greater balance.

Nehru’s Panchsheel for Tribal Development promoted integration without forced assimilation. His vision of “development without displacement” remains aspirational but has often been undermined by extractive, top-down models. In this light, ‘Uprooted’ is more than a book — it is a visual act of remembrance and resistance, forcing us to reconsider how India treats its forest citizens. This book is an urgent call for justice, empathy, and ecologically informed governance.