It was a big fat affair when the Thorat family in Maharashtra’s
Beed district
decided to get their youngest daughter Manisha married in a departure from the unceremonious weddings of their five older daughters.
Unlike her sisters who were wedded at 15, Manisha tied the knot at 18, a milestone for a family where marriages had become a quickie clandestine affair before the couple was ushered into sugarcane fields as a newly-minted ‘koyta’, a Marathi word for the ‘sickle’ used for hacking crops but holds deeper meaning in drought-prone districts of
Marathwada
.
It’s a term for couples hired as a single labour unit to work as seasonal cane cutters in Maharashtra and Karnataka by ‘mukadams’, who play the dual role of a contractor and matchmaker.
The practice colloquially called ‘gate-cane’ weddings, seems to have various origins. Some attribute it to the tradition of marriages solemnised at the gates of sugar mills or just before the harvest. Others believe it comes from halting a sugarcane cart at the factory gate.
Regardless, the ‘koyta padhhati’ or couple arrangement is seen by the
sugarcane industry
as a quick solution to its labour needs. For cane cutters, the lump sum advance called ‘uchal’ of Rs 1 lakh for each koyta is an amount seldom matched by other jobs in the region.
However, this ‘shortcut’ marriage-based labour setup has fueled child marriages. Families feel pressured to marry off their adolescent daughters rather than leaving them behind while they go for cane cutting, while boys’ families try to boost their earnings by expanding their koyta workforce.
In a rare instance, Manisha, found a protector in her elder sister Jyoti. “I’ve experienced the scars of being married off at 15, followed by backbreaking work even while pregnant. My sons were born premature,” says Jyoti, now 26 determined to shield Manisha from a similar fate or that of their mother’s who underwent unwarranted hysterectomy — common among female sugarcane cutters in Maharashtra.
However, despite efforts by village authorities to crack down on child marriages by roping in priests, tent owners, music bands, decorators, caterers and card printers, these impromptu
gate-cane weddings
— stripped of all wedding festivities — remain difficult to detect or prevent.
In a recently published paper titled ‘Gate-Cane: (Un)tying the knots between climate, cane, and early marriage in rural India’, Reetika Subramanian, a Gates-Cambridge scholar at the University of Cambridge Centre for Gender Studies and founder of the ‘Climate Brides’ podcast, documents the phenomenon of ‘gate-cane weddings’ in Marathwada and how it affects young girls.
“I looked at links between cyclical droughts, labour arrangements in the sugarcane industry and the well-oiled machinery which is producing early marriages and younger wives,” explains Subramanian who researched three districts of Beed, in Marathwada, trailing the sugarcane-cutting season between September 2020 and 2021.
“Everyone knew ‘gate-cane’ weddings were happening in their region,” recounts Subramanian after attending numerous meetings of the child marriage prohibition committees convened by the Beed district collectorate. “Yet, they were unsure of what they could do since their earnings from these marriages were part of their economy.”
A mix of motivations drive the gate-cane weddings with multiple members often joining as separate koytas from the same household. “The lure is the hefty advance that each koyta receives, especially after a dry season where local livelihoods are scarce. This money helps them manage their households, arrange weddings, and cover medical expenses,” says Raju Sathe, a co-ordinator with Sankalp Manav Vikas Sanstha, working with marginal farmers across Parbhani, Jalna, Aurangabad and Latur districts of Maharashtra.
“Plus, these weddings are low-budget with no need for mandaps or feasts, costing around Rs 10,000, compared to traditional weddings that can hit Rs 2.5 lakh,” adds Sathe explaining why gate-cane weddings are often referred to as a ‘one-day match’ or ‘jhatpat shaadi’, involving only two or four families.
“Limited schooling options beyond class eight is another factor,” adds Sathe. “Continuing studies mean travelling to block-level schools, which is tough for families, especially during the months they’re away for cane cutting. Who do they leave their daughters with?”
Subramanian agrees that the age range of those wedded into the gate-cane system are usually girls between 14 to 17 years, coinciding with the end of their entitlement to free and compulsory education under the RTE Act. “It’s a clear trajectory into the workforce. According to the sarpanch of Danemoha village in Dharur, about 75% of marriages are child marriages,” says Subramaniam. While most underage teenagers being married off into the
koyta system
are girls, around 25% are boys, points out Sathe.
During her fieldwork, Subramanian observed a significant surge in such marriages amidst the pandemic. “The closure of schools prompted many young boys and girls to enter the workforce and gate-cane weddings aligned with the lockdown restrictions.”
While the koyta system helps these families with quick cash, it also traps them in debt. “These advances are upfront but come with interest, which these mukaddams and sugar mills keep reaping until the money is recovered. If the debt remains unpaid due to poor yield, they’re called back to work the next year to work it off. This prompts many to marry off their teenage kids to form new koytas for a fresh advance,” explains Sathe.
Mukadams often broker such marriages and even cover the expenses. “Because they receive a commission for every new koyta they recruit,” adds Tatwashil Kamble, activist and former head of Beed’s child welfare committee.
Sugar factories typically have around 60 tolis (labour groups), each comprising at least ten families under the charge of a mukadam. These mukadams, always on the lookout for new koytas who won’t abscond, try to fix an alliance between the children of workers in their toli, a senior child protection officer had revealed to Subramanian.
“Gate-cane weddings follow the rhythm and flow of the sugar supply chain,” Subramanian notes. Recruitment for the cane fields commence around July and so do gate-cane weddings. Throughout the harvest season between September and March, koytas move between ten odd fields. While the women are tasked with tying stocks into bundles, hoisting them onto their heads, and loading them onto trucks besides domestic chores, they’re also expected to participate in cutting when deadlines loom.
Husband-wife pairs not only relieve mukadams of the responsibility of ensuring workers are fed and cared for but also provides a safety net when a worker quits or suffers an on-site accident. “There have been instances where the husband died after a bundle of sugarcane fell on him, had a heart attack or was bitten by a snake. In such cases, the responsibility automatically transfers to the wife,” says Subramanian, describing gate-cane’s self-sustaining mechanism.
As for intercepting underage koytas, it remains a struggle, despite collaborative efforts between activists and the gram panchayat. Seema Kulkarni, of Makaam, an informal forum for the rights of India’s women farmers, says: “It’s difficult to keep vigil on these weddings that are carried out surreptitiously within a 36-hour window. While the government has increased patrolling and anganwadi workers are expected to report it, financial needs and concerns for girls’ safety often result in these marriages going unreported.”
“We may halt a wedding once but it’s tough to keep an eye on the girl all year,” admits Kamble, focused on tackling the problem at its root. “We’re holding camps in different villages, bringing together adolescent girls and their families to talk about social and legal risks of child marriage and the various educational and vocational training schemes they could avail,” explains Kamble, assisting them with paperwork and personalised folders. “Hoping that the right resources might free them from the constraints.”
