By KN Kumar
Shillong is one of India’s last state capitals untouched by the whistle of a train. For over a decade, ambitious railway projects like the Tetelia-Byrnihat and Byrnihat-Shillong lines have languished, ensnared in a tug-of-war between dreams of economic progress and fears of cultural erosion. The recent decision of the state to return Rs 270 crore in central funds to the Indian government, prompted by unrelenting protests, has cast a stark light on this impasse. As Meghalaya grapples with its future, the railway debate once again sweeps us as a narrative of aspiration, resistance, and the search for a balance.
The story begins with a promise. In 2010, the Tetelia-Byrnihat line, a modest 21.5-kilometer stretch, was greenlit to link Assam’s plains to Meghalaya’s Ri Bhoi district. A year later, the 108.76-kilometer Byrnihat-Shillong line was envisioned to bring trains to the heart of the capital. By 2017, Rs 209.37 crore was allocated for land acquisition, and in 2023, a new Chandranathpur-Jowai line was proposed. Yet, these plans have barely left the drawing board. The Tetelia-Byrnihat line stops abruptly at Meghalaya’s border, complete only on the Assam side. The Byrnihat-Shillong project is frozen, and the Jowai line faces early opposition. Mendipathar, a lone station in North Garo Hills operational since 2014, stands as Meghalaya’s only rail outpost, its freight trains carrying oranges, ginger and pine apples. The central government’s frustration boiled over in early 2025, when it demanded the return of Rs 270 crore earmarked for the Byrnihat-Shillong line. Caught in the crossfire, the Chief Minister warned that another Rs 200 crore hangs in the balance if consensus remains elusive. Without resolution, Shillong risks becoming India’s only capital without a railway, a symbol of both its isolation and its fierce resolve to protect its identity.
At the heart of this saga lies a profound tension. On one side, the central and state governments see railways as a lifeline to economic vitality. In Shillong, where cement and vegetables cost 40% more than in nearby Guwahati, rail connectivity promises relief. Farmers, tending to ginger, potatoes, and turmeric, watch helplessly as up to a third of their harvests spoil on costly road journeys— Rs 400 per quintal by truck compared to Rs 60 by Mendipathar’s trains. There, farmer incomes have surged 40% since rail services began, a testament to what connectivity could achieve. Railways could open distant markets, making crops competitive and livelihoods sustainable. Tourism, a cornerstone of Meghalaya’s economy, would flourish with easier access to Shillong’s pine-clad hills, while industries, like PepsiCo’s bottling plant in Mendipathar, could spark jobs and investment. For the CM, the calculus is clear: “Railways simplify moving goods, securing better prices for everyone.” Beyond economics, connectivity could stem the tide of 12,000 youth leaving annually for work and weave Meghalaya closer to India’s heartland.
Yet, across the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, this vision meets fierce resistance. Social activists led by the Khasi Students’ Union (KSU) and political parties like the Voice of the People Party (VPP) see railways as a harbinger of demographic upheaval. Meghalaya’s tribal population, once 86% in 2001, has dipped to 82% by 2021, and fears of an outsider influx run deep among the Khasi and Jaintia communities. The KSU, halting the Byrnihat-Shillong line since 2016, demands an Inner Line Permit (ILP), a mechanism to regulate migration used in states like Nagaland. Jaintia groups, including the Hynñiewtrep Integrated Territorial Organization, echo this stance against the Jowai line, pointing to Sikkim, where railways ushered in demographic shifts that marginalized indigenous Lepchas. “Railways will flood our hills, turning Khasis into minorities,” warns KSU president. In East Jaintia Hills, surveyors faced black flags in May 2025, a vivid sign of grassroots defiance.
Mendipathar offers a counterpoint. Since its trains began running, no significant influx has disrupted the Garo Hills, and tribal land ownership remains intact. But the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, somewhat closer to Assam’s migrant-heavy Barak Valley, feel more vulnerable. The Meghalaya Residents Safety and Security Act (MRSSA), meant to register outsiders, has faltered—only 23,000 non-tribals enrolled since 2020, leaving communities sceptical of its protections. Meanwhile, the people of Meghalaya are torn. In Shillong’s bustling Iewduh Market, traders bemoan the price of rice, Rs 3,000 per sack compared to Rs 2,200 in Guwahati, and farmers in Ri-Bhoi lament losing a third of their potatoes to road delays. Yet, in the same breath, many question the cost of progress. After 75 years without trains, some ask why they should risk their identity now, their voices blending pride with apprehension.
This struggle is not Meghalaya’s alone. Across the globe, railway projects have sparked similar resistance. In Canada, the 2020 Wet’suwet’en protests halted rail lines over a pipeline threatening indigenous lands, resolved only through land rights assurances. In Australia, Aboriginal communities in the Pilbara region resisted rail expansions until job creation and community benefits were guaranteed. France’s Lyon-Turin rail project overcame local and environmental opposition with transparent consultations and ecological safeguards. These stories reveal something: progress hinges on dialogue and trust.
To move forward, a formal platform for dialogue, bringing together the KSU, VPP, District Councils, and farmers, could foster consensus, with independent mediators ensuring fairness. Strengthening the MRSSA with biometric checks at stations and tighter land-leasing rules to prevent exploitative benami transactions could ease fears without the divisive ILP. A freight-first approach, mirroring Mendipathar’s success, could deliver economic gains while minimizing demographic risks, with passenger trains introduced later as trust grows. Community incentives—job training, revenue-sharing, or schools near rail routes—could be considered. Rail routes must skirt sacred sites and fragile ecosystems, with transparent environmental and cultural assessments aligning with the state’s eco-tourism ethos.
The cost of inaction is steep: the state’s real GDP has grown at an average rate of 2.1 percent during the period from 2012-13 to 2021-22, which is much lower than the national average growth of 5.6 percent. GDP growth lags, Transport inefficiencies drain Rs 18 crore daily, and youth unemployment festers at 14%. Meghalaya’s railway tale, therefore, is more than a story of twisted tracks; it is a referendum on balancing tradition with modernity. Mendipathar shows that progress and preservation can co-exist, so what we need is evidence-based discussion. When the Government publishes a document on the impact of Mendipathar on the local economy, with new facts in the open, a new space for negotiation may open up. At least that has been my experience in public life. Dig, dig, and dig till you get to the bottom.
Farmers, the backbone of Meghalaya’s economy, stand to gain immensely. Subsidized freight, market linkages, and modern farming techniques could curb spoilage and boost competitiveness, but their voices must shape the railway’s path through inclusive dialogues. The most severely impacted group in this crisis is the farming community, yet their voices are conspicuously absent from the discussion. Why are farmers, who bear the brunt of these challenges, consistently overlooked in these conversations? What kind of democratic system allows the exclusion of its most vulnerable citizens? At the heart of any true democracy lies the principle of prioritizing the needs of those most in need. Shouldn’t a democratic society ensure that the concerns of its most marginalized and affected populations, like farmers, are not only heard but placed at the forefront of policy and dialogue? Ignoring them raises serious questions about the integrity and fairness of our democratic process itself. By fostering trust and prioritizing farmer welfare, cultural identity, and economic growth, Meghalaya can write a new chapter—one where trains arrive in Shillong, carrying not just goods, but new hopes for a connected, vibrant future. No matter what anyone says, we are all bound, as Indians.
(The writer is former member of the IAS)