At Azad Maidan, Marathas Gather In 1000s With Hope And Anger Over Reservation Rights

The Central line train, packed tight with men in orange Nehru caps, lurched forward from Dockyard station. Its windows smeared with the sweat of bodies hanging on for space. At every halt, more people surged in, pouring into suffocating compartments. The train itself seemed to move only because it had no choice, carrying its load of protestors towards the heart of the city. Its destination was Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, where the historic stone arches and Gothic spires stood ready to witness yet another moment in Maharashtra’s long history of agitation.

The government had already issued travel advisories, warning commuters of disruptions across South Bombay. But advisories could not contain discontent. By the time the train screeched into the terminus, the air was thick with chants that reverberated against stone facades and colonial-era lamp posts. “Main bhi Jarange!” they cry in unison, voices echoing through the lanes.

Manoj Jarange, a man who is the face of the Maratha quota struggle. He had announced weeks earlier that on August 29, Azad Maidan would bear testimony to their agitation. The official cap set by the government was five thousand people. 

Carrying The Weight Of A Community's Identity

From the villages of Beed and Satara, from the sugar fields of Pune, from the chawls of Mumbai itself, they came—farmers, students, daily wage workers—each carrying the weight of a community’s identity, each adding their presence to a tide no advisory could stem.

In the crowd was Sagar Thorat, 36, who had travelled from Jawal village in Pune with his wife and five-year-old son. The family sat quietly at the edge of the stage, where Jarange was preparing to begin a hunger strike. 

“I scored 84 per cent in my 10th,” Thorat says, his voice heavy with resignation. “But I had to stop studying because we had no money. Those with reservations get five thousand rupees, and I got nothing. Today, the one with 60 per cent is becoming a doctor, and I, with 80 per cent, am lifting cow dung.” 

Thorat’s story mirrored the bitterness of many who had studied hard, only to find the ladder pulled away before they could climb.

On stage, Jarange leaned to one side, weakened but unflinching, as he took the microphone. “We are not against anyone, but we are firm on our demands,” he declared. “The government cannot ignore the Maratha community, which makes up 35 per cent of Maharashtra. This is their golden opportunity to win the trust of our people by fulfilling our demands. If they do not act, then I am ready to face any consequences.” With that, he took his oath to fast until the government decided. His words drew not just applause but a renewed surge of chants, rising from the restless gathering into the night sky.

What Was The Socially and Educationally Backward Class Law?

This moment was not without precedent. In 2018, the state legislature had enacted the Socially and Educationally Backward Class law, granting Marathas 16 per cent reservation in education and employment. For a time, it seemed like victory. But, in 2021, the Supreme Court struck down the law, ruling that states could not breach the fifty per cent ceiling on reservations, and asserting that the power of backward class identification lay with the Centre under the 102nd Constitutional Amendment. The judgment left the community once again at a crossroads, with promises unfulfilled and aspirations stalled.

Among those gathered was Suryai Sonwale, 45, representing the Maratha Kranti Morcha. “Whether from the father’s side or the mother’s side, if there is Kunbi lineage, issuing a Kunbi certificate must be made compulsory,” he said. “That way, people can get rightful entry into the OBC category.” The demand he articulated was at the heart of the current agitation.

Kunbis, traditionally an agrarian caste, are listed as OBC in Maharashtra and benefit from a 27 per cent quota. Marathas and Kunbis, particularly in regions like Vidarbha and Marathwada, have long intermarried, shared surnames, and blurred boundaries. If a Maratha family could establish Kunbi ancestry—say, by having a grandfather listed as Kunbi in an old land record—the state would issue an OBC certificate. For thousands of families, this certificate is the difference between social mobility and stagnation.

In 2024, the Maharashtra government legislated a 10 per cent quota for Marathas while leaving its draft notification on Kunbi certificates deliberately open-ended. Under this new framework, Kunbi Marathas can avail of OBC benefits, while non-Kunbi Marathas will fall under the new quota. It is the first time the community has been granted a reservation under two separate categories. 

Eknath Shinde's Promise

Chief Minister Eknath Shinde addressed the Assembly, saying, “The state government has decided to provide 10 per cent reservation to Marathas based on the State Backward Class Commission’s report, which has established their social and educational backwardness.” He adds that the January 27 draft notification proposing Kunbi certificates had invited suggestions and objections until February 16, and that six lakh objections had already been received. The government, he promises, would take a final decision after thorough scrutiny.

But the move did little to calm the streets. At Azad Maidan, protesters chant, “Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj” and “B. R. Ambedkar” one after the other, invoking both the warrior king and the architect of the Indian Constitution. 

“The problem is that Kunbis in Vidarbha are already classified under OBC, while in Marathwada, many have only recently been converted into Kunbi. What people are demanding is a proper verification of the Satara and Hyderabad Gazettes, where their ancestry is clearly recorded,” says Vijay Jawandia, a farmer leader from Wardha. He warns that granting additional reservation beyond the OBC fold could rupture the fifty per cent ceiling fixed by the Supreme Court, making such laws vulnerable to dissolution.

The complexity of the issue lies not just in numbers and laws, but in lived realities. 

“In Beed, 48 per cent of Marathas live below the poverty line,” said Prashant Maske, a farmer from Beed. “A Kunbi certificate puts you in the OBC central list. My friend had one and became an IPS officer, while I couldn’t clear even after the interview.” 

His words underline the frustration of many who felt trapped by the circumstances of birth and paperwork, even as peers with similar backgrounds advanced.

As the night drew on, the sea of orange at Azad Maidan showed no signs of thinning. Families huddled on mats, children slept on their mothers’ laps, and groups of men argued but hailed in unison, “Jai Maharashtra”.

According to PTI reports, police have given Jarange permission to extend his hunger strike for Maratha reservation for one more day.