Telangana HC fumes over unpaid Mission Bhagiratha bills
HC warns unpaid bills leave workers, contractors struggling
The Telangana High Court courtroom fell silent as Justice T Madhavi Devi’s words cut through the morning air. On one side stood the government’s lawyer, shuffling papers, offering explanations about budget sessions and payment priorities. On the other sat representatives of NCC Limited, a company that had waited nearly a decade for its money.
The case was straightforward on paper. In 2015, NCC had signed an agreement with the government to build and maintain drinking water schemes under Mission Bhagiratha—projects meant to bring water from the Srisailam project to parched constituencies like Chevella, Vikarabad, Pargi, Tandur, and Maheshwaram. For years, villages in these areas had struggled during summer, women walking miles with pots balanced on their heads. The project was supposed to change that.
NCC built the infrastructure. Pipes were laid. Pump houses constructed. Water began flowing to taps that had remained dry for generations. But when the bills arrived—Rs 180.17 crore worth of completed work—the government stalled.
Tokens were issued, acknowledging the bills. But payments never came.
Last August, the High Court had given the government two months to clear the dues, with six percent interest. Six months passed. Nothing happened.
So NCC filed a contempt petition.
In Friday’s hearing, the government’s lawyer offered the familiar argument: salaries for government employees had to come first. Contractors would have to wait.
Justice Devi was unmoved.
“And how,” she asked quietly, “are these contractors supposed to pay salaries to their own employees?”
The question hung in the air. Behind the legal jargon was a simple human truth. The men and women who had laid those pipes under the harsh Telangana sun, who had operated machinery and poured concrete—they too had families to feed. Children to send to school. Rent to pay. Their wages depended on the government honouring its word.
The government lawyer tried another angle. Finance Department Principal Secretary Sandeep Sultania, he explained, was occupied with the ongoing budget session. Could he be exempted from personal appearance in the contempt case?
Justice Devi’s response was swift. She noted that authorities had shown no respect for the court’s orders, offering no proper explanation for their inaction. The exemption petition was dismissed.
Outside the courtroom, the human weight of the case became visible. Subcontractors who had worked on the Bhagiratha project had gathered, their faces etched with anxiety. Small contractors who had borrowed money from relatives and local lenders to pay workers upfront, trusting that government payments would eventually arrive. Now they faced daily harassment from creditors.
“My daughter’s wedding is next month,” one man whispered, not wanting to be identified. “I promised them a good marriage. Now I don’t know if I can even afford the catering.”
Another, a supervisor who had managed a crew of fifty workers during the project’s peak, spoke of the irony. Now our own families are going thirsty because we can’t buy water bottles.”
The court set a deadline: March 13. By then, the government must implement the previous orders and submit a report. If not, Sultania must appear in person before the court.
But for the workers waiting outside, deadlines felt abstract. What mattered was the money owed to the contractor, so the contractor could pay the sub-contractor, so the sub-contractor could pay the mason who had spent six months laying pipes under a blazing sun.
In a small village near Vikarabad, a mason named Venkatesh scrolled through his phone, checking for news of the case. He had worked on the Bhagiratha project for eight months in 2022. His wages for those months were still partially unpaid. His wife had stopped asking about the money. She just handed him cheaper vegetables for dinner and said nothing.
“She thinks I’m hiding something,” Venkatesh said quietly.
As evening fell over Hyderabad, the High Court’s warning echoed through government corridors. But in the villages that had once celebrated the arrival of water, people waited—not just for justice, but for the simple dignity of being paid for honest work.