High Court questions illegal Dharmasagar Tank constructions seriously
For another month, they wait—hope and fear sharing the same bench, the same silence, the same unanswered prayers.
The waters of Dharmasagar tank have watched over this land for generations, their depths holding memories of monsoons past, of farmers’ prayers, of children who once learned to swim in their embrace. But today, these waters bear witness to a different story—one of boundaries drawn on paper but erased on ground, of laws written but forgotten.
For the local resident who filed the PIL, the fight is deeply personal. Every morning, as he walks past the tank on his way to work, he sees what once was and what is becoming. The water’s edge, once a clear line where land surrendered to lake, has grown fuzzy, blurred by concrete creeping forward like vines in reverse. He has written letters, filed complaints, knocked on doors that remained closed. The authorities issued show-cause notices, he says, but notices don’t stop bulldozers. Notices don’t reclaim land that has already been sold, already built upon, already lost.
Today, inside the cool corridors of the Telangana High Court, his voice finally found ears that would listen. Before a bench led by Chief Justice Aparesh Kumar Singh and Justice G Mohiuddin, the story of Dharmasagar unfolded—not in the language of poetry, but in the clinical terms of full tank levels, encroachments, and failed enforcement.
The irrigation department officials shifted in their seats. The district administration representatives exchanged glances. They spoke of a communication sent to the lake protection committee, of examinations pending, of processes underway. The court listened, then spoke words that carried both hope and patience: four weeks. Come back in four weeks with clarity, with answers, with action.
For the petitioner, four weeks means thirty more nights of watching the tank shrink on paper while it expands in reality. Thirty more days of wondering whether this time, finally, someone will draw a line and mean it.
For the authorities, four weeks means scrambling through files, revisiting old notices, preparing defenses and explanations. It means explaining to judges why show-cause notices remained just that—notices without follow-through, words without weight.
And for Dharmasagar itself, four weeks is nothing. A blink in the long history of its waters. It has waited through droughts and floods, through kingdoms and governments, through times when everyone respected its boundaries and times like these, when boundaries exist only in records rooms, gathering dust.
The court has adjourned. The lawyers pack their briefs. The petitioner walks out into the Hyderabad sun, carrying four weeks of waiting in his heart. Behind him, the waters of Dharmasagar continue their silent vigil, hoping that when the court reconvenes, someone will finally speak for them.