On the dusty roads near Mamadapur Phata in Maharashtra's Latur, the shadow of illegal liquor stretches long and dark. Three years ago, 28-year-old Ratan Anand More, a daily wage labourer from a nearby village, died after consuming cheap country liquor laced with deadly methanol. His widow, Sandhya More, still battles the harsh reality of raising their two young children alone, haunted not just by grief but by a justice system that has failed her family.
“His death was no accident. It was poison sold right in our backyard, and no one stopped it,” Sandhya said, her voice steady despite years of hardship. “We don’t want promises or speeches. We want the government and police to act.”
Ratan’s story is heartbreakingly common in Latur Rural, where illicit liquor has silently devastated families for years. What’s new is a recent police crackdown that has stirred cautious hope; but also questions about political will, accountability, and how deep the nexus really runs.
The Quint spoke to the families impacted, social activists, and the police to understand the extent of the nexus and the crackdown.
Families Torn Apart
Sunanda Jadhav of Deoni remembered the night she lost her brother. “He came home stumbling, sweating, then collapsed. We rushed him to the hospital, but it was too late. It was that same country liquor. My mother still cries in her sleep,” she said.
Ganpat Mali from Gunjoti lost his 22-year-old son Vishal, a truck cleaner, died after drinking with his peers. “They all bought it from the same man who sets up a stall near the mandi after sundown. No one stopped him even though everyone knew.” But the fallout doesn’t end with death or arrest.
The problem of illicit trade, however, does not stop at addiction, but also recruitment of the poor and the vulnerable.
In Ausa, 17-year-old Rakesh (name changed for privacy) now sells liquor packets hidden in schoolbags—not because he wants to, but because his father, jailed in a 2023 crackdown, left behind ₹1.8 lakh in debt to local liquor dealers.
“They said if we don’t repay, they’ll take our land,” his mother, Lata (name changed for privacy), said. “He’s just a boy, but he goes out every evening with bottles in a tiffin box. I can’t sleep.”
In one Nilanga village, 15-year-old Saima (name changed for privacy) was caught ferrying alcohol tucked beneath vegetables in a handcart. Her elder brother had died in a police encounter in 2022, leaving behind debts. “They threatened our mother,” she said quietly. “So I started helping.”
When we got the hint that children were being recruited in this illegal trade, we knew that only arrests won't help. We had to stop this from both the sides; supply and demand.PI Arvind Shambhaji Pawar, Latur Rural Police Station
Social worker Venkatesh Shivdas Limbale, who works in Khadgaon taluka, confirmed this chilling trend. “There’s an entire new generation being trapped—not as users, but as debt-burdened foot soldiers. Their fathers owed the mafia money, and now these children are being made to ‘repay’ by selling.”
“These are children, not criminals,” said Sumaiyya Shaikh, a social worker from Deoni. “They're being used to settle scores their families never had a say in. This is not just exploitation, it’s a form of bonded servitude enforced by fear.”
Shaikh stressed the need for a radical shift. “We must treat addicts as patients, not criminals. Without support and rehabilitation, this cycle will never end. But we also need to trace the money trail; the real operators are rarely the ones caught. It’s a chain, and the top links are shielded by silence or power.”
“There’s collusion. Everyone knows it; from the supplier in Aurangabad to the distributor in Latur to the local thekedar. And too often, the police look the other way until a death makes the news," she said.
Limbale explains, “The burden falls hardest on women and children. Families break down, money is wasted on poison, and children grow up in unstable, painful environments.”
“Politicians, bootleggers, and some local officials operate hand in glove. Raids are necessary, but if you don’t root out the financiers and protectors, it’s like cutting the weed, not removing the root," he said.
Weeks of Raids: Police Strike at the Heart of the Trade
Between 11 April and 6 June, 2025, the Latur Rural Police launched a coordinated series of raids. They filed a total of 57 FIRs and arrested numerous people involved in selling illegal liquor. 4 cases were registered on the night of 13 May itself.
One arrest near Mamadapur Phata on April 12 was telling: a 20-year-old man was caught hiding 35 bottles of country-made liquor behind a roadside tea stall.
Seizures ranged from small hauls of just a few bottles to large consignments worth over ₹75,000. Police even intercepted foreign liquor smuggled in SUVs with fake license plates, showing the trade’s increasing sophistication and reach.
“We are not waiting for complaints anymore; we’re acting on intelligence,” said SI Santosh Thorat, a key officer in the crackdown. “Our goal is to hit the sources hard and send a message: we will not let poison destroy our people.”
Many caught in the recent raids are repeat offenders. The Latur police have started externment proceedings under Section 110 of the Criminal Procedure Code, legally banning chronic bootleggers from operating in the district.
“We are not just making arrests. We are building cases and dismantling networks,” said PI Arvind Shambhaji Pawar.
The police are also taking a rehabilitative approach; working with local panchayats, Anganwadi workers, and NGOs to identify alcoholics and offer them rehabilitation support.
Maharashtra’s Prohibition Problem: Why Latur is a Hotspot
Maharashtra has long struggled with illegal liquor. In 2022, the state reported more than 25,000 cases related to excise and prohibition violations—the highest in India. Latur Rural alone recorded over 350 cases, a surprisingly high number for a mostly rural district.
Compared to neighbouring districts like Jalna, Hingoli, and Parbhani, which each reported fewer than 150 cases annually despite similar demographics, Latur’s numbers stand out.
Police say this is because enforcement was weak and inconsistent for years, allowing the trade to flourish. Now, with better use of local intelligence, routine patrols, and technology, they believe they are turning the tide.
Many families in Latur, Ausa, Gunjoti, and Nilanga have been destroyed. We need more funds and stronger enforcement.Ramesh Kashiram Karad, MLA - Latur
The crackdown has received political support from Ramesh Kashiram Karad, the MLA of Rural Latur. He has called for increased night patrols and incentives for informants to help police break the liquor trade.
“Illegal liquor is a social crisis,” Karad said. “Many families in Latur, Ausa, Gunjoti, and Nilanga have been destroyed. We need more funds and stronger enforcement.”
However, critics remain skeptical. Opposition leader and former MLA Dhiraj Deshmukh accuses the ruling establishment of myopic strategies.
“This recent crackdown may be a political stunt because they have just come into power. Hopefully, there is a consistent will to sustain it. Only time will tell,” Deshmukh said.
But for people like Sandhya More, that time is already up. “We don’t want speeches. We want action,” she said.
“We want justice, not just for my husband, but for all those who died because poison was sold freely. This is a fight for our future generations,” Sandhya More said.