The deadly price of the world's biggest prohibition experiment

In the Indian state of Bihar, the illegal liquor market is rampant, generating huge profits and causing casualties. This underground trade is vast in scale, with profound impacts on the local society and economy.

Deep in the Rajouli forest in India, the air is thick with the sweet and sour smell of fermenting yeast. About a dozen police officers, under the scorching sun, marched in a single file through the dense bushes, the dry leaves under their feet crunching crisply. They were searching for illegal brewing dens.

These dens typically use ingredients such as mahua flowers, raw cane sugar, and chemical catalysts to brew illicit liquor worth tens of thousands of dollars within a few days, which is then sold on the black market in Bihar. After hours of searching, the police found a large amount of so-called "country liquor" in pits and huge plastic bags, pouring the pungent liquid onto the ground, where it gathered into streams.

Subsequently, the entire distillation equipment was set on fire to prevent reuse. However, it is only a matter of time before new dens emerge. Bihar is one of the most populous states in India, and since the implementation of the prohibition in 2016, about 130 million people (equivalent to five times the population of Australia) have been legally prohibited from drinking alcohol. Nevertheless, like in the United States in the 1920s, illegal moonshiners ensure the continued circulation of alcohol.

A few kilometers from the Rajouli forest raid, police set up a major checkpoint on the border between Bihar and the neighboring state of Jharkhand. This road is notorious for rampant smuggling activities. As dusk approached, a blue Suzuki car slowly stopped, carrying four men who had just attended a wedding. The police opened the trunk and quickly found four 180ml bottles of Royal Challenge whiskey hidden under the spare tire. This was not moonshine, but so-called "Indian-Made Foreign Liquor," spirits legally produced in other parts of India and then smuggled into Bihar.

The bride's father nervously turned to the police and asked, "Will you put me in jail?" In Bihar, this is a reasonable question. Those found carrying small amounts of alcohol may face severe penalties, ranging from a few days to several months in prison. In the past, the laws were even harsher, with offenders sometimes sentenced to years in prison for seemingly minor violations. Minutes later, the group was detained and taken to a small room at the checkpoint to have their fingerprints taken.

To prevent alcohol from entering Bihar, law enforcement agencies need to remain highly vigilant, as neighboring states have free access to alcoholic beverages. These checkpoints are monitored 24 hours a day by the Prohibition Control and Command Centre located in Patna, the capital of Bihar. In a sterile, highly secure facility, staff monitor footage from hundreds of live cameras at 82 checkpoints, tracking every vehicle entering the state. The tip-off hotline rings constantly, receiving more than 300 calls a day.

They are looking for more than just ordinary smugglers carrying a liter or two of alcohol across the border. Bihar's dense jungles and vast farmlands provide ideal hiding places for deeply entrenched criminal networks, allowing them to secretly produce large quantities of moonshine. To find them, police drone teams search the terrain from the air, ready to dispatch officers to raid these locations. Police Chief Sanjeet Kumar, who led the Rajouli forest raid, said, "The mafia in this area produces country liquor and supplies it. Our mission is to destroy their operations."

To date, Bihar has seized nearly 15 million liters of country liquor and 20 million liters of Indian-Made Foreign Liquor. But it has proven almost impossible to completely eliminate illegal production. The prohibition was the brainchild of Bihar Chief Minister Nitish Kumar, leader of the Janata Dal (United), who gained political success by promising social change. Before he banned alcohol, Kumar took the opposite approach, expanding liquor licenses and encouraging liquor sales to increase state revenue. This filled the government's coffers, but also triggered another crisis - a surge in alcoholism, followed by domestic violence.

Before the prohibition, Bihar had one of the highest rates of domestic violence in India, with nearly 40% of women reporting abuse. Driven by a government project called Jeevika, women began to mobilize to protest domestic violence, believing alcohol to be the root cause. Many began to call for a complete ban on alcohol. Baby Kumari, a domestic abuse survivor and prohibition advocate, said, "I was only 14 or 15 years old when I got married. My husband would waste every rupee he earned on alcohol, and if I didn't give him money, we would argue, (he would) beat me and take it."

On the eve of the 2015 state elections, she and thousands of other women wielding sticks and brooms raided distilleries, smashing bottles and shutting down operations. "We used to form human chains hand in hand, blocking roads as a form of protest," she said. As the state elections approached, Nitish Kumar met with the protesters and soon made complete prohibition his policy. A record turnout of female voters propelled him to victory and enshrined the prohibition into law.

Kumari said that in the past, men drank alcohol everywhere in Bihar, "It was impossible for a normal person to walk on the street without suffering humiliation and abuse." "But after the ban was implemented, we no longer saw this on the roads. People lived happily." A 2024 study in The Lancet showed that the ban prevented 2.1 million incidents of intimate partner violence. Kumari's husband, Pawan, is now sober. Together, they built a house, started a small farming business, and secured a future for their daughter. "Her dream is to become an engineer," Kumari said. "She doesn't have to face the pain I went through."

The prohibition continues to enjoy overwhelming public support in Bihar, especially among women, but it has also had unintended consequences. Official records show that about 300 people have died from poisoning after drinking illegal liquor since 2016, but some say the actual death toll may be much higher. In December 2022, at least 70 people died after drinking a batch of toxic liquor in the Saran district of Bihar. This mass poisoning was not an isolated incident.

Outside a small hospital in Masrakh, a man staggered out of a rickshaw, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. His white T-shirt was soaked in sweat, and his eyes were blank. Inside, doctors moved quickly, lifting him onto a bed and connecting him to an IV drip. "Can you see?" a doctor asked him. "How many fingers is this?" The man, named Ajay, could only respond with a blank stare. He was brought here because he drank country liquor laced with methanol, a toxic additive that moonshiners use as a cheap way to increase the potency of the liquor. It's a deadly shortcut that kills dozens of people in Bihar every year. Just one glass can be fatal.

Doctors eventually transferred Ajay to the ICU of a larger hospital. This small medical center did not have the capacity to help him avoid the worst outcome. In addition to the health crisis, other problems have emerged. Criminal smuggling networks have flourished under the law, with some exploiting the state's weak border controls to make huge amounts of cash. Bihar shares an 800-kilometer border with Nepal, where alcohol is legal and Indian citizens can enter without a visa. Smuggling gangs have hired thousands of foot soldiers to carry alcohol across the border.

A young smuggler, who agreed to be interviewed by The Foreign Correspondent on condition of anonymity to protect himself, showed us how easy it is to do so. It takes less than 2 minutes to cross open fields to reach a bottling shop in Nepal. There are no checkpoints or border guards to deal with on the way there or back. "I bring in 30 to 35 bottles every night," he said, "I sell to 50 to 60 customers." It's a simple operation, and it's lucrative. The scarcity of alcohol drives up prices. Each bottle can sell for $20 in Bihar, twice the price the smuggler pays for it in Nepal. In a good month, he can earn nearly $2,000, a staggering income considering the average farmer here earns only $140.

The lure of quick money fuels police corruption. According to former Prohibition Minister Sunil Kumar, at least 230 police officers have been dismissed for colluding with smugglers since the prohibition began. The smuggler said there are police on both sides of the Nepal border, but often a bribe is enough to make them turn a blind eye. "We always carry extra cash. Every time we go, we have to pay."

At least, the courts are not turning a blind eye. Last October, Patna High Court Justice Purnendu Singh issued a strongly worded judgment criticizing the failure of the law and the rampant corruption it has fueled. "The draconian provisions have become a convenient tool in the hands of the police, who are in cahoots with the smugglers," Justice Singh wrote. "For them, it means big money." The judge noted that the number of cases involving illegal liquor tycoons pales in comparison to the number of cases involving "poor people drinking alcohol." Since the law came into effect, more than one million people have been arrested, but most are first-time drinkers from poor families who are now clogging up Bihar's courts and prisons.

For generations, some of the state's most marginalized people have been brewing country liquor to survive, but now they are criminals. "I feel scared," said a woman who asked not to be named. She brews liquor from mahua leaves in her home in a remote village. She comes from the Musahar community, one of the most excluded groups in India's caste system. Her hands are stained from the rough distillation process she carries out at home, which produces only one liter of product every eight days, yielding a profit of $2. She has seen others raided and arrested by the police, but she feels she has no choice but to continue. "I have no food in my stomach," she said. "What else can I do? Beg?"

Under increasing legal pressure, the government has watered down the prohibition law three times, but now faces growing calls for a complete suspension of the law, with some claiming that it is exacerbating a secondary public health crisis. A few days after being hospitalized for alcohol poisoning and losing his sight, Ajay was sent home to reunite with his wife, Lalita Devi. "He was fine in the morning," Devi said. "Then suddenly I don't know what happened." She had just helped him get dressed when she noticed something was wrong. "My children ran over and said, 'Mom, look at what's happening to Dad. He's staring with wide eyes.'" Ajay died suddenly. He was one of at least 40 other victims who died from drinking the same batch of toxic liquor.

Months later, Devi is a widow and has yet to receive an official report on the cause of death. Opponents of the prohibition say the state is reluctant to admit the true number of alcohol poisoning deaths because it would mean admitting that the law has failed. Devi believes that a properly enforced ban could have saved her husband, but she no longer believes that is possible. "They say it's banned, but the people who sell alcohol won't stop," she said. "Alcohol will never be banned in Bihar."

Several Indian states, including Haryana and Manipur, have repealed similar prohibitions due to enforcement failures. Even Gujarat, the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi, has introduced alcohol permits for non-residents after a long period of complete prohibition. But in Bihar, as the state holds elections this year, Nitish Kumar and his government remain steadfast, insisting that the prohibition will not disappear if he is re-elected. This time he faces a fight. He will be opposed by Prashant Kishor, a political strategist who helped propel Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi to power and has promised to abolish the prohibition within an hour if elected.

Prohibition supporters like Baby Kumari say this would be a disaster for Bihar. She remembers the days before the ban, when women like her had no power, safety, or hope. Nearly a decade later, Kumari still patrols her village, threatening men who abuse women with brooms and rolling pins. She doesn't wait for the police to protect her. "I told my sisters, once your husbands come home drunk, beat them," she said with a smile. But she's not joking. "At first, they felt humiliated and wondered why all these women were fighting them, but then the wives intervened and helped them understand," she said. "In the end, they listened and realized the purpose behind it. Thanks to the prohibition, many sisters are now living happy lives."