Hyderabad’s 400-Acre Forest Fight: Bulldozers, Protests, and a City on Edge

Hyderabad, April 2, 2025 – The battle over 400 acres of land in Kancha Gachibowli, smack in the middle of Hyderabad’s buzzing IT corridor, has turned into a full-on war. On one side: the Telangana government, hell-bent on auctioning off the patch for a shiny new IT park and urban sprawl, promising ₹50,000 crore in investments and jobs. On the other: University of Hyderabad (UoH) students, environmentalists, and opposition parties screaming bloody murder over what they call a “green massacre” of a thriving forest ecosystem. As of today, the bulldozers are still rolling, the cops are swinging lathis, and the courts are gearing up to weigh in. Here’s the unvarnished truth of what’s going down.

The Land: Forest or Not?

The government says this 400-acre chunk isn’t a forest—never has been, according to revenue and forest records. They claim it’s state-owned land, snatched back from a private firm in a Supreme Court fight after it was handed over in 2004 for a sports facility that never materialized. “No tigers, no deer, just some cunning foxes trying to block progress,” Chief Minister A. Revanth Reddy quipped, brushing off the protests as political noise. They’ve got plans to keep the rock formations—like the famous Mushroom Rock—and say the nearby Buffalo and Peacock Lakes won’t be touched. The pitch? World-class infrastructure, IT hubs, and a fat paycheck for Telangana’s economy.

But the students and green activists aren’t buying it. They say this land, nestled next to UoH’s campus, is a biodiversity goldmine—233 bird species, 700 medicinal plants, deer, peacocks, wild boars, even a rare spider found nowhere else. “This is Hyderabad’s last lung in the west,” one protester yelled, as excavators flattened trees overnight. Reports warn that razing it could jack up local temperatures by 1-4°C and wipe out a grassland ecosystem that’s already on life support in this concrete-choked city. The government’s “not a forest” line? They call it a technical dodge—Supreme Court rulings from 1996 say any land with forest cover counts, records or not.

The Showdown: Protests and Police

It kicked off March 30 when UoH students caught wind of the earthmovers. By Sunday, dozens were out near Mushroom Rock, trying to block the machines. Cyberabad police didn’t mess around—52 students got hauled off, some dragged from academic buildings, others roughed up in a lathi charge that’s got everyone pissed. “They stormed the School of Economics like it’s a war zone,” one student fumed. The detainees were split across stations, and there’s talk of criminal cases brewing. Monday night, the excavators doubled down—40 of them tearing through the land while spotted deer and peacocks reportedly scattered in panic.

Tuesday, the BJP tried to muscle in, but their delegation got stopped cold by cops. MLAs were put under house arrest, and workers clashed with police barricades. Meanwhile, BRS leader K.T. Rama Rao met with students, calling it “brazen green murder” and begging Rahul Gandhi to step in, pointing to his Aarey forest stance in Mumbai. The opposition’s united on this: BJP’s Bandi Sanjay says it’s illegal deforestation without central approval; BRS claims it’s a land heist for real estate cronies. Congress? They’re doubling down, accusing “land sharks” and political rivals of stirring the pot.

The Courts and the Chaos

The Telangana High Court’s set to hear PILs today, April 2, after environmentalist Uday Krishna and others demanded the land be tagged as ecologically sensitive. The university’s fighting too, saying no joint survey ever happened in July 2024 to mark boundaries, contradicting the government’s story. Legal eagles point to a 2022 ruling that said UoH couldn’t prove ownership of this slice of the 2,500 acres originally allotted in 1975. But the students say that’s irrelevant—forest is forest, and the law should protect it.

What’s at Stake?

If the government wins, Hyderabad gets a shiny new IT crown, maybe 50,000 jobs, and a big economic boost. If the protesters do, 400 acres of wilderness stays wild, a rare win for a city drowning in glass towers. Right now, it’s a coin toss. The excavators haven’t stopped, the protests are swelling, and the wildlife’s caught in the crossfire. Hyderabad’s watching—some cheering the growth, others mourning the green. One thing’s clear: this fight’s far from over.