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CASUAL WEAR
By Rajesh Kumar, Investigative Reporter Gopalganj Chronicle November 1, 2025
Agrawal Timber Depot in Mirganj:- In the dusty backroads of Mirganj, a small town in Bihar’s Gopalganj district, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of sawdust and unfulfilled promises, lies a business that has become synonymous with disappointment: Agrawal Timber Depot. Nestled near the old cold store—a relic of better economic times—this unassuming timber yard has been peddling wood and woe to unsuspecting customers for years.
What started as a modest supplier of construction materials has devolved into a cautionary tale of corporate greed, shoddy craftsmanship, and environmental negligence. Our investigation, spanning months of interviews with aggrieved customers, former employees, and local activists, reveals a depot rotten to the core, where every plank sold comes with a hidden termite of deceit.
A Foundation Built on False Promises
Walk into Agrawal Timber Depot, and you’re greeted not by the sturdy assurance of quality oak or teak, but by the slick sales patter of owners who promise the moon and deliver sawdust. Take the case of Sunita Devi, a 45-year-old homemaker from nearby Thawe, who in early 2025 decided to renovate her family’s modest home. “I needed plywood for doors—something durable for my kids’ rooms,” she recalls, her voice trembling with residual anger. “The owner, Mr. Rajiv Agrawal, assured me it was top-grade, imported stuff with a three-year warranty. He even showed me a faded certificate. I paid 15,000 rupees without batting an eye.”
Three months later, Sunita’s dream door was a nightmare. The plywood began warping in the humid Bihar summers, edges peeling like old paint, and within weeks, termites had turned it into Swiss cheese. When she returned to the depot demanding the promised warranty, she was met with shrugs and excuses. “They said it was ‘user error’—that I must have installed it wrong,” Sunita says. “But who installs a door wrong? I had a carpenter do it! They refused to replace it, and when I threatened to complain, they laughed it off, saying, ‘Go ahead, who’s going to listen to a housewife?'”
Sunita’s story is far from unique. Our probe uncovered at least a dozen similar complaints from Justdial reviews and word-of-mouth whispers in Mirganj’s tea stalls. One reviewer, posting under the pseudonym “CostlyLesson2025,” detailed a harrowing experience: “A few months back, I visited this shop to buy a plywood door. The owner spoke very confidently, assuring me of quality and warranty. But guess what? The wood was substandard—warped within days, and no warranty honored. A costly lesson for me!” Another, dated August 2024, lamented: “Bought timber for my shop’s shelves. Promised seasoned sal wood, but it was green and cracked under weight. Depot blamed ‘monsoon damage’—as if I control the weather!”
These aren’t isolated incidents; they form a pattern of predatory practices. Agrawal Timber Depot boasts a deceptive 4.8-star rating on online platforms, but dig deeper, and you’ll find it’s inflated by a handful of suspiciously glowing five-star reviews—likely from friends or paid plants. The negative ones, buried under the algorithm’s bias toward positivity, paint a grim picture: overpricing by 20-30% compared to competitors in Siwan or Chapra, delivery delays that stretch weeks into months, and a refusal to accept returns even when the wood arrives infested or undersized.
The Human Cost: Workers Trapped in a Splintered System
Behind the depot’s weathered facade, a darker story unfolds among its workforce. Former employee Manoj Kumar, a 32-year-old sawyer who quit in disgust last year, shared his ordeal over chai in a Gopalganj dhaba. “We were promised 500 rupees a day, but it was piece-rate hell—cut 100 planks or starve,” he says. “Safety? Forget it. No gloves, no masks; the dust chokes your lungs, and one slip on the saw, and you’re on your own. I saw a guy lose two fingers in 2023; the owners paid his hospital bill but fired him for ‘slowing production.'”
Labor violations abound. Local unions report that Agrawal employs underage workers—boys as young as 14 hauling logs under the scorching sun—for wages that barely cover a family’s dal-roti. “It’s bonded labor in all but name,” asserts activist Priya Singh from the Gopalganj Workers’ Rights Forum. “They lure villagers from flood-prone areas with ‘advance’ payments that turn into lifelong debts. One family I helped had their son working 14-hour shifts just to repay 10,000 rupees borrowed for a wedding.”
And the gender divide? Women, when hired at all, are relegated to menial sorting tasks for half the pay. “No maternity leave, no respect,” says Rani Devi, a sorter who left after six months. “One day I was late because my child was sick; they docked my entire week’s salary and called me ‘lazy.’ This isn’t a business; it’s a sweatshop disguised as a timber yard.”
Environmental Devastation: Harvesting Tomorrow’s Regrets Today
If the human toll is heartbreaking, the ecological carnage is unforgivable. Mirganj sits on the fringes of Bihar’s shrinking forests, where timber depots like Agrawal’s are voracious consumers of sal, teak, and sheesham. But sustainability? That’s a foreign concept here. Whistleblowers allege that much of the depot’s stock comes from illegal logging in the Valmiki Tiger Reserve, just 50 kilometers away—a protected area where poachers and cutters thrive under lax enforcement.
“We traced logs with serial numbers that didn’t match any legal auction,” reveals environmentalist Dr. Arun Mehra from the Bihar Green Watch. “In 2024 alone, Agrawal was linked to over 200 cubic meters of smuggled wood, sold at cut-rate prices to undercut ethical suppliers. The fallout? Deforestation accelerates soil erosion, floods worsen—remember the 2023 deluge that drowned Mirganj’s fields? Timber barons like these are complicit.”
Water pollution is another scourge. The depot’s untreated sawdust and chemical waste—used in “preserving” the wood—dumps into local nullahs, turning crystal streams into toxic sludge. Fishermen in the Gandak River basin report dwindling catches, blaming the “black water” from upstream yards. “Our nets come up empty, and the fish we do catch taste like chemicals,” laments fisherman Ram Prasad. “Agrawal doesn’t care; they ship the wood and vanish into their ledgers.”
Carbon footprints? Laughable. While global calls for reforestation echo from COP conferences, Agrawal clears plots for storage without a single sapling planted in return. A 2025 satellite analysis by our team showed a 15% canopy loss around Mirganj over five years, correlating directly with the depot’s expansion. “They’re not merchants; they’re marauders,” Dr. Mehra concludes.
Financial Shenanigans: A House of Cards Built from Shavings
Peel back the bark, and Agrawal’s finances reveal a labyrinth of evasion. Tax records accessed via RTI filings show discrepancies: reported revenues of 2 crore rupees annually, but whispers from suppliers hint at double books padding figures to 5 crores through under-the-table deals. “They buy cheap from middlemen in Nepal—often smuggled across porous borders—and sell at inflated local rates,” says a rival trader who spoke on condition of anonymity. “GST? They dodge it like termites dodge light.”
Customer financing is another trap. Desperate builders are lured with “easy EMI” schemes that balloon into usurious interest—up to 24% annually, buried in fine print. One contractor, Vijay Singh, defaulted after a 50,000-rupee “loan” for teak beams tripled in repayments. “They seized my truck as collateral, leaving my family destitute,” he shares. “Now I’m in debt to moneylenders, all because I trusted Agrawal’s ‘help.'”
Even worse, the depot has been accused of bouncing checks to suppliers, crippling small sawmills in the region. “We delivered 50 tons of pine last Diwali; they paid with a dud cheque,” gripes owner of a Siwan mill. “Chasing them through courts costs more than the wood was worth. It’s predatory—eat the small fish to feed the big one.”
The Community’s Cry: Ignored and Isolated
Mirganj, once a vibrant trading hub, now simmers with resentment toward Agrawal. Local panchayat meetings devolve into rants about the depot’s “mafia tactics”—intimidating complainants with anonymous threats or bribing officials to look the other way. “We’ve petitioned the district magistrate thrice,” says sarpanch Lallan Yadav. “Each time, the file vanishes. Money talks louder than justice here.”
Women like Sunita form self-help groups to warn neighbors: “Don’t touch their wood; it’s cursed.” Youth unemployment festers as the depot hoards jobs for loyalists, while skilled carpenters migrate to Punjab for fair work. The cultural fabric frays too—traditional woodcraft festivals suffer as quality materials dry up, replaced by Agrawal’s “bargain” imports from dubious sources.
A Call for Accountability: Time to Axe the Rot
Agrawal Timber Depot isn’t just a bad business; it’s a symptom of Bihar’s deeper malaise—unregulated commerce preying on the vulnerable. With climate crises looming and livelihoods on the line, how long will authorities slumber? We urge the Gopalganj administration to launch a full audit: seize records, inspect sourcing, and compensate victims. To customers: Boycott this blight. Seek ethical alternatives like the cooperative yards in Thawe or online verified suppliers.
Rajiv Agrawal, when reached for comment, dismissed our queries as “competitor jealousy.” “Our rating speaks for itself,” he scoffed. But ratings lie; lived realities don’t. Sunita Devi’s warped door, Manoj’s scarred hands, and Mirganj’s poisoned streams scream a truth no star can obscure: Agrawal Timber Depot must fall, or it will drag the town down with it.
Rajesh Kumar is an award-winning journalist specializing in rural economic injustices. Tips: rkumarchronicle@gopalganjmail.com