Jobs for life: the father desperate to see his son walk a different path

At the end of a row of bamboo huts in the Yarpur slum, each fronted with strings of brightly coloured clothes, Suraj Ram appears bare-chested from a manhole. The 22-year-old is one of the city's sanitation workers who enter the depths of the sewage network to manually clear blockages – a job often reserved for Dalits.

"The machines used to clean the drains are not that effective and often break down," he explains. "Ultimately we are the people on which the system relies."

It is risky work: the buildup of waste emits a lethal cocktail of carbon monoxide and methane. "There are many times I feel afraid," Suraj admits. "A lot of the time you find snakes, scorpions and insects, and many times people have died because of the poisonous gases. It is very scary work."

Until recently there was no legislation in place to protect sanitation workers, but the recent updates to the manual scavenging bill have now made it illegal to clean sewers without protective equipment. If properly enforced, Ram's working conditions should soon improve. Ram began sanitation work when he was eight years old, starting as a sweeper before cleaning his first drain when he was 12. But he has other hopes for his three-year-old son.

"I don't think there will be a day when I don't have to do this work," he says. "But I do not want my son to be like me and when he is older I have plans to send him to school."

Community efforts: the drive to change minds

Usha Shrivastava, 36, community mobilisation leader at Nidan. Photograph: Poulomi Basu

"The government is not doing enough for these people, it's an injustice," says Usha Shrivastava. "Their office is very near to these slum areas – they see things every day – but they never support this community." Shrivastava, 36, has been a community worker for Nidan for 12 years.

She works to ensure Dalits across Bihar gain better access to basic services like water, sanitation and education, and helps them access government assistance programmes. But she says that it is not always easy convincing the communities that help is available.

"Dalits also need to change their mentality and attitude," she explains. "Often there is reluctance to accept our help and sometimes I have to fight with them. These communities have had a lot of bitter experiences in their lives and have been cheated many times. Many have lost their confidence."

She says that since she started there are fewer Dalits in Bihar who are sanitation workers, and many Dalit children are now in school. "There are changes, but there is still a long way to go," she says, a smile spreading across her face. "I am well prepared for it."

Cottage industries: the Patna family that broke free

Vinod Ram broke free from manual scavenging thanks to a government loan. Photograph: Poulomi Basu

In the shade of a brick wall in Takiyapar slum, Vinod Ram and his wife, Buchni Devi, sit nimbly twisting lengths of bamboo into wicker baskets that he will sell at local markets. As he talks about watching Bollywood hero Raj Kumar on his new TV, a shy smile creeps across his face. It is clearly a proud moment for the 25-year-old: a few years ago he was earning 1,500 rupees (£15) a month as a manual scavenger.

"There is no waste worse than human excrement," Ram says in his quiet, rasping voice. "Sometimes the waste would spill on me and the smell was so bad I used to have to drink liquor before work to cope. I was untouchable to all the other castes, even to other Dalits."

With the help of WaterAid's partner organisation, Nidan, Ram accessed a government loan of 30,000 rupees (£303), which he used to set up his basket-making business and a pig-rearing venture. He now earns around 6,000 rupees (£62) each month.

"It wasn't easy starting my own business," he says. "But I was determined not to start scavenging again. Now I can sit with other people and there isn't the same level of discrimination. I am sending my son to school and I hope that he will be able to do much better than me."

Sustained resistance: the campaigner who has battled for three decades

Safai Karmachari Andolan (SKA) works to liberate thousands of manual scavengers

Bezwada Wilson has been battling against manual scavenging since the 1980s, and he shows no signs of slowing down. When he found out his parents were sanitation workers, Wilson began a tireless campaign for the eradication of the practice and the full rehabilitation of the community.

He is a founding partner of activist organisation Safai Karmachari Andolan (SKA), which has worked to liberate thousands of manual scavengers, helping them find the courage to burn their baskets and refuse to work.

"There have been many changes since I started," he says. "In the beginning the community didn't want to talk about the problem, but now they have come out and started shouting. They are not so voiceless now."

Wilson says the eradication of manual scavenging will right the injustices Dalits have faced for centuries, finally breaking the link between occupation and caste. "Once the stigma is broken there is a possibility for these communities to participate in the economic growth of the country," he explains. "India will grow faster and will become a more democratic place."

But Wilson says there is a long journey ahead. "There are still many who are waiting," he says. "But when I see manual scavengers find freedom and self-respect, when they throw away their baskets, it gives me the strength to keep fighting."