Tribal Couple Sold Gold to Launch Girls' Football Academy

In 2016, when eight-year-old Ishika Oraon wanted to play football in rural Bengal, her village had one word: no. Her parents, Raju and Lalita, had a different answer.

They quit their jobs, sold their gold jewelry, and kept their daughter training. The backlash was swift and harsh in Shyamnagar, where many believed girls in shorts would bring shame to their tribal community.

Raju asked neighbors one simple question: "If my daughter plays, why can't yours?" That question changed everything.

The couple started the Shyamnagar Unite Adivasi Football Academy in their village, then opened Bhandarhati Adivasi Sporting Club nearby. Their founding rule remains absolute: if you can't afford to pay, you still get to play.

The transformation happened slowly, then suddenly. Parents who once hid their daughters began pushing them toward the field instead of away from it. Today, 80 girls train in Shyamnagar and 20 more in Bhandarhati.

Former East Bengal striker Budhiram Tudu returned home to coach the girls through muddy grounds and monsoon slush. "If you learn here, you can play anywhere," he tells them.

For years, the girls played just two or three matches per season. Then leagues like the Kanyashree Cup and Reliance Foundation Youth Sports opened up, giving them 21 competitive matches annually.

The wins started piling up. Under-13 teams lifted state titles. Under-7 squads went unbeaten in the Golden Baby League. Some players reached the prestigious Subroto Cup, and a few even made it to the Indian Women's League.

The Ripple Effect

The academy hasn't just created football players. It's rewritten what's possible for tribal girls across two villages. Families that once saw education and sports as luxuries for boys now see them as rights for everyone.

The girls train together with boys, breaking down barriers with every practice. They're learning more than footwork and strategy. They're learning they belong anywhere they choose to show up.

Lalita watches them train with pride. "The children don't want rest," she says, smiling. "They want to play."

The biggest trophy isn't sitting in a case. It's the freedom to run, fall, rise, and dream of wearing the India jersey one day.