मऊहा के फुलवा ह, जे मया के दवई आय,
सुघ्घर बनावत देथे, जीयत जिनगी मया ले भरय
(The mahwa flowers, they are the medicine of love, they craft beauty, filling life with love)
- Folk song from Bastar (Chhattisgarh, India)
Long before the sun warms the narrow lanes of Kamepur, a sleepy village deep within Bastar, Chhattisgarh, Champa is already awake. She steps quietly through the earthen courtyard, careful not to disturb Kosal, her husband, who lies sprawled on a woven charpoy, or the bundled shapes of their children nearby. A few hens scratch around near the door. The air feels heavy with the perfume of mahwa flowers, also called mahua. The fragrant flowers lie scattered in small golden heaps under the broad trees at the edge of the compound.
Champa bends to pick up the first mahwa blossoms of the season, their sweet stickiness faint on her fingertips. “Phuli, get up!” she calls, her voice gentle yet insistent. Phuli is shortened from Phulmani, and is the name of the sixteen-year-old daughter of Champa and Kosal. She sits up groggy, stretching and already reaching for her metal thali.
“You always want me to do the morning flowers, Ma,” she grumbles. “Let Biraj have a turn for once!” Biraj, just ten, rolls the blanket over his head and mutters something about older sisters being bossy, especially those who always get the best internet signal.
This scene of family gathering on the morning rounds beneath the mahwa tree is their daily anchor. In Kamepur, this is the way the year begins and ends, the pulse of time measured by what grows, falls, and is gathered from this sacred tree. All through Bastar, mahwa is not only food, but also faith, sustenance, medicine, and memory.
At winter’s end, anticipation for the mahwa harvest runs through the village. Just before the blossoms fall, Champa and Phuli, together with other village women, clear dry leaves and grass from beneath the mahwa trees. “We clean the ground so the flowers don’t get mixed with mud and leaves,” explains Neelu Korram, a neighbor whose voice rings loud at the weekly haat. Fires in the forest remain a constant worry. Villagers, mostly women, now gather fallen leaves into compost piles instead of burning them, protecting their precious mahwa from accidental flames.
As the harvest begins, the village often seems deserted. Most families take baskets into the woods, returning only when the loads grow heavy with cleaned mahwa flowers. For the Korram family and Champa’s, these baskets serve as safety nets. Selling dried mahwa, bamboo, and tendu leaves buys rice, pays school fees, and covers bare necessities during lean months.
Food, Faith, and Festivals: Mahwa in Everyday Tribal Life
Mahwa shapes every festival and milestone. During marriage talks, the Kamepur families distil mahwa liquor to signal their bond and share out sweetness. Mahwa’s shriveled golden flowers are dried, then transformed in the village kitchens into mahwa pulao, mahwa laddoo, mahwa phool mithai, mahwa pickle and chutney, and even mahwa oil for body massage and home remedies. “My mother used to swear by mahwa oil for fever and aching joints,” Champa recalls, rolling dough for hot mahwa roti while Phuli grinds dried blossoms with a stone.
When birthdays and weddings roll around, mahwa liquor flows in copper tumblers, with elders quietly tipping their cups to thank the tree. Even the temple at the far end of Kamepur receives a floral offering — a handful of mahwa, melded with the simple prayers uttered by the old priest at dawn.
Summer beckons : Women, Markets, and Survival
As summer sharpens its heat, the family prepares for one of the year’s highlights: a trip about 50 kms further into Abujhmarh forest, deeper than any path near Kamepur. Kosal, reluctant but resigned, packs bamboo baskets, rope, water, and dhuska (traditional deep fried snack made from batter of ground rice and lentils) for the journey. “Biraj, help me carry this,” Kosal calls. Biraj, sleepy and cross, groans that “Phuli always gets more WhatsApp messages anyway,” drawing laughter from the others. Phuli, phone in hand, replies with an emoji dance and a teasing smile toward her brother.
Abujhmarh lies ahead as a green tapestry, a maze of sal and mahwa where the harvest is thickest. Champa and Phuli wade through grass and fallen leaves, hunting the best trees, while Kosal and Biraj scout ahead for wild bees, monkeys, or pigs nosing the same ground. Today, a branch snaps and Kosal stumbles, prompting Champa to taunt him in a playful way, “You always want the best tree, but maybe it’s your strong arms the women watch instead.” Kosal only grins, scratches his head, and says nothing. They will laugh about it later, over sweet black tea.
In the forest, the work turns exhausting but sacred. “Each tree belongs to everyone,” says Manish Kashyap, the local forest officer who often joins villagers during festival time. “If we do not focus on regeneration, the trees will soon vanish, and with them, a world will be lost.” Villagers take only what they need, leaving enough blossoms for bees and birds. Preservation campaigns run in parallel, teaching families and schoolchildren the importance of planting new saplings.
By late afternoon, with their baskets heavy, hands sticky and everything fragrant with mahwa, the group treks back toward Kamepur. On the return, Phuli boasts about posting flower photos in her school WhatsApp group, while Biraj sulks over missing out on games. Kosal shakes his head, muttering that “modern kids would rather click buttons than climb trees.”
Back in the village, the mahwa haul becomes the center of meals and rituals for weeks. Neighbors gather over mahwa roti and spicy bamboo shoot curry. Haat market days turn into festivals, with women trading bundles of dried mahwa for fish, jaggery, and pots. The air buzzes with gossip and laughter as everyone shares stories of the season. Sometimes Champa sings odd verses about mahwa’s power to heal and nourish. These are lines her grandmother taught her, laced with half-remembered melodies from another time.
Challenges Ahead: Monsoon rains and the cycle of mahwa
Life moves in circles. Monsoon rains sweep through, flooding the woods and turning dry paths to muddy streams. During these months, the village depends on fermented mahwa for both food and drink. When someone falls ill or a child is born, elders brew mahwa liquor not just for celebration but for its believed protective properties. “After the umbilical cord is cut, drops of mahwa help keep the spirit safe,” says Neelu.
Death, too, is marked by mahwa. After a funeral, relatives sit together sipping mahwa and offering prayers for peace. The tree’s cycle of birth, marriage, festival, and parting binds the scattered seasons and the scattered lives, into one story.
At year’s end, Champa and Kosal sit under the mahwa, tired but smiling. Their children stand as living proof of change and continuity. “Things change, seasons change, but mahwa keeps us together,” Kosal says, his voice carrying through the limbs of the sleeping tree.
The next morning, life begins again: sweeping the ground, offering the first handful of mahwa, speaking a prayer, laughing at dreams and duties. In Kamepur, the cycle of mahwa endures, an unbroken link across generations, faith, and everyday survival.
Royal Bee Brothers Engagement with Community
Royal Bee Brothers’ engagement with tribal communities extends beyond honey to embrace the wider forest-based traditions that sustain village life. In Bastar, where Mahwa blossoms mark the rhythm of seasons, festivals, and family survival, the same families who gather Mahwa also tend the wild hives that yield honey. By working directly with these households, Royal Bee Brothers helps preserve both practices—supporting sustainable honey collection while respecting Mahwa’s cultural and economic role. This approach not only creates fair income opportunities but also strengthens community stewardship of the forest, ensuring that both Mahwa and honey remain shared legacies of resilience, nourishment, and tradition.
• Learn More about Royal Bee Brothers: Discover their wild organic honey and sustainable practices
• Join the Community: Get involved with local initiatives like the Royal Bee Brother program to promote and support the community. Write to us at info@royalbeebrothers.com to know how you can be part of the program.
