Helping A Tribe In A Remote Indian Corner Combat Climate Change – OpEd

Members of the Katkari community are seen collecting saplings brought to their remote hamlet in Raigad district, Maharashtra, in western India by the Society of the Divine Word (SVD). (Photo: Supplied)

 September 24, 2025  

By Dr. Fr. John Singarayar and UCA News

(UCA News) — The morning mist still clung to the hills when Nanita Jadhav heard the tempo truck approaching her tiny hamlet. At 12 years old, she has learnt to be wary of outsiders coming to their remote corner of Maharashtra state in western India. Too often, they bring promises that never bear fruit.

Jadhav’s hamlet is one of 22 settlements of the Katkari tribal people scattered across the scenic Tala taluka (subdistrict) of Raigad district, located barely 100 kilometers (62 miles) from India’s commercial capital, Mumbai (formerly Bombay).

Wedged between the Arabian Sea — experiencing rising surface temperature extremes in the last decade — and the eco-sensitive Western Ghats, this narrow strip of land called Konkan is faced with a tough choice between development and environmental protection.

Raigad district is witnessing massive infrastructure development as it gradually merges with the congested Mumbai Metropolitan Region. As rapid urbanization becomes inevitable, the remote hamlets in Tala subdistrict may become the epicenter of an environmental crisis, warn activists.

The scarcity of potable water, deforestation, heavy rainfall, floods, and water pollution resulting from the release of harmful effluents by chemical industries are some of the major issues they noted.

But today felt different even for the 12-year-old girl. The visitors were Catholic priests and nuns, accompanied by young volunteers, who carried something precious — green saplings wrapped in eco-friendly bags, their roots eager to find fertile soil.

Nanita Jadhav’s maternal grandmother, Geeta Pawar, stepped forward. At 62, her back was bent from years of gathering forest produce, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

In her weathered hands, she received a neem sapling — a fast-growing tree of the mahogany family. She had been taught by her grandmother to revere it for its healing powers.

“This little one will grow tall and strong, just like you,” Pawar whispered to her own granddaughter, before passing the sapling to her. “But first, we must teach it to love this soil.”

The Katkari people instinctively knew they were not just receiving charity or being lectured. They were being recognized as what they have always been — guardians of the land, keepers of ecological wisdom that the modern world desperately needed.

But in Maharashtra, they have been declared as a “primitive tribe” and treated as such by the educated urban people.

The Katkaris have a sizeable population in Raigad district, approximately 119,573 out of a 305,125 total tribal population, according to official data. In Tala subdistrict, they form about 12 percent or approximately 4,590 people living in settlements or hamlets, commonly referred to as Katkariwadis.

In the local Marathi language, a wadi implies a small group of people staying together, though not as big as a village.

The Katkari’s traditional occupation was to extract the astringent katha or catechu from tree bark. However, due to the many rules and restrictions imposed by the forest department to prevent deforestation, this trade has all but disappeared.

They now make a meager living by selling the leaves of medicinal trees that they collect from the forest. Some people rear goats and trade in their milk. The Katkari community also eats the meat of rats and other forest rodents.

Lacking land or jungle rights, the men are compelled to migrate and take on menial jobs at charcoal or brick kilns in the district.

For decades now, this marginalized community has been battling livelihood insecurity and decreased food and resource availability. The rapidly degrading forest ecosystems, intensifying water scarcity, unpredictable rainfall and flooding, as well as increasing sea-level rise and saltwater intrusion, are adding to its woes, noted activists.

Hence, the Society of the Divine Word (SVD) decided to embrace its missionary calling in the remote region through its “planting” program — establishing deep, enduring roots within the tribal community.

Rather than conducting temporary interventions, this approach reflects the SVD’s global mission philosophy of incarnational ministry, where missionaries do not simply visit communities but become integral parts of them.

The priests, nuns and volunteers have driven for hours through winding mountain roads to reach their hamlet.

“Today, we plant tomorrow,” a priest declared in broken Marathi, his weathered hands already dirty from the morning’s preparation.

Behind him stood the volunteers, their faces bright with purpose.

The words draw smiles from the gathering crowd. Children peeked out from behind their mothers’ saris (a garment worn by women in the subcontinent) while elderly men nodded knowingly. They understood the language of trees better than most.

What happened next transformed an ordinary morning ritual into an unlikely family one under the gathering monsoon clouds.

The SVD priests worked alongside tribal elders, their volunteers learning from children who knew which birds nested where and which plants healed which ailments.

The traditional knowledge of the Katkari people guides every planting decision, from soil preparation to seasonal timing.

Ramesh Gaikwad, a college student from Mumbai, found himself digging beside Suresh Pawar, a Katkari farmer whose hands told stories of countless seasons.

“The earth remembers every seed,” Pawar said, his voice carrying the wisdom of generations. “We plant not just for fruit, but for the children’s children we will never meet.”

The saplings carried their own stories. Mango trees promised sweet summers decades ahead. Guava offered hope for small incomes.

The medicinal tulsi plants honored ancient knowledge passed down through whispered remedies. Bamboo shoots would grow into sturdy poles for homes, while their roots quietly prevented the soil from washing away in heavy rains.

But perhaps the most powerful moment came when young Akash Waghmare, barely six, planted a jamun tree with his own small hands. His father explained how this purple fruit tree would outlive them all, feeding his children and grandchildren.

As Akash Waghmare patted the soil around the tiny stem, he made a promise he did not fully understand yet — to water it, protect it, and trust in its future.

Sister Maria Joseph, who had spent 15 years working with the tribal community, watched these exchanges with quiet joy.

By living among the Katkari people since 2013, the SVD has cultivated trust through shared experiences, understanding of local customs, and responses to community-identified priorities.

This patient, long-term commitment has allowed their mission to flourish organically, creating sustainable transformation that continues growing even when direct oversight diminishes — truly embodying the metaphor of seeds planted in fertile ground.

The nun remembered Pope Francis’s words from Laudato Si’ — that the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor were one and the same. Here, in this simple act of planting, she saw both cries being answered.

As the day wore on, 1,200 saplings found new homes across eight hamlets. But more than trees were planted. Relationships took root between urban and rural, between different faiths and cultures, and between hope and action.

Geeta Pawar found herself teaching Sister Maria Joseph about plants that repelled insects naturally, while little Nanita Jadhav learned from a priest about trees that could survive droughts.

Knowledge flowed like water finding its level — essential, nourishing, unstoppable.

By evening, as the volunteers prepared to return to their cities, the transformation was visible. Not in the tiny saplings, still fragile in their new soil, but in the faces around them.

Children who had felt forgotten now carried themselves a little taller. Elders who had watched their forests disappear saw reason for hope again.

Nanita Jadhav stood beside her newly planted neem tree as the trucks prepared to leave. The sapling looked impossibly small against the vast sky, but she understood something profound that many adults miss — great changes begin with small acts of faith.

As the priests, nuns, and volunteers waved goodbye, Nanita Jadhav waved back, her dirt-stained hand holding promise.

Tomorrow, she will water her tree.

“And in that simple act, she would join countless others around the world who understand that hope is not something we wait for — it is something we plant,” noted Sister Maria Joseph.

Dr. Fr. John Singarayar

Dr. Fr. John Singarayar, SVD, is a member of the Society of the Divine Word, India Mumbai Province, and holds a doctorate in Anthropology. He is the author of seven books and a regular contributor to academic conferences and scholarly publications in the fields of sociology, anthropology, tribal studies, spirituality, and mission studies. He currently serves at the Community and Human Resources Development Centre in Tala, Maharashtra.