Hope Grows Where Communities Plant Together – OpEd


September 19, 2025 

By Dr. Fr. John Singarayar


The morning mist still clung to the hills when Nanita heard the trucks approaching her village. At twelve years old, she had learnt to be wary of outsiders coming to their remote corner of Maharashtra. Too often, they brought promises that never bloomed.


But today felt different. These visitors carried something precious – tiny green lives wrapped in plastic bags, roots eager to find soil.

Father John stepped out first, his weathered hands already dirty from the morning’s preparation. Behind him came volunteers, their faces bright with purpose. They had driven for hours through winding mountain roads to reach this hamlet, one of eight Katkari settlements scattered across Raigad district.

“Today, we plant tomorrow,” Father John announced in broken Marathi, his words drawing smiles from the gathering crowd. Children peeked out from behind their mothers’ saris while elderly men nodded knowingly. They understood the language of trees better than most.

Nanita’s grandmother, Geeta, stepped forward. At sixty-two, her back was bent from years of gathering forest produce, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. In her weathered hands, she received a small neem sapling—a tree her own grandmother had taught her to revere for its healing powers.

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



What happened next transformed an ordinary morning into something magical. Under the gathering monsoon clouds, an unlikely family formed. SVD priests worked alongside tribal elders, their volunteers learning from children who knew which birds nested where and which plants healed which ailments.

Ramesh, a college student from Mumbai, found himself digging beside Suresh, a Katkari farmer whose hands told stories of countless seasons. “The earth remembers every seed,” Suresh shared, 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. Medicinal tulsi plants honoured 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, barely six, planted a jamun tree with his own small hands. His father had explained that this purple fruit tree would outlive them all, feeding his children and grandchildren. As Akash 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, who had spent fifteen years working with tribal communities, watched these exchanges with quiet joy. She 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.

The Katkari people were not just receiving charity. They were being recognised as what they had always been—guardians of the land, keepers of ecological wisdom that the modern world desperately needed. Their traditional knowledge guided every planting decision, from soil preparation to seasonal timing.

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

Geeta found herself teaching Sister Maria which plants repelled insects naturally, while little Nanita learnt from Father John 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.

Ten years earlier, Pope Francis had written about caring for our common home. His words had travelled across continents and languages to reach this remote valley, where they became living reality through muddy hands and shared dreams.

Nanita 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.

In twenty years, this tree would shade her children. In fifty, it would heal her grandchildren’s ailments. But today, right now, it was already changing the world by changing how she saw herself—not as someone waiting for help, but as someone with the power to heal the earth.

As Father John waved goodbye, Nanita waved back, her dirt-stained hand holding promise. Tomorrow, she would 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.


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.