In the heartland of Jharkhand, tribal communities have long relied on the signs of nature to predict the weather. From bird nests to flower blooms, from black ants to bamboo ropes, these time-tested indicators once offered crucial guidance for farming seasons. But as climate patterns grow increasingly erratic, the deep-rooted ecological wisdom of generations is facing unprecedented challenges.
In Chitramu village of Khunti district, Ashok Munda, the gram pradhan, watches the nesting behaviour of the common swift locally known as the lipi bird for clues about the coming rains. A larger-than-usual nest, according to him, signals a weak monsoon. In neighbouring Gumla, villagers track the flowering of amaltas and the appearance of kaash grass to understand when to sow or when the rainy season might end.
For centuries, these patterns were reliable, passed down through oral traditions, rituals, and festivals. On Sarhul, two water-filled pots are observed overnight to gauge the monsoon. During the Karma festival, the strength of a bamboo rope holding a suspended basket foretells the duration of rains. Such methods, built on generations of observation, formed the foundation of rain-fed agriculture across tribal Jharkhand.
But nature is no longer speaking in the same way.
As monsoons become more unpredictable and temperatures rise, these traditional indicators are losing their accuracy. “The rains arrive early and end abruptly now,” says Devi Mahto from Kumkuma village. With paddy crops increasingly water-stressed, farmers are shifting to hybrid seeds that can survive on less rainfall.
The shift isn’t just affecting agriculture. Tribes once used the appearance and behaviour of animals like frogs and crickets to read the weather. But fluctuating temperatures are disrupting these creatures’ natural cycles, making them unreliable for forecasting. “Frogs don’t call out the way they used to, and crickets are silent when they should be singing,” says Eklavya Prasad of Megh Pyne Abhiyan, an organisation working on water issues in the region.
Traditional signs associated with festivals, too, have faltered. The Rath Yatra in Ranchi and the Manda Puja both historically accompanied by rain are now seeing dry skies. “We always counted on these events to mark the beginning of sowing,” says Ram Lal Munda from Burju village. “Now, the rains don’t come as expected.”
Some, like Suman Kujur, an ASHA facilitator in Gumla, fear that their ancestral knowledge is being outpaced by a rapidly changing climate. “We grew up learning to read nature. But now, the signs are no longer clear. Maybe we must turn to science,” she says.
Yet even as old methods stumble, they remain a testament to the intimate relationship between indigenous communities and their environment. The stories of nests, flowers, festivals and frogs reflect a deep ecological awareness one that deserves recognition, even as it adapts or fades in the face of modern uncertainties.
In Jharkhand’s forests and fields, the weather still speaks. But with each passing season, fewer people understand its language.