Bonphool: Chapter 1 - The long incubation of an idea

 [Today Bonphool is very popular honey brand at the national level. It was created six years back in 2020. I never spoke openly claiming on its success. The entire journey of success has been long and result of contribution from many individuals. I will be sharing the entire journey in series.]

(This Picture was taken on my office desk)                                

I grew up in a rural environment where financial struggles were part of everyday life. Watching my parents and the people around me work hard just to sustain their livelihoods, shaped my perspective early on and instilled in me a strong desire to work on improving the lives of the most vulnerable.

My keen interest in wildlife led me to pursue a degree in forestry, followed by a Master’s from the College of Forestry in Kodagu, Karnataka—a region known for its coffee plantations with abundant forest full of elephant all around it. Coffee plantation with natural tree covers attracts all the wildlife. Regular movement of elephant cause lot of damage to coffee plantation.

Over the years, several measures have been attempted to mitigate this conflict—from elephant-proof trenches and electric fencing to the use of bee-box barriers. Yet, elephants, being highly intelligent, have gradually adapted to many of these interventions.

During my time there in 2004, there was discussion on an idea: what if coffee grown in elephant-affected plantations could be branded and marketed with a conservation narrative? A product that tells a story—appealing to global consumers to support elephant conservation while compensating farmers for their losses. However, the idea remained confined to discussions.

From then on, the concept continued to incubate in my mind. Wherever I went, whichever forest landscape I visited, I kept returning to the same thought: can conservation be made economically meaningful for people living in human–wildlife conflict zones? I began to think of branding and value addition for products originating from such landscapes.

During my training IFS training period at Indira Gandhi National Forest Academy, I continued to explore similar ideas—envisioning wildlife-linked branding (such as tiger landscapes) as a means to generate livelihood opportunities and offset human–wildlife conflict. While these ideas were appreciated in discussions, they did not translate into action.

A similar response followed during a one-week training module at the Indian Institute of Forest Management. The concept was acknowledged as innovative, yet seen as impractical for field-level execution.

My first attempt to translate this vision into practice came in Amkhoi village in Birbhum district, where I worked towards promoting ecotourism through the development of a fossil park. The initiative gained local popularity and began creating livelihood opportunities for tribal communities. However, due to my transfer, several planned interventions could not be fully realized.

It was only after taking charge in South 24 Parganas district that I found an opportunity to work directly in a wildlife landscape and begin implementing an idea that was incubating in my mind for nearly 18 years—integrating conservation with livelihood support by creating value around human–wildlife coexistence.

This is where the journey begins: not with success, but with an idea that chose to wait, evolve, and find its time.

(To be continued …..)

Life deep inside the creeks of Sundarbans

(This is one story etched in my memory from a field day in Sundarbans on 17th December, 2019). 

It was a winter day in the Sundarbans. A quiet chill from the sea drifted through the whispering mangrove forest, carrying the scent of salt, mud, and stillness. Murali Sir (Senior IFS officer) and I were returning to Jharkhali from Bonnie Camp. Leaving the wide expanse of the Bidya River, our boat turned left into the narrow embrace of the Suryamukhi Creek—one of those creeks that holds life in abundance and danger in equal measure.

The tide was low. Vast stretches of muddy creek bed lay exposed, glistening under the pale winter sun. This brief window of retreating water invited life to emerge. Spotted deers were stepping cautiously along the banks, wild boars rummaged through the mud, whistling ducks dotted the shallows, and countless birds and animals revealed themselves, as if the forest had momentarily lifted its veil.

Midway through the creek, we spotted a small wooden boat—humble and quiet—carrying a husband and wife. As a routine habit, I approached the fisherman to check his permit. He held a valid authorization to fish within the forest block. While the husband tended to his nets with practiced patience, the wife on the other end of the boat was completely absorbed in preparing food for him.

Their boat was conveying a simple story of survival: prawns resting in a small bowl, crabs packed in ice—fresh catches of the day. Strands of small fasha fish were pierced with thread and tied to the roof of the boat, drying slowly in the winter air, swaying gently with every movement of the creek.

During my two-year stint in the Sundarbans, I had seen many such boats—husbands and wives venturing deep into the mangrove labyrinth, often for three or four days at a stretch. These journeys were not adventures; they were acts of necessity.

The couples are fishing in a place where a tiger could leap from the forest without warning if they step onto land, and where a crocodile could rise silently from the water if they lost their balance. Yet, the couple remained calm, bound by more than just work. They supported each other not only by sharing labour, but also by facing all the odds around them.

From dawn to dusk, their lives revolved around fishing, cooking and helping each other. In that fragile boat, floating between water and forest, they understood each other’s silences, fears, and needs. Life had taught them a simple lesson: survival in the Sundarbans is never solitary—it is always together.

While coming back to home from the trip, life of couple lingered in my thoughts. In today’s urban life, husbands and wives rarely struggle for food or shelter. With comfort and time at their disposal, they often search for reasons to argue. Yet here, in the heart of the Sundarbans, a couple fought against hunger, wilderness, and death—side by side—without complaint, without conflict. 

Amidst the tidal mangrove jungle, existence is not questioned—it is lived, side by side.

 

Herobhanga block of Mangrove forest between Bidya and Matla river. The red circle is the place where fishing couple were spotted.

Murali Sir (My senior IFS officer)

A lone boat in the Jungle

Wife cooking food for her fishing husband

Chapra Chingri (Prawn) - Catch of the day

Fasha fish kept on the roof of the boat for drying