Bonphool: Chapter 4 – A Safer Future for Bees and Maulis

 Pranab Mondal first suggested the idea of promoting apiaries as an adaptable and practical livelihood option for the people of the Sundarbans. Soshan complemented the idea with valuable business advice, helping us plan every stage of the enterprise—from training honey collectors in beekeeping and nurturing bee colonies to harvesting and marketing honey.

My next task was to identify suitable beneficiaries and launch a sustainable beekeeping programme that would improve the livelihoods of local communities while contributing to the conservation of the Sundarbans ecosystem. My vision was to create a true win-win model, where people prospered while wildlife and forests benefited.

Why Sustainable Beekeeping?

Since time immemorial, the people of the Sundarbans have ventured deep into the mangrove forests to collect wild honey. These traditional honey collectors are known as Maulis.

For generations, honey collection has been more than a livelihood; it has been a way of life. Yet it is one of the most dangerous occupations in the Sundarbans.

The forest paths are muddy and criss-crossed with tangled mangrove roots that often-wound bare feet. The landscape is surrounded by saline water, yet not a drop is fit for drinking. Every Mauli must therefore carry drinking water, food, fuel and other essentials for several days inside the forest. Along the way, they encounter venomous cobras and crocodiles. Above all, they live under the constant threat of Dakshin Rai—the local name for the tiger during the honey collection season.

Figure 4.1: Maulis in the mangrove forests for honey collection. 

Every year, several honey collectors lose their lives to tiger attacks.

For a Mauli, every journey into the forest is a gamble between life and livelihood. Every moment is a fight for survival. Honey and crab collection in the mangroves remain among the most dangerous livelihoods in the Sundarbans.

Despite these dangers, generations of Maulis have continued to enter the mangrove forests because that is where the honey lies hidden.

In the wild, bees collect nectar from mangrove flowers and store honey deep inside the forest. In contrast, bees kept in apiary boxes along the forest fringe collect nectar from the very same mangrove flowers and return safely to their hives near the villages.

Watching this simple but remarkable behaviour of the bees gave birth to an idea.

"Instead of taking people to the honey, why not bring the honey to the people, where they are safe?"

That simple question became the foundation of our entire initiative.

The idea appeared deceptively simple. Yet, for generations, honey collection had always meant people entering the mangrove forests. No one had attempted to reverse that relationship—to let the bees continue their natural work while allowing the honey to return safely to the people.

Sometimes, conservation is not about changing nature; it is about changing the way we think.

Meeting with Maulis

The fishing season inside the protected forests extends from July to March, when villagers enter the mangroves primarily for crab collection. From April to June, the same people return as honey collectors.

Since Jharkali had been my starting point for journeys into the Sundarbans, and both Pranab Mondal and Soshan belonged to Jharkali, identifying the honey collectors became relatively easy. I began holding meetings with Maulis from Kultali, Nalgora and Ramaganga. They attended every meeting with open minds, eager to discuss both their hardships and their remarkable knowledge of the forest.

Every meeting opened another window into the lives of the Maulis and their extraordinary understanding of bees.

Honey collectors usually work in groups of five to ten. Once inside the forest, they remain there for four to seven days until they have collected sufficient honey. They carry drinking water, food, fuel, medicines and other basic necessities with them. During the day they search for bee colonies, while at night they sleep in their boats. One member stays behind to cook while the others venture into the forest.

Before entering the mangroves, the entire group performs puja and seeks the blessings of Bon Bibi for protection from Dakshin Rai.

The most experienced member leads the team in search of bee colonies. Since bees often build their colonies on the same trees year after year, he first searches for those familiar trees. To locate new colonies, he climbs the tallest tree and scans the forest canopy.

If bees are moving from one tree to another, they are still collecting nectar. If they are flying in a straight line, they have finished collecting nectar and are returning directly to their hive. The leader immediately follows the bee, while the rest of the team follows him.

During one of our meetings in the Nalgora area, an elderly Mauli, respected by everyone in the room, slowly stood up. Stretching out his arm as though following an invisible bee through the forest, he explained how years of experience had taught him to read a bee's flight.

"If the bee's abdomen is horizontal," he said, "its belly is still empty. It is collecting nectar and usually flies low. Once it has filled itself with nectar, the abdomen bends downward, and the bee flies higher in a straight line towards its hive."

The room, filled with men who had spent their lives in the mangroves, became completely silent. They all nodded in agreement. I realised I was not merely gathering information. I was witnessing generations of traditional knowledge that no textbook could ever teach.

The elderly Mauli resumed his seat, but his explanation lingered in my mind. It was astonishing to see how years of living with the forest had sharpened their powers of observation. What scientists might describe through research, the Maulis had learnt through generations of experience.

Once a bee has completed collecting nectar, it flies directly towards its hive. The experienced leader follows the bee, while the rest of the group follows him. It is a race through mud, tangled mangrove roots and dense vegetation, with their eyes fixed on a tiny insect that knows the way home.

It is during these moments that tragedy often strikes.

Completely absorbed in following the bee, a Mauli may suddenly come face to face with a tiger. There have been instances where fellow team members fought off a tiger to rescue a companion. Others survived only because they were rushed to a hospital in time. Some never returned.

If it is not the tiger, danger comes in many other forms. Venomous cobras lie hidden beneath the mangrove roots. Crocodiles lurk silently in the creeks. Cyclones can rise without warning, trapping boats far from safety. In the Sundarbans, death may come in many forms.

“Death walks beside every Mauli.”

As the discussions continued, one story after another unfolded. Every Mauli had a memory of a narrow escape. Some had scars left by tiger attacks. Others spoke quietly about friends who had disappeared into the forest and never returned. There was no bitterness in their voices—only acceptance of the risks that had become part of their lives.

Towards the end of one meeting, an elderly Mauli slowly stood up. Looking around at the younger members of the group, he said,

"Saar, we are growing old. Every year it becomes harder for us to enter the forest. We do not go there by choice. We go because our families depend on this honey."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"If the bees can bring the honey to us, perhaps our children will never have to chase tigers again."

The room fell silent.

His words stayed with me long after the meeting had ended.

In the Sundarbans, every drop of wild honey carries two stories—the sweetness of the forest and the courage of the people who collect it. The sweetness of wild honey is measured not merely in sugar, but in human courage.

The answer, perhaps, had been flying over the mangrove forests all along.

The bees already knew the way.

They did not need people to lead them to the flowers.

They only needed a safe place to return.

Every journey made by the bees meant one less dangerous journey for a honey collector.

That simple understanding transformed the way I looked at both conservation and livelihoods. The solution did not lie in asking the Maulis to become something else. It lay in allowing the bees to continue doing what they had always done, while ensuring that people no longer had to pay for honey with their lives.

Bringing Sweet Honey to the People

The idea was simple. Instead of sending people deep into the mangrove forests in search of honey, why not allow the bees to collect nectar from the mangrove flowers and bring the honey back to a place where people were safe?

To translate that idea into reality, we identified suitable locations inside Jharkali Wildlife Sanctuary, Bonnie Camp, Kalas Camp and Chulkati Camp. These forest camps were ideal. They were close enough for the bees to forage throughout the surrounding mangrove forests, yet secure enough to protect the apiary boxes from wildlife, flooding and other disturbances.

The bees would continue to visit the very same mangrove flowers that the wild bees had visited for centuries. The difference was that, instead of storing honey deep inside the forest, they would return to their hives in the protected camps. The honey would come to the people, rather than the people risking their lives to reach the honey.

The initiative was not merely about producing honey. Every journey made by the bees into the mangrove forests also meant pollination of countless mangrove flowers, which is very much necessary for the survival of the ecosystem. Every journey made by the bees into mangrove forests helps beekeeper from facing the risk of tiger attack.

The planning was now complete. The Maulis were ready to embrace a new way of harvesting honey. Suitable forest camps had been identified. The concept had been discussed in detail, and the response from the honey collectors was overwhelmingly encouraging.

Yet, two important challenges still remained. The first was to organize beekeepers scattered across different parts of the Sundarbans into a coordinated network. The second was to arrange funds to procure the apiary boxes and establish the program.

Initially, we expected the funding to come from the department. However, for reasons beyond our control, the funds did not materialize. Months of planning suddenly reached a standstill. Without financial support, the entire initiative would have to be postponed for another year.

It was a disappointing moment. The idea was sound. The people were willing. The forests camps were ready. Only the resources were missing.

As I reflected on the journey so far, I realized that every important step in this initiative had been guided by someone. Pranab Mondal had planted the seed of the idea. Soshan had shown how the idea could become a sustainable enterprise. The Maulis had shared generations of wisdom that no textbook could offer.

The journey had taught me something important.

Every successful hive begins with one bee finding the right direction. My search for that direction ended when I met a person who would become the sunshine behind Bonphool's bloom.

That story of sunshine belongs to the next chapter.

 (To be continued…)