In Mayurbhanj district in Odisha's Eastern Ghats, a 70-year-old resident shares a heartbreak that echoes across India: "When we were young we had these forests spread over a large area, now we see the size has shrunk to a large extent." These are not just any forests. They are sacred groves—patches of woodland protected for centuries by indigenous spiritual traditions and community stewardship, now facing an uncertain future.
A new study confirms what these communities have long known: their sacred groves remain protected because of deep cultural and religious values, not despite them. In Mayurbhanj district alone, researchers interviewed 148 residents living around 10 sacred groves to understand how centuries-old customs have kept these forests alive. What emerged is a portrait of shared reverence that transcends tribal and caste divisions. Though the Santals represent one of India's largest tribal groups in the area, the interviewees included diverse communities—Gonds, Kolhas, Bhuyans, Gauda, Bathudi, Bhumij, and Ho Munda peoples—all united by their commitment to protecting the forest as an act of worship for the forest god.
The rules are simple and ancient: no cutting trees in the groves, no extracting natural resources for commercial sale. Yet the relationship between these communities and the forests goes far deeper than prohibition. Residents identify 28 different plant species they harvest for medicinal and religious purposes. Each year, they gather for a sacred sal tree festival celebrating the blooming of Shorea robusta trees, ceremonies that researcher Subhani Rath notes "unite the local residents and contribute to cultural identity." Without these traditions, Rath and her colleagues concluded, the forests would likely have vanished entirely.
Yet Odisha's sacred groves are under siege. Nearly all the residents Rath interviewed reported the forests shrinking due to road construction and human settlements encroaching on their edges. The irony is stark: India is estimated to have roughly 100,000 sacred groves—more than any other country—and Odisha alone harbors more than 2,000. Yet many remain poorly understood by conservationists and government officials, some not even fully cataloged or mapped.
Rath told researchers that the path forward requires recognition of what communities have always known: that indigenous stewardship is conservation. "We need a robust framework for conservation of these community conserved areas, as is followed in protected areas, to save these small, yet crucial patches of vegetation dotted across varied landscapes from the brink of extinction," she said. The challenge is not inventing new solutions but legitimizing and supporting the old ones—the spiritual traditions and collective responsibility that have kept these forests alive for centuries, long before "conservation" became a global buzzword.
The 70-year-old resident's closing plea carries profound weight: "We don't want to lose it. We want the next generations to see these forests." In communities across Mayurbhanj and beyond, that wish depends on whether India's institutions will finally recognize that sacred groves survive because sacred groves matter—not just ecologically, but spiritually and culturally. The study suggests that recognition may be the most powerful tool available.