Marang Buru (“Great Mountain”) towers over Santal cosmology as the supreme deity, protector of hills and forests. An emblem of strength and shelter, this mountain god anchors community rituals, especially during harvest and marriage seasons. Jaher Era or Jaher Ayo (“Lady of the Grove”) reigns over the sacred village shrine (jaher)—a bamboo grove cleared for offerings. Bringing fertility to fields and families alike, her presence threads through every festival.

The earth mother, Dharni Penu, embodies soil, crops and the very ground beneath barefoot feet. Offerings of rice, flowers and toddy seek her blessing for bountiful yields. Water spirits—Karam Bonga or Chalche Puru—govern rivers and rain. During the Karam festival each autumn, saplings of the Karam tree become living icons of these deities, dancing at dusk in a riot of leaves and drums.

Every clan houses its own bonga, guardian spirits that might dwell in anthills, old trees or river bends. Names vary—Nanduk for a forest guide, Alchi for a fearful trickster, Kaldongo for a protective ancestor—but each demands respect through song, sacrifice or simple tobacco. A stray cough or sudden chill in the air can be a bonga’s whisper, a reminder that the seen and unseen share the same world.

Seasonal rituals pay homage to minor spirits too: Luku Penu, who teaches children their first steps safely; Budho Pirker, whose unwelcome arrival—through illness or misfortune—must be soothed back to the spirit realm. Bonfires crackle, drums summon sokars (spirit-mediums), and dancers whirl until dawn, bridging today’s worries—like changing weather patterns or land disputes—with ancestral memory.

As headlines debate carbon footprints and COP30 looms, this animist tapestry feels more urgent than ever. Santal devotion insists that earth, mountain and grove are more than backdrops for human drama—they’re living kin, demanding gratitude in every grain of rice, every beating drum and every whispered prayer beneath starlit skies.