Under a canopy of sal trees, every rustle holds meaning. Santal eyes are trained to catch the subtlest flicker—a lone crow’s caw, the sudden wilt of a leaf, a vivid dream at dawn. Such portents guide decisions from planting paddy to planning weddings.

Dreams travel on two tracks: the ordinary and the sacred. If a young woman dreams of white flowers blooming in her palm, murmurs spread that fertility and good harvest lie ahead. Yet a vision of a broken clay pot at night sends the village pahan (priest) scurrying to interpret whether ancestral spirits are restless. These nocturnal messages are never brushed aside; they’re passed to the pahan, who reads them like a newspaper—decoding fragments of color, sound and emotion to forecast fortunes or ward off misfortune.

Signs in nature weave through everyday life. A sudden thunderclap at midday is more than a crack of weather; it’s a voice from the sky, announcing either a bountiful monsoon or warning of looming conflict. An owl perched on a doorway might foretell death, while a pair of peacocks dancing at dawn signals prosperity. During Sarhul 2024, villagers noticed an unusual flock of painted storks near their fields—taken as a green light to sow earlier than usual, and lo and behold, their rice paddies thrived.

Omens often arrive wrapped in routine events. Spotting a snake by the hearth calls for an immediate offering of liquor and rice to Pahari—nature’s guardian—to keep envy spirits at bay. Once in a blue moon, an eclipse will set hearts racing; families huddle together, chanting mantras and pouring holy water into the soil, praying that the world’s balance isn’t tipped by unseen forces.

Even as smartphones creep into remote hamlets, the spiritual radar remains finely tuned. Apps may track weather, but the pahan tracks the wind’s whisper. It’s a blend of age-old wisdom and modern life, where every leaf, dream and creature carries a story waiting to be read.