Long before the first seed meets the earth, Santals gather to awaken the forces believed to nourish both soil and spirit. Ploughing day begins with Malṭi Pūjā: the plough is anointed with oil and turmeric, then circling incense smoke and rice grains draw life into every furrow. A rooster or fowl is offered to Marang Buru (“Great Mountain”), asking for rain’s timely return.

When the rains settle in, Karam Parab arrives under lush green canopies. A branch of the Karam tree is ritually planted in a cleared spot near the field. Young men and women, clad in bright caps and patterned dhotis, dance around it to Karam’s drumbeats. Libations of handia (rice beer) and chopped bananas pay tribute to Karam Dev; in return, the deity is believed to bless the soil with vitality and ward off blight.

Seed sowing—known as Mage Parab—is celebrated with songs that mimic sparrows and peacocks, invoking animal kin to spread seeds evenly. A handful of seeds is cast in all four directions, symbolically inviting earth, water, fire and air to nurture the crop. Women pour a little rice beer onto the ground before dancing away, trusting that the spilled drops will draw ants, beetles and earthworms—nature’s own tillers—to enrich the topsoil.

At flowering time, Baha Parab focuses on fruiting trees, but the same spirit carries over to paddy fields. Flowers and banana fronds are laid at a simple altar of stone slabs beneath a sacred grove (Jaher). Chanted blessings seek protection from pests and sudden storms, a practice that still resonates today as climate shifts challenge traditional rain patterns.

All these rites are woven into the agricultural calendar like well-worn paths through a forest. They reinforce a worldview where crop success is not just science or hard work, but a living conversation with land spirits. With each season, Santals recommit to that dialogue—ensuring soil fertility and honoring the delicate balance that sustains both people and place.