Conflict resolution among the Santals often feels more like a sacred ceremony than a courtroom drama. Village councils gather beneath the protective canopy of the Sal grove, where elders and the Ojha (spiritual healer) become both jury and mediator. Their first move is to “clear the air” by invoking the bongas—nature spirits believed to watch over communal well-being. Drums begin to throb, handia (fermented rice drink) circulates, and everyone steps into a shared rhythm that blurs individual grievances.

Central to the process is the shrine of Marang Buru, the Great Mountain Spirit. Offerings of rice, flowers and vermilion paste are laid out in a precise pattern, each symbol speaking to balance and reciprocity. When tensions run high, an Ojha may enter a mild trance—guided by rhythmic chanting—to seek direct advice from the spirit world. What might sound like divination actually serves as a pressure valve: by transferring blame to unseen forces, personal animosities soften, and disputing parties find room to compromise.

A formal apology, known as bid mana, follows. The offender presents a small gift—often a comb or brass ornament—to the aggrieved, acknowledging guilt while restoring face. This ritual gift-exchange isn’t mere symbolism: it resets social harmony and reminds everyone that relationships matter more than one’s pride.

Festivals like Karam and Sohrai double as conflict-resolution forums. During the harvest celebrations, communal dances and songs recount ancestral tales of feuding clans making peace through shared labor and spiritual atonement. It’s a time-tested blend of social bonding and ritualized negotiation, not unlike restorative justice models gaining traction in broader India today.

With growing respect for indigenous methods—highlighted this year on the 2025 International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples—Santal spiritual mediation stands as a living testament to how deeply faith, nature and community can intertwine to heal rifts.