Rapid urban drift and the lure of city life have nudged many young Santals away from ancestral groves and sacred rituals. With smartphones in hand, traditional stories passed down around evening fires risk becoming echoes of a fading past. Forest clearance and mining projects continue to erode the very landscapes where the earth goddess Marang Buru and sun god Marang Buru’s consort once roamed freely. In eastern India, debates over the Forest Rights Act and fresh proposals for industrial corridors have stirred anxieties about land dispossession—and the spiritual ties that bind communities to their land.

Missionary outreach and the spread of global religions have created another layer of tension. Some village festivals now blend Christian hymns with Santal drumming, a fusion that leaves elders both hopeful for harmony and worried about losing core animist beliefs. Education systems, often geared toward mainstream narratives, unintentionally sideline indigenous cosmologies, making classroom walls feel miles apart from forest shrines.

Climate change adds a new twist, flipping rainy seasons on their heads and upsetting agricultural cycles tied to seasonal deities. A delayed monsoon or sudden drought can be seen not only as an environmental crisis but a spiritual alarm bell. Amid these uncertainties, revivalist movements are cropping up—online forums where younger Santals share recordings of ritual songs, tutorial videos on bamboo flute melodies, even virtual ceremonies during pandemic lockdowns. These digital bridges show resilience, yet they prompt a question: can a virtual karai (sacred grove) ever replace the hush of living trees?

On a brighter note, recent legal victories—like the 2021 landmark ruling affirming tribal water rights—have injected fresh energy into cultural preservation. Climate protests in Delhi have featured Santal activists, weaving ancestral wisdom into calls for sustainable policies. It’s a delicate balancing act: safeguarding tradition while adapting to twenty-first-century storms, both literal and figurative. In choppy waters like these, the Santal spiritual tapestry bends and sways, showing remarkable flexibility without snapping—proof that some roots run far deeper than any passing wind.