HOPE

“Aren’t you scared of the jungle?” I asked her.

She looked up at me, unfazed, and replied with a question of her own, “Why would I be?”

I hesitated for a moment before saying, “There are wild animals around here.”

She shrugged. “I know. I’ve seen them.”

I met Purnima during my fieldwork in Banke, where we were conducting training sessions for the Community Forest User Groups of Kusum to strengthen their economic resiliency by promoting nature-based enterprises in form of Leaf Plate Making. On the final day, we wrapped up with a field visit to the community forest. One of the participants had brought her four/five-year-old daughter along, a little girl who had been following us throughout the program. To my surprise, she was there again, walking effortlessly through the jungle in her small chappals, while I, an adult, quite struggled to keep up.

We moved through the forest as a group, taking care to prioritize safety, which was also a vital part of our training. Yet, without hesitation and concern, the child let go of her mother’s hand and wandered ahead, completely immersed in her own moment. Her mother even had to call out to locate her in the dense vegetation—she was so tiny that she could easily disappear from sight.

After hearing her mother’s bit concerned tone, she came running towards us. It was in that moment, I asked her the question. And her response—so simple, so matter-of-fact—stayed with me. Before I could say anything more, her mother chimed in, explaining. “Purnima follows her family members while they come to collect mushrooms, grasses, and also cattle grazing. She knows the forest. Although she hasn’t encountered leopards or tigers to be scared of but some easy to be seen deer species with a hint of a smile.

As I watched Purnima navigate the jungle with such ease, I couldn’t help but wonder- how much longer will children like Purnima get to experience this bond? As forests shrink and human-wildlife conflicts rise, will future generations still walk these trails without fear?

Well, while there’s so much to be done by, this particular trip of mine to Banke also reaffirmed my belief that hope exists at the end of the jungle too. If you ever meet Tilak Dai from Kusum, you’ll notice his slightly odd way of walking. A few years ago, during an unfortunate encounter with a crocodile, the back of his feet sustained a bite, which has troubled his mobility. Instead of holding any resentment, today he works as a “Gohi Gothalo” (Crocodile guard), protecting crocodiles, their habitat, and ensuring sustainable fishing practices to maintain the ecosystem’s balance. His story is a testament to resilience—not just his own, but to the deep connection people can form with wildlife, even after a conflict.

That particular day as we were navigating the jungle, another shift was also unfolding. The women’s group came to realize the forest’s value in a new perspective. By the end of our visit, I overheard them talking. They had made a pact to take action. Next time, they would work together to control forest fires to the best of their potential.

I had entered this training with a single goal in mind, but the outcomes unfolded in ways I hadn’t anticipated. From a child walking fearlessly in the jungle to a survivor turned conservationist, and a group of women stepping up as guardians of their land—each thread wove into a larger story of hope.

Perhaps coexistence isn’t as distant as it sometimes seems to be.