Why this woman in Odisha is called a traditional seed guardian

I live in Burlubaru, a hilltop village. These hills were once blessed with dense sal forests. We lost the gigantic sal trees to the timber mafia. And we hardly see the wild animals that abounded before. 

Everyone in this village belongs to the Kutia Kondh community. We practise rainfed farming, growing most of our own food. 

When I was small, my parents, two brothers and I would walk to our farm on the mountain slopes. We carried our meal of mandia jau (finger millet gruel) and boiled greens. 

My father guarded our crops against wild animals at night, staying inside the mancha – a small wooden thatched shelter. He set fire around the mancha to scare animals, snakes and poisonous insects. 

This is called sakara. It is grown with finger and foxtail millets under a mixed cropping method. We hand-pound sakara into fine powder. 

While cooking vegetables and mutton curry, we add sakara powder. It enhances the taste and aroma of our recipes. 

Mandia jau is our staple food. We consume it at least 3-4 times a day. It gives us the strength to work on our farm.

My father grew over 50 varieties of 16 types of crops, by broadcasting the seeds before the monsoons. Each crop matured at a different time. So we harvested them one after the other.

Earlier we had 30 varieties of millets and 18 varieties of pulses. But over the years, we lost many varieties of traditional seeds.

I was worried that we were losing our traditional seeds, which are precious. 

Hybrid seeds are expensive. And they need expensive fertilizers, insecticides and pesticides. Over time your land turns lifeless. 

On the other hand, traditional seeds need less water. Farmyard manure is enough to give a bumper yield. And it has a longer shelf life.

Traditionally women in our community have been preserving seeds. So, I thought it’s our responsibility to conserve it. I convinced them to work with me to save our traditional seed diversity. 

But the men were sceptical. “Who will pay a good price for these crops?” they asked. 

You see, millets are often considered as Adivasi (tribal) or poor man’s food. It fetches low market price.

I told them about the cultural and spiritual connection to our traditional seeds and how it is healthier, to convince them.

They are now realising that millets are nutritious and high-value crops. They can sell their surplus produce. 

Millet is now becoming remunerative.

Recently, farmers in our area sold finger millet for Rs 3,300 per quintal. For paddy we get Rs 1,800 per quintal only. 

We are happy that the government is supporting our millet farming. 

Over the years, our village has become a hub of traditional seed varieties. Farmers from other places also come here for seeds.

If farmers need a specific traditional seed, we provide them for free. But we ensure that they exchange their variety with us. And if they don’t have a different variety of seeds or have lost them, we encourage them to return double the quantity of seeds we gave them. 

We’ve revived this traditional exchange practice of our tribal society.

But for us as women, this progress is beyond economic gains. We are restoring the glory of our traditional crops. These crops are our identity. We are proud because people call us the seed guardians of vanishing seed varieties.

Researchers and journalists come from far-off cities. 

They appreciate and recognise our seed conservation work. They ask dozens of questions to know more about our work. 

One common question is, “What motivated you to conserve these traditional seed diversities?” 

In response we display our diverse colourful array of seeds. These climate and pest resilient seeds are more precious to us than money. 

My father is no more. But he only taught me the most important lessons about seeds. 

I still vividly remember him saying, “Seeds are living beings. They are our ancient roots. We need to nurture and protect our traditional seeds. Because they keep our custom alive.”

And that is what I am doing.