From Odisha’s Durwa Adivasis to Maharashtra’s Bhil-Pawra: How Climate Change is Stealing Women’s Livelihoods
Her words underline a gendered reality: men typically engage in farming, while women rely on forest produce. As climate change reduces yields, women’s labour multiplies but their income shrinks. Daughters often miss school to fill the gap.
At seven in the morning, Jayati Durwa and other women from Malipadar village in Baipariguda block of Koraput step out with bamboo baskets and axes. Hours later, they return empty-handed.
“For us, the kitchen fire is lit only because of what we gather from the forest,” Jayati explains, listing tendu leaves, mahua flowers, sal seeds, tubers, and wild vegetables, locally known as Van Upaj, or Non-Timber Forest Produce (NTFP). “But no matter how deep we go, forest produce is vanishing.”
Durwa women from Malipadar village in Baipariguda block of Koraput.
The reason lies in the drastic changes in climate. Untimely rains, rising temperatures, and subtle shifts in the forest ecosystem are wiping out NTFP.
For women like her, the loss is more than income. It is time, energy, and the strain of ensuring that children are fed. With forests now 4–5 kilometres away, women spend entire days collecting bamboo or wild foods, only to return to unfinished chores at home.
Young daughters, who should be in school, are increasingly kept back to shoulder domestic responsibilities.
For women of Odisha’s Durwa community like Mangri Durwa, bamboo is the second-most important forest resource.
“This year, unseasonal rains badly affected the Sal seeds. The entire crop was ruined, and production fell drastically. Earlier, I could earn between ₹1,000 and ₹1,200 a day by selling Sal seeds in the market. But this year, I got nothing. The yield of mahua flowers also dropped sharply, and I could earn barely ₹3,000 to ₹4,000 from it. We are witnessing with our own eyes how changing climate is devastating forest produce,” says Jayati, who belongs to the Durwa community, one of the adivasi communities in Odisha.
“The relationship between Adivasis and the forest is like that of a mother and child. Just as a mother nurtures her child, the forest nurtures us. You may call it wealth and measure its value in money, but for us, the forest is our very source of life,” she adds.
Women’s Work Doubled and Devalued
“For us, the kitchen fire is lit only because of what we gather from the forest,” says Jayati Durwa.
For women of Odisha’s Durwa community, bamboo is the second-most important forest resource.
Beyond basket-making as a small-scale livelihood, tender bamboo shoots are also an integral part of their traditional diet. But climate change has severely reduced bamboo production. Irregular rainfall, rising heat, and the resulting impact on forest biodiversity have only deepened the livelihood crisis for Adivasi women.
Mangri Durwa, explains how basket-weaving has become back-breaking labour. “We must first cut bamboo deep in the forest, carry it home, split it into strips, and then weave. Every Tuesday we take baskets to Ramgiri market, 10 kilometres away. Earlier, bamboo was close by, now it consumes our whole day. In our Durwa community, only women make baskets. Men do not take part in this work.”
Zilabai from Satpuda ranges in Maharashtra, who once relied on mahua, tamarind, bamboo, amla, and medicinal plants for a living.
Her words underline a gendered reality: men typically engage in farming, while women rely on forest produce. As climate change reduces yields, women’s labour multiplies but their income shrinks. Daughters often miss school to fill the gap.
“If I leave for the forest in the morning, I don’t return until evening. That leaves no time for household work. Cooking, fetching water, washing utensils—everything is left unfinished. Even my children get neglected. My daughter has to take responsibility at home, but that often means missing school, which is far away from our village.”
For the Durwa, bamboo is not just material—it is survival. “If there’s no bamboo, how can we weave baskets?” Mangri asks.
The women earn around ₹500 to ₹1,000 a week, which helps them buy essentials like rice, oil, and vegetables. Small baskets sell for ₹10 to ₹20, while bigger ones fetch between ₹80 and ₹100, they say.
‘Want Community Forest Rights’
Most Adivasi villages in Koraput have still not been granted Community Forest Rights (CFRs). Without these rights, villagers cannot take legal measures to stop illegal logging or conserve their forests.
While some individuals have received land titles for farming under the Forest Rights Act, entire villages are still waiting for collective rights.
Ishwar Durwa, the village head of Malipadar, explains their demand for CFRs, “Our lives are changing rapidly. We have already applied for community forest rights for our village forest. We hope it will be approved soon. Once we get our rights, we will protect our forest. We won’t let anyone cut trees, and we will work on conservation and regeneration so that our forest becomes as rich as before.”
Bidyut Mohanty, founder of Society for Promoting Rural Education and Development (SPREAD), who has been working on issues like community forest rights and NTFP management for the last 20 years, explained:
“Strengthening common resources is the only sustainable solution. Local committees and the Panchayati Raj system have created confusion over who is responsible for protecting commons. The question is how to integrate community knowledge and leadership into these new governance structures. One possible approach is to develop a partnership model for common protection and include it within gram panchayat development plans.”
1,300-km Away, Parallels in Maharashtra’s Satpuda
The same story repeats over 1,300 kilometres away in Nandurbar, Maharashtra.
In the Bhil and Pawara villages of the Satpuda ranges, women once relied on mahua, tamarind, bamboo, amla, and medicinal plants. Now, these resources are vanishing under erratic weather.
“This year, mahua production dropped by nearly 40%,” say women in Akkalkuwa. For them, mahua is not only food and liquor but also a rare cash income. A poor harvest means lost wages, forcing women to migrate for sugarcane-cutting—a physically demanding and exploitative alternative.
Komila from Bharaadipadar recalls, “Earlier we could easily find herbs like Khodkya, Modari, Ukhodo. Now nothing grows. When we fall sick, we spend ₹1,000 at hospitals. We’ve lost both our medicine and our income.”
Komila from Bharaadipadar recalls, “Earlier we could easily find herbs like Khodkya, Modari, Ukhodo. Now nothing grows.”
For older women like Zhilabai, the contrast with the past is stark. “Forests were full, wildlife was abundant. Now, after traders cleared land and rains failed, nothing remains. It is we women who bear the suffering.”
Climate Change Pushing Women to the Brink
Researchers in the Satpuda region warn that climate impacts are hitting women hardest. As men migrate seasonally to cities like Surat and Mumbai, women are left with farms, forests, children, and elders to care for. Yet, with declining yields, their efforts barely sustain households.
Snehal, a Forest Research Officer with Tata Institute of Social Sciences, explains, “Because of climate change, livelihoods in this region have almost disappeared. Large-scale migration has increased, with people moving from every taluka to cities like Pune, Mumbai, Surat, and Indore. As soon as the monsoon ends, men and boys from almost every family leave the village in search of work. This leaves the entire burden of household responsibilities on women. Every day, after finishing household chores, women go into the forest in search of minor forest produce—but they return empty-handed.”
Just like the Durwa tribal villages in Koraput, Odisha, the Bhil–Pawara tribal villages of Nandurbar, Maharashtra too have not yet received full implementation of Community Forest Rights (CFRs). These rights are crucial as they allow villages to manage forests collectively and generate revenue for the community.
Yet, both states remain deprived of this important entitlement. Sandeep Devre of the Young Foundation, Nandurbar, explains, “The internet has brought benefits to the world, but here in our region, it causes harm. Every government scheme now depends on Direct Benefit Transfers and OTP-based verification. With poor network connectivity, people are unable to become beneficiaries of these schemes. Whether it’s community forest rights or individual claims, the process demands endless formalities. As a result, many don’t even apply and remain excluded.”
Durwa women from Malipadar village in Baipariguda block of Koraput.
He further adds that the Forest Department has little interest in letting tribal villages manage their forests. “Not a single village has been called for a public meeting on forest rights claims. At the gram panchayat level, the so-called Forest Rights Committees exist only on paper. Officials call sarpanches and members to the taluka office, take their signatures, and claim that meetings were held.”
‘Unless Knowledge Is Respected, Policies Will Fail’
From Odisha’s Eastern Ghats to Maharashtra’s Satpuda hills, tribal women’s experiences echo each other. Both regions show how climate change does not affect everyone equally.
Most critically, in both Koraput and Nandurbar, forests are slipping away without community ownership.
The denial of CFRs not only weakens conservation but also prevents women from shaping solutions rooted in traditional knowledge.
“Climate change cannot be fought from Delhi or Mumbai,” Devre argues. “It must begin with communities. Unless their knowledge of water, forests, and land is respected, policies will fail.”
(This is a special series on Climate & Gender under Project Dharitri, an initiative jointly run by Asar and BaiManus.)
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