Honey and Hardship: The Precarious World of the Sundarbans Mawali

Every year, as the stifling heat of late March gives way to April, a unique migration begins along the riverbanks bordering the Bangladesh Sundarbans. Small wooden boats, known as *dingis*, are laden with earthen pots, smoked-out tins, and bundles of dried leaves. This is the start of the honey-collecting season, and the men preparing for the journey are the Mawalis, the traditional honey hunters whose lineage is deeply intertwined with the world’s largest mangrove forest.

For three months, these men will navigate the labyrinthine network of tidal creeks and dense foliage in search of liquid gold: the wild honey of the Sundarbans. It is a tradition steeped in immense risk and profound ecological knowledge, a seasonal livelihood that sustains thousands of families in the impoverished southwestern coastal belt. But this age-old practice is now caught between the pressures of a changing environment and shifting market dynamics.

A Licence to Forage

Entry into the Sundarbans for honey collection is not a free-for-all. It is a highly regulated activity overseen by the Bangladesh Forest Department. Prospective Mawalis, typically organised into teams of seven to ten, must first secure a permit, officially known as a *Bapar-Lain Certificate* (BLC). These permits are issued for a specific period, usually from April 1 to June 30, coinciding with the peak flowering season of the mangrove flora.

The process involves submitting applications at local Forest Range offices, paying a government-stipulated fee per collector, and an additional tax on the boat. Each permit designates a specific area of the forest—often within the Satkhira, Khulna, or Sharankhola ranges—where the team is allowed to operate. This system is designed to manage human activity within the protected forest, monitor the harvest, and generate state revenue. Official figures suggest that thousands of Mawalis receive permits each season, highlighting the economic significance of the honey trade for both the community and the government.

Rituals of Protection

For the Mawalis, the forest is not merely a resource; it is a sentient space governed by powerful spiritual forces. Before their boats push off from the riverbank, the teams engage in elaborate rituals, a blend of Islamic and folk traditions. Central to this is the reverence for Bonbibi, the “lady of the forest,” a guardian deity believed by people of multiple faiths to protect the forest's inhabitants from harm, particularly from tigers.

The team leader, or *bahardar*, often an experienced elder with deep knowledge of the tides and forest paths, leads the group in prayers and offerings. These may include sweets, rice, and bananas left at small shrines dedicated to Bonbibi. This spiritual preparation is considered as crucial as their physical tools, which include sharp knives for clearing brush and smoking pots to pacify the giant rock bees (Apis dorsata). It serves to fortify their courage and acts as a plea for safe passage and a bountiful harvest in an environment where danger lurks behind every mangrove root.

• Dao: A sharp, heavy-bladed knife for clearing brush.
• Dhuin Bati: An earthen or tin pot containing smouldering husks and leaves to create smoke, used to pacify bees.
• Chola: A wicker basket or container for carrying the collected honeycomb.
• Motkas: Earthenware pots for storing the extracted honey on the boat.
• Bundles of dried golpata (Nipa palm) fronds for fuel and smoke.

A Dwindling, Salty Harvest

For several years, Mawalis have consistently reported that the honeycombs are smaller and the yields are falling. Researchers and environmental scientists point to a primary culprit: rising salinity. Reduced freshwater flow from upstream rivers, exacerbated by barrages and diversions, combined with sea-level rise, has pushed saltwater further inland. This process is altering the soil and water chemistry of the Sundarbans, creating conditions less favourable for the forest's most productive flora.

The most prized and aromatic honey comes from the flowers of the *khalisha* (Aegiceras corniculatum) and *goran* (Ceriops decandra) trees, which bloom early in the season. These species are particularly sensitive to high salinity, which stunts their growth and reduces nectar production. Compounding this problem is the increasing frequency and intensity of cyclones. Major storms like Sidr, Aila, and Amphan have torn through the forest, physically stripping trees of their flowers and branches, disrupting the delicate ecological calendar upon which the honey harvest entirely depends.

The Tiger’s Shadow and a Paper Shield

The greatest and most immediate danger for any Mawali is an encounter with the Bengal tiger. While traversing the dense, muddy forest floor, often in single file, the hunters are acutely vulnerable. Every snap of a twig or rustle in the undergrowth is a source of anxiety. Accounts of attacks, both fatal and non-fatal, are a common and tragic part of the community’s oral history.

To address this, the government has a compensation policy for victims of human-wildlife conflict. Official guidelines stipulate a certain amount of financial aid for families of those killed and a lesser sum for those injured by tigers. However, community members and local advocates report a significant gap between policy and practice. Accessing the funds requires navigating a difficult bureaucratic process that often demands definitive proof of the attack, such as a body or a death certificate explicitly stating the cause.

In many tiger attacks, the victim’s body is dragged into the dense forest and never recovered, making it nearly impossible for the bereaved family to produce the required documentation. This bureaucratic hurdle means that many destitute families, having lost their primary breadwinner, are often denied the very support system designed to help them in their most desperate hour.

Competition from the Box

Beyond the dangers of the forest and the challenges of a changing climate, Mawalis now face a growing economic threat from a seemingly similar product: farmed honey. In recent years, apiculture—the practice of keeping bees in wooden boxes—has become popular in the villages and agricultural lands bordering the Sundarbans.

Entrepreneurs place these bee boxes near fields of mustard, litchi, or even at the forest’s edge, allowing the domesticated bees to forage on a mix of agricultural and wild blossoms. This honey is often collected, processed, and marketed to urban consumers under the powerful brand of “Sundarbans Honey,” despite not being the product of wild bees or deep-forest foraging. This farmed honey is produced with significantly less risk and labour, allowing it to be sold at a lower price.

This creates a confusing marketplace where the authentic, wild-foraged honey of the Mawalis must compete with a cheaper, more easily produced alternative. The price pressure makes it harder for Mawalis to get a fair return for their perilous work, squeezing their already precarious profit margins and threatening the long-term economic viability of their ancient tradition.