In Ekalkhori, the sand was always part of life. Then it began coming too close.
In the village near Jodhpur, hot summer winds pushed loose sand towards homes, while dunes slowly crept over farmland at the edge of the village. For many families in western Rajasthan, this was a familiar worry: the Thar was moving, little by little, towards the land they depended on.
More than five decades ago, Ranaram Bishnoi decided to respond in the only way he knew.
Today, at 86, he stands behind what locals describe as a living wall against desertification: nearly 27,000 trees spread across around 25 bigha, or roughly 10 acres, of what was once barren sand.
There were no bulldozers, irrigation grids or climate grants involved. Just a farmer carrying water across dunes to keep saplings alive.
A forest built in a desert
Where shifting sand once dominated the landscape, native trees such as khejri, neem, rohida, babool and kankeri now stand rooted across the terrain. Their branches break the force of desert winds. Their roots hold loose soil that once drifted freely towards nearby homes and farms.
In arid regions, trees are not ornamental additions to the landscape. They are infrastructure.
Native desert vegetation acts as a wind barrier, slows dune movement and reduces soil erosion. In fragile ecosystems like the Thar, even small pockets of greenery can alter local conditions, stabilising land that would otherwise remain vulnerable to desert expansion.
That is what Bishnoi’s plantation has come to represent for his village.
Locals say the green patch now attracts birds, provides shade and shields nearby agricultural land from advancing sand. What exists today is not a manicured forest or a tourism project. It is an ecological defence line, built slowly over decades.
Carrying water through the dunes
According to reports, Bishnoi regularly travelled nearly three kilometres to fetch water from a friend’s tubewell. Using earthen pots and often a camel, he carried water across dunes and manually watered saplings one by one under Rajasthan’s harsh heat.
There were no pipelines feeding the plantation. Survival depended entirely on repetition.
Every alternate day, he reportedly climbed sand mounds with water containers to help the young plants withstand the desert climate. Thorn fencing made from dried bushes protected fragile saplings from grazing cattle and wildlife.
Nearly every alternate day, Ranaram Bishnoi crossed Rajasthan’s sand dunes carrying water in earthen pots, to keep fragile saplings alive. Photograph: (Sikh Sangat)
“The plants are god-like for me,” Bishnoi shared. Caring for them, he said, gave him peace.
Sometimes, women from his family and girls from the village helped water the trees. And he reportedly paid them from his own pocket.
Locals now call him “Ahhu” — the tree man.
What kind of trees does Rajasthan need?
Bishnoi did not plant trees that looked pretty for a season and then struggled to survive.
He chose the kind of trees Rajasthan already knows well — khejri, neem, rohida, babool and kankeri. These are trees that can take the heat, survive on little water, and hold their ground in poor soil.
In a desert village, that makes all the difference.
When strong winds blow over open sand, there is very little to stop it from moving. A field can slowly get covered. A path can disappear. Sand can collect near homes. But when trees take root, they begin to hold the soil together. Their branches slow the wind, and their roots keep the land from slipping away so easily.
That is what Bishnoi was trying to do, long before terms like climate resilience became common.
Ranaram Bishnoi did not plant trees for appearance. He chose native desert species like khejri, neem, rohida, babool and kankeri — trees adapted to Rajasthan’s extreme heat, low rainfall and poor soil. Photograph: (YourStory.com)
For Ekalkhori, the trees meant more than greenery. They meant shade in a harsh landscape. They meant birds returning. They meant nearby fields had some protection from the sand.
And in a state where heat, water stress and uncertain rainfall are already part of everyday life, even a small green patch can make a real difference.
A belief he grew up with
Bishnoi’s love for trees also comes from the community he belongs to.
For generations, the Bishnoi community has been known for protecting trees and wildlife. In Rajasthan, this history is often remembered through the story of Amrita Devi Bishnoi and more than 300 villagers, who were killed in 1730 while trying to stop trees from being cut in Khejarli.
For Bishnoi, this was not a chapter from a history book. It was a value he had grown up around.
According to interviews, his own journey began after he attended a community gathering in Mukam, Bikaner, decades ago. There, he heard people speak about protecting nature as a responsibility. When he returned home, he brought saplings with him and planted them near the dunes.
After that, he kept planting.
Year after year, the saplings grew. The empty land began to offer shade. The sand that once moved freely began to slow.
And that is what makes his story stay with you. Bishnoi did not wait for a big scheme or a perfect solution. He saw the desert moving closer to his village, and he responded in the simplest way he could — by planting one tree, then another, and then thousands more.
