At low tide, the river pulls back.
The mudflats of the Devi River mouth begin to appear, alive with the movement of crabs.
Women walk out in a line, their sarees hitched above the ankle, hands full of small, green propagules or mangrove seeds. They stop at marked patches, bend, and press the young plants into the soil methodically.
Among them is Nalini Kandi of Sana Jhadling, who moves with practised ease now, but there was a time when these mangrove stretches meant little more to her than firewood and muddy ground.
Like most families in her village, Nalini’s survival depended on the river: on shrimp, fish, and crabs collected daily because the land they owned was never enough to sustain them. Years ago, on one such trip to gather firewood, she came across a small group of young volunteers sorting mangrove saplings by the riverbank. Curious, she stopped to ask what they were doing. “At first, we did not understand why planting trees in muddy, waterlogged areas was so important,” she tells The Better India.
The volunteers explained how mangroves were not just trees but living barriers. They explained how mangroves protect riverbanks from erosion, act as natural shields against storms, and sustain the fish and crabs their lives depend on. That was the turning point.
“What convinced me most was learning that healthy mangroves help sustain the fish, shrimp and crabs that our families depend upon,” she says. Soon, Nalini and four other women from her village learnt how to restore what years of erosion and neglect had taken away.
What began as a handful of women carrying fragile Avicennia and Rhizophora saplings through knee-deep mud has now grown into a wider community mission, with over 60 families across nearby villages taking part.
Nalini still remembers those early days: wading through tidal water, planting each sapling by hand, uncertain if they would survive. Now, watching them rise taller and stronger, she sees more than trees. She sees protection, livelihood, and hope. “It is about securing our future,” she says, “so the next generation inherits something better than what we had.”
Once, marginalized women of Odisha’s coast depended on mangroves for fuel, fish, and crabs—unknowingly harming the very ecosystem that protected them. Today, they are standing as frontline defenders. Photograph: (Soumya Ranjan Biswal)
Because this stretch of coastline was not always like this. More than two decades ago, this same stretch of land told a very different story.
In October 1999, the 1999 Odisha Super Cyclone tore through Odisha’s coast, killing more than 10,000 people and permanently altering its fragile deltaic landscape.
The Devi River mouth, spanning parts of Puri and Jagatsinghpur districts, was among the worst affected. Mangrove forests were destroyed, agricultural land turned saline, and settlements were left exposed to tidal surges.
“After the 1999 super cyclone, more than 10,000 people lost their lives—this coast is extremely vulnerable,” says Soumya Ranjan Biswal.
Biswal, whose work has long focused on the link between ecosystems and livelihoods, sat down with The Better Indiato trace the story of this coastline, what it once was, how it changed, and how women are now stepping in to rebuild it.
How locals understood survival depends on a vanishing coastline
Around the Devi River mouth, across villages like Nuagarah, Jhadling, Chhuriana, Astaranga and Alasahi, life has always been tied to the wetlands. Most families depend on fishing, shrimp collection, and small-scale extraction from mangroves, making both their incomes and their survival closely linked to the health of this fragile ecosystem.
“Fishing and collection activities are the major livelihoods here, but they are not resilient,” he explains.
As mangrove cover declined due to sustained extraction and environmental stress, its impact was felt directly. Fish catch reduced, salinity increased, and communities had to travel farther for fuelwood.
Women, who are primarily responsible for household fuel and supplementary income, bore the brunt of these changes.
“You have to feel their struggle, how they survive every day,” Biswal adds while interacting.
It was this intersection of ecological degradation and socio-economic vulnerability that led to the idea of restoring mangroves.
Biswal, a marine turtle and mangrove conservationist from Astaranga, had spent over a decade working on coastal ecosystems. Through his work with the Odisha Paryavaran Sanrakshan Abhiyan Trust (OPSA), a non-profit, he had seen firsthand how environmental degradation and poverty fed into each other.
He knew that any shift in the situation required changing how local communities viewed mangroves. For years, these forests were treated as a resource base, something to extract from rather than protect. Firewood came from these forests. So did small earnings from fishing and shrimp collection.
Convincing communities to step back from this dependence required sustained engagement.
Turning mangroves from resource to shield
Biswal began organising training sessions at his centre in Astaranga, where he worked with villagers, especially women, to explain the role of mangroves in coastal protection.
“Mangroves play a critical role in protecting these landscapes from cyclones,” he says.
In 2023, this effort formally evolved into the Women for Mangroves Initiative, with a focus on involving women as primary stakeholders in restoration.
The initial response was hesitant.
Many women had limited exposure to structured environmental training and were unsure about participating in what was seen as technical work. But over time, participation grew. Photograph: (Soumya Ranjan Biswal)
Many women had limited exposure to structured environmental training and were unsure about participating in what was seen as technical work.
But over time, participation grew.
Biswal began by bringing villagers, especially women, to his training centre in Astaranga. There, he spoke not just about conservation, but about survival.
Mangroves, he explained to them, were not obstacles. They were shields.
“Mangroves play a critical role in protecting these landscapes from cyclones,” he says.
Slowly, the message settled in.
Women step into the landscape
For Bina Kandi of Biluamundali village, the river has always been both provider and protector.
Like generations before her, she spent her days fishing, collecting crabs, and gathering shrimp from the waters.
“We depend on the river for survival,” she tells The Better India.
The memory of Odisha’s devastating 1999 Super Cyclone remains seared into her mind. Five months pregnant then, she watched as winds ripped through her village, hurling branches and debris like weapons.
“The walls of our house collapsed. I thought every moment would be my last. My only fear was for the child growing inside me,” she says. When seawater flooded the village, rising to neck level, Bina and her family waded through raging currents in search of shelter. “Every step felt like a fight for survival,” she remembers.
What began as a handful of women carrying fragile Avicennia and Rhizophora saplings through knee-deep mud has now grown into a wider community mission, with over 60 families across nearby villages taking part. Photograph: (Soumya Ranjan Biswal)
For nearly a week after, they were stranded, without food, medicine, or news of the outside world trapped in fear and hunger as homes, boats, and entire lives lay shattered around them.
“Even today, speaking of it brings tears to my eyes,” she says. That trauma, she adds, is why she now plants and protects mangroves with fierce determination, not just to secure fish and crabs, but to build a living shield so that “future generations do not have to endure the fear, loss and suffering we went through.”
Across villages like Nuagarah, Jhadling, Chhuriana, Astaranga, and Alasahi, women started stepping into roles they had never occupied before.
This singular mission of 1 million mangroves and your unrelenting work shows incredible focus & commitment.
May you get support from all quarters. The success of this mission will be a win for Odisha 🙌🏼 https://t.co/xdVjvEp3MZ
— Adyasha Satpathy (@AdyashaSatpath3) June 16, 2026
They learned to identify mangrove species. They understood salinity gradients. They mapped plantation sites.
“Women members have indigenous knowledge in seed selection. They know which seed will grow in which type of soil,” Biswal notes.
“We are combining science with indigenous knowledge—that is very important,” he says.
Plantation is not carried out uniformly. Species are selected based on salinity levels and sediment conditions. Timing is aligned with tidal cycles to ensure better root establishment.
“Monoculture plantations do not work. You need diverse native species,” Biswal explains.
Over the past few years, these methods have resulted in the plantation of approximately 45,000 mangrove saplings across the Devi estuary and adjoining wetlands. Survival rates average around 80 percent, reflecting a focus on establishment rather than scale alone.
“We are seeing a survival rate of 85–90%, which is very encouraging,” he says.
How 45,000 mangroves took root
The work itself follows a rhythm dictated by the tides.
When the water recedes, women move along the riverbanks, collecting seeds. These are taken back, sorted, and nurtured in small protected patches where germination can begin.
Later, when conditions align, soil, salinity, tidal timing, they return to plant them.
Planting is timed with tidal cycles to ensure roots can anchor properly.
“Monoculture plantations do not work. You need diverse native species,” Biswal explains.
Over time, this approach has yielded results that go beyond numbers.
Biswal, a marine turtle and mangrove conservationist from Astaranga, had spent over a decade working on coastal ecosystems. Photograph: (Soumya Ranjan Biswal)
To support this, the initiative also pays women for their work, around Rs 6,000 per month, for a few days of work each week.
“I know it is small, they know it too”, Biswal laughs, “But we also are not funded by the government yet, it is just some individuals who have reached out to help us. We are paying communities to protect mangroves, this creates ownership,” he explains.
And ownership changes behaviour.
Families that once collected firewood from mangroves have begun to step back. Right now, extraction is replaced by protection.
Signs of a returning ecosystem
Restored areas are beginning to show signs of biodiversity recovery, including the return of crabs, fish species, and wetland birds. Mangroves, known for their dense root systems, help stabilise sediments, reduce wave energy, and provide breeding grounds for marine life.
“Mangroves are the second-highest in biological diversity after coral reefs,” Biswal says. “In India, mangroves host thousands of species—dolphins, turtles, fishing cats, otters, crocodiles.”
Families that once collected firewood from mangroves have begun to step back. Right now, extraction is replaced by protection. Photograph: (Soumya Ranjan Biswal)
He emphasises that these ecosystems cannot be viewed in isolation.
“Marine health is interconnected—coral reefs, lagoons, mangroves, everything is linked.”
A shift In power
Perhaps the most significant change, however, is not just ecological. It is also social.
Women who were earlier limited to household roles are now involved in planning plantation activities, managing nurseries, and participating in community discussions around resource use.
Women who once remained at the margins of decision-making are now at the centre of it.
This morning and afternoon Planted 3,000 mangroves with the vulnerable mangrove-user community at Devi River Mouth, reaching 15,000 so far with a goal of 20,000 this season. 🌱#Mangroves are vital for coastal protection and livelihoods.🌊🚣🏻♂️
Join ans support us.🙏🏻#OdishaCoastpic.twitter.com/c6x1Sw6Qbo
— Soumya Ranjan Biswal 🇺🇳🇮🇳 (@SoumyaMarineWL) September 3, 2024
There was resistance at first, both internal and external. Balancing household responsibilities with fieldwork was not easy. Nor was stepping into leadership roles.
But over time, something shifted.
“Women are the real changemakers in this initiative,” Biswal says.
Many are still hesitant in front of cameras, or maybe interviews, unused to public attention.
“Many of them are shy, not used to the media, but they are doing incredible work,” Biswal proudly adds.
From project to movement
What began as a local effort is now expanding in ambition. Biswal’s vision is clear: “Our goal is one million mangroves by 2030,” he says.
It is an ambitious number, but one grounded in experience.
“This should become a movement—beyond government and beyond projects.” For Biswal, the success of the initiative ultimately depends on local ownership.
“Local youth, intellectuals, and communities must feel responsible.”
What resilience looks like now
There was a time when every approaching cyclone meant packing up and moving to relief camps. That memory is still alive. But along the Devi river mouth, another possibility is taking shape. It grows slowly, root by root, season by season.
