Mahua: The Magic Tree of Life

It was raining cats and dogs. The deluge had started just as Bhogiroth da (my field assistant) and I returned from fieldwork around 4 pm. At 6 pm, it was still coming down. The volume of Bhogiroth’s newborn grandson’s crying increased with the rain’s intensity.

An hour passed. The family couldn’t figure out what was troubling the child. His distress filled every corner of the hut. The dimly lit kerosene lamp fought bravely but failed to light up the house, as if mirroring the tension in the home.

The downpour had already created a pool in the yard; the tulsi-bedi overflowed. Thick, dark canopies of giant kusum (Schleichera oleosa) and mahua (Madhuca longifolia) trees stood guard in the backyard. A newly planted neem sapling bent mercilessly, seemingly losing the battle against the rain.

The temperature plummeted. Adding to the family’s misery, the thatched ceiling started leaking. Sobita, the baby’s mother, held the baby close as she sat by the mud stove for warmth. Her face was as pale as the cotton cloth the baby was swaddled in.

After what felt like ages, Kanta pishi, the neighbourhood granny, arrived drenched, with a semi-liquid buttery potion. She warmed it on the stove and massaged it gently on the newborn’s belly. A few minutes later, the crying stopped. Was it exhaustion? Or relief?

At 10 pm, three hours after the massage, the baby was still asleep. Sobita checked the nappy when a foul smell emerged. The baby had defecated. Sobita’s broad smile lit the room. Sighs of relief followed. Upon asking Bhogiroth about the massaging oil, he smiled and replied, “mahua butter”.

The baby was playful the next morning. I had experienced the magic of the mahua tree. Mahua butter is derived from the seeds of the tree’s fruit. In the traditional knowledge system, it is well-regarded for its medicinal properties. The people of this little hamlet of Khududi, in the Ajodhya Hills of West Bengal, and forest-dependent communities throughout the dry forests of India, have been using several mahua-derived necessities for centuries, as medicine, insecticide, livestock feed or famine survival food.

Between 2022 and 2025, I closely explored the mahua tree and the people who use it for my PhD work. The more I learn about this magnificent tree, the more I realise why they call it “kalpavriksh” — the tree of life. 

Kalpavriksh – for all beings

“From birth ceremonies, marriages, funerals; from food to fodder; dawaa to daaru; chores to folklores — mahua is omnipresent”, said the octogenarian Santhal, Baul khura (uncle) of Dhaska village, summarising the importance of mahua in their lives. The same sentiment resonates among other Adivasi communities like the Gonds, Mundas, Baigas, Kols, Bhils, etc., who depend on India’s deciduous tropical forests.

Being deciduous, mahua sheds its oblong leaves in the spring, typically in late February. The dry tree then suddenly flushes into brownish flower buds. When temperatures soar, the torrid air becomes impregnated with the thick, sweet smell of the yellow-green juicy flowers. A riot is declared among humans and other creatures. Streams of bees (Indian honey and stingless); flocks of birds (parakeets, green pigeons, peacocks, sunbirds), troops of animals (monkeys, langurs) and humans are all attracted to this tree. After sunset, night visitors arrive: bats (flying foxes, short-nosed fruit bats), civets, porcupines, and, inside deep forests, perhaps bears and elephants.

“Encountering a bear or an elephant under a mahua tree during the flowering season wasn’t uncommon. Long back, I saw a bear a couple of times under the trees near the forest”, said Mahabir Soren (of Digardi village) while collecting mahua flowers with his wife and a little girl.

Mahua, culture and livelihood

The flower collectors arrive before dawn, around 3 am. The juicy petals fall by themselves (if not devoured by other animals), while the gynoecia (female reproductive parts) remain intact in the tree for fruiting. The bounty spreads like a creamy-green carpet. The flowers keep showering till 10-11 am if it is sunny, or may stretch for longer. “After collecting them, we sun dry the petals for 3-4 days and store them for selling when we need cash. It’s like an ATM to us”, Mahabir said with a grin. Besides the cash income Mahabir referred to, there is also much value from the mahua that cannot be measured in monetary terms.

“We eat freshly collected flowers; the raw fruit is a seasonal vegetable; the oil is great for massage; to repel snakes we burn the seed-cake; the timber is valued for making a plough if needed; all the leaves, seed, seed-cake, etc. are used as fodder,” explains Siddheshwar Sardar of Paryavaran Chetna Kendra, Jharkhand, a veteran fighting for Adivasi causes.

Additionally, the mahua is revered culturally. A marriage is incomplete without a mahua branch; local communities anoint their deity with mahua liquor; their art and folk literature are infused with the blessings of the mahua. “If you reduce mahua only to its monetary worth, you are missing the forest for the tree,” Siddheshwarji adds. He is correct. Adivasis consider the mahua tree pious; many survived famine by consuming dried mahua flowers. Once, the mahua flower was a staple of the Adivasi diet, as was the oil. The role of mahua in an Adivasi kitchen might have reduced nowadays, but 30+ mahua flower recipes can still be traced to India’s mahua belt. Additionally, researchers have documented at least 40 different ethnobotanical uses of mahua. 

Sweet spot for frugivores

Fruiting season follows 45-60 days after flowering. Mahua fruits are egg-shaped, egg-sized or a little smaller, fleshy and dull green. They mature in June and get camouflaged in the canopy of new foliage.

The fruit doesn’t find an audience in its raw form, except when locals occasionally cherish it as a seasonal vegetable. But the scent of ripening kawchraa (local name of the mahua fruit) draws huge flocks of parakeets, green pigeons, and occasionally a few Indian grey hornbills in the morning. In the evening, fruit bats savour the pulp (tastes like chikoo/sapota), discard and disperse the seeds, leaving a brown mat of shiny seeds under the canopy as a gift for the seed collectors and a few rodents.

The healing touch of mahua

Mahua seeds are brown, ovoid, the size of a 10-rupee coin, and rich in oil, making them precious. Seeds are dehusked, dried and brought to a reri (electric oil press). Seed collectors keep some oil for themselves and barter the rest for mustard oil. Mahua oil was once considered an all-purpose oil, but now, it is mainly used for massaging as it works wonders for body aches or chapped skin.

“After toiling all day with farmwork, in the sun and rain, in dry fields or knee-deep water, when exhaustion tears down our bodies, a massage with this desi (indigenous) oil prepares us for the next day,” affirms Mongol Ghatual of Bhuchungdi village.

What does the oil contain that works wonders? It has beneficial chemical compounds, such as saponin, an anti-inflammatory, and beta-sitosterol, a carminative agent, along with flavonoids (found in crude mahua oil); these compounds are effective for muscle relaxation (including for the digestive tract) and have other therapeutic effects.

Not only does mahua oil have medicinal properties, but other parts of the mahua tree also have medicinal uses. In traditional medicine, the fruit is effective for treating bronchitis, the bark for rheumatism, and the flowers are said to boost breast milk production in new mothers. Medicinal usage of mahua was described in Ayurvedic texts and ascertained with ethno-scientific evidence.

The flying elephant

During my interactions with these communities, I learned about the power of the mahua tree; that “mahua can make an elephant fly!” One evening, our research team gathered for a relaxed time, with mahua liquor (an integral part of socialisation in Adivasi culture), where Nimai da (another local assistant) narrated this folktale. It went like this. There was a time when elephants could fly. One day, intoxicated from devouring mahua flowers, an elephant created a ruckus in the paddy field. Seeing this, angry villagers called upon their deity for help. After examining all their misdeeds, the deity banished the elephants from flying and dragged them from the scene by pulling their ears with such force that they grew in size and are still flapping and huge. Everyone chuckled. Yes, only mahua can do such magic!

That moment, under the moonlit sky, with a chorus of crickets in the background, reminded me of the words of Baul khura when I started my fieldwork, “How much can you note? Mahua stories are never-ending”.

If you are in the Central Indian dry forests, maybe for a tiger safari or a birding tour in March or April, keep an eye (and nose) out for a dry, leafless tree (and a sweet fragrance). Who knows which facet of the mahua will unfurl for you!