Weaving Water, Forests And Mountains Into Verses: An Interview With Parwati Tirkey

Phir Ugna reflects the intrinsic connection Adivasis have with water, forest and life itself. It’s about their emotional bond with nature and their deep faith in it how nature shapes their social structures and how committed they are to preserving it. The forest is not just a resource; it is an emotional and spiritual space for Adivasis. The poems revolve around this deep love for the forest and the society born from it. However, I believe different readers may interpret its message in their own unique ways.

There was no deliberate plan to write them. They just came to me naturally. In our communities, we often compose songs in our everyday language. But since our traditional learning system, the Dhumkudiya, has been dismantled, we are no longer able to create literature in that style. So, we express ourselves through writing, through the language of poetry.

I’ve lived both Adivasi and non-Adivasi lives. My poems draw from that life journey that is from childhood to now. They carry the voices of my ancestors and the experiences I've seen firsthand. Around 70-80 per cent of the poetry reflects a deep love for nature.

It deeply saddens me that our education system has eradicated Dhumkudiya. It is the traditional educational system of the Oraon tribe and similar systems exist among the Munda and Kharia communities too. Through this model, Adivasis passed down their indigenous knowledge and life practices. Unfortunately, this system was never integrated into formal education. Schools, colleges, and universities do not teach an Adivasi syllabus. Only recently have Adivasi languages started being included, but the gap is vast. As a result, our children have grown distant from their own language, traditions, and culture. Though, the government has paid little attention to this. Our children should have been taught through our own systems. I believe losing one’s language and culture is a significant struggle, and the absence of our own educational framework is a tragedy.

One hopeful sign is that, thanks to the efforts of a few individuals, three or four Dhumkudiya branches have been revived. These centres are working in harmony with the current education system, providing classes to children in ancestral knowledge and practices. Alongside Hindi and English, they are also learning Kurukh and other aspects of our culture. But the kind of support that should come from the government is still missing.

There is a growing conversation about linking language with employment as a means of preservation. But I focus on how a language can survive on the ground. What are we actually doing to save it? That is just as important. In villages, many of these languages are still alive. Today, only five or six tribal languages are being formally taught, but I believe all tribal languages should be included in education. Even if just one child speaks that language and enrolls in a school or college, it should be taught.

For tribal communities, language is their root. To preserve tribal identity and the environment, language is essential—because an entire culture lives within a language.

On June 19 at around 2:30 PM, I received a call from the Sahitya Akademi. They informed me that I had been selected for the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar 2025. I was extremely happy to hear this. Although I have always believed that my poetry is good, I had never thought about receiving such a prestigious award. There was never even a feeling or expectation that I might get it.

For me, the greatest significance of this award is that it connects me to my people. We've come a long way through many struggles and transformations. We never had access to an education system rooted in our own traditions. No initiatives were ever taken to restore or preserve our educational heritage. So, to have achieved this recognition despite those challenges is deeply meaningful to me.

I’ve been inclined toward literature since childhood. That’s why I write poetry. My parents have always been connected to our literary traditions. Our ancestors or rather, all the ancestors of the Adivasi communities have preserved their literature. They discuss it, sing it, and uphold its ideology.

In fact, Adivasi literature was never part of school syllabi, nor was it taught in universities. It is only now, with the environmental crisis upon us, that people have begun paying attention to Adivasi literature, traditions, and culture because Adivasi life inherently speaks to environmental protection. That’s what has brought this discourse into focus today.

This is a massive crisis and a serious struggle. And it’s not just the crisis of Adivasi communities, but it’s a crisis for all of humanity and the entire ecology. If the Adivasis are fighting for it, then others should also join in. This is a shared responsibility.

We are four sisters and one brother. I’m the second child in the family. My father was in a government job and is now retired. My mother is a homemaker. We are originally from Gumla, Jharkhand. I completed my early education there, then did my graduation and post-graduation from BHU. I also completed my PhD from the Department of Hindi at BHU. Currently, I work as an Assistant Professor at Ram Lakhan College in Ranchi.

I have never experienced any form of inequality in my home. And I haven’t seen it in the society I was raised in either. In our community, men and women live as equal partners. They work together, support each other, and study together. There is mutual respect and cooperation.

At BHU (Banaras Hindu University), I remained deeply connected to my culture. And there were many others from tribal backgrounds who also stayed rooted in their traditions. I honestly don’t understand how some people become detached from their culture. You can blame it on the times or perhaps on the lack of a village structure that should have supported them. Especially those who were born in cities, they were never truly connected to tribal village life or culture, and they never got access to our knowledge systems. They were made to run in a race, and they simply adopted that path. I don’t know why they didn’t try to return to their roots later on.

But during my time at university, I felt an even stronger connection to village life and my tribal identity. That has profoundly shaped my consciousness. To me, that’s the real life. So, when you ask what I found in village life, I found deep love, genuine warmth, and heartfelt empathy. I didn’t see hierarchy, I only saw equality.

He said that when the first generation faces and fights through massive transitions and manages to find a place within the new economic system, and when someone performs well while holding on to their culture while creating and weaving something meaningful, that is truly worthy of respect.

don’t quite understand the concept of a religion code. Because, for me, there is no religion as such. What I understand is Chala Tonka. I am a follower of Chala Tonka (essentially, this refers to a specific part of the sal forest where the ancestors of tribal communities used to offer prayers, one could say it’s a form of nature worship). The commitment to preservation that our ancestors taught through this has always resonated deeply with me.

They need to stay connected with the current system even more strongly. They must remain committed to preservation more than ever before. They must stay rooted in the forest and for that, they must adopt new methods.

I had many role models. I travelled through 40–50 villages, including my maternal and paternal grandparents’ villages. Every individual I met there became a role model for me. The way people talked about nature, every word they spoke, every sentence, every gesture everything was incredibly valuable to me. That’s where I drew my inspiration for reading and writing. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have ever written the way I do.

I am writing several poems here and there. All of them are centred around our surroundings and the many changes we are experiencing such as economic, social, and cultural.