Kopou in a Changing Climate: Why Assam’s State Flower Is Under Pressure

Spring in Assam does not begin with a date. It begins with a flower.

Before the sounds of Rongali Bihu carry across fields and towns in April, the kopou (foxtail orchid) begins to bloom. Long, drooping clusters of white, pink and purple flowers appear high on tree trunks—a signal that the season has turned. But in recent years that timing has begun to shift. The flower now arrives earlier, and by the time Bihu comes, much of it is gone. The change is subtle and not something most people would notice immediately. But it is enough to disrupt a rhythm that once felt familiar.

Khyanjeet Gogoi, popularly known as the Orchid Man of Assam, has spent more than three decades documenting, collecting and studying orchids across the forests of Upper Assam and the Eastern Himalayan regions of Arunachal Pradesh. He has watched this seasonal shift unfold gradually over the years. “Earlier, kopou would bloom closer to Bihu. Now it starts around mid-March and by the time Bihu arrives, it is already fading,” Gogoi says.

In the higher altitudes of Arunachal Pradesh, however, the older cycle still holds. “Climb into parts of Arunachal Pradesh and at around 800 metres, the kopou continues to bloom in April, as it once did across Assam,” he says. What has changed is not the flower alone, but the conditions around it. The early bloom points to displacement, not disappearance. “Orchids are very sensitive to environmental changes. Many are shifting to higher altitudes because of deforestation and climate change,” says Gogoi.

A Fragile Ecosystem Under Pressure

Scientists observing orchid habitats across the Northeast say the early blooming of kopou (Rhynchostylis retusa) is one visible sign of a larger ecological shift. The forests and host trees that sustain these orchids are themselves under tremendous pressure.

Krishna Chowlu, scientist in-charge, Botanical Survey of India, Arunachal Pradesh, who has worked with orchids for over two decades, says, “The Northeast is incredibly rich in biodiversity. The region has around 800–900 orchid species, with Arunachal Pradesh alone having over 570 species and we are still discovering new species.”

But these habitats are eroding under the pressures of erratic rainfall linked to climate change, shrinking forest cover, and development-driven deforestation, she points out. “Even the loss of a single tree can disrupt the entire ecosystem. The foxtail orchid grows not in soil, but on trees. Remove the tree, and the orchid goes with it,” she says. An epiphyte, the plant anchors itself to living tree trunks—typically at elevations between 300 and 1,500 metres—remaining entirely dependent on its host for survival.

In Assam’s lowland areas, this dependence is beginning to show. “Kopou, once a common sight, is now harder to come across,” Gogoi says.

Protection Exists, Enforcement Falls Short

Despite being Assam’s state flower and a deeply embedded cultural symbol, kopou has limited protection. Monitoring of wild populations also remains inconsistent, with most data coming from scattered surveys rather than long-term tracking. Jitu Gogoi, President, Orchid Society of Assam, says, “While there are legal provisions under broader frameworks like the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972, implementation on the ground is weak.” “At the same time, there is no species-specific framework for kopou, despite its cultural and ecological importance,” he adds.

In practice, that leaves room for illegal trade to continue, with penalties too weak to discourage the collection and sale of wild kopou. A forest ranger from Upper Assam, who does not want to be named, says that on paper, the law is clear. “As a general rule, nothing should be removed from the forest. Collecting wild orchids is not permitted.” But on the ground, enforcement remains inconsistent. “There is low awareness,” he says. “People have always taken from forests. These practices continue. Many simply don’t know they are not supposed to pluck them.”

He adds that many small-scale sellers collect kopou for supplementary income without understanding the ecological impact. “Unless people understand the issue, it is difficult for them to change their behaviour. That is why awareness at the grassroots level is critical.”

That lack of awareness extends beyond local communities. “There is a serious gap in awareness—even among officials—about the status of orchids,” Jitu says. For Chowlu, this reflects a broader gap in orchid conservation. “Much of the work is still being driven by scientists and a small group of aware individuals. Some institutes are developing tissue culture and reintroduction programmes, but these efforts are limited. Stronger policies, better enforcement, and wider public awareness are all needed,” she says.

Seasonal Pressure On Kopou

Deeply woven into Assamese culture, kopou is worn in the hair buns of Bihu dancers and celebrated in Bihu songs as a metaphor for youth, love and the renewal of spring. But each year, as Rongali Bihu approaches, that symbolism carries an ecological cost.

“Orchids, especially kopou, are collected from the wild at a significant scale during Bihu, largely for commercial purposes. The seasonal demand is very high,” Jitu says. The scale of that demand became especially visible in 2023, during Assam’s Guinness World Record–setting Bihu performance, when large quantities of kopou were sourced for the event. He explains, “The episode highlighted a deeper contradiction: even state-backed celebrations can add pressure to already declining wild kopou populations.” He adds, “We don’t see an issue with the cultural use of kopou, for instance, if dancers use flowers grown in home gardens, but large-scale commercial harvesting creates serious pressure on wild populations.”

What concerns conservationists as much as the harvesting itself is the waste that follows. “Unsold flowers are often discarded and left to rot. That kind of waste adds to the ecological loss,” he says. “We have now started collaborating with the Forest Department to monitor and regulate orchid collection during Bihu, but the challenge remains substantial.”

Ahead of Bihu this year, the Orchid Society of Assam carried out one such intervention in upper Assam, rescuing around 1,000 foxtail orchids that had been collected from the wild for commercial sale. “The rescued orchids were handed over to Tinsukia College for conservation and propagation, to be eventually released in the wild,” Jitu says.

Yet the pressures visible each Bihu season tell only part of the story. To understand what is being lost, one has to look back at how abundant kopou once was.

When Kopou Was Everywhere

There was a time when kopou needed no rescue. In Assam, it once bloomed so abundantly that for many Assamese households, it was a familiar sight every spring. Khyanjeet remembers those years from his childhood in upper Assam, where orchids grew freely around tea gardens near his home. During Bihu, he would collect discarded kopou plants after performances and carry them home, trying to keep them alive.

“I started picking them up and bringing them home,” he says. “I didn’t know how to grow them at the time. I just tried.” That instinct stayed with him. Years later, he wrote Orchids of Assam: A Pictorial Guide (2017), so others could learn how to grow and care for the plants he once struggled to keep alive.

Across decades of searching for orchids in the region—including a journey that once led to a three-day detention by ULFA near Dibru-Saikhowa—Khyanjeet has watched that once familiar abundance recede. What he has seen in the field is now reflected in broader patterns. “Field observations clearly indicate a rapid decline in wild orchid populations, including Kopou,” Jitu says.

The Orchid Society of Assam, established in 2018, has become one of the few organisations working systematically on orchid conservation in the state, including Kopou. At Silapathar College, where its head office is based, students now participate in weekly orchid care programmes. “We have signed MOUs with 10 colleges and built a growing network of around 150 life members who are actively engaged in conservation efforts,” Jitu says. “Our work goes beyond orchids to include the protection of their natural habitats. Every year in April, we also organise an Orchid Festival to build public awareness.”

Can Kopou Be Protected at Scale?

Science offers one path forward, but it cannot work in isolation. “Orchids require very specific microclimatic conditions, which are difficult to replicate outside their natural habitat,” says Chowlu. “While it is technically possible to recreate these conditions, there is still limited awareness and understanding among people about how to do this effectively.”

One promising route forward, she says, lies in tissue culture, which allows orchids to be propagated in controlled conditions without extracting them from the wild. But even the scale of what needs protection remains only partially understood.

In Assam, orchids are found across the forests of upper Assam, the foothills of the Brahmaputra valley, Karbi Anglong, Dima Hasao and protected areas such as Dehing Patkai National Park and Kaziranga National Park. Although official estimates by the Assam State Biodiversity Board place the number of orchid species in Assam at 293, the Orchid Society of Assam believes the actual figure may be closer to 400—pointing to significant gaps in documentation.

Institutions such as CSIR-North East Institute of Science and Technology have demonstrated orchid propagation techniques, but scaling them remains expensive. Khyanjeet is among those carrying it forward independently. From his two-bigha orchid garden, where around 850 species now grow under his care, he continues to propagate and conserve what he can. “The process is expensive,” he says. “Scientists cannot do it alone.”

Bridging that gap would require stronger systems for cultivation—nurseries, community propagation centres and networks that enable farmers and local growers to cultivate kopou at scale without putting pressure on natural populations. “Countries like Thailand have built major floriculture industries around orchid cultivation,” Khyanjeet says. “Assam has similar potential—but lacks the systems to realise it.”

Building those systems, he suggests, cannot happen without people. The effort must extend to those living near forests, those collecting and selling orchids seasonally and younger generations. It means building awareness before Bihu, helping local communities protect orchid habitats where they still survive and introducing ecological education in schools.

For Khyanjeet, the deeper challenge is one of responsibility. “We may be more educated today, but we have lost a sense of awareness and responsibility towards nature,” he says. “There is a growing indifference—a tendency to believe that if a tree is cut somewhere nearby, it is not our concern. But what we fail to recognise is that the loss of even a single tree affects all of us; if not immediately, then over time.”

And so the loss happens quietly: a tree cut here, a flower plucked there, a season arriving too early. In that slow shift, Assam risks losing more than a flower. It risks losing the bloom that has, for generations, told an entire state that spring has arrived.