On a misty morning in Majuli, Assam’s ever-eroding river island, a barefoot woman hoists a sack of saplings over her shoulder and steps into a waiting boat. The river is high, the current restless, but she’s done this hundreds of times. As she balances against the rocking vessel, a villager on the bank calls out, “Forest Queen!” Munmuni Payeng smiles, nods, and keeps moving. There are trees to plant.
Daughter of Padma Shri awardee Jadav Payeng, the “Forest Man of India,” who famously turned barren land into the lush Molai forest, Munmuni’s own journey began in 2022, when she assembled a grassroots team of around 60 people. Their mission: reforest the flood-ravaged zones across Majuli using only native species. “There were no trees when we started. Now, slowly, the land is changing,” smiles the 25-year-old.
Each morning, her team packs food, gathers tools, loads saplings or seeds, and crosses the river to reach planting zones. During the March-to-May planting window—when survival rates are highest—they plant 3,000 saplings a day. The team collects seeds from the Molai forest, grows them in community-run nurseries, and plants them across erosion-prone sandbars and river isles. They revisit sites, monitor growth, and replant where needed. By early 2024, the team had already crossed the one-million-trees mark. “We weren’t counting on a milestone. It was only later that we realised how far we’d come,” says the young woman.
Unlike her father’s story, which became a national headline, Munmuni’s work flies under the radar. There are no viral videos or awards. The effort is supported by Sustainable Green Initiatives and the Indigenous People’s Climate Justice Forum, co-founded by environmentalist Rituraj Phukan. But not everyone is on board. Some villagers express concerns about animals returning or farmland being affected. Others claim the forest was always there, dismissing her efforts. “We just continue our work,” she shrugs.
Her long-term goal isn’t simply about tree counts. It’s about knowledge, systems, and resilience. She’s training youth from nearby islands in seed collection and nursery practices. “Baba’s journey should be properly documented—not just the awards, but the methods, the work, the values,” she explains. “And we want that space to also train the next generation—how to collect seeds, how to plan a nursery, how to care for the land. Even if they don’t become forest workers, they should know how the land grows. That connection is being lost,” she says.
For Munmuni, the work isn’t about attention or activism—it’s about quiet persistence. “I’ve seen places where the land just disappeared after one flood. We can’t wait for a big policy or programme. We have to start where we are. This work is not about saving the earth,” she says. “It’s about staying with the land long enough for it to recognise you back.”
