In Koyra Upazila, southwestern Bangladesh, the low tide of the Shakbaria River has exposed a wide, slippery mudbank between the village of Suranjan Raptan and the edge of the Sundarbans, the world's largest tidal mangrove forest. For generations, this forest has served as a pharmacy for local communities, providing food, firewood, and medicine.

Suranjan Raptan, a 40-year-old traditional healer known as a kabiraj, has practiced for 21 years. He learned from his father, who learned from his grandfather. Nothing was written down — knowledge passed through practice and memory. He rises before sunrise, crosses into the mangroves by boat, and walks barefoot through the clay-mud jungle for hours, carrying a knife to cut leaves, roots, and bark for his remedies.

But in recent years, this tradition has come under threat. After Cyclone Aila in 2009, the forest began to thin, and sunlight started reaching places that had once been heavily shaded. The change became particularly noticeable around 2015–2016, as rising salinity and repeated cyclones made medicinal plants harder to find. "Before, the forest was so dense that sunlight could not enter," Suranjan says. "Since then, it has thinned. The forest feels empty."

Bangladesh began revitalizing its community clinic program in 2009, and by 2015, about 14,000 community clinics were operating across the country. Alongside them, a vast network of retail drug shops made medicines widely available. Suranjan watched as younger villagers increasingly turned to clinics, doctors, and pharmacies, while many of those who continued to seek help from kabiraj were older or had few affordable alternatives.

Professor Md Abdur Rahim, chairman of the Department of Genetics and Plant Breeding at Sher-e-Bangla Agricultural University, describes a forest whose botanical balance is shifting. "Salt is slowly rewriting the forest," he says. "The hardy trees may survive, but the plants that heal, the ones kabiraj rely on, are disappearing." Between 2017 and 2021, salinity in tidal water rose from 21 to 33 parts per thousand, while soil salinity increased by 31 percent.

At a tea stall beside the Shakbaria River, honey collector Chapal Raptan, Suranjan's uncle, shakes his head. "This is the time for bain flowers," he says. "But this year, not a single bain tree has bloomed. There is no bain honey at all." Several men agree: "We have never seen this in our lifetime." For men who have spent their lives in the forest, the missing blossom is more than a poor honey harvest — it is an unfamiliar change in a landscape they thought they knew.

Local residents, especially women, rely on kabiraj like Suranjan because urban doctors are expensive and distant. Deepa Mandol, 32, whose husband has hepatitis B, says: "We are poor people. We cannot afford treatment in the city. We have no money for costly medicines. Kabiraj is our hope." Suvodra Mondal, 80, who suffers from arthritis, adds: "I went to see a doctor in the town, but they said treatment would cost a lot of money. My son catches fish in the forest to eat, how could he ever afford that?"

Another kabiraj, 65-year-old Provat Sarder, has practiced for 35 years. His grandfather, Basanta, was also a healer, but Provat says he is the last. "I am the last one; nowadays, no one wants to study hard any more." Inside his house, he brings out a bag of dried medicinal plants, his hands rough and darkened by years of work. The knowledge, like the plants, is fading.

The Sundarbans stretches across 10,000 square kilometers of Bangladesh and India, sheltering the Royal Bengal tiger, saltwater crocodiles, and more than 300 plant species. Nearly 2.7 million people live in the coastal districts surrounding the forest on the Bangladesh side alone. But climate change, rising salinity, and repeated cyclones are pushing saltwater further into coastal ecosystems, threatening this unique ecosystem and the traditional knowledge tied to it.

Source: www.aljazeera.com