The Indian Village Where Girls Rule一个珍爱女孩的印度村庄

Shyam Sunder Paliwal cracked open the pod and the blood-red seeds dribbled out. Holding it in his palm， he offered the fruit of the sindoor1 shrub up for inspection.

The plant， which produces the vermilion2 powder that Indians often apply on their foreheads for cosmetic and religious purposes， doesn’t normally grow in this region. But it is one of many types of trees that now grow in Piplantri， a collection of six connected hamlets in Rajasthan in north-west India.

In 2005 when Paliwal became the sarpanch3， or village head， marble mining had denuded4 the hills; the surrounding land was parched and the foliage degraded. And like in most of India， daughters here were viewed as a financial burden and devalued compared to sons， who typically help support their parents economically.

Then in 2007， Paliwal’s 17-year-old daughter Kiran died following a bout of dehydration5. Heart-broken but eager to honour her memory， his family planted a tree near the entrance of the village in her name. As Piplantri’s leader， Paliwal thought， why not turn this one-off event into a wider programme？ Soon， other villagers began to follow his lead.

Now， every time a girl is born in Piplantri， villagers plant 111 trees an auspicious number for local Hindus to both honour her and to regenerate the environment.

“If we can do it in one girl’s name， why not do it in every girl’s name？” said Paliwal. The region now has more than 350，000 trees， from mango and gooseberry to sandalwood， neem， peepal and bamboo， growing across the once-barren lands and covering an estimated 1，000 hectares.

In recent years， Paliwal’s simple idea has expanded into a broader eco-feminist movement. Along with tree planting， new parents of daughters also sign an affidavit6 saying they won’t marry them off before they turn 18 and will let them finish school. Villagers also chip in7 to open a fixed-deposit account for each girl with Rs 31，000 （£305） that she can access once she turns 18， either for her education or to help pay for her wedding. What’s more， Piplantri’s growing forest is now serving as an example of how Indian villages can literally go green while improving their water management.

Under leafy cover， and with warnings to watch out for snakes and scorpions， Paliwal led me to a small clearing with a single， slender burflower tree near the village’s entrance. It was the first tree he planted， now surrounded by scores of others.

Though villagers plant the 111 trees for each girl born year-round， every August during the monsoon8， a special tree-planting ceremony takes place for all girls born in the preceding 12 months. Paliwal estimates that about 60 girls are born each year in this 5，500-person village. Grown girls who had trees planted in their names now come to tie rakhi bracelets9 around saplings， considering them siblings to be venerated during the festival of Raksha Bandhan10.

As Piplantri’s trees have grown， its groundwater level has increased and a marked cultural shift has improved the status of women. Nikita Paliwal （no relation to Shyam Sunder）， now 14， was among the first girls to have trees planted in her name. Now， she hopes to become a doctor and work for the poor. “We should also stand on our own feet，” she said.

Wearing a bright red sari11 and a broad smile， Nanubhai Paliwal， Nikita’s aunt， said she had two sons but as Piplantri started honouring its girls， she started wishing for granddaughters. Now she has two， and trees were planted when they were born.

“Earlier they were considered a burden. Now we don’t think that way，” she said. “We have no particular desire for sons.” She then looked around， pointing at all the trees. “It was a small village. We worked hard， we made it special. And this way we get employment and income， too.”

The village has set up women’s cooperatives that create products from aloe vera， such as juices， food items and gels， to sell in the village. In the coming year， they plan to expand to products made from gooseberries， bamboo and honey， all of which have been planted or cultivated as part of the village’s greening efforts.

Villagers also plant 11 trees whenever someone dies. All of the planting takes place on communal land spread through the village that had previously been illegally developed. Shyam Sunder pointed to the mountains in the distance， carved out and deeply mined， but showing nascent12 vegetation.

“Where there is mining， there is degradation，” he said. “We have been working to offset this.”

Yana Paliwal （no relation to Nikita or Shyam Sunder）， who is just two years old， doesn’t understand yet that trees have been planted in her name or that her parents have high hopes for her. Her mother， Sangeeta Paliwal， who moved to Piplantri after marrying 12 years ago， had little access to education as a girl but is determined her daughter should study first and think of marriage later. Sangeeta used to cover her face out of modesty， following the conservative practice of ghunghat13 in her own village， but not in Piplantri. Here， she was able to finish her college degrees through distance learning， she drives， and she has started working.

“Things have changed，” she said.

希亚姆·孙达尔·帕里瓦尔打开一个果荚，血红色的种子撒落出来。他把这些朱砂色灌木的果实捧在手心，让我查看。

这种植物能产生朱红色的粉末，印度人经常在化妆或举行宗教仪式时将它涂抹在额头上。这种植物在这一地区本不常见，但它现在却是比布兰曲村种植的许多树种之一。比布兰曲村位于印度西北部拉贾斯坦邦，由六个相连的小村庄组成。