While most people duck for cover when thunder rumbles and lightning streaks across the sky, one man walks straight into the storm—with a palm sapling in his hand.
Meet Bhaskar Mandal, a geography teacher at Hooghly’s Ranagar High School, with dirt under his nails and purpose in his veins. Mandal is quietly waging a green war against one of Bengal’s deadliest seasonal killers—lightning. With Kalbaisakhi storms and unrelenting monsoon rains now a grim seasonal certainty, the risk of lightning strikes—especially for farmers working in wide-open fields—has never been higher. But Bhaskar Sir, as he is affectionately called, has found a natural antidote—the palm tree.
Hailing from the wind-battered wilderness of the Sundarbans, Mandal grew up in a home where his father—a fellow teacher and tree enthusiast—nurtured both students and saplings. When Bhaskar moved to Hooghly’s Pandua 32 years ago, he brought with him not just a chalkboard, but a burning passion to reforest his second home.
Since then, the geography teacher has planted over 75,000 trees—yes, you read that right—and he’s just getting started. His target this year? Another 15,000 palm saplings, spread across farmlands, roadsides and wherever else he can sink a root.
Why palms? Because these tall, tough trees are more than just photogenic—they’re scientifically proven to disperse lightning, reduce fatalities, and offer life-saving shelter in open agricultural areas. For the farming population of Pandua, they’re not just trees; they’re biological lightning conductors.
“The problem is real. People die while working in the fields,” Mandal explains, adding, “But where there are palm trees—those lives are often spared. That’s my mission. To plant so no one dies.”
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Bhaskar Sir doesn’t operate alone. He’s created a pickup-and-plant system: villagers call him when they spot palm saplings and he arrives with a team of students to collect and transplant them. He’s even established collection centres across nearby villages, turning this into a fully functional grassroots operation.
Of course, it hasn’t been easy. Not all trees survive. Some die from lack of care. Some fall prey to ignorance. But Bhaskar trudges on. “I cannot care for all of them. But I can make sure they’re planted,” he admits.
Travel from Arti More to Ranagarh, and you’ll pass through what locals call a "living corridor"—dozens of tall palms flanking the roads like green guardians. Passers-by rest under their shade. Farmers take cover from the midday sun. Life breathes here, under the canopy that Mandal built.
He’s also imported Makhana trees from Bihar and planted them in local water bodies. The result? A growing interest in this high-yield aquatic crop, as Mandal now nudges farmers towards eco-profitable diversification.
Inside his school too, Mandal has created mini green zones. But he’s also cultivating something even more powerful: eco-consciousness. He founded the "Nature Lover’s Club", a student-led green brigade 200 strong. These young troopers plant trees, rescue saplings and are slowly transforming Pandua from a dusty town into a living laboratory of climate resilience.
From palm and peepal to mango and tamarind, Mandal’s calendar is punctuated not by exams, but by planting seasons—June to October being his busiest time.
Residents say Bhaskar Sir is much more than a tree planter. “He’s a social worker in disguise,” says local youth Hasibur Rahman Sheikh, adding, “From hospital visits to stopping child marriages, he’s everywhere.”
Ratan Ghosh and Mintu Manna Dey add, “We’ve seen those saplings grow into giants. Just like his impact. He’s changing Pandua—one tree at a time.”
This year, Mandal has reached out to forest rangers in Jaipur, Bankura, seeking permission to green the region’s parched jungles. “We don’t want money. Just land,” he says. “Give us space, and we’ll give you forests.”
In an age of concrete and chaos, Mandal stands tall like the palm trees he plants—stubborn, steadfast and silently saving lives. His mission isn’t just environmental—it’s existential. Because in his world, every tree is a prayer and every sapling is a promise.
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