Stream within Mawphlang's sacred forest.
Image: Thomas Malsom
Before the first tourist steps onto the mossy ground, water is already at work in Mawphlang. It gathers beneath layers of fallen leaves, moves through roots older than memory, and quietly emerges as streams that sustain villages downstream. In this forest, water is not simply a resource. It is a living presence shaped by belief, restraint and care.
“We don’t enter the forest every day, but we feel it in the water,” says a local dweller, Daphi Lyngdoh.
About 25 kilometres from Shillong, the Mawphlang sacred grove lies in a shallow valley where clouds drift low and rainwater disappears gently into the earth. For over 800 years, the Khasi community has protected this forest not through fences or formal enforcement but through a system of belief that binds water, land and people together.
Mawphlang’s largest sacred forest in Meghalaya.
The origins of Mawphlang are deeply tied to Khasi ancestral memory. The grove is believed to have been protected since the formation of the Hima Mawphlang polity, shaped by twelve clans who trace their lineage to Ka Mei Kmah, the revered ancestral mother. Even today, rituals connected to her memory continue near the grove, reinforcing a worldview where forests, water and ancestry are inseparable.
Across India, more than 13,000 sacred groves still survive. Known as Devrais in Maharashtra, Sarna sites in Jharkhand, Devarakaadu in Karnataka and Law Kyntang in Meghalaya, these forests are sustained by shared responsibility rather than laws. They stabilise soil, support biodiversity and, most critically, safeguard water. Yet many are slowly disappearing or are now under increasing pressure from climate change, development and shifting social values. Among them, Mawphlang stands as both a refuge and a warning.
Spread across nearly 192 acres, Mawphlang is one of the largest and most well-known sacred groves in Meghalaya. Across the state, around 79 sacred such groves still survive, covering close to 9,000 hectares.
Its name, meaning moss-covered stone, reflects a landscape where water seeps through rock and root alike. The forest is believed to be guarded by spirits known as U Ryngkew, U Basa and Labasa. The belief is absolute. Nothing may be taken from the grove.
This system of protection is not informal or incidental. It is embedded within a wider indigenous governance structure where land and forests are collectively managed through customary institutions. Decision-making traditionally takes place in community councils, where authority rests not with enforcement agencies but with collective consent. In this framework, sacred groves are not isolated forests but part of a larger system of land classification that balances use, protection and spiritual responsibility.
“I do not even go near that forest,” says Bari, a local resident. “If we go, something will happen to us. That forest is very sacred, so we cannot pollute by taking anything from the forest.”
Here, belief functions as governance. Known locally as Law Kyntang or Law Lyngdoh, the grove is protected through clan-based stewardship. The Blah clan cares for the oldest section, while the Lyngdoh clan manages the most sacred core under the authority of the Hima Mawphlang institution.
“Our community has always protected this sacred grove, because it is not only a forest; it is our source of life,” says Tambor Lyngdoh. “Even when government schemes like MGNREGA come, our relationship with this grove remains the same. We safeguard it through our own traditions and collective responsibility.”
Mawphlang - the sacred forest of Meghalaya.
Entry into Mawphlang is controlled, deliberate and limited. Visitors are allowed only in a small section of the forest and must be accompanied by guides from the managing clans. Before entering, they are told clearly what cannot be done. Nothing may be touched or removed.
“Our rituals teach us care, and our beliefs make us cautious,” explains Wishbanoy Rani, a Khasi guide from the local Khasi community. “This forest is not meant for free entry, so we allow access only to a small section so people can learn about our culture.”
Inside the sacred forest, Mawphlang.
Even within the community, access remains restricted. “Local residents follow even stricter rules,” says Arnold Lyngdoh. “Entry into the inner grove is allowed only during rituals. Nothing may be removed. Cutting, hunting or grazing are completely prohibited.”
Rani explains how this system is organised. “The Mawphlang sacred grove is divided into three sections. To the left lies the oldest area, known as Khlaw Lait Tyrkhang, cared for by the Blah Clan. This section contains massive trees believed to be more than 800 years old. The central section, spread over nearly forty hectares, is called Khlaw Pheiphandi. This is the most sacred part of the forest and is managed by the Lyngdoh Clan under the authority of Hima Mawphlang.”
These rules are not about control. They sustain a delicate balance between humans, water, soil and all living systems.
The entrance to Mawphlang's sacred grove is open for tourists.
Because the grove is left undisturbed, life thrives within it. Angiosperms, ancient trees, mushrooms, insects and birds flourish under its dense canopy. At the entrance, monoliths stand in honour of Ka Mei Kmah, carrying ancestral memory forward. Inside, the thick humus floor and deep shade create a world distinct from the open landscapes beyond. The grove also holds coronation and ceremonial sites, where Khasi leaders were once anointed, still marked by enduring stone structures.
Researchers have described Mawphlang as an ecological island, functioning as a natural gene bank that preserves rare and ancient species. The grove’s vegetation stands in sharp contrast to the surrounding pine-dominated landscape, with dense layers of native trees, shrubs and epiphytes creating a self-sustaining ecosystem. Early botanists, including Sir J D Hooker, noted the unusual richness of species here, reinforcing its importance as a living archive of biodiversity.
A tour guide explaining the rules and regulations of the sacred grove.
“The forest holds about 400 to 450 plant species and 25 different types of orchids,” says Rani. “Trees such as rudraksha, indigenous pines, rhododendrons, oak, bayberry, yew and Myrica esculenta dominate the canopy. Many are believed to be more than a thousand years old. Medicinal plants like Arisaema species and Elaeocarpus robustus are still used to treat serious ailments.”
Studies show that such sacred groves retain higher moisture and support stable groundwater recharge compared to surrounding degraded landscapes. In Mawphlang, biodiversity and water are inseparable, each sustained by the absence of disturbance.
Rudraksha from Mawphlang.
Mawphlang is now a major ecotourism destination, yet the community continues to protect its water pathways with care. As Arnold walks through the forest, he points to rainwater moving gently through the terrain. “You see these flows; this is rainwater. We create paths for it to enter the forest, but once it enters, we do not touch it,” he says. “During winter it reduces, though not completely, so we allow rainwater to flow inside the forest.”
The protection of such groves was never accidental. Khasi communities traditionally designated sacred forests in areas where mountain slopes gave rise to springs and streams. These forests were intentionally preserved to ensure a continuous supply of clean water and fresh air for nearby settlements. By safeguarding vegetation and restricting disturbance, the grove sustains the hydrological processes that allow water to seep, store and flow through the landscape.
Rudraksha Tree within Mawphlang's grove.
The community follows a deliberate system of separation. “Once the rainwater joins the forest stream, we leave it undisturbed. We have kept two water sources separate. Some people use another stream for washing clothes, but fresh rainwater never flows there,” he explains.
Pointing to a nearby washing area, he adds, “That is where the community washes clothes. Once water is used, it becomes dirty, so we keep clean water flowing into the forest. Water inside the grove remains untouched. Water outside meets daily needs. This careful separation protects both purity and continuity.
On the left is a shed built by the stream, and on the right is a spring shed within Mawphlang's sacred forest.
Walking deeper into the grove, the sound of flowing water becomes constant. “This stream has never dried up,” says Arnold. “Even during the driest months, the soil here stays moist.”
Earlier, some of these water sources were opened to tourists, but that practice has been stopped. “We realised they were getting polluted because visitors did not follow our guidelines,” he says.
The community has since restored control, reshaping stream paths and restricting use to protect natural springs. These practices support groundwater flow, allowing streams to continue even during dry periods. Mawphlang shows how intact forests can function as reliable natural water systems.
A place where the community wash their clothes.
The water that begins in Mawphlang does not stay within. It flows downstream to villages like Wahlyngkien and joins the Um Lawlyngdoh River. Springs from the grove fill household tanks, support kitchen gardens and meet daily needs.
“Though the stream’s flow can decrease, there is always a water source within the forest that continues to flow downstream, which is sufficient for the people living there," says Rani. “The water never dries, and our tanks never run empty,” adds Martisha Lyngdoh.
“For everything, from washing to drinking, we depend on this water. The water from the grove is fresher, cleaner and very cold,” she explains.
“Even during dry seasons, other rivers or streams that merge with the sacred groves might run dry, but the grove’s stream always flows,” adds Mesa Lyngdoh. Their words reflect a living relationship where water connects forest and home.
A rainwater flows into the sacred grove.
For generations, Mawphlang was protected through belief and customary rules that limited human interference. But this balance is under pressure. Urban expansion and increasing tourism are reshaping the landscape.
“We do not know how long we can protect the forest,” says Arnold Lyngdoh. “We are seeing erratic rainfall, and some streams have dried up.” He says that the forest is still sacred, but things around it are changing.
Tambor Lyngdoh reflects on the shift. “Earlier, water felt more abundant. Now it feels reduced to barely 45 percent. Everything is becoming thinner: the moisture, the greenery, and the strength of the ecosystem.”
Untouched stream within Mawphlang's sacred grove.
“Fresh water has always been one of the biggest blessings of this grove. But now people are worried. Springs, ponds and streams are all connected. Any disturbance affects the whole system,” says Tambor.
He recalls recent observations. “I saw trees uprooted on their own. This is not because people are cutting them, but due to dryness. The soil is losing its strength, and trees cannot hold firmly anymore. Trees fall perhaps because of age, since this forest is more than a hundred years old. But what we are seeing now feels too rapid, too sudden.”
Elders recall that earlier generations held a deep reverence for these customary laws, guided by a belief that violating the sanctity of sacred forests would bring harm not only to individuals but to the entire community. However, changing social values, external influences and modern pressures have gradually weakened this collective adherence, contributing to the degradation seen in many sacred groves beyond Mawphlang.
Despite these pressures, the Khasi community continues to defend the grove through collective action. Tourism is tightly regulated through guide systems. Some areas have been closed to allow regeneration. Water sources within the grove are no longer used, even by locals.
“We do not allow outside interference,” says Tambor Lyngdoh. “We don’t allow people to exploit the grove. We don’t want anyone, even the government, to use its name for paperwork or development projects. This grove is sacred, and safeguarding it goes beyond official labels.”
On the left, water flowing from the grove joins the Um-Lawlyngdoh River.
Unlike many other regions in India, sacred groves in Meghalaya are legally protected under the United Khasi and Jaintia Hills Autonomous District Management and Control of Forests Act, 1985. The law recognises these forests as community-managed spaces and places stewardship in the hands of traditional authorities such as the Lyngdoh clan. It strictly regulates tree felling and allows extraction only for approved religious purposes with prior authorisation.
A stream that comes from Mawphlang's sacred grove.
Mawphlang does not offer a new solution. It reveals an old one. Water endures here because it is not taken for granted. Because belief shapes behaviour. Because restraint becomes protection. In a time when water systems are increasingly fragile, this forest offers a different way of thinking. Conservation here does not begin with technology or policy. It begins with relationships.
The story of Mawphlang is not only about a forest. It is about how water moves through memory, belief and collective responsibility. These streams continue to flow because a community has chosen to protect what it cannot own.