Tharu Ethnoecology in Pakali, Sunsari, Nepal: Medicinal Plant Knowledge, Home Gardens, and Conservation Willingness

In the lowlands of eastern Nepal, where the air is thick with the humidity of the monsoon and the landscape is a patchwork of rice fields and riverine forests, lives the Tharu people. For generations, they have navigated this environment not just as farmers or residents, but as keepers of a deep, practical understanding of the natural world. This body of knowledge, often called traditional ecological knowledge, is not a static list of facts stored in a book. Instead, it is a living system of learning that connects people to the plants around them, teaching them which leaves can soothe a fever, which roots can ease a stomach ache, and how to manage the land so these resources remain available. In many parts of the world, this kind of wisdom is fading as modern medicine and changing lifestyles take hold, yet in places like the Tharuwan region, the connection between daily life and the local flora remains strong. Understanding how this knowledge is passed down, where people find the plants they need, and whether they are willing to protect these resources offers a window into how human communities adapt to a changing world.

A recent study focused on a specific community in Pakali, a ward within the Itahari Sub-Metropolitan City in the Sunsari District, sought to map this relationship between the Tharu people and their medicinal plants. Researchers from Tribhuvan University visited 140 Tharu households to ask simple but revealing questions: What plants do you use when someone is sick? Where do you get them? Who taught you how to use them? And if a program were started to protect these plants, would you join it? The goal was not just to count the number of species used, but to understand the social fabric that holds this knowledge together. The researchers found that the most common remedies were not hidden deep in the forest, but were right outside the front door. The most frequently cited plant was Tulsi, a type of holy basil, followed by ginger, aloe vera, neem, garlic, and turmeric. These are not rare wildflowers; they are the staples of the home garden, plants that families grow and tend to themselves.

The study revealed that for the vast majority of these households, the home garden is the primary pharmacy. Nearly 80 percent of the respondents said they obtained their medicinal plants from their own gardens or nearby local markets, rather than venturing into the wild forests. This suggests that the daily practice of gardening is the engine that keeps this medical knowledge alive. When the researchers asked how people learned to use these plants, the answer was overwhelmingly consistent: family tradition. About 81 percent of the respondents said they learned from their parents or elders within the family. This finding highlights that the transmission of this knowledge is a quiet, domestic process, happening over meals and while tending to crops, rather than through formal schools or written manuals. The researchers also noted that while some households relied on community elders, the nuclear family unit remained the strongest link in the chain of learning.

To understand how reliable this local knowledge is, the researchers looked at how much agreement there was among the neighbors. They found that for certain ailments, the community was remarkably unified in their choices. For example, when it came to treating burns, every single person who mentioned a remedy for that specific injury pointed to the same plant: aloe vera. Similarly, there was very strong agreement on using Tulsi for colds and neem for skin conditions. This high level of consensus suggests that these specific plant-illness pairings are deeply embedded in the culture and are not just random guesses. However, for other ailments, like fevers, the community was more divided, with people suggesting a wider variety of different plants. This variation tells a story of a living knowledge system that is flexible and evolving, rather than a rigid set of rules.

Perhaps the most striking discovery of the study concerned the willingness of these households to participate in conservation efforts. The researchers found that people who believed that environmental change threatened their cultural traditions were much more likely to say they wanted to help protect medicinal plants. In other words, when people saw the loss of nature as a loss of their own identity and way of life, they became eager to act. This connection between cultural survival and environmental protection was a powerful motivator. Interestingly, the study also found that households with higher monthly incomes were slightly less likely to express a willingness to participate in conservation programs. The researchers suggest this might be because wealthier families are less dependent on local plants for their daily needs or have less time to dedicate to such activities, but they emphasized that this is an association, not a proven cause-and-effect relationship.

The study also touched on the changing economic landscape of the community. While agriculture remains important, many households now rely on remittances from family members working abroad or on local businesses. This shift away from pure subsistence farming does not seem to have erased the knowledge of medicinal plants, but it has changed the context in which that knowledge is used. The plants are still there, still growing in the gardens, and still being used, but the people who tend them are navigating a more complex economy. The researchers concluded that the future of this knowledge depends on the strength of the family unit and the home garden. As long as elders continue to teach their children and families continue to grow these plants, the knowledge will persist. However, the study also warned that if the social structures that support this learning weaken, the knowledge could disappear even if the plants themselves remain in the ground.

Ultimately, this research paints a picture of a community where nature and culture are inextricably linked. The Tharu people of Pakali are not just users of plants; they are active participants in a system where gardening, healing, and family history are one and the same. The study suggests that efforts to conserve biodiversity in this region will be most successful if they respect and support these existing family-based practices. Instead of imposing outside solutions, conservation programs could work by helping families maintain their home gardens and encouraging the sharing of knowledge between generations. By recognizing that protecting a plant is also about protecting a tradition, conservationists can find a more effective path forward. The findings serve as a reminder that in the modern world, the most resilient forms of environmental stewardship may be the ones that have been practiced quietly in backyards and family kitchens for centuries.