Tucked in the Garhwal Himalayas, Jardhargaon feels like a place where time slows down. Terraced fields spill over the hills, catching the morning light, each patch of earth holding stories of families who have farmed it for generations. In the late 1980s, Vijay Jardhari, a farmer with a gentle voice and hands rough from the soil, stood in his field and felt a tug at his heart. The crops he knew as a boy — finger millet waving like old friends, black soybeans plump under the sun, amaranth leaves bold as a painter’s brush — were vanishing. New hybrid seeds had taken over, promising plenty but leaving the land parched and the farmers empty-handed.

Vijay saw more than crops fading. He saw his mother’s old tin box, heavy with seeds and memories, gathering dust. He saw his neighbours’ worried faces, their savings spent on seeds they couldn’t keep. This is the story of how Vijay and his village fought to save their seeds and their way of life, sparking the Beej Bachao Andolan — a movement that’s now a beacon of hope across India. It’s a story for anyone who has ever wanted to hold on to something that matters.

When the fields lost their song

In the 1980s, Jardhargaon’s fields started to change, and not for the better. Vijay noticed hybrid seeds creeping in, pushed by markets and government schemes that promised bigger harvests. But these seeds came with a heavy price, and the village was paying it.

The trouble with hybrids

• Draining the land: These seeds needed more water than the mountain streams could give, plus fertilisers and pesticides that hurt the soil.
• Stealing independence: Unlike the........
  

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