Bengaluru, November 15, 2025
Saalumarada Thimmakka, the indomitable "Tree Mother" whose barren arms cradled saplings into a forest of hope, breathed her last on Friday at the age of 114, succumbing to a prolonged illness at a Bengaluru hospital. The Padma Shri awardee's passing marks the end of an era for India's grassroots environmentalism—a tale woven from personal sorrow into national legend, where a childless couple's quiet resolve birthed over 8,000 trees, transforming a dusty 45-km highway stretch in Karnataka into a verdant lifeline for birds, bees, and weary travelers. Thimmakka, who outlived her husband by four decades, leaves behind not just boughs of banyans but a timeless testament to resilience: In a world scorched by climate crises, one woman's nurture could green a generation.
Born Saalumarada Thimmakka on June 30, 1911, in the arid hamlet of Gubbi taluk, Tumakuru district, her early life mirrored the parched earth she would later defy. As a Dalit woman in pre-Independence India, opportunities were as scarce as shade in summer: Married off young to Chikkiah, a laborer on the Mysore Railways, the couple toiled as coolies, hauling stones for a pittance. Barren and bereft of children—a stigma that gnawed at Thimmakka's soul—they faced village taunts and societal scorn. "We had no wealth, no heirs—only each other and the endless road," she once recounted in a rare interview, her voice a whisper of weathered wisdom. It was on that very road, between Hulikere and Kudur (or Hulikal, as locals call it) in Ramanagara district, that their "family" took root in 1953.
Unable to bear biological children, Thimmakka and Chikkiah turned to the soil for solace. What began as a defiant act—nurturing banyan saplings wrapped in rags like infants—blossomed into an extraordinary odyssey. Over 25 years, they planted and tended 385 banyan trees along the 45-km State Highway 94, hauling water in earthen pots from distant wells, shielding tender shoots from goats and gales. Each tree, they imagined, was a "child"—named, sung to, and celebrated on "birthdays." "These trees are our daughters and sons; they will outlive us, give shade to strangers," Chikkiah would say, as per Thimmakka's later recollections. By the time Chikkiah passed in 1991, their "offspring" had matured into a majestic avenue, cooling the commute for thousands and earning Thimmakka the moniker "Saalumarada" (row of trees) Thimmakka—a title bestowed by villagers in awe of her arboreal brood.
Thimmakka's green crusade didn't halt at the highway's end. In the decades that followed, widowed and undeterred, she spearheaded afforestation drives across Karnataka, planting over 8,000 trees in total—banyans, figs, and neem—through community sapling nurseries and school campaigns. Her efforts saved a 70-year-old banyan row from a highway widening project in the 2000s, rallying locals and officials alike. "She wasn't educated, but her heart knew the earth's thirst," reflected environmentalist Pradip Krishen in a 2023 tribute. Challenges abounded: Poverty pinched, health faltered—Thimmakka battled arthritis and vision loss—yet she trudged on, often barefoot, with a sapling in hand. "Trees don't discriminate; why should we?" became her mantra, inspiring women's self-help groups in Hulikere to form eco-cooperatives.
Recognition flowed late but luminous. In 1996, she received the National Citizens' Award from then-President K.R. Narayanan; the Padma Shri followed in 2019, bestowed by President Ram Nath Kovind amid fanfare at Rashtrapati Bhavan. Other honors piled on: The 2006 UNEP Global 500 Roll of Honour, Godfrey Phillips National Bravery Award, and even a biopic in the works titled *Saalumarada Thimmakka*. At 113, she planted her last tree—a neem sapling—in her village, quipping, "I'll rest when the forests do." Her home, a modest mud hut in Hulikere, doubled as a shrine to her "children," with photos of towering banyans adorning the walls.
Thimmakka's final years were shadowed by frailty—a fall in 2023 led to hospitalization, and she had been under palliative care at Bengaluru's Sakra World Hospital for months, battling respiratory issues and age-related decline. "She slipped away peacefully this morning, surrounded by family and well-wishers," confirmed Dr. Vinay Kumar, her attending physician, in a statement. Her adopted son, Umesh, 45, who cared for her post-2000, shared: "Amma saw trees as family; now, the earth claims her back. Her trees will whisper her story to the winds." News of her demise rippled swiftly: Karnataka Chief Minister Siddaramaiah mourned her as "Karnataka's green soul," announcing a state funeral with honors and Rs 5 lakh ex-gratia to kin. Deputy CM D.K. Shivakumar, tearful at a presser, vowed to name a highway stretch after her: "Thimmakka's Row—from Hulikere to eternity."
Tributes poured from afar. PM Narendra Modi tweeted: "Saalumarada Thimmakka's life was a poem of perseverance and planet-love. Her banyans stand tall as tributes to a timeless spirit." Environmental icons like Vandana Shiva called her "India's Wangari Maathai," while global outlets like The Guardian hailed her as "the illiterate activist who schooled the world in stewardship." On social media, #ThimmakkaLegacy trended with 1 million posts—users pledging tree-planting drives, from Bengaluru techies to Delhi schoolkids.
Thimmakka's indelible mark? Beyond the 385 banyans—now a biodiversity corridor teeming with hornbills and langurs—her legacy is the ripple: Over 50,000 students reached through her foundation, a 20% rise in Karnataka's rural green cover since the 1990s, and a blueprint for "citizen forestry" emulated in Tamil Nadu and Odisha. In an era of COP pacts and carbon credits, she reminds: Conservation isn't conference chatter; it's calloused hands in the dirt.
As Hulikere's villagers gather under her first "child"—a 70-year-old banyan, its roots like gnarled fingers—Thimmakka's whisper endures: Plant, nurture, outlive. The trees have lost their mother; the world has gained an evergreen icon.
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