The buzzing begins before sunrise in Sukunda village of Odisha’s Ganjam district.
As the first light spreads across the red-soil fields of Kukudakhandi block, hundreds of honeybees circle rows of wooden hive boxes placed along the edge of Manas Ranjan Jena’s farm. The air carries the smell of damp earth, flowering trees and fresh honey. Wearing a faded shirt and protective veil, the 36-year-old farmer gently lifts a honeycomb frame dripping with golden honey.
“Earlier, I used to fear bees,” he said with a smile. “Now, this sound gives me peace.”
The calmness surrounding his apiary today hides years of struggle, uncertainty and patient rebuilding.
Manas’s household includes his parents, grandmother, wife, two children and younger brother. Like many families in rural Odisha, they depended on agriculture and dairy farming for survival.
After completing a B.Com degree, Jena hoped dairy farming would provide a steady income. But slowly, the business became difficult to sustain.
The price of cattle feed kept increasing. Veterinary expenses mounted. Milk prices fluctuated. Some months, very little money remained after repaying loans and managing household expenses.
“There were days when I felt helpless,” he recalled. “You work throughout the day, but still cannot support the family properly.”
The stress began affecting everyday life. Conversations at home increasingly revolved around debt, school fees and expenses. The dairy shed that once represented hope slowly became a source of anxiety.
“I started wondering whether farming would ever give us stability,” he said.
Then came a turning point.
A few years ago, the Agriculture Department in Berhampur organised an exposure visit to Indira Gandhi Krishi Vishwavidyalaya in Raipur. Jena joined the trip hoping to explore alternative livelihood options.
During the visit, he encountered scientific beekeeping for the first time.
He watched trainers carefully open bee boxes and extract thick amber honey from fresh combs while bees hovered calmly nearby.
“I was surprised,” he said. “I had never imagined that people could earn a decent livelihood from bees.”
Until then, bees existed only in the background of village life, inside tree hollows, mud walls and forest edges. Nobody around him considered them a business opportunity.
But the idea stayed with him.
After returning home, Jena enrolled in training programmes at Krishi Vigyan Kendra (KVK), Bhanjanagar, and Odisha University of Agriculture and Technology (OUAT), Bhubaneswar. There, he learned about colony management, queen bee identification, honey extraction and disease control.
In 2014, with savings of barely Rs 8,000, Jena bought four old bee boxes and began rearing Indian honey bees (Apis cerana indica), an indigenous honeybee species suited to Odisha’s climate.
The initial months were difficult.
Sometimes colonies abandoned the hive boxes overnight. Ant attacks damaged colonies. During heavy rains, moisture affected honey production. There were days when he struggled to understand bee behaviour.
“The trainers made it look easy,” Jena laughed. “But bees teach you patience first.”
Many villagers also doubted his decision.
People used to ask Jena, “Will bees feed your family now?” Some thought he was wasting time.
But Jena continued experimenting. Every evening, after finishing farm work, he sat beside the hive boxes observing bee movement and learning their behaviour.
“Bees make you more connected to nature,” he said. “You start noticing flowering seasons, weather changes and trees around you differently.”
Slowly, the colonies stabilised and began multiplying. With each successful season, his confidence grew.
What started with four old boxes gradually expanded into a thriving apiary spread across his three-acre upland farm. Today, nearly 50 bee boxes stand neatly arranged beside vegetable fields and flowering plants.
During honey harvesting season, the farm smells of wax and fresh honey. Inside a small storage room, glass bottles filled with dark golden honey line wooden shelves.
Over the years, Manas transformed the small experiment into a profitable enterprise.
Today, he sells nearly 300 kilograms of honey annually at around Rs.600 per kilogram. He also sells nearly 1,500 bee boxes and around 500 bee colonies every year to farmers and aspiring entrepreneurs across Odisha.
According to him, beekeeping now generates an annual profit of nearly Rs 4-5 lakh.
“There is less fear now,” Jena said. “Earlier, we constantly worried about money. Today, I can think about my children’s future with confidence.”
Success has also changed his position within the community.
The same villagers who once questioned his decision now visit his apiary seeking advice. Young farmers regularly come to learn how they can start beekeeping with limited investment.
Today, Jena serves as a master trainer at programmes organised by KVKs, OUAT and agricultural institutions. During training sessions, he often shares both technical knowledge and the struggles behind his journey.
“I tell farmers not to expect success immediately,” Jena said. “I started with only four old boxes. Everything happened slowly, through mistakes, observation and patience.”
His work has also helped farmers understand the ecological value of bees. According to Jena, apiaries have improved pollination and crop productivity in nearby farms.
As the afternoon sun settles over Sukunda village, the humming around the apiary grows louder. Bees continue moving tirelessly between flowers and hive boxes.
For Jena, those tiny wings carried more than honey. They carried a second chance.
From struggling with dairy losses to becoming a successful beekeeper and trainer, his journey reflects how small experiments, supported by learning and persistence, can slowly transform rural livelihoods, one hive at a time.
Pratyusa Kumar Panda is a development professional who works as a Program Officer at Watershed Support Services and Activities Network (WASSAN) in Ganjam, Odisha. He is passionate about visual storytelling from rural areas, covering culinary heritage and sustainable food systems.
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth