In the world unseen, where beautiful souls played,
A bamboo grove in the sunlight swayed.
From its green stalks, a folklore grew,
Two souls emerged, bathed in morning dew.
Pilchu Haram, the sacred grove,
Birthed the first Santhal, a story of love.
Hahasa, the man, with strength and grace,
Dishimoni, the woman, with beauty's embrace.
Hand in hand, they stepped into light,
The world unfolded, vast and bright.
Stars as their guide, on moonlit trails,
Learning nature's songs, and whispering gales.
The language of birds, the secrets of trees,
The whispers of wind, carried on the breeze.
Pilchu Haram's magic, forever their own,
Guiding their steps, a place to call home.
From this sacred birth, a lineage began,
The Santhal people, across the land.
Honoring Pilchu Haram, with grateful sigh,
Where life first came down the mountains high.
So echoes the myth, in voice of nature,
The Santhal spirit existed altogether.
A bond with forests, forever made,
Pilchu Haram's folklore will never fade.
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