Conservation Versus Conflict

 

 

BY R. RAJ RAO

In November 2018, just before Diwali, a female tiger named Avni was shot dead by a sharp-shooter in Maharashtra’s Yavatmal district. The tiger with two cubs was said to be a man-eater that had killed nearly a dozen people. The killing led to outrage among conservationists who rightly said that the animal should have been captured rather than killed. That the tiger had become a man-eater, a politically incorrect word today, was itself under dispute. Activists pointed out, among other things, that there wasn’t enough proof that all the attacks on human beings were carried out by a single animal, Avni in this case.

I travelled to Yavatmal soon after the tiger had been shot and spoke to villagers whose family members were killed by the predator. They were unanimous in their joy that the tiger had been eliminated. “We can now celebrate Diwali in peace,” they said, and pointed out how the depredations of the tiger had made life hell for them. They were unable to get out of their homes after dark, “even to answer nature’s call”, for fear of being pounced upon by the animal. 

The villagers felt that city-based conservationists lived in ivory towers, having no idea of the panic that the presence of wild animals like Avni instilled in their minds, and the pain that they suffered on the loss of loved ones killed by tigers and leopards. One feisty woman dared the likes of Maneka Gandhi, the most visible face of conservation in India, to come and live in their midst.

But the activists were especially peeved as Avni had cubs, both of whom disappeared after she had been shot. (Eventually, one of the cubs was found, but the other continued to elude the search parties).

Today, seven years later, the conversation seems to have veered somewhat in favour of human beings. In an article titled “When Tiger Conservation Overlooks Human Lives,” anthropologist Amir Sohel points out that “Over the past five decades, an estimated 3000 men and women have been killed by tiger attacks in the Sunderbans, though the actual numbers could reach 6000 or more.” The mangrove forests of the Sunderbans, the natural habitat of the Royal Bengal tiger, roughly cover an area of 10,000 square kilometres, three-fourths of which is in Bangladesh.

The main occupations of the people of the Sunderbans are fishing, crab-catching and the gathering of honey. It is this work that takes men into the forests, in spite of its dangers. Although the use of the term ‘man-eater’ is discouraged, as it is seen as a license to kill marauding animals, the Sunderban tigers are all believed to be man-eaters. Evidence has shown that they have developed such a taste for human flesh, that they attack human beings even when deer and antelope, their natural prey, as well as domestic animals like goats and cows are freely available.

As far as tiger attacks go, some experts believe that the Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve in Maharashtra’s Chandrapur district is the second-most “dangerous” place after the Sunderbans. Just this month (September 2025) as many as six people, including a child, were killed by tigers and leopards in the Tadoba reserve. That amounts to a tiger assault every five days!  So much so, that AI-enabled systems have now been installed in some twenty villages in the region to warn people of the presence of tigers in the vicinity.

Forest departments, which have always shown themselves to be on the side of tigers rather than human beings, have also begun to relent. They recently objected to the conversion of the Mhadei Wildlife Sanctuary in Goa to a tiger reserve, arguing that it was merely a “tiger corridor” for tigers moving between Maharashtra and Karnataka. Their main concern was for the loss of livelihoods that the conversion would entail, as the region is heavily populated, and a tiger reserve would lead to displacement that the locals would violently oppose.

In 2005, India had just 22 tiger reserves. Today, it has close to 60. In Tadoba and its adjoining areas alone, the number of tigers, according to some estimates, has risen from 191 in 2020 to 347 today.

Every year, on Buddha Purnima day, which falls in May when the full moon is at its brightest, the Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve allows volunteers to spend the night in machans in the core and buffer areas of the reserve to assist in a tiger count. I spent the night in one such machan in 2014. The count that year, although not foolproof, showed the number of tigers in the reserve to be less than 100. If that number has tripled today, it only goes to show the success of Project Tiger, introduced by the union government way back in 1973 to save the tiger from extinction.   

However, the flip side of this victory is a disproportionate increase in the number of tigers as compared to the total area of forest cover. This surfeit not only leads to territorial rivalries among male tigers, but it also makes some tigers leave their reserves in search of new homes. Now, this is welcome in terms of genetic pooling and the prevention of in-breeding. But it also brings tigers in close proximity to human settlements, compounding the chances of conflict. A male tiger recently travelled 400 kilometres from the Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve in Madhya Pradesh to the Achanakmar Tiger Reserve in Chattisgarh. Another male tiger travelled 450 kilometres from the Tippeshwar Tiger Reserve in Yavatmal district to the Ramling Wildlife Sanctuary in Osmanabad district. These tigers could not have undertaken such long journeys without crossing villages, towns, highways and railway tracks along the way. After all, tiger corridors are not concatenated. Incidentally, the village where Avni was shot is only a thirty-minute drive from the Tippeshwar Tiger Reserve.

I drove to the Ramling Wildlife Sanctuary in Osmanabad, and found that its total area is a paltry 22.5 square kilometres. This, clearly, is insufficient for an adult tiger, and there’s every possibility that the migrating animal, now named Ramling, will stray into adjoining villages and towns, provoking an Avni-like situation. Forest personnel claim they tried to shift the tiger to the larger Sahyadri Tiger Reserve in Western Maharashtra, but it proved to be elusive.

The victims of tiger attacks are invariably tribals who have lived for generations in tiny hamlets bordering forests. But it’s not as if city-dwellers who go on tiger safaris aren’t at risk. Some years ago, the Supreme Court, giving its verdict on a PIL, imposed a total ban on tiger safaris in all of India’s tiger reserves. The ruling was then modified to open up 20% of the buffer areas of reserves to tiger tourism. This was because the government told the court that banning tiger tourism altogether would jeopardize the livelihoods of safari drivers and guards who operated in the reserves. With 20% of the forests now made available for tiger-sightings, the safari drivers and guards were back in business. But there were occupational hazards. I was once on a safari ride with six others in an open-topped Maruti Gypsy at the Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. The vehicle suddenly had a flat tyre, and all of us were made to get down while the driver changed the tyre, although getting off safari vehicles is strictly prohibited in tiger reserves. It was nearing dusk, and we had a close shave, as fresh pug-marks told us that a tiger had trod that very path just a few minutes ago. A similar situation prevailed at Ranthambore recently, when a Gypsy broke down in the middle of the forest, and the driver and guard disappeared under the pretext of finding a substitute vehicle, leaving terrified passengers, including children, high and dry, as night dawned.

When forests are designated as tiger reserves, tribal people who own land in the outskirts of these forests, and depend on forest produce for a living, are displaced. In a research article published in the Journal of Political Ecology, author Eleonora Fanari writes, “It is worrisome that international conservation organizations have occasionally supported the displacement of local and indigenous forest dwellers.” In this context, she especially names the Wildlife Conservation Society, and says that “Although several studies, mostly carried out by the Wildlife Conservation Society, show the positive impact of resettlements of people, including access to housing, education, ‘development’ opportunities, jobs etc., research shows that the resettlements are far from ‘voluntary’ and ‘satisfactory.’ One of the reserves that Fanari travelled to was the Melghat Tiger Reserve in Amravati District. I did not see any tribal settlements in Melghat, indicating that all of them had been relocated. However, I visited Jamni village deep inside the core area of the Tadoba Tiger Reserve before it was relocated, and spoke to villagers. They expressed their displeasure at having to leave their homes and their lands where they had been living for generations, and move far away. The presence of tigers close -by, they said, did not scare them.  They knew how to protect themselves.

Compensation, monetary and otherwise, may be offered to local populations who relocate. But compensation is harder to come by when people are killed by tigers. I remember speaking to an old woman in Tadoba whose husband was mauled to death by a tiger. She did not even seem aware that she was entitled to compensation, and certainly had no idea about how much money they owed her. Claims get mired in bureaucracy and red tape, and it takes a while before the money actually reaches the claimant, whose illiteracy can easily be taken advantage of.  

Amir Sohel points out how in the Sunderbans, where the maximum tiger deaths happen, compensation is refused if the victim did not possess a Boat License Certificate, or if the body of the victim isn’t recovered. (But how can a victim’s body be recovered if it has been consumed by the tiger)? Furthermore, compensation is only granted if the attack happened in the buffer area of the reserve, that is, presumably, not in the core area, and not outside the buffer area.

Both Fanari and Sohel use the word ‘elite’. To Fanari, it is forest officials who wield power over marginalized tribal communities who are the elite. To Sohel, the elite are urban tourists who visit tiger reserves for entertainment.

The wives of men killed by tigers in the Sunderbans become ‘tiger widows’ and are ostracized. Thus, as Amitav Ghosh writes in The Hungry Tide, they offer prayers to a goddess known as Bon Bibi for the safe return of their husbands before the latter venture out into the forest.  

The conservation-conflict interface has no easy solutions. In the end, we must learn to strike a balance between saving the tiger and saving human lives. With tiger numbers having dropped from one lakh at the beginning of the 20^th century to less than 4000 today, mostly because of human intervention, it is hard to decide who is predator and who is prey.