Circumventing the elephant

Published in Current Conservation 4.4

Farmers of the rainforests of Nigeria, Africa constructed an extensive network of earthen walls and moats. Astonishingly, in some places, the walls are 20 metres high and the moats 20 metres deep. What makes this even more remarkable is that Sungbo’s Eredo (meaning “Sungbo’s Ditch”) is thought to have been built around 1150 AD on the orders of a childless matriarch, Bilikisu Sungbo (although the dates don’t add up, locals believe that she is none other than the Queen of Sheba). The fortifications span 160 km encompassing an area of 1400 km2, the size of Delhi. Nearby Benin City has even more spectacular walls and trenches, extending 16,000 km and covering an area of 6,500 km2. This is thought to be the single largest archaeological phenomenon on the planet, an enterprise larger than the Egyptian pyramids. The zooarchaeologist, Juliet Clutton-Brock, believes they may be evidence of man’s earliest elaborate defense of crops against elephants. However, conflict with these pachyderms is thought to have started much earlier, when man first began to till the soil.

A millennium later, the range of devices that farmers use to keep elephants at bay is a tribute to the ingenuity of both, animals and humans. The simplest and most widespread (perhaps the oldest) practice is guarding crops through the night from tree top machans (or ground level tunsis, rickety shacks sometimes protected by a trench, used in north Bengal and Assam). When elephants are spotted, the vigilant farmers set up a cacophonic racket by lighting fire crackers, banging plates or rattling other noisy implements to scare the animals away. When extended families lived together, men took turns at guard duty. Now that nuclear families are the norm, the burden of chasing elephants falls on the man of the household night after night; hiring guards is not an option for poor farmers. The price of inadvertently falling asleep after a long day’s labour is catastrophic: the loss of the family’s sustenance for the next few months.

If an animal is repeatedly chased away from food, it gets irritable and elephants are no exception. Humans who haven’t slept well for days become crotchety. When bad-tempered members of two species confront each other, the stage is set for tragic accidents. The elephants’ dark coloration renders them almost invisible at night and drowsy farmers on patrol have been maimed or killed. Bursting fire crackers can goad elephants to take out their aggression on buildings or machans. Feeble torch lights, the barking of dogs and even a solitary human voice can cause a frustrated elephant to charge, sometimes with fatal consequences. Guarding crops is probably one of the most dangerous occupations in elephant country and several villagers tilling marginal lands have abandoned farming altogether.

In parts of elephant country, farmers complain that none of the commonly used methods such as torch lights and bursting fire crackers work anymore. In north Bengal and Assam, farmers have resorted to chasing elephants using mashal (a spear tip surrounded by a flaming ball of rags), birio (indigenous sling shots), poison arrows, flaming arrow heads, jute (fire balls on sticks), cycle tyres set afire, and more. Some of these cause grievous injuries to elephants and the pain can ramp up their aggression. In areas where damage caused by elephants is particularly high and farming has become unsustainable, men emigrate to cities for work leaving their wives to guard the crops. One agitated woman in Upper Kolabari village (north Bengal) shrieked, “We used to think that elephants were god, but not anymore. If they are killed, then finally there will be peace.” Eventually when she calmed down, she complained that she hadn’t slept for weeks and the stress of managing the farm and family while her husband was away was sapping her energy. The despondent woman was only voicing her threats, others more intolerant carry them out - they kill elephants with home-made guns, electric wires hooked up to high tension cables, and poison or explosive filled pumpkins.

In an effort to aid the beleaguered farmers, almost every division of the Forest Department in north Bengal and Assam forms a squad to chase elephants away during the harvest season. Depending on the obstinacy of the herd, it may take a few hours to a full night’s work to complete the job and the squad can only rush to one or two sites per night. On jeeps, tractors or trained elephants called kumki, they fire blanks to drive wild elephants away. One beat officer claimed proudly, “The elephants won’t budge if your vehicle goes, but as soon as our jeep arrives, they start moving.” During the harvest season, the field staff of the Forest Department is stretched to the limit, performing their regular duties through the day and chasing elephants every night without overtime or other benefits. On the other hand, farmers complain that these squads are inadequate and that the elephants return to the crops once the squads leave.

Perhaps the one method that has gained mythical powers of stopping elephants in their tracks is the electric fence. The non-lethal pulses of high voltage power carried along steel wires, unpleasantly jolts a barging elephant, warning it to stay away from the farm. As ingenious as it sounds, electric fences are no panacea. Desperate elephants have learnt a variety of tricks to get through fences – toppling trees onto them, using their tusks to rip or the soles of their feet to step on the wires and even running into them bringing posts and wires down! In Kenya, removing the tusks of eight fence-breaking bull elephants did not stop them from breaking 20 electric fences in the following five days. Once an elephant loses its fear of electricity, no fence, however sophisticated, appears to stop it.

Several NGOs in different parts of India are testing and implementing different methods of protecting crops from elephants. Perhaps the simplest innovation is the creation of voluntary youth groups to watch for elephants from machans. Young men spend their evenings playing card games while keeping an eye out for the pachyderms. Some of the other experiments range from using thorny plants to create a ‘biofence’, alternate inedible cash crops, bee hives along the perimeter of farms, trip wire alarms that alert sleeping farmers to the presence of elephants, and delivering chilli’s pungency through a variety of means (smoke, spray, paste smeared on a rope surrounding the crops). Some of them have shown initial promise but that is mainly because elephants stay away from anything new and unusual; if they put their minds to it, they seem to eventually overcome these obstacles. This talent inspired the ancients to create the elephant-headed god, Ganesa or Vinayaka, the super-human clearer of obstructions.

The crucial factor that determines the success or failure of any conflict resolution measure seems to depend on the elephants’ desperation for crops. In areas where there is abundant natural forage such as the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, elephants that are tempted by agricultural goodies, can be deterred by any of the methods. But in places such as Kodagu (Karnataka), Assam, north Bengal, Orissa and the Northeast where the assault on forests is intense and unrelenting, hungry elephants rely on human agricultural enterprise for their survival and they will overcome any challenge that man erects between them and the food they crave. Confining these giants with gargantuan appetites to fragmented insubstantial forests using fences, trenches, or walls is bound to fail (and unethical); but should these measures work, the elephants will in all likelihood eat through the forests and worsen the situation. Enriching the habitat by planting fodder, trees, and bamboo in elephant country has been suggested, but little is known of its efficacy.

We cannot hope to be successful by gnawing away at the habitat with one hand and with the other, curbing, altering and manipulating elephant behaviour and movement according to our convenience with the expectation that they will obey. That’s like trying to staunch a hemorrhage with several little band-aids. Wildlife managers are constantly on the look-out for measures that work decisively against elephants under any conditions, but unfortunately, there are none. At best, using the various measures in combination, changing them frequently and constantly improvising will buy us some time while a long-term habitat protection strategy is developed.

Conflict is caused mainly as a result of human actions, and this has to be at the heart of any attempt at resolution. Elephants are only compensating for what they have lost. In other words, it is not the elephants that are badly behaved, it is us. According to Project Elephant, 3% of India’s land surface is elephant country and of this, only 10% is affected by conflict. It is still possible to achieve a more amiable relationship with elephants if we put our minds to it and this is the time to do it before we irrevocably lose more elephant habitat.

Sugarcane leopards

Published in Current COnservation 4.4

Most of Akole valley in the Indian state of Maharashtra was formerly semi-arid and drought prone. When rains allowed, farmers grew crops such as pearl millet, sorghum, and safflower. In the 1980s with the aid of irrigation, intensive cultivation began. From a dust-bowl, Akole valley was transformed into a lush mosaic with dense stands of sugarcane, rich velvety green of banana fronds and rangy stands of corn. Set amongst them were smaller plots of onion, sorghum, wheat, cauliflower and other vegetables grown for the wholesale markets of Mumbai. The scraggly hills that form a jagged horizon to the west were dry and sparsely covered in brush with a few tree plantations. Nothing in this landscape could be remotely described as an archetypal forest where wild mammals might roam through thick, concealing vegetation.

People here make a living through agriculture and animal husbandry. At one end of the spectrum, rich farmers focus on lucrative sugarcane and imported Jersey cattle while at the other, poor tribals survive on marginal rain-fed agriculture and graze goats on the scrubby hill slopes. Nomadic shepherds make seasonal migrations from further afield so their animals can forage on the fallow fields. Although little of this landscape is set aside for conservation, a large golden cat spotted with black rosettes prowls amongst the tall cane fields in the fertile green valley. Locals know there are leopards around, some have seen them, others have heard of them and some have lost of calves, dogs or goats.

How is it possible for large predators to live with humans in a rural area? Asking this big question are Vidya Athreya, a wildlife biologist and Sunetro Ghosal, a social scientist.

Prior to stumbling on this modern-day Eden, Athreya had spent a few years studying human-leopard conflict in a neighbouring district where 47 people had been mauled in three years. Throughout the past centuries and across countries in Africa and Asia, leopards have attacked thousands of humans and killed scores.

Why do leopards attack people? Are we just easy meat? Over the decades, several explanations were trotted out such as man-eaters suffered from debilitating injuries, broken canines, too few prey animals and/or little water in the forest, infrastructure development disturbing forest stretches, increasing numbers of leopards, improper disposal of corpses giving the scavenging cats a taste of human flesh, and loss of fear of people. But no definitive study actually supports any of these contentions.

Athreya declares that studying a situation where leopards and humans are able to coexist peacefully in an agricultural landscape provides the key to understanding why the cats maul people elsewhere. To this end, both Ghosal and Athreya set up their studies in Akole with funding from the Royal Norwegian Embassy in Delhi and the Research Council of Norway in Oslo. The Centre for Ecological Sciences (CES) and Norwegian Institute for Nature Research (NINA) provided scientific stewardship under their joint 'Wildlife-human interactions: from conflict to coexistence in sustainable landscapes' project.

What do these rural leopards eat? One relatively simple way of answering this is to examine the hair remains found in scats. Leopards, like several other wild cats, defecate on paths. In forests where trails are few, droppings are easy to find. Where do you begin to look for leopard excreta in the maze of paths crisscrossing a 300 sq.km agricultural area? What if these rural cats keep a low profile by avoiding paths and people altogether? To maximize the search effort, the team of research assistants spread wide, scouring hills, fields, towns, roads, paths, dry stream beds, every type of habitat. To their surprise, it wasn’t all that difficult to find leopard scats; they were everywhere!

The hair remains teased out of the excreta were examined under a microscope. In the absence of the usual wild prey such as deer and monkeys, these leopards were living mostly on dogs, feral pigs and livestock. The few wild animals on the menu were smaller still: mongooses, civet cats and rodents.

How well do leopards survive on this diet and landscape? Can agricultural fields hold thriving populations of these big cats? To answer these questions leopards had to be enumerated, but how? Each leopard can be identified by its unique pattern of spots so camera trapping offers a scientific way of counting individuals. Since both flanks of an animal are not identical, a pair of cameras was fixed facing each other. Twenty pairs of camera traps were set up in 40 sites over an area of 136 sq.km. for 30 days to estimate the density of leopards.

The camera traps were placed in areas where scats were numerous and where there was evidence of leopard activity such as pugmarks, scratches on trees. Although the team interviewed people, Ghosal found that those who did not own goats or dogs were hardly aware of the presence of leopards. For instance, although one lady said that she had never seen a leopard and denied that there were any around, one was caught on camera ten feet away from her house!

In the final tally, five adult males, six females and four cubs were distinctly recognizable in the photographs. Once the area of the trapping exercise was adjusted, the density came to as many as 5 leopards living in 100 sq.km of farmland! More remarkably, that same 10 x 10 km area also supported five striped hyenas and about 357 people! Clearly agricultural areas were rich hunting grounds for these wild cats. Other animals that triggered the cameras were rusty-spotted cat, jungle cat, and jackal.

Were these leopards seasonal migrants from the closest forest taking advantage of the abundant feral prey?

When an old leopard (named ‘Ajoba’) that fell into a well was rescued by the Maharashtra Forest Department, Athreya affixed a GPS transmitter around his neck. As is sometimes the practice, he was released about 60 km away at the western edge of the district boundary at Malshej Ghats. Thereafter, his GPS location was pinpointed every day by satellite and an international SIM card tucked in the collar transmitted this information by SMS to the NINA server in Norway. All Athreya had to do to access Ajoba’s location was log onto the server. As a backup, the collar also held a traditional short range VHF transmitter so should the GPS malfunction, the animal could be traced using a handheld receiver.

A translocated leopard typically returns to the site of its capture or ranges randomly over long distances, either lost or attempting to find its home; rarely does it settle down at the site of release. A few days after Ajoba’s release, contrary to expectations, his GPS tracer began to dot westwards on the map, in the opposite direction from the site of his capture. He crossed the busy Mumbai-Agra National Highway, and through the Kasara railway station giving Athreya several anxious moments. Stranger still, Ajoba didn’t linger at either Tansa or Tungareshwar Wildlife Sanctuaries but continued onwards crossing the Vasai Industrial area near Thane, on the densely populated outskirts of Mumbai city. After twenty five days on the move, he entered Sanjay Gandhi National Park and the GPS points stayed clustered in a 25 sq.km  area for almost six weeks; he seemed to have settled down.

Then inexplicably Ajoba took a swim across the 100 metre Ullas River into the main section of the Park but returned. This may have caused the collar to malfunction as all further transmission stopped. Before settling down, Ajoba had traveled 120 km, and at several locations was very close to people. Remarkably not once did anyone notice the leopard. It is only because of his collar that we are aware of this wild cat’s extraordinary journey from the Ghats to the coast. Since Ajoba was quite an old animal, and had consistently walked in a single direction before settling down, the team doesn’t think he was lost; he was sure of his destination.

A leopardess caught in Nanashi, near Nashik, was collared and named Sita. She was in an advanced stage of pregnancy when she was released 50 km away. For a month she tried to return unsuccessfully. Then she gave birth at the site of release and her mothering instincts overruled the urge to return home. She hid in the forests during the day and prowled through neighbouring villages at night hunting dogs and goats. Four months later, when her kittens were old enough to follow, she returned home to Nanashi. Over the subsequent eight months, until the collar dropped off, she prowled a 25 sq.km* area.

Neither of these two animals’ case histories reveals the life for a typical leopard in Akole’s sugarcane fields. Then along came Jai Maharashtra, a young leopard and Lakshai, a leopardess. Although these animals were caught in separate locations, it was immediately obvious that they were related. After being radio-collared, Lakshai (who was missing a canine!) emerged from her drugged stupor and made a beeline for Jai. Eventually DNA testing showed that they were mother and son.

For the first two months after Lakshai had a litter, Jai, the dutiful older son, was always close at hand, staying with the kittens so their mother could go hunting. Perhaps leopards are not the solitary beasts we have been led to believe.

Compared to Ajoba and Sita’s long distance treks, Jai and Lakshai hardly moved at all. The resident animals holed up in sugarcane fields all day and emerged at night to hunt dogs and pigs within a range of 25 sq.km*. Schooled as I was in the paradigm that large wild cats belong in tall undisturbed forests, this revelation came as a shock. Until this moment, standing with Vidya just metres away from a hidden leopard, I had expected these cats to live in a wilderness area somewhere and make occasional forays into the sugarcane fields. But their GPS points clearly indicated that these leopards lived in farmlands 24x7. If they were ever translocated to a forest, it would seem like an alien world just as it would to any farmer! Leopards have long known to be adaptable animals, but in this landscape they act just like large pussy cats, keeping stray animals under control.

How do leopards use this landscape and when are they active? Most crucially, why don’t these leopards attack people? Do they wait until all human activity on the farms ceases at night before venturing out to hunt? To her surprise, Athreya found that the time stamp on the camera trap pictures showed that people and leopards were using the same paths at approximately the same time, often within minutes of each other. Since rural Maharashtra suffers all-day power shut downs, farmers visit their fields at night to turn on their water pumps. And this was also the time when leopards were prowling the pathways looking for prey, or patrolling their territories.

Despite living in such close proximity, what are the reasons for the lack of conflict? Athreya avers that we still know too little about the drivers of conflict but offers that inappropriate management such as translocation may only aggravate conflict. Continued collaring of animals, studying their movements and interactions with one another will provide a better understanding of when and why large cats attack on humans.

What factors promote tolerance towards dangerous predators in one’s neighbourhood? Ghosal’s social science study revealed that peoples’ attitudes to leopards were coloured by a three-way tension between their religious-social backgrounds, political-legal frameworks, and economic loss-insecurity (both personal and livelihood). Tribal and pastoral communities worship Waghoba and Waghjaimata, local deities symbolized by tigers or leopards. Combined with this religious ethic, tribals see themselves embedded alongside these predatory cats in a single dynamic landscape and do not apply for compensation even when they lose livestock. They also take greater care of their animals, so loss is minimized.

However, they feel powerless when Forest Department not only denies access to grazing on the hill slopes, but they believe the Department releases leopards in the hills to prevent them from grazing and collecting firewood! It is also worth mentioning that fewer leopards are found in the marginal areas used by tribals where there is little shelter or prey. Despite their weak politico-legal leverage, the strength of their religio-social backgrounds and ability to prevent losses has led to a positive attitude to leopards.

At the other extreme, a minority of rich urbanized farmers feel that these “government-owned” cats have no place outside protected forests. So they use their political clout to lobby for the removal of leopards. Since these farmers are negligent about securing their calves and goats, they suffer more losses to the predators and thus feel vindicated in their attitudes. Their disaffection is inadequately appeased by compensation. Yet, leopards thrive in these sugarcane fields because farmers leave them unmolested.

Most others have adapted to the presence of leopards in the landscape; some say they walk after dark in groups, armed with torchlight, and usually talk loudly so they do not inadvertently bump into a large cat. They also claim that leopards do not confront people but should it happen, they would give space for the feline to walk away. A lot of families confidently sleep out in the open while all the livestock and poultry are secured in enclosures.

New values such as seen in wildlife programs on television also exert a positive influence on people’s perception of the wild cat. Many take pride that leopards live in their midst and that researchers are studying them. All this has promoted tolerance of these cats in this landscape.

For instance, some women who were weeding, calmly watched a leopard walk past. Moments later, in the next farm, workers threw stones and sent the feline scurrying for cover. In the melee, one or two of them were scratched and they complained to the Forest Department. When the local official approached the first farm owner for permission to place traps on his land to catch the leopard, he flatly refused. None of his family or workers was hurt by the feline, he argued.

This study underscores the fact that leopards are being sustained in high densities in rural areas because of the easy availability of stray dogs and feral pigs. There are an estimated 128 dogs per sq.km in Akole town and around 3000 pigs in the township. With such easy pickings in abundant supply at their doorsteps, these fat wild cats do not need to undertake strenuous walks, and therefore their home ranges are small. Since the density of dogs is higher near towns, so too are leopard densities. On numerous occasions both Lakshai and Jai were within the town, walking between houses. Although DNA analysis of samples obtained from the scats is yet to be completed, Athreya made a preliminary identification of 20 individuals. Not surprisingly, six adult leopards were stalking and hunting dogs and pigs in a 4 sq.km town of 20,000 people. There were clearly more leopards lurking around Akole town than in the surrounding countryside.

During further study, Athreya has found similar situations where leopards live with people without conflict in other agricultural areas in India. It could even be the norm rather than the exception. Clearly when there are so many wild animals living outside protected forests, a policy for their conservation and management needs to be drafted. If these numbers of leopards are deemed too high, the most appropriate management measure would be to clean up towns reducing stray animal populations. Local Forest Department officials require crisis and people-management training in order to perform their jobs better. Compensation payments for livestock losses should be made less tedious and bureaucratic; it should be linked to effective protection so those who take better care of their livestock are rewarded, and support provided to those who lack the resources to adequately protect their animals.

Thanks to Indian cultural and religious traditions, most rural people are amazingly sympathetic to leopards, as long as humans are not harmed nor alienated from resource or land use in the name of conservation. If our management policies build on this existing foundation, people are more likely to share farmlands with large cats and accept them in their midst. This could set a precedent for the conservation of large predators in villages and farms across India and the world.

Bowling for Stumpy

Edited version published in DNA on 27 Feb 2011

Stumpy, the cricket ball wielding chubby blue elephant is the mascot of the World Cup to be inaugurated on the 19th February. Ironically nowhere is this more appropriate than in Sri Lanka where the hosts will play Canada on 20th February, and Pakistan against Kenya on the 23rd. The venue of these clashes is the newly commissioned 35,000 seater Mahinda Rajapaksa International Stadium set in the middle of a coastal forest where Stumpy’s real life kith and kin battle with humans for their very survival.

Throughout this landscape, developmental projects sit amidst natural splendor. On either side of the broad slick Hambantota Bypass road, irrigated banana fields, tsunami rehabilitation settlements, the flashy international conference centre that may host the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting were carved out of the elephant’s forest. Besides, an international airport (imagine the sales line, “arrive in a jumbo jet in jumbo country!”), a seaport and a railway line are in different stages of completion. Within a decade, Hambantota has transformed from a sleepy village to an enormous township in a hurry, fuelled by President Rajapaksa’s ambitious plans for his home constituency. It could be a run-of-the-mill development versus conservation story but it may not be, not just yet anyway.

About fifteen years ago, the Walawe Left Bank Irrigation Project brought perennial farming to the area. Then as more and more infrastructure projects were slated to come up, the Wildlife Department was asked to move the elephants to a nearby National Park. In 2006, a drive was launched to herd the estimated 100 elephants out of this 600 sq.km area. But imagine their surprise when they mustered about 250 elephants into the Lunugumvehera National Park. Even more amazingly, elephant biologist Dr. Prithiviraj Fernando estimates that between 300 and 400 elephants were left behind that continue to forage in the remaining 300 sq.km. of forests in the greater Hambantota area.

Strangely, the fate of elephants in the Protected forest was worse than the ones having to battle the developmental juggernaut sweeping through their forests. First the calves died inside the Park, followed by some adults; the rest, in poor condition, pace helplessly along the electric-fenced boundary, looking for a way out. It has been suggested that there is not enough foliage to support such a large population of elephants and it is just as likely that they are home-sick.

Outside the Park, people’s problems with the animals escalated despite removing half the area’s population of elephants. True, the pachyderms had lost about 300 sq.km. of habitat to the new developments and there were choice irrigated crops such as bananas, sugarcane, and coconuts for the picking. But these elephants, that had been subjected to the trauma of tens of thousands of firecrackers, people screaming and shooting at them during the attempt to drive them to the Park, had become fearless. Formerly shy retiring animals, they were now quick to lose their temper with any farmers who had the temerity to chase them. Out of desperation, people resorted to diabolical methods of maiming elephants by hiding explosives inside pumpkins. In this grim scenario, a World Bank funded project hopes to not only resolve these problems but create a unique Managed Elephant Reserve (MER) (under the National Elephant Conservation Policy 2006), a balancing act between development and elephant conservation.

For starters, the area’s zoning maps until the year 2030 have been overlaid with elephant distribution coordinates so any infrastructure plans necessarily includes the animals. A few members of the Hambantota elephant herds are being radio tracked to get an understanding of their use of the landscape and reaction to disturbance. This knowledge will feed into the overall management of the area for elephants. However, the biggest challenge facing the project is encroachment inside the newly conceived Reserve. People want land for cultivation, house plots, and some indulge in just plain outright land grabbing. Although the MER allows existing practices such as rainfed agriculture, it cannot sustain elephants if the habitat is splintered, fenced and diverted further for human use.

The Hambantota elephants are not alone in their plight. Whether it’s Sri Lanka, India, Burma or Thailand this is a tension riddled equation for both elephants and their human neighbours. At least here in southern Sri Lanka elephant biologists are being given the mandate to give the pachyderms a fair deal by the developers. Can Stumpy become the mascot for the development-and-conservation paradigm?

The best laid schemes of tigers and men

Published in Governance Now, 26 Feb 2011.

The media leaves little doubt about the dire straits that we find the tiger in today. Millions of dollars are raised at home and abroad to secure the future of this magnificent beast. But the people who are paying dearly for the conservation of the charismatic big cat are the unglamorous local people who have had to quietly forsake their homes and traditional livelihoods to make way for the tiger. Here is an example of what’s happening across tiger reserves in the country.

In November 2010, the Soliga tribals of the Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Sanctuary wrote a bitter letter to Jairam Ramesh, the Minister for Environment and Forests, asking to be poisoned first before turning the Sanctuary into a Tiger Reserve. The adivasis are not opposed to tigers; nor do they begrudge the enormous financial allocations being made every year for wildlife while their own lot remains depressingly the same. The real core of their anxiety is the 370 sq.km that is destined to be declared a Critical Tiger Habitat under the Wildlife Protection Act (WPA). Should this happen, about 1000 tribal households belonging to eighteen hamlets have to be relocated to create an exclusive zone for tigers. It is worth noting that over the last few years, the number of tigers in the sanctuary has increased even with the presence of these people and it is therefore debatable if such a radical move is necessary for tiger conservation. Be that as it may, at the very least, the tribals have to get a fair deal as is mandated by law.

Section 38-V (5) of the Wildlife Act says that before the notification of a Critical Tiger Habitat, the rights of local forest dwellers have to be honored, the possibility of coexistence ruled out, their impact on wildlife assessed, and if irreversible, only then shunt people out with the approval of the gram sabha (a village assembly that includes all the adults). Further, they need to be provided a package to resettle in a place that has all the basic amenities. A fair law! On paper.

In reality, there is a gaping fracture between words and action. Had the Soliga adivasis been taken into confidence from the beginning, when the proposal to make their forest a Tiger Reserve was being drafted, it’s unlikely they would have taken such an antagonistic stand. In this vitiated atmosphere, it’s doubtful if their gram sabhas will provide “free informed” consent to their own transfer of residence, one of the prerequisites for declaring an exclusive tiger haven. But resistance hasn’t deterred eviction of forest dwellers from other Tiger Reserves. When a range of basic amenities are lacking and hopes of making ends meet recede in the distance, their defiance eventually breaks down. Often, this is how “free informed” consent is obtained.

In addition to Critical Tiger Habitat, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers Act, 2006, popularly referred to as the Forest Rights Act (FRA), mandates declaration of Critical Wildlife Habitats under Section 4(2) which stipulates the same actions as WPA.

The twin towers of critical habitats – the Wildlife Act and Forest Rights Act – mention fuzzy concepts such as, “irreversible damage”, “coexistence” and the more problematic “inviolate” without defining them. In 2007, a consortium of public service-minded organizations and institutions took it upon themselves to not only elaborate on these terms but also set out the criteria and protocols for declaration of these exclusive habitats. To this day, the advice stands ignored.

Even within the twenty-member Joint Ministry of Environment and Forests-Ministry of Tribal Affairs Committee, set up to investigate the implementation of the FRA, two contradictory views prevailed. One said ‘inviolate’ does not mean free of humans and that pursuit of activities not inimical to conservation could be allowed, while the other maintained that ‘inviolate’ meant free of humans and their activities; the Ministry of Environment and Forests appears to tacitly accept this latter, narrower definition.

The Joint Committee report also exposed a range of governance issues which stirred up a hornet’s nest. The Director General of Forests and the Central Unit of the Indian Forest Service Officers Association have cautioned that if the law is implemented as suggested by the report, it would lead to “a land scam of gargantuan proportions”, that local forest dwellers had no wherewithal to stand up to well-muscled external forces and emphasized that the integrity of the Forest Department officials ought not to be questioned. The successful fight by the Dongria Kondh tribals against one of the biggest corporations in the world over their sacred mountain, Niyamgiri, puts a lie to that belief. On the contrary, while the Karnataka State Forest Department has drawn up plans to move the Soligas out of the Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Sanctuary, they confess helplessness in revoking the leases granted to large companies for 1800 acres of commercial coffee plantations smack inside the sanctuary!

In order to aid the states in identifying and creating Critical Wildlife Habitats, the Ministry of Environment and Forests had issued guidelines in October 2007 and when no further progress was made, revised them on 7 February 2011.

Although the Joint Committee rued the fact that the states were setting deadlines for the settlement of rights of forest people, often with an eye on upcoming elections, in reality no such deadline is set by law. Yet the Ministry’s new guidelines demand that states identify exclusive wildlife zones within three months. It would also like to extend these people-free zones to adjoining areas of protected forests although the FRA makes no such allowance. If any of the people living in the neighbourhood have to be moved, it is not clear which law governs their rights.

The guidelines further urge that local people be consulted, but that doesn’t mean an open discussion of the proposal. Instead, the forest dwellers will be told what is in store for them. While the FRA elevates local people to full-fledged partners in wildlife and forest management, the Ministry seeks to keep them under the thumb of the Forest Department.

To determine if people need to be shifted, two major criteria are outlined in the FRA – proof that local people are causing irreversible damage and are incapable of coexistence – but these make a mere guest appearance in Annexure 2 which deals with the financial outlay for rehabilitation of people. Why engage in the farce of determining if people have a negative impact on wildlife and if there was no scope for coexistence, when the decision to move people has already been made? The inescapable truth is that the guidelines are only concerned about identification and notification of the exclusive zones with the clear mandate to rid the area of people.

According to the FRA, the decision-making body is the gram sabha; the guidelines urge “even if only a few families” are willing to relocate, the proposal is to be submitted. One does wonder then how the mandatory consent of the gram sabha will be procured if only a few families agree. Divide and rule? Were these guidelines an attempt to restore powers to the Forest Department that had been taken away by the FRA? Was it a reaction to the devastating criticism by the Joint Committee? Has the FRA made any difference in forest governance and treatment of local people?

When protests hit the fan, the Minister for Environment and Forests issued a press statement “clarifying” the guidelines that only succeeded in confounding the problem further. Contradicting the guidelines, he says that these special wildlife zones will be declared only inside protected forests, not a squeak about the area “around” them. So what is a park manager to follow: the guidelines or the Minister’s communiqué?

The press statement then gets into a twist by suggesting that “consultations” meant “consent”. Consultation is a process of seeking opinion which could either lead to agreement or refusal. How could local people’s sentiments be taken for granted to assume that consultation was the same as assent?

In the meantime, the Planning Commission has slashed the budget for the National Tiger Conservation Authority by 25%, and it is likely that relocation of people from Tiger Reserves will be put on hold. This reprieve is the time to take stock of the next steps forward as there is no doubt that serious redressal is needed to bring policy in line with the laws. The promulgation of FRA promised a breath of fresh air: open and transparent decision-making. In its implementation, however, the heel of the Forest Department boot continues to squash the marginalized.

In this day and enlightened age, can we rightfully protect the tiger by impoverishing the people who have lived with it until now? Ironically, conservationists bemoan that the public is not more engaged with protecting wildlife and yet, they condone an undemocratic system that serves to turn any wildlife-tolerant tribal into an ardent opponent. Is it really so difficult to save the tiger without being unfair and callous to fellow human beings?

Alley cats

Published in DNA

Unedited version -

It seems like open season on leopards. Over the last month, leopards accused of attacking people in states as far apart as Haryana, Maharashtra and Orissa, have been killed by hysteric mobs.

On the afternoon of Dec 18, 2010, a leopard is said to have attacked three farmers in a village near Gurgaon, Haryana. Panicky villagers hammered it with iron rods and lathis and finally, one of them shot it dead.

Another midday drama unfolded on Jan 9, 2011 in the town of Karad, Maharashtra. A child is reported to have spotted a leopard sitting atop a house. When a crowd of people gathered, the cat snuck into an empty building. Instead of trapping it inside by barricading the doorway, the mob stoned it. With no secure place to hide, the cat charged out and in the ensuing melee, six people were injured. The police chased it with lathis and fired in the air. A man stepped out of a bar, collided with the fleeing leopard and down they went. A police official rushed forward and shot the leopard dead before the man was seriously injured.

A couple of days later, on Jan 13, 2011 a leopard was spotted in a forest plantation about 5 km from Bhubaneswar, Orissa. But before forest officials could arrive, a mob beat it to death reportedly instigated by a local television reporter who wanted dramatic visuals.

Conservationists have urged the National Board for Wildlife, the National Tiger Conservation Authority and the Ministry of Environment and Forests to take action against the people involved. But why do such incidents occur?

In virtually all the cases reported by the press, the leopards were provoked to attack; left alone, they would have quietly skulked away. But how does one prevent an excitable mob from harassing a cornered animal? Imposition of curfew until the animal is safely out of the way is one option. The other is for the Police and Forest Departments to start working in tandem. The former controls the crowd providing the space for the latter to either trap or tranquilize the animal. However, the local Forest Department outpost has to have the skilled personnel and appropriate tools handy for the success of such an operation.

Why do such situations arise in the first place? It is often surmised that leopards are “straying” into villages and towns because infrastructure projects such as dams and mines are depriving them of home and prey. To prevent more such tragic episodes from occurring, some activists have called for the restoration of connectivity between forest fragments and a stop to all further forest loss. While these are inherently sound conservation goals, the question is: can they prevent the collision between people and leopards?

In order to manage conflict, you need to know what is causing it. Fortunately, we’ve learned a few lessons from studies conducted by the leopard researcher, Vidya Athreya in the agricultural fields of Junnar and Akole districts in Maharashtra.

Contrary to widespread belief, here, where there is virtually no forest at all, it is not the absence of prey inside forests but the abundance of feral animals in the countryside that encourages leopards (and other carnivores such as wolves and hyenas) to live with humans. It is futile to manage leopards in this kind of landscape without first cleaning up the garbage, controlling the numbers of stray dogs and feral pigs and securing livestock in paddocks for the night (which the Akole people do and there is no conflict). Elsewhere, when villagers report that leopards are prowling through their fields, the Forest Department hauls the animals away to a forest. Randomly picking up big cats from villages and dropping them in forests actually causes a very real threat to human life.

In Junnar, in the early 2000s, when leopards that had not hurt anyone were preemptively captured and relocated, they began attacking people. We do not yet fully understand why a seemingly benign action should have such a dramatic consequence. Despite evidence, relocating leopards still remains the management tool of choice.

Forests are finite repositories of big cats. As juvenile leopards reach adulthood, these highly territorial animals need to find new land to claim as their own. It is only natural that they explore adjoining agricultural areas where there is food and shelter. If left unmolested, they may settle down to live with humans without causing a problem.

The irrigation projects of the mid 1980s changed cropping patterns in this part of Maharashtra; tall, dense sugarcane stands began to dominate the landscape. This is also the time when the locals say that leopards began to live amongst them. Yet, over the last twenty years, the people suffered little anxiety. Astonishingly, leopards are even hunting in Akole town because of the concentration of stray dogs and feral pigs. Studying situations such as this, we’ve learnt that leopards are quite at home in the absence of forest and wild prey. Further insights into the lives and needs of these cats that live with humans will enable better management of leopard-man conflict in the future.

The Mystery Civet

Published in New Indian Express Jan, 8, 2011

“The Malabar Civet may not even exist,” Divya Mudappa said softly, watching my face for a reaction. She didn’t mean that the creature had become extinct; she meant that such a species may have never existed. That’s an audacious statement to make but there are enough reasons to suspect that she might be right.

The Malabar Civet became known to science on the basis of a skin and a partly damaged skull donated by Lord Arthur Hay to the Asiatic Society of Bengal (ASB), Kolkata in 1845. The specimen tags say it came from South Malabar, Kerala, India, but whether the animal was captive or wild, hunted or traded and the exact location went unrecorded.

In 1874, Thomas Jerdon, a well-known figure in Indian natural history, writes that the Malabar Civet was very common and he had seen them on numerous occasions. He felt that the species ranged across the lowland coastal forests from Honavar in north Karnataka to Travancore (south Kerala) and perhaps even to Sri Lanka. This account formed the basis of all subsequent descriptions, range and status of the species by doyens such as Robert Sterndale (1884), William Blanford (1888), William Sclater (1891) and other naturalists until 2003. None of them ever saw the animal alive. In 1933 Pocock pointed out in his review of the species that Jerdon had probably mistaken the Small Indian Civet for the Malabar Civet! But by then, the latter was firmly established in the annals of Indian fauna.

Reginald Pocock, the famous mammalogist (1933), then suggested that the unique characters that set the Malabar Civet apart may be an artifact of captivity, but was nonetheless concerned by the rarity of the species.


In 1949, Angus Hutton reported seeing several Malabar Civets in the High Wavy Mountains, Tamil Nadu, where he was a tea planter. While he described these large civets to be fairly common in the evergreen forests, he had only seen one Small Indian Civet. The son of a civetone dealer based in Valparai, Hutton doesn’t mention how he distinguished the two species, but it is very likely that he misidentified the common Small Indian Civet as Jerdon had before him. What he called a Malabar Civet in a photograph was identified as a Small Indian Civet.

The first tangible evidence of the mysterious Malabar Civet popped up in 1987 when G.U. Kurup of the Zoological Survey of India, Kozhikode salvaged a skin from Elayur, about 25 km from his office. Another skin from the same source was lodged at the Calicut University museum while a third went missing. These skins apparently came from animals caught while a cashew plantation was being converted to rubber. Whether this was first hand information or hearsay is unknown.

A few years later, N.V.K. Ashraf procured an old stuffed specimen (the third one that went missing from Elayur in 1987?) and a fairly fresh skin from a tribal settlement in Poongode, about 15 km from Elayur. Both these specimens were given to the museum at the Wildlife Institute of India where they became decrepit and were subsequently dumped.

The Wildlife Trust of India conducted extensive camera trap surveys in the lowland forests of Karnataka and Kerala between 2006 and 2008 and found no sign of the animal. Concern for the civet grew.

Around this time, two specialists in nocturnal small mammals, R. Nandini and Divya Mudappa began reviewing all accounts of the species and examining museum specimens. They discovered that the little known information was based on Jerdon’s originally erroneous identification and the rest on surmise. This was the point at which Divya wondered if the species existed at all.

Then how does she account for the various skins found in the late 1980s and early ‘90s, I asked. Civetone, the musk produced by the anal glands of civet cats, was much sought after for perfumery, religious offerings and ayurvedic medicine over the millennia. In ancient times there was a thriving trade in large civet cats from Ethiopia and Southeast Asia. Kozhikode, in Kerala, was a major sea port and Kerala also appears to be the origin of all six museum specimens.

Civets in the trade were the African Civet, the Large-spotted Civet from Southeast Asia and the northern Large Indian Civet. The “Malabar Civet” skins bear an astonishing resemblance to the Large-spotted Civet, enough to confuse even seasoned biologists. It’s possible that some escaped captive Large-spotted Civets ended up in collections or they thrived in a small pocket, somewhere near Kozhikode.

This line of argument is sure to raise the hackles of some biologists. But consider this: if the animal was as common as reported in early literature, then why are only a few skins available in museums? It is possible that the Malabar Civet may be remarkably sensitive to habitat change, and hunting pressures. But civet cats in general are adaptable creatures that live on a varied diet. Misled by Jerdon, biologists have perhaps been looking for it in the wrong places. The lack of authentic information makes it difficult to get to the bottom of this conundrum.

So if you are out in the southern forests and see a large civet, these are the characters to look for: a black mane along the back from the nape to the tip of the tail, three dark stripes on the throat, the lack of a dark patch below the eye, and a broad, black tail tip. Even a bad picture would be better than no picture at all!