Trampled Boundaries: The Human-Elephant Conflict Escalates in North Bengal

SANTANU BASU

In the shadowy forests of North Bengal, where tea gardens nestle against dense wilderness, a silent war wages between man and beast. The rising tide of elephant depredations has turned villages, farms, and even university campuses into conflict zones. As human settlements expand and forests shrink, encounters between elephants and people have become tragically frequent — and often fatal.

To stem the growing toll of lives and livelihoods, the Forest Department of West Bengal has begun turning to technology. In a significant initiative, a state-of-the-art monitoring and response system is being established in Bagdogra under the Kurseong Forest Division. Equipped with 60 CCTV cameras strategically positioned across known elephant corridors, forest roads, and vulnerable settlements, this new setup aims to provide real-time tracking of elephant movements and enable swift response by rapid action teams. The modern technological arrangements enables the forest staff to reach the critical zone , instead of wandering helter skelter for finding the rogue elephants , ‘outcast elephants’ wild tuskers ; theirs actions is supposed to be precise and target specific. It also saves fuel consumption of  the vehicles of the forest guards.

The control room, situated in Bagdogra, serves as the nerve center. There, trained personnel monitor live feeds, ready to dispatch forest staff to drive the elephants back into the forests before tragedy strikes. Principal Chief Conservator of Forests (Wildlife) Sandip Sundrewal, while overseeing the installation of the surveillance network, admitted, “Elephant raids are now a regular feature. Just in the last two months, two people have lost their lives in the tea garden areas of Bagdogra.”

Indeed, these raids are no longer isolated incidents. In the last decade, North Bengal — comprising districts like Jalpaiguri, Alipurduar, Darjeeling, and Cooch Behar — has emerged as one of the most conflict-prone elephant zones in India. With over 15 lakh people residing in the vulnerable Bagdogra region alone — which includes army cantonments, sprawling tea estates, and even an international airport — the stakes are perilously high.

Once, traditional methods such as electric fencing, barbed wires, and community efforts like cultivating green chillies along the forest fringes were employed to deter elephant movement. But these measures have largely failed to yield sustainable results. Elephants, highly intelligent and adaptable, often circumvent or break through these barriers. In some heart-wrenching cases, these very fences have caused severe injuries and deaths among elephants and other wildlife, sparking criticism from conservationists.

The desperation is palpable. Tea garden workers, women labourers, farmers, and daily wage earners often return home at dusk — the very time when elephants begin their movement. “Sometimes, tired labourers are suddenly confronted by elephants or leopards on the road home,” said a local resident of Farabari. “We live in fear every day.”

One recent incident underscores the emotional weight of this crisis. On the night of May 26, while a press conference was being held by forest officials at Bagdogra, tragedy struck just a few kilometers away. Pampa Chetri, a 60-year-old woman from Farabari, stepped outside her home — and never came back. An elephant, straying from the forest in the dead of night, caught her in its trunk and hurled her several feet. She died on the spot.

This isn’t an isolated incident. From the runways of Bagdogra airport — where two elephants recently wandered, throwing operations into chaos — to the campus of North Bengal University, which witnessed an elephant intrusion for the first time in its 70-year history, the line between wilderness and habitation is being violently blurred.

Even railway tracks have become death zones. The Rangapani station, a crucial junction for trains heading to the Northeast and across the country, is a frequent site of elephant crossings. Coordination meetings are held regularly between forest officials and the Alipurduar Railway Division to find ways to prevent collisions. But with more than 70 elephants killed on railway tracks across West Bengal since 2010, the challenge remains daunting.

The root of the conflict lies in habitat loss. As forests are cleared for agriculture, tea plantations, roads, and urban development, elephants — which need vast ranges to forage and migrate — are increasingly forced into human-dominated landscapes. With shrinking forest corridors and broken migratory routes, the elephants have no choice but to enter villages in search of food and water.

Human-elephant conflict isn’t just about numbers — it's about survival on both ends. For the elephants, it's a matter of lost homes. For the humans, it’s a daily struggle to protect life and property. What’s desperately needed is a holistic approach: restoring elephant corridors, involving local communities in conservation, enforcing ethical land-use policies, and strengthening rapid response systems with trained personnel and adequate resources.

Until then, both man and elephant will remain locked in a tragic contest of coexistence gone wrong — one where electric fences, steel tracks, and surveillance cameras are poor substitutes for mutual respect and ecological balance.

(Santanu Basu is an Ex professor, Chanchal College, Chanchal, Malda, West Bengal. Views are personal)