In the lush, serene beauty of Kerala—long dubbed “God’s Own Country”—a shadow now looms. It is not merely the thick monsoon clouds or the rustle of the jungle that unsettles our villages anymore. It is the rising fear, the kind that grips families after every headline: Tiger spotted near human habitat, Elephant tramples farmer to death, Stray dog mauls child.

These are no longer rare or isolated tragedies. They are a grim pattern, unfolding with disturbing regularity across our hills, fields, and towns.

Kerala today is not just battling natural calamities or political instability. We are battling fear itself—fear of walking to the paddy fields at dawn, fear of sending children to school, fear of stepping outside at dusk. Fear has crept into the very rhythm of rural life, threatening to dismantle the delicate balance our people have maintained for centuries with the wild.

Recent weeks have been especially harrowing. In Wayanad, tigers prowling near settlements have forced residents into a state of constant alert. In Palakkad and Idukki, wild elephants have turned farms into warzones, destroying livelihoods overnight and, tragically, taking human lives. Meanwhile, in the heart of our cities and villages alike, another menace persists—feral dog attacks that have claimed children and left elderly citizens terrified to step outside.

The question on every lip is simple: When will this end? Or more pressingly, Will it ever end?

Authorities respond with the usual litany—compensation packages, tranquilizer teams, sterilization drives, short-term evacuations, and awareness campaigns. But the people of Kerala have seen this movie before. These are not solutions; they are band-aids slapped on a festering wound.

What is glaringly missing is a comprehensive, permanent plan that addresses the root causes of human-animal conflict in Kerala. Encroachment into forest areas, a lack of buffer zones, poor waste management attracting strays, and an overwhelmed veterinary and wildlife department—all these issues have compounded to create a state of constant crisis.


We cannot afford to treat every animal attack as a standalone incident. There must be statewide wildlife corridors that allow safe passage to animals without bringing them into contact with humans. There must be a serious, scientific overhaul of the stray dog population management programme—combining sterilization, sheltering, and strict penalties for abandonment. There must be accountability from local bodies and departments that continue to pass the buck while lives are lost.

The people of Kerala have always lived in harmony with nature. But harmony does not mean helplessness. Coexistence cannot mean constant sacrifice from one side while the other side remains unmanaged and chaotic.

The solution lies not in choosing between people and animals—but in building a system where both can thrive in their rightful spaces. This requires vision, political will, and above all, urgency.

For how long will our children grow up with this inherited fear? For how long will our farmers brave the fields with a prayer on their lips? For how long will headlines scream of another life lost—while the State remains silent?

Kerala deserves better. Its people deserve peace. And its animals deserve a habitat that doesn’t come at the cost of human safety. The time for makeshift responses is over. What we now need is decisive, visionary action—before fear becomes the new normal in God’s Own Country.