Kerala, a state once known for its pristine environment and the peaceful cohabitation of man and nature, now faces a terrifying paradox. The very wilderness that defined its beauty is now a source of dread. From the dense forests of Wayanad and Idukki to the towns and cities of central and southern Kerala, the fear is no longer of economic crisis or disease, but of a far more primitive kind fear of death by beast. Whether it is elephants rampaging through villages or stray dogs terrorizing neighborhoods, the state is clearly losing its control over both its natural and civic ecosystems.
The rising tide of wild animal attacks has left scars on the psyche of people, especially those who live near forests. The statistics paint a grim picture. In 2024 alone, over two dozen people died in incidents involving wild animals. Countless others were injured, their crops destroyed, their homes damaged, their lives turned upside down. Elephants breaking into huts, wild boars charging through farmlands, leopards prowling near school grounds these are no longer rare or shocking stories, but grimly familiar headlines. What’s worse, the victims are often the most vulnerable farmers, tribal families, elderly women and children.
Yet, despite mounting casualties and damages, the state machinery continues to move at a snail’s pace. There is no comprehensive wildlife conflict mitigation policy, and no sustainable model for coexistence being implemented. Forest officials, often understaffed and ill-equipped, struggle to respond on time. Compensation mechanisms for loss of life or property are mired in red tape. Patrol squads appear only after media coverage, and vanish just as quickly. The government, far from proactively addressing the crisis, appears to be reacting only when public outrage peaks. And even then, the response is symbolic press statements, temporary fences, a few tranquilizer darts and not systemic or lasting.
Parallel to this crisis, an equally disturbing menace plagues urban and semi-urban Kerala stray dog attacks. What was once a low-level civic issue has now grown into a full-blown public health concern. Over 1.2 lakh dog bite cases have been reported in Kerala between January 2023 and April 2025. At least 26 people, including children, have lost their lives to rabies, a disease that is entirely preventable with timely vaccination. Yet, many government hospitals, especially in rural areas, report shortages of the essential anti-rabies vaccine.
The municipal bodies, already constrained by budget and workforce, find themselves caught between court directives and public fury. Laws protecting stray animals are misinterpreted or poorly enforced, while genuine efforts at sterilization or sheltering are woefully underfunded and uncoordinated. The Animal Husbandry and Health departments pass responsibility back and forth like a bureaucratic hot potato, as people are left to fend for themselves. There is neither a centralized tracking system for dog bites nor a unified plan for sterilization drives. What exists is a fractured, ineffective model that does little to prevent another tragedy.
And all the while, the government watches in silence. The state that once took pride in its health model and welfare policies has now retreated into administrative paralysis. It is lifeless, like a stone caught in the wind present but inactive, aware but unmoved. It reacts only when social media explodes or a protest erupts outside a Secretariat gate. This crisis demands far more than tokenism. It needs commitment, investment, and long-term thinking.
So what must be done? The situation demands a multi-pronged strategy. The Forest Department needs urgent modernization drones for tracking animal movement, early-warning systems in forest-fringe villages, trained rapid response units, and a hotline for emergencies. Compensation for wildlife damage must be fast-tracked, and insurance schemes for affected farmers subsidized. Simultaneously, urban bodies must be empowered to handle the stray dog crisis through scientific sterilization programs, partnerships with NGOs, consistent rabies vaccination, and the establishment of animal shelters. Public education on waste management and responsible pet ownership must also be part of the long-term plan.
Above all, Kerala needs to acknowledge the seriousness of the crisis. This is not about a few incidents. This is a structural failure to protect citizens from evolving environmental and civic threats. In the jungle, the law of survival may be natural. But in a democracy, the state is responsible for ensuring that no citizen be it in the hills of Wayanad or the streets of Alappuzha lives in fear of being mauled, bitten, or trampled to death.
Let us not forget: wild animals do not hate humans. They kill not out of malice, but instinct. They eat and then kill, only when their space is invaded. But when a government ignores cries for help, when systems fail to protect the weak, it is not nature that has failed it is governance. In such a moment, who is the real beast?
It’s time for Kerala to choose will it reclaim control, or allow fear to roam free?