How A Border Village Learns To Co-Exist With Migratory Elephants

The heavy thud against the glass window sent Krishna Bahadur Rasaili’s heart racing. Stepping outside, he saw his granary lay in ruins, and an elephant was feasting on his hard-earned paddy harvest.

For years, this has been a terrifying reality in Bahundangi, a village along Nepal’s eastern border with India along the Mechi River. Wild Asian elephants (Elephas maximus), following their ancient migratory routes, frequently storm farms, devour crops and even ransack granaries.

Desperate, village residents, including Rasaili, were accustomed to banging their tin drums and waving flaming torches in a futile attempt to drive them away. On the evening of December 8, 2021, Rasaili even contemplated resorting to the old methods. But his family members remembered what local campaigners had told them about elephants and did something different.

Instead of shouting or fighting back, they quietly stayed indoors. With half of its body inside their home, the elephant devoured the rice and then moved on.

“We no longer fear elephants nor are we angry at them,” Rasaili says. “When they come, we stay inside. If we don’t disturb them, they walk their path. If we shout, they create trouble.”

Once a hotspot for human-elephant conflict, this village has transformed itself into a model of peaceful human-wildlife co-existence through a combination of innovative strategies, conservationists say. The communities in the last decade adopted crops that are unappealing to elephants and have changed their attitudes toward the animal, thanks to the effective implementation of government support.

“Bahundangi has demonstrated that co-existence with wild elephants is possible. It shows that simply raising awareness is not enough; we need to actively change people’s attitudes toward wildlife,” Narendra Man Babu Pradhan, an elephant researcher and a former warden at Chitwan National Park, tells Mongabay.

The elephants once roamed the entire east-west corridor of Nepal’s southern plains, traversing more than 900 kilometres. Though their population at the time remains unknown due to lack of records, the rich flood plains of the Koshi, Gandaki and Karnali rivers provided enough food and lack of human settlement due to malaria, meaning they could move freely. But as time went by, the migration rush to the terai, development of roads and infrastructure hindered their free movement. This meant that two separate populations formed in the east and west due to lack of connectivity.

From conflict to co-existence

A decade ago, Bahundangi, now a settlement comprising 23,000 people, most of them migrants from the hills, was at the epicentre of human-elephant conflict in Nepal. Every year, during the dry season (between September and November), migratory wild elephants would cross the border from India, trampling fields, tearing down houses and occasionally killing village residents. Similarly, around 20 elephants died between 2012 and 2022, according to the district forest office in Jhapa.

“These elephants are naturally itinerant, walking several kilometres each day. As long as their dietary needs were met within forests, they rarely ventured into human settlements,” Pradhan says. “However, due to shrinking forests and dwindling food sources, they are now forced to enter farms and homes in search of food.”

Whenever they came, the economic losses were staggering. The elephants devoured crops like paddy and maize — staples that local farmers depended on for survival. In 2010 alone, nearly 100 homes and granaries were destroyed, and at least three village residents lost their lives during an elephant crossing.

Faced with mounting losses, the federal government, with support from the World Bank, built an 18-km electric fence in 2015, hoping to create a barrier between their homes and farm fields and the elephants.

But elephants, incredibly intelligent creatures, quickly adapted.

“They used their tusks to knock down the top wires, rendering the fence useless in many areas,” says Shankar Luitel, a local conservationist.

Despite its limitations, the fence significantly reduced crop damage. A 2018 study found a 93% decrease in crop losses and a 96% drop in property damage. Yet, elephants continued to find their way in, forcing residents to rethink their approach.

In 2009, Nepal’s government introduced the Wildlife Damage Relief Guidelines, a policy that compensated villagers for losses caused by wildlife. The guideline was revised and updated several times following complaints of being lengthy and not providing adequate compensation to the victims.

“Before, when an elephant killed someone or destroyed crops, people were left to suffer alone,” says Arjun Karki, a local official. “Now, families received financial support, which helped ease some of the resentment.”

Still, policy alone couldn’t change attitudes. That’s where Luitel, the local conservationist, stepped in.

Luitel ensured that compensation was accessible to everyone, including illiterate farmers. He created simplified claim templates, making it easier for victims to navigate the process. To receive compensation, applicants must first obtain a recommendation from the local ward office and police. If the claim involves a death caused by a tusker attack, it is submitted to the district forest office; for crop loss, it goes to the district agriculture office.

The turning point

Since 2015, Luitel has voluntarily assisted families with paperwork. “I have carried up to 80 files in a year,” he tells Mongabay. Farmer Rasaili, one of the many he has helped, says, “It’s reassuring to have someone like him in our midst because we know we will receive compensation.”

But elephants continued to breach the village. Farmers were still losing crops. It took months for the compensation to arrive. Fatal encounters persisted. It became clear that barriers alone wouldn’t work. Farmers needed a way to protect their livelihoods without fighting the elephants.

That’s when elephant-resistant farming emerged as a game changer. Farmers began shifting from maize and paddy to crops that elephants don’t eat — such as tea, bay leaves and lemons.

Arjun Karki led the initiative to encourage farmers to switch to crops other than maize and rice. He says that, at first, the farmers — who traditionally grew Nepal’s staple crop, rice — were sceptical.

“After two years, the first tea leaves were ready for harvest. We sold our first 35 kilograms of tea leaves, carrying them across the border on a bicycle because there was no market here,” he recalls. By selling tea, they were able to buy their staple rice.

“After a few years, we switched from bicycles to bullock carts for transportation. Eventually, we started using tractors,” he adds.

At first, Diwakar Neupane, a 65-year-old farmer, was sceptical about replacing his maize and rice fields with tea. But after a few years, he saw the benefits. “It was hard at first,” he says. “But now I have a stable income, and I no longer worry about elephants eating my crops.”

The shift was also influenced by water shortages and labour scarcity for paddy farming. As more farmers switched, Bahundangi’s farmland became less attractive to elephants.

Changes in crop selection

Today, the village sells tea worth 22 million Nepali rupees ($158,700) annually, according to Karki. Farmers have also embraced bay leaves and lemons, further diversifying their income.

The experience of Bahundangi resonates deeply with research by researcher Ashok Ram and his team. His 2021 study found that most elephant attack victims were men (87.86%) with low education levels. A quarter of attacks happened while people were chasing elephants, often involving solitary bulls or groups of young males. Incidents were more frequent outside protected areas, with higher fatality risks for those who were drunk or using firecrackers. In contrast, chasing elephants using fire was negatively associated with fatalities. Attacks were concentrated near forests, disproportionately affecting marginalised communities.

“Elephants generally do not retaliate unless provoked. If they are left undisturbed, they continue on their path peacefully. However, when people chase or harm them, elephants remember and may act defensively,” Pradhan says.

In 2022, Karki campaigned for the chair of Mechinagar Municipality-4, which covers Bahundangi, winning on the promise to make the village free from the tusker attacks. A year ago, he invited Kedar Karki, the chief minister of Koshi province, to walk through the area to raise awareness about human-elephant conflict.

As more farmers transitioned to elephant-resistant crops, the motivation for conflict decreased.

In recent years, farmers of Bahundangi have also started beekeeping because bees naturally deter elephants. “We are encouraging farmers to cultivate mustard, which attracts bees and supports beekeeping initiatives,” says Karki. This approach not only helps protect crops but also provides an additional source of income for farmers.

Meanwhile, the community has mobilised volunteers into a rapid response team (RRT) to guide elephants away from residential areas and ensure safe passage through migratory corridors.

“Some people roam the streets at night after drinking alcohol. They are vulnerable to attacks,” says Sadesh Paudel, a 26-year-old elephant monitor. “When elephants arrive, only RRT volunteers patrol the area.”

The RRT, trained by Ujyalo Nepal, an NGO, and the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development, a Kathmandu-based intergovernmental body, consists of insured volunteers who intervene safely when elephants enter the village, particularly during harvest seasons.

The real transformation began a decade ago, when these solutions started to yield results. The last fatal elephant attack in Bahundangi was in 2015, when Manahari Dhungel, 65, was killed while collecting fodder in the forest.

“Police were chasing the elephant, making loud noises to warn people,” recalls Tika Maya Dhungel, his widow. “My husband had covered his head with a cloth cap to protect from the cold. He couldn’t hear the screams. The elephant trampled him.”

Since then, thanks to co-existence strategies, no further fatalities have been reported.

Four years after the terrifying night when an elephant raided his granary, Krishna Bahadur Rasaili and his family have fully embraced co-existence. “We stayed inside and applied for compensation later.” Assured of the compensation, the Barailis still grow maize and paddy on small patches of land to meet their staple needs even though many farmers have switched crops.

Conflict moves west

While Bahundangi has transformed itself from a place plagued by human-elephant conflict to the one living in harmony with the animal, the villagers west of it are now grappling with the challenges.

In January alone, three villagers were killed following an encounter with a wild elephant in Sundar Haraicha, roughly 85 km west of Bahundangi. Pradhan says Bahundangi could serve as a model for Sundar Haraicha and villages to its west so that the elephants get to move on their traditional routes.

“Rather than providing food for the elephants, our priority should be creating corridors that allow them to move freely,” says Pradhan, the elephant researcher. “While fencing can offer a temporary solution to protect farms, we must ensure safe passages to prevent them from entering human settlements.”

(Published under Creative Commons from Mongabay-India. Read the original article here)