Stone Crushers Drive Nilgai Into J’khand Fields, Damaging Crops

Sirajoodeen Ansari, a sixty-five-year-old farmer, has watched season after season of hard labour go to waste. “First, I cultivated paddy, but it was completely ruined. Then I planted maize. Again, it was completely destroyed. And when the rabi season arrived, and I sowed wheat, not a single grain was spared by the nilgai,” says the farmer from Murumdag village in Chhatarpur block, Palamu district of Jharkhand.

Ansari is not alone. In this arid patch of Palamu, where water is scarce and the soil unforgiving — farmers wage a nightly vigil over their fields. For two and a half months, they lie awake, patrolling the wheat under the moonlight, yet any momentary lapse, “even the blink of an eye,” as one farmer puts it, is enough to miss the speedy descent of the nilgai (Boselaphus tragocamelus) that strips the crop bare. Protected under Schedule III of the Wildlife Protection Act 1972, these animals move with impunity.

Mahfooz Alam, another resident of Murumdag, describes their makeshift defence mechanisms, “I would take four dogs into the fields and tie them at the foot of my charpoys [rope cots] so that if any nilgai comes, the dogs would bark, and it would wake me.” Despite such precautions, Alam lost his entire harvest this year to destruction by the nilgai, sustaining a loss of ₹1 lakh.

Just ten years ago, such devastation was unheard of. “Back then, the land yielded so much lentil that after saving enough for our own needs, we used to sell five quintals,” Alam recalls. “There were no nilgai to worry about; we simply planted and harvested.”

The turning point came with the onset of stone-crusher mining in the area, the village residents complain. As heavy machinery tore through the earth, it disrupted the animals’ natural habitat and drove them onto farmland.

For farmers like Ansari and Alam, the toll is more than financial; it is a loss of security and dignity. “How long can we guard our fields?” asks Alam. “If I stay awake all night, I must sleep during the day — and then the nilgai strike,” referring to the extent of the problem where they are now concerned about nilgai attacking their fields at all times of the day.

Both the farmers have borrowed money from relatives to meet their farming expenses, and they are now trapped in a cycle of debt. With their farms being run over by the nilgai, they have lost any hope of repayment. With mounting debts and diminishing yields, the farmers face an uncertain future. “Forget about the next generation; from this year, I will not do farming,” says Alam in anger.

Alam and Ansari are among the last handful of farmers in their village who are still farming. “The rest have either left farming and migrated to work as labourers or are doing some other work,” explains Ansari.

But these individual losses are part of a much larger trend.

According to the latest data obtained by Mongabay India from Jharkhand’s District Forest Department, since 2000, when the state of Jharkhand was formed, Palamu district has recorded 4,787 human-animal conflict incidents, with ₹38.9 million paid in compensation so far. Of these, 586 were crop damage cases — destroying over 300 hectares of farmland — while 23 involved livestock losses and 54 were incidents of house damage. So far, these conflicts have claimed 10 lives and injured 22 people.

In case of death due to a nilgai attack, there is a provision for compensation of ₹400,000. For crop damage, compensation ranges from ₹10,833 per hectare to a maximum of ₹21,666. However, neither Alam nor Ansari was aware of this compensation.

Stone mining fuelling conflict

“There are several reasons for the increasing human-animal conflict: population growth, infrastructure development, and mining activities,” says Satyam Kumar, Divisional Forest Officer (DFO), Medininagar, the administrative headquarters of Palamu district. “Population growth and infrastructure development are purely push factors, but mining acts as both a push and a pull factor,” he adds. He means that mining not only destroys ecosystems and pushes wildlife out but also draws human settlements and activities deeper into forest areas, increasing the likelihood of conflict.

The Medininagar Forest Division, which covers all seven forest ranges of Palamu district — Chainpur, Chhatarpur East, Chhatarpur West, Kundri, Manatu, Mohammad Ganj and Patan — spans over 154,000 hectares. “We have a large, notified forest area, but the quality, density and canopy cover of the forest land itself are not very good,” says Kumar.

Of the seven forest ranges in Palamu, only Manatu and Kundri still have healthy tree cover. “In those two ranges, human-animal conflict is very low,” Kumar explains. “But in the other ranges, there are so many stone crushers.” Where crushers and mines break up the forest, wildlife moves closer to villages, looking for water and grazing land.

“For tree regeneration, you need water and good soil. You do not want pollution.” When dust from mines settles on leaves and soil, young shoots cannot grow. The hard, polluted ground cannot hold water, and seeds fail to sprout.

The mining industry brings more than dust. “Habitat fragmentation is taking place,” says Kumar. “The water table is dropping, so forest productivity is going down. Natural ponds and streams are drying up. Even the nilgai cannot find water.” With fewer rainy days and polluted soils, forests lose their natural balance. Plants die, animals wander into farmland, and conflict rises.

Early findings link illegal mining to biodiversity decline

To assess the impact of mining and crusher operations on local biodiversity, the Medininagar Forest Division has launched a pilot study at the beginning of 2025 at sites with the highest concentration of extractive activity — Itakdag, Murumdag, Bachkoma, Charai, and others in Palamu district.

Under the chairmanship of the DFO, a dedicated team — guided in part by Indian Forest Service (IFS) probationer Navaneeth B.R. — is conducting a preliminary evaluation using Forest Survey of India reports, recent satellite imagery, and on-the-ground observations.

“The initial findings reveal that mining and crusher operations have had clear negative effects on flora, fauna, and water bodies — damage that is already exacerbating human-wildlife conflict in the region,” says Navaneeth B.R.

As part of this preliminary investigation, a comparative study is being carried out between villages located in mining zones and those outside them. Initial observations indicate that areas with rampant illegal mining have experienced greater biodiversity loss, reduced water bodies, and increased human-animal conflict. In contrast, villages without illegal mining have shown improvements in biodiversity, an increase in water bodies, and a decline in human-animal conflict.

Mongabay India also visited three villages where the study is being conducted, Murumdag, Cherai, and Bachkoma and documented the same patterns of habitat degradation and biodiversity loss.

As one crossed the rural roads of Chattarpur block, clouds of dust, the distant roar of crushers, and convoys of laden lorries made it impossible to ignore the scale of disturbance to both wildlife and local communities.

Current mining laws aren’t strict enough

Kumar says current mining laws aren’t strict enough. Companies only need to stay 250 metres from the forest edge — too small a distance since dust still drifts in and stops young trees from growing. He argues the buffer should be at least one kilometre.

The law also calls for a green belt around each mine and sprinklers to control dust. In Palamu, though, most mines and crushers ignore these rules: they remove green belts, skip dust systems, and over-pump groundwater, says Satyam Kumar. Without strong oversight, forests bear the full brunt of mining.

“And with only a 250-metre buffer, the forest remains under constant pressure from illegal mining,” he adds.

The impact is visible. According to Forest Survey of India (FSI) data, between 2011 and 2021, Palamu’s water bodies shrank from 6,929.21 ha to 4,985.54 ha—a decline of 1,943.67 ha (about 28.1%). Over the same decade, very dense forest cover fell from 5,369.35 ha to 5,149.01 ha, a loss of 220.34 ha (about 4.1%).

When asked about the decline in very dense forests, Harsha Kumar — a GIS expert with the Palamu Forest Division — points to deeper structural issues. “It’s not just about dense forest — there’s hardly any regeneration happening,” he says. “Let’s say in 2011, there was open forest, and plantation work was underway. The division covers 1,688 sq km, but how much can we realistically plant? Even if we manage one sq km per year, in ten years, that’s only 10 sq km added through plantations. Meanwhile, mining can destroy 25 sq km in the same period. So even if we gain ten square km through planting, we lose far more to mining.”

Forest guards are also ill-equipped to deal with illegal mining. “Each forest guard is responsible for nearly 30 sq km of forest territory, but it isn’t one contiguous block — 2 sq km here, 4 sq km there, 8 sq km elsewhere… that’s how fragmented it is,” says Kumar.

Most guards are unarmed and poorly equipped, leaving them vulnerable to periodic attacks by the mining mafia. In one recent incident, five forest guards were brutally beaten, according to the FIR registered at the Chhatarpur Block Police Station on March 23, 2025.

When contacted, forest guard Ashutosh Tiwari explained, “All of us live in fear of the mafia — none of our attackers have been arrested. We have no weapons, so when we’re beaten, there’s no justice.”

Palamu currently has over 300 legally registered stone-crusher units, according to the Jharkhand Department of Mines and Geology.

But those official numbers may only be the tip of the iceberg. Village residents and Satyam Kumar both estimate that unlicensed — or outright illegal — crushing units could outnumber the legal ones by a wide margin.

“All night, you can hear tractors roaring from the forest edge, blasting loud music and crushing stone,” says Kanhai Prasad of Charai village. He shows the damage, and even his mesh netting can’t stop. “Ours was once a prosperous village, but not anymore.” He has set up a mesh net around a plot near his house to protect the vegetables he is already growing from nilgai.

The 64-year-old farmer owns six acres of land, but it isn’t all in one place. As the nilgai invasion intensified in his village, his cultivated area kept shrinking. Now, he can only farm the three bighas (about 2.2 acres) right next to his home. “How can I possibly guard all of it by myself?” he says in frustration.

A way forward

“To combat man-animal conflict, we’re zoning the entire Medininagar Forest Division into three distinct areas. First, zones that are comparatively richer in biodiversity and already have water sources will be developed further to create even better habitats,” says Kumar.

Second, in the scrub and open-forest zones, we will carry out massive plantations of native species under the Compensatory Afforestation Fund Management and Planning Authority (CAMPA) and Green Credit Scheme, alongside grading operations and the creation of new water bodies.

Third, for the completely rocky areas, we will consult expert institutions — such as the Indian Council of Forestry Research and Education (ICFRE) and the Institute of Forest Productivity in Ranchi, as well as other specialised bodies — to advise us on the best grading techniques.”

“Even if the government gives us nothing more,” Ansari sighed, “just enough mesh fencing per acre — and we’d stand a chance.”

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