Guardians Within: How Manas's Fringe Communities Coexist & Protect the Forest

In the midst of Manas, where village and forest breathe as one, defense does not start with uniforms – it starts with memory.

Manas National Park, covering Assam's Baksa district, is not just a tiger, elephant, and rhino sanctuary. For its fringing communities, the forest is memory, belief, and survival entwined in everyday life. Well before eco-development plans or conservation NGOs turned up, Manas was protected by villagers who were custodians of the forest. Their rituals to guard crops, sacred groves, and taboos silently protected wildlife.

Now, these practices endure, albeit under great stress from human-wildlife conflict, economic instability, and cultural decay. Still, through modest day-to-day actions—a farmer deciding not to shoot back at elephants, a woman presenting rice beer to a forest deity—custodianship endures.

A Ranger Remembered

Manas's conservation history cannot be separated from that of Fakru Kachari, one of its first rangers. His grandson, Karan Singh Mushahary of Borgaon village, retells the family history:

“My grandfather served in the British times, when the freedom struggle was in progress. He retired in 1947. Subsequently, during his return journey from Tawang to Guwahati, he was gheraoed at Baghmara and brutally murdered. We were not born at that time, but my father narrated the incidents to us, and we still have some of his service files. He was one of the earliest ones to preserve Manas.”

Fakru started working in Pungguri and Ghoramara beats, regions that subsequently developed into today's Bhuyanpara, Bansbari, and Koklabari ranges. His service, dignified by a number of medals including one from Tawang, was built on duty and affection for the land. The forest, to Fakru and his people, was not merely land—it was legacy.

Faith Rooted in Nature

To understand how fringe villagers continue this guardianship, one must understand Bathou, the traditional nature-centric faith of the Bodo people.

That heritage is strongly connected to Bathou Dharma, the old religion of the predominant Bodo people who inhabit this environment. Bathou puts the forest at the focal point of devotion.

The Sijou tree (Euphorbia antiquorum), found in every Bodo traditional courtyard, is worshiped as the living form of Bathoubwrai, the highest god. The Sijou is encircled by bamboo posts decorated with five knots—earth, water, air, fire, and sky—the Sijou then acts as an altar for a family.

"We are Bathou Dharma people," explains Krishnakanto Basumatary, a local social worker. "We believe in the five elements and we believe in the Sijou tree, which we worship. Our puja is natural. Even NGOs working here have respected and supported this bond."

Bathouism is a worldview in which conservation is not an undertaking but a religious obligation. From not entering certain forests while pregnant to presenting rice beer to forest spirits, these practices constituted an uncodified ecological morality—guaranteeing that respect for nature was transferred from generation to generation.

Farmers on the Forest Margin

Today, in Manas, that ethic is challenged every day by the squeeze and tug of agriculture and wildlife.

In Korebari village, farmer Tarun Basumatary, who cultivates 30 bighas of rice, taro, turmeric, and chillies, narrates:

“Elephants used to plunder our crops for years. Nets and tricks of sound didn't work. But once we put up the solar fencing with the assistance of Aaranyak, it was effective. The shock is minimal—it doesn't kill the animals—but it drives them away. We also make tongs and patrol shifts at night. Manas is our gold. Even if animals graze a bit, we don't strike back. They graze and depart peacefully.”

They also express similar relief. Gopal Goyari of Hatijan, Daodhara who cultivates seven bighas, states: "Wild animals don't come much now because of the solar fencing."

Not all villages are exempt, however. Pradip Boro of Koklabari relates a more oppressive reality: " “If we don’t guard from tongs, elephants destroy everything—crops, livestock. Tigers take our cows, goats, pigs. Monkeys raid our homes. We don’t attack them—we know they also need to survive. But we are poor, farming on government land under contract. With little rain, crops fail. We give so much effort, but the fruit is small.”

To such farmers, coexistence is no romance—it is survival, worn with stoic resilience.

The Forest Department's Challenge

Forest officials admit the challenges of dealing with both wildlife and human settlements.

Vivekananda Pathak, Bhuyanpara Range Forest Ranger, explains: "Protecting the flora and fauna of Manas is our top priority, but we also have to make sure that the fringe villages coexist peacefully. We do awareness through Eco Development Committees on Global Tiger Day, Elephant Day, Rhino Day, and Environment Day. We provide leaflets so we can tell them what is allowed in the park.

Nevertheless, conflict is unavoidable as long as there are humans living in close proximity to wildlife. To avoid this, we have Anti-Depredation Squads that carry torches and crackers. We are tipped by villagers whenever they spot animals. But most of the fencing done in this area was done by NGOs over a decade ago. It's old and dilapidated. At the director level, plans are afoot for round-the-clock four or five-line fencing, which we hope will materialize soon”.

A Delicate Guardianship

Since the time of Fakru Kachari, up to today's solar fences, conservation in Manas has never been more than policy on paper. It is lived guardianship by people who farm, pray, and live at the edge of the forest.

Even in poverty, raids, and uncertainty, villagers remain restrained. A farmer declining to attack elephants back, a woman serving rice beer at a Sijou shrine, a ranger scheduling awareness sessions—all are acts of preservation.

The pressures are real: economic want, weakening customs, and the increasing needs of human and animal survival. But so long as the Sijou tree remains in Bodo courtyards, and so long as farmers suppress rage even when elephants tread through fields, the guardianship holds.

In Manas, guardians are not just in uniform. They are inside the villages themselves.

(This feature has been produced as part of Aaranyak’s Media Fellowship 2025, supported by IUCN-KFW.)

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