May the howl return

The Deccan Plateau is among the oldest geological formations on the Indian subcontinent, predating even the mighty Himalayas. Once a vibrant and dynamic ecosystem, it was home to species found nowhere else on earth. Yet over time, much of this natural wealth has faded from public memory, displaced by industrial growth and a narrowing conservation focus.

Among the enduring survivors of this forgotten wilderness is the Indian wolf (Canis lupus pallipes). Known for its adaptability, the wolf was once among the most widely distributed mammals in the world — roaming from the frozen Arctic to the Saudi deserts, from the Hokkaido wolf in Japan to the sea wolves of British Columbia. In India, the wolf once ranged freely across the subcontinent. 

Today, it clings to survival, with fewer than 3,000 individuals left in the wild. Packs are known to be present in Bidar, Koppal, Gadag, Bijapur and Raichur. But little is known about them or their numbers. The disappearance of the Asiatic cheetah from the Deccan in the 1950s has left the Indian wolf as the apex predator in these grasslands, a role critical for maintaining ecological balance.

Wolves are keystone species, regulating prey populations and contributing to the overall health of the ecosystem. Yet the decline in natural prey due to habitat degradation has pushed many wolves to turn to livestock for sustenance, bringing them into closer contact, and potential conflict, with pastoral communities.

Community 

Remarkably, in parts of Karnataka, this relationship is not defined by hostility, but by reverence. Among the Kuruba shepherds, the wolf is seen not as a menace but as a familial figure. They call it sodar mava, meaning maternal uncle. Each year, as pastoralists prepare for their seasonal migration, a spiritual leader conducts rituals that seek protection and prosperity for both human and wolf.

These are not just quaint traditions — they reflect a sophisticated ethic of coexistence. Some local sayings capture the essence of this bond: “Out of three shares, one is for us, one for thieves, and one for the wolf.” There is also: “The wolf has an uncanny sense of detecting injured and sick individuals (livestock) and culling them.” These are acknowledgements of the predator’s presence, not as an enemy, but as part of the same survival narrative. 

Apart from wolves, hyenas, jungle cats, rusty spotted cats, sloth bears and foxes are found here, but are rare. These are the predators of the Deccan Plateau.  

Weighing between 0.9 and 1.6 kg, the rusty spotted cat is one of the grassland’s smallest predators. Despite its size, it has impressive hunting skills, with an estimated kill rate of around 60%. Although not as extensively studied as other wild feline species, available research indicates that its diet includes rodents, birds, insects and small reptiles.

The rusty-spotted cat inhabits a variety of environments, such as deciduous forests, scrublands, grasslands, rocky outcrops, forest plantations, and agricultural fields. This species is native to only three countries: India, Nepal, and Sri Lanka.

The Deccan Conservation Foundation (DCF), which I founded in 2016, works to preserve these fragile relationships and protect the unique biodiversity of the Deccan. Protecting predators like the Indian wolf must begin with protecting their habitats. This includes maintaining a balanced prey base, curbing illegal hunting and addressing the systemic neglect of grassland ecosystems.

As a paraecologist, my work lies in bridging gaps — between policymakers and pastoralists, between researchers and communities, and between the land’s memory and its future. In order for conservation efforts to succeed, they must become a people’s movement. This means involving everyone — policymakers, herders, children and urban dwellers alike.

The Deccan was once a landscape teeming with life. Lions, tigers, leopards, cheetahs, and sloth bears roamed its open grasslands and scrub forests. Prey animals like nilgai, chital, blackbuck, chinkara, and the four-horned antelope grazed across the plains. Caracals, jackals and foxes shared space with raptors circling above. Each winter, millions of migratory birds would arrive, feasting on sun-ripened crops and nesting in the silence of the open sky. But these memories are fading. What was once a hidden paradise has become a fragmented remnant.

To reverse this trend, there is a need to confront difficult questions. Can we reintroduce prey species to reduce wolves’ dependency on livestock? Can we formally recognise grasslands as critical habitats, not wastelands? Can we trust and empower indigenous communities to act as stewards of conservation? These questions lie at the heart of any serious attempt to restore the Deccan’s ecological integrity.

Conservation strategies must address these concerns, face challenges, and rise to the task of rewilding what remains. Just as people need homes to raise their families, so too do wild species require safe and stable environments to live, breed and thrive.

We are not the owners of this land. We are its custodians, guardians, and protectors. As the proverb reminds us: We have not inherited the planet from our ancestors; we have borrowed it from our children. Let us act with the humility and urgency that truth demands. Let the howl of the Indian wolf echo once again across the grasslands of Karnataka, not as a cry for help, but as a song of survival.