When Rivaldo, the well-known tusker of the Sigur plateau in the Nilgiri district of Tamil Nadu, died on February 13 at around 50 years of age, forest watchers and residents across the region felt an unusual sense of personal loss.
Many elephants move through this corridor landscape connecting the Eastern and Western Ghats each year, yet only a few remain long enough to become part of local memory. Rivaldo was one such animal.
For decades he walked the forests and settlement edges linking Mudumalai, Bandipur, Wayanad and Sathyamangalam, a region that forms one of the most important elephant landscapes in the world.
Over the years, Rivaldo slowly became woven into the locality’s collective memory. Forest guards knew his routes, farmers learned to recognise his calm presence, and villagers often spoke about him as though he were a familiar neighbour rather than a wild animal. Older residents recall seeing him as a younger bull moving with herds before gradually becoming a solitary tusker. His movements followed seasonal rhythms, water streams in summer, shaded forest patches during the monsoon, and occasional visits to agricultural edges when food inside forests was scarce. Unlike transient elephants that passed through unnoticed, Rivaldo’s consistency allowed people to adapt around him. His life history mirrored the changing Nilgiri landscape itself, spanning decades of shifting land use, expanding tourism and increasing human presence, yet maintaining a fragile coexistence that many now fear is disappearing.
Some conservationists trace this unusual ease around humans to the cultural history of the landscape itself. Near the Sigurhalla stream once stood Cheetal Walk, the home of writer and naturalist E R C Davidar, built in the 1960s as a space that deliberately avoided rigid boundaries with the forest. Elephants and other wildlife moved through the property with minimal disturbance. Rivaldo, locals say, was among the animals frequently seen there during his younger years, gradually learning a form of cautious coexistence shaped by patience rather than confrontation. Whether by chance or habit, he carried that temperament through much of his life.
C M Balan, a guard with Theppakkad Elephant Camp at Mudumalai who had tracked the tusker for years, described the feeling simply. “We watch many elephants during patrols, but only a few become familiar. Rivaldo was one we could recognise instantly. His absence will be felt.” For villagers, the loss felt almost like the disappearance of a long-time neighbour.
Rivaldo was never known as a consistently aggressive elephant. Though he occasionally entered farms, he was considered relatively calm compared to other tuskers that caused severe crop damage. Over the years he survived injuries from fights with other elephants, periods of conflict with farmers and even attempts to capture him when he was labelled a conflict animal.
At one stage, a serious injury to his trunk, likely caused by a snare or explosive trap, made feeding more difficult and pushed him closer to human settlements where people often left food. What began as sympathy slowly blurred the boundaries between wild and human spaces, shaping a phase of his life that later drew management interventions. Yet each time, he eventually returned to the forest and resumed his movement across the corridor landscape. His life became a living demonstration of a difficult truth. Elephants and people can share landscapes, but only when those landscapes remain ecologically functional.
The Sigur plateau is not simply another forested region of the Western Ghats. It is a narrow but vital ecological bridge connecting the forests of southern India across two mountain systems. Through this corridor, elephants migrate seasonally, exchange genes across populations and maintain ecological balance across a landscape spanning several states. Wildlife scientists often describe the Nilgiri landscape as one of the last remaining large elephant habitats in Asia where animals still move across vast connected forest systems.
“Corridors are not optional spaces for elephants. They are essential survival routes,” wildlife biologist Nagaraj Bhaskaran explained. “If you cut off these connections, populations slowly become isolated, conflict rises and long-term survival becomes uncertain.” Rivaldo’s long life, conservationists say, was partly possible because he belonged to a generation of elephants that still experienced relatively connected habitats during their early years. That connectivity is gradually weakening.
Over the past few decades, the Sigur plateau has undergone significant land use transformation. Expanding settlements, plantations, fencing around agricultural lands, private estates and road networks have resulted in a mosaic of forest fragments, agricultural fields and settlements that animals must navigate to reach feeding grounds and water sources.
Even small obstructions placed at critical crossing points can alter migration patterns, forcing elephants to move through villages and farms instead of forested corridors. “Elephants follow traditional paths that have existed for centuries,” forest veterinarian K Rajesh Kumar said. “When those routes are blocked, they do not disappear. They simply try to move through whatever space is left.”
A conservation researcher studying elephant movement patterns observed, “Fragmentation does not always mean the complete disappearance of forests. It often means the landscape becomes broken into smaller pieces. Elephants still move through these pieces, but the journey becomes riskier and conflict becomes more frequent.”
Tourism has become one of the major economic drivers of the Nilgiris, drawing visitors from across the country and abroad. While tourism generates employment and revenue, poorly planned expansion has created ecological challenges, particularly within sensitive corridor zones. Construction of resorts, lodges, recreational facilities and access roads in wildlife movement areas has altered habitat structure and increased disturbance through traffic, noise and artificial lighting.
Sadiq Ali, an Ooty-based conservation activist familiar with the Sigur landscape, noted, “Tourism is not inherently harmful. The problem arises when development ignores ecological zoning. A single resort built at the wrong location can obstruct a migration route that hundreds of elephants depend on.”
Beyond visible infrastructure changes, the Nilgiris faces less visible but equally serious ecological challenges. Invasive plant species such as lantana, eupatorium and senna have spread across large stretches of forest and grassland, replacing native vegetation that once provided essential fodder for herbivores. These invasive species suppress natural regeneration and reduce the availability of nutritious forage, indirectly pushing elephants toward agricultural fields.
An ecologist working on habitat restoration explained, “When native grasslands disappear and invasive plants dominate, elephants have fewer feeding options inside forests. The animals do not deliberately seek conflict. They simply move toward areas where food is available.”
As habitats fragment and food resources shift, human-elephant conflict has become one of the most persistent conservation challenges across the Nilgiris. Farmers experience crop losses and property damage, while elephants face risks from electrocution, accidental falls into trenches, retaliatory attacks or vehicle collisions. Conflict situations often generate fear and anger within rural communities, complicating conservation efforts.
“Conflict is not merely a wildlife problem. It is a land use problem,” a wildlife conflict mitigation expert observed. “When forests shrink and corridors narrow, encounters become inevitable. Managing conflict requires restoring habitats as much as protecting people.”
Several coexistence programmes in the region have attempted to reduce conflict through early-warning systems, crop protection measures and compensation mechanisms, but long-term solutions depend on maintaining landscape connectivity.
Rivaldo’s life offers a rare ecological perspective in the midst of these challenges. Despite living in a corridor landscape shaped by human activity, he survived for decades, demonstrating both the resilience of elephants and the importance of connected habitats. During certain periods he was considered a conflict elephant, yet once direct feeding by people was discouraged and movement routes remained open, he gradually returned to natural foraging behaviour. His repeated return to the same range showed the strong spatial memory elephants possess and their deep attachment to traditional home ranges.
Rajesh Kumar, who monitored the tusker, remarked, “His life showed that elephants can adapt if landscapes allow them to adapt. When space is available, they do not need constant intervention.”
The passing of a familiar elephant rarely alters conservation policy overnight, but it often provides an opportunity to reflect on the trajectory of landscapes.
“Every time we lose an old tusker, we lose a living record of how these landscapes once functioned,” said Coimbatore-based conservation activist K Mohanraj. “The question is whether the next generation will have the same chance to live long lives.”
That concern lies at the heart of the conservation debate in the Nilgiris. Population numbers alone cannot capture the health of a wildlife landscape. The continuity of habitats and corridors is equally important.
The future of elephants in the Nilgiris will depend on decisions made not only by forest departments but also by planners, tourism operators, infrastructure agencies and local communities.
As villagers and forest guards recall the tusker who once walked quietly through the plateau, his absence carries a broader ecological message. Rivaldo’s death is not simply the end of a long elephant life. It is a reminder that landscapes capable of sustaining wildlife for decades are becoming increasingly rare. “Elephants will continue to exist,” said Sadiq Ali, “but whether they live peacefully among us or in constant conflict depends on how we shape the land around them.”