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Wildlife & Biodiversity

Drowning in its home

The dancing deer stares at near-extinction as its marshy habitat thins and fragments

Anupam Chakravartty

To the people of Manipur, the sangai deer is more than a species. It is a symbol of grace, restraint and a way of life grounded in peace, moral discipline and artistic expression—whether in dance, sport, craft or everyday culture.

A medium-sized cervid, the sangai deer (Rucervus eldii eldii) lives in the moist lowlands of the Imphal valley. Over generations it has adapted to one of the world’s most unusual wetland habitats: the floating meadows of Keibul Lamjao National Park, located just south of Loktak Lake. The area was declared the world’s only floating national park in 1997, and is the lone habitat of the endangered species. Their delicate, measured gait over these floating vegetation, paired with their antlers, creates the illusion that the deer are dancing, earning it the monicker of “dancing deer.” Male sangai, easily recognised by the brow tine arising from its forehead, appear to pause mid-flight, turning back as if looking for someone.

Despite being Manipur’s state animal, the sangai’s true population remains uncertain. In 1951, it was declared extinct but was spotted in the floating meadows a few years later. Its population had risen steadily until 1984 but has declined since. Though some previous counts have shown a highly inflated population of the deer—the 2016 census counted 260 deer, up from 204 previously—and it was thought to be recovering, the fact is that the species may instead be slipping towards an extinction-level event due to several avoidable anthropogenic activities.

A conservation plan prepared by the Wildlife Institute of India (WII), Dehradun, in 2022-23 warns that the deer faces serious demographic and environmental threats. The WII study confirms the presence of only 64 individuals in the wild; around 200 more survive in zoos across India, where conservationists are attempting to stabilise the gene pool.

Scientists fear the species may already be suffering from inbreeding depression (a genetic bottleneck that severely reduces genetic diversity of a species, lowering its viability), as the deer are increasingly being confined to 10 sq km in the northern corner of Keibul Lamjao National Park due to habitat loss.

Keibul Lamjao National Park is designated as a wetland site of international importance under the Ramsar Convention. Yet its unique floating meadows are collapsing. Locally called phumdis, these floating meadows are mats of soil and organic material woven together by endemic plants and grass species. Over time, the tangle turns into nutrient-rich black humus. Roughly a quarter of each mat floats above the water’s surface, though thickness varies drastically—from a few centimetres in some patches to over two metres in others. Once ideal for sangai and Indian hog deer (Axis porcinus), the phumdis are thinning because of pollution and changing water dynamics. The plants that anchor and form the mats are in decline. As the floating meadows weaken, deer are beginning to sink. During the 2023 census, researchers recovered the carcasses of two male sangai and four hog deer, likely victims of drowning. WII studies show that to bear the weight of an adult sangai, typically 90 to 115 kg, phumdis must be at least a metre thick. But a multipurpose hydroelectric project built downstream in 1983 sends a powerful monsoon backflow into Keibul Lamjao National Park each year. That backflow erodes the phumdis, and also carries untreated sewage from towns downstream into the lake system, altering its nutrient cycles and delaying the formation of new mats.

Whether the sangai continues its gentle dance across the floating meadows now depends on whether these fragile phumdis, and the people fighting to save the unique ecosystem, can hold together long enough for the deer to survive.

This article was originally published as part of the December 16-31, 2025 print edition of Down To Earth