Leopard in the cane: Why are the spotted cats at the centre of a rising conflict in Bijnor?

“We could walk through the sugarcane fields safely 10 years ago, but not anymore,” said a young man, guiding us to the site where a leopard attacked a six-year-old boy last year. For residents like him, the changing landscape of Bijnor has turned routine agricultural work into a source of fear and uncertainty. The anxiety runs so deep that even the sudden flushing of a bird or a dog from the cane is enough to make people think a leopard is lurking nearby.

Located in north-western Uttar Pradesh, Bijnor district spans about 4,561 sq. km in the fertile Terai-Gangetic plain. According to the 2011 Census of India, the district has a population density of 807 people per sq. km. Agriculture dominates, with nearly 3,000 sq. km under sugarcane. Livestock density stands at around 247 individuals per sq. km; while most are stall-fed, stray animals often roam the farmlands. This mix of dense human settlement, extensive crops, and livestock presence has created conditions that draw leopards into areas dominated by people.

The district also contains two key forested areas: The Najibabad Forest Division and Amangarh Tiger Reserve, together covering approximately 550 sq. km. These forests connect directly to the larger Corbett landscape in Uttarakhand, providing pathways for leopards to move between protected areas and cultivated lands. The network of rivers and irrigation canals further facilitates their movement, increasing the likelihood of encounters with humans.

Since 2019, these interactions have escalated dramatically. Leopards in Bijnor have killed 45 people and injured over 100, prompting the Forest Department to capture and relocate more than 100 individuals over the past three years. Yet human intervention alone cannot solve the problem. Over the past decade, 129 leopards have died in the district, 62 due to human-related causes, highlighting a growing conservation challenge in one of India’s most densely populated regions.

Nationally, leopard populations have shown a modest recovery, rising from 12,852 (±680) in 2018 to 13,874 (±1,258) in 2022, according to the Status of Leopards in India 2022. Within the Terai landscape—from Rajaji to Dudhwa and Suhelwa—an estimated 900 leopards inhabit protected areas. Yet little is known about the numbers living in human-dominated landscapes, where interactions with people are most likely to spark conflict.

Conflict in Bijnor is relatively recent, emerging over the last 7-8 years and peaking after 2023. While leopards have long inhabited the district’s forests, their movement into agricultural fields marks a new and unprecedented phenomenon. For many residents, this is the first generation to directly encounter the species, and in several villages, people were unfamiliar with leopards until attacks began. Unlike elephants, which hold cultural or religious significance and are often tolerated by local communities, leopards carry no such symbolic value, making them particularly vulnerable to fear and hostility.

Hatred toward leopards runs deep in some villages. Farmers and local unions have called for the district to be “leopard-free” and even suggested removing the species from Schedule I of the Indian Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972, treating the animals as ghosts haunting their fields. Public attention to leopards is intense, with village residents eager to capture any individual seen near their homes or fields. Whenever a leopard is trapped, people often follow the rescue vehicle all the way to the range office, reflecting the strong emotions surrounding these encounters. In some villages, residents have even set up their own cages on the permission of the local administration, sometimes building and managing these enclosures themselves, to detain leopards before the Forest Department takes over.

The sudden rise in conflict has prompted a variety of mitigation strategies. Farmers working in sugarcane fields now carry loudspeakers playing music, while women collecting fodder move in groups. Others enter fields armed with wooden spears, locally called banchi, and some use potash guns, which create loud noises to warn leopards before starting work in the fields. The Forest Department has also distributed masks, advising farmers to wear them on the back of their heads while working—a tactic intended to confuse leopards, though its effectiveness remains untested.

However, these measures alone have not been sufficient. In some cases, personal disputes have been disguised as leopard attacks, leaving officials uncertain about the true cause of incidents. Underlying socio-economic vulnerabilities further worsen the problem. Many households lack secure doors and walls, livestock are weakly protected at night, children often accompany adults to the fields, and the presence of stray dogs, roaming cattle, and open garbage near villages draws leopards closer to human settlements.

A recent tragedy—four human deaths within 15 days in September, including three children and a woman—brought the urgency of the crisis into sharp focus. Farmer unions staged protests at the divisional office, locking its gates and even bringing livestock inside. As a result, the office remained closed for a week. The local parliamentarian also visited the victims’ families and spent the night with them, adding to the pressure on authorities. Following rounds of discussions between the Forest Department, local administration, and farmer unions, authorities assured the construction of trenches and solar fencing along forest boundaries and launched an intense operation to capture the animals.

While such barriers may deter elephants, they are neither scientific nor effective for leopards, whose agility and adaptability allow them to cross easily. Capturing “problem” leopards may sometimes be necessary, but doing so without first confirming which animal is responsible can disrupt the ecology and weaken long-term conservation. The irony is that no one really knows how many leopards live in the district, yet many people believe they are everywhere. This fear is made worse by a common perception in villages that the Forest Department itself releases leopards nearby, repeating the cycle of conflict.

Women and children are the most vulnerable in this conflict, accounting for most of the deaths. In response, the Forest Department has initiated large-scale awareness workshops, advising families to keep children under the supervision of elders, discourage them from entering agricultural fields, and encourage women to work in groups. Village residents are also warned against going out at night. While awareness is essential, the department must prioritise science-based interventions rather than acting under social or political pressure. What Bijnor needs is a community-driven strategy grounded in ecological understanding—one that considers leopard behaviour, reduces attractants around villages, promotes better livestock management, strengthens local resilience, builds trust between communities and conservation agencies, and strengthens awareness through dedicated workshops. Establishing a dedicated rescue centre for leopards can also ensure timely and safe management of conflict situations. This is especially important because leopard sightings and conflicts are also increasing in nearby districts such as Moradabad, Amroha, Muzaffarnagar, and Saharanpur. Only by balancing human safety with ecological realities can Bijnor move toward true coexistence, where leopards are no longer feared as ghosts in the fields but seen as part of a shared and resilient landscape.

Shivam Chauhan is PhD Scholar at the Department of Wildlife Sciences, Aligarh Muslim University

Kaleem Ahmed is Assistant Professor at the Department of Wildlife Sciences, Aligarh Muslim University

Views expressed are the authors’ own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth