The answer to whether tigers reside in Goa, my friends, is not found in the forest – it’s found in the files of government submissions. Here lies the tragedy of our governance. Facts bend not to truth, but to convenience. Whether the tiger walks our land or simply strolls across our policy papers depends not on ecology but on strategy.
Earlier this year, the Goa Government told a Supreme Court-appointed committee that there was “no permanent presence of tigers” in the State. Not visiting. Not passing through. Certainly not living here. A polite way of saying: tigers? what tigers? If you ask the Government today, they might say the tiger is as elusive as political accountability.
Now shift to 2018. A different room. A different table. A different argument. Same tiger. This time, Goa argued before the Mahadayi Water Disputes Tribunal that “there is evidence to show that tigers in Goa are not merely transient animals, but are a resident population”. Ah! Suddenly the tiger is no longer a tourist – it owns real estate in Chorla, Mann, and Kankumbi forests. It even has corridor connectivity to Bhimgad Wildlife Sanctuary in Karnataka and Anshi Dandeli Tiger Reserve. According to that submission, the forests connecting Goa to Karnataka form a “contiguous tiger landscape corridor” leading to tiger populations numbering about 35 in our neighbouring state.
Convenient, isn’t it? When the question is water, the tiger roars. When the question is conservation, silence prowls.
Goa argued in 2018 that “were the flow of Mahadayi river to be impeded, it would impact the prey base as well as tiger ecosystem”. Suddenly, the tiger, unknown to forest records, emerges as a central character in an environmental drama. A protagonist used by politicians to justify their positions. The tiger went from possibly transient to ecologically significant faster than some politicians go from opposition to ruling side.
Let’s make it clear: you cannot have a tiger appear only when paperwork needs muscle. Either the tiger is resident and must be protected with utmost seriousness, or it is transient and your earlier claims in court must be reconsidered. But what we see is a classic example of policy inconsistency driven by legal necessity rather than ecological priority.
This flip-flop is symptomatic of governance that treats environmental narratives as arguments of convenience rather than matters of long-term sustainability.
When land is needed, forests are “degraded scrub”.
When mining contracts are at stake, hills are barren.
When hydro projects need justification, ecosystems come alive.
This kind of argumentation exposes more than inconsistency; it reveals an uncomfortable truth – that environmental concerns are often used merely to anchor administrative positions rather than preserve ecological integrity.
The tiger debate is not about the tiger. It’s about sincerity.
Tigers do not write affidavits. Forests do not submit reports. Judges do not trek through valleys tracking pugmarks. Our legal positions should stem from environmental science, not legal strategy.
If Goa genuinely has a resident tiger population, why hasn’t it declared a tiger reserve? Why haven’t the areas around Chorla, Mann, and Kankumbi received top-tier protection? Why, instead, do we see developmental proposals nibbling at ecological corridors? Because acknowledging the tiger would trigger stronger conservation rules – rules that compete with infrastructure ambitions.
To the lay Goan, this is confusing. One department says “we have no permanent tigers,” another says “we have established corridors and a resident population.” It’s like saying your father is alive in one ration card and deceased in another – depending on whether you’re claiming subsidy or land rights.
Let’s look deeper. If the tiger is truly transient, then it occasionally walks through Goa. Which means its presence is valuable, but not central to its life cycle. Conservation efforts would be supportive but not habitat-defining. But if – as per the Mahadayi Tribunal argument – the tiger population is resident, then Goa has a conservation obligation as serious as Karnataka or Maharashtra. That would require establishing tiger zones, preserving water flow, protecting prey base, discouraging human intrusion. Policies would need coherence, commitment and courage.
That is where the challenge lies.Because protecting tigers means regulating tourism, curbing mining, controlling deforestation and rethinking road expansions. It means making enemies in the boardrooms where GDP growth is worshipped more than biodiversity.
So, what does this contradiction tell us?
It tells us that the tiger debate is a metaphor for Goa’s development dilemma.
Do we prioritise short-term policy wins or long-term environmental survival? Do we allow the tiger to be a prop in litigation or a pillar of conservation strategy? Do we want to be known as a state that preserves biodiversity or one that invokes it selectively?
My appeal is simple: become consistent. Commit to your word. If Goa claims tigers exist here to protect river water flow, then commit to protecting the forests the tiger depends on. If we accept the ecological reality asserted in 2018, then act on it today. If we reject it, retract your affidavit. But do not play wildlife politics.
In the end, the tiger does not need our speeches. It needs our sincerity. Governments change arguments. Tigers change landscapes.
And while ministers debate what is “resident” and what is “transient”, nature watches us silently – judging our integrity.
In this theatre of selective truth, the tiger is not the endangered species. Honesty is.
Either the tiger resides in Goa, or duplicity does. One of them must go extinct.
