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From Forest Floor to Coal Dust: The Slow Erosion of Vidarbha’s Native Life

Deforestation for Coal Mining in Vidarbha
Deforestation for Coal Mining in Vidarbha

A dry wind rushes through the teak forests of Chandrapur, brushing past tree stumps where canopies once stood.


Beyond, in a coal-blackened clearing, the rumble of machinery continues without pause. Somewhere along a cracked irrigation tank in Gondia, a lone waterbird circles the shrinking pool before taking flight.


This is about a region-wide erosion, gradual, often unnoticed, of plant and animal life native to Vidarbha.



Vanishing Canopies and Encroached Corridors


Vidarbha’s forested landscapes have long held the weight of Maharashtra’s ecological wealth.


Districts like Gadchiroli, Amravati and Chandrapur together account for more than 75 percent of the state’s total forest area.

These forests are home to species found nowhere else in the world, from flowering plants and orchids to tigers and pangolins. Yet, in recent years, those very forests have shrunk in both size and quality.


Between 2019 and 2021, Gadchiroli alone lost around 14 square kilometres of forest cover, with Chandrapur following closely behind.


Although the state reported a minor overall rise in green cover during this period, that statistic concealed localised degradation in precisely the areas most critical for biodiversity.


Much of the clearing was linked to land encroachment, partly due to ambiguous interpretations of the Forest Rights Act and partly enabled by institutional hesitation.


Within these forests, even where the trees remain, they are increasingly suffocated by aggressive undergrowth. Invasive weeds such as Lantana and Ipomoea, once introduced with little foresight, now form impenetrable walls that crowd out native shrubs and grasses.


In lake-rich districts like Bhandara and Gondia, aquatic invasives line the banks of historic waterbodies, reducing food sources for wetland birds and making it harder for aquatic plants to thrive.


Conservationists have raised repeated alarms about these shifts, especially in areas buffering key wildlife zones.


The Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve, one of India’s most successful sanctuaries, is ringed by shrinking corridors that were once vital for dispersing tigers to adjoining habitats. Tree plantations introduced under afforestation schemes have been of questionable utility.


Despite claims of high sapling survival rates, satellite images reflect continued degradation of native forests, suggesting these drives often fail to restore complex ecosystems.

Old-growth forests are interdependent systems. Replacing diverse understorey plants with monocultures, however tall they grow, creates ecological deserts for birds, bats, insects and amphibians.



Burning Quiet and the Politics of Fire

Forest Fire in Vidarbha
Forest Fire in Vidarbha

In March 2023, flames swept across thousands of hectares in the Melghat Tiger Reserve. While authorities scrambled to control the spread, much of the fire damage had already been done by the time it was subdued. What stood out in official statements was not just the scale of the fire but the candid admission that human action had fuelled it.


One of the lesser-known causes of recurring forest fires in Vidarbha is linked to the collection of tendu leaves, used in the production of traditional beedis.

Contractors have been known to ignite the forest floor, hoping for fresh tendu shoots to emerge. These fires, once rare and accidental, have now become an annual affair, sometimes coordinated across districts.


Despite policies that mandate cancellation of contracts in fire-hit units, enforcement remains elusive. Insiders speak of a quiet understanding between contractors and local departments. And with enforcement officers already stretched thin, very few such fires result in any consequences for those responsible.


Beyond tendu-linked fires, dry leaf litter often catches fire from discarded cigarette butts, stubble burning or simply unattended cooking in forest-edge villages. With the region experiencing longer dry spells, a single spark is often enough.



In early 2025, Maharashtra recorded nearly three times the number of forest fires seen in the same months the year prior.


For the forest, each fire strips away another layer of regeneration. Saplings die young. Underbrush disappears. The temperature of the forest floor rises, altering seed germination and the behaviour of soil microbes.


For animals, especially those dependent on thick cover, like deer, wild boar, and nesting birds, the fire season has become a dangerous waiting game. Even apex predators are affected, as prey availability dips and movement becomes more erratic.


Human and wildlife encounters have escalated in direct response. In Chandrapur and Bramhapuri, fire-prone zones have seen a sharp rise in reports of tigers straying into agricultural lands.

Some experts point to the compounding impact of a tiger displaced by a fire that loses not just territory but also reliable food. The result is more conflict, more fear, and often, more calls to remove or relocate the animal.



Coal, Iron, and a Different Kind of Hunger


A few hours from Tadoba, the horizon turns grey. Chimneys rise over the tree line, and the air is thick with suspended coal dust. This is Chandrapur, Maharashtra’s mining capital, where industry and wildlife often share an uncomfortable boundary.


The Durgapur open-cast coal mine is one such case. Approved for expansion in 2024, the project will see over 80 hectares of reserve forest, part of a known tiger corridor, cleared for extraction.

Conservationists protested, citing the area’s importance for tigers and a broader web of flora and fauna. Despite these objections, the clearance was granted, with mitigation funds and reforestation promises offered in return.


Elsewhere, in the Surjagarh hills of Gadchiroli, local Adivasi communities protested iron ore mining that threatened forest patches sacred to their culture. The protest continued for over eight months before authorities dismantled the encampment. Though the protest was peaceful and widely supported, it barely dented the push for extraction.


These mines alter water tables, generate noise and light that disturb nocturnal species, and often lead to the fragmentation of contiguous habitat. Animals displaced by blasts or heavy movement often end up on the fringes of settlements, creating yet another route for conflict.



There is an irony to these events.


The very animals displaced by mining are sometimes found living in the artificial “green belts” around mines. Leopards, sloth bears and wild boar have adapted to these spaces. But these adaptations are born of necessity, not choice.

For every animal that finds such a space, many others perish, unable to navigate the new terrain or cope with the constant human presence.


The region’s human population isn’t unaffected either. Water sources get contaminated. Croplands lose fertility due to dust deposition. Traditional livelihoods dependent on forest produce begin to fade.


While mining generates jobs, the benefits are rarely equitably shared. Many locals speak of feeling both sidelined and endangered watching wildlife cross into their lives, not out of curiosity but desperation.



Fields, Water and What Lies Between

Invasive Plant Species Surrounding a Lake
Invasive Plant Species Surrounding a Lake

Vidarbha’s economy has long relied on its agriculture. Cotton, soybean and pulses dominate the farmlands, with oranges from Nagpur adding colour to the mix. Yet, as farms have expanded, natural habitats have shrunk, especially in the transition zones between forest and field.


Traditional grasslands have been some of the worst affected. Once common in Akola, Amravati and Yavatmal, these open landscapes supported wolves, chinkaras and a variety of ground-nesting birds.

But the push for cultivation and tree plantations has blurred the line between restoration and disruption. Afforestation drives have sometimes planted trees in grasslands, treating them as degraded forests, further eroding unique habitats.


Pesticide use adds another layer. Yavatmal, in particular, has witnessed recurring episodes of farmer poisonings, a tragic indicator of chemical overuse.

But less visible is the impact on biodiversity. Pollinators such as bees and butterflies are often the first casualties. Birds that feed on insects or seeds, such as larks, munias, and quails, decline quietly, with few to notice their absence.



Aquatic life is equally vulnerable. Pesticide-laden runoff from fields finds its way into nearby tanks and lakes. Fish deaths, frog disappearances and the fading chorus of crickets are signs of wider imbalances. In some cases, even domestic animals that rely on these waters fall ill.

In Bhandara and Gondia,


Exotic fish like tilapia and grass carp were introduced to boost fisheries but instead outcompeted or preyed on native varieties. Local fishermen speak of reduced catches and a shift away from traditional species.


Water management also plays a role. Large dams like Gosikhurd alter flow patterns, sometimes flooding habitats for extended periods, other times cutting off downstream replenishment.


Wetlands that relied on seasonal flooding now experience erratic cycles, affecting nesting waterbirds and breeding amphibians.


Even in protected areas, water scarcity can tip the balance. During drought years, many artificial waterholes run dry by early summer.


Forest staff have had to deploy water tankers deep into reserves, a costly and temporary fix. In the absence of reliable water sources, animals often venture towards villages, drawn by the scent of livestock tanks or irrigation canals.


Community efforts have emerged in some pockets. In Bhandara, traditional fishing communities have taken steps to revive old lakes, removing invasive species and bringing back native fish.


These initiatives, though small in scale, hint at a different model, one rooted in local knowledge, not external design.



References




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