Climate change is rewriting the boundaries between human spaces and snake habitats. Kerala’s deadly summer of 2026 is the latest — and most visible — chapter in a global crisis hiding in plain sight.
By Dipin Damodharan & Lakshmi Narayanan
The pencil drawing of a crowned king is still on the wall. It sits low — only as high as a small boy could reach. Dikshal was eight years old when he drew it, and eight years old when he died, bitten by a cobra that had slipped into his home in Chirayinkeezhu, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, seeking refuge from the punishing April heat. The snake was found later, hiding beneath a sewing machine.
His family had heard about the snakebite deaths spreading across Kerala. They had covered the gaps in their walls with sheets, reasoning that the heat inside would keep snakes away. They had never seen a venomous snake near their home before. When Dikshal woke complaining of a wound, his father Dileep could not make out the bite mark — there was only one puncture, not the two most people expect. The family rushed him to the nearest taluk hospital. Staff, uncertain whether it was a snakebite, did not administer anti-venom. By the time Dikshal reached the Medical College Hospital in Thiruvananthapuram, he had stopped breathing.
He was not alone. On April 18, eight-year-old Aljo from Kodakara in Thrissur district died after being bitten by a common krait while asleep. His brother Anoj was also bitten and remained in treatment. Within days, Kerala had recorded around five snakebite deaths in a single week, prompting widespread alarm. The answer to where all these snakes had suddenly come from, scientists and field workers say, is not sudden at all. Kerala lost 660 people to snakebites over the last decade.
The Physics of a Cold-Blooded Crisis
Snakes are ectotherms — cold-blooded creatures whose body temperature, metabolism, and behaviour are governed entirely by their external environment. Mithun A.S., an experienced snake rescuer who has worked across Kerala, explains it plainly: snakes depend entirely on external sources to maintain their body temperature. When the environment becomes too hot to sustain them, they do not adapt. They move.
“When temperatures cross a threshold, their metabolism accelerates, their need for food increases, and their natural burrows become unbearably hot,” Mithun says. “They have no choice but to come out and find somewhere cooler.”
In a Kerala summer that has broken decade-long heat records, that somewhere is increasingly inside our homes. As cold-blooded animals, snakes cannot regulate their body temperature or sweat, so they come out in search of cooler conditions. This is also the breeding season, which increases the likelihood of human-snake encounters.
What makes this moment particularly dangerous, Mithun notes, is the combination of heat and hunger. As metabolism speeds up, snakes need to feed more frequently. They are not only seeking cool shelter — they are also actively hunting. The two imperatives together drive them deeper into human territory than they would ordinarily venture.
The Microclimate We Built for Them
Krishnan T.J., a SARPA volunteer and snake expert with years of field experience across Kerala, has a precise term for what is happening to our homes. They have become microclimates — islands of thermal relief in an increasingly hostile landscape.
“Our bathrooms, our wells, our shaded corners — these are now the coolest places available to a snake within range,” Krishnan says. “The water sources outside are drying up. The burrows are overheating. The snake is not invading. It is surviving.”
The ecological concept behind this observation is microhabitat compression — as climate change narrows the zones where temperature, moisture, and shelter align, both humans and wildlife converge on the same shrinking refuges. In Kerala’s case, that refuge is often a tiled bathroom floor, the space beneath a bed, or the cool shadow of a sewing machine.
Krishnan points to the role of ornamental plants that climb walls, cracks in compound walls, and gaps in roofing as the entry points snakes most commonly exploit. “People grow decorative creepers along their walls and think nothing of it,” he says. “For a snake, that is a ladder.” The physical infrastructure of the Kerala home — designed for ventilation and shade in a warm climate — has inadvertently become optimal snake habitat.
Breeding Season and the Invisible Danger
Muhammed Anwar, nodal officer for Mission SARPA under Kerala’s Forest Department, adds a dimension that makes the current moment even more acute. April and May are not just the hottest months in Kerala — they are also when the Big Four venomous species hatch.
“The cobra, the krait, the Russell’s viper — this is their breeding season,” Anwar explains. “The hatchlings carry venom as potent as the adults. They are smaller and harder to see. And they are looking for exactly the same cool, damp spaces that the adults are.”
This convergence — record heat, accelerated snake activity, and a new generation of venomous juveniles dispersing across the landscape — is what transformed April 2026 into something beyond a seasonal spike. Anwar is particularly concerned about the structural features of Kerala homes that create easy access. “Ornamental plants climbing walls, gaps in compound walls, cracks where pipes enter — these are the highways,” he says. “And once inside, a snake will settle in the coolest spot it can find. That is often exactly where a child sleeps.”
Anwar has been at the centre of Kerala’s effort to reduce snakebite deaths since the SARPA programme launched in 2020. Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan has stated the programme’s goal as bringing snakebite deaths in the state to zero. The infrastructure — over 1,200 trained rescuers, a public app, and rapid response protocols— is among the most developed in India. But Anwar is candid about the limits of even the best response system when the underlying environmental conditions keep worsening.
India’s Hidden Epidemic
What is unfolding in Kerala is a concentrated, visible expression of something far larger across the subcontinent. India had an estimated 1.2 million snakebite deaths between 2000 and 2019 — an average of 58,000 per year. Over a quarter of those deaths were children under 15. Most occurred at home, in rural areas.
India accounts for approximately half of all snakebite-related deaths globally. Every year, an estimated 5.4 million people worldwide are bitten by snakes, resulting in as many as 138,000 deaths and three times as many cases of permanent disability. The World Health Organization classified snakebite as a neglected tropical disease in 2017, with a target to halve deaths by 2030. That target now looks increasingly difficult to meet — not because medicine has failed to advance, but because the climate is accelerating the problem faster than health systems can absorb it.
A landmark study published in PLOS Neglected Tropical Diseases in 2025, conducted by Indian and South Korean scientists, modelled the future distribution of India’s Big Four venomous species under climate change scenarios through 2080. Climate change is anticipated to significantly impact the distribution of snakes, leading to notable shifts in their habitats towards human-dominated landscapes. Under future scenarios, many northern and northeastern states — including parts of Assam, Manipur, and Rajasthan — are projected to show dramatically increased snakebite risk, in regions that currently have minimal suitable snake habitat. The snakebite map of India is being redrawn.
Did You Know? Kerala lost 660 people to snakebites over the last decade. India as a whole records between 46,000 and 58,000 snakebite deaths every year — more than any other country in the world, and roughly half the global total. The WHO has set a target to halve global snakebite deaths by 2030. Climate scientists say rising temperatures will make that target significantly harder to achieve unless the environmental drivers are addressed alongside the medical ones.
A 2025 cross-sectional survey published in Nature Communications found that nearly half of snakebite deaths in India occur outside hospital settings, falling overwhelmingly on rural, low-income households. Dikshal’s father told reporters the family had no safe place to sleep. Kerala declared itself free of extreme poverty in November 2025. The distance between that declaration and a child dying on a floor because his family could not afford a bed illustrates precisely how climate risk compounds existing vulnerability — not abstractly, but fatally.
A Global Pattern
The Kerala deaths of April 2026 are not anomalous. They are, in the language of climate science, a signal. Research published in The Lancet Planetary Health has established a direct correlation between rising temperatures and snakebite incidence. An Oxford University study projects that by 2050, 41% of the global population will be exposed to extreme heat events — with South Asia absorbing the largest share. Similar patterns of snakes moving into urban and peri-urban spaces have been documented in Australia and across sub-Saharan Africa as temperatures rise. According to a Climate Central analysis, in 47 countries, every single day of what scientists classify as “risky heat” was attributable to climate change.
The communities most exposed are precisely those least equipped to respond: rural households with limited access to antivenom, local hospitals uncertain about diagnosis, and families who cannot afford the beds and mosquito nets that would keep a sleeping child above the floor.
The Ecological Argument
There is a dimension of this crisis that public health conversations consistently underweight. Snakes are not the enemy. As Krishnan T.J. puts it: “The snake did not choose to come into your home. Your home became the safest place in its world.”
Snakes play a crucial ecological role by controlling populations of rats and rodents, which spread diseases like leptospirosis and plague and damage crops. The panic-driven killing of non-venomous species disrupts the very ecological balance that keeps those populations in check. Mithun A.S. has watched this cycle play out repeatedly. “Every summer, people kill dozens of harmless snakes out of fear. The rats multiply. The crops suffer. And the venomous snakes, the ones people are actually afraid of, keep coming — because the food is there.”
The WHO’s classification of snakebite as a neglected tropical disease recognised the medical emergency. What remains underrecognised is its ecological dimension — that snakebite mortality is, at least in part, a symptom of ecosystem breakdown driven by rising heat.
What Must Change
Muhammed Anwar’s immediate guidance is practical: maintain clean surroundings, remove woodpiles and debris from around homes, seal wall cracks and pipe gaps, trim ornamental climbing plants, use torches at night, sleep on raised beds with nets properly secured. If a snake is spotted, do not attempt to catch or kill it — call SARPA. If bitten, follow the Do it RIGHT protocol: Reassure, Immobilise, Go to Hospital, Tell the Doctor. Do not waste time on traditional remedies. The first hour is the only variable that can be controlled once a bite has occurred.
But beyond the immediate, Anwar, Krishnan, and Mithun all point to the same deeper truth: the precautions help at the margins. They do not address the driver.
As long as temperatures continue to rise — compressing the thermal refuges available to both humans and reptiles, pushing snakes into spaces that used to be ours alone — the encounters will multiply. Kerala’s SARPA programme is one of the most sophisticated snakebite response systems in India. It cannot outrun the climate.
The snakes entering Kerala’s bedrooms and hiding beneath its sewing machines are not acting out of aggression. They are doing what every living creature does when its habitat becomes uninhabitable. They are looking for somewhere cooler to survive.
Dipin Damodharan is an award-winning journalist, editor and media entrepreneur, and Co-founder and Editor-in-Chief of EdPublica, an independent global media platform covering education, science, research, innovation, climate and public policy. With more than a decade of experience in journalism, he has worked across print, digital and multimedia media. His reporting explores science, climate, sustainability and the social impact of research and innovation. His work has been recognised by the Solutions Journalism Network and other journalism organisations.
Hunter Valley Coal Mine Gets Approval to Run to 2045. What Does It Mean for Australia’s Climate Transition?
Australia’s Hunter Valley coal mine has been approved to operate until 2045, raising questions about how the extension fits into the country’s transition towards lower emissions and its net-zero target.
Heavy machinery and conveyor belts operate at an open-pit coal mine. Representational image. Image credit: Pexels
Australia’s transition away from fossil fuels faces a new test after New South Wales approved the continuation of the Hunter Valley Operations (HVO) coal mine until 2045.
The NSW Independent Planning Commission (IPC) on September 30 approved the continuation of HVO North until the end of 2045 and HVO South until the end of 2042. The project would allow an estimated 429 million tonnes of coal to be extracted from the Hunter Valley near Singleton.
The decision is significant not only because of the scale of the mine, but because it extends a major coal operation into the period in which Australia is committed to sharply reducing its greenhouse-gas emissions.
Australia’s current climate commitments include cutting national emissions by 43 per cent from 2005 levels by 2030 and by 62–70 per cent by 2035, with net-zero emissions targeted for 2050.
The latest government inventory estimates Australia’s emissions at 452.4 million tonnes of carbon dioxide equivalent in the year to June 2026, a preliminary 1.8 per cent decline from the previous year. Emissions in the year to March 2026 were 25 per cent below 2005 levels.
Against that backdrop, the IPC acknowledged that the HVO project would have a substantial climate footprint. Its statement of reasons estimates that the project could result in about 809 million tonnes of greenhouse-gas emissions from local mining operations and the eventual combustion of exported coal overseas. The commission said those emissions would contribute to climate impacts in the Hunter, NSW and globally.
The 809-million-tonne figure needs an important qualification to note. it is a lifecycle-related estimate that includes overseas combustion emissions and should not be interpreted as emissions produced directly by the mine.
The economic case for the extension is substantial. HVO employs more than 1,500 people and engages more than 800 suppliers, according to evidence presented to the IPC. The NSW Government says the continuation could secure up to 1,500 ongoing jobs and create about 600 temporary positions through infrastructure upgrades, subject to federal approval.
The approval also comes with conditions intended to address the mine’s emissions and its eventual transition. HVO must prepare a Scope 3 Management Plan dealing with emissions associated with exported coal, maximise renewable electricity use at the mine and purchase additional carbon offsets. It must also prepare a comprehensive closure plan within 12 months, in consultation with local councils and communities, outlining how the mine will transition towards closure while supporting workers and the local economy.
The NSW Government argues that the decision can support regional employment while maintaining the state’s broader emissions-reduction pathway. It says the approved proposal has 43 per cent lower Scope 1 emissions than the company’s 2022 application. NSW’s 2026–50 coal policy also allows extensions of existing mines while ruling out applications for new greenfield coal mines.
At the national level, the federal Safeguard Mechanism is intended to reduce emissions from Australia’s largest industrial facilities. The government says the mechanism is designed to put covered facilities on a trajectory consistent with the country’s 2030 target and net-zero goal.
That creates the central question around HVO’s extension. How does Australia manages the economic and employment role of existing coal regions while reducing emissions over the same period.
The NSW approval does not settle that question. The project still requires approval from the Australian Government under the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act.
For the Hunter Valley, the decision provides a longer operating horizon for an established coal industry. For Australia’s climate transition, it brings the challenge of managing an economy in which existing fossil-fuel assets continue operating while national policy seeks progressively sustainable energy and lower emissions.
Earth is Heating Up: The Economic Cost of a Rising Sea
Rising seas are turning coastal exposure into an economic challenge. Cities must weigh the cost of protecting infrastructure, livelihoods and communities against the growing risks of inaction.
Homes and waterfront structures sit at the edge of the sea, illustrating the growing exposure of coastal communities to sea-level rise and flooding. Representational image. Image credit: Jude Mitchell-Hedges/Pexels
For Mumbai, the sea has always been an economic asset. Its position along the Arabian Sea helped turn the city into a centre of trade, finance, industry and transport. But the same coastline that sustains its economy also exposes homes, roads, businesses and critical infrastructure to flooding and rising sea-level. The United Nations identifies Mumbai and Kolkata, along with Dhaka, as low-lying South Asian cities where more than 14 million people face the immediate risk of losing their homes to permanent inundation.
What rising seas cost, however, depends on what a coastline holds. In Bangladesh, a one-metre rise could inundate around 4,000 sq km of land, nearly 3% of the country and climate impacts including rising seas could force more than 13 million people to move within the country by 2050. In Saint Kitts and Nevis, saltwater intrusion threatens the freshwater aquifers on which communities depend. In New York City, sea levels could rise by up to 1.3 metres by the end of the century, putting a vast concentration of infrastructure and economic activity at greater risk.
Around 770 million people, roughly one in every 10 people on Earth, live in coastal areas less than five metres above the high-tide line. Nearly 900 million people live in low-lying coastal zones, and more than one billion could be exposed to coastal hazards by 2050. These are not empty margins of the map. They contain ports, roads, industries, homes, tourism facilities and freshwater systems that support economies and everyday life.
That makes sea-level rise more than a question of where the water will reach. It is a question of what sits in its path, who depends on it, and how much it will cost to protect, rebuild or relocate what cannot be saved.
The Baseline is Already Moving
Global mean sea level remained near the record high observed in 2024, according to the World Meteorological Organization’s State of the Global Climate 2025. Between 2012 and 2025, sea level rose at an average rate of 4.75 millimetres a year, compared with 2.65 mm a year between 1993 and 2011. In 2024 alone, global mean sea level rose 5.9 mm, the highest annual increase in the satellite record, with exceptional ocean warming a major factor.
The economic significance lies in what that extra water does to the baseline. A higher sea means tides can reach critical infrastructure more often. Storm surges can travel farther inland. Drainage systems can become less effective. Flooding that was once rare can become recurrent, bringing repeated repair costs and disruption.
The UN estimates that an extreme sea-level event that historically occurred once every 100 years could occur at least annually at more than half of the world’s tide-gauge locations by 2100 under all the scenarios examined. For businesses and governments, that changes the economics of risk.
When the Sea Threatens More Than Land
Mexico’s coastline is more than a boundary between land and sea. With more than 11,000 kilometres of coastline and nearly half its population living in coastal states, the country is already confronting the wider consequences of a rising sea.
In its contribution to the UN negotiations, Mexico said sea-level rise is putting pressure on ecosystems, infrastructure, livelihoods and water security. Its message was that the response cannot stop at protecting land from encroaching water. It must address the systems and communities that depend on vulnerable coasts. Mexico also called for the international response to move from broad commitments towards a smaller set of clear, actionable priorities, grounded in international law.
That shifts the question from how much land could be lost to the sea to what happens to the people and systems that depend on that land. For coastal countries, that distinction could determine how the cost of rising seas is ultimately distributed.
Trillions of Dollars are Exposed
The physical assets at risk are already enormous. Infrastructure worth at least 1.8 trillion dollars is exposed to sea-level risks globally. More than 80% of global goods trade is carried by sea, making ports and the networks connected to them particularly important to the world economy.
The potential losses rise sharply as sea levels climb. The UN report cites estimates of $1.7 trillion to 5.5 dollars trillion in residual damage costs from sea-level rise over the coming century. A global mean sea-level rise of 20 centimetres by 2050 could contribute to more than $1 trillion in annual flood losses across the world’s 136 largest coastal cities. Without adaptation, global annual losses have been estimated at 1.2 trillion dollars to 4 trillion dollars.
These figures capture more than the cost of repairing flooded buildings. A damaged port can interrupt manufacturing hundreds of kilometres inland. Flooded roads can prevent workers from reaching businesses. Power and sanitation failures can halt economic activity. Repeated disruption can make coastal locations more expensive to insure and less attractive for investment. The economic damage can therefore travel well beyond the flood line.
Cities Face a Compounding Bill
Coastal cities concentrate both people and capital. Their economic advantage has historically come partly from proximity to the sea. Ports connect them to global trade. Waterfronts support tourism and real estate. Rivers and estuaries provide transport, fisheries and access to freshwater.
The same geography now creates concentrated exposure. Nearly 500 million people live in low-lying river-ocean zones. In South Asia, more than 14 million people in low-lying cities, including Mumbai and Kolkata, are identified as being at immediate risk of losing their homes to permanent inundation. In some areas, land subsidence compounds sea-level rise, increasing the rate at which relative water levels rise.
For households, the consequences can include damaged homes, lost income and rising costs of recovery. For cities, the bill can include repeated repairs to roads, drainage, public buildings and utilities. And there is a less visible cost: the money that must be spent simply to keep existing systems functioning as the baseline changes.
India: Exposure Meets Rapid Development
India’s coastline makes the challenge clearer. Coastal cities and industrial regions are expanding alongside a coastline exposed to cyclones, storm surges, flooding and erosion. As development continues, more assets are being placed in areas where future climate risks need to be considered.
INCOIS has assessed future changes in average and extreme sea levels at 11 locations of India’s coast and islands. Under the high-emissions SSP5-8.5 scenario, relative mean sea level by 2100 is projected to rise between 0.62 metres at Visakhapatnam and 0.87 metres at Bhavnagar, relative to the 1995–2014 baseline.
Projected extreme sea-level increases are higher, ranging from 0.68 metres at Chennai to 1.12 metres at Bhavnagar. These numbers matter economically because cities do not experience mean sea level in isolation. A higher baseline interacts with tides, cyclones, storm surges and waves, increasing the potential for damaging events.
Wading birds fly along a rocky shoreline of Mumbai beneath a coastal bridge, highlighting the ecosystems and infrastructure that share increasingly exposed waterfronts. Image credit: Illuseenator/Pexels
INCOIS found that coastal regions north of 13°N are particularly vulnerable to changes in extreme sea levels, with the Gulf of Gujarat and northern Bay of Bengal showing some of the largest changes in tidal maxima and climate extremes. The challenge for India is therefore not simply protecting today’s coastline. It is deciding where tomorrow’s infrastructure, housing and economic activity should be concentrated.
The Cost of Adaptation
Avoiding losses will itself require substantial investment. The UN estimates that developing countries need 310 billion dollars to 365 billion dollars every year for adaptation, while adaptation finance stood at about 26 billion dollars in 2023. Adaptation costs in developing countries are estimated to be 10–18 times current public adaptation finance.
Cities may need to strengthen drainage, raise roads, protect ports, upgrade water systems and reinforce critical infrastructure. Coastal ecosystems may need restoration and space to migrate inland. Some communities may eventually require planned relocation. A seawall may make sense around a densely developed port. A wetland may offer better protection in another location. In places facing persistent inundation, continuing to rebuild may cost more than planned relocation.
The UN report points to a combination of measures, including risk-informed planning, early-warning systems, resilient infrastructure, nature-based approaches and, where necessary, relocation.
Paying Later Could Cost More
One of the central economic questions is timing. Sea-level rise is a slow-onset hazard. Its costs accumulate gradually, while much disaster financing is designed around sudden events. Waiting until repeated flooding becomes a crisis can leave governments paying for emergency repairs instead of planned adaptation.
Money spent before infrastructure is repeatedly damaged can reduce future losses. Coastal planning can prevent new assets from being locked into high-risk locations. Early-warning systems can limit casualties and economic disruption. Protecting wetlands can preserve a natural buffer while supporting fisheries and other livelihoods. Adaptation is therefore not simply an expenditure. It can also be a way of limiting future losses.
Changing Coastline, an Economic Choice
The ocean will continue to rise for centuries because of heat already stored in the climate system and the slow response of glaciers and ice sheets. The economic question is how societies respond to that trajectory.
The sea will not wait for cities to settle their priorities. For Mumbai, rising seas will shape decisions about what to protect, where to build and how much risk communities can bear. The water may rise gradually. The cost of being unprepared will not.
How India’s River Dolphins Navigate a Changing River System
India’s river dolphins are being counted again in 2026, as researchers assess populations and habitats after a 2021–23 survey estimated 6,327 dolphins across eight states. The findings could reveal how changing river conditions are affecting the species.
A bottlenose dolphin surfaces in the water, illustrating the species’ sophisticated communication, learning and sensory abilities discussed in the context of dolphin cognition. Representational image. Image credit: Pixabay
Dolphins recognise individuals, learn behaviours, remember information and communicate through a sophisticated repertoire of sounds. In some populations, they even use tools. These abilities have made dolphins one of the most closely studied animals in research on animal cognition. But “intelligent” is a broad description. Scientists studying dolphin cognition are asking more specific questions: How does a dolphin learn? What does it remember? How does it recognise another individual? How does it use information from its surroundings to make decisions?
Some of the clearest answers have come from bottlenose dolphins. They can develop individually distinctive signature whistles, learn behaviours socially and retain information about other dolphins. In Shark Bay, Australia, bottlenose dolphins have been observed using marine sponges while foraging, a behaviour that can be passed from mothers to calves.
The research tells us that dolphins are capable of sophisticated learning and social behaviour. It also raises a less familiar question for India: what happens to a species with such a complex relationship with its surroundings when those surroundings are changing?
India’s River Dolphins Live by Listening
The Ganges river dolphin has an unusual way of experiencing its habitat. It has extremely limited vision and depends heavily on echolocation. In the turbid waters of the Ganga and its tributaries, it sends out high-frequency clicks and interprets the returning echoes to locate prey and navigate. Its survival therefore depends on more than whether there is water in the river.
It needs suitable depth and flow, enough prey and stretches of habitat through which it can move. Dams and barrages can alter these conditions. Water extraction can reduce flows. Fishing can lead to accidental entanglement, while pollution can affect the aquatic food chain.
The river is also a working landscape for people. It supplies water, supports agriculture and fisheries, and is increasingly shaped by infrastructure. For the dolphin, those same interventions change the conditions under which it lives.
How Many Dolphins does India Have?
For the first time, India has a national baseline. A survey conducted between 2021 and 2023 covered more than 8,500 km of rivers across eight states and estimated 6,327 riverine dolphins. The overwhelming majority were Ganges river dolphins—6,324. Only three Indus river dolphins were recorded in the Beas River.
Uttar Pradesh and Bihar accounted for the largest populations. It is a count of riverine dolphins, not all dolphins found in Indian waters. India’s coast and estuaries support several marine and estuarine species, for which population information is less comprehensive.
Ganges river dolphins swimming in the river, a species that relies heavily on echolocation to navigate and find prey in the turbid waters of the Ganga and its tributaries. Representational image. Image credit: Pexels
More importantly, a national total cannot show everything happening inside individual rivers. Two stretches of the same river can offer very different conditions for dolphins. A national population may therefore hide local changes in habitat, distribution or abundance. That is why India is counting them again.
The Second National Assessment is Underway
In January 2026, India began its second range-wide estimation of riverine and estuarine dolphins under Project Dolphin. The Wildlife Institute of India is coordinating the assessment with state forest departments and conservation organisations. The exercise includes Irrawaddy dolphins in the Sundarbans and Odisha, while researchers are also using underwater acoustic monitoring to detect dolphins through their sounds.
The value of a second survey is not simply that it will produce another number. It will allow researchers to compare populations and distribution with the earlier baseline and begin identifying where changes are occurring.
What Protects Dolphins Under Indian law?
The Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972 provides the principal legal protection. The Ganges and Indus river dolphins are listed under Schedule I, which provides the highest level of protection under the Act. Hunting is prohibited except in circumstances specifically permitted by law.
The Ganges river dolphin was declared India’s National Aquatic Animal in 2009. In 2020, the government launched Project Dolphin, bringing riverine and marine dolphins under a dedicated conservation programme focused on population assessment, habitat protection, research and reducing threats.
Yet there is a gap between protecting a species and protecting the conditions it needs. A protected-species law can prohibit hunting. It cannot, by itself, determine how much water is diverted from a river, how a barrage affects connectivity or how fishing pressure is managed. Those decisions are made through several parts of India’s environmental and development policy.
What does the Number Reveal?
For a Ganges river dolphin, a healthy river is defined by measurable conditions: enough flow and depth to move through its habitat, sufficient prey to feed on, connected stretches of water and fewer risks from fishing gear and pollution.
That makes the 6,327-dolphin estimate more than a conservation headline. It is a baseline against which India can track whether those conditions are supporting or limiting dolphin populations. The second national assessment should show where populations are increasing, declining or shifting. The harder task will be linking those changes to what is happening in the rivers—changes in flow, habitat connectivity, prey availability, fishing pressure and pollution.
That is where dolphin conservation moves beyond counting. Protecting the species also means managing the river conditions on which its survival depends.