Increasing numbers of the Indian peafowl worry farmers [Commentary]

The Indian peafowl, the national bird of the country, is a cultural icon and is protected by wildlife laws.
However, in the eastern Himalayas, the bird also causes significant agricultural damage, exacerbating tensions in communities reliant on subsistence farming.
Conservation cannot succeed by celebrating wildlife while overlooking the burdens borne by those who live alongside it.
The views in the commentary are that of the author.

Once hailed as a symbol of Indian pride and grace, the Indian peafowl (Pavo cristatus) is now stirring heated debates in the quiet Himalayan foothills. Revered as the national bird of India and a prominent figure in Hindu mythology, this vibrant bird has long enjoyed admiration and legal protection. But in recent years, its soaring numbers and expanding range have turned it from a cultural icon into a controversial presence — especially in fragile ecosystems like the Eastern Himalaya.

“Indian peafowl has become a nuisance in recent years,” said a local youth from Ambiok Busty, a village in the Himalayan foothills of Kalimpong district, West Bengal, during a bird guide training session. His frustration echoed a growing sentiment among many in the region.

Legally, the Indian peafowl sits at the top tier of wildlife protection in India, listed in Schedule I of the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972. This designation — on par with tigers and elephants — makes it almost untouchable. Any attempt to manage its population, be it through relocation, sterilisation, or even research monitoring, involves layers of bureaucratic checks. But the peafowl’s population isn’t on the decline. In fact, it is thriving.

A glaring policy gap

In many Indian states, peacock conservation is still being celebrated — with “Peacock Parks” being funded and promoted as ecotourism attractions. These efforts, while well-meaning, rarely consider the actual ground reality in regions like the eastern Himalaya, where peafowls are increasingly seen as pests rather than assets.

A male Indian peafowl rests on the branch of a Bombax ceiba (cotton tree) overlooking an agricultural field in Panbu, Kalimpong, at an elevation of 950 m. Image by Mingma Tamang. — A peacock rests on the branch of a cotton tree overlooking an agricultural field in Panbu, Kalimpong, at an elevation of 950 m. Image by Mingma Tamang.

The result is a growing disconnect between national-level conservation narratives and local lived experiences. While tourists and policymakers admire the beauty of the bird, farmers are counting their losses. This is especially problematic in the eastern Himalaya, where data on the bird’s impact is limited. A 2017 study in the outskirts of Kitam Bird Sanctuary in Sikkim, listed Indian peafowl as an intolerable species, a species which farmers perceive as the maximum threat, which may force them to alter their livelihood, migrate, or which may lead to a reduction in the area under cultivation.

Yet there aren’t studies with figures of economic loss caused by the bird, although anecdotal evidence and local testimonies suggest serious consequences. Crops are trampled or eaten, biodiversity is altered, and resentment is growing. “How can we control this bird?” asked a distressed farmer from Chota Suruk, another village in Kalimpong. “It has made our life as farmers difficult. It doesn’t let paddy get harvested, nor does it let dalley (round chillies) ripen… it eats everything!”

Farmer grievances

The peafowl’s ecological role is dual-edged in general, as it aids farmers by controlling pests like insects and rodents but also causes significant agricultural damage, exacerbating tensions in communities reliant on subsistence farming.

The frustration in Chota Suruk is far from an isolated case. Across the Teesta and Relli river valleys, similar stories echo from nearly every farming household. “We used to hear their calls from the distant forests and feel a sense of joy,” shares a community elder from a farming cluster near Soreng above Teesta Bazar. “Now, that same call is an alarm bell. By the time we run to the fields, a flock of ten or fifteen has already ruined a week’s worth of labour.”

The daily reality of this conflict is exhausting. Farmers speak of taking turns to guard fields from dawn to dusk, a task that pulls them away from other essential household and community work. The birds have also grown remarkably bold over the years. “They are no longer scared of scarecrows, dogs, or our shouting,” explains a farmer from the Sittong. “They walk right into our courtyards to peck at drying maize and beans. But because we know it is the national bird, and protected by strict laws, our hands are tied. People are too afraid of the forest department to even throw a stone to chase them away.”

This unique intersection of cultural reverence and legal fear leaves farmers feeling completely defenseless, forced to absorb the economic shocks of conservation success on their own.

A trio of juvenile male peacocks foraging in a recently harvested paddy field in Panbu, Kalimpong. Image by Mingma Tamang. — A trio of juvenile peacocks foraging in a recently harvested paddy field in Panbu, Kalimpong. Image by Mingma Tamang.

Expanding ranges and institutional hurdles

While India has developed species-specific plans for elephants, leopards, and wild boars, largely due to their history of human-wildlife conflict, there’s no such plan for the Indian peafowl.

Peafowl populations are exploding, even moving into areas where they were once unheard of. “I had never heard or seen a peacock in our forests before (referring to the Singalila National Park),” stated a village elder after seeing one at an elevation of approximately 2,300 metres in a village called Sirikhola-Gurdum, on the outskirts of Darjeeling. Although the bird is not considered a crop raider or pest in the higher reaches as of now, there are fears that their presence could outcompete the native and rare Himalayan pheasants like tragopans and partridges. “I have recorded the Indian peafowl all the way up at Sandakphu, the highest point in Darjeeling at 3,636 metres,” a local forest guard of Singalila National Park noted. “I didn’t have a camera on me to photograph it, but the sighting was unmistakable.”

In recent years, reports of Indian peafowls frequenting the higher reaches of the Himalaya across Western, Central and Eastern Himalaya have become very common. Thus, in the era of climate change and shifting species ranges, India’s wildlife policies need to become more adaptive and ecosystem-based.

Adding to the chaos is the institutional mess. Different government bodies — the forest department, agriculture department, panchayati raj, and biodiversity boards — share responsibility, but often work in silos. No single agency is clearly accountable for managing the peafowl. A rare mitigation effort in Sikkim — the government acquiring fields destroyed by peafowl for bird tourism — shows promise but is unlikely to scale across the region due to cost and logistical challenges. The absence of a unified policy leaves farmers’ grievances unaddressed, fuelling resentment toward conservation efforts.

Singalila National Park in West Bengal, where a peacock was spotted for the first time. Image by Nibedita Jha via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 4.0).

Is the Indian peafowl native?

Strikingly, even its nativity in itself is being questioned in the Himalaya. Historical records also suggest that the Indian peafowl is a recent arrival in many parts of the Himalaya. The peafowl’s spread into the Himalaya may be linked to climate change, which is altering habitats across the region. Rising temperatures (0.57°C from 1881-1997) and erratic monsoons have created favourable conditions for peafowls. Furthermore, local communities in the Darjeeling Hills suggest that the seasonal burning of broom-grass fields in the lower altitudes during March and April may also be forcing these birds to temporarily migrate higher up the mountains. In Nepal, a Himalayan country, for instance, there were no documented sightings before 1877.

As conservationists, ecologists, and policymakers look to the future, the bird forces a difficult but necessary conversation. When does a species cease to be a conservation priority and become a management challenge? And how do we balance national symbolism with local survival?

The answer lies not in choosing one over the other, but in listening to the voices of those who live alongside the bird, farmers in the foothills of the Darjeeling-Kalimpong Himalaya, every day.

For many farmers, the bird’s vibrant feathers are a vivid reminder of ruined harvests, lost income, and the growing challenge of feeding their families. It is in these quiet, often-overlooked moments that the true human cost of rigid and romanticised conservation policies becomes painfully clear. Conservation cannot succeed by celebrating wildlife while overlooking the burdens borne by those who live alongside it. A more just and enduring approach must acknowledge both the value of biodiversity and the lived realities of rural communities.

Banner image: A peacock perches on the branch of a Machilus odoratissima tree. Sighted at 2,400 m in the Sirikhola-Gurdum village near Singalila National Park. Image by Mingma Tamang.

The author is a conservation biologist and practitioner and is a project leader at ATREE.

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