The Tragedy of Hunting in Tharparkar

Ali Nawaz Rahimoo

Tharparkar: At dawn, when the first light spills gently over the rolling sand dunes of Tharparkar, the desert breathes peace. The wind moves softly across the golden sands, peacocks call from distant rooftops, and for a fleeting moment, the world feels untouched.

Tharparkar, in the eastern reaches of Sindh, is not merely a land reduced to drought statistics and barren maps. It is a living, breathing sanctuary of culture, faith, and coexistence—where humans, animals, and nature have lived side by side for centuries in quiet harmony.

Among the most cherished beings of this land is the chinkara deer—delicate, alert, and graceful. For the people of Thar, the chinkara is not “wildlife” in the abstract sense. It is a neighbour, a companion, almost kin. Children grow up watching deer leap playfully across dunes. Women whisper prayers as herds pass nearby. Elders speak of them with affection and reverence.

Yet today, this peace is increasingly broken.

When Law Exists, but Justice Does Not

Despite clear laws and declared sanctuaries, blood continues to seep into Thar’s sacred sands.

In February 2017, the Sindh government declared a 940-square-kilometre area of Tharparkar as the Chinkara Wildlife Sanctuary, formally banning the hunting of deer and birds.

Later, the Sindh Wildlife Protection, Preservation, Conservation and Management Act, 2020 further strengthened these safeguards, prescribing prison terms of up to five years, heavy fines, and the seizure of weapons and vehicles used in poaching.

On paper, the protection appears strong and reassuring.

But the desert tells another story.

Illegal hunting continues in Tharparkar with alarming boldness. Armed groups drive deep into the dunes using modern firearms and trained dogs. These are not covert acts hidden in darkness; they often unfold openly, sometimes under the harsh light of day. Videos circulate. Whispers spread. Gunshots echo where silence once reigned.

This defiance exposes a painful truth: the law exists, but its spirit rarely reaches the sand.

Guardians Without Resources

The Sindh Wildlife Department bears the responsibility of protecting these sanctuaries, yet it operates under immense constraints. Vast desert stretches are guarded by too few staff, often without vehicles, fuel, or basic equipment. In some cases, a single guard is responsible for hundreds of square kilometres of unforgiving terrain.

These limitations are real—but they do not fully explain why poaching persists so openly.

Many believe the deeper wound lies in selective enforcement. FIRs are delayed. Investigations are weakened. Prosecutions lose momentum—especially when influential hunters are involved. Political pressure, silent compromises, and institutional hesitation have created a culture of impunity.

When the powerful hunt, the law often looks away.

The People of Thar: True Protectors of Life

And yet, amid this imbalance of power, the true guardians of Thar have emerged—its people.

Villagers across Tharparkar have repeatedly risked their lives to protect wildlife. They have intercepted poachers, rescued wounded animals, and at times physically detained hunters until authorities arrived. These acts are not driven by reward or recognition, but by love—a deep moral bond with the land and all that lives upon it.

This bond was most powerfully displayed after the brutal killing of eight rare chinkara deer. In an act that shook the nation’s conscience, the people of Thar held a collective burial ceremony. Hindus and Muslims stood shoulder to shoulder. Graves were dug. Prayers were offered. Tears flowed freely.

The deer were mourned as family members—not as animals.

It was an extraordinary moment—perhaps the first time in recorded history that wildlife received full funeral rites across faiths. The message was unmistakable: in Thar, life is sacred, regardless of species.

A Culture of Coexistence

In Thar, coexistence is not poetry—it is practice.

Peacocks wander freely through courtyards, perching atop choonara, the cone-shaped thatched huts of the desert. Deer move fearlessly near homes. Folklore tells stories of women nursing orphaned fawns alongside their own children.

Tharis believe that harming wildlife disrupts the balance of life and invites misfortune.

This worldview stands in stark contrast to trophy hunters who see animals as targets, status symbols, or entertainment.

An Ecological Loss We Cannot Afford

Hunting in Thar is not new, but its scale and cruelty have grown. Modern weapons, vehicles, and political patronage have turned sporadic poaching into organized destruction. Past cases have implicated influential figures—even those linked to law enforcement—reinforcing the belief that hunting continues not because laws are weak, but because they are unevenly applied.

The ecological cost is devastating.

Tharparkar shelters chinkara, nilgai, wolves, hyenas, caracals, desert cats, pangolins, and desert hares. It is a vital route for migratory birds—flamingos, cranes, bustards, and birds of prey—supported by wetlands linked to the Rann of Kutch, a Ramsar site.

Yet no comprehensive wildlife census exists, leaving conservation efforts blind and reactive.

The killing of female chinkara deer is especially tragic. The species reproduces slowly, and the loss of breeding females pushes it closer to extinction, unraveling the desert’s delicate ecological balance.

What Is Missing Is Courage

Despite provincial laws, Tharparkar still lacks a dedicated conservation policy backed by political will. Elected representatives remain largely silent while communities stand alone on the front lines of protection.

The truth is painfully clear.

The ban exists.

The law is written.

The people are ready.

What is missing is courage—moral and institutional.

Illegal hunting in Thar is not just an environmental crime. It is a failure of governance, justice, and conscience.

As the sun sets over the dunes, peace briefly returns to the desert. But beneath the silence lies fear. If the powerful continue to hunt while the law remains timid, the songs of peacocks may fade, the soft steps of deer may vanish, and Thar’s ancient harmony may be lost forever.

Thar is peaceful.

Its sand dunes whisper calm.

Its deer are gentle.

It is time the law finally stood with them.