The Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest, stretches across 10,000 sq km of the India-Bangladesh border a labyrinth of tidal creeks, mudflats, and islands shaped by the Bay of Bengal. This UNESCO World Heritage site is known for its unique biodiversity home to Bengal tigers, crocodiles, fishing cats, deer, and hundreds of bird and fish species. But behind this ecological wonder lies a harsher reality the struggle of millions who live amid rising seas, vanishing land, and historical marginalisation.
For the Dalit and Adivasi communities who make up much of the Sundarbans’ population, survival has always meant resilience. Their ancestors were brought here nearly two centuries ago to clear forests for agriculture under British rule. Today, their descendants are battling new forms of displacement driven by climate change, rising salinity, and the growing intensity of cyclones.
Fragile Lives on the Frontline
Villages across Namkhana, Gosaba, and Patharpratima blocks tell a story of loss and endurance. Fisherfolk families recall losing half their land during the 2020 floods, while farmers say their once-fertile soil has turned saline, ruining crops of rice and vegetables. “The water was sweet before,” one farmer says. “Now it kills our crops.”
The Sundarbans has lost over 210 sq km of land to the rising sea since the 1960s. Embankments meant to protect fields and homes are repeatedly destroyed during cyclones. After Cyclone Aila (2009) and Amphan (2020) thousands were left without shelter or livelihood. Despite a ₹50 billion project to rebuild embankments, only a fraction was completed by the time Amphan struck.
Ecosystem degradation has come at a steep cost. A World Bank study estimates annual losses of ₹6.7 billion in the Indian Sundarbans about 5% of the region’s GDP.
Eroding Livelihoods
Fishing and small-scale farming have long sustained the local economy, but both are collapsing under climate stress. Farmers increasingly turn to aquaculture, converting paddy fields into shrimp and crab ponds an activity that clears mangroves and weakens natural flood barriers.
Fishers face new restrictions as the Sundarbans Tiger Reserve expands, pushing them out of traditional fishing zones. “We are treated like trespassers in our own waters,” one fisher says. Their catch has dwindled dramatically from 100 kg a season a generation ago to barely 25 kg today.
Women, who make up nearly half the workforce, remain excluded from decision-making and receive little recognition for their labour. Seasonal bans on fishing, meant to protect fish stocks, further deepen their economic insecurity. Promised state welfare often fails to reach them.
A Struggle for Recognition
Grassroots movements have begun to rise across the Sundarbans. Thousands of small-scale fishworkers have organised protests, demanding fair access to resources, corruption-free licence processing, and recognition of their rights. “The future of the Sundarbans cannot depend on token conservation projects,” says a union leader. “We need long-term support for sustainable livelihoods and local governance.”
Another organiser adds, “Our people have protected these waters for generations. Yet, every policy treats us as outsiders.”
Between Displacement and Dignity
With worsening floods and erosion, policymakers have discussed the possibility of relocating vulnerable communities a “managed retreat.” But locals reject the idea outright. “We have lived here for generations,” one resident says. “If we leave, who will care for the land and rivers?”
For many, the fight is no longer just about survival, but about recognition of their identity, their history, and their knowledge of the land. They argue that conservation and climate adaptation will fail unless local voices are included.
As the tides rise higher each year, the Sundarbans stands as both a warning and a testament a place where the frontline of climate change meets centuries of resilience. Its future depends not only on saving the forest, but on empowering the people who call it home.