Three Jackals and a Rather Uncomfortable Question
I am rather fortunate, though there are times when I tend to forget, that my work takes me to Kabini almost on a monthly basis and, if that was not enough, allows me to indulge in my love of wildlife photography. Many people would assume that I get to witness many memorable ‘wild’ moments and that I must be full of stories featuring both tooth and claw. While I do confess that I have witnessed more than my fair share of thrills and spills, it is the quiet moments that I treasure the most.
The iconic species, including charismatic big cats, attract the most attention and provide bragging rights to the people who are lucky enough to see them. The spell of the tiger is all encompassing and casts a long shadow over other equally fascinating species. It would therefore come as a surprise to most people that the highlight of my recent trip was the sightings of three Golden Jackals on the riverbank near the agricultural fields outside the park. It was during a morning boat safari that the lovely morning light allowed me to make some nice photographs.
It was only much later when I was going through the images once again, that a thought struck me: jackals were the highlight of my year? Really? I had had my fill of the wild cats, wild dogs and not to mention my favourite wild elephants and still it was the sighting of three jackals that had the maximum impact. And this left me with rather mixed feelings. I was, of course, happy that I had managed to photograph jackals, and that these were my first really “good” images of the species. There was a certain pleasure in finally getting photographs of an animal that had, until recently, barely registered on my list of things to photograph. But beneath that satisfaction was another feeling, one that was harder to shake.
Don’t get me wrong, the golden jackal is a fascinating animal and is one of those animals that has lived alongside us for so long that we barely register it anymore. It is neither large nor particularly imposing, and unlike the tiger or leopard, it does not inspire the same sense of awe. On the contrary we kind of look down on them and consider them not quite ‘worthy’ of our attention. However if you dig a little beneath the surface you will surely find that there is considerably more to the animal than its rather unassuming appearance suggests.
Found across much of India, the golden jackal is remarkably adaptable. It occupies a wide variety of habitats, from forests and grasslands to scrub to agricultural landscapes and the edges of human settlements. This adaptability has allowed it to persist, much like the leopard, in places where many other wild animals have found it increasingly difficult to survive. In India, jackals are found not only in protected areas but also across rural and semi-urban landscapes. It is also an animal that does not fit neatly into the description of either hunter or scavenger. It is both.
Contrary to its reputation, the jackal is an accomplished hunter preying on rodents, hares, birds, reptiles, other small animals and the young of larger mammals when the opportunity arises. Studies in India have recorded chital and nilgai calves among its prey. At the same time, the jackal is also a proficient scavenger, readily making use of carcasses left behind by larger predators or livestock. Perhaps it will come as a surprise to most people that the jackal is an omnivore, with its diet including considerable quantities of fruit and other plant matter, depending on availability.
This flexibility is one of the secrets of its success. The jackal does not specialise in one particular kind of food. Instead, it makes use of what the landscape offers, changing its diet according to season, habitat and opportunity. But perhaps the most interesting thing about the golden jackal is not what it eats, but how it lives.
The basic social unit is a breeding pair. The male and female maintain a territory together, scent-marking its boundaries and defending it from intruders. The pair often hunts together, shares food and raises its young cooperatively. Their relationship can be remarkably close, with the two animals moving, foraging and resting together.
The older offspring, at times, remain with the parents even after reaching maturity and help to raise the next generation. These helpers guard the den, defend territory and even help feed the pups. Recent research has shown how important such cooperative breeding can be, with the older offspring sometimes remaining on their natal territory and contributing to the survival of younger pups. In other words what may look like a solitary animal slipping across a track can, in fact, be part of a much more complex family life.
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The jackal’s hunting behaviour is equally interesting. A single animal can successfully take small prey, but a pair or family group can work together when dealing with larger or more difficult prey. Cooperation also becomes important when there is a carcass to defend, particularly against other scavengers. The jackal’s ability to move between hunting and scavenging gives it an unusual degree of flexibility in the competition for food.
Communication is another important part of the jackal society. Their calls are among the most distinctive sounds of the Indian countryside and forest. A single animal beginning to howl can often bring responses from others at a distance. These vocalisations help animals locate one another and may also play a role in maintaining territories and reinforcing pair and family bonds.
They are also creatures of considerable alertness. In areas where they encounter people regularly, they tend to be more nocturnal, while in places with less disturbance they can be active during the day as well. They may travel considerable distances at night while searching for food, particularly when resources are scattered.
Perhaps this is why the jackal has managed to remain with us for so long. It is adaptable without being conspicuous, opportunistic without being specialised, and social without necessarily moving around in large groups.
It has found a way to live between worlds. And yet, for all its adaptability, the jackal should not be mistaken for an animal that is somehow immune to change. Its ability to use human-modified landscapes has helped it persist, but that does not mean every population is secure or that every landscape continues to support it in the same way. What happens to a species locally can be very different from its status across the wider range it occupies.
Perhaps that is what makes the jackal worth paying attention to. It is not an animal that dominates its landscape. It has simply learned how to belong to it. For a long time, that was precisely why we barely noticed it. Until one day, seeing one became the highlight of a safari.
I found myself thinking back to my childhood. Jackals were not some rare or elusive animal that one hoped to encounter after hours of driving through a forest. They were simply part of the landscape. I remember seeing them even near my home in Delhi which was located next to the ridge. Their haunting calls cast a strange spell over me and hearing them always made my day. Unfortunately, like most of us do with animals that we see regularly, I never paid them enough attention.
And perhaps that is what bothered me most. An animal that I had once more or less ignored and had seen often enough even while living in a city like Delhi, had now become sufficiently rare for me to regard a sighting as special. Not just special, but the highlight of my year.
There is something deeply unsettling about that shift in perspective. We tend to celebrate the return of rare sightings without stopping to ask why they have become rare in the first place. A species disappears gradually from our everyday lives then from our memory and finally from the landscape itself. By the time we begin to get excited about seeing it, we may already have forgotten how ordinary it once was.
Which brings me to a rather uncomfortable question. Who’s next? God forbid that, one day, a species like the chital, or spotted deer, becomes a rarity. Today, they are among the most abundant animals we see on safari and are often the first animals we encounter when we enter a forest, grazing in open clearings, standing alert at the edge of the road or moving through the undergrowth. We photograph them occasionally, but more often than not, we drive past them looking for something more exciting.
But what if one day they become difficult to spot? It sounds improbable today because abundance gives us a false sense of security. We assume that animals we see everywhere will always be there but nature does not work according to our assumptions and species can decline quietly until one day we realise that something we once took for granted has become difficult to find. I am afraid that, considering the way we are going, that day may not be too far away.
And perhaps that is why the jackals stayed with me long after the safari was over. Not simply because they were my first photographs of the species but because they reminded me that rarity is often not something that happens overnight. It begins when an animal we once considered ordinary slowly becomes less ordinary, then uncommon, and eventually something we are fortunate to see at all.
Maybe we should pay a little more attention to the animals we are still taking for granted. Because once they become rare, it may be too late. Perhaps that is what makes the fate of the jackal worth paying attention to.
