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| The Tufted Grey Langur |
In the wild, life unfolds without the moral boundaries that humans instinctively impose upon it. Behaviours that appear cruel to us are often, in the language of evolution, mechanisms of survival. Among these, infanticide—the killing of infants by members of the same species—stands as one of the most disturbing, yet biologically significant, phenomena.
Seen across many animal groups,
particularly in mammals with complex social systems, infanticide is not an
aberration but a recurring pattern shaped by competition, hierarchy, and
reproductive strategy. It is in this uneasy space between violence and survival
that my own observations, as a naturalist, have taken form.
What follows are two moments from
the forests of South India—moments that remain etched in memory, not merely as
scientific observations, but as deeply human encounters with the raw truths of
nature.
Landscapes,
People, and Memory
Around the turn of the
millennium, I found myself increasingly drawn to the dry, rain-shadow forests
along the eastern slopes of the Western Ghats. These were landscapes of quiet
intensity—the Chinnar forests of Kerala and the Amaravathi–Puthumadai region of
present-day Anamalai Tiger Reserve in Tamil Nadu.
Here, human life and wilderness
were not separate worlds. The Malapulaya settlements in the valleys, the
nomadic Pampapulaya camps woven from branches, the hill-dwelling Muthuva
communities, and the Vellalar villages of Aanchunadu—all lived in intimate dialogue
with the forest. Their stories carried layers of ecological wisdom, often
wrapped in metaphor.
One such story was that of the
“Kurangu Puli”—the ‘Monkey Leopard’—a tale associated with a langur locally
known as the Vekkali Manthi. At the time, it seemed like folklore. Only later
did I understand that such narratives often emerge from careful observation,
translated into the language of culture.
The Monkey
Leopard: Between Myth and Reality
The Tufted Grey Langur- (Vekkali
Manthi in Tamil & Malayalam)—scientifically Semnopithecus priam—is a
striking primate. With its tufted head, resonant calls, and agile movement
through the canopy, it appears almost regal, a sentinel of the dry forests it
inhabits.
Local belief held that dominant
males could transform into something leopard-like, turning violently upon their
own kind. I listened to this account with curiosity, but also with
scepticism—until the forest itself revealed its truth.
Langur societies are structured
around hierarchy. A dominant male presides over a troop, securing exclusive
mating rights with the females. Younger males, once mature, are driven out and
must eventually challenge other groups to establish dominance. Power, however,
is never permanent.
When a new male takes control, a
brutal transition unfolds. The infants of the previous leader—genetically
unrelated to the newcomer—become obstacles to his reproductive success.
Eliminating them brings the females back into reproductive readiness, allowing
the new alpha to pass on his genes.
What folklore described as
transformation was, in reality, a shift in power.
I. Chinnar
Wildlife Sanctuary, 2010: A Moment of ‘Dry Violence’
On an October morning in 2010,
along the riverine stretches of Chinnar river, I encountered a langur troop in
visible distress. Alarm calls rang sharply through the forest. Mothers clutched
their infants, leaping frantically between branches.
Then, in a sudden and decisive
movement, the dominant male seized a mother. The infant was torn from her
grasp.
What followed was swift and
brutal.
The male bit into the infant
repeatedly as its cries pierced the stillness of the forest. The troop erupted
in chaos—calls of fear, anger, and helplessness merging into a single, haunting
soundscape.
Moments later, the injured infant
fell to the ground near where I stood. I was shocked
Its small body was grievously
wounded. I carried it back, wrapped in cloth, hoping—perhaps irrationally—that
it might survive. It did not. Its faint cries faded, leaving behind a silence
that felt heavier than the forest itself.
That day, the “Monkey-Leopard”
ceased to be a story.
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| Nilgiri langur (Semnopithecus johnii) |
II. Pampadum
Shola, 2025: Dark Silence in the Canopy
Years later, in November 2025, I
witnessed a similar event in a very different landscape—the dense, mist-laden
forests of Pampadum Shola National Park.
Here, the Nilgiri langur (Semnopithecus
johnii), with its glossy black coat and golden-brown head, lives almost
entirely within the canopy, rarely descending to the ground.
We were observing a calm
group—females feeding, infants close by—when a large male entered silently
through the trees. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Alarm spread through the
group.
In the confusion, one infant was
momentarily left behind.
The male acted without
hesitation.
He seized the infant, delivered a
series of lethal bites, and let the body fall into the dense undergrowth below.
Within seconds, the forest returned to an uncanny stillness—as if nothing had
occurred.
Yet everything had changed.
The behaviour strongly suggested
that this was a newly established alpha male. The fear displayed by the females
was not merely alarm—it was recognition of an unfamiliar and dangerous
presence.
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| Nilgiri langur male Severely attacks The infant |
Such acts, unsettling as they
are, follow a clear evolutionary logic. Known as sexually selected infanticide,
this behaviour enhances the reproductive success of incoming males.
Three patterns are consistently
observed:
- New males typically arrive from outside the group, ensuring genetic
diversity.
- Subadult males disperse and reproduce elsewhere, preventing
inbreeding.
- The elimination of dependent infants accelerates the reproductive
cycle of females.
This is not random violence - it
is strategy, shaped over millennia.
It is also not unique to langurs.
Similar patterns are observed in species such as lions and certain primates,
where social structure and reproductive competition intersect.
Between Science
and Experience
To understand infanticide purely
as a biological mechanism is to grasp only part of its reality. To witness it
is something else entirely.
There is a tension that remains
unresolved—the clarity of scientific explanation alongside the emotional weight
of the experience. One does not cancel the other.
The forest does not soften its
truths. It reveals them, unfiltered.
And perhaps that is where its
deepest lessons lie—not in comfort, but in understanding
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| Benny kurian |
