The leopards of Jawai, a sanctuary built on trust and respect

Amid the rugged granite hills of Rajasthan’s Pali district lies a land unlike any other — a realm where leopards move like whispers in the twilight, their golden coats blending seamlessly into the rocky outcrops. This is Jawai, a sanctuary not by government decree but an unspoken covenant of coexistence, where man and beast share space in an extraordinary truce.

Unlike the famed forests of Ranthambore or Gir, Jawai was never marked on the conservation maps. No fences divide it; no regulations dictate its wild inhabitants. Instead, it thrives as a living testament to a centuries-old understanding between the region’s leopards and its human custodians — the Rabari herders. These pastoralists, clad in their signature crimson turbans, have long accepted the presence of these elusive predators as part of their sacred landscape.

Jawai’s leopards, in turn, have adapted to this coexistence in ways unseen elsewhere. Unlike their cousins in dense forests who slink through shadows, these majestic creatures lounge openly on sun-warmed boulders, casting regal silhouettes against the sky. They descend at dusk, moving like liquid gold through the terrain, while temple bells ring in harmony with the nocturnal hush. There is no fear here — only an ancient rhythm of life and respect.

When researchers first arrived, expecting tales of conflict, they found none. What they encountered instead was an ecosystem where reverence replaced retaliation. This unique harmony has turned Jawai into an ecological wonder, a place where conservation is not imposed but ingrained in the very fabric of its people’s beliefs. Here, no shepherd picks up a gun to seek revenge if he loses a goat. They say, “It is the will of the gods. The hills belong to them as much as to us.” And so leopards live, not in the fear of man, but in the shelter of their belief.

From the granite hills, the leopards gaze down upon the life below — the Rabari herdsmen with their bright turbans, the slow-moving ox carts tracing patterns on the dusty trails, the temple bells echoing against the rocks. At dusk, when the sky turns amber, the elusive cats descend from their high thrones, gliding like ghosts through the landscape. The villagers see them, their eyes catching the gleam of the leopards’ golden coats. But there is no panic, nobody runs for cover.

Perhaps, it is the presence of the ancient temples — those hidden sanctuaries dedicated to deities and saints — that has sealed this ancient truce. Or perhaps, it is simply that the leopards of Jawai and the people of these villages have always been part of the same story. In Jawai, the leopards do not roar, silence is the language, and respect is the law that keeps this land in balance.

But change, like the desert wind, has begun to sweep through this tranquil land. Word of Jawai’s thriving leopards has spread beyond the hills, attracting visitors eager for a glimpse of the ‘spotted lords’. Luxury safari lodges have now risen on the fringes of Jawai, their canvas tents and stone cottages blending with the rugged terrain. Here, men and women sit by fire-lit patios, sipping steaming cups of chai as they wait for the morning Gypsys to take them into the hills. Trained guides, once herdsmen themselves, now lead these expeditions, their keen eyes reading the signs of the wild — fresh pugmarks in the dust, a distant warning call of a langur, the lingering scent of a leopard’s passage on the wind.

At dawn, the engines rumble to life, and the jeeps begin their climb. The thrill is not just in spotting the cats but in the ride itself — bouncing over rocky trails, clambering up near-vertical 45-degree slopes.

And then, the moment arrives. A flash of gold against the grey and a pair of luminous eyes locking onto human ones: it is a mesmerising moment. The cameras click. A collective breath is held. For a fleeting second, time stands still.

Yet, with fame comes uncertainty. The same outsiders who marvel at Jawai’s wonders also bring whispers of development — of fencing the land, imposing regulations, and turning this organic sanctuary into a structured reserve. Conservationists debate whether such measures will protect or disrupt the delicate balance that has existed for generations. Will bureaucracy replace the unwritten law of mutual respect? Will Jawai’s leopards, long accustomed to freedom, find themselves confined?

For now, the leopards remain watchers, as they have always been. As the sun dips below the ancient hills and the moonlight bathes the valley in silver, they step out once more — silent, unseen, eternal. Jawai is still theirs, a land not ruled by force but by trust. And perhaps, that is its greatest legacy.

— The writer is a retired Indian Forest Service officer