Editor's note: In this weekly feature China Daily gives voice to Asia and its people. The stories presented come mainly from the Asia News Network (ANN), of which China Daily is among its 20 leading titles.

Pushpa Tamang, 42, sits on the narrow porch of her home in Gabhar settlement of Rapti Sonari Rural Municipality, Banke, Nepal. A red shawl is wrapped tightly around her head. To a casual observer, she appears healthy, a woman resting in the afternoon sun. But the exterior is a mask for a shattered internal reality.

In June 2019, Pushpa entered Bhawani Community Forest, just a stone's throw from her home, to cut grass for her cattle. Without warning, a Bengal tiger emerged from the undergrowth, striking her from behind. Its claws tore deep gashes into the left side of her scalp. She immediately fell unconscious. Only the desperate screams of her companions forced the big cat to retreat into the shadows of the forest. She was rushed to Kohalpur Teaching Hospital. It took 60 stitches to put her head back together.

"I might look fine on the outside, but only I know the agony I carry within," says Pushpa, her voice steady but thin. "I survived the attack, but because of the lack of money, surviving life has become a real struggle."

As Nepal garners international acclaim for nearly tripling its wild tiger population — from 121 in 2010 to 355 in 2022 — the impoverished communities living on the fringes of national parks in Banke and Bardiya districts are paying the price in the form of lifelong physical disability and a mountain of debt accrued from medical bills the country's relief mechanisms have failed to cover.

As per the existing legal provisions, the process of securing relief is long. While the tiger conservation programs are major achievements on international forums, the impoverished residents living on the forest's edge are the ones paying the price for the very success.

The first three days of Pushpa's emergency treatment cost Rs 50,000 ($336) — a fortune for a family living on the edge of subsistence. It was only the beginning. Now, she suffers from chronic headaches, paralysis in her left arm and leg, and frequent bouts of unconsciousness. She cannot be left alone; she loses track of time while cooking and becomes disoriented while performing even simple tasks.

Her husband Mitra Lal, 45, has seen his life grind to a halt. As a former migrant worker who sought employment in Malaysia and Qatar to provide for his family, he was forced to return home to become her full-time caregiver. Though a skilled furniture maker, his work is sporadic because he cannot leave his wife's side for long.

He shoulders the weight of three children, elderly parents, and a sick wife. "I have the skills in my hands, but I cannot go to work," says Lal."Right now, we don't even have the money to buy her basic medicine."

Pushpa's medical expenditure comes to about Rs 3,500 a month, with another Rs 1,500 spent on transportation to the hospital. Because she suffers from extreme temperature sensitivity, the family must keep ice at home year-round, adding to their expenses.

To keep her alive, they have borrowed from various cooperatives, and their debt now exceeds Rs 700,000. Their only assets are a modest house built on unregistered land and a small plot of 4 katthas (1,354 square meters) of land.

"I saved my life from the tiger's mouth. But living like this is no different from being dead," says Pushpa.

The government's revised Wildlife Damage Relief Distribution Guidelines 2080 (effective July 17,2023) stipulates that the family of a person killed by a wild animal receives Rs 1 million. For those with permanent disabilities, the payout is Rs 500,000, while the seriously injured can claim up to Rs 200,000.

However, these figures are often dwarfed by the reality of private hospital bills and long-term rehabilitation. Furthermore, the process to claim the amount is a labyrinth that can take months, if not years, to navigate.

Shankar Prasad Gupta, chief of the Division Forest Office in Banke, says the process begins with a police report and a ward office recommendation within 35 days of the incident. This is followed by a doctor's prescription and a formal application to the subdivision forest office.

The path of the paperwork is exhaustive — from the Subdivision to the Division Office, then to a specially formed committee, then to the Ministry of Forests and Environment, and finally to the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation. Once approved, the funds move back down through the ministry to the Division Forest Office's account before finally reaching the victim.

"The money eventually arrives, but the process is painfully slow," says Gupta. He says the Division Forest Offices do not have an autonomous relief fund; every rupee must be requisitioned from the central ministry. "It would be much more efficient if the funds were managed at the district level," he said.

Sushil Subedi, senior officer at the Division Forest Office in Banke, acknowledges that despite the policy updates, the relief is fundamentally insufficient. "The amount does not meet the victims' actual needs," he says.

Nepal has been lauded globally for its conservation efforts. But as the tiger population grows, so does the frequency of human-tiger conflict. In Bardiya National Park alone, 35 people were attacked by tigers between 2016 and 2024.

A report from the park indicates that in the first four years of that period, 16 people were attacked, resulting in six deaths. In the fiscal year 2022-23, 10 people were attacked, and six lost their lives.

Livelihoods in forest

The lives of those people living near the protected areas and community forests are inextricably linked to the forest. They enter the woods for fodder, firewood and wild vegetables — not by choice, but by necessity. Analysis of the attacks shows that women and those working alone in the buffer zones are the most vulnerable.

Conservationist Ashish Chaudhary argues that the focus must shift from merely increasing numbers to improving the habitat. This includes creating more grasslands and artificial ponds deep inside the forest to keep predators away from human settlements.

Experts estimate that a single tiger requires approximately 4 square kilometers of territory, including five hectares of grassland and a dedicated watering hole, costing roughly Rs 1.8 to 2 million to maintain artificial ponds and grasslands.

"The forest is the wildlife's home. We need separate paths for humans and animals. We need fences in high-risk zones," says Chaudhary.

Pushpa and her husband hold little hope for support. They have only one simple request: "We aren't asking for much. Even if the state cannot provide full relief, it would be enough if the local unit provided funds for her monthly medication."However, in Rapti Sonari Rural Municipality where Pushpa lives, no such provision exists.

When she first escaped the tiger's jaws, Pushpa felt it was a miracle. But for her family, that moment has since proven to be the beginning of a lifetime of hardship and deprivation. "I am forced to skip meals just to afford my wife's medicine," says Lal. "It seems that for the poor like us, life has no value at all."

THE KATHMANDU POST, NEPAL