A fisherman who escaped the jaws of a tiger but was left with a paralysed hand now runs a small tea stall. A widow, who lost her husband to a tiger attack, has pulled her eldest son out of school to make him work in a tailoring shop.

In the Sundarbans, such stories of loss — and survival — illustrate how families living on the forest’s edge are forced into danger for lack of other ways to earn a living.

Villagers in the delta have grown up with risk woven into their daily lives. Generations have ventured into the mangrove forests for fish, crabs, and honey, fully aware of the threat posed by the big cats.

“We would beg our father not to go to the forest because we would always hear about men being taken away by tigers,” said Rupali Sardar, daughter of Ajay Sardar, who was killed in the Pirkhali forest on January 17 this year. “But he would always say there is no other work here.”

Ajay, 52, lived in Kantamari village in Kultali, South 24-Parganas. He had gone to catch crabs that afternoon. “Those who went with my father said the tiger pounced on him while he was sitting in the boat in the creek. He fell into the water, and the tiger tried to drag him away. Others hit the animal with oars, and it fled. But my father did not survive,” Rupali said. It was around 4pm.

He had often encountered tigers before, Rupali said, but never shared those stories at home. “He knew we would try to stop him from going,” she said.

Ajay earned between ₹5,000 and ₹10,000 a month, depending on the catch. After his death, his younger brother migrated to another state to work as a daily wage labourer and sends money back home.

On Wednesday, The Telegraph reported the killing of another crab catcher, Sambhu Sardar, in the Chamta forest.

Some villagers survive tiger attacks but lose their livelihoods forever. Shankar Shee, 56, was mauled in March 2021 while catching crabs with his wife, Jyotsna.

“The tiger pounced on me and tried to push me down,” Shankar recounted. “Then it bit my left shoulder, and I fell.” Jyotsna fought it off with her bare hands. “She put her hands inside the tiger’s ears. It left me and started roaring. We escaped,” he said.

But the attack paralysed Shankar’s left hand. A fisherman for 40 years and a resident of Moipith, he can no longer do heavy work. Earlier, he would earn around ₹10,000 a month. “Our income has reduced to a third of what it used to be,” he said. He now runs a small tea stall.

Families often face economic collapse after such attacks. In July this year, honey collector Abur Ali Mollah was taken by a tiger. His wife, Moima Mollah, said: “He was attacked on the bank of a creek. His body was never found.”

“The forest departmentdid not give us any compensation because their enquiry team apparently did not find any evidence,” Moima Mollah said.

With no money to support her three sons, Moimawithdrew her eldest from school.

He now works in a tailoring shop in Budge Budge, earning ₹2,000 a month. Moima, a resident of Kultali, herself does zari work and earns about ₹300 a week.

The family also owned a boat worth ₹1 lakh, which Abur used for fishing or rented out. After his death, superstition kept people from hiring it. “We had to sell it for ₹10,000,” she said.

For most Sundarbans households, behind each tragedy is the absence of alternative livelihoods.

“There is no alternative income in the Sundarbans,” said Mithun Mondal, vice-president of the Associa-tion for Protection of Democratic Rights in South 24-Parganas.

“Saline water makes agriculture difficult, andthere are no major construction projects to provideyear-round jobs. So mostpeople are now working asmigrant labourers,” Mondal added.