On a March morning in Poonthura, near Kerala’s capital Thiruvananthapuram, a group of fishermen were hauling their kambavala — a traditional stake-net fixed between bamboo poles driven into the seabed to trap fish in the tidal flow. Their net caught something immense. A dark, speckled shadow thrashed inside the mesh. As they drew closer, they saw the white-dotted back and cavernous mouth of a whale shark (Rhincodon typus), the world’s largest fish, trapped in the bamboo frame and nylon webbing.

For a moment, they hesitated. A torn net could mean a month’s lost income for these small fishers. Yet, saving the net would mean killing the creature. On the shore stood Ajit Shanghumukhom, a fisher community representative and a Wildlife Trust of India (WTI)-trained volunteer who made the call. “We can’t let it die,” he said.

For half an hour, the fishermen worked with knives and ropes, cutting the net section by section. The water frothed as the whale shark struggled. And when it finally slipped free, the sea fell silent. The fishing net floated like a wound on the water, but the men smiled. They had lost their income but gained something greater — the feeling that the sea itself had been restored.

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Fishers turn stewards of conservation

Two decades ago, India’s west coast told a much darker story. In Gujarat’s Veraval and Diu, hundreds of whale sharks were slaughtered each year for their liver oil and meat. When the market for fresh meat dipped, the poultry-feed industry stepped in, buying carcasses in bulk. The killings continued until 2001, when WTI, supported by the International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW), launched the Save the Whale Shark campaign.

The turning point came when spiritual leader Morari Bapu named the species Vhali, meaning “the beloved one”, and urged people to protect it. Through street plays, public pledges, and school drives, the campaign humanised a creature once seen as little more than a resource. That same year, the Government of India granted the whale shark Schedule-I protection under the Wildlife (Protection) Act, giving it the same status as the tiger.

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Since then, more than a thousand whale sharks have been rescued and released along India’s west coast. Fishers now voluntarily cut their nets to free trapped sharks, with WTI compensating them for their losses.

Today, this community-driven conservation movement spans Gujarat, Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Kerala, and the Lakshadweep Islands. Along the Arabian Sea, fishers no longer drag whale sharks ashore. They break their nets in the water, releasing the giants before they suffocate.

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Kerala and its coastal consciousness

In Kerala however, the challenge was unique. Whale sharks frequent the shallow coastal waters of Thiruvananthapuram and Kollam, drawn by plankton blooms and small prey fish. Here, the traditional kambavala nets, designed to trap fish moving with the tides, had become lethal to large marine animals.

These stake nets form funnel-shaped barriers that guide fish into a central pocket. They are ideal for catching mullets, anchovies, sardines, pearlspot, prawns, and crabs — but deadly for whale sharks, dolphins, and rays. When a whale shark enters during high tide, it becomes trapped as the water level drops, with no space to turn or escape.

Every time a whale shark is found entangled and released, WTI verifies the rescue through photos or videos and compensates the fisher ₹25,000 for each damaged net. “We realised that people wanted to help, they just couldn’t afford to,” says Sajan John, the head of marine projects at WTI. “No one should lose their income for saving a life. That’s how conservation becomes real.”

In Thiruvananthapuram, where kambavalas dominate, the effect has been profound. Fishers now cut their nets at sea the moment a whale shark is spotted. Even small, mechanised crews send alerts to the rescue network. “Earlier, the whale sharks died tangled in gear,” says John. “Now, they’re released alive before they reach shore. It’s a complete reversal.”

At the heart of this change is Shanghumukhom, a man who never imagined becoming a conservationist. Born into a family of church musicians traditionally exempted from fishing, he spent two decades abroad as a chef before returning home at 42. “I began filming the fishing life [in Kerala] for YouTube. But soon I was learning from the fishers — about tides, species, and the moods of the ocean,” he says. One morning near Kannamthura, Shanghumukhom witnessed his first trapped whale shark. “It was huge, almost the size of our boat,” he recalls. “We freed it, and something changed inside me.”

Since then, Shanghumukhom has helped rescue dozens of whale sharks between Shankumugham near Thiruvananthapuram and Adimalathura, more than 20 kilometres away. Working with WTI, he trains fishers and coastal youth in safe disentanglement techniques. “When others see a net full of fish, he sees a life struggling to breathe,” says fellow rescuer Gopakumar Mathruka.

Until a decade ago, surveillance was rare, and violations were often ignored in Kerala. With on-site training, rapid-response drills, and school awareness programmes, there is a culture of marine empathy. Posters, short films, and puppet shows helped coastal families understand that whale sharks are harmless plankton-feeders, ancient migrants that have shared these seas for millennia.

Shanghumukhom’s records show that his team alone has safely rescued and released 50 whale sharks in the past seven years, 35 of them through his personal efforts.

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Spreading awareness

The whale shark conservation movement has now reached the Lakshadweep Islands, where coral atolls form rich plankton nurseries. Historically, islanders never hunted whale sharks, but mechanised boats and nylon nets have increased the risk of accidental entanglement. Shanghumukhom and other WTI volunteers now travel across Lakshadweep and the coastal stretches of western India with travel support from WTI. Local schools and fishing collectives host his awareness programmes, while WTI officials, volunteers, fish workers’ unions, NGOs, and government departments extend active assistance throughout his journey.

“What began as a small conservation drive in Gujarat two decades ago has now become a movement stretching from the state’s coast to the lagoons of Lakshadweep,” says John. “Through coordinated rescue missions, fisher compensation, and years of patient outreach, we’ve built a living corridor of care across the Arabian sea. Today, whale sharks move freely between Gujarat, Kerala, and Lakshadweep — a sign that communities, not just policies, can keep the ocean safe for its largest gentle giant.”

The awareness programmes have also reached schools and colleges. In classrooms from Veraval to Valiyathura, children paint enormous whale sharks in blue and grey, while learning about migration and empathy. “When children begin to care, killing becomes impossible,” says Shanghumukhom. “You can’t ignore a creature your child has drawn on the wall.”

Women’s self-help groups hold evening discussions on ocean ethics, while young fishers film rescues and share them online.

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Whale sharks in the west versus the east

While whale sharks also occur in the Bay of Bengal coast, the research has remained lesser compared to the Arabian sea coast. “The focus of whale shark conservation in India has always tilted toward the Arabian sea because that’s where science, sightings, and social participation first converged,” explains K. V. Thomas, former marine and earth scientist at the National Centre for Earth Science Studies (NCESS).

“Gujarat’s fishers once hunted these giants, so when the Wildlife Trust of India stepped in with its awareness and compensation model, it became a natural laboratory for community-led conservation. Over the years, this network expanded southward through Karnataka, Kerala, and Lakshadweep, building on decades of field data and trust.”

The Bay of Bengal coast, by contrast, has seen fewer documented sightings, less consistent research, and limited community engagement, he says. “The habitats are different, the fishing patterns are more industrial, and the local institutions have not yet developed the same participatory framework. That’s why structured rescue operations and compensation schemes remain sparse on the eastern seaboard, even though whale sharks do appear there. If we want a truly pan-Indian conservation approach, the Bay of Bengal needs that same scientific investment, grassroots partnership, and sustained policy attention that the Arabian coast has enjoyed for more than two decades,” Thomas adds.

The Arabian sea, driven by monsoon winds, experiences seasonal upwelling that brings nutrient-rich waters to the surface. This sparks massive plankton blooms that draw sardines, anchovies, and mackerel — the whale shark’s primary prey. “When fishers free a whale shark, they’re not just saving a species, they’re keeping the sea’s rhythm intact,” says John.

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Challenges remain

Fishers who once saw conservation as a threat to their livelihood have learned to see dignity in coexistence. Yet the whale shark remains endangered globally, threatened by climate change, ship strikes, and pollution. Offshore drilling and coastal construction continue to endanger its habitat. Still, amid all this, small-scale fishers along India’s coast have become its protectors — ordinary people whose acts of mercy ripple across oceans.

Fishers also note that the compensation is not sufficient for all their efforts and expenses. “The compensation we get is barely a third of what a large fishing net costs,” says Charles George, president of the Kerala Fishermen Coordination Committee.

“When we rescue a whale shark, the collective receives only a small amount — hardly ₹25,000, just for the damaged net. There’s no support for the time, effort, and fuel we spend at sea during such rescues.  Fishermen are using their precious catching time for rescue and rehabilitation, unmindful of the loss of their daily livelihood income. It’s only WTI that provides this limited compensation. Neither the government nor any corporation has stepped forward to share even a part of this financial burden.”

But compensation is only the beginning, says Thomas. “If we truly want to sustain whale shark conservation, we must ensure that the fishers who rescue them are not left out of the blue economy they help protect. Beyond paying for damaged nets, we need to recognise them as partners — through social security, insurance, training, and livelihood-linked incentives. Fishermen who risk their time and income to save a whale shark should be treated as marine guardians, not just beneficiaries,” he shares.

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Thomas suggests that the fishers be trained as citizen scientists, equipped with safety tools, and be included in community-managed marine stewardship programmes. He recommends that eco-labelling, eco-tourism, and even state awards can help build dignity and visibility for their work. “When rescue becomes a recognised livelihood activity and part of coastal governance, conservation gains permanence. That’s how India can move from token compensation to true co-management of its marine heritage.”

However, for some fishers, the ₹25,000 compensation was not just about the money; it is also the recognition. It showed them that the system valued their sacrifice. “We used to take from the sea,” says Shanghumukhom. “Now we give something back.” “The sea gives us everything,” Shanghumukhom says quietly. “Cutting a net to save a life is the least we can do. Maybe one day, that will be enough to balance what we’ve taken.”

P.V. Johnson, a veteran fisherman in Vizhinjam shares, “If the sea loses her biggest fish, we will soon lose everything smaller too.”

Mongabay India / TWF