The Migration in Our Backyard: From the Ghats to the Plains

Tiny Travelers Born to Fly

Every year, across the irregular mountainous grounds of the Indian peninsula, a sight to behold unfolds, which is led by creatures whose wings are covered in “dust”—tiny, microscopic scales that give the order Lepidoptera its name. Butterflies and moths fall under the order of Lepidoptera, a word derived from two Greek words that means “scaly winged,” is a nod to the tiny and dust-like scales that cover their wings and give them their beautiful colours and patterns.
Reports assert that there are around 150,000 known species worldwide, with about 18,000
butterflies among them. The life of a butterfly unfolds in four stages: egg, larva (caterpillar),
pupa (chrysalis), and the adult stage. While the world marvels at the migration of the Monarch butterfly and celebrates its return through vibrant cultural festivals, especially in Mexico during the Day of the Dead, where these butterflies are seen as ancestral spirits, a similar and smaller journey takes place right here in peninsular India between the Eastern and Western Ghats.

Seasonal Flight of “Tigers and Crows”

A study published in the Journal of Insect Conservation in 2023 revealed that the phenomenon witnessed between the months of April and June observes swarms of migrant butterflies that breed in the mountains and then move to the Eastern plains before the southwest monsoon hits the Western Ghats and then take a flight back to return to the mountains during the months of October and December. Between April and June, butterflies move in a steady stream, navigating by the Earth’s magnetic field and tiny sensors in their antennae. The southwest monsoon is especially important as it is the breeding season for many butterflies, particularly the milkweed species.

As the Western Ghats prepare for heavy rains, thousands of the Dark Blue Tiger, Blue Tiger, Common Crow, and Double-branded Crow, collectively known as “Tigers and Crows,” flee toward the Eastern plains. Researchers have identified other species like the Lime Swallowtail, Lemon Pansy, Common Leopard, and Blue Pansy that join the seasonal pilgrimage but in far smaller numbers. Among the 18,000 species of butterflies worldwide, the Indian Common Crow (Euploea core) stands out—not just for its glossy black wings with rows of white spots on the margins of its wings but also for its adaptability and resilience.

In the third stage of life of butterflies, the larvae are the “munchers,” and the Common Crow is a picky and tactical eater because it chooses to feed upon toxic plants like oleanders, dogbanes, nettles, and milkweeds that would be lethal to its predators. By consuming these toxins, the caterpillar creates a natural chemical defense. This biological strategy challenges the anthropocentric notions of “utility and usefulness.” It is a constant reminder that there is not waste, that every element of an ecosystem serves a vital purpose; in contrast to the Foucauldian obsession with labelling and ranking the world into rigid hierarchies of good and bad. Unlike other species, the Indian common crow is a “lone traveler.” They drift across the landscape in small, discreet groups, blending into the shadows to avoid predators. While the dark colour of the butterfly helps it to blend into its surroundings, thus protecting it from predators, these butterflies follow ancient migration routes, stopping at nectar-rich sites to rest and refuel. For centuries, these butterflies have followed the same nectar-rich corridors, returning to the exact same roosting sites year after year with remarkable fidelity.

 Common Crow Butterfly

Butterflies vs. Skyscrapers: A Modern Mess

Today, these butterflies are flying into a trap. Human obsession with
“modernity”—characterized by concrete urban sprawl, industrialization, and capitalism—is
erasing their map. Researchers believe that shifting rainfall patterns and an increase in sunny days may be pushing these migrations earlier. Like, in the year 2020, however, there was an unusual twist: the butterflies started their migration from the Eastern Ghats to the Western Ghats earlier than usual. The Indian government’s indifference to air quality and habitat loss reflects a broader neglect of “marginalized” species that don’t have a voice. Alongside urban growth, habitat destruction, and climate change are throwing a wrench in their plans of migration. These changes are not only scrambling the butterflies’ migration routes but also making it tougher for researchers to track their movements accurately. Given the acute deplorable state of funding and research in the country, one can only hope for better days, which brings better policies to accommodate the research and more sustainable conservative practices. Since 2018, the Ferns Nature Conservation Society (FNCS) in Wayanad has been turning regular citizens into guardians of the migration. By tracking sightings across Kerala, Karnataka, and Tamil Nadu via social media, these volunteers are building a real-time map of a journey that science alone has struggled to document. It is a grassroots rebellion against ecological indifference—a reminder that protecting a butterfly is, in many ways, an act of protecting our own future.

As these delicate travelers continue their flutter across the Ghats, they pose a question to us all: What does it truly mean to be modern if we cannot coexist with the ancient rhythms of the earth?