A 15-minute docu takes you to the land where tigers are worshipped

In the dense hinterlands of Uttara Kannada in Karnataka lies a sacred deity—a predator worshipped for generations: the tiger. Scattered along the fringes of the region’s emerald-green rainforests are clusters of hamlets, home to diverse communities, including the Vokkaliga, Devadiga, Gowli, and Siddi tribes, as well as the Brahmin community. The inhabitants—cattle herders and agricultural farmers—live in close connection with the land. They grow areca nuts, pepper and other spices, while keeping a watchful eye for wild animals—tigers, leopards, boars, and sloth bears that freely roam the region. Rivers thread through the lush landscape, all of it cradled by the vast, wild embrace of Karnataka’s Western Ghats—a place where belief, nature, and life are inextricably braided.

These communities revere the tiger as a god and guardian, culturally holding on to the enduring belief that the big cat protects their villages. With no schools nearby, the land’s history and ancient ecological wisdom is passed down by the elders to the children through oral traditions.

Filmmaker Sourabha Rao (with the help of Anusha Hegde, an Uttara Kannada local) has been visiting the region for at least half a decade, seeking to understand the unique bond shared between the locals and the apex predator, and what it truly means to regard a wild beast as divine. The short documentary Huliyappa (meaning “tiger god”), produced under the banner of Owletter Creations, explores the deep-rooted tradition of human-wildlife coexistence in the sprawling jungles of Karnataka.

The 15-minute film opens with a striking account from a man bearing a brutally large (but healed) scar on his forehead—a reminder of a past encounter. He recalls the day he was cycling through the jungle when he was suddenly attacked by a mother bear who mistook him for a threat to her cubs. Another villager recounts how “a big tiger” ate two of his cows. Reflecting on the loss, he offered a quietly profound perspective: “What’s the point of being sad?” he asks Rao. “The tiger was merely meeting its needs.”

His words reflect a deep, instinctive understanding of an apex carnivore’s innate nature—a luminous reminder of how indigenous communities accept and acknowledge one of the central principles of coexistence: survival. More importantly, this ancient custom moves in tandem with the wider conversations surrounding wildlife conservation.

These communities demonstrate a remarkable tolerance towards the wild animals, even when it means losing their livestock to the very animals they revere. Rao draws attention to the words used by the villagers to describe their loss. “They use non-violent words,” she explains. “For instance, to describe a tiger or leopard attack, the villagers don’t use words like ‘kill’, ‘murder’ or ‘dangerous’, even when they are grieving. They simply say, ‘The tiger took away my cow or dog,’ which strangely carries a certain lightness to it.”

Twice a year, the villagers gather to celebrate, worship and pacify the tiger deity—the stone idols merit their own oral folklore. The ceremonial ritual involves smearing a thick layer of butter over the deity’s mouth, drenching it in white milk, and garlanding it with marigold flowers and orbs of areca nuts. The idol’s crown is dressed in a pale yellow, thread-like headgear made of areca nut flowers. As part of the offering, the villagers gift coconuts to the idol—following the belief that for every cow’s tail, a coconut must be offered to the god. “Some of the villagers face tremendous adversity in gathering just two coconuts for the ritual, which can sometimes be a significant challenge,” says Rao. Yet, they uphold the tradition, driven by their unyielding faith that by worshipping the big cat, it will guard their family and cattle. In fact, one of the indigenous women declares in the film, “The tiger god does indeed protect us!”

I wonder what Rao’s views are on this unshakable belief system. “Wildlife has always been a part of our country’s folklore. Many Hindu gods and goddesses have vahanas (vehicles) that are animals, and each vahana carries symbolic meaning and power,” she explains. Even Ganesha and Hanuman are part-human and part-animal, Rao notes. “So it doesn’t matter whether you’re pious, agnostic or atheist—there is an undeniable energy in animals that brings people together in reverence.” In Karnataka, the villagers pray to the deity, hoping their cattle will remain safe under its omnipotent watch. Once the rituals are complete, the community gathers for a shared meal. “People of all castes come together that day,” acknowledges one of the women in the film.

Honouring the tiger god is not an anomaly. Big cats are revered as incarnations of deities in other parts of India as well—including rural Maharashtra, where they are known as ‘baghdev’ or ‘waghoba’. Regardless of the name, the underlying message remains one of co-existence. As a priest aptly observes in Rao’s documentary: “These days, we are competing with nature. Back in the day, we coexisted with it. We commit atrocities against nature, don’t we? We must avoid the various depredations we commit, driven by our wanton desires—[this] is the message we need to give to the next generation.”

Huliyappa (Kannada with English subtitles) recently premiered at the Bangalore International Centre and will now be screened at ATREE Auditorium, Bengaluru, on June 11, 2025, at 4 pm, and at various other places in Mysuru and Mangaluru. Follow their Instagram page for more updates