Baghair: The vanishing kings of our rivers

In the slow whirl of Bangladesh's great northern rivers—the Brahmaputra, the Surma, and the Kushiara—something stirs beneath the surface.

It is massive, striped like a tiger, and older than memory itself. To fishers, it is Baghair; to scientists, Bagarius; and to anglers like Jeremy Wade, it is the legendary goonch catfish—a creature that blurs the line between fact and folklore.

Jeremy Wade, the British biologist and host of River Monsters, once described the goonch as "the most mysterious fish I've ever encountered." In northern India and Nepal, stories of monstrous goonches feeding on drowned corpses inspired both horror and fascination. 

His televised hunts for these river giants brought the goonch into the global imagination. But in Bangladesh, where the fish quietly persists, it receives little more than a passing mention in our fisheries records.

And yet, for centuries, the goonch has ruled our rivers. It is the largest freshwater fish in Bangladesh—massive specimens, sometimes weighing more than 150 kg, have been caught in the Brahmaputra and Surma. Locals claim the biggest ones appear during the monsoon, descending from the upper stretches of rivers to the floodplains. In September–October, smaller, younger individuals are found in upstream haor basins, downstream Meghna tributaries, and even in degraded rivers like the Turag.

We do not have any data on the population dynamics of baghair, a critically endangered fish in Bangladesh.

These patterns suggest a migratory rhythm—an ancient pulse tied to the monsoon flows. But no one knows for sure. No research has ever tracked the movements, breeding sites, or population structure of this majestic fish.

Many faces, one mystery

The goonch genus, Bagarius, is not just one fish—it is a small family of look-alikes. Several species swim our waters, differing subtly in fin shape and body proportions. Only one, Bagarius yarrelli, is legally protected in Bangladesh under Schedule II of the Wildlife (Conservation and Security) Act of 2012. The others remain unprotected, treated as common fish.

This subtle distinction has created a tangle of enforcement problems. "To the naked eye, all goonches look the same," says a fisheries officer from Sylhet. "Without a DNA test, how can a forest officer know which one is Bagarius yarrelli and which is not?" The confusion is not merely academic—it directly affects conservation. When all Bagarius are caught and sold under one name, legal protection becomes little more than a line on paper.

During the monsoon months, smaller goonches appear in local markets, caught in gill nets or on baited hooks. As winter recedes, the giants—monstrous individuals from deep river channels—surface in nets, and celebration and awe fill the media. The coexistence of both life stages hints at a complex, perhaps migratory, life cycle. "They may move downstream to breed," says a veteran fish biologist in Mymensingh. "But we cannot prove it. We have no tagging data, no telemetry, no study."

Baghair is a globally threatened riverine catfish.

In a country laced with rivers, it is tragic how little we know about our largest freshwater fish.

A turf war beneath the surface

What should have been a straightforward conservation case has instead become a bureaucratic standoff. On one side stands the Forest Department, which recognises Bagarius yarrelli as a threatened species deserving protection. 

On the other stands the Department of Fisheries, which views it as a nuisance predator—an aggressive carnivore that devours commercially valuable fish such as carps and minnows. I recall heated debates at recent workshops to revise the schedules of protected species under the Bangladesh Wildlife (Conservation and Security) Act 2012.

Fisheries officials have long argued that conserving such a species could "harm" fishery yields. "It eats other fish," says one field officer bluntly. "If we protect too many, our farmers will suffer." In practice, this means that while the Forest Department discourages capture, the Fisheries Department often promotes it under the pretext of "population control."

For centuries, the goonch has ruled our rivers. It is the largest freshwater fish in Bangladesh—massive specimens, sometimes weighing more than 150 kg, have been caught in the Brahmaputra and Surma. Locals claim the biggest ones appear during the monsoon, descending from the upper stretches of rivers to the floodplains.

The irony is painful: one state agency tries to save the species, while another quietly encourages its exploitation. The result is paralysis. "Protection" becomes a word without teeth, and all Bagarius keep slipping through the cracks—caught, sold, and forgotten in fish markets across the delta.

This interdepartmental friction reflects a deeper divide in how we value our aquatic wildlife. To fisheries, fish are resources—measured by yield, profit, and induced breeding success in captivity. To conservation, they are species—measured by rarity and ecological role. The goonch sits awkwardly between these worlds: too little known to inspire real action. And do we not want to see them roaming freely in our rivers?

A river without giants

Older fishers still tell stories of the monsters. In the 1980s, they say, the Brahmaputra would yield goonches longer than a grown man, their flesh coarse but highly valued. Today, those giants are gone. Most specimens now seen are under four feet long.

In the haor regions, locals occasionally net a large one, but the catch draws more fear than pride. "Why should we release them?" asks a fisherman from Sunamganj. "They fetch a high price in the market." 

Others say the fish come and go with the floodwaters, a sign that they might still spawn somewhere upstream or across borders in Indian rivers. But no one has traced these movements scientifically.

Without data, management becomes guesswork. Bangladesh has no population estimates, no breeding-site records, and no monitoring programme for Bagarius. Even the IUCN assessment for the species in Bangladesh admits to "severe data deficiency."

What we do have are warnings. The giant fish appear to be declining fast. Overfishing, river pollution, and damming all threaten their survival. A species that once commanded reverence now faces invisibility. I recall experts' disbelief when they heard this fish is still found in the monsoon-fed Turag.

When protection means little

"Protection" in law often means a ban on catching, selling, or transporting a species. But what happens when enforcement cannot identify the species correctly—or when another government department sees it as a pest? For Bagarius yarrelli, protection exists only in theory.

Baghairs migrate downstream during the monsoon — a catch from the Meghna River.

Adding to the confusion, smaller Bagarius species are often mistaken for juveniles of the protected one. These are caught and traded openly. The result: enforcement officials hesitate, fearing legal missteps. Fishermen exploit this uncertainty. And the river loses its kings, one by one.

Conservationists warn that without cooperation between the Forest and Fisheries departments, no aquatic species can be truly safeguarded. The goonch may simply be the first casualty of this divide.

A silent river

Jeremy Wade once said that chasing the goonch is like "hunting a ghost that breathes water." In Bangladesh, that ghost may soon fade entirely. The fish that once inspired folklore, fear, and fascination now slips quietly out of our awareness.

And yet, its story mirrors the fate of our rivers. Each declining giant is a symptom of something larger—the loss of wildness, of complexity, of life unseen beneath the silt-rich current. For now, the kings of the water lie hidden in silt and shadow, waiting for a nation to decide whether they deserve to live.

To save the goonch is to recognise that conservation success is futile without robust science.