The shifting sands of camel herders

Manaram keeping an eye on his camels

Camels sit with their long limbs tucked under them or repose languidly on their sides, chewing their cud. A couple of calves, covered in soft curly
wool, stand next to their mothers. They watch tractors drive by the dusty lane and women herd water buffaloes and goats. Children with hastily
washed faces carry satchels to school.
I know I have arrived at my destination in Mundara, Pali district, Rajasthan.
I wait for Hajiram, the man I had come to see, in the courtyard, under the dappled shade of a banyan tree.
A young man emerges from the house, introducing himself as Baburam, Hajirams son. A camel rises quickly and awkwardly to its feetone leg
is hobbled. Baburam approaches it, slings a noose around its neck, and brings it to its knees. It brays loudly like a donkey, and raising its hairy
tail, ejects copious amounts of jamun-shaped green droppings. The man grabs the animals snout and it screams as if it is being slaughtered. Its
unsympathetic flock mates continue to chew the cud.
Baburams elderly father, Hajiram Dewasi, makes an appearance now. He splashes the camels ear with warm water, and squeezes and extracts
white gobs of pus. After he applies a salve, his son releases the camel. It scrambles up on three legs and suspiciously watches the men examining
the others.
The men tend to one with an infected foot and rub another with medicated oil. Ministrations done, Baburam begins milking a camel. It is perhaps
the only dairy animal a man can milk standing upright. Surprisingly, he doesnt bother to tie her legs or restrain her in any way. She stands
placidly while her calf suckles on one side and the man milks her from the other. Tending to wounds and milking are a daily morning routine in
every camel-herding household, unchanged for centuries.
Baburam pours some milk into a small steel bowl and offers it to me. It is warm, as if heated on fire. I savour it, trying to elicit every nuance of
flavour, not distracted by the thick head of foam stuck to my upper lip. I can only detect a vague saltiness, and it tastes no different from cows
milk. Later, I hear others describe camel milk as relaxing and addicting. Baburam takes the vessel into the house to make tea.
On any other day, this would be the cue for Hajiram to leave with his herd. But he has agreed to a delay of a few minutes to talk to me. Although
in his sixties, he doesnt seem the kind to sit still. He picks up two balls of camel wool yarn and settles down beside me on a charpoy. Throughout
our conversation, he twirls a spindle, twisting two strands of wool into a sturdier yarn that will later be turned into a dhurrie.
Hajiram is dressed in the costume of his forefatherswhite long-sleeved angarke, white dhoti, and gold ear hoops glinting in the light. An
enormous, intricately wrapped maroon turban adds a touch of colour. Baburam looks like any other young man of this generation, dressed in a
polo shirt and trousers. A gold wire looped through each earlobe is the only visible evidence of his Raika heritage.
Livestock herders Baburam and Hajiram belong to the Raika caste which specialises in rearing camels. I ask Hajiram how his community became
so closely associated with these animals of the desert. Continuing to twirl the yarn, he tells me a story.

When Shiva was lost in meditation, his wife, Parvati, grew bored. She fashioned an animal with five legs out of sediment from a pond. When
Shiva finished his meditation, she asked him to give the figurine life. The animal couldnt walk forward or backward. So he folded one leg over its
back and thats how the camel got its hump.
The animal started running, and Parvati grew tired chasing after it. She said she needed a man to do the job. So Shiva rolled dirt off his body and
fashioned the worlds first Raika.
But did Shiva set the Raika down in Baluchistan? Historians think the community probably moved eastwards to India with Muslim warriors in the
10th century. Rajput rulers, notably the maharajas of Bikaner, Jodhpur, Udaipur and Alwar, employed some to manage their camel breeding
operations and camel cavalry. Other Raika had their own breeding herds.
Traditionally, the Raika didnt trade female camels; it was taboo. The only time they changed hands was during weddings, when they
accompanied brides to their new homes. Nor did the vegetarian pastoralists sell camels for meat. Although camel milk tasted just fine, the herders
didnt sell that either. Trade in male calves as draft animals underpinned the entire economy of camel herding.
***

Raika herders walk for days with their camels to reach Pushkar
Hajirams family owned about 100 camels three decades ago, but now it has only 50. Besides the 10 snorting and braying impatiently outside in
the courtyard, the rest live in Latara with another camel breeder.
Hajiram grazes his camels on the outskirts of Mundara village for up to 12 hours a day for most of the year. They browse on trees in village
pastures and on crop stalks left over from the harvest in fallow fields. In exchange, their nutrient-rich droppings fertilise the soil. Once the rains
begin in June, farmers plant crops and camels are not welcome. Pastoralists with their sheep, goats, cows, and camels migrate to Kumbhalgarh
Wildlife Sanctuary in the Aravalli hill range. But for the past four decades, livestock is prohibited from the reserve and trespassers are fined. The
loss of critical summer grazing grounds hits the Raika hard.
Baburam says, Camels dont eat grass. They eat leaves, even neem leaves. Thats why camel milk is like medicine. Camels dont compete with
any other animal as nothing else eats leaves. We tried very hard to make the forest people understand, but they dont listen to us. Weve become
criminals. Our samaj went to Jaipur and to Delhi (to meet politicians), but that didnt make any difference.
For centuries, the Raika traditionally relied on the forest four months of the year, and they continue to use it on the sly. Baburam says, In our
village alone, there are 150 camels. Where else can we go? Other villages also have the same difficulties.
The camel has been an iconic symbol of Rajasthan for decades, but it was declared the state animal only on June 30 this year. I ask, Has that
elevated status not made a difference?

Our camels are even worse than before, Baburam replies. The government wont subsidise their upkeep, we have no grazing grounds, and we
dont get good prices for camels. Why would anyone keep them? Ill keep a few because its a tradition. I cant say if my children will. We turn
to look at his five-year-old son, who stands at the doorway, chewing his forefinger. He ducks inside shyly.
The chorus of bellows and grunts outside the house grows louder. Hajiram urges one of his teenage grandsons to take the animals foraging.
Hajirams wife has packed a stack of rotis at the end of a long piece of cloth. This is the boys sustenance for the day. He slings the cloth over his
shoulder, picks up his grandfathers long stick and a steel pot in which to milk camels, and leaves the house.
I ask the men, Are you able to make a living with your camels?
Baburam says, I dont sell camel milk because I dont get a good price. If I started to sell milk, Ill compromise the health of our calves. I prefer
to get a good price for healthy calves than make little by selling milk. I have eight buffaloes and I also have a job in Surat. My brother runs a
school here. So we are not dependent on camels. Few Raika can afford to depend only on camels.
His father adds, During the famine more than 100 years ago, people had nothing to eat. Our families survived by drinking camel milk. Its
because of our camels, we are here today.
Camels were uniquely adapted to convert local vegetation to highly nutritious food. They dont need expensive fodder, survive on little water, and
walk long distances in the heat to find edible leaves.
While buffaloes and cows struggle to survive a bad drought, the Raika depend on camels to not only carry on but also sustain their families.
Although there is no sign of disagreement between them, I wonder if there is an underlying tension between father and son. Has Hajiram been
reluctant to sell the familys camels and the purchase of buffaloes?
As I rise to leave, both men insist they will meet me at the Pushkar camel fair the following week. Baburam says he wants to see the prices camels
were fetching, and also to buy accessories he cant get elsewhere.
Outside, once were out of earshot of his father, Baburam whispers, Im keeping camels just to keep my father happy. I cant bear to see his
sadness if we sold them all. In my family, Im the eighth generation to keep camels. But its a struggle to keep them fed.
***
From Mundara, I make my way south to Sadri town and towards Ranakpur. There are numerous temples along the way. Although ubiquitous
throughout Rajasthan, camels do not figure in temple art. Goddesses sit astride lions or tigers, while doorways are guarded by elephant motifs.
Were camels not sanctified because they were common?
I go to meet Dailibai, a feisty spokesperson for pastoral rights, near the famous Ranakpur Jain temple. She sits in the middle of the room wearing a
long skirt and a bright pink odni pulled over her head. One arm is encircled entirely by white plastic bangles that in her mothers time would have
been of ivory. The other is wrapped in a bandage, healing from a fracture. A large gold nose ring partially hides her smile, while silver earrings so
heavy they distend her lobes swing and tinkle as she talks.
She says, Camels need forests to graze. Trees and plants benefit from animal dung and urine. Seeds dispersed by animals grow faster. Even if
there were more nilgai to do this job, you cannot get milk, ghee, or anything from them. Camels eat the leaves of many different species of trees
and thats why people who drink their milk are healthy.
I make the case for forest protection. Kumbhalgarh is the only forest in the entire Aravalli range. Its the only refuge for wild animals. Shouldnt
it be protected from people?
Even the foresters fathers cannot save this forest, she shoots back. They take money on the side and let you cut trees. Many resorts have come
up inside. They will finish the jungle. Only pastoralists can take care of forests. Since the ban on livestock, there are more fires than before. With
no goats or sheep to graze, the grass grows high. People who go to collect honey set fire to the dry grass. In earlier times, if there was a fire,
people beat a big dhol and summoned the whole village. We would put out the fire. Now nobody goes to put out fires. The whole forest burns for
two months sometimes.
***
Its a clear morning and I watch 55-year-old Manaram tend to a herd of 15 camels. Just like Hajiram and Baburam, he doesnt miss a wound or
scratch. One young male tries to bite him as he struggles to control it. The camel succeeds only in unravelling the long length of twisted maroon
cloth that forms the turban. Manaram quickly wraps it back into place and goes back to ministering the camel. The turban is more than a mere
insulator from the desert sun; it is a helmet to protect Raika heads from the unwelcome attentions of these tall animals.
Manaram does not seem to be doing well. He wears a torn polyester shirt over his dhoti, and his earlobes are devoid of ornaments. He looks gaunt,
and his arms and legs are as thin as sticks.

Its 9 a.m. when Manaram is ready to leave, and I tag along. He drives the herd with a series of barked commands towards a forested hill. The
animals soft padded feet are sensitive to sharp stones and thorns. Bells around the necks of a couple of adults tinkle as they move through a forest
of thorny Prosopis. Even though the animals walk sedately, I have to walk briskly to keep up. Occasionally, one stomps its foot in alarm at my
proximity, and I move away, afraid of being kicked.
A young calf frequently stops to look at Manaram and brays as if to ask, Cant we stop here? Manaram goads it onward.
Half an hour later, we are inside Kumbhalgarh forest. When the animals want to stop at the first edible tree, Manaram refuses to let them. Move
on, he seems to say by clicking his tongue. Finally, he deems we are in a good forest and lets the camels forage. With a loud sigh, he sits down in
the shade on a boulder, while the animals fan out into the grove.
I watch their extremely mobile lips pick leaves from thorny branches. They strip leaves with a swift movement from thornless ones. The yellow
flowers of the white bark acacia trees and curly, green pods of sickle bush trees are favourites. Although Manaram seems half-asleep, he keeps an
eye on the herd. When a camel ventures off down the path, he called, Karje, Karje. The animal comes back.
Is that the name of the camel? I ask.
He nods.
If I ask Manaram a question in Hindi, he answers in a rapid Marwari that I cant comprehend. Our conversation is reduced to simple questions and
answers accompanied by gesticulations.
Mostly, we walk in companionable silence behind the camels. Often, I catch one looking down at me as we walk along the path. Once Manaram
gives the command to forage, they lose interest in me and approach fruiting trees with eagerly outstretched necks.
At noon, we come up on a flowing creek. Even though the day is hot and I have gulped down almost all the water I carried, the animals hardly
seem to need water. They take a short drink and seem more interested in the lush vegetation along the banks. The only people we meet along the
way are herders with cattle and goats. Manaram exchanges a few words with them and we carry on.
Langurs shake tree branches in a display of dominance and doves shoot like bullets through the sky. The wind whistles through the trees and the
camels bells tinkle softly. When we sit down for a rest, we watch magpie-robins bob on the path, picking up insects. As the sun descends from
the noon sky, the harsh light slowly turns gentle and mellow. I ration the last few mouthfuls of water and eat biscuits for lunch, but I feel refreshed
by the contemplative time I spent with the camels.
At 6 p.m., as dusk begins to colour the sky, Manaram gives the command to return. Obediently, the herd sets off and we tail behind. Although I
have spent the day with them, the camels continue to look at me with suspicion. It is dark by the time we return to Rajpura village.
***
The next morning, I chat with Gemunaram, a 40-year-old Raika herder with a beaked nose, heavy-lidded eyes, and an easy laugh. He lives about
15 kilometres from Rajpura, and he also takes his camels into Kumbhalgarh forest.
What are the dangers in the forest? I ask
Leopards, he replies.
Do they take calves?
No. Adult camels.
He says leopards roll on their backs, waving their legs and twitching their tails. When camels approach to take a closer look, as they are wont to
do, the cats grab their necks.
Do you chase the leopard away and save your camel?
No. I let it go, or it might jump on me instead. Then the leopard has enough to eat for a year. If we didnt take livestock into the forest for
grazing, leopards will die of starvation. Or theyll come to villages. If it eats one animal, it makes no difference. I have 10 others.
After a pause, Gemunaram says that more than leopards, sloth bears are the real danger. While the cats only take camels, startled bears or mothers
protecting their young lash out at herders with their long, sharp claws. People have suffered grievous injuries and sometimes even lost their lives.

Its a good thing they dont let you go in to the forest that has so many dangerous animals, I tease.
Taking camels foraging is a lot of fun. I drink camel milk. They have fun and I have fun, said Gemunaram, laughter creasing his face.
Our conversation is short as he has to take his camels out, but he promises to meet me at Pushkar. Then hed have time to chat at length, he says.
Hanwant Singh Rathore, the portly director of the NGO Lokhit Pashu-Palak Sansthan (LPPS), gives some context to the pastoralists use of forest.
Much before Independence, Kumbhalgarh was a royal hunting ground and grazing was allowed in some parts of it. After Independence,
pastoralists paid a fee to the forest department, the new custodian of the forest, and continued to graze their livestock. In the 1970s, the forest was
protected as Kumbhalgarh Wildlife Sanctuary and declared off-limits to pastoralists. When guards found livestock grazing within the forest, they
seized them and levied heavy penalties, up to Rs. 500 per camel.
Many conservationists and foresters are concerned about degradation of forests and over-grazing. In an assessment of the threats facing wildlife in
Kumbhalgarh, biologists Anil Chhangani and S. M. Mohnot, and geographer Paul Robbins say the number of wild animals in the park has
declined.
Although tigers became extinct here in 1960, the populations of other carnivores such as leopards, hyenas, and jackals have grown or remained
stable. Nilgai and wild boar numbers are surging because they survive on crops, but the populations of chinkara, four-horned antelope, and
sambhar are plummeting. Scientists speculate the drought of 2000 severely affected these wild herbivores, and their ability to cope may be
compromised by competition with livestock.
Although the ban on livestock is the official policy, the Raika and other pastoralists march into the forest with several thousands of livestock
during the rains. There are no records of how many livestock enter the forest every year, or how much the department collects as fines. Every
Raika I interviewed said they dont receive a receipt for the fine, and they accuse forest officials of exploiting the ban to enrich themselves. When
the amount of money they had to pay as fines broke the bank, pastoralists took drastic measures. In 2010 and 2012, thousands of Raika gathered in
Sadri to protest the ban. Dailibai gave a fiery speech and emotions ran high.
Since then the department hasnt imposed fines on trespassing herders. This free-for-all with none of the fire prevention and control
responsibilities is hardly the solution. But the status quo continues.
***

Its not just the Raika of Pali District who face restrictions on livestock foraging. In Bikaner, the Indira Gandhi canal destroyed the best camel
areas. With water for irrigation readily available, farmers from the Punjab settled there to grow three crops a year. To prevent free-ranging camels
from crop-raiding, they often resort to cruel measures such as tying up the mouths of camels or tying thorny branches to their tails so the animals
cant rest. The army took over a vast tract of land between Jaisalmer and Pokharan, and trespassing camels were shot dead. Wind and solar farms
occupied other pasture lands.
Unable to feed their animals, the Raika sold female camels, despite the traditional prohibition. They also violated another taboo: camels were sold
for meat in Uttar Pradesh, and many were smuggled across the border to far away Bangladesh. Since 2002, community leaders, aided by LPPS,
have appealed to the Raika to not sell female camels, or at least sell them to other Raika even if they paid less. They wrote letters to the district

magistrate, collector, and animal husbandry departments to stop the slaughter of camels. Their appeals appeared to fall on deaf ears for more than
a decade, as India dropped from owning the third largest camel population in the world in 1990 to the seventh position in 2007. In 1997, Rajasthan
had nearly 7,00,000 camels, while in 2012, it had only 4,00,000.
According to LPPS, that number fell even more drastically to 2,00,000 in 2014.
At one time, a herd of 25 to 30 camels was enough for a family to sustain itself. Ones with hundreds of camels were considered rich. Then,
women were said to have appealed to their parents, Mere ko jin gao panaye jisme sandia hain, meaning Marry me into a village with many
she-camels. But in recent decades, as the value of camels fell so did the stock of herders. Young men who lived the traditional life cant get
brides.
In 2014, a draft billbanning the slaughter of camels, transport of the animals out of the state, and castration of maleswas tabled in the
Rajasthan state assembly. Far from welcoming the move, Hajiram, Baburam, Dailibhai, and Gemunaram are of the unanimous opinion the ban on
killing ought to apply only to female camels. Male camels should be exempt from the ban, they say.
The bottom has fallen out of the market for male camels. Farmers moved to tractors and traders preferred trucks to slow-plodding camels. Even
the camel-borne Border Security Force that patrolled the sandy border areas with Pakistan declared it would switch over to all-terrain vehicles.
The animals are more sought after outside the state than within, but the draft bill would prevent their export. If there was no one to buy male
calves in Rajasthan, how would the Raika survive? They couldnt keep them either.
In winter, male camels go into rut, a testosterone-charged condition called keenja. Gemunaram says, Adult male camels become obsessed with
females and will kill any other males in the herd, even young ones. During that time, we dont take the males out foraging. The only way to
manage them is to tie their legs and stall-feed them.
Its not just other male camels that need to watch out. Gemunaram says, One bit my fathers arm and its teeth penetrated right through. In Malwa,
a boy hit a camel in keenja with a stick. The next year, during rutting season, when the boy was asleep, the camel sat on him and squashed him to
death. I hit a male camel once to make it obey. The next year, when it went into keenja, it followed me everywhere. It was trying to kill me. I sold
him away. One of my three sons is deathly scared of camels since that incident.
Male camels may have a nasty reputation in winter, but they are gentle, uncomplaining souls the rest of the time.
Ilse Kohler-Rollefson, a German activist for pastoral rights, spends part of the year in Sadri. A tall blonde with blue eyes, she loved to wear
clothes with camel motifs. I ask her, Why are camels absent from temples?
She replies, Elephants signify good luck, lions for victory, and camels symbolise love.
In a famous Rajasthani love ballad, the hero Mahendras camel Chikal transported him 200 km. every night from Umerkot to meet his lover,
Momul, at Lodurva, near Jaisalmer. Before dawn broke, the camel valiantly took him back home only to bring him back that night.
As long as a male camel has a harem of females to himself, there is no problem. The slightest provocation in the form of male calves brings out
the worst in them. Perhaps this is why the Pushkar camel fair takes place in late October, just ahead of the winter troubles. Camel breeders can sell
their male calves and maintain peace in their herds.

Arriving at Pushkar

Five days before the official inauguration of the fair on October 30, camels begin congregating on the western edge of town. Some herds walk for
14 days to get there. After a couple of days, Ilse and Hanwant, regular attendees of the annual mela, pronounce there are far fewer camels than any
preceding year. Pointing to the vast sloping open field covered with parthenium weed, otherwise known as congress grass, they say it used to be
covered in camels. Now, bunches of the weeds untrampled flowers point heavenward, as herds of camels stand in tight knots. The draft bill
banning the slaughter of camels has put a damper on the proceedings. None of the Raika I had planned to meet arrive.
Calves recently separated from their mothers bray and bleat in loneliness. Some try to suckle from unrelated females, while others set off on three
legs, with the hobbled fourth tied up, to look for their mothers. Herders use a repertoire of whistles and commands to keep their camels from
mingling with others. When desperate youngsters pay no heed, the men have to round them up.
Large adult males pull bedecked tourist-filled carts along the one road skirting the grounds. Rutting season hasnt set in yet, and the males stride
sedately, chewing the cud, seemingly unaffected by the bustling photographers, gawkers, musicians, trinket sellers, and children dressed up in
traditional finery.
In the middle of the day, from the shade of a Gujjars tea stall, I notice a couple of men, dressed in shirts and trousers, haggling with a group of
Raika. When the herders shake their heads, refusing their offer, one of the men waves a sheaf of Rs. 500 notes, as if to tempt them. When the
turbaned men flatly refuse, turning away from the cash, the prospective buyer puts the money away inside his shirt and wanders over to the next
herd. This herder seems amenable to selling and cash exchanges hands.
Thats when I notice the buyers assistant carrying an old Coke bottle sloshing with black liquid. Dipping a twig into the container, the man paints
a large F in black on the necks and shoulders of adult female camels. These marked animals, some accompanied by calves, are destined for
slaughter.
Deal done, the buyers come to the stall for tea. They say they paid Rs. 36,000 for two adults that theyd rent out in Delhi for wedding processions.
But they marked more than two adults. The draft bill has made everyone nervous, and nobody wanted to admit to anything. As we sit drinking our
tea and watching the scene, cheerful tourists take photographs of the doomed animals.
During the day, the Raika visit their friends and drink camel milk tea out of steel bowls. They grumble that the price of camel milk was low. They
cant get more than Rs. 20 for a litre. Even a bottle of water costs that much, one says. They all want Saras, the state dairy cooperative, to set up
a separate unit for camel milk. If they get good prices, they wont sell their females, they say.
All the best milk yielding breeds are being sold for meat, Ilse despairs. One of the herders picks up a fistful of dirt and polishes a used bowl. He
pours tea into it and offers it to me. I balk for a moment before accepting it.
By the third day, many Raika complain that the price of camels has hit rock bottom. Females that sold for Rs. 20,000 last year now fetch between
Rs. 5,000 and Rs. 7,000. Buyers for the meat market bought 15 to 20 camels in one lot. Some Raika divested from camel breeding altogether.
Every afternoon, I walk around the grounds, hoping to catch sight of colourful ribbons tied to camel tails, the mark of a traditional purchase by
breeders who want females to augment their herds or farmers who needed draft animals. During the initial few days, I see less than five such
animals.
When it is clear no more camels are arriving at the fair, I drop in at the office of the fair administrator at the animal husbandry department. Only
4,356 camels have arrived at a fair that had seen 50,000 in recent years. Hanwant challenges this figure and thinks there were no more than 2,500
camels.
Undisputed is the fact that a large majority of them are unsold. One buyer says he hadnt bought any camels because authorities said he couldnt
take more than two camels out of the state. He says a buyer had been arrested at the border for taking 15 camels.
Concern simmers and bubbles among the Raika. Many say this is the end of camel rearing.
***
On the penultimate day of the fair, Baburam and Hajiram arrive. As a venerated elder, Hajiram is immediately sucked into discussions with other
Raika. Raghunathdas, the priest of the Shree Akhil Bharatiya Ram Raika Mandir Dharmarth Trust, calls a meeting to discuss the repercussions of
the draft bill.
Surrounded by camels and sitting on burlap sacks, the crowd of Raika men agrees there should not be any restriction on the slaughter of male
camels. They draft a petition to Chief Minister Vasundhara Raje that includes a demand for setting up a camel milk market, and lifting the ban on
grazing in forests. Some sign their names in a shaky hand, and most impress their ink-stained thumbs on the petition. By the time the meeting
draws to a close, the sun has set and streetlights provide large pools of light.

The next morning, I wander around the grounds with Baburam. The first group of Raika we meet hails him and we join the men for a sip of tea.
My stomach hasnt revolted after drinking tea from a dirt-cleaned bowl so I accept the beverage. One of the Raika is talking to a few men as they
circle a group of hobbled calves. The main man is dressed in a dazzling white kurta and pyjamas. Under the cover of good-natured banter, a deal
is struck.
The man in white peels a bunch of notes out of a fistful of Rs 500 notes and hands it to the Raika.
One of his assistants ties an orange ribbon to the calfs tail, and the sight cheers me up.
I ask Baburam, What do you look for when you buy a camel?
It should have upright ears, like a horse. Its nose should be held high, and it should neither be too dark nor too light in colour. There should be a
gap in its armpit so its legs dont rub against its chest.
Baburam has other news. A couple of days before, Otaram Dewasi, a Raika, was inducted into the state cabinet as a minister of state for care of
cows and temples. Baburam has just been hired as a cook at the ministers home. He has to leave for Jaipur within a couple of hours.
I ask Baburam, Would you push for more support from the government for the Raika?
Of course. But the minister knows the situation already.
As we pick our way through the herds of camels, I notice many adults and calves with coloured ribbons tied around their tails. But animals
destined for slaughter outnumber them. Although their owners must be disappointed, most of the others are probably relieved to return home
unsold to rejoin their herd-mates in a familiar scramble for forage.
Baburam points out the different breeds of camels and how to tell them apart. The Sirohi is black with whitish eyelids, the Sanchori is the most
beautiful with its nose held high, and the Malvi has a drooping lower lip. Until he shows me, these characteristics were so subtle, I couldnt have
picked them out myself.
That afternoon, before Baburam leaves, I ask him, What do you think the future holds for the Raika and camels?
Without a pause, he replies, If nothing changes, within a few years, even Raika children will only see camels in picture books.

India: Changing the nilgai's name as a management

strategy
The nilgai is a common crop pest in India. Religious connotation of the antelopes name stymies management of
the species. So efforts are being made to change its name.

A nilgai electrocuted by a live wire protecting a crop field. Photograph: Rom Whitaker

In parts of India, farmers struggle to save their crops from nilgais. These are Asias largest antelopes;
adult bucks stand 1.5m (5ft) at the shoulder and weigh about 300kg (45st). In English, they are often
called blue bulls because of the bucks bluish hue.
One farmer told ANI News, These nilgais are like militants, no one can tell when they will attack.
They come in herds of 40 to 50, and destroy entire fields. How long can we live like this? If this goes
on, we will be forced to abandon agriculture and become hermits.
Farmers use a range of tricks to keep the animals away from their crops such as fladry, scare crows,
fire, and fencing their fields with tall thorny trees. Despite these efforts, wherever they are abundant,
nilgais can damage as much as 60 to 70% of the crop.
In March 2014, opium farmers of Mandsaur, Madhya Pradesh, demanded the return of two
leopards that had been removed from the area. They claimed nilgais had proliferated in the absence of
predators.
Some farmers prefer illegally hooking live wires to their fences. Just one such fence protecting a oneacre field in Uttar Pradesh killed three nilgais, two sambhar deer, and one jackal.

A nilgai killed by electrocution, probably a common way of dispatching crop pests.Photograph: Rom
Whitaker
Yielding to pressure from farmers, some states such as Punjab, Haryana, Bihar, and Madhya Pradesh
allow nilgais feasting on crops to be killed. Since the species is protected by law, nobody can eat the
meat, and carcasses have to be given to the states forest department for cremation.
Animal welfare activists allege the crop protection measure can be exploited by rich sport hunters.
Others say the law can be misused to poach other wildlife species. But few nilgais are killed. Is it
because the process of obtaining a license is tedious?

O.P. Meena, Additional Chief Secretary, Forest and Wildlife, Rajasthan, told The Indian Express, in
his state, Not a single nilgai was ever culled under the existing order because people want the forest
department to do the dirty job. Most of the people are vegetarians and there is a religious angle.
The gai in the animals name means cow, and the association provides sanctity to the nilgai. Over the
years, theres an effort to re-name the species.
People of Rajasthan, Gujarat, and Haryana call the animal rojh or roz. By changing the name
to vanroz, meaning forest antelope, officials hope they can get around the religious conundrum posed
by the name.

Tiger shot dead after killing another woman

Forest officials had ignored warning that relocating animal who had lost fear of humans was a dangerous and
misguided conservation strategy

The radio collar fixed around the tigers neck malfunctioned and officials couldnt monitor the animal.
Photograph: Manan Vatsyayana/AFP/Getty Images
Janaki Lenin
Monday 29 December 2014 11.16 GMT
A tiger released in a wildlife sanctuary in south India has been shot dead on Sunday after it killed a
woman.
The animal was released in Bhimgad wildlife sanctuary, Karnataka, on 19 November. The young tiger,
suspected to have killed a woman in Pandaravalli village 186 miles away, was caught and released in
the sanctuary. A large contingent of forest officials camped at Bhimgad to ensure it didnt trouble
villagers and also protect the tiger from people. Officials said the tiger did not pose a threat to human
life. But tiger biologist Ullas Karanth had warned it was not safe to release the animal as it seemed to
have lost fear of humans.

Despite the number of people keeping a watch on the tigers activity and the GPS transmitter around
its neck, it remained elusive. The transmitter stopped functioning soon after the animals release, and
tracking the animal using the backup VHF radio transmitter in hilly dense forests was difficult.
Nervous villagers reported seeing the tiger in various places. One villager raised an alarm when a tiger
tried to take his cow at Tirthakunde village, but fellow villagers thought it was a leopard.
On Monday 22 December, a student of Visvesvaraya Technology University (VTU) on the outskirts of
Belgaum, out for a morning jog, spotted a tiger on the grounds. The deputy conservator of forests was
confident the animal wasnt a tiger but a leopard. He thought the tiger he had spent the past month
tracking was elsewhere, perhaps in Goa, across the state border. While the forest officials tried to
confirm where the animal was hiding, it leaped over the fence and disappeared.
On the evening of Christmas Eve, a 23-year-old pregnant woman, who had gone to a stream to fetch
water, disappeared. Her family found blood stains and broken bangles strewn around and launched a
search. Late that night, villagers found the tiger guarding her body. They chased the cat away and
retrieved the corpse. Was it the same tiger? Was the tiger at VTU, nine miles away, another animal?
Forest officials later confirmed the tiger that killed the woman and the one at VTU were indeed the
same animal they had released in mid-October. Orders to kill the tiger were issued.
About 300 armed personnel from the forest department, police, and paramilitary went looking for the
animal. Trap cages were deployed. With radio collar technology failing, four Soliga tribals from
southern Karnataka tracked the tiger the age-old way: by reading paw prints, scratches, and other
signs. Reports of tiger sightings by alert villagers sent the hunting teams scrambling but the tiger
remained at large.
Finally, four days after the woman was killed, one of the teams shot the tiger dead.
Meanwhile, the issue became politicised. The state home ministers son, Rana George, a member of
the state wildlife board, was part of the local committee that recommended the tigers relocation.
Vinay Luthra, the states chief wildlife warden, heeded the committees recommendation rather than
the warning issued by a tiger expert. The leader of the opposition demanded the crime investigation
department investigate if the forest officials had been negligent.
What did the forest department achieve by releasing this animal? The exercise has traumatised
villagers for more than a month and tragically cost the life of a young woman. Neither has it done
wonders for tiger conservation. Villagers near Shivamogga town, about 186 miles away from
Bhimgad, are demanding the removal of a tiger that killed a cow. The misguided effort to give another
chance to one tiger has ensured people and other tigers have lost.

The wild things of Corbett

Janaki Lenin
Let the love for creatures great and small guide you through the forests of Corbett National Park

Akash Das

A herd of elephants on their way to a watering hole at dusk

A tiger takes an early morning stroll through the jungle in Corbett

A crested kingfisher resting after a fishy meal

I had never visited Corbett Tiger Reserve. The main tourist complex of the Forest Department was smack in the core area,
supposedly a zone of no human disturbance. Scores of private resorts lined the edges of the park, and many hosted loud parties.
None of this enticed me to visit.
When our friends, Ritish Suri and his wife, Minakshi, residents of the area, invited Rom and I to visit, I demurred. Ritish insisted
there were parts of Corbett, like Halduparao, that few tourists visited. Then he dangled a carrot: herds of elephants congregated in
the nearby river during May, at a time when the country was in a heat daze. My spouse, Rom, had last visited 40 years ago when he
did the first crocodile survey in the area, just when the water had risen to fill the newly constructed Kalagarh dam.
I was intrigued, and Rom was curious to see how the park had changed since.
On an early, cool, mid-May morning, the four of us piled into Ritishs Gypsy already loaded down with supplies for our three-day
visit to Sonanadi Wildlife Sanctuary, the northern part of the tiger reserve.
Curry leaf plants grew profusely below tall sal trees, completely covering the forest floor. Picturesque termite hills rose like jagged
little mountains; some taller than me. Bright red new leaves adorning the crowns of lac trees were as pretty as flowers. Initially, we
saw nothingno hide of mammal nor feather of bird. As the morning grew warmer and we shed our long-sleeve shirts, bird activity
revved up.

I saw many northern species for the first time: greater yellownape, grey-capped pygmy woodpecker, chestnut-bellied nuthatch, and
great and lineated barbets. The one that took my breath away was the long-tailed broadbill with its parrot green body, yellow face,
black helmet, and blue tail. It looked more stuffed toy than a flying bird. It lurked in the foliage offering only colourful glimpses.
Alarmed by our approach, Tarai grey langurs hurled themselves effortlessly from tree to tree. Unlike in south India, this northern
forest was strangely silent of their exuberant whooping calls.
Numerous male Asian paradise-flycatchers with their long, white, ribbon-like tails flamboyantly sailed across the path. If we
saw one in south India, we made a big deal of it. We stopped to get photographs every time we saw them, but no matter how hard I
tried, I didnt get a single one in focus.
I luxuriated in the thought that we had the forest to ourselves. We saw no one until late afternoon when we reached Halduparao rest
house. The 122-year-old bungalow was set in a large clearing overlooking the Palain . Flocks of yellow-footed green pigeons
gobbled figs from the large banyan tree in the midst of the lush green lawn. A lone Indian roller sat tamely within reach on the
gatepost as we walked back and forth from the kitchen to the rest house. A pair of young jackals lurked around behind the building.
Later, we discovered their den below the slope, under a large tree.
We drove downstream looking for elephants. A tiger monitoring team had set up camera traps along the path, and we triggered them
all. I imagined a frustrated researcher sifting through numerous images of our comings and goings, but there was little we could do
to avoid them.
At the river bed, instead of elephants, we found a Van Gujjar tribesman rounding up a large herd of water buffaloes before heading
back to his dera for the night.
At dawn, great Indian hornbills called loudly to each other, honk...honk. Red jungle roosters crowed, sounding like domestic
chickens in a village yard. A sambhar bellowed from the other bank of Palain, and we hurried over. We followed the saucer-sized
footprints of a tiger, all our senses alert. The sandy stretch came to an end, and the hard ground revealed nothing. The cat could be
anywhere. Ritish turned off the vehicle, and we strained to hear warning calls from deer or birds. But the predator had slunk off,
undetected.
Halfway down a hill slope, we spotted a pair of great Indian hornbills gorging on figs. Soon, an oriental pied hornbill joined them. I
had rarely had the opportunity of seeing these enormous birds at eye level.
But where were the elephants? I knew Ritish hadnt been exaggerating. In the bungalows visitors book, others had recorded seeing
herds of these giants in the same month in previous years.
Later that day, we spotted a tusker in the riverbed of Mandal. He ambled slowly, occasionally raising his trunk and sniffing the air.
After watching him for a while, we continued on our way to the 105-year-old Lohachaur rest house.
Although these colonial-era rest houses were well-appointed, the rooms were stuffy. There were no fans to stir the air. I hauled my
mattress out on the verandah, determined to sleep outside. An electric fence cordoned the grounds, and I figured I was safe. With a
pleasant cool breeze blowing, I fell asleep watching shadows in the moonlit forest and listening to the comforting calls of scops
owls. I woke up several times during the night, expecting to see an elephant looming over me.
A day later, we found large herds of elephants. At the Ramganga reservoir in Dhikala, Corbett National Park, herds of elephants
and a fraternity of spotted deer bucks socialised under the hot afternoon sun oblivious to numerous jeeps jostling for the best view.
Seven hog deer relaxed on the periphery of this congregation.
We left the wildlife spectacle and headed for the shade of the forest. Almost immediately we saw a large tiger up close. His
enormous head emerged from a field of marijuana on one side of a narrow path. He was so intent on another jeep coming from the
opposite direction that he didnt notice our presence. He gave a start when he saw us and disappeared into another marijuana thicket
on the other side.

At Gairal rest house, Rom walked around, reliving memories of May 1974. He remembered catching a 10-kg-mahseer on a hand
line in the river below. The strong fish zipped away as it fought the line, slicing Roms hands. When he realised he couldnt pull it
out, he jumped in the shallow river and wrestled it ashore.
From our vantage at High Banks, we counted 25 large gharials in the river. Forty years ago, there had been only five. Then, Rom
and other crocodile conservationists had predicted that gharials couldnt live in reservoirs and dammed rivers, but the reptiles
proved them wrong. There were numerous hatchlings suspended in the water. The reptiles appeared to be much more adaptable than
hog deer. From being a common sight, the mammals are now struggling to survive.
While Rom was regaling Ritish and Minakshi with his stories, I wondered what was wrong with these elephants. There was a 300sq-km-chunk of seemingly empty forest along the northern banks of the River Ramganga. Why did they insist on hanging out where
noisy people congregated in exhaust-spewing vehicles? Were these large animals so used to tourists that they didnt try to avoid
them? Or did these areas offer something else that more than compensated for the inconvenience of tourists? Ill never know.
Id write off Dhikala and the well-trodden Corbett tourist circuit as been there, done that. The unpleasantness of having other
vehicles cut us off, visitors behaving recklessly with elephants, and tourists yelling at full volume are common experiences. Im
more enamoured of the solitude, laidback historic rest houses, and abundant bird life of Sonanadi. Perhaps next May Ill see
elephants in the River Palain.
The information
Getting there
The Uttarakhand Sampark Kranti Express (Rs 370 for AC chair car) leaves Old Delhi Railway Station at 4pm and arrives in
Ramnagar at 8.40pm. The Ramnagar-Delhi Link Express departs at 9.50am and reaches Delhi at 3.20pm. Alternatively, you could
drive the 270-km distance to Ramnagar from Delhi.
Where to stay
There are resorts, B&Bs, and hotels in and around Ramnagar to suit every budget: Buckscent Corbett Retreat (Pawalgarh, near
Kaladhungi; Rs 3,000; buckscent.in) Tiger Camp (Rs 4,950; tiger-camp. com; choice of various meal plans available); Camp
River Wild (Rs 4,900; camp-riverwild.com); The Corbett Hideaway (Rs 12,900, incl. breakfast; corbetthideaway.com).
Booking forest rest houses
The forest rest houses have been recently refurbished and are comfortable with clean bed linen, all thanks to former Field Director
Rajiv Bhartari. Id recommend carrying towels. The kitchens have LPG gas cylinders and stoves, and the caretakers do a fine job of
cooking up a sumptuous meal. You need to carry your groceries.You can make bookings online at corbettnationalpark.in,
although Lohachaur wasnt online at the time of writing. To book this historic bungalow, write to the Field Director, Corbett
National Park (05947-253977, dirctr@yahoo. in) or the District Forest Office of Landsdowne Division (01382- 228467). Hire
jeeps and guides from Ramnagar.Alternatively, if you want a luxurious everything-taken-care-of experience, let Ritish Suri
of Avisfera Adventures (+91- 8650350756,ritishsuri@gmail.com) take care of everything.The document corbettnationalpark.
in/corbett-tiger-reserve-tariff.pdf gives all the details such as entry fees, vehicle fees, and rest house tariff.

Interview: Krzysztof Wielicki, the ice warrior

Janaki Lenin
The high-altitude climber is the fifth mountaineer to summit all 14 eight-thousanders. He was the first to climb Mt Everest,
Khangchendzonga and Lhotse in winter. Next in his line of sight is K2

Krzysztof Wielicki

Krzysztof Wielicki on one of his solo winter Himalayan climbs

The mountaineer advises that one should not become obsessed with setting records
OT: Why do you choose to climb in winter?
Krzysztof Wielicki: I followed the idea of Mr (Andrzej) Zawada (a pioneer of Polish Himalayan ascents). He was the first to climb
in winter. You know why? Poland had little freedom, and we couldnt climb any mountain outside the country. In the 1970s, we
discovered that all the 8000-metre peaks have already been climbed. So what do we do? If we wanted to create history in climbing,
we had to try something new, like climbing the Himalaya in winter. Mountaineers had already climbed the Alps in winter. Its
always hard to climb in winter. So Zawada decided to climb high mountains in winter. It wasnt easy in the beginning. The local
administrations in Nepal and Pakistan didnt agree. After four or five years of diplomatic wrangling, they finally allowed us in 1979.
So Zawada immediately chose the highest, the Everest. At that time I had no experience climbing the Himalaya in winter. Of course,
I had experience in Europe. Zawada had a bit of experience because he climbed Noshaq (second highest independent peak of the
Hindu Kush, Afghanistan) in winter. That was the beginning of winter climbing. Since then, the Koreans and Japanese have
followed us. But the Poles were the first.
OT: What gave you the advantage in climbing in winter?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Nobody loves it. We are not as experienced as alpine countries like France, but we were hungry for success, to
write history.
OT: How big was the Polish climbing community?
Krzysztof Wielicki: It isnt big, there are only a few thousand climbers. If you go to your boss and say you want to go away for
three months to climb a mountain, hed say What? Its not easy, so I quit my job as an electronic engineer. I worked in a big

factory that built computers and automatic systems. I had to leave because I was obsessed with mountains. I had to decide: climbing
or job. It wasnt only me. Even my friends quit their jobs. We did high-altitude work and made good money.
OT: How did you do that?
Krzysztof Wielicki: We painted chimneys and tall buildings. It was a risky job. Normally, they would have to build scaffolding and
the job would take as long as three months. We climbed up with ropes and painted as we rappelled down, and completed the job in
one week. So it was easy to do and it was good money. It was a contract job so whether we took a week or three months, we got the
same amount of money.
OT: What is Polands tradition in mountaineering? What were you climbing before the 1970s?
Krzysztof Wielicki: We climbed our mountains, the Tatras. Up to 1975, our Polish Alpine Club wasnt in Ministry of Sports, so we
had to follow standard rules. For example, like everyone else, we had to wait two or three months for a passport which we might or
might not get. It was very difficult to get out of Poland, so my older colleagues climbed Polish and Russian mountains. It was easy
to go to Russia. We had a different passport to travel to communist countries. But the passport to travel outside the Communist Bloc
was difficult to get. Then for some reason, the government moved mountaineering to the Ministry of sports. Once we got a sports
passport, we could travel where we liked.
There was a bit of mountaineering before World War II. Polish mountaineers climbed in the Andes, and they climbed Nanda Devi
East in 1939. They didnt return to Poland because the war broke out, so they went to England. But between 1945 and 1975, we
were under the influence of the Russians, so we climbed the Caucasus. But we couldnt climb the biggest mountains.
OT: In all these years of climbing, which is the ascent you are most proud of?
Krzysztof Wielicki: The last one, Nanga Parbat. I was completely alone. No one was with me. Some mountains you can climb
alone, but this was too risky. I crossed the red risk line. Ive climbed solo before but there were people at base camp. In 1996, I went
alone, completely alone. Nobody was on the mountain. I didnt know the mountain; I didnt even know the route to the summit; I
had to carry everything. But the weather was so fantastic and that pushed me to try. It was probably one of the shortest expeditions
in the world it lasted just eight days.
OT: When youre in the mountains, are you thinking about your family or the summit?
Krzysztof Wielicki: In my generation, it was easy. When I got the sports passport, my wife said, I cant go, but you have the
opportunity to go, so go. But now, everybody has a passport. So when you say you want to go climbing for three months, your wife
will say, Bravo, bravo. When you come back, dont come here. Younger climbers ask, How was it possible for you to go away
for three months at a time, come home for a week and go off for another three months? Women have equal opportunities in Europe
now and its much more difficult for men to go away. Its my privilege that when Im climbing, I can be completely separated from
family and home. Im only concentrating on the climb. You cannot climb if you think, My God! My wife, my kids. You have to
forget them. I focused only on the problem of climbing and surviving.
OT: Was your family into mountain climbing?
Krzysztof Wielicki: No, I have no tradition. I was born in the plains of Poland. Now my son is climbing a little bit. When I was
studying in university, mountaineering clubs were only in the cities. So I came in contact with a club when I was 20, thats quite
late. But I think its better for an alpinist to start late. You need to have maturity for mountaineering. Any kid can climb a rock.
OT: Where did you learn climbing? Who taught you?
Krzysztof Wielicki: I did rock-climbing every week. I didnt study, I was always climbing. I was so passionate, it was like a virus.
The other thing is genetics. Some people are privileged, some not. I was privileged.
OT: In what sense?
Krzysztof Wielicki: VO2 max. The volume of oxygen you can take from air in millilitre per kg of body-weight in a minute. Some
people have 50, some have 80. If you have 80, then if you are in low oxygen areas such as high altitudes, you feel better. This is
most important.
In high mountains like the Himalaya, its better if the body doesnt need to be fed very much. You should be able to climb for two,
three days without eating or drinking. I wont say the others cannot climb. They can, but its much more difficult for them, even if
they have big muscles.
OT: What are the challenges of climbing mountains now compared to the 1980s?
Krzysztof Wielicki: There are fewer challenges now. All thats left is improving the style. Before the Second World War,
expeditions were huge. Since then, the expeditions have become smaller and smaller. Now you can do four-five member climbs,
solo climbing, winter climbing. Alpine-style climbing (carrying ones own food, shelter, equipment, and being self-reliant) is the
challenge. Polish climbers arent the only ones winter climbing therere Italians, Russians, Kazakhs competing with us. So the
biggest challenge is K2 in winter.

OT: Is that the last remaining challenge for you?

Krzysztof Wielicki: Not just for me but [for] other climbers, too.
OT: So if you succeed in climbing K2 in winter, then what? What would you do next?
Krzysztof Wielicki: There are other mountains. Im still climbing mountains, not just in the Himalaya. Every year, I climb the
lower peaks, the 6,000-metre virgin peaks in Pakistan. Thats interesting. You go to the glacier where theres nobody. You dont
know how to get there, how long it will take, so you feel like an explorer. Even the local people dont know a thing about the
mountain. Its exciting when you know nobody has been there.
OT: What are the costs of climbing in winter, besides frost bite?
Krzysztof Wielicki: You can lose your life. Climbing Nanga Parbat and K2 is very risky in winter, especially for the summit teams.
You have an opportunity to write world history, and you can err in your judgement if you become obsessed with setting records.
There isnt a lot left to achieve in mountaineering, and the competition is high. So the urge to push ahead is very strong.
OT: But isnt that what drives to climb mountains under such hardship? To create history?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Yes. Passion is a problem. Its hard to explain why we risk our lives. But its my life, I want to do this. Nobody
pushed me to do this. Its my choice.
OT: What is the future of mountaineering? Say in 20 years?
Krzysztof Wielicki: There is no problem in the future. When I set out to climb a mountain, I know it has been climbed before; I
know who climbed it, and when. But for me, it is still new; its a virgin peak. This view doesnt limit your horizon. When someone
climbs a mountain, it doesnt fall down. Its still there.
OT: How do you train when you are not climbing?
Krzysztof Wielicki: In the past, I was only climbing. When we didnt climb, we were painting tall buildings. So it was a kind of
training. I dont like training in the gym; I go skiing and bicycling. Climbing itself is the training. At my age (63), its very
dangerous to train.
OT: Was the Communist Polish government more supportive of mountaineering?
Krzysztof Wielicki: They supported only the national expeditions. But the Polish Alpine Club supported other clubs to about 10-15
per cent of their budgets. The rest we worked and earned.
OT: Its incredible the degree to which you collaborate in a highly competitive field.
Krzysztof Wielicki: Its the problem of currency. Our currency was weak, but we had to pay in Nepal, India, and Pakistan in
American dollars. So at that time, we did a lot of joint expeditions with the French, Italians, Germans, and Americans. They came
with dollars and we brought equipment and food. So that worked very well. We also got to know each other very well. It teaches
you tolerance. People of different skin colours, customs, and religions working together in a team. You learn that there is no one
truth. There are second and third truths. Its very important for people to meet. Once, there were three of us me, a Polish friend
and an American trying to climb the west face of K2. At base camp, my friend and I would help the cook make a meal and we
would eat it. But the American guy didnt come to breakfast. On the fourth day, we asked him nervously, Carlos, why arent you
eating breakfast with us? He replied, When you eat breakfast, Im not hungry. My friend said, But Carlos, if you go to the
kitchen at 10 or 11, the cook has to make breakfast again. Carlos replied, Yes, its his job. We have a different custom in Poland;
we all sit together for every meal, we wish each other Bon Appetit. Its not that one custom is right and the other is wrong. So you
start to be more tolerant.
When I was younger, if you said, This [pointing to a pink wall] is red", Id fight with you. Now Ill say, Ok. If it doesnt hurt
anybody, then why not? So these international collaborations build empathy. It helps to see that some people are different. Its
important.
OT: So if I were to ask you how has mountaineering changed you as a person is that the answer youd give me?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Not just mountaineering. You should do what you love and you should taste some success. It could be any
activity. When you are faced with a challenging problem, you think, Ive climbed Everest. This is nothing. It makes you feel sure
of yourself, you can do everything, you can overcome any problem any time. Its outdoor therapy.
OT: You go through so much hardship in the mountains. Its so cold.
Krzysztof Wielicki: Yes, this is what we like. Its the philosophy of the art of suffering. Climbing is the art of suffering.
Sometimes, suffering gives you pleasure. It gives you physical pain, but it also gives you pleasure. Its a little bit strange, but if you
try, you can understand.
OT: How long did it take you to understand that?
Krzysztof Wielicki: All my life.

OT: Its hard to practise, isnt it?

Krzysztof Wielicki: From the beginning, I hated to lie in the sun on the beach. You have to be a warrior. You have to fight for
something, only that can give you joy.
OT: When you climb a mountain, how do you see it? Is it a living being or is it a challenge to overcome?
Krzysztof Wielicki: In the beginning, its exciting to view the mountain. Its beautiful. After that, its only a challenge. If you ask
me, Did you see that wonderful view? Id reply, No, I was thinking. What are you thinking about? To come down as fast as
possible. You can see the nice view in a postcard.
OT: So how do you see the mountain after you climb it?
Krzysztof Wielicki: I think, Its my mountain.
OT: Does it feel like an old friend or an old adversary?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Yeah, a little bit. For us, a mountain is like a human being, not a material item. So we have a special
relationship with the mountain. We are not fighting with the mountain; we are fighting with ourselves. The mountain only provides
us the opportunity to do it. So even after we climb it, we respect the mountain. We dont say we conquered the mountain. We say,
Thank you God for giving me the opportunity to be there.
OT: What was you most difficult climb?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Dhaulagiri east face (in 1990, Krzysztof established a new route and reached the summit after 16 hours of
climbing) was the most difficult one for me. I was solo and it was very hard climbing. Physically, it was the most difficult.
OT: Is climbing a spiritual goal as well?
Krzysztof Wielicki: For me, no; for some others, yes. Sometimes, when Im on the mountain and I can see the sky, I feel like Im
only a very small piece of the cosmos.
OT: How would you like to be remembered?
Krzysztof Wielicki: I was lucky. I lost a lot of friends, they were very good climbers. Id like them to say, He climbed 50 years
and died a natural death. Also Id like to be called a winter warrior, an ice warrior.
OT: You must have sustained a lot of injuries in your life.
Krzysztof Wielicki: A little, yeah.
OT: A little?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Spine fracture twice, and frost bite twice. The frost bite was cosmetic; it wasnt a problem. But the spine
injuries were more serious.
OT: So when you climb solo, isnt it a worry that if you get injured, youd be in a tough spot?
Krzysztof Wielicki: When you climb solo, if you get injured, you cannot survive. In my experience, accidents happen in easy
places, when you lose concentration. You are thinking about food in base camp and forget to take a rope.
OT: Are injuries a result of lack of concentration? Not things like weather?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Lack of concentration is the worst. You forget the rules you have to follow in the mountain. When you are
experienced, it is easy to make a mistake. When you do something 40 times, you forget to do something correctly the 41st time. As I
said before, you need luck. Its not because of the mountain that (Jerzy) Kukuczka (the second man to summit all 14 eightthousanders, considered to be one of the finest mountaineers in history) fell to his death; its not the mountain that kills people. Its
people who make mistakes. Ive made a lot of mistakes but I also had a lot of luck.
OT: How did Kukuczka fall?
Krzysztof Wielicki: It was a mistake. If you have a 6mm rope, and you fall, the rope will break. But in the terrain he was in, usually
you dont fall. I dont know, maybe he missed a step. So why didnt he carry a 10mm rope which would have been safer? Because
its heavy. At 8,000 metres, nobody wants to carry thick ropes. Everyone carries 6mm ropes just for psychological support, not for
belaying. I do the same thing.
OT: When you climb as a team and you lose a member, do you wonder if you had done things differently, hed still be alive?
Krzysztof Wielicki: People climbed in the past and people will climb in the future. Its difficult to stop somebody from climbing
just because of a tragedy. I know only two people a girl and a boy in Poland who stopped climbing after the trauma of their
friends dying. For us, its the passion. We are not thinking about lives lost. In my career, Ive led 20 expeditions and I faced this
situation two or three times. Usually, we hold a secret ballot to take decisions like should we break the expedition. We follow what
the majority decide. Usually, the decision is to continue climbing.
OT: Have there been disappointments?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Once I climbed K2 and decided to turn back within 60 metres of the summit. I didnt know I was so close. It
was late afternoon, and I thought the summit was far away. If we reached the summit, it would be dark when we come down. So I

said loudly to the others, Hey guys, the summit is far, maybe we should go down. They said, Okay. After we reached the base
camp, I flew home. Two members of the team climbed again, and they sent me a postcard saying we had stopped 60 metres from the
summit. If I had known, of course we would not have turned back. It was the first time I was climbing that route, so I didnt know.
My American friend was really upset. I had to say, Dear Carlos, take it easy. Take it easy. The mountain has not fallen down. Well
climb K2 together in two years.
OT: When do you plan to climb K2 again?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Maybe next winter. But we have a problem building a team. There arent enough people. Maybe it will be an
international team. There is the problem of money, too, because climbing in winter is very expensive.
OT: So you think it will be 2015?
Krzysztof Wielicki: Yes. But theres another problem the Russians. They are competing with us and they have a strong team. We
dont want to compete at the same time. That would be stupid.

Dead Reckoning
JANAKI LENIN 0

Janaki Lenin marvels at the navigational skills and instinct for survival of the Karen

Photographs: Manish Chandi

e had lost sight of land when the full import of our enterprise hit me. Five of us from the Indian mainland and six

Karen from North Andaman were in twodungis (dugout canoes) headed for the re- mote uninhabited island of South Sentinel. We
were to make a film about the wildlife of the island.
None of us carried a compass, charts or sextant to navigate the seas because we didnt know how to use them. Handy GPS devices
were not yet in vogue in 1998, and we couldnt afford flares, radios or satellite phones. There was no way to communicate with

anyone should we run into trouble. Instead, we were dependent on two venerable Karen gentle- men, Uncle Paung and Uncle
Pambwein, to get us there. Suddenly, our intrepid little expedition seemed foolhardy.
Before we ventured to South Sentinel, I had made many trips to other parts of the Andamans with Uncle Paung. But we had always
been within sight of land, and I had no cause to wonder how he navigated. Now we were on the high seas headed for an island only
1.61 square kilometres in area, about 80 kilometres away. What if we missed it?
The kernel of panic had been sown the previous evening, when we discovered 66-year- old Uncle Paung believed the earth was flat.
Neel Chattopadhyaya, my husband Romulus Whitakers brother, explained how we know the earth is round. We listened in silence
to uncles softly spoken words of incredulity. Neel tried once again. I was exhausted from the long day of loading supplies and gear
on the dungis for the journey. I hit the sack with no inkling of the quandary Id find myself in the next day. At that time, Uncle
Paungs belief in a flat world had seemed merely amusing. The more I remembered this conversation on the dungi, the more
ominous it became. I questioned the sanity of our enter- prise. I glanced at Uncle Paung, perched at the back, one hand on the
rudder, a lit beedi in his mouth and a frayed straw hat wedged on his head. Shwethe, a young Karen, bailed out water pooling at the
bottom of the boat. Other passengers were asleep. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all.
The sea was calm and the two 40-foot dungis raced neck and neck. I moved to the prow of the boat to quell my panic, enjoy the
view and get away from the dungis exhaust. Suddenly, a pod of dolphins raced alongside and below my dangling bare feet. The
delightful creatures burst out of the water and arched through the air, before diving into the sea. Their supple, smooth grey skin
gleamed under the sparkling surface as their powerful tails pumped up and down to give them momentum. Even at full throttle,
our dungis couldnt keep up with them. Just as abruptly as they appeared, they vanished. I forgot my apprehensions and scanned the
waters for more dolphins.
Shoals of fish leapt out of the water to escape what they thought were giant predators ourdungis. No other boat or ship marked the
horizon. The monotony of the azure sky and the deep blue waters was soporific, and I made my way to the gunwale of the boat and
dozed off.
When I woke up, there was still no sign of land nor was there any way of getting my bearings. The other dungi wasnt next to us. I
was taken aback when I realised our wake was a wide circle. Uncle Paung was fast asleep, with a relaxed hand on the rudder.
Probably Uncle Pambwein was also asleep, judging from the way that dungi was drifting some distance from us. I called out,
Uncle Paung? He and Shwethe woke up with a start. Looking around, uncle corrected course while Shwethe yelled to Uncle
Pambwein.
How does one get ones bearings when the sun is perpendicular to the boat and no pole star or land is in sight? How did Uncle
Paung know where southwest was and which degree southwest he had to head? If our trajectory was due south, we could even wash
up on Madagascars shores, if we survived that long. If lucky, we would land on Indias east coast or Sri Lanka. If we arrived on the
little speck of an island called South Sentinel, it would be a miracle.
A trailing fishing line behind our canoe caught a large barracuda. Shwethe pranced on deck as the fish with a mouthful of sharp
teeth flopped violently. He chopped its head off and shoved it out of the way. Hed make it into a curry for dinner, he said. If we can
find the island, I thought despondently.
Nine hours after we had set out and when the sun was on its westerly descent, we came within sight of South Sentinel. Unable to
stop myself, I chattered with excitement and relief.
We set up camp on the soft, fluffy sands. Throughout the day we explored and filmed in the forested interior, and at night, we went
to sleep to the waves rhythmic beat on the beach. The lives of many of the islands animals were connected to the sea. Giant robber
crabs made their way to the waves to lay eggs. From the air, sea eagles patrolled land and water for prey. At low tide, a large water
monitor lizard furtively hunted marooned sea life in tidal pools.

Within a couple of days, we ran out of vegetables. Shwethe and another Karen set off in a dungito fish. Had they not been successful, we would have had little to eat besides rice and dal for ten days. They would have gladly hunted any of the islands fauna had
Rom not forbidden them. Unlike Rom, the soft-hearted conservationist, they were survivors, living off the land if they had to. At
sunset, Shwethe and I explored tidal pools, delighting in starfish, cone snails and anemones.
Every night, green turtles heavy with eggs crawled out of the sea to nest on the sandy beach. Two men sleeping on a large tarpaulin
sheet spread on the sand thought the other was tugging more of the plastic than was his to enjoy. Each pulled it towards himself to
avoid being rolled onto the damp sand. Finally, both sat up awake, annoyed with each other, only to discover a sea turtle between
them. She didnt realise she was digging through plastic.
Sharp nails on her flippers snagged the tarpaulin and gathered up the sheet around her. The men untangled her and, leaving the turtle
to lay her eggs in the middle of camp, moved their plastic sheet some distance away. On a single night, we witnessed as many as six
turtles nesting on that 500-metre beach.
When our drinking water ran low, Uncle Paung and Shwethe set out for Little Andamans Bumila Creek, about 30 kilometres away.
They were to return in a day, but there was no sign of them 24 hours later. We went through the water rapidly until only half a
bucket remained for the nine of us. If the faint-hearted among us felt the pinch when we ran out of vegetables, we panicked when
we ran out of fresh water. I suggested we start distilling seawater, but Rom was confident the Karen would return. They did two
days later, hazarding rough seas and almost capsizing the canoe.
The expedition ended with no further challenges. To me, the trip to South Sentinel was a real test of the Karens survival and navigational skills. But to them, it was just a cruise in a pond. Given that the Karen were actually transplanted from Burma in the 20th
century, and are not originally a nautical people, this is really interesting.
One Karen in particular came to epitomise his races resilience and instinct for survival. Six years after our expedition, the 2004
tsunami hit the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. A team of five researchers, two forest guards and Agu, a Karen field assistant, were
camped on a beach near Galathea Creek in Great Nicobar Island, a mere 125 kilometres from the epicentre of the devastating
earthquake.
We waited for news of the teams fate, even as television news showed images of destruction elsewhere in the area. We comforted
each other: Agu is with them; theyll be fine. In hindsight, considering the extraordinary level of death and devastation, Im
amazed by our trust in the superhuman abilities of the Karen to save lives. Nearly a fortnight later, we heard Agu had been rescued,

but there was no sign of the others. Communication systems in the islands were down and information trickled in. It was many
months before we heard the full story.
When the earthquake had struck, the beach trembled violently and the men at the camp fell down. They couldnt stand up until the
tremors had passed. Then, when the sea receded, Agu urged the researchers to run for their lives. But they ignored his warnings, and
instead, walked down to the waters edge to take photographs of fish flopping on the wet sands. Agu didnt know anything about
tsunamis. He knew something was terribly wrong, and instinctively, wanted to flee away from the sea. However, he felt responsible
for the researchers and waited for them, risking his own life. As the sea began encroaching inland, the researchers finally paid heed.
But it was too late.

They ran inland but couldnt outrun the sea. Agu helped them climb the nearest stur- dy trees. He was the last to clamber up when
the first wave of the tsunami, which Agu estimated to be 15 metres high, crashed ashore. The trees went down like bowling pins.
The sea shook him like a rag doll, tossing him against fallen trees, letting him float and, just as he drew a breath, sucking him under
again.
When it had spent its fury, Agu found himself floating on a gigantic raft of uprooted trees. The coast was unrecognisable. The trees
surrounding Agu had once been a forest along Galathea Creek. He called out to the others and was met by an eerie silence. He had
lost his clothes and watch. He climbed atop the debris and waited for days, drinking seawater and drifting in and out of
consciousness. Badly bruised, he had broken collarbones and ribs. He waved at passing helicopters, but none saw him. Agu burnt in
the sun, drank rain as it fell and froze at night. He continued to wait, hopeful of being rescued.
When a circling saltwater crocodile and a scavenging water monitor lizard came by, he grew desperate. The hope that sustained him
vanished. He had become weak, and he feared hed die if he waited any longer. Thirteen days after the tsunami, he dragged his
emaciated, broken body over floating logs and across crocodile-frequented waters in a painful effort that took hours.
He hobbled for three days to get to a village, a mere seven kilometres away. Providentially, a rescue helicopter had just arrived
looking for survivors of the research camp. It flew him to the naval hospital in Port Blair. The researchers and guards perished in the
tsunami; their bodies were not recovered.

Despite the trauma he suffered, Agu narrated his tale simply and quietly, as if it were someone elses story. After he regained his
health, he was back to driving a dungi through the waters of the Andamans and assisting re- searchers. I wondered how he hadnt
become averse to the sea. Agu understood my words but didnt comprehend the question. Rom replied, An earthquake doesnt put
people off the land. Why should the tsunami put him off the sea?
While celebrities make a career out of being television survivalists, the Karen are survivors for real. Agus fortitude has become my
personal touchstone, bringing perspective when the everyday stresses of life feel overwhelming.
Shwethe was made of the same steely fabric as Agu, but he lost his battle to a scourge that kills many more in these parts than any
tsunamicerebral malaria. Now more than 80 years old, Uncle Pao doesnt venture out to sea anymore.
I still dont know how the Karen navigate by dead reckoning in the high seas. I asked Agu, How do you find your way to South
Sentinel?
He pointed in the general direction and replied simply, Its there.
Whenever I posed the question to Uncle Paung, he smiled impishly.
I may know the earth is round, but he knows how to get there.
Janaki Lenin, author of My Husband and Other Animals, delights in discovering history, culture, cuisine and adventure, and then
bringing the exotic and unfamiliar to the page. When shes not writing, she entertains travellers at her homestay, watches animals
from her back porch and pretends to be a bipedal mutt with her confused four-legged humans.

Locals fearful of suspected killer tiger released near their

village in India
Janaki Lenin
Scared residents of Talawade in Karnataka are calling for forest officials to recapture a tiger, suspected of killing a
woman and chasing vehicles, that has been released into a wildlife reserve near their village

Tigers are normally wary of people. When they give chase it may mean that they have lost their fear
of humans. Photograph: AP
Thursday 4 December 2014 12.29 GMT

A posse of 80 to 100 forest officials, wildlife experts, and veterinarians is camped in the forests of
Bhimgad wildlife sanctuary, northern Karnataka. The mens job is to ensure a certain young tiger
causes no problems in the nearby villages. Villagers have been up in arms since 19 November, when
forest officials released the tiger 1km from Talawade village.
On 15 November, a tiger killed a 36-year-old woman in Pandaravalli in Chikmagalur district, some
300km south of Bhimgad. People working in the coffee plantations in the area had reported seeing
tigers in their neighbourhood in the preceding months. One chased a man on a motorbike. In another
incident, a tiger jumped on a car while two other tigers stood close by. One followed a coffee estate
owners automobile for a short distance.
Villagers feared someone may be attacked by one of these big cats, as the animal(s) seemed to have no
fear of humans. Forest department officials patrolled the area to try and instil confidence in local
residents.
Tiger chasing a car in Chikmagalur
Two days after the tragedy, forest officials trapped a tiger, believed to be the killer. It seemed destined
for a life in a zoo, according to an initial press report.
Ullas Karanth, a tiger expert at the Centre for Wildlife Studies in Bengaluru, wrote to the chief wildlife
warden of the state advising him that the captured tigers stripe pattern matched that of a tiger that had
chased a vehicle. He identified the tiger as ananimal named Bhadra_S5146 in the centres tiger
identification databaseand cautioned that the sub-adult animal appeared to have lost its fear of humans.
He also explained that the animal may prove difficult to recapture as it may have become trap-shy. A
later news report said scientists from the Wildlife Institute of India made a similar recommendation.
However, instead of taking the tiger to the zoo, forest officials tried to release the animal at Anshi
wildlife sanctuary at night. They were prevented by resident villagers, so released it in the
neighbouring sanctuary of Bhimgad, near the states border with Goa and Maharashtra, instead.
When villagers heard about it, they held the foresters hostage, demanding the tiger be captured and
taken away. Officials were at pains to explain the tiger was not a man-eater, and it may have killed the
woman by accident.
But the tiger had boldly followed a vehicle in Chikmagalur on several occasions, and the body of the
woman was discovered half-eaten. The standard operating procedure (SOP) issued by the national tiger
conservation authority to deal with tigers outside forested areas says, [C]onfirmed habituated
tiger/leopard which stalk human beings and feed on the dead body are likely to be man-eaters.
Didnt officials consider this aberrant behaviour in determining whether the animal was a danger to
human life?

Vinay Luthra, the chief wildlife warden of the state, said to me in a phone conversation: People are
responsible for the tigers behaviour. The tiger is not at fault. He claims numerous homestays in the
area bait tigers for their guests viewing pleasure and this has emboldened the cats.
What about the news report of scientists advising against the release, I asked. Thats false. No
scientist advised against the release. He also denied any plan to keep the tiger in captivity.
Even if people were at fault and no scientist warned the forest officials, releasing a tiger that has lost
its fear of humans in another area is asking for trouble.
The SOP says healthy tigers should be released in a suitable habitat with adequate prey base, away
from the territory of a resident male tiger (if any) or human settlements. So why was the tiger released
close to Talawadi village?
Luthra replied he wasnt sure of the exact location, but the tiger was released well within the
sanctuary. Few reserves are devoid of settlements.
In the meantime, spooked villagers were unmoved by the officials arguments and adamantly
demanded the removal of the tiger. Forest officials claimed the SOPprohibited them from catching a
tiger in a protected forest unless they had orders to do from the chief wildlife wardens. Until such
orders arrived, they could only monitor the animals movements, they said. The tiger had been collared
with a GPS tracker before being released, and they claimed the animal had moved to Mhadei wildlife
sanctuary in the neighbouring state of Goa.
However, villagers of Degaon, Karnataka, saw a tiger purportedly wearing a collartake a cow on the
night of 21 November. On 24 November, a tiger entered Kabanali village and residents chased it away.
In an area where farmers have to guard their crops from wild pigs at night, forest officials warned them
to stay indoors. They also offered reasonable compensation for any crop damage caused by pigs, and
vehicles to ferry children to school.
In Degaon, a woman got hurt running away from a tiger on 25 November, while other villagers burst
crackers and chased the big cat away. A tiger killed a bull in Gavali on 27 November, but the forest
officials wouldnt confirm if it was the released animal. Theres suspicion the GPS tracker
malfunctioned and the authorities dont know the location of the tiger.
By this time, panicked people staged a protest in front of a forest department office in the district
headquarters, Khanapur.
The SOP also says the committee to certify if a tiger was fit to be released ought to include a local
village leader. Luthra said NGOs, including the honorary wildlife warden of the area, were involved,
but there was no village representation.

More than two weeks after agitations began, I asked Luthra on 4 December when the orders to capture
the cat would be issued. He replied he hadnt seen the report sent by his field staff, and he was yet to
take a decision to capture the tiger.
Until then, villagers living in Bhimgads forests have no choice but to live with trepidation.

Indias largest dam given clearance but still faces flood of

opposition
Janaki Lenin
The 3,000MW Dibang dam, rejected twice as it would submerge vast tracts of biologically rich forests, is to get
environmental clearance but huge local opposition could stall the project

A dam in Arunachal Pradesh. Photograph: Travelib Environment/Alamy

Wednesday 22 October 2014 15.53 BST
Six years ago, former Indian prime minister Manmohan Singh laid the foundation stone for the
3,000MW Dibang multipurpose dam project. The dam, to be built across the Dibang river, in the
north-eastern state of Arunachal Pradesh, will be the countrys largest. The state plans to build more
than 160 dams in the coming years.
Dibang dam will not only generate power but supposedly control floods in the plains of neighbouring
Assam state. The dams reservoir was estimated to submerge 5,000 hectares (12,000 acres) of dense
forests along the Dibang river valley. The forest advisory committee (FAC), which examines the
impact of infrastructure projects on wilderness areas, was appalled and rejected it.

For a project so large, the environmental impact assessment (EIA) failed to assess critical
components of the project and was widely criticised for inadequately predicting the dams effects on
the environment. Its evaluation of impacts on wildlife is a farce. The authors of the document list
creatures not found in that area, such as Himalayan tahr, and concocted species not known to exist
anywhere in the world, such as brown pied hornbill. Of the ones they could have got right, they
mangled the names, referring to flycatchers as flying catchers and fantail as fanter.
In his scathing critique, Anwaruddin Choudhury, an expert on the wildlife of north-east India,
sarcastically concluded the EIA makes a case for the project to be shelved, as Dibang was the only
place in the world with these specialities! Despite listing these amazing creatures, the EIA goes on to
say no major wildlife is observed.
In a similar vein, the document claims only 301 people will be affected by the dam. Authorities must
be puzzled that a project with so few affected people should be opposed by so many. Protests by local
people began soon after the inaugural stone was laid in 2008. Since then large crowds have disrupted
public hearings. On 5 October 2011, police fired on one such mass demonstration, injuring 10 people.
Regional authorities branded anti-dam protestors as Maoist rebels, further angering them.
In Arunachal Pradesh, the Idu Mishmi and Adi tribes will be the most affected. They fear loss of
grazing land, fishing grounds, and lack of safety of the dam in a seismically volatile zone.
Additionally, they are concerned that the large number of workers needed to build the dam will
overwhelm their cultural identity and their lands.
People protesting Dibang dam in Arunachal Pradesh.
When the FAC first rejected the project in June 2013, it said the ecological, environmental and social
costs of diversion of such a vast track of forest land, which is a major source of livelihood of the tribal
population of the state, will far outweigh the benefits likely to accrue from the project.
Some of the grassland-covered river islands in the Dibang river are the prime habitat of the critically
endangered Bengal florican. The ministrys recovery plan for the bird species recommends the area be
designated as a national park.
Neeraj Vagholikar, an environmentalist familiar with the case, who works for NGO Kalpavriksh, lists
the concerns of people downstream in Assam: loss of fisheries, loss of agricultural land on river
islands, increased vulnerability to floods caused by removal of boulders from riverbeds for dam
construction, sudden release of water from the reservoir in the monsoons, and safety of the dam in a
geologically fragile and seismically active region.
Under public pressure, Assam chief minister Tarun Gogoi told prime minister Narendra Modi in July
this year, We urge that all hydro electric projects be taken up only after consideration of dam safety,

flood moderation and downstream impact mitigation measures in consultation with government of
Assam.
Arunachal Pradesh resubmitted the proposal in February 2014, dropping the height of the dam from
288 metres to 278 metres and saving 1,100 acres of forest. The FAC rejected it again in April 2014.
Prakash Javadekars ministry of environment and forests also rejected the proposal on 28 August 2014,
and cited these reasons in its letter: [The] proposed area is very rich in biodiversity, sensitive
ecosystem being at the edge of hills and flood plains and having large number of endemic and
endangered flora and fauna, etc. Moreover, such project is most likely to have considerable
downstream impact including impact on the Dibru-Saikhowa NP [national park] in Assam which is yet
to be studied.
That ought to have put paid to the dam project. Instead, the prime ministers principal
secretary revived it in early September.
This time it sailed through the clearance process. At the time of writing, the minutes of the FAC
meeting granting approval have not been made public, and the final height of the dam is still
unconfirmed. Anti-dam activists suspect the height of the dam may be lower by 20 metres, and the
dam is likely to submerge 4,300 hectares (10,586 acres) of forest.
Javadekar has repeatedly stated he supported development without destruction of environment. But its
just a matter of days before he affixes his seal of approval to the dam. The FACs previous concerns
for the areas biodiversity and the lack of studies of the impact in Assam were brushed aside. A project
that claims to control flooding in Assam has not conducted one public meeting in that state nor was the
chief ministers demand for consultation acknowledged. The ministrys own concerns about the impact
on Dibru-Saikhowa national park remain unaddressed. This is the latest in a series of moves made by
the government to push large projects at the cost of the environment.
When he was a prime ministerial candidate, on 22 February 2014, Modi had said in a speech at
Pasighat, Arunachal Pradesh: I know that the people of the state are against the building of big dams,
and I do understand their sentiments. We can still tap those potentials with proper scientific technology
and small dams, besides using solar energy to supplement them. Either he had changed his mind in
six months, or he never meant what he said then.
However, forcing these approvals through may not make an iota of difference. The 2,000MW lower
Subansiri hydroelectric power project got all its clearances, and yet after spending over 500m, the
project was brought to a halt in December 2011. The largest anti-dam peoples movement,
unprecedented in Indias hydropower history, refuses to allow dam construction.
Activists believe the buildup of a massive opposition in Arunachal Pradesh and Assam may render the
Dibang dam a non-starter too.

The UN climate summit reveals India's hypocrisy on

saving forests
Environment minister argues for historical justice on cutting carbon, but denies it to tribes living in the countrys
forests

A flower grows close to a thermal power plant on the outskirts of Nagpur in Maharashtra, India.
Photograph: Arko Datta/Reuters
Janaki Lenin
Friday 26 September 2014 04.30 BST
On Tuesday, Indias minister for environment, forests, and climate change, Prakash Javadekar, scoffed
at the idea of the country reducing emissions to counter climate change. He held the US chiefly
responsible for the climate crisis, and therefore it had to bear the responsibility for reducing
greenhouse gas emissions. That has been Indias position on climate change at international
negotiations for a while.
Developed nations have polluted the atmosphere and brought the planet to the crisis it faces today. The
developing world, lagging behind in industrial development, did little to create the situation. But China
is now the worlds biggest carbon emitter, and India is fast catching up as its economy grows.
On the strength of future emissions, the west wants these countries to commit to reducing their impact
on climate change. To do so, developing nations want transfer of costly new green technology at low
or no costs and compensation from developed nations for reducing their emissions. This is where past
climate conferences have remained stuck, with each side entrenched in its position.
At the UN climate change summit in New York on Tuesday, Javadekar is reported to have said: The
moral principle of historic responsibility [those countries which have historically emitted the most]
cannot be washed away.

But while he champions historic responsibility abroad, hes an instrument of eroding historic justice at
home.
India legislated the Wildlife Protection Act in 1972, a law that granted state protection to wildlife. But
it criminalised many communities living in wildlife areas. Unlike the west, Indias forests are not
people-free wildlife havens.
Conservationists and the countrys forest department regarded the presence of marginsalised people
mostly adivasis (tribal communities who have been living in the forests for centuries) as a blight.
They were, and still are, looked up on as people who degraded forests by cutting trees for firewood,
clearing land for tilling and hunting wildlife for the pot. They received little support from the
government. Some got paltry compensation to give up their traditional lands and settle outside forests.

Tribal women walk through rain in Pandwa village of Dang district of Gujarat, India. Tribal people in
Dang depend on forest produce, being allowed agriculture only in limited patches of the densely
forested area. Photograph: Siddharth Darshan Kumar/AP
Much of India was cleared of forests and its wildlife over centuries, some conservationists living in
cities had no qualms seeking the eviction of people from forests. They argued that since only 5% of the
countrys land area was set aside for wildlife, it should be free of human disturbance. In short, the
indigenous people of Indias forests had to bear the cost of conservation, even though most of the
country had been denuded of its forests by others.
In 2006, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Forest Dwellers Act (popularly called Forest Rights Act)
came into force with stipulations for compensation against resettlement. Should any company wish to
set up an industry or mine in tribal lands, it had to first seek the consent of forest-dwelling
communities. This law sets right historic wrongs suffered by tribals. It also gives them a say in states
plans that impact their lands and lives.

Although the act is enacted by the parliament, many states havent implemented it. Now Narendra
Modis pro-development government is seeking to do away with the right of forest dwellers to veto
industries coming into their neck of the woods.
Earlier this month, Javadekar stated the government would amend the act so itwould not be mandatory
any more to seek forest peoples consent. So much for historic justice.
In New York, however, he declared India will take action against climate change voluntarily and not at
the behest of any other country. Yet at home, if a forest-destroying mine or a carbon-polluting coal
plant chooses to plonk down on forest land, local people wont have a choice.
The question at the heart of both issues is: who bears the cost of arresting climate change and
conserving forests?
On the international stage, India argues beneficiaries of past pollution have to bear the responsibility of
mitigating climate change. But at home, it shows its hypocrisy by insisting that historically
disenfranchised forest dwelling citizens bear the cost of conservation and development.

Pigs of conflict
Called Making a pig's ear of it on BLink 26 Sept 2014

Rocks protruded dramatically out of the hillside. Weathered and evenly grooved, they looked like petrified wood. I recognized neem and Indian
mulberry trees dotting the landscape. Down in the valley, a linear grove of verdant date palms marked an unseen water course. Tussocks of grass
with tall seed heads brushed against my salwar. With head bent down, I was engrossed in identifying plants and on the look-out for mammal
droppings as I picked my way up the hillside. The expanse of forest was so vast, I couldnt gauge distances, nor could I estimate the height of
distant trees. This is one of the largest restoration sites in India: the Timbaktu Collectives Kalpavalli forest in Andhra Pradeshs Anantapur
District.
Siddharth Rao, the resident ecologist, had just pointed out a blackbuck latrine site. These graceful antelopes habitually visit the same spot to drop
their black, oval pellets. Wolves, jackals, leopards, foxes, and sloth bears also called this place home, and I was keen to find some evidence of
their presence. The constant distant hum of airplanes flying overhead made me think even this remote area was under an air corridor.
Absentmindedly, I looked up at the blue sky and realized there were no airplanes. The sound was caused by the gigantic blades of numerous
windmills slowly turning in the golden evening light. I had seen them on arrival but had forgotten them as I focussed on plants and creatures.

The more I wandered along the hill slope, the more I realized the restoration was an unsung conservation effort. Folks from eight villages had
slogged to restore 7,500 acres of completely denuded pasture land thats commonly dismissed as wasteland. I just had to see the barren, rocky
hills outside the Kalpavalli area to know what the villagers had achieved. They planted seeds, protected saplings from livestock, created fire lines,
built check dams, dug trenches, and put out fires day and night. Not a mean feat in the second driest area of the country, where summer
temperatures can sear the pale of skin and heart. If the meagre rainfall failed, drought was certain. Despite more than 20 years of effort, the hill
slopes were lightly wooded. If the annual rainfall were higher or had the topsoil been intact, the outcome would have been a thick green canopy.

The villagers went through this punishing regimen of creation and protection for a very good reason. They could harvest grass to thatch their roofs
and make brooms, lop leaves for their livestock, and gather dead branches for firewood. For the poorest people, this made a difference to their
standard of living. Their collective labour benefited rich and poor farmers alike. The ground water has risen from 100-feet depth to a mere 18 feet.
A seasonal stream turned perennial, feeding into the 400-acre-large, 500-year-old Mushtikovila tank.

A couple of years ago, I received an email from Timbaktu asking how to keep pigs away from crops. I shared the wisdom of farmers in other parts
of South Asia: the crackling noise of clusters of magnetic tape tied to the fence, and cordoning fields with old saris and fishing nets were said to
scare away pigs. If none of these worked, I jokingly offered to share a good pork recipe.
I didnt know how they fared. When the opportunity arose, I headed up to Anantapur District to see for myself. I wondered if the restoration had a
role to play in the villagers wild pig problems. I followed Siddharth up the hill, lost in my thoughts.
Wheat-brown blackbuck does and fawns eyed us suspiciously before disappearing over the rise. Moments later, a lone, scruffy wild boar raced
away in alarm.

After nightfall, we walked down to the stream. Fish darted underwater, frogs hung suspended on the water surface, and clots of algae moved
slowly downstream. Water flowed even though it hadnt rained in several months. We walked through the dense thickets of palms, wary of pigs. If
we snuck too close to them, they could attack. The eyes of a civet and jackal reflected the light from our torches.
The next morning, we were back in the plains, driving down the highway. Colourful clothes tied to fences flapped in the breeze. Even though the
forests were a few kilometres away, every lush field had a low platform covered by a tarpaulin-lined roof. These machans were a sure sign of
sleepless farmers guarding their crops.
I asked Akulappa, one of the key people in the Kalpavalli project who grew up in the area, if the problem of wild boars was related to forest
restoration. He answered thoughtfully, There were no wild boar before. The first time I heard of one was in 1990 or 1991 when villagers from
Nyamaddala killed one. Now pigs are everywhere. Not only wild boar, but also leopards, jackals, everything. This area was infamous for
factionalism. In 1986, when N.T. R. [Rama Rao] was the Chief Minister, he seized all firearms. May be thats why all these animals came back
five to six years later.
The restoration project began only in 1992, and according to Akulappa, pigs had already started making a comeback. Could it be that the lack of
hunting more than the creation of a forest caused wild boar to surge in numbers?
Akulappa continued, People say the forest provided shelter and thats why these animals came. Thats not true. These animals dont need habitat
as much as we think. They are adaptable; they can live under rocks and thorny shrubs. Even newspapers say crops failed because of wild boar.
Come, lets go to that village and show me where is the forest. There are no forests, its all agricultural land, and theres still a problem of wild
boar. So dont say growing trees brings wild boar. They dont need forests to destroy your crop. They are everywhere.
I quizzed farmers about their relationship with the forest, and they revealed a whole other dimension of the problem.
Nagaraju, one of the directors of Kalpavalli Tree Growers Cooperative and a groundnut farmer from Kogira, said he faced severe problems from
pigs. He claimed the increase in forest had brought a greater diversity of birds that ate a lot of crop pests. Forests didnt create the pig problem but
windmills did. I was taken aback and looked at him quizzically wondering if I had heard right. He explained the whine of the wind turbines and
disturbance caused by maintenance crews driving up and down have chased the wild boar away from forests and into the plains. Windmills also
blew away rain clouds and sucked groundwater dry. The only thing that could protect crops was a high wall, he said, but he couldnt afford it.

Ramanjanaiyya from Kambalapalli grew groundnuts and lentils, and pigs made a merry meal of them. He had tried tying saris around the fence
but that didnt work. He and his wife took turns walking around the fields, constantly yelling and beating a drum all night long. He said the
moment he sat down for a rest, they muscled their way through the fence. He asked, How many nights can I stay up awake? During the day, my
wife and I take our sheep grazing. At night, one of us guards the animals at home, while the other watches the crops. He also blamed the
windmills for his wild pig woes.
Chinna Narasimha, of the same village, said the pigs were bold. Even if I stand right next to them and shine a light on their faces, they still try to
enter the fields. While pigs ate anything, blackbuck ate lenthils. The windmills were the reason he lost almost half his crop to pigs, he
complained. Only a deep wide trench would stop the pigs from entering fields, he said.
Neelakant cultivated 130 acres for the Timbaktu Kutumbham Trust. Even if pigs didnt like the crop, they rooted around and destroyed the plants.
He picked up hair clippings from barber shops and spread them on his fields. It worked well in the dry season. When the pigs sniffed the ground,
the hair entered their nostrils and irritated them. They dont like that. When the rains came, it didnt work anymore.
He continued, I also tried old saris, gunny sacks, plastic bags, plastic dolls.... On the first day they wont come. The second day, they listen and
wait. If it makes the same noise, theyll approach cautiously, and then they lose all fear. Even magnetic tape works for one day, but the next day it
doesnt work. Same with fire crackers.
I burrowed into details: how much of the crop was lost, which crops suffered less damage, and did pigs eat crops in a particular season. It was
several minutes before I realized pigs were a metaphor of the villagers unhappiness with the windmill companies.
While wind energy is celebrated as a sustainable source of power, a green energy, here in Anantapur, wind farms have come at a cost to the
community forest. Wind power companies hacked wide roads around hillsides, destroying the trenches villagers built to arrest the flow of
rainwater and toppling two-decade-old trees. Since retaining walls havent been built, boulders and loose soil sit precariously on the verge. The
10- to 14-feet embankments are too high for livestock to scramble up. Villagers are forced to drive their animals in circuitous paths to reach their
destinations. The companies also flattened peaks of hillocks to install windmills.
But one incident upset villagers more than any others. Farmers in the area donate cattle to the Guttur Gopalaswamy temple set deep in the forest.
This herd of holy Hallikar cattle, an indigenous breed, grazes in the restored forest. Soon after the windmill construction, about 100 cattle died.
They had eaten the plastic carelessly discarded by the construction workers.
By trampling villagers efforts, the wind farm companies have unleashed the pigs of conflict.

Where have all the big animals gone? Indian park devoid of many species, further threatened by
forest loss

Janaki Lenin, mongabay.com correspondent

August 04, 2014
This article was produced under the Global Forest Reporting Network and can be re-published on your web site or blog or in
your magazine, newsletter, or newspaper under these terms.
Researchers working with local communities in effort to stymie environmental damage
Namdapha National Park, the third largest in India at 200,000 hectares, is located in the northeastern state of Arunachal Pradesh. Its
extensive dipterocarp forests are the northernmost lowland tropical rainforests in the world. Temperate broad-leaved forests cloak the
higher elevations, and beyond the treeline lie alpine meadows and snow-capped peaks that reach 4,571 meters (14,997 feet). However, the
region has lost thousands of hectares of forest in the past decade, and studies project the situation may simply worsen in the coming years.
Namdapha, being part of the Indo-Myanmar biodiversity hotspot, is supposedly the only park in the world to harbor four species of large
cats tigers (Panthera tigris), snow leopards (Panthera uncia, of which there is only one record), clouded leopards (Neofelis nebulosa),
and leopards (Panthera pardus). In addition, these forests host Indias only ape, the hoolock gibbon (Hylobates hoolock), and a range of
ungulates from montane species such as red goral (Nemorhaedus baileyi) and takin (Budorcas taxicolor) to hog deer (Axis porcinus) in the
river valleys.

Clouded leopard in Namdapha. The clouded leopard is listed as Vulnerable by the IUCN Red List. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD,
NNPA, and Aaranyak.
However, all this richness looks good only on paper, with any large mammal remarkably hard to come by in the forest.
A study published in Biological Conservation in 2008 revealed the terrible wildlife situation. During the three-month camera trap study,
which captured more than 1,500 days of footage, a research team led by Aparajita Datta of the Nature Conservation Foundation in
collaboration with various institutions did not detect any tigers or leopards. Large herbivores such as sambar (Rusa uniclor), gaur (Bos
frontalis), and serow (Nemorhaedus sumatraensis) were also uncommon. With the exception of Indian muntjac (Muntiacus muntjak), other
species were in far lower numbers than similar forests in Southeast Asia.

In subsequent transect surveys conducted between 2008 and 2012, Datta and Rohit Naniwadekar recorded only 29 sightings of the four
ungulate species even though they walked 842 kilometers (523 miles). In contrast, in a better protected reserve like Pakke Tiger Reserve in
western Arunachal, they had 141 ungulate sightings in 453 kilometers (281 miles) (unpublished data).
However, wildlife numbers werent always so dismal. The 2008 study notes anecdotal information indicating healthy populations of tigers
and elephants until the early 1990s.
Paradoxically, Namdapha has a remarkable diversity of other wildlife. Biologists have found species that were unknown to occur in India.
These not only include large mammals such as the leaf deer (Muntiacus putaoensis) and a dark muntjac (Muntiacus crinifrons/M.
gongshanensis), but also cryptic reptiles such as Vennings keelback (Amphiesma venningi) and Medo pitviper (Viridovipera medoensis).
The park clearly is an important wildlife and ecological zone.
For many indigenous tribes living around the park, hunting is a way of life. They hunt for the pot, as a means of recreation and ritual, a
source of medicine and ornaments, and to augment incomes.

Male Bengal tiger caught on camera trap in Namdapha Tiger Reserve. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.
At 17 people per 100 hectares (Census of India 2011), Arunachal Pradesh has the lowest human population density in India, which has a
national average densiy of 365 people per 100 hectares. But the states population grew by 26 percent in the decade 2001-2011, when the
countrys average growth was only 18 percent. Besides intensive hunting of birds and animals of all sizes by a growing population, rising
deforestation compounds the problems of Namdapha.
The Chakma and Miji Mishmi communities living along the parks western boundary hunt, fish, and harvest firewood and minor forest
produce from within the park. Some Chakma settlements line the road from Mpen, the parks entrance, to Deban. But the community that
affects the park the most is the 3,000-strong Lisu community. They inhabit a piece of land between the park and the international boundary
with Myanmar. This is arguably the most remote and least developed corner of India.

The River Noa-Dihing, a tributary of the Brahmaputra, severely eroded arable land, and the remaining land is inadequate for a growing
population. Left with no choice, families moved into the park, some right into the core area. From 65 families in 2004-05, the number
increased to nearly 160 in 2012-13.
According to data from Global Forest Watch, approximately 100,000 hectares of forest were lost from Arunachal Pradesh from 2001-2013,
representing more than one percent of the state's entire area. Namdapha is a part of Changlang district within Arunachal Pradesh, which
has experienced an even greater rate of forest cover loss at about 2.5 percent. It's small comfort that most of the loss has so far outside the
park. Unless the status quo undergoes a dramatic change for the better, the protected forest may not be immune from deforestation
pressures.

Changlang district (highlighted), in which Namdapha National Park resides, has lost approximately 2.5 percent of its forest cover since
2001. Courtesy of Global Forest Watch.Click to enlarge.
An assessment of the forest cover of Arunachal Pradesh published in Conservation Biology in 2001 noted that 70 percent of the state was
forested in 1988. By computing projected population growth and its resultant resource extraction pressures, the study estimated 50 percent
of the states forests would be lost by 2021. It also predicted that the Namdapha and its surrounding landscape would be almost completely
deforested by then.
A report published in Current Science in 2004 estimated 170 hectares (0.7 square miles) of forest, not including swidden areas and
settlements, were cleared in five years. It also estimated that the Chakma and Lama from six villages extract 2,790 tonnes (6 million
pounds) (dry weight) of forest products from the park annually. Two Lisu settlements inside the park extract about 430 tonnes (948,000
pounds) per year. In 2005, Datta estimated 2,030 hectares (7.8 square miles) of forest were degraded or cleared for settlement
development, cultivation, and other uses (unpublished data).
Life for the Lisu is not easy. The Indian government views them as recent migrants from Myanmar, although their villages have existed in
the vicinity of Namdapha since at least the 1940s. Till the early 1970s, they enjoyed tribal rights granted to other tribes in the state. But the
government revoked their tribal status as well as citizenship in 1979 for reasons that remain unclear. The authorities restored citizenship
and voting rights in 1995, but not tribal status that would allow the community members to avail of various benefits like access to hostels
for students studying in distant towns and job opportunities in the government.

Namdapha National Park in Arunachal Pradash, India. Photo by Rohit Naniwadekar.

Malaria is a scourge, sometimes wiping out entire families. To seek medical help, the Lisu have to walk or be carried for seven days
through the national park. During the monsoon, even this access is sometimes impossible to negotiate. For a long time, vehicles could not
ply the 157-kilometer (97.5-mile) road connecting Lisu settlements on the far side of Namdapha to Miao, on the western border of the
park, as the jungle had reclaimed it. Groceries and essential supplies are physically carried or occasionally hauled in on the backs of
elephants. In 2011, the government began re-building the road but most of its length continues to be impassable for vehicles.
The Lisus biggest grievance is the establishment of the national park. Some claim the community owns most of it, and as stakeholders,
they feel they ought to have been consulted before the park was created. Like many people living around protected areas in India and
elsewhere, they dont understand the need for the park, and this lack of understanding and empowerment has led to dissatisfaction.
In an effort to rid the park of encroachments, the department destroyed Lisu settlements in the 1980s. If park officials found any Lisu with
wild meat or fish in his possession, they confiscated all his belongings. The Lisu burnt forest camps and killed animals in retaliation.

Leopard cat in Namdapha. The leopard cat is listed as Least Concern. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.
In 2003, Aparajita Datta of the Nature Conservation Foundation realized that the atmosphere wasnt conducive for conservation. With
support from other institutions, she facilitated the setting up of kindergarten schools in Lisu villages inside and outside the park as well as a
health care program that also provided essential medicines for eight years. Other efforts included building embankments to prevent further
erosion of arable land, setting up solar energy for lighting and heating, and generating alternative sources of income through pig rearing,
handicrafts, tourism, and horticulture.
Several Lisu carried out wildlife surveys as well as monitored hunting activities within the park. Datta conducted conservation education
and outreach programs. She hoped that by receiving tangible benefits and recognizing the value of wild fauna, the community would
appreciate the park and cooperate in protecting it. Initial indications suggested these efforts made a difference to the Lisus quality of life,
and they pledged to stop hunting.
In 2005, Datta initiated discussions with different levels of the government to resolve the land issue. She tried to change the governments
perception of the Lisu as poachers, bring recognition to their jungle skills and knowledge of the park, and suggested they become formally

involved in the parks protection.

Asian elephant in Namdapha. The Asian elephant is listed as Endangered by the IUCN Red List. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA,
and Aaranyak.
Between 2010 and 2012, the district authorities and the Forest Department held a series of meetings with the Lisu. With the help of other
tribes resident in that area, they had identified 200 hectares of land near the western side of the park as a possible site of relocation.
However, the Lisu turned down the offer as they claimed the land wasnt good for farming. They also felt staying in the park would be
better in the long run, since the need for more land may arise in the future. While Datta had hoped for reconciliation and a negotiated
settlement, the Lisu felt that she had taken sides with the government and the long-term relationship ended. This is a big loss for area
conservation.
Still, there may be a sliver of hope for Namdapha and its wildlife. In 2012, conservation organizations Aaranyak and Panthera, in
collaboration with the Forest Department, obtained a camera-trap photograph of a tiger and other large carnivores, indicating the continued
presence of large animals in the park. However, poachers shot at the researchers and the camera traps were stolen.
If the situation remains unchanged, will Namdapha fulfill its scientific prophesy of near total deforestation in another seven years?

Citations:
Datta, A. 2007. Threatened Forests, Forgotten People. In Making Conservation Work (eds. Shahabuddin G., and M. Rangarajan), pp. 165209. New Delhi, India: Permanent Black.

Camera traps discover tigers, elephants in "empty" forest park

Jeremy Hance
mongabay.com
April 16, 2012

inShar e

print

Male Bengal tiger caught on camera trap in Namdapha Tiger Reserve. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA,
and Aaranyak.

Although it's named Namdapha Tiger Reserve, conservationists had long feared that tigers, along with
most other big mammals, were gone from the park in northeast India. However, an extensive camera trap survey
has photographed not only Bengal tigers (Panthera tigris tigris), but also Asian elephants (Elephas maximus),
which were also thought extirpated from the park. Once dubbed an "empty forest" due to poaching, the new
survey shows that Namdapha still has massive conservation potential.
"[This] is a clear sign that Namdapha is not a lost cause and that with robust protection the park and its wildlife
could be revived," Dr. Joe Smith, Panthera's Tiger Program Director, told mongabay.com. "The team behind this
study increased their chances of detecting tigers and other elusive species by covering a large proportion of the
park and placing camera traps in a number of very remote locations."
Wild cat NGO, Panthera, worked with India's National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA), the Arunanchal
Pradesh State Forest Department (APFD), the Namdapha National Park Authority (NNPA), and local conservation
NGO Aaranyak to conduct the survey.
In all, 80 camera traps photographed over 30 mammals in the park proving that while poaching remains a major

problem in the area, rich wildlife still survives. But conservationists stress that scaled-up protection efforts are
needed to ensure this good news doesn't turn quickly into bad. Researchers were particularly surprised to find
Asian elephants in the park, which they thought had vanished 15 years ago. The camera traps also documented
six species of wild cat: tiger, leopard (Panthera pardus), clouded leopard (Neofelis nebulosa), marbled cat
(Pardofelis marmorata), Asian golden cats (Pardofelis temminckii), and leopard cats (Prionailurus bengalensis).
Researchers also gathered tiger pug marks (footprints) and scat, but Smith says its too early to estimate how
many tigers roam the park.
"Reliable estimates of tiger numbers require a considerable amount of data collected according to specific
protocols. We must wait to see what the current data set can tell us and then decide on the best way to proceed
with population monitoring in Namdapha."
The organizations hope that the findings of the camera trap survey will attract more notice for Namdapha.
"This news from Namdapha should certainly encourage the authorities, civil society and all those interested in
saving wildlife to put their full support behind Namdapha," Smith said. "The actions of poachers, targeting tigers
and their principal prey species, have severely impacted Namdapha in recent years and so proactive protection at
ground-level must be an immediate priority now."
In order to protect the tigers and other species in the park, Smith says it's vital to get more boots on the ground.
He recommends immediately filling any wildlife ranger vacancies, improving anti-poaching infrastructure,
increasing the area that rangers patrol, and ensuring that there are sufficient staff on duty twenty four hours a
day.
"Combined, these actions would quickly increase both the intensity and coverage of the protection measures
required to safeguard Namdapha's tigers and other magnificent wildlife," he notes.
Not only did the survey record mammals, but researchers also discovered frog species that may be new to
science.
Spanning nearly 200,00 hectares, Namdapha Tiger Reserve is located in the state of Arunachal Pradesh, near the
border with Myanmar. Tigers are listed as Endangered by the IUCN Red List with the world's total wild population
estimated at around 3,000 individuals. Six subspecies survive today with three having gone extinct in the past
century.

Asian elephant in Namdapha. The Asian elephant is listed as Endangered by the IUCN Red List. Photo
Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Clouded leopard in Namdapha. The clouded leopard is listed as Vulnerable by the IUCN Red List. Photo
Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Sun bear (Ursus malayanus) in Namdapha. The sun bear is listed as Vulnerable. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD,
NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Marbled cat in Namdapha. The marbled cat is listed as Vulnerable. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and
Aaranyak.

Stump-tailed macaque (Macaca arctoides) in Namdapha. The stump-tailed macaque is listed as Vulnerable. Photo
Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Asiatic golden cat in Namdapha. The Asiatic golden cat is listed as Near Threatened. Photo Panthera, NTCA,
APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Indian crested porcupine (Hystrix indica) in Namdapha. The Indian crested porcupine is listed as Least Concern.
Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Leopard cat in Namdapha. The leopard cat is listed as Least Concern. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD, NNPA, and
Aaranyak.

Wild boar (Sus scrofa) in Namdapha. The wild boar is listed as Least Concern. Photo Panthera, NTCA, APFD,
NNPA, and Aaranyak.

Why I want to save the leopard that killed my dog

Few people saw Macavity and even fewer worried about him, but now Indian forestry officials want to trap and
relocate him

Macavity, the leopard that killed Janaki Lenins dog, caught by a camera trap in rural Tamil Nadu,
India
Janaki Lenin
Tuesday 29 July 201405.00 BST
I have a personal relationship with the leopard that prowls through our farm in Thiruvadisulam, rural
Tamil Nadu, India. Eight years ago, he killed my pet German Shepherd, Karadi. As I came out of
mourning, I became possessive of the leopard. He became the embodiment of Karadis spirit, and I
called him Macavity.
My husband and I first photographed the leopard on 17 January 2009 with a camera trap. Since then,
we obtained flash colour photographs and grainy infrared-lit video of his comings and goings. Five
years after the first photograph, the Forest Departments camera trap snapped him in a neighbouring
forest on 12 July 2014.
Every leopards pattern of rosettes is as unique as fingerprints, leaving no doubt it was Macavity
striding down the forest path. He was just as obese as he had been five years ago, and why not? He has
plenty of stray dogs, free-ranging goats, and crop-fed monkeys to pick.

In the adjoining forest, women cut firewood, groups of men clandestinely share a bottle of rum, and
grandfathers graze goats. On weekends, children, some as young as ten, swarm over the rocks. Their
high-pitched voices ring clear as a bell down the hill slope.
Over the years, Macavity could have mistaken a young boys crouched form, obscured by bushes, for
prey. Or he could have stalked women and men hiding from the harsh midday sun in the shade of low
trees. But instead, he lay low when people entered his domain and kept his cool while hunting dogs
along village alleys. Few people saw him and even fewer worried about him. But now the Forest
Department is after him.
Two months ago, a villager, Dakshinamurthy, returned home on a Friday evening in May to find one
of his goats dead and five others missing. A terrified Dakshinamurthy and his distraught family sought
shelter with another family. The Forest Department examined the area and found a leopards pugmarks
imprinted on the soft sand. It set a trap cage with a live goat as bait for the predator in the nearby
forest.
Dakshinamurthys village, Irukundrapalli, is about six miles (10 km) from where I live, on the rural
margins of Chengalpattu town, 40 miles south of Chennai city. I was certain this couldnt be our
plump Macavity. He couldnt walk that distance, I scoffed.
Leopards enjoy the highest protection under India's Wildlife Protection Act. The department has to
prove human life is in danger to trap one, and the chief wildlife warden of the state has to formally
issue permission to do so. Without such a directive given by the senior official, the trapping operation
would be illegal. If a wild animal kills livestock, the department recompenses the affected family.
Dakshinamurthy will receive Indian Rupees 2,000 (20) a goat.
A couple of days later, the Animal Welfare Board of India directed the department to stop using goats
as bait. It argued that using live animals to lure the leopard contravened another law, the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals Act. Wildlife activists argued the predator wasnt a man-eater and shouldnt be
caught.
The department heeded the boards directive, but it ignored the wildlife activists. Instead, it increased
its efforts to capture the cat by setting eight trap cages baited with beef and mutton in the forest. When
they catch the animal, officials said they planned to relocate the leopard elsewhere.
Relocation is a common wildlife management strategy for dealing with any animals viewed as
nuisance, be they snakes or tigers. Vidya Athreya, a wildlife biologist studying leopards in farmlands
near Pune, Maharashtra, says the strategy causes more problems than it fixes.
In the sugarcane fields of Junnar, an average of four humans were attacked a year. Post-relocation,
attacks rose to an annual average of 17, and several of whom died. Vidya found trapping leopards from
the sugarcane areas and releasing them in forests had made the problem worse.

A similar strategy was followed in Sanjay Gandhi National Park, Mumbai. In the early 2000s, media
reports of leopards mauling and killing people were as frequent as Bollywood celebrity gossip. Today,
forest officials in Junnar and Mumbai practice minimal trapping, work with communities to address
their fears,and encourage them to live with leopards.
However, in Tamil Nadu, research conclusions, law, and experiences of other states have not made a
difference. On 14 June 2014, a forest watcher saw a leopard stalking deer in Vandalur reserve forest at
night, about 30 miles north of Chengalpattu town. Immediately, the Forest Department set two cages to
catch the culprit. Apparently, the wild predator committed a crime by hunting wild prey in a wild
habitat.
Although I knew the department had no business capturing these leopards, I did not say a word, for
fear that might attract attention to Macavity. Was I willing to live with condemning another leopard
somewhere else to an uncertain future just to safeguard my own? Ill confess the answer vacillated
from yes to no.
In the meantime, rattled villagers of Irukundrapalli calmed down, confident the leopard that had killed
the goat had left the area for Vandalurs wilderness. But reports of leopards started popping up from
other places within a 30-mile radius of Chengalpattu. Traps were set in these locations.
Even though I didnt think any of this related to Macavity, I read the news with increasing trepidation.
Would our peaceful rural countryside become the nightmare that was Junnar?
According to the Forest Department, our village Thiruvadisulam is the natural habitat of leopards.
With nothing to show for their two-month-long effort, the department moved the traps closer, to within
a mile down the road from us. The officials knew about Macavity as I had written about him. I had
unwittingly drawn him into the dragnet. When the camera trap photograph of the leopard appeared in
the newspaper, I knew our cat was marked. I compared the departments image with ours. There was
no doubt it was him.
I pleaded with the forest ranger. This leopard has lived here for a long time without hurting anybody.
Hes got a good temperament. If you catch and take him away, who knows what kind of animal will
move in? He listened and made sympathetic noises on the phone, but the cages remain.
While I worry for our Macavity, Im also confident. Karadis killer has avoided traps adroitly for these
past few weeks just like his namesake in T.S. Eliots poem. If the cat doesnt fall for the curiosity trick,
hell continue to prowl through our farm and trigger our cameras in the future. And I hope every other
leopard in the vicinity also roams free.
On track to 'go beyond the critical point': Sri Lanka still losing forests at rapid clip
Janaki Lenin, mongabay.com correspondent
July 15, 2014

This article was produced under the Global Forest Reporting Network and can be re-published on your web site or blog or in
your magazine, newsletter, or newspaper under these terms.

Human-elephant conflicts on the rise, some conservation initiatives planned by government

In 1983, Sri Lanka became embroiled in a 26-year-long civil war in which a rebel militant organization fought to establish an
independent state called Tamil Eelam. The war took an enormous human toll; unknown numbers disappeared and millions more were
displaced. Economic development stagnated in the rebel-held north and east of the country, while foreign investment shied away from the
country.
During the latter half of the war, between 1990 and 2005, Sri Lanka suffered one of the highest rates of deforestation in the world, losing
about 35 percent of its old growth forest and almost 18 percent of its total forest cover. However, some parts remain relatively unscathed.
"There has been destruction of much forest and mangrove areas to provide less cover for the antagonistic parties," Ranil Senanayake, an
ecologist and chairman of Rainforest Rescue International in Sri Lanka, said in a previous interview with mongabay.com. "However, many
wetlands and other critical ecosystems in the 'war zone' have been spared the pillaging that follows the 'economic development' agents,
who treat all land as a commodity to be exploited for instant economic gain."

A legal resettlement near a forest in Sri Lanka. Photo by Manori Gunawardena.

The conflict ended in 2009, and while deforestation has slowed somewhat, Sri Lanka is still losing forest cover at a fast clip. Global Forest
Watch figures show 49,652 hectares were lost between 2009 and 2012.
Sri Lanka, a small island nation located off the southern tip of India, has one of the highest biodiversity densities in all of Asia, and is
regarded as one of the worlds biodiversity hotspots. Together with Indias Western Ghats, the region once had nearly 200,000 square
kilometers (77,000 square miles) of important wildlife habitat, of whichless than seven percent remains intact today. Because of its
isolation and tropical climate, Sri Lanka is home to many unique species and subspecies found nowhere else, such as the purple-faced
langur (Trachypithecus vetulus) and the Sri Lankan elephant (Elephas maximus maximus), both of which are listed as Endangered by the
IUCN.
People displaced by the war returned to their old homes to find the jungle and wildlife had taken over. When they cleared the land and
started to farm, elephants lost secondary forest habitat. In response, the giant herbivores helped themselves to nutrient-rich cultivated
crops, leading to escalating conflicts between farmers and elephants.
The government ought to have had a conservation plan overlapping with the resettlement plan, wildlife biologist Manori Gunawardena
told mongabay.com. Much of the loss suffered by people and elephants could have been minimized. Belatedly, the administration is now
working on such a plan.
The families of returning refugees had also grown over the past three decades and they needed more land. The government has marked
zones for settlement and is creating infrastructure such as roads and railways, leading to further deforestation. For instance, between

Vavuniya and Trincomalee, the 48,451-hectare Padaviya Forest Reserve shows telltale signs of deforestation. In 2013, 12,900 hectares
more than a quarter of the reserve were handed over to the Sri Lanka Mahaveli Authority for human resettlement.
In May 2014, environmentalists accused the government of illegally seizing almost 1,000 hectares from forested areas in the Northern
Province for resettlement.

Purple-faced langurs (Trachypithecus vetulus) are endemic to Sri

Lanka. They are decreasing in number due to development of
their habitat and are currently listed as Endanged by the IUCN.
Photo by Jeroen84.

Sri Lanka has lost nearly 100,000 hectares in the last 14 years, representing nearly 1.5 percent of its land area. Courtesy of Global Forest
Watch. Click to enlarge.
Additionally, individuals themselves have also cleared forests and created homesteads. Some of these are illegal, such as settlements in
Wilpattu North Sanctuary.
In one case, the administration opened to the public a dirt road running through Wilpattu National Park in the countrys northwest. When
challenged by environmentalists, officials claimed it was the Old Mannar Road that had been in use before the war. However,
Environmental Foundation Limited (EFL) filed a case in 2011, providing evidence the Old Mannar Road was prevoiusly defunct and
replaced by forest, with a new road created by the Sri Lankan military to facilitate movement of its forces during the war. While the road
cannot be surfaced with asphalt until further judicial orders, people continue to use the road.

In the hilly center of the country, expansion of cardamom cultivation threatens the Knuckles Forest Reserve, a UNESCO World Heritage
Site. In the south, forest clearance for growing tea endangers the Kanneliya Forest Reserve.

A resettlement farm recently cleared from the surrounding forest. Photo by Manori Gunawardena.
But of more immediate concern are the concessions granted to agricultural companies to grow bananas, soya, and corn near forests.
Environmentalists threatened to sue Dole Food Company for clearing more than 200 hectares of Somawathie National Park to grow
bananas, its biggest fruit crop. Although the company abandoned this plantation in November 2011, it has other holdings near the forests
of Chunnakkadu, Lunugamvehera, and Buttala. The company was also accused of clearing 1,214 hectares of Lunugamvehera National
Park.
Dole is just one of Sri Lankas many banana growers. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization, more than 50,000 hectares
nearly one percent of Sri Lanaks land area were used for banana cultivation in 2000, a number that has likely only increased as the
industry expanded from small-scale family farms to large, industrial plantations.
Energy projects are also taking a toll on Sri Lankan forests. Right on the edge of Ruhunu National Park (popularly called Yala), an area
inhabited by several herd of elephants, United Dendro Energy Private Limited clear-felled 500 hectares of forest land without getting the
necessary approvals. In this freshly cleared area, the company planted rows of Gliricidia (Gliricidia sepium) saplings. Once mature, the
trees will be harvested and ground into wood chips to feed a supposedly sustainable energy project. Other dendro-power companies
intercrop Gliricidia with rubber trees and rice on agricultural land.

Map showing clearing of forest for various developments, including Sri Lanka's international airport. Courtesy of Global Forest
Watch. Click to enlarge.
Perhaps the most egregious case of deforestation involves the area near the Mattala International Airport, Hambantota. In 2006, the
Department of Wildlife drove 250 elephants out of a 60,000-hectare forest slated for development. The animals were herded into the
nearby Lunugamvehera National Park and their exit blocked by electric fences. However, the elephants had difficulty acclimating to the
move, and many calves and adults died of starvation as they paced the fence looking for a way out instead of looking for food. Half of their
once-forest home was replaced with irrigated banana fields, tsunami rehabilitation settlements, a flashy international conference center,
and the new international airport.
In the other half, around 300 to 400 elephants remained. However, growing influxes of people led to mounting conflicts as the elephants
became accustomed to human presence and lost their fear. Formerly shy, retiring animals were now quick to lose their temper with any
farmers who had the temerity to chase them.
To see how the elephants were moving through their habitat, biologists Prithviraj Fernando and Jennifer Pastorini tracked two bulls and
seven cow elephants using satellite transmitters. They found some ranged right up to the walls of the airport, and their data has been used
to set up protected areas for the animals.
We have identified important areas for elephants in the south," Fernando told mongabay.com. "This informs management and
development decisions so detrimental effects on elephants can be minimized. Based on elephant tracking data, the government has
recognized approximately 300 hectares as the first Managed Elephant Reserve outside protected areas.
Additionally, Fernando and Pastorini advise local communities where to erect electric fences to guard settlements and crops from
elephants.
On June 19, 2014, the Minister for Environment and Renewable Energy, Susil Premajayantha, announced plans to increase the countrys
forest cover to 35 percent by the year 2020. However, he did not mention whether this will be done though reforestation or plantation
expansion.
At this rate of deforestation, our forest cover will go beyond the critical point when it will affect everything, Rukshan Jayawardene, a
conservationist based in Colombo, told mongabay.com. We can already see the changes in the wet zone [on the west coast of the
country], which has little forest cover left.

Elephant movement around Hambantota, where the new airport was recently built. Each color represents an individual elephant, with
each dot representing a location where it traveled. Courtesy of Jennifer Pastorini/Centre for Conservation and Research. Click to
enlarge.
Forests are the common resources of this country and can never be replaced. The current developments will squander them in a few
years.

Present and proposed conservation areas in northern Sri Lanka. Click to enlarge.
EDITOR'S NOTE: An earlier version mentioned that Sri Lanka government soldiers were responsible for burning forest to remove cover
used by Tamil rebels. This was added by the editor, but its veracity could not be definitively proved and it was later removed.

When the rain clouds roll in

In The Hindu Businessline BLink

Powder puff clouds built up during the June day, but then wafted away across the sky above Agumbe, Karnataka. When thunder
roared late in the afternoon, my head snapped skywards. Had the monsoon arrived? The heavens rumbled promises they didnt keep.
Newspapers said the monsoon had set in over Kerala but wasnt moving north.
At night, the forest resounded with a symphony of frog calls. They chirped, belled, croaked and clicked from the grass, low bushes,
and the canopy. It sounded like a monsoonal night, except there was no rain.

Ramprasad, a researcher studying these amphibians at the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station (ARRS), pointed to puddles where
newly metamorphosed, dark brown torrent frogs hopped out. Small, bright green male Malabar gliding frogs with hibiscus-red feet

straddled large females in mating embraces. A couple of pairs of gliding frogs had already whipped up meringue-like nest balls that
hung above a pond. A tree toad plopped down on the forest floor from a height. The night belonged to the amphibians.

Pre-monsoon showers may have greened the landscape and made frogs amorous, but the soil ached for a four-month-long soak. This
is an El Nino year, and weathermen predicted the rains will deliver less than their normal quantum. Would it make a difference to
Agumbe, a place famous for its copious rainfall, an average of 7,500mm in a normal year?
At dawn, birds began singing even as frogs continued their vocal din. The whistling thrushs unhurried, rambling tune harmonised
with racket-tailed drongos brisk, metallic, multi-timbral chatter. Fairy-bluebirds flashed their lapis shoulders as they flitted around
fruiting bushes. Crimson-breasted Malabar trogons kept a low profile on the forest edge. The day grew brighter, revealing blue
skies, and the nights illusion of monsoon vanished.

It was the end of the jackfruit season. Many lay squashed on the ground, a feast for animals from elephants to squirrels and rats. A
few remaining fruits hung pendulously from tree trunks. A fragrantly ripe one hung low, and Ram pulled it down. Milky sap
collected around the broken stalk.
Squatting on the ground, he grasped the fleshy end of the fruit and pulled it apart. The bulbs were small and thin. I popped one in
my mouth. It was fibrous, soft and unchewable. I spat out the large seed and swallowed the delectable flesh whole. This was not the
familiar jackfruit, but a wild cousin.

Inch-long leeches made their way towards us, sensing the air occasionally with the narrower end of their linear bodies to zero in on
their targets. I flicked them off with one hand, while digging into the sticky fruit with the other. By the time I had a few pieces, Ram
had demolished half the fruit, and his hands and stubble-covered face were smeared in white latex. Ive been known to hog a whole
jackfruit by myself, and I began to see a competitor in Ram. Id have to be faster and less decorous. But Ram left the other half on
the ground and rose, suggesting, Well leave the rest for the animals. I acquiesced.

At the first homestead, we stopped to clean up and quench our thirst. Our hosts didnt comment on the obvious signs of our jungle
repast. Bidding them farewell, we returned to the research station.

Clouds gathered, and by evening, it began raining in earnest. In the village, many houses were already covered with tarpaulin sheets
against the prevailing wind. Some followed tradition areca fronds skilfully woven through a wooden frame to form a watertight
barrier. But many tardy households were still repairing their roofs, and rains must have been unwelcome.

After dinner, I contemplated going for a walk. But Ajay Giri, the stations education officer, received an urgent call. A king cobra
had gone to sleep under a bed in a village house about 60km away. The decrepit jeeps headlights and windscreen wiper didnt
work. At least the yellow fog lights did, but it took us two hours to reach the village. Women and children were already tucked
indoors, and a crowd of about 30 men, most of them exhaling fumes of alcohol, awaited us.
The men ushered us to a tiny house. Firewood and bales of leaf litter to spread in the barns lay covered in plastic. Cow dung patties
to be used as fuel lay in piles. Inside, pickles cured in large porcelain jars, while stacks of dry appalams sat on kitchen shelves. From

the rafters, rotund Madras cucumbers hung from strings. Young green jackfruit and mangoes, gourds, and bamboo shoots were
preserved in salt.

Once the monsoon hit, vegetables would become scarce, and families in this region will live on a diet of fresh edible leaves from the
kitchen garden and Madras cucumbers. Appalams, pickles and salted preserves made into chutneys would provide the only variety.
A large king cobra lay in a tight coil under the bed and hissed softly when the torchlight shone on his face. I didnt want to be in a
furniture-crammed house with a soon-to-be-agitated snake and 30 men blocking the door. I opted to stay outdoors, while Ajay
directed the snake into a gaping jumbo-sized snake bag. One of the men, a retired policeman, kept me company. He had served in
Kosovo on a UN Peacekeeping Mission. He spoke about 10 words of English and my Kannada was worse.
After Ajay bagged the snake, he gave the gathered crowd a talk on the species and the need to release it close by. Freeing it far away
would likely sentence it to death, he said, quoting a research study. It was well past midnight before Ajay had answered all their
questions. Forest Department officials escorted us to a forest a kilometre away. Ajay opened the bag, and the 11-foot snake
disappeared into the darkness.

Over the following days, the weather followed the same pattern: sunny mornings, cloudy afternoons and rainy evenings.

I asked Kasturiakka, a matriarch who lived in Agumbes famous 200-year-old family home, Dodda Mane, the setting for the muchloved television series Malgudi Days, if villagers worshipped for rain. She said, Yes, at the Rishya Shringeswara temple in Kigga.
Do people ever request god to stop the rains? I asked.
Of course, she said. They worship at the same temple. But the monsoons were heavier 20 years ago.
I expected the name Agumbe, a place that considers 7,500mm of rainfall normal, to mean where the rains dump their goods. Even
Rishya Shringeswara, the sage who could summon Indra, the god of rains, presided 35km away. Kasturiakka corrected me,
Agumbe is short for Madagumbapura. It means the place with lots of elephants.
That was surprising. There were no elephants in Agumbe until six years ago, when two bulls from Chikmagalur started making
annual visits.
There was a massive forestry operation in the old days. Lots of captive elephants were used to fell trees and move logs, said
Kasturiakka.
Later, I dropped in to see Vamanna, the local weatherman. He has maintained records from 1962, also the year of the highest
rainfall in 52 years: 11,343mm. I struggled to imagine what over 35 feet of rain could be like. He offered an understatement: The
road was blocked.

One afternoon, rains came down with force and mist wafted down from the sky. In the evening, winged termites emerged from the
ground. Some flew upwards on their nuptials, while most crash-landed nearby, unable to get airborne. It was raining too hard for
any predators to home in on this meal. Moments later, I grew aware of another kind of water rushing. A stream that had been dry
had started to gush. To me, swarming termites and rushing stream personified monsoon.
This is not the monsoon, said a recent arrival at the station. Monsoon arrives with a lot of thunder and lightning.
A veteran countered, Thats pre-monsoon. The monsoon arrives with wind only.
According to the weathermen, its officially monsoon when it has rained for over 48 hours with a westerly wind speed of 27 to
37kmph. This is the way the monsoon arrives, not with a bang but inexorably blown in.

That humid night was deafening with sounds of a frog orgy. Their mottled glistening skins shone brightly in torchlight. A dark
Malabar pit viper, resembling lichen, coiled around a stick on the path, waiting to ambush a passing frog, even as the rain beat down
on it.
Early the next morning, I waited for a taxi to the airport. I wondered if the driver would arrive on time with the rain pelting down
and mist reducing visibility. As the watch ticked, I considered my meagre options. The jeep would not get me to the airport in time.
It was either the taxi or a missed flight. I stared at the misty blankness. Was this the monsoon finally? A phone call broke my
reverie. The driver said a fallen tree obstructed the road.

I woke up Ajay and he drove me the few hundred metres to the tree. The only way to get to the other side was to squeeze through
the barbed-wire fence protecting a Forest Department cane and guava plantation, circumvent most of the prone tree crown, crawl
back out through the fence, and scramble over a few branches.
I reached the airport just in time, with red earth crusted around my toes, disreputable flip-flops, damp bags and a lingering smell of
jackfruit on my hands. The monsoon had well and truly arrived.
(Janaki Lenin writes on wildlife and conservation. Her last book was My Husband and Other Animals.)

(This article was published on July 11, 2014)

India's new policy puts roads ahead of wildlife concerns

Faster approvals for military projects along China border could put 60 national parks and their iconic animals at
risk

Indian army personnel keep vigil at Bumla pass at the India-China border in Arunachal Pradesh. The
Indian military wants to build roads linking its outposts and airbases. Photograph: Biju
Boro/AFP/Getty Images
Janaki Lenin
Thursday 10 July 201417.46 BST
A fortnight after Prakash Javadekar was sworn in as Indias minister for environment, forests, and
climate change on 26 May, he announced a new policy. Any defence-related project within 62 miles
(100 km) of the border with China will get environmental approval fast. Five states Jammu and
Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Sikkim, and Arunachal Pradesh will have the power of
veto.
Officials from the ministry of defence complain that 3,728 miles of roads linking outposts and camps
to main roads have been stuck for want of environmental clearances. Javadekars new policy aims to
avoid these delays compromising Indias military capability.
The current state of roads is so bad it takes over an hour to travel a kilometre in some places. One army
commandant quipped that should the Chinese invadeIndia, the poor roads would slow their advance.
Across the border, Chinas well-developed infrastructure including airbases and an extensive network
of railways and roads makes the Indian defence establishment nervous and envious. The militaries of
these Asian super powers had a face-off as recently as April 2013 in Jammu and Kashmir.
There current system causes delays at every stage. Even after getting clearances, a six-mile road
through Hemis national park, Jammu and Kashmir, is proceeding at a snails pace for the past decade.
Although villagers and local administration want it desperately, the national park authorities use

wildlife laws to stall it. Without any work, the migrant workers living in camps inside the protected
area are suspected of poaching wild animals.
Not all delays are the result of the regulatory bodies dithering. Often, applicants dont provide
adequate or accurate information. In some cases, the states provide faulty supporting documents. So
its unfair to blame the environment ministry alone for delays.
And the military doesnt move fast even when there is nothing stalling its projects. The widening of
the Rohtang Pass on the main Leh-Manali highway, Himachal Pradesh, has been underway for six
years. Although less than six-mile long, it remains periodically impassable.
Shilpa Chohan, a partner at Indian Environment Law Offices, and a supreme court advocate, says:
Before giving blanket approval for projects such as border roads, the ministry should first assess the
reasons for delays in the environment clearance process and address the basic systemic causes. If
clearances are given through a policy framework rather than a case-by-case basis, they overlook the
regulatory framework and the basic philosophy behind carrying out environment impact assessment.

The natural habitat of the iconic Snow Leopard (Panthera uncia) would be affected by the new policy.
Photograph: Vince Burton/Alamy
This new policy sets a precedent for every other department to demand blanket approvals. On 6 July,
Javadekar announced environmental clearances for public purpose infrastructure would also be
speeded up. For whom were the laws and regulatory mechanisms legislated then?
Within 62 miles of the Chinese border, there are about 60 national parks and sanctuaries. Many of the
proposed roads cut through forests such as Gangotri national park in Uttarakhand, Khanchendzonga
national park and biosphere reserve in Sikkim, and Dibang wildlife sanctuary in Arunachal Pradesh.

This entire Himalayan area is a biodiversity hotspot, one of only 34 in the world, and home to animals
and birds such as musk deer, Mishmi takins, and Sclaters monal pheasants. And the most charismatic
of them all is the snow leopard.
Yash Veer Bhatnagar, a wildlife biologist from Nature Conservation Foundation, says:
Snow leopards range far beyond protected forests, and most of their habitat occurs along the border
with China and Pakistan. The armed forces are an important constituent in the conservation of the
species. If any activities drastically harm nature, alternatives have to be sought in a timely manner.
For example, a slight realignment of roads in Hanle area, Jammu and Kashmir, could have completely
avoided the small and only known population of Tibetan gazelle there.
In attempting to boost its military capability and cut through bureaucratic red tape, India shouldnt lose
sight of its ecological imperatives.
Janaki Lenin is a freelance journalist living in India
An end to India's 'Wild West'? Meghalaya bans coal mining... for now
Janaki Lenin, mongabay.com correspondent
July 08, 2014
This article was produced under the Global Forest Reporting Network and can be re-published on your web site or blog or in
your magazine, newsletter, or newspaper under these terms.
Unregulated mining ended lives, trashed environment, may be up for renewal in August
Meghalaya, a state in Indias northeast, has thick forests above ground and valuable minerals below. Coal occurs in a narrow belt
from the lower western end of the state across to the eastern end. Uncontrolled mining in the area has cleared forests, degraded rivers, and
led to many accidents and deaths as few health and safety standards exist for mine workers. A ban effected earlier this year halted all
mining in the state, but is set to be reconsidered at a hearing scheduled for August.
The All Dimsa Students Union and Dimsa Hasao District Committee of Assam filed a petition before the National Green Tribunal (NGT)
on April 2, 2014. They alleged coal mining upriver in Meghalaya had polluted the River Kopili, affecting people downriver in Assam. On
April 17, the NGT stopped all coal mining and transport of coal within the state.

Meghalaya is located in India's northeast, and has experienced significant forest cover loss in recent years. Map courtesy of Global Forest
Watch. Click to enlarge.
Beginning in the 1970s, coal has been a major state export. Since the turn of the 21st century, the state government has collected taxes on
five million to six million tonnes of the substance every year.
However, the actual amount of coal that was exported from the state may be much higher. Rajkamal Goswami, a researcher from Ashoka
Trust for Research in Ecology and Environment (ATREE), told mongbay.com, a lot of discrepancy happens at the weighing bridges
thereby undervaluing the royalty/duties. Such malpractices are more blatant in Garo Hills where law enforcement is almost nonexistent.
Thus even the official estimates might not really reflect the true ground situation.
None of Meghalayas coal mines are officially registered, so there are no accurate data on production. Nobody even knows how many
mines exist, as landowners who discover coal on their property often started mining without any paperwork. Because of these unregulated
underground excavations, entire hills are riddled with deep mine shafts, land has caved in, and roads have cracked. Monsoon rains carry
away mine waste to rivers, turning water acidic. Every year since 2007, River Lukha turns a surreal toxic teal due to sludge runoff washed
from the mines.

A post-monsoon river with runoff from mine waste. Photo by Rajkamal Goswami.
Coal is indiscriminately mined and dumped on forested lands, leading to widespread degradation. To truck coal out, roads are cut through
forests. Global Forest Watch figures show 60,914 hectares of forest loss between 2001 and 2012, representing almost 3 percent of the
states geographic area.
The burning of coal leads to air pollution. Due in part to coal, a 2014 report issued by the World Health Organization found that India has

overtaken China for the worlds worst air quality. Another report issued in 2013 by the Conservation Action Trust and Greenpeace-India
found that burning coal in India likely led to 80,000-115,000 deaths annually, including 10,000 children under five.
In addition to causing local air pollution problems and degrading land, coal mining has global repercussions; coal is the most carbonintensive fuel source, and is playing a big role in global warming.
Immigrants brought from Nepal, Bangladesh, and other parts of India toil to extract coal under dangerous conditions. Because the mines
are unregulated, they're not subject to laws ensuring worker safety. This consequential lack of health and safety standards has led to
accidents and deaths. In one of many instances, four miners were buried alive when the walls of a box mine in the Garo Hills collapsed
earlier this year.
The mines were also exempt from child labor restrictions. The organization, Human Rights Now, discovered 70,000 children were
working in the hazardous mines of Jaintia Hills in eastern Meghalaya alone.

The Lukha River in Meghalaya. Photo by Rajkamal Goswami.

The tribal inhabitants of the state enjoy administrative autonomy to a degree unknown in the rest of India. Under the provisions of the
Sixth Schedule, three District Councils have the power to legislate laws to safeguard customary tribal practices, basically allowing their
absolute control of mineral extraction. While absolute control is still held on a federal level, nothing appears to have been done before the
ban to regulate the industry in Meghalaya.
The tribal areas of Meghalaya are governed by the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution of India, which recognizes the primacy of the
District Councils to protect the cultural identity and tradition of the tribals, Shilpa Chohan, a partner at Indian Environment Law Offices
and a Supreme Court advocate who is familiar with the coal mining industry in Meghalaya, told mongabay.com.
The schedule further stipulates that the President of India can exempt or modify any Parliamentary enactment (Central Law) for the state.
But until an exemption is issued, all parliamentary enactments, including mining, environment and forest, are applicable to the state like
the rest of the country.

Trucks hauling mined coal over the Lukha River. Photo by Rajkamal Goswami.
The states Mines and Minerals Policy of 2012, acknowledges coal mining requires a mineral concession from the state, as well as
clearances from the State Pollution Control Board and the State Environment and Forest Department. However, these clearances were
often bypassed as red tape.
Meghalaya has become like Americas Wild West, with the state completely derelicting its regulatory function, Arpan Sharma of the
non-profit Samrakshan told mongabay.com.
Tribal chiefs oppose any move to regulate mining, for fear their traditional powers may be eroded. They also argue that coal mining is a
customary practice.
However, coal has no traditional use in homes in the state, nor is it used to smelt iron to make implements. The British began coal mining
in the 19th century, and it is primarily exported to Assam and Bangladesh. Recently, cement factories have been established in Meghalaya
that use coal to generate electricity.

The building of a cement factory, which will be powered by coal-generated electricity. Photo by Rajkamal Goswami.
While the ban has shut down mining in the state and improved local environmental conditions, processing is still active. In Meghalaya
alone, approximately 30 coke plants that convert mined coal to fuel, five thermal units, and seven cement factories have been starved of
coal as a result of the ban. However, they simply source coal from elsewhere, such as from the neighboring state of Nagaland.
Early in June, the NGT formed a committee to decide how to transport coal that had already been mined. The next hearing of the coal
mining ban is scheduled for August 1 in Shillong, the states capital.
Conservationists expect stiff opposition to the ban from local mine operators at the hearing. But citizen groups from neighboring states and
activists will also have a say, demanding improved health and safety measures for miners, cleaner air and water for the local populace, and
better forest management.

Firstly, there has to be a moratorium on all illegal coal mining and today all mining is illegal [in Meghalaya], Sharma said. Secondly,
[if the ban is lifted,] the state should identify Ecologically Sensitive Zones where no mining can be allowed. Areas falling outside these
zones can be mined, provided they follow all the laws and best practices.

New report: illegal logging keeps militias and terrorist groups in business
Janaki Lenin, mongabay.com correspondent
June 30, 2014
This article was produced under the Global Forest Reporting Network and can be re-published on your web site or blog or in
your magazine, newsletter, or newspaper under these terms.
Total profit from environmental crime may exceed $200 billion per year
Deforestation has many harmful consequences, from loss of wildlife habitat to degradation of water and air quality, and many more.
Now, a new report adds another repercussion to the list: the funding of terrorist groups and other crime networks.
Entitled The Environmental Crime Crisis and released last week by the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) during the first
United Nations Environment Assembly in Nairobi, Kenya, the report found that together with other other illicit operations such as
poaching, illegal deforestation is one of the top money-makers for criminal groups like Boko Haram and Al-Shabaab.

Burundi peacekeepers prepare for next rotation to Somalia to fight Al-Shabaab insurgents. Photo by US Army Africa.
The report pegged the total worth of environmental crime, including logging, fishing, mining, wildlife trafficking, and waste, at $70 billion
to $213 billion per year. Illegal logging alone was worth between $30 billion to $100 billion annually, while wildlife trafficking was worth
$7 billion to $23 billion. As if the situation werent nightmarish already, organized criminals, militias, and terrorist groups reaped a
significant amount of this ill-gotten lucre, especially in some African countries.
In many parts of the world, wood smugglers are not prosecuted as stringently as wildlife poachers. Unlike dealing in illegal drugs, piracy,
or wildlife crime, the probability of getting caught and convicted is low, while profits are high. Even worse, many conflict zones are in the

vicinity of forests where governments have little reach. Illegal timber trade is a made-to-order industry for criminal and armed gangs.
In parts of Africa, trees are often burnt to make charcoal. Some armed gangs plunder trees even from protected areas in countries like
Tanzania, Uganda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Others levy tax up to 30 percent of the sale value of the burnt wood
at road blocks. In the DRC, militias make $14 million to $50 million per year from taxes. Trade in charcoal is suspected to fund the
operations of the terrorist organization, Boko Haram, made infamous most recently for the abduction of more than 200 girls from a school
in the eastern part of Nigeria.
In Somalia, the Al-Shabaab militant group makes an estimated $8 million to $18 million per year from just one road block in Badhadhe
District, Lower Juba Region. Such road tax on charcoal shipments appears to be the militant groups primary income.
A report issued by the United Nations Security Council Committees Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea notes charcoal produced
from the aromatic wood of Acacia trees (Acacia bussei) is a sought-after luxury item for grilling meat in Dubai, Oman, Saudi, and Yemen.
Kismayo, a key seaport in Al-Shabaab territory in southern Somalia, is especially renowned for high-quality charcoal.
According to Global Forest Watch, Somalia lost 7,554 hectares of forest between 2001 and 2012, equaling approximately 0.02 percent of
its total land area. While that may not seem like much loss, Somalias total illicit charcoal export is estimated to be worth $360 million to
$384 million per year.

After Brazil, the DRC has the world's largest intact swath of tropical forest. But logging has reduced it by six million hectares over the
past 13 years. Map courtesy of Global Forest Watch. Click to enlarge.
The UNEP report notes plundering of forests for charcoal production deprives these countries of $1.9 billion per year in potential revenue,
and the demand for charcoal is expected to only grow in the future. By 2050, estimates predict the population of Africa will increase by 1.1
billion, and the demand for charcoal may triple to 90.8 million tons per year.
While trade in charcoal appears to be restricted to within the neighborhoods of its countries of origin, wood pulp has a global market. Of
all the suspected illegal tropical wood entering the U.S. and E.U., 62 to 86 percent arrives in the form of paper, pulp, and wood chips. Once
wood is processed into pulp, only laboratory analysis of fibers can reveal the species of tree and country of origin. To further confound
authorities, illegally obtained pulp is often mixed with legally produced plantation wood.
The report recalls that Charles Taylor, the former President of Liberia and a convicted war criminal, funded his countrys civil war with
timber. Similarly, logging fueled the Khmer Rouge rule of terror in Cambodia.

Forest crime benefits cohorts of armed militias and terrorist groups. If they suffer military defeat, their economic clout enables them to
regroup and resurface. They buy arms and get advanced training, enabling them to undertake larger and more complicated military
operations. They take control of roads, rivers, ports, and border crossings, where taxes offer a significant source of income. Conflicts near
forested areas can destroy natural resources and cause severe human rights abuses.
While little is happening to change the situation in Africa, Latin America offers a brighter picture. Since monitoring began in 1988, Brazil
enjoyed the sharpest decline in deforestation in the world in 2012, a reduction of 64 to 78 percent.

Brazil's deforestation has slowed somewhat in recent years. However, in 2012 alone, 2.5 million hectares were felled. Map courtesy of
Global Forest Watch. Click to enlarge.
According to a study published in Science earlier this month, Brazil lost less than 500,000 hectares in 2012. To put that in perspective, the
countrys average annual rate of deforestation hovered around two million hectares between 1996 and 2005, representing the loss of an
area of forest the size of Israel or the U.S. state of Massachusetts every year. Global Forest Watch figures show a loss of about 36,028,000
hectares between 2001 and 2013, representing more than four percent of Brazils total land area.
This dramatic improvement was the result of coordinated enforcement, using satellite imagery and targeted police operations, as well as
large-scale engagement with communities in REDD+ and other initiatives. However, in 2013, Brazils rate of forest loss rose slightly to
600,000 hectares. In 2013, a coordinated effort by INTERPOL resulted in the seizure of 292,000 cubic meters (11 million cubic feet) of
wood and wood products in Costa Rica and Venezuela. The volume of wood seized was equivalent to 19,500 truckloads and worth about
$40 million.
Indonesia, the country currently experiencing the largest percentage of forest loss in the world, is also combating environmental crime.
Trained by the United Nations Office of Drugs and Crime, investigators prosecuted a suspected timber smuggler from West Papua on

money laundering charges; $127 million passed through his account. In May 2014, he was sentenced to eight years in prison.
The Environmental Crime Crisis concludes by stating the urgent need for much more to be done. It recommends that countries take
certain measures to reduce their rates of crime-induced deforestation in the long-term, including acknowledging the threats forest crimes
pose to sustainable development, promoting consumer awareness to reduce demand, and strengthening certification programs and
legislation. In the short-term, the report underlines the importance of sharply increasing the scale and coordination of operations to tackle
illegal logging.

Indonesia has lost six million acres of forest since 2001, a level of deforestation that is equivalent to nearly 10 percent of its total land
area. Map courtesy of Global Forest Watch. Click to enlarge.

Citations:
Nellemann, C., Henriksen, R., Raxter, P., Ash, N., Mrema, E. (Eds). 2014. The Environ mental Crime Crisis Threats to
Sustainable Development from Illegal Exploitation and Trade in Wildlife and Forest Resources. A UNEP Rapid Response
Assessment. United Nations Environment Programme and GRID-Arendal, Nairobi and Arendal, www.grida.no

Is the banteng making a comeback? Researchers find new population in Cambodia

Janaki Lenin, mongabay.com correspondent
June 23, 2014
This article was produced under the Global Forest Reporting Network and can be re-published on your web site or blog or in
your magazine, newsletter, or newspaper under these terms.
Local communities playing a big role in protecting forest habitat
Researchers have discovered a new population of banteng (Bos javanicus), a species of wild cattle, in northwestern Cambodia. The
discovery was announced June 4, 2014 by Fauna and Flora International (FFI), and efforts are underway to implement conservation
initiatives to protect the area and its newfound banteng, which are listed as Endangered by the IUCN.
Camera trap images of six banteng were taken in a 9,500-hectare community forest in Siem Reap Province, where the species was
previously believed to have gone extinct. The area is not currently officially protected.

Banteng are similar in size to modern domestic cattle. There are an estimated 5,000-8,000 individuals worldwide, but populations are
generally small and fragmented. Photo by Caleb Jones, ISAC.
According to WWF, Cambodia is believed to hold the largest population of banteng in the world between 2,000 and 5,000 individuals.
Many of these animals are found in the eastern plains of Mondulkiri Province and the deciduous forests of northern Preah Vihear Province.
According to the IUCN Red List, the species has declined 95 percent since the 1960s. A significant number of animals are believed to live
in forests outside Protected Areas, as illustrated by the population near Siem Reap Province.
Unlike domestic cattle that feed on open pastures, the bantengs survival is linked to forests.
Historically, banteng would have inhabited dry deciduous forest and mixed/semi-evergreen forest, Caleb Jones, of the Angkor Centre for
Conservation of Biodiversity (ACCB), who set up the camera traps in Siem Reap, told mongabay.com. They particularly like mosaic
habitats with areas of open grassland and herbaceous bamboo alongside denser habitat where they can move when threatened or to sleep.
On site, we found most evidence for banteng (dung, hoof prints, sleeping sites, and camera records) in areas of mixed forest and in
evergreen forest. There was little evidence for banteng [at lower] elevations, closer to areas of human disturbance."
The dramatic decline in banteng numbers is exacerbated by the accelerating loss of forests. According to data from Global Forest Watch,
Cambodia lost approximately 1,259,480 hectares of tree cover between 2000 and 2012, representing nearly seven percent of its total land
area. Siem Reap Province has been hit even harder, with 128,640 hectares, or more than 10 percent, of its area deforested over the past 13
years.

Many parts of Cambodia have experienced significant forest loss. Map courtesy of Global Forest Watch. Click to enlarge.
One of the primary goals of the Programme is to conserve and enhance biodiversity for both environmental and community benefits,

Rob Harris, Programme Manager of the Asia-Pacific Community Carbon Pools and REDD+ Programme, told mongabay.com. FFI and
Forestry Administration [of the Cambodian Government] officers trained community members in the basics of Global Positioning System
(GPS), and how to record waypoints, forest crimes (illegal logging and animal poaching), and wildlife movements. GPS is cited as a very
effective forest monitoring tool that has aided in the prosecution of people involved in forest crime. Until the community forest is officially
legalised, local villages are playing a key role in forest protection as its guardians.
Since January 2014, trained community members have patrolled the forest, accompanied by district, provincial, and local authorities. They
use GPS points to mark any forest crimes, such as the location of animal traps. This information is shared with district authorities and the
Forest Administration. Community monitoring appears to have reduced instances of illegal land clearing and logging.
The Siem Reap community forest has a defined boundary and is largely surrounded by cassava plantations. A few farms, or chamkars,
had already been cleared within the forestry area before it was designated. These have been allowed to operate under the condition that
they dont expand their operations.

A photo of a member of the recently discovered population, taken by a camera trap. Photo by Caleb Jones, ISAC.
According to the IUCN, areas with the best banteng habitat in Cambodia face an uncertain future with the possibility of [de-gazettement]
of conservation status of parts of them, the possible loss of adequate external funding necessary to maintain high standards of management,
the possible loss of political support necessary to uphold high protection standards, and the uncertainties of maintaining a motivated and
well-trained staff. Empowering communities to take responsibility for their forests may address many of these problems.
A study published earlier this year in Conservation Biology reported the success of a similar community forestry program.
Our researchused both ground-based surveys and analysis of satellite imagery, co-author Daniel Bebber of University of Exeter told
mongabay.com. [It showed] conclusively that community forests are better protected than those managed by the government. Local
people have a stake in their natural environment, and our work found that the more active the villages are in organising patrols, the better
the protection works.
According to the study, community forests are most successful when members are allowed to sustainably harvest forest produce to
augment their income.
The community forest in Siem Reap may provide such an opportunity, too. The oily resin tapped from the numerous trees of hairy-leafed
apitong (Dipterocarpus alatus) is used to waterproof baskets and boats, as well as in paints, varnish, and lacquer. The money earned is
likely to act as an incentive for people to protect the forest and the wild cattle of this part of Cambodia.
According to Bebber, action on the part of the government is needed to stem environmental degradation on the national scale.
Unfortunately, Cambodia still faces serious illegal logging and corruption, and the government must do more to curb the onslaught on
Cambodias natural heritage, Bebber said.

The region where the banteng were rediscovered is home to many other threatened species, such as these endangered Asiatic softshell
turtles (Amyda cartilaginea). Photo by Ou Samon, FFI.
Besides forest loss, the banteng face other threats such as hunting, diseases transmitted by domestic cattle, and hybridization.
Due to the high risk of hunting in Siem Reap Province, FFI has chosen not to disclose the exact location at which banteng were
photographed, Harris said.
In addition to declines in their numbers, banteng behavior has also been changing as the animals adapt to a changing world.
Human disturbance is also thought to be the main factor causing the bantengs switch from diurnally active to nocturnal across most of its
remaining range, said Jones. Local guides said they remember seeing herds of banteng active during the day at lower levels more than 10
years ago. If human disturbance could be reduced at this site, potentially banteng would make more use of the low-level, dry deciduous
forest for grazing in the future.
Other animals detected in the area include the endangered pileated gibbon (Hylobates pileatus), Bengal slow loris (Nycticebus
bengalensis), northern pig-tailed macaque (Macaca leonina), the endangered elongated tortoise (Indotestudo elongata), Asiatic softshell
turtle (Amyda cartilaginea), sun bear (Helarctos malayanus), and coral-billed ground cuckoo (Carpococcyx renauldi).
The Siem Reap community forestry program must walk a fine line between reducing disturbance to the forest so banteng may thrive, while
fulfilling human livelihood concerns. If it succeeds, it may well foster not only the success of the banteng, but other endangered species
such as the prime predator of these jungles, the Indochinese tiger (Panthera tigris corbetti).

Bengal slow lorises (Nycticebus bengalensis), listed by the IUCN as Vulnerable, are declining due to habitat loss and the exotic pet trade.
They are also hunted for traditional medicine. Photo by Senglim Suy, Birds of Cambodia Education and Conservation.

Endangered pileated gibbons (Hylobates pileatus) are also found in the region. Photo by Sam Un, FFI

Cloud's End - Gopalswamy Betta

Published in Outlook Traveller April 2014

A sharp musky smell assailed our nostrils. There was no doubt what it was: elephants. They were out of sight in the thick forested slopes.
It was a steep climb up the motorable road to the peak of Gopalswamy Betta. At 1,450 metres, goose bumps erupted as a cool breeze blew. The
temple was reportedly built in 1315 by a Hoysala king Ballala, just before the ancestors of the current Wadiyar dynasty established their rule over
the area. The hero stones collected from the forest and installed at the Bandipur reception centre certainly make one wonder if Bandipur was once
settled by humans and has since become rewilded.

Clouds hung low, mist blew in waves, and softly rounded, grass-covered hills undulated westwards. A couple of sambhar grazed on a distant
hillside, no larger than specks in the landscape.
Arati was in photographers heaven, delighted with every slight change in light. Had we been granted more time, she would have happily shot a
million pictures more. When our 30 minutes were up, I had to drag a reluctant Arati back to the car.
Gopalswamy Betta is about 25 km from the Bandipur main entrance, off the Mysore-Gudalur Highway. It takes half an hour from the park to the
hills check post. You are granted 90 minutes, but the drive up is half an hour each way, leaving only 30 minutes at the temple. Taking
photographs along the way is prohibited unless permitted by the Field Director. They can confiscate your camera if you do. Also prohibited are
plastic bags and picnics. The reason for these strictures: Gopalswamy Betta is in the core area of the Bandipur Tiger Reserve. Entry is between 9
am and 3:30 pm. Entry fee: Rs. 50 a car.

Paddling around in Phuket

Published in Outlook Traveller LUXE January2014

Sonny guided the inflatable kayak across the expansive Phang Nga Bay, Phuket, towards an immense rock. At the waterline, I could see skylight
on the other side of a small tunnel, and we sped straight for it. Sonny commanded, Lie back, and I obeyed his order, holding my hands against
my body. Had my arm snagged, the sharp-edged, rough wall would have skinned it. The tunnel, just wider than the kayak, was a portal to another
dimension.
We emerged from the dark cave into an open-air pond, with cycads, bamboo, grasses, and fig trees growing on the enormous wall encircling us.
Unseen birds occasionally chirped high up on the rocky cliff, breaking the eerie silence. Sonny explained how these open-to-the-sky tidal pools
were created.

Over millennia, rainwater collected in puddles on top of these limestone rocks and ate away the cores, hollowing out the islets. Sea water eroded

the rocks from outside at the waterline. Where the walls were especially thin, caves formed allowing the sea to enter the hollow islets. Many of
these sea caves called hongs, meaning rooms, were open at low tide, and we couldnt get too carried away by the beauty. We had to scoot out
before the tide came in or be trapped for six hours until the next low tide.
Has that ever happened? I asked Sonny.
No. But weve been in some tight situations.
A troop of well-camouflaged crab-eating macaques or swamp monkeys sat patiently on rocks, waiting for hand-outs. Our group of kayakers was
the last of the days visitors.
When John Gray, the man who put these sea caves on the tourist map, paddled by, I asked him, How many people visit these caves?
About 4,000 to 5,000 a day.

Thats not surprising, since these hongs in Phang Nga Bay were only an hours boat ride from bustling Phuket. More and more kayaks entered the
hong and noise levels rose; I was happy to go back to the bay.
The tide was rising and the tunnel seemed narrower on the way out. How do you get rotund guests through that? I asked Sonny.
We let some air out of the kayak so we ride lower and the belly gets through. He cackled with laughter, obviously remembering a particularly
round beer guts close shave.
Dramatic limestone rocks with green vegetation cascading from the top rose out of the blue bay. Each had eroded in interesting and unique ways;
some had arches, while others looked like they had been nibbled by giant rats. We entered another hong with a huge portal, a bat roost, and we
comfortably paddled without risking skinned elbows.

The flotilla of lemon-coloured kayaks headed back to the mother boat. While waiting for nightfall, Sonny and the other guides taught us tourists to
make orchid-decorated, banana pith floats called krathongs. Thais celebrate Loi Krathong, when we observe Karthikai Deepam in south India and
Kartik Purnima in the north, once a year on a full moon night in mid-November. They set adrift their past sins and bad luck in the krathongs and
as an offering to the river. But every tourist on the Hong by Starlight tour celebrated it, no matter the time of year or moon phase. Shorn of its
cultural context, it was a corny exercise I thought.
A chorus of loud shrieks rent the air. Brahminy kites swooped down in the boats wake, snatching up chicken necks the cook chucked into the
water. John said, I dont condone feeding wildlife; I dont feed monkeys. But visiting ornithologists told me feeding raptors is okay. By the time
the last morsel was picked out of the waters and the kites went back to riding the thermals high in the sky, all the krathongs were made.

At sunset, we anchored near a tall rocky islet where wed float the krathongs after nightfall. Black clouds spluttering lightning bolts, like colossal
live fire opals, sped our way, and within minutes, a demonic rain god embraced us. Lightning crashed around the boat, thunder reverberated, and
the rain drummed loudly on the boats roof. John commanded the craft move closer to the rock, explaining, If we stick close to it, the lightning is
likely to spare the boat.

The weather forecast indicated thunderstorms for the week, but the cloudless, sunny days had fooled everybody. With nothing to do, I helped
myself to more stir-fried tofu. I resolved yet again to run the next morning, weather willing. I overate at every meal, and the blame lay squarely
with the scrumptious Thai cuisine.
I had all the encouragement to run. Westin Siray Bay Resort and Spas running concierge would run with me and point out any scenic or cultural
sites along a pre-charted route. I cant say how this unique concept works; not even the incentive of complimentary New Balance footwear could
stir me out of my Heavenly Bed, the hotel chains hallmark of customized comfort.
The 250-plus-room resort was arrayed along a hillslope above the lobby, and a cool sea breeze blew from Siray Bay. Every room had an
unhindered view of the sea. Locally-crafted, long-tail wooden boats, ferries, and speedboats plied the waters. On a distant hill, the 45-metre-tall
marble statue called the Big Buddha glowed white in the morning sun.
The beach below the resort was just a fringe of sand, disappointing for sun-worshippers. The bay was so sheltered, there was no breeze to get the
windsurfers moving. But what Westin lacked in beaches, it made up in views and location. Although the resort was on the far and quieter side of
the island from touristy Patong, I had to travel a mere eight kilometres to reach Phuket town.
I walked into a splendidly restored colonial building that housed the Blue Elephant restaurant on Krabi Road. Tony Bish, the Texan-Phuketian
chef, led a group of us, novices at Thai cooking, to the kitchen garden to pick fresh betel leaves to make crab curry. We sampled basil and
lemongrass, examined the round, white Thai eggplant, and regarded the many kinds of chillies with respect.
At the culinary school, in the rear of the restaurant, every student had a stove, implements, and an array of ingredients. Following Tonys example,
we each made our own crab curry. While he liberally threw five blood red birds eye chillies into the mortar, I conservatively used only one.
Proud of making my first Thai dish, I tasted a large spoonful of it, and recoiled from the lone chillis heat.

Over a sumptuous lunch fit for royalty, Kim Stepp, the affable Belgian-Phuketian general manager of the restaurant, quipped, Phuket town is
the soul of the island and Patong is its heartbeat.
Whats Siray? I asked.
Its the site of the first human settlement on the island. The sea gypsies were the first to settle here.
The Moken sea gypsy settlement was visible from the resorts lobby. In times past, the community was nomadic, living at sea for months. Even
though the gypsies were the original settlers, they werent accepted as Thai nationals.

I wandered through the hamlet. Women, some with babies cradled on their laps, sat cross-legged in groups on low bamboo platforms, chatting and
preparing food. The older ladies wore traditional sarongs and blouses, while the younger ones wore capris and t-shirts. The elderly slept in the
shade, oblivious of noisy kids racing down the street. The Moken looked more Polynesian than Thai, and they rarely looked up at me. If our eyes
met, they shyly looked away.
Under a large tree by the waters edge, three men were making what looked like cages. Between the rattan and thin hardwood mangrove struts, the
mens hands blurred as they wove bobbins of wire back and forth, twist, back and forth, twist in a chain link pattern. I walked around a cage
examining its construction. The wall of one side caved into a funnel, the jagged wires sticking out like teeth. It was a fish trap. Although it seemed
light in construction, I wondered how the fishermen hoisted a full trap out of the water. I knew no Thai and they knew no English, so I only had
recourse to my imagination.
After lunch, I met tour guide Nantawan Kosai, who preferred to be called Jennifer Lopez. A group of us set off from Blue Elephant, following and
hanging on her every word as she led us down Thalang Road. Although Phuket seemed to have sprung to life in recent years as a tourist spot, it
had a flourishing tin mining industry for more than a century.

Many Chinese barons built ornate mansions like the Blue Elephant, but most preferred to live in shop-houses. Business was conducted downstairs,
and living quarters upstairs. Porches of these row houses connected to form an arcaded walkway called five-foot-way. Built in the Sino-

Portuguese style adapted from Penang, the buildings had spacious rooms, ceramic floor tiles, European-style stucco ornamentation, central
courtyards called chimcha, and front doors adorned with Chinese motifs.
Jennifer said the narrow boutique shop-lined alley Soi Romanee used to house the ladies of the night. But with this curious twist in custom: Every
evening, the women gathered in the balconies and picked their choice from the parade of men walking below. One rich businessman, who made
his lonely way home unconsummated for four consecutive evenings, apparently committed suicide.
There was much to see and savour of Phukets history, but we were rushed for time. We hurried through an amulet market where I found a
shivaling carved in graphic detail, a colourful Chinese Taoist temple, and Phuket Thai Hua Museum (formerly a school for Chinese children).
Jennifer shepherded us into a blue mini bus locally called po-tong.
We arrived at the top of Khao Rang hill just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. At the popular Tung-ka Cafe, Jennifer ordered a round of
Kopichamp, Phukets unique blended beverage of coffee and tea. It sounded vile, but if Jennifer was so proud of it, it was worth a try. It was cold
coffee with an aftertaste of tea, and surprisingly good and refreshing at the end of a long walk.
I manoeuvred my way along the crowded wooden viewing deck to see the city lights spread out below. No matter how unplanned and messy a
city looks by day, it is always pretty by night, and Phuket was no exception.

*********
Fed up of waiting for the rain to ease, Sonny distributed disposable plastic ponchos. Many guests said they didnt want to risk their lives going out
among striking lightning bolts. With the krathongs tucked underneath the ponchos to keep the candles dry, some of us kayaked away from the
boat.
Lightning lit up the landscape for an instant, and the monochromatic bluish image registered in my mind like a photograph. With head lamps
aglow, the kayak guides navigated into a large cave. Every paddle swish made the water sparkle with emerald-green stars: self-illuminating
plankton.
The cave was still and quiet as we solemnly lit the candles on the krathongs. Sonnys voice echoed, Make a wish when you let them go. I was
too dumbstruck by the beauty and drama of the scene to think of a wish. It felt good to just be. The walls of the cave flickered in candlelight, and
our shadows swirled around as the jewel-like krathongs drifted away gently into the hong.
Despite my earlier misgivings about celebrating Loi Krathong out of season, it was truly a magical experience. The spectacular storm gave the
faux light festival a new context, one I could make my own.

Of Men and Mountains

Published in Outlook Traveller Dec 2013

Everyone I encounter is a mountaineer, outdoorsman, or an adventurer. I look around the dinner gathering at Steve and Ameeta Alters heritage
home and wonder how I fit in this ensemble. Butterfly specialist Peter Smetacek, ecologist Theophilus, poetess Mamang Dai, and writers I. Allan
Sealy and Bill Aitken live in the mountains. I meet two ladies who write about mountaineers.
Is this a writers festival in the mountains, a festival of writers of mountain stories, or a festival of writers and mountains?
William Dalrymple strides into the room, flinging one loose end of a heavy grey shawl over his shoulder. His new book Return of a King looks
at the disastrous British meddling in Afghanistan. After installing Shah Shuja as the ruler, the British army tries to retreat to India but is
annihilated in the Hindu Kush Mountains. More appropriately, the deposed Afghan emir Dost Mohammed Khan is then held captive in
Mussoorie, the festivals hometown.
Even spouse Rom fits into the milieu. Hes showing his latest documentary Leopards: 21st Century Cats, and a major chunk of it was shot in
Uttarakhand. I tell myself I ought to have paid closer attention to the list of participants. I might have been able to make some ephemeral
connection to the mountains. Would the 700-foot scrub-covered hillock that overlooks our home count? Why on earth did Steve invite me?
My breath is fast and laboured from climbing the steep stairway from the Woodstock School gate to the auditorium, where the festival is held. I
stand outside the door, waiting for my lungs and heart to catch up with my feet. An icy breeze blowing off the Himalaya penetrates my thick
pullover and two layers of tees. The sky is cloudy and a veil of mist hides the view. I hurry inside before my thin tropical blood turns blue with
cold.
The more I listen to the talks, the more I question my place in the world. Freddie Wilkinson from New Hampshire was inspired by the stark
photography of Bradford Washburn to climb the icy peaks of Alaska. Where he sees beauty, I see a punishing landscape. Worse, he climbs alpine
style, a term that has me scrambling for Google.
Traditional mountaineering lays siege to mountain with a huge expedition of porters, guides, and cooks. Alpine style mountaineers carry all their
supplies and climb without oxygen cylinders. The lightness of their campaign allows them to move swiftly but they also have little time,
sometimes climbing 16 hours a day for days without food or water.
Freddie takes the words out of my mouth, Why do we punish ourselves so much? His answer, Its hard to explain. So lets change the
conversation from the danger of mountaineering to its beauty. The landscape dwarfs people; they look like ants scrambling up the edifice of
frozen rock as if to get to an imaginary pot of nectar on the summit.
Krzysztof Wielicki from Poland shows pictures of more frigid glaciers and talks of unknowingly coming within touching distance of the summit
before giving up. As he says it with a shrug and a laugh, I shiver with cold, real and reflected.
What drives these men to clamber up these inhospitable summits? Steve says mountaineering is the only sport with no spectators. If a stadium full
of people can energize a sportsman to achieve greatness, from where do mountaineers get their energy? Krzysztof says the mountains provide the
platform to push oneself beyond known limits, but my mind is a fog of incomprehension. Would I write if I had no readers?

Jerzy Porebskis film Kukuczka adds to my confusion. Not only was the eponymous subject the second man to climb all 14 of the 8000-metremountains, he took less than eight years to achieve what took Reinhold Messner 16 years. As if climbing these teat-like giants in summer wasnt
challenging enough, Kukuczka scaled many of them in winter. Why this self-flagellation? Krzysztof offers with an impish smile, You dont have
to wash when its that cold.
Maria Coffey from Canada talks of the pain of her boyfriends death on a mountain. His universe revolves around mountains, not her. Being fully
aware of the risks, he refuses to commit to the relationship. And then he dies on Everest, leaving Maria grieving not only for the man but the
relationship that never was. Maria visits the mountain with the widow of another mountaineer to bring closure, and writes about it in her first
book, Fragile Edge. Then she expands on the theme in another book Where the Mountain Casts Its Shadow, by detailing the sorrow of families
of mountaineers who died or went missing on snow-capped mountains. The intensity of her talk only made the question Why grow louder.
Why do these men jeopardize their lives and their families mental health by throwing themselves at treacherous mountains? Im convinced Im in
the presence of divine lunacy. Even my spouses obsession with snakes seems normal in comparison.
As I struggle to write this, when the right words elude me and I come up against the wall of my own limitations, I can only offer this meagre
explanation. I write and re-write, erase and edit, and voicelessly scream with frustration when words dont obey the music I hear in my mind. I ask
just as futilely, why do I do this. When the cadence of sentences lifts the story, theres joy and magic. I can only imagine the euphoria experienced
by food-deprived, oxygen-starved, altitude-addled mountaineers once they crest a summit.

High on the Mountain

Published in The Hindu Sunday Magazine Dec 8, 2013

In the darkness, someone whispers, Here, here. Come here, theres space. My spouse Rom and I settle into the hard wooden chairs, in time to
hear the musicians break into The Ventures Walk Dont Run. Under the blazing stage lights, young men with distinct northeastern features
strum guitars casually. Rock gods normally strut the stage, fling their guitars and arms triumphantly, and dance with the tireless energy that only
the chemically-high possess. But these youngsters from Shillong, led by Felix Langstieh, are keener to mimic the musical prowess of the rockers
than their flamboyant stage presence. Rock songs roll after country Elvis Presley, Jim Reeves, Pat Boone, Chuck Berry and the audience
squeals, sings, and claps along. The energy in the auditorium is electric. Age is no bar everyone from the elderly to teenagers sway and snap
fingers. And thus the 6th Mussoorie Writers Mountain Festival warms the hearts of all seated in the Woodstock School auditorium.
For two days we sit indoors, swaddled in pullovers, jackets, and scarfs, cocooned from the cold Himalayan wind, celebrating the outdoors and icy
peaks. Stories of mountaineers, who defy all earthly odds to drag their bodies across slippery ice to the pinnacle of the world, make me giddy.
Freddie Wilkinson goes on a holiday to Alaska, decides to climb the 3000-metre Mooses Tooth on a lark, and succeeds. Daniele Nardi scrambles
up the glacial walls of K2 with the agility of a monitor lizard, while Krzysztof Wielicki specializes in climbing mountains at their most
inhospitable, in the dead of winter. Im enthralled by the quixotic folly of these men pitting their grit against the mighty mountains.

The exploits of these unique specimens of the human race extract a terrible toll from their families says Maria Coffey, bringing me tumbling down
the slopes to the ground. While her boyfriend tries to summit Everest, she tries to live life as normally as a young woman could under the
circumstances. But he and his climbing partner perish on the mountain, their corpses untraceable. Marias descriptions of her anguish constrict my
throat.
Despite the price mountains extract, Dawa Steven Sherpa offers his energy to them. Along with other sherpas, he systematically cleans the slopes
of garbage. From being one of the filthiest mountains, the Everest looks whiter now. Building on the success of this enterprise, Dawa works to
reverse climate change and promote better water use.
Every evening, our taxi hurtles down or spews exhaust as it struggles up the narrow concrete hill roads. On one such trip, Daniele, who sits quietly
next to the driver, comments, I should take a video of this and show my Italian friends. Itll show them you can drive without cursing and
fighting. Thats true; no Mussoorie driver even silently gestures his disdain for anothers driving skills. They manoeuvre around inconsiderately
parked cars and edge perilously off the road to allow a mini bus through. At the end of these crazy road trips, wine, dinner, and conviviality
awaits.
For most of one evening, veterinarian-photographer Dag Goering and I stand beside a warm fireplace at the Alters discussing how to solve
conflicts between elephants and humans. His real concern is captive elephants, but hes also keen to do something for wild elephants. For part of
the year, he and Maria live on a hippie island in Canada that grows a lot of weed and shuns electricity from the grid. The rest of the time, they run
adventure tours in exotic remote locations.
Its cloudy and colder than I expected. Im twice my girth with warm padding and still I shiver. Steve reminds, The mountaineers were a lot
colder than you are now. A sobering thought and my muscles momentarily stop jerking. I feel like a tropical plant displaced from the greenhouse
among the other guests, who seem well-acclimatized, until Maria rubs her fingers exclaiming, Its cold. Steve had said this was the best time of
year to be at Mussoorie and I wonder if Id survive the winter here. The mere thought makes my teeth chatter. Steve clarifies, Usually, we have
warm, sunny days in November. This is unusual. Poetry, scheduled to be read under the iconic lyre tree thats also the schools emblem, moves
indoors.
Under a clear starry sky, I try to thaw my hands at a blazing brazier at Rokeby Manors rooftop. I cant find the right distance too close and the
fire roasts my fingers; too far and digits turn to icicles. Ecologist Theophilus lives in a remote village near Munsyari, eastern Uttarakhand, where
he bakes his own bread in a clay oven. Rom had one built at home recently, and I wonder if I can bake with my silicone bakeware. Theo says,
Use tin pans, no? You just have to butter and flour them.
But I dont want to buy a whole range of bakeware for the clay oven.
In Delhi, you can buy aluminium pans lined with silicone. Maybe you can use those.
Conversation turns to bread recipes, solar-powered refrigerators, and other homely subjects that bond two people who share a similar lifestyle in
the boondocks.
With 20 participants, Mussoorie Writers Mountain Festival is small enough to get to know everyone, and when we take leave, its bitter sweet: I
look forward to returning to the warmth of the plains but the time spent with new friends is much too brief.

Interview with Barbara Block

Published in Current Conservation 7.2
Barbara Block is Professor of Marine Biology at Stanford University, USA. Over the course of the last decade, she has mapped the seasonal
movements of predators in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Her work has lifted the veil of opacity from the oceans: we now see migratory
pathways, feeding and spawning grounds, and homecoming gatherings.
Although marine animals seemingly have the freedom to go anywhere on earth, Barbaras work highlights they are creatures of routine, following
the same route to arrive at the same spot at the same time every year. Barbara won the Rolex Award for Enterprise in 2012 for using technology to
monitor oceanic hotspots, and enabling the public to build a rapport with the animals of the deep. Since oceans are huge expanses, we think we
can take as much as we want and there will always be more. In this interview she talks to Janaki Lenin about why we should conserve bluefin tuna
and sharks, and the challenges of changing peoples opinions.
JL: Why should we be concerned about tunas?
BB: Giant tuna, such as bluefin tuna, have a commodity value where a single tuna can sell for tens of thousands of dollars. When wildlife has a

high value, it is hard to stop commerce or trade in the species. This is the case for bluefin tuna which is the most sought after member of the tuna
family. Bluefin tunas (three species) are in a high-class, luxury market. The rest of the tunas, which includes species such as skipjack and
yellowfin tunas, primarily goes into cans. For these species, there is often a bycatch of non-target species such as turtles and sharks. Instead of the
target species, the net actually captures top predators in the ecosystem.
JL: You were part of the 10-year-long census of Marine Life program which sounds astounding in its ambition. Could you tell me more
about it?
BB: We tagged 4800 animals, about 75 scientists from many nations working together. We took on the Pacific Ocean, the largest ocean, and
asked, Could we learn how it works from the top predators? We started with arrows on a map. Do the white sharks go this way? Do the blue
whales go that way? Do the tunas go this way? We did a lot of testing of existing and new electronic tag technology. Together as a multinational
coalition, we did almost the impossible. We got a glimpse for ten years of how the Pacific Ocean worked. What we discovered was there was a
pulsatile movement of the animals according to seasons. Animals you thought would wander everywhere were basically going away and coming
home, going away and coming home. The northeast Pacific, which is about the size of the Atlantic Ocean, from Hawaii to coastal California,
basically had a repertoire of seasons that the fish and animals were following. None of us had known that. So we learned it was a finely-tuned
periodicity much as youd expect on the plains of Africa in which animals were going through large migrations on a seasonal scale.
JL: You also did a Tag-a-Giant campaign. Its amazing you managed to tag a thousand animals. How do you process data like that?
BB: Weve had a lot of experience handling tags, animals and the large data sets that are generated. In the case of Tag-a-Giant, thats my favourite
project. Thats the project I started with. I was a youngster when we first put computers into tunas in the North Atlantic. We decided early on to
put tags internally into the tuna, and have a long stalk that sampled the environment come out of it. The idea was we let the tunas go with tags that
said, Well pay you a US $ 1000 if you return our recorder. Sure enough, 24% of them came back in the Atlantic. We put out about 700 of those
tags, but we also put out pop-up satellite tags which didnt need a fisherman to intervene. And those we got back at 80% level. So together now,
we have in the Atlantic, over 30,000 days in the life of tuna. Imagine if we did this to humans, we would find that we have places where we gather
at restaurants, foraging stops. A Londoner and an American can be in the same place, say in New York. Its the same with tuna.
We found out where are the lunch stops are that many of the animals come to versus where are the lunch stops that are only one side might come
to. We found the tunas were mixing across the ocean but separating back to their spawning grounds.
JL: When people see the tuna at the Monterey Aquarium, what do you want them to think about the tuna fishing industry? What do you
want them to take away from this experience?
BB: I think we have to stop thinking that tuna are just food on our table. We wouldnt go into Africa and eat the lions, zebras and elephants, in
most cases. We are basically doing that in the ocean. We are not looking at wildlife in the ocean as anything but food, and we could leave to our
children an ocean without these animals. We have to learn to live sustainably, and potentially raise herbivorous fish that are much more
productive; not carnivores, but herbivores that could feed many people.
JL: How would you protect something that is so valuable? Just looking at the price of tuna, one appears to be so much more expensive
than a tiger.
BB: I think its hard. Aquaculture to some extent is going to help save the day. Around the globe, there are many projects that are trying to raise
tuna. Japan has taken a spectacular lead on the technology, Australia has got an on-land facility. Theres probably 10 facilities being built one in
Taiwan, a couple in Spain, Greece, Israel. Its like producing gold, if you can do it. I believe therell be some breakthroughs there. Im not saying
Im for farming tuna. If a portion of the market could be met through that type of activity, and done sustainably with good science and sustainable
feeds, then it would take the pressure off the wild stocks.
I think if the wild stocks are managed correctly, the tuna can be fished sustainably. But its a cocaine-of-the-sea type of problem where many
people want it and no ones paying attention to the rules. Pirated tuna is a really big problem. I dream of a new technology. What if we could
barcode every tuna thats landed and keep track of them. What if we could barcode every live elephant, or every live bluefin tuna left on earth so
you really could keep track of them. So my dream is really to make a tag, a carcass tag that allows us to keep track of fishery in a more accurate
manner from point of landing to market, so we dont have any pirating.
JL: At the 2010 CITES meeting, there was a call for banning bluefin tuna fishing. Some were calling it a point of no return if the voting
failed. The voting did fail. Where are we today?
BB: In the Atlantic, there is a complex population structure of the Atlantic bluefin tuna that is emerging with genetics. Our lab and many others
are doing this work. Whats coming out from this work is that the population near America is much more threatened than the population on the
eastern side of the basin, the Mediterranean population. The tagging and genetics show that because the European tuna come over to our waters,

they help protect our tuna. If our US or Canadian fishermen catch one of their fish, they dont kill one of our fish. So we have this complex set of
dynamics going on that are critical to capture in the models being used to manage the fishery. The European fish are thought to reproduce quicker,
faster, potentially they have a larger and stronger population. Whereas our population that breed off US shores in the Gulf of Mexico of North
America is the weak population: the animals take longer to mature, and reach larger body size at maturity. These bluefins are the giants of the
ocean, the largest tuna in the sea. Our North American population is extremely low and the eastern Mediterranean population is larger, potentially
rebounding quicker (due to lower age to mature), but were still not sure. Some say they are coming back after a short letup in fisheries take. The
models being run by ICCAT [International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas] dont really reflect the true biology of these
populations. Until they do, I would be cautionary. They dont have enough robust analysis of the mixing of populations, which population is
which that you are modeling, and until we get there, it would be premature to say the tunas have recovered.
Furthermore, your question refers to the western bluefin population thats spawning in the Gulf of Mexico. That is what should be discussed in
those contexts, but unfortunately people say bluefin tuna which is a whole species that doesnt require an endangered species status. Its a very
complex problem. It raises the big question: in the ocean, what is an endangered marine species? When are there not enough parents to make the
next generation? Thats a tough question. Thats the limit of our knowledge right now. What happens when you get down to the last few giant
bluefin tuna? In our case, there could be larval cascades going on. In the old days, there may have been tens of thousands of bluefins spawning at
once who made lots of bluefin babies and their burst of reproduction meant they were the dominant tuna. Now, a lot of the times they get many
more of the smaller tuna eggs, the blackfin, and at the same time they get bluefin. Theres a potential that they are eating the bluefin at this point.
JL: Does the fishing community see what you are doing as helping the long-term survival of their industry, or do they see you as an
adversary?
BB: I think weve come a long way with our fishermen especially in America. They respect us for the high content of the information we have put
on the table. We are advocates for the fish, but we are also not going after closing fisheries. We think of sustainable fisheries. Id like to see us
protect, for example, the spawning areas immediately. Its a case where longlines get set for a different tuna species called the yellowfin tuna, and
the bycatch is bluefin that is protected by law. Currently, we wouldnt outright close the boundaries and say, Dont fish here. So we try to look
for solutions that are practical for the people we are working with, and I think that builds respect rather than adversity between the two groups.
JL: Both the main speciessharks and tunaare going to East Asian consumers. Shark fins go to China and tuna goes to Japan. So
shouldnt we be working with those economies?
BB: Sushi has become a fad around the world that its really amazing. In our grocery stores in America, we didnt have tuna when I grew up. But
now theres tuna as a healthy snack. Same thing around almost all cultures. Eating raw fish has been passed from Japan to everyone. So theres a
global tuna pressure. Then canned tuna is very popular in America. I think to solve the problem we need to begin to think about what is it we want
with our oceans. Do we want an ocean devoid of tunas? Or do we want an ocean that is managed correctly? So we can probably have healthy
fisheries if we just had healthy management. Thats all we are saying.
What we see as marine conservationists is the need for building protected areas in the sea. And there are some places like the California coast that
might be a National Park, like Yellowstone, in North America. Places deemed unique in our oceans, rich in biodiversity should obtain World
Heritage Site designations. The Great Barrier Reef is one such place but we need more.
When I first moved to California 20 years ago, I had no idea when I looked out my office window, what a special place it is. And now after all this
tagging, weve learned, My God, we might be living in a hotspot in the sea. We had animals coming from Indonesia, we had animals coming
from Japan, we had animals coming from New Zealand. Many marine predators come to Monterey for a part of the year, and its exciting to see
that this is the most spectacular place and nobody knows its there. And thats my challenge. How do you make the seas transparent?
JL: What do you think should be the strategy at the coming Bangkok meeting? Even if its sustainability that you are talking, not outright
banning. How do you set quotas? Its all a question of bargaining and Japan is going to veto anything.
BB: Yeah, I know its really tough. Whats happened is that the green groups have gotten better at understanding the game and how its played.
Japan is an economic force that is trying to get votes to help sustain its way of life. Its a country that requires lots of tuna. I take hope in the fact
that everyone is trying to solve the tuna aquaculture problem. And even I get bitten by that bug. Weve raised tunas for 20 years and I cant think
of anything more fun than trying to raise, in our case, bluefin or yellowfin. Bluefin is very difficult to do. But Japans solved it and so has
Australia; Spains trying to solve it. And I do think therell be a day not too long from now, 20 years from now, when a lot of the meat will be
coming from these facilities.
JL: Would such an operation be economically feasible?
BB: I think its economically feasible and I think just like salmon, which 25 years ago was wild caught, is almost entirely produced through
aquaculture. The challenge will be: Can we do aquaculture scientifically correctly? Which means that youve got to develop the feeds; youve got

to make the feed out of something that is not competing with human protein. Its very difficult and I recognise that. We dream of fish that eat soy
grown on our farms in the plains, and then are potentially genetically selected like plants. Or, the other idea is raising fish on algae with the right
essential oils.You feed little cubes like brownies to your tunas. At Monterey, we feed a snack to tunas thats just like a green brownie, and its just
seaweed with the right vitamins in it.
JL: What about sharks? Weve talked a lot about tuna.
BB: The problem with sharks is that they reproduce in a manner very similar to us. They use internal fertilization and have a small number of pups
per year, a reproductive style that has allowed them to be successful in the oceans for millions of years.
We always hear about shark-finning, but people are eating the meat of some sharks, not all sharks. Humans are taking sharks at a level that really
defies imagination. It just makes me wonder how could there be all these sharks in the ocean. The level of landing of sharks is stripping shark
populations globally. They cannot handle the kind of fishing that was set up originally for tunas and other bony fishes.
As tuna populations become smaller, the longlines and other gear target sharks by mistake. That was initially problematic for the fishermen, but
now they are directed towards the sharks. Out there in the open ocean where people fished, initially sharks werent brought in, but now they are
brought in. They are brought in for their fins, they are brought in for certain parts of their meat, and that is happening everywhere you go in the
ocean. Its really tragic because sharks cannot keep up with that pace. So there are places we go where we dont even see sharks anymore.
Whats interesting about that is we dont understand what a shark does in a healthy ecosystem. We know they are important. We know that ocean
ecosystems that are normal require top predators to maintain resilience and balance. When we remove them, we may ultimately be flipping the
ecosystem to some new equilibrium that we dont even understand. Its happening everywhere where sharks are being removed; we are getting a
new set of ecosystems. In some cases that might mean you have herbivores on the reef overnight, more algae growing because certain animals
arent there anymore, or the sharks were removing part of the ecosystem that you didnt realise what role it was playing. So we are doing these
experiments everywhere and nobody really knows what the consequences are. Im happy to say that off the California coast may be one of the
places where sharks are running wild in a big way. Same in parts of Australia. Its a question of what makes it healthy versus what do you gain
from a healthy ecosystem? Do you gain happiness because you have have wildness? Or do you gain something in value thats worth more? So we
are actually looking for support right now to understand what does it mean to have an intact ecosystem. In general, it means more linkages, more
stability, more resilience, but thats hard to translate.
JL: The trouble with making people feel a personal connection with any marine creature is the lack of a personality.
BB: Thats what Shark Net is about. The Rolex award is about using new tools to bring a more personal connection to stories. I really dont know
if youngsters in India, Japan, or China would have the same interest as American youngsters. They love sharks. Here, there may be a culture that
fears sharks, I dont know. So how do you overcome the what is a shark?
JL: Do sharks have personalities?
BB: An hour from where I live in San Francisco are the biggest predators, 5000 lb. white sharks, in the sea. I dont dive very much anymore in my
area; I have a healthy fear, but my students all surf. I think its great that I can go out and study the sharks in the fall, get them close to the boat,
and work with them. None of them are real personalities to me; I see them as white sharks. But my students who study them quite regularly,
theyve got their favourites out there.
There are sharks thatll only approach the decoy one way. Therere sharks that come right up. One shark called Engine comes right up to the boat
and always likes to tap the engine. He keeps us on our toes.

Shark Net, a mobile application that is downloadable free from iTunes, allows the user to keep track of individual white sharks off the coast of
California.
Powered by wave energy, the Glider is a floating robot that rides the waves between California and Hawaii, while trawling a listening device
seven metres underwater. Should a shark with a tag embedded in it swim within 300 metres range of the robot, the latter picks up the signal and
transmits the data through a satellite link. Besides the Glider, a network of fixed listening buoys with underwater microphones located at
congregation sites also pick up information from tagged sharks.
The data from the Glider and the listening buoys is used by Barbara Block and her team to monitor the predators. For people with no scientific
background, Shark Net presents the same data in an easily understandable form. Each shark has a name and profile with high-definition videos,
and details of its comings and goings. When the signal of a shark gets picked up by one of the listening devices, within minutes the user gets an
alert. Hopefully, over time enough people will develop an interest in the individual lives of these animals to care more about their future.

A trip in more ways than one

Published as 'A Walk on the Wild Side' in Outlook Traveller November 2013. The theme is '150 trips to do before you die.'

Photo credit: Paresh C. Porob

I was intimidated by the forest. Being seasoned jungle farers, my spouse Rom and Amar Heblekar, the Forest Ranger, strode confidently ahead
into Cotigao Wildlife Sanctuary, Goa. I hurried after them, using them as a shield against whatever terrible creatures might jump out from the vast
wildness.
The trees towered as tall as seven-storey buildings with thick python-like lianas strung haphazardly between them. Many were smooth-barked,
while knobs, thorns, and grooves adorned others. Sunlight streamed between gaps in the canopy in thin beams, highlighting leaves of green,
yellow, and brown. The vivid orange, red, and pink blooms of ixora closely resembled the cultivated ones in my parents home, and the familiarity
offered some comfort in this strange landscape. I had never been in a forest before.
Someone had reported seeing a king cobra in Cotigao and Rom wanted to see the spot. He didnt expect to find the snake although that would
have made his day. Since Amar knew the area, he led the way.
Following the men, I scanned the sides of the path and looked intently at plants for snakes. Reptiles didnt feature in my list of dreaded animals as
I had spent the past months living at the Madras Crocodile Bank. Some of Roms empathy for them had also rubbed off on me.
Snakes have the unnerving habit of coiling in plain sight and yet remaining completely invisible. Dappled light played on the gnarled surface roots
of trees, creepers, and dry twigs, and I almost called out Snake! The three of us made a loud racket as dry leaves crackled loudly underfoot. If
snakes had ears, theyd have heard us from miles away.
A greater racket-tailed drongo perched on a bare branch sang melodiously. The lack of an audience didnt seem to affect its virtuoso performance.
From the treetops, a giant squirrel loudly scolded us.
The morning wore on and as it grew hotter, cicadas set up a ceaseless, deafening buzz. With imaginary dangerous beasts remaining safely out of
sight, I took my time to take in my surroundings. When the men stopped, I caught up with them just in time to see Amar pointing to a sturdy liana
and saying the big king cobra had been resting there. That was our first inkling that adult king cobras were tree-dwellers. I wondered how many
king cobras had been coiled up on trees that morning, observing us looking for them on the ground.
The liana was slung like a hammock between trees. Not only would a lounging king cobra have a soft breeze cooling its belly, it would also have a
vantage point to gaze on the picturesque glade below. I stood gazing at the scene slack-jawed when a gorgeous white butterfly with black veins
dreamily floated past. Its wings were so extravagantly enormous that the insect seemed to have difficulty remaining air-borne. Rom murmured,
Malabar tree nymph. The old Greek name for king cobra is Hamadryad, wood nymph. Since then, the two nymphs of the forest, the butterfly
and the snake, have remained intertwined in my memory.
At Amars suggestion, we climbed up a hill slope to see a waterfall. The higher we hiked, the denser and wetter the forest grew. I had only heard
of leeches before, but now I saw them feverishly wave their fiendish heads. As the person leading the walk, Amar woke them up from deep
slumber, Rom whetted their appetite, and at the rear, I became the sacrificial victim. Pausing to catch my breath was a standing invitation to
legions of bloodsuckers. So I soldiered on, disregarding all protests from whining thigh muscles.

Photo credit: Paresh C. Porob

By the time we crested the summit, only the roar of the waterfall was audible above the sound of my hearts frantic beating. The white sheet of
water crashed down on to rocks a hundred feet below. Thats when I noticed the trickle of blood seeping between my toes. I tore open the Velcro
straps of my walking shoes, and discovered a bloody mess. Following Roms example, I flicked off the offending engorged bluish-black leech and
washed my feet in the cool stream. I tried futilely to mimic Roms nonchalance to leech bites, but I couldnt take my eyes off the fresh trickle of
blood.
From the top of the waterfall, we gazed at the thick evergreen forests below us, when a pair of pied hornbills flew across. Their huge wings and
enormous casques made them look like escapees from a prehistoric age. Eventually I forgot to be traumatized by the forced donation of a few
drops of blood. Leeches could have put me off from venturing into rainforests again, but I refused to be a wimp.
Late morning on our way back, we caught the stench of a rotting carcass. Following our noses and the distinct buzzing of blow flies, we found the
bloated cow. Blood oozing from puncture wounds in its throat had dried. Only when I stepped around it to take a photograph did I notice the soft
underside had been eaten. I overheard the men say it was a leopard kill.
Continuing on our way, I was alert to every movement and sound, glancing behind me for stalking leopards, above me for spying king cobras, and
below me for bloodthirsty leeches. My eyes opened wider, my ears almost swivelled straining to pick up every quiet sound, while my nose tried to
distinguish between the many earthy hints.
The creatures of Cotigao are also found along the rest of the Western Ghats. Walking through squelchy and slippery rainforests can be
uncomfortable and messy. So what makes this forest special? The deciduous forests of Cotigao are drier and much more open, and hiking is a
pleasurable experience, like walking through an ancient living cathedral.
Here is how Cotigao ranks: Comfort check, access check, diversity check, scenic beauty check, animal life check, walkability check.
Many other deciduous forests along the Ghats share the same attributes. But this off-the-beaten-track Goan forest has one ace up its sleeve that
makes it a hands-down favourite.
Rom and I drove half an hour from the forest rest house to Polem Beach. We swam and floated in the blue-green shallow waters until we were

several shades darker. Not only did cool sea water rejuvenate us, but it soothed itchy leech bites. Where else on mainland India would you find a
sparsely used spectacular beach almost on the doorstep of a forest that boasted a picturesque waterfall?
More than an expectation of wildlife entertainment, Cotigao made me face irrational fears and taught me to eagerly anticipate the unexpected. It
was a rite of passage; I walked in as a gauche, immature fusspot and emerged a jungle-alert woman.

WHALE SHARK GAZING AND CITIZEN SCIENCE: AN

INTERVIEW WITH DR. BRAD NORMAN
Published in Indian Ocean Turtle Newsletter No. 18, July 2013
Australian marine biologist Brad Norman founded ECOCEAN to protect and conserve whale sharks. Despite being the worlds largest fish, little
was known about them. ECOCEAN developed software to identify individual animals based on their unique patterns from photographs. Since
then the ECOCEAN Whale Shark Photo-Identification Library collected more than 47,000 photographs and 22,000 sighting records of whale
sharks sent by citizen scientists from around the world. In 2006, Norman received the Rolex Award for Enterprise, and in 2008 National
Geographic Society named him an Emerging Explorer.
In November 2012, Brad Norman was in Delhi to attend that years Rolex Awards ceremony where Janaki Lenin interviewed him.
How big a role did citizen science play in how much youve learned about whale sharks?
It has and continues to play a really important role. As a scientist, I can only be in one place one day of the year. But now we are finding these
whale sharks are distributed around the world from the input of the citizen scientists. Currently, using the photo identification library weve
developed, people in 54 different countries participate by sending photos or information about the whale sharks that they may have seen in, say,
Mozambique, Philippines, or Mexico.
How do you identify whale sharks?
The spots are unique to each individual. So ECOCEAN adapted an algorithm that NASA scientists use in the Hubble Space Telescope to map
stars in the night sky to map the spot pattern on the skin of the whale sharks. We scan the photo that you took of a shark today against the
thousands of other photos in the library to see whether the shark has been previously identified. Were finding that some sharks have been seen in
the same location, especially at Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia where I work. I first swam with a whale shark in 1995; I saw that shark again
in 2012. And we can prove that using this software. Hes called A-001. Its an unexciting name, but hes called Stumpy because a part of his tail is
missing. Hes got a Facebook page now called Stumpy WhaleShark. Stumpy posts a different news story every day, and it encourages people to
learn more about the marine environment and the species within.
You started the citizen science program in 1995. How many people have participated in this?
There are a lot of members of the public that have contributed, but so have many researchers and conservationists from around the world. There
are 3600+ individual people who have participated by sending whale shark identification sighting data and photographs. But tens of thousands of
more people have received the ECOCEAN whale shark public awareness brochure or learnt about the sharks through various media we have
produced.
Are these animals getting killed anywhere?
Very much so. Thats part of the reason I started my long-term commitment to whale sharks and continue to push for their international
conservation. Theres still a lot of hunting in China mainly for their fins. In India, in the Philippines, in some other parts of the world, historically
there was a lot of hunting going on. ECOCEAN has worked with various stakeholders to secure protection under federal legislation (Australia),
and especially under international agreements, like CITES and Convention on Migratory Species (CMS). Many local groups continue to work
hard to get whale sharks protected in their individual countries.
Whale sharks are listed as Threatened (Vulnerable to Extinction) under the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. In fact, I was asked to prepare
the report which succeeded in upgrading their official conservation status. Prior to this, the whale shark had been listed as Data Deficient.
There are places in the world where they are still being hunted. As an alternative, weve tried to promote ecotourism. Ecotourism, if done well,
can actually be economically as well as ecologically positive, and a sustainable alternative to unsustainable hunting.
Weve proven that many of these whale sharks come back to the same location each year; they are a renewable resource rather than the once-only

value of a dead shark for fins. There might be a small amount of money in hunting, but if you do tourism and if people keep coming back every
year, a whale shark has a high value. In some countries such as the Philippines, its not very expensive to go swimming with whale sharks. It can
cost less than US $50 per person to go swimming with the whale sharks. In Mexico, its similar situation, although it appears over-exploited
because the regulation and ability to monitor is limited. In fact, more than 100 vessels take people swimming with whale sharks. Its far from
ideal, but fortunately, there are so many whale sharks there.
But in Australia, where whale shark ecotourism was first initiated, the industry is very well-regulated, with a very limited number of licenses, and
a very high-quality tourism experience. Theres a maximum of 15 licensed vessels, of which sometimes only 6 or 8 boats go out per day. Theres
a lot less pressure on animals. But the cost of swimming with whale sharks is almost A$400 per person per day. And people are really prepared to
spend the money for a unique but well-regulated tour.
There is however a very real risk of killing the goose that laid the golden egg if whale shark ecotourism is not regulated properly. So we need to
establish that if whale shark ecotourism is to go ahead, it should be done in a way that does not over-exploit the species and ensure it has very
minimal impact. No touching or grabbing hold of the shark, and not too many people in the water. Thats why I helped to establish some
guidelines in Australia, which we are constantly testing. The evidence is showing that the management and current situation in Australia is having
a positive effect on the numbers - which is very good.
The tourists get to swim with them, see the beauty of these sharks, but also learn more about them. We try to do that with the information
brochures we distribute and the public awareness work we undertake, and try to get people to feel a sense of understanding and even involvement
with the whale sharks. And a little bit of ownership too. Thats why we use the photo identification program. So that members of the public can
play a strong role in a citizen science project to help us scientists and conservationists to monitor whale sharks and also understand their numbers
in the wild: whether the same ones are coming back, whether their numbers are still in decline as they are a threatened species, whether numbers
are stabilizing or even increasing because of the protection thats been brought in around the world.
In recent times, its worked very well. Therere a lot of people participating in the photo identification citizen science project. So were really
lucky its becoming a good way of getting people involved, to learn about the biggest fish in the sea.
So the problem in Gujarat, India, was they were killing these whale sharks to use the oil.
That was one of the situations that was understandable because it was to waterproof the wooden boats up there. But there is a very high market for
fins in the East Asian market, and there was a lot of export for a couple of years before there was a big furor and the Indian government brought in
protection. Theres an amazing story of how the fishermen who used to hunt the whale sharks were encouraged to protect them. Its a good
initiative launched by the Wildlife Trust of India in collaboration with the Forest Department and local authorities. If whale sharks are caught in a
net, the fishermen quickly try and release them. If they had kept hunting the whale sharks at the numbers they were taking it was suggested that
one year up to a thousand whale sharks were killed thered be few left within years. The species is really long-lived, and although unknown for
sure, its believed that they can potentially live up to 100 years. And they probably dont mature until around 30 years old. Most of the sharks at
Ningaloo Reef are boys (usually about 85%). Most of these are immature. But they are not there to breed just hanging out like teenagers and
eating a lot!
How do you know when you see a whale shark that its an immature male? Are they sexually dimorphic or do you have to examine them?
Our work is predominantly non-invasive. In order to determine if its a male or a female, you have to swim underneath. Its very obvious if a
whale shark is a boy; their sexual organs (two claspers) are underneath the pelvic fin. In a girl, the claspers are absent. In a mature male, these
claspers are elongated, they are hanging down a little bit, they are calcified and you can tell they are ready to mate. An immature clasper is thin
and smooth and tucked up against the belly. But we dont very often see the old boys. Theres a small percentage of mature males at Ningaloo and
thats provided me the opportunity over many years to determine at what length and age the males become mature. We dont know at what size or
age the females are mature. In order to do that, you have to cut them open and look at their ovaries to check for maturity. And we dont want to do
that. Its possible they mature at a smaller size but so little is known about them.
Are you analyzing dead specimens from locations where whale sharks are still being hunted?
Many countries have stopped hunting whale sharks - and thats good. In other countries where this hunting continues (e.g. China), there is very
limited data available. If whale sharks are ever found washed up on a beach, they are often in isolated locations, and by the time the authorities get
to them, they are already decomposing. So its rarely possible to do any analysis.
Whats the longest distance a whale shark has traveled?
Its hard to say. Using the photo identification library, weve identified sharks moving within a small area but between four different countries:
between USA Gulf coast, the Yucatan in Mexico, Honduras, and Belize in Central America. This shows the outreach or the potential of this
library. So four different groups of tourists or researchers in four different countries have taken a photo of a shark, sent it into the central database

which is at whaleshark.org, and weve been able to prove several animals moving between those four countries, four different jurisdictions. We do
believe these whale sharks are long distance migrators, and we really want to do some more work with satellite tags. But its quite an expensive
undertaking.
Weve tagged several whale sharks but the tags have stayed on only two or three months at a time. And as a not-for-profit group, we have in the
years past stayed away from spending $3000-4000 per tag. Recently, however, we tagged a couple of whale sharks using a different technique, a
different attachment mechanism. Hopefully with minimal impact but maximum output. So we did a test case, with a mechanism timed for release
after four weeks. One shark traveled about 600-700 kilometres. We plan to ramp up our efforts next year, funds willing. Hopefully, we can get
these tags to stay on for over a year. Weve yet to track a whale shark for a complete annual migration.
How many young do they have?
We still dont know where they breed or how often they breed. Up until a few years ago, we didnt know how they actually bred whether they
really were live bearers or not. But there was a whale shark caught in a fishery in Taiwan, back in 1995, and it still is the only pregnant female
thats ever been found. They cut her open and she had 300 near-term embryos. I was involved in a genetic study a couple of years ago, published
in 2010, showing those embryos were at three different stages of development. Some were between 35-40 centimetres, some were between 45-50
centimetres, and some were between 55-60 centimetres. At this size, they are very vulnerable when they are born. But how often do they breed,
where do they breed, we still dont know. These are intriguing mysteries we hope to solve soon.
Were the embryos in three different breeding cycles?
We arent sure. Our genetic study, led by Professor Jennifer Schmidt (a genetics professor at the University of Illinois), aimed to establish whether
these embryos were fathered by different dads. It turned out that they were all from the same dad. What we believe is the female has the ability to
store sperm and fertilize the eggs at different stages, and maybe push out 100 babies at a location this month at a certain time, another 100 next
month and another 100 the month after to maximize the chances of survival. Thats the first and last time weve had a pregnant female. We dont
know what the gestation period is? Is it a year, 18 months? Do they breed once a year or once every three years? We dont know.
Ive recently travelled to the Galapagos on the invite of a local NGO and also the Charles Darwin Research Station to train local stakeholders in
the use of newly developed tags for whale sharks. The sharks there are unusually big up to 12-13 metres. They are all females and they are quite
big in the uterine region. So we believe they are pregnant. We really hope to establish whether this is in fact a breeding location - which currently
remains unknown.
These animals can get up to 18 metres in length, the biggest of all the fish in the oceans. At most locations where they are observed around the
world, their average size is usually between four and eight metres. The males dont seem to become mature until at least eight metres in length. So
most of the whale sharks we get to see are immature.
If you say that a lot of the animals you are seeing are immature but they keep coming back to the same location, are they coming back for
seasonal feeding?
Correct.
Are they social? Do you see numbers together?
They dont usually interact. Theres one place in the world where you do get a lot of sharks and that is the Yucatan in Mexico. They are not
necessarily interacting with each other, but congregating at a feeding hotspot. However, at most sighting locations, the whale sharks are usually
swimming alone, not so social unlike whales or dolphins.
They seem to be found in both, clear and turbid waters.
Whale sharks can dive down as deep as 2,000 metres that we know. But as filter feeders, they are always looking for food pulses, or areas where
there is a high concentration of food. And the thing is, a lot of the time when you do see them, they are feeding and where they are feeding, the
water is full of plankton.
Its rare that you find them in really clear waters, but when you do, its wonderful as theres great visibility. Ningaloo Reef is one of those
locations. Most of the time we see them, the water is quite clear in that area between 10 and 20 metres visibility even when there is a food pulse.
They are known to feed at Ningaloo Reef around dusk, when the plankton comes up to the surface and congregates, enabling the sharks to take
advantage of that. There are certain places around the world, including Ningaloo and a few others where this happens. Its allowed us to learn so
much more about this cryptic species.

The most important thing in a scientists career is data. With a creature like this, it seems like you spend a long time gathering itsy-bitsy
pieces of data. How do you survive as a scientist?
Its actually a little difficult sometimes. And I also run a non-profit called ECOCEAN which compounds the situation. But we are very lucky to
have great volunteers. We do it because we love it, and because we are passionate. You dont do it to bank a million dollars. In fact, Im not even
on a proper salary and keeping the wolf from the door is sometimes a challenge. I love these animals and I want to make a difference and this
provides me with a very positive feeling. We do get a few small grants along the way. The Rolex Award for Enterprise I received a few years ago
was the biggest kick Ive ever got in my life. It enabled us to bring this project to many countries around the world, which was fantastic.
Why would anyone worry about whale sharks? Its just a fish. Its not a predator in the true sense of the word.
One of the things about whale sharks is they have an important niche in the environment. We believe they may be an indicator of ecosystem
health. They could be a bit like the canary in the coal mine. Because they are dependent on small organisms, they are dependent on productivity. If
whale sharks that have been coming to a spot every year dont come one year, we can take a look and ask, Whats going on? It might be
pollution, habitat degradation, over-exploitation, or something we are yet to identify.
We obviously want to use a lot more high technology to be able to understand their movements, behaviour, habits, and migration. These animals
dont lend themselves to doing this kind of study because they live in isolated areas, they can dive to a couple of thousand metres, and its
expensive. For an NGO that has to work hard to find funding just to keep the lights on in the office, it can be a challenge. But we are cracking new
ground all the time, so its very positive.
Whale sharks were only first discovered in 1828, even though they have been around for millennia. Up till the late 1980s, there were only 320
confirmed sightings of whale sharks around the world. Its testimony to their rarity. But theres still more we dont know about them than we do.
They are not out of the woods yet.
Is it possible to say if they are recovering in any part of the world?
Ningaloo is probably the best place in the world to study these animals because there is so much data being collected. Ningaloo Reef is bucking
the trend in whale shark decline. The most recent stock assessment available using the photo-id program has shown not only has the decline
stopped, but whale shark numbers have stabilized and even slightly increased likely attributable to good management and minimal impact
ecotourism. If we use a similar design, we may be able to show recovery in other parts of the globe also.
Postscript: In May 2013, fishermen released a newborn whale shark tangled in a fishing net off the coast of Gujarat, the first evidence the species
may be breeding in Indian waters.

Monsoon Safari
Published in Outlook Traveller October 2013

The jeep stopped and we sat still for a moment in surprised silence. Then, as if by an unspoken command, we lifted our cameras in unison and

started clicking. Two professional photographers, armed with bazooka-like lenses, noisily fired away their cameras. The four dholes, or Asian
wild dogs, were so close I didnt need any fancy lens to get clear, full-frame photographs. I was on safari with seven tourists and photographer
Arati in Bandipur Tiger Reserve, Karnataka.
Two dogs circled us while two lay down on the grass in full view, like celebrities so used to media attention they pretended we didnt exist. The
dholes reddish coats stretched tight over their bloated bellies, and their round ears swivelled at the slightest sound. One of the circlers whistled,
and the rest of the pack trotted off. Unlike other members of the canid family, dholes whistle; they dont bark or howl.
The dogs ran lightly despite their distended stomachs, and vanished into the forest. We had only been 30 minutes into our safari when we
encountered the pack, not a bad start for an off-season visit to Bandipur.
The forest was lush green from recent rains. But nothing could resurrect the bamboo that had flowered en masse and died a few years ago. It will
be a many moons before Bandipurs elephants taste bamboo again.
As we bounced along the rutted dirt track, all of us probably had the same question: Would we see a tiger? Huge pugmarks, the size of my hand,
were imprinted deeply into the soft wet track. Lantana, a thorny plant from Central America, formed a green curtain, as high as fifteen feet in
some places, on either side of the road throughout most of the park. Probably many pairs of eyes, tucked out of sight within the tangle of weeds,
watched us drive by. If we were to see a tiger, it would have to be in plain sight on the track or the wide grassy verge.
When the British brought lantana to India to adorn their gardens in the 1800s, little did they realize they were sowing the seeds of an empire that
would outlast their own. By the late 19th century, the ornamental plant escaped captivity and become a pestilence in forests and village commons.
All attempts to eradicate the botanical scourge were a failure. Parthenium and eupatorium, other plants from foreign shores, have also set root in
Bandipur. Despite being overrun by these noxious inedible weeds, the park, paradoxically, packs one of highest densities of herbivores in the
world.
The rains had awakened glory lilies from dormancy. Their curly-tipped leaves clung to bushes as the creepers made their way toward light and
burst into bloom. The bright red, earth-facing flowers glowed like jewels against the deep green forest. Despite every part of these plants being
virulently poisonous, the scientific name celebrates the beauty of the flowers with a double affirmative: Gloriosa superba. Mysore argyreias large,
purple, trumpet-shaped flowers competed with the glory lilies for our appreciation.
Minutes passed, and when no more animals made an appearance, I grew aware of the toll the rutted dirt track was taking on my behind. I was
seated on the last and highest seat in the three-tiered safari jeep. While it offered an almost 360 view of the forest, it bounced the most. I sat on
my hands to relieve the soreness when we suddenly came upon a lone pregnant elephant.
Even though we were a good distance away, she trumpeted, and ran with her tail raised in alarm. Then she wheeled around and mock-charged. A
newly married woman sitting next to me shrieked, closed her eyes tight, and gripped her husband. When her bluff didnt work, the elephant picked
up a leaf with her trunk and swatted the air. That trick didnt chase us away, so she walked into the lantana that swallowed her up.
A few minutes later, we caught a quick glimpse of another elephant with her calf before they hid in the bushes. Bandipur elephants arent usually
this shy, and I wondered if perhaps pregnancy and having young made them feel vulnerable.

As we climbed higher up a hill slope toward a fire watch tower, the trees grew stunted. Above us, a lone sambhar stag posed in silhouette, proudly
holding his head of antlers aloft. From this vantage, the deciduous forests of Mudumalai stretched out below us, and many ranges of the blue
Nilgiri Mountains created a wavy horizon.
We clicked pictures of the panorama until our time was up. We headed back through a sharp torrential rain, the canvas top of the jeep keeping us
almost dry. Earlier this year, the park had been horrendously parched and many feared for the survival of its denizens. The belated rains filled all
the waterholes, and animals were not huddled around a few puddles anymore. Good for beasts and forest, but sad for tourists hoping for a wildlife
extravaganza.
I wondered how Arati, who was at the front of the jeep, was faring. Light was flat, skies cloudy, and animal life scarce. Seeing dholes early on our
safari made me greedy for more. But the maxim of a forest safari is: there are no guarantees. That evening at the Windflower Tusker Trails Resort,
the staff rued we hadnt seen a tiger. We had come at the wrong time, they said.
Gajendra Singh and his wife, Vishalakshi Devi, the youngest daughter of Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar, the last ruler of the princely state of
Mysore, set up Tusker Trails in the mid-1990s. The park had once been her familys hunting reserve. A few years ago, the Windflower group took
over the resort on a 30-year-lease. Twenty-two terracotta tile-roofed cottages were set amid five acres of native trees, the most common being the
red gum-oozing axlewood.
Gajendra Singh explained that the trees had been cut before they bought the property, and the re-growth was only twenty years old. Nothing
browses on these trees, and nothing gnaws on them, he said. Thats why theyre so successful.
The resort is unfenced on two sides and wild animals wander in freely after dark. Gajendra said, We have had every animal come through except
tigers.

A troop of bonnet macaques wandered around the resort, picking insects from the grass, walking on the cottage roofs, and looking for hand-outs
from guests. At meal times, the monkeys sat on the wall of the dining room and watched us eat patiently.
Elephants wandered up from the forest during the dry season to drink from the swimming pool; wild boar rooted under the lantana hedge. A
leopard snatched a deer from the reception, knocking over a coffee table that remains broken to this day. The resort apparently has an unwritten
timeshare agreement between humans and wildlife.
I asked, Are guests safe?
General manager Fazal replied, After they check-in, they are given instructions on how to stay safe. I witnessed a couple being briefed by a staff
member in a manner akin to a stewardess explaining how to open the emergency exit on an aircraft.
At 10:30 pm outdoor lights were doused. Guests were advised to retire to their rooms and not venture out even if they heard animal noises outside.

That night, while Arati photographed the swimming pool, she heard a tiger calling aaauuummm repeatedly. She hurried back to the restaurant.
Ive heard tigers before but this was bone-chilling, she said. It seemed so close. We had seen tiger pugmarks right outside the resort gates
earlier that evening.
At dawn the next morning, I startled a herd of spotted deer that had been silently grazing amongst the cottages. As the animals melted away
among the trees, I took it as a good omen for wildlife viewing that day. At the hotel reception, everyone wished, Hope you see a tiger today. Its
the Bandipur way of saying Have a good day.
Our first stop was at a gaur carcass, reduced to skin and bones, by the side of the road. The bovine had died of natural causes, and for three days,
two tigers had feasted on it, said Natraj, the naturalist accompanying us. Now, a stripe-necked mongoose was looking for leftovers. Occasionally,
it stood on its hind legs, scoping the terrain and us. Its orange eyes and Rudolf-like large red nose made it look like a demented clown.
Our driver stopped to confer with the driver of another safari jeep. Both said, No tigers. Saw only tracks. On that discouraging note, we rolled
forward. Freshly and clearly imprinted over the other jeeps tyre tread marks were the pugmarks of a tiger. It had waited until the track was clear
before striding down. We had missed him by minutes. Natraj said the 880 sq.km. park has nearly 100 tigers. If every one of those cats was as
fastidious and secretive, what chance did we have of seeing one? Especially, when the jeeps engine announced our approach loud and clear?
In an open clearing ahead of us, a herd of elephants gathered. As soon as we drove up, the giants crashed into the lantana. A couple of them
trumpeted, while one set up a high-pitched braying. All we could see were two trunks sniffing the air above the bushes. We backed up and waited.
Minutes ticked by, but the distress calls didnt abate nor did the elephants move. I feared a calf had been hurt badly.
In the end, we couldnt fathom what happened. When I mentioned this to Gajendra Singh later, he said, A cat must have been involved.

I was still disturbed by the elephants behaviour when we came upon a large herd of gaur. These wild cattle turned to go but stopped. They
watched us over their broad backs, stamping their white-socked forelegs nervously. Unconvinced we were harmless, they wandered off into the
bushes anyway, the mothers with calves leading the way. Last to leave was a one-ton heavy, velvet black, muscle-rippling stud bull, the protector
of his harem.
Why were they so shy? But then, why would they want to be seen, if they can help it? During the dry season, they have no choice because trees
shed their leaves and visibility is greater. Someone said the department hadnt set out salt licks this season, so the animals were spread out through
the forest. Or, they were in neighbouring Mudumalai indulging their salt tooth.
We arrived at a cliff overlooking the Moyar Gorge. The unease I felt about the spooked animals disappeared at the sight of water cascading down
below us. I sucked in the cool air sharply when I saw the steep slopes on either side, with barely a foothold for an adventurous animal. Even
lantana hadnt taken root here.

Back at the resort, I lowered my sore bum into a soft-cushioned chair. Throughout my forays into the jungle, I had to listen to the constant drone
of the jeeps engine, grinding through slush and revving up slopes. I found bird song and peace not in the forest, but at the resort. Darting amongst
the lantana thicket were white-eyes, ashy prinias, red-whiskered bulbuls, jungle babblers, and white-throated fantail flycatchers. A grey mongoose
came nosing around.
On my badly scribbled list of creatures-we-saw were: Oriental honey buzzard, crested serpent eagle, grey junglefowl with half-grown young, red
spurfowl, jungle bush quail, peacocks, southern plains gray langurs, sloth bear, and barking deer. Seeing a tiger may rank as the pinnacle of
wildlife-viewing experience, but it was a joy to see these creatures of the forest.
I remained puzzled by the shy herbivores. In years past, they had been as nonchalant as the dholes. I pondered Gajendra Singhs theory of how
animals might perceive us, We think snakes are slimy and awful because they dont have fur. We are just as hairless as snakes. Imagine what
other animals must think of us.
When I looked up, the mongoose was gone.

Squeezing life out of rock

Published in Times Crest May 5, 2012
Enclosed within the ancient city walls of Jodhpur, with the Mehrangarh Fort as its pivot, is the 70-hectare Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park. The Park
was recently opened to the public. While two trails are complete, six more are expected to come up soon. One trail begins at Singhoria Bari, a
renovated ancient gateway to the city that now serves as Visitors Centre.

The mention of a rock garden conjures up images of a couple of centrally highlighted boulders with gravel raked evenly around it Japanese style.
Or at least, aesthetically and deliberately arranged piles of rocks with little plants tucked between them. But the Rao Jodha Park is none of that.
Its literally a vast expanse of hard, volcanic rhyolite rock emerging out of the sandy Thar Desert with hardly enough soil to grow a dozen coconut
trees. It doesnt seem possible for anything to survive on rock that gets oven-hot from the mid-day sun, and the area doesnt even receive enough
rain to bring relief. And yet, miraculously, more than two hundred species of plants thrive in these conditions. Called lithophytes, these plants of
the rocks, range from the statuesque columns of the perennial leafless spurge to seasonal grasses. But the Mehrangarh rock plateau wasnt always
like this.
Seven years ago, when Pradip Krishen, the author of Trees of Delhi who subsequently became the Director of the Park, first arrived here on the
invitation of the Mehrangarh Museum Trust, he saw a badly degraded rocky hillock. It was overrun by one species, mesquite or Prosopis juliflora.

In the early 20th century, seeds of this hardy tree were dispersed from aircraft to green the landscape and stabilize sand dunes. It made good
charcoal for wood stoves prevalent in the area until recently. But this well-intentioned effort was to unleash an ecological nightmare. The Mexican
mesquite grew faster than people could harvest, and since its seeds are spread by cattle, thickets were quick to form. Soon, it was the only plant
visible in the entire landscape.
The Mehrangarh Trust, which had spent the last four decades renovating the Fort, turned its sights on the regions ecological heritage. Could
Pradip transform this Marwar landscape to one that Rao Jodha, the founder of Jodhpur and the Fort, may have seen in 1459? Could the ecosystem
recover from centuries of neglect and callous use?
Pradips first big challenge was mesquite, which is virtually indestructible. It monopolized the few spots where plants could grow and then
discouraged others from taking root by releasing toxic alkaloids underground. The choice was simple: mesquite or native plants. Pradip declared
war on the monopolizing invaders. But its one thing to declare war and another thing to win the battle.
Merely chopping the tree at the base made it pop up again like the Lernean Hydra. At least, the monster grew only two heads when one was cut
off. Mesquite was worse; it sprouted a dozen branches with renewed vigour. One local advice was to saw the tree down and cover the stump with
cow dung. Pradip found that manure did not even dampen the trees spirit. Weedicides were not an option as they would have run down the rocky
slopes and collected in a series of lakes where freshwater was stored. Another suggested setting fire to the trees which seemed too destructive.

The Achilles heel of this terror lies fifteen inches below the surface where the first roots sprout. This is the budding zone and the reason mesquite
rises afresh even after being chopped to the ground. Uprooting this tree from soil is a challenge. But in Mehrangarh, mesquite grew on hard rock.
Perhaps a compressor-driven auger would work? Pradip says it was too slow and expensive. Dynamite? Despite his gut instincts, Pradip did
experiment and was horrified when a single charge took the crest off a rocky knoll.
When Pradip was at his wits end, the Trust introduced him to a group of local stone miners, the Khandwalia. Dhan Singh Khandwalia is a short,
wiry, dark man with enormous, rough hands. Over four centuries ago, his ancestors had built the Fort and his knowledge of the bedrock is
unsurpassed. Could he use his knowledge of stone to solve Pradips problem?
Pradip recalls, Dhan Singh squatted next to a short mesquite tree and struck the rock with a heavy hammer. The resounding tone told his
discerning ear where the faults lay. A few more test soundings and he had a plan of attack. After chiseling the rock for an hour, he exposed the
mesquites roots. The normally round roots were shaped into flat, ribbon like strips as they snaked into cracks and crevices. This was yet another
ace up mesquites survival sleeve that enabled it to find purchase and moisture in the slimmest gap. Having found his Hercules, Pradip pitted
thirteen Khandwalia against the Mexican hydra-headed monster. In a task reminiscent of the twelve labours of the Greek hero, the Khandwalia
were to rid the area of mesquite.
While the stone miners set to work, laboriously pulling up one tree at a time, Pradip explored rocky hills and sands of the Thar Desert. With help
from the man who wrote the definitive book on desert flora, Dr. M.M. Bhandari, Pradip found plants that were found only in specific remote
locations. The professor was elderly and couldnt walk much. He sat at home and directed Pradip, Go around this hill, youll find a big rock and
maybe its still splashed with vulture poo. Go down there and youll find some plants like this. As Pradip found out, the professors memory of
geographical features was astonishingly accurate. This was how seeds or stem cuttings of many rare plants were collected and brought back to the
nursery in Jodhpur for propagation. Dr. Bhandaris help was so critical that Pradip says there is only one succulent he hasnt been able to find but
hes confident he will one day.
After an experimental two-hectare area had been cleared of mesquite, Pradip says he saw the bare, pit-marked landscape and felt a sudden jolt of
fear. Had he removed the only thing that was capable of living in this harsh landscape? There were no precedents, no one to ask for advice, no
reference points. Other knolls were also degraded and grazed, and their local plant life was also in retreat. This was the very first attempt at
restoring a rocky desert ecosystem, and the threat of failure dogged Pradip at every step.
Since mesquite had colonized every favourable location, Pradip decided to use the tree as a where-to-plant guide. Once the unwanted Mexican
was pulled up, nursery-grown natives took its place. In some places Pradip dusted the rock with soil, accelerating years of natural accretion. He
felt grasses and plants like seddera took root faster on such treated rock than undusted areas. In others, he widened the cracks a few millimetres
so plants could be wedged in.
Behind the elegant white marble mausoleum of Jaswant Thada, a small remnant chunk of mesquite provides shelter to animals like jackals and
wild boar. Eventually Pradip says these trees would also have to go as they continue to produce seeds that colonize the newly-freed areas. But
before completely taking them out, native species will be inter-planted, and the Mexican removed in phases. This will ensure that the local
wildlife is not denied shelter.

In the end, Pradip neednt have worried. The plants, provided security from cattle and people, and a lot of encouragement, did what comes
naturally from millennia of adaptation. Today, the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park is the only place you can see what rocky hills in the Thar Desert
looked like five or six centuries ago.
Sadly, Dr. Bhandari died last year before he could see the Rock Park in full glory.
A steep flight of stone stairs leads down into a 14th century aqueduct. Flanked by plants like silver-grey wall lindenbergia, pale lavender blossoms
of Bandra lepidagathis, and the glossy green-leaved rubber vine, the walk is a lesson on how these creatures have learnt to squeeze water even out
of rock.
Some, like heart-leaf indigo, live short fast lives, telescoping their entire existence into the narrow window when rains make living on rock
bearable. Once the dry season sets in, they shrivel up, germinating only when the rains come again. Others, like the succulent leafless spurge, send
their roots deep into the finest fissures in the rock. Even during blazingly hot summer days, hairline fractures in stone hold moisture and are key to
the plants survival.
Suddenly the steep embankments of the aqueduct fall behind and the vista opens up spectacularly wide. The fort, a reminder of past historical
glory, competes for attention with a gentle hill slope, covered with native vegetation, a living breathing ecological heritage. The trail leaves the
aqueduct and winds across the rocky plateau back to Singhoria Bari.

Today, unique trees, shrubs, herbs, climbers and grasses of the desert thrive, flower, and fruit in this seemingly inhospitable landscape. And in
turn, they provide sustenance to creatures large and small, from moths, butterflies, and ants to raptors and wild boar. Its astonishing how little
these tough plants of the Marwar rockscape need to survive, and yet they are at the very core of sustaining an entire ecosystem.

Rao Jodha Rocks

Published in Outlook Traveller April 2012

In the distance, the brawny edifice of Mehrangarh Fort seemed to soften with the golden evening light. It was early February and I was in Jodhpur.
At my feet, dry grasses were aflame with the setting suns fiery colours. Candelabras of cactus-like leafless spurge (Euphorbia caducifolia) grew
out of crystalline, volcanic rhyolite rock. Within the shelter and coolness created by the thorny plant, creepers and seedlings of other species
reared their tentative heads. Tiny red flowers sprouted from the tips of the spurges green columns. The remarkable survival of plants in the almost
complete absence of soil in the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park inspires awe.
Plants lead schizophrenic lives, and none more so than the ones of the desert. Their focus above-ground is to produce leaves and flowers, set
seeds, and handle the summer harshness as best as they can while below-ground, their roots single-mindedly snake through any crevice all year
round, not only to gain a root-hold but also precious moisture. Botanists call these plants of the rocks, lithophytes.
The meagre average annual rainfall of 23 centimetres disappears within hours in the desiccating dryness of Marwar. But deep within rocky
fissures, where no ray of sunlight or wisp of dry wind can penetrate, moisture clings long after it has disappeared from the surface.
When summer reaches its peak, some plants look dry and dead. They have withdrawn all their life forces below-ground, cutting their losses,
leaving their resource-sucking limbs to crumble. To them, retreat is the better part of valour. But once the rains arrive, they miraculously burst
forth, painting the entire rocky landscape green. Its an unimaginable transformation when rocks spring alive. The sap-filled columns of spurges,
however, are the Rajputs of the plant world, braving the seasons with showy greenery year-round. For them, there is no hiding underground,
waiting for good times.
Although the landscape is old, the scenery is not. The Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park is the handiwork of a team led by Pradip Krishen with support
from the Mehrangarh Museum Trust which has spent the last forty years restoring the fort to its former glory. About a million tourists visit this
historical site, spectacularly located atop a 125-metre rock. Steep rhyolite columns would have afforded no easy access to an invading army and
indeed, it is said that this fort was never taken by siege.
Although the foundation of Mehrangarh fort was laid in 1459 by Rao Jodha, it was not completed until two centuries later. Its possible that before
construction began, humans lived and grazed their livestock in this inhospitable rocky landscape that was later to become the city of Jodhpur.
Ancient paintings illustrate the rulers lives in the fort but Pradip found no chronicle of the wild flora and fauna. Not only had centuries of
colonization, building tenements, and grazing sent native plant life into retreat, they were just not appreciated enough.
The newly repaired 9.5 kilometre city wall afforded protection to the freshly planted native shrubbery from grazing cattle and donkeys. But the
main threat to any plant regeneration, mesquite (Prosopis juliflora), a Mexican interloper, was already well-established within the precincts.
Pradip said its roots produce a toxin that prevents other plants from growing. The only way of eradicating it is by uprooting it, root, stock and
barrel. A local community of stone miners, the Khandwalias, liberated the expanse of rhyolite from mesquite, one tree at a time.
While teams of these stone workers chipped laboriously, Pradip made exploratory forays to other rocky outcrops in the region to catalogue

species, and collect seeds and cuttings. Since mesquite had already indicated which locations had cracks that would foster plant growth, Pradip
intuitively set down native species in the same holes. In all, thousands of members of about 130 species of plant life populate the 70 hectare
landscape.
A five minute downhill walk from the Mehrangarh Forts main entrance is Singhoria Bari, a 16th century gateway to the city that was renovated to
serve as the Parks visitor centre. Just off the main road, the rhyolite walls and rippled sandstone walkway were designed to blend stylistically
with the ancient monument. Pictures of the place before renovation show a boarded-up gateway falling into disrepair, its courtyard piled high with
concrete rubble. Former guards rooms now house attractive posters of native plant life, a souvenir shop and a ticket counter.

This is where the Gully Trail begins. Following Pradips lead, I walked down a staircase of stone into an ancient aqueduct. It was carved through
rock to channel water from an upstream catchment to the Ranisar Lake down below the fort. By leafing through the handy guide, I could identify
some of the plants by matching the unobtrusively placed numeral-carved sandstone blocks. Since only a few plants were in flower, pictures in the
pamphlet illustrated what I was missing, the many gorgeous flowers and fruits that even rocks can foster.
During the heat of day, the aqueduct is cool and shady. It affords a good place to marvel at the neem trees emerging out of rock, and the delicate
little herbs with tiny pink, yellow and white flowers.
Pradip pointed to a small herb sprouting out of the masonry wall. The leaves of the wall lindenbergia (Lindenbergia muraria) were dull green
turning brown and it is partial to the lime grouting used in old construction. The attractive rubber vine (Cryptostegia grandiflora) with waxy green
leaves lines the walkway. A Madagascan import during the First World War, its milky latex was to be used to produce tyres for aircraft but the
effort proved too costly to be a commercial enterprise.
The masonry walls also provide ample shelter space for lizards and a toddy cat had deposited a round jalebi-shaped turd in a little gap. Moths,
bees, and butterflies arrive with the changing seasons to exploit the glut of flowers and provide their pollination services. Huge clouds of house
sparrows and bulbuls twitter from the shadows of large bushes. Fat rock pigeons, fed grain by the many people concerned about their rewards in
the after-life, fly through. Partridges engage in a round robin of calls reminiscent of creaky hand-pumps. Black-shouldered kites and shrikes perch
on a steel cable above. Large numbers of black kites wheel overhead. With the original flora coming back, no doubt there will be a cascade of
benefits for local animals and birds. In addition to the rich auditory, olfactory and visual feasts of the rocky desert, I gorged on the luscious,
yellow fruits of the jujube bush (Ziziphus nummularia).

The aqueduct takes a bend and suddenly the vista opens up. The imposing fort dominates the view on the left, while the dramatic spurges
silhouetted against the azure blue sky on the right are magnificently picturesque. We followed the trails signature yellow arrow as it led away
from the aqueduct and along a ditch, rich with riparian reeds, grasses, trees and herbs. There is evidence of small wildlife, porcupine nibbles on
the bark of a bitter drumstick tree (Moringa concanensis), and at dusk, a wild boar snuffled along the slope looking for tubers and meagre
pickings. Pradip mentioned hares killing seedlings. The rocky path winds back to Singhoria Bari. In February, the caf was under construction and
in time, will serve refreshing beverages and snacks.

Jaswant Thada

A brisk five minute walk from Singhoria Bari is Jaswant Thada, an elegant, white marble mausoleum for royalty. Just before the driveway to the
parking area, we jumped over the low wall onto a rocky slope. The small Devi Kund lake busy with water bird activity stretched out in front of us.
Spot-billed ducks, grebes, coots, and shovelers swam in flocks, herons, egrets, and ibises stalked the waters edge while darters stood on dead
neem trees drying their wings. I didnt notice the pintails and stilts until they were airborne and the fast whirring of wings made identification
impossible. I could have stood there for several hours watching birds but this time, I was more eager to hear of the heroic lives of plants in these
parts.
The walk took us around the lake. Several plants were in bloom while the toothbrush tree (Salvadora persica) was in fruit. Its tiny, translucent,
ruby red fruits have a sharp mustard-ish taste. It could be the mustard tree of the Old Testament. Pradip said in some places, existing cracks in
the rock were enlarged before wedging plants into them. Had he not pointed them out, I would not have noticed the chunks of rock grass

(Oropetium thomaeum) turf that had been tucked smoothly into crevices. Most of these valiant plants have made one of the harshest landscapes
their own but they look dusty, insignificant and self-effacing. Eyes saturated by the showy extravagance of plants in water-rich climes need to
look again to appreciate these resource-frugal plants. They are at the centre of the universe of the many local insects, bats, birds and animals.
Clumps of the herb, seddera (Seddera latifolia), dotted the rock. This hardy resident often grew in straight lines, exploiting the linear chinks barely
wide enough to slip in a one-rupee coin. Here and there, the gum arabic tree (Acacia senegal), emblematic of the rocky desert, emerges head and
shoulders above the rest. A clump of green twigs with blunt ends called the rambling milkweed (Sarcostemma acidum) never sprouts leaves. Right
after the monsoon, beautiful, fragrant white flowers erupt out of the stem tips.
When the walk ended at Jaswant Thada, we wandered onto its well-maintained gardens. Amongst the green sprinkler-irrigated lawns were two
gorgeous desert teak trees (Tecomella undulata) in profuse bloom. One had yellow flowers and the other was bright orange. Sunbirds flitted from
flower to flower while spotted doves preened under its cascading foliage, vaguely reminiscent of pomegranate.
While visitors can go on these two walks now, six more are planned for the near-future. This is perhaps, the only location where one can see, for
the first time in six centuries, what these rocks might have looked like before they were degraded. The Rao Jodha Park is a story of some peoples
immeasurable capacity to set right historical neglect and resurrect an entire ecosystem that had gone to seed.
The desert didnt just make warriors out of humans. When caught between rocks and hard places, even gentle beings such as plants have turned a
liability into an opportunity. The life and death struggles of these frail-seeming yet tough-at-heart warriors, played out in such inhospitable
conditions are no less dramatic than tales of human history. I was hooked. The by-line of the Park couldnt be truer, It grows on you. Come
monsoon, I want to see for myself the miraculous transformation of browns to greens. The ephemeral herbs and grasses blanketing the landscape
will probably push all memories of the harsh summer into the remote past. All that matters is the here and now.

Barefoot Researchers
Published in The Hindu as 'Tribals with microscopes' on 13 Jan 2013

Photo: Rolex Awards/Thierry Grobet

Erika with two parabiologists
Around the world, forest people, frequently tribals, make work in the wilderness possible for researchers, foresters, and conservationists. In India,
the Kadar in Kerala, Irula in Tamil Nadu, Karen in Andaman Islands, and Nishi in parts of Arunachal Pradesh navigate through landscape that
looks uniformly the same to outsiders. Not only do they know the haunts of wildlife better than anybody else, they set up camp, cook, and
transport gear and rations. Frequently, their superior senses help us outsiders avoid danger. For all these contributions, these field assistants
names may be mentioned in the acknowledgements section of reports and scientific publications. Their expertise is rarely recognized officially.
Since their skills are superb, they could just as well do the research themselves. But their lack of formal education has always held them back.
Bolivian biologist, Erika Cuellar, achieved what others merely talk about over an evening drink: empower barely literate indigenous communities
to do research. She was in Delhi recently to receive the Rolex Award for Enterprise that will enable her to expand the scope of her work.
For the past 13 years, the 41-year-old worked with the Guarani, Chiquitano and Ayoreode communities in Kaa-Iya National Park, a vast 34,000

sq.km. forest almost the size of Kerala. The park protects a part of the Gran Chaco, a tropical dry forest interspersed with swamps, salt flats, scrub,
and grasslands. One of the hottest places on the continent, the terrain is tough and forbidding.
Although the main focus of her work was the guanaco, the wild progenitor of the domesticated llama, she has crafted a fresh approach to research
and conservation with her program of training parabiologists.
Erika adapted the concept from Costa Rica. In 1991, overwhelmed by the numerous insects waiting to be identified, Daniel Janzen, an
evolutionary ecologist at the University of Pennsylvania, suggested training local people in bug taxonomy, parataxonomists. And he succeeded.
But Erika wasnt happy just to teach one narrow field. She told me, Indigenous people should learn how to study different species, different
classes of animals and plants. They should also learn tools of management, how to communicate a few things that are important for decisionmaking. Knowing a little of everything builds up their confidence.
Erika developed a curriculum to train the three communities living in the Gran Chaco in various aspects of ecology with an award from the
Whitley Fund for Nature in 2007. The university that oversaw the course conducted multiple-choice exams because the students cannot write
elaborate answers. The desire to study was so strong that 120 people applied. Only 20 were chosen. Erika says, They dont read, so studying was
very difficult. But they put everything into studying to pass exams.
One such applicant was Louis, an Ayoreode, who couldnt read or write. He now knows basic maths, how to use a GPS and microscope, and the
principles of taxonomy. When Erika saw the disbelief cross my face, she nodded knowingly as she explained how she had initially refused to let
him attend the program. But he was persuasive and she relented.
Throughout the eight months, Louis attended classes and also struggled to teach himself to read and write. But his literacy skills were still
inadequate to sit for the exam. He came up with a novel idea: His wife could read the questions, he would provide the answers, and she would
write them down. Astonishingly, the university approved this unorthodox solution, and Louis passed with 55%. He is now qualified to collect
data, analyze it, and present the results. Erika became emotional as she said, All of us are so proud of him. I understood you dont have the right
to judge people. You have to give them the opportunity. This is one of the most important things I ever did having him in the course, and giving
him the certificate.

Photo courtesy: Erika Cuellar

Erika with the 2008 batch of parabiologists
Kaa-Iya National Park is unique not only for the many wild animals like jaguar, armadillo, and the guanaco, but also in its origins. In a first of its
kind for Latin America, indigenous people campaigned for its protection. Once the government created it in 1997, the areas tribes managed it.
The 20 parabiologists assist their leaders in making management decisions. Not only does the parabiologist program empower members of the
local communities, it also enables scientific governance of the park.
In India, since forest tribal skills rarely have a place in the economy, they are on the wane. The younger generation has no incentive to learn
traditional knowledge from their parents. Unless a program such as the parabiologists scheme inculcates a sense of pride in their knowledge and
provides a livelihood, we may soon lose these skills and knowledge.
With the aid of the Rolex Award, Erika plans to expand the project to neighbouring Argentina and Paraguay. Both these countries have significant
chunks of the Gran Chaco that need protection. The problems are many: Although a National Park exists on paper in Paraguay, the military hunts

there. Grasslands are being taken over by trees and shrubs, and cattle are catalyzing the problem. This limits the habitat for the guanaco, of which
only 400 are left in Bolivia and Paraguay. Erika doesnt appear fazed by the enormity of what she has taken on; she brims with confidence as she
narrates her future course of action and her strategy.
If Louis overcame literacy challenges, Erika had her own share of struggles. The big one was to prove she could work in a mans world. Although
she is half-Guarani, when she first arrived at Kaa-Iya, her tribesmen didnt accept her. Her project required her to accompany hunters, and some of
them thought taking a woman along would bring bad luck. Others felt she wouldnt be able to keep up with them. The women were suspicious
because hunting was an all-night activity, and Erika was the only woman among their men. Erika says ruefully, I thought that the women would
understand me. But the women understood me even less than the men did.
She demonstrated to the hunters that she was as tough as they were. If she had to walk 10-20 km., she did it without complaining. The going was
tough, the terrain was hard, and water scarce. But she willed herself on. Two weeks later, the hunters accepted her presence.
As Erika talks about growing up in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, three things stand out: her grit, determination, and generosity. Her father told her, Im
not going to stop working until the day I die if you need to study. You dont have to work while you study.
She says, In spite of all the economic difficulties we had, I feel very grateful I could study.
She always wanted to do public service, helping people makes her happy. And the parabiologist program is her way of giving the opportunity of
studying to people who didnt have it.
Erika says she lives by her fathers advice, I dont care if you are a builder or a cook or if you work in a laundry, but do it well.
She recalls the time when she was to spend 40 days in the company of 14 men. She worried if she would be fine. Her father said, You are going
there to work. You do it well and they will respect you. And maybethey will help you.
And they did.

In a new light
On July 2012, the Western Ghats were added to a growing list of World Heritage Sites around the world that celebrate human endeavour and
natural splendour. The hill range has long enjoyed iconic status among people interested in nature and wildlife. One organization, Conservation
International, branded it as one among 34 biodiversity hotspots in the world. And now UNESCO has formally recognized what wildlife
enthusiasts have long known: The Western Ghats are a wonder of the natural world, on par with the more famous Ngorongoro Conservation Area,
Tanzania.
However, only a third of the original 160,000 sq.km. of forests in the Western Ghats is left. The UNESCO status does not extend to the entire hill
range or even to what remains of the natural vegetation. After a rigorous process of evaluation, a cluster of 39 sites was identified, of which 19 are
located in Kerala, 10 in Karnataka, six in Tamil Nadu and four in Maharashtra. These reserve forests, tiger reserves, wildlife sanctuaries and
national parks cover an area of almost 8,000 sq. km. and are already governed by the Wildlife Protection Act, the Forest Conservation Act and the
Forest Rights Act.
Jagdish Krishnaswamy of the Ashoka Trust for Research in Environment and Education (ATREE) says these sites represent exceptional natural
beauty, major geological features, have examples of ongoing biological and ecological processes, and habitat for biodiversity to flourish. These
sites are along the rainfall gradients from south to north, west to east, as well as a range of habitats from swamps, grasslands, and streams to thick
rainforests.
The Western Ghats are not the only natural forests to be declared a World Heritage Site in India. In 1985, Manas National Park and Kaziranga
National Park in Assam and Keoladeo National Park in Rajasthan were Indias first, followed by Sunderbans National Park in 1987 and
Nandadevi and Valley of Flowers in the Himalayas in 1988. More than 20 years later, the Western Ghats have become Indias sixth site to achieve
this distinction.
The Heritage Site tag will magnify international attention on the conservation of these areas. Donors readily fund projects in such locations, while
the world media is also likely to highlight any threat to such Heritage Sites. By nominating the Western Ghats, the Government of India has tacitly
undertaken to do everything in its powers to provide security for these forests in the future.

Its likely the high profile of this listing will bring more tourists to the Western Ghats. These are fragile ecosystems; more footfalls can jeopardize
their existence as we know them today. While a few areas are well-known tourist destinations like Periyar Tiger Reserve, some of the sites have
no facilities and are unlikely to play host to anyone but the most persistent researcher. Besides, the Ministry of Environment and Forests has
recently issued guidelines to regulate tourism in all protected forests.
Not only the rich array of life forms, but about 150 million people live in the humid hill range. Krishnaswamy says, It is the most densely
populated biodiversity hotspot in the world. Yet, grasslands that were formed 40,000 years ago still persist despite human development all around.
Its a really unique place.
What if India fails to safeguard a World Heritage Site? In November 1999, Hampis spectacular ruins of the Vijayanagar empire, another World
Heritage Site, was put on UNESCOs List of World Heritage in Danger. The Karnataka government had begun construction of two bridges one
for pedestrians and the other for vehicular traffic spanning the Tungabhadra without seeking required clearances from the Archaeological
Survey of India or the Hampi World Heritage Site Management Committee. Worse, the state had callously removed a historic monument that was
in the way of one of the bridges.
UNESCO feared vehicles using the bridge would cause pollution, and the vibrations would undermine some of the historic structures. Even the
walkway caused offense as it was built right beside the Virupaksha temple. In January 2000, the global body threatened to strike Hampi from its
prestigious list of Heritage Sites and demanded an immediate halt to construction.
However, local people really wanted the bridges. Until then, the only means of crossing the river was by coracles. When the river was in spate,
even that option was unavailable. Farmers could not carry their produce to markets unless they walked several kilometres to reach a truck-able
road. If the local people couldnt receive the benefits of development just because of the World Heritage Site tag, they didnt want it anymore,
they said. They filed a Public Interest Litigation in the Karnataka High Court demanding the construction of those bridges. No doubt, there were
politically vested interests fanning the agitation for the bridge but that doesnt diminish the legitimacy of the local peoples aspirations for a better
life.
The Central Government pressurized the state to comply with UNESCOs demands. The state government was torn: It didnt want to stop a
project that had already cost Rs. 4 crores, but at the same time, if Hampi lost its coveted tag, the state wouldnt receive funds for maintaining the
monuments. Besides, there was the peoples 50-year-old demand for the bridge.
Finally in June 2003, UNESCO granted provisional approval for the vehicular bridge but demanded the foot bridge be dismantled. Further, it
insisted a bypass road circling the ruins be built first before work on the bridge could resume. In five years, the bridge would have to be relocated.
Locals resented even this compromise. They asked why should an international body, aided by people living in Delhi and Bangalore, interfere
with their local development projects.
On the afternoon of January 22, 2009, barely two months after work resumed, the bridge collapsed, killing eight and injuring 35. The authorities
are scoping the area for a site to build a new bridge that would be acceptable to UNESCO. All the necessary paperwork will have to be cleared
before construction can begin. Ironically, present-day residents of Hampi have to use coracles, a risky mode of crossing the river, while 600 years
ago, the residents of the Vijayanagar empire traversed a bridge across the river Tungabhadra.
In 2006, Hampi was taken off the List of World Heritage in Danger. At this time, biologists along the Western Ghats were engaged in the process
of compiling data to nominate the Western Ghats as a World Heritage Site. Many conservationists believe we should be proud of the global
recognition for the hill range. At the very least, it could do no harm. However, such tags wield enormous power to interfere with local peoples
rights and aspirations.
Perhaps more than global recognition, the Western Ghats need regional and national appreciation. In a country where forests are undervalued and
unappreciated, an international tag could have done the trick of getting local people to cherish the treasure in their own backyards. But with
Karnataka raising the pitch in its opposition to the UNESCO recognition, the space for conservation has narrowed considerably.

Circumventing the elephant

Published in Current Conservation 4.4
Farmers of the rainforests of Nigeria, Africa constructed an extensive network of earthen walls and moats. Astonishingly, in some places, the
walls are 20 metres high and the moats 20 metres deep. What makes this even more remarkable is that Sungbos Eredo (meaning Sungbos
Ditch) is thought to have been built around 1150 AD on the orders of a childless matriarch, Bilikisu Sungbo (although the dates dont add up,
locals believe that she is none other than the Queen of Sheba). The fortifications span 160 km encompassing an area of 1400 km2, the size of
Delhi. Nearby Benin City has even more spectacular walls and trenches, extending 16,000 km and covering an area of 6,500 km2. This is thought
to be the single largest archaeological phenomenon on the planet, an enterprise larger than the Egyptian pyramids. The zooarchaeologist, Juliet

Clutton-Brock, believes they may be evidence of mans earliest elaborate defense of crops against elephants. However, conflict with these
pachyderms is thought to have started much earlier, when man first began to till the soil.
A millennium later, the range of devices that farmers use to keep elephants at bay is a tribute to the ingenuity of both, animals and humans. The
simplest and most widespread (perhaps the oldest) practice is guarding crops through the night from tree top machans (or ground level tunsis,
rickety shacks sometimes protected by a trench, used in north Bengal and Assam). When elephants are spotted, the vigilant farmers set up a
cacophonic racket by lighting fire crackers, banging plates or rattling other noisy implements to scare the animals away. When extended families
lived together, men took turns at guard duty. Now that nuclear families are the norm, the burden of chasing elephants falls on the man of the
household night after night; hiring guards is not an option for poor farmers. The price of inadvertently falling asleep after a long days labour is
catastrophic: the loss of the familys sustenance for the next few months.
If an animal is repeatedly chased away from food, it gets irritable and elephants are no exception. Humans who havent slept well for days become
crotchety. When bad-tempered members of two species confront each other, the stage is set for tragic accidents. The elephants dark coloration
renders them almost invisible at night and drowsy farmers on patrol have been maimed or killed. Bursting fire crackers can goad elephants to take
out their aggression on buildings or machans. Feeble torch lights, the barking of dogs and even a solitary human voice can cause a frustrated
elephant to charge, sometimes with fatal consequences. Guarding crops is probably one of the most dangerous occupations in elephant country
and several villagers tilling marginal lands have abandoned farming altogether.
In parts of elephant country, farmers complain that none of the commonly used methods such as torch lights and bursting fire crackers work
anymore. In north Bengal and Assam, farmers have resorted to chasing elephants using mashal (a spear tip surrounded by a flaming ball of rags),
birio (indigenous sling shots), poison arrows, flaming arrow heads, jute (fire balls on sticks), cycle tyres set afire, and more. Some of these cause
grievous injuries to elephants and the pain can ramp up their aggression. In areas where damage caused by elephants is particularly high and
farming has become unsustainable, men emigrate to cities for work leaving their wives to guard the crops. One agitated woman in Upper Kolabari
village (north Bengal) shrieked, We used to think that elephants were god, but not anymore. If they are killed, then finally there will be peace.
Eventually when she calmed down, she complained that she hadnt slept for weeks and the stress of managing the farm and family while her
husband was away was sapping her energy. The despondent woman was only voicing her threats, others more intolerant carry them out - they kill
elephants with home-made guns, electric wires hooked up to high tension cables, and poison or explosive filled pumpkins.
In an effort to aid the beleaguered farmers, almost every division of the Forest Department in north Bengal and Assam forms a squad to chase
elephants away during the harvest season. Depending on the obstinacy of the herd, it may take a few hours to a full nights work to complete the
job and the squad can only rush to one or two sites per night. On jeeps, tractors or trained elephants called kumki, they fire blanks to drive wild
elephants away. One beat officer claimed proudly, The elephants wont budge if your vehicle goes, but as soon as our jeep arrives, they start
moving. During the harvest season, the field staff of the Forest Department is stretched to the limit, performing their regular duties through the
day and chasing elephants every night without overtime or other benefits. On the other hand, farmers complain that these squads are inadequate
and that the elephants return to the crops once the squads leave.
Perhaps the one method that has gained mythical powers of stopping elephants in their tracks is the electric fence. The non-lethal pulses of high
voltage power carried along steel wires, unpleasantly jolts a barging elephant, warning it to stay away from the farm. As ingenious as it sounds,
electric fences are no panacea. Desperate elephants have learnt a variety of tricks to get through fences toppling trees onto them, using their
tusks to rip or the soles of their feet to step on the wires and even running into them bringing posts and wires down! In Kenya, removing the tusks
of eight fence-breaking bull elephants did not stop them from breaking 20 electric fences in the following five days. Once an elephant loses its
fear of electricity, no fence, however sophisticated, appears to stop it.
Several NGOs in different parts of India are testing and implementing different methods of protecting crops from elephants. Perhaps the simplest
innovation is the creation of voluntary youth groups to watch for elephants from machans. Young men spend their evenings playing card games
while keeping an eye out for the pachyderms. Some of the other experiments range from using thorny plants to create a biofence, alternate
inedible cash crops, bee hives along the perimeter of farms, trip wire alarms that alert sleeping farmers to the presence of elephants, and delivering
chillis pungency through a variety of means (smoke, spray, paste smeared on a rope surrounding the crops). Some of them have shown initial
promise but that is mainly because elephants stay away from anything new and unusual; if they put their minds to it, they seem to eventually
overcome these obstacles. This talent inspired the ancients to create the elephant-headed god, Ganesa or Vinayaka, the super-human clearer of
obstructions.
The crucial factor that determines the success or failure of any conflict resolution measure seems to depend on the elephants desperation for
crops. In areas where there is abundant natural forage such as the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, elephants that are tempted by agricultural goodies,
can be deterred by any of the methods. But in places such as Kodagu (Karnataka), Assam, north Bengal, Orissa and the Northeast where the
assault on forests is intense and unrelenting, hungry elephants rely on human agricultural enterprise for their survival and they will overcome any
challenge that man erects between them and the food they crave. Confining these giants with gargantuan appetites to fragmented insubstantial
forests using fences, trenches, or walls is bound to fail (and unethical); but should these measures work, the elephants will in all likelihood eat
through the forests and worsen the situation. Enriching the habitat by planting fodder, trees, and bamboo in elephant country has been suggested,

but little is known of its efficacy.

We cannot hope to be successful by gnawing away at the habitat with one hand and with the other, curbing, altering and manipulating elephant
behaviour and movement according to our convenience with the expectation that they will obey. Thats like trying to staunch a hemorrhage with
several little band-aids. Wildlife managers are constantly on the look-out for measures that work decisively against elephants under any
conditions, but unfortunately, there are none. At best, using the various measures in combination, changing them frequently and constantly
improvising will buy us some time while a long-term habitat protection strategy is developed.
Conflict is caused mainly as a result of human actions, and this has to be at the heart of any attempt at resolution. Elephants are only compensating
for what they have lost. In other words, it is not the elephants that are badly behaved, it is us. According to Project Elephant, 3% of Indias land
surface is elephant country and of this, only 10% is affected by conflict. It is still possible to achieve a more amiable relationship with elephants if
we put our minds to it and this is the time to do it before we irrevocably lose more elephant habitat.

Sugarcane leopards
Published in Current COnservation 4.4
Most of Akole valley in the Indian state of Maharashtra was formerly semi-arid and drought prone. When rains allowed, farmers grew crops such
as pearl millet, sorghum, and safflower. In the 1980s with the aid of irrigation, intensive cultivation began. From a dust-bowl, Akole valley was
transformed into a lush mosaic with dense stands of sugarcane, rich velvety green of banana fronds and rangy stands of corn. Set amongst them
were smaller plots of onion, sorghum, wheat, cauliflower and other vegetables grown for the wholesale markets of Mumbai. The scraggly hills
that form a jagged horizon to the west were dry and sparsely covered in brush with a few tree plantations. Nothing in this landscape could be
remotely described as an archetypal forest where wild mammals might roam through thick, concealing vegetation.
People here make a living through agriculture and animal husbandry. At one end of the spectrum, rich farmers focus on lucrative sugarcane and
imported Jersey cattle while at the other, poor tribals survive on marginal rain-fed agriculture and graze goats on the scrubby hill slopes. Nomadic
shepherds make seasonal migrations from further afield so their animals can forage on the fallow fields. Although little of this landscape is set
aside for conservation, a large golden cat spotted with black rosettes prowls amongst the tall cane fields in the fertile green valley. Locals know
there are leopards around, some have seen them, others have heard of them and some have lost of calves, dogs or goats.
How is it possible for large predators to live with humans in a rural area? Asking this big question are Vidya Athreya, a wildlife biologist and
Sunetro Ghosal, a social scientist.
Prior to stumbling on this modern-day Eden, Athreya had spent a few years studying human-leopard conflict in a neighbouring district where 47
people had been mauled in three years. Throughout the past centuries and across countries in Africa and Asia, leopards have attacked thousands of
humans and killed scores.
Why do leopards attack people? Are we just easy meat? Over the decades, several explanations were trotted out such as man-eaters suffered from
debilitating injuries, broken canines, too few prey animals and/or little water in the forest, infrastructure development disturbing forest stretches,
increasing numbers of leopards, improper disposal of corpses giving the scavenging cats a taste of human flesh, and loss of fear of people. But no
definitive study actually supports any of these contentions.
Athreya declares that studying a situation where leopards and humans are able to coexist peacefully in an agricultural landscape provides the key
to understanding why the cats maul people elsewhere. To this end, both Ghosal and Athreya set up their studies in Akole with funding from the
Royal Norwegian Embassy in Delhi and the Research Council of Norway in Oslo. The Centre for Ecological Sciences (CES) and Norwegian
Institute for Nature Research (NINA) provided scientific stewardship under their joint 'Wildlife-human interactions: from conflict to coexistence
in sustainable landscapes' project.
What do these rural leopards eat? One relatively simple way of answering this is to examine the hair remains found in scats. Leopards, like several
other wild cats, defecate on paths. In forests where trails are few, droppings are easy to find. Where do you begin to look for leopard excreta in the
maze of paths crisscrossing a 300 sq.km agricultural area? What if these rural cats keep a low profile by avoiding paths and people altogether? To
maximize the search effort, the team of research assistants spread wide, scouring hills, fields, towns, roads, paths, dry stream beds, every type of
habitat. To their surprise, it wasnt all that difficult to find leopard scats; they were everywhere!
The hair remains teased out of the excreta were examined under a microscope. In the absence of the usual wild prey such as deer and monkeys,
these leopards were living mostly on dogs, feral pigs and livestock. The few wild animals on the menu were smaller still: mongooses, civet cats
and rodents.
How well do leopards survive on this diet and landscape? Can agricultural fields hold thriving populations of these big cats? To answer these

questions leopards had to be enumerated, but how? Each leopard can be identified by its unique pattern of spots so camera trapping offers a
scientific way of counting individuals. Since both flanks of an animal are not identical, a pair of cameras was fixed facing each other. Twenty
pairs of camera traps were set up in 40 sites over an area of 136 sq.km. for 30 days to estimate the density of leopards.
The camera traps were placed in areas where scats were numerous and where there was evidence of leopard activity such as pugmarks, scratches
on trees. Although the team interviewed people, Ghosal found that those who did not own goats or dogs were hardly aware of the presence of
leopards. For instance, although one lady said that she had never seen a leopard and denied that there were any around, one was caught on camera
ten feet away from her house!
In the final tally, five adult males, six females and four cubs were distinctly recognizable in the photographs. Once the area of the trapping
exercise was adjusted, the density came to as many as 5 leopards living in 100 sq.km of farmland! More remarkably, that same 10 x 10 km area
also supported five striped hyenas and about 357 people! Clearly agricultural areas were rich hunting grounds for these wild cats. Other animals
that triggered the cameras were rusty-spotted cat, jungle cat, and jackal.
Were these leopards seasonal migrants from the closest forest taking advantage of the abundant feral prey?
When an old leopard (named Ajoba) that fell into a well was rescued by the Maharashtra Forest Department, Athreya affixed a GPS transmitter
around his neck. As is sometimes the practice, he was released about 60 km away at the western edge of the district boundary at Malshej Ghats.
Thereafter, his GPS location was pinpointed every day by satellite and an international SIM card tucked in the collar transmitted this information
by SMS to the NINA server in Norway. All Athreya had to do to access Ajobas location was log onto the server. As a backup, the collar also held
a traditional short range VHF transmitter so should the GPS malfunction, the animal could be traced using a handheld receiver.
A translocated leopard typically returns to the site of its capture or ranges randomly over long distances, either lost or attempting to find its home;
rarely does it settle down at the site of release. A few days after Ajobas release, contrary to expectations, his GPS tracer began to dot westwards
on the map, in the opposite direction from the site of his capture. He crossed the busy Mumbai-Agra National Highway, and through the Kasara
railway station giving Athreya several anxious moments. Stranger still, Ajoba didnt linger at either Tansa or Tungareshwar Wildlife Sanctuaries
but continued onwards crossing the Vasai Industrial area near Thane, on the densely populated outskirts of Mumbai city. After twenty five days
on the move, he entered Sanjay Gandhi National Park and the GPS points stayed clustered in a 25 sq.km area for almost six weeks; he seemed to
have settled down.
Then inexplicably Ajoba took a swim across the 100 metre Ullas River into the main section of the Park but returned. This may have caused the
collar to malfunction as all further transmission stopped. Before settling down, Ajoba had traveled 120 km, and at several locations was very close
to people. Remarkably not once did anyone notice the leopard. It is only because of his collar that we are aware of this wild cats extraordinary
journey from the Ghats to the coast. Since Ajoba was quite an old animal, and had consistently walked in a single direction before settling down,
the team doesnt think he was lost; he was sure of his destination.
A leopardess caught in Nanashi, near Nashik, was collared and named Sita. She was in an advanced stage of pregnancy when she was released 50
km away. For a month she tried to return unsuccessfully. Then she gave birth at the site of release and her mothering instincts overruled the urge
to return home. She hid in the forests during the day and prowled through neighbouring villages at night hunting dogs and goats. Four months
later, when her kittens were old enough to follow, she returned home to Nanashi. Over the subsequent eight months, until the collar dropped off,
she prowled a 25 sq.km* area.
Neither of these two animals case histories reveals the life for a typical leopard in Akoles sugarcane fields. Then along came Jai Maharashtra, a
young leopard and Lakshai, a leopardess. Although these animals were caught in separate locations, it was immediately obvious that they were
related. After being radio-collared, Lakshai (who was missing a canine!) emerged from her drugged stupor and made a beeline for Jai. Eventually
DNA testing showed that they were mother and son.
For the first two months after Lakshai had a litter, Jai, the dutiful older son, was always close at hand, staying with the kittens so their mother
could go hunting. Perhaps leopards are not the solitary beasts we have been led to believe.
Compared to Ajoba and Sitas long distance treks, Jai and Lakshai hardly moved at all. The resident animals holed up in sugarcane fields all day
and emerged at night to hunt dogs and pigs within a range of 25 sq.km*. Schooled as I was in the paradigm that large wild cats belong in tall
undisturbed forests, this revelation came as a shock. Until this moment, standing with Vidya just metres away from a hidden leopard, I had
expected these cats to live in a wilderness area somewhere and make occasional forays into the sugarcane fields. But their GPS points clearly
indicated that these leopards lived in farmlands 24x7. If they were ever translocated to a forest, it would seem like an alien world just as it would
to any farmer! Leopards have long known to be adaptable animals, but in this landscape they act just like large pussy cats, keeping stray animals
under control.
How do leopards use this landscape and when are they active? Most crucially, why dont these leopards attack people? Do they wait until all

human activity on the farms ceases at night before venturing out to hunt? To her surprise, Athreya found that the time stamp on the camera trap
pictures showed that people and leopards were using the same paths at approximately the same time, often within minutes of each other. Since
rural Maharashtra suffers all-day power shut downs, farmers visit their fields at night to turn on their water pumps. And this was also the time
when leopards were prowling the pathways looking for prey, or patrolling their territories.
Despite living in such close proximity, what are the reasons for the lack of conflict? Athreya avers that we still know too little about the drivers of
conflict but offers that inappropriate management such as translocation may only aggravate conflict. Continued collaring of animals, studying
their movements and interactions with one another will provide a better understanding of when and why large cats attack on humans.
What factors promote tolerance towards dangerous predators in ones neighbourhood? Ghosals social science study revealed that peoples
attitudes to leopards were coloured by a three-way tension between their religious-social backgrounds, political-legal frameworks, and economic
loss-insecurity (both personal and livelihood). Tribal and pastoral communities worship Waghoba and Waghjaimata, local deities symbolized by
tigers or leopards. Combined with this religious ethic, tribals see themselves embedded alongside these predatory cats in a single dynamic
landscape and do not apply for compensation even when they lose livestock. They also take greater care of their animals, so loss is minimized.
However, they feel powerless when Forest Department not only denies access to grazing on the hill slopes, but they believe the Department
releases leopards in the hills to prevent them from grazing and collecting firewood! It is also worth mentioning that fewer leopards are found in
the marginal areas used by tribals where there is little shelter or prey. Despite their weak politico-legal leverage, the strength of their religio-social
backgrounds and ability to prevent losses has led to a positive attitude to leopards.
At the other extreme, a minority of rich urbanized farmers feel that these government-owned cats have no place outside protected forests. So
they use their political clout to lobby for the removal of leopards. Since these farmers are negligent about securing their calves and goats, they
suffer more losses to the predators and thus feel vindicated in their attitudes. Their disaffection is inadequately appeased by compensation. Yet,
leopards thrive in these sugarcane fields because farmers leave them unmolested.
Most others have adapted to the presence of leopards in the landscape; some say they walk after dark in groups, armed with torchlight, and usually
talk loudly so they do not inadvertently bump into a large cat. They also claim that leopards do not confront people but should it happen, they
would give space for the feline to walk away. A lot of families confidently sleep out in the open while all the livestock and poultry are secured in
enclosures.
New values such as seen in wildlife programs on television also exert a positive influence on peoples perception of the wild cat. Many take pride
that leopards live in their midst and that researchers are studying them. All this has promoted tolerance of these cats in this landscape.
For instance, some women who were weeding, calmly watched a leopard walk past. Moments later, in the next farm, workers threw stones and
sent the feline scurrying for cover. In the melee, one or two of them were scratched and they complained to the Forest Department. When the local
official approached the first farm owner for permission to place traps on his land to catch the leopard, he flatly refused. None of his family or
workers was hurt by the feline, he argued.
This study underscores the fact that leopards are being sustained in high densities in rural areas because of the easy availability of stray dogs and
feral pigs. There are an estimated 128 dogs per sq.km in Akole town and around 3000 pigs in the township. With such easy pickings in abundant
supply at their doorsteps, these fat wild cats do not need to undertake strenuous walks, and therefore their home ranges are small. Since the density
of dogs is higher near towns, so too are leopard densities. On numerous occasions both Lakshai and Jai were within the town, walking between
houses. Although DNA analysis of samples obtained from the scats is yet to be completed, Athreya made a preliminary identification of 20
individuals. Not surprisingly, six adult leopards were stalking and hunting dogs and pigs in a 4 sq.km town of 20,000 people. There were clearly
more leopards lurking around Akole town than in the surrounding countryside.
During further study, Athreya has found similar situations where leopards live with people without conflict in other agricultural areas in India. It
could even be the norm rather than the exception. Clearly when there are so many wild animals living outside protected forests, a policy for their
conservation and management needs to be drafted. If these numbers of leopards are deemed too high, the most appropriate management measure
would be to clean up towns reducing stray animal populations. Local Forest Department officials require crisis and people-management training in
order to perform their jobs better. Compensation payments for livestock losses should be made less tedious and bureaucratic; it should be linked to
effective protection so those who take better care of their livestock are rewarded, and support provided to those who lack the resources to
adequately protect their animals.
Thanks to Indian cultural and religious traditions, most rural people are amazingly sympathetic to leopards, as long as humans are not harmed nor
alienated from resource or land use in the name of conservation. If our management policies build on this existing foundation, people are more
likely to share farmlands with large cats and accept them in their midst. This could set a precedent for the conservation of large predators in
villages and farms across India and the world.

Bowling for Stumpy

Edited version published in DNA on 27 Feb 2011
Stumpy, the cricket ball wielding chubby blue elephant is the mascot of the World Cup to be inaugurated on the 19th February. Ironically nowhere
is this more appropriate than in Sri Lanka where the hosts will play Canada on 20th February, and Pakistan against Kenya on the 23rd. The venue
of these clashes is the newly commissioned 35,000 seater Mahinda Rajapaksa International Stadium set in the middle of a coastal forest where
Stumpys real life kith and kin battle with humans for their very survival.
Throughout this landscape, developmental projects sit amidst natural splendor. On either side of the broad slick Hambantota Bypass road,
irrigated banana fields, tsunami rehabilitation settlements, the flashy international conference centre that may host the Commonwealth Heads of
Government meeting were carved out of the elephants forest. Besides, an international airport (imagine the sales line, arrive in a jumbo jet in
jumbo country!), a seaport and a railway line are in different stages of completion. Within a decade, Hambantota has transformed from a sleepy
village to an enormous township in a hurry, fuelled by President Rajapaksas ambitious plans for his home constituency. It could be a run-of-themill development versus conservation story but it may not be, not just yet anyway.
About fifteen years ago, the Walawe Left Bank Irrigation Project brought perennial farming to the area. Then as more and more infrastructure
projects were slated to come up, the Wildlife Department was asked to move the elephants to a nearby National Park. In 2006, a drive was
launched to herd the estimated 100 elephants out of this 600 sq.km area. But imagine their surprise when they mustered about 250 elephants into
the Lunugumvehera National Park. Even more amazingly, elephant biologist Dr. Prithiviraj Fernando estimates that between 300 and 400
elephants were left behind that continue to forage in the remaining 300 sq.km. of forests in the greater Hambantota area.
Strangely, the fate of elephants in the Protected forest was worse than the ones having to battle the developmental juggernaut sweeping through
their forests. First the calves died inside the Park, followed by some adults; the rest, in poor condition, pace helplessly along the electric-fenced
boundary, looking for a way out. It has been suggested that there is not enough foliage to support such a large population of elephants and it is just
as likely that they are home-sick.
Outside the Park, peoples problems with the animals escalated despite removing half the areas population of elephants. True, the pachyderms
had lost about 300 sq.km. of habitat to the new developments and there were choice irrigated crops such as bananas, sugarcane, and coconuts for
the picking. But these elephants, that had been subjected to the trauma of tens of thousands of firecrackers, people screaming and shooting at them
during the attempt to drive them to the Park, had become fearless. Formerly shy retiring animals, they were now quick to lose their temper with
any farmers who had the temerity to chase them. Out of desperation, people resorted to diabolical methods of maiming elephants by hiding
explosives inside pumpkins. In this grim scenario, a World Bank funded project hopes to not only resolve these problems but create a unique
Managed Elephant Reserve (MER) (under the National Elephant Conservation Policy 2006), a balancing act between development and elephant
conservation.

For starters, the areas zoning maps until the year 2030 have been overlaid with elephant distribution coordinates so any infrastructure plans
necessarily includes the animals. A few members of the Hambantota elephant herds are being radio tracked to get an understanding of their use of
the landscape and reaction to disturbance. This knowledge will feed into the overall management of the area for elephants. However, the biggest
challenge facing the project is encroachment inside the newly conceived Reserve. People want land for cultivation, house plots, and some indulge
in just plain outright land grabbing. Although the MER allows existing practices such as rainfed agriculture, it cannot sustain elephants if the
habitat is splintered, fenced and diverted further for human use.
The Hambantota elephants are not alone in their plight. Whether its Sri Lanka, India, Burma or Thailand this is a tension riddled equation for
both elephants and their human neighbours. At least here in southern Sri Lanka elephant biologists are being given the mandate to give the
pachyderms a fair deal by the developers. Can Stumpy become the mascot for the development-and-conservation paradigm?

The best laid schemes of tigers and men

Published in Governance Now, 26 Feb 2011.
The media leaves little doubt about the dire straits that we find the tiger in today. Millions of dollars are raised at home and abroad to secure the
future of this magnificent beast. But the people who are paying dearly for the conservation of the charismatic big cat are the unglamorous local
people who have had to quietly forsake their homes and traditional livelihoods to make way for the tiger. Here is an example of whats happening
across tiger reserves in the country.
In November 2010, the Soliga tribals of the Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Sanctuary wrote a bitter letter to Jairam Ramesh, the Minister for
Environment and Forests, asking to be poisoned first before turning the Sanctuary into a Tiger Reserve. The adivasis are not opposed to tigers; nor
do they begrudge the enormous financial allocations being made every year for wildlife while their own lot remains depressingly the same. The

real core of their anxiety is the 370 sq.km that is destined to be declared a Critical Tiger Habitat under the Wildlife Protection Act (WPA). Should
this happen, about 1000 tribal households belonging to eighteen hamlets have to be relocated to create an exclusive zone for tigers. It is worth
noting that over the last few years, the number of tigers in the sanctuary has increased even with the presence of these people and it is therefore
debatable if such a radical move is necessary for tiger conservation. Be that as it may, at the very least, the tribals have to get a fair deal as is
mandated by law.
Section 38-V (5) of the Wildlife Act says that before the notification of a Critical Tiger Habitat, the rights of local forest dwellers have to be
honored, the possibility of coexistence ruled out, their impact on wildlife assessed, and if irreversible, only then shunt people out with the
approval of the gram sabha (a village assembly that includes all the adults). Further, they need to be provided a package to resettle in a place that
has all the basic amenities. A fair law! On paper.
In reality, there is a gaping fracture between words and action. Had the Soliga adivasis been taken into confidence from the beginning, when the
proposal to make their forest a Tiger Reserve was being drafted, its unlikely they would have taken such an antagonistic stand. In this vitiated
atmosphere, its doubtful if their gram sabhas will provide free informed consent to their own transfer of residence, one of the prerequisites for
declaring an exclusive tiger haven. But resistance hasnt deterred eviction of forest dwellers from other Tiger Reserves. When a range of basic
amenities are lacking and hopes of making ends meet recede in the distance, their defiance eventually breaks down. Often, this is how free
informed consent is obtained.
In addition to Critical Tiger Habitat, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers Act, 2006, popularly referred to as the Forest
Rights Act (FRA), mandates declaration of Critical Wildlife Habitats under Section 4(2) which stipulates the same actions as WPA.
The twin towers of critical habitats the Wildlife Act and Forest Rights Act mention fuzzy concepts such as, irreversible damage,
coexistence and the more problematic inviolate without defining them. In 2007, a consortium of public service-minded organizations and
institutions took it upon themselves to not only elaborate on these terms but also set out the criteria and protocols for declaration of these
exclusive habitats. To this day, the advice stands ignored.
Even within the twenty-member Joint Ministry of Environment and Forests-Ministry of Tribal Affairs Committee, set up to investigate the
implementation of the FRA, two contradictory views prevailed. One said inviolate does not mean free of humans and that pursuit of activities
not inimical to conservation could be allowed, while the other maintained that inviolate meant free of humans and their activities; the Ministry of
Environment and Forests appears to tacitly accept this latter, narrower definition.
The Joint Committee report also exposed a range of governance issues which stirred up a hornets nest. The Director General of Forests and the
Central Unit of the Indian Forest Service Officers Association have cautioned that if the law is implemented as suggested by the report, it would
lead to a land scam of gargantuan proportions, that local forest dwellers had no wherewithal to stand up to well-muscled external forces and
emphasized that the integrity of the Forest Department officials ought not to be questioned. The successful fight by the Dongria Kondh tribals
against one of the biggest corporations in the world over their sacred mountain, Niyamgiri, puts a lie to that belief. On the contrary, while the
Karnataka State Forest Department has drawn up plans to move the Soligas out of the Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Sanctuary, they confess
helplessness in revoking the leases granted to large companies for 1800 acres of commercial coffee plantations smack inside the sanctuary!
In order to aid the states in identifying and creating Critical Wildlife Habitats, the Ministry of Environment and Forests had issued guidelines in
October 2007 and when no further progress was made, revised them on 7 February 2011.
Although the Joint Committee rued the fact that the states were setting deadlines for the settlement of rights of forest people, often with an eye on
upcoming elections, in reality no such deadline is set by law. Yet the Ministrys new guidelines demand that states identify exclusive wildlife
zones within three months. It would also like to extend these people-free zones to adjoining areas of protected forests although the FRA makes no
such allowance. If any of the people living in the neighbourhood have to be moved, it is not clear which law governs their rights.
The guidelines further urge that local people be consulted, but that doesnt mean an open discussion of the proposal. Instead, the forest dwellers
will be toldwhat is in store for them. While the FRA elevates local people to full-fledged partners in wildlife and forest management, the Ministry
seeks to keep them under the thumb of the Forest Department.
To determine if people need to be shifted, two major criteria are outlined in the FRA proof that local people are causing irreversible damage and
are incapable of coexistence but these make a mere guest appearance in Annexure 2 which deals with the financial outlay for rehabilitation of
people. Why engage in the farce of determining if people have a negative impact on wildlife and if there was no scope for coexistence, when the
decision to move people has already been made? The inescapable truth is that the guidelines are only concerned about identification and
notification of the exclusive zones with the clear mandate to rid the area of people.
According to the FRA, the decision-making body is the gram sabha; the guidelines urge even if only a few families are willing to relocate, the
proposal is to be submitted. One does wonder then how the mandatory consent of the gram sabha will be procured if only a few families agree.

Divide and rule? Were these guidelines an attempt to restore powers to the Forest Department that had been taken away by the FRA? Was it a
reaction to the devastating criticism by the Joint Committee? Has the FRA made any difference in forest governance and treatment of local
people?
When protests hit the fan, the Minister for Environment and Forests issued a press statement clarifying the guidelines that only succeeded in
confounding the problem further. Contradicting the guidelines, he says that these special wildlife zones will be declared only inside protected
forests, not a squeak about the area around them. So what is a park manager to follow: the guidelines or the Ministers communiqu?
The press statement then gets into a twist by suggesting that consultations meant consent. Consultation is a process of seeking opinion which
could either lead to agreement or refusal. How could local peoples sentiments be taken for granted to assume that consultation was the same as
assent?
In the meantime, the Planning Commission has slashed the budget for the National Tiger Conservation Authority by 25%, and it is likely that
relocation of people from Tiger Reserves will be put on hold. This reprieve is the time to take stock of the next steps forward as there is no doubt
that serious redressal is needed to bring policy in line with the laws. The promulgation of FRA promised a breath of fresh air: open and
transparent decision-making. In its implementation, however, the heel of the Forest Department boot continues to squash the marginalized.
In this day and enlightened age, can we rightfully protect the tiger by impoverishing the people who have lived with it until now? Ironically,
conservationists bemoan that the public is not more engaged with protecting wildlife and yet, they condone an undemocratic system that serves to
turn any wildlife-tolerant tribal into an ardent opponent. Is it really so difficult to save the tiger without being unfair and callous to fellow human
beings?

Alley cats
Published in DNA
Unedited version It seems like open season on leopards. Over the last month, leopards accused of attacking people in states as far apart as Haryana, Maharashtra
and Orissa, have been killed by hysteric mobs.
On the afternoon of Dec 18, 2010, a leopard is said to have attacked three farmers in a village near Gurgaon, Haryana. Panicky villagers
hammered it with iron rods and lathis and finally, one of them shot it dead.
Another midday drama unfolded on Jan 9, 2011 in the town of Karad, Maharashtra. A child is reported to have spotted a leopard sitting atop a
house. When a crowd of people gathered, the cat snuck into an empty building. Instead of trapping it inside by barricading the doorway, the mob
stoned it. With no secure place to hide, the cat charged out and in the ensuing melee, six people were injured. The police chased it with lathis and
fired in the air. A man stepped out of a bar, collided with the fleeing leopard and down they went. A police official rushed forward and shot the
leopard dead before the man was seriously injured.
A couple of days later, on Jan 13, 2011 a leopard was spotted in a forest plantation about 5 km from Bhubaneswar, Orissa. But before forest
officials could arrive, a mob beat it to death reportedly instigated by a local television reporter who wanted dramatic visuals.
Conservationists have urged the National Board for Wildlife, the National Tiger Conservation Authority and the Ministry of Environment and
Forests to take action against the people involved. But why do such incidents occur?
In virtually all the cases reported by the press, the leopards were provoked to attack; left alone, they would have quietly skulked away. But how
does one prevent an excitable mob from harassing a cornered animal? Imposition of curfew until the animal is safely out of the way is one option.
The other is for the Police and Forest Departments to start working in tandem. The former controls the crowd providing the space for the latter to
either trap or tranquilize the animal. However, the local Forest Department outpost has to have the skilled personnel and appropriate tools handy
for the success of such an operation.
Why do such situations arise in the first place? It is often surmised that leopards are straying into villages and towns because infrastructure
projects such as dams and mines are depriving them of home and prey. To prevent more such tragic episodes from occurring, some activists have
called for the restoration of connectivity between forest fragments and a stop to all further forest loss. While these are inherently sound
conservation goals, the question is: can they prevent the collision between people and leopards?
In order to manage conflict, you need to know what is causing it. Fortunately, weve learned a few lessons from studies conducted by the leopard
researcher, Vidya Athreya in the agricultural fields of Junnar and Akole districts in Maharashtra.

Contrary to widespread belief, here, where there is virtually no forest at all, it is not the absence of prey inside forests but the abundance of feral
animals in the countryside that encourages leopards (and other carnivores such as wolves and hyenas) to live with humans. It is futile to manage
leopards in this kind of landscape without first cleaning up the garbage, controlling the numbers of stray dogs and feral pigs and securing livestock
in paddocks for the night (which the Akole people do and there is no conflict). Elsewhere, when villagers report that leopards are prowling
through their fields, the Forest Department hauls the animals away to a forest. Randomly picking up big cats from villages and dropping them in
forests actually causes a very real threat to human life.
In Junnar, in the early 2000s, when leopards that had not hurt anyone were preemptively captured and relocated, they began attacking people. We
do not yet fully understand why a seemingly benign action should have such a dramatic consequence. Despite evidence, relocating leopards still
remains the management tool of choice.
Forests are finite repositories of big cats. As juvenile leopards reach adulthood, these highly territorial animals need to find new land to claim as
their own. It is only natural that they explore adjoining agricultural areas where there is food and shelter. If left unmolested, they may settle down
to live with humans without causing a problem.
The irrigation projects of the mid 1980s changed cropping patterns in this part of Maharashtra; tall, dense sugarcane stands began to dominate the
landscape. This is also the time when the locals say that leopards began to live amongst them. Yet, over the last twenty years, the people suffered
little anxiety. Astonishingly, leopards are even hunting in Akole town because of the concentration of stray dogs and feral pigs. Studying
situations such as this, weve learnt that leopards are quite at home in the absence of forest and wild prey. Further insights into the lives and needs
of these cats that live with humans will enable better management of leopard-man conflict in the future.

The Mystery Civet

Published in New Indian Express Jan, 8, 2011
The Malabar Civet may not even exist, Divya Mudappa said softly, watching my face for a reaction. She didnt mean that the creature had
become extinct; she meant that such a species may have never existed. Thats an audacious statement to make but there are enough reasons to
suspect that she might be right.
The Malabar Civet became known to science on the basis of a skin and a partly damaged skull donated by Lord Arthur Hay to the Asiatic Society
of Bengal (ASB), Kolkata in 1845. The specimen tags say it came from South Malabar, Kerala, India, but whether the animal was captive or wild,
hunted or traded and the exact location went unrecorded.
In 1874, Thomas Jerdon, a well-known figure in Indian natural history, writes that the Malabar Civet was very common and he had seen them on
numerous occasions. He felt that the species ranged across the lowland coastal forests from Honavar in north Karnataka to Travancore (south
Kerala) and perhaps even to Sri Lanka. This account formed the basis of all subsequent descriptions, range and status of the species by doyens
such as Robert Sterndale (1884), William Blanford (1888), William Sclater (1891) and other naturalists until 2003. None of them ever saw the
animal alive. In 1933 Pocock pointed out in his review of the species that Jerdon had probably mistaken the Small Indian Civet for the Malabar
Civet! But by then, the latter was firmly established in the annals of Indian fauna.
Reginald Pocock, the famous mammalogist (1933), then suggested that the unique characters that set the Malabar Civet apart may be an artifact of
captivity, but was nonetheless concerned by the rarity of the species.

In 1949, Angus Hutton reported seeing several Malabar Civets in the High Wavy Mountains, Tamil Nadu, where he was a tea planter. While he
described these large civets to be fairly common in the evergreen forests, he had only seen one Small Indian Civet. The son of a civetone dealer
based in Valparai, Hutton doesnt mention how he distinguished the two species, but it is very likely that he misidentified the common Small
Indian Civet as Jerdon had before him. What he called a Malabar Civet in a photograph was identified as a Small Indian Civet.
The first tangible evidence of the mysterious Malabar Civet popped up in 1987 when G.U. Kurup of the Zoological Survey of India, Kozhikode
salvaged a skin from Elayur, about 25 km from his office. Another skin from the same source was lodged at the Calicut University museum while
a third went missing. These skins apparently came from animals caught while a cashew plantation was being converted to rubber. Whether this
was first hand information or hearsay is unknown.
A few years later, N.V.K. Ashraf procured an old stuffed specimen (the third one that went missing from Elayur in 1987?) and a fairly fresh skin
from a tribal settlement in Poongode, about 15 km from Elayur. Both these specimens were given to the museum at the Wildlife Institute of India
where they became decrepit and were subsequently dumped.

The Wildlife Trust of India conducted extensive camera trap surveys in the lowland forests of Karnataka and Kerala between 2006 and 2008 and
found no sign of the animal. Concern for the civet grew.
Around this time, two specialists in nocturnal small mammals, R. Nandini and Divya Mudappa began reviewing all accounts of the species and
examining museum specimens. They discovered that the little known information was based on Jerdons originally erroneous identification and
the rest on surmise. This was the point at which Divya wondered if the species existed at all.
Then how does she account for the various skins found in the late 1980s and early 90s, I asked. Civetone, the musk produced by the anal glands
of civet cats, was much sought after for perfumery, religious offerings and ayurvedic medicine over the millennia. In ancient times there was a
thriving trade in large civet cats from Ethiopia and Southeast Asia. Kozhikode, in Kerala, was a major sea port and Kerala also appears to be the
origin of all six museum specimens.
Civets in the trade were the African Civet, the Large-spotted Civet from Southeast Asia and the northern Large Indian Civet. The Malabar Civet
skins bear an astonishing resemblance to the Large-spotted Civet, enough to confuse even seasoned biologists. Its possible that some escaped
captive Large-spotted Civets ended up in collections or they thrived in a small pocket, somewhere near Kozhikode.
This line of argument is sure to raise the hackles of some biologists. But consider this: if the animal was as common as reported in early literature,
then why are only a few skins available in museums? It is possible that the Malabar Civet may be remarkably sensitive to habitat change, and
hunting pressures. But civet cats in general are adaptable creatures that live on a varied diet. Misled by Jerdon, biologists have perhaps been
looking for it in the wrong places. The lack of authentic information makes it difficult to get to the bottom of this conundrum.
So if you are out in the southern forests and see a large civet, these are the characters to look for: a black mane along the back from the nape to the
tip of the tail, three dark stripes on the throat, the lack of a dark patch below the eye, and a broad, black tail tip. Even a bad picture would be better
than no picture at all!

Creatures of a Lesser God

Published in the Financial Express 14 Nov 2010
Elephants and tigers, charismatic, sexy mega-mammals, are the mascots of wildlife conservation. Use them as umbrellas to protect a range of
smaller less-popular species, said the wise ecologists. The amount of effort, publicity, concern (and millions of conservation dollars) elicited by
these popular umbrellas is several orders of magnitude larger than any other creatures. We accept this inequality of the haves and have-nots just
as easily as we accept it in human society. Today, however, in the grip of the tiger crisis, and with new research on a range of species from
leopards to frogs, it appears as if the umbrella plan isnt holding up. In some quarters, these are fighting words.
Take the long-snouted, fish-eating gharial. This crocodilian is extinct in Pakistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, and Myanmar and found only in India and
Nepal where we are down to under 200 breeding adults. Put differently, there is no other large animal so close to extinction in India today! The
gharials only hope of survival seems restricted to the Chambal and Girwa rivers. There is no mega mammalian umbrella here; the crisis is so dire
that we urgently need to address the threats to this riverine species head on.
On the other hand, the wet forests of the Western Ghats and the Northeast were declared biodiversity hotspots not because of the relatively sparse
mega-fauna but the numerous little creatures. A myriad species of frogs, snakes and other small fry are found in isolated valleys and are not
known to live anywhere else; extinctions are happening to life forms we havent even identified yet! The conservation of these insignificant
creatures falls by the wayside when inordinate focus in placed on large mammals.
In practice umbrella conservation eventually focuses on just that species. For instance, long before the last tiger was poached in Sariska, the fourhorned antelope had gone extinct in the Park. Although it was a prey species on which the tigers own existence hinged, this missing link in the
food chain went completely unnoticed and un-mourned by most conservationists. Umbrella? Although the Tiger Task Force identified a whole
range of systemic failures that led to the crisis, the presence of local people became an easy scapegoat for both government and conservationists.
Despite the Supreme Court and Ministry of Environment and Forests directive, mines continue to operate around the Park with impunity. In
addition to the message that local people are a disaster for wildlife, the fixation on large mammals whose survival is tied to tiny protected forests
jeopardizes conservation across the unprotected, greater part of the country.
These same problematic humans live with leopards far away from forests and sanctuaries, in the agricultural areas of Maharashtra. Not far from
the Chambal, across the wetlands of Uttar Pradesh, the worlds tallest flying birds, the sarus crane, has survived alongside farmers for generations.
Traditional agriculture has in fact benefitted a range of bird species such as jacanas, storks, shikras, egrets, herons, prinias, weaver birds, cisticolas
and reptiles like monitor lizards, rat snakes and many more. All these ordinary farmers have been practicing conservationists while city slickers
mainly preach, rant and rave. Heres a conservation army to empower and enthuse, its time to look past the gates of sanctuaries and national
parks and mega-mammals. And this is where the future of much of our biodiversity lies.

Satish Batagur Bhaskar

By Rom Whitaker (as narrated to Janaki Lenin)
Published in Indian Ocean Turtle Newsletter 24, July 2010
In the early 70s the Madras Snake Park became a local hangout for young folks from nearby campuses like Indian Institute of Technology (IIT),
AC College of Architecture and Madras Christian College. Thirty years later I run into some of these guys, sometimes in strange places. They're
now mostly as paunchy and balding as I am and we trade a few stories and get into laughing fits over the good old days.
One of the characters who showed up back then was a soft-spoken engineering student named Satish Bhaskar. He was a teetotaling non-smoker, a
real ascetic compared to the rest of us. His passion was the sea, and he spent more time swimming than in the IIT classroom. Its not for nothing
that his hostel mates called him Aquaman (privately)!
I was concentrating on crocs at the time, and whenever I could get away from Snake Park it was to survey gharial, mugger and saltwater crocodile
habitat across India. At the same time, we also wanted to know sea turtle status: which species come to Indian shores, where, when and in what
numbers. So, we really needed a full time sea turtle man.
Opportunely (for the turtles), Satish was getting disenchanted with his IIT course (after finishing most of it) and yearned to be a field man with a
mission. The Snake Park had a tiny research budget, but it was enough to hire Satish as Field Officer (Rs. 250 a month, approx. US$ 28 based on
exchange rates of that time) and get him out on his first few survey trips. When the fledgling WWF-India saw the good work he was doing for
endangered sea turtles, Satish landed his first grant which really set him in motion.
About this time, the Madras Crocodile Bank was being born and Satish was its first resident. He helped to build the place (in between the sea
turtle trips) but funds were so tight and sporadic that there were times when he had no work. So what did he do? He kept in shape by filling a bag
of sand, carrying it to the other end of the Croc Bank, dumping it and starting again! Villagers still remember Satish hoisting a 50 kg sack of
cement over his shoulder casually as if it were no more than a sleeping bag. This was the training that made him so tough in the field; it enabled
him to walk most of Indias entire coastline, more than 4,000 km, over the next few years looking for sea turtles, their tracks and nests! He loved
going to remote places which few Indians have the stamina or stomach for. To him, swimming in shark infested waters was the most normal
thing to do, declares Shekar Dattatri, who has known him since the early Snake Park days.
Old Jungle Saying: Satish is incredibly kind to people. If he has anything that someone wants, he gives it away.
In 1977, Satish conducted the first surveys in Lakshadweep and zeroed in on an uninhabited island, Suheli Valiyakara, as the place for a focused
green sea turtle study. The only problem was that the main nesting period is during the monsoon and no one goes there when the sea is so rough.
In 1982, Satish left his young wife and three month old daughter, Nyla to maroon himself on Suheli for the whole monsoon, from May to
September. It meant making elaborate preparations, like calculating the amount of food he would need. We sat with Satish and talked about things
that could go wrong during this isolation chronic toothache, appendicitis, malaria were just a few sobering thoughts. The Coast Guard provided
some signal flares and there was talk of a two-way radio but eventually Satish just set sail and thats the last we heard of him till September.
Actually thats not true. A few months later, his wife Brenda back in Madras, received a loving letter from him. He had launched his message in a
bottle on July 3rd and 24 days and more than 800 km later it was picked up by a Sri Lankan fisherman, Anthony Damacious, who very kindly
posted it to Brenda along with a covering letter, a family picture and an invitation to visit him in Sri Lanka. The bottle post was very romantic,
but of course Satishs spin was that he was trying to see if he could study ocean currents using this technique!
An emergency situation did arise on the deserted isle, and one that none of us could have predicted: a huge dead whale shark washed up on
Satishs little island and started rotting. The nauseous stench became so overpowering that our intrepid sea turtle man had to move to the extreme
other end of the tiny island to a somewhat precarious, wave lashed spit of sand.
That year the monsoon abated late. So though Satish was packed and ready to go home by September 1st, (after 3 months with only turtles and
a radio for company), the relief boat from Kavaratti Island, over 60 km away did not arrive. Satish had run out of rations and legend has it that he
survived on milk powder, turtle eggs, clams and coconuts for weeks. Fortunately, the lighthouse on neighbouring Suheli Cheriyakara needed
servicing and a Lighthouse Department ship, the MV Sagardeep, arrived on October 11th. As Satish clambered aboard, Capt. Kulsreshta's first
words were, "Take him to the galley!"
For a person with a gargantuan appetite, Satish could live on very little. On a trip to the Nicobars, Indraneil Das and he ran out of rations and
water and they still had a days walk ahead of them. The former was half-dead when they ran into a party of Nicobarese who tried to feed them
but Satish politely and firmly declined saying they had just eaten and didnt allow Neil to eat either. Later he pointed that they had nothing to
repay the poor peoples kindness! (This trip yielded five new species two frogs, two lizards and a snake.)

On another occasion, on Little Andaman, Satish had again run out of rations and was surviving on only biscuits and vitamins for 4 days. He
came upon an empty Onge tribal camp with some freshly barbecued turtle meat. He took some of the meat and left two biscuit packets in
exchange mainly to avoid a spear through his back! Just counting the number of times he ran out of food in remote areas, we suspect that he
deliberately starved himself to see how far he could take it.
Old Jungle Saying: Satish always travels with a kerosene stove and a pressure cooker. The former is to avoid burning wood as it is bad for the
environment and the latter for cooking efficiency. He also carries an automobile inner tube to raft his supplies from canoe to shore and vice
versa.
Through the 1980s, again thanks to WWF and other funds, Satish visited many of the islands of the Andamans. His were the first
recommendations on sea turtle nesting beach protection. These helped give the Andaman and Nicobar Islands Forest Department a solid
conservation basis to resist the efforts of big business and other Government Department interests in developing beaches for tourism.
Amongst all this serious work, he had time for research of another kind. Writing in Hamadryad, the Croc Bank Newsletter, he wonders if the sea
krait was attracted to light, feigns dismay that this may be true and proceeds to try to make one climb his leg by playing with his torchlight!
By this time, Satishs work was being appreciated by sea turtle biologists worldwide. Papers on the species inhabiting this region were very scarce
indeed and his publications helped to fill that big gap. In 1979 Satish was invited to give a paper on the status of sea turtles of the eastern Indian
Ocean at the World Conference on Sea Turtle Conservation, in Washington D.C. In recognition for his contributions to sea turtle conservation,
Satish received a fancy watch and award from Rolex in 1984.
When Ed Moll came to India to do a freshwater turtle study, Satish became a key collaborator. He surveyed extensively for a highly endangered
Batagur baska which nests on coastal beaches along with olive ridleys. Sadly the Bengalis have eaten the terrapin to near extinction and there are
no known wild nests in India. It was at this time that he was nicknamed Batagur Bhaskar.
Old Jungle Saying: Satish has no sense of direction. He gets lost easily.
He spent many months, over several years, studying the hawksbill and green turtle nesting biology on tiny South Reef Island on the west coast of
North Andaman. He described this island as one of ten sites most favoured by nesting [g]reen turtles in India. Saw Bonny, a Forest Department
Range Officer stationed on Interview Island, regularly risked his life ferrying supplies to Satish on South Reef Island, even during stormy
monsoon weather. Bonny deputed a department staff member from his camp to assist Satish who was working alone. Emoye spent a few days on
South Reef, got fed up and wanted to return. Since the currents were strong and Satish was an accomplished swimmer, Emoye requested him to go
along with him.
Over the years shark fishermen regularly hauled in sharks from this very channel. The sea was rough, it was after all the monsoon season. Being a
modest and understated narrator, Satish rated his swimming skills as below par and claimed that his snorkeling flippers gave him confidence. To
keep warm during the more than two kilometre swim, he wore two shirts. Emoye rested frequently on Satish to catch his breath and together the
two of them swam across the channel.
A party of shark fishermen were camped on the beach in Interview when our intrepid swimmers landed. One of them remembered meeting Satish
earlier and enquired, "Still loafing around? Still jobless?" He thought Satish was an ambergris-hunter. It was already dark when Satish and Emoye
set out across the island to the forest camp. Half way, a bull elephant in musth trumpeted his warning from just 30 metres away and started to
chase them. The two men ran for their lives. Later Satish would recount, I had done some distance running in college but the penalty for losing
was never as dire. Already exhausted from their long and arduous swim, they couldnt continue running and the elephant showed no signs of
relenting. Remembering a Kenneth Anderson story, Satish threw his shirt down while continuing to run and was gratified to hear the pachyderm
squealing with rage moments later. With the animal distracted, the men could finally stumble onwards to the forest camp. They made a pact if
the shirt was intact, it was Emoyes; if not, then Satishs. The next morning they found the shirt in three pieces completely smeared with muddy
elephant footprints, while one bit had to be recovered from a tree. He later posted the pieces back to Brenda with a reassuring note.
Old Jungle Saying: Satish trusts people implicitly and they, in turn, dont let him down.
In the mid 1980s WWF-Indonesia contracted Satish to study the huge, intensely exploited leatherback sea turtle rookeries on the beaches of the
Vogelkopf, the western most peninsula of the island of New Guinea, in Irian Jaya. This was a logistically tough place to work. First of all, there
was no access from the landward side and one couldnt even land a boat on the beach. This was why it had remained protected for so long. Then
the people from neighbouring areas started taking tens of thousands of leatherback eggs. People swam ashore with jerry cans and sacks and
floated the eggs back to boats.
However, Satish found a way to keep in touch. He would swim 100 m out to a passing longboat that was headed to Sorong, and hand his letters to
someone on board with enough currency for stamps. There was one boat every 20 to 30 days. By late Aug 1985, he had tagged about 700

leatherbacks almost single-handedly.

Rather uncharacteristically, Satish never wrote up his report for WWF-Indonesia. I have no explanation why this happened nor did we ever
discuss this. After a year had passed and there was no sign of the report, I was embarrassed as I had recommended him for the job. The document
was sorely needed to put some laws in place very soon. I had my sense of justice as well so I wrote the report in his name.
Sadly, the 13,360 nests that he recorded in 1984 was probably the highest ever in recent years. Ever since then, the average number of nests has
hovered way down around 3200. And this has resulted in yet another Satish myth the local people believe that Satish tagged the female
leatherbacks with metal tags, and using a giant magnet drew all the turtles to his country! The local elders have refused to permit any more
tagging of turtles on this beach.
Old Jungle Saying: He doesnt like to crawl into a sleeping bag on cold nights; instead he wears all his clothes. Sometimes, he buries himself,
except his face which is covered by a mosquito net, in the sand to get away from inquisitive island rats, mosquitoes and sand flies at night. He
usually sleeps out of sight of others at camp, after playing a few riffs on his harmonica.
In 1993, while chugging past Flat Island, a small spit of land off the west coast of the Jarawa Tribal Reserve in the Andamans, Satish and his
companions saw a pair of human footprints emerging from the sea and disappearing into the vegetation. Satish had evaluated this island as a prime
green turtle nesting beach, and despite the others cautioning him of Jarawas (the hostile tribe who routinely finished off trespassers with arrows),
Satish swam ashore. His companions watched in horror as he followed the footprints into the forest. While his friends feared the worst, he
emerged from another side crouching behind a green turtle carapace, holding it like a shield. The fearsome tribals never showed themselves and
Satish returned safely.
On a subsequent trip, some Jarawa came aboard the canoe. Satish later recalled admiringly that the Jarawa were powerful swimmers and he had
been very impressed by the bow-wake their breast-stroke created. Everyone else cowered in the back while Satish calmly interacted with the
tribals. The crew had already hidden the machetes and other metal objects that the Jarawa coveted for making arrow heads. Eventually the tribals
left without harming anybody but did take some spoons.
Old Jungle Saying: Satish likes to catch everything.
Local intelligence was that the Galathea river, Great Nicobar, had a lot of crocodiles. After dark one night standing on the bridge spanning the
river, Satish played his torch over the water. Suddenly his flashlight caught some small eye shines along the waters edge and he got very excited
thinking they were baby salt water crocs. So he crept down to the edge of the river to catch them, but they turned out to be large spiders!
But he did encounter crocodiles. Once while lying asleep on a beach on Trinkat Island, Nicobars, he woke up to a rustling noise. He found a
young croc looking at him through the mosquito net. In mock seriousness he later wrote, Im overlooking it this time but if the crocs that wake
me get any bigger Im headed back to Madras.
The Karen of the Andamans are particularly fond of Satish. He earned their respect by treating young and old with courtesy and respect, and also
with such exploits as swimming from Wandoor in Middle Andaman to Grub Island (a distance of about 1.6 km) and back, walking the entire
coastline of Little Andaman even crossing swift streams such as Bumila and Jackson Creeks and doggedly surveying beaches no matter how big
the obstacles. But that didnt stop the Karen from teasingly nicknaming Satish, Cheto (Karen for basket, as it rhymes with Bhaskar!). Several
older Nicobarese remember the man who came looking for turtles even today, many years after his last visit. He was perhaps the only man to
ever find a reticulated python on the tiny island of Meroe (between Little Nicobar and Nancowry). The Nicobarese, who frequent the island, had
never seen this species there before and were duly impressed. This python was later handed over to the Forest Department in Port Blair.
Satish notched identification marks on the carapaces of turtles that came ashore to lay eggs. Later, a bunch of titanium tags was sent by the
Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service for tagging hawksbills on South Reef. In Vogelkopf, he tagged more than 700 leatherback turtles.
There is no information on tag returns from any of these turtles. One reason may be that subsequent night surveys (after Satish left) were
inconsistent on Andamans, Nicobars and Irian Jaya. Secondly, the English lettering which provides the return address means little to local people.
Karen tribals have mentioned finding tags on turtles they ate but not knowing the significance of the metal, simply threw it away into the bush.
For not being a religious person at all, he has the morals of one. He doesnt like anyone to tell him what to do, which made my job as boss
difficult. (But he was conscientious about sending reports so he didnt need to be reminded.) I clearly remember once when I suggested that he
store his things in a tin trunk as they were being destroyed by termites, he took umbrage. Would I tell you what to do, Rom? he asked in his low
pitched gruff voice with a touch of menace. I never made that mistake again! He is a perfectionist - wanting to do everything right and better than
anybody else. He also has an exaggerated sense of justice always rooting for the downtrodden (probably why he got along well with tribals,
villagers and field people). In many ways, he is very un-Indian.
Old Jungle Saying: Nothing is useless; anything useless was just something for which Satish hasn't yet found a use.

Once while running to catch a bus to Mayabunder, his chappal broke. On being asked if hed like to buy a new pair, he responded, "Only one
broke - surely another one will wash up with the high tide". He tried very hard to keep South Reef clean of trash. On one occasion, he arrived in
Madras with two sacks stuffed with rubber chappals that had washed ashore on the island. Legend has it that he took it to the recyclers.
After twenty years of doing some of the first baseline sea turtle surveys in the country, Satish retired to spend more time with his family. Soon
thereafter, an UNDP (United Nations Development Program) - Wildlife Institute of India project did a more extensive survey of turtle nesting
beaches. But since then, the 2004 tsunami has changed the profile of many Andaman and Nicobar beaches and we dont yet know where new
beaches are forming, or how the turtles have responded to this change. We desperately need a new Satish Bhaskar to continue the work.
Satish now lives in Goa with his wife Brenda (who was by the way, the Snake Park and Croc Banks secretary for many years!) and their three
children (Nyla, Kyle and Sandhya). Satish is the man who kicked sea turtle conservation in India into high gear. Theres a strong lesson in all this
and an inspiration to young naturalists who wonder, What can I do to help? Satishs single-minded quest for sea turtles in his quiet, often
unorthodox way, set the stage for the major conservation efforts being made today. Heres a prime example of how one persons passion for an
animal and its habitat can help make the difference between survival and extinction.
Inputs from Aaron Savio Lobo, Allen Vaughan, Arjun Sivasundar, Atma Reddy, Manish Chandi, Manjula Tiwari, K. Munnuswamy, Nina and Ram
Menon, Shekar Dattatri are gratefully acknowledged.

Book Review: Conservation at the Crossroads

Published in Seminar Sept 2010

CONSERVATION AT THE CROSSROADS: Science, Society, and the Future of Indias Wildlife by Ghazala Shahabuddin. Permanent Black,
Ranikhet, 2010, pp.288, Rs.595 .
In the increasingly polarized field of conservation in India, Shahabuddins writings tend to be inclusive and moderate, and this work is no
exception. On the one hand is the include-people lobby that believes that local inhabitants can sustainably utilize forest resources, while on the
other is the exclude-people lobby that promotes the relocation of people from forests. Which of these two approaches conserves optimum
biodiversity? Can these contradictory positions be reconciled or are they mutually exclusive? These are the questions that face wildlife
conservation today and now finally there is a book that explores these two major pathways over eight chapters. Shahabuddin is no stranger to
these issues as she has co-edited an anthology of essays in a book, Making Conservation Work in 2007 and is Associate Professor at the School of
Human Ecology, B.R. Ambedkar University, Delhi.
The total protection formula focuses on the Forest Department excluding people from forests by removing villages from protected areas, policing
the area from all use, and restricting access to researchers. The community conservation strategy comes in a couple of forms such as Community
Conservation Areas, Joint Forestry Management (JFM), and the World Bank funded India Ecodevelopment Project (IEDP). These have been
implemented in various parts of India under diverse conditions. Critical to evaluating these management strategies is the independent researcher,
who is frequently accorded step-child treatment by the Forest Department, thereby depriving itself of valuable insights in forest governance.
Despite total protection being the states forest management policy, Shahabuddin chronicles the widespread habitat degradation in Indias
protected areas. Infrastructure projects such as roads, dams, and mines, as well as harvesting of forest products by a growing human population
both within and without these forests have taken their toll. Using Sariska as an example, the author examines the deficiency in policy and
governance. Prior to the tiger crisis, researchers had reported the extinction of the chinkara and the four-horned antelope, vital prey species of the
tiger. It was also known that the habitat was degraded because of firewood and fodder collection, and grazing. By 1990, tree regeneration had
already been severely hit, with growth stunted across the ecosystems, the diversity of species was plummeting and exotic invasive plants had
made inroads. It was just a matter of time before the tiger disappeared.
On the other hand, the department kowtowed to powerful forces that had interests in mining and timber. The park is so small that the dynamite
blasts in the mines on its doorstep can even be heard in the core area now. Despite these larger threats from outside the reserve, when the tiger
crisis erupted, blame was pinned on the soft targets, local people. While little has been done to improve and secure the habitat, the entire focus of
the remedial measures is on moving local people out and introducing tigers into Sariska.
At the other end of the spectrum, the pro-people lobby holds that the pristine nature model is a failure and promotes a more inclusive style of
conservation. The community conservation paradigm co-opts local people as custodians of the forests who are also allowed to use it sustainably.
However, some crucial questions remain unanswered. How much can be harvested without affecting the future regeneration of a species? Does
extraction of such products negatively impact the ecosystem?

Collection of fruits, flowers, and seeds by people deprive birds and mammals of a plentiful seasonal resource. Dead wood collection may
negatively impact hole-nesting birds. Shahabuddin rightly notes that few studies monitor extraction and evaluate its impact on the ecosystem.
Since most Non-Timber Forest Produce (NTFP) are destined for markets, these tend to change the diversity of the forest until either the resource
is over-exploited or the marketable species is selectively nurtured to the detriment of all others. In forests used by people, the species that fare the
worst are the ones that are sensitive to habitat change and disturbance. In almost every case, livelihood concerns triumphed over the conservation
agenda. Even in flagship projects such as the Annapurna Conservation Area Project in Nepal, biodiversity and degradation worries remain
unaddressed.
Joint Forestry Management (JFM) was one of the largest exercises in the decentralization of natural resource management in India. Although
joint is the operative word, in a majority of the cases decision-making powers were firmly in the hands of the department, with little or no
involvement of the villagers. In many cases the benefit sharing agreements were not in place, so although villagers provided labour with the
expectation of some returns, these did not materialize. For these reasons, people were suspicious of the departments intentions; but on the
positive side, JFM projects did succeed in providing a source of firewood and fodder by regenerating large areas of degraded landscapes.
The aim of the IEDP was to provide greater synergy between protected areas (and their custodians) and local people for biodiversity conservation.
While the poorest people were the most dependent on forest resources, they were effectively sidelined from deriving any benefits from the project
as they couldnt afford the mandatory financial contribution. Conservationists felt that such projects were detrimental to conservation as it led to
unnecessary infrastructure development within a protected area causing degradation, while overburdening the officials already charged with
protection. Like the JFM projects, there was no consultation with the local people and this appears to be the crucial factor. Periyar and KalakkadMundanthurai Tiger Reserves are celebrated success stories because they delegated decision making powers to villagers.
Did these community conservation programs promote biodiversity conservation? Definitely not, is the authors resounding answer. The includepeople champions say that the key to the success of any community conservation measure is security of land tenure. But, with an increasing
human population, the corresponding demand for agricultural land and finite forest resources, can forest ownership alone drive sustainability, asks
the author. While she agrees that land tenure has to be secure, she also adds that extractive pressure should be low, and access rights clearlydefined if effective conservation is to be practiced. How is it going to be possible to keep the extraction pressure low when there is no sign of the
human population growth rate leveling off? Nevertheless, there is an incentive to support this paradigm as local livelihoods are entwined with the
ecological services of a rich forest.
Shahabuddin also turns her attention to the states discouragement of scientific endeavour in this field. The Indian government took a conscious
decision to exclude US funds and researchers from India and effectively stunted its progress in ecological research. Although the Indian economy
has been liberalized, the Forest Department continues to perpetrate a Permit Raj. The departments combative attitude to researchers is captured
succinctly by the author, It is as if science-based perspectives are viewed as a mortal threat by a forest department that believes it has a monopoly
on knowledge of the forest.
The title of the book begs the initial question whether conservation was ever on a straight path, when it appears to have staked a permanent spot at
the crossroads. Towards the end, Shahabuddin reconciles that these are not mutually exclusive pathways, when the choice is restricted to only one
of two directions. There is clearly no alternative to well-governed inviolate areas for ecosystem conservation. Community-inclusive strategies are
complementary to total protection and both need to be treated on par if conservation goals are to be achieved. These are but many stairways to one
goal.
The forest department is perhaps the single largest landowner in the country governing over 635,000 sq.km., and no large scale conservation
initiative takes place without its approval. In case after case, the author concludes that the failure, or at least the limited success, of almost every
conservation program in the country comes down to the departments refusal to share decision-making powers with local people. (Indeed, a more
appropriate title for the book would have been Conservation at a Roadblock!) The department does not appear to realize that for conservation
initiatives to work, local people have to be made equal partners or that independent researchers are essential to evaluate the sustainability of
harvests, and benefits to biodiversity conservation and livelihoods. Given the entrenched hegemonic power structure that dictates conservation
policy and implementation today, the system does not have the capacity to engage with local people with trust, empathy and respect which
predisposes these various strategies to failure. While the author hints at this institutional failure, she misses an opportunity to make a hard case for
change within the department.
I do have a few other quibbles; the work suffers from a lack of editorial oversight. There are repetitions, inconsistencies, language issues, use of
local names for tree species and tangents that could have been avoided and made this the high quality publication that it deserves to be. However,
I recommend this book highly to anyone who is perplexed by the cacophony of voices evangelizing one or the other paradigm. As for the ones
deeply rooted in their include-or-exclude people positions, they might find critical evaluations of their ideology and some common grounds for
agreement with the opposite camp. The more consensus there is, the stronger conservation actions will be.

Narcondam - Pit of Hell

The full version
Published in July 2010, Outlook Traveller
At daybreak, the Pit of Hell emerged hazily from the horizon like a mirage. We had spent almost 24 hours fighting the wind across the Andaman
Sea and for much of that time, totally out of sight of land. Four hours later, we reached the end of our almost 260 km voyage from Port Blair. We
anchored off the north-eastern shore at Police Post Bay so-called for one of the remotest camps of any police force in the world. Inexplicably the
ancient Portuguese called it Barata (Cockroach) Bay! It is also probably one of the few outposts that has no civilians in its precincts and
consequently, an enviable nil crime rate. A group of paramilitary police of the Indian Reserve Battalion safeguard Indias claim to the most
isolated island of the entire Andaman group. It seemed like a paid, policemans holiday but as we found out later, these brave-hearts marooned in
the pit of hell were homesick and afraid of the wild jungle.

Police Post Bay

There was no idyllic sandy beach but the island had all the other hallmarks of an earthly paradise: a picturesque, densely forested hill looming 710
m out of the deep blue sea. So why the contrarian name: Narak-kund (Sanskrit for pit of hell)? Popular theory says that perhaps ancient Indian
cartographers christened Indias only volcano (now drily and unimaginatively called Barren Island) as an infernal sink. But over time (as early as
the year 1701), the larger, extinct volcano lying 150 km northeast of the rightful-owner of the name became known as Narcondam. Its worth
remarking that none of the other islands in the Andaman group were named by Indians. If a foolhardy crow was to fly from Port Blair to Rangoon
(Burma), hed spy verdant Narcondam along the way, about 114 km east of North Andaman.

A male Narcondam hornbill

About six months after the tsunami of 2004, Narcondam reportedly lived up to its name by spewing mud and smoke. This sudden activity in a
volcano that last erupted more than 12,000 years ago ought to have made front page news (but didnt). However, the news sang through the

internet frequencies exciting volcano spotters around the world. Some speculated that the massive earthquake may have set off some magma
movement under the tectonic plates. Eventually geologists at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai, reported that it was a damp squib:
clouds of dust caused by a landslide had given the impression of an eruption. This did little to convince the police personnel who were evacuated
and the outpost abandoned for eighteen months. Nonetheless, there was still a shred of doubt: we wanted to be certain that India had only one
active volcano.
For the following three days, we were to live aboard the 48 foot yacht, the Emerald Blue, and commute to shore in an inflatable dinghy. April,
with its calm waves before the monsoonal currents set in, was one of the best months to land. Narcondam is a 1700 metre high, solitary oceanic
mountain, of which more than 1000 metres lies below the surface of the sea. There were hardly any shallows and landing was tricky; the dinghy
would have to surf onto a small ledge on the slope. Amongst the smooth round andesite boulders (of volcanic origin) bordering the shoreline, was
a tiny little sandy beach with conveniently just enough space for all of us to make a quick jump into knee deep water before the next wave came
crashing in.
Eight of us, with an interest in wildlife and wild places, were crammed on board the Emerald Blue for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. While
an extensive list of birds seen on Narcondam had been compiled by previous teams of birders, little was known about the rest of the animal and
plant kingdom. Members of the team now hoped to add to that sparse information.
A recent birdwatchers newsletter had raised concerns about goats over-running the island. Since the 1500s it was a common mariners practice to
drop off livestock such as goats, pigs, chickens and even giant tortoises on islands as nourishment for shipwrecked mariners. Indeed Alexander
Selkirk, the prototype Robinson Crusoe, survived four years as a castaway on one of the Juan Fernndez islands, off Chile on such feral goats.
Narcondam was no exception: in 1899 A.O. Hume quoted Robert Tytler saying that pigs, goats and fowls had been released there. We dont
know if these were eaten up by unfortunate sailors or whether they eventually died out, but in 1976, the Indian Police brought two pairs of goats to
keep their personnel stationed on the island well-stocked with animal protein. Perhaps the men got sick of eating mutton every day, because, by
1998, there were 400 of the voracious caprines rapidly eating their way through the native island vegetation.
Ornithologists lobbied for the removal of these animals, going so far as to argue that the island was being held together by tree roots and implying
that should forest regeneration be adversely affected then not only the hornbill population but the whole island could collapse. Their worries were
not misplaced, as one other iconic island bird, the dodo, was driven to extinction by introduced pigs, monkeys and carnivorous men a couple of
centuries earlier on Mauritius. Although the Narcondam hornbill isnt nearly as harried, the tiny size of its island home (7 sq.km.) severely
handicaps its ability to survive any threat. So checking on the goats was high on our agenda.

A giant fig tree

Around the police camp were extensive coconut, banana and areca plantations (in 1916, this area was recognized by its groves of Burmese fishtail
palms) and the place reeked of human feces. A yearling water monitor lizard and a gorgeous brilliant green Andaman day-gecko watched us from
the safety of trees. Koel calls rang through the forest. In the absence of crows, whose nests would they parasitize? Pigeons, replied Divya
Mudappa.
The force of the monsoonal stream had sliced through the embankments of a dry streambed as neatly as a knife through butter-fruit. The vertical
walls of boulders were held in place by roots of trees. Still, a pipeline carrying water from a tiny perennial waterfall further upstream to the police
camp had to be protected from rolling rocks dislodged by heavy rains and frequent earthquakes. Indeed in several locations, mangled lengths of
pipes lay twisted and trapped under piles of debris.
The air was still and very humid; a hill myna high up in the canopy prattled away until silenced by the wild shrieking of a juvenile white-bellied
sea eagle being mobbed by two pairs of squawking Narcondam hornbills. It was their nesting season, and predatory raptors were not welcome in
the immediate air space. Further up the wash, the boulders below a huge tree were splattered with little brown scat-spots, telltale evidence of a
nest directly above our heads. Soon the parents returned after seeing off the eagle, victoriously chuckling to one another. This was our first good
look at this charismatic species: the father was a handsome honey-brown fellow while the female was an ordinary black. Since their enormous
yellowish-red beaks were in the way, they had to tilt their heads comically sideways in order to see us. By counting the rings on the casque above
the beak, we could tell the male was six years old. Disgusted by our presence, they took off screaming invectives.
Kalyan Varma urgently beckoned us over and pointed to a rusty brown bird lurking in the undergrowth. It was a slaty-legged crake, a species not
recorded in the Andaman Islands before. Kalyan had been washing his face by the pool when he felt something pecking the Velcro on his
footwear. Its hard to tell whether the crake was mystified by the man or his Tevas. In an ironic situation for a photographer, the bird was much
too close to his long lens for a picture!
The hornbills would have been similarly trusting of the first humans they had ever met. Indeed in 1898, the commanding officer of the
Elphinstone, Lt. J.H. St. John, had observed that the birds were tame. But in the intervening century, they had been shot for museum specimens
by visiting ornithologists as well as for the pot by the police force, so sadly the hornbills have become fearful of humans, just like any mainland
animal. Not only the birds, St. John says even water monitors were as tame as pet mice and one climbed into the lap of the Chief Commissioners
niece and seemed to be quite at home. Needless to say, these lizards were now scarce (apparently hunted by the resident humans) and the few big
ones that we encountered went crashing into the undergrowth. The only trusting animals were the numerous skinks who investigated the falling
crumbs from our mid-day snacks.

A young water monitor lizard

The forest undergrowth wilted in the heat, reflecting our state of being too. The resin (dhup) of the huge Canarium trees remained uncollected,
unlike other islands where it is intensively harvested. At a tiny little beach, we spotted a hornbill chick in a nest hole high up on a tall, straightboled Tetrameles tree. While the rest decided to get pictures of the parents feeding the little one, a couple of us set out for the lighthouse on the
northwest tip of the island. It was a steep climb. The reward for climbing to the top was a spectacular view of Pigeon Island surrounded by an
indigo blue sea.

Pigeon Island
Back at the boat, all of us jumped in the water to cool off after the long sweaty day. In the distance we could hear the hornbills squawking, there
was a freshly caught snapper frying in the galley and we had the rare privilege of being in one of the most spectacular and isolated spots in the
world. Narcondam, the hell-hole? No way! More appropriate would be Swargam, the heavenly abode! The only fine print is that the sun rises at an
ungodly 5 am in this paradise (you can blame the westerly Indian Standard Time line).
Very early one morning, we set sail for the west coast. My main goal was to climb the summit, and we hoped to follow the detailed route
mentioned in the latest edition (2009/2010) of the Southeast Asia Pilot (the Andaman section appears to have been written by two British
nationals and it would be interesting to know how they got permission to go ashore). The estimated duration of ascent was three hours for the
reasonably fit and agile, and descent was likely to take another two hours. It sounded like it could be done all in a days walk but much
depended on our ability to land. That morning, the currents were strong and the waves crashed roughly over the rocky beach which was the
designated starting point. Nick Band, the captain, made a quick reconnaissance and the prognosis was grim: landing there was a definite recipe for
broken legs. Plan B was to attempt an ascent from the hornbill-nest beach on the north coast of Narcondam.
We managed to land but not without getting soaked by the turbulent waves. Within a few paces of starting up the hill slope, we were startled to
see a trail. Goats? Rom Whitaker however, noticed the path leading into the roots of a tree. Any goat would have to be a midget to crawl into that
tiny space; it could only have been a rat trail. The climb became steadily steeper and more difficult to negotiate with fallen rotting logs blocking
the path. Marveling at the massive dhup trees that rose high and lofty as rockets and their fin-like buttresses provided a welcome break from the
arduous climb. It was tempting to think that no human had climbed this ridge but in this increasingly explored world, one cannot say that with any
certainty.

A giant dhup tree

Half way up a steep climb, an exhausted Rom copped out. He promised to wait but knowing him too well, hed be off either looking for lizards in
the luxuriant valley below or heading back to the beach. There was precious little by way of birds or animals on this climb to keep a bored human
entertained. Neither were any hornbills visible nor the fig trees that sustained them. It became steeper and more slippery; dislodged rocks rolled
perilously downhill barely missing people behind, and like gibbons we used our arms to take our weight as footholds couldnt be trusted.
A cool breeze blowing gently off the sea invigorated our catch-our-breath stops. Four hours from the starting point, we reached the top of a 430 m
hill, but the summit of Narcondam still towered over us. Several humans had left evidence of their presence here by gouging their names on trees;
the culprits must have come from the police camp which was at the foot of the hill on the eastern side. To reach the tallest peak we would have to
descend at least 100 m to a valley and then climb another 400 m. Shankar Raman declared, It would just take 2000 paces to climb that hill. It
seemed so simple, but there wasnt enough time to do it and camping up there was out of the question. The vegetation at the higher elevations
looked denser than the deciduous forest we had just climbed and therefore the going would be slower. (The thickly forested summit also bore
testament to the fact that Narcondam hadnt recently aspired for active volcano-hood.) We could descend to the police camp directly, but we were
committed to returning the way we came as we had left Rom behind.
After a half hour rest, our clothes were still wet with sweat, but we decided to make a move. I was also beginning to worry about Rom; I saw
visions of him lying unconscious or in pain with a broken leg. The descent was even more slippery than the ascent. We tried to climb down
gingerly without dislodging any rocks but a few did escape. Like lumberjacks, we hollered down to the people ahead, Rock! but with the slope
being so steep there was little they could do to get out of the way in time. Fortunately the rocks missed them; but once, Naveen actually jumped up
in the air acrobatically to avoid being hit by a tumbling boulder. Quickly we learnt to wait till the others were behind a tree before sliding down a
tricky incline. I imagined that Rom was probably asleep under a tree way down below, unaware of the rocks we were dislodging and perhaps one
would hit his head. My disquiet grew worse; I refused to let anyone take any breaks, and I set a punishing rhythm.
A couple of hours later, we arrived exhausted at the beach to find Rom fully stretched out having a snooze to the soothing rhythm of the crashing
waves. Apparently he had tacked a note for us on the tree where we had parted, but since we couldnt remember the spot and being in a hurry, we
never saw it. (If any of you find it, please mail it to me.)
Back at the police camp, we chatted about life on the island. They complained about hordes of rats that destroyed everything. We had caught
glimpses of the rodents scurrying around in the trees near the plantations. Could they have jumped ship and colonized the island? In 1893, Major
David Prain noted that a rat swarms everywhere and was the commonest mammal on the island. A decade ago we had experienced a similar
situation on South Sentinel Island, another remote island almost 400 km in a straight line to the southwest, so perhaps it was normal for such a
high density of rats to live on these isolated islands. Or maybe some early ship seeded these islands with rats as a surer food source than goats and
pigs! Of goats, we had seen nary a sign; no pellets or tracks. Thankfully, besides a pair seen by a few police personnel just the previous week, an
almost thorough removal had been executed.
On our last night we feasted on king mackerel seviche. Rom bemoaned that he hadnt been able to see Narcondams only recorded snake, the
paradise flying snake, a species found in Southeast Asia, but only on this island in Indian Territory.
Next stop was Manta Bay (nicknamed Silly Manta after the description of the place read silly numbers of mantas in the Southeast Asia Pilot).
As we pulled in, a medium-sized black manta swam below the surface. Excited, all of us jumped into the water, a couple with scuba and other
with snorkels. Disappointingly, no other mantas were seen.

The Emerald Blue

Just past noon, with three sails hoisted and a strong wind behind us, we set course for Port Blair. Nick cut the engine, unfurled the two additional
sails and silently, except for the sound of the yacht knifing through the waves, we sailed the old fashioned way. On a couple of occasions, we had
to change direction to avoid colliding with oil tankers and cargo ships. From the early days of shipping, the distinctive profile of Narcondam has
been a navigation aid, and even today this area appears to be a busy shipping corridor. As the island disappeared over the horizon, the nagging
thought of not having reached the summit had me making plans for a return. That would entail the gauntlet of getting permits again. The devil in
my head suggested: to hell with them, go on a fishing/diving trip and then find an excuse to climb the hill. Apparently by their very nature, the
Gardens of Eden lead humans astray!

Desperate Neighbours
Published in The Hindu 14 March 2010

When there are elephants around, it does something to me the man said quietly as he rubbed his belly in a universal gesture of nausea. We were
visiting his hamlet in a tea garden near Siliguri, north Bengal, to investigate a recent incident of shop lifting and destruction by a tusker locally
known as Belcha (so named for his spade shaped tusks.). The villagers said that he had destroyed three shops and a granary that year. The
ramshackle board and tin sheet shop was so flimsy that the elephant must have found it as easy as filliping a dolls house. Cookie jars, ubiquitous
accessories in any village shop, still lay broken where they had fallen amongst the debris. Any treats lying exposed had long since been foraged.
What did he want from the shop? I wondered out loud. Salt and biscuits, was the erstwhile shopkeepers tired answer. Enquiries about other
elephant events pointed us to a neighbouring hamlet, and like vultures we followed in the wake of death and destruction.

The widow at Basti No. 5

At this hamlet, simply known as Basti No. 5, an elephant had killed a man ten days ago. Elephants had raided the familys kitchen garden on two
consecutive nights, and completely destroyed the crop of lenthil and tapioca. On the third night, when the family heard the unmistakable sounds of

an elephant in their backyard, they fled their rickety shack. Unfortunately, the lone elephant was not in the backyard as they had thought but stood
on the path blocking their exit. The terrorized family fled stumbling and whimpering into the night away from the gigantic dark hulk. While the
mother and three children escaped, the elephant grabbed the father and hurled him into a hedge. They could not approach to see if he needed
medical help for fear of their own lives as the elephant didnt budge from the spot until dawn. By then it was too late. As the widow stood mute
through our conversation with her neighbours, the awareness of her predicament hit me squarely in the solar plexus. A panchayat elder said that
she would get Rs. 50,000 ex-gratia payment from the Forest Department whereas the official notification declares that she should be given Rs.
100,000. With three children to support, her insurance against starvation in shambles and her job at the tea garden insecure, the burden of
providing for her family rested solely on her fragile malnourished shoulders.

Why do elephants leave their forest refuge and trouble their human neighbours? Are poor villagers the only affected party in this battle of wits and
might? With support from United States Fish and Wildlife Services Asian Elephant Fund and Asian Nature Conservation Foundation, I sought
the answers to these questions on the front lines of human-elephant conflict and among 130 scientific publications, articles, books and reports
from Africa and Asia. As in any story there are two sides. While the human victims are the vocal, dramatic face of this conflict, the toll on
elephants is invisible but just as catastrophic.

According to Project Elephant, the Ministry of Environment and Forests elephant-affairs body, only 22% of elephant territory in India is given
the highest degree of protection as a National Park or Wildlife Sanctuary; the rest falls under an assortment of lax regimes such as reserve,
revenue and private forests. In other words, the bulk of elephant territory lies in areas that are exploited and degraded by humans. Imagine that
you have only the bedroom to yourself and the rest of your house is open to anyone to come and take what they like or even demolish with no
thought of your well-being. That is precisely what is happening wherever there is high conflict in elephant country.

The few isolated studies that quantify the loss of elephant-used forests indicate that they are being destroyed literally right beneath the
pachyderms feet. In one extreme case, Assam lost 65% of choice elephant habitat since 1972, with Sonitpur District alone losing about 30% of its
lowland forests in 10 recent years. Elephant forests are also sliced and severed by highways, dam projects and railroads. Elephants live to be 50
years old so what do they do when they lose their homes? They do not just go away to other forested areas, instead they stick it out and try to
adjust. What to eat in which area at what time of the year is learnt by rote from the time an elephant is a mere calf following in its mothers and
aunts footsteps. Their destiny is intrinsically coupled to their habitat. That is why despite the risk to their lives, they insist on crossing highways
and railway tracks and even swim across reservoirs to use their home range. Degraded forests do not move us emotionally nor do they tell the
story of this tragedy in the making.

A recent encroachment at Nameri, Assam

In the tea gardens of Sonitpur, a herd of six elephants has virtually no forests within what it calls home. This herd is not a typical family group that
retires shyly by day, for there is nowhere to hide, to get away from the constant heckling and harassment. They are now fighting for their very
survival with their backs pressed together and are as aggressive as bulls. It is said that other herds, that used to migrate north to Arunachal
Pradeshs Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary for the summer only, are now spending autumn and sometimes even winter as high as 3300 metres. There
is nothing in the foothills of Assam to come back for. In a bid to gain political mileage, Bodo tribals were encouraged to fell and settle in the
reserve forests of Sonai-Rupai, Charduar, Balipara, Nowduar, Biswanath and Behali and now both the elephants and people of the area are paying

the price.
In other states such as Jharkhand and Orissa, mining and forest fires leave behind a scorched earth incapable of supporting elephants. In the
northeast, the pressure of an increasing human population has shortened the jhum cycle to such a degree that there is not enough fallow time for
secondary browse to grow. This was the mainstay of the elephant populations of these states in decades past. Across elephant habitats, widespread
grazing by domestic cattle encourages inedible weeds to proliferate, suppresses the growth of grass and fodder plants, and exposes the soil.
Firewood and bamboo collection puts humans in direct competition with elephants. These are not dramatic events but collectively it is nothing
short of plundering the elephants food supply. When the inflation rate spiked recently and the cost of food escalated to unheard of heights,
sociologists predicted food riots. If that is expected behaviour of civilized humans, is it any wonder that elephants are turning to crops and raiding
food stores to survive?

The Rengali canal cutting across elephant habitat, Orissa

Elephants spend summer in one part of the forest and go to another for the winter. They are faithful to their home range whose extent is
determined by the quality of the forest and where forage and water are located. A herds home range may be a tiny 100 km2 in Sri Lanka, 650
km2 in Mudumalai in Tamil Nadu or 3700 km2 in north Bengal. Whatever the extent of the range, elephants need access to all of it to survive. If
parts of their home are blocked by human settlements, they will use the cover of darkness to walk through crops, and villages. Forsaking that
inaccessible part of their home is usually not an option and conflict becomes routine along these passageways.
Despite adjusting, when making a living in their home range is no longer possible, elephants expand their range by seeking new pastures. For
example, some elephants from Dandeli Wildlife Sanctuary in Karnataka have been visiting the neighbouring states of Maharashtra and Goa since
2002, reportedly because of the Kali hydroelectric project. Humans are no different; when we cant eke out a living in villages, we migrate to the
cities or even other countries in search of work. Such disturbances in elephant habitat disperse the resident herds, creating conflict in their wake.
Wherever there is high intensity conflict with elephants, habitat loss is the central theme. Much like Alauddins genie, once the elephants are out
of the forests, it is almost impossible to put them back inside. That is why we would do well to remember that it is easier to protect their habitat
than to create it.
However, habitat loss is not the only reason for conflict. All along the human-elephant interface conflict inevitably rumbles at low intensity. An
average adult elephant spends about 18 hours a day in the forest finding about 250 kg of food, a combination of grasses, bulbs, aquatic plants,
leaves, bamboo, roots, bark, dry twigs, and fruits. Just beyond the periphery of the forests, humans grow crops that have been selectively bred for
greater nutrition, and lesser toxins. Besides where there is no surface water, we plumb the depths with bore wells to cultivate sweet juicy
sugarcane and bananas even when all else is dry in the forest. It would take an extraordinarily self-disciplined elephant to turn its trunk up at these
treats growing right on the doorstep. Instead of wandering all day long searching for fodder in a forest, here is an opportunity to spend just a few
hours a night gorging on so much food concentrated in one place. Is it any wonder that some elephants venture into crops and leave behind fibrous
steamy dung balls? Yet research shows that amazingly there are indeed some elephants with ample opportunity to raid crops, which do not give in
to temptation and strictly maintain their diet of wild forage. We do not yet know why this is so and studying such elephants may help us
understand conflict better.
As if ransacking the elephants home isnt enough, humans kill bull elephants for their tusks. Herds dont escape the wrath of farmers either. Each
region has its preferred choice arsenal to kill and maim elephants electrocution and mouth bombs in the south, poisoning with pesticides,
homemade napalm, poison arrows and gunshots in the north. Stressed elephants may avoid those areas of their home range where they perceive
danger and may congregate to find safety in numbers. The habitat that could sustain a smaller herd of elephants may take a beating from such
large herds. Eventually the forest becomes so degraded that it cannot sustain the same animals any longer. This drives these elephants to the
closest available food: crops. And the vicious cycle of violence continues.

The remains of an elephant visit

Calves learn from their mothers and aunts what to eat, where to find water, which route to take. If crops are on the menu those calves will grow up
to consider that as their birthright, a cultural trait. We share the same predilection for home food, variously called comfort food; there is no
other explanation for the Tamilian esteem for curd rice! Young dispersing bulls, whose family has not had a history of raiding crops, may learn
the behaviour from other bulls. This may explain why some elephants eat crops while others in the same area dont.

It is essential to understand that elephants are social animals, intelligent, self-aware and capable of emotions just like humans. Their reactions to
various pressures and stresses may vary according to their temperament, experience and learning. In other words, all elephants do not react alike
to the same demands, though the general pattern of adjustment and reaction to human behaviour described here holds true.

It is commonly suggested that conflict is a result of growing elephant numbers. But in Assam, although the elephant population is decreasing, the
conflict graph doesnt show a corresponding downward trend. The Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve has one of the largest elephant populations and yet
conflict is generally considered to be low. There is no evidence to tie elephant numbers to conflict but there is plenty to show that high and
growing human numbers have an impact on conflict intensity. And this is the bottom line: in the overwhelming majority of cases the cause of
conflict is human-driven and it is critical for us to recognize and acknowledge this if we are to find equilibrium in our relationship with elephants.

The Mega-Mahseer of the Cauvery

Published in Outlook Traveller Feb 2010

Joe Assassa was the odds on favourite to win the contest; after all he had 16 years to get to know the river well. He appeared to be on a personal
quest - Operation Big - and had already caught some massive mahseer in the preceding weeks. Bruce Schwack, the self-titled Viagraja, was
another contender in more ways than one, for he and Joe shared a common vocation. What were the odds of two Viagra dealers competing in an

angling competition in South India? (Actually pretty darn good, read on!) Conversation around the evening bonfire swirled predictably around
pharmaceuticals while one of them liberally dispensed little blue pills which disappeared quickly and surreptitiously into pockets.
The Masheer Classic 2009 was the first competition conducted by the Anglers Club. There were twelve contestants gathered on the banks of
the Cauvery at the Bheemeshwari Fishing Camp in Karnataka on a Friday afternoon in December. Besides the two merchants of sex-stimulants,
others had less-risqu professions such as a telecom executive, a magnesia company magnate, a landscape architect, a businessman, a writer for a
British angling magazine, a freelance photographer.
Each angler, accompanied by a gillie (an old Scottish word for fishing guide), set out in a coracle (no longer lined with buffalo hide but with
plastic tarp). The gillie chose the spot - mid-river rocks, reeds or the opposite bank - and indicated in which direction and how far to cast the
tangerine-sized ragi dough wrapped around a hook. Although some used extra weights, the ball of local millet was heavy enough to sink to the
bottom of the river where the large mammas hung out. Then one settled down comfortably watching the tip of the rod hour after hour. When little
fish fed on the bait, the rod tip bobbed. When there was that slow, steady, strong pull that bent the rod down, the angler, suddenly adrenalized,
yanked and hopefully hooked the fish, maybe a mahseer, but possibly an ordinary carp or cat fish. That was the general principle of ragi-balling,
which most anglers agree is very sedentary.

As the largest and most challenging freshwater game fish in the world, the mahseer lives up to every interpretation of its name: big tiger, big
head, big scaled, and big front-end. Such royalty does not take kindly to being caught and the spirited fight of even a little chap weighing
about 5 lbs. can lead you to overestimate his size. This combative tendency makes mahseer the sport fish of every anglers dreams. It grows to a
monstrous size in the Cauvery, this is where the record 120 pounder (54.4 kg) was caught in March 1946 by J. de Wet van Ingen (of the famous
family of taxidermists from Mysore). Obviously, the 1.69 metre (5.54 feet) long fish was mounted as a trophy and is now lodged at the Regional
Museum of Natural History, Mysore. The second and third biggest mahseer were also caught in this river. In 1993, Mark Thompson set the record
for Bheemeshwari with a 106 lb. mahseer.
Despite the popular myth that the monsters can only be taken on ragi, purists consider spooning the rapids to be the real challenge. Since the
coracle was too unstable a craft to maneuver, the algae-covered rocks too infernally slippery, and the river currents too strong, the gillies generally
discouraged the idea. Although ragi-balling has been used for a long time, van Ingen caught the record breaker on a spoon. So there is no need to
sacrifice sport for size one could do both, but it is just much harder reeling in a fighter when you are stumbling, falling on your back, bruising
your shins and punishing your knees while fighting the current and the fish.
When you use plugs, flies and metallic spoons, the action is fast and furious; the angler needs some skill to fool the fish into believing that the lure
is the real thing. There is no time to sit comfortably in a coracle and fall asleep gently rocked by the river currents. Despite the liberal sprinkling of
asafoetida, cardamom and fennel, a ball of ragi didnt masquerade as anything else; none of the fish were fooled and if you caught a mahseer, it
was because it was really hungry. While spooning, anglers take care not to spook the fish; they wear dull colours, hardly ever speak and sneak
around behind boulders and reeds, almost on all-fours. On the contrary, ragi-fed mahseer didnt care if the gillies yelled to each other across the
breadth of the Cauvery, or if the anglers didnt stick to the dress code. Apparently there was no need to outwit such a dull (but hungry) monster;
after all, they must know that when food balls start plopping down that humans are about and some may even remember that these treats to be
thorny and dangerous.
After expectantly observing several casts and seeing few signs of action, I watched Basavanbhetta, the tallest hill overlooking the river, change
colour and mood as the sun set. An eagle owl soared silently across the river, elephants on the opposite bank trumpeted and flocks of cormorants
flew westwards into the redness. The wheeling Brahminy kites swooped low every now and then with no better luck than the anglers.
Rom Whitaker imagined what was happening at the bottom of the river around the bait. Hundreds of little ones were driving the interest in the

ragi, he said. They dash to the bait as soon as it hits the water. There were some medium sized ones attracted by the swarming little fish and one or
two large ones in the area warily wondering if the food ball was dangerous. Even though his rod was still with little sign of action, he said
hopefully that it could still be good; a large one may be circling the bait keeping the others away. It started to look to me as if angling was just an
excuse to feed the fish with every coracle feeding about five kilos of ragi dough per session.
As I spent time with each angler in turn, I began to quantify the factors that increase the chances of hooking a mahseer. On a sunny day, one said,
Cloudy weather makes them hungry. On a cloudy day when the fishing was unproductive, another said, Rain oxygenates the surface, changes
temperature and flushes shore creatures into the water and triggers feeding. Another added that the ideal condition was when the sun followed the
rain. But luck appeared to negate all this knowledge. A novice angler, Pritam Kukillaya, beat the competition on the second day (in full sunshine)
by hooking a 36 lb. mahseer. Experiences such as these make anglers equally eloquent about the effects of falling barometric pressure while
nervously fingering their lucky beads.
So how much skill and knowledge did ragi-balling require? From observing the contestants, not a great deal it appeared. One retorted, There is
skill involved. You have to know when to yank the line so you hook the fish. A day later, while an angler was reaching for a bottle of water, I
watched the reel suddenly sing its high pitched, excited whine while the line stripped away: a fish had hooked itself. All the angler had to do was
be at the right place at the right time. Skill, come again? Another suggested that expertise was needed to choose the fishing sites, but the gillies
decided the best spot and anglers suggestions, with the exception of Joe perhaps, were usually over-ruled. However, there is no doubt that once a
mega-mahseer is hooked, playing it does demand every ounce of energy and expertise.
Most anglers for mahseer use large reels, be it a spinner or a caster, because when a monster bites, it tends to run far and fast. Your arms are
nearly torn out from their sockets, is Macdonalds vivid description of the first rush in the 1948 classic, Circumventing the Mahseer. Can you
imagine what Sandersons hands were like when his 110 lb. mahseer ran on that day in 1871 when all he had was a 400 yard hand line? (In 1897,
H.S. Thomas, the author of The Rod in India quotes G.P. Sanderson as estimating that fish to weigh 150 lbs. But in his own 1912 work Thirteen
years among the wild beasts of India, Sanderson says he had no means of weighing the fish and modestly suggested the fish was not less than
100 lbs. The figure leapt upwards in 1928 when the curator of the Mysore Museum reported that it weighed 130 lbs. So how did the Sanderson
fish get its 110 lb. tag? In 1943, Col. R.W. Burton pointed out that the dimensions of Sandersons fish were the same as another fish which
weighed at 110 lbs.) Whatever the actual weight, there is little doubt that Sanderson was the first on record to break the 100 lb. barrier in the
history of mahseer angling!
Reeling in a monster mahseer is a contest of will, strength and wits. The angler should know where to let the fish run to avoid breaking the line
and gauge when his adversary is exhausted enough to be reeled in. Fights have lasted hours, and as the angler uses his back as a fulcrum to reel
the fish in, back-aches are an inevitable price to pay. In one case, not even an hour into the fight, the anglers arms began trembling with the
tension (he eventually lost the fish). You can lose a large fish by misjudging the topography and the creatures feistiness. The story of a loss may
be entertaining around a camp-fire and to regale family back home, but earns no bragging points. The more emphatically your arms stretch wide,
the more everyone thinks Yeah right. It is just one more in the anthology of The-One-That-Got-Away stories.
As if the constant posturing and undercurrent of competitiveness werent enough, businessman Dhananjai Golla (popularly called Jai) of the
Anglers Club felt the hobby needed to be formalized as a sport. While angling is a multi-billion dollar industry in the West, in India, it slipped
into oblivion with the end of the Raj and today remains a marginal sport. A handbook of the 19th century avows that there are only four
gentlemanly sports: hunting, hawking, fowling and angling. The last is perhaps the only one that can be legally practiced by gentlemen of
today. Among the older generation, it was usually the former hunters who turned to fishing as an alternative means of keeping their senses alive
and honed. I was curious about what attracts younger people to the sport. One said angling was his way of relaxing, another said it gave him an
excuse to spend some time alone in a reasonably remote and beautiful spot. Another derived pleasure from buying fancy fishing gear and testing it
out in different locales. Yet another said that as a child he fared poorly in sports of any kind and when he stumbled on angling as an adult, he felt
this was it. But the common refrain of every anglers dream is to fight a fish, a rite of passage that makes men out of mere lads. There is no
escaping the fact that this is a male dominated sport.
On the river the anglers were fairly spread out and often out of sight of each other, so the only witness to a mega catch was the gillie. Once caught,
the mahseer was weighed, photographed and returned to the river. This catch and release concept provides sport without loss of life and is
therefore sustainable. Since the fish cannot be brought to camp, the anglers word supported by his gillie is accepted at face value. The contest was
played by gentlemans rules. A couple of anglers sprayed their ragi balls with fish pheromones to induce a feeding frenzy and increase the chances
of catching a fish. When the competition catches on, the organizers will have to decide if such additives can be allowed while keeping in mind the
difficulty of enforcing these rules.
At the end of the second day, Jai grumbled about losing a monster; the numerous rocks in the river truly tested the nylon monofilament. One
advised that he only used a 50 lb. test line. Even though a 20 lb. line may be sufficient to catch a large fish, if it went under a rock, the line needs
to withstand the pressure and abrasion. So why not over-compensate and use an 80 lb. line? To give the fish a fighting chance, replied Jai. Later I
discovered that the true art of angling lies in catching monster fish with as light a tackle as possible. For instance, an angler who catches a 40 lb.
fish on a 20 lb. line scores more than one who catches the same sized fish on a 50 lb. line. Besides a light line enables the casts go further out.

On the third morning, I figured that I might hear a lot more interesting stories and theories by watching Joe fish. Flightily, he said he had to run
the idea by his gillie who in turn said that the boat was too small. Tomorrow, he promised. We were all heading our different ways homewards
tomorrow so it was a non-happener. As I got ready to accompany someone else, another gillie who clearly hadnt been let in on the story
hurriedly beckoned me to join Joe. I brought him up to speed but he retorted, No, no. Joe has big boat. Thats why he wasnt Joes gillie. During
that session, Joe caught a beautiful 40 lb. mahseer (cloudy day) and beat the competition to the top spot.
What sex were the humongous fish and how does one tell them apart? One fisherman said that a cock-fish above 10 lbs. has a beard, a flap of
skin under the chin that ends in a point. Another muttered the equivalent of bovine droppings under his breath. It is suspected that large mahseer
are hens (Col. Burton caught a 41 lbs. cock fish from the Bhavani and mentioned that all mahseer above 50 lbs. were females) and there may be
no way of telling the sex of the fish from just looking at them. So every mahseer anglers dream fish was a hen, a girl! And the bigger she was, the
more ecstatic the fisherman. This was deliciously Freudian! Now it was easier to fathom why there were two Viagra dealers at the event!
The dining room, the Gholghar, was adorned with pictures of anglers with their massive catch. The fish appeared to be over-weight; they were
wider for their length than the pictures of the long, sleek fish from the Himalayas in Macdonalds book. The reason seemed obvious enough. Joe
said that fishing was good after weekends when scores of picnicking people dump leftovers into the river. In fact, he said, he caught his three
largest ones (the pictures on display at the Gholghar) around Muthathi, the morning after thousands of people had celebrated the dawning of the
New Year.
Further, Sunder Raj, the manager of the camp, said that every season they feed five thousand kilos of ragi to the mahseer to keep them within the
protected 30 km stretch of river. If they werent fed, the fish were likely to migrate up and downriver where destructive dynamiting, netting and
poisoning were rampant. Could this be why these mahseer appeared fat? Maybe not; the hump-backed mahseer of the Cauvery is known to have a
greater girth to length ratio.
Once found in rivers and large streams all over the country, sadly, mahseer are today restricted to a few stretches of protected rivers. They are
being exterminated by the dynamiters and poisoners even in fairly remote areas (see Wild Water, Outlook Traveller June 2009). Angling offers
an opportunity for people to become knowledgeable about fish diets, hooks, lines, tides, currents, weather patterns amongst other variables. Such
people with a stake in the health of the rivers may be the ones to campaign for river and mahseer conservation while paying for enforcement.
Besides, their very presence on the river deters fish poachers. If it were not for the records of fish caught and released by anglers, it would be
difficult to monitor the health of the mahseer population.
None beat Joes catch during the afternoon session although it fell short of his own personal best by several pounds. Pritams 36 lb. mahseer came
second and Jehangir Vakils came third at 35 lb. The fish who refused to take the ragi balls were obviously the wily old crones. Angus Hutton, a
former tea planter, recalled a story that hints at the existence of real monsters.
During the terrible drought of 1950/51, Angus visited the Krishnarajasagar reservoir on the outskirts of Mysore with the van Ingen brothers, Botha
and de Wet. The water level was way down to the scum and all the junk people had thrown in over the years lay exposed. Some labourers were
digging channels to divert the last remaining water to the Brindavan Gardens located below the dam. A muddy puddle caught the intrepid
fishermens attention and they decided to investigate.
Botha drove the jeep as far down into the reservoir as he safely could. Normally this area would have been under a hundred feet of water. They
pushed and shoved their coracle through the clinging mud with great difficulty for about 50 metres to the fetid green pool. De Wet gaffed around
the bottom and soon snagged what he thought were the remains of a crocodile. It was a struggle to hoist the heavy carcass up and when the effort
became even more vigorous, Angus feared the coracle would capsize and they would all drown in the muddy, sticky soup. Eventually when the
stinky remains broke surface, they realized it was a part of a mahseer. The whole rotten piece fell back before de Wet could bring it onboard and
he was left holding a single huge scale skewered by the gaff. The scale was roughly three times the size of the largest scale of the 120 lb. mounted
trophy which led de Wet to estimate the mahseer to have been 300 lbs., or even 400! The episode was captured on 8mm film by Angus and is
currently in the possession of Bothas grandson. Ragi-balling for a 100 pounder seems modest when anglers could be kitting out with a 100 lb line
and enticing a 300+ lb. monster. So get on down to the river and let a truly feisty giant hen make you a man!

Getting there: Bheemeshwari is just 100 km away from Bangalore, off the Mysore highway. The turn off at Channapatna is currently a smoother
road than the pothole-ridden one off Kanakapura.
Accommodation: The Fishing Camp has eight log cabins (Rs. 3250 per night), eight tents (Rs. 2750 per night) and two cottages (Rs. 3500 per
night) overlooking the river. All are air-conditioned with hot and cold running water. Those anglers who have bust their backs can rejuvenate at
the Ayurvedic massage centre on campus. The provided rates include all three meals, coracle ride, joy fishing, trekking, camera fees, forest entry
fees and tax. For more details: http://www.junglelodges.com/V2/Bheemeshwari.htm
Angling Information: Angling season lasts mid-November to March. Coracles, gillies and ragi bait are provided by the Camp. The Camp also sells
the necessary fishing license (Rs. 1250). Bring your own tackle (see http://www.junglelodges.com/V2/bheemeshwari_activities.htm for a
recommended list). The gillies have recently been trained in fish handling, importance of mahseer conservation, and ecotourism and have also
been equipped with a weighing scale, and miscellaneous other tools.
The Masheer Classic is expected to be held at the same time next year (www.anglersclub.in)
Things to bring: Hat, sunscreen, water bottle, shorts, warm clothing for the evenings, dark glasses, camera, shoes.
PS: Our friend, fish expert, Rohan Pethiyagoda, says " I have heard [the relationship between drop in barometric pressure to fishing

success] from anglers many times, but it does not appear to make sense in the context of the depth of water in which mahseer
operate. Even a massive barometric fall of 10% would represent only the equivalent of 1 m of water depth, which is well
within the range of depths a large fish would routinely swim around in..."

THE IUCNS NEW CLOTHES: AN UPDATE ON THE DHAMRA

TURTLE SAGA
Published in Marine Turtle Newsletter 126
By Janaki Lenin (1,6), Ashish Fernandes (2), Aarthi Sridhar (3), B.C. Choudhury (4), Jack Frazier (5,6), Sanjiv Gopal (2), Areeba Hamid (2),
Sandra Kloff (6), Biswajit Mohanty (6,7), Bivash Pandav (8), Sudarshan Rodriguez (3), Basudev Tripathy (4), Romulus Whitaker (9), Sejal
Worah (10), Belinda Wright (11) and Kartik Shanker (3,12)
1 IUCN/SSC/Crocodile Specialist Group, South Asia and Iran.
2 Greenpeace, Bangalore India.
3 Dakshin Foundation, Bangalore, India.
4 Wildlife Institute of India, Dehradun, India.
5 Smithsonian Institution, USA.
6 Member, IUCN/CEESP/Social and Environmental Accountability of the Private Sector
7 Wildlife Society of Orissa, Cuttack, India.
8 Worldwide Fund for Nature-Nepal, Kathmandu, Nepal.
9 Madras Crocodile Bank, Chengalpattu, India.
10 Worldwide Fund for Nature-India, New Delhi, India.
11 Wildlife Protection Society of India, New Delhi, India.
12 Centre for Ecological Sciences, Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, India.

Local communities in every part of the world - define conservation within their environmental, social, historical, cultural, economic, and
political milieu. In developing countries, where demand for natural resources (sought by communities and corporations alike) is not only high, but
directly linked to life styles, effecting positive conservation action becomes a bedeviling proposition. It has been widely recognized that it is not
enough to just create laws and enforcement mechanisms; for species to survive in the long-term, local communities must become partners in the
conservation enterprise. A case in point is the conservation of olive ridley turtles in Orissa, India, where the conflicting demands of traditional
fishermen/small scale fishing communities, mechanized fishers (including trawlers), international conservation organizations, local
conservationists, enforcement authorities, the state government and corporate interests have created a monumental imbroglio (Shanker and Kutty
2005; Mathew 2004; Sridhar 2005; Shanker and Choudhury 2006; Wright and Mohanty 2006; Shanker et al. 2009).
Over the past 3 years, the waters have been further muddied by the direct involvement of IUCN/MTSG in advising a major corporation that is
developing the largest port facility in South Asia, not surprisingly an environmentally and socially sensitive issue. The special issues of Marine
Turtle Newsletter No. 121 and Indian Ocean Turtle Newsletter No. 8 carried eight articles with different perspectives on the IUCNs and MTSGs
engagement with the ongoing port construction at Dhamra, Orissa, on the east coast of India. The port, being built by Dhamra Port Company
Limited (DPCL), is located some 4 km from Bhitarkanika National Park, with one of the highest mangrove diversities in the world and less than
15 km from Gahirmatha Marine Sanctuary, one of the most famous turtle mass nesting beaches in the world. Shanker et al. (2009) provided a brief
history of conservation and a summary of the current social and political context. Here, a section of the community, including academics,
biologists, conservationists and other practitioners from a variety of institutions and backgrounds express their concerns for the biodiversity of the
region, interactions with local communities, the conservation of olive ridleys, and most particularly, the interaction between IUCN and DPCL (the
port promoters) and its implications on a broad range of issues fundamental to effective conservation (see for example Frazier 2008).
In numerous collective and individual letters (and other communications) to the IUCN and MTSG over the last three years, many of us have
raised several concerns regarding the lack of consultation by IUCN and the MTSG with local conservationists (see MTN 121/ IOTN 8). Besides
providing an update on our negotiations with TATA Steel and DPCL as well as the perception of IUCNs impact in this region, we will focus on
two concerns: firstly, the inadequacy of consultation, or even basic information-sharing, by IUCN/MTSG with national members, local fisherfolk
organizations and civil society groups and NGOs, many of whom have long years of experience in this geographical area (for a full account, see
MTN 121/IOTN 8); and secondly, the lack of clarity, transparency and the limited scope of IUCNs agenda in the Dhamra case.
Negotiations with the DPCL and TATA Weaving sweet nothings
Given the lack of meaningful dialogue with IUCN and MTSG, other attempts were made to develop dialogue and explore realistic measures for
preventing environmental and social problems resulting from the development of Dhamra Port consequences that are to be expected from such a
massive development project. A coalition of local conservation groups approached the port promoters TATA Steel and Larsen & Toubro (L&T),
as well as the implementing company, DPCL. The following individuals and organisations took part in the dialogue process: Ashish Fernandes
(Greenpeace India), Debi Goenka (Conservation Action Trust), Mitali Kakkar and Prahlad Kakkar (Reefwatch Marine Conservation), ND Koli
(National Fishworkers Forum), Janaki Lenin (as Regional Chair of the IUCNs Crocodile Specialist Group), Biswajit Mohanty (Wildlife Society
of Orissa), Divya Raghunandan (Greenpeace India), Bittu Sahgal (Sanctuary Asia), Ravi Singh (WWF India), and Belinda Wright (Wildlife
Protection Society of India). Throughout the dialogue, this collective of groups consulted others, including B.C. Choudhury, Jack Frazier,
Sudarshan Rodriguez, Kartik Shanker, Aarthi Sridhar and Romulus Whitaker. Between October 2008 and February 2009, four meetings were held
(the last of which was at the construction site at Dhamra).
At these meetings, the obvious gaps in the sole Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) conducted in 1997 (for a totally different development
site and a much smaller development project) were pointed out and the need to conduct a comprehensive, credible and independent impact
assessment was stressed by the conservation alliance, some of whom are authors of this piece. It was also emphasized that a credible assessment
should have been done prior to the commencement of construction work for the project. From the very first meeting on October 23, 2008, the
Precautionary Principle was cited repeatedly to urge the port promoters to suspend construction until the completion of the new assessment (i.e.,
for a period of one year), which TATA Steel, L&T and DPCL refused to do. At the third meeting on February 10, 2009, at Dhamra, Mr. Sengupta,
Vice President, TATA Steel, offered to consider deferring elements of construction by a few days to avoid interference with any fresh impact
assessment but totally ruled out suspending construction or dredging. On February 20, 2009, the conservation alliance proposed a compromise and
requested the company to suspend dredging during the turtle season, but this was rejected on the grounds that the latter had been advised that
suspension of work was unnecessary. Requests that the port promoters share the expert advice (studies, evidence, recommendations, etc.) that
recommended that suspension of work was not required, were rejected by the port developers at this meeting and subsequently (a letter from
Greenpeace requesting this information was addressed to Mr. Muthuraman, Managing Director, TATA Steel dated February 27, 2009 has elicited
no response) (http://greenpeace.in/turtle/category/docs Additional correspondence available on request). Not surprisingly, the conservationists
present at this meeting considered this a poor demonstration of good intention/will and/or application of the precautionary approach by the
company and its advisors.
TATA Steel has publicly pledged to withdraw from the project should it cause unacceptable negative impact on the turtles and their nesting
habitat. However, they had rejected a Greenpeace commissioned study nor have they cooperated in implementing an independent assessment.
This situation left the conservation alliance with no option but to disengage from the dialogue process until such time that the port promoters were

willing to reconsider their stance. From information made available on the IUCN website, the only source of information that has been made
available by IUCN, the participating organizations and individuals can only presume that the companys reluctance to conduct such a basic,
universally required exercise for any development project, particularly in an environmentally sensitive area, was instigated by their IUCN
advisors. Subsequently, an arribada took place in Gahirmatha in March 2009 and this was used as evidence to show that dredging did not
negatively impact turtles and their habitats, while ignoring any mention of the long-term impacts on the coastline.
Continuing impasse with IUCN and MTSG Invisible revelations
In November, 2008, several months after their interaction with the Dhamra project began, the IUCN planned a one day technical workshop at
Bhubaneswar, Orissa. Presentations by the IUCN consultants on their activities at Dhamra dominated the agenda, while the meeting organizers
ignored the fundamental concerns repeatedly expressed by local membership over the preceding months. Besides, some MTSG and IUCN
members and several organizations with a long history of involvement in the Dhamra port issue were not even invited to participate. These
objections were raised before the workshop, but no attempt was made to resolve them, despite repeated requests by several members to the MTSG
and the IUCN.
In the end the workshop was postponed and finally convened again in February 2009, with exactly the same agenda. While a few select
institutions received invitations seven weeks earlier, most received their invitations just three weeks prior to the workshop. Contrary to the
statements issued by MTSG and IUCN, numerous key individuals and institutions (many of the same ones who had been eliminated from the
earlier invitation list) were simply not invited. The lack of participation in drafting the agenda, the short notice and selective invitations did not
inspire confidence, and many IUCN members (WWF, WPSI) and MTSG members (B. Pandav, K. Shanker, W. Sunderraj, B. Tripathy, R.
Whitaker) declined to attend. Besides the staff of DPCL and IUCN, representatives from eight out of approximately 24 IUCN member
organizations in India, four NGOs and two universities participated. Hence, less than a third of the key actors participated in the workshop.
Nonetheless, the press release (http://www.uicn.org/about/union/secretariat/offices/asia/?2759/Vulnerable-Olive-Ridley-turtles-find-diversesupport-in-Orissa-India) issued after the February 24-25, 2009 workshop in Bhubaneswar gives the impression that there was widespread
agreement and support of the IUCN-DPCL partnership.
On 24 April 2009, some of us requested the IUCN to provide details of their agreement with the port developers, financial and technical reports
and recommendations given to the company. Specifically, we requested copies of:
1. The Terms of Reference/Scope of Engagement of the IUCN with the Dhamra Port Project.
2. The final agreement between the IUCN and DPCL/TATA Steel.
3. Financial details pertaining to the IUCNs involvement with DPCL: particularly, how much are IUCN representatives being paid to advise
DPCL?
4. Reports and recommendations submitted so far by IUCN/MTSG to DPCL.
5. Periodic assessments and compliance reports from the commencement of IUCNs work till the present.
On 29 April 2009, Michael Dougherty, Regional Communications Coordinator, Asia Regional Office, IUCN, responded saying that these
documents were circulated during the February 2009 workshop. However, colleagues who attended the workshop (among the authors of this
piece) refute this claim; these documents were not made available during the workshop or at any other time. On 18 May 2009, we made the same
request again. Moreover, an earlier letter was sent to the MTSG chairs (8 May 2009) requesting this information and further details on dredging
and other port activities, but this also elicited no response. Hence, it has been difficult if not impossible - to get basic information from the
IUCN, and requests for specific information are not adequately answered.
While some field trip reports and recommendations are now available on the IUCN website
(http://www.iucn.org/about/union/secretariat/offices/asia/asia_where_work/india_programme_office/dhamra_port/), most documents including
the agreement between IUCN and DPCL and its financial details have been declared confidential. In short, the relationship between IUCN /MTSG
and local organizations and conservationists contradicts the lofty rhetoric on the IUCN website, reminiscent of self-laudatory monologue typical
of large international NGOs (Igoe & Sullivan 2009). We do not agree with IUCNs claim that there is open discussion, sharing of information and
positive conservation outcome.
IUCNs impact Naked but not transparent
Any recommendations and mitigation advice to port developers is handicapped by the lack of a scientific assessment of the environmental impacts
of the project on the coastline and the ecosystems in close proximity, not to mention social and economic impacts on marginalized inhabitants of
coastal communities. In general, such attempts to bridge the gap between industry and conservation have raised concerns for both ecological
health and justice (Frazier 2005; Igoe & Sullivan 2009).
There is simply no reliable environmental impact assessment, nor it would appear any interest in producing one. It is widely believed that the
IUCN capitulated to industrys demands instead of insisting on a meaningful EIA, despite the fact that this is a basic pre-development requirement
that is virtually a world-wide standard. The impacts of dredging of sand and other bottom sediments near the nesting beaches of Gahirmatha

Wildlife Sanctuary (C.S. Kar pers. comm.) is apparently not being addressed by IUCN/MTSG as evidenced by the lack of reference to this in any
report. The impact of annual dredging to maintain a 19 km shipping channel, and subsequent impacts on coastal currents and food webs are
unknown. This is especially worrisome given the dramatic changes to the geomorphology of the Gahirmatha beaches during the last two decades
(Shanker et al., 2004; Prusty and Dash, 2006). Little is known of the recommendations being made by the IUCN/MTSG to DPCL to mitigate
coastal erosion, invasive species or the other concomitant negative impacts of ports, if indeed any such recommendations are being made.
MTSGs advice to the company seems to have focused on two actions: to use deflectors on the dredgers drag-head to shield turtles and to use
light shades to reduce the disorientation of turtles and hatchlings during nighttime operations. These are likely to reduce some short-term negative
impacts of the port development activities on turtles. Remarkably, the latest communiqu posted by the IUCN on its website
(http://www.iucn.org/about/union/secretariat/offices/asia/asia_where_work/india_programme_office/dhamra_port/) indicates that the IUCNDPCL agreement is primarily to draft an Environmental Management Plan (EMP), and that this will be drafted in the second phase of the project.
However, now more than two years after the agreement was developed, the only advice that seems to have been provided are a few isolated sea
turtle mitigation measures. Hence, conservationists in India are mystified and deeply disappointed by the obsessive focus on sea turtles to the
exclusion of other life forms and ecological interactions, particularly since the port site lies just 4 km away from Bhitarkanika National Park (a
regionally important RAMSAR site and proposed UNESCO World Heritage site).
IUCNs engagement with the private sector is said to be governed by the private sector guidelines
(http://liveassets.iucn.getunik.net/downloads/ps_20guidelines.pdf), which include the preparation of a due diligence report, yet this essential
document is not available on its websites. There is no information available to suggest that this was ever done. The lack of environmental
precaution by the corporation and regulatory failure of the Ministry of Environment and Forests (see epilogue) has resulted in the flouting of
environment laws and regulations (see MTN 121/ IOTN 8). Local conservationists view IUCNs willingness to over-ride its own private sector
guidelines in order to partner with a powerful corporation (and thereby attain significant corporate funding), as aiding and abetting an ecologically
and socially devastating project, while undermining their own efforts to make the state and corporations play by environmental rules. It is
particularly worrisome when IUCN has refused to collaborate with, or even recognize, local conservation NGOs or community groups.
Local individuals and groups have demonstrated their willingness to enter into meaningful discussion and constructively engage with both the
company or IUCN (as summarised above), but they have been repeatedly spurned by these large, powerful organizations. Both the National
Fishworkers Forum and the Orissa Traditional Fish Workers Union have opposed the project (See IOTN 8 and 9). Yet, without their crucial
support, the sustainability of project recommendations is in jeopardy. Within the conservation community, IUCN has demonstrated that it is acting
in isolation (if not in opposition) by refusing to seriously consider the opinions of local groups. International staff and contractors with their
tenuous and ephemeral connections and superficial knowledge of the highly complex issues involved are hardly the way to effect change in the
current context.
Partnerships with industry: A global strategy to curb biodiversity loss or new suit?
The collaboration with DPCL is part of IUCNs global strategy to curb biodiversity loss. High-level dialogues and partnerships with extractive
industries have been set up, e.g., the IUCN-ICMM (International Council on Mining and Metals)
(http://www.iucn.org/about/work/programmes/business/bbp_our_work/bbp_mining/), the EBI (Energy and Biodiversity Initiative)
(http://www.theebi.org/) and the controversial partnership with Shell. These interactions generally aim to develop voluntary codes of good
environmental and social conduct and to integrate considerations of biodiversity protection in the development of extractive industry projects.
Although there is value in interacting directly with the private sector to address environmental issues, and not withstanding IUCNs good
intentions, many IUCN members worldwide, affected people, indigenous groups and advocacy organizations are deeply concerned about the way
IUCN is handling these partnerships, and this concern has been elaborated in the specific case of the Dhamra Port development (Frazier 2008). At
the last World Conservation Congress in Barcelona, no less than 60% of the NGO members supported a resolution to end IUCNs partnership
with Shell (Igoe & Sullivan 2009). IUCNs partnership with DPCL is another example that justifies concern for all the reasons stated above (as
well as others).
It is critical that the IUCN and MTSG develop partnerships with local groups and address the range of conservation concerns engendered by the
Dhamra project. Anything short of that runs contrary to the Precautionary Principle and the IUCN/MTSGs own conservation mandate, but
instead fits the general behaviour of large international NGOs that are notorious for undermining local groups to achieve their own agenda
(Frazier 2005, Igoe & Sullivan 2009). When local environmental organisations and affected peoples lose confidence, then IUCN should reevaluate
its partnership with the private sector and efforts should be made to bring these communities into the process.
While we believe that it is necessary and possible to engage constructively with the DPCL and TATA Steel, this has to be done in a manner that
truly considers local stakeholders and gives credence to local opinions and concerns. If these basic principles are not observed, any potential value
of the IUCN- private sector partnership will be reduced to cheap greenwashing.

Epilogue
Recently obtained documents from the offices of the Forest Department of Orissa show that the land on which the Dhamra port project is being
built is a Protected Forest. The project does not have the mandatory clearance from the Government of Indias Ministry of Environment and
Forests for usage of such land and has therefore violated the Indian Forest Conservation Act, 1980. An application has been filed in the Supreme
Court by conservationists Bittu Sahgal, Romulus Whitaker and Shekar Dattatri seeking punitive action, and on October 9, 2009, the court issued
notices to the Ministry of Environment and Forests and the state government of Orissa.
Literature cited
FRAZIER, J.G. 2005. Biosphere reserves and the Yucatan Syndrome: Another look at the role of NGOs. In: R. Smardon and B. Faust (eds.)
Biosphere Reserve Management in the Yucatan Peninsula - Special Edition. Landscape and Urban Planning 74: 313-333.
FRAZIER, J. 2008. Why do They do That? Ruminations on the Dhamra Drama. Marine Turtle Newsletter. 121: 28-33.
IGOE, J. & S. SULLIVAN. 2009. Problematising Neoliberal Biodiversity Conservation: Displaced and Disobedient Knowledge Executive
summary of workshop held at Washington D.C., American University, Department of Anthropology, May 16-19, 2008,
http://www.iied.org/pubs/pdfs/G02526.pdf.
MATHEW, S. 2004. Socio-economic aspects of management measures aimed at controlling sea turtle mortality: a case study of Orissa, India.
Paper presented at the Expert Consultation on Interactions between Sea Turtles and Fisheries within an Ecosystem Context, Rome, 9-12
March2004. FAO Fisheries Report No. 738, Suppl. Rome, Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), 2004. 238p.
PRUSTY, B.G. & S. DASH. 2006. The effect of rookery geomorphology on olive ridley nesting in Gahirmatha, Orissa. In: Marine Turtles of the
Indian Subcontinent (eds. Shanker, K. & B. C. Choudhury), pp. 384-392. Universities Press, Hyderabad, India.
SHANKER, K. B.C. CHOUDHURY, A. FERNANDES, S. GOPAL, A. HAMID, C. KAR, S. KUMAR, J. LENIN, B. MOHANTY, B.
PANDAV, S. RODRIGUEZ, A. SRIDHAR, W. SUNDERRAJ, B. TRIPATHY, R. WHITAKER, S. WORAH & B. WRIGHT. 2009. A little
learning ..: the price of ignoring politics and history. Marine Turtle Newsletter 124: 3-5.
SHANKER, K., B. PANDAV & B.C. CHOUDHURY. 2004. An assessment of the olive ridley turtles (Lepidochelys olivacea) nesting population
in Orissa, India. Biological Conservation 115: 149 160.
SHANKER, K. & R. KUTTY. 2005. Sailing the flagship fantastic: myth and reality of sea turtle conservation in India. Maritime Studies 3(2) and
4(1): 213-240.
SHANKER, K. AND CHOUDHURY, B.C. 2006. Marine turtles in the Indian subcontinent: a brief history. In: Marine Turtles of the Indian
Subcontinent (eds. Shanker, K. & B. C. Choudhury), pp. 3-16. Universities Press, Hyderabad, India.
SRIDHAR, A. 2005. Sea turtle conservation and fisheries in Orissa, India. Samudra Monograph. International Collective in Support of
Fishworkers, Chennai, India.
WRIGHT, B. AND MOHANTY, B. 2006. Operation Kachhapa: an NGO initiative for sea turtle conservation in Orissa. In: Marine Turtles of the
Indian Subcontinent (eds. Shanker, K. & B. C. Choudhury), pp. 290-303. Universities Press, Hyderabad, India.

Peeling the onion: the politics of conservation and corporations at

a sea turtle rookery
By Kartik Shanker, Janaki Lenin and Ashish Fernandes
The Hindu Survey of The Environment 2009

There is a large body of work on the impact of development on the environment, including rigorous historical accounts, and careful studies on
governance, institutions and political ecology and economy. More visible however is the widespread, somewhat histrionic rhetoric, from prodevelopment capitalists and environmental activists. A common thread between those in favour of development and those advocating
environmental sustainability appears to lie in the realm of social and environmental justice and equity. One can therefore ask if those who claim to
subscribe to this common goal ie. self-proclaimed socially responsible corporations and environmental conservation organisations actually
do justice to it in their actions.
Typically, this battle between environment and development has been cast as a fight between good versus evil (or at best, good versus
misguided) by both sides. However, the role of big international NGOs (or BINGOs) in conservation has been questioned in recent years. In his
seminal article, A challenge to conservationists: can we protect natural habitats without abusing the people who live in them? in World Watch in
2004, Mac Chapin questioned the corporate funding of large international conservation NGOs working in developing countries, such as
Worldwide Fund for Nature, The Nature Conservancy and Conservation International, and their drive to establish protected areas from which
indigenous people are excluded. While displacement of people to enable infrastructure development such as dams is well-known, people are also
evicted in the name of conservation, dubbed conservation refugees by Mark Dowie.
Currently, many of these large conservation organisations work with or receive significant funds from large corporations. For example,
Conservation Internationals website states We partner with businesses such as Wal-Mart, Starbucks, and McDonalds to help them establish
green benchmarks and embrace environmentally sound practices. IUCN has major partnerships with Royal Dutch Shell, Total (French Oil
Giant) and other agreements are in the pipeline. Recently, the partnership between Shell and IUCN came under considerable criticism at the
World Conservation Congress held at Barcelona in October 2008. According to the agreement, the partnership aims to enhance the biodiversity
conservation performance by Shell and to strengthen IUCNs capacity for leadership in business and biodiversity. Though more than 60% of
the IUCN membership voted for a motion to end the agreement, it was rejected on a technicality.
In India too, there is substantial controversy over the conflicting demands of environmental conservation and development, and the role of policy
in facilitating change. For example, the recent suggested replacement of the Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) Notification, 1991, with a Coastal
Management Zone Notification, is believed to be driven by business interests that would result in the development of the coast, at the cost of local
inhabitants and habitats. The politics of conservation and development, involves a variety of players, and is not simple. We illustrate this here
through the battle over a port and a sea turtle nesting rookery involving many actors, including large corporations, international conservation
organisations, local conservationists, and many others.
A brief history of sea turtle conservation in Orissa
Olive ridley turtles nest en masse at several beaches in Orissa, mainly Gahirmatha, Rushikulya and Devi River Mouth. Sea turtle conservation
started in Orissa in the mid 1970s, when Robert Bustard, a FAO consultant, visited Bhitarkanika on a crocodile survey, and discovered the mass
nesting beach at Gahirmatha. Over the next two decades, various organisations including the Forest Department, Central Marine Fisheries
Research Institute (CMFRI), and Utkal University were involved in sea turtle research and conservation. During the late 1970s and early 1980s,
following the introduction of mechanized boats, there was large scale exploitation of adult turtles in Orissa (>50,000 turtles per season) for sale as
meat in West Bengal. Due to the implementation of the Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972 by the Forest Department in the early 1980s, and
conservation efforts by many individuals and organisations, this was eventually stopped. Notably, late Prime Minister Indira Gandhi expressed her
support for sea turtle conservation in Orissa and facilitated the involvement of the Coast Guard, which helped in enforcing regulations.
Despite an alert issued by the CMFRI, the mortality as incidental catch in trawl nets continued to increase dramatically through the 1990s, and in
recent years, more than 10,000 dead turtles wash up on the Orissa coast annually. The unpredictability in the extent and timing of arribadas,
declining size of nesting turtles, aggravated by the huge mortality of adult turtles, is believed to be indicative of an impending decline in olive
ridley populations in Orissa. It has also become clear that changes in the geomorphology may be leading to the decline in nesting at Gahirmatha,
while nesting in Rushikulya appears to be increasing, and mass-nesting in the Devi region has not occurred for more than a decade.
Through the 1990s, many conservation organisations and programmes such as Operation Kachhapa focused on mitigating trawler related
mortality through enforcement and media campaigns. Around the same time, the USA extended its domestic law to all its trading partner
countries, requiring shrimp trawlers to use Turtle Excluder Devices (TEDs). Following extensive protest and deliberation at the WTO (in which
India was one of the complainants), the US position was upheld. Though mandated through law in Orissa, few trawler owners are inclined to use

TEDs for a variety of reasons. As elsewhere, such as the USA, trawler owners protested that only one of the causes of turtle mortality was being
targeted.
The focus on trawlers created a vitiated atmosphere, in which most fishermen perceived conservation as anti-people. In 2004, recognising the
impasse between fishing communities and turtle conservation, local and national conservation organizations and individuals, community
organisations, and fishworker support organisations came together under the umbrella of the Orissa Marine Resources Conservation Consortium
(www.omrcc.org). This group has been attempting to promote the conservation of marine biodiversity, including turtles, along with the
livelihoods of the poor artisanal fishermen. The laws are conducive to this goal as they mainly seek to prohibit mechanised fishing in near-shore
waters, which is beneficial to turtles and traditional fishermen. Today, a large number of international, national, local and community-based
organisations are involved in various aspects of sea turtle conservation in Orissa (see india.seaturtle.org).
History of the port at Dhamra
The Dhamra Port has been in the pipeline for over a decade now. Clearance to build a port was granted in 1997 taking advantage of an amendment
to the Coastal Zone Regulation (CRZ) Notification that allowed the expansion of minor ports (Dhamra is a notified minor port) with clearance
issued by the Ministry of Surface Transport rather than the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF). The power to clear such projects has
since returned to the MoEF. The port was to be built by International Seaports (India) Private Limited under an agreement with the Government of
Orissa. In 2004, Tata steel and L&T agreed to develop the port as a 50:50 joint venture through the Dhamra Port Company Limited (DPCL) which
was awarded a concession by the Orissa Government to build the port. According to the website, it will be the deepest port in India and
strategically close to the mineral belts in nearby states (http://www.dhamraport.com/). Although the characteristics of the current port proposal
vary from that of International Seaports Limited, the environmental clearance granted to the latter was used. It is widely considered that the
scientific and legal validity of the EIA and environment clearance for Dhamra port are questionable, given the change in scale and location of the
project.
The opposition to this port citing negative impacts on sea turtles picked up again about 3 years ago, with Greenpeace being the most outspoken
critic. Citing concern for sea turtle conservation, representatives of Tata & DPCL then contacted several biologists around the country and
requested that they conduct studies (offshore distribution studies of olive ridley turtles with satellite telemetry) to see if sea turtles would indeed
be adversely affected by the port. Biologists and subsequently NGOs such as Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) and WWF declined to
engage with DPCL unless the company agreed to a fresh EIA and to stop construction while studies were ongoing.
In 2006, DPCL contracted the IUCN, to draft an environmental management plan. The IUCN, working through its voluntary body, the Marine
Turtle Specialist Group, undertook the project, over-ruling the opposition expressed by almost all its local members. Members of the MTSG in
India believe the agreement was effected without due process, a lack of transparency, in contravention of the precautionary principle, and
therefore likely to undermine local efforts towards sea turtle conservation in Orissa. To illustrate the extent of protest, IUCNs involvement in the
project is opposed by WWF, Greenpeace, OMRCC, Wildlife Protection Society of India, Wildlife Society of Orissa, biologists working at the
Wildlife Institute of India, Indian Institute of Science, WWF, Gujarat Institute of Desert Ecology, and several local conservation
organisations. Despite protests and numerous letters, the IUCN and MTSG continue to engage with the company.
While IUCNs advice to use deflectors on dredgers and light reduction may reduce negative impacts on turtles, the need is for an environmental
management plan, based on a comprehensive impact analysis. Inexplicably, the IUCN advisors who stressed the need for a fresh EIA in their
scoping mission, today conclude that it is unnecessary. The focus on sea turtles to the exclusion of other biodiversity, particularly in Bhitarkanika
National Park which is closest to the port site, and ignoring the consequences of coastal erosion/accretion, invasive species brought by visiting
ships and the other concomitant negative impacts of ports, is likely to have long term fallout. So too is the IUCNs refusal to work with local
conservation organisations, while partnering with a major international corporation.
Over the last 6 months, the port promoters (Tata Steel and L&T, as well as DPCL) have held meetings with a coalition of local conservation
groups. The conservationists continued to stress the need for a comprehensive, credible and independent impact assessment given the very
obvious gaps in the 1997 EIA. Again, due to the refusal to pause construction (or even dredging during the nesting season) while studies were
ongoing, the dialogue did not lead to a resolution.

Corporate conservation: a tangled web

Clearly, all parties have taken some actions ostensibly to effect positive impacts on the environment. IUCN, through the MTSG, has stuck to the
argument that its engagement with the project will be beneficial for sea turtles. Local conservation groups have argued for a broader conservation
outlook which addresses a wider set of concerns including habitat conservation and local livelihoods. Tata Steel/DPCLs willingness to accept
some environmental safeguards may have been (and still be) an opportunity to mainstream some of these as regulations in port and coastal
development.

However, both conservationists and corporations have also been remarkably similar in their singular approach to meet their mandates. The
corporation has been clearly unwilling to negotiate on the critical issue of a faulty EIA or to consider halting construction. As noted sea turtle
conservationist Jack Frazier has repeatedly stressed, big conservation NGOs, especially IUCN, have largely ignored a range of other issues such
as the impact on social development, environmental consequences of social change, impacts on fisheries, introduction of invasives through bilge
water disposal, and most importantly impacts on the coastal ecosystems. Conservationist organisations have a lot more in common with
corporations than they would like to believe, particularly in the way that they use information selectively. And large international conservation
organisations appear to have much in common with their benefactors, especially in the way they function and make decisions.
In conclusion, it is not clear that such conservation corporation partnerships are beneficial for long-term conservation of species and habitats,
especially when done in contravention of the precautionary principle, in opposition to local conservation groups, and with little transparency. By
focusing exclusively on sea turtles to the neglect of coastal ecosystems and people, it appears as if this BINGO has either abdicated its role as a
leader in the field or has set its bar so low that it does no more than provide a green chit to the company. In developing nations such as India
where resources are scarce, the long term viability of conservation depends substantially on local support. Lack of attention to social issues can
alienate local communities from conservation, ultimately jeopardizing the survival of species and habitats.
Acknowledgements: This article has benefited from comments and discussions with Jack Frazier, Sudarshan Rodriguez and Aarthi Sridhar. For
more articles on this issue, see the Marine Turtle Newsletter (www.seaturtle.org/mtn) and the Indian Ocean Turtle Newsletter (www.iotn.org).
Authors
Kartik Shanker is with the Centre for Ecological Sciences, Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore & Dakshin Foundation, Bangalore.
Janaki Lenin is the IUCN/SSC/Crocodile Specialist Groups Regional Chair for South Asia and Iran.
Ashish Fernandes is an Oceans Campaigner for Greenpeace, Bangalore.

Trails in the Misty Mountains

Outlook Traveller Oct 2009

It is said that Somerset Maugham had a transcendental experience at Neterikkal Reservoir in Kalakkad-Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve. I had a more
worldly expectation; I went armed with a long wish list of animals, birds and insects. As we climbed up the road through Bombay Burmah
Trading Corporations (BBTC) Manjolai tea estate, RC, our Kani guide, pointed to a distant grassy platform as our destination, Kudiravetti.
The tops of crotons and rose bushes that border the front yard of the rest house had been cropped by sambhar. Below us spread the Manimuthar
and Karaiyar reservoirs, and the towns of the plains. The Kudiravetti grassland had few trees and a strong wind made hovering in one spot
difficult for a black-shouldered kite. Despite its remote location, the rest house had electricity and running water. Hotel Manikanda Vilas in
Oothu, just 15 minutes drive away, was the feeding station.
That night as we drove around the tea estate our light beams picked up the eye shine of gaur, and sambhar grazing on the succulent grass.
Although the chilly mountain air kept us awake and alert, we were startled by the brilliant eye shine of a large leopard stalking sambhar. Not a bad
start. Despite our excitement and curiosity, we drove on so as not to interrupt the hunt or disadvantage the predator. The rest of the night didn't
show up anything spectacular.
The next early morning we set off to visit Muthukulivayal, a two hour drive away. As the sun warmed up, scimitar babblers and Eurasian
blackbirds got busy and it was tempting to dawdle along the way. We had to hurry to beat the mist. Crossing the various bridges around the Upper

Kodayar reservoir revealed extensive vistas of forest as far as the eye could see. A herd of 17 gaur (check mark on my list) crashed through the
forest as we approached. We gave them a five minute head start before venturing after them. At the top of a grassy knoll, we watched the herd
disappear behind the hill. A huge black bull, so muscle-bound he could barely walk, brought up the rear.
We scanned the rocky outcrops for Nilgiri tahr but there was no sign of them. Unwilling to return just yet, I glassed the rocks again and came to
rest on three immobile rocks balanced on a large rocky slope. I excitedly gestured everyone over and pointed to the tahr. Maybe I was losing it
entirely; they were rocks after all. Just then, the three basking rocks peeled away from the slope. Then others stood up on nearby rocks and the
final tally was eight tahr (check). All of them made their way sedately across the grass, up the slope and over the crest. Elated at having seen the
tahr and gaur, we gorged on a celebratory breakfast of idlis and coconut chutney. My trip was made and everything else could only be icing.
Our host, Mr P, announced that our booking did not allow us to stay more than two nights and wed have to vacate the next day. This could be
bad. We considered the alternatives, none of them simple or bother-free. Eventually we decided wed ask Mr P to re-check and sure enough, we
were alright. There was no need to panic. I began to suspect that Mr P reveled in crises.
We returned to Muthukulivayal the next evening hoping to get a good shot of the gaur. We did indeed come across three herds but they were very
skittish. The safe distance was several hundred metres, no good for a decent picture. One lone bull grazed in the dull light and Gireesh waited for a
silhouette against the sky shot. When he did crest the hill, Gireesh whispered, He looks like a rabbit! Later that night, we came upon another
lone gaur bull grazing in the tea estate that ignored us completely. He grazed with single-minded concentration. We cleared our throats to get his
attention; he wasnt falling for that trick. Finally when Ravi turned off the engine, the gaur looked up long enough in the middle of a bite. Instead
of a majestic stately creature, it looked like he was having a duh moment.
After sunset, we spotted a leopard (check) near the Upper Kodayar dam who disappeared into the undergrowth like a ghost. On the other side, a
couple of gaur with two tiny calves stood silhouetted on a short bluff overlooking the road. Although we were close by, they didnt run away. RC
surmised that the leopard may be stalking the calves and they were playing it safe by being out in the open, by the road. We didnt hang around to
learn the outcome of this unraveling event.
On our return, Mr P had another crisis ready for us: one of the bridges that permits access to Kudiravetti was to be demolished the next day and
we would have to leave by 6 am. It turned out that the demolition was slated for 4 pm only; by then we would have left. So yet another crisis
fizzled out with no major intervention. We figured he had earned the nickname of Mr Crisis Queen.
Another morning, we set off for Kakachi to trek up the Sengeltheri path. We parked the car near the Forest Department bunker called Fern House
and explored the forest patch along the road. The enormously winged tree nymph butterflies (check) flapped and soared lazily through the trees.
Large velvety brown, aromatic nutmeg fruits lay by the roadside, apparently eaten by lion-tailed macaques and other creatures. Tree ferns grew
luxuriantly along the streambanks.
While birdwatching along the road, Ravi amazed us by spotting a large-scaled green pit viper on a branch about 25 feet off the ground. Try as I
may, I just could not see it among the jumble of leaves, and branches. Since pit vipers are known to sit in the same spot for weeks, sometimes
even months, we returned that night to see if we could eyeshine the snake. No luck, their pupils are too small. The next day I was finally able to
see the snake stretched along a twig, a couple of inches to the right of where he had been before. Subsequently we spotted it regularly on our trips
up and down that road until we left a couple of days later. This is a real sit and wait predator!
With a pair of mountain imperial pigeons quietly honking at each other, we set off up the path behind Fern House. We were armoured in our
choice of anti-leech weaponry: Ravi liberally dusted his socks and shoes with snuff, RC smeared Clinic Plus shampoo around his chappals,
Gireeshs leech socks were sprayed with insecticide and powdered with snuff while my leech socks were doused with insecticide. The smell of
RCs sweetly perfumed foot gear wafted up as I followed him up a steep slope.
It was impossible to tell what species of massive trees lined our path; they were so tall that their leaves were way up in the canopy. Helpfully,
researchers had labeled some trees along the path and I saw the most humongous Calophyllum of my life. It was a steep uphill climb that
expanded the capacity of our lungs to the limit. The spiny rinds of cullenia lay strewn along the path; the aril, or seed lining of this fruit is a
favourite food of lion-tailed macaques. As the sun rose, beams of light filtered through the tree trunks and lit the forest floor. Distant calls of
Nilgiri langurs and the drumming of the white-bellied woodpecker resonated through the forest. At a junction of two paths, we hear a constant,
rapid, loud clicking sound. RC said elephant stomach rumbling or the whiskers of a tiger vibrating. He turned circumspectly onto the
Sengeltheri path to investigate while I walked straight down to a large swamp. I was pretty sure they were frog calls but local tribal intelligence
maintained that it was the tremendously vibrating whiskers of a tiger.
Seeing us, a giant Malabar squirrel set up a din that sounded like one of those light flashing toy guns. We had breakfast on the rocks while I
mused over the enigma of the skid tracks all around us. Gaur apparently have no sense of balance here; even on perfectly level ground they
appeared to slip and slide. Beyond the rocks, a path split off which RC said was made by elephants. He reluctantly led the way on my suggestion.
After a while he refused to continue as the terrain was flat and should an elephant charge there was no way to escape. Back on the main path,
courting butterflies chased each other in the sun beams. A lot of the time in the rainforest is spent with our heads thrown back and with binoculars

glued to our eyes. To maintain this posture, one needs a neck of cast iron and arms of steel.
We wondered what Mr Crisis Queen had waiting for us at base camp. It wasnt long in coming. Twenty people were expected to visit that night.
There were only 3 rooms of which we had 2. None of the rooms were large enough for even 3 people to share. We anticipated unpleasant drunken
noisiness. Only five people came up while the others stayed elsewhere. What did I tell you?
Next morning as we reluctantly left the forest behind us, I realized that my faculties were alert to movements, sounds, colours, and textures; I was
no more a sluggish domestic buffalo. It may not have been an out of body experience, but the energy the forest gave me and the sharpening of the
senses allowed my mind and body to encompass the world.

Trails in the Misty Mountains

Outlook Traveller Oct 2009

It is said that Somerset Maugham had a transcendental experience at Neterikkal Reservoir in Kalakkad-Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve. I had a more
worldly expectation; I went armed with a long wish list of animals, birds and insects. As we climbed up the road through Bombay Burmah
Trading Corporations (BBTC) Manjolai tea estate, RC, our Kani guide, pointed to a distant grassy platform as our destination, Kudiravetti.
The tops of crotons and rose bushes that border the front yard of the rest house had been cropped by sambhar. Below us spread the Manimuthar
and Karaiyar reservoirs, and the towns of the plains. The Kudiravetti grassland had few trees and a strong wind made hovering in one spot
difficult for a black-shouldered kite. Despite its remote location, the rest house had electricity and running water. Hotel Manikanda Vilas in
Oothu, just 15 minutes drive away, was the feeding station.
That night as we drove around the tea estate our light beams picked up the eye shine of gaur, and sambhar grazing on the succulent grass.
Although the chilly mountain air kept us awake and alert, we were startled by the brilliant eye shine of a large leopard stalking sambhar. Not a bad
start. Despite our excitement and curiosity, we drove on so as not to interrupt the hunt or disadvantage the predator. The rest of the night didn't
show up anything spectacular.
The next early morning we set off to visit Muthukulivayal, a two hour drive away. As the sun warmed up, scimitar babblers and Eurasian
blackbirds got busy and it was tempting to dawdle along the way. We had to hurry to beat the mist. Crossing the various bridges around the Upper
Kodayar reservoir revealed extensive vistas of forest as far as the eye could see. A herd of 17 gaur (check mark on my list) crashed through the
forest as we approached. We gave them a five minute head start before venturing after them. At the top of a grassy knoll, we watched the herd
disappear behind the hill. A huge black bull, so muscle-bound he could barely walk, brought up the rear.
We scanned the rocky outcrops for Nilgiri tahr but there was no sign of them. Unwilling to return just yet, I glassed the rocks again and came to
rest on three immobile rocks balanced on a large rocky slope. I excitedly gestured everyone over and pointed to the tahr. Maybe I was losing it
entirely; they were rocks after all. Just then, the three basking rocks peeled away from the slope. Then others stood up on nearby rocks and the
final tally was eight tahr (check). All of them made their way sedately across the grass, up the slope and over the crest. Elated at having seen the
tahr and gaur, we gorged on a celebratory breakfast of idlis and coconut chutney. My trip was made and everything else could only be icing.
Our host, Mr P, announced that our booking did not allow us to stay more than two nights and wed have to vacate the next day. This could be
bad. We considered the alternatives, none of them simple or bother-free. Eventually we decided wed ask Mr P to re-check and sure enough, we
were alright. There was no need to panic. I began to suspect that Mr P reveled in crises.

We returned to Muthukulivayal the next evening hoping to get a good shot of the gaur. We did indeed come across three herds but they were very
skittish. The safe distance was several hundred metres, no good for a decent picture. One lone bull grazed in the dull light and Gireesh waited for a
silhouette against the sky shot. When he did crest the hill, Gireesh whispered, He looks like a rabbit! Later that night, we came upon another
lone gaur bull grazing in the tea estate that ignored us completely. He grazed with single-minded concentration. We cleared our throats to get his
attention; he wasnt falling for that trick. Finally when Ravi turned off the engine, the gaur looked up long enough in the middle of a bite. Instead
of a majestic stately creature, it looked like he was having a duh moment.
After sunset, we spotted a leopard (check) near the Upper Kodayar dam who disappeared into the undergrowth like a ghost. On the other side, a
couple of gaur with two tiny calves stood silhouetted on a short bluff overlooking the road. Although we were close by, they didnt run away. RC
surmised that the leopard may be stalking the calves and they were playing it safe by being out in the open, by the road. We didnt hang around to
learn the outcome of this unraveling event.
On our return, Mr P had another crisis ready for us: one of the bridges that permits access to Kudiravetti was to be demolished the next day and
we would have to leave by 6 am. It turned out that the demolition was slated for 4 pm only; by then we would have left. So yet another crisis
fizzled out with no major intervention. We figured he had earned the nickname of Mr Crisis Queen.
Another morning, we set off for Kakachi to trek up the Sengeltheri path. We parked the car near the Forest Department bunker called Fern House
and explored the forest patch along the road. The enormously winged tree nymph butterflies (check) flapped and soared lazily through the trees.
Large velvety brown, aromatic nutmeg fruits lay by the roadside, apparently eaten by lion-tailed macaques and other creatures. Tree ferns grew
luxuriantly along the streambanks.
While birdwatching along the road, Ravi amazed us by spotting a large-scaled green pit viper on a branch about 25 feet off the ground. Try as I
may, I just could not see it among the jumble of leaves, and branches. Since pit vipers are known to sit in the same spot for weeks, sometimes
even months, we returned that night to see if we could eyeshine the snake. No luck, their pupils are too small. The next day I was finally able to
see the snake stretched along a twig, a couple of inches to the right of where he had been before. Subsequently we spotted it regularly on our trips
up and down that road until we left a couple of days later. This is a real sit and wait predator!
With a pair of mountain imperial pigeons quietly honking at each other, we set off up the path behind Fern House. We were armoured in our
choice of anti-leech weaponry: Ravi liberally dusted his socks and shoes with snuff, RC smeared Clinic Plus shampoo around his chappals,
Gireeshs leech socks were sprayed with insecticide and powdered with snuff while my leech socks were doused with insecticide. The smell of
RCs sweetly perfumed foot gear wafted up as I followed him up a steep slope.
It was impossible to tell what species of massive trees lined our path; they were so tall that their leaves were way up in the canopy. Helpfully,
researchers had labeled some trees along the path and I saw the most humongous Calophyllum of my life. It was a steep uphill climb that
expanded the capacity of our lungs to the limit. The spiny rinds of cullenia lay strewn along the path; the aril, or seed lining of this fruit is a
favourite food of lion-tailed macaques. As the sun rose, beams of light filtered through the tree trunks and lit the forest floor. Distant calls of
Nilgiri langurs and the drumming of the white-bellied woodpecker resonated through the forest. At a junction of two paths, we hear a constant,
rapid, loud clicking sound. RC said elephant stomach rumbling or the whiskers of a tiger vibrating. He turned circumspectly onto the
Sengeltheri path to investigate while I walked straight down to a large swamp. I was pretty sure they were frog calls but local tribal intelligence
maintained that it was the tremendously vibrating whiskers of a tiger.
Seeing us, a giant Malabar squirrel set up a din that sounded like one of those light flashing toy guns. We had breakfast on the rocks while I
mused over the enigma of the skid tracks all around us. Gaur apparently have no sense of balance here; even on perfectly level ground they
appeared to slip and slide. Beyond the rocks, a path split off which RC said was made by elephants. He reluctantly led the way on my suggestion.
After a while he refused to continue as the terrain was flat and should an elephant charge there was no way to escape. Back on the main path,
courting butterflies chased each other in the sun beams. A lot of the time in the rainforest is spent with our heads thrown back and with binoculars
glued to our eyes. To maintain this posture, one needs a neck of cast iron and arms of steel.
We wondered what Mr Crisis Queen had waiting for us at base camp. It wasnt long in coming. Twenty people were expected to visit that night.
There were only 3 rooms of which we had 2. None of the rooms were large enough for even 3 people to share. We anticipated unpleasant drunken
noisiness. Only five people came up while the others stayed elsewhere. What did I tell you?
Next morning as we reluctantly left the forest behind us, I realized that my faculties were alert to movements, sounds, colours, and textures; I was
no more a sluggish domestic buffalo. It may not have been an out of body experience, but the energy the forest gave me and the sharpening of the
senses allowed my mind and body to encompass the world.

Descent into the Valley of the Hornbills - A Kameng Odyssey

Outlook Traveller June 2009
Im an Indian and even I dont want to visit this place. Its a punishment posting for me, Im sorry to say. But I have no choice, Im building a
dam here. Why did you people choose to come here? asked a loud voice that cut through our dinnertime conversation rudely. The man was drunk
and we were suddenly tongue-tied. No one tried to reply to his befuddled face and eventually the engineers embarrassed colleagues hustled him
away. How was one to tell him that the idea of visiting this part of the world had made us salivate with anticipation? However, we didnt blame
him for his uncharitable thoughts. If we had been stuck in Seppa (christened Septic Seppa for its garbage and disarray), we would have also
rudely barged into someone elses party and asked the same question. But we were just transiting through this frontier town and had another 60
km to go.
At our destination, Marjangle, a Nishi village set on a one-vehicle dirt track on the Arunchal hillside, we set up camp on the gravelly beach and
went to sleep to the soothing sounds of the River Kameng gurgling over pebbles. Kameng trickled out of a lake below the 6858 m Gori Chen
glacier on the Indo-Tibetan border. It rushes down western Arunachal Pradesh increasing in volume until it meets the Brahmaputra near Tezpur,
Assam. This expedition was to be the third descent of the Kameng.
The next morning, an audience watched us break camp. There was an audible gasp when the tents were collapsed and packed into bags. Pretty
soon, the only things left standing were the crafts - two rafts, one catamaran for cargo and a safety kayak. A second cat would be put in much
later in the trip. Long after sun-up, we were all kitted up, briefed on safety issues and had boarded our respective rafts. Will you bring us a
woman or two next time you come, asked the village elder while we waited for the cat to get loaded up. We turned to each other, Did he
really say that? The elder repeated his request and we pretended to ignore him. He upped the ante, Ill give you [an animals] head and he
spaced his hands out in front of his chest. I wondered what animal he was offering to trade but to seek clarification is to signal willingness to
negotiate. Our presence was provocative enough that he unsheathed his sword and began an impromptu dance on the rivers edge. The cameras
came out which goaded him to dance some more. Eventually the cat was ready and we set off. Considering how recently (right up to the 40s and
50s) head-hunting and slave-taking were part of the areas history, we got away easily.

Two young hunters watching us portage the rafts over boulders

The river was low as the last monsoons had not been adequate. We decided to forge ahead nonetheless. The rafts snagged on boulders and often
just the whole crew, comically bouncing up and down in unison was enough to free them. The cat, weighed down by cargo, needed more handson shifting and shaking to make it budge. Sometimes, we carried baggage around non-existent rapids delaying us by hours. On the first day, we
barely made 8 km of the total of 116 km.
We were tired, yes, but the kitchen crew and the river guides slogged the most, making several trips transporting the heaviest bags, pushing and
pulling rafts out of rocks, over boulders, setting up the kitchen, cooking, pumping water into the decanter for drinking, loading and unloading all
the gear every day. At the end of a very rough first day, Anvesh (the safety kayaker) moaned in mock misery, Why did I not listen to my father
and study to be an engineer? I remembered the homesick engineer at Seppa and thought Anvesh had it good.
Every afternoon, while we set up camp, Rom would stalk off with a fishing rod hoping to catch a chocolate mahseer or snow trout, but any fish
would do. The local fish didnt fancy his American spinners. The kitchen staff helpfully made a ball of wheat dough for bait. On the Cauvery in
south India, Rom had successfully caught mahseer on ragi balls. The Himalayan fish didnt even taste it. The local fishermen we met along the
way advised using insect baits. The dynamite blasting we heard every day, however, didnt bode well. Throwing a stick of the explosive into the
river stuns all the fish in that area and they float belly up, easy pickings for the lazy fisherman. The larger fish go into the pot, while the smaller
fish float down river, unnecessarily dead.

Once camp had been set up, vegetables chopped for dinner and the next days breakfast and lunch, we sat by the fire roasting our wet suits, and
polypropylene underwear (The polypros were essential especially if we fell into the freezing water.). The trick to speed drying is not to let them
hang from a post but to stand in them by the fire. But by the time we pulled ashore, everyone eagerly anticipated getting out of the wet, clingy,
heavy suits so this wisdom was wasted knowledge. We were shooting through rapids within a short time of donning our fire-dried and smoked
suits and it was no wonder that none of the river guides ever bothered drying theirs. Nonetheless we hassled it every night for those first few
minutes of comfort every morning. All our belongings went into a waterproof bag that had to be vacuum packed to withstand the tumbling
through the rapids. Unfortunate souls who didnt pack well had to dry their sleeping bags and clothes by the fire. In one case, even a passport!
The next day, the speed of travel increased as the Pakke River joined the Kameng and we didnt have to stop for every little pile of boulders. And
we finally encountered some pretty hairy rapids, the Pakke Socksucker (Class 4 +). The rapids were spaced out in 4 stages and we managed to get
through the first two easily while the third almost had us! Just as we were digging into our shoes (and socks) for the last stage, Arvind, the river
guide, yelled BACKPADDLE, BACKPADDLE. Our adrenalin-fueled paddle-work took us ashore; we had been about to shoot straight into a
logjam. There was no choice but to haul out and hoist baggage and raft over the boulders, paddle across a still pool to a beach. Exhausted, this is
where we camped.

The Gruesome Geyser

The next morning we woke up to discover that the river level had gone up overnight. Our campfire was inundated and the still pool had turned
into a cascading waterfall. It had rained upriver; and it could only get better. The days highlight was Gruesome Geyser (Class 5). We braced
ourselves for the washing machine turbulence and I was mundanely hoping not to lose my contact lenses. But then, anticlimax: the river guides
decided not to risk it; so we portaged the bags over the boulders. Once the rescue team signaled ok, by holding one closed fist on top of the
head, to each other, the guides rafted down. Thus we chickened out of rafting two of the best-named rapids of the river!
After a few days of team paddling, we were finally just developing a rhythm. In the heart of the rapids, with the water deafening in our ears,
Arvind yelled HARD FORWARD, HARD FORWARD. We obeyed him reflexively but sometimes we were paddling the air so hard that we
almost lost balance and fell in. When the raft was in danger of being buffeted, we hunkered down and held on to the safety rope. If we werent
where we were supposed to be on a rapid, we would have to instantaneously go OVER RIGHT or OVER LEFT without conking our
counterparts teeth with the back of the paddle. It seems very easy to fall into the rapids, perched as we were on the side tubes. Seat belts would be
life-threatening if the raft flipped. In fact, a slamming hard turn through a boiling rapid caused one rafter to fall in. He went under for a moment
but the rapids quickly spat him out. Later the guides told us that some particularly ugly mothers can pound an overboard rafter underwater for a
minute or more before releasing him. But Max came shooting out of the rapids, face and feet pointing skywards. We were downriver and paddled
hard to get to the centre of the current to meet him. Several hands hoisted him aboard, a textbook rescue. The rapid was christened the Max
Ejector.
We stopped under the bridge spanning the river at Pakke village; the rapids ahead needed scouting. School kids clutching fragments of textbooks
and notebooks in their hands crowded around, a few also had catapults, and all had runny noses. One of the older ones shyly asked, The last year
when the kayakers came, they gave us American food. It was very tasty. Do you have any American food? Wed like to taste it once more.
Unfortunately every article was packed in the wet bags which were lashed to the rafts and the catamarans and there was no way we could unpack
kit and caboodle there. Another poked the inflatable raft and asked what was it made of. Rom countered, What do you think it is made of? and
the thoughtful youngster replied elephant skin. Last year, a man had tried to puncture the inflatable cat with his dagger, perhaps not
maliciously but out of curiosity. Some of the kids wanted to get into the raft and we were afraid that it might capsize because once a few got on,

there was no way we could hold back the others. Although we said it was dangerous, we did wish we could take them for a ride. Our trip wasnt
bringing any benefits to local people directly, but we could share the fun at least. As we prepared to leave, one of the kids hailed us. We had left a
rescue bag behind.

Eamon, one of the river guides, studying the medical kit for a quick cold fix
That afternoon, the river was flat and we paddled extra time to get past Seppa. Filth, plastic bottles and other debris, the familiar symbols of
modern civilization littered the banks. Perched inches above this sewage-stinking filth, sometimes being splashed with it, felt disgusting. A few
hundred metres away was a sandy beach dominated by two large fig trees, which was to be our camp. Anvesh warned everyone against hanging
anything on them as they were colonized by weaver ants. We could see the small parcels of nests on the crown silhouetted against the sky. These
little Napoleans of the forest are disproportionately fierce in protecting their trees. Make the mistake of leaning on the tree or hanging anything
on it, and their stinging bites are enough to sow terror in your memory forever.
The next day, we rafted through 23 rapids (Class 4) within a few hours. Arvind talked of hydraulics, spill-overs and whirlpools and when he
described his strategy for riding them, we felt like teenage adrenalin junkies. But he seemed so confident that we suppressed any glimmer of
sanity. This was white water nirvana. Anvesh, who had been complaining earlier, couldnt stop beaming. He eskimo-rolled more times an hour
than any sea otter.

Confluence camp

Somewhere along the way we entered Pakke Tiger Reserve. After seeing a lot of slashed and burnt hillsides, finally there was old growth forest of
the kind we sought. At every pit stop we found leopard tracks. On a sandy promontory overlooking the confluence of Kameng and Bichom, we
struck camp (Confluence Camp). Drawing inspiration from the spectacular setting, Rom headed for the rocky pools upriver. Fishermen must be
exceptional optimists to go out repeatedly in the face of so much failure. Hours later, a dejected Rom returned to camp mystified by the seeming
lack of life in the river. Earlier that day we had seen a dead fish bobbing amongst some rocks, a victim of dynamiting. It was the very same
species of labeo, an algae-eating carp that we had seen with fishermen, and at the market in Seppa. Where had all the other fish gone? In particular
where were the mahseer? The river narrowed and passed through Gorgeous Gorge with vegetation dripping down its steep stony walls and
contorted trees perched precariously on the edge. The river was swift flowing but deep and there were no boulders to add fizz to our journey. We
drifted along gazing up at the towering cliff sides, content in the knowledge that there were no roads or any infrastructure for a few miles around.
Its a miracle that in this country of a billion plus people, one could still lose oneself in the wilderness.
That evening we camped at the wildest spot on the entire trip. It had been named Stampede last year, after a lone, curious elephant had been
startled enough to run right through the middle of camp, missing the guy ropes of a few tents by inches. True to Anveshs tale, an elephant had
walked down the steep beach, swam across the river, climbed up onto our beach and disappeared into the jungle. When we thought back on our
days journey through high gorges, this was the first place that was negotiable by elephants; we were going to camp in the middle of an elephant
highway!
One of the crew caught a large grasshopper for Rom and he went off to try yet again, while some of us ventured to explore the forest behind the
camp. We followed the stream silently, ears alert to sounds of elephants feeding. Despite it being far away from humanity, there were abandoned
fishing traps on the river. High up in the nearest hill, we heard the bleating of goats. Yikes! We were close to humans, I muttered dismissively. It
was while I was climbing over some large boulders that I realized that the elephants had also done the same. I would never have believed that
possible had it not been for the tracks imprinted in the sand. Large ones and little baby ones. A leopard had also walked along the river as had
others, such as civets or martens. Colonies of little towers, about three inches high, rose in the drier parts of the river bed; it was dirt that had
passed through the gut of earthworms. Birds of unknown pedigree flitted amongst the red flowers of the bombax trees. Contentment and peace
settled over me at the sight of all this life.
Back at camp, I mentioned the goats to Rom who refused to believe us. He said it was a bird making the bleating call. That was hard to believe
just as it was hard to believe that there were goats in the middle of the forest. While we stood there debating, three pairs of Great Indian hornbills,
their great wings beating whoosh whoosh whoosh flow homewards in the dusk. There was nothing more to be said.
We had two fires going that night, one at either end of the camp, to keep out the elephants. We also agreed that if an elephant did approach we
would yell and make for the high ground on one side of camp. Another wondered if we should take turns staying awake and keeping watch.
Eventually after dinner, everyone was so exhausted, we just crawled into our tents and went to sleep. A brief spell of rain put out the fires
unbeknownst to us. Despite the failed precautions, all the tents were still standing the next morning! We were about to position ourselves for the
days first rapids, when one of the cats loaded heavy with bags hit a major hydraulic which swung it around and left it perched precariously.
Bhim would have slipped back and continued on had a subsequent wave not hit him just then and he capsized. Meanwhile the other raft had
already made it through and they rescued Bhim and towed the cat to quieter waters. We managed to raft through this white water without
mishap and the men rushed over to help.

Trying to set right a flipped catamaran

One side pulled and the other side pushed, it was evenly matched. The fulcrum had to shift to set the cat back on its tubes. It was exhausting to
even watch the struggle. The force of the rushing water didnt help the efforts at all nor was there any way of accessing the bags to lighten the

load. Finally one of the crew crawled through the gap under the cat, a risky maneuver, and pushed hard. The free tube flew through the air and
landed with a splash on the other side sending the pulling team into the water. Anvesh declared this was the first cat flip he had had in the last
12 years.

Landslides caused by road construction

About 16 rapids later, when the sun was nearly overhead, we began seeing earth-diggers, trucks, roads, colonies of construction workers. These
were precursory signs of the dam that was being constructed across the Kameng. Debris slid into the river, landslides marked the points where
roads had unsettled the stability of the slope. The boulders rolled down, bounced off the slope, flew through the air to land in the water with a big
splash. The river guides shrill whistles pierced our ears. They were trying to attract the attention of an earth mover way up on a hill slope that was
dropping the boulders into the river. Eventually a passing car conveyed our message and the machine stopped.
We had long flat stretches to paddle against a strong headwind until we reached the outskirts of Bhalukpong by late afternoon. The vehicles stood
ready to whisk us away to Nameri Eco Camp where we were greeted by the nonstop raucous chatter of hill mynas, and parakeets. After 7 days of
paddling, it felt good to rest our weary bodies on soft mattresses, eat dinner at a table, have a hot shower and clean the sand from our ears. The
fishing may have been disappointing, but the rafting certainly was way beyond our expectations. The trip had all the makings of a rite of passage;
we felt totally renewed despite being completely wrung out.

The triumphant team

Membership Excluder Devices

- Janaki Lenin and Rom Whitaker
Published in http://www.seaturtle.org/mtn/archives/mtn121/
Evidently, some time in late 2006, the IUCN signed an agreement with the Dhamra Port Company Ltd (DPCL) toward developing a sound
environmental management plan for development and operation of the Dharma Port
(http://cms.iucn.org/about/union/secretariat/offices/asia/asia_where_work/india_programme_office/dhamra_port/index.cfm), but details of the
agreement do not appear to have been made public. It seems IUCN sought specialist assistance from the MTSG, through its voluntary Co-Chairs,
Roderic Mast (Conservation International) and Nicolas Pilcher (Marine Research Foundation). Mast and Pilcher, in turn seem to have concluded
that Pilcher should represent the MTSG in this matter. Pilcher, seemingly with the support of Mast, undertook investigations and made various
recommendations in the name of the MTSG and IUCN.
There are several contentious issues arising out of IUCN and MTSGs involvement in this project. Of concern here, several IUCN and MTSG
members, particularly those from India, are troubled by the lack of transparency in IUCN and MTSG involvement. The SSC has provided
guidance on these matters through their Terms of Reference for SG [Specialist Group] and TF [Task Force] Chairs 2005-2008 and Guidelines
and Advice for SG and TF Chairs 2005-2008. We endeavour to analyze if the process of involvement followed these terms and guidelines.
Information Exchange:
The SSC rightly prioritizes Communication and networking as a crucial role of SG and TF Chairs, as the establishment of effective
communication is essential to the functioning of any SG/TF. Added specifically to this direction is the provision of Up-to-date information on
the most important threats to biodiversity and the actions being taken to mitigate these threats.
In an important and controversial case such as the Dhamra Port facility, even basic information on the involvement of IUCN and the MTSG, such
as the terms of agreement between DPCL and IUCN is not available. Meetings between MTSG leadership and Indian members were never
convened, and Indian members have been sidelined.
A lively discussion of the Dhamra project dominated the Annual Meeting of the MTSG held at the 28th International Sea Turtle Symposium in
January 2008, but no minutes of what transpired have been circulated, even to members*.
Consultation:
The SSC advises the SG Chairs to: Make interventions on technical issues in the name of the Group, ensuring adequate consultation within the
Group prior to making such interventions and Where such issues are potentially controversial, wide consultation and review within Groups, as
well as consultation with the Species Programme staff and the Office of the Chair, is expected. Recognizing the voluntary nature of the efforts
made by SG members, the SSC sees one benefit of consultation being: An ability to influence policy and decision making within the group, the
SSC and ultimately the IUCN through the World Conservation Congress.
The MTSG Co-Chairs insist that consultations about MTSG involvement with DPCL occurred, specifically involving Indian MTSG members
B.C. Choudhury, Bivash Pandav and Kartik Shanker. But these people state that there has been no consultation. The MTSG leadership says that
no minutes of these consultations were recorded, and to prove their claim of consultation, an email dated 29 August 2006, from Kartik, the then
Regional Chair, was referred to. But this message merely provided background information on the Dhamra issue to the Co-Chairs. According to
Pilcher, B.C. Choudhury and Bivash Pandav did not respond to emails, so it is unclear how that constitutes consultation. It does not appear that
MTSG members outside India were consulted at all. The case for broader consultation and involvement with local MTSG members, which
arguably did not happen in this case, is considered fundamental to the ability of the MTSG and any other SSC-Specialist Group to function
effectively. After all, specialists who speak the local languages, live and work within the socio-political system, and have dedicated decades of
their lives to conservation should have something useful to contribute. Besides, the absence of any local participation jeopardizes the long-term
sustainability of the project.
Conflict of Interest:
The SSC advise that Chairs should transparently reveal their own conflicts, but they need not exclude themselves from discussion or relinquish
their leadership role. With regard to Managing Money the SSC is more specific, Implementing conservation action should largely remain the
domain of individual SG members or groupings of members. The SG Chair and other SG officers play an important role in supporting their
members but not in the implementation of projects or programmes, per se.
Using ones knowledge and expertise to further the cause of conservation of biodiversity is not an unethical way of earning a living. In this case,

there are press reports of consultants fees paid by DPCL. If a paid job was offered to the SG, by what process or selection criteria did an overseas
Co-Chair and his organization get the job? Should it have been offered to in-country members? When these questions were raised with the broader
MTSG membership, on an e-mail discussion list, no clear and transparent answers were forthcoming. Indeed, the MTSG Regional Chair for India
(Kartik) resigned over what he considered a failure to observe due diligence on behalf of the MTSG Chairs.
Dispute Mediation:
The SSC Guidelines recognize that disputes between Specialist Group members will occur from time to time, and suggests SG chairs should
remain impartial, transparent, be trusted, respected and thus able to exert authority.
In this case, the MTSG Co-Chairs have initiated a process, in the name of the MTSG, that has unquestionably caused a dispute between MTSG
members and the Co-Chairs. The lack of transparency in the process and the leaderships vested interest in the project has eroded confidence that
members need to have in the Co-Chairs, making it improbable that they would be able to mediate disputes. It is difficult to see how this dispute
can be resolved amicably within the MTSG, unless the SSC and/or the affected members of the MTSG and the Co-Chairs appoint an independent
arbiter. There has been some casual discussion between the Co-Chairs and three of the Indian MTSG members about a possible meeting in
Bhubaneshwar, India, around September 2008, but four other Indian MTSG members have not been included in the exchange of emails.
Discussion:
Specialist Group members provide the SSC and IUCN with unique human resources; people skilled in the technical challenges of conserving
plants and animals, people familiar with the different national contexts in which conservation needs to be pursued, and people so committed to the
IUCN and its conservation goals that they are prepared to volunteer their efforts. All they expect in return is to be treated with professional respect
and be included in the processes of advancing conservation, particularly within their own countries.
For the Indian MTSG members, who have long been significant contributors to the MTSG, and who have been active in fostering sea turtle
conservation within India for decades, their marginalization is inexplicable. One can only imagine the response that would occur in other
countries, if Indian MTSG consultants were engaged to solve such a controversial development problem, without engaging local MTSG members
from the country involved. Attempts by the Indian MTSG members to obtain clear and transparent explanations about the MTSG involvement in
the Dhamra project have been met with elusive responses, couched in derogatory terms, which has further aggravated the situation and added to
the frustration. Hence our attempt to explain the situation, as we see it.
* The minutes were finally received by the authors on 10 July 2008, after the submission of this piece.

This article was greatly improved by comments from Jack Frazier, Ashish Fernandes and others who prefer to remain unnamed.

Gharial Crisis Update

PA Update April 1, 2008
As of March 29, 2008, 111 gharial (54 males, 48 females and 9 unknown) have been found dead on the Chambal. The first report of the mass dieoff was received on Dec 8, 2007. The mortality was limited to the lower 40 kms of the National Chambal Sanctuary, the stretch closest to the
Yamuna, killing about 33% of the adult/sub-adults (between the sizes of 1.6 m and 3.5 m). There are an estimated 1130 gharial found in 4
populations in India, of which nearly 1000 were counted in the Chambal during the survey of 2008.
During the initial days of the investigation, parasite overload and heavy metal concentration in the internal organs were bandied as the possible
causes. However, these were subsequently ruled out by international crocodile veterinarians. The Ministry of Environment and Forests instituted a
Crisis Management Group headed by Ravi Singh, the CEO of WWF-India. Post mortems conducted by experienced crocodile vets revealed
visceral and articular gout, caused by kidney failure. What caused this is still a matter of speculation. Toxins in the ecosystem, perhaps in the fish
or in the environment, is an avenue of investigation. The other speculation is that the gharial may have indulged in gluttony until their metabolism
could not handle it anymore in the cold winter months, leading to gout.
Although the National Chambal Sanctuary is a 428 km stretch of river, the gharial live in 4 main groups. The affected area is close to one of the
large groups and the incident may have wiped out a majority of the adults/sub-adults of this area. However surveys of 2008 reveal that this is not a
static system allowing the incident to be isolated. Instead, animals were seen moving downstream to occupy the area vacated by the dead gharial.
In 2007 surveys revealed that the affected area had 153 adults/sub-adults, while in 2008, the same area has 128 adults/sub-adults. So this stretch of
river could become a sink for the Chambal population.
Crocodile biologists say that it is critical to monitor nesting this year to assess reproductive success. Loss of fertility may indicate continued toxin
presence. The future course of action is to conduct extensive toxicology tests to identify the lethal toxin and its source, and studies on gharial

behavioural ecology.
The various organizations involved in the operation to get to the bottom of the crisis are:
1. Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India
2. Forest Departments of Uttar Pradesh (UP) and Madhya Pradesh (MP)
3. RiverWatch a joint initiative of Gharial Conservation Alliance (GCA) and Worldwide Fund for Nature-India (WWF)
4. IUCN/SSC Crocodile Specialist Group
5. The San Diego Zoological Society
6. AZA Crocodile Advisory Group, (USA)
7. Ocean Park, Hong Kong
8. Madras Crocodile Bank/Centre for Herpetology, Chennai
9. La Ferme aux Crocodiles, France
10. Wildlife SOS, Delhi and Agra
11. University of Florida, Gainesville
12. The City University, Hong Kong
13. Indian Veterinary Research Institute (IVRI), Bareilly
14. Defence Research and Development Establishment, Gwalior

The Road from Perdition

'Damned Gharial' in Tehelka Feb 3, 2008
http://www.tehelka.com/story_main37.asp?filename=Op020208change.asp
The ungainly body and short stubby legs are improbable attributes for the role of Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger. And yet, the gharial has been
hanging on the precipice of existence by its toenails for the last few decades. The future survival of an animal, that outlived the dinosaurs, depends
on whether we can give it a leg up over the abyss.
The gharials body plan is fine-tuned to make the best use of the habitat it had chosen for its final staging ground. It is a specialist like no other
crocodile in the world; deep rivers to live in, sand banks on which to bask and lay eggs, and plenty of fish to eat are prerequisites. This choosiness
ensured the survival of the gharial into the 20th century.
Today, however, these very same adaptations have morphed into the three nails on the gharials coffin. Developing India built mega-dams across
gharial rivers, silting them up. The building boom that began in the 1990s in nearby cities like Delhi and Agra is fed by sand from the gharials
nesting grounds on the Chambal. Fishermen deplete its prey while fishing nets become underwater curtains of death.
In the 1970s it was estimated that between Nepal and India less than 200 gharial survived. Within this narrowed range, the 425 km long unsullied
stretch of the Chambal was the best gharial real estate. An ambitious crocodile conservation project was launched by the Government of India
with collaboration from the United Nations Development Fund (UNDP) and the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). Project Crocodile was
touted as one of the most successful conservation programs in the world and yet no one has ever heard of it. Crocodile sanctuaries were declared,
a crocodile research institute set up and captive rearing stations built. Somewhere along the way, conservation action ground down to lethargy and
ineptitude.
In any conservation program, habitat protection is the first commandment, but it could not be enforced in the Chambal ravines, ruled by bandits
and warlords. The other most significant habitat, the River Girwa in the Katerniaghat Wildlife Sanctuary, remains stable for now. Obtaining local
peoples support is the second commandment, but it was deemed too difficult to do under the circumstances. Having thrown out the two most
important tenets of conservation, what did Project Crocodile do? Over the years it released thousands of expensively captive reared gharial into
the rivers the Chambal, the Girwa, the Ken, the Son and the Mahanadi. The released animals were not monitored so no one knows what became
of them. But annual census figures showed a steady climb upwards. Thats like adding apples to a basket and then counting them! In fact that was
the recommendation of the gharial Population and Habitat Viability Assessment to continue releasing captive reared gharial indefinitely. When
the number of gharial in the Chambal reached 1200 in the mid 1990s, crocodile conservationists, biologists, bureaucrats and politicians basked in
their achievement the species had been saved from extinction. But beneath this rosy picture, the gharial was barely hanging on.
The Government of India stopped further funds for the captive rearing project but the State governments persisted with the releases on a smaller
scale. The routine annual census stopped. And then in 2004, the hollowness of gharial conservation thus far was revealed. Dr. R.K. Sharma of the
Madhya Pradesh Forest Department set off the alarm gharial numbers were plummeting. With fewer apples being added to the basket, the
numbers didnt look so optimistic anymore. Surveys of 2006 came up with less than 200 breeding adults between India and Nepal thereby putting
the gharial on the Critically Endangered category of the 2007 Red List. A task force called the Gharial Conservation Alliance (GCA) was formed
with the express purpose of reversing this dismal trend. Realizing that river dolphins, otters and water birds had similar needs, the GCA in

partnership with WWF-India set up River Watch. Instead of focusing on individual species and working separately, River Watch intends to look at
the big picture the state of our rivers.
Even as this initiative was being galvanized and strategy chalked out, came the horrific news more than 80 out of about 320 subadult and adult
gharials have mysteriously died over a 70 km stretch of the lower Chambal in little more than a month: a 25% mortality in the 2 - 2.5 metre size
class! The epicenter of this disaster is near Etawah (Uttar Pradesh), at the confluence of the Yamuna and Chambal. Postmortem reports indicated
liver cirrhosis, cause unknown. Subsequent reports pointed to the presence of heavy metals in the tissue samples. Across the river in Madhya
Pradesh, a concerned Mr. Suhas Kumar, the Chief Conservator of Forests, circulated the reports to international crocodile veterinarians who ruled
out liver cirrhosis. Lethal levels of heavy metals should have killed the other animals sharing the same waters fish, birds, otters and river
dolphins but it did not. A pathogen is suspected, but where did it come from and why are only large gharials affected and not the vulnerable
juveniles, remain unanswered questions.
A team of international croc veterinarians are expected to arrive later this month to assist Indian colleagues in finding the cause of this catastrophe
and to suggest ways of stemming it. If the gharial overcomes this crisis, it will become the touchstone of our commitment to treat rivers as a
precious resource. The GCA is in desperate need of funds to galvanize action for the gharial. For further information please contact
mcbtindia@vsnl.net

Conservation of the people, by the people, for the people so help me

God.*
Making Conservation Work
Eds. Ghazala Shahabuddin and Mahesh Rangarajan
Permanent Black, Delhi
298 pages
Hard cover. Rs. 595
The prosaic title notwithstanding, the essays in this book pack a punch. The editors, Shahabuddin and Rangarajan, set the stage in the Introduction
by examining what caused the Sariska debacle. Readers will remember that this was the park where the tiger was declared locally extinct in early
2005. It provided ammunition to two diametrically opposed camps to prove their arguments. One camp claimed it was the presence of villagers
in the park that was detrimental to the tigers while the other accused the colonial mindset of Indian wildlife laws and policy.
Sariska was a pampered park; being close to the nerve centre of Delhi, it received a lot of funds and VIP attention. It also had more guards per
square kilometer than almost any other park in the country. Villagers living within the park were recipients of largess, not available to inhabitants
of most other reserves. It had everything going for it and yet the tigers vanished. In the flurry of accusations that followed, the Tiger Task Force
was set up, and its report was alternately trashed and celebrated by conservationists of both camps. However, they were unanimous in their
criticism of the state's manner of functioning. And true to form, the state ignored the recommendations of the Task Force, revived the relocationof-villagers policy (which is doomed to failure by its woeful inadequacy), proposed reintroducing tigers from other parks and pretends that the
crisis is only a minor setback for conservation. In this contentious atmosphere, sharing the experiences of the contributors of the book opens new
vistas of wildlife conservation and governance.
Perhaps the most interesting article in the book is 'Threatened Forests, Forgotten People' by Aparajita Datta of the Nature Conservation
Foundation (NCF). Datta sets out the political dynamics of conservation in Namdapha National Park in Arunachal Pradesh. The Lisu tribals are
caught in the far corner of the state sandwiched between the park on one side and the international border with Myanmar on the other. Accused of
being latter day encroachers from Myanmar they enjoy no citizenship rights or tribal status. Recognizing that the basic needs of the people in this
remote corner of India have to be addressed first, NCF supports six kindergarten schoolteachers thereby ensuring the education of 330 Lisu
children. Malaria takes a heavy toll and a patient seeking medical help has to walk for seven days to reach a doctor. As a first step one Lisu tribal
has been trained as a healthcare provider. In tandem, NCF biologists have also conducted wildlife surveys, extended the range of mammals
previously known only in neighbouring countries and lobbied with the Lisu against traditional hunting practices. Initiatives such as this, which tie
conservation with solutions to existential struggles, go far in salvaging the vitiated relationship between people and the state.
Other articles deal with similarly alternative approaches to conservation of the oceans, deserts, and forests by incorporating local people into the
equation. Interestingly, the NCF is involved with another innovative approach - restoring the rainforests of the Valparai plateau of Tamil Nadu.
Collaborating with the management of the various tea estates, Mudappa and Raman have planted numerous rainforest species on degraded private
lands that are unfit for tea cultivation thereby providing corridors for animals such as elephants, lion-tailed macaques, leopards, and hornbills
among others. Not enough of this kind of restoration is being undertaken in the country and yet anyone with a bit of initiative and effort can
contribute towards enhancing the quality of habitat available for plants and wildlife.
In other essays, Kartik Shanker elaborates on an alliance of fishworker organizations and conservation groups that are working for sea turtle (and
fish) conservation in Orissa, Priya Das explores participatory conservation in Kailadevi Sanctuary in Rajasthan while Nitin Rai examines the

economics of harvesting Garcinia fruits in Karnataka - evidence that conservation need not stop with creating reserves and making sure no one
touches the wildlife within. Two other chapters critique the current forest management policy by focusing on Kuno Wildlife Sanctuary and
Sariska.
Crucial to conservation success is political will. It is clear that in a democracy where the stake to power is dependent on appealing to the majority,
conservationists have to redress their approach if they are to achieve their goals. Otherwise the majority of the voting public does not care, or
worse, sees conservation as an elitist preoccupation of the middle class. This is the biggest shortfall of the conservationist agenda. While this book
manages to bring conservation concerns and issues to the reading public, it is a pity that the standard of writing is uneven while some articles are
exciting, a couple are so dreary they are hard to get through.
Ghazala Shahabuddin is an ecologist at the Environmental Studies Group of the Council for Social Development, Delhi. She has monitored
habitat fragmentation, people's utilization of forest resources and its impact on the biodiversity of Sariska. Mahesh Rangarajan is Professor of
History at the University of Delhi. He is the co-editor of Permanent Black's series called Nature, Culture, Conservation to which this book is a
worthy addition.
* apologies to Abraham Lincoln and George Washington.

Species Roulette
Published in Outlook Oct 15th.
This is the untouched version The World Conservation Unions press release a fortnight ago set the wires on fire - 180 species of animals and plants on the threshold of
extinction were added to the global Red List this year alone. While the list of species in dire straits grows longer, we can at least celebrate the
several new ones discovered in India within the last few years.
Birds are a thoroughly catalogued group through the efforts of the British Raj ornithologists. For much of the century, competitive bird watchers
have had to be satisfied with no more than an occasional re-discovery, such as the Forest Owlet. For decades interested birders searched randomly
for this species in the wilds across the country, with no success. When a group of American ornithologists arrived in late 1997 to look for the bird,
they zeroed in on the four locations where it had been seen previously. They hit the jackpot in the forests just outside Mumbai!
But new discoveries? None for a very long time. Even the grand old man of Indian ornithology, Salim Ali, never had the honour of discovering
one. So when Ramana Athreya walked out of Eaglenest National Park in Arunachal Pradesh two years ago with evidence of a new species of bird,
the Bugun Liocichla, it sent an electric jolt of excitement among birders. The fact that a professional astronomer had this rare privilege caused
much consternation among the more territorial twitchers. But then such is the game of Species Roulette some play it hard, some win it cool.
The pretty little bird hit the international headlines (even sharing space with a topless (human) model on page 3 of The Sun). Such is the global
clout that birds command, followed only by mammals. Discovering a large primate is a gilt-edged invitation to the Biological Hall of Fame. The
last time a macaque was discovered was way back in 1903 in Sumatra. More than 100 years later, a burly macaque dashed across the road
bringing biologists from the Nature Conservation Foundation to a screeching halt. A new monkey, the Arunachal Macaque, named for its home
state, had just checked into the roll call of Indian fauna. But while we have just become aware of its existence, the local people were all too
familiar with the monkeys crop raiding propensities - an ironic situation where one mans prize catch is anothers pest.
Far from the media glare, however, new species of reptiles are popping up from the remote forests of the Northeast and the Andaman and Nicobar
Islands as well as in small fragmented forests of the Eastern Ghats of Orissa. This is truly the Age of Herpetological Discovery. While any other
specialist would love to bask in the glory of finding at least one new species, researchers now discovering myriads of frogs face a problem
peculiar to new parents finding appropriate names (but in the hundreds)! Despite losing more than 80% of its forests, India is giving Costa Rica
and Sri Lanka a run for their frogs.
The unique Pig-nosed Frog from the Western Ghats is the most significant of these discoveries. The only member of an ancient family, reportedly
50 to 100 million years old, it hunkered deep underground while the dramatic environmental and physical changes sweeping the earth wiped out
whole groups of animals and saw new ones evolve. This dinosaur among frogs was only discovered in 2003.
Another herpetological breakthrough was the re-discovery of the Indian Egg-eating snake, a toothless, specialist egg swallower. It was first found
in Rangpur (now in Bangladesh) in 1863. Subsequently a few surfaced in Nepal and the Indian states of Bihar, West Bengal and Uttarakhand
before disappearing altogether. Expeditions were proposed, old reports pored over as herpetologists planned to resurrect the enigmatic snake. In
2003, a specimen of the long lost Indian Egg-eater turned up in Wardha, Maharashtra without much fanfare. Its not often that a species presents
itself on a platter but it is up to the beholder to realize its true value. For about 14 years the species was staring us in the face intrigued snake

enthusiasts from various cities in Gujarat sent pictures seeking its identification. Then it had not occurred to any of the established herpetologists
that the creature could emerge more than a thousand kilometers away from its known range. It was dismissed as an aberrant form of a tree snake
until the sharp eyes of Frank Tillack, a professional German bricklayer and a self-taught ophiologist, identified the snake for what it was.
Yet another case of effortless species discovery occurred at the field station of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands Environmental Team in 2004.
Lizard researcher Shreyas Krishnan woke up with a bad hangover one morning. Despite the heavy downpour he hobbled to the kitchen hoping a
cup of strong tea would clear his head. When he heard a splash in the rapidly growing pond outside, he hoped it was a frog. If it was a lizard he
was duty bound to take a look, an inconvenient proposition at the moment. A lizard it was, and one that neither he nor any of the numerous
visiting herpetologists had ever seen before. Shreyas had discovered not only a species of lizard, but a whole new genus. As a bonus he had also
discovered an instant cure for the worst hangover!
Wet squelchy forests are not the only frontiers of biological exploration; barren degraded forests are too. The spectacular Peacock Tarantula was
named on the basis of a single specimen obtained at Gooty (Andhra Pradesh) railway stations timber yard in 1899. Although the place has no
habitat, naturalists doggedly searched the area for the spider. About 102 years later, a four-member team concluded that the tarantula must have
arrived at the yard as a stowaway in a hollow log. They focused on old railway lines with suitable habitat for a large tree-dwelling spider. Finally,
some distance from Gooty, they found the most beautiful spider in the world in a totally degraded forest. Within five hours. While this rediscovery went totally unnoticed in India, it set the network of European and American animal dealers buzzing. Within a year 12 specimens of the
tarantula were smuggled out of the country and the babies hit the pet trade the following year. In 2005 when I visited an exotic pet expo in the
United States each baby was worth US $ 350, down from $ 1000 in 2003.
The above examples are just a few highlights of recent developments. Scanning two Indian scientific journals revealed the discovery of 31 new
species of fish, numerous insects and countless plants just within the last three years. The bottom line is anyone can find a new species; so put on
your high-heeled boots, get out your wide brimmed hat and play Species Roulette. Imagine immortality: a tick with your name on it!

Book Review: Environmental Issues in India

The Varying Shades Of Green
Business World, September 2007
Most people including conservationists think that when a species is in trouble, all it requires is a chunk of protected forest. However, in a high
population density India, there are several other constituents or stakeholders involved local people utilise the forest to graze their cattle and/or
collect plant material for a living. How to deal with these people has split the conservation community in two. While one group argues for their
relocation out of the forest, the other advocates giving them rights to the forest.
Arun Agrawal and Vasant Saberwal, for example, argue that cultural sensibilities have combined with an overarching concern with human
impacts on the environment, to generate conservation rhetoric on the need to keep people and livestock out of protected areas. A few chapters
later, Ullas Karanth cautions against confusing conservation issues with livelihood issues and concludes sacrificing the remaining 3 per cent or so
area under wildlife reserves is unlikely to make any dent on human problems, which we have been unable to solve by using and abusing the
remaining 97 per cent of the land area.
The relocation lobby tacitly backs the third main constituent, the forest department whose mandate is to conserve these forests despite obvious
mismanagement, while the other side views it as an adversary that denies people their traditional rights while selling out to Big Industry. Who is
the better guardian of the forest has become the fundamental question fissuring the conservation community.
Understanding the political tangle that includes the aspirations of local people, the limitations of the forest department and the need for landscape
conservation, can reduce the increasing polarisation within the Indian conservation community. This is precisely what this reader offers. The
anthology of 33 essays is a first for India and promises to be an indispensable tool for anyone interested in Indian conservation and environmental
movements. The book spans timelines and histories of various regions, peoples and struggles. India is a microcosm of dilemmas facing much of
the developing world that seeks to balance the survival needs of people and wildlife.
Much blame for the precipitous status of several species of animals is heaped on the doorstep of the British Raj. Citing archaeological evidence,
Mahesh Rangarajan, editor of the volume, records the collapse of species well before colonial times. For example, over-hunting and habitat loss
exterminated the barasingha from Baluchistan by 300 BCE. Several species of plants found in western Indian sites are now extinct. Indians
werent the traditional paragons of conservation as some romantics will have us believe.
Had we followed the Gandhian model of rural economy would we have avoided the state we find ourselves in? In an incisive essay, Ramachandra
Guha evaluates whether Gandhi was the patron saint and Nehru the villain of the environmental movement. The author reminds us that the
majority of Indians rejected Gandhis model of rural economy. Whereas Nehru, the romantic who was deeply appreciative of the natural beauty

of India, as the democratically elected representative of the people, acted on the overwhelming consensus for rapid industrialisation. However,
one of Gandhis disciples, Mira Behn was environmentally proactive; nearly 60 years ago she sent Nehru a critique of the forest management
policy accompanied by pictures in which she identified the lack of involvement of villagers and the monoculture of pine. To this day, we continue
to debate these issues.
Modern global environmental concerns such as nuclear energy and climate change also find a place in this volume. In recent years there have been
controversial claims promoting nuclear energy as the new green energy. True, it is a low polluting source of energy unlike coal. However, Eliot
Marshal puts the cost of going nuclear in perspective: a Natural Resources Defenses Council physicist is quoted as saying that to avoid a 0.2
degree Celsius rise in global temperature at the end of the century, the world would need to build 1,200 new plants in all, at a rate of about 17 per
year. Then there are the attendant concerns over safety hazards, nuclear waste disposal and the misuse of reprocessed plutonium. The book
doesnt offer easy answers, but to present these different perspectives in a single volume is a major first step.
However, there are numerous typographic errors; the punctuation is random. And references mentioned in the text are not in the list at the end.
Dates quoted for publications within the text differ from the references at the end. Authors names are misspelt. These are irritations that an
international publisher of such stature could have easily fixed. Despite these drawbacks, the book is a real steal for the price.
MAHESH RANGARAJAN, is a well-known historian of ecological change as well as a frequently visible TV commentator on Indian politics. He
has been a Fellow of the Nehru Memorial Museum and Library, New Delhi, and served as corresponding editor of the journal Environment and
History. His books include Fencing the Forest; the two-volume Oxford Anthology of Indian Wildlife.

The Song of the Ganges Gharial

Published Seminar 577, September 2007
Circa 1996: The impossible had been achieved. The gharial, which had been on a rapid slide to extinction, had been pulled back. Conservationists
slapped each others backs. In those dismal days when the future of the tiger in India was thrown in doubt and the premier conservation
undertaking for its benefit, Project Tiger, was exposed for its hollow claims, Project Crocodile was touted as being one of the most successful
conservation efforts in the world. The morale of Indian conservationists received a rare boost while they struggled to fight a seemingly graver
battle for the tiger.
The last of an ancient lineage
The gharial is the only true descendant of an ancient family of crocodiles that lived on earth 100 million years ago. A fossil of a sea-faring gharial,
recently unearthed in Puerto Rico, was dated to at least 23 million years ago while another giant, a 15 metre long gharial, was excavated from
Niger in the 1990s. After the last Ice Age, the gharial staked out about 20,000 square kilometres of rivers, spanning Pakistan to Myanmar, as its
territory. Not for the gharial the still waters of ponds or lakes where other crocodilians thrive. This is a true specialist: a river-dweller that eats
only fish. Unfortunately, the gharials narrow choice of habitat and diet inevitably led to its downfall.
The beginning of conservation action
It all began in 1970 when a disturbing report by the biologist, S.Biswas said that the gharial had simply vanished from the Kosi River and
recommended that the other rivers be surveyed. In 1973, conferring with Bombay Natural History Societys scientists and funded by Worldwide
Fund for Nature (WWF), a team from the Madras Snake Park did extensive surveys across every major river and stream throughout the gharials
range in India and Nepal the only two countries in the world that are now home to the reptile. By this time the gharial had been declared extinct
in Pakistan, Myanmar and Bangladesh. Although Bhutan was also a gharial country, its mountainous terrain limits its range to a few stretches of
river close to the India border. The headcount came to only 200 gharial; the population had crashed by about 98% in 30 years.
Something radical had to be done and in 1975 the Government of India set up Project Crocodile with the support of the United Nation
Development Funds (UNDP) Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). With alarm bells ringing in its ears, Project Crocodile went to work for
the benefit of the three endangered Indian crocodilians the mugger, the salt-water crocodile and the gharial. It delineated 20,000 square
kilometres as sanctuaries and set up several captive rearing projects. Of these the gharial occupied six sanctuaries spread over 240 square
kilometres while 16 captive rearing centres were to act as its wet nurses. Although the initial project proposal included concessions such as croc
farming as an alternate livelihood for fishermen who would be affected by the conservation measures, it was not implemented and the gharial was
soon to pay the price for this oversight. However, those were heady days and such minor blips did not dampen the spirits of croc
conservationists who strongly believed they could turn the tide.
A training centre (later to become the Wildlife Institute of India) for crocodile biologists was set up in Hyderabad and several Ph.D students were
recruited, who were to become the frontline field workers for the gharial. Besides declaring sanctuaries and fostering research, a captive breeding
program was initiated as well. But India didnt have a captive male, and in fact there were only an estimated 10 to 20 adult males in the world at
that time. The Frankfurt Zoo in Germany had the only captive male which was donated to the project. To kick-start the program some eggs were
even bought from Nepal during the first year. One of the primary thrusts of the conservation plan was to rear hatchlings from eggs (collected both

from the wild and captivity) for 3 to 4 years until they reached the length of 1.2 metres (4 feet) before releasing them in the rivers. The idea of
head-starting was to provide hatchlings the safety of enclosed concrete ponds guarded from predators during the most vulnerable period of their
lives. In the following 30 years, 12,000 eggs were collected and over 5000 such head-started gharial were returned to the wild in five sanctuaries.
Since the Chambal River is the last wild river in North India, it held all the hopes for the future of gharial even today it holds 48% of the
population. And this is where Project Crocodile focused its attention by releasing 3500 animals here alone. Gharial numbers surged in the
subsequent years and the picture looked rosy. And then the rug was yanked from beneath.
Unwitting wardens of the Chambal
Uniquely for India, the National Chambal Sanctuary straddles 3 states Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan including some of the
wildest areas that were out of bounds for the state machinery. The ravines on the banks of the river were the hideout of some dreaded bandits, the
most infamous among them being Phoolan Devi, the Bandit Queen. These outlaws ruled the roost, making sure that the area remained untouched
by the Governments development plans. Nobody wanted to invest in any industry or buy real estate in these parts. Researchers and Forest
Department personnel were vulnerable targets and they made sure they were not caught in the field after dark.
Phoolan Devi however, captured one croc researcher, Dhruvajyoti Basu, and snatched away his binoculars. When he pleaded saying they were not
his and the Forest Department would give him much grief if he lost them, the bandit gave him a signed voucher declaring that she, Phoolan Devi,
had borrowed the binoculars. He was then set free, unharmed. Others who faced the wrath of the outlaws were not so lucky. Ironically, the
gharial (and the habitat) thrived under the unwitting but ruthless protection by the bandits.
Change of guard
In the mid-1990s in response to state offered amnesty, the brigands started to give themselves up one by one. The police were slow to fill the
power vacuum thus created. Other anti-socials local mafias began setting up shop. While the outlaws had restricted themselves to fobbing off
the rich, the mafia began to systematically exploit the resources sand mining (to feed the building boom in cities like Delhi and Agra), fishing in
the Sanctuary, turtle poaching and so on. One official, speaking off the record, said the large scale sand mining had brought down banditry in the
region, thereby indirectly demonstrating that addressing the livelihood needs of the people is key to achieving conservation success! Poor
villagers, struggling to make a living from agriculture, irrigated their fields with water siphoned off the river leaving the lower reaches of the river
shallow in summer.
A District Collector who visited the place recently to put a stop to the illegal activities was beaten up and his police escorts were reduced to mute
spectators. Although the National Chambal Wildlife Sanctuary is governed by three-states, there is limited enforcement of conservation agendas
and people there do pretty much what they want. (Recently, however, the Forest Department sought permission to shoot illegal sand miners to
enforce the law.)
Not to be outdone, the government water authorities such as the Irrigation Department built barrages, irrigation canals, artificial embankments and
controlled other gharial rivers to an extreme degree impounding the river during the lean summer months (when all the aquatic animals are
imprisoned in a few deep pools), and opening the sluice gates in one go after the rains, causing a veritable tsunami (washing down everything
caught in its powerful currents uprooted trees, gharial, dolphins). All these activities impacted the gharial directly.
However, once gharial conservation was deemed a great success (when the population in the Chambal climbed to over 1200 between 1993 and
1997), the Government of India withdrew money from the expensive croc breeding and release program. No surveys were conducted between
1999 and 2003 but that didnt worry too many people as the gharial had after all been saved. In 2004, croc conservationists were shocked when
Dr. R.K. Sharma, a gharial biologist of the Madhya Pradesh Forest Department, alerted them to the news that the gharial numbers had nose-dived
and there was visible degradation of the habitat.
Back on the brink
The last assessment in 2006 revealed that the gharial was in even more distress than 2003; there are no more than 200 wild breeding gharial in
Nepal and India. This situation may seem marginally better than the dire straits the gharial found itself in the early 1970s but now the pressures on
the habitat have multiplied and the quality of what remains is deteriorating. Besides, the future viability of the species is compromised because the
200 breeders are spatially separated. The massive influx of funds and the release of 5000 captive-reared gharial have not achieved any significant
reversal. More barrages and dams are on their way for almost every river that is home to the gharial. The situation is even worse in the other range
country: Nepal.
Today the gharials domain is a mere 2% of its former range, limited to a couple of hundred square kilometres and dwindling. The future of the
gharial is so threatened that its Red List status was recently revised from Endangered to Critically Endangered, one stop away from Extinction. It
is, today, the most endangered large animal in India, more gravely endangered than the tiger.
What went wrong?
Although a critical scientific assessment of past conservation achievements (including one that grades threats according to their severity) has not
yet been done, the picture outlined here was arrived at by connecting survey numbers, field visits, and reports (by various workers). In hindsight,

three shortfalls in the conservation program were identified the habitat was never secured, local people were not taken on board; monitoring of
the released juveniles was not done (all these boring issues were addressed in every set of recommendations dating from the 1970s, but were
ignored in favour of the seductive simplicity of reintroductions) and the significant conservation headway (designation of croc sanctuaries,
successful captive breeding, research, publicity and international support) that was made has slowly unravelled under the sustained onslaught of
river resource exploitation. This resulted in widespread deterioration of gharial habitat (barrages, dams caused the rivers to silt up, sand mining on
basking and nesting beaches), and depletion of prey by illegal fishermen. Several large adult gharial drown in fishing nets and get ensnared by
hooks laid by turtle poachers every year. The few that are lucky enough to survive in the nets face a more horrible fate. Fishermen cut the long
fragile snouts of the gharial tangled in their nets before setting them free. These handicapped gharial will slowly starve to death within a year.
Tolerance is obviously on a short leash.
In India, conservation is generally driven by biologists with little or no inputs from social scientists. The exclusive (throwing fishermen out of the
sanctuary and curtailing any human activity) and unsympathetic (no alternate livelihood options offered to the affected people who became
destitute overnight) state conservation policies have replaced any existing traditional conservation values with bitterness and anger. The gharial
has become the symbol of peoples alienation from their natural resources and there is no support for its continued existence.
The majority of the crocodile conservationists in India may believe that the gharial is again facing extinction because reintroduction efforts are
down to a minimum. The reality is that the expensive head-starting programs may have achieved little. Since the released gharial were not
monitored, no one knows how many survived. Out of the thousands released, only hundreds remain. We can only surmise that they did not have
the wherewithal to deal with the strong currents (nor did they possess the muscle tone after being reared in still pools) and the absence of calm
tributaries may have resulted in most of these young ones being flushed out of the sanctuaries into the inhospitable habitats downstream during the
annual monsoon floods. It is also possible that these captive reared, hand-fed gharial were unable to catch live prey. In some areas such as the
Satkoshia Gorge Wildlife Sanctuary only two out of 700 released animals remain (a mortality rate of 99.7%). In Katerniaghat Wildlife Sanctuary
four nests were recorded in 1977, but the release of 909 gharial (including 112 in 2006) in the following years resulted in 20 nests in 2006. This
implies a mere 2.5% of thirty years of reintroduction efforts. In the Chambal, despite receiving the lions share of funds and captive-reared
gharials, there were only 68 nests recorded in 2006, up from 12 in 1978. Again this represents only 2% of the reintroduction efforts. While
conservation studies worldwide have demonstrated that habitat protection is all that is needed for a species to recover, reintroduction is a radical
intervention generally reserved for a stage of no return.
For the past decades, surveys revealed annually increasing numbers of gharial and this fact was used to claim that conservation efforts had been a
great success. But the point is, gharial numbers were being artificially boosted by reintroductions every year. So the moment the head-starting
program came to a standstill, the numbers of wild gharial plummeted. If success is measured by the ability of a population to self-sustain, the
question that needs to be asked is - did gharial reintroductions ever achieve conservation success? While some conservationists argue that
extinction had been averted by such sustained releases, it is also possible that the modicum of protection given to the habitats was the cause of the
increase in nest numbers. The important thing to realize is that the reintroduction of gharial did not lead to the re-colonization of habitats such as
Ken and Satkoshia where no nesting has been recorded in decades. The four existing breeding populations Chambal, Katerniaghat, Son and
Rapti-Narayani (Nepal) already had reproducing females when these efforts began.
The head-starting program has never complied with any of the norms laid down by the 1998 IUCN Guidelines for Reintroductions. Given that the
threats to gharial have never been addressed, nor existing conflicts mitigated, it makes little sense to keep dumping thousands of hapless young
gharial (most to face certain death) into the rivers. Even captive reared adults were reintroduced with little or no effort spent on maximizing their
chances of surviving in a landscape to which they were ill adjusted. Despite the enormity of past failure, reintroductions have not stopped nor
critically evaluated. On the contrary, the pressure to allow such arbitrary releases is high even today, because of captive breeding successes,
resultant overcrowding in zoos and rearing centers, and the feel-good factor. So why dont the managers stop the captive breeding? For fear of
reduced budgetary allocations in the subsequent years and indeed, more gharial are slated for release in the coming winter months.
Head of the table
The gharial requires deep, free-flowing rivers unfettered by dams and barrages. Fish, the prey of gharial (otters, river dolphins and several species
of water birds), need clean and clear water to breed. Gharial must have undisturbed sand banks to bask and nest. We are also talking here about an
intact, protected river habitat, on which our own survival hinges. Ecologically, the passing of the gharial signifies a collapsed ecosystem
polluted waters, drastic drop in water levels, erosion and siltation all conditions that make any life in the rivers untenable. People need to see the
gharial for the critical environmental services it offers it eats the predatory catfish thereby boosting the productivity of fish yields, and it cleans
up the injured, sick and unfit fish from the genetic pool; it plays the same role of top predator of the rivers that the tiger plays in the forest. The
wise ancients recognized the critical role played by the gharial and made it the steed of none less than Ma Ganga herself, making it the cultural
and ecological icon of the most sacred river in the world.
New Directions in Gharial Conservation
The gharial and its fellow river fauna really need the support of policy makers who should re-evaluate the proposal to interlink our rivers (thereby
dooming them). The past mistakes have demonstrated the need to redress conservation priorities more broadly if the gharial and other riverine
species are to survive. India is the only long-term hope for the gharial in the world.

The Madras Crocodile Bank based Gharial Multi-Task Force (GMTF) has set a science-based agenda that will identify threats to the species,
survey historic habitats, such as the Brahmaputra, which are currently devoid of any gharial population, study the ecological role of the gharial,
while also working with social scientists to understand the alternate livelihood needs of the people in the hope that they will once again accept the
gharial as the icon of their river. The GMTF hopes to re-orient the gharial conservation strategy using science while accepting that wildlife
management is really no more than people management in this situation if all the human generated pressures are minimized, the species will
automatically respond. It is only in extreme cases where a habitat exists but the species has been extirpated that intrusive animal management such
as reintroduction is needed.
River Watch, a partnership between GMTF and the Worldwide Fund for Nature-India, is still in its formative stage and realizes that if our rivers
are to survive, an integrated conservation plan is needed. It will focus on habitat protection while bringing together conservationists working for
all river fauna, including the highly endangered Ganges river dolphin, smooth coated otters, mahseer and several species of endangered freshwater
turtles, under one umbrella. River Watch, based in the WWF-India office in Delhi, intends to prioritize river conservation by drafting
Management Plans for the various Protected Areas along river systems, developing and strengthening the policy and legislation for Integrated
River Basin Management and lobbying for their implementation. While it will coordinate between departments such as Irrigation, Fisheries and
Forest, River Watch will also network with our neighbouring countries such as Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan and Myanmar. It will
campaign against over-harvesting of fish and water as well as any construction on rivers that works to the detriment of its habitat and fauna. It
hopes to formulate guidelines for river ecotourism as well as promote use of safe fishing gear and teaching fishermen how to deal with
accidentally captured gharial and dolphins. River Watch will collaborate with national and international partners in conservation, research and
education to achieve its goals.
Gharial: the icon of civilization
It is not mere coincidence that all the great civilizations of the world rose on the banks of rivers. Rivers are still the lifeline of our existence, for
example, the Indus and Ganges river basins support more than 10% (600 million people) of the worlds population. By working to conserve such
animals as the gharial and river dolphins, we are in reality only preserving our very own life support system. While the pressures on rivers
increase day by day, we are guardedly optimistic that people are already seeing reason and are finally ready to save the gharial and the rivers that
are its home.

BIG BUCKS FOR LITTLE STARS

The unedited version.
Published as 'Uncovering the Tortoise Trade Route', The Hindu, Saturday, Jun 02, 2007
For years, a pair of smugglers Umesh Kishore Tekani, alias Mexx, in Singapore and Wai Ho Gin, nicknamed Bobby Gin, based in California
smuggled Indian star tortoises, among others, into the US by calling them toy figures. Another character, John Pen Tokosh, had tried the same
trick, which landed him in prison for a year in June 2006.
While our papers today are full of tiger and lion poaching, what passes unnoticed is an equally well-organized criminal network of smugglers
ripping off our star tortoises, much sought after in the international pet trade. In India, star tortoises feature on Schedule IV, the lowest rank of
protection under the Wildlife Protection Act. A smuggler can be penalized with a maximum of three years in prison or a Rs. 25,000 fine but they
are rarely jailed for trading in a Schedule IV animal. Besides, the people apprehended are usually just the couriers or mules and not the actual
kingpins of the trade. Local hunters, reportedly members of the Hakke Pakke tribe, catch these animals from the dry scrub forests of Chittoor and
Madanapalle districts in Andhra Pradesh and Kolar District in Karnataka and they are paid no more than $ 1 for each animal. By the time the
animal reaches American shores each tortoise can fetch anywhere from $ 350 to $ 1000.
Occasionally there have been fanciful claims that the seized animals were captive-bred (The Hindu, July 28, 2005). However, such an assertion is
merely a fig leaf to cover the governments pathetic enforcement record and to downplay the impact on the wild population. In a communication
to TRAFFIC (the trade monitoring arm of Worldwide Fund for Nature) in the year 2000, Conservation Internationals tortoise expert, Peter Paul
van Dijk wrote, This species is not bred anywhere in the world in the quantities needed to supply the commercial demand.
In 2005, wildlife authorities gloated that smuggling had declined (The Hindu, Sep 29, 2005), but in reality it was merely a breakdown in
intelligence gathering. At least 9500 Indian star tortoises squeaked through their hands that year and were traded internationally with legal
documents. Also noteworthy is the fact that most of the seizures in India have occurred at airports. This indicates that there is either a total lack
of intelligence gathering by the wildlife authorities or connivance at the lower levels, says an official of the Wildlife Protection Society of India.
Tortoises are smuggled out of India to transit countries such as Thailand and Malaysia where the smugglers seem to be a step ahead of law
enforcement. An animal dealer who was raided in Bangkok in January 2007 produced Lebanese export papers for 1000 Indian star tortoises! Chris
Shepherd of TRAFFIC Malaysia writes, The only department within Peninsular Malaysia which can currently enforce CITES regulations for the

Indian Star Tortoise is the Royal Customs and Excise Department. If Customs fails to nab an illegal shipment as it enters the country, then the
smugglers are home free. They can then sell them openly without fear of prosecution as indeed happens. According to a study conducted over a
two-week period by TRAFFIC-Malaysia, 173 Indian star tortoises were offered for sale in 24 out of 31 pet shops visited. The shopkeepers
reported that more than 80% of the star tortoises they received were from India while the rest came from Sri Lanka. The ready availability of
Indian star tortoises in Malaysia is illustrated by Shepherds statement, When asked if it was possible to acquire a large batch of 20-30 animals,
traders usually requested only 1-2 days to acquire the tortoises.
At the last meeting of CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora) nations in 2004, Malaysia gave
an assurance that it will amend its laws to fix this loophole, but nothing has been done and stars continue to be smuggled through its borders.
CITES strives to control the international trade in wildlife species by implementing licensing regulations. As a CITES Appendix II animal, the
Indian star tortoise needs an export permit only to facilitate its legal crossing of international boundaries (besides any local legal restrictions). The
export permits can be issued only if the export will not be detrimental to the survival of the species. And therein lies the crux of the issue except for a couple of studies, Indian star tortoises have never been studied in the wild, nor their distribution and status mapped. So nobody knows
how the current levels of exploitation have impacted a slow breeding reptile. But regardless of these concerns there are some countries (where star
tortoises are not found) unscrupulous enough to issue the export permits.
According to the CITES trade database (www.cites.org) between 1975 and 1994, about 9200 star tortoises were exported with CITES certificates,
mostly to Japan. Aware that wild-caught, smuggled Indian star tortoises were finding their way into the international trade with export permits
issued by some countries, CITES issued a Notification in 1994 recommending its member countries not to accept any export or re-export permit
for tortoises unless these documents were verified. There followed a five year lull period (if about 270 animals per year could be called that) and
then in the year 2000, Lebanon entered the picture and the total number of tortoises traded under CITES began rocketing.
The smugglers picked their country right Lebanon is not a signatory to CITES and since 2003 has re-exported more than 9000 Indian star
tortoises claimed to be captive bred (in Kazakhstan of all places!). However, Kazakhstan, a party to CITES, has not reported exporting a single
star tortoise since 2000 (the year it became party to CITES). Lebanon also exported 6000 more tortoises without disclosing the source. There are
only 3 countries in the world where the species is found India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka and in the last 12 years they collectively exported 1038
star tortoises only. So where did the thousands of tortoises come from? All indications are that they came from India routed variously through
Thailand and Malaysia with Lebanon laundering these illegally procured animals by providing fraudulent export documents. It is doubtful if these
star tortoises even touched Kazakh or Lebanese soil.
Between the years 1995 and 2005, a whopping 32,000 tortoises were traded and of these Japan accepted the export permits for 20,000,
contravening the CITES notification of 1994. From 2002 to 2004, Afghanistan, a country where the star tortoise is not found in the wild, exported
more than 5000 of them listed as wild caught to that black hole - Japan. While Japan is the single largest market for scores of laundered
tortoises, thousands more are smuggled to the high paying markets of Europe and the US.
Between 2001 and 2004 less than 7000 star tortoises were confiscated across India, while 19,000 were recorded to have been traded
internationally with fraudulent papers. Within the last few years, in an act of spring-cleaning, several old CITES Notifications were cancelled
including the one on trade in tortoises. Today there is no cautionary advice on the subject. In 2005 (at the same time that Indian authorities were
claiming a slump in smuggling) the trade hit an all time high of 9480 animals. (There are no figures for 2006 on the CITES database yet.) If these
are the legally traded numbers worldwide, the numbers smuggled without papers is definitely several times higher.
Meanwhile the US authorities showed a distinct lack of creative imagination by refusing to see the star tortoises as action figures. After four
years of surveillance, they swung into action on May 17, 2007 and indicted Bobby Gin (and Mexx if hes ever caught) on a dozen charges of
conspiracy, smuggling and money laundering. If convicted on the first two, theyll get five years in prison and twenty years for the latter. While
the severity of the punishment was no doubt because of the CITES Appendix I tortoises they also smuggled, its a damn sight better than Indias
record in convicting smugglers of even Schedule I species, clearly illustrating how seriously wildlife crime is viewed in this country.
Obviously India must slam down on wildlife crime while pushing countries such as Malaysia and Thailand to do more to prosecute smugglers.
Japan has to be coerced to reject dubious export permits such as those issued by Lebanon. CITES needs to demonstrate that it is indeed an
effective mechanism in controlling such illegal international trade. How can CITES signatory countries so blatantly accept documents from nonparty nations such as Lebanon? When the tortoise route spans the Middle East, Europe, Asia, and the US, a united stand against smuggling is the
only way to stop exploitation of the species in the wild. Hopefully the upcoming meeting of CITES nations to be held at The Hague between 3 and
15 June will re-assess measures taken against the global illegal trade in wildlife and perhaps this charismatic little tortoise will win a reprieve.

FROM THE JAWS OF EXTINCTION

Published: BBC Wildlife June 2007

With its fantastically long, tooth-filled snout, the gharial takes the crocodile design to the extreme. Sadly, such weaponry has been useless in
saving the species from a dreadful decline and its last hope rests with ROMULUS WHITAKER and his colleagues.
Story by Janaki Lenin
THE SUN BLAZED overhead. It was midday and we had been walking for hours. I wanted to believe that the wisp of blue in the distance was
the River Padma our destination but I worried it was a mirage. The river is the official boundary between India and Bangladesh, and has
changed its course so many times I feared it might have vanished altogether.
Finally, a ribbon of cobalt swam into view. We reached the brow of the high bank, knees buckling with exhaustion, when, in the water below us,
we saw a crocodile with an unfeasibly long snout. Was it a gharial or just another illusion?
The reptiles sleek body glistened in the sun. She seemed unafraid of us, and we guessed she was guarding eggs buried in the sandbank. Instantly
revived, we dug until we found the nest, watched suspiciously by its owner. We were hoping to rear her young safely in captivity and then release
them, but she didnt know that. Still, she didnt attack us.
GOING TO POT That was in the mid-1980s. We didnt know it then, but this may have been the last time gharials nested in Bangladesh a
symptom of the species decline across its entire Asian range. The problem was that no one knew enough about this unusual croc to be able to
help it. This is what prompted me to work as much as I could in gharial country India, Bangladesh and Nepal.
What sets the gharial apart from all other crocodilians is its incredibly long snout, which it wields like chopsticks. These slim jaws, lined with
sharp teeth, are ideal for catching fish. But they have another function. When a male reaches adolescence, at about age 12, a wart-like appendage
begins growing on the tip of his snout. This is the ghara (Hindi for pot, which it resembles), and it completely covers and presses down on the
nostrils. When the male breathes out forcefully, it produces a flatulent noise that carries across the water. The politest term I can come up with for
this noise is buzz-snort. It serves two purposes to attract females and warn off rivals.
We heard the buzz-snort in action near Rajghat on the Chambal River in northern India. We saw a big male gharial patrolling and heard his
underwater territorial jaw-clap the gharial is the only croc to advertise its presence in this way under water (some biologists think this could be a
method of stunning prey as well as marking territory). It was an early winter morning, and when he surfaced and buzz-snorted, we could see the
vapour leave his nostrils. Though it was winter, when crocs bask on the sandbanks to warm up, this adult male spent most of his time in the water,
attending to his harem of females and alert to any male who might try to usurp his position.
Fights between male gharials involve terrific displays of prowess. The territory-holder surges forward, churning the water into a froth with his tail.
If the intruder remains unintimidated, the two males engage in combat. Their slender snouts clash like swords in the air, though they seem too
fragile for such violent action indeed, you can often hear the crack of a tooth splintering or bone hitting bone. Eventually, one gharial will
prevail and the other retreat.
MUMS THE WORD The testosterone that fuels these fights between males ebbs after mating. Then the females go to war, battling over the best
nest sites. Their conflicts are less brutal than the males, though the same rule applies the larger individual invariably wins. Once the territory

squabbles are over, a mother gharial makes a 40-50cm-deep nest hole with her hind feet, into which she lays about 50 large eggs. She then covers
the nest, tossing sand over the area to hide her tracks from predators such as hyenas, jackals and mongooses, before returning to the river to keep
watch from a distance.
Many crocodilians are attentive parents, but little was known about how gharials care for their young until I observed our captive-breeding
population. One day I noticed a mother begin to dig up her nest. As I got closer, I could hear her babies calling from beneath the sand, just as other
young crocs do. It can take mother crocs hours to assist their babies to the water, as they cannot see exactly where the youngsters are. They often
mistake rocks, egg shells, clods of dirt, even baby turtles for their own young, and will tenderly carry them to the river.
This female dug with her front feet until she flipped out a baby, which landed by her hind feet. She then back-heeled it through the air into the
water. She excavated the rest of the nest without jettisoning any more youngsters, and then turned around and slid into the river. Her 36 babies
followed, rather like ducklings.
Alerted by all the activity, the male lurked nearby. When he swam close, the babies climbed onto his head, transforming him from an aggressive
fighter into a devoted parent. Both adults then guarded the youngsters. In the wild, their behaviour is no doubt similar. Its likely that family
groups are only split up when monsoon rains wash the juveniles away.
RIVER DEEP
Up to 100 years ago, the gharials buzz-snort resonated along the deep rivers of the northern Indian subcontinent. Not for the gharial the still
waters of ponds or lakes where other crocs thrive: this is a hardcore river-dweller that eats only fish. Unfortunately, this narrow choice of habitat
and diet has been the gharials downfall. Its rivers are being dammed, which isolates populations. After the last Ice Age, the gharial staked out
about 20,000km2 of rivers, spanning Pakistan to Burma. Today, its domain is a mere 200km2 and dwindling.
To counter this decline and that of other Indian crocodilians Project Crocodile was set up in 1974 by the Indian Government with help from
the UN. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, we carried out surveys, behavioural studies and captive breeding. We reared thousands of youngsters
and released them in protected areas. Sadly, few of these pioneers survived for long but we didnt know why.
For example, the beautiful Satkosia Gorge in Orissa appears to have everything a gharial could want fish, sandbanks, protection and threats
such as bamboo-rafting and net-fishing have been eliminated. Yet only two of the 700 gharials released here in the past three decades have
survived. When I visited the Gorge during the monsoon in mid-July, I saw how small streams had become torrents. The river roared up to nine
metres above its dry-season mark, eroding the banks and uprooting trees. The released gharials were obviously being flushed downriver, out of the
protected area and even into the sea. One was seen on a beach, others in mangroves and ponds. Those that took refuge in tributaries were caught in
fishing nets.
Fishing is a massive problem. In supposedly protected areas, we saw several gharials whose snouts had got tangled in nylon fishing nets. It was
clear that, despite the rules, gill nets were being set at night, entangling gharials that tried to swim through them or attempted to eat the netted fish.
The crocs didnt drown, but they were left unable to open their jaws and thus in danger of starving to death. In other places, dam construction
disturbed nesting gharials and local people raided the nests for eggs to eat.
Clearly, though the gharials slide towards extinction had been slowed, our 30-year strategy of captive-breeding has not been enough. The species
faces an uncertain future and its survival is closely linked with the needs of the humans dependent on the rivers. Our campaign (see right) is part
of a much larger initiative to ensure the survival of these rivers. The threats from development, pollution and climate change increase day by
day, but we are guardedly optimistic that people are at last ready to do what it takes to save the gharial, the ultimate icon of a healthy river.

SIZE MATTERS!

Published in Sanctuary Asia Vol XXVI No. 6, Dec 2006

Kalia was a woman-eater. He was estimated to be a 23 to 24 foot (7.01 to 7.32 m.) salt-water crocodile who ruled a 10 mile
(16.66 km.) stretch of the Dhamra River in Bhitarkanika, Orissa. The then Raja of Kanika wrote in 1973 that this unusually
dark skinned reptile eluded shikaris including his grandfather and father for 50 years. In 1926, the captain of a ship on a run
from Chandbali to Calcutta eventually shot it. The injured reptile crawled onto the bank taking shelter in the reeds and tall dry
grass. Seizing the opportunity, the villagers set fire to the vegetation killing the croc.
For several years, Kalias skull welcomed visitors to the palace in Rajkanika while the bangles and anklets found in his belly
were displayed on a table, gruesome reminders of a horrific period in the regions history. J.C. Daniel and S.A. Hussain of the
Bombay Natural History Society were the first to measure the salt-water crocodiles skull in 1973 and reported that it was the
largest skull in the world at 100 cm.
Robert Bustard and Romulus Whitaker wanted an accurate figure and in 1974 they went up to Bhitarkanika to measure the
skull. It was hanging way up on the wall out of reach and it wasnt a simple job getting it down. So using a stick they came up
with 98 cm. Years later, Rom realized that they had made a mistake. Instead of measuring the skull from snout tip to the
occiput (back of the head of the upper jaw), they had measured it all the way to the back of the lower jaw, a mistake that
several people continue to make thus confusing the issue of crocodile morphology.
If you are wondering why the measurement of the skull has to be so specific, its because crocodile biologists use it to
extrapolate croc sizes. The length of the skull (measured along the median line from the tip of the snout to the back of the
occiput) is multiplied by seven to arrive at the animals total length. Scientists came up with this equation after measuring
hundreds of alligators in the United States and rapidly biologists around the world began using it to estimate the lengths of
several species of crocodiles.
Although there have been several reports of bigger crocodiles being shot in Australia one was estimated to be 27 ft. (8.23
m.) there is not a shred of evidence (skull, skin or photograph) to prove the hunters claims. In the 19th century, a monstrous
33 ft. (10.06 m.) croc was reportedly shot in Bengal and the skull lodged at the British Museum of Natural History. When the
skull was measured it was only 60 cm. long and a simple arithmetic puts the animal at 13.78 ft. (4.20 m.).

For a couple of decades Rom tried unsuccessfully to access Kalias skull and in recent years began to fret that it might have
disintegrated. Through Aurodam David in Auroville, we finally met Shivendra Bhanjdeo, the Yuvaraj of Kanika. He
confirmed Roms worries the skull was indeed falling apart and he wanted assistance in preserving it. Rom, in turn, sought
the help of Dr. Russ McCarty, paleontologist at the Florida State Museum in Gainesville, who is a professional preserver of
bones. He recommended a substance called Butvar (polyvinyl butyral). It wasnt available in India, so friends kindly brought
over a pound of the white crystals.
Earlier this year, we went up to Bhubaneshwar where the skull had since been moved from Rajkanika. It wasnt in as bad a
shape as we feared the sutures holding the various parts of the skull were still intact. A slice of the upper jaw was missing
(as it was even in the 1973 photograph); the captain must have shot the animal through the body. The skull had to be cleaned
thoroughly and an enterprising businessman friend, Vinny took on the dirty work alternately brushing and pumping jets of
air with a bicycle pump, he managed to get most of the grit out. It was impossible to reach the crevices and the tooth sockets,
so he hauled it off to the local tyre puncture fixer. It was only because Vinny was barking orders that the bewildered
mechanics did what was needed. After being air-blasted, the skull returned looking several shades whiter. The Butvar had to
be dissolved in acetone (without forming lumps, just like good gravy) and the thick glue brushed on the skull. An iron tub
(plastic melts when it comes in contact with acetone) of adequate size was found and with the heavy skull levered by a long
bamboo pole, the Butvar was poured over it. The preservative soaked into all the cracks, crevices and pores virtually encasing
it and now the skull is good to last another 100 years and probably a lot more.
Finally, the moment Rom had been waiting for 30 years arrived. The tip of the snout to the occiput measured only 73.3 cm.
We added three centimetres for the four per cent shrinkage when the skull dried out, and checked and double-checked the
measurements. There is no doubt about it, by using the standard ratio for crocodile head length to total body length, Kalia
would have measured 17.52 ft. (5.34 m.), significantly short of the 23-24 footer that it was claimed to be.
Some experts however, have expressed doubt if the 1:7 ratio can be applied universally. While the ratio is consistent in
alligators, it varied wildly in crocodiles. In 1979, while Rom was doing a crocodile survey in Papua New Guinea, tribal
hunters proudly showed him the skin of a crocodile that measured 20.34 ft. (6.2 m.). The fresh skull was 72 cm. long making
it a 1:8.6 ratio. The behemoth had drowned in a tiny barramundi net.
In another instance, Australian croc biologist Grahame Webb measured a salt-water croc skull at 66.6 cm. belonging to a
freshly killed 20.18 ft. (6.15 m.) animal. This ratio of 1:9.23 made Kalia a whopping 23.11 ft. (7.04 m.), closer to the Raja of
Kanikas claims. As a final test, we measured the closest giant at hand, Jaws III, at the Madras Crocodile Bank. The ratio was
1:9. The emerging theory is that young crocodiles may follow the 1:7 ratio, but as they grow older, the skull doesnt keep up
with the rest of the body, until at 35+ years of age they reach 1:9. If we could estimate these growth changes, it would be
relatively simple to estimate the age of crocs.
Recently, we traced the skull of a false gharial from Borneo to the Munich Museum. It measured 81 cm. (snout tip to occiput).
So the current record holder for the largest crocodilian skull in the world is not a salt-water crocodile (the traditional favourite)
but an endangered long-snouted fresh-water reptile. It seems likely that none of these ratios would apply to gharials and false
gharials so we can only speculate what length the Bornean false gharial reached.
Among crocodiles however, the largest skull, measuring 76 cm, belonged to a salt-water crocodile from Cambodia, now at the
Paris Museum. The second largest skull (73.5 cm) is of an American crocodile at the American Museum of Natural History,
New York and the Kanika skull ranks third in the world. There may yet be other larger skulls collecting dust in private
collections but until they are measured, all stories of humungous crocodiles remain in the realm of old hunters tales.
The crocodile census conducted in Bhitarkanika in January indicated the presence of a 23 ft. (7.01 m.) crocodile (would we
love to put a tape measure on that beast!!). Given the high degree of protection the Crocodile Sanctuary enjoys from the
Orissa Forest Department (and the salt-water crocodiles themselves), it seems that this is one of the few places on the planet
where these giant crocodiles will continue to rule into the 22nd century.

Crocs of the tidal zone

Published as a chapter in Sundarbans Inheritance, Sanctuary Books, 2007
Narrated by Rom Whitaker; written by Janaki Lenin
Abdul Aziz Mulla, a honey collector, stumbled upon a saltwater crocodile nest just as the eggs were hatching. Since he couldn't see the female
anywhere close by, he picked up a baby croc, which immediately started squawking in alarm as baby crocs will do. The mother, which had
slipped into a muddy wallow on his approach, heard its baby's call and swung into defensive action, erupting from hiding to grab his leg. He threw
the baby croc at her, which is all she really wanted. A few bad scars later, even Abdul admitted she wasn't a man-eater. Surprisingly, this was just
one of the few croc attack accounts I heard in the Bangladesh Sundarbans about 25 years ago.
I spent three weeks in the mangrove forest aboard the 10-metre-long District Forest Officer's launch, Bana Sundri in 1981. With its six-man crew
we conducted perhaps the first crocodile survey undertaken in the Sundarbans. The swamp was always notorious for its man-eating tigers and we
had a 24-hour armed escort; while I appreciated the necessity, I soon began to chaff at the lack of privacy. Celebrity-hood was never my bag!
The best place to start my study was by interviewing the people who lived on the edges of the crocodile swamps. Interestingly, apart from their
myths and legends, few really knew about crocodile natural history or behaviour. Many actually confused the nests of wild pigs and crocs, and I
found myself personally checking each nest they thought they had located. This involved crawling on hands and knees through
thorny Phoenix palms and 1.5 m. tall tiger ferns, not named for its feline looks but because its dense stands are a favoured hide-out for tigers.
Visibility at such times was about as far as my nose. Elsewhere humans are usually the hunters -- the kings of the forest. In the Sundarbans the
tables are turned. You feel hunted; just prey. Understandably, we constantly looked over our shoulders, listening for every small sound and, I am
not ashamed of admitting, quaking in our shoes. It was the poor visibility combined with constant reminders from everyone I met that made
walking in the tiger's turf as heart-pounding as running a marathon at high altitude. Yes, the armed guard was always behind me with his ancient
and cumbersome Enfield .303 cocked. But that itself was a creepy feeling. Would I end up as tiger fodder, or would a jumpy guard armed with an
unpredictable rifle accidentally get me?
Walking in the mangroves is a seriously tough business. I was often knee deep in mud in some places, thigh-deep in others. If a tiger did actually
turn uprunning was never going to be an option. The big cat had the advantage of enormous snowshoe-like paws, but the aerial roots, the
pneumatophores, of some mangrove trees would be an impediment even for the cat. My feet slipped and slid sideways as I tried to step between
the sharp spear-like roots, straining muscles unused to this strange manner of walking. Meanwhile, monkeys jumped artfully from pneumatophore
to pneumatophore and deer raced through them faster than a tiger possibly could. Any two-legged human treading this swamp was at a major
disadvantage.
Once you are out of the tigers turf, you walk straight into bull shark waters. The first time I returned after a walk in the mangroves, I recall trying
to wash the black gooey mud off my legs in the river before getting on the launch and was chastised for my trouble. In the boat crews view my
white legs were ideal shark bait so I was ordered to always hop up on the launch first, scoop up a bucket of water from the river and only then
wash my legs away from of jaws of water-borne predators.
When the tiger does not make it into their conversation, people who visit the Sundarbans talk of crocodile attacks. Its more hype than fact.
Though that might have been true in the old days when crocs were common, 25 years ago I found no evidence to support the stories. Also
there was confusion about whether people had been attacked by sharks or crocs. None of the scars from the injuries I physically examined were
caused by crocodiles and six or seven victims down the line I was inclined to think that the so-called croc attacks was the work of sharks. People
sifting for shrimp seedling were especially at risk because bull sharks commonly hunt in muddy waters along the shore. Some are maimed by
relatively small sharks, about 1.5 or 1.8 m. long, which would grab a leg or an arm and shake vigorously tearing off skin, flesh, part of an arm, or
a leg. As for the crocs, I just never saw enough of them. Nor it would appear do most land animals because deer, wild boar and tigers seemed to
have no qualms about swimming across creeks, streams and rivers as evidenced by the many pugmarks and hoof prints visible on the edges of
muddy banks.
When darkness fell, I would stop conversing with humans and begin working on what I loved best looking for crocs. I used a powerful spotlight
that made crocs eyes shine, giving them away. High tide was never any good to me as the reptiles would be deep in the mangroves. I found
myself gliding along the waterways using the same methods that croc hunters once did, to devastating effect, in the 1950s when the skin industry
was at its peak. Three decades later the few surviving crocs in the Sundarbans were still wary of humans.

Days passed. And despite scouring ideal croc habitat night afternight, frustration began to set in. The only crocs I was able to
spot were hatchlings or yearlings. Though I followed up on local advice: Go downriver to such and such place and you will
see them basking all I ever saw were a few slide marks. Then, out of the blue (brown actually!) one day, I saw the broad back
of a monster croc an 18 footer (5.5 m.) -- swimming languidly out in the middle of the Bhola River. I am unlikely to forget
that sighting because it was one of the precious few crocs I ever saw in the Sundarbans. Ultimately after covering over 433

km. of mangrove creeks and rivers in three weeks, I counted just six, and saw evidence of six more during that survey. Thats
a density of 0.028 crocs per km.
Drifting along the mud-lined and mangrove clothed waterways of the Sundarbans, watching the forest go by day after day can
get monotonous so I would entertain myself fishing. Occasionally we would stop at a forest rest house and I would go out
looking for snakes to take my mind off the survey that was not working out quite as I had hoped. When I go snake hunting, I
dont like people around; I like to concentrate on what Im doing. But since the forest was dangerous I could not casually
wander off on my own. One afternoon while the guard was catching some shut eye post-lunch I sneaked off to look for snakes
around the dighi, a freshwater pond away from the main river. I found some interesting water snakes and was totally
engrossed when I suddenly heard shouting -- the guard was running towards me with his rifle ready. I quickly looked around
to see if I was about to be pounced on by Dakshin Ray, the tiger god. The guard was angry: If you get eaten by a tiger, they
will blame me. And I responded: Yeah, but Im right here. The rest house is in plain sight. It was then that he narrated the
hair-raising story of a Forester who had been taken by a tiger right in that dighi months earlier.
My survey was not particularly exciting in terms of snakes either. Cruising along one of the meandering mangrove rivers in a
launch one day I saw a largish snake swimming across at speed and I scooped it up with a landing net. The boat crew was
horrified that I had dumped a monocled cobra on the deck. As it sat hissing and dramatically displaying, the six crew members
stood nervously as far back as the boat would allow, causing it to rock precariously. Throw it back. Throw it back, they
yelled in unison and I replied in my best American-Bengali accent, Nai nai nai. I want to take it to the shore and take
pictures.
My will prevailed and as they took me ashore I jumped into the mud. It was tricky I had a camera around my neck, a cobra
in one hand, a stick in the other, and was stuck up to my knees in mud. I did manage to get pictures, however, and this made
an impression on the boat crew who talked about it all the way back. They then told me about the king cobra that climbed up
the anchor rope of the launch that they somehow beat off before it could crawl aboard.
That night while the boat lay anchored in the middle of the river, I heard many tales of tigers with superhuman talents. Like
ghost stories, everyone in the Sundarbans has his own tiger tale. The boatman narrated particularly extraordinary stories of
tigers stealthily climbing aboard anchored fishing boats in the middle of the river and making off with adult men without
waking anyone else. For effect he informed me that tigers make people lose not only their voice, but drains energy from their
limbs so they cannot run. In a philosophic aside, he quoted the motto of the Sundarbans Jale kumir, dangai bagh -- crocs in
the water, tigers on land.
If merely floating midstream could cause so much fear, I can only imagine what they thought about crawling through the
mangrove slush. The armed guard walking with me in the thick bush was a psychological prop, but the benefit of doubt would
have to be given to a determined tiger against the old bolt action .303 of the shaky guard. Nevertheless, even I was grateful for
company as this halved the odds of a tiger attacking me! (Besides, a gun going off with a bang would probably scare any sane
cat away.) Nobody went into the Sundarbans alone, whether fishermen, wood cutters or honey collectors. The bigger the
group, the lower the risk. People sought safety in numbers for the same reason fish schooled together. I found myself inwardly
happy that there was a part of the planet where humans were forced to think and behave like prey animals. Early man must
have felt the same fear when sabre-toothed cats prowled around his campsites.
These people whose lives were governed by the tides lived in a fantastic world of terror and mythology embroidered with fact.
I just could not tell what was real and what was not. A group of honey collectors spoke, as expected, about crocs and maneating tigers and surprisingly, a few people who got away. One might imagine that if a tiger got a hold of you that was
where the story would end. But in one case a charismatic honey collector spoke of a tiger that made the mistake of catching a
man by the leg rather than his neck and began dragging him away, still alive. When the man realised that he was bouncing
around between the hind legs of the tiger, he is said to have reached up to bite hard on the tigers testicles until it let him go.
This was probably the only tiger attack story in the world that made everyone roll on the floor with laughter. There were
other cases of people who actually fought tigers with their axes or machetes. And one man in the group philosophically
concluded that people are eaten by tigers because they torture the forest.
What really scared the daylights out of me about the Sundarbans was not being attacked by an animal; it was being caught in a
storm while paddling a canoe. I was there in April, the pre-monsoon storm season. If we were surveying by canoe at night, we
ventured out only after carefully reading the skies for signs of an impending storm. One night, we misread the signs and got
caught by the weather gods in Bainkari Khal. The chop of the waves even in that little creek was so bad that the canoe was
swamped within minutes. Sharks and tigers were the last things on our minds when we jumped into the mud to haul the canoe

up out of the water. The craft was our lifeline and the strong current kept trying to pull it away from us until we managed to
tie it to some mangrove roots. We were covered in mud from head to toe and the strong wind against our damp clothes chilled
us to the bone. Shivering, we crouched in the donghy, retying it periodically as the tide came in. For an hour and a half the
wind tore through the forest shaking down sticks and leaves and sending them flying around like dangerous confetti.
Lightning struck all around us and we just hung on for dear life. During this season, a lot of boats get lost and people lose their
lives.
In the aftermath people remembered a super storm that hit in 1978-1979. The tidal surge had been between six and nine
metres high, and people had to climb fast to stay above it to survive. Fortunately, because of the optimum salinity, mangroves
species grow to over 15 m. tall in the swamp forests of Bangladesh. Along with the clinging humans, tigers, wild boar and
even deer had been seen on trees together with the snakes and other creatures. When the storm subsided, 200,000 people and
as many animals lay dead among the mangrove roots.
Mangroves are one of the most vital buffers against super storms anywhere in the world as we recently discovered when the
huge tsunami hit Asia. No other place in the world attracts as many devastating storms as the Sundarbans does. If you trace
the paths of a hundred cyclonic storms spawned in the Bay of Bengal, about 90 of them hit the Sundarbans. Without the
mangroves to absorb the fury of the elements, a tidal surge up the Meghna River would flatten many villages and towns in its
path.
Despite this critical function, the Sundarbans has been systematically whittled down to roughly half its original extent. For
centuries, mangrove wood was extracted for construction of piers and jetties because they are naturally resistant to damage by
saltwater. Much continues to be burned as firewood. When there were working plans for timber extraction, one tree specie
was particularly discriminated against the baen or Avicennia officinalis. These big, mature trees rot at the base creating big
holes where tigresses are able to deposit their litters, pythons their eggs, and where a host of creatures such as civets,
mongooses and monitor lizards can find a home. These old, rotten trees were useless as timber and were the ones removed for
firewood.
I was told of a female python that was found incubating her eggs in one such tree hole. It was promptly killed and her four
metre long skin hung in the launch that was my home in the Sundarbans. It was one of the biggest Indian python skins I had
ever seen. As if to confirm the story, I discovered a shed python skin in one such huge tree hollow.
Many years later when I returned to the Indian Sundarbans in 2003, my spotlight survey was just as fruitless, though we did
see a few more small crocs. It was the same old story. In contrast, in 2006 I counted 65 saltwater crocodiles in Bhitarkanika in
an hours cruise. So why were there so many in Orissa? It has to be because pro-active conservation helped the crocodile
make a remarkable recovery. The number of crocs of all sizes in Bhitarkanika, a comparatively small 672 sq. km. forest, is
around 1,500. Thats a density of 10 crocs per km. Yet in the 10,000 sq. km. of the Sundarbans, which ought to have many
times more crocs, reportedly supports only a miniscule population.
I am puzzled by the appallingly slow recovery of the saltwater crocodile in the Sundarbans (both sides of the border) despite
nearly three decades of protection. Could lack of ideal nesting sites be the reason? Croc nests are not only obvious mounds;
the females also draw attention to them by creating visible tracks. So it is vital to have undisturbed nesting areas with little or
no human interference. In the years past, people collected eggs opportunistically to eat, but only two active nests had been
found in recent years. Once croc exploitation reaches a certain threshold, their chance of recovery hits a point of no return
unless the nest sites are vigorously protected.
Like crocodiles, monitor lizards too have been hammered by the skin industry. People camped in large parties on the edge of
the Sundarbans and used dogs to corner and kill monitors with ruthless efficiency. So, even though the habitat was intact the
numbers of these lizards seemed pitifully low. Someone should investigate what is preventing them from recovering.
The river terrapin, Batagur, is another reptile in trouble. The mangrove swamps once abounded with these huge turtles that
were hunted for meat with baited hooks. The method was simple, a rope was strung across a fairly large river with hundreds of
hooks and each hook was baited with the little yellow mangrove fruit of Sonneratia apetala that turtles love. My crew
demonstrated how they used to catch them years ago, but all they could show me were the half a dozen captive terrapins being
reared in village ponds.Today, the turtle is more or less extinct with small chance of recovery.
To understand what happened to the Sundarbans in the early days of human colonisation I looked at the Andamans where
some of the pioneering human settlers of the smaller mangrove ecosystem were Bangladeshi refugees. The first thing they did

was to clear the area, where the freshwater meets the saltwater, of all vegetation mangrove
trees, Nypa palms, Phoenix palms, the lot. Apparently, this is the best rice growing zone. This is also prime croc nesting
habitat. In the Sundarbans, when the monsoon combines with high tide, storm surges sweep up through the mangroves
drowning croc nests. The only place where croc nests will not be inundated is the non-tidal rice growing area.
What really drove this poignantly home to me was finding the bones of a female croc still on top of the remains of an old nest
on the edge of the Sundarbans that had been freshly cleared for rice planting. She had been killed while guarding her nest.
Ironically it was her maternal protective instinct that sealed her fate as she could easily have swum away from her tormentors.
This epitomises how crocs were wiped out. The first wave of hunters killed the animals for their skins, the second wave of egg
collectors robbed nests and the final nail in the coffin was the loss of prime nesting habitat.
The only available habitat left for crocs in the Sundarbans now is the tidal zone and although babies were successfully
hatching in some years, they need freshwater to drink. During the rains they survive on rainwater, but after this when the
rivers slow down to a trickle and saltwater flows in from the sea, baby crocs do not have a hope in hell of surviving. Which
meant the yearlings I was seeing on my night surveys were probably a doomed lot.
Besides habitat, the other important factor is the prey base. Fish is a primary food source for crocs, monitors, and turtles, so I
checked on the fishing trends. The high shark population inhibited fishermen from getting into the water to drive fish, so some
used tame otters to do their job for them. Once the net was set up the otters corralled the fish along the shoreline. The mullet
jumped through the air in panic and some actually leaped onto the shore and lay flapping in the mud. But most fishing is still
done with traditional nets and the size of the mesh is one standard method of estimating resource exploitation. Typically
people started out with nets of five to eight centimetre mesh size. Then gradually the mesh size got smaller, and now they use
what can only be described as mosquito nets to pick up even the tiniest fish. Of all the other pressures stacked up against the
aquatic reptiles, this is perhaps the main whammy the bottom of the food chain is collapsing.
We had gone to the Sundarbans expecting to see crocodiles rule the tidal forest but came away instead with the realisation that
despite the vastness of the mangroves, these animals had been systematically wiped out.
There can be no one silver bullet recommendation to set things right. The deep malaise afflicting the Sundarbans needs
systematic long-term research, coupled with instant, effective conservation action. For a start, a comprehensive survey is
needed to pinpoint nest sites for focused protection. I was thinking about this when a loud thump jolted the boat and almost
knocked us overboard. The propeller had hit a submerged log and the blade had broken. The choking exhaust fumes caught us
fully in the face as the boat sputtered into silence. Until the propeller was fixed we stewed in our sweat as we drifted
downriver watching macaques picking the debris left by the receding tide.

Dogs and Us

Photo credit: Nikhil Devasar A pack of stray dogs attacking a nilgai in Sultanpur Wildlife Sanctuary, near New Delhi.

An earlier draft was published as Stray Scare in Sunday Express 14/1/07

Four-year old Nina bent down to pat the little stray puppy that was curled up asleep on the pavement. Before anyone could prevent it, the puppy
had ripped her lip. The traumatized girl was quickly whisked away to the doctor for stitches and anti-rabies shots. In this incident, both the dog
and the little girl are victims of our poor management of stray dogs. The puppy was an insecure, poorly fed, abused animal at the mercy of passing
humans. Like millions of others, it had to fight a daily battle to stay alive, dodging traffic, finding shelter against the harsh summer sun and rain.
No wonder he had misinterpreted Ninas approach with suspicion and had launched into an offensive. This is not an isolated incident but typifies a
growing problem that we have to resolve now for the sake of dogs and people.
Rabies:
The first point we simply cannot ignore when we are talking about stray dogs is that India tops the world in rabies deaths. Rabies is 100% fatal,
just like AIDS and stray dogs are the Number One transmitters of the disease in India. It is hard to get any figures on human rabies cases as the
Ministry of Health does not require hospitals to report cases. The best estimate available is the WHOs National Multi-centric Rabies Survey of
2003, which puts the figure at 20,000 rabies deaths a year in India (tragically, half of them are small children). Doctors candidly state that the
infected person is treated as an outpatient, given a heavy course of tranquilizers for a week and sent home to die as peacefully as can be hoped.
According to the WHOs 2003 report, there are an estimated 22 million dogs in India of which 14 million are strays.
Population Control:
In India Animal Birth Control (ABC) is presently the sole legal method of stray dog control in India. Ironically, Rule 7.9 states, Female dogs
found to be pregnant shall not undergo abortion (irrespective of stage of pregnancy) and sterilization and should be released till they have litter
(sic). The very rules that are meant to control the stray dog population mandate that stray pregnant female dogs should be allowed to give birth
on the streets! Hardly ethical and humane!
Pet ownership:
The abundance of garbage coupled with the dogs innate fecundity are not the only reasons for the burgeoning stray dog population (as it is made
out to be). Irresponsible dog owners are largely to blame they abandon unwanted puppies and dogs on the streets. Even well to do families may
dump their pets when they move to another city, or to an apartment complex with a no-pet policy. When there is no protocol or effective law in
place to check this practice, we can continue to sterilize strays for the next 50 years and still not reach the intended target. Its like trying to mop
water from the floor while the tap remains open. Besides, ABC does not prevent dogs from attacking people nor is a sustainable rabies control
protocol in place for the sterilized animals.
Feeding strays:
To further complicate matters there are numerous voluntary organizations which actively feed stray dogs. For instance, in 2001 the Ministry of
Culture disbursed Rs. 10 crores to such organizations on Mahavir Jayanthi for the purpose of feeding stray animals. So even if we clean up our
streets and make garbage inaccessible to stray animals, there is enough food given by sympathetic souls to sustain a huge population of strays. All
the organizations working towards reducing the stray dog population should work out an integrated policy for the problem.
Ineffective population control:
The WHO recommends that for ABC to be effective, at least 70% of the total population has to be targeted within 6 months. However, the reality
falls far short of these recommendations.
According to the estimates released by animal welfare organizations, New Delhi alone has about 200,000 stray dogs. Contrary to WHO
recommendations, 20,000 dogs is the admitted annual capacity of the 6 to 8 animal welfare organizations responsible for the implementation of
Animal Birth Control in Delhi. That means only 5% of the total stray dog population is sterilized over a period of 6 months, 65% less than
recommended. Although 20,000 dogs are sterilized a year, it still leaves the rest of the population (180,000) free to breed. Let's assume that only
half of this remaining population (90,000) is female and that only half this number (45,000) is able to breed successfully (not juvenile, too old, or
unhealthy) and only two pups survive per litter. That results in 90,000 dogs added again to the population. Although dogs reproduce twice a year,
we'll keep the estimate conservative. Sterilizing 20,000 dogs still results in the population growing by nearly four times in one year! This estimate
does not include the thousands of abandoned un-neutered pets that are added to the stray dog population each year. (According to the International
Fund for Animal Welfare one female dog and her offspring can produce 67,000 puppies in 6 years!).
Charity or essential service:
Although the ABC programme is funded by taxpayers it is largely performed on a voluntary basis by NGOs with limited (urban) reach. Unless the
infrastructure to deal with tens of millions of dogs at one go is in place, the good intentions of the many dedicated NGOs will remain futile. Dogs
are capable of breeding faster than any organization can sterilize them and the bottom line is, they are the biggest reservoirs of the rabies virus.

Where is the Plan?

Currently, there is no strategic Action Plan that clearly evaluates how many years it will take at the rate of how many sterilizations per year to
reach a target of zero stray dogs. The stray dog population control functions on an ad hoc basis and any claims of its effectiveness is challenged by
the lack of planning, infrastructure, funds and a scientific policy.
Street Dogs:
India is disturbingly the only country in the world to follow a policy of returning sterilized stray animals to their respective localities. In a scene
reminiscent of the Roman gladiator days, we are daily witnesses to these strays dodging traffic, getting run over by vehicles, fighting with each
other, and suffering from diseases like parvo, enteritis, distemper, cancer and mange. According to the WHOs 2003 data, an average of 17
million people get bitten by dogs every year in India of which 76% (about 12 million) are caused by strays. The Government of Indias annual
medical cost for treating these bites runs close to Rs. 1.5 billion, while poor people form nearly 88% of the rabies mortalit y figure says the same
report.
Is it surprising then that in many areas, the public view stray dogs as a nuisance and vans returning the strays after sterilization are stoned and
chased away. Such stray dogs are released in the outskirts of towns and villages, and sometimes in forests to fend for themselves.
Are Sanctuaries for Wildlife?:
Dogs (like cats) are natural born predators and it is very difficult to teach them otherwise. Stray dogs are incredibly damaging to wildlife killing
untold numbers of monitor lizards, birds, snakes, and other wild creatures. No discerning environmentalist would want to trade our dwindling
wildlife for a world of free-ranging feral domestic animals. On the remote beaches of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, 90% of the highly
endangered leatherback sea turtle nests are destroyed by stray dogs; they are actually helping to push this largest of all sea turtles to the brink of
extinction. Closer to home, packs of stray dogs regularly bring down black buck and deer inside Guindy National Park in Chennai and at the
Vandalur Zoo. In Mumbai, the leopards of Sanjay Gandhi National Park proliferate on an unnatural diet of stray dogs, resulting in dozens of
human and leopard deaths. Stalking and hunting stray dogs means the big cat is also watching human behaviour at close quarters. In several
recently documented cases in Junnar, Maharashtra, leopards killed humans while chasing dogs.
Dogs regularly kill spotted deer in Lal Bagh Park, Bangalore and in Bori Wildlife Sanctuary, Madhya Pradesh. According to the Forest
Department, dogs kill blackbuck, especially females in the act of giving birth, in the Great Indian Bustard Sanctuary, Nannaj, Maharashtra. In late
2004, thousands of stray dogs caught in the Hubli/Dharwad area of Karnataka were released in Dandeli Wildlife Sanctuary, Karnataka. In March
2005, ten deer were killed by stray dogs in Van Vihar National Park in Bhopal.
In parts of India stray dogs transmit rabies to wolves and jackals, creating a wildlife conflict situation that results in scores of wild wolves and
jackals being killed by panicky humans. In Aurangabad district, a rabid wolf bit 12 people in a single day of whom 3 died despite receiving antirabies treatment. It is irresponsible to leave unmanaged populations of potentially dangerous predators such as domestic dogs to run wild in our
streets and forests. India needs a large-scale publicity campaign to educate people on the necessity of sterilizing their pets and the State has to
provide the infrastructure for cheaply affordable sterilizations. Unless this is done as a government initiative, stray dog population control has
little chance of being successful. Rabies control cannot be effective if run as a voluntary charity as it is right now. It needs an effective campaign
similar to the drive that eliminated that other scourge, small pox, in this country and requires the same kind of publicity and mobilization that goes
into eradicating polio.
Is feeding enough?
When responsibly cared for, dogs are truly mans best friends, but the issue of stray dogs has mushroomed into Indias worst public health
problem involving animals. What we need is a meeting of minds to hammer out a solution to a problem that is rampant in both urban and village
areas. Animal welfare doesnt stop with feeding animals; it includes taking care of them and ensuring the animals dont suffer from preventable
diseases such as rabies. We have created a problem that has gotten out of control and now we need pragmatic, effective, humane solutions based
on the best scientific advice, to prevent incidents such as the 1200 dogs poisoned in Kashmir recently (reported on 28 th November 2006) or the 6
year old girl who was killed by 15 stray dogs at 7.30 am on 5 thJanuary 2007 in Bangalore or the 55 year old man who was killed and eaten by
strays late evening on the 4th January 2007 in Chandigarh.
Co-author: Meghna Uniyal Rabies Prevention and Dog Population Control Download

Film Review: The Right to Survive

The Right to Survive
Turtle Conservation and Fisheries Livelihoods
Directed by Rita Banerji and Shilpi Sharma.
Produced by: International Collective in Support of Fishworkers.
This is a long needed film one that highlights the alienation of local people in the name of conservation. But it is too long
and quite difficult to keep track of what battle is being fought where. We had to view the film twice and take extensive notes
to figure out what it was about.
The film tells us that there are 3 main turtle nesting areas on the Orissa coast and 3 classes of fishing being used in these areas:
Gahirmatha motorized and traditional fishermen
Devi trawlers
Rushikulya traditional fishermen
Gahirmatha It was never made clear in the film if the motorized fishermen are fishing illegally in the Core Area of
Gahirmatha. This area isnt just a turtle sanctuary but is also a nursery for fish stocks. And by the films own admission overfishing has seriously depleted fish catch in these areas. So advocating fishing here albeit by traditional fishermen who have
minimal impact, is really shooting oneself in the foot if we want to sustain fisheries in our rivers and seas, we need such
Protected Areas where fish and shrimp can replenish themselves. This becomes especially urgent as recent Food and
Agriculture Organization reports state that unless we do something about it, by the year 2048 fishing will be an extinct
occupation.
Rushikulya This area seems to function as an example of how conservation and fisheries can work together, like keeping the
trawlers from Andhra Pradesh out and local groups rescuing baby turtles. But this situation is not highlighted enough or even
identified within the film as an example to the fisheries sector or the Forest Department.
Devi Here there is no protection, it is subject to intensive trawling, and the trawlers refuse to use the Turtle Excluder
Devices (TED). The identified offenders were the day trawlers. The simple, large-meshed trawl guard to keep turtles out of
the nets was ingenious but was only shown for a few seconds in passing with no discussion and left the viewer asking for
more.
Although the use of these guards could make day trawlers turtle-friendly, the film left its initial accusations hanging: that day
trawlers messed up the livelihoods of the traditional fishermen and that fish stocks were rapidly depleting. After making the
statement that protection of fish resources will automatically protect turtles it is perplexing that no conclusions are made.
When everywhere else in the world TED efficacy is identified as a way of minimizing the impact on turtle mortality while
maximizing fish catching potential (with a loss of only 10%), here we have a trawler worker saying he loses 90% of his catch
using TED. In the absence of any rebuttal, his words can only be taken as the gospel truth. It is curious that a tried and tested
device such as TED is dismissed as causing such significant losses, and the trawl guard which has not been tested is being
promoted as a turtle-friendly device!
Several vital points were passed over, especially the protection of the moving turtle congregation and alternate livelihoods for
the Gahirmatha fishermen. Turtle conservationists Aarthi and Kartiks opinion that we still have plenty of time to be creative
and change methodologies could be deadly for the unique phenomenon of the Orissa Ridley arribadas. Considering that we
know little about sea turtle biology and the fact that the average size of adult females coming ashore to lay eggs is getting
smaller, the demise of the arribada could even spell the death of the species. Seeing tens of thousands of turtles come ashore
should not make us complacent about their future. On the human side, the rising tide of suicides among the Gahirmatha
fishermen further underlines the need for urgent action. Unfortunately the film didnt stress this urgency.

Who are the main losers if the various ports and oil rigs come up? Do trawlers stand to lose along with turtles and traditional
fishermen? The film did not mention the likely fall-out of these developments and who will be impacted. While the unstated
purpose of the film is apparently to revoke the Central Empowerment Committees strictures on fishing in the turtle nesting
sites, the film missed a crucial opportunity to focus the fight against a common enemy Big Industry. Perhaps this should
have been a key argument that might even unite the trawlers, traditional fishermen and turtle conservationists.
The bottomline however, is this: just because industry is a bigger threat to turtles does not absolve the responsibility of the
fishing community (be they traditional, motorized or trawlers) to nurture fish stocks for the future by respecting Protected
Areas for the vital function they have been established (including sea turtle conservation).
Although well-shot, the visuals have no story within themselves and merely illustrate the narration making it unexciting and
pedantic (how many boats on the sea shots does it take?). The graphics are good and effective. The editing has little rhythm paying more attention to the rhythm of the narration rather than the inherent rhythm of the shots. The questions left
unanswered, the missed opportunities for pushing arguments, the lack of any definite conclusions makes the film seem
unfocussed, vague and results in more confusion than clarity.
The Right to Survive could have been a seminal documentation of the problem but unfortunately falls far short of the stated
goal attempts to provide a solution for tomorrow. This may have been a more effective 30 minute film.
Co-written with Rom Whitaker

The Last Great Indian Unknown

Published as cover story in Outlook Traveller Oct 2006

The bridge washed away in May and no vehicle could cross the boulder-strewn, mischievously gurgling Mpen River. There was no choice but to
walk the 18 km to Deban. Once we got there, there would be no guarantee that we could cross the Noa-Dehing River and the Deban Nullah into
the Buffer Zone of Namdapha National Park where we hoped to camp for the following week. We'd just have to try our luck.
It was an embarrassingly large entourage for two people to camp in the forest for a few days. There were seven porters, two tour guides, a cook,
his assistant and a mass of things to carry that included literally everything but the kitchen sink - stove, gas cylinder, tents (different ones for
sleeping, dining, shower and toilet), provisions, toilet seats, etc. I vetoed the blankets, pillows and a folding dinner table. I tried to veto the
rasogolla tins but the cook wouldnt hear of it.
The M'pen River wrapped itself around us, firmly nudging us downriver with the muscular persistence of a large python. It was already mid
morning and the forest was quiet you quickly get used to the steady metallic droning of the cicadas. The only other creatures about were large
wood spiders and leeches. There were plenty of the small plain brown leeches but the ones that took my breath away were what I consider to be
the worlds prettiest leech a spectacularly beautiful large velvety brown one with sparkling emerald green stripes. They sat inert on leaves
angling for passers by. Once onboard, they worked their way to a patch of bare skin and sucked their fill of blood. Given a choice of bloodsuckers
like mosquitoes, ticks, horse flies, Ill take leeches any day. They do not have parasites or transmit diseases the others are notorious for. They just
suffer from a bad PR machine that promotes the larger-than-life prejudice against slimy, wormy limbless creatures.
As the road skirted the boundary of the Park all we could see were Chakma settlements and fields. Namdapha itself was hidden from view by a

steep embankment. The commonest plant along the way was a colonizer I was familiar with - eupatorium. A weed that came with ships ballast
from the West Indies in the late 1880s, it has colonized most of our National Parks and Sanctuaries. It was easy to fantasize being a pioneering
explorer in this remote jungle; this weed brought me down to earth. Eight km later, when the road swung into Gibbons Land, we got our first real
view of Namdapha National Park. The towering trees occluded the sky, the variety of birds heard but not seen, and the occasional glimpse of a
forested mountain were tantalizing. I had learnt not to hope for too much, as the rainforest is very miserly in revealing its secrets. Namdapha is
reportedly the only place in India to see the four cats - tiger, snow leopard, clouded leopard, and leopard. But I knew that if I saw even one of
them here, I had the good deeds of all my previous births to thank. What I could, however, hope for were butterflies, birds like hornbills and
hoolock gibbons, Indias only ape.
At Deban, it was clear that we were never meant to get to Namdaphas Buffer Zone. Deban Nullah was declared treacherous (too deep and the
current too swift), the boatman had been transferred and the captive elephants were loose in the forest until the tourist season began in October. So
we were going to have to chuck our carefully considered plans and instead make the best of the Miao-Vijoynagar Road. The guesthouse and its
grounds looked like a Government guesthouse franchise the concrete construction, the marigolds and crotons, the pine trees and the lawns. But
on the bright side, it had a comfortable bed with a mosquito net.
MV Road, as it is marked on the map, was actually non-existent. In 1974, the Public Works Department (PWD) set out to build the road but
twenty-four years later, they had reached only as far as Deban, a distance of ten km (thats forty metres a year!). In 1998 the Forest Department
decided that enough progress had been made and threw the PWD out. The only route to Vijoynagar is the Lisu path which wove along the
southern bank of the Noa-Dehing River. The Lisu are forest people whose settlements, Gandhigram and Vijoynagar, on the other side of
Namdapha, hugged the border with Myanmar. Their knowledge of the flora and fauna of this forest is unparalleled. During the open season they
worked as porters and forest guides but with the rains all the Lisu, down to the last soul, had migrated back home to emerge only in October.
Although we were so far east, Arunachal Pradesh still patriotically followed Indian Standard Time. This meant that the sun rose at 4 am. At 7.30
am (about 10 am daylight time, long after the dawn chorus of birds and gibbons had ended) we headed for Hawa Camp, a spot five km further up
the MV Road.
Lush, waist high vegetation lined the path. With shirts tucked into our pants and leech socks protecting our legs, we were all right. Leech socks
look like Christmas stockings, made of woven cotton or canvas that cover the leg below the knee. They are worn over regular socks and inside the
shoes. While the fashion-conscious would shudder at its crude cut, it effectively protected your legs from becoming a bloody mess at the end of a
forest walk. The leech was to become the undeniable mascot of the trip. Pronounced "leese" by the Assamese, Wancho and Singpho people alike,
we halted every ten yards, for de-leeching. It was a futile exercise the longer you stood still removing leeches, the more the leeches got on.

It was too late in the day to see any animal and I contented myself with horticultural delights. Rocky outcrops covered with ferns, philodendrons
dripping from tree trunks, the translucent green of the birds nest fern, a spectacularly large black orchid flower, the pink flowers of Impatiens
(balsam) and colourful begonias lined the path. It was difficult to take ones eyes off the slippery path to see the beauty of the forest above. Recent
rains had churned the earth into a chocolate sauce consistency that threatened everyones ability to remain on two feet. In places the path wound
around the sheerest edge of the slope and losing ones step here could mean a rapid and bone-jarring descent of a km or two. Japang Pansa, a
Wancho tribal, who was our guide warned that this was no place to lose ones balance and fracture bones as it would take two days just to reach
anyone at the bottom of the slope. Two captive elephants had tumbled down the slope and died, he said. Ouch!
The sheer size and spread of this forest made my head light; most of the rainforests I knew in South India were finite little oases hemmed in on all
sides. Namdapha is one of the two largest protected rainforests in India at 2000 sq km, a whopper compared to that other iconic rainforest of the
South, Silent Valley which measures only about 90 sq. km. Namdapha is also contiguous with Hukaung Valley Wildlife Sanctuary (21,000 sq.km)
in Myanmar, the worlds largest tiger reserve making it one of the most extensive rainforests in all of Asia. When we arrived sweaty and
breathless at the wayside clearing that is Hawa Camp, I gulped in the rare view of the Noa-Dehing River below and the forested mountain slopes
beyond. Japang said aloud what was on my mind, This is just one day of our lives but for the Lisu, this is their entire life.
How do the Lisu survive in this remote corner of India, out of reach of medical help? Japang answered matter-of-factly, If anyone is seriously ill,
they just die. Every July-August a lot of them die of malaria. In clear weather, it would take a healthy Lisu five days to walk from his village,
across Namdapha to Miao. To survive in Gandhigram or Vijoynagar means complete reliance on ones knowledge of medicinal herbs and edible
plants with no outside support of any kind. Do the Lisu wear leech socks, I wonder? Japang says, No, they just brave it; their skin is too thick for
leeches to get through.
On the way down, a raucous, piping birdcall echoed through the forest. Rufous woodpecker. Japang filled me in on the peculiar breeding habits of
this bird. It lays its eggs in an ant nest about 2 to 3 m off the ground. Dont the ants eat the baby birds when they hatch? He said the village elders
told him that the chicks smelt like ants so they were left alone.
Although Japang had served in Namdapha for many years and patrolled its paths all year round, he had never seen a tiger here. There was no

rancour in his voice when he said that visiting tourists had seen one in November. Such is the way of the forest.
After that ten km trek and nary a hide of any animal, the sight of a troop of Hoolock Gibbons feasting above the Deban guesthouse was welcome.
As I watched a hairy arm shoot out of the foliage to grab handfuls of fruit, I noticed something moving around next to it. It was a baby gibbon a
recent addition to the 2500 left in the world fuzzy and blond. It seemed an odd time to have babies but we were to see more of them throughout
the trip. Papa gibbon was disconcerted by our focused interest on his baby although we were 75 metres below. Even at that distance you cannot
mistake who the father was; he was black while she was blond.
Japang, pointing to the northern horizon where the clouds obscured the sky, said that on a clear day one could see Daphabum, the snow-capped
mountain that presided over Namdapha. No outsider has ever gone there, Japang said. An army expedition ended in failure a couple of years ago
and the only people who have been there were the Lisu. They had described Daphabum as a place littered with plane wrecks from the Indo-China
War of the early 60s. They scavenged the scraps, and melted them to make woks and other kitchen utensils. A Chinese pilot crash-landed his
plane there and the intact cockpit is still used by the Lisu to sleep in when they visit the mountain. I was incredulous. Japang insisted that it could
be true, as he had recovered pieces of aircraft from the Namdapha River which originates in Daphabum.
It rained all through the night and into the morning. My plan of going down to Gibbons Land with Japang had to be canceled. I thought if we put
on our raincoats we could go but Japang held me back, The path would have become a river. Wait till it stops. Instead we watched the Noa
Dehing rapidly turn into a roaring muddy river, carrying heavy tree trunks like matchsticks. Japang mentioned that the Mpen River, on the way
home, may also be running full with this rain and we might have to camp there for a couple of days until it subsided. As we sat out of the rain
watching the river fill up, Japang recalled an incident when he had been on patrol with a party of eleven Forest staff in the Buffer Zone. They had
been marooned by a flash flood. They had run out of food quickly and the Chakma fed them for three days until their supplies ended too. So
those of us who knew about such things went into the forest for edible leaves; others went to the river to catch fish. There were so many fish in the
river then. We could stand in the water and wait for a large fish to swim by and wed hit it with a machete or club. We cooked the fish and the
forest leaves together and lived on that for a few days. Despite that we became weak and could barely move. In the meantime our families were
very worried. They were finally able to get the boatman to rescue us after 12 days. If the Mpen was flooded we would be stuck in a similar
position and I had no illusions about how the team would fare.
Leading this team was a novel experience for me. Until then I had always been part of a team led by an experienced and hard taskmaster wake
up before dawn, instant noodles the only sustenance, and jungle walks late into the night. I had felt inadequate, a novice naturalist and on this trip
I felt like a one-eyed jungli leading the blind through the rainforest. I had to make concessions for the rookies on the team who had never been in a
forest before. A couple still suffered from aches and pains of the trek to Deban. Our walks would have to be limited to no more than 10 km a day.
Optimistically I made plans to leave for Gibbons Land with Japang at 5.30 the next day. The others would follow after breakfast. The day was
bright and clear with the haunting ululating songs of Hoolock gibbons. All worries of swollen rivers receded from my mind. As we walked in
blessed silence watching Great Indian Hornbills at fruiting fig trees, I nearly jumped when a loud aar aar aar came out of the bushes to my left.
A moment later a small yellow and brown weasel-like animal shot up the embankment. Yellow-throated marten. Even before we could react, a
young marten ran across the path and dived into the bushes. Japang moved forward to investigate when another marten crying similarly in alarm
scrambled up the embankment. They had been feeding on a flying squirrel just the head, skin and intestines remained. We left them to it and
continued on. Japang surmised that the squirrel might have come down to the ground where it may have been killed by the martens. Why would it
come down? Because it couldnt fly, its skin may have become heavy with the rain. Or the martens killed the squirrel up in the trees and it fell
down and they followed it. Well never know.
Numerous pugmarks of various small mammals were imprinted into the fudge-like mud; if we were better jungle watchers, these could tell us
many a tale. But neither Japang nor I were that well-versed and we had to let the jungle hang on to its mysteries until the next time when I
promised myself Id go out with a Lisu. While Japang was invaluable, there was a lot he didnt know. Without his aid, Id probably never have
seen the yellow-bellied leaf bird, long tailed minivet, dollar bird, great barbet or the racket-tailed drongo. Namdapha is a bird watchers hotspot
where names such as purple cochua, green cochua, beautiful nuthatch and Blandfords rosefinch come alive. The Park encompasses a range of
altitudes - all the way from the floodplains of the lowlands to the snows of Daphabum. Such diversity of habitat spawns unique plants and
animals, many not even known to science. The vast expanse of forests on the southern and northern banks of Noa-Dehing haven't been explored at
all.
While waiting for others to show up at the Forest Department outpost in Gibbons Land, a flock of Brown Hornbills flew from tree to tree. Japang
explained that these birds were unique in the hornbill world. Most female hornbills incarcerate themselves in a tree hole for the entire time it takes
to incubate eggs and raise their babies. The male hornbill is the sole provider of the family during the females confinement. Should the male get
killed, its curtains for the female and babies. Brown Hornbills, however, live in family groups and therefore the female hornbill has not only her
mate but also her sons to provide for her.
Moti Jheel is a pond atop a hill, the only other "sight" to see along the MV Road. Although we had done ten km already, the fair weather wasn't
going to last long. The team agreed to do the additional ten km that afternoon. Before we set out, the team bargained with the cook for the last

spoonfuls of salt with which to thwart the leeches. The path to Moti Jheel was quite different from MV Road that we had been on so far. The
canopy was entirely closed with minor breaks over streams. The forest was dark, leeches thick, and the climb steep. Birds nest ferns graced tree
branches and there was hardly any undergrowth at all. It seemed like no one had been here in years, but Japang insisted he had come up in March.
A wild pig guarding her family grunted in warning. We stood stock still until the pigs moved off into the forest and Japang gave the all clear.
About an hour and some later, we unexpectedly arrived at a primeval pond coated with green algae. None of us would have been surprised if a
Loch Ness-like monster or a hand holding Excalibur emerged out of the water. This was Moti Jheel. Mythology aside, it was hard to imagine what
life forms lived in this pool. Japang looked at the water thoughtfully and wondered aloud if a huge snake could live in there. In reality, it was
probably home to nothing more than a few turtles, frogs and assorted insects but then, there could well be a few surprises in store if explored
further. The walk downward was slippery and our tired feet slipped and slid with leeches hanging on for dear life.
We spread out along the road intent on getting rid of leeches from our footwear. It was a black day for leeches they were tortured with salt,
sugar, tobacco and DEET. Within minutes those gorgeous green and brown leeches had turned into flaccid, colourless, lifeless bodies lying along
the road. That night, one of the leech-paranoid members laid a white trail of salt around his sleeping bag like medieval Europeans hung garlands
of garlic to ward off vampires.
It began to rain seriously that night. By morning the campsite was flooded. Japang sounded dire warnings about Mpen in spate. Tawang, a
Wancho porter, was dispatched at 6 am. If he didnt return by 10, he had crossed Mpen and we were to follow. At the appointed hour, already
driven stir crazy, I picked up my knapsack and began heading out. Not even ten yards down the road, I met Tawang. Bad news. It looked like we
may have to camp here one more night at least. I was worried. If we were marooned here we would not last very long we were not foresthardened enough to survive on forest leaves and roots. So far the rainforest had granted me more than I had dared to hope. I fervently wished our
luck would hold a bit longer. An hour later the rain abated and we decided to give it a shot. The river had subsided since that morning but it was a
lot fuller than the last time we had crossed it. Big smooth boulders underwater were a hazard and many a time we nearly fell into the swift current.
Shikari, the Chakma porter, had the big tin trunk with crockery. This was going to be a challenge. But Shikari just tied a rope to the handle of the
trunk and floated it across the river looking for all the world like a man walking a big rectangular dog on a leash.
Just after everyone had crossed without mishap, we heard a distant rumbling. I looked questioningly, pat came the answer the mountain is
falling a landslide. Soon the clouds closed in over Namdapha and the heavens opened up as we sped towards Dibrugarh blasting Assamese folk
songs in our wake. As I gazed at the white clouds receding in the distance I knew I'd be back to explore that last great Indian Unknown.

The gharial on the brink

Published in 'The Hindu' 8th October 2006
Wispy tendrils of mist rose delicately from the water surface, tinged gold by the dawn. Your breath hangs as little clouds of vapour as you gaze
upon the Girwa River on a cold winter morning. A trio of hollow clapping sounds from the other side of the river, half a kilometer away tells you
that an adult male gharial is advertising his presence. It is the height of the breeding season. The place seems trapped in a time in early history
when man was still clad in animal skins. It is only as the sun rose higher and burns the mist off the water that the world comes into focus with
appalling clarity. The 5 km stretch of the Girwa River in Katerniaghat Wildlife Sanctuary is one of the only three wild breeding sites left in the
world for the most unique of all the crocodiles. This gentle crocodile has become the most endangered large animal in India, twenty times more so
than the tiger.
For the thirty years of Project Crocodile, initiated and supported by a joint Government of India/Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO)/UNDP
programme, the National Chambal Sanctuary was the focus of intense gharial conservation efforts. The only Protected Area spread over three
states Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh the Chambal has over 100 km of river that can be called suitable gharial habitat. So it was
natural for conservation attention to be centred here.
Bandits as protectors
Traditionally, the Chambal has been protected by its reputation. The local residents lived under the thumb of the dacoits, and for a long time
Chambals infamous icon was Phoolan Devi. The ravines afforded effective protection to bandits who successfully evaded any attempt to capture
them. Gharial protection could then afford to be minimal only; the dacoits made sure no outsiders trespassed. Dedicated crocodile researchers
from the State Forest Departments collected wild nests to be incubated at Kukkrail in UP and at Morena, MP. The resulting hatchlings were reared
for three years, protected from predators under a programme hatched by FAO consultant Bob Bustard. When they reached a metre in length, they
were released in the wild.
Over 5000 such juveniles were introduced into the Protected Areas of Chambal, Girwa, Son, Ken and Mahanadi rivers. Surveys to monitor how
the gharial were faring had to be conducted only during the day. On the Chambal river at least, nights belonged to the bandits, but not for long.
The mafia takes over

When the notorious Chambal bandits started to give themselves up in the 1990s, the inadvertent protection that the National Chambal Sanctuary
enjoyed began to unravel. The state police machinery didnt sweep into the void created by the brigands and soon the Chambal became the
hangout of the other anti-social element, the mafia. While the bandits of the earlier era were happy to sponge off the rich landlords and traders, the
mafia exploited the natural resources. While one group excavated sand to feed the building boom in cities like Delhi and Agra, another poached
freshwater turtles. While the sand-miners destroy basking and nesting sites, the turtlers kill gharial which get accidentally snagged by the
thousands of vicious hooks. Fishing is banned in the National Chambal Sanctuary but there is no enforcement. Fishermen chop the snouts or kill
gharials deliberately when they became helplessly entangled in their nets. Besides, fishing depletes the prey of the gharial, depressing the habitats
ability to support larger numbers of the animal.
During the dry summer months, the river runs shallow as water is pumped to irrigate cucumbers and other crops. Barrages, dams, electricity
pylons and other developments are driving the final nails in the rivers coffin. The Forest Department, charged with protecting the wildlife and
resources of the Protected Area has no protection itself from the armed locals. Any outsider is liable to be kidnapped and held for ransom. Under
these circumstances patrolling and protection has naturally been at a bare minimum. The Chambal is going down the drain and the future of
gharials, turtles, river dolphins, otters and water birds looks bleak.
The Gharial Multi-Task Force
The first alarm bells rang in 2004, when researchers Dr. R.K. Sharma and Dhruva Basu compiled survey findings of the last ten years which
showed a drastic decline in gharial numbers. Surveys conducted in 2006 reveal a worsening decline. At the recent meeting of the Crocodile
Specialist Group of the World Conservation Union, in France, the Gharial Multi-Task Force was set up with a Core Group consisting of all the
main gharial researchers in India and Nepal, the only two countries where wild gharial survive. One of the first tasks of the Task Force was to
assess the population trend of the gharial. Has it declined sharply enough to justify uplisting in the Red Data Book from Endangered to a Critically
Endangered species?
Although the revision hasnt been effected yet, the initial assessment is startling. The area once occupied by the gharial has shrunk by over 98%,
and the numbers have plummeted by 97% in the last sixty years. In the 1940s between 5,000 and 10,000 gharials were found from the Indus river
system in Pakistan to the Irrawady in Myanmar, covering 20,000 sq. km. Today about 200 adult animals occupy less than 250 sq. km. When
Project Crocodile came into effect, there were an estimated 200 gharials of all sizes left in the world. Thirty years and a massive crocodile
conservation exercise later, the gharial numbers are creeping down to their lowest low in the early 1970s. But now the pressures on gharial habitat
have multiplied and quality of what remains is deteriorating. The question is can we achieve now what we failed to do then?
If gharials die, so do we
The gharial requires deep, free-flowing rivers unfettered by dams and barrages. The water has to be clean and clear for its fishy prey to breed.
Gharial must have undisturbed sand banks to bask and nest. We are also talking here about an intact, protected river habitat, on which our own
survival hinges. Its not for nothing that the wise ancients depicted Ma Ganga astride the gharial.
Six years ago, the world saw through Project Tigers hollow claims of success. Today, Indias second largest species conservation programme,
Project Crocodile, is in danger of being similarly discredited. What went wrong? The quick answer is that the simple part of the job was
admirably well done: 12,000 gharial eggs collected, incubated and hatched, over 5000 juveniles released into Protected Areas and sporadic
monitoring done. But the hard part was ignored: there was little or no effort to get the river people on the side of the gharial and the conservation
movement. As a result today, there are 2 gharial left out of over 700 released in the Mahanadi river in Orissa! In the Girwa about 60 of all sizes
survive while over 900 were released. The Chambal has fared marginally better with about 78 adults out of the over 3500 gharial released.
Despite years of conservation education we are today facing the worst environmental crisis in history. The only way to reverse this trend is for
every citizen to put conservation at the top of the priority list. We need a rejuvenation of political will that will encourage and support
conservation efforts of the State Forest Departments and NGOs. And to save the gharial what we need now is a holistic approach to river
conservation. The ban on fishing and turtle poaching has to be enforced while at the same time working with local communities for alternate
livelihood options. The inter-linking of rivers is predictably the worst thing that could happen to all our riparian wildlife and has to be appraised
by hydrologists and biologists before we flush away all our river resources. The gharial, turtles and dolphins are not the only ones dependent on
healthy rivers; our own survival depends on it.

HOW TO AVOID BEING BITTEN BY SNAKES

In houses and gardens:

Learn to identify the local species of snakes and which ones are venomous. You need worry only about
avoiding the venomous ones.
Piles of debris (stacks of bricks, firewood, etc.) and rubble are good hiding places for snakes.
In areas of known snake activity, keep the surrounding area clear of low bushes, and hedges which are clear
at the root base. The idea is to avoid providing cover for the snakes while approaching the house and for you
to have a clear range of vision.
Keep the house and surrounding area free of all rodents (prey) and rodent burrows (shelter).
Use a torch/flashlight when walking outdoors at night.
Sleep off the ground on a cot or bed.
If you see a snake, it is best to let it find its way out of the house by itself. If it is well settled in, use a hockey
stick like curved stick to pick up the snake and drop into a tall bucket with lid. The snake can now be moved
outdoors.
Do not try to kill the snake as you can get bitten in the process.
Encourage ratsnakes to live in the garden as they will eat all other snakes.
Dont reach into spots you cannot check for snakes first.
A dog trained to fear snakes (get their nose bitten by a harmless watersnake when they are puppies) will warn
you of the presence of one.
Outdoors:
Avoid reaching your hands in to stacks of straw, wood, etc.
While walking at night always use a torch.
Always wear footwear (of any kind).
Watch where you step.
There is only one sure cure for venomous snakebite: antivenom serum. Most snake bites are not dangerous, only 10
to 15% of venomous bites prove serious enough to be potentially fatal. Check if the local hospital stocks antivenom serum ahead of time. In case of a bite, go to the hospital immediately. First aid measures like pressure
bandages, tourniquets, cut and suck are NOT recommended.
FIRST AID (courtesy http://www.lfsru.org/firstaid.htm)
The best and most effective instant action to take in case of snakebite is to follow the four point plan below:
1.

Reassure the victim

Keep calm. Fear and panic will only raise the pulse rate and blood pressure and move the venom into the system
faster. Tell the patient that most snakebites are from non-venomous species. Even most venomous bites are
rarely serious but all bites should be watched for symptoms.
2.

Immobilize the bitten limb without compression.

If the bite is on a hand or arm place it in a sling bandage or use a piece of cloth to support the arm. In the case of
a leg bite, keep it still on a cushion of cloth or straw.
3.

Carry the patient to hospital as fast as safely possible.

Dont waste time washing the wound, seeking traditional remedies or applying any drugs or chemicals to the
patient. Keep the patient as immobile as possible; carry the patient on a stretcher or ride in a vehicle, boat or
bicycle. DO NOT WASTE TIME.
4.

On the way to the hospital note any of the following signs and tell the Doctor.

The Doctor will want to know if any of the following signs or symptoms were seen on the journey to the
hospital:
a) Difficulty in breathing
b) Drooping eyelids
c) Appearance of any unusual bruising
d) Swelling. Carry a pen and mark the limit of the swelling every 10 minutes or so
e) Drowsiness
f) Difficulty in speaking
g) Bleeding from the gums
h) Bleeding from the wound that does not seem to stop

Setting Free - issues relating to wildlife rescue and rehabilitation

Zoos' Print Vol. XXII No. 8, August 2007
One early morning we found a gunnysack on our doorstep that contained a baby toddy-cat. Its eyes were barely open and it lay asleep in blissful
slumber. I fed it some milk with a small-animal feeding bottle left over from the days when I was rearing a litter of mongooses. As he grew and
became more active by the day, I felt less energetic. He was nocturnal and I had to stay awake and play with him as I took my role as mummy
seriously. I had read Joy Adamsons books and was completely carried away by the romance of rearing baby animals.
When he was half-grown, we decided it was time to move him out of the house and introduce him to his future home. We propped a large cage 5
feet x 5 feet x 7 feet under the banyan tree behind the house and gave him a branch and a small sleeping box. A month later we opened the small
door at the top of the cage so he could easily climb onto the banyan tree. He was frisky. He ran up to the top of the tree and came running towards
us and ran up again. He wanted us to climb up and play with him! A couple of days later, he disappeared. The crown of the banyan tree was
contiguous with a long hedgerow of palmyra trees. During the hot summer nights, scores of palm fruits drop to the ground with their husks torn
apart. I like to think that our toddy-cat is one of the nocturnal feeders.
Over the years I wondered if I did right. I fed the toddy-cat bananas and other fruits and he loved to clamber up when I had a cup of yogurt. Where
would he find bananas and yogurt in the wild? I also hand fed him; would he know where to find food now that he was on his own? Having
interacted only with a couple of humans, would he know how to behave with another toddy-cat would he know when and how to display
submissiveness? Would he recognize and avoid predators like Great Horned Owls and pythons? I reprimanded him when he used his teeth too
hard or when he jumped on me suddenly. Had I unwittingly altered his natural behaviour without thinking about the far-reaching effects it would
have in his life out in the real world? Before the toddy-cats cage was opened, I didnt get him screened for diseases. He could have harbored any
infection and spread that to the wild toddy-cat population. After spending his growing years in the safe security of a well-bedded sleeping box,
would he go through the trees looking for similar beds? I also do not have a clue what I had done to the local wildlife by releasing a series of small

carnivores into the same habitat. It was time to re-consider why I went through the effort of rearing these wild creatures when everything seemed
set against their survival. The unavoidable truth was that it made me feel good.
There are hundreds of people like me around the country who rescue birds, mammals, and reptiles. Most rehabilitators rear such animals in their
homes and one fine day decide to release them in the jungle where they belong. On the other hand, most wildlife biologists and managers stay
clear of such animal welfare concerns and as a result the rehabilitators are left to their own devices. Handicapped by the lack of guidelines that
prescribe how to rear, where to rehabilitate these animals and with little scientific background and usually nil post-rehab monitoring, it is difficult
for rehabilitators to judge if their methods work and what percentage of released animals survive.
The few studies that have occurred show that the overwhelming majority of such rehabilitated animals die of various causes. Listed here are some
of common mistakes:
(a) Imprinting the young animals on humans
(b) Acclimatizing the animal to food that it is unlikely to find in the wild
(c) Inappropriate cage size, design and location
(d) Inadequate response to predators
(e) Behaviour alteration
(f) Choice of habitat for release
(g) Kind of release - soft or hard
(h) Non-assessment of the impact of the release on the resident population of the species at the site
If all this makes wildlife rescue seem like an expensive and difficult enterprise, that's because it is. In most cases rescuing animals interferes with
the cycle of nature. Orphaned and injured animals if left alone will become prey to predators thus ensuring the continuance of natural law. We are
interfering when we 'rescue' these animals and bring them home. Often animals are rescued on the mistaken belief that they need rescuing - every
year several leopard cubs stashed by their mothers in the security of tea bushes are rescued forever making these large carnivores unsuitable for
life in the wild.
Ideally wildlife rescue is recommended when every single animals life counts for the future survival of the species. In almost every other case the
amount of money, time and effort needed to rear the animals may be better utilized in protecting the habitat. Perhaps the only exception to this
rule is rescuing of animals who endanger the lives of humans, (venomous snakes), animals affected by a natural or artificial calamity (oil slick,
development projects).
If, after reading these words of deterrence, you find yourself in a position where rescuing an animal is necessary then help is at hand. The World
Conservation Union (IUCN) has requested Mike Jordan, Chair of the Re-Introduction Specialist Group (Europe and North Asia), to frame the
necessary guidelines. A preliminary round of consultation with the South Asian members took place in Coimbatore in late Nov 2005 and a manual
is expected to fill the long felt lacuna.

Viji, the Turtle Girl

When you delve into the history of herpetological conservation in India, as I did recently, you keep bumping into one
personality called J. Vijaya. I have never met her and all I knew of her was that she spent most of her short life working on
turtles and that there is a small memorial to her right next to the turtle pond at the Madras Crocodile Bank. Viji (as Vijaya was
called) was Indias first woman herpetologist when such a career was unknown in this country.

Student days
Viji came to the Madras Snake Park as a volunteer in late 1975. She was then a first year zoology student at Ethiraj College,
Chennai. She assisted the keepers in cleaning the cages, made sure that visitors didnt throw stones at the animals, helped in
the office and library and filled in for anything else that needed doing. Shekar Dattatri, then a school boy joined the Snake
Park as a volunteer a few months later and remembers her as a very quiet person with the insular, focused interest of a Dian
Fossey.
While Shekar played truant from school and spent all week hanging around the Snake Park, Viji could only visit on weekends.
Besides doing little projects at the Snake Park, the duo went on short field trips together with the Irula tribals - to Vellore
looking for rock lizards, to Mambakkam, Ottiyambakkam and Chitlapakkam and other places looking for small creatures like
scorpions, lizards, snakes and geckos. Caring for animals in captivity at the Snake Park and observing wild ones in their
habitat was a steep learning curve.
The first published mention of Viji surfaces in the September 1980 issue of Hamadryad, the newsletter of the Madras Snake
Park in its early years and later Madras Crocodile Bank, when she wrote a short note on the breeding behaviour of mugger
crocodiles. A September 1981 editorial mentions that she was working as a Research Associate on a project (which included
checking wild scats and feeding captives) to assess the effectiveness of monitor lizards as rat predators. She had graduated by
then and was working full-time at the Snake Park.

A turtle biologist is born

In those early days when herpetological conservation was still nascent, Romulus Whitaker, her boss at Madras Snake Park
was assigning various people to different critters Satish Bhaskar to nesting sea turtles, Valliappan to sea turtles in the meat
markets of Tuticorin and he might have put Viji onto freshwater turtles. Once, Rom and a team from Snake Park including
Viji, went to the Indian Institute of Technology campus to catch a couple of crocs that had escaped from the Childrens Park
Zoo. Near the edge of the huge sewage treatment ponds, they came upon hundreds of turtle eggshells, dug up and strewn
around by mongooses. That was the first inkling they had about how common the Indian flapshell Lissemys punctata and the
Indian black turtle Melanochelys trijugawere. Viji began collecting data on the turtles nest size, number of eggs per clutch
and nest survival (precious few!) and that may have been the decisive moment.

Shekar remembers returning from a field trip to Sri Lanka with Viji clutching an old frayed bag of the Indian black turtles. At
the Customs check, she had to open the leaking bag for inspection when the turtles began pissing in unison. It made an already
cumbersome procedure smellier. He laughed as he recalled affectionately, Shed do things that I wouldnt dream of doing.
At this time, Edward Moll, the Chairman of the World Conservation Unions Freshwater Chelonian Specialist Group needed
an assistant for a nation-wide survey of turtles and Rom, who was a member of the group recommended Viji, who was just 22
then, for the job.

The first surveys

The survey got underway in August-September 1981 and she traveled up to West Bengal (the major consumer of freshwater
turtles in the country) to meet up with Pankaj Manna of the University of Calcutta, the other team member. With Pankaj as
translator, they began with the meat markets. Thousands of Indian softshell turtles Aspideretes gangeticus and narrow-headed
softshell turtles Chitra indica came for sale during the winter months - when the water was low and the creatures were easy to
trap, hook, or catch with bare hands. The price of turtle meat plummeted from Rs. 18 to Rs. 5 per kilo during these months; it
was cheaper than beef, Viji reported.
From Gorakhpur, Uttar Pradesh, she wrote about the movement of the turtle trade - most went to Bengal but some found their
way to Assam. Initially turtle exploitation was confined to the states immediately around Bengal. But by the time of her visit,
states further upriver like UP were being hunted for the Bengali markets (Viji would eventually discover that turtle
exploitation extended as far up as the Punjab). On a typical day, 10 baskets of 10-20 turtles each, along with freshwater fish
from reservoirs and rivers were sent by train from UP alone. The market was big and the business competitive; at least 20
agents worked the River Rapti. Viji also documented how turtles were caught by harpooning and hooking. The hapless turtles
were flipped on their backs and their flippers stitched together with binding wire for the journey to Bengal. In 1981, the
catchers were already complaining about the small size of turtles (5-10 kg. range); 10 years earlier they were easily able to
catch 40-70 kg. ones. Based on Vijis findings Ed Moll estimated that 50,000 to 75,000 Indian flapshells, 7,000 to 8,000 large
softshells and at least 10,000 to 15,000 hardshell turtles were coming into the Howrah market in Calcutta annually. He felt
that the latter was probably an underestimate, because on one day in May 1983 (off- season), he witnessed over 350 large
hardshell turtles being auctioned off.
It cant have been easy doing this work as most of the places Viji visited were the badlands or wild west of India the
Chambal ravines with its dacoits, Bhagalpur (at time of the infamous Bhagalpur blindings), crowded, goon-infested parts of
UP. But she was totally oblivious to anything besides turtles. The black and white pictures she took of the gory Ridley sea
turtle slaughter on Digha beach and in the meat markets of Calcutta, shook the public when India Today magazine ran them in
the early 1980s. This was the first media expose ever done on the free-for-all trade in sea turtles and highlights the difference
one individual can make for conservation.
Prime Minister Indira Gandhi took action (another woman who dramatically affected conservation in India) immediately and
overnight, sea turtle exploitation was cut to a trickle. Mrs. Gandhi also wrote to the Coast Guard asking them to protect sea
turtles, a tradition that still continues. Ironically, the present govt. has abdicated its role as caretaker of Indias wildlife by
allowing ports and other developments along the coast that are detrimental to the turtles continued survival.

The forest cane turtle

The forest cane turtle (at that time Heosemys silvatica) was at the top of the agenda of the Freshwater Chelonian Specialist
Group. Viji decided to go and look for the obscure little turtle in Kerala which hadnt been seen for 67 years. Only two
specimens of the species had ever been recorded by a Dr. Henderson (of the Madras Museum) in October 1911 from Kavalai.
Henderson describes the locality as 20 miles from Chalakudi, the starting point of the forest tramway service. When Viji
planned her trip, she discovered that Kavalai meant crossing or junction, the tramway had long since fallen into disuse and
every district in Kerala seemed to have a village by that name. She somehow made contact with the Kadar tribals in
Chalakudi and sought their help. She wrote: TheMoopan, or headman, was appointed to accompany me as he was the
oldest man available to accompany a girl into the forest. Moopan, whose actual name I was never allowed to address, was a
dignified man four and half feet tall with a serene face. Rain or shine, we would go out with his big umbrella and his sickle,
which he used to chop off plants to make way in the jungle. She was finally able to find a cane turtle in July 1982 and that
shot her into the international herpetological limelight.

Shekar remembers that first turtle well. The first time Viji got one back to Madras, she brought it to my house. So long as it
was daylight and as long as someone was watching it, the turtle would not come out. When it was pitch dark, it would slowly
put its head out. The moment you shone a torch, it went back in. This was the most bizarre creature Ive ever met. Perhaps
what captured everyones imagination most was that Viji saw wild cane turtles dive under leaves when frightened, just the
way an aquatic turtle would dive into the water. Henderson also recorded the fact that this turtle did not affect the
neighbourhood of water, a fact borne out by the absence of webbed digits.
In December 1982, one of the female cane turtles Viji brought back laid a clutch of two eggs. She discovered that this species
wasnt a vegetarian as earlier thought. Besides eating fruit and fungi, it fed on invertebrates such as millipedes, molluscs and
beetles. From knowing virtually nothing about the animal, Viji made a quantum leap in documenting what this turtle was
about.
Unbeknownst to the scientists who considered the turtle lost for close to 70 years, several cane turtles were sold in the
European pet trade as Tricarinate hill turtle Melanochelys tricarinata or Indian black turtle in the 1960s and 70s. One of the
turtle hobbyists who bought several was Reiner Praschag who maintained them in captivity in Austria for many years.
Research and conservation
Rom remembers a clutch of Indian flapshell turtle eggs Viji had been incubating under a tin roof shed at the Croc Bank. It had
already been about 300 days when Rom remembers writing them off as dead, but Viji persevered. The Irula tribals had told
Viji that the sound of thunder makes turtle eggs hatch. A couple of weeks later, it rained for half an hour and on cue the eggs
hatched. Viji excitedly said that there had been no thunder; the rain beating on the tin roof was what did it. It would be
wonderful to learn more about this intriguing aspect of turtle behaviour.
By the end of 1982, Viji had a captive breeding group of cane turtles and Travancore tortoises established at the Croc Bank.
She set up a field camp in the Nadukkani forest (a very remote and pristine forest, with the least damage wrought by fire),
Kerala to study these two chelonians. It was several kilometres from the nearest Kadar village and it was a challenge to get
there even on a good weather day. She lived alone in a cave, the former abode of leopards and bears, for several months at a
time far from any help should anything have happened.
Here she captured and notched 125 turtles; if any of these turtles were caught again she would know how far they had traveled
since being released. She also extended the range of what was being called Indias rarest turtle to Neyyar Sanctuary in Kerala
(200 km. south of Kavalai), and to Agumbe in Karnataka (over 200 km. north of Kavalai).
Shekar also mentions Vijis incredible sense of direction. He said anyone going into the forest with her didnt have to worry
about keeping track of where they were going or mentally marking particular trees to find their way back. She could wander
through an unfamiliar forest for kilometres, without stopping to take stock of her bearings, and yet unerringly find her way
back without an effort. Besides, while the rest of the group was cautiously keeping an eye out for elephants, she merely
strolled through paying no attention to leeches, ticks or elephants. She was completely at home in the forest and no
inconvenience fazed her.
In addition to capture-mark-releasing of turtles, Viji also carried out the first studies in Indian forests on tracking the
movements of turtles. In 1983, Vijis operating budget was about Rs. 900 a month (including salary). There was no way that
the Snake Park could afford radio telemetry equipment but she did the best she could with what was available. She stuck a
spool of thread onto the carapace of the turtles with Araldite and let them wander. Following the thread, she could then get at
least a general idea of daily activity patterns and even figure out the approximate home range of the animals she was studying.

The end
Ed says Viji was an excellent field biologist whose best traits were her perseverance and her ability to observe. She did not
have a strong biological background to interpret the data she was collecting and Ed invited her to Eastern Illinois University to
do her Masters. In September 1984, Viji left for the States to do her post graduation under Ed Moll and later returned to India
to do field studies. In April 1987, she was found dead, of unknown causes, in the forest she loved; she was 28.

Epilogue
In 2006, 19 years later, her name was formally given to the cane turtle that she spent so much of her time studying Peter
Praschag, the son of Reiner Praschag, and several other herpetologists analysed the DNA of Reiners now-dead turtles and
recently re-named the turtle Vijayachelys silvatica in her honour. It is a monotypic genus, which means that there is no other
turtle like it to share the name of Vijayachelys. Just as there are very few other people like Viji.
This article was based on interviews with filmmaker/conservationist (and one of Vijis few friends), Shekar Dattatri, Rom Whitaker and Ed Moll,
her professor.

THE AGUMBE RAINFOREST RESEARCH STATION

Published in Hornbill July-September 2005

If you are a researcher in the Western Ghats who is tired of staying in Inspection Bungalows or Forest rest houses under the
threat of eviction anytime and your experience of life in the jungle is the same as mine, read on. My memory of working in the
rainforests of the Western Ghats goes like this wet tent, damp firewood, leeches galore, mouldy clothes, an unending series
of dinners of semolina, instant noodles, rice and dhal and a desperate craving for pizza. Of course, there is the bright side of
camping of time spent watching a giant millipede make its way across the leaf litter, glow-worms that light up the night like
earth bound stars, lizards that seem like butterflies as they glide from tree to tree, waking to the call of the Malabar Whistling
Thrush. For a late blooming naturalist like me whose idea of comfort was four walls and a bed, the dreariness of camping
(which hits a low at nightfall) outweighed the joyfulness (during the day) and I suspect thats the reason why so many field
researchers drop by the wayside in India. Rom Whitaker decided that if the researchers cant be brought to the mountains, then
the mountains will have to meet them half-way. That was how the idea of the field station began more than a year ago.
But why in Agumbe, you may well ask? Agumbe holds a special place in Roms affection as he caught his first king cobra
there back in 1971. He has since visited the place as often as he can. When the rest of the countrys towns and cities are
undergoing a vast transformation, Agumbe has remained the same for the last 35 years and that appealed to Rom. Ok, there
are a couple of tea stalls extra but that is the only visible change. The people are still warm and effusive, bringing you hot
steaming cups of heavenly kashayam (a non-caffeinated medicinal drink) to ward off the rainy chills. It also helps that the
people here have a reverence for king cobras, missing elsewhere. In one case a king cobra strayed into a bathroom and the
people of the household lived with it for three days before seeking our help. They consider it a god who has graced their house
and they were very particular that we didnt harm the snake (or anger it) in any way. Thats half the battle won, Rom said in
admiration. After living all his life in places where it was hard to convince local people to let snakes live, it was a welcome
sign of relief that he didnt have to do any proselytizing here. Roms dream was also to have a station where king cobras
casually cross the backyard to drink from the spring and he found it in Agumbe.

Agumbe is only a non-glamorous Reserve Forest but adjacent to one of the last surviving lowland rainforests, Someshwara
Wildlife Sanctuary and the more famous Kudremukh National Park. A couple of kilometers from the town into the Reserve
Forest, Rom came across an eight-acre agricultural land. When we heard that the family was looking for a buyer we began
scrounging for money. We didnt have any but Roms mum, Doris Norden, said she had some money she would like to give
him for the cause. Hectic parleying began with the owners but before the deal could be concluded Doris died. Exactly a year
later, Rom bought that piece of land with money his mother had willed him and finally Rom was the proud owner of land in
prime king cobra territory.
In April 2005, Rom won the Whitley Award, which would help set up cottages, buy basic scientific equipment, and a vehicle.
The land is not connected to the electric grid and Rom decided he wanted a place that was a model of sustainability a hybrid
of solar and hydel electricity would power the station. Its easier said than done unless you have expert help which we found
in Jos van den Akker of Auroville. Jos found ways to cut costs and put us in touch with hydel power expert,
Ramasubramanian.
We needed help with building designs and blueprints so Srikumar Menon, a faculty member of the Manipal Institute of
Technology volunteered his help. A team of his architectural students have come up with a design for the cottages and during
the first week of December 2005, construction will begin. It finally seemed likely that the rainforest research station would
transcend from a dream to reality.
Naturenet Caf is the name of the local village information centre that Rom dreams of setting up in tandem with the field
station. With high speed broadband and intranet connectivity, local farmers can find the best market prices for their produce,
school students can get trained in the new technology, information on sustainable ways of farming, land use, ecology, wildlife
will be made available here. Passing tourists can purchase locally made handicrafts and information on the rainforest, not to
mention hot cups of kashayam, king cobra T-shirts and merchandise. For me, its just the place to do emails without having to
hike up to Thirthahalli or down to Manipal.
It has been a frustrating few months we had the money and the designs but the monsoon was in full swing. At the time of
writing Agumbe had already received more than 7000 mm of rain, reportedly next only to Cherrapunji. As we sat in the
courtyard of the old mud farmhouse and watched the rain swirl round and round, a flock of woolly necked storks walked in
and out of the mist. Birders visiting the station made a casual list of 200 species of birds, barking deer visit the land in plain
sight of the house, a troop of common langurs are shy neighbours and of course there are the king cobras.
P. Gowri Shankar is the intrepid Education Officer who lives on site. In between visiting local schools and colleges on
environment education campaigns, he has caught 18 king cobras from peoples houses, gardens, wells and plantations. Early
this year he became the first researcher to ever witness a wild king cobra making her nest. Rom scurried around for a video
camera to send Gowri but by that time nest building was complete. The mother abandoned her nest after a few days because
of local disturbance nearby a land owner decided to set fire to a massive trunk of tree which smoldered for days. Smoke is
anathema to snakes and it effectively drove the mother snake away. Similarly temperatures and humidity of two other nests
(both also abandoned by the mother snake) on private estates were monitored throughout the entire period of incubation and
the results of the first such studies of wild nests are beginning to emerge. In all instances, Rom put his hand deep into the nest
to put in data loggers and reported that the packed mound of vegetation kept the eggs dry during the torrential rains. The
output from the data logger however, suggests that the pile of leaf litter does not raise the temperature of the nest chamber.
These wild nests took a lot longer than captive eggs to hatch because of the low temperatures they incubated in but they
produced very healthy, sturdy babies. Surprising too was the hatching rate of 99% - we thought we were doing well with 60%
in captivity. The natural incubator the mother king cobra makes from leaves somehow keeps the eggs healthy while no manmade incubator seems capable of maintaining the high humidity without a fungal attack.
One observant villager mentioned that he had seen the mother king cobra bask in the morning light and then go into her nest.
Perhaps she was bringing additional heat into a cool nest to aid incubation? Maybe there was survival merit in speeding up
incubation so the eggs remained vulnerable only for a short time. Until we find a nest with a guarding female, this will remain

mere speculation. And therein lies the conundrum female king cobras in the Western Ghats seem to be very sensitive to
disturbance. They seem to flee at the first smell of danger and yet we have heard of occasional persistent females who tried to
return to their nests for days despite being repeatedly chased away by people. Its a matter of time before we come upon a
determined nest guarding king cobra and until then the questions will remain.
In March this year Gowri was called to a house to catch a king cobra that had fallen in to a well. After considerable difficulty
he pulled out a male. The very next day the same people called Gowri to catch a king cobra which had fallen into the well. It
turned out to be a female. Intriguingly this leads us to surmise that female king cobras may actively seek their mates.
In April we visited a nest abandoned by the mother king cobra who had been making a nest in the same place for the last three
years, according to the villagers. If this is true (and you can be sure we will be there next nesting season) this will be the first
recorded evidence of king cobra nest-site fidelity in India. Every single nest site we have seen in the last two years has been
GPS marked (as was every capture and relocation) and in the following years, it would be interesting to see if nest-site fidelity
is the norm.
One of the questions also remaining to be answered is why do king cobras gravitate towards habitation. For years, the
standard reply was because rats live with people; rat snakes come to eat rats and king cobras follow to eat the rat snakes. But
there is a possibility that king cobras living close to villages may seek coolness during the hot dry months and warmth in the
cold rainy months. We make convenient cave-like dwellings (we call houses) that provide the optimum temperature for a
snake when the weather is harsh.
We hope the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station will function in just the same way for researchers a cool place to hang out in the middle of the
rainforest.

A Journey to the Edge of the World

Published in Outlook Traveller Oct 2005 as "Andamans: Desert Island Days"

Lets go take a close look at that crocodile, Neel suggested and Harry and I agreed gamely. We were at the Wandoor jetty,
South Andaman watching a seven-foot salt-water crocodile swimming sedately in a narrow channel between Alexandra Island
and us. Neel revved the zippy inflatable boat straight towards the croc. Harry and I thought he was giving us an adrenalin rush
and we were determined not to react. When it seemed that we were imminently going to land on top of the crocodile I began
squeaking incoherently. But it was too late. The astonished saltie (not a savory but the affectionate name by which croc
specialists call the salt-water crocodile) dived underwater as we zoomed up to where his head had been. What are you
doing? I spluttered. What if the croc had bitten through the boat? He couldnt believe a croc would do that. He had
obviously not read those infamous tales of salties biting propellers and outboard motors in Australia. The Andaman saltie
hadnt either, so why was I getting worked up about it, Neel asked. I made a mental note to lend him my book of croc attacks
for bedtime reading when we got back home. That should enlighten him, I decided, but it would have to wait. We were
preparing for an expedition to South Sentinel Island, a tiny uninhabited island near Little Andaman Island and this neardisaster was the first field test of the rubber boat before we packed it.
The daylight trip would take us to the island at low tide when it would be too shallow to pull up the long massive dugout
canoes, Rom had declared after peering for a long time at the Bay of Bengal pilot book. So the plan was to anchor offshore
and use the rubber boat to ferry the gear and people to land. Harry, Neel and I had spent the day stocking rations, organizing
barrels to carry fresh water (there was no fresh water on the island), diesel for the two motors and petrol for the generator to
charge batteries. Harry had just single-handedly managed to obtain permits after two months of running around and there was
no time to lose.
South Sentinel is one of the two outlying islands west of the Andaman chain. If you are looking at a map, the little dot way off
the west coast of Little Andaman is the island we were headed for.
That night while we sat on the wooden deck of the kitchen, swatting mosquitoes and sipping whisky, I overhead Neel deep in
conversation with Saw Pawng (whom everyone called Uncle), our 80 year old chief of the boat crew. Uncle was appalled to
hear that the world was round and not flat. Splendid! Here was our boat captain who thinks he might fall off the face of the

world if he kept going straight on. I hurriedly bid everyone goodnight before Neel began bringing Uncle up to speed on the
scientific developments of the last two centuries. What Uncle didnt know hadnt hurt him and what I didnt know that Uncle
didnt know, couldnt hurt me.
Rom arrived the next day. After reviewing the food, water, fuel, gear and people, Rom had to ask Neel to stay. You drink too
much water, man, he tried to explain to his dejected brother. Through the day Neel guzzled as much water as his high
metabolism sweated out. But having swung into the spirit of adventure, to be grounded must have been disappointing.
While packing the two canoes with everyones bags, rations, and equipment, Uncle was muttering something about the world
being flat. Oh, how I wish Neel had not gotten this bee into Uncles bonnet! Once everything was strapped in place Uncle
shouted Chaabo! (Lets go!), the Karen call to adventure. Remember the world is round, Uncle! shouted Neel with a wink
and a wave. I glared darkly at Neel while Uncle hesitantly brought his hand up to wave and I swore I was going to give him
the goriest croc attack book on earth. With pictures of body parts.
Along with us five mainlanders were six Karen. The Karen were brought over from Burma by the British in the 1920s to work
in the islands. Two of them were in charge of each canoe one operated the motor and the other bailed out water that seeped
in. Traditionally the Karen rowed and poled their way around the islands until one day an enterprising Karen did something
ingenious by patching together a regular 8 hp Kirloskar water pump motor, a length of pipe and a propeller, he had a motor
boat. Overnight the motorized dugout canoe became the most efficient vehicle on the waters of the Andaman Sea. Before we
teamed up with the Karen, we used fiberglass and trawler boats but if something went wrong (and it always does) in the high
seas, there was no one to call. Even on dry land, it was pretty hard to find a resourceful mechanic to fix the problem. But with
the dugout canoes, the Karen could pretty much strip the pump down and put it back together with the efficiency of a drill
sergeant.
The thoughtful Karen had built a tarpaulin shade for us wimpy mainlanders. If it were not for this shade, we would have all
begun shedding our skins in a couple of days from sunburn. As we sat cooped up inside hiding from the blistering sun, the
Karen were having the time of their lives. These normally taciturn guys became lively and agile when their canoes skimmed
the waters, the sun beat down on their bronze weather-beaten skins and the wind whipped their straight hair away from their
faces. Schwete, the most reserved of the Karen, transformed into an exuberant whooping cowboy. With the two canoes racing
at full speed nose to nose, Schwete nimbly jumped from one boat to the other to pass the thermos of tea. Just when I thought,
Phew! Did you see that? he stood straddling the two boats, a foot on each canoe, as they knifed side by side through the
azure blue waters. If you thought Kevin Costner was cool in Water World you should have seen this kid!
Five hours later, with the sun directly overhead we lost sight of land; we were out in the high seas with no landmark, no stars,
nothing to indicate which was north or south. Neither Uncle nor Saw Pamwe (the other boat captain) had a watch, compass or
any technological gizmo to consult. Had somebody brought a compass? The thought hadnt occurred to anyone. I knew we
were heading southwest, but the crux of the issue was what degree southwest were we? If we went too south-westerly we
would zip between North Sentinel and South Sentinel islands without catching sight of either and make landfall in Sri Lanka
or worse, Madagascar. Uncle just bit into his beedi and puffed, his eyes fixed on some imaginary spot on the horizon. Was he
going to take us to South Sentinel or to confirm that the earth was flat? There, out in the middle of nowhere, without the
familiar profile of land anywhere, I began to question the sanity of this enterprise. The heat and humidity clogged my brain
and soon I was asleep.
I woke up gasping for fresh air; the foul fumes of exhaust filled my lungs. We were chugging slowly and I looked around for
an explanation. We had arrived. South Sentinel looked like an island should waves beating on the sand with the calm rhythm
of the worlds heartbeat, the white coral sand, the cool green of the forest beyond. The only thing that spoilt the picture was a
lighthouse that stuck out like a middle finger above the forest. The engine finally went dead and we anchored. It was about 3
pm. The inflatable boat was pressed into service and the long process of unloading began. It was well past dusk when we
finished. The once pristine beach was pulped and churned by human footprints. There had been a water monitor track on the
beach when we had first arrived but it was quickly obliterated.
In the meantime camp was being made. While dinner of rice and dal was cooking, we bathed in the sea and used one mug of
fresh water to rinse off before toweling dry. Sitting around the campfire, eating the most delicious dinner, watching the
phosphorescent waves gleaming in the dark and smelling of insect repellent in the air was enough to make anyone sigh
contentedly.

We woke up early the next morning to see enormous tractor tracks up and down the beach nesting green sea turtle tracks.
High above us a pair of white-bellied sea eagles wheeled over the island, like guardian angels. After a quick breakfast,
everyone kitted up and set off for a walk into the island. Its a tiny island, only 161 ha. Along the forest edge the sand moved
with millions of hermit crabs of varying shapes and sizes and the much larger land crabs of different colours from brown,
orange to yellow. Tall pandanus trees shielded the forest from the strong winds blowing off the ocean. The further inland we
went, the taller the trees rose. The soil was sandy and several trees had keeled over. We found pieces of broken coral,
seashells and other relics of a time long ago when this island was merely a patch of ocean bed.
Smack in the middle of the island was a large circular clearing with an island of beautiful palms and tiger ferns. It looked as if
someone had manicured it to make it look just right. We soon found out why the area was clear it was a tidal swamp. When
the tide came in, seawater seeped up from underground and filled the clearing. When the tide went out, the pond drained to
become a clearing once again. We found several enormous coconut crabs, the largest land crab in the world, milling about in
the clearing. While we stood there silently taking in the vision, I felt something tickle my ankle. It was a coconut crab
checking me out, its antennae quivered with unfamiliarity. Schwete tactfully grabbed the crab behind and held it up for me to
take a good look. These purplish 10-legged creatures probably have seen so few humans that they were curious.
After dinner I read my notes on the coconut crab. It is eaten as a delicacy throughout its range islands of the Indian and
Pacific Oceans. But no Indian has developed a taste for it yet and it seemed to be thriving here. It grows to a phenomenal two
feet in length, and weighs as much as four kilograms. It is known to climb coconut trees, chop the fruits letting them fall
down, walk head first to the ground and hack through the fruit with its pincers to get to the tender flesh inside; but not always
in that order. The most far-out thing about these crabs is this - their breathing organ is a cross between gills and lungs and it
can breathe only when the organ is wet with seawater. So a pair of legs is totally dedicated to keeping this organ clean and
moist. The notes also said that if you wanted to see these crabs during daytime on Christmas Island or any of the other islands
of the Pacific Ocean, you had to dig them out from burrows. Obviously whoever wrote the paper hadnt been on South
Sentinel. Here, they come over to nibble at you curiously in broad daylight!
In the morning Harry hauled out a massive wooden chest. Were we going to play treasure island? Harry replied it was for
keeping coconut crabs. The Port Blair zoo wanted us to bring them a pair of the crabs. Wasnt it overkill? Harry replied, The
box has to be strong. Otherwise, the crabs will rip their way through. I pursed my lips and considered the chest. It seemed
unlikely any living creature could get out of there it was solid. I mean, REALLY solid. It took four people to haul the chest
and we headed off into the jungle.
Rom caught the first coconut crab and tried to put it into the wooden chest. By the time he got done, his hands was gouged
and scratched by its sharp claw-like legs. We searched long and hard and could find no more signs of the water monitor
lizards. This was a big disappointment as I was looking forward to seeing the lizards foraging in the coral reef at low tide as
Harry had described it. Back at the camp we tried to feed the crab the contents of a chicken egg. It ate some but got distracted
and tried to crawl into the camera lens instead. Its spooked, said Rom. To me, it seemed hungry for media attention. While
I was playing with the crab, a team headed off into the jungle to continue the hunt for monitor lizards. I went to get something
more interesting for the crab and found some dried salted fish. I rinsed off the salt and returned to the crab only to see that it
had completely mangled the steel tumbler I had been drinking tea from. I shuddered at the thought of what it could have done
to my Achilles tendon on our first meeting. I promptly decided to return him to his box a job easier said than done.
The team came back with the news that they had sighted about 14 lizards in a wet marshy area but they acted skittish, dashing
off in a split instant. We began wondering what could have caused this nervousness the lighthouse builders, poachers? We
decided to visit this marsh again the next day.
We approached as silently as we could. No lizards. It was to be expected but still very disappointing. Rom had an idea that if
we constructed a hide near the marsh and waited quietly, we might see some lizards. So the Karen set to work and I
volunteered to stay in the hide. Coconut crabs and land crabs scurried busily all around me in the dry leaf litter. White-eyes
flitted close by. Parakeets filled the air with their raucous cries. I waited and watched but nothing exciting happened - unless
you count a coy pigeon making a sorry example of a nest exciting. Perhaps the lizards were still edgy from yesterday. Its
amazing how tired and hungry one gets sitting immobile in a hide.
Within a few days, we were low on water and Uncle had to go to Little Andamans Bumila Creek to get more water. The sea
had been getting rougher everyday and he had a hard time getting into his canoe; two of the younger Karen boys had to hoist
him up. Just then Harry discovered that the captive coconut crab had escaped. I thought he was kidding that box was a little

Fort Knox. But it was true, the crab had pried the edge of the chest apart fibre by fibre and had made a hole big enough to
escape. That was the end of that idea.
One morning I climbed up the lighthouse to get an aerial view of the island. A series of metal ladders welded to the metal
structure shook in the strong wind. Even as I was climbing to the treetop level, my knees were trembling and I forced myself
not to look down. But once I surfaced onto the platform atop the structure the magnitude of the view took my breath away.
Even as I was trying to figure out the various features of the island sprawled around below me, something white in the sea
caught my attention. It was an albino green sea turtle. Knowing fully well that none would believe me, I managed to get a
rather shaky video shot of it to be produced with flourish later. A few months later, we were to discover that white green sea
turtles were not a rarity at all. They come up with fair regularity on the Sri Lankan coasts and a couple of sea turtle hatcheries
there maintained a few in captivity. But nevertheless, it was exciting at that moment to witness a living specimen of aberrant
nature. What a fantastic place! I wrote mundanely in my journal at a typical loss for words.
Towards evening we began to get worried. There was no sign of Uncle and the Karen who had gone to fetch water. They were
supposed to have been back by afternoon and we were down to the last bucket of water. Although we werent extravagant
with the water, we cut down our consumption further, drinking a sip only when we had to. But we decided to wait one more
night before getting worked up about it.
We lazed in the shade of the camp, not wanting to work ourselves into a sweat when we were low on water. The sea eagles
resumed their vigil over the island, their lonely calls piercing the air. It was mid-morning when the canoes came into view as
they rounded the limestone cliffs on the eastern side of the island. A collective sigh of relief went up. The river mouth in Little
Andaman had been pummeled by tall waves, Uncle said, and they had risked being drowned when they attempted to get out
into the sea. The boys apparently hadnt want to leave in such choppy waters but Uncle knew we would be really low on water
and was determined to make it. As we sat on fallen logs hungrily eating fried fish, a school of dolphins came bounding like a
lot of marine puppies. They had hemmed a school of fish against the shore. This was the life good food, pristine beach (well,
almost), good sleep under the purest skies and lots of fresh water. Thats when I heard Uncle talking to Uncle Pamwe in
Karen. I couldnt understand their language but I knew instantly what they were talking about. Uncles hands were saying
something like Did you know that the earth is round? I smiled. Uncle may not know these larger facts of life but he sure as
hell knew where every speck of island, inhabited or uninhabited, was around these parts and that is all that mattered.
At sunset one evening, Johnny went diving under the surf and came up to present me a big gorgeous live cowrie. I was
touched but tried to tell him gently that I dont like to take live animals. I felt bad rejecting his present he was only trying to
give me a gift in return for the cap I had given him earlier.
The next day we headed back to Wandoor. The sea was calm and the canoes could be brought ashore. This made loading so
much easier and quicker. Within half an hour almost everything was on board. After ten days on the island, I looked forward
to a clean bath but I was also sad that we were leaving. We skirted North Sentinel and the sharp eyes of Uncle spotted a
couple of Sentinelese on the beach. Dolphins raced alongside us until they got bored our boats were too slow for the speeds
they were accustomed to. It was dark by the time we dropped anchor at Wandoor. We discovered Neel had in the meantime
vacationed on Havelock Island so he couldnt guilt-trip us. After all these days of washing in the sea, my hairbrush was thick
with greasy dirt and my hair was limp and sticky. I got most of the gritty fine sand out of my hair that evening and cherished
the privacy of a room for the first time in a long time.
After dinner when Neel got started off on how the earth revolves around the sun all of us burst out laughing. Uncle looked
puzzled for a moment and he laughed too. He had been right all along Neel had just been pulling his leg.
Epilogue: Schwete died tragically of cerebral malaria after a trip to the Nicobars at the age of 21. The tsunami pushed the
island up about a metre out of the sea but the beach we camped on is underwater while the inter-tidal pools are now
permanently exposed. No one knows yet if the coconut crab population was affected. If the accretion of beach on other islands
is anything to go by, a beach may soon start forming on South Sentinel again. Someone should make the trip out there and
check it out.

The King Cobra and I

Published in Sanctuary Asia, Vol. XX No. 4, Aug 2000 and The Hemispheres Vol.1, No. 2
We were filming two male king cobras engaged in combat in the damp forests of Agumbe when one suddenly turned and
headed straight for Rom. Caught on the wrong foot and unable to move, he chose to stand still. The king cobra shot past
between his legs and just as everyone was beginning to draw a relieved breath, the snake turned around behind him and
latched onto the seat of Roms jeans. In the absolute silence, everyone could hear the sound of its teeth ripping through the
fabric, besides their own hearts thudding in their ears. And then the snake was off again, to continue with his battle without
even grazing the skin of Roms posterior. Rom still maintains that it was his Levis that saved his ass!
When Romulus Whitaker and I decided to work together on a film, the subject was already chosen. Novices in the field, we
had to get a toehold in the business. The only creature we could think of that nobody else had made a film on, and was so
unique that only we would be in a position to pull it off, was the king cobra. It was also the only creature at that time on which
Rom wanted to make a film. His relationship with the species stretching over a long period of time and he has had several
encounters with them in the wild and in captivity. So 'King Cobra', the film, was woven around these episodes.
There were a few notes on its courtship behaviour written by colleagues in the Madras Snake Park and others in U.S. zoos.
But aside from this, there was precious little we could find. So we had to start from scratch. We put the word out all along the
Western Ghats from Goa to Kerala that any information on their nests. The two years that followed was a period of intense
education for me. It was my first encounter with the wilds of India, let alone king cobras. We stayed with friends or at forest
bungalows in various National Parks; where hospitality was unavailable, we camped in the forest. To me, the last option was
very unnerving. Spooked by stories of other people's misadventures, my perception of the forest was of a frightful monster
ready to grab me when I was the least aware. My uneasiness probably irritated Rom no end but he was accommodating. The
worst time (yet the best in hindsight) was when we camped in the forests of Agumbe.
Agumbe, a haven for creepy crawlies
Agumbe is the wettest place in South India and Rom had caught king cobras there in the past. In his early days he would camp
regularly in these damp forests looking for snakes. On one such trip, he saw a black snake tail disappear into a thick bush and
instinctively dived for it. Even as he almost shattered his elbows with the fall, his mind was telling him that it was a rat snake
until an apparition of a spreading hood growled over his sprawled body. There wasn't much he could really do considering the
position he was in, so he let the king cobra's tail go. That was the beginning of Rom's life long fascination with the species.
Rom considers Agumbe the 'king cobra capital'. To me it just seemed like 'leech capital'! We were camped there for a couple
of days living on instant noodles and smoke flavoured tea (which we strained through our butterfly net). We saw little of any

of the larger animals, the largest we saw was a barking deer; but we saw lots of smaller things - frogs, slugs, scorpions,
millipedes of all shapes and sizes, huge tadpoles that don't metamorphose into frogs, insects, birds like the Shama and Malabar
trogon. It was great yet eerie to not see any humans about. The place was so damp that anything dry became wet in minutes.
Coming from the city as I did, the dankness and the closed canopy of the forest made me intensely claustrophobic. I hankered
to see dry open stretches of land, like tea estates, much to Roms disgust. But the many different and new things we were
seeing kept me going in what seemed like miserable circumstances.
It was a voyage of discovery for me - watching Rom dig into an embankment to reveal the largest spider I've ever seen - a
mygalomorph tarantula the size of his hand. From watching the flight of flying lizards to hearing the chirpy, quiet human-like
calls of the lion-tailed macaques in the canopy, I had travelled miles from being a paranoid city animal to being an
appreciative amateur naturalist. Now every turn in the path would raise my anticipations of seeing a king cobra. But we saw
very little of king cobras in all this time but at least we were exploring their domain - that was our excuse for being in these
forests for the length of time we did.
Meanwhile we were coaxing National Geographic Television to help us make the film. Understandably reticent at first about
putting their money on such an elusive subject, they eventually were enterprising enough to support us fully. It took a few
months to put a crew together and work out the logistics. We were finally at the brink of what we had so often dreamed of in
the last two years. It was January when we began, at the start of the king cobra courtship and mating period.
Royal romance
During this season, the female king cobra lays a trail of scent as she crawls. This scent is potent enough to bring any passing
male king cobra under its spell. With his tongue leading the way, he may spend days trying to find the female. The female,
however, is wary of the larger male. He could easily eat her if he wanted to. But the scent of the female king cobra has put the
male in a specific mode - that of mating. If he is rejected by a defensive female, he will try cajoling her. His style of
persuasion might seem ridiculous to us - he butts the female with his head. If she does not relent, he may butt her so violently
that she is lifted off the ground. Eventually, after all this attention, the female relents. Her hood spread, head raised slightly off
the ground, she glides gracefully away with the eager male crawling over her, trying to get her tail up. This is important
because without her co-operation a male cannot effectively mate. Once he has her tail up, he mates with her and they may
remain in this embrace for an hour. After that the male goes his way - to meet other females or ...males.
The breeding season also makes male king cobras touchy towards each other. When two adult male king cobras meet, they
may engage in a strange dance called 'male combat'. This is what is mistaken for a 'mating dance'. The combat is ritualised
like in a judo match - no biting is allowed and the rivals are honest enough to follow the rules without an umpire! The snakes
rise up as high as four feet off the ground, twine around each other and attempt to push the other down. The first to pin the
opponent's body down to the ground is the winner and they will joust until one prevails. It's not clear why snakes perform this
combat dance ritual. It may be over food, territory, females or just excessive hormones working overtime during the breeding
period. The struggle can last for hours and the snakes become oblivious to anything else - come rain, shine or even man.
Injurious to health!
What do you do when a snake is really, really close and headed your way? Usually the best thing would be to stand as still as
a tree and hope that the snake goes on its way. Most snakes do not have good eyesight. With king cobras, the rule is to retire
gracefully and if you can't do that, RUN as fast as you can.
The king cobra comes with a warning - its bite is injurious to health. It has enormous venom glands in its "cheeks" but
surprisingly, its venom is less toxic than a common cobra's. However, the sheer quantity of venom a king cobra can inject still
makes it lethal. It can inject upto 6 ml. of venom at a time - that's a couple of thimbles full. There's an old anecdotal note from
Burma that even talks of an elephant dying from a king cobra's bite. The last known instance of a human succumbing to a king
cobra bite in India was 20 years ago when a woman stepped on a king cobra in a tea garden in the Annamalai Hills of Tamil
Nadu. But the king cobra's instinctive response to humans is to flee. Even nesting king cobras who have a reputation for
aggression are shy of facing humans.
A bird or a snake?
The female king cobra is different from any other snake in the world because she actually builds a nest for her eggs. Consider
this, here is a creature with no limbs that painstakingly scrapes together a pile of leaves to lay her eggs in. This amazing event

occurs at the threshold of the monsoon. When her time comes, the female king cobra gets very restless and climbs nervously
over the surrounding vegetation probably to choose the right site for her nest. Once a place is selected, she loosens the leaf
litter by shoving her head under the leaves and pushing them up, thoroughly raking the area. Then she coils around a bunch of
leaves and literally carries it in a coil of her body to her nest site. She repeats this many times until she has the base of her nest
piled up. She lays her 20-30 eggs on this and then piles more leaves on top of her eggs. The dimensions of the finished nest is
about 40 cm high and about a metre in diameter. The whole operation can last twelve hours. Job done, you'd think the
exhausted female king cobra would just leave - to rest and find food. But no, a more serious job is just ahead. She will stand
guard without eating for the two months it takes for the eggs to hatch. The most she will get is a drink of water when it rains.
Her mere presence is enough to dissuade any intruder. If that doesn't work, she will put on a formidable display - hood spread,
mouth open and will growl like a dog. That is enough to send even the most persistent intruder off. This behaviour is what
gives rise to stories of aggressive king cobras.
Little wonders
When the monsoon catches on seriously, the deluge can batter the nest down to almost nothing. But as long as the centre of
the nest is dry with just the right amount of humidity, the eggs are fine. The babies arrive towards the end of the rains when
there are plenty of other baby snakes around on which they can feed. They are born with perfect miniature fangs capable of
injecting venom but they are so tiny that they can barely penetrate our skin. The thin hungry mother finally leaves them to find
food. It is probably just as well because she's a snake eater herself. Left on their own now, most of the baby king cobras will
be taken as prey by civets, birds, monitor lizards and other snakes. Only one or two will make it to adulthood.
Deadly mystique
Rising up over its victim, the king cobra strikes down on any part of the body and clamps its jaws in a suffocating grip. It
chews on the snake, injecting more venom with every bite until the victim stops struggling. The venom attacks the nervous
system so first the lungs collapse, the heart stops beating, the muscles go limp with paralysis and the victim suffocates. Then
the king cobra slowly works its way toward the head of the snake, moving its fangs alternately without ever letting the snake
go. Once it reaches the head, it begins swallowing. Rows of teeth and the fangs move alternately all the way down the snake's
body very similar to the way a sewing machine moves cloth. With the prey fully settled in its stomach the king cobra retires to
a convenient place - a tree hole, burrow or a tangle of branches many feet up - for a week if it's a large meal. Every part of the
snake is digested - bones, scales and all.
Being the largest venomous snake in the world makes it a formidable creature, but the mystique of the king cobra has a lot to
do with its intelligence. There's something uncanny about the way a king cobra looks you in the eye. It's an indescribable
feeling, an encounter with a sentient being. It's about making contact with an entity so utterly different from anything one
knows and normally relates to. Keepers say that when they open the door to the king cobra cage, the snake is so perceptive of
what's going on; it knows whether the keeper is planning to feed it or whether he is just checking up on it. But it is its majestic
restraint that reveals its personality. For the six months it took to shoot the film, we were all in such close proximity to king
cobras I marvel that no accident took place. And this is more due to the tolerance of the snake than anything else. The more
closely we work with an animal, the more we take it for granted. We flaunted our own security protocol several times; each
time the king cobra just warned us, mock charging but never carrying it through. This made us respect the creature more than
any other.
Looking back now, four films later, 'King Cobra' was probably the most ambitious one we ever made and the risks we took
seem foolhardy. The medical protocol turned out to be almost completely worthless. The Thai Red Cross Society is the only
place that produces king cobra antivenom serum and we bought a stock of 30 vials from them. Since Rom was already
sensitive to the horse serum from which antivenom serum is made, elaborate plans had to be made with local hospitals. We
had to make sure they had ventilators and all other facilities to deal with the allergic reaction that his body might go into in
case he got bitten and needed the antivenom serum. This allergic reaction called anaphylaxis could be so severe that it could
kill him even if the venom did not. We rehearsed what we had to do in case any of us got bitten during the course of the
filming and the protocol was fixed on everyone's door for easy reference. A year after the film was made the Liverpool School
of Tropical Medicine ran tests to see whether the Thai antivenom serum was effective against Indian king cobra venom - the
results turned out negative. It was thanks to the restraint and intelligence of this most majestic of snakes that we are alive
today to tell the tale.
Epilogue: Most people who've seen 'King Cobra' have said they empathized with a snake like they never have before. This
was probably the only film made on a single snake species at that time and we hope that it furthers the cause of rainforest and

reptile conservation in India. A year later, 'King Cobra' unexpectedly won an Emmy for Outstanding Program Achievement
and is the most highly rated film on the National Geographic Channel in Asia.

In Search of the Mugger Crocodile

Published in Reptiles, Jan 2006
In the summer of 1999, Rom Whitaker, a herpetologist from India and I went to Sri Lanka to look at mugger crocodiles (Crocodylus palustris).
Our goal was to make the ultimate film on the mugger. But first, we needed to find a place with a mother load of muggers where we would set up
base. Sadly, there were no big populations of crocs anywhere on the Indian subcontinent. Rom had done a croc survey in Sri Lanka in the late
1970s and remembered seeing large congregations of crocs in Yala National Park in the southeastern corner of the island nation. So thats where
we headed.
Yala is a woodsy, dry evergreen forest by the beach. The Park is dotted with pools, ponds and lakes every one of them man-carved. Around the
9th century, this region was a part of the Ruhunu kingdom, a mysterious civilization of whom nothing is known. These water bodies were
excavated then by hydrological engineers to water the huge rice fields. No one knows what caused this kingdom to vanish with no trace. Over the
centuries, the forest reclaimed the land and today this sprawling 373,000 acres of forest is known as Yala (or Ruhunu) National Park.
When Sri Lanka became a part of the British Empire, Yala National Park was a Hunting Reserve. Up until the 1950s hunting parties of Europeans
and Sri Lankans came here to shoot leopards, elephants, buffalo and boar. Nobody paid much attention to reptiles. In the records of the Park there
is a lone entry to do with reptiles: on 1 Nov 1948, a party of 6 had shot 3 crocs, 4 boars and 1 python. The lack of croc references is surprising
considering that crocs were everywhere and an easy target for any frustrated hunter wanting to take a pot shot. Or may be they just didnt think it
was worth writing home about!
Yala National Park: The Croc Paradise:

A lot of the waterholes had dried up at the time of our visit. There were about 10 large perennial ponds we concentrated on as
all the crocs could only be here. We counted an average of 100 crocs a day during the dry season. In several ponds painted
storks hunted for fish with impunity while crocs cruised close by. The birds were ever watchful but there were moments when
they were too engrossed in the hunt to pay any attention to the predator close by. It took only a couple of days to fish out a
pond. Then the hunters left for fishier pastures. Both birds and crocs looked very well fed and it seemed obvious that the
storks and crocs had forged some kind of benign relationship. The birds constant probing around in the mud startled some
fish right into the jaws of the waiting croc but it wasnt clear how the deal worked for the storks. May be just the privilege of
being allowed to fish in the murky waters. Elephants walked past basking crocs to drink water while buffaloes wallowed in
the mud under the seemingly sleepy gaze of the reptiles. Deer were more wary of the tourists than the immobile crocs.
If a croc could stake its territory in a perennial pool, he had nothing to worry about. Others however have to slog digging deep subterranean
bunkers to hang out in. A tracker pointed to a croc tunnel at the edge of a bone-dry pool. A well-worn path led into the tunnel. And what was more
- there were old broken eggshells lying around. Where were the babies? How could they survive the summer? The tracker said he had seen the
babies come out of the tunnel following their mother every evening as she walked about 500 feet to the nearest water a saline lagoon. Rom
doubted the story but there seemed no other possible way for the babies to survive. This also provided a clue to where the mother crocs were
nesting. Rom checked the mouth of every tunnel for a nest. He found 2 nests with about 30 eggs in each which he estimated had been laid a month
earlier. The first eggs to be laid would hatch smack in the middle of the dry season like those phantom babies that take a walk with their mother
every evening. What would they eat? What about freshwater to drink? This wasnt making any sense.
All 3 nests were on the banks of saline lagoons. This may be because that is where the big female crocs congregate in the nesting season. We
tested water samples from a couple of lagoons for salinity. The laboratory reported that the water was more saline than seawater, with the strong
admonition: remove crocodiles immediately! Rom thought the young ones had little chance of survival in the very salty water. They were
doomed year after year; we never saw any of the previous year's young. (We never found any nests along the river banks nor did we get a chance
to probe around many of the freshwater ponds.)
Although the landscape of Yala is flat, a few rocky outcrops stick up. Rainwater collects in pools in the rocks and some of them are deep enough
to be perennial. There were croc scats around but if there were any crocs, they made themselves scarce. It must take a determined croc to climb up
the steep rocky incline several feet above the forest. Below one such pool we spotted a bleached perfectly preserved skeleton of a 9-foot mugger
croc, probably the victim of a bad summer. Close by, at the bottom of one dry pool up in the rocks, were bones of buffalo and croc a deadly trap
with its smooth slippery sides. Once you get in, you cant get out!

We had to regularly jam on the brakes to allow star tortoises (Geochelone elegans) to cross the road both on the highways
outside the Park and the dirt roads inside the Park. Big rugged females hotly pursued by smaller males; babies no bigger than
a hens egg! Locals told us that the tortoises were the scourge of their tomato fields and the only way to combat the slow
moving pest was to dig a trench. Apparently the tortoises fall in and die, unable to get out.
One afternoon while we were driving through the Park a message reached us that the Army wanted Rom to come immediately to the check post.
The Army is a constant presence ever since they wrested control of the Park from armed rebels who chased away or killed the Wildlife staff a
decade ago. Caught in the rafters above the security guards bed was a beautiful cobra (Naja naja). The soldiers, toting semi-automatic weapons,
stood nervously by as Rom climbed up to the rafters and with a snake hook coaxed the cobra out of its hideout. What to do next? He couldnt
climb down and he didnt know what to do with the snake. A quandary the snake solved by diving onto the bed below. Immediately the soldiers
scurried out of the room. The cobra, stunned by the fall, conveniently waited until Rom could get it into a snake bag. Later in the evening, it was
released into the dry forest several miles away from the check post.
Digging burrows is just one of the two ways the crocs deal with the dry summer. A lot of the crocs hike overland, across the jungle, along
pathways they have probably used for several years, to deeper ponds. With the kind permission of the Wildlife Department, we walked along the
dry riverbed of the Menik Ganga (with armed guards in case of an elephant or buffalo attack!) and there were croc tracks everywhere on the sand.
A major nocturnal migration was happening unseen.
Lunugumvehera National Park: Croc at the end of the tunnel:

Almost contiguous with Yala to the North is Lunugumvehera National Park. It receives far less attention from tourists and the
wildlife authorities than it deserves. Seasonal farms have come up along the riverbanks, irrigated by water lifted from the
river. The river that runs through the Park is dammed and thus dry in summer so the farmers had gone home. They return only
when the rains came and the river began to flow again. The embankments, we discovered, were riddled with big holes -- croc
tunnels! A rotting corpse of a seven-foot croc with a stick driven into its skull lay by one of the tunnels. Not a good sign for
croc conservation!
Rom devised a method of using long lengths of plastic pipes to measure the depth of the croc tunnels. Put together, the pipes
measured 35 feet, but the tunnels were sometimes even longer! Most of these deep tunnels would have been worked on year
after year by the resident croc. Rom was also curious about the temperature inside the tunnels and chose to crawl into the
largest ones to find out! The burrows were clean and dry inside and several degrees cooler than the outside. I was worried that
an agitated croc would charge out, but figured Rom's nose was large enough to handle the confrontation!
As it turns out, some of the tunnels were quite short and while rounding a bend, Rom did indeed come upon the resident croc
or two that were just as surprised to see him. But none of the crocs did much more than hiss.
After checking out a fair number of tunnels, Rom wondered if the crocs in tunnels are in metabolic depression (a phenomenon
seen in other reptiles that aestivate) the crocs drop their heart rate to a minimum, reduce their breathing frequency and slow
down all bodily functions. By entering a form of deep sleep-like state, they are able to tide over months of inhospitable dry
season with no food and no water. When encountered deep inside their tunnels, they re-gained animation enough only to hiss;
but couldnt charge. Measuring metabolic depression is tricky business. By the time you rig the croc with all the probes and
electrodes needed to measure their heart beat, brain reaction time, breathing frequency, the croc wakens completely. So, while
we can guess and suspect that this is what is taking place, we have yet to quantify and prove it.
One croc, however, wasnt in metabolic depression. When Rom stuck his head inside the tunnel to see if anyone was home,
she came out leaping and hissing, missing his head by inches. Rom nearly tripped trying to put a safe distance between the
croc and him. We discovered a nest of eggs at the mouth of her tunnel the next day, obviously the reason why she was awake
and alert.
Village crocs:
If you thought ugly reptilian predators could only survive in Sri Lankas National Parks, youre wrong. As we were. Local friends hesitantly
told us of crocs in the neighboring village canal. Rom jumped up exclaiming Show me! Our friend, Shantha, led the way across the rice fields.
A tiny copse of coconut trees standing out among the vast plain of rice was where we were headed. As we came closer, we could the see the canal,
cutting a swathe through the fields. The copse was totally tangled in thorny vines; access inside was going to be difficult. We were seeking a way
in and came upon a freshly dug up croc nest. An egg predator, probably a monitor lizard (Varanus bengalensis), had found the nest and worked its
way through the gooey contents; the egg shells untidily strewn all over the area. So crocs were there all right. As we came right around the corner

we saw the tunnels, about 10 of them, side by side. The Irrigation Department was de-silting the canal and so it was bone dry. We could only
assume that the crocs survived on the fish that came washing down with the water when the sluice gates upstream were opened. Rats that thrived
on the rice could be dietary supplements. If crocs didnt get in the way of humans, they could survive just about anywhere in seemed.
The head of a croc was resting at the mouth of one tunnel. It was in trouble. While desilting the canal, the maintenance crew had also widened it,
shaving the crocs tunnel down. It could barely pull its head in and after seeing two dead crocs inside a National Park, we feared for its life.
Discussions with the Wildlife Department followed and permission was given to translocate the croc. A week later, we arrived with the local
Wildlife officials and the entire village to move the croc to its new home. Rom slipped a noose around its neck and before hauling it out, warned
all the spectators to watch out the croc could roll, snap and charge. The croc came out as meek as a tame pussycat. It was in metabolic
depression! With enthusiastic Wildlife staff helping, Rom tied its jaws with elastic and loaded it onto the back of a pickup. It was released in one
of the perennial lakes 45 minutes away, in Yala National Park. It was an hour and half before the croc gradually came to and could walk to the
water.

Katagamuwa: The Lake of Crocs:

We were repeatedly told to visit a place called Katagamuwa. Everyone insisted that there were hundreds of crocodiles there.
Finally, we shook off our cynicism and made the trip. Sure enough, Katagamuwa Lake had shrunk to that critical size. Any
bigger, it would have been impossible to see the crocs; any smaller and they'd have all left for deeper waters. What we saw
truly staggered us: Great big mugger crocs merrily fishing for hefty snakehead fish and catfish. It was dawn and the early
morning light filtered through the trees, turning the crocs' hides yellowish gold. When the sun came up a bit stronger, these
hulks hauled themselves out onto the banks like Europeans sunbathing side by side, soaking up the heat. We counted about
150 big crocs (left out the small ones) in the primeval splendour of the morning light. This was perfect.
From way before dawn, we could hear mugger hunting for fish, frogs and even an occasional stork - splash, crunch, gulp,
gulp, gulp. A rosy sliver of sunlight finally tiptoed onto the scene. The bungalow was built conveniently close to the lake
where I hung out. Rom, being the intrepid croc man, was ensconced behind a bush near the lake, spying on the crocs. It
seemed as if the crocs were hunting systematically, in a group, much the way otters, orcas (killer whales) and dolphins do.
The whole bunch of crocs would drive fish from one end of the water body to the other and then launch into them. Then the
process would be repeated, across to the other shore: a synchronous smorgasbord. Rom wouldn't give them the benefit of
cleverness though; he still maintains that the coordination of the hunt was coincidence. If one croc grabs a fish and creates a
splash, the others will come over to investigate whether food is on offer. Then, more splashes follow that attract still more
crocs and so on until the entire gang of crocs sail up and down the length of the lake in serendipitous coordination.
Crocs are as much creatures of habit as they are opportunists. By 9 o'clock the crocs were done for the morning and chose to spend a couple of
hours basking, the sun revving their body engines to digest the huge meal they had had on a cool stomach. When it got too hot, they lazed in the
water, playing politics. If a subordinate showed too much brashness, he had to be cut down to size; if a rival tried to usurp the top croc's place in
the hierarchy he had to be trounced. The crocs had another big meal at dusk. They were so in tune with the time of day, that you could set your
watch by them. Well, give or take a few minutes!

Through the day there were other creatures to watch. My inventory of animals that visited the lake to drink included: a pair of
jackals with two pups, too many peacocks and peahens to count, wild buffalo, spotted deer, gray langurs, toque macaques and
a ruddy mongoose Rom collectively refers to them as croc food. And all the while, a pair of fishing eagles surveyed the
scene from above. At night a small herd of elephants showed up for a drink causing Rom to come scurrying to the safety of
the bungalow.
In all the time we were in Yala we were bound by Park restrictions. The one that we chaffed at the most was the one that
demanded that we not step out of our vehicles. Those rules didn't apply to Katagamuwa Lake, as it wasn't a part of Yala at all.
It formed the centerpiece of Katagamuwa Wildlife Sanctuary. Every morning we woke up to find signs of wild animals all
around the bungalow. An elephant had come within 50 yards of us as we slept in a line of beds on the veranda of the
bungalow, dorm-style, lulled to sleep by the buzzing of tree crickets punctuated by an occasional leopard call. We later met a
scarred ranger who was dragged off a similar bungalow veranda by a leopard and lived to tell the tale.
Katagamuwa was a good summer bonanza for the crocs, but the water could not have lasted more than a fortnight. All those
150 crocs would then have to hightail it to the river about a mile away. We couldnt wait around to see this happen and were
forever haunted by visions of a long croc migration through the forest. But that will have to wait until a research project that
were working hard to set up gets going. Until then, Lankas mugger crocs will have to wait!

Our survey of crocodiles in southern Sri Lanka lightened our hearts at the prospects of the muggers survival. There is no
place on the entire Indian subcontinent that supports crocodiles in such numbers as in the tiny island nation of Sri Lanka. We
think that it is the special brand of Buddhism practiced here that lends an aura of protection to all things, and the dangerous
and scaly need it more than anyone else. In this short time weve seen more snakes and lizards walking and slithering through
peoples backyards than in all the time weve spent in India. And these are creepy crawlies, mind you. Enhancing an already
strong religious sanctity for all life with conservation education will go a long way to securing the mugger crocodiles future.

Too Much Monkey Business

Published in The Hindu Sunday Magazine 2 Oct 2005

Which town, village and city in India does not have a monkey problem? The monkeys of Delhi are perhaps the most notorious
Page 4 regulars when they are caught prowling through the chambers of Parliament, ripping up records and computers. They
are not mere destroyers of crops and property; they transmit serious diseases to man like TB and rabies. Although there are
flashpoints of conflict all over the country there is no national policy on how to tackle them. Since all species of monkeys are
protected by the Wildlife Protection Act the onus is on Ministry of Forests and Environment (MoEF) to do something about it.
Over the last six months, a draft action plan was circulated by the MoEF which advocates translocation of troops and
sterilization of male monkeys. For years we were under the impression that wild animals will know how to take care of
themselves when released in the wild. But we know differently now - studies carried out in recent years have highlighted a
range of problems such translocated monkeys face. Young animals are taught which species of fruits and flowers to eat by
their parents and other troop members much as a young leopard cub is taught to hunt by its mother. City born and bred
simians are like fish out of water in the jungle. How do monkeys that are used to marriage halls and temples spontaneously
know the varieties of edible forest fruits? How would monkeys used to dodging dogs and humans know about pythons and
leopards? I wasnt surprised when a monkey trapper employed by the Chennai Wildlife Wardens office narrated an anecdote
of monkeys who returned after traveling at least 14 km. They would rather risk coming back home to abuses and stone
throwing than slowly starving to death in the forest.
Although the authorities are aware that translocation merely relocates the problem to another area and doesnt really address
the issue of the monkey menace, they continue to move large number of animals from urban areas to forest areas, from one
rural area to another, from one state to another randomly and arbitrarily. For decades the Delhi Municipal Corporation has
been moving hundreds of monkeys out of the city every year. In one instance in 2004, about 500 monkeys (comprising several
family troops) were trapped in Delhi and released in Pilibhut and Kuno National Park. Today no one knows what became of
these monkeys; enquiries reveal that local authorities had no idea that any monkeys were released in these areas under their
jurisdiction.

Most translocated monkeys don't survive. Dr.Wolfgang Dittus, a primatologist of the Smithsonian Primate Biology Program,
who has studied macaques for the last 30 years says bluntly, Translocation of monkeys or any wildlife to a national park or
wildlife refuge is a clear death sentence for the displaced it is a political solution, not a biological one. It's a coward's way of
killing the monkeys. Despite researchers worldwide rejecting translocation as a method of solving animal conflict problems,
translocation remains the main strategy underpinning the governments action plan. If we were truly concerned about the
safety and welfare of these urban monkeys, we would come up with realistic alternatives that arent so cruel.
The Ministry also proposes systematic sterilization of male monkeys. There are fewer males than females in a monkey troop
and it might make superficial economic sense to target males. But as Dr. Dittus puts it, the catch is this: it takes just one single
intact male that wanders close to a troop of fertile female macaques to impregnate every single one of them. Further, neutering
male monkeys is not going to make them any less aggressive towards humans because they want food from us, not sexual
favours. Dr. Dittus sums it up by saying that the only way we can control the monkey population explosion is by targeting the
females of the troop for sterilization.
But who created the problem in the first place? We did, by willfully feeding free-ranging monkeys. When we feed monkeys
we send the message that we are subordinate to them, says Dr. Dittus. So they begin to think that every human should feed
them and ones that dont have to shown their place. Thats when monkeys become aggressive and turn on people. There
should be a ban on feeding of monkeys. Dr. Mewa Singh, a primatologist at the University of Mysore, further advocates the
use of monkey-proof garbage bins so there is no other food available for wandering freeloaders. While citizens can help
combat the problem this way, it is ultimately up to the authorities to come up with a realistic action plan that does not merely
shunt the problem around and is humane to the animals.
There is a committed group of primatologists in this country whose expertise should be sought in drafting any action plan. A
plan drawn up without their involvement will be scientifically unsound and in the long run it simply wont work.

Big Cat in the Spotlight

Published in The Hindu Sunday Magazine February 6, 2005 as "Stealthy Comeback"

Place: Narayangaon, Junnar Forest Division, Pune District, Maharashtra State
Name: Shri Krishna Thorve
Victim: 8 year old, male
Date: 7 Feb 2003
Time: 7 pm
Krishna was playing in the open courtyard of his house. His grandmother was close by washing dishes under a lone light that
cast eerie shadows on the wall. The leaves of the tall stalks of corn that surrounded the house swayed and rustled in the cool
breeze. Suddenly the power went off and the whole place went dark. As the boys eyes grew accustomed to the moonlight, he
saw a dark shape move behind the corn. Fear gripped his heart and he ran toward his grandmother just as a leopard pounced
on him. While the old lady held on tightly to the child, the leopards teeth sank firmly into the boys leg. On hearing their cries
the boys mother rushed out of the house and startled the leopard. The big cat let go and disappeared into the fields of corn as

quietly as it had come. Krishna very nearly became another statistic - last year 18 people were killed by leopards in this
region.
Until recently most of us, city-types, believed that such stories could only be read in books by Jim Corbett or Kenneth
Anderson. Yet in recent months, incidents such as this have been increasingly reported in the media. Have leopards made a
quiet come-back since the days when they were hounded out as vermin? Are they re-colonizing the country? Is it a case of
conservation success?
Found throughout India, the leopard is the most adaptable of all big cats. It lives in the valleys of the wet tropical rainforests,
up in the cool temperate mountains and down in the dry tree plantations of the plains, within protected forests and outside of
them. It can slink through any overgrown area without people being wiser. The leopard eats almost anything it can catch from insects, rats and frogs to larger animals like deer and pig - and will also scavenge for a living. One leopard lived off
medical waste dumped in the backyard of a hospital in Valparai before being trapped. This ability to survive on anything
thats available means that the leopard does not need vast forests to maintain itself as does the tiger or lion. The Wildlife
Institute of India estimates that there are 14000 leopards in India, of which about 7000 live outside protected forests. The apex
predator, the tiger, has been exterminated throughout most of its range, leaving the field open for the stealthy leopard.
After every human fatality, the Forest Department is compelled to do something. The officials went by the book - the Indian
Wildlife Protection Act states that the first option in dealing with dangerous animals is capture and translocation. If that is not
possible, the Act allows the animals to be kept in captivity and as a last resort, killed.
The typical modus operandi was to trap leopards near human settlements and release them deep inside the forest, away from
people. For years this is how carnivore conflict situations were dealt with throughout India. But the problem hasnt gone
away. We hear of more and more leopard problems cropping up all over the country. Contrary to expectations, moving
leopards around has only aggravated the problem. Within the last three years, in Maharashtra state alone, 150 leopards were
released into Protected Areas after being trapped near human settlements.
Wed like to believe that translocation gives individual animals another chance, but the reality is quite different. What we are
doing is putting them out of sight, deep in the forest under the belief that wild animals are resilient and will survive all odds.
In India, despite years of translocation, there has been no attempt to follow the released animals to study whether they survive
or not. Wildlife biologists, Vidya Athreya, Sanjay Thakur, Sujoy Chaudhuri and veterinarian Aniruddha Belsare (funded by
the Wildlife Protection Society of India) studied the leopard problem for a year. They interviewed local villagers, documented
every casualty and came up with some clear conclusions. As translocation is usually used to augment the population of
endangered animals and, not as a way of dealing with problem animals, the team paid particular attention to this.
About 100 kilometers east of Mumbai is Junnar Forest Division, a vast patchwork of fields interrupted by tree plantations.
Natural leopard prey was virtually non-existent here. But domestic animals were readily available - dogs, goats and calves.
Leopards were known to take livestock here and human mortality was minimal. The local people did not consider it a big
problem, but in the year 2000, the situation turned serious. Deliberate attacks on humans became alarmingly common.
Narayangaon, a little settlement in northern Junnar, was the nerve centre of the conflict between man and cat. The team chose
this area to do their study.
Vidya and her team tagged 40 trapped leopards with transponder microchips before they were translocated and released. Three
of them were trapped again after people were attacked in the new sites. Some of these fresh zones of conflict had no history of
man-eaters in living memory. In such situations, when people are suddenly forced to deal with marauding leopards in their
neighbourhood, they will often take the law into their own hands and decide the fate of the cats by exterminating them.
Already there are reports of many leopards being killed by villagers in retaliation for the losses they have suffered. Typically
when wildlife is perceived as a danger and a liability, it compromises the very basis of conservation.
The second problem is that leopards are territorial and when re-located some will try very hard to get back home. In one astounding example of
determination and homing instinct, a leopard translocated from its range in South Africa walked 540 kilometers home, the distance between
Chennai and Hyderabad. But India lacks such vast wild spaces. Any desperate leopard attempting to return home will only walk into more trouble
with more people. Could this be the reason leopards show up in unexpected places like Chennai and Kozhikode?

The other problem to consider is the impact of translocation on resident leopards. Ravi Chellam, a cat expert, says there is no
existing suitable habitat (forests brimming with prey, and remote from human habitation) to move problem leopards to. Since
all optimum forests already have resident leopards, translocation means re-locating cats into areas staked out by others. In the

ensuing conflict for territory, the intruder or the resident is likely to get killed or driven out. If either of them is a mother
leopard with cubs, the little ones will be the first victims of such confrontations. When many leopards are released in one area
as usually happens, the resident territory holder may have to fight each of these intruders in turn, weakening its ability to hang
on to its domain. The resultant upheaval in the leopard population will only escalate the problem for local people.
The graphs that accompany the teams study are very revealing - the spike indicating leopard releases match a similar spike in
the attacks on livestock and man for the same period of time. In Junnar, in the year 2000-2001, the problem was contained
within an area of 1400 square kilometers with a casualty rate of 189 head of livestock and 2 humans. Post 2001, when
translocations became the norm, the trouble zone nearly doubled to 2400 square kilometers. Mortality rocketed to 348
domestic animals (not including dogs) and more disastrously, 29 humans. The attacks abated only after 62 leopards were
trapped and moved out (outsourcing the problem), with the result that now Junnar is nearly a leopard-free zone. Is the only
solution to the leopard problem removing every single one of them?
While Indias 35,000 annual rabies deaths hasn't led to a moratorium on stray dogs, leopards are made to pay a heavy price for
every misdemeanour from mauling man and lifting livestock to wandering into fields and merely being seen. If we are really
serious about this comeback of our wildlife, people also need to make adjustments to their lives and lifestyles. They need to
understand that unless a leopard takes to man-eating or livestock-lifting regularly, it should be left alone.
We could make settlements safer by changing cropping patterns but its impractical to ask farmers to uproot their sugarcane
and tea bushes. Almost all these areas also offer food - livestock, goats, and dogs. People living in leopard country will need
financial help to reinforce flimsy mud or bamboo houses against a marauding leopard. Livestock should be securely penned,
separately from people, at night. Its a loss to a villager if a leopard kills a goat but driving it away from its meal only makes it
worse. The hungry animal will just go out and kill another goat or calf. Livestock can be insured against leopard depredations
so losses can be compensated. Villagers need to be taught how to avoid leopards and what to do in case of a confrontation. A
very successful education campaign helped local people in Australia understand how to live with man-eating salt-water
crocodiles when their populations bounced back. A similar education campaign, Living With Leopards has to be initiated to
address this issue.

Rainforest Revival

Published in The Hindu Sunday Magazine 17 July 2005

We were in the Western Ghats, technically one of the worlds richest hotspots of biodiversity. But instead, a vast manicured matrix of tea estates
spread out in every direction as far as the eye could see. Although tea estates are way up in the high rainfall belt, they are biological deserts.
Decades of spraying pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides had made sure that not even a frog croaks on a rainy night here. You can see only the
survivors jungle crows, jungle mynas, red-whiskered bulbuls. We are faced with a losing battle hundreds of hectares of rainforest vanish every
year in the Western Ghats. After decades of bad press, a group of estates in the Anamalais, under the banner of Anamalai Biodiversity
Conservation Association (ABCA), have joined hands with the Nature Conservation Foundation (NCF) to buck the trend.

Any tea estate has areas of low productivity called blanks where tea cannot be planted. Hindustan Lever Limited (HLL),
as one of the first participants in the programme, has allocated a few such blanks to the NCF to plant with indigenous
rainforest trees. A nursery used to raise tea plants has been converted into a rainforest sapling nursery. An amazing 30,000
saplings of 90 species have been raised so far, of which over a dozen species have never before been germinated in a nursery.

Another estate in the vicinity, Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation (BBTC) has decided to use rainforest species to provide
shade to their 80 hectares of organic coffee and vanilla. As the smaller building blocks of a healthy ecosystem come together,
hopes for a better representation of biodiversity have increased. When the habitat is restored, it provides valuable new haunts
for native species of birds and mammals. How did this remarkable alliance begin?
As a doctoral student, Divya Mudappa studied the role of fruit-eating mammals in the propagation of forest trees in the
Kalakkad-Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve (KMTR) near Thirunelveli. She collected scores of seeds from the scats of frugivorous
animals like civets and germinated them to study their growth rates. (As suspected she found that seeds of many species that
have passed through the gut of the animals germinated better or faster than seeds from uneaten fruits.) When the time came to
wrap up her study she had hundreds of sturdy little saplings ready for life in the jungle. In an abandoned cardamom estate in
Sengaltheri (KMTR) Divya and her colleague-husband, Shankar Raman, had noticed that indigenous saplings easily took root
in clearings where there was no competition from cardamom. Taking a cue from this observation, Divya planted her 250
saplings in clearings amongst the cardamom and helped speed up the regeneration process. Realizing what it takes to get the
forest back on its roots, Divya and Shankar Raman, decided to focus on rainforest restoration. This was just the sort of project
that their NGO, the Nature Conservation Foundation, Mysore, wanted to do.
The abandoned estates of Kalakkad-Mundanthurai were in better shape than the estates of the Anamalais. Although the Indira
Gandhi Wildlife Sanctuary surrounded the vast plantations, the last fragments of forest were disappearing. The presence of a
vast human population on these mountains threw up a whole gamut of socioeconomic issues. The Anamalais needed urgent
attention and the couple moved there, forsaking the relative peace and quiet of KMTR.
Hindustan Lever Limited, a major landholder in the Anamalais had a mandate to protect biodiversity on their lands under their
international sustainable agriculture programme. Divya and Shankar held several meetings with the General Manager, D.G.
Hegde, about what needed to be done. He had the right ideas tree planting, starting a nursery and Divya and Shankar found
their first collaborator in the area. All of them agreed on the general principles of the work ahead to plant a diversity of tree
species typical to rainforests of that elevation, and choose pioneer species that do well in open areas which also attract seeddispersing birds and other animals. HLL provided the infrastructure, labour support and more importantly, access to degraded
fragments on its land with the caveat never to convert them to plantations. Now the real work began.
Almost nothing is known about forest trees germination time, viability of seeds, rate of survival, what to plant in specific
site conditions. Divya and Shankar also had to figure out which species would naturally regenerate as pioneer species.
Under the shade of these pioneers, other more shade loving saplings could be planted. Within the first two years the team
planted 5000 nursery-raised saplings of 75 species amongst these pioneers in two degraded bits of land totaling 24 hectares.
With little more than the logistical support provided by HLL, the NCF team managed to prove that a lot could be achieved.
Even as the team proved their credibility with the local tea plantation managers, some funds trickled in from the Netherlands
Committee of the IUCNs Tropical Rainforest Programme which helped the restorers consolidate some of their efforts. Over
the last two years, with additional support coming from the UNDP-GEF Small Grants Programme in India and from Barakat
Inc., USA, the programme is set to expand to new areas. Another local company, Parry Agro Limited, has come forward to
restore degraded fragments totaling about 350-400 hectares.
Perhaps the hardest solutions that the team has had to come up with are to meet peoples needs for fuel-wood to prevent
further degradation of these fragile rainforests and to find indigenous shade trees for the tea. Tea needs relatively more
sunlight than coffee and the exotic silver oak has been the tree of choice to provide the scant shade that the plants need.
Collaborating with the United Planters Association of South India (UPASI), the team is experimenting with four rainforest
tree species - Filicium decipiens, Ormosia travancorica, Trichilia connaroides and Dimocarpus longan - that could possibly
replace the silver oak. Should it succeed then they are set to change the profile of tea estates across the Western Ghats.
What has upgrading the quality of the forest in these isolated bits of land achieved? For one thing it can reduce the extent of
damage caused by elephants. Throughout the appropriately named Anamalai hills, there are running battles with elephants. By
providing shelter during the day and access to other parts of their range these new forest oases help bring down the intensity of
the conflict. Conversely, it is the estates that have no such fragments of forest where elephants pose a greater threat. Besides
creating habitat for endangered wild animals like the lion-tailed macaques and the great Indian hornbills, native trees are the
key to watershed management.
Starting small, by restoring and protecting little bits of degraded slopes, Divya and Shankar want to take on the bigger
challenge of planting corridors between these individual bits of forest. While this may not be comparable to a pristine

rainforest, its effect will be greater than the sum of all the isolated fragments. Traditionally conservation has focused on
National Parks, Wildlife Sanctuaries and Reserve forests, but this project goes to show that by co-opting private land owners
much can be achieved.

Puk puk Project Belong Papua New Guinea

Published in Herpinstance, March 2004

The plane flew over the lush green forests of Papua New Guinea as it flew across the country. Big rivers snaked dramatically across the landscape
draining and sustaining vast swamplands that stretched as far as the eye could see. We were going to check out the most famous of these rivers,
the Sepik, for New Guinea freshwater crocs. Rom was visiting PNG after a gap of 23 years while this was my first visit to that part of the world.

Ambunti:
The small Cessna that flew us to Ambunti from the coastal northern town of Wewak was chartered from the MAF (Missionary
Aviation Fellowship). It is the missionaries who maintain the airstrips and a fleet of aircraft that link the remote parts of the
country. There were severe limitations on how much the small plane could carry. Everyone and everything was weighed and
the payload calibrated. Half an hour later we landed on a very small grassy strip. One end of the strip led to the river and the
other was backed against a hill.
We came to Ambunti especially to meet Alphonse Mapa, the ace croc hunter of the area, who worked with the Wildlife Conservation Department,
conducting extension programs in the various villages. As we walked across the village to Ambunti Lodge, people began arriving for the daily
market in dugout canoes to sell fish, sago, turtles, cuscus, possums and all else edible. The funny thing about this country is that people travel by
boats and planes regularly but few would have seen a car, bus or truck; there were hardly any roads.
By evening we were out looking for crocs. The river was high but there were a few baby crocs around. Alphonse leapt out of the boat and grabbed
the first baby croc he spotted. The breeze was cool and kept the mosquitoes away. Next one to leap off the canoe was Rom. There was a brown
snake among the reeds and Rom sprung out like a veritable Jack-in-the-box. It turned out (he thinks) to be a brown tree snake, the infamous
decimator of the bird fauna of Guam. But of big crocs, there was nary a sign. PNG is a very difficult place to see crocs. The vast swamplands are
impossible to travel through and thats where the crocs hang out. And we knew there were plenty of crocs there.
Alphonse thought we should go up river to the village of the Insect people if we wanted to catch a big fresh water crocodile. It turned out to be a
marathon trip.

Swagap:
It was about 4 pm when we reached Swagap, the village of the Insect People. The village is off on a detour from the main Sepik River and we had
to negotiate logjams and narrow waterways to get there. There was so much floating vegetation that the outboard motors had to be lifted out of the
water and the canoes poled and pushed ashore. It was hard work but we got there finally. The totem of the Insect People is the praying mantis and
hence the Lonely Planet nickname. Their woodwork was fine and intricate much better than the touristy carvings sold in town.
All the village men hung out by the boats. A few guys were hollowing a massive log into a canoe, while others stood around, chewing betel nut,
smoking and watching. An old guy sat nearby making a harpoon for hunting crocs. Come to think of it, every canoe moored there had 2 or 3
harpoons. And we hoped to find crocs around here!
At sunset, we all piled into the canoes. Everyone wanted to go so we had to be clear that (a) we wanted someone to guide us and (b) this wasnt a
harpooning expedition. Three boats started out running full throttle toward an ox-bow lake close-by. Ox bow lakes are formed when the river
changes course leaving the old bend totally cut off creating a lake. We saw the lead boat with the guide go through a gap among the reeds into the
ox-bow lake but it was obviously a tricky shortcut. The drivers of the 2 canoes following struggled to find the way and an hour later we were still
stuck there listening to the distant whine of the first boat's motor. Then the second canoe managed to get through but not the third! After several
minutes, we got them on the radio and coordinated movements. They had finished looking around in the lake and were coming out onto the river
again where we'd rendezvous with them.
They had had some luck they had spotted a big croc which had disappeared in a splash, plus lots of babies that they didn't want to waste time
catching. It was a dismal night but we didnt give up easily. It was past midnight when we decided to call it quits and headed back to Ambunti.

One of the ways people earn money here is to catch hatchling crocs, feed them up to a good size in three years and then sell them to the large
farms. They can earn more money than by just selling the hatchlings. At such a rearing station Rom pointed out 2 wart-like bumps on top of the
snout of New Guinea freshies - something no other croc has. So besides the mugger croc of South Asia, here was a croc that dummies like me
could tell apart from the other species of crocodiles.

Old man and the river

I asked Alphonse about the biggest croc he had ever killed. The skull of this massive creature presided over the lobby of
Ambunti Lodge. Rom estimated it to be a 17 feet long. The story was that the croc began biting boats and killing people.
Alphonses family lived on the riverbank and he feared for his childrens lives as they canoed to school everyday. So he
decided to go after the croc. Someone had already taken a pot shot at the croc and blown its nose off. After several nights of
stalking and baiting Alphonse finally caught a glimpse of the croc and harpooned it. He quickly lashed a couple of 20-gallon
drums to the rope. That way he could tell, by the bobbing drums, where the croc was, even if it dived to the river bottom. That
was about 9 pm. Then followed a monumental struggle between man and beast. Finally at 2 am an exhausted Alphonse felt
the dead weight on the harpoons stay rope stop yanking and he knew the croc was dead.
More people live in close proximity to large crocs in PNG than anywhere else in the world. People have seen family members
being taken in front of their eyes and felt helpless against the power of the master predator. They sought to immunize
themselves from the unpredictable attacks by carving the prow of their boats in the shape of a croc, their large drums that were
beaten on ceremonial occasions were in the shape of a croc and whole tribes adopted it as their totem animal and scarified
their bodies to imitate the ridges on a crocs back. In fact crocs permeated all their stories, artifacts and way of life. Croc meat
was highly prized in the swamplands and a regular staple in their diet.
Then with the coming of European influence, the tribal people were introduced to a market that highly valued croc skins. Croc
skins didnt have any value in the local economy until then and so local people had no concept of what the skin was worth.
Rom narrates stories of tribal people selling huge croc skins worth hundreds of dollars for a mosquito net or some worthless
trinkets.
Puk puk (Crocodile) Project bilong Papua New Guinea:
In the late 1970s the newly independent Govt. of PNG sought United Nations funding for setting up a sustainable croc skin
industry. Unlike other countries, most of the land was owned by the people. There was very little Govt. or common land. So
when crocs nested, they were doing so on someones private land be it swamp or garden. The idea of sustainable use and
conservation had to be taken directly to the people. If the people werent convinced, tough luck, there was nothing anyone
could do about it. The goal was to teach people that nesting female crocs were a renewable source of money and should be left
alone. They lay eggs at the same site every year. So instead of killing large female crocs, people could harvest 50% of the croc
nests found on their land the hatchlings were either sold immediately to farms or kept in pens for a period of time before
being sold as larger animals. Hunting of crocs for their skins was permitted but no croc with a belly skin width (from armpit to
armpit across the belly) of more than 21 inches could be killed. The logic behind this stricture was that anything larger than
this would be a breeding size croc capable of replenishing the croc population during the next breeding season and ought to be
left alone. To back up this entire operation, the Govt. would monitor the wild croc population every year by conducting
surveys on nest transects.
Twenty years later, when we visited the country, the Govt. had not done any surveys in 4 years while croc exploitation
continued as before. The IUCNs Crocodile Specialist Group and the Animals Committee of Convention of International
Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) put pressure on the Govt. to uphold its side of the deal. Like every other developing
country, funds were short. The Govt. was to use funds it earned as tax from the croc ranching operations to do these surveys
but instead the money was probably lining a ministers bed! Into the impasse stepped Mainland Holdings, the worlds largest
croc farm with an estimated 25,000 crocs. The company, based in Lae on the northern coast, had everything to lose if the
Govt. didnt honour its part of the bargain which could lead to the IUCN and CITES banning PNG croc skins from the
international market. So the company funded 50% of the cost of this years aerial surveys while the Govt. chipped in the rest.
The results look good. There has been a steady increase (6.12% every year since monitoring began in 1982) in the number of
nests. And in the year 2003 alone, the villagers of Ambunti received K 7438 (Rs. 111, 943) just from egg harvests. The Sepik
is the focus of all the attention on crocs as this is the single largest area exploited.
Just to get an idea of what this industry means to the local people, I asked Alphonse how much of his annual income came
from crocs. He looked me like I was from Mars (or Venus) and said he could send his kids to school for an entire year just

from exploiting the croc nests on his land. Each egg is worth 7 Kina (Rs. 105) and an average nest, with about 30 eggs, is
worth Rs. 3150.
There are accusations that crocs are being hunted illegally and the skins smuggled across the border to Irian Jaya where the Indonesian authorities
condone it. May be this happens but the scale of illegal operations is not big enough to be worried about. The results of the aerial surveys are
indicative of the relative abundance of the croc population. In this age when making such programs work in developing countries is a huge
challenge, we can celebrate the fact that crocs that have had a bad rap for centuries finally have a future at least in some places on this earth. And
it is no small achievement that this program has been running successfully for 20 years now. It has had its ups and downs but the basic principle
that wild croc populations can survive alongside people if the people are actively involved in their management - still holds strong.

Creepy crawly Household

Published in Herpinstance Dec 2005
When we first moved to our new home in the rural outskirts of Chennai City Rom warned me to expect venomous snakes in
the house. Weve built a cave between the scrub jungle and the farmland and its only natural to expect creatures to take
advantage of it, he declared. While I gamely nodded, I was secretly wondering, What have I got into now? Within the first
few months, we spotted a cobra (Naja naja) in our backyard under the banyan tree, while our dog found a young Russells
viper (Daboia russelii) crawling along the side of the house, metres away from the open kitchen door. Driving home late one
night, we saw a common krait (Bungarus caeruleus) going past our gate. So the creatures were there all right and I braced
myself for the inevitable venomous one inside the house.
People meeting us for the first time ask me that predictable question do I catch venomous snakes too? By some logic clear to
them, they think just because Rom handles venomous snakes I should too. Do they ask spouses of writers if they write too?
Its my pet peeve I never had any need to catch venomous snakes so far as the resident snake catcher, Rom, wasnt far away.
But when we moved in to the new house, Rom thought it might be a good idea if I learnt to handle venomous animals. He got
a tall plastic bucket with a lid and demonstrated how to hook a snake and plop it into the bucket and close the lid. Easy peesy,
I could do that!
In the beginning, about eight years ago, the land was absolutely flat, blistering hot and barren of trees. Well, not if you
counted the HUGE banyan and the hedge of palmyra trees, that is. It was after all a rice field. We wasted no time planting
trees around the house - the shade was sorely needed - and with daily watering, they shot up. At that time we had hardly any
furniture either and every evening we unrolled our bedrolls on the floor. We had to shake out all the sheets just to make sure
no creatures were hiding inside. Despite the exaggerated precaution, Rom shot out of bed one night in pain. A giant centipede
(Scolopendra.) had bitten him. The pain was so excruciating that he couldnt sleep the rest of the night. That was when we
decided we needed to get above the floor and bought a cot. This incident was a sign of creatures to come.
It was approaching summer when the ubiquitous house geckos (Hemidactylus frenatus) first moved in. This added the first
real touch of being in a 'home'. One night a little creature, I had never seen before, darted speedily across the room. It looked
like a centipede with enormous thin legs. That was my introduction to the harmless scutiger. Common tree frogs (Polypedates
maculatus) began moving in as the heat built up. During the day they hid behind the framed pictures and at night they
emerged to ambush the insects that hovered around the lights. Toads (Bufo melanostictus) began to do the same in the garden.
At the height of summer the frogs were EVERYWHERE (at one count, there were 267 in the house) - in every crack, the tiniest of ledges, light
fixtures, the toilet bowl and flush tank, behind cupboards. We had to check the inside of the washing machine before loading the laundry, cause
they were frequently inside. At night they seek out the toilet bowl and kitchen sink to soak in before beginning the nights hunting. They spent a
few minutes in the water and then wiped an oily lipid secretion all over their bodies with their hind legs. If you didn't chase them away, before
using the pot, with a flip of the flush, you would be treated to the rude shock of having a wet glob suddenly attach itself to your butt. At the fag
end of the summer, the house resounded with their calls heralding the arrival of the rains. We tried not to invite any guests then; the frog calls
sound like a terribly flatulent person!

Just as we were about to be overrun by the frogs, Rom christened our home Pambukudivanam (the woods where the snakes
live) as a portent of more things to come.
About a year later we noticed we had a new guest a termite hill gecko (Hemidactylus triedrus). It had staked out one of the
kitchen cupboards as its territory. It was a very neat houseguest and always shat in one spot near the cupboard door making

the cleaning very simple. One morning when I opened the door to clean out the geckos nightly offerings, there was a white
round egg along with the little turds. Using a paintbrush I cleaned around it gently taking care not to disturb the egg. A couple
of days later, there was another egg until there was a collection of five. Months passed, nothing happened. The eggs grew
discolored and had to be cleaned out finally. I guess she had no male to fertilize the eggs.
Another species of frog who then moved in was the diminutive Ramanella variegata. They were entirely bathroom-based
frogs - monopolizing the pipes and the flush tank. The only inkling of their presence was the loud, deep croaking; the pipes
did their bit to amplify their calls. As soon as the light was flicked on, they disappeared inside the washbasin or the tank. If
one was late in disappearing, you'd be treated to a Houdini-act - we still cannot figure out how a 4-cm frog could squeeze
itself through a 0.5-cm diameter drain hole. They were quite responsive to non-frog sounds. My computer made a weird chirp
if I make a mistake, and I always received an answering call from the bathroom. Why, sometimes they even answered the
dogs barking!
Where frogs were, snakes can't be far behind. We've played host to a few in the last few years. The common bronze-back tree
snake (Dendrelaphis tristis) slides in through any of the upstairs windows from the overhanging banyan tree. One evening we
found one who had fallen into the wastebasket, stuffed full of tree frogs, and couldn't get out! The night shift was taken over
by the common wolf snake (Lycodon aulicus) in its hunt for geckos. Weve even had birds coming in to get the frogs.
Drongos swoop in, grab a frog and sit on the window gruesomely bashing the frog into senselessness.
The floor of the upstairs was the domain of a large skink (Mabuya carinata). He was chunky, yellow striped and fast. He
lurked around through the day and retired under the cushion of the sofa for the night, just when we were about to relax in front
of the TV. On rainy days, he could barely stir himself. It was kind of strange to pick up a pillow, like you'd turn over a rock
outside, to find a nice fat skink sleeping underneath! Judging from the long healthy turds he left around, a lot of troublesome
insects were getting chomped.
The creatures that turned our home into a real minefield were the scorpions. There were three different species residing at this
address but only one was dangerous, the red scorpion (Mesobuthus tamulus). They ruled the windowsills, door and window
hinges and perilously, in the bookshelves as well. We never pull a book out by placing our fingers on top of the book's spine
because that was where they hung out.
Of late, we have noticed a new gecko on the prowl in the bedroom, the bark gecko (H. leschnaulti). It made a meal of a few
house geckos before staking out its large territory. Sometimes when we returned home late and switched on the light, we have
caught a couple of these big geckoes engaged in mortal combat. They disengaged and ran across the floor in opposite
directions with open wounds. If we hadnt unwittingly called off the battle, they would have almost certainly lost their tails,
with their skin hanging in tatters. One evening last month, a false vampire bat began flitting through the house noiselessly.
Watching him flap from room to room was like driving a Porsche through congested city streets he had to flap so slow that
he could just barely be air-borne. He cleaned up all the geckos in the house in a couple of nights. Unfortunately on one hot
summer evening I was cooling off under the fan when he got hit by the fast rotating blades and fell down stone-dead.
Quietly over the years the house has become the summer home of a congregation of toads Bufo melanostictus and Bufo
fergusoni. Last summer there were so many that we had to be very careful while walking around for fear of stepping on them
or one of their magnificently enormous scats. After a few days of cleaning up after them I grew irritated, I wanted a normal
house. So I caught a whole bunch of them and moved them to the garden. They returned. I caught them all and moved them
250 m away out of sight of the house. They were back that afternoon. They returned in 25 hours when I moved them 500 m
away.That was it it was an all out battle of wits. By this time I had marked them with permanent marker so I could recognize
them. I took them 1 km away across a road and into the scrub jungle. May be that was too far away or may be they got the
message that I didnt want them. May be they all returned but stayed in the garden, I dont know. But the house was free of
toads the rest of the summer and when the rains came we could hear their melodic metallic songs all around.
Rock lizards (Psammophis blandfordanus) live on the palmyra tree behind the house. Then there was a common monitor
lizard (Varanus bengalensis) who stayed for a few weeks in the rafters of the porch. It kept the pesky palm squirrel from
building anymore messy nests. A large beaked worm snake (Grypotyphlops acutus) (India's biggest worm snake at 60 cm)
caused a guest to freeze on her tracks in the kitchen. Besides, we came across several chameleons (Chameleon zeylanicus)
using the house as a bridge to cross from the banyan to the trees in front of the house.
We were very careful where we put our hands and feet in the garden. Rat snakes (Ptyas mucosa) have been our most common
visitors over the years. We watched a pair of six-foot males fight for a couple of hours. Our big 30-foot diameter well is

ringed with several long nests of baya weaverbirds hanging just above the water. One season we watched a rat snake get into a
nest and the whole thing - snake, nest and baby birds fall into the well. The well was dry and the fall must have felt hard but
the snake seemed to be all right. Comfortably grounded he made short work of the baby birds.
We found a shed skin of a common krait (Bungarus caeruleus) near the clothesline recently but by and large, they tended to
remain shy and elusive. We even found a gravid slender coral snake (Calliophis melanurus) under the banyan tree while
digging a water pipeline. The open field below the house doesnt look like much but it was the favoured hangout of the sawscaled vipers (Echis carinatus). Local village ladies who came every afternoon to cut grass for their cattle regularly find the
sawskies coiled around the grass. One morning we found a Kollegal ground gecko (Geckoella collegalensis) in one of the dry
watering sumps along with an incredibly fast pygmy shrew (Suncus etruscus). We hadnt even realized that these pretty
geckoes or one of the worlds smallest mammals were found here.
In all of this time we found several venomous snakes regularly in the garden. The commonest venomous snake here was the Russells viper. It
was the one snake I really didnt want to deal with. It was snappy with long fangs, and sat its ground. But the most traumatic incident was caused
by a cobra.
One morning we woke to be greeted by only 2 of our dogs. The third one was missing and we called for her. She was usually immediately
responsive when called. When she didnt turn up, we knew something was wrong. I found her crouching in the overgrowth along the edge of the
garden unable to walk. She had two bloody wounds on her leg which we assumed was the result of a fight between the dogs. Rom carried her
home and lay her down on the porch. When an hour later, she seemed to be getting worse, Rom concluded she must have been bitten by a cobra.
The venom had paralyzed her legs and she wasnt able to even sit up. We rushed her to the local vet hospital and gave her the antivenom serum
that we always had a stock of. The vets were unconvinced it was a snakebite but Rom forced them to administer the antivenom serum. She got 9
vials of serum in all but it was probably given too late and she died late that night. It was horrendous watching her struggle for breath as her lungs
collapsed from paralysis. Eventually she just got so tired from the struggle that she gave up. That was the first time I had witnessed a snakebite
incident and I was terrified of having snakes around the house after that. We cleared all the overgrowth and made a policy decision that any
venomous snakes in the garden would be removed far away hereafter. Rom flipped several into the big bucket, and released them the next day
deep inside the scrub jungle.

One cloudy afternoon when I had a friend visiting me the dogs found a young cobra. It had to be caught and moved into the
forest. Rom was out so I had to play snake catcher for the first time. The dogs and family were standing on one side while on
the other was our pet pigs enclosure. I tried hooking the snake like Id seen Rom do millions of times but the snake slipped
off like spaghetti. Each time the snake slipped off the hook it crawled closer to Luppy, the pig. Luppy watched the cobra and
grunted with interest. She would have a snack of the cobra if she got a chance! I felt clumsy and inept. Finally the snake tired
and sat limply on the hook long enough for me to get it into a bucket. Thats when I realized that I was shaking from the
adrenalin rush and the fear that I was going to get bit.
One night our gardener came running to say there was a black and white banded snake in his house and it had crawled over
him, as he was lying asleep. My mind kept saying krait had a venomous snake finally found its way inside? What we
found instead was a pretty snake appropriately called the bridal snake (Dryocalamus nympha). While this was my first look at
the species, Rom had last seen it thirty years ago in Guindy National Park, in the middle of Chennai city.
As our trees grow and integrate with the scrub jungle we expect more and more creatures to also call this place home. I just
hope not a lot of them are venomous. Its summer now and almost all the old faces tree frogs and toads - are back in the
house. One of these days Im going to move them all out and I wonder how many will home back.

Bangladeshs Holy Muggers

Published in Sanctuary Asia, Vol. XXIV No. 3, June 2004
The female mugger croc was so fat that she couldn't even turn around to bite Rom (Romulus Whitaker) as he tried to budge her from her nest. Her
neck was thicker than her head, and a noose thrown around her neck would have slipped right off. She had laid eggs during March on the bank of
the lake and she was doing her best to dissuade Rom from checking on them. Anyone not well acquainted with crocs would have been sent
running by her growls and spiritedlunges. With the entire village watching him, Rom was huffing and puffing and completely soaking in sweat.
He was exhausted, he told me later, and it felt like moving a water buffalo. Finally when we all thought Rom could go on no more, the croc gave
up and slipped into the water. But we kept an eye on her anyway so the good mother that she is, she couldn't launch a surprise defense.

Probing with his fingers, Rom located the nest with practiced ease. The trick is to check for loose earth in an otherwise wellpacked area. Seven of the 21 eggs were rotten, and a foul smell rent the air when they were broken open. There was no sign of
embryo development in any of the rotten eggs. And she was the last mugger croc laying eggs in all of Bangladesh.
In 1970 there were eight big mugger crocs and 30 babies in this very lake. In 1982, the number had fallen to five adults, no
babies. And in 2003 there were only two crocs and no babies. The mugger has been listed as extinct in Bangladesh by the
IUCN Red Data Book.
The Last Survivors
It was May and we were in Bangladesh. Floris Deodatus, a colleague working for the Sunderbans Biodiversity Project funded
by the Asian Development Bank was charged with looking at Bangladesh's saltwater crocodiles (affectionately called
salties). During the course of drawing up an action plan he became aware of the dismal situation of the countrys mugger
crocs. He could trace only four muggers in all of Bangladesh two in different zoos and two in a lake adjacent to a Muslim
shrine called Khan Jahan Ali Mazar. The female croc at the Mazar had been known to lay eggs every year, but no hatchlings
had emerged for several years. There were various theories to explain this. An organization called Winrock International in
Bangladesh and the IUCN/SSC/Crocodile Specialist Group arranged for us to visit the location to see what Rom had to
suggest.
The history
In the 1400s a Turkish general, Khan Jahan Ali arrived in Bagerhat, (south of the port city of Khulna), with his followers and
settled down to a life of spiritual Sufi calm and contemplation. He excavated a huge lake estimated at about 6 ha. in extent and
introduced two mugger crocs. He named them Khalapahar (black mountain) and Dhalapahar (white mountain). When he died,
his mausoleum became a shrine. The affairs of the shrine are taken care of by the 300 descendents of Khan Jahan Alis
retinue, called kadem, who live around the lake. The two crocs living in the lake are believed to be the descendents of
Dhalapahar and Khalapahar and are also called by the same names. Hundreds of pilgrims visit the shrine each day and show
their reverence by feeding the crocs pieces of meat and whole chickens. Being reptiles, their metabolism doesn't require such
daily feedings and they were both obese. The male in fact was as tame as a puppy, coming whenever summoned for feeding
by the kadem. Understandably, the kadem were in a panic that their crocs were impotent. All of the shrines income came
from pilgrims wanting to see the crocs. Since voicing such concern might create adverse publicity, the kadem were on their
guard with us initially. They didn't think there was any problem, they didn't want any help, and they didn't want any
interference. It was through a local NGO called Rupantar, and its ebullient director Rafique ul Islam, that we managed to get
through to the kadem at all.
The Present
Rom and Nirmol (a forest department employee assisting us) marked the top of each egg. Croc eggs cant be turned over or
the embryo will rip from its moorings and die. After retrieving the eggs we needed to check if they were fertile or not. One of
the more liberal kadem, the long bearded Fakir Sher Ali led us to a hut close by. Under Roms supervision, he drilled a hole
through the bottom of an earthen pot. Next we needed a bare electric bulb. The fakir got one and Rom retreated into the dark
hut, which was soon jammed full with masses of perspiring bodies watching what was happening to their beloved
Dhalapahar's eggs. Rom thrust the bulb into the pot and turning it around, had a thin sharp beam of light. He held each egg so
it was backlit by the beam. The egg was translucent, no sign of blood vessels, or any sign of an opaque blob at the top that
would be an embryo. Every single egg was infertile!
Rapid fire Bengali shot back and forth as people spilt out of the hut. One of the kadem said that the eggs must be returned to
the nest. Rom explained that it wouldn't make any difference, as the eggs were infertile. One of them retorted that Khan Jahan
Ali would ensure that embryos developed in the eggs later! This was going to be tough
Struggles with religion
The crocs infertility could be due to one, or all, of several things: age of pair, incompatibility between the two, or obesity
affecting the reproductive health of both. The course of action we discussed with the kadem was, first, that the other two crocs
residing in zoos that were taken from Bagerhat would have to be returned. Second, although it would have been great to
conserve the uniquely Bangladesh bloodline, it was too much of a long shot to do that with just four crocs. To prevent the total
extinction of the mugger in Bangladesh, Rom suggested bringing 50 fertile eggs from the Madras Crocodile Bank and

replacing Dhalapahars infertile eggs with them. She was a good protective mother who would guard the eggs and the babies
after they hatch. There was good habitat - lots of reeds and vegetation - where the babies could cryptically hang out in a
crche. The insects that frequented the reeds would form their main diet.
But the kadem didn't think the Madrasi crocs were holy enough. We tried to convince them that they are the same crocs on the
subcontinent for millions of years and that some of the holiness of the lakes waters would rub off on the heathen crocs, but
the kadem said they would much prefer artificial insemination to importing crocs from Madras. Then came word that one of
the crocs believed till then to be at the Mirpur Zoo in Dhaka was dead. That left only the croc at the Khulna Zoo. A quick trip
there confirmed that it was a female. So it was left to the Forest Department to negotiate the crocs release to the Khan Jahan
Ali Mazar lake.
An interloper
The next day, on a walk around the lake after dark, we heard the unmistakable sound of a croc splashing into the water. But it
couldnt be either Dhalapahar or Khalapahar... Rom got into the water and waded across in the direction of the sound. Pinned
under a strong beam of light was a young saltwater crocodile! The panicky kadem had bought the saltie from a fisherman and
released it into the lake! We went back to the kadem and argued that if they were agreeable to introducing a totally different
species of croc, what was their objection to the Madrasi muggers. Rom then pulled out his trump card a black and white
picture taken in 1941 of Mugger Pir in Karachi (see box, print 13). The kadem looked at the lake teeming with mugger crocs
and their eyes glistened. Lots of humming and hawing later, they were finally ready to listen and cooperate. But first we asked
them to remove the saltie from the lake as it would ruin any mugger-breeding program. The saltie would not only eat up the
baby mugger but could become a nuisance to livestock and locals.
The Big Plan
Back in Dhaka, at the request of an enthused Forest Department, a pro-active action plan was drawn up that involved sending
over 20 mugger crocs from Madras to stock the Forest Departments croc breeding facility in Karamjal and another 20 to the
huge new enclosure at Mirpur Zoo, Dhaka. The paperwork is being processed by the Indian Government and we hope the
necessary permission will be given soon. In the meantime, we are raising funds to move the crocs to Dhaka. Alitalia has
agreed to cut freight rates but the Bangladeshis still need to raise four and half lakh rupees. So far there are no other sponsors.
Anybody willing to chip in to bring the muggers back to Bangladesh?
Epilogue - the crocs were shipped earlier this year and hopefully croc conservation in Bangladesh is in full swing.

The Hunter and the Hunted

Published in Sanctuary

Asia XXIII No. 4, Aug 2003

For the last 10 years I had been watching the legendary Irulas the snake catching tribe of south India from the periphery. Finally in 2002 I got
my chance to spend a week with them (and what a week it was!). Rom Whitaker (my better half) was curious as to what effect the Irula snake
catching cooperative had on wild snakes and so we had come to the Chengalpattu district, where snake-hunting for venom extraction was the most
intensive. The fact that the snakes were released after the venom was extracted, (unlike other anti-venom extraction set-ups) also made
Chengalpattu the right place to ascertain the effect, if any, of the trapping on wild snake populations.
Roms life has long been inextricably tied with the Irulas a tribe he met in the 1970s on one of his snake trips to the south. He was then based
outside Bombay and was in the business of extracting venom for Haffkine Institute. He traveled regularly to Bengal for banded kraits and
monocellate cobras, to Ratnagiri for saw scaled vipers and to Madras for kraits and Russells vipers. Harry Miller, a well known local journalist,
put him in touch with the Irulas. Rom was amazed by the Irulas skill at snake catching; they could literally track down snakes! He felt much
more at home in south India, having schooled in Kodaikanal, suddenly, for the first time, Rom had a peer group of snake hunters in India. He soon
moved to the outskirts of Chennai near an Irula settlement and started Indias first snake park. His first business mates were the Irulas; their easy
sense of humour and Roms own frugal lifestyle complimented each other.
Around the same time, Rom was discovering that the snakeskin industry was hammering snake populations all over the country. At the industrys
peak, in 1966, 25,000 snakeskins were processed countrywide every day. In an average year, it was still about 17,000 skins per day. So every
year, for probably 50 years, 6 million snakes were being killed for watch straps, belts, shoes and handbags. And this is a conservative estimate.
The snakes being killed included cobras, rat snakes, Russells vipers and pythons. When the large snakes became harder to find, the industry

settled for water snakes. The Irulas were the largest suppliers of skins. With their incredible tracking skills, the snakes just didnt stand a chance.
Rom and other conservationists lobbied hard to have the snakeskin industry shut down and eventually the government listened, declaring the
industry illegal in 1975.
Overnight, thousands of Irulas were without a livelihood. Although Rom felt sorry for them, he never regretted the ban on snakeskins. While
drinking toddy and chatting with the Irulas in the evenings, Rom grew confident that they could do what he had been doing extract venom from
snakes and sell it to the antivenom manufacturers. The idea was to form a tribal cooperative, but this was easier said than done. There were so
many legal and bureaucratic gauntlets to run that soon the focus was in danger of being lost. Snakes were now all protected by the forest
department, while venom was construed as a chemical, regulated by the Department of Industries. Neither wanted the Cooperative under their
jurisdiction. It was an anomaly the only cooperative utilising wildlife. Finally, it was thanks to the gumption of one lady that the cooperative
became a reality at all Revati Mukherjee. After months of waiting in the corridors of the State Secretariat, Rom was getting despondent. Revati,
a good friend and no respecter of obstructive bureaucracy went straight to the top, browbeating the secretaries in charge until they buckled,
probably just so they could be rid of her! And thus the Cooperative came into being.
It took another four years for the reluctant Forest Department to issue licenses to the Cooperatives members. Finally in 1982, the Irulas had leave
to catch the Big Four venomous snakes - cobras, kraits, Russells vipers and saw scaled vipers. The Cooperative bought the snakes and extracted
venom to sell. At year end, the profits were tallied up and distributed among the 60 members. Venom was extracted thrice in three weeks from
each snake. Then, in a unique break from the procedure followed by every other venom facility in the world, the snakes were returned to the wild.
In the last two decades, the Irulas have caught close to 100,000 snakes. All the snakes have their belly scales clipped in code year and month of
capture and date of release so that they arent caught again any time soon. It is important that this not happen because the snakes need time to
feed and recover. The scales eventually grow back obliterating the code but by then the snake has recuperated. In any event, the chances of
catching the same snakes are very slim. The Irulas hunt along paddy fields, catching rats, mice and snakes. (The farmers are happy to get rid of
both the pesky rodents and the dangerous predator that preys on them.) After the venom is extracted, the snakes are released in forests; the Irulas
would probably be lynched if they released the venomous snakes back in the fields where they were originally caught.
So 20 years after the Cooperative became operational, Rom decided to have a casual look at the snake populations in the district of Chengalpattu.
For a week, we went trudging along rice field bunds, looking for snakes. It was July the heat was searing. The northeast monsoon was a few
months away and the land was parched. We picked up Kali, the son of a legendary Irula snake hunter and healer, Chockalingam. Kali had married
when he was 18 and already had two children at 22. His hamlet consisted of about 20 huts on the outskirts of the village of Manamadi, about 30
km. south of Madras. They had no electricity; just a lone street light that lit the whole village at night. Water was brought from a kilometre away
by the women. Hardly any of the kids went to school. Their hair was copper-coloured from malnutrition. All of them are sparsely built from a life
of hard work and poor nutrition. These are among Indias poorest people. Most adults work as casual labourers in farms and rice mills. The
Cooperative could only handle 300 members from a 25,000 strong tribe.
Kali has been hunting snakes since he was 10 years old. At 14, a saw-scaled viper bit him on his forefinger. While he was not in any danger, the
pain searing through his finger was so intense and unbearable that he thrust his finger into the fire. Hes too embarrassed to talk about the incident
so we dont know whether there was any relief from the pain! Now he has a slightly deformed finger. Thats one thing Ive noticed about most
snake hunters shaking their hand is like shaking a crabs claw. When I comment on it, Rom reminds me of his adage Snake hunters never die.
They just rot away! Joking apart, most snake hunters live dangerous lives. There's no such thing as too much concentration or caution when
dealing with venomous snakes. There can be no distraction, no hesitation, no mistakes. And as you hunt, you go deeper and deeper into the
countryside, and further away from the main road, transport and any possible help.
The remoteness of the location is one thing but Roms various allergies (to antivenom serum, to cobra venom, to krait venom) are complications
that we could live without! Thus the constant refrain about concentration.
Rice farmers dont like too many trees. It was a vast flatland of rice fields with little stands of trees, the only shade in the whole landscape. It is to
these copses that we headed, looking for tracks and rat burrows along the dykes. When Kali did not pause over several burrows, I asked him why.
He nonchalantly replied, Theres nothing in there. Its an old hole. He was looking for fresh tracks, fresh diggings, scat outside the holes and
where there were none, he didnt pause for a second glance. To my untrained eyes, I couldnt tell where to look for tracks on a baked earth with
dry stalks of grass sticking out all over the place.
It was getting hotter and hotter and it was only 10 a.m. I could have sworn it was 2 p.m. I was exhausted. We had been walking for 4 hours. We
walked along a field of cotton. Kali found a burrow with snake tracks. It looked like any other hole to me and I did have my glasses on! And then
to add insult to injury he proclaims that the tracks go in but dont come out. Now how on earth could a slight little smoothness on the earth say so
much? But Kali was certain and he began digging. Rom found another hole which was part of the same burrow system, while Raju, Kalis snake
hunting partner, scouted around to see if there were any escape routes. I wanted to find the next rat burrow with a snake in it but the heat was
making me listless. So halfheartedly I walked along an adjoining dyke looking for burrows and tracks while the boys were busy digging. One of

them yelled and I raced back - Kali was just handing Rom a young cobra by the tail and he continued digging. He thought there was a second
cobra in the same hole. And no prizes for guessing if he was right!
In a ditch overgrown with Ipomoea, Kali found a whole clutch of baby Russells vipers. They were such perfect miniatures of the adults. I cannot
tell what science caused Kali to believe that tramping around in the Ipomoea would lead him to baby vipers. I suppose a combination of skill and
several years of hunting knowledge would tell him that this is the season when Russells vipers drop their babies and when he sees the right
habitat, he checks it out. So where I just see a ditch overgrown with Ipomoea, Kali sees the ideal hangout for baby vipers. Where I just see a rat
hole, Kali sees a cool place where a cobra would want to lie low to beat the heat.
Walking back to the car in the evening, Kali stopped at a palmyra tree and poked around with a stick. A minute later, he pulled out a saw-scaled
viper. Now, how did he do that? He couldnt tell me what made him check that particular palm tree and not its neighbour. This was crazy either
he was having us on (he could have come over the previous day and secreted a saw scaled viper in the tree) or it was some kind of magic.
Thinking about it now, may be Kali caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and investigated. I suppose the trick is also to get under the
skin of the snake to figure out where it could be. Rom says snake hunting is actually a systematic search of all possible snake hiding places
literally and figuratively leaving no stone unturned. But still that requires a greater skill than one realises. Theres no way I was ever going to learn
anything about tracking. Give me sand dunes with big game any day where animal tracks are written as large as bold print!
At the end of our 7-day hunt, we totalled 55 snakes of 10 different species. Rom made it a point to collect shed skins as indicators of relative
snake abundance, even ones we didnt see, and the tally was 158 shed skins. For a preliminary survey conducted during the worst time of the year
for snakes, it was obvious that the four species of snakes were doing very well indeed, and capture-release methods being followed by the Irulas
were having no negative effects on the snake populations. But what wed really like to do is radio track some of the snakes that the Irula
Cooperative releases and insert PIT tags in others so we have an idea of where these released snakes go and what they do. If there is any snake
freak out there whos looking for a project, heres one that desperately needs doing.

Dragons Alive

Published in Sanctuary Asia, XXXV No.3, June 2005

We (Rom Whitaker and I) were standing knee-deep in a stinky cesspool. The muddy water was filthy with village effluent and the body fluids of a
rotting shark carcass lying just above the tide line in the mangroves. I had modified my earplugs into nose stoppers to better handle the nauseating
aroma that permeated everything including my clothes. The only animals that probably found this scene appealing were the water monitor lizards
arriving from further upstream. They ripped and tore into the shark carcass with gusto, fought with their neighbours over scraps and one even
crawled right into the belly cavity of the fast-disappearing carcass to get the entrails. I gagged on the thought that the lizards found the putrid
carcass tasty. Most of them were over 1.8 m. in length; the largest was a hefty 2.4 m. As long as we didnt make a move towards the feast, the
lizards didnt seem to mind our presence. Taking a step forward not only stirred up the buzzing dark cloud of flies and the overpowering stench
but also brought on a chorus of whipping tails, the lizards way of reminding me that I was intruding. The scene I was witnessing could have been
out of some primeval time when humans were not even a gleam in the eye of any primate.

We were in Sri Lanka, wading through one of the numerous rivers that drain down the islands west coast. The scene
described above was to play out over and over again in virtually every single water system along this coast Maha Oya,
Kelaniya, Bolgoda Lake, Kalu Ganga, Bentota Ganga, Gin Ganga, to name the major ones. The Sri Lankans practice that
endearing Indian habit of chucking any kind of garbage into the nearest river. Here there is one exceptional difference you
wont see many stray dogs fighting over the organic scraps; instead youll witness huge semi-tame water monitors trying to

cram as much food as possible into their already bloated stomachs. A lizard lying on the shore after one such meal is totally
incapable of moving away should you approach too close. In one extreme case of grossness, the lizards stomach was so
distended that the legs could barely reach the ground! Such satiated saurians just lie there and put on a lethargic threat display
hissing and slapping their tails. Usually this half-hearted warning should suffice to send any timid soul on his way. Should
you wish to catch them, for whatever crazy reason, all you need is sheer muscle power; the lizards arent about to run. These
overfed beasts are so powerful that it took the combined weight of two admittedly not-in-shape humans to restrain one lizard
from walking into the water. We eventually did manage to measure his length and weight (2.25 m; 55 kg. should you be
interested).
Meet the beast
The winning formula that goes into the making of these supremely-adaptable creatures is: keen eyesight, nostrils with valves that shut out water
when its time to submerge, a tongue that smells the faintest odour of any food at least two kilometers away if the wind is blowing or the water is
flowing their way, a long rudder-like tail that propels them powerfully through water and doubles as a defensive weapon, talon-like claws that
provide the animals amazing purchase on smooth barked trees, and teeth more like those of flesh eating sharks than any living reptile or mammal.

Although amazingly there is no literature to support this, it is obvious that water monitor lizards can hear. I have mimicked the
squeaking of a rat, the distress call of baby palm squirrels and common tree frogs and usually drawn a gratifying reaction
they turn around and fix me with their curious gaze.
As if a regular pair of sharp eyes was not enough, the creature has a pineal eye in the middle of the forehead. It has no eyeball or eyelid, although
it has a functional retina and a nerve leading to the brain. The third eye lies beneath the skin and its position is merely hinted at by a slight bulge
and marked by a large yellow spot. What purpose it serves is still a mystery; some scientists believe that it maintains a sense of daylight (circadian
rhythm), and season. In one ghoulish, but interesting study, conducted in the 1960s, a scientist removed the third eye surgically to see what would
happen to the lizard. Compared to a normal lizard, the pineal-eye-blinded lizards reproductive cycle and locomotor activity was speeded up, and
it spent a lot more time sunning itself. Whether the lack of a pineal eye was actually detrimental to the lizard was never established.
Unlike more sedentary reptiles, monitor lizards patrol their territory actively seeking food; investigate objects with curiosity and display an
exceptional level of intelligence and awareness of their world. Their bodies are not knobby and bumpy like crocodiles, nor do they unnervingly
slither out of the way like snakes. Their active pursuit of anything that moves or smells is reminiscent of small carnivorous mammals like
mongoose and civet cats. People seem to easily relate to monitor lizards because of all these mammalian traits. Yet, they are reptiles more
closely related to snakes than other lizards.

A Quick Tour
An hour-and-half drive north of Colombo is an endless stretch of beach resorts where planeloads of burned-out European
tourists come to chill out in the sun. One such village is Waikkal, on the edge of a tributary of the river Maha Oya. The
mangroves have been chopped away a long time ago and the river is crisscrossed by fishing nets. Swimming gingerly between
these nets are big water monitor lizards. One popular water monitor lizard myth here is that it is venomous. In the past,
warriors apparently hung water monitor lizards by their tails and collected their mucousy saliva. This venomous substance
was used to poison enemies. The truth is that lizard saliva is a suitable growing medium for several different kinds of bacteria
but there is no venom. The second popular myth is that lizards can cut you badly with their tails. They can certainly slap hard
with their tails and I had several red welts across my thighs to prove it but they certainly didnt cut me up. Some lizards do get
entangled in the nets and the frightened fishermen would rather hack the net than risk getting bit or cut in half by the lizards.
The nets are gauntlets the lizards have to run everyday and they could easily drown if not quickly freed. We were summoned
several times by local fishermen to help disentangle lizards from nets. All we ever got in return for the favour was a wellaimed tail slap from the lizards or clawed arms.

Anthonys Resort
It was in Waikkal that we discovered Anthony. His house sat right on the edge of the river, the highway of water monitors.
They were the bane of Anthonys life. He took all the kitchen waste from the resorts on contract to feed his large sounder of
pigs. Recently, a lizard had grabbed a piglet and Anthonys determined wife had saved it by chasing the lizard away. Anthony
stitched up the piglets ripped-open stomach and nursed it back to health. Two days after it joined the rest of the sounder, it
got taken again and this time Mrs. Anthony didnt see it happen. While we were interviewing Anthony, his wife burst out of
the house, shrieking and we immediately understood why the lizard had dropped the piglet earlier and ran! This time she had
spotted a lizard lurking around the chicken coop and went after it with a broom. By the time we could comprehend what was

going on, the triumphant lizard was swimming off fast with a bedraggled white chicken in its mouth. Mrs. Anthony stood on
the waters edge beating the water with her broom and swearing in Sinhala.
If the Sinhalese believe that these reptiles are venomous and pesky predators, why dont they just exterminate the animals?
One reason for this tolerant attitude could be the lizards tendency to gobble up snakes. The lizards quickly learn how to deal
with venomous and non-venomous snakes. Non-venomous snakes are grabbed anywhere along the body whereas a venomous
snake would be chased and then shaken to exhaustion before being swallowed like a long noodle. Sri Lankans have learnt to
value this service.
While we stood there commiserating with Mrs. Anthony, we were inwardly admiring the lizards gumption. This was when
we discovered Anthonys regular job. A number of big aluminum pots and pans connected by pipes stood by the chicken
coop, hidden from the road. He was the local bootlegger and entrepreneur. He brewed his intoxicant with choice pickings
from the resorts kitchen waste mixed with the rivers septic water. He was making a profit with minimum investment, just as
enterprising as his nemesis, the water monitor lizard. The very thought that any part of that filthy river water goes down
peoples throats was too unappetising a thought. In no time at all Anthonys place was sarcastically branded, Anthonys
Health Spa!

Resilient lizards
In the resort itself, the water monitors lead a low profile life. They hang around the tourist cottages scavenging fallen pieces of
fish fingers and French fries; they lurk behind the kitchen for scraps, keeping the stray dog population down (the lizards take
almost every puppy, thankfully out of sight of visiting tourists). Life is clearly as good for the reptiles as for the tourists at
these resorts.
A boat ride along the River Kelaniya was another lesson in lizard resilience. Kelaniya is one of the most polluted rivers in Sri
Lanka. At least Anthonys Maha Oya was an organically septic river; Kelaniya was brimming not just with organic waste but
heavy-duty inorganic effluents released by factories along its banks. Although there werent as many lizards in this river as the
others, we tracked down the local haunt of the lizards the effluent discharge gate of a sausage plant!
Bolgoda Lake, which has several lake front houses along its banks, comes alive over the weekends when speedboats tailed by water skis zoom
around. But through the week when the owners are in Colombo, the lizards enjoy the facilities neatly trimmed green lawns to bask on, the local
fish market along the main highway for food and a choice assortment of boat houses to sleep off their eating binge.

Water monitor heaven

The cesspool in which we were standing was further south, in the middle of the village of Balapitiya. The mangrove fringe
skirted a coconut plantation, which was the frequent hangout of the big monitor lizards because it was next to the bridge over
the Madu Ganga River, the local garbage dumping spot. The commonest fish caught on this coast is tuna; and the river was
one huge stinky garbage can for fishy leftovers. Tuna tails are too stiff and big to be swallowed by the lizards. It drove me (if
not the lizards) crazy with frustration to see the lizards move their neck from side to side for hours in an attempt to swallow
the damn things. Some gave up and swam around with the tails stuck in their mouths. Many a beautiful lizard photograph had
to be trashed because of the fish-tail-stuck-in-the-mouth syndrome. It was also comical to see lizards whose mouths were
already stuffed up with a tuna tail trying to pick up yet another tuna tail!
Lizards frequently brought morning peak traffic on the bridge to a stand still when one decided to cross the road. But once the lizard got onto the
road, it would suddenly see the vehicles on either side and sit down petrified. The people waited patiently until the lizard mustered up enough
courage to either cross or slink back in retreat. But some big ones just slowly ambled across like they owned the place.

Conservation
Clearly, the people along the wet west coast of Sri Lanka and the water monitor lizard have learnt to live together. Although
much of the islands once extensive mangroves are gone, the absence of poaching for leather or meat allows the lizards to live

unmolested. The villagers recognise the critical role the lizards play as scavengers in the ecosystem as Sri Lanka does not
have any vultures to do the job.
But elsewhere in its range, the water monitor is being driven out as its habitat, the mangroves are being cleared to make way for shrimp farms.
Shrimp farmers do not welcome the presence of water monitors and as a result, there is less and less space for them along Southeast Asias
waterways. They are also slaughtered for their highly prized pretty skins. Approximately two million monitor lizards are killed every year
throughout Asia for the leather industry. Indonesia alone takes anywhere between 600,000 to 1.5 million water monitor lizards from the wild each
year for people who think they look posh with a lizard skin watchstrap or handbag. The only things going for the wily lizards is their resilience,
their adaptability and the few people in some parts of the world that tolerate their presence.

The end
Just as we were getting ready to leave, a boat zoomed up creating huge swells that threatened our balance in the festering
waters. One of the local boat drivers had heard of our interest in the kabaragoya (Sinhala for water monitor lizard) and had
helpfully scraped up the carcass of a run-over civet cat from the highway for us. A bemused Rom took the squashed remains
closer to the lizards on the shore and they began to swarm all over him. For a moment the wild creatures appeared tame but as
soon as Rom began retreating, the lizards took up defensive postures ready to use their tails as weapons. I feared one of them
might just decide to make his point and drench me with the unsanitary water. Thankfully that never happened and we could
hear the lizards ripping and skirmishing as we withdrew.

An Atheist among Gods and Ghosts

Janaki Lenin, are you a Christian, Hindu or Communist? This question was the bane of my growing years. The questioner
said the word Communist sinisterly and although I didnt know what it meant, I clearly understood it was evil. I was very
confused about why I should be associated with evil and didnt know how to respond. However, only a few knew the
significance of the name. Most frequently I was asked if I was a Hindu or a Christian. To a Hindu, any foreign sounding name
that wasnt overtly Muslim was a Christian name. So the Hindus assumed I was a Christian and the Christians thought I was a
Hindu.
When I was seven I was sent to a Catholic convent school. During the first hour of school every day all the Catholic kids
attended catechism while all the heathen (Protestants included) did Moral Science. The majority of the kids were Hindus but
there were some Muslims, Sikhs, and Jains too. We were taught about Jesus Christ and that the Christian God was the only
true god and the Pope the only intermediary; and we sang hymns. The rest of the time we filled scrapbooks with pictures; I
cannot remember what these exercises were about but they were very boring. When I looked around the class, the other kids
were variously engaged in something other than what we were meant to be doing some were completing math homework
that had to be handed in later in the day, some were tearing note paper and making rockets and various projectiles, others were
reading story books, some gossiped in whispers. Nobody took Moral Science seriously.
I daydreamed while gazing out of the window at the sea. A fishermens village was below the window on the beach and there
were always some interesting goings-on to watch. At that time of the morning the men would be mending their nets while
their wives were away at distant markets haggling over that mornings catch. If the catch was late it was exciting to watch the
catamarans pulling in; all the fishermen in the colony would pitch in and drag the heavy nets ashore. Their kids didnt go to
school and hung around the settlement amongst the adults helping with the chores. The rest of the day the kids just ran around
on the hot sands flying kites or romping in the waves. I remember wishing I were a fisher-kid who didnt have to go through
the drudgery of learning math and science and geography.
Every time I moved up a grade in school I had to explain my strange name to my new teachers. They wanted to know whether
I was a Christian or Hindu; I didnt know what I was. To simplify things they asked what god we worshipped at home and I
said none. What festivals did we celebrate at home? I stood there tongue-tied, pinned like an accused criminal under the
interested gaze of the teacher and all my classmates. The teacher suggested Christmas or Diwali? I nodded yes to both.
Were my parents of two different religions? I didnt know. This was a country where everyone wore his or her religious
identity obviously and sometimes flamboyantly. So the teachers couldnt be convinced that I was unable to explain my
religion and would ask the same questions for the next few days until they got tired. I hated these public trials. I wanted to
conform as much as possible. I would have given anything to be as interesting as plain cardboard. I didnt care which religion
I belonged to as long as I belonged to something just like everyone else. When I complained to my parents that everyone, but

I, had a religion, and that the teachers were always troubling me about it, they replied that religion was a private issue and
shouldnt unduly concern my teachers. They werent convinced I needed a religion to gain acceptability and I had no choice
but to grit my teeth and put up with the endless questions.
It wasnt just the teachers who were curious. When I got friendly with another girl, her parents wanted to know what religion I
belonged to. I never had a lasting friendship, as the parents were suspicious of my background. It seemed like a big deal to
everyone except my parents. I felt miserable as I seemed to be the only one not part of any gang. I melodramatically
contemplated running away from home. Perhaps a fisherman would adopt me and I could fly kites all day long. It remained a
mid-day reverie and I was too chicken to actually run away.
At home I looked in the phone book. There were Leenas, Legays, and a column of Lekhas. Finally there was the lone beacon
Lenin, the only one in Chennai, a city of 4 million people. Why did Father not have a common name like
Venkatasubramanium, or Hussein or Thomas?
When I turned thirteen, I realized that I was born a Hindu but my parents had strong socialist leanings and were practicing
atheists or rationalists or whatever fancy word Father came up with. I asked Father how I got my name and this is the story he
told me:
Back in the 1930s the Justice Party, a political group from the South, was not only fighting for freedom but also grappling
with socially oppressive practices plaguing Tamilian (a people in South India) society at that time. People of the lower caste
were treated abominably, women were little more than heir producers and the condition of the serfs under the feudal agrarian
system was worse than animals. The Party proclaimed atheism as a revolt against the religious hegemony of the Brahmins.
Mr. Ramanathan was an office bearer of the Justice Party.
In late 1931 Ramanathan and Periyar, the father of the Dravidian movement wanted to study the political systems of other countries. Periyar came
from a wealthy family but did not know English. He made a proposition to Ramanathan that if he would be the interpreter, Periyar would finance
the trip. So both men embarked on a journey that covered almost every country in Europe. They had wanted to visit Soviet Union as well but the
British Government refused them permission. When their ship dropped anchor in the Russian port of Odessa, Ramanathan and Periyar jumped
ship and traveled to Moscow. They had heard so much British propaganda about the Communist regime that they were curious to see the country
for themselves. Coming from a nation where grinding poverty in the villages was common, the visitors were overwhelmed by the seeming
prosperity of the Soviet countryside and the emancipation of women and serfs. The Indians returned home determined to kick-start reforms.

Soon after his arrival in 1933, Ramanathan visited his family; he had been away for months and while he was abroad one of
his sisters had delivered a son. The house was festive and bustling with activity when Ramanathan arrived. The naming
ceremony of the baby was to be held soon and the foreign-returned gentleman was given the honour. He named his nephew,
Lenin. There are no records to suggest whether the family was shocked or dismayed by this unorthodox name. Some of
Fathers aunts and uncles couldnt even pronounce this funny name they called him a lilting Lelin.
Tamilians do not have a tradition of family names. We, however, have an intricate system of initials my name under this
system would read L. Janaki and I formally belonged to the house of the oldest living patriarch of the family. This curious
practice had one interesting consequence women didnt have to take on their husbands name. I would be L. Janaki, whether
I married or not, until I died. I was the only girl born in my fathers family and was hence named after my grandmother,
Janaki, meaning daughter of the earth. When I began going to kindergarten, the Western system of taking a family name
came into vogue. Many took on their caste affiliations as their family name. Some made family names of their fathers given
name, like my parents did for me. So I became Janaki Lenin. How I wished later in life that I were an anonymous L. Janaki
instead of the shocking Janaki Lenin!
At about the time I was learning about this history, Moral Science became interesting. I paid attention to what the nuns were
saying. They narrated several parables from the Bible, which highlighted the omnipresence of God. It was all based on having
faith only if I had faith could I know God and if I didnt have any, I would be blind to His Presence. I told Father that even if
he didnt know if there was a god or not, the nuns were sure there was one.
Father asked, Do you believe in ghosts?
I think so.
He asked, Have you seen any?

No.
Then why do you believe in them? he countered. I was baffled. Besides, he added, God and the Ghost are the same
thing.
And he quoted, In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.
Those were the years when we girls scared the wits out of each other with ghost stories and rumours of impaled mutilated
bodies ran through the school like a gas line on fire. The school was situated in the middle of a vast woodsy property. We
walked the narrow path among the trees watchful for legs or headless bodies dangling from the branches or for malevolent
apparitions who might appear unexpectedly out of the dark corners. I never saw anything out of the ordinary but the vivid
descriptions of some of the vile things that the others had seen made me uncomfortable. Mother had been reassuring me every
night for several years that there were no ghosts. After each report of a sighting, wed all rush over and, of course, there was
nothing. Most of our lunch hour was spent chasing ghosts. A lot of the girls swore that they had seen ghosts and I thought
since I wasnt seeing any, I had no faith. Thats exactly what the nuns said too I wasnt seeing god because I had no faith. Or
was it the other way around? When classes resumed, wed struggle to calm our nerves down and concentrate on some
complex mathematical problem. Several times a girl would go into a complete panic about a ghost she had seen and the nuns
would be called in to calm her down. They would lecture that there were no ghosts and only people who worshipped the Devil
believed in or saw ghosts. Now I was really confused.
During Moral Science hour the next day I muddled an explanation about gods and ghosts. As I saw the nuns expression
getting stranger and stranger, I abruptly clammed up. The trouble over my spiritual soul had begun. Every evening brought a
new argument from Father and the next morning I would get into a fresh dispute with the nuns.
The question of god, devil and faith was to occupy my thoughts so entirely that I gazed off into the sea trying to figure out
what Father meant How could God be the same as the ugly, scary headless ghosts? And the nuns said ghosts were the
Devils work. So what was this strange relationship between God and Devil? This tendency to daydream got me in trouble
with everybody. The teachers complained to Mother that I was a dreamer.
None of my friends were having a problem with God and they somehow remained immune to the religious preaching of the
nuns and disinterested in Moral Science. I felt I was being put to the test by being torn between two didactic polarities. Out of
exasperation one evening I asked Father So is there a God or not? and he answered No one can prove there is one and no
one can prove there isnt one and we all have to live with that. And he loved to quote Mark Twain, God created man in his
image and man, being a gentleman, returned the compliment. Or this one by Oscar Wilde was another favourite: Most
religious teachers spend their time trying to prove the unproven by the unprovable. While I considered this exploration
seriously, Father was always a tease and was deliberately tripping me up.
The nuns said we needed God to keep away from evil and to receive pardon for our sins. That seemed reasonable and I was
willing to accept it. Just like I needed my parents and teachers, everyone needed a god to discipline us. After mulling over it
for a while I came up against this: If there was no God to pardon my sins, would that not keep me from committing sins in the
first place? What was the point in committing a crime and then seeking forgiveness for it? By this time, the nuns had privately
nicknamed me The Devil. I was at an age when I was questioning authority and doubting everything my parents as well as the
nuns said. So I set out to find out for myself.
I started to read the Bible but didnt get very far beyond the first pages of the Old Testament. All of us got free copies of the
Bible every year. Like any other book I began with the first page of the Old Testament and promptly got tangled, like so many
others, in who begat who begat who and who girded his loins to do what. I visited the cathedral every evening after school. I
didnt know Mass was held at certain times of the week; I would open the creaky massive door and let myself in. This
disturbed a bunch of blind bats that eerily swooped around me. Keeping one eye open for bats and other spooky things, Id
imitate the nuns in Moral Science class and murmur Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name Soon the brush
of a bats wing or the deadening silence would send me running out. Besides I didnt want to walk across the woods alone. I
copied every gesture a Christian made and pretended I was one too. I hung pictures of Jesus on my wall, crossed myself when
one of the girls swore, and refused to wear the red bindi on my forehead. No doubt the nuns were delighted with my
transformation from a combative Communist to a devout soul that they had had doubts of saving from hell fire. I cant
remember how long this phase lasted but its no wonder that it got me nowhere.

I next tried being a Hindu. I didnt know what the Hindu spiritual book was. Father said there is not one but several. I didnt
want to cloud my confusion any further by involving Father and kept my quest a secret. If I asked him too many questions
then Id have to divulge the whole thing. With no one to guide me, I had to settle on going to the temple every evening. It was
moderately fun as it was very social. All the men, dressed in white sarongs, sat under the sacred tree and name-dropped; the
women, in colourful saris, sat on the cool granite corridor of the temple, with fragrant fresh jasmine flowers in their hair,
singing while the kids ran helter-skelter. Inside the temple, the priest began the evening by bathing the idols of the gods with
sacred water. He then decorated them with sandal wood paste and vermilion and gold jewelry. After he was ready, everyone
gathered for the puja (prayer ceremony) around the sanctum sanctorum. There was the sonorous chanting of Sanskrit verses,
and bells rang. Everyone clapped their cheeks in reverence and joined their hands in prayer. The priest then brought out the
offerings some ash and vermilion that was promptly applied to the forehead. Once the main puja was done, you walked
around the temple corridor clockwise paying respects to all the minor gods installed in their own niches along the corridor.
This held my interest for a few days but again it didnt do much to explain the nature of god, much less enlighten if there was
one.
I asked my Hindu friend what she thought. She went along with what her parents taught her about God and that was all there
was to it. I asked her if what the nuns said during Moral Science made her think again. With a peculiar look she said, Im
sent here to study, not pay attention to their Christian teachings. And I realized that was probably the attitude of my parents
as well.
Late in March Indians celebrate a boisterous festival called Holi (the Spring Festival). While on every other festival we wore
our best clothes, for Holi we wore the oldest, because friends will soon dust and drench you in gaudy colours. This festival
was widely celebrated in North India but when I was fifteen, South Indians were slowly adopting it too. They restricted
themselves to throwing colours on each other but didnt get into drinking bhang (a sweet milk drink spiked with marijuana).
In North India, everyone from grannies to little kids got harmlessly high on it. That year, some friends and I decided to
celebrate Holi. After school got done that day we ran riot smearing virulent pink and nauseating green colour powders on each
other. The powder mixed with sweat left an indelible mark that lasted a couple of days. Into this wild party walked a group of
nuns in their immaculate white habits and in sheer exuberance I threw some colour on them. Suddenly everyone came to their
senses and the gaiety stopped abruptly. I knew I had made a terrible mistake. The nuns suspected some devious religious
infraction had taken place but werent really sure. Since I, of indeterminate religious breeding, was the culprit; there could be
more to it than met the eye.
I was marched off to see Sister Teresa, the head of the school. I must have looked a sight my hair in disarray, my face and
clothes smeared in garish colours while I tried to look as repentant as possible. Sister Teresa was a morose person and would
always reprimand us for laughing or running too much as she made her way sedately like a giant penguin around the school
at recess. Her nickname among the girls was Sister Grumpy. A terse letter of complaint was written to my parents about my
abominable behaviour, my arguments about the existence of god with some oblique comments about their own godlessness. I
smirked to myself thinking that should surely get Mother going. But instead she shouted at me. Why was I bringing dishonour
on the family by behaving wildly? Why did I have to throw colour on anyone? I really wished I hadnt taken part in the rowdy
party and brought all this unpleasantness on myself. It had just seemed like simple fun then. I was allowed to return to school
the next day if I apologized and I did. But something soured inside me; I didnt think it was such a big issue that they had to
complain to Mother. I had been apologizing from the moment I realized I had made a mistake but instead they made a scene at
school and at home before I was finally let off. The nuns singled me out for special attention during Moral Science, preaching
with renewed vigour while making snide remarks about the devil in our midst. The more the nuns tried to stuff religion down
my throat, the more I rebelled against the Christian god. Mother forbade me from getting into any arguments with the nuns.
Since I wasnt making much headway on the issue of Gods and ghosts I relapsed to a semi-comatose frame of mind during
Moral Science and resumed watching the fisher kids flying their kites.
Our Board examinations were coming up and we had to get down to the serious business of studying and doing well. The
pressure was on to not only do well, but to do really well. Moral Science class was scraped for the weeks leading up to the
exams and God was relegated to the low priority corner of all our minds. We attended special classes in school over the
weekends, had long assignments to do in every subject; it was tedious. There was hectic competition between schools to
outperform each other in these examinations. The more First classes the students achieved, the higher the schools prestige.
Teachers and parents invested a lot of time and effort in every student. The day before the examinations began, as we all
began suffering from pangs of anxiety, God suddenly figured prominently. The Christian girls went to the cathedral and the
Hindu girls appeared at school with the holy marks of having visited a temple. I didnt pay any attention to what the girls from
other religious backgrounds did. I felt completely alone with no god of my own to look down on me but realized that if there
was anyone I could rely on, it was I. Being an average student academically, I surprised the nuns by outdoing myself. Even

Sister Grumpy happily commented, Even the Devil did well! That was the first time I heard my nickname. We had done the
school proud and there was a lot of backslapping. The moment passed but I was never to forget the nasty nickname and
hereafter always equated nuns with the moniker.
The last two years of school were spent in a daze of cultural activities, meeting boys, parties, discovering make-up, and
developing deep crushes on movie stars and sports heroes. God still remained low priority. Parents didnt interfere anymore in
their daughters lives and so finally I had friends. I went to film school after graduating from high school and I was thankful
that nobody there really cared about religion. That was when I resumed that unfinished business.
I had just turned eighteen. This time I knew which books to read and I covered a vast spectrum. I settled finally for the
agnosticism of Zen Buddhism combined with elements of Sufi mysticism as it calmed my parched restless soul. I suppose this
is what my parents wanted for me to not take any religion for granted and to seek my own crutch (or faith as some would
have it). I am now thankful I got that name because not only did it help me find my non-conformist feet but taught me to
scrutinize everything question, question, question.
The only time I felt any trepidation about my name was when I first traveled to the United States years later. I wondered what
the Immigration officials would say. I stood quaking in that queue exhausted from the long flight and unsure of myself in a
strange land. There were strong socialist parties in Europe and I hadnt felt out of place or unwanted there. But in America,
Communism was an evil word. I convinced myself that I was going to be deported. When it was finally my turn, the official
merely commented Interesting name and then wanted to know what I was doing in the country. Im going to Jackson,
Wyoming for a film festival, sir, I squeaked through my tension-clenched throat. He exclaimed, Really! Im from Jackson.
Oh! Youll love it there. Its the most beautiful place in the world, and stamped my passport. I remember thinking, If
America can accept me, I must be all right.
These days if any one asks me about my name, I say, Buy me a drink and Ill tell you about it. Depending on my mood I
might either spin a yarn or tell them the simple truth.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Pests of another kind

JANAKI LENIN

Palmyra enclave: Bats hanging out Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS

Adventures and anecdotes from the life of Rom Whitaker

Just as the monsoons began, a couple of Health Department officials visited our farm to inspect if we were harbouring mosquitoes
that could potentially spread dengue fever. Meticulously, we had always drained stagnant water from containers, covered ventilation
holes of septic tanks with mosquito mesh, and stocked ponds with fish. We were confident we met all the conditions listed by the
Department. But we were mistaken.
The lady pointed to the dry fronds hanging from numerous palmyra trees and directed us to cut them down. Rom explained these
were habitats for colonies of palm swifts and many species of bats, of which some are insectivores that prey on mosquitoes. The
lady didnt comprehend. Rom gave up and said, Madam, this is a jungle. She nodded her head in agreement but was not
dissuaded.
She turned her attention to the thick layer of leaf litter and directed us to get rid of it. Rake 12 acres of a wooded farm? What about
the vast adjacent forest that had just as thick a layer of leaf litter?
Rom pointed to our neighbours flooded rice fields and asked, What about the standing water in the rice fields, madam?
She ignored Roms question and instead asked, Shall we fumigate your farm?
Such an operation would kill not only all insects, but also natural mosquito predators such as geckos, frogs, and dragonflies. What
was the point of such a destructive exercise when rice fields remained untreated? We chorused loudly and emphatically, No.
Long after the officials left, the encounter still rankled, and I was reminded of another such incident in the U.S. The Michigan
Department of Environmental Quality accused Ryan DeVries of damming a stream that passed through his property. Since the
landowner had not applied for the necessary permits, the Department acted tough, asking DeVries to cease and desist and un-dam
the stream. Failure to comply would invite sterner action, warned the letter.
DeVries was a tenant of Stephen L. Tvedten, who in his reply said beavers were to blame for felling trees and constructing dams. He
requested clarification if the rule applied only to beavers on his property. Or were all beavers required to seek permits to construct
their dams? He suggested the Department take further action right away and not wait till the beavers go into hibernation, when they
become unavailable for harassment.
Next, an official of a Road Commission asked Tvedten to dismantle the beaver dams as they threatened to wash away a road. The
landowner replied there was no cause for alarm as long as the animals were allowed to maintain their constructions. And he rounded
off with you let the dam beavers tend to their dam business and you tend to your own.
A few days after the incident, I was in Chennai, at a premier college where some of the countrys brightest students and their
professors lived and studied. In the car park were two concrete containers filled with rainwater that seemed to serve no other
purpose than breed mosquitoes. If educated citizens could be indifferent to a public health hazard, I wouldnt blame the department
for being proactive. But I draw the line at smothering a rich grove with noxious fumes.
As I write this, Im watching a pair of flamebacks bathe in a puddle of rainwater collected in the fork of a tree, about 20 mt off the
ground. No doubt it has mosquito larvae. There are probably several similar tree holes in the area that no fogging will permeate.
Fumigation kills air-borne insects, not aquatic larvae. So we do what anyone should do in a forest: sleep under a mosquito net and
use insect repellent.
Traditionally, villagers have trimmed palmyra fronds and made a bonfire of nutrient-rich leaf mulch. Were the Health Department
officials really gunning for mosquitoes? Or did our jungli unkempt ways horrify them?

A cuckoo in the nest

JANAKI LENIN

Special Arrangement

A parasite on the wing: No nesting skills Photo: Clement Francis Martin

TOPICS

Birds see colours better than we can, so why dont they shove the intruders eggs out of nest? Perhaps it is not in
their psyche.
The pied cuckoo chick was a giant amongst its foster family of yellow-billed babblers. Every morning for a few days, we watched
the flock of dowdy brown birds frantically stuff leftover dog food, insects, and other tidbits from the garden into the gaping maw of
the ever-hungry monster chick. The family must have been blind to think the fledgling with a pointed crest, prominent black and
white plumage, and a long tail was its own.
Preventing a nest parasite such as the pied cuckoo from laying eggs in its nest should be the first line of babbler defence. But
babblers dont chase anything, let alone cuckoos.
Once a pied cuckoo lays its egg in a yellow-billed babblers nest, the latter has no way of telling the difference. The cuckoo eggs are
turquoise blue like the poor babblers.
However, pied cuckoos brazenly lay large white eggs in the nests of red-vented bulbuls, whose eggs are speckled brown. The host
birds are too small to dislodge the enormous cuckoos eggs. Neither can they peck through the strong shells, among the strongest in
the cuckoo family, and destroy them.
When a female pied cuckoo sneakily airdrops her egg in a bulbuls nest, the large egg crash-lands on the fragile bulbul eggs, and
often damages them. She might also deliberately push a bulbul egg over the edge so the tiny nest can accommodate her own.
Would bulbuls eject strangers eggs if they were able to? Oliver Krger, University of Bath, the U.K., conducted experiments with
Cape bulbuls in South Africa, and found the birds dont eject any eggs, even small bulbul eggs painted white. Birds see colours
better than we can, so why dont they shove the intruders eggs out of nest? Perhaps it is not in their psyche. The bulbul can cut its
losses by abandoning the infiltrated nest, and making a fresh start elsewhere. But most dont.
Krger found abandoning a nest comes at great price. Predators are more likely to take chicks later in the breeding season, and
starting afresh runs the risk of losing the second brood entirely. Besides, there is no guarantee a nest will remain cuckoo-free.

Babblers may be cuckoo-blind, but why do bulbuls choose to feed these giant chicks? Early in the breeding season, the small birds
chase away any adult cuckoos lurking near their nests. Yet they dont seem to recognise the changelings that resemble their
biological parents.
Pied cuckoos seem to have it made. But theres one trick babblers and bulbuls can learn to get ahead in this game of one-upmanship.
Nestlings of the superb fairywren of Australia look identical to those of its nest parasite, the Horsfields bronze cuckoo.
About four to five days before the eggs hatch, the mother calls to the developing embryos an average of 16 times an hour. Each
female embeds a specific signature code in her call that is unique to her and no other. When the chicks hatch, they include their
mothers code in their begging calls, and the mother recognises her offspring. No code, no food.
The incubation time of the bronze cuckoo is 12 days, three days less than the fairywrens. Cuckoo chicks have less time to learn their
foster mothers secret code, and therefore, cant imitate it well. The mother fairywren doesnt recognise them as her chicks. So the
cuckoo relies on other credulous hosts to rear its progeny.
Here in India, despite the gullibility of their foster parent species, pied cuckoos are not common. In all these years at the farm, weve
seen babblers rear a cuckoo chick only once.
Thats because the species of irresponsible parents havent perfected one thing: timing. The cuckoos frequently lay their eggs late,
and their chicks dont hatch by the time their nest mates do. The foster parents dont incubate the remaining eggs much longer and
the cuckoo eggs rot. If cuckoos ever learn to time their egg-laying right, theres little to save their naive hosts.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Its a kings world

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

A king cobra Nymph of the woods Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
She was the first king cobra Id met.
It was August 1993. The female king cobra had arrived for a newly initiated breeding programme at the Madras Crocodile Bank.
After Rom released her into the enclosure, the staff and I crowded around to catch a glimpse. She remained hidden in the dark
recesses. Was this shy creature the longest venomous species of snake in the world? Intrigued, I returned later in the evening when
no one was about.
She lay coiled at the back of the enclosure, but there were lines on the dirt. She had been investigating. She became aware of my
presence and lifted her head from her coils. I didnt want to rudely shine my torchlight directly at her, so I bounced the beam off the
ceiling. To my amazement, she tilted her head up and followed the path of the light. None of the other snakes I had seen so far had
done that. I wondered if she thought the circle of light was the moon. Maybe not; she had spent many months in another zoo.
She was an adult female king cobra, but she looked vulnerable. As she gazed at the ceiling, the little opening at the tip of her snout
seemed to say Oh. Perhaps the Danish zoologist Theodore Edward Cantor who described the king cobra scientifically was struck
by the snakes ethereal beauty. He named it Hamadryad, Greek for nymph of the woods. Finally, I shone the light on my face by
way of an introduction. Her eyes followed the light but I couldnt be sure if she saw me.
Every evening thereafter, I spent quiet meditative moments gazing at her. The fact that she was venomous was no worry because she
was safely behind glass. Eventually, she grew used to the new enclosure.
As the weather turned cooler, Id find her in the adjoining outdoor enclosure enjoying the last rays of the sun. If I were late and
arrived after dark, she would be draped on a tree branch, asleep with her eyes open. I tried to get inside her head, and imagine how
she saw the world. However, even after months of observation, she remained as unknowable as an extraterrestrial.
My friends asked if it was possible to bond with a snake. I was certainly attached to her, but my feelings were in a different league
from my affection for dogs. I was sympathetic, curious, and respectful of her, but I never felt the need to cuddle her, even if I could.
It didnt bother me that she didnt reciprocate.
Other king cobras arrived, and they were just as gorgeous, large, and dangerous. But the first king cobra remained my favourite.
Rom and the staff went to great lengths to simulate the conditions of a rainforest. During the hot summer, sprinklers wet down
plants in the enclosures and raised humidity, while air-conditioner-cooled air blew into every king cobras enclosure.
Soon after the king cobras settled in at the Croc Bank, Rom and I set out to do fieldwork. I disliked being in the rainforests of the
Western Ghats. It was too dark and wet, and numerous leech bites dripped blood and grew itchy. We were travelling through the
forests near Kalasa, Karnataka, when we received terrible news: the female king cobra was dead.
Everything I saw around me in the forest reminded me of her. The thick springy leaf litter was alive with frogs and toads, prey of rat
snakes, which she would swallow like giant noodles. Cool water dripped down boulders and hillsides, and collected in pools where I
imagined she would have loved to drink. The regularly spaced nodes of bamboo culms reminded me of the yellow bands on the king
cobras black body. By mourning her, I forgot my own discomforts.
Years later, the window that nameless king cobra opened to her world remains ajar.

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The ironies of fame

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Rom on a horse, never again. Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
Roms recognisability factor shoots up soon after one of his documentaries airs on television. Walking on the streets, we overhear
loud whispers, Discovery, National Geographic. At shops, restaurants and airports, admirers seek autographs, take pictures, and
ask questions. I usually pretend I dont know Rom on these occasions and skulk at some distance.
Recently at a bookstore, a crowd formed around Rom. I looked up occasionally from a few aisles away to see if he was done.
Another browser asked me, Is he famous?
I replied, No.
I was impatient to leave; the bookstore was one stop in a long list of errands. Besides, I figured if the man didnt recognise Rom, he
wasnt missing anything.
But I must confess Roms fame is useful on occasions. The ferry to Little Andaman had custom-built seats that didnt support the
back, and the fixed headrest was too far forward. I squirmed trying to find a restful position: pushing myself far back into the seat,
sitting cross-legged, propping my knees up, and padding my back with clothes. Nothing worked. I was resigned to another five
hours of this torture.

Someone above heard my silent plea. A crewman brought Rom an invitation from the Chief Officer to the bridge. I tagged along
just to escape the uncomfortable seat. Rom did all the work, answering questions and posing for pictures, while I got all the perks. I
read a book for the next five hours in a comfortable chair, enjoying the cool breeze and sparkling blue seas.
Sometimes, however, these instances of recognition go off the tracks. Rom can never be sure if people really recognise him.
We were in a bus full of holiday makers going up into the hills of South India. I noticed a group of young people looking at Rom
and whispering among themselves. The bus revved up the steep slope, and as it turned around hairpin bends, we slid across our
seats. Despite being unsteady on his feet, one man from the group came up and asked Rom, Are you Ian Botham?
Rom asked, Who?
The man repeated his question.
No.
The young man turned away disappointed. I laughed as much at Roms look of puzzlement as the young mans question. Although
Rom has lived all his life in this cricket-crazy nation, he hadnt heard of Ian Botham.
After I explained who his look-alike was, I said, You should have answered Yes just for the fun of it.
If Rom has a gripe about his fame, it is this: all his fans are men. Hed be over the moon if young women gathered around him. I
suggested, Making documentaries on snakes and creepy-crawlies isnt the way to attract girls. Try mammals. Apparently, he
listens to me sometimes. Hes just completing a film on leopards, the first film hes ever made on a large mammal.
It occurred to me belatedly that women arent throwing themselves at men who work with tigers and leopards either. Maybe wildlife
is just not a girl thing. Then what is? Horses. But thats a sore subject.
When Rom was a lad, he was thrown off one, and he has refused to saddle up until one momentous day in Arizona.
The lady of the ranch had to repeatedly reassure Rom of her steeds good temper. Even then, he rode 10 paces and said, Thats
great. Thank you very much. And slipped off the saddle. That was the only time he has ever sat astride a horse since that fall half a
century ago. So I know an equine film is unlikely, even if it means passing up the opportunity of winning female fans.
Recently at an airport, a group of teenage girls recognised Rom. They squealed as they pumped his hand and took pictures.
Rom grinned from ear to ear, pleased as a cat with a tin of fish.
Just as they were leaving, one of the girls asked, Arent you Jim Corbett?

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The rape issue

JANAKI LENIN

A pair of ruddy shelducks: Unlikely rapists Photo: Gerard Martin

TOPICS

Animals kill their own babies, gore rivals to death, and routinely commit incest. The difference between humans
and animals is just a matter of degree.
In the aftermath of the gang rape in Delhi that horrified the nation and the world, Amitabh Bachchan tweeted even an animal would
not behave so. While he was referring to the brutality of the attack, some readers asked if animals raped each other. Unhappily, I
answered, some do. Rape occurs across the animal world from scorpionflies and garter snakes to ducks, geese, bottlenose dolphins,
and primates. And humans.
Lest some readers assume anything thats natural or occurs in Nature gives it sanctity, or draw the conclusion that behaviour is hardwired in our genes, Id like to set the record straight. Animals kill their own babies, gore rivals to death, and routinely commit
incest. Although humans have been known to do all that, as members of a civilised society we dont condone this behaviour.
But the difference between humans and animals is just a matter of degree.
Why do animals rape? Why did rape evolve at all? Unless we know what drives human behaviour, how do we deal with it? Im
limiting the definition of rape here to men forcibly committing a sexual act on women.
Among all creatures, we know of only a group of insects called scorpionflies that have a specific adaptation for rape. Males have an
appendage called the notal clamp to pin females down. Even though they can rape, most male scorpionflies court females by
offering a gift of food. But some discourteous males opt to use their clamps.

Ducks and geese are among the very few birds that rape. Most birds line up their cloacas, orifices for both excretion and
reproduction, and males transfer sperm. But ducks and geese are unusual because they have an erectile penis.
Have penis, will rape?
There are often more drakes than ducks; when they pair off, a bunch of boy-ducks are left without mates. These guys gang up and
jump on any duck thats isolated from the flock. So what came first in ducks? Penis or rape? Being water birds, drakes have to make
sure their sperm isnt washed away. Could that be the reason the duck penis evolved? Or did it evolve to facilitate rape? Ill save
that knotty question for another day.
Among mammals, rape generally seems to occur in species where males are larger than females. They use their bigger size and
greater strength to have their way. Male chimps are known to be violent. But contrary to assumptions, forced sex is infrequent. Only
0.2 per cent of copulations observed in the wild are coerced, says primatologist Caroline Tutin. Perhaps male chimps are on their
best behaviour because they cannot attain higher social status without the support of females. Or, maybe the males bully the females
so much generally that when the former solicit sex, the latter dont refuse. Whatever the case, female chimps avert copulation with
males they dont like, say other primatologists.
Interestingly, bonobos, closely related to humans and chimps, show no signs of sexual aggression, or aggression of any sort. At
territorial boundaries, where two rival troops would normally fight, bonobos have sex. Theirs is the most peaceful and explicitly
sexual primate society known.
So our closest primate relatives, chimps and bonobos, are in a completely different league from us. According to behavioural
ecologist Peter Kappeler and anthropologist Joan Silk, rape is regularly observed in only two primates: orangutans and humans.
There are two kinds of adult orangutan males: large dominant ones with well-developed cheek flanges and smaller guys without the
facial pads. All the big studs have to do is stay put in their territories and howl loudly, and the females zero in on them; they are
veritable chick magnets. The smaller chaps have nothing going for them; not only dont they have the physique, they dont have a
territory to call their own. No orang female will give them the time of day. So instead of howling, these smaller chaps go prowling
for sex.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The rape issue - Part 2

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Flanges makes the man A male orangutan. Photo: Kalyan Varma

TOPICS
Among orangutans, it was commonly thought females prefer the large studs to the less-endowed males. So the small-built guys have
only one choice: coercion. Rape under these circumstances made perfect sense until biological anthropologist Cheryl Knott
investigated further.
She found female orangs sometimes resisted the flanged hunks and willingly mated with the unflanged males. Whats going on
here?
Not all large orangs are studs; some of them may be over the hill. While resisting such males, females may copulate with small
males to save their babies.
In many primate societies, as soon as a male takes over a territory by ousting the dominant male, he goes on a baby-killing rampage.
Bereaved mothers come into heat, and the new male sires his own offspring. Knott conjectures female orangs are somehow able to
sense when small males are on the threshold of gaining dominance, and mate with them. When they gain power, the new lords
might spare the newborn if they thought it was theirs. But then infanticide is unknown among orangutans, so what drives female
orangs to mate with smaller males?
To add to the mystery, female orangs sometimes start out protesting but cooperate later in the same sexual encounter. Or,
alternately, they appear to consent and then resist. Could these cases be called rape? Much remains to be studied and interpreted of
orangutan mating strategy.
So why does rape occur in Homo sapiens?
Ever since evolutionary biologist Robert Trivers came up with the conflict of interest between sexes theory in 1972, many
theorists have cited it to explain rape. Since little energy is required to produce sperm, men can maximize the number of their
offspring by inseminating as many women as possible. Women, however, are pregnant for nine months, and produce one baby at a
time generally. Babies are born helpless, and mothers spend a considerable amount of time providing care. Naturally, women are
fussy about finding the right mate, rather than indiscriminately sleeping with many men. According to Trivers theory, this
irreconcilable conflict between men seeking quantity and women wanting quality apparently leads to rape.
If this conflict is such a big deal, you would think human society would be polygynous, men taking multiple wives. Would such a
society be less rape-prone? But what led many human societies across the world towards monogamy? It is practised in modern
industrialised societies, sedentary farming communities, and amongst nomadic hunter-gatherers. The very fact most of us opt for a
single spouse at a time indicates theres something else going on here.
According to cultural anthropologist Joseph Henrich, when a few men take many wives, other men are deprived of mates. Similar to
ducks. The intense competition between men for the remaining women undermines society, resulting in more murder, rape,
violence, kidnapping and poverty.
Counter-intuitively, our societies opted for monogamy, with some clandestine affairs on the side, to minimise rape as well as other
crimes. Thats a rare phenomenon only about five per cent of mammals are monogamous. And still, we are grappling with rape.
Until the 1970s, biologists argued that men raped when they could get away with it, and their coercive tendencies were passed on to
the next generation. Was rape a hereditary behaviour then?
In 1975, feminist Susan Brownmiller came up with a radically different perspective. She said rape is used by all men [to] keep all
women in a state of fear [emphasis in original].
Taking their cue from there, psychologists and feminists have argued that rape was a display of male power and dominance over
women. According to them, rape was a learnt behaviour.

In their 2001 book, A Natural History Of Rape, biologist Randy Thornhill and cultural anthropologist Craig Palmer suggested men
rape when they dont have status or resources to attract mates.
That sounds like the mistaken belief that small-built male orangutans rape because females dont desire them.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The rape issue - Part 3

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Bad boys of the primate world: Chimpanzees Photo: Dhritiman Mukherjee

TOPICS
According to Thornhill and Palmers book, A Natural History Of Rape, allegedly men rape because they arent getting enough sex.
Rape is a male sexual strategy to get around a shortage; it is an inborn or innate behaviour. Dismissing the feminist argument, the
authors declared rape isnt about power at all but sex.
Criticising the book, evolutionary biologist Jerry Coyne says it is the worst efflorescence of evolutionary psychology that I have
ever seen. Rape is pathological, not natural, he says. Are all rapists mentally ill? While there are many instances of sadistic rape
when the rapist is turned on by his victims pain and suffering such as the gruesome one that occurred in Delhi, the vast majority
of rape cases are committed by seemingly normal men. For instance, studies in the U.S., for lack of any from India, show no
pathological differences between rapists and non-rapists. Besides, rape is too commonplace to be committed by a lunatic fringe
alone.
Studies conducted in Canada and the U.S. show rapists are more sexually experienced than other men. The assumption that the main
culprits were men who stood little chance of getting sex proved to be incorrect. This blows a hole through Thornhill and Palmers
hypothesis that its all about sexual access.
In the polarised atmosphere after Thornhill and Palmers book was published, biologists heaped scorn on evolutionary
psychologists, and social scientists seemed allergic to the idea that rape had an evolutionary history. Each side was keen to promote
one cause over the other. Was rape about sex or power? Was it learnt or innate behaviour?
If rape was innate behaviour, it should occur in all human societies. But anthropologist Peggy Sanday found rape is rare in 45
societies out of 95 about which she had information. Rape is common in only 17; it is reported in 33 other societies, but there were

no further details. According to ethnologist Verrier Elwin, rape is non-existent among the Gond from central India. Anthropologist
Jill Nash reports that the Nagovisi from the island of Bougainville, near Papua New Guinea, couldnt even imagine how to rape.
What explains the lack of rape in cultures such as the Nagovisi and Gond? How do these men manage to curb their sexual appetites?
The common patterns among these cultures are: minimum violence in settling conflicts not only within the tribe but between tribes,
not glorifying masculinity, and holding women in high esteem.
But there are examples of tribes that use violence but dont rape. The Iroquois was a confederacy of warrior tribes that expanded its
territory by conquering others. When Europeans first arrived in North America, they were puzzled by the Iroquois respectful
attitude to women, even those taken as prisoners. The Europeans concluded since these Native Americans didnt rape, they must
have a low sex drive.
Was the severity of punishment that these societies impose on a rapist a deterrent?
Among the Minangkabau in Indonesia, Peggy Sanday says a rapists masculinity is ridiculed, and he may be exiled or even put to
death.
The Mescalero Apache of southwestern U.S. view rape as a cowardly act, says anthropologist Claire Farrer. A man who commits
rape suffers loss of face and does not even deserve to be called a human being.
Its extremely difficult to compare rape statistics and law enforcement across countries because each nation defines rape differently.
In many countries, rape is under-reported. But, there are numerous records of men raping when there is breakdown of law and order,
during wars and riots, because they can get away with it. The question remains: why do they do it at all?
Evolutionary biology thinks along two time scales: the immediate and the long-term. Its possible the ultimate motivation for rape is
sex and reproduction, the biological imperative, while the immediate cause could be the domination of women, the sociological
imperative. These two ideologies are not mutually exclusive as it has been made out to be
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The rape issue - Part 4

JANAKI LENIN

Special Arrangement

Bonobos make love, don't rape. Photo: Zanna Clay

TOPICS
human interest

(This is the concluding part of the four part series)

If viewed through the prism of evolutionary biology, the need to dominate women and seeking sexual gratification may be the main
causes of rape. Different kinds of rape would have varying degrees of interplay between sex and power.
There are many ways to dominate others, but sex is used precisely because it is the thing being controlled. In sons-inherit-wealth
societies, fathers want to be certain of paternity. So they use threats and violence, family honour and chastity to control womens
sexual behaviour.
How do such societies ensure women fall in line? By dangling the threat of rape. Men become self-appointed upholders of morals
who can do no wrong, and women are like wayward cattle who have to be corralled, fenced, and watched over. Many rules govern
womens lives, and the punishment for independence is rape. Some non-human primates control female sexuality too, but
comparatively, men in these repressive societies are extreme control freaks. And such societies usually blame the victim for the
crime: she was dressed provocatively, she was drinking, she was out at night, she was asking for it. Sounds familiar?
Our close relative orangutans differ from us in one fundamental way: The males dont injure females. Among ducks, several drakes
may pile up on a hen in a frenzy of mating, and drown her. Dolphins were in the news recently for saving a dog from drowning. But,
male bottlenose dolphins are also known to form gangs that violently harass a female, sometimes killing her. Its hard to tell if these
animals derive pleasure from causing harm, but it seems more likely these cases of drowning are accidents. So Amitabh Bachchan
may be right; theres no conclusive evidence that animals, other than humans, are sadistic.
Men also control sexual access through physical assault, which male chimpanzees are suspected of doing. According to the last
National Family Health Survey of 2009, 51 per cent of Indian men, and distressingly, 54 per cent women, thought wife-beating was
justified under some circumstances. Excuses for domestic violence not only include infidelity, but disrespect of in-laws, neglect
of home and children, leaving the house without the husbands knowledge, arguing with the husband, and not cooking well.
Societies with such sexist attitudes, according to educationist Laurie Bechhofer and psychologist Andrea Parrot, tolerate rape.
Children of domestically violent households absorb the sexist attitudes of their parents, and the cycle is repeated in the next
generation.
What is it about those particular environments that produce these terrible psyches?
Peggy Sanday explains rape occurs when men become the primary breadwinners of their families in cultures faced with food
shortages. They have to compete with other men for diminishing resources, and violence becomes a way of proving their manhood.
To such men who are struggling to gain control of their environment, women are no more than objects to be manipulated. She
concludes, Where men are in harmony with their environment, rape is usually absent.
Would warrior tribes such as the Iroquois and Apache who raided rival tribal encampments qualify as being in harmony with their
environment? While I dont know the answer, I find it intriguing that these tribes respect women as much as the matriarchal
Islamic society of Minangkabau.
To sum up this complex story, biologically, men are geared to spread their seed around and can use their larger size and strength to
advantage. If it were purely a function of biology, the I couldnt help myself kind, rape ought to be more prevalent across cultures.
But, instead, it appears to be more common in societies that denigrate women.
Biology merely provides men with the tools, but culture determines how they use them.
(I drew extensively from the writings of feminist philosopher Griet Vandermassen, anthropologist Melissa Emery Thompson, and
womens studies scholar Barbara Watson, though they are not mentioned by name in the article)

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Social lives of solitary cats

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Solitary animals in company: Two is a crowd? Photo: Sanjiv de Silva

TOPICS
Leopards are solitary animals. All cats are, except lions. The reclusive ones become social only when they court and have cubs.
Occasionally, they may socialise around a kill. At all other times, these large cats are said to avoid each other. So it seemed
incomprehensible that an adult male leopard in Akole, Ahmednagar district, Maharashtra, was babysitting a cub while its mother
went hunting all night.
Vidya Athreya studies the ecology of these wild cats living in farmlands. She had trapped and collared the male leopard named Jai
Maharashtra. The collar was loaded with gadgets to pinpoint the animals location and to text message the information every hour.
As soon as Jai was released, he walked six km and sought shelter in a hilltop cave.
Three days later, three km from Jais tryst with the research team, Vidya collared a leopardess, Lakshai. About 24 hours later,
Lakshai left her sugarcane hideout and joined Jai in the cave. Were they consorts? How did Lakshai know where to find Jai? Was
their meeting accidental?
Eventually, the two descended and resumed living in the farmlands of Akole. Although they met occasionally, they seemed to live
independent solitary lives. Perhaps their sojourn together in the hilltop was a coincidence.
Weeks later, Lakshais GPS locations were confined to one sugarcane field for a few days; she wasnt moving at all. Vidya guessed
she had a litter. At this time, Jai moved in with Lakshai, never leaving her side.
On a couple of nights, when Lakshai left the field, perhaps to hunt, Jai stayed put. It seemed as if he was babysitting while the
mother was out. Accepted knowledge says male cats dont care for cubs.
Then Vidya received GPS information indicating Jai and Lakshai walked side by side along a path one night. On visiting the site,
she discovered the pugmarks of two adults and a cub. Perhaps Jai was the cubs father, she surmised.

However, the result of a DNA analysis was surprising: Jai was Lakshais son. He was a few months away from setting out to
establish his own territory. In the meantime, he was being a dutiful older son and protective brother.
Even tigers are proving to be family-oriented. Rajesh Kumar Gupta, the Field Director of Ranthambore Tiger Reserve, has observed
two instances of adult tigers being affectionate fathers. He writes inStripes, the bi-monthly publication of the National Tiger
Conservation Authority, when the mothers and cubs met the dominant males, the little ones ran forward to greet their dads and
nuzzled up to them like pussy cats.
In February 2011, a tigress in Ranthambore called T-5 died leaving two four-month-old cubs orphaned. It seemed unlikely the cubs
would survive on their own, and the Forest Department began provisioning them with meat. The dominant tiger of the area, T-25
aka Zalim the Cruel, was an irascible fellow, chasing jeeps, and growling in annoyance at humans. It seemed likely Zalim would kill
the cubs. Instead, to everyones surprise, the adult tiger adopted the orphans. Although they were likely to be his daughters, such
behaviour was unknown. Zalim taught them to hunt, took them on his patrols, and even guarded them against the unwelcome
attentions of an adult tigress.
While the behaviour of Jai and Zalim may be surprising, tigresses and leopardesses hardly live lonely reclusive lives. They inhabit a
landscape of sisterhood: surrounded by sisters, mothers, cousins, and aunts. Daughters generally settle down adjacent to their
mothers, while sons disperse far and wide.
We know adults communicate with each other through growls and scent marks. But in 2000, Elizabeth von Muggenthaler from the
Fauna Communications Research Institute, North Carolina, showed tigers were capable of producing and hearing infrasound.
Various uses of such low frequency sounds have been suggested: to intimidate rivals, to paralyse prey, and attract mates.
Vidya suspects leopards may also use infrasound to communicate over long distances. That would explain how Lakshai knew where
to find Jai.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The name of the snake

JANAKI LENIN

Special Arrangement

Bockadam: A Telugu-Aussie connection Photo: Rom Whitaker

TOPICS

Rom has long said the dog-faced water snake is known by the same name, bockadam, in Telugu and an Australian
aborigine language.
I was electrified on reading the newspaper that morning. Australian aborigines were not as isolated as we had believed (When
Indians Ended Australian Isolation, The Hindu, January 16, 2013). An interesting finding, but it had a major import on another
subject.
Rom has long said the dog-faced water snake is known by the same name, bockadam, in Telugu and an Australian aborigine
language. It seemed impossible that the name would date to the first migration of humans into Australia more than 50,000 years ago.
It also seemed too coincidental to expect two different races to come up with the same name independently. So how did the name
come to be in two corners of the world? Since reading the January news, I imagined a group of Telugu sailors either learning the
name or teaching it to the Australian aborigines 4,000 years ago.
The dog-faced water snake is found in lagoons, estuaries, and mangroves from India to Australia. Its a grayish snake with dark bars
along the body. Its mildly venomous and not a threat to human life. In other words, there is nothing exceptional about the snake to
feature in a conversation between two regular blokes of two races meeting after thousands of years.
But there was no mistaking it: Australian reptile enthusiasts refer to the dog-faced water snake as bockadam. In recent years, the
Australian population of the snake became a separate species and earned the name, Australian bockadam, while ours is called Asian
bockadam or New Guinea bockadam.
Which of the hundreds of aboriginal groups used the name? Rom didnt know.
I sent out emails to reptile people in Andhra Pradesh, Australia, and the U.S. enquiring about the origin of bockadam.
Farida Tampal, a herpetologist based in Hyderabad, confirmed the Telugu name was bokadan.
I asked, What does it mean?
She didnt respond.
But Soham Mukherjee, another herpetologist, reported that Telugu snake hunters called the snake neer katta paamu. It means
water snake. As I suspected, the checkered keelback, the most numerous species of water snake, is also called neer katta paamu.
Rick Shine, University of Sydney, Australia, replied, I would doubt that aboriginal people had separate names for the different
homalopsines [the family of water snakes to which bockadam belongs]. Come to think of it, why would Telugu people have a
specific name for the species?
Harold Voris of the Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago, an expert on water snakes, replied, I have not found anything that
can help trace the origin of bockadam. I can say that I doubt that its origin is from native Australians.
David Williams, University of Melbourne, Australia, said, I actually believe the name has its origins in Indonesia, although some
do say that it is an aboriginal name. I quickly searched some aboriginal lexicons but found no mention of it there.
A few expressed ignorance, and others said theyd get back to me. Two months have gone by and no one has any leads.
Bockadam did not feature in a list of commonly used English words derived from aboriginal languages for Australian fauna.
I checked lists of snakes of every bockadam country in Southeast Asia, and they all used the name, dog-faced water snake.
There was little evidence of bockadam in any aboriginal language. Was it a pedigree Telugu name? Im not fully certain.

I pored over Roms snake books, and discovered that Patrick Russell was the man who inducted the species into scientific literature
in the late 18th Century, and mentioned the Telugu name, bokadam.
It seems likely the Australians picked up the name from Russells treatise An Account Of Indian Serpents Collected On The Coast
Of Coromandel published in 1796.
Although the Telugu-Aussie connection is not centuries old, still the idea that a nondescript snake is called by the same unusual
name in two distant locations by two races is appealing and intriguing.

Desperate neighbours
JANAKI LENIN

Nowhere to hide An elephant crossing. Photo Courtesy: Wildlife Division, Forest Department.
TOPICS

As with every conflict, the man-elephant face-off has two sides. The catastrophic toll on elephants, however, often
goes unreported
When there are elephants around, it does something to me the man said quietly. We were visiting his hamlet in a tea garden near
Siliguri, north Bengal, to investigate a recent incident of shop lifting' and destruction by a tusker locally known as Belcha. The
villagers said that he had destroyed three shops and a granary that year. Cookie jars, ubiquitous accessories in any village shop, still
lay broken where they had fallen amongst the debris. What did he want from the shop? I wondered out loud. Salt and biscuits,
was the erstwhile shopkeeper's tired answer.
At a nearby hamlet, an elephant had killed a man 10 days ago. Elephants had raided the family's kitchen garden on two consecutive
nights, and completely destroyed the crop of lentil and tapioca. On the third night, when the family heard the unmistakable sounds
of an elephant in their backyard, they fled their rickety shack. Unfortunately, the lone elephant was not in the backyard as they had
thought but stood on the path blocking their exit. While the mother and three children escaped, the elephant grabbed the father and
hurled him into a hedge. They could not approach to see if he needed medical help for fear of their own lives as the elephant didn't

budge from the spot until dawn. By then it was too late. As the widow stood mute through our conversation with her neighbours, the
awareness of her predicament hit me squarely. A Panchayat elder said that she would get Rs. 50,000 ex-gratia payment from the
Forest Department whereas the official notification declares that she should be given Rs. 100,000. With three children to support,
the burden of providing for her family rested solely on her fragile malnourished shoulders.
Sound reasons
Why do elephants leave their forest refuge and trouble their human neighbours? Are poor villagers the only affected party in this
battle of wits and might? As in any story, there are two sides. While the human victims are the vocal, dramatic face of this conflict,
the toll on elephants is invisible but just as catastrophic.
According to Project Elephant, the Ministry of Environment and Forests' elephant-affairs body, only 22 per cent of elephant territory
in India is given the highest degree of protection as a National Park or Sanctuary; the rest falls under an assortment of lax regimes
such as reserve, revenue and private forests. In other words, the bulk of elephant territory lies in areas that are exploited and
degraded by humans. The few isolated studies that quantify the loss of elephant-used forests indicate that they are being destroyed
literally right beneath the pachyderms' feet. In one extreme case, Assam has lost 65 per cent of choice elephant habitat since 1972.
Elephant forests are also sliced and severed by highways, dam projects and railroads. Elephants live to be 50 years old, so what do
they do when they lose their homes? They do not just go away to other forested areas, instead they stick it out and try to adjust.
What to eat in which area at what time of the year is learnt by rote from the time an elephant is a mere calf following in its mother's
and aunts' footsteps. Their destiny is intrinsically coupled to their habitat. That is why despite the risk to their lives, they insist on
crossing highways and railway tracks and even swim across reservoirs to use their home range.
In the tea gardens of Sonitpur, a herd of six elephants has virtually no forests within what it calls home. This herd is not a typical
family group that retires shyly by day, for there is nowhere to hide, to get away from the constant heckling and harassment. They are
now fighting for their very survival with their backs pressed together and are as aggressive as bulls. In a bid to gain political
mileage, Bodo tribals were encouraged to fell and settle in the reserve forests of Sonai-Rupai, Charduar, Balipara, Nowduar,
Biswanath and Behali and now both the elephants and people of the area are paying the price.
Vanishing habitat
In other states such as Jharkhand and Orissa, mining and forest fires leave behind a scorched earth incapable of supporting
elephants. Across elephant habitats, widespread grazing by domestic cattle encourages inedible weeds to proliferate, suppresses the
growth of grass and fodder plants, and exposes the soil. Firewood and bamboo collection puts humans in direct competition with
elephants. These are not dramatic events but collectively it is nothing short of plundering the elephants' food supply. When the
inflation rate spiked recently and the cost of food escalated to unheard of heights, sociologists predicted food riots. If that is
expected behaviour of civilized humans, is it any wonder that elephants are turning to crops and raiding food stores to survive?
Elephants spend summer in one part of the forest and go to another for the winter. They are faithful to their home range whose
extent is determined by the quality of the forest and where forage and water are located. Whatever the extent of the range, elephants
need access to all of it to survive. If parts of their home are blocked by human settlements, they will use the cover of darkness to
walk through crops, and villages. Forsaking that inaccessible part of their home is usually not an option and conflict becomes
routine along these passageways.
Despite adjusting, when making a living in their home range is no longer possible, elephants expand their range by seeking new
pastures. For example, some elephants from Dandeli Wildlife Sanctuary in Karnataka have been visiting the neighbouring states of
Maharashtra and Goa since 2002, reportedly because of the Kali hydroelectric project. Wherever there is high intensity conflict with
elephants, habitat loss is the central theme. Much like Aladdin's genie, once the elephants are out of the forests, it is almost
impossible to put them back inside. That is why we would do well to remember that it is easier to protect their habitat than to create
it.
However, habitat loss is not the only reason for conflict. All along the human-elephant interface conflict inevitably rumbles at low
intensity. An average adult elephant spends about 18 hours a day in the forest finding about 250 kg of food. Just beyond the
periphery of the forests, humans grow crops that have been selectively bred for greater nutrition, and lesser toxins. Besides where

there is no surface water, we plumb the depths with bore wells to cultivate sweet juicy sugarcane and bananas even when all else is
dry in the forest. It would take an extraordinarily self-disciplined elephant to turn its trunk up at these treats growing right on the
doorstep. Yet research shows that amazingly there are indeed some elephants with ample opportunity to raid crops, which do not
give in to temptation and strictly maintain their diet of wild forage.
Escalating conflict
As if ransacking the elephants' home isn't enough, humans kill bull elephants for their tusks. Herds don't escape the wrath of farmers
either. Each region has its preferred choice arsenal to kill and maim elephants. Stressed elephants may avoid those areas of their
home range where they perceive danger and may congregate to find safety in numbers. The habitat that could sustain a smaller herd
of elephants may take a beating from such large herds. Eventually the forest becomes so degraded that it cannot sustain the same
animals any longer. This drives these elephants to the closest available food: crops. And the vicious cycle of violence continues.
It is commonly suggested that conflict is a result of growing elephant numbers. But in Assam, although the elephant population is
decreasing, the conflict graph doesn't show a corresponding downward trend. The Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve has one of the largest
elephant populations and yet conflict is generally considered to be low. There is no evidence to tie elephant numbers to conflict but
there is plenty to show that high and growing human numbers have an impact on conflict intensity. And this is the bottom line: in
the overwhelming majority of cases the cause of conflict is human-driven and it is critical for us to recognise and acknowledge this
if we are to find equilibrium in our relationship with elephants.

A partridge by any other name

JANAKI LENIN

Partridge or Francolin? The Grey Francolin Photo: Clement Francis Martin

TOPICS

Recently, I was showing a visitor around our farm when a Ring Dove flew up from the bamboo. The friend corrected me that it was
an Eurasian Collared Dove. This was the third time I had been corrected in the last few months, and I felt wobbly as my hardearned knowledge of bird identities became worthless; I could no longer just rattle off names.
Imagine, one fine day, everyone you know began answering to completely new names. Although he knew his birds well, Rom had
long ago adopted a snobbish attitude to them in the presence of bird-people. In his exaggerated nasal New York accent, he referred
to them variously as noisy, stinky boids and good croc-chow. These jibes didn't help. A few days, ago I compared Salim
Ali's Book of Indian Birds with Krys Kazmierczak's A Field Guide to the Birds of India to see how much I needed to re-learn. The
list was long and demoralising.
The familiar Houbara Bustard had become Macqueen's Bustard, the sweet little Lorikeet was transformed into a pedantic Vernal
Hanging Parrot, and so on. Only a prissy Victorian could have changed White-breasted Kingfisher to White-throated Kingfisher!
They may not be true creatures of the jungle but still, Jungle Crow is the name we call the common large handsome glossy black
bird. Now none of the bird books list this name; instead, it is known as the Large-billed Crow. Well, at least it is still a crow; some
others have been ignominiously torn from their families and lumped with others, such as the Brahminy Myna which has morphed
into the Brahminy Starling. And where did they dredge up some of these names from, such as the Red Avadavat (what sounds like a
court order was formerly the Red Munia). The descriptive Streaked Fantail Warbler became Zitting Cisticola, which sounds more
like a counterfeit soft drink. What may I ask is wrong with good old Golden-backed Woodpecker? It is now the Common
Flameback.
Perhaps what bothered me most was that I had to henceforth refer to the Grey Partridge as Grey Francolin. What's the difference
between Partridge and Francolin? In an effort to bring clarity to the bevy of African spurfowls, partridges and francolins, our own
bird became enmeshed in an Afro-Asian name change extravaganza. In description, our partridges conform to francolins but
behaviourally, they are quite different. Francolins sit motionless on the ground when alarmed, and do not perch on trees or bushes.
Grey Francolins, nee Partridges, usually run away but if they have been busy pecking at the ground and didn't notice you
approaching, they can give you a cardiac arrest when all of them take off with a sudden whirr of wings. They roost on small trees,
bamboo and thorny bushes in our garden, sometimes groups of up to eight birds. Their calls are atonal and reminiscent of a creaky
pump dying for a shot of oil. So tell us, O Wise Twitchers (British for bird watcher') do we have a partridge or a francolin here?
This nightmare was unleashed by globetrotting bird-naming (sorry, watching) professionals. Their rationale was that there were too
many English names for a single species of bird across its range. But, to replace this chaos with names that are neither common nor
even in English isn't the answer. Back in 2004, Ranjit Manakan and Aasheesh Pittie came up with a list that takes the middle path,
after much consultation with several bird aficionados. But, foreign experts have largely ignored this tremendous effort. Since the
process began, others have joined in to lift this whole enterprise to esoteric levels; for instance, should common names have
hyphens.
As an amateur bird-watcher, by the time I get up to speed with all the new names, they'll likely have changed twice over. My best
bet is to learn the names in Greek or Latin. Better still, get a life!
(A fortnightly column about life on the edge of the jungle with Rom Whitaker. The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

My husband and other animals: A leopard comes calling

JANAKI LENIN

The leopard that lives off stray dogs and cats

TOPICS
lifestyle and leisure

In June 2006, Karadi, our gorgeous 45-kg German Shepherd went missing. We assumed he had been stolen and began an extensive
search of the neighbouring villages.
A couple of days later, at sunset, Mother saw an animal silhouetted against the golden sky atop a hill. The nose isn't so long and the
ears aren't so sharp, she said later. She called out Karadi Karadi and it displayed none of the familiar excitement on seeing her.
What could it be? she asked, almost afraid of what she might hear. Leopard!
We focussed our search efforts in the garden. Irula tribal trackers found the spot where the dog had been killed and following the
little bits of fur caught in thorns, located the carcass in a dense thorny thicket. Having a predator who called our garden home was
enough to send adrenalin rushing to all our senses. Could we live with such a dangerous animal around? Should we lodge a
complaint?
Over time, my murderous sadness gave way to reason; the leopard was only doing what came naturally. Call me crazy, but
eventually I even began to feel possessive of the cat, he had eaten Karadi, and was therefore imbued with his spirit.
I imagine from being like sluggish domestic water buffalos, we were sparked by the wild ourselves. After dark, every time we
stepped out of the house, we expected to see a leopard. The cat, however, had been watching and timing our routine with the dogs.
Later, we visualised him gazing down at our house, yawning and wondering: Wonder what time breakfast is served?

Sure enough, one early morning in March 2007, Koko, our other Shepherd, was attacked right in front of us when we let the dogs
out after the long night. Rom, no longer sleepy-eyed, turned to whisper to me: It's the bloody leopard, and like an apparition, the
cat dropped the dog and vanished. It wasn't until several minutes later that we noticed the steady drip of deep red blood from Koko's
throat; her thick fur masked just how badly she was hurt.
Priya, the vet, rushed out to our farm and spent three hours stitching up the deep puncture wounds in Koko's throat, plus gashes,
where razor sharp claws had raked her chest and belly. While her wounds healed in time, for months afterward she coughed raspily
from having her windpipe choked.
To learn more about our leopard, we set up a camera-trap. Finally, in mid-January last year, his image was trapped. He was so obese
that I wondered if he had escaped from a zoo. Leopard researcher Vidya Athreya confirmed that cats living off stray dogs and goats
were indeed fat, as they didn't have to work too hard for their prey. She also cautioned that male leopards do not stick around if there
are no females. But till date, we haven't seen her pugmarks or picture.
Second sighting
The following March, the leopard triggered the camera again we knew it was the same guy from matching the spots. Then, we
lost track of him; perhaps he became camera-shy.
However, we know he's around: a cattle-herd witnessed the leopard bringing down one of his calves last month, not far from our
northern fence.
People assume (as we initially did) that it was just a matter of time before an accident occurred after all, goat and cow herders
walk these scrub forests near Chengalpattu every day. And yet, while a few goats and calves have been lost, not a single human has
been attacked even though the leopard lives in such close proximity to villages. The ready availability of stray dogs and livestock
allows a lot of such wild predators to live outside protected parks and sanctuaries in India, and if people can be as tolerant as these
villagers, perhaps, there is indeed a future for these wild species.
(A fortnightly column about life on the edge of the jungle with Rom Whitaker. The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

My Husband and other animals- The curse of the Tree Frog

JANAKI LENIN

JANAKI LENIN

MAKING THEMSELVES AT HOME: Tree Frog. Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
If I thought the two-storey house we built on our farm in the shelter of a magnificent banyan tree was for us humans, I was sadly
mistaken. During the first summer, I was pleased to see a few tree frogs make themselves at home. With their dainty feet tucked
under their bodies and their large, beseeching eyes, I didn't begrudge them tenancy.
But then, the word obviously got out amongst the frog clan, and great-great grandchildren, cousins twice-removed and
grandmothers-in-law moved in too. Pretty soon every ledge, book, mug, and framed picture was occupied. Some even moved into
the soap dispenser of the washing machine, others into the wash basin outlet pipe, yet others ensconced themselves in the cistern of
the flush tank, and many more were neatly tucked in the narrow space between wall and cupboard. In a fit of benevolence, they left
us a bit of space to live our lives.
Half a decade earlier, I had spent a year in the city and couldn't afford a cat or dog as a companion. Instead, I adopted a petite tree
frog. In the pantry where he lived, I left a basin of water for his ablutions and the light on at night to attract insects for his meals. It
was a responsibility-free relationship: the pet frog didn't expect me to walk, feed, or train him. His entire existence was eked out in
that tiny humid room; outside the window was a crazy concrete jungle where he had little chance of surviving. Although we didn't
exactly spend cuddly moments together, I felt some comfort having the tree frog around. All was well until one day he was killed by
a falling book. I felt terrible for not having foreseen this calamity.
But the karmic offshoot was that now, the Curse of the Tree Frog was upon me as surely as the ancient Egyptian Curse of the
Mummy. If it was just space the frogs wanted in our new home, I would have held my peace. But they angled their bottoms
strategically outwards and indiscriminately targeted the counters, tables, towels, and even dinner plates. In some rooms, dried frog
piss streaked the walls. Sitting on the toilet was a special gauntlet, for huddling unseen below the rim were more frogs. They played
BOO with unwary guests by slapping themselves on the most vulnerable part of the body. One big mamma frog drizzled pee on
anyone unfortunate enough to switch on the overhead bathroom light. Tired of having to use a dark bathroom, towels stinking of
froggie runs and cleaning plates several times a day, we declared an admittedly gentle war on the leaping blighters.
We spent one Sunday catching all 289 of them in plastic bags and releasing them in neighbouring wells. But it was all for naught.
They may be tiny creatures, but they sure know their way around. Their fine-tuned homing instincts brought them back even before
the last one was removed. Not only that, within 24 hours they were all back at their favourite spots; it was as if they had never left. I
bowed to their superior talents.
Several sneaked under the door of the corner cupboard in the kitchen, staking ownership of wok, pressure cooker, and blender
bowls. Yesterday, when I was frying garlic, there arose a strong stench of no, it couldn't be Tree Frog piss! It had taken me a
million years to just peel a few garlic cloves and I wasn't about to waste my remaining life peeling more. So, I added extra spices to
mask the odour. I can't be sure if the compliments that followed were the result of my expert cooking or that undercurrent of shall
we say, the chef's secret ingredient!

Danger in Paradise
JANAKI LENIN

CROC TALES: The saltie that was captured. Photo: Dr. S. Senthil Kumar.

The saltie that was captured.Photo: Dr. S. Senthil Kumar.

TOPICS
White sands, turquoise blue seas, lush greenery it is everyone's dream destination, even if some don't know it yet. And it isn't the
South Pacific or the Caribbean; it is India's own Havelock Island of the Andamans.
It was late evening on April 28 when Rom received a frantic call from Havelock. A man, Jito Chadha, an Indian-American who had
gone snorkelling with his girlfriend, Lauren that afternoon had returned alone with a horrific story. He said that while he was
underwater, filming a moray eel at Neil's Cove, he heard Lauren scream. He looked up and saw her in the jaws of a large salt water
crocodile (saltie), he said was about 12 feet long. Jito said he grabbed the croc by the tail, hoping to rescue Lauren. When that
didn't work, he tried to pry the animal's jaws open to no avail. Jito had to surface to breathe when the saltie carried the girl away by
swimming along the bottom of the sea.
Crocs are known to swim away with their prey on the surface of the water, not carry them underwater. Besides, Neil's Cove is along
Beach No. 7, the most popular beach in the Andamans, and nobody had ever seen a crocodile there before. The closest known
population of these reptiles was across the sea at Baratang in Middle Straits, 14 km to the west. There were no mangroves in the
vicinity of the incident and salties are not known to brazenly attack in open waters. The more we thought about it, the more
improbable the story seemed.
Samit, who runs the resort, wanted to know if the story was plausible. Highly unlikely, replied Rom and Australian experts echoed
that prognosis. Nobody in Havelock believed Jito's tale, but where was the girl? Nor was there any sign of the camera, snorkelling
gear, flippers, nothing. The resort launched a massive manhunt; divers combed the area for clues.
Luckily for Jito, almost 48 hours later, they found the camera resting on the sea floor. Another stroke of luck was that just 20
seconds prior to the attack, the young man had switched on the camera's video function. As it sank to the bottom of the sea, it
recorded snatches of the terrible action playing out near the surface. And it clearly showed the sequence of events that Jito had been
repeating to the police and to anyone who would listen, without any alteration for the previous two days.
Soon after, a search party found both the croc and the body of the girl, about 3 km away. Beaches in Havelock were closed to the
public and efforts made to trap the saltie. Over a month later, in the early hours of June 1, the four-metre-long saltie was trapped
nine km from the site of the fatal attack. By the end of the day, he was moved to the Haddo Zoo in Port Blair.
But how did a saltie brave the open ocean to get to Havelock in the first place? During the 1600s, now-extinct crocs were found in
the distant Seychelles and because of the islands' proximity to Africa, were thought to be Nile crocodiles. However, scientists
who've examined the preserved skulls say that salties ruled the roost here, about 2,700 km away from the closest population in Sri
Lanka. Over the years, they have shown up in such far flung oceanic islands as the Maldives and the Ryukyu islands of Japan while
breeding populations exist on several islands of Micronesia and Melanesia in the Pacific Ocean.
Research published earlier this month shows that it is the surface currents that make salties such accomplished ocean-farers. Some
are known to plan their journeys, and if the currents are unfavourable, will wait on shore until the tide changes. However, we'll
never know the swim-path of the Havelock croc.

The Smokey Cat My husband and other animals

JANAKI LENIN

LEAVING EVERYONE GUESSING Jungle cat

If the story had been related by someone else, we would have dismissed it right away. But Rom has known Santosh Mani, a tea
estate manager in Munnar, since the latter's school days. When he said he saw the creature twice over a period of five years at the
same spot, we paid attention. It was a cat almost as big as a leopard with a long tail but it had no spots. It wasn't in the thick jungle,
but crossing the road from one tea field to another, and he had had a good look.
I suggested that, perhaps, Santosh saw a leopard after dark. Dull light creates an optical illusion: the leopard's spots disappear,
making the animal look more like an American mountain lion. (Remember that the Vandalur leopard was initially claimed to be a
lioness?) He said he had seen it in broad daylight in the early afternoon. He made enquiries with the local tribals, the Mudhuvans,
and, of course, they knew about it. They called it the Pogeyan Puli, the smokey cat, and clearly distinguished it from the leopard,
tiger and jungle cat.
A few weeks later we ran into another friend, James Zacharia, a Kerala Forest Department official who had also seen the Pogeyan.
He had been climbing up a hill slope in Eravikulam and pausing in his exertions, he had looked up to stare straight into the eyes of
Ole Smokey who had been lying on a rocky ledge looking down at him. Then quietly it vanished like only cats can do. James had
seen it from even closer quarters than Santosh.
Rom wrote to various institutions and cat experts urging them to investigate the creature but there was no response, and we left it at
that.

Then Sandesh Kadur, a wildlife filmmaker, said he had seen one at Eravikulam too. It was daylight, and he had watched the cat
calmly walking across the grassland. Why didn't you get a picture? I demanded. I was afraid that it might run away if I moved.
So I just stood still, memorising every feature of the Pogeyan, he replied.
A few years later, he was commissioned by BBC to make a film about the cat. He set up camera traps hoping to get the evidence
that he had so narrowly missed the last time. Local elephants took umbrage and destroyed one camera trap, but of the cat, no hide
nor hair.
Since we had let him down, Santosh sought out interested people in cryptozoology circles. One evening I got an excited call: I
found it! I found it! The Asiatic golden cat! My jaw dropped.
The golden cat is found only in Southeast Asia and nowhere on peninsular India, but when I looked it up our mammal book I had to
admit that it matched his description of the Pogeyan. I stuttered: Bbbut, that's impossible! He wasn't listening, after years of his
story falling on deaf ears, he had finally found an explanation, a closure.
In the meantime, Sandesh thought it may have been just a large jungle cat. He said: The illustrations don't do justice to the length
of the jungle cat's tail. It is not as short as a bobcat's, but quite a bit longer. What else could it be? Perhaps, like some other animals,
jungle cats grow larger in cool higher elevations. Santosh however, wasn't buying it.
Sandesh may have seen a jungle cat, but the animal he saw, he claimed, was much larger than any jungle cat, but smaller than a
leopard. Besides, the Mudhuvans also know the difference between the jungle cat and Pogeyan Puli. So, even in this time of
environmental doom and gloom, I celebrate this mysterious large cat that appears and disappears like the mist hanging over the
grasslands of Eravikulam and the tea bushes of Munnar.

My Husband and Other Animals - Feckless farmers

JANAKI LENIN

ON THE RAMPAGE bonnet monkeys pHOTO: Sandesh Kadur

TOPICS

When we first moved to our farm, we planted paddy, ragi, lady's finger, and peanuts in turn. No matter what we planted, the short
story was that pests, large and small, worked even more diligently than us. Amazingly, we did get some produce, but at phenomenal
cost; one year the monkeys and jackals (yes, these canines love peanuts) conspired so that a kilogram of peanuts cost us Rs. 500 to
grow. When the maths didn't tally, we thumbed our noses at the pests by giving up farming altogether (you could say it was a case
of sour peanuts). Our neighbours in the village just looked at each other and tapped their temples.
If you live on a farm, there is definite peer pressure to grow something. Do you have a kitchen garden? is the commonest question
visitors ask. Primarily to pre-empt that, we set to work establishing one. Initially, it was the proverbial first-time farmer's luck; we
had a glut of everything more tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, basil, fennel and gourds than we knew what to do with. It became
necessary to make more friends just to give away our surplus veggies: we had become successful organic farmers!
Our farm, formerly rice-fields, is squarely sandwiched between scrub jungle and farmland. As conservationists are wont to do, we
planted lots of saplings. We were desperate for the shade, and besides, all Rom can think of doing even with the tiniest parcel of
land is to plant saplings. Our architect was apoplectic when he put one right next to the house instead of maintaining the mandatory
15 feet distance. By that, I mean close enough that the trunk rubs against the roof and leans heavily on the house during a storm!
After 12 years the trees were grown, the farm integrated with the jungle, and there was no clear boundary. Animals started
wandering into the property, and like a typical human, I began muttering: Can't they see the barb wire fence?
The trees provided the bridge for several troops of bonnet monkeys to go from forest to fields (but not without first tasting our
produce), while providing palm squirrels a launch pad for their guerrilla warfare on the kitchen garden. Half-eaten green tomatoes,
guavas and mangoes littered the ground while tender, green, badly mauled Chardonnay melons hung from vines. Presumably, the
squirrels and monkeys decided to solve our problem of producing too much. I have no quarrel with that except that this year they
didn't leave anything at all.
Initially, our dogs were effective guardians of the garden, but the monkeys rapidly learned that dogs don't climb trees. So, out came
the catapults. But, the primates were already savvy enough to sit tightly out of reach of the stones. Once our backs were turned, they
were back to raiding. To get ahead in this game, we would have to drop everything, and watch the garden. We were tempted to
resort to the atom bomb firecrackers our neighbour uses, but the sound drives the dogs crazy. So, in the end, we just gave up.
Now, the only things that survive the hordes are spinach and limes.
Across India, several villages are being plagued by monkeys, and there seem to be lots of them. Recently, Dr. Mewa Singh and his
students from the University of Mysore reported that throughout Karnataka, these monkeys have been virtually wiped out of the
coastal region, and in some districts such as Chitradurga, temples and tourist spots teeming with them 20 years ago now have none.
What is happening in other States is anybody's guess. Who would have thought that a creature sanctified by religion may need
conservation action one day? While we try not to harass the monkeys too much, we do keep them on their toes just so they don't
start having designs on moving into our house!

My husband and other animals - Croc Whisperer

JANAKI LENIN

TREAT TIME: Soham and Ally

TOPICS
Many years ago, I pointed to the pictures of Thai crocodile and American alligator wrestlers with their heads inside gaping toothy
jaws and asked incredulously, Surely those animals are trained, aren't they? Rom thought they just intimidated the animals enough
so they wouldn't bite during the show. The accepted wisdom then was: crocs can be tamed but not trained.
In Irian Jaya (Indonesia), Rom had seen a New Guinea fresh-water croc that lived in a wooden house on stilts. From the time it had
been a mere hatchling, it had grown to five feet in length alongside children, people and dogs. On cool rainy nights, it lay by the fire
warming itself along with the community members.
Ralf Sommerlad, who was the Director of the Madras Crocodile Bank briefly in mid-2008, recalled seeing a gardener with his pet
caiman (a kind of South American crocodile) in Frankfurt, Germany. When the man knelt down, it would rub against his head and
shoulders much like a puppy wanting to be petted.
Ralf initiated a programme to start training the reptiles at the Madras Crocodile Bank. Soham Mukherjee, the Assistant Curator,
developed the idea into an increasingly fun (for both people and crocs) and fascinating programme, much to our amazement. He
began with a young six-year-old American alligator.
Ally had been handled as a baby, but since she had grown, the practice had been abandoned. She still remembered her name,
though, and that provided a good starting point. Every time she obeyed a command, she was rewarded with a little piece of meat; it
was no different than training a dog, albeit a long, scaly one!

A week later, while training Ally, Soham noticed a mugger in the background correctly responding to his commands! The croc had
been watching and learning without the aid of any treats! Pintu promptly joined the programme too, and, over time, others enrolled.
Training began every afternoon at 3 and about 10 minutes ahead of time, the six pupils waited with anticipation at the edge of the
pool, alert to the faintest sound of Soham's voice. Once he arrived, their excitement was palpable. The croc students knew in which
order they would be called, and awaited their turn patiently! And, they were just like my dogs, knowing the sequence so well that
they pre-empt the commands, so Soham had to mix them up. The crocodilian pupils have even learned when the weekly holiday
from training falls!
Like Pintu, the other crocs paid full attention to their trainer and learnt by example. Soon, an assortment of crocs of different species
were attending the Croc School such as Komodo and Thai the Siamese crocs, Mick the salt-water croc and Abu the Nile
croc. Eventually, even older animals such as Rambo, an adult mugger joined the programme, and demonstrated that age is no barrier
to learning new tricks. But the spoilt favourite, Ally, is the star pupil who knows 12 commands such as come, water, stay, up, sit,
turn, open your mouth.
Once, when Ally was half-way up the training ramp, Soham asked her to jump. As you can imagine, it is difficult to jump on an
incline, but she did not want to pass up the chance of earning a treat either. So, instead, she raised herself on her toes and lay down
flat on her stomach, miming a slow-motion jump without leaving the ground! Pretty amazing when you consider that Ally's brain is
about half the size of a walnut!
Today, 30 crocodiles of 11 different species from eight months young to 40 years old are in various stages of training. Currently, the
renamed Reptile School also includes caiman lizards and Aldabra tortoises among its pupils. Snakes, monitor lizards and turtles are
on the waiting list, and, apparently, in strict adherence to Government regulations, there is no capitation fee for admission!

My husband and other animals - Case of the missing goats

JANAKI LENIN

AN ISLAND OF HORNBILLS: Narcondam. Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
Let's imagine a remote, pristine island in Indian waters, with thick forests, hilly terrain (flat sandy beach islands are so pass), lots of
birds, plenty of lizards, a freshwater spring, incredible coral reefs. No snakes, did you say? Let's have a harmless, colourful little

fellow. I had dreamt of visiting just such an island for many years. In April, I had to pinch myself several times for there I was, with
nine friends, in a 48-foot-yacht headed across the Andaman Sea toward an extinct volcano, Narcondam.
A few civilians have visited this island, most of them birders, attracted by the Narcondam hornbill. About 400 of these birds are
confined to the 7 sq. km hillock and not found anywhere else on earth. Well actually, somebody did smuggle them, as the members
of the Bird Ecology Study Group posted photographs of a female Narcondam hornbill from a couple of locations in Singapore a few
years ago.
Even as we rounded the southern tip of the island and made for Police Post Bay, the anchorage point on the northeast coast, we
could see the birds flying back and forth. From the yacht, Narcondam looked densely forested all the way up the 710-metre peak.
A posse of the Indian Reserve Battalion, a paramilitary force, ensures that the Indian flag remains planted on the island. The original
groves of Burmese fish-tail palms have been replaced by extensive coconut, banana, and areca plantations maintained by the
residents. Hidden under the dense foliage, scores of goats were reported to be eating the hornbills out of their fragile home.
These caprines are not among the original inhabitants of the island. Through the Age of Exploration that lasted from the early 15th
Century to end of the 17th Century, there had been a widespread practice of seeding remote isles with livestock such as goats, pigs,
fowl, rabbits and even giant tortoises for passing ships to stock up on their transoceanic voyages and occasionally as sustenance for
shipwrecked sailors.
In 1899, A.O. Hume says that pigs, goats and fowls had been released on Narcondam, but there is no record of when the first
releases took place. We don't know if these were eaten up by unfortunate sailors and pirates known to frequent these waters, or
whether the domestic animals just died out.
Prolific growth
When island authorities all around the world were actively exterminating these feral animals, in 1976, the Indian Police brought two
pairs of goats to keep their personnel stationed on Narcondam provided with animal protein. Perhaps the men got sick of eating
mutton every day, maybe raising ungulates, like the plantations, became a lucrative business or just that goats have a habit of getting
out of hand as they have on so many islands. By 1998, there were 400 of them, most free-ranging through the island with no fear of
predators.
From the early 1990s, ornithologists have been campaigning for the goats to be removed. Since Narcondam is covered by loose
volcanic rocks, some argued, tree roots were essentially holding the island together. The fig trees in particular, on which the
hornbills depended to feed their chicks, were in danger, as the ungulates ate all the seedlings, preventing regeneration. In short,
goats were bad news for the island.
Over three days we trekked almost a third of the island, looking for goat droppings, trails, nibble marks on plants, any signs of these
alien herbivores, but found none. Astonishingly, despite the tough terrain, the authorities had done what the bird people wanted:
removed all the goats! Or, did they? The resident police told us that just the previous week they had seen a pair skitter away up the
slopes. Before two goats become many, they have to be removed! Only time will tell what impact these ungulates have had on the
island; perhaps inedible species of plants have proliferated as the goats whittled the competition away.
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

Escape to exurbia
PRINCE FREDERICK

The Hindu

FEEL OF THE WILDERNESS RomWhitaker on his farm. Photos: R. Ravindran and R. Shivaji Rao

The Hindu

FEEL OF THE WILDERNESS: Demetrius Issac at home in Thandalam. Photos: R. Ravindran and R. Shivaji Rao.

TOPICS

A small group of people have chosen to move out of Chennai beyond the suburbs in search of a better quality
of life.
Rom Whitaker and Janaki Lenin keep their eyes peeled for a leopard that turned up at their house some time ago. Any guesses about
where the couple lives?
In a village close to Chengalpattu town and not too far from Chennai. Driving from the city to their home takes about two hours.
Three roads lead up to their wilderness home: The GST Road, the ECR (take the road to Chengalpattu just before Mahabalipuram
town) and the OMR (take the road to Chengalpattu at Thirupporur).
Herpetologist Rom and Janaki belong to a small group of people who have chosen to live in the exurbs that are suitably linked to
urban centres, mainly in search of a better quality of life.

Thanks to better roads, improved communication facilities and more hospitals and educational institutions beyond the fringes of the
city, their tribe is growing.
With an inborn love for the dynamic quiet of the wilderness, Rom and Janaki moved to their 11-acre farm in 1997, when living
conditions were far from comfortable.
Then, recalls Janaki, the OMR was a misnomer for a road.
With no divider, the narrow road posed great danger to motorists.
In 1997, there was no landline. No internet. We would travel to the city just to send e-mails, says Janaki.
Life has since improved for this couple. Driving on the OMR is now a breeze, thanks to the new toll highway.
Also, thanks to high-speed Internet connectivity, they do not have to go to the city just to catch up on their email.
Demetrius Issac felt constricted by urban living. It was having a toxic effect on his mind and body, but he resisted the desire to
move to his one-acre farmhouse in Thandalam. He was not sure if he could stay cut off from the city.
However, one year ago, he took the plunge and now he does not miss Chennai.
I shop at Poonamallee, which is just a short drive away from Thandalam. This suburban town has departmental stores that have just
about everything. Some even offer choice foreign chocolates. Since the Saveetha Medical University is next door, I don't have to
worry about medical attention in an emergency, says Issac.
With road and social infrastructure beyond the Chennai Metropolitan Area improving at a rapid pace, more and more people will
opt for exurbia.
Sudha's experience is similar. She and her daughter live in their 10-acre farm in Asoor, 8 km from Walajahbad. Sudha does her
shopping in Walajahbad.
She does not feel socially cut off.
Train connectivity from Walajahbad to Chennai Beach enables many of her relatives to visit her.
As the town is connected by broad roads, those of her relatives who have their own conveyance also visit her often.
With its big orchard that attracts a diversity of birds and the pastoral ambience, Sudha's farm is a magnet for friends and relatives.
Issac too says his sylvan farm enables him to be a better host.
Rafiq Sait of Gatsby Village, who moved to his half-acre house in Uthani two years ago, has a different take on social life in
exurbia.
Visiting friends and being visited by them have decreased in intensity. However, living in a less polluted environment makes up for
the disadvantages of exurban existence. He thinks it is only a matter of time before he makes friends around his new home.
Isaac says most of those who are drawn to exurbia look beyond socialising.
People move to the suburbs because of land and houses that are available at affordable prices. Those who are go to exurbs
invariably look for an alternative lifestyle.

On my piece of land, I grow my own vegetables and rear birds and animals. Thanks to the large space, I have a more active life. I
have become fitter, having lost five kilos. says Issac.
Sudha's exurban existence includes nine Indian hounds. At one point, we had 40 hounds, says Sudha. Her family has always been
attracted to exurbia. They lived in Padappai when the town was exurban.
We moved to Asoor after Padappai got crowded, she says.
Their 11-acre farm allows conservationists Rom and Janaki to carry out experiments in afforestation. They have a variety of
untamed animals for company.
And, when they urgently need it, civilization is not far away.
Their farm is well-connected to two urban centres Chennai and Chengalpattu.
The Chettinad Health City in Kelambakkam is just a 30-minute drive away. And, we have the district hospital in Chengalpattu,
says Rom.
That is like having the best of both worlds.

My Husband and Other Animals The Drug Runner (Part I)

JANAKI LENIN

Sloth bear.

TOPICS
In the early days, the Madras Snake Park was the regular hangout for a variety of Western hippies, engineering students from nearby
institutions, and animal-crazy kids from the city. One fixture for a few months in 1972 was a man who had introduced himself as
Nat Finkelstein, an animal dealer. After sometime, he admitted that he was facing drug smuggling charges. Rom remembered
reading the newspaper reports several months earlier.
Nat had been trying to send two sloth bear cubs to California when the Madras Customs was tipped off that he was actually
smuggling drugs. They confiscated the shipment at the airport, shoved the young bears into the records room, and tore the wooden
cage apart looking for the contraband. Within the walls and floor boards encased in polyurethane were cakes of hashish.
Meanwhile, the scared and frustrated bears went to work like a maelstrom, ripping and chewing on every file in the room.

Although I had heard this story several times, I never failed to laugh with glee. How often had I day-dreamt of revenge on the
bureaucracy!
Nat spent nine months in jail before getting out on bail, and this was when he started visiting the Snake Park, much to Rom's
discomfort. In the middle of the public area, Nat would roll up these huge hashish cigars, and there was nothing I could do to
dissuade him, he complained.
And then, one fine day, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Nat jumped bail and vanished, never to be seen again. Even now,
decades later, Rom's relief is palpable.
Tell me more, tell me more, I begged, ever the story-junkie. Nat lived in an air-conditioned apartment, as his pet, a huge Tibetan
mastiff, Face' couldn't tolerate the Madras weather. Face was immensely protective of Nat and Jill's child, and wouldn't let any
strangers approach.
One night, as I sat uninspired facing the computer trying to write, out of the blue I remembered Nat and his paper-destroying bears.
Curious to know where this character had washed up, I googled him, just for distraction. There were several pages of links to a wellknown celebrity photographer. But Rom said, the Nat he knew wasn't a photographer, never carried a camera. There was no one else
of the same name; it was as if the Nat Finkelstein had vanished into thin air like Rumpelstiltskin. I tried googling animal dealer,
hashish smuggler, India. Nothing; blank.
Thoroughly distracted, I started reading about the photographer Nat Finkelstein. He had been Andy Warhol's court photographer
for three years, and his images of the artist and his groupies were arresting. The picture that really caught my attention was one of
Andy standing with Bob Dylan in profile with a silk screen portrait print of Elvis Presley in the background: an iconic image of the
meeting of the biggest icons of pop and counter-culture of the 1960s. Other photographs included the rock band The Velvet
Underground, the artists Marcel Duchamp, Salvador Dali and the poet Allen Ginsberg.
And then, a quote caught my eye I used to sell Ella Fitzgerald and Errol Garner weed. Could this be the Nat Finkelstein I was
hunting for? Rom drawled: Naaaa. None of this adds up. If he was a photographer, he would have told me. He knew I listened to
Bob Dylan a lotnoyou're wasting your time. People just cannot resist bragging about their connections with celebs, so Rom
was probably right.
I shuffled through the web pages again, and found a picture of the photographer. Is this him? I asked, dragging Rom back from
the movie he was watching. He's too old. Show me one of him about 30 years younger.
I strummed the web again like a spider checking if her prey had been caught. Photographers spend their lifetimes taking other
people's pictures. I wasn't getting anywhere, and perhaps, I was just wasting my time.
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The Drug Runner (part II)

JANAKI LENIN
TOPICS
Besides the art world, photographer Nat was also closely associated with the Black Panthers, going to the extent of procuring arms
for them. In 1969, he began to fear that the U.S. Government was after his life, and when an arrest warrant was issued on an old
drug charge, he fled the country. Excitedly, I scanned down to see if he went to India. He followed the Silk Route into the Middle
East and sold hashish to earn a living! Two Nat Finkelsteins selling dope from the same neighbourhood! But, there was no
clinching evidence that they were one and the same.

One site said that Nat, the photographer came as far as Kathmandu. That's close, isn't it? I interrupted Rom's movie again. Yeah,
he said he sent some special breed of horse from Nepal to the U.S. The search was getting warm, but I wanted red heat. On Nat's
website, I found pictures of his Tibetan mastiff Goochie'. Was it a coincidence that both Nats appeared to like Tibetan mastiffs?
Nat Finkelstein returned to the U.S. in 1982 when he learnt that charges against him had been dropped. There was no other
information on what he did in those intervening dozen years abroad. After his return, Nat managed a punk noise band called Khmer
Rouge, and photo-chronicled the younger subcultures of New York. He also became addicted to cocaine and flew to Bolivia to feed
his habit. When Andy Warhol died in 1987, a shocked Nat cleaned up his act. He went back to photography, and today, his pictures
are in several major collections around the world. He died in 2009, survived by his wife Elizabeth and a brother. There was no
mention of Jill or their son. In fact, one site even said he had no children. Dead end.
I went around in circles, spinning a wider web, adding more search words, using different combinations. A local New York paper
reported that in 2005, Nat and his dog (another Tibetan mastiff called Bling') fell into a sewer because the manhole cover was
askew. Insignificant trivia, but one of the readers commented that Nat was married to a 30-year-old woman. Could Jill have been an
earlier wife? I started a new search for Nat's wives, despite protests from several parts of my brain that I was stepping beyond the
limits of privacy. There had been five of them, and Elizabeth was the last.
Everyone appeared to be interested only in one tiny three-year window of Nat's life: Andy Warhol's Factory. There was little about
his life after that. It was getting close to my bedtime, and although there were some tantalising similarities, the worlds of Nat
Finkelstein, the animal trader and Nat Finkelstein, the photographer seemed poles apart. There was just one last page to check,
before I decided to call it quits.
Uncomfortably I scrolled down his reminiscences of the wild 60s, parties, drugs, sex, and bitchy celebrity politics. Right at the very
end, a name jumped out, and I slammed the desk in vindication. Rom jumped and looked perplexedly at my triumphant face. I
pointed to the screen where photographer Nat Finkelstein says he was married to Jill. That was it, the only nail to hold the two
disparate lives together as a whole. Nat Finkelstein, the drug smuggling animal trader was Nat Finkelstein, the photographer of the
New York avant garde. Poor Rom was strangely quiet for once, and mumbled: But he never said anything to me
Several hours later, I found a piece written by Nat where he mentions Jill and their child, and I knew beyond a shred of doubt that I
had found my man. But nowhere in the chronicles online was there any mention of Nat, the animal trader. Did he exist only in
Rom's tale?

My Husband and Other Animals: The Drug Runner (part III)

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

A Tibetan Mastiff. Photo: Camp Forktail Creek

TOPICS
I turned to Nina, Rom's sister who had helped him start the Snake Park way back then. Did she remember anything more of Nat's
animal trading? I asked. She managed to track down a book called King of Nepal' by Joseph Pietri.
In 1969, almost immediately after fleeing the U.S., Nat had set himself up in Nepal, and entered into a deal with a rising rock n' roll
musician, Peter Kelly.
The former would ship Tibetan mastiffs in wooden crates stuffed with the finest hashish to the latter. These dogs are of dramatic
size, weight and colour, and were virtually unknown in the U.S. So although the customs officials at JFK airport showed a great deal
of interest in the shipment, and the drug sniffing dogs were excited by the bear-like animal, they failed to detect the contraband right
under their noses. It was idiot-proof, author Pietri gloated. Focussing more on his music career, Kelly sent Pietri to Nepal to pay Nat
his share of the booty.
At that time, Nat was scouring the Nepali countryside for another Nepali specialty: a Tibetan pony. Pietri says they eventually found
a mean-tempered freak whose head was larger than his body. This was the special horse that Rom remembered!
Nat accompanied the pony overland to Bombay where it was to be put on a flight to the U.S.; Pietri had been left behind in Nepal.
Bad move! In Nat's absence, Pietri cut his own deal with the former's Nepali partner, a local lama, and took over the business. Nat
was not only left out in the cold, but was never to enter Nepal again.
Pietri writes that his goal was to put a Tibetan mastiff in every major American city, which he almost accomplished. Most of these
dogs found in the U.S. today are apparently the descendants of the early drug-runners!
After several shipments, Pietri began running out of dogs, and one of the last he sent didn't take kindly to being cooped up. It
managed to bite through the crate, and escape into the plane's cargo hold by the time the flight arrived in London. The Royal Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals put the dog into one of their own cages, and sent it onward to the U.S. The scam was
revealed when the mangled crate was burnt and the heady hash fumes threatened to intoxicate all present! But, since the dog had
been sent from India, and investigations didn't lead to the kingpins in Nepal, there were no arrests.
Pietri then sent red pandas and a young rhino to the U.S. successfully. In the meantime, Nat had moved to Madras, and decided to
get back into the business.
He procured two sloth bear cubs, Dora and Flora, in whose crate he embedded fifteen kg of hashish, and was caught red-handed. It
appears to have been his only attempt at trading in wild animals.
Pietri indicates that Nat's obnoxious personality probably did him in. However, reading these excerpts from the book jogged Rom's
memory. He remembered that Nat suspected Todd, one of Pietri's accomplices, for having ratted on him and that was how the
Madras Customs nabbed him.
In the meantime, Pietri had been planning to send a shipment of two Himalayan black bears, and despite the fiasco in Madras, his
contacts in the U.S. insisted that he go ahead with the deal.
When the bears arrived, the now suspicious U.S. authorities drilled holes in the cages, and found the evidence. One crate is still on
display at the U.S. Customs museum in San Francisco!
Perhaps Nat didn't want anyone in Madras to know the true nature of his business, and therefore didn't brag about his celebrity
connections.
Whatever his reasons, Rom and Nina remain astonished by the colourful and unsavoury history of a character they knew briefly.

My Husband and Other Animals: Croc Bank ants

JANAKI LENIN

A mixture of boric acid and icing sugar kills a colony of ants

TOPICS
Actually, we ought to call them Guindy ants because that's where they really came from. Rom remembered that in the mid 1980s, he
had moved an old, decrepit refrigerator from the Snake Park to Croc Bank, and when it was unloaded, a whole lot of ants spilt out.
Nobody thought twice about it then. Almost a decade later, they suddenly reared their ugly red heads by the tens of thousands.
At night, they marched in military order; if they were not out scouting for sugar, nectar, anything sweet, they were looking for a
place to nest. If they moved into the closet while we were away, the clothes developed damp yellowish indelible spots. During the
evenings, there were so many on the floor that everyone sat cross-legged on chairs and tables.
One morning, I even found them inside the computer's CPU. Hurriedly, I undid the screws of the cover, ran outside the office, and
maniacally shook it free of ants, larva and eggs. Rom was worried that all that shaking would loosen an ICU or two, but I was too
hysterical to take any notice of his concerns. There was only one good thing about these ants from hell: they didn't bite.
Sleep was possible only under mosquito nets. In the middle of the night, you could see lines of ants walking along the net stays and
the sides. We teased our guests: Hope we don't see you being carried away by ants! while they smiled nervously in response.
After a while the jokes got stale, and we could take it no longer: WAR!
Crews were sent out into the grounds to hunt and destroy. The no-chemical policy was temporarily rescinded, and noxious
insecticides purchased. Starting from one end, the ant exterminators worked their way up the Croc Bank campus. The nests, located
at the base of trees, had to be dug up and then the whole lot sprayed with poison. Even as this enterprise was partly underway, fresh
ant nests were discovered in the newly-cleared area. It was a decidedly losing battle: we were outnumbered and out-manoeuvred.
We figured that keeping houses and offices clean of ants was more practical than ridding the entire property of them. We threw
sheaves of tobacco leaves with abandon into the book shelves of the library, clothes closets, and kitchen cupboards. Our clothes may
have smelt a bit strange, but nobody commented. Plants touching the buildings were pruned, overhead cables buried and the security
staff on night duty primed to keep an eye out for ant invaders.

We set out little dishes of sweetened boric acid liquid every night. At several kg of sugar a week, it wasn't cheap. When one nest
died, another moved in. For months it seemed like we were hardly making any headway. None of the experts we contacted could
comprehend the scale of our problem, and dinner-time conversation sounded like a war-room meeting.
And then, suddenly, there was a remarkable change: the ants virtually disappeared. The answer to our prayers: toads! Little ones,
medium ones, and huge fat mammas were everywhere. At every step, several toads jumped out of the way. One would position
itself along a line of ants and methodically tongue them up one-by-one, like picking prey off a conveyor belt. During our afterdinner walks, we came upon big toads so stuffed that they couldn't hop anymore. With their stomachs grossly distended, all they
could manage was a waddle-roll. Relief made us laugh with just an edge of hysteria at these toad antics.
Within the next couple of years, the ant problem ceased to exist, and there was peace. Then, we moved to our farm near
Chengalpattu, and one night, a few years later, we stared in utter horror as hundreds of the distinctive Croc Bank ants marched into
the house! We could almost hear the drumbeats of war in the distance.
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

My Husband and Other Animals - Off the deep end

JANAKI LENIN

DEEP IN ADVENTURE: Crossing the Mpen River to enter Namdapha National Park

TOPICS
About two decades ago, Rom and I went to Agumbe to look for king cobras. Instead of staying at the perfectly liveable Inspection
Bungalow for Rs. 25 a night, he wanted to camp in the forest.

It was pouring, and who in his right mind would camp in such weather, I demanded. He said he wanted to be in the middle of the
jungle, and not have to commute from the village. I acquiesced, and we pitched our tent in a small clearing deep inside the dark
jungle.
Although there was hardly any dry firewood, we managed to boil some water for instant noodles. As we stood in the rain under
umbrellas, slurping up the frugal dinner, legions of leeches inched towards us.
Nothing had prepared me for this: the extreme leech experience. The whole forest floor seemed to be alive and seething with eager
little vampires.
The only respite from the blood-suckers came that night, when we were zipped up in the tent. During the day, it drizzled constantly,
there was no sun, and the humidity was so high that clothes, sleeping bags, everything was damp. Our treks in the forest didn't lift
my spirits either.
The tall forest seemed darkly foreboding and claustrophobic. We didn't see any animals; they were all sensibly tucked away from
the rain, I suspected.
I yearned for the sun, heat and open sky. Two days of mucking about in the rain with hardly any food (except instant *bleep*
noodles three times a day!) gnawed at my energy and soul. I wanted out right then after all, I was a dyed-in-the-wool city slicker
not so long ago.
Despondently, Rom agreed to break camp. Could he really be having fun in this mess, I wondered. Could she really want to leave
this magical place, he must have wondered.
On another occasion, after I had learnt to snorkel in a hotel swimming pool, I followed Rom's example, and, clutching my mask
over my face, leapt off a pier in the Andamans. There was no bottom! Only water all the way down into the darkness; fear and
vertigo gripped my throat like a vise.
Rom was, of course, tripping out swimming alongside a hawksbill sea turtle, and enthusiastically gesturing towards a large parrot
fish below us.
I tried to calm myself with long deep breaths, instead of short frantic ones. The mask felt too tight and the mouthpiece felt too big; it
wasn't fun or comfortable, and, in a strange reversal, I felt like a fish out of water. I lasted a few minutes more, and then I was out.
Rom appeared to have a habit of throwing me off the deep end. But on reflection, it was probably a good thing. Every subsequent
trip to the jungle was compared to that first one, and nothing really fazed me after that.
A few years ago, I was on a trip to Namdapha in remote Arunachal Pradesh with a group of people who had never been in a
rainforest before. The monsoon showed no signs of abating, everything was damp, leeches were out with a vengeance, and my
fellow travellers were as miserable as I had been on my first rainforest camping trip.
But, this camp had a crucial difference: we had a cook and valet who laid out three-course meals thrice a day. While the others were
fretting about the inconveniences of the jungle, I was having a grand time, munching gourmet goodies, watching hoolock gibbons,
flying squirrels, martens and other creatures.
How was this transformation possible? I had realised along the way that saying yes' to every opportunity was like opening a door to
a possibility of adventure. I learned that there was always plenty of time later to wallow in one's comfort zone, but this moment
when an option presents itself may never come again, so grab it!
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

My Husband and Other Animals Victims of the serial strangler

JANAKI LENIN

HAPPY GUEST: The collared scops owl

TOPICS
When we moved to the farm a decade-and-a-half ago, the palmyra tree was already an adult competing for sunlight with the larger,
greedier banyan.
During the day, a robin furtively darted into its nest tucked in the folds of the living palm fronds while at dusk bats flew out of the
dense hanging bunches of dry ones to forage far and wide. Perched on its long stalks, spotted owlets ear-piercingly scolded the
night.
When the palmyra fruits turned purple-black and fragrantly ripe, toddy cats moved in. They leapt noisily onto the palm fronds and
dug their teeth into the juicy fibrous husks.
Once done, they dropped the heavy fruits onto the dry leaf litter below, shattering the quiet stillness of the dark. Sometimes two or
more toddy cats squabbled noisily, and Rom would turn over, yell shut up' (in my ear!), and resume snoring.
On hot summer nights, the wind whistled through the crown making an eerie rattling noise which, according to superstitious people,
was the sound of ghosts. Taxi drivers who dropped us home late at night would look apprehensively around, and ask in hushed tones
if we weren't scared to live alone in such evil company!
I imagine that, perhaps, a decade or so earlier, a whole grove of palmyra seedlings took root around the same time that the banyan
established itself as a parasite on one of the trees. As the palmyra seedlings grew and their trunks emerged out of the ground towards
the sun, the banyan spread its vicious branches and roots, ready to devour anything in its path. Years passed, and one by one, the
strangler killed all the other palmyra trees until only one was left.
Some years later, we noticed that the crown of the palm tree was drooping, and we could only surmise that it had lost the battle for
resources. Eventually the head fell down leaving the trunk standing, a stoic reminder of the life that was.
Within months, a pair of flameback woodpeckers discovered the dead tree and drilled several exploratory holes.

Finally, they settled on a spot near the top and took turns hammering out a nest. Weeks later, we watched a pair of young
woodpeckers waiting at the hole impatiently for their parents to bring them food.
Once the young birds fledged, the family moved away, and were seen only occasionally until the next year. A couple of years later,
other species of birds discovered this prime nesting estate.
The woodpeckers, the original home-owners, were chased away by a mob of rose-ringed parakeets. They expanded the nest hole,
and just as they were settling in, a pair of collared scops owls moved in. The parakeets tried their bullying best to oust the owls, but
were unsuccessful. They perched outside for days complaining noisily and petulantly.
Then the magpie-robins swooped in, and managed to throw the owls out. There was much flitting back and forth, and we thought
the handsome little birds had established the hole as their own. But within days, the jungle mynas had usurped it.
These birds were just the larger claimants; quietly a number of small creatures have lived on the tree trunk for years an
assortment of geckos, the dramatically-hued rock agamas (like garden lizards, but black with red heads and a golden yellow stripe
down their backs), millipedes, centipedes They were all left homeless one night, when their world came crashing down with the
tree. Until the log turned to dust, it continued to host toads, coral snakes, olive keelback watersnakes, beetles and their grubs,
termites, besides becoming a natural incubator for gecko eggs.
As for the banyan, it has grown five to six times its original size, revelling in all the waste water from the kitchen. One day when we
are dead and gone, it will likely claim our house too.

My husband and other animals Creature comforts

JANAKI LENIN

ROM & HIS PET In Kodaikanal, 1960

TOPICS

When I was growing up, I was very clear that I wanted a dog for a pet. Unfortunately, my parents were equally sure we weren't
going to have one. So, it fell under the long checklist called When I grow up'.
One of the things I asked Rom when we first met was what pets he had had when he was young. He was in a different league
altogether a fruit bat, black kites, rose-ringed parakeets, drongos, mongooses, civet cats, a fox, a jungle cat, tarantulas, a macaw,
monitor lizards, a jungle crow, a gila monster, various snakes (of course!), and many others. I followed that up with an endless
stream of questions on what they ate, how they played, what they were like. He, perhaps, felt he'd made a mistake admitting he'd
owned these creatures at all.
By far, his favourite pet was an Indian python that lived under his bed in the school dorm for about four years. Rom remembered
basking in the sun on cold mornings in Kodai, with his pet and some of his friends. If anyone came by, one of them casually flung a
cloth over the snake, and, surprisingly, no one in the school found out!
During vacations, the python would travel back to Bombay with him. When Rom's grandma, Amma Doodles, didn't feel like
meeting guests, she'd invite them cheerily: My grandson has come home for vacation with his pet python. You must meet them
both! Surprisingly, the guests usually had somewhere else to go that they just happened to remember! A few, however, were
intrigued, and couldn't be put off. Rom would then have to bring the sleek snake out for the visitors to gawk at.
Once, when Rom was about 16, the snake got loose in the apartment in Bombay, and couldn't be found anywhere. He searched high
and low, in every room and cupboard. Nothing. How was he to tell the others on the block without causing pandemonium? So, with
the help of his mother, Rom came up with a plan. He knocked on every door in the building, introduced himself, and asked: I've
lost a pet. Have you noticed anything unusual?' Usually people just retorted: No.' However, some asked: What pet?' to which he
replied in a mumble: It's a very friendly cuddly loveable python. Very small; just eight-foot long. Nobody had seen it!
Ten to 15 days went by with no news. So, Rom figured the snake could live at a steep bushy slope the apartment building
overlooked. That was anyway a wild jungle with peacocks (that woke everyone up at 4 a.m.), cobras, rat snakes, birds, and large
bandicoots.
Then one day, Amma Doodles had to make a trip to Delhi, and Rom went up into the store room to get the suitcases. He moved a
whole pile of trunks, and in the six-inch gap made by the wooden slats, lo, and behold! There was the fat python coiled up neatly.
How had it jammed itself into the tiny space? It was going to shed its skin, and at this time, snakes seek a quiet place and lie still. In
its newfound freedom, the python had just gone from one room to another, when it could have gone just anywhere.
A year later, before he left for the States, ostensibly for higher education, he gave it away to a friend.
Subsequently, I had my fill of pets too: baby pythons, sand boas, star tortoises, and crocodiles. Some arrived at my door unbidden as
orphans: mongooses, toddy cats, a hare, a koel, and, they all left when they became adults.
But, once we moved to the farm, I got a dog actually, several!, and, finally, my world was complete.
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

The great brain robbery

JANAKI LENIN
TOPICS
Toxoplasma is a science non-fiction nightmare. Closely related to the malaria-causing parasite, the plasmodium's eggs find their
way into rats that nibble on the faeces of infected cats. After living inside the rodent, when it's time to reproduce, the parasite has to
get into a feline again.

Rats are pathologically averse to cats; the mere smell of one is enough to drive them away. So how does toxo make the jump from
prey to predator? Without touching any of the other functions, the parasite severs particular neurons in the rat's brain making them
fearless of cats. A neurosurgeon par excellence!
The parasite then goes even further, fiddling with a neural pathway in the brain so the smell of cats becomes sexually alluring! The
poor rodent throws caution to the winds and flaunts itself! Harakiri! Toxo hits the jackpot, and can now merrily reproduce. But, this
is only one of the world's diabolical devils.
Have you heard of hairworms? The thin-as-a-strand-of-hair worm grows inside grasshoppers, and after it matures, it doesn't take the
easy way out through the cloaca. Instead, it messes with the grasshopper's brain leading it to commit suicide. The poor insect leaps
headlong into a puddle of water with all the confidence of an expert swimmer only to drown, while the hairworm wriggles free to
reproduce.
And, then there is a barnacle, Sacculina, which rides piggyback on crabs. When it comes time to lay eggs, the barnacle needs a hole
in the sand. Being incapable of movement, how does it do that? First, Sacculina renders the crab impotent so the latter nurtures the
parasite's eggs as its own. Then the barnacle controls the crab to do its bidding and digging. Voila!
But, what puts toxo in a class apart is not only widespread prevalence, but its wicked effects on humans. Most people do not get
infected by cats directly, but by eating uncooked meat, drinking unsafe water, gardening without wearing gloves, and walking
barefoot. A few years ago, suspected contamination of the municipal water supply led to an outbreak of toxo in Coimbatore.
Globally, as many as a third (may be more) of the human population is suspected to be infected with the disease. In India, 45 per
cent of pregnant women tested positive. Despite these radical numbers, it is not front page news as is H1N1. That's because toxo is
not believed to be fatal to healthy humans, nor is it infectious. But, if you are a baby, or your immunity is lowered by drugs or
disease, then toxo can take your life.
What toxo does to healthy humans is alter their personalities. Infected men become morose, jealous, and introverted with high levels
of testosterone, while it makes women outgoing, animated, and warm. As Nicky Boulter of the Sydney University of Technology
puts it: It can make men behave like alley cats and women like sex kittens.
The sting at the end of the toxo tale is: it makes both men and women reckless and uninhibited. Toxo-muddled human beings are
three times more likely to be involved in road accidents than others; perhaps, to them, other vehicles look like gigantic cats! So, the
next time you see yet another suicidal person on the road and grumble: What's with them? you now know!
Here's a startling thought: humans may not be a dead-end for the parasite. Infected men may be more likely to fall prey to wild tigers
and leopards in our forests and farmlands, while toxo-influenced women are likely to pass on the disease to their babies. My overactive and possibly parasite-enslaved brain wonders if the testosterone-driven men across the world who taunt venomous snakes are
infected too? And, suicide bombers?
Toxo is so widespread that scientists believe it may be manipulating human culture! Countries with high infection rates also suffer
higher rates of neuroses. Parasitico diabolico!

My Husband and Other Animals Close encounters

JANAKI LENIN

WHEN AN ELEPHANT CHASES YOU: Zigzag across the forest

TOPICS
What should people be wary about while walking in the jungles of India? No, not tigers and leopards, or even leeches and ticks.
Watch out for elephants and sloth bears!
When I first went with Rom on treks into the jungle, he taught me to be aware of wind direction (you want to be downwind of an
elephant so you can smell it first), sounds of snapping branches, rumbling (elephant) bellies, any snorting and blowing (sloth bear
busy with a termite mound), and identify escape routes should we get up-close to an elephant. It was nerve-wracking initially, but
eventually, it became second nature. Similar to learning to drive a car, I guess.
Should you sense an elephant or bear, you quietly melt away into the forest in the opposite direction. But, if your senses fail you,
and you come face-to-face with an elephant, what do you do? Climb a tree, run downhill or across boulders, use the topography in
your favour.
On level ground, zigzag across the forest, never run in a straight line as, surprisingly, elephants can out-run you.
When a bear is engrossed in hoovering up termites, he's not listening very well. If it is too late to retreat without being noticed, call
attention to yourself: cough or whistle just loud enough to alert it. It can be a fine balance between protecting life and limb, and
enjoying the pleasures of the wild.
But, should you startle one, there is little chance it will run away a startled bear is an angry bear! It lashes out with its long earthripping claws with terrible consequences. Goldilocks got away lightly
Rom had three close encounters with bears, and, thankfully, he was able to duck behind a bush or tree every time. A lot of people
have not been as fortunate as him, and have had their faces torn, heads scalped or even got killed.

The price for not being aware in the jungle is quite high. Usually I carry a stick, which in a pinch, could distract a charging bear, but,
thankfully, I've never had a chance to try it out.
Rom recalls that writer Kenneth Anderson's son Don slept with his pet sloth bear on the same bed, and until the shaggy animal woke
up of his own accord (late in the morning), Don just could not afford to move.
Some individual animals can be cantankerous, and don't abide by these broad generalisations.
A few years ago, a few friends were trekking through a forest. One of them went for a stroll along a dry river bed. When she saw a
sloth bear come down the opposite bank for a drink, she crouched down slowly, before the animal could see her. But, moments later,
the animal that had been drinking water, suddenly jumped into the puddle and charged across the river bed, straight for her.
The friend covered her head with her arms, and balled up. Behind her, one of her camp mates came running from the forest yelling
and brandishing a tree branch, but the bear showed no signs of stopping. Another quick-thinking companion fired his gun at the
ground in front of the bear. The noise and spray of sand hitting its face brought the creature to an abrupt halt. A moment later, it
turned around and loped back into the forest. None of us can explain why the bear attacked. After hearing this story, I'm much less
certain that the stick I carry would deflect an intent bear.
Yet, despite the occasional unpredictable danger posed by wild animals, it is far riskier driving the chaotic roads of the city where
few people follow traffic rules, and where impatience, road rage and recklessness rule.
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

My husband and other animals Take me home

JANAKI LENIN

WON'T LEAVE Once we've made it our home!

TOPICS
Rom's mother always said that a toad or two under the kitchen sink was all one needed to keep the house clean of cockroaches.
Guess what, much like everything else on our crazy farm, toads just colonised our house en masse, in a scene not different from the
tree frog invasion. Like walking on a forest path, every night I had to watch where I put my foot in the house. No matter how careful
I was, the magnificently-sized, sticky toad turds just jumped out, and stuck themselves to the soles of my feet! Forgetting whatever I
was doing, I was forced to hobble off to wash the offending black toad-gum' immediately. After a few such nightly episodes, I
threw the toads out of the house, but fearlessly they returned to face my wrath.

I collected them in a plastic container and took them to the edge of the front yard, about 250 metres away, and released them. They
had the temerity to return. I marked them (identification), spun the container round and round (disorientation, I thought), took them
on a long detour around the farm (confusing, I imagined) before letting them go 500 metres away. There! I proclaimed in smug
confidence. They were back in 25 hours.
By now, the blighters knew what was in store when the she-ogre came for them. They squeaked in distress, pissed copiously in
fright, and tried to evade capture. I almost relented, but now curiosity drove me on. 750 metres. Back in 30 hours. That's a fairly
long distance for small creatures to navigate. Spun the bottle, took them down the long dirt path, across the road, into the jungle and
let them go by a puddle. One km away. Success? While I succeeded in chasing them out of the house, I found a couple with tell-tale
markings in the outdoor planters. Now I can't tell if all of them made it back or only some did. What do other creatures do when
taken far from home? Here are some interesting facts I unearthed.
In Namibia, out of eleven marked leopards that were moved 800 very long km, six returned home over a period of five to 28
months. Let me put it this way: if these cats had been taken from Chennai and released somewhere a bit north of Goa, they were
able to walk right back! In the U.S., most of the 34 black bears that were moved about 200 km from their home territories returned
successfully. In India, an elephant translocated from the Terai to Buxa Tiger Reserve, a distance of about 250 km, returned in less
than 2 months. Salt water crocodiles in Australia were shown to home back after being moved 400 km. Put me in Bangalore, and
I'm lost immediately.
However, the distance record for homing is held by seabirds such as albatrosses and shearwaters. An albatross taken from an island
in the central Pacific and released about 6500 km away in the Philippines returned in a month, two others returned from Washington
State, 5,000 km away.
It is not just the larger animals who have this amazing skill. In the U.K., bumblebees found their way home after being randomly
dropped off 13 km from their hives. So what's a km to a toad, eh?
The fact that these animals, birds and insects return home is well-documented. But, how do they find their way through unfamiliar
terrain over long distances?
Since these animals are frequently moved in covered vehicles on the outward journey (or a closed plastic container), it is unlikely
they remember the route. In many cases, the animals return journey did not follow the road they were taken out on at all, but instead,
took a more direct path homewards. So, how do they do it?
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Take me home (Part II)

JANAKI LENIN

KNOWS ITS WAY: The Racing pigeon. Photo: Edison Thomas

TOPICS

You need two things to find your way to a place: a map and a compass (Or one of those GPS navigation systems, such as a
RoadPilot that combines the two). The first shows your current location in relation to your destination, and the second tells you the
direction you are moving in. Biologists believe that animals have these instruments hard-wired in their brains and sensory organs.
Navigation in homing pigeons was studied for over half a century. Since the sense of sight is useful only if you are in a familiar
place, experimenters wondered if pigeons used the sun to navigate. Shifting the birds' body clock by artificially lighting their lofts at
night and darkening them during the day neutralises this system. When released on sunny days, the unfortunate birds were
disoriented, and couldn't find their way home. But on overcast days, they had no problems at all because in the absence of the sun,
they may have been relying on another navigation system.
Perhaps, they were using the earth's magnetic field. Like many birds and animals, pigeons have magnetite (or iron oxide) particles
on the upper part of their beaks (we have a single crystal between our eyes and behind the nose, and minute crystals in the brain),
which help them sense the earth's magnetic field, like a compass. To deactivate this sense, experimenters attached magnets to the
birds' heads, and anaesthetised their upper beaks. Such magnet-neutralised birds got lost on overcast days (because they couldn't
navigate using the magnetic field or the sun), while on sunny days, they found their way to the loft. If deprived of one sense, the
pigeons appear to be compensating with another.
An American geologist, Jon Hagstrum, came up with yet another theory to explain how birds are able to tell where they are. The
earth's crust is thought to make a constant low frequency infrasound. Like the magnetic field, every part of the planet has its own
sonic signature, and Hagstrum says that some birds may be able to hear these infrasounds and recognise where they are. Some
others suggest smell may play a part while others disagree. So, the jury is still out. Whether animals use sight, smell, sun, stars, the
earth's magnetic field, infrasound or a combinations of these remains a magical mystery.
I should mention that homing pigeons are selectively bred for their remarkable ability to return home from hundreds of km away. In
other words, it is a genetic trait; some have it and others don't. Likewise, not all animals that are displaced find their way home,
some get lost and wander aimlessly.
Over the years, Rom and I have argued over who has the better sense of direction just like so many others. But one exceptional field
researcher, J. Vijaya, had a remarkable sense of direction. Apparently, she would wander through an unfamiliar forest without
notching a tree or snapping a branch, and yet unerringly find her way back. We don't know how she did it!
Back home, a couple of years ago, this homing instinct backfired on me when our war on the Croc Bank ants began in earnest. I
remembered ma-in-law's dictum as well as our previous experience at the Croc Bank.
Grudgingly, I caught two toads from the garden, and left them under the sink. They wouldn't have any of it; they ran back into the
garden at the first opportunity. Feeling a little like the shame-faced princess who had to kiss the toad, I gave them a nice cosy little
cardboard box. They didn't want that either.
So, I swore that the next toad which came into the house would get red carpet treatment, stinky scats notwithstanding. I'll even kiss
it, as long as it takes care of the ants from hell!
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Whitaker and boas

JANAKI LENIN

Rom and his namesake: Whitakers boa Photo: Gerry Martin

TOPICS

Rom often grumbled, "What a snake to have named after me! It looks like dog sh*t."
Roms sons arent the only ones to share his name. A species of snake does too: Whitakers sand boa. For years prior to the snakes
christening, many dismissed it as a hybrid; others thought it was a variant of one of the two other Indian sand boas. Its irregular
blotches reminiscent of the common sand boa are faintly visible, and the whole snake is of a reddish hue like the red sand boa. But
Rom recognised it as a unique species as it was found only in the Western Ghats. There was no reason why a hybrid of two
widespread species should have a restricted range. Hence the snake was named after Rom by colleague Indraneil Das.
Rom often grumbled, What a snake to have named after me! It looks like dog sh*t. The snake is so placid when it lies coiled in
your hands, not only does it look uncannily like dog poo, it even acts like it. The boa doesnt bite, nor does it try to escape. I guess
Rom wants a snake with more oomph, like a cobra or krait, to bear his name.
We visited a snake park in Kerala. The signboard above the boa enclosure read Whitakers sad boa. We alerted the keeper to the
typo. Months later, we were traveling through the same town and stopped at the park. The name on the signboard had been changed,
but read Whitaker and boa. The font size of the whole name would have to be re-sized in order to correct the name. We havent
visited the place since. For all we know, visitors may still be looking for the elusive Whitaker in that exhibit.
Not much is known about the species, but we expected it to behave like its relatives, the other two burrowing sand boas. However,
during our frequent visits to the Western Ghats, we found it in unlikely places: in trees and on peoples roofs. Not once or twice, but
several times. Thats unusual, for sand boas are earthbound snakes.

I mollified Rom, Your sand boa climbs trees. How cool is that!
Months after we moved to our farm, we realised we hadnt seen a single common sand boa, a related species. The ground is hard
clay, and as dense as concrete for most of the year. No snake could burrow through it unless it wielded a jackhammer. Rom said,
Sand boas dont always burrow. They could also use rat burrows. Still, there was no sign of the species.
What we discovered then surprised us. The long, curved, locally-made terracotta tiles arranged in interlocking rows kept the
verandah cool. But they were also a perfect habitat for the insect that drives Rom nuts: cockroaches. Every evening, droves of them
flew into the house, attracted to the lights. Rom and I danced like martial artists swatting them with broom, door mat, magazine,
chappals, anything we could lay our hands on. But we were outnumbered. The roof has to go, Rom declared.
As layer after layer of tiles were removed, scorpions, centipedes, and ants came scurrying, slithering and pouring out of their hiding
places. Suddenly one of the lads helping us yelled, Snake.
It was a common sand boa. It must have climbed up a neem tree that was touching the roof. That was exceptional behaviour for a
burrowing species. Rom wondered, If one sand boa can climb, why not another? But we havent found another common sand boa
scaling trees.
When Ashok Captain and Rom were writing the field guide to the snakes of India, they had long discussions about the name,
Whitakers sand boa. The name suggested it was mainly a terrestrial snake. Since it was a recently discovered species and people
werent used to the name yet, they voted to abbreviate the name to Whitakers boa.
Hopefully that solved the signboard problem in Kerala.

Atomic forest
JANAKI LENIN

Neel Chattopadhyaya. Photo:Rom Whitaker

TOPICS
If Rom hears a riff of rock music, he can tell you who played it, when, and the names of the band members. His memory includes
musicals of the 1940s he had last heard as a little boy. His one big regret in life is his inability to play a musical instrument. He says
if he had another lifetime, he would become a musician.
The love of music runs in his family. When Rom returned to Bombay from America in 1967 after a six-year gap, he found his kid
brother Neel had dropped out of high school. Neel had taught himself to play the guitar, and spent 12 to 14 hours a day practising.
He really wanted an electric guitar, and Rom, being the indulgent older brother, bought him one. Rom recalled, It seemed like
Neels goal was to turn the entire apartment into an amp [amplifier]. The music was loud and sometimes discordant. I asked, How
did the family tolerate it? Everyone was supportive. Even Amma Doodles [Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya]. She loved the Beatles
and Rolling Stones, and she realized Neel was an aspiring artist. A film producer, Akhtar Hussain, and his family lived in the top
and ground floors. Akhtars son, Arif, was a singer who hung out with Neel. So that family didnt say anything. But other
neighbours complained.
Neel and Arif played in a band called Joint Collaboration. In 1971, they organized a rock concert in Bombay to raise funds for the
World Wildlife Fund with Granddaddy Harin playing master of ceremonies. A year later, Neel formed a band called 100 Ton
Chicken with bass guitarist, Keith Kanga. Later, rechristened Atomic Forest, the band performed at a tiny discotheque called Slip
Disc, behind Radio Club in Bombay, and grew to have a devoted following. Neel was called the Jimi Hendrix of India by the
media.
I think Rom lived the musicians life vicariously through Neel. They may be half brothers and separated by a 10-year age difference,
but they are as tightly bonded to each other as identical twins. Rom wrote lyrics for the band, but none was set to score. Heres a
sample -Hermits pound at gravestones on that road/ Heads with minds oozing out everywhere/ I hitched a ride on a careening timetoad/ Salvation through a malevolent stare.Back to a sliding aluminum station/You know that youve been here before/Climb off the
toad and get congratulation/Youve made it; youve been through the core.
Was it pretentious? Was I too boringly straight to understand this alternate universe of hallucinations? When Rom saw me leafing
through the file of neatly type-written lyrics, he said, Thats all nonsense. However, Neel was generous with his praise, They
were really nice words. But at that time, we were not interested in doing melodies; we were more interested in jamming and playing
our instruments.
An album of vintage Atomic Forest, Obsession 77, was released in January last year by Los Angeles-based Now-Again Records.
Since its the only psychedelic rock album ever produced in India, it generated a buzz among music collectors. A terrible scratchy
recording of Neel playing Foxy Lady at a friends home provides a mere hint of his virtuoso. Have a listen on YouTube. A
reviewer at thestoolpigeon.co.uk says, I could name probably 100 current rock bands who would love to be able to reproduce Neel
Chattopadhyayas warm, fuzzed-up guitar sound.
I asked Rom, Why the name Atomic Forest? Oh, I came up with the name. Obviously there had to be something related to the
jungle and atomic seemed to capture the flavour of the time.Until then, I hadnt realized Rom had left a mark on Indias rock
music scene.
Nearly 40 years after the lyrics were first written, Neel is now setting them to music. If Atomic Forest ever stages a comeback, Rom
may have a music career in this lifetime.

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Falling in love
JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

The Boy And The Crocodile Did I edit it? Photo: Rom Whitaker

TOPICS
A few years after Rom and I got married, one of Roms colleagues asked me when we had met. Without thinking, I replied, When I
was 15. She was shocked; she had jumped to the conclusion Rom and I had been seeing each other from the time I was 15. I didnt
say anything for a few moments. Oh yes, I was evil, all right.
When my classmates and I were 15, we had to write our board exams, and we were under a lot of stress. We studied every waking
minute: no television, no weekends, no wasting time. I dont remember how I visited the Madras Crocodile Bank. Perhaps
someone felt we needed a break and took us on an outing.
At that time, I had an infection near a finger nail. Instead of lancing it and relieving the pain, the doctor said the pus had to come to a
head. Someone else advised my mother that sticking a whole lemon on it would quicken the process. So I wore a citrus on my finger
when we visited Croc Bank. And there was Rom. I remember trying to hide my hand, but he remembers meeting a chit of a girl with
a lemon on her finger. Our meeting wasnt romantic or even dramatic.
We may have even met earlier. Everyone who lived in Madras in the 1970s and 1980s knew everyone else. It was a city in size, but
a village by nature. Rom and my family shared mutual connections, such as Siddharth Buch, a prominent naturalist. My father went
to school with Siddharths sister and knew the siblings well. Rom also knew Siddharth, and theres a possibility we may have met
when I was a child.

Five years after meeting Rom, I graduated as a film editor, and began my career editing soaps, advertisements, and corporate
documentaries. It didnt take me long to get tired of it. Being a young woman in a mans world meant I wasnt taken seriously.
Besides, the directors merely wanted an equipment operator, one who would cut a shot when instructed. I hoped as I gained
experience, I would be allowed more creative freedom.
In the meantime, Rom had made a childrens feature film called The Boy And The Crocodile. To sell it to the European market, he
wanted the two-hour-long movie edited down to an hour. I remember him with an armload of video tapes striding down the corridor
at the studio where I worked. He claims we fell in love as we sat side by side, cheek to cheek, in the dimly lit editing room. I dont
remember that. In fact, I dont even remember editing that film.
However, I do remember editing his show reel, a short video portfolio of his work as a filmmaker. He arrived one morning, dumped
a huge pile of tapes on my desk, and said hed be back after I finished the job. Nobody had ever given me such freedom. When I
was done, he picked up the tapes and vanished. He was going to the U.S. to pitch documentary ideas to the heads of various
television channels. I was just an editor, and he, a client.
At this time, I took a break from my editing career to apprentice with the foremost editor of the feature film industry in
Kodambakkam. To my distress, he had only marginally more artistic freedom than I did. It appeared editors were merely
technicians.
If I wanted greater control, I decided I had to become a director. I was hunting for a suitable subject for a film, when a friend
introduced me to a group working on snake conservation. They wanted an educational film to show at schools, and I was interested
in the range of reactions people displayed towards snakes: from reverence to abhorrence.
Who do you meet when you want to do a film on snakes?
(To be continued)

Falling in love
JANAKI LENIN
TOPICS
Rom said if I wanted to do a sociological study of peoples reactions, I ought to meet Harry Miller, a Welsh journalist who lived in
Madras. Soon afterwards, I got a big job: To edit a Hindi soap called Bible Ki Kahaniyan for Doordarshan. Career switch would
have to wait; I had to earn a living after all.The following months were hectic with high stress, little sleep, and many technological
challenges. Getting an episode edited, music track laid, and couriered to Delhi week after week was a nightmare. By the end of my
contract, I was worn out and close to breaking down.
Meanwhile, Rom had a successful trip to the U.S.; he had a contract from National Geographic Television to make a film about rats.
Ana Lockwood, a mutual friend of ours working on the film, invited me to Croc Bank for rest and recuperation.
Although I spent time with Ana, it was then Rom and I got to know each other. Ana shuttled between the city and Croc Bank, and
frequently, I had only Rom for company. He was fun: he cracked jokes, narrated his adventures, and took me snake hunting. I
thought when love happened, sparks flew. So when I fell for Rom, I didnt even know it. My holiday ended and I went back to the
city refreshed.
I had an attractive offer from a new television channel. But I felt distracted, out of sorts, and disinterested. The walls of the editing
studio crowded me, and the artificial lights made it seem like a prison cell. The mere sight of the editing console made me weary.
My head was filled with thoughts of Croc Bank and Rom. All I wanted was an excuse to go back. Was it the open space of Croc
Bank that beckoned, or was it Rom? There was only one way to find out.

There were no phones at Croc Bank in those days. Rom was surprised to see me, while my heart did a somersault when I saw him. I
said I was going through a crisis and needed time out. He said I could stay as long as I wanted.
I hadnt noticed how blue Roms eyes were. Or his long athletic legs. I appreciated how the golden hair on his arms glinted in
sunlight. And I was mesmerised by his dimples. The more I caught myself looking at him, the more I became certain. I told myself,
Woman, you are smitten. But was Rom?
He gave no indication he was attracted to me. I engineered romantic situations every evening, Rom, come and see, the sea is
glowing. We sat on the beach and watched the bioluminescent waves until dinner time. Or I would drag him out to see the
crocodiles. Or some flower in bloom. I hoped, Maybe tonight hell say something.
By this time, Rom was working on his next film project: the king cobra. I made suggestions on his draft script, and he asked me if I
would work with him. I didnt think for more than a second before accepting. Although I was excited to shift from editing soaps to
producing wildlife documentaries, I was really waiting for another proposition.
He claimed he had been sending me signals all the time, but I wasnt reading them. Had I known his feelings, I would have made
the move. Later he admitted he was torn. Was he was too old for me? Was it the right thing to do? How would my parents feel?
With these preoccupations, his signals were so muted as to be invisible.
I wasnt aware of anyone else or any place else. I dont remember how much time passed until one evening, he finally proposed. I
had waited for this moment, but when it came, I wasnt prepared for the depth of our emotions.
My life and career were never the same again.
MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Marriages are made on earth

JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Camping Grounds for divorce? Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS

When Rom and I first became an item, many friends, his and mine, predicted our relationship was going to be short-lived. They
made such a fuss about the 27-year age difference; it was as if I was marrying Methuselah. True, the age difference was greater than
my age at that time. Instead, if they had said our different personalities and interests made us incompatible, I would have agreed.
Rom was a single-minded reptile freak who loved the wild and the company of wild animals more than people. I was a city girl. I
had never been in a forest or seen a wild animal before I met Rom.
I chaffed when trading colourful handloom saris for drab, jungle attire. I left behind armfuls of silver bangles, as they made too
much noise in the forest. Beads could get caught in the undergrowth, so off they came. I confined my feet in shoes, a reminder of a
hated school life. I didnt look like me anymore.
While camping, I became hysterical every night. I thought wild animals were dangerous and out to get me at the first opportunity.
To be zipped up in a sleeping bag inside a closed tent made me feel like chewing gum waiting to be stepped on. If an elephant came,
how was I to make a quick exit? Rom tried to reassure me elephants just dont do that. But I didnt trust him or the dreaded
elephants.
I preferred camping near a village or staying at a hotel in town. However, Rom felt people were less trustworthy than wild animals. I
nagged him so much he gave in on one occasion, and we camped on the edge of a village in Karnataka. Until late in the night,
villagers watched us inquisitively, some flashed their torches inside the tent. They had never seen people like us camp in a tent
before. Although their reaction was understandable, it irritated me nonetheless.
Early the next morning, they gathered around again, nudging each other, laughing, and staring. I learnt my lesson. Rom, to his
credit, didnt say a word or display annoyance. By this time, I realised he was right: Elephants did not mess with tents. Perhaps they
didnt know humans were asleep inside the flimsy triangular structure. Its amazing Rom put up with my total forest-naivet.
The only source of nourishment at camp was instant noodles. I needed much more wholesome food to fuel the all-day, and
sometimes, late-night hikes. But Rom lived on little food or sleep. When he needed a jolt of energy, he drained a tin of condensed
milk. When we emerged from the forest, I ate unashamedly like a pig in village restaurants.
Speaking of those early days, Rom says, I was trying not to chase you away. The first time I made tea for you, the leaves caught in
your teeth. Remember? I remember spitting them out with distaste. So the next time, he used a butterfly net to strain it.
He continues, I knew I was throwing you off the deep end, so I tried to make things easier for you. I was aware of the effort he
was making, and that kept me going.
Despite our quiet attempts to reconcile our very different lifestyles, others only worried about the difference in ages. When I broke
the news of our relationship to a friend, she protested, But hes so much older.
Yup, none of the brash, immature stuff. You ought to try an older man some time.
Think about it. Youll have to look after him at some point.
If we were both the same age and we grew old together, wed be too decrepit to look after each other, no?
She grew exasperated.
I was less flippant when trying to convince my folks. They too thought the age difference was critical.
(To be continued)

Trapped on camera
ROM WHITAKER
JANAKI LENIN

Porcupine danger end.

TOPICS

In Indias countryside we find ourselves unwittingly living in the presence of big cats. A tree-planting fanatic and
his wife offer ample proof.
After a leopard moved in and took one of their dogs, 50 km south of Chennai, near Chengalpattu, Rom Whitaker and Janaki Lenin
set up camera traps at their farm to capture photographs of the resident wildlife. Rom is an admitted tree-planting fanatic; so he had
populated 11 acres of converted rice fields with several dozen species of indigenous trees. Fifteen years later, the trees are soaring
into the sky and what was once a farmland has now a much higher and denser canopy than the adjacent Vallam Reserve Forest.
With the trees come a plethora of birds.
Less obvious were the animals that colonised this new forest. Rom and Janaki are in touch with wildlife biologists who suggested
contacting Andre Pittet at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore for advice on a wonderful invention called the camera-trap.
When an animal walks past, it triggers a motion sensor which activates the camera and thus captures a picture of the animal, be it
day or night.
Few wildlife studies have been done in these areas of Indias last remaining Tropical Dry Evergreen Forests (TDEF), yet they teem
with plants and creatures. Over 450 species of trees and plants were inventoried in this area. There are 60 species of amphibians and
reptiles (including coral snakes and pythons), over 140 species of birds (including great horned owls and booted eagles), 35 species

of mammals (including ratels, black buck, spotted deer), and insects that are barely known. The Forest Department and
conservationists are yet to fully grasp the value of these forests.
Within months, the camera trap got a picture of a fine healthy male leopard. Leopard prey such as bonnet macaques, porcupines,
palm civets, spotted civets, black-naped hares, jungle cats, ruddy and common mongooses trigger the camera traps almost every
night.
The leopard was last glimpsed on July 14, 2012. What is clear is that in Indias countryside we are often unwittingly living in the
presence of big cats. By leaving them alone and taking a few sensible precautions, they seem to get along fine with us. Never a dull
day (or night) on the farm!

A poop puzzle
JANAKI LENIN

The Hindu

Name the anteater: Pangolin? Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
The scat was crammed with ant exoskeletons. We found it under a rocky overhang on top of a nearby hill. We assumed it was
pangolin poop. No other mammal of that size eats ants exclusively, and according to mammal books, pangolins shelter in rocky
places. But neither of us had seen their poop before.
For confirmation, we sent a photograph to biologist-friend, Madhusudan of Nature Conservation Foundation, Mysore. He hadnt
seen pangolin poop either.

The only live pangolin Ive seen was in Parambikulam Wildlife Sanctuary several years ago. It had an elongated narrow snout with
a lengthy tongue that picked up ants with the efficiency of glue paper. The claws were long and curved, to tear into ant nests and
termite mounds. Its body was covered in large scales, and hence its also called scaly anteater. The tail grasped tree branches like a
hand, a rarity among Old World mammals. When one of us moved suddenly, it rolled up into a ball. After some time, its little beady
eyes peeked out to see if the coast was clear. It was a cute yet bizarre looking animal.
Rom maintains a disdainful public posture about mammals. He calls them stinky and filthy, unlike his clean reptiles. But the
pangolins scale-covered body was freaky enough that he appropriated it, calling it an honorary reptile.
The pangolin lives underground most of the time. A lucky few see it when it walks ponderously from one ant nest to another at
night. Many communities that eat pangolin meat claim it is tasty. Because of the anteaters secretive life, no one knows if it is rare
or common.
In Sri Lanka, we were excited to see a pangolin in the fork of a tree one morning. It was a once-in-a-lifetime sight, we told each
other. But it remained suspiciously still for a long time. We eventually discovered a leopard had killed and stashed it up there, to eat
later. Same place, same time, next day, we found another dead pangolin. And then another on the third morning. Clearly, that
particular cat was a pangolin specialist.
Back at the farm, the thought of a resident pangolin was exciting. But Madhusudan found an online photograph of Cape pangolin
droppings from Africa. Although a related species, it looked so totally different from the scat we found that we began having
doubts. Cape pangolin poop was round, smooth, and almost white. The ants in its diet were completely digested, and there wasnt a
recognisable ant part in the dropping. The one we found was long, rough, and black. If it wasnt a pangolin, what else could it be?
Rom and I wondered if it was perhaps ratel scat. We hadnt seen that before either. In fact, we have never seen the animal.
When we first moved to our farm, one of our Irula colleagues showed us a recent excavation by a ratel. The animal is also called
honey badger in some parts. Known to be feisty, a protective mother can even chase away lions. Visible in the wide open savannas
of Africa, the species is rarely seen in India. With its dont-mess-with-me attitude and ability to eat anything, I wonder why we
dont see more of it.
Since I couldnt find a ratel expert in India, I sought the advice of Colleen Begg, a South African researcher. She said she has never
seen ratel scat full of ants before, and she didnt think they could digest so much formic acid, found in ants.
If it wasnt ratel, the only other candidate was the sloth bear, which isnt found in this area. Setting camera traps at the poop spot
would solve the mystery. But even if we took turns climbing up and down the hill, setting up and retrieving the cameras, it was
strenuous business. We abandoned the pursuit after two nights.
At this time, with all other possibilities ruled out, we have to assume its pangolin poop.
Unless one of you knows better.

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Out of India
JANAKI LENIN

Home delivery Some love vermin

TOPICS
One of the few songs I remember from my childhood is
My mother said I never should
Play with the gypsies in the woods.
If I did, she would say
You naughty girl to disobey.
In the song, the mother threatens to disown the girl, while the father promises to hit her head with a teapot lid. But she runs off
anyway.
As a child, I read books that portrayed gypsies as fortune tellers, bogey-men, and thieves. Far from being put off by these negative
attributes, I was intrigued. I loved their freedom of movement, to simply break camp and move whenever the spirit urged them.
Never having set eyes on a real European gypsy, I imagined our Korava were those gypsies. The Korava women, called Korathi in
Tamil, wear colourful skirts, beads, and glittering earrings, albeit of different style from European gypsies. I yearned to dress like
them, but their style was too flamboyant for the staid tastes of my family.

When I grew older, I sought to know more about the Roma, as the European gypsies are called. I wasnt surprised their suspected
country of origin was India, but I was appalled by their history of slavery, forced evictions, forced sterilisations, and jail terms for
minor infractions in every European country. The Nazis killed an estimated 2,20,000 to 15,00,000. As recently as 2009, France
deported 10,000 Roma to Bulgaria and Romania, both countries with a history of discrimination against the ethnic minority.
The story of our nomadic tribes such as the Korava and the Irula is no different. They were declared criminal by the British colonial
government, confined to camps, jailed for minor offences, and had their traditional nomadic life restricted by laws. They didnt
conform to the British idea of civilisation, which meant settled agriculture and hard work. The nomads were seen as lazy freeloaders
who paid no taxes and didnt contribute to the nations economy. Even Indian society looks down upon these people of no fixed
address.
In the face of such hostility, the Korava flaunt their differentness. Although the men wear shirts andlungi like villagers, they wear
their long hair coiled in a bun, stride with muzzleloader rifles slung over their shoulders, and speak in loud guttural voices. Nobody
messes with them for fear of receiving an earful of strident, colourful invectives. As a young radical, I admired their style and
moxie.
Although little is known of the Korava origins, according to popular perception, they came from the general area of Gujarat, perhaps
Rajasthan. Angus Fraser, the author of the book The Gypsies, says the Roma came from the same region, most probably Rajasthan.
So was I right: Could the Korava and Roma be related after all?
In December 2011, Isabel Mendizabal from the Universitat Pompeu Fabra, Spain, and a team of European geneticists examined the
DNA of 13 Roma groups from across Europe. They say the Roma migrated out of India 1,500 years ago, and that Punjab was most
likely their homeland. I hope someone conducts a similar study of Korava origins.
I first met members of the tribe in person when Rom introduced me to Manangatti and Bangarapilli. They were master trappers and
hunters, with a remarkable skill in mimicking creatures calls. A few enterprising Korava sold sacks of large bandicoots as feed for
crocodiles and lizards at the Madras Croc Bank. Although the nomads dont eat the one-kg-heavy rodents, they eat anything else
that walks or flies: jackals, pussy cats, palm squirrels, monitor lizards, and birds of all kinds, even crows and vultures.
I didnt realise how much my worldview was influenced by the tribal way of life until a couple of months ago. When I found palm
squirrels devastating our kumquat crop, I threatened to roast and serve the pests with kumquat glaze for Christmas. Rom was
startled at my suggestion. I argued defensively, it was a perfectly logical solution.
Rom exclaimed, You twisted Korathi!
I preened at the compliment.

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

Marriages are made on earth

JANAKI LENIN

A study in contrast Janaki and Rom Photo: U. Saravanakumar

TOPICS
Even my fathers cat seemed to drive home the age difference between us. The first time Rom came home, it
jumped up on a half-wall behind his chair, and stared at its reflection on the little shiny bald spot on the back of his
head.
After much discussion of my unorthodox choice of spouse, my parents finally gave their blessing.
I heard snatches of gossip swirling around us. The conservative extended family sneered that I was marrying out of
caste, religion, and race. Some made a big deal of Roms meat-eating habits, taboo in my vegetarian family. My
parents had never given importance to any of this, so I couldnt have cared less.
Inquisitive strangers asked if I was Roms daughter. At a college town, someone thought I was his granddaughter. I
retorted, Im his wife, and they squirmed with embarrassment.
Rom and I set up Draco Films and began making wildlife documentaries. I wrote the script, Rom made the pitch,
and we negotiated contracts and hired the crew. Initially, we worried we were making a mistake by working
together. The highly charged atmosphere on shoots can create bonds or wreck them. Colleagues fell in love, had
affairs, or fell out on location. Surprisingly, we enjoyed working with each other despite the pressure.
Two years after Rom and I became a couple, I met friends who were newly married. One complained her husband
was besotted with the latest electronic gadgets. I confessed mine had a weakness for the doll-like women from the
Northeast.
I said, If these women visit the Crocodile Bank, hes out of the office immediately.
One asked, You let him do that?
What should I do? Cover his eyes?

They shook their heads and clicked their tongues in disapproval. Husbands apparently had to have blinkers, like
horses.
I asked, Whats the point of setting an impossible standard? Hes going to look anyway, only surreptitiously.
Then hell want to touch, another warned.
Perhaps. I said, But I could also be human.
They looked uncertain, unable to decide if I was joking or being candid. One of them shrugged her shoulders, My
husband is not like that paah.
I didnt tell them how Rom melts when Latina women say, turdles and thorthoises (turtles and tortoises).
Obviously, I didnt know how to tame my husband, nor did I want to.
My challenges didnt lie there; they lay in the choices I had to make straddling two worlds. I almost gave up a
social life in the city music concerts, theatre, and art cinema. During the early days of our relationship, Rom
attended concerts with me, but I could see he was bored. I didnt insist on his company, but I attended fewer events.
However, I made up for the loss by gaining a whole new exciting world. As I grew more comfortable with the
forest, every trip became a honeymoon. I was fascinated by animal behaviour, and how people related to animals.
Before we knew it, we had been together seven years, and neither of us was itching to leave. On the contrary, we
couldnt get enough of each other.
Someone asked me recently, what was the secret of our relationships longevity, given all the differences between
Rom and I? I guess the differences were superficial: age, personality, culture, race. He reads science fiction, I dont.
I dont like Frank Zappa much, and Rom can listen to him over and over again. We dont agree on many issues and
argue a lot. But none of it matters. Not even Roms appreciation of exotic women. Perhaps the secrets are having a
sense of humour and not taking oneself too seriously. Maybe it is not taking the other for granted. I dont know; Im
no expert.
The only thing that matters is: Rom makes me feel whole. It will be 20 years this year, and he still makes butterflies
flutter in my stomach.
(Concluded)

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

The house on the cliff

JANAKI LENIN

River view Gaimukh Bandar Photo: Janaki Lenin

TOPICS
Rom seemed lost; he couldnt tell me where the old cottage had been. After all, more than 40 years had passed and the entire area
had been graded. Despite the presence of two hulking dilapidated mansions, I tried to imagine how the place must have looked when
Rom lived here.
He remembered the house stood on a cliff that jutted out into Vasai Creek, with Borivali National Park behind and Nagla forest
across the water. The toilet was an old-style outhouse. He said, No one was about, so you could sit there with the door open and
watch dolphins in the river below. It was the best toilet view Ive known.
In 1968, soon after Rom returned from the U.S., he had set up a venom business at this spot, a village called Gaimukh Bandar, on
the Ghodbunder Road that connects Borivali in Bombay to Thane. Here, he milked venom from snakes and sold it to the Tata
Memorial Cancer Institute for research.
Snakes seem to attract the superstitious. A healer brought a woman who had become deaf during pregnancy. He said if the tail of
a cobra was inserted in her ear, she would be cured. It had to be a normal healthy cobra, not a snake charmers specimen that usually
had its fangs ripped out. The only person who could provide such a snake was Rom. Although sceptical, he got a cobra out and did
as the quack instructed.
Just then, a truck came hurtling around the corner. The driver saw this bizarre scene taking place in the garden and lost control of his
vehicle. When Rom heard a huge crash, he quickly put the snake away, and rushed to the accident site. Unfortunately, the truck had
tumbled down the hillside, and the driver was grievously injured. Rom felt guilty, blaming himself for the accident. Thereafter, all
quackery was held indoors, in the one room that was kitchen, lab, and bedroom.

Later that year, Rom moved to Madras.

When we visited Gaimukh in December 2012, I wanted to see the outhouse with a view. Sadly, no structure of that time remained.
Who rented this place to you? I asked Rom.
He couldnt remember. I called his brother Neel. He answered promptly, Bal Mundkur.
What! I didnt doubt Neel, I was astounded.
We met Bal last year and he reminded me he rented the Gaimukh Bandar place to my brother.
A strange coincidence that occurred in 1999 became even more bizarre. Rom and I were at the Chennai airport waiting to catch a
flight to Goa. At the gate, an elderly man seated a few rows away looked familiar. Rom said he was a total stranger to him. I was so
sure I knew him that I did something totally unlike me. I went up to the man, introduced myself, and asked if we had met before. He
answered brusquely, Sorry, I dont know you at all. Disappointed and puzzled, I returned to my seat.
When we boarded the flight, I found myself seated next to the man whose name I still didnt know. I introduced Rom and the mans
face lit up. He said, Hey, Rom. Remember me? Im Bal Mundkur. I gathered from their ensuing conversation that Bal was a
friend of Roms family, and he had retired to live in Goa. While the two men chatted about the old Bombay days, I was struck by
the irony of the situation. But I was also puzzled; I didnt recognise the mans name, and it seemed unlikely I had ever met him.
Why then did he look familiar?
When we parted at Panjim airport, we agreed to visit each other, but we never did.
Bal Mundkur died in Jan 2012. It was only on reading his obituary did I realise he was a legend in the advertising world. Was that
why he looked familiar?
Im still puzzled.

MY HUSBAND AND OTHER ANIMALS

To culture an oystercatcher
JANAKI LENIN

To catch an oyster Stab or hammer? Photo: Ramki Sreenivasan

TOPICS

I was looking for evidence of culture in animals. Longtime friend and sea turtle biologist, Jack Frazier, suggested I look into
oystercatchers. I expected a simple tale of each generation of chicks learning a specific behaviour from its parents.
Eurasian oystercatchers are one of the many wading birds found along the coast of India, northern Africa, the Far East, and Europe.
They dont exclusively eat oysters as their name suggests, but a wide variety of prey from worms and crabs to cockles. The ones that
interest me feed on hard-shelled bivalves such as mussels, oysters, and clams.
When molluscs are disturbed, they clamp shut. The more Ive tried to pry them apart, the tighter the shells stuck together. Despite
having primate hands and opposable thumbs, if Im defeated by these stubborn molluscs, how do birds with nothing more than sharp
beaks for tools deal with them?
One group of oystercatchers specialises in stabbing the prey in shallow water. To feed, bivalves have to open their shells
underwater. The birds deftly plunge their bills between the shells, and sever the adductor muscle that holds them together. Once the
mussels are immobilised, shucking them is relatively easy.
Another group of oystercatchers pries shellfish from rocks exposed by the tide, and batters a hole through the tightly closed shells.
Within this specialty, some pound only the anal side, and others, the gill side.

Eating bivalves is a seasonal activity restricted to winters. In summer, oystercatchers poke around in wet soil for soft-bodied
delicacies.
Chicks learn one technique of opening hard-shelled molluscs from their parents, and become proficient with experience. When they
grow older, they teach their own chicks the same method. We know much of this remarkable behaviour from a paper written in
1967 by Michael Norton-Griffiths, University of Oxford, the U.K.
He swapped the eggs of stabbers and hammerers, and concluded the chicks learn the technique of their foster parents, not biological
parents. It was a straightforward case of behaviour transmitted from generation to generation.
If learning one technique takes years of experience, could these birds change techniques later in life? A stabber that suddenly takes
up hammering could damage its beak, and the bird might not be able to hunt until the bill grows out. Besides, Martijn van de Pol of
Australian National University says an experienced hammerer picks molluscs with shells thin enough to break open without risking
beak damage; a beginner may lack this skill.
Stabbing also requires expertise. A mussel can clamp shut around the beak of an inexperienced bird. Since stabbers hunt mussels
wedged underground below the waterline, a bird trapped by its prey could be in serious trouble.
On his blog Tetrapod Zoology, British paleontologist Darren Naish republished a photograph of an American oystercatcher, a
related species, whose beak had been trapped by a clam buried underground in South Carolina in 1939. The bird drowned when the
tide came in.
Im puzzled there are no recent photographs or reports of inept chicks. If stabbing carries such a high risk, how do babies learn to
stab proficiently? Van de Pol explains, Young oystercatchers stab only small mussels, and there is little risk of getting trapped.
This was the first of the contradictions that plagued me.
Since these birds are such finicky specialists in opening bivalves, I wondered how do they choose their mates? Would a hammerer
pair only with a fellow shell-pounder?
Norton-Griffiths says, I never observed a mixed pair of adults. They always had the same specialisation, both food and technique.
Which would suggest that they find mates out on the feeding grounds.
But van de Pol of Australian National University disagrees. He says in The Netherlands, the birds choose mates with dissimilar
specialisations, so females dont compete with males for food.
Could the English and the Dutch populations have different cultures? Were the English more conservative in their choice of mates?
Perhaps.
(To be continued)

To culture an oystercatcher (Part 2)

JANAKI LENIN

Oystercatcher: Many ways to shuck a mussel. Photo: Ramki Sreenivasan / Conservation India

TOPICS
The extraordinary bivalve-opening specialisations that oystercatchers learn from their parents was fascinating but raised numerous
questions.
If a Dutch hammerer started a family with a stabber, would their chicks learn to hammer or stab?
Sarah Dit Durrell of Institute of Terrestrial Ecology, the U.K., and her team showed most birds that probe for worms are females,
most hammerers are males, while both genders stab. It stands to reason since females have slender bills, while males have shorter,
thicker bills. If feeding technique was determined by sex, then obviously, males and females would have dissimilar specialisations
as van de Pol suggests.
However, did that mean the behaviour wasnt learnt, but came automatically depending on the gender of the birds? Or do girl chicks
know to follow mamma and the boys to learn from papa? Van de Pol replies, We dont know yet.
Theres more. What technique a bird uses is not dependent on its sex alone, but also its age. Adults eat hard-shelled molluscs, while
chicks eat other prey like crabs and worms that dont require specialised skill. When one-year-old birds start eating bivalves, they
stab. At two or three years of age, they learn to hammer.
Since a male oystercatcher would have likely spent a year stabbing before graduating to hammering, he ought to have little difficulty
switching to stabbing should the need arise. But a female may have a harder time hammering because her naturally slender bill is
not made for a brawny technique.

Norton-Griffiths also suggested the birds choice of technique is influenced by the nature of the substrate. If the soil is soft,
hammering pushes the clam or mussel deeper into the mud; hammering requires hard surfaces. Then there are the qualities of the
prey: If the shells are strong, firmly attached to the rock, and found in large clumps, oystercatchers dont hammer.
The birds would have to adapt to the situation to survive the winter, using whatever technique would provide access to the tender
flesh of shellfish with least damage to their beaks. To possess knowledge of only one method of opening a bivalve would doom the
birds.
John Goss-Custard and another British ornithologist, William Sutherland, refuted Norton-Griffiths conclusion that oystercatchers
strictly use one feeding technique. Although the birds prefer to use one technique predominantly, they also frequently use another
method. Of 10 captive birds they observed, two used all three techniques: stabbing, hammering the anal side, and hammering the
gill side. If that is the case, surely the birds would have no problems switching foraging styles when the going got tough.
Are stabbing and hammering taught from one generation to another? The more I thought, the more they seemed to be innate
behaviours.
After nine months of reading documents, writing to experts, and making little headway, I felt I was using the wrong technique:
hammering at the problem seemed to sink it beyond redemption. I took another stab at the conundrum, going over every paper,
verifying every fact, and finally, it became clear.
The 1967 paper offered no evidence of culture in oystercatchers; the main thrust of the paper was the role played by substrate, the
quality of shells, and mussel beds in the birds choice of technique. Yet the author had inserted two paragraphs in the concluding
section of the paper that claimed chicks learn a single technique from their parents that they use throughout their lives, and they
teach the same method to their chicks in turn. Some biologists have repeated this myth from document to document, displaying
behaviour they expected the birds to possess: cultural transmission of knowledge. And that was the source of confusion.
Four criteria determine how the birds open bivalves: age, sex, substrate, and the character of molluscs in the bed. Not culture.
While it was a relief to resolve the confusion, I was sad oystercatchers were no different from most other birds. But I remain
respectful of their dexterity in dealing with hard-shelled molluscs.
(Concluded)