OLD JUNGLE SAYING

By Janhavi Acharekar

Column ‘Triptease’, Times of India, 24th July 2005

“The lions recognise our khaki uniforms. As long as you are with us, you are safe,” assures Murad, a tracker, who has the agility and bearing of a cat himself. In times of the Sariska tigers’ controversy, I am in the Gir forest of Gujarat – the only home of the Asiatic lion.

We set out at dawn in an open Gypsy, with our driver for the trip – Bhagirath, the son of a former forest guard. This is a good time of year to visit – the forest is bare, its once numerous greens now dulled to a uniform shade of arid brown relieved occasionally by the flaming reds of the flame-of-the-forest and plaster whites of the gum trees. However, after four hours in the jungle, a few pugmarks and false alarms later, my journalist friends are worried. There can be no story on Gir, without pictures of its lions.

In our quest for the elusive cats, we discover the people of the forest. Old jungle saying, there can be no lions without the people of Gir. Most of them, like Bhagirath, belong to the second generation and know the forest well. Murad, a tracker at the Reserve for over two decades, closely follows the movements of the big cats. He has conducted numerous rescue operations, been mauled by a leopard, found mention in more than a few books and continues to aid research on the Asiatic lion. His father too was a forest guard and Murad has roamed the forest since he was five. Will his children keep the family tradition alive? “I doubt it,” he laughs. “My son is afraid of barking dogs.”

The only other signs of human life in the forest are the Maldharis, and it is not unusual to see a cattle herder on his lonely trek through the forest.  The Maldharis comprise various tribes such as the Rabaris, Kathis, Charans, Ahirs, etc. that are essentially livestock owners. A group of Maldharis traversing the Reserve on an Enfield powered auto rickshaw is seen providing a litre of buttermilk as hafta (bribe) at the checkpost.
The forest is not without its traces of government presence.

We cross streams to visit a Maldhari ‘ness’ or community dwelling. A wedding has taken place here and the walls are covered with folk art. Outside, near-domesticated peacocks, bulbuls and a red-wattled lapwing stare at us in curiosity.

The Maldhari’s buffaloes are ready prey to the big cats that are fast growing too lazy to hunt deer. The government pays compensation for every buffalo killed by a lion but has now offered them land outside the forest. Maldharis are divided over the issue. The guides inform us that the Maldharis are cattle herders, not farmers, and cannot live outside the forest. They are an integral part of the ecosystem, believe the locals. If they go, so will the lions.

Finally, on one of our several jungle jaunts, we are taken by surprise. We are granted audience by a beautiful autumn-gold lioness at a distance of barely ten feet. Having lazily sized us up, she gracefully proceeds to a better spot so as to get a ringside view. She preens for us, yawns at us, and then dismisses us. We are awed into immobility, inching forward slowly to record a life-changing experience.