| Survivors will be
Prosecuted |
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Dr. N Prasad |
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A typically insensitive
official proclamation! Walk into Dhikala, situated in the
bowels of Jim Corbett, a so-called haven for wild life - and
the warning that reads off the signboard hits you like a bolt.
It bluntly states that a near dry river, with hardly ankle
deep water, is dangerous for swimmers. I glanced at the
six-foot bystander, a fair skinned, able-bodied tourist
reading the notice too, and found myself stifling a giggle,
imagining him trying to breaststroke in waters that would
barely wet one side of his torso. No doubt the river Ramganga
may fill up during monsoons (when the park is closed for
viewing) but in March it was quite dry. Perhaps, I
thought the word ‘seasonal’ ought to have been inserted
somewhere.
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Then came the bit about how
dangerous crocodiles can make a meal of you. I don’t disagree
that these poor creatures with a filthy reputation can find
its way down the scanty Ramganga - but whether it can gobble
you up while dipping your feet in a puddle of water was
questionable. Most importantly, if the park officials did not
want any innocent observer to be waylaid by wicked crocodiles,
the stairs that led to the river should have been blocked.
Here I was staring longingly down at a spellbinding stony
staircase leading to a rocky riverbed, but warned in no
uncertain terms that if I proceeded I would not survive and if
by stroke of fortune I did, I would be prosecuted. So much for
visiting a sanctuary! |
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From
posters to hotels anything that remotely bears the name of Jim
Corbett has a tiger etched on it. It seems that everything
else in this jungle is either subservient or negligible to the
great Royal Bengal Tiger (RBT). The other flora and fauna are
purposeless, and un-saleable. Driving down from Delhi to Jim
Corbett (one of the many other options available) I even took
a particularly dismal patch of road (for about 2 and a half
hours) in a good spirit, spurred by the awe of Jim Corbett.
After reaching Ramnagar (also Corbett City) a good six hours
later, I procured our gate passes, paid the required costs to
stay within the forest and collected tips on jungle sites at
the Forest Department Office. The Forest Department has about
four guest houses inside the Park, Dhikala being the farthest,
oldest and most sought after. Happy to find myself the best
accommodation, I buried myself in the surroundings. Beautiful
tall sal trees had turned a liquid yellow at this
time of the year. A gentle breeze shook out flakes of gold
from the high branches of the trees and filled the road with
aurum leaves, creating a golden carpet. Since I was allowed to
drive to Dhikala in my own car I took a leisurely ride gazing
at the trees and marvelling at the large anthills.
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At the
park’s entrance I couldn’t help but notice a gamut of products
on sale. From T-shirts and hats to mementos, all bore the
ever-present symbol of the RBT. It was pretty warm by noon -
the time I was journeying down to Dhikala, a good 50
kilometers from habitation. So, only resplendent scenery
awaited me, as wildlife no doubt was tucked far away in a
remote shaded area, to hide from the heat. Never having
visited the place I had imagined Dhikala to be surrounded by
deep forests, like the ones that swept passed me, with a lake
or a reservoir expanse stretching ahead. Reaching a
particularly dusty parking lot, cluttered with innumerable
‘city cars’, was a let down. The manicured lawns with shrubs
and flowering plants made it look like any other
muffasil government guest house. Desperately I looked
everywhere to locate the lush trees I had imagined, to find an
endless grassland spread-out ahead. ‘Grassland’ was perhaps a
fancy name for what at best looked like an Alfalfa cropland. I
was supposed to spot herbivores here, yet a carnivore was
being extensively advertised. Dhikala being situated on a
higher ground, well above this ‘grassland’, offered a good
view. Well, I did spot a herd of wild elephants and a tusker,
but as for the rest, from the wild boar to the spotted deer,
it was almost impossible to recognize. One because we city
nerds are untrained in noticing movements, characteristically
indicating the presence of a herd and two, because it was just
too vast and far. After a quick lunch (only strictly
vegetarian) in a predominantly uncared for structure, called
the canteen, I enquired about what I could do in the evening.
‘Enquired’ because no information was forthcoming, not even
from the sulky and the grudging attendant, who showed me my
room. He seemed least interested in catering to any of my
needs and disappeared soon after. For the first time I wished
I didn’t belong to this country! Well, even if Indians do
provide maximum revenue to the tourism sector, a white skin
still takes the cake. |
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Anyhow
I decided to take a ‘guide’ to explore the jungle. Hiring an
open safari-gypsy was optional and one could use his own
vehicle to tour here. Driving through treacherous, winding,
muddy paths in the fading evening light, I regretted my
decision. Besides, it seemed too incongruous to find silver
Santros and Maroon Lancers whizzing past us much like a city
highway. I had to time-and-again remind myself that I was in
the depths of a lush green tropical forest. The guide too
seemed uninterested in advancing my understanding of the
environment and neither told me about the vegetation or the
river system nor least of all, about the animals. He only
seemed delighted to drop off a forest guard whom he had
cajoled me into giving a lift, near his scheduled
station. |
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I have
in the past visited many other sanctuaries where no personal
vehicle is allowed within the inner sanctum of the forest.
This makes sense, as the drivers are trained and know the
terrain like the back of their hands. In a fight-or-flee
situation, especially if wild elephants are encountered, good
driving skills can avert mishaps. You can hardly expect such
skills from city dwellers. Even if no mishaps really happen,
sensible precautions along with good business sense is better
than the cure. I wondered why different national parks have
different rules although they fall under the responsibility of
a single head. It would be so much better if a canter left the
park gate at stipulated times, and ferried tourists to and
from the designated guest houses. This would also save
embarrassed and harassed visitors such as me, who was asked
to, in the most peremptory fashion, leave the room at 11am
sharp. |
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The
evening was beautifully cool as I sat in the shed constructed
in front of the canteen. It turned out to be a small open-air
theatre with numerous plastic seats. In the evening a
documentary was played on Ranthambore, which was probably
prepared somewhere in the mid-eighties. It wasn’t the
documentary that raised my ire, but the fact that it was
played with the presumption that there would be no queries or
interest about anything, once it ended. The equipment,
projector and all, was promptly packed after the documentary
ended. I believe, perhaps I am wrong in doing so, that someone
who is interested in visiting a forest is somewhat willing to
aid the environment. I have nothing against the documentary
but value addition, which would displace the inordinate
emphasis on tigers, is vital. It is distressing to see that
even the display boards only announce tigers
sighted. |
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Each
member leaving the forest should turn into believers of
habitat rehabilitation rather than seekers of tigers. We
always seem to miss out the bigger picture! An enthusiast or a
dedicated NGO can be roped in to deliver lectures and regale
anecdotes on the flora and fauna here. People’s involvement
can be sought and it can be a pleasurable experience for all.
And if we have to discuss tigers we can do it purposefully by
comprehending their habitat, behaviour, territories and other
interesting details. The forest officers are fully aware of
which tigers live around Dhikala - their area of influence can
be defined and forwarded to eager learners. |
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A
frugal dinner and off I went to bed churning such thoughts in
mind. The next misty morning, came the elephants, the tame
ones that is. Clambering on to one of them I sauntered around
the forest, again in a vain search for a tiger. Although I
insisted that it wasn’t important and I was sufficiently
enthralled by the emerald forests, my mahout and fellow
sightseers who had alighted the same poor elephant, demanded
in hushed whispers (as we were asked to be quiet) for a tiger.
As the stipulated time came to an end the disappointment was
palpable and one even went onto complain that the pug marks we
saw were made by a sort of stamp and in reality there were no
tigers. |
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The
park is full of controversies. On one side you cannot access
the rocky bed of a forlorn stream, yet on the other you can
romp to a watchtower that is about five hundred metres away,
without any ‘guided’ help. If climbing down to an open
riverbank can be dangerous I wondered why a walk into a
thickly forested territory wasn’t. If not a tiger, wild
elephant too have been known to be quite unpredictable and
volatile. |
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Soon it
was time to head back and packing my bags I dwelt on the
experiences of the two days I had spent here. The place had an
alien feel, especially as the staff that manned it did not
have their roots in this soil. They were just on job! If you
were to ask me frankly – I would not recommend Jim Corbett for
a weekend retreat. |
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