Nominate a warrior for the Jumbo Foundation Awards

It takes more than eco-tourism or tokenism to save the tiger. Improving the lot of conservation's foot-soldiers can be a good start.

Forest officer Prabhu Swamy at one of the best-maintained anti-poaching camps in Bandipur. It is a permanent masonry structure equipped with solar panels for electricity and a handpump (which elephants destroyed). Not all camps boast such luxuries.

It's Wildlife Week. Apart from routine ribbon-cutting and exhibitions of photographs trophy-hunted in the wild, we armchair conservationists will do what is expected of us, and various agencies responsible for making the right noises will do what is expected of them. 


With the coincident holiday season and the monsoon receding from our skies, tourism to wildlife sanctuaries will see a humongous rush. Particularly tourism with an "eco" prefixed precariously to it. Last year, the total foreign exchange earned from tourism in general was Rs 64,889 crore -- I don't have figures for what proportion of these earnings came from adventure and wildlife tourism. However, it is clear that the Ministry of Tourism is driving so-called eco-tourism hard, with plenty of incentives for hospitality concerns. Awards such as "Best Eco-friendly Hotel", "Best Responsible Tourism Project" and "Best Eco-friendly Practices by Tour Operators" are rewarded every year. No doubt, the sector is set to grow even as forest cover is increasingly fragmented and urbanisation exerts increasing pressure on forests.


While we Green Ogres might lean in favour of the budget jungle holiday and, on principle, patronise government-run hospitality as far as possible, most eco-tourists prefer the luxury of privately run eco-lodges and camps on the fringes of wildlife reserves. Although many of these concerns have revenue-sharing partnerships with the forest department (which issues entry permits and manages related administrative tasks), tourists are never exposed to the circumstances under which forest staff work.


Clearly, it takes more to save the tiger -- described somewhat facetiously on the Tourism Ministry's website as "Our National Beauties" -- than pumping up tourism. For forests to remain relatively inviolate and for tigers to continue to inhabit them, encroachment, fragmentation and poaching must be checked. Everyone from the high-profile cricketer to the oomphy starlet wants to save tigers, but photo exhibitions, mega-events and suchlike publicity extravaganzas are not going to do it. Tokenism isn't quite enough. 


For Arun and me, that fact became clear when we were invited to visit an anti-poaching camp in Bandipur at the behest of the Kumble Foundation. The experience opened our eyes to the abject reality of conservation, the plight of the foot-soldiers who police our forests at the lowest level of the hierarchical ladder. Their lives are plagued by poverty, ill-health and worries over an uncertain future. And you want them to save the tiger?


In the next two week, we will present to you a detailed report on the reality of life in an anti-poaching camp. But before that, do your sincerest bit on the occasion of Wildlife Week. 


Go to the Kumble Foundation's website and nominate a forest worker that you know of for the many categories of Jumbo Wildlife Awards for 2011. Make haste -- the last date for accepting nominations is October 16.

Review : Voyage of the Turtle: In Pursuit of the Earth's Last Dinosaur

Carl Safina’s mellifluous prose evokes the beauty and mystery of the sea and its ancient denizen, the Leatherback turtle


Voyage Of The Turtle: In Pursuit Of The Earth's Last Dinosaur
by Carl Safina
Published by Henry Holt and Co.; 1st edition (May 30, 2006)
Rs 689 on Flipkart

Carl Safina is a marine scientist and the founder of the Blue Ocean Institute. This is his third book after the much acclaimed and award winning Song for the Blue Ocean: Encounters Along the World's Coasts and Beneath the Seas and Eye of the Albatross: Visions of Hope and Survival.


Safina starts his travels in Trinidad where this noble giant,  survivor of more than 100 years of evolution, is giving birth on a dark beach, and then takes us on a trip through Florida, South Carolina, Cape Breton Islands in the ice-cold waters off the Canadian coast, Malaysia, Costa Rica, Mexico and finally New Guinea – all the remaining (and sadly former) habitats of the Leatherback Turtle (Dermochelys coriacea). In the course of his travels he meets scientists, law enforcers, poachers turned conservationists, resort owners, fishing boat captains and gives us an intimate view into the life and biology of this beautiful creature – in the ocean, on land, at the moment of its first swim and washed up carcasses. What results is a compelling, passionate but honest account of the species and the mesh of attitudes, laws (or their absence), threats (including destructive fishing techniques that have depleted the oceans) and research that may eventually pull it back from the brink.


The book is full of facts and data that can come from intimate contact and close study alone. For instance, the Leatherback is the only turtle that, after laying almost seven dozen billiard-ball-sized eggs, lays another two dozen embryo-less eggs on top, their purpose yet unknown. It is conjectured that they may play a role in providing air-space on the top of the nest, stabilize humidity or protect against fungal infection.


In another place Safina writes about the failure of the initial TEDs (turtle exclusion devices) since the opening size allowed only the juveniles to escape and it took years to enforce a larger opening by law. Or, for instance, that well into the 1990s, the Japanese imported turtle shells – 30,000 kg of it (amounting to almost 30,000 adult Hawksbill turtles harvested annually) to be carved into hair ornaments for ladies – a craft called bekko.


Through his travels Safina cites several cases that underscore how difficult (and counter-intuitive) it can be to formulate a sustainable and effective conservation strategy. For example, in Malaysia, the Leatherback population has plummeted from 10 to 15 thousand adult females and 3,000 annual nesters in the 1950s to virtually zero today. For 50 years almost every egg was taken and when finally artificial incubation was tried out wrong temperature control produced either all females or sterile intersex individuals. 


In Florida, beachfront high-rises and luxury condos that adhere to a strict night-time “light curfew" offer a safe backdrop for hatchlings crawling towards the sea. The open beaches close to the towns disorient them, the hatchlings mistaking the light-polluted land horizon for the real one. Having evolved on Earth where for millions of years the horizon is the brightest pre-dawn area, for the turtles such disorientation means almost certain death. Clearly, there is no substitute for accurate scientific knowledge, more often than not gained painstakingly on the field. Romantic greenhearts take note. Throughout the book Safina succeeds in seamlessly relating the plight of the species to the larger issues and threats that plague the oceans and touches upon the other surviving sea turtles as well – the Green Sea Turtle (Chelonia mydas), Hawksbill (Eretmochelys imbricata), Flatback (Natator depressus), Loggerhead (Caretta caretta), Kemp's Ridley (Lepidochelys kempii) and Olive Ridley (Lepidochelys olivacea).


Safina’s prose is mellifluous and evokes the beauty and mystery of the sea. One of the most poignant passages in the book, just after he has described the newly hatched Leatherbacks on their first swim, full of life and oblivious to the threats that await them every single moment of their lives, summarizes the moment of extinction, “The end of a species comes as tranquilly as this gentle sunrise. There’s no final struggle, no valorous last stand or terminal flourish. Just one final puff of breath, then mere absence. No creature mourns its own passing. The grief and the consequence lie solely with us, but few feel the loss.”


The book is one of the finest on natural history I have read and a must-read. It is guaranteed to make you fall in love with the oceans and their denizens especially the large brooding  vagabonds of the blue – the Leatherback.


Reviewed by Sahastrarashmi

Freedom in a cage - a critical look at captive breeding

On the 64th anniversary of India's freedom, we wonder about the efficacy of captive breeding programs. Are they really worth it?

In the last six odd decades since Independence, India has been witness to the exploitation of its wildlife and natural resources along with apathy to diminishing forests coexisting with strident conservation initiatives. In this land of abundant wildlife, royals and nobles were enamoured with shikar. With ample help from their English masters, they brought about a rapid decline in the population of species large and small. In the latter part of our history, conservation programs have attempted to create safe havens for endangered species. Some conservationists have enthusiastically embraced the idea of captive breeding and reintroduction. Programs aimed at augmenting the wild population of the species have yielded mixed results. On Independence Day, we look at the issue of freedom in captivity. Does it really make sense?

The Himalayan Musk Deer (Moschus chrysogaster)

IUCN Categorization: EN –Endangered

The last surviving Musk Deer (2006) at the Kedarnath Breeding Centre

The Himalayan Musk Deer found in Jammu and Kashmir, Sikkim and Kumaon regions of India were extensively poached for the musk pods borne by male deer. A captive breeding program was commenced in 1980-81 at Kanchula Kharak in Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary, Uttarakhand with a pair of Musk Deer. Thirty years later the program has slipped into obscurity. In 2006, when Sahastra visited the breeding center, he saw the last survivor of the program. The fact that the Musk Deer had perished due to disease and climatic conditions, indicate insufficient monitoring of these parameters.

Kedarnath Sanctuary in the Garhwal Himalayas protects critical Musk Deer habitat

Siberian Crane  - The Lily of Birds according to A O Hume (image courtesy ICF) 

The Siberian Crane (Grus leucogeranus)

IUCN Categorization: CR – Critically Endangered

Siberian Cranes had three distinct populations at the turn of the last century: the Eastern flock migrating to China, the Western flock to Iran, and the Central flock to India which wintered in the Keoladeo National Park in Bharatpur, Rajasthan. The long migration routes of these birds make them vulnerable to hunting. In 1993 a captive breeding program was carried out with two captive bred Siberian cranes introduced to the Keoladeo National Park to unite with the migrant flock and return with them to the breeding sites in Siberia. The birds stayed back and subsequent attempts to introduce captive-bred birds to the migrating flock failed as well. As the Siberian Cranes form strong social bonds at birth, the plan to see the captive-bred cranes fly back to Siberia failed as the cranes did not get sufficient time to build new social bonds with the wild cranes.

Siberian Crane (Grus leucogeranus)

Gangetic Gharial (Gavialis gangeticus)

IUCN Categorization: CR – Critically Endangered

Gharials dwell in deep, fast-flowing rivers, which offer them abundant fish and sand banks for nesting. The threats they face are mainly from loss of habitat due to sand-mining, dams and irrigation projects, and hunting for their skin. In addition, depletion of prey fish due to overfishing has impacted the Gharial population. In 1976, after their population had dipped below 200 individuals, an effort in the form of Project Crocodile was launched for captive rearing of the Gharial. The National Chambal Sanctuary was set up in 1979 to protect the Gharial. Numbers have since dwindled after a major catastrophe resulting from pollutants in the river three years later, which resulted in the death of 113 animals. While captive breeding of Gharials has helped increase their numbers, it is imperative to safeguard the rivers that form the creatures' habitat.

Gangetic Gharial (Gavialis gangeticus) in a Zoo

One-Horned Rhino (Rhinoceros unicornis)

IUCN Categorization: VU - Vulnerable

Once ranging from the floodplains of the Indus to those of the Ganga and Brahmaputra, the Indian One-horned Rhinoceros was a familiar sight along the three great rivers. However, the fragmentation and destruction of its habitat for agriculture, and excessive hunting and poaching for its horn (which commands a huge black-market price as an aphrodisiac) saw the rhino population plummet, prompting stringent conservation efforts. As the majority of the rhinos are in Kaziranga, the skewed distribution of the rhino population adds to the risk of extinction in the event of a major calamity at Kaziranga. In 1984, a rhino reintroduction project was commenced in Dudhwa in a demarcated zone called the Rhino Reintroduction Area, which prevented possible conflicts between rhinos and the existing macro-fauna of the park such as tigers and elephants. A calf born in July is the latest addition to the rhino population. The phased approach to introduction with constant monitoring of feeding habits, spatial use patterns and other behavioral aspects has contributed to the partial success of the program so far.

Asiatic Lion (Panthera leo persica)

IUCN Categorization: EN –Endangered

The lion lionised on an India postage stamp

Records exist of the Asiatic Lion in Bihar, Delhi, Bundelkhand and Rajasthan. However, the lions in these regions were exterminated during the latter half of the 19th century. In the first decade of the 20th century, the only known population of the Asiatic Lion existed in the Gir region of the erstwhile princely state of Junagarh. The population has since sprung back in Gir and the renowned success story has prompted thoughts of the lions' relocation to other regions in India like Palpur-Kuno in Madhya Pradesh. One such attempt at relocation was made in 1957 when a lion and two lionesses from Gir were introduced in the Chandraprabha sanctuary near Varanasi. The pride soon grew to 11 by 1965 before abruptly disappearing. This proves the feasibility of relocation for the Gir lions as the lions had survived for seven years following relocation. 

References:

• Forest Department, Audit Report for the year ended 31 March 2006 - Chapter III 

• Protected Area Update – News and Information from protected areas in India and South Asia, Vol XVII, No 2, Apr 2011

• Gharial Gavialis Gangeticus - Colin Stevenson and Romulus Whitaker

• Gharial Our River Guardian - Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India

• Management of the reintroduced Greater One Horned Rhinoceros (Rhinoceros unicornis) in the Dudhwa National Park, Uttar Pradesh, India S P Sinha and V B Sawarkar, Wildlife Institute of India, Dehra Dun (UP), India

• The Great Indian One-Horned Rhinoceros (Rhinoceros unicornis Linnaus, 1758) S.P. Sinha

• Reintroduction of Greater Indian Rhinoceros into Dudhwa National Park – John B. Sale and Samar Singh

• Story of India’s Lions – Divyabhanusinh (National Centre for the Performing Arts (India), Marg Publications)

Text by Anand Yegnaswami

Picture credits :

Siberian Crane - ICF (www.savingcranes.org)

Musk Deer and Kedarnath: Sahastrarashmi

Other photos: Wikimedia Commons

Infographic by Beej

Encounter: Dhole - the Indian wild dog

Watching one of our most efficient predators in the wild is a treat and a privilege. Most people might be obsessed with cats, but give it up for the Dhole, our very own wild canid

Just after I told my wife how endangered the Indian wild dog or Dhole (Cuon alpinus) was, we saw about ten of them on our first three trips together. Which, naturally, evoked the question: "Are they really endangered? I have seen more wild dogs than tame ones since our marriage..."

Sadly, they are...

At first glance the dhole is very like a dog

When, as a child, I saw the animated version of Kipling's Jungle Book, I grew to hate the dholes (red dogs) because they were enemies of the wolf pack to which the protagonist, Mowgli, belonged. Dholes were portrayed as an evil lot, hunting in packs and taking over the hunting grounds of the wolves.

The tail is a definite giveaway, though...

Since, I have heard a lot about dholes. When Beej first told me about the dhole he encountered (with Arun and Sahastra in BR Hills), I had not yet seen one. Soon, I was rewarded with my first encounter. We were driving through Nagarahole along the Mananthavadi road (although calling it a road would be a joke - rutted and potholed as it is, allowing an average speed of 10 kph along the 30 km drive). Suddenly, a canid crossed our track and Prasanna hissed: "Dhole!" It was a female and it lingered about our car, quite unafraid. Soon it was joined by a male that sat on the road next to the car for quite a while, allowing us a good view. He then joined the female and walked along the road before disappearing into the bushes.

The couple that entertained us at Nagarahole...

After that I have had multiple encounters with dholes, most in the last couple of years. Trips to Bandipur and Mudumalai would yield at least one sighting. But my best sighting was in Upper Bhavani in the Nilgiris. Prasanna, me and our wives were on a casual drive from Ooty when we saw a dhole leap right ahead of us on the road. It had a lustrous orange coat, which looked very fluffy, and a very dark tail. It bounded away, pausing ahead to stop and give us a backward glance and then vanished into the forest.

Contemplating...

Dholes hunt in packs. They are organized hunters and their skills have been well documented by Karnataka-based wildlife filmmakers Krupakar and Senani in their films Wild Dog Diaries and The Pack. Dholes are known to surround and bring down prey as large as the 1.5 ton Gaur, making them one of the most feared predators.

Tearing into a Sambhar (Photo courtesy: Joseph T A)

My friend Joseph TA was the luckiest of our group, having seen a pack of dholes hunt and devour a Sambhar. Generally, dholes are known to abandon their kill when intruded upon by humans, thanks to the old practice of hunters who used to leave the hunting to dholes and scare them off to take the kill.

Enjoying the feast (Photo courtesy Joseph T A)

Sport hunting and retaliatory killing by villagers whose livestock were taken by dholes have driven these canids to the edge. Thankfully, the active efforts of forest departments and NGOs involved in conservation are helping them recuperate.

Text and photos: Sandeep Somasekharan

Dhole hunting photos: Joseph TA (www.josephta.com | www.facebook.com/JTAPhoto)

All's not well in the bat-cave

If we as a people so revere nature, why do we go to so much trouble to disfigure it?

The view from Kavala Caves, Dandeli

Is there a legit word ending in “phobia” for the fear of being ripped off? Whatever it is, it was on our minds when we set out early in the morning from Dandeli's Kulgi Nature Camp for a safari. Safaris are always dubious deals – at the outset you are force-fed the disclaimer that every sighting banks on “good luck”, which is thereafter effectively neutralised by the grunting and gnashing diesel vehicle that ferries you around the forest.

Our destination that morning was Kavala Caves, 25 km inside the forest and accessible only by a 2 km walk from a waterhole where the jeep track ends. Part of that walk also descends into a valley from where you can see and hear the roaring rapids of the dark and beautiful Kali river.

The Kali is a gorgeous, gushing torrent of darkness

Birders can be exasperatingly enthusiastic morning persons and our poor “guide” hadn't bargained for that when he fixed our itinerary the night before. Well before the appointed hour we roused his recumbent self with hollers and heavy knocking. To the end that he very evidently forgot to brush, and every time he turned to us to proffer guidance we shrank back, nearly asphyxiated.

When we left, the camp was still in darkness and pale veins of dawn light were draining the ink from the sky. In the murky forest we passed the odd shadowy elephant and several feral buffaloes that played tricks with our eager eyes. As the day brightened we saw spotted deer, jungle fowl, peacocks and a solitary barking deer.  


Our walk to the caves took longer than usual, much to our impatient (and perhaps hungry) guide's chagrin. En route, we stopped to chase butterflies, admire a displaying Black-naped Monarch and an Elliot's Forest Lizard. Our first sighting of Malabar Pied Hornbills occurred on this walk. There were enough sunbirds, ioras and swifts en route to delay us further. Then we argued over a Shaheen Falcon's identity, some of us contending that it might have been a Black Baza. Morning light and its myriad tricks! 

In the mouth of the cave, which has effectively been transformed into a shrine

Winding steps led us down to the cave. As we approached it, a familiar haunting reek of disused attics assailed us -- the rank odour of bat droppings. These were limestone caves and the interiors should have been white or, at least, whitish in appearance. But then again, caves with stalagmites and stalactites have long awakened religiosity in kindred souls and, true enough, the stalagmites here are worshipped as Shivalingams. 

Stalactites darkened with soot

The interiors of a limestone cave are usually white or whitish, unlike these darkened by oil and smoke from offerings

On Mahashivaratri, which falls every year in February or March, thousands of pilgrims are allowed into the national park. And they bring along votive offerings in incense sticks, oil for lamps, cotton wicks, coconuts, bananas, flowers, earthen lamps, milk in sachets and packed refreshments to nourish them on their pilgrimage. And how did I know all of this? Just by looking around. 

The inside of the shrine houses a stalactite that is worshipped as a Shivalingam, and our guide quickly got down to business and was perhaps slighted when we did not join in

Our guide was also possessed of sudden devotion inside the cave and he lit the incense sticks that he had brought along. Later, when I brought up the matter with him, he seemed offended that I should place the welfare of sundry forest creatures over the appeasement of the Almighty. If only our forest staff could be trained to differentiate among simple priorities.

We traversed parts of the cave on bended knee, and sometimes all fours

The task of cleaning up after religious rituals is left to the Lord who, having other things on His agenda, never gets round to it. Over the years, garbage has accumulated in and around the caves. Carrying it all back to Dandeli is an idea that has never occurred to those responsible for the park's maintenance, and the caves' distance from the nearest camp doesn't help its cause.

Pligrims have dumped leftover grain under a tree outside the caves

Once inside the caves, parts of which we traversed crawling on all fours, we were aghast to observe that the interiors were blackened with soot. The smooth limestone structures were discoloured from so many years of touching. It was also hot and humid and we started to feel slightly claustrophobic.

Pilgrims have left behind litter of every description

As we emerged from another part of the cave towards the light, we disturbed several roosting bats, which flitted in and out uttering tiny shrieks -- perhaps the only human-audible sounds in their ultrasonic repertoire. None of us were bat experts, and we couldn't determine the species. The bat had large ears, a longish, slightly upturned snout and a dark brown stripe on the sides of the throat. I managed a decent photograph, which might help us identify it.

Bats inside the cave

We returned from the caves struck by their beauty but appalled at how they had been ritually defiled. This experience was in stark contrast to one I enjoyed at Mercer Cavern, a limestone cave in California, which I had visited in 2001. While those caves had no bats, they were nearly pristine, illuminated thoughtfully in white and beige and pink, with only one calcite structure reserved for visitors to touch and feel. Unfortunately, even if we get round to addressing our problems, we will always have too much of religion to deal with.


Text and photos by Beej
Read other posts from Dandeli

Raptor Friday - Last Hope for Disappearing Vultures

There are enough roadkills, but why are vultures absent from our skies? An independent filmmaker explores the reasons

Himalayan Griffons engage in a scuffle

Several animals are killed in road accidents but we hardly see any vultures hovering above and swooping down for a cleanup operation. Ever wondered why? Neloy Bandyopadhyay's film on vulture conservation The Last Hope aims to highlight why these efficient scavengers are absent from our skies. Anand Yegnaswami catches up with the man and his work.

Excerpts from an interview to The Green Ogre:

Could you please share in your words what the film "The Last Hope" was about?

The Last Hope is a film about the relentless struggle of vulture conservationists in India and this subcontinent where activists are fighting a tough battle to protect this great scavenger bird from the brink of extinction. The film is made to create awareness about the importance of the vulture in nature, and against the use of a drug which is the main reason for the [decline] of the vultures.

On the sets of the film

Why did you pick vultures as your subject?

The scenario of the numbers of vultures in India is worrisome. If we don’t take proper action right away, we will probably lose this great bird forever. The vulture doesn’t have the great looks of the tiger, lion or rhino, but from an importance perspective it’s a great bird.

Why are vultures such an important part of the ecosystem and what is the need to protect them?

Vultures play a crucial role in the food chain. They eat carcasses. In India, and the subcontinent, it has been an age-old practice to [dispose of] dead domestic animals in the dumpyard. Vultures can eat an animal the size of a bull within an hour and leave little chance for diseases to spread.

A hide used to film vultures at a carcass without disturbing them

Could you elaborate on the vulture conservation efforts that you came across while making the film?

The killer drug [Dicofenac] has been banned. Some NGOS are working towards vulture conservation. Bombay National History Society is working on a captive breeding programme. However, we have a lot to do to save this species.

Himalayan Griffons

What are the factors hampering vulture conservation? Are there threats other than Diclofenac that pose a danger to the vulture population?

Diclofenac is the main reason. To save vultures we have to ban the use of this drug. Today, Diclofenac meant for humans is being used on cattle.

Long-billed Vultures at a nest

How long will it take for the vulture population to bounce back from the effects of Diclofenac?

Unfortunately, the breeding cycle of vultures is pretty slow. They lay one egg per breeding cycle. We have to take extra precaution and we have to phase out Diclofenac immediately and completely. If we can do that I am sure the vulture population will [be restored] to a substantial number.

During the making of the film

Now that you have completed this film, how do you plan to get the message of conservation across?


Broadcast this film as much as possible.

Neloy works as a IT security consulting manager in Bangalore. He is a nature lover and wildlife enthusiast with a passion for cinematography and photography. In addition to The Last Hope, Neloy has also filmed a documentary on Snow Leopard conservation, An Unavoidable Disagreement.

Anand Yegnaswami is an IT professional and an intrepid nature enthusiast. He has contributed previously to The Green Ogre.


All photographs in this post are the copyrighted property of Neloy Bandyopadhyay and are used here with his kind permission.


This is a special edition of our series Raptor Friday. Read more about vultures and diclofenac in The Green Ogre archives.

Tree or no tree, who gives a fig?

A fig tree in fruit is a forest in itself: every creature in the vicinity is attracted to the sprawling canopy to eat the ripe red fruits, or the fruit-eaters. Sadly, these lovely fig trees are disappearing with our appetite for wider roads

Ripening fruit on a fig tree

Fig trees (Ficus sp) are valuable sources of food for many birds and animals. In an age when fruit trees have turned into cash crops restricted to orchards, with guards stationed to keep birds away, these trees, which provide tiny fruits that ripen to a rich red and house thousands of tiny seeds, become life-givers for birds and mammals. When they are not fruiting, the trees' thick canopies provide safe haven for several species. When the fruits ripen you can hear the clamour of a hundred birds feasting from a long way off.


I have seen a number of fig trees in and around Mysore, but the one that most inhabits my memory is the huge tree near my village in Karukutty, Ernakulam district, Kerala. That tree is believed to be 500 years old and hosts a sarppakkavu -- a shrine dedicated to serpent spirits. My grandfather told me that it was an atthi-maram -- Malayalam for fig tree, though I never saw it in fruit in the days I spent with my grandparents. 


It was nevertheless an amazing tree. Its branches and roots were barely distinguishable from each other. Long strands hung down from the boughs, slowly growing towards the ground. On touching the ground they turned into pillar-like struts supporting the superstructure of the tree. And in this way the tree would branch out and occupy a fair acreage of land.

The Ficus tree at Karukutty

Though I have never seen the fruits of the tree at Karukutty, the ones in Mysore have more than compensated for my loss. There is a huge tree near the smoking zone at Infosys and there are other trees I have seen at my regular birding haunts. I have seen them spread new leaves, sprout tiny ripe fruits, and some others meet their ends - either through natural causes, or at the hands of humans.

A Chestnut-tailed Starling eyes its next morsel

The first casualty I can remember is one near Mysore's Outer Ring Road. This tree had a deep hollow that was home to a Spotted Owlet. The canopy played host to Chestnut-tailed Starlings, Common Mynas, Rose-ringed Parakeets, Brahminy Kites and, at times, a pair of Oriental Honey Buzzards. 


One morning when we arrived, it simply wasn't there -- all that remained was a stump. For no reason that was apparent, the tree had been cut down and the plot where it stood remains empty even today. I have seen shoots emerge from the still-standing trunk but it will take years for it to regain its past glory -- perhaps more than my lifetime, and that is if it is allowed to stand for that long. 


Some trees, like the one on the shore of Lingambudhi Lake, has been spared the axe since it stands in the compound of a temple.

A Coppersmith Barbet attempts the seemingly impossible

Another one that I shall remember was a fig tree that used to stand near Hebbal Lake in Mysore. It was a majestic tree and bore smaller fruits than that of the Banyan (Ficus bengalensis) but, unfortunately, I never got round to identifying it. It was the roost of purple herons and I have even spotted a Booted Eagle hiding in the thick branches. Last June we found the tree fallen, its trunk brutally snapped by heavy winds that mark the advent of the monsoon.

A contented Golden Oriole in a fig tree laden with fruit

With the widening of the Ring Road in Mysore two fig trees beside the road have been felled. As the city grows, many more are likely to fall prey to development. And the birds that depend on these trees for food will be driven further and further away. And then, sadly, we shall refer to them all in past tense.


Text and photos by Sandeep Somasekharan

Remembering Simon and Garfunkel in Ramanagaram

The wind blew down from the hillock and hissed in my ear: "I am a rock"

A stray spell of sun lit up Ramanagaram's famous rocks

It wasn't a winter's day, as Paul Simon would have had it. But it had rained all night and the morning presented a stipple of sleepy raindrops on our windshield as Arun, Anitha and I arrived in Ramanagaram. It was meant to be just a walk among the rocky hillocks, a stretch of tired limbs away from the restraining roads and crammed pavements of the city. But for me it turned out to be a much-needed meditation.


On rocks. And Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkel.


The Ramanagara rocks are believed to be some of the oldest granite massifs in the region. Captivating as they are, they have caught the eye of artists and filmmakers. Parts of David Lean's A Passage to India were filmed here (as well as in Savanadurga, which is not far as the vultures fly). More famously, some of the most dramatic sequences in Ramesh Sippy's epic Sholay were shot here.

A pool of rainwater had invited a chorusing party of frogs

More recently some bright sparks, inspired perhaps by Mount Rushmore, wanted to carve faces into these hills. It took some irate resistance from concerned citizens to get them to drop the idea. I blanched to imagine the faces of our politicians (would Yeddy be among them?!) defiling the sanctity of this disturbed but still enchanting landscape. Insidiously, a private property has sprung up near Ramadevarabetta, the largest hillock that is crowned by a temple dedicated to Lord Rama.


As we climbed the steps leading up to the temple, we encountered nature's crafty masque of potential domestic violence at its most gruesome, in which the roles (to my wife's immense satisfaction) were reversed.

The tiny orange male can be seen on top of the female, whispering his famous last words of courtship

At the centre of enormous invisible orbs, evil-looking female giant wood spiders lay in wait for wind-blown prey. Around them, their tiny beaus attempted to seek an opportune moment for an intimate interview, in which they had to move quickly to fertilise her or risk being inducted into her digestive system. Often, male spiders satisfy more than their mates' lust. The ravenous female is known to devour the male even as she is mating with him. Burp, it would seem, is an equally dangerous four-letter word in arachnid vocabulary.


While the spiders wove their orbs, the cloudy sky began to weave music in my head. While the songs of Sholay were no doubt playing at the back of my companions' minds, my mind's ear drifted to Simon and Garfunkel.


Scoured by wind and water, the rock facades betrayed only slightly the grainy lament of untold endurance. As I gazed upon the cliff that had been portrayed as the villain Gabbar Singh's den, I thought how aloof and forbidding these rocks looked, their bare, naked shanks thrusting skyward out of woolly socks of vegetation at their feet. And yet, they were witness to hopeful love. Vultures of three species nested in their crannies and ledges. Swifts tittered as they circled the outcrops. A pair of Shaheen Falcons courted at the rock's bald summit.


At the peak of their popularity, Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkel issued the song "I am a rock", which was originally from Paul Simon's Songbook, released in 1965. It is a rare track, not easily found except in thoughtfully arranged compilations. After the duo fell out, their personalities and tender sentiments lived on in their music. 


Poets and songwriters (Simon was both) are often known to treat their own work with scorn, and such was the fate that "I am a rock" suffered when Simon publicly disdained the song. In an interview he said: "It is discomforting, almost painful, to look back over something someone else created and realize that someone else was you."


The last verse goes thus:

I have my books 
And my poetry to protect me; 
I am shielded in my armor, 
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb. 
I touch no one and no one touches me. 
I am a rock, 
I am an island. 


And a rock feels no pain; 
And an island never cries.


In our everyday battle to win nature back from those who thoughtlessly defile her, these rocks, which have resisted molestation for millennia, shall certainly guide our way. We need to brace ourselves for the future with equal parts tenderness and imperviousness.


And if the song has already started playing in your head, listen on...

Text and photographs by Beej