The Lion's share...doubt or trust!

The forest is enveloped in an eerie silence…deep within this void lurks suspense, one that keeps you aware and alert. A thick, luxuriant carpet of dry teak leaves adorns the forest floor – a challenge for those who wish to walk quietly, it is a treat for the eyes of the admirers of beauty – in the form of patterns and textures.

The maze...and the noisy carpet

It is February – the forest is witnessing a transition from winter to spring. Celebrating this change with full indulgence are the blooming trees of Palash (flame of the forest) and Semal (silk cotton).

River Shingavda, meanders through it like a playful teenager.Originating from this forest, carving her way through age-old, volcanic rocks and flanked by lush gallery forests, she is a synonym of beauty. We are in the heart of the forest that is the last home of the Asiatic lion – the Gir.

Shingavda, the meandering beauty of Gir

Accompanied by ‘Abba’, as he is fondly called by the young forest guards, we literally are walking down the memory lane in the Gir forest. Taj Mohammed Daus Mohammed (his real name) belongs to the Makrani community known for being excellent lion trackers, but also maligned for their unlawful activities in the forest. His grandfather worked for the erstwhile Nawab of Junagadh about whom the man had many memories including the eight-and-a-half rupee salary that he drew in those ‘good-old’ days. Abba has been serving at Dabhala post in the Jamwala range of Gir forest for nearly thirty years and said with a wink and grin “I generally say I’m 50 when asked about my age!”

Abba_attached to show detachment

As we walk the wilderness of Gir with him, he recounts many tales of the bygone era. “A particular Diwan saheb of the Nawab of Junagadh advised him to keep our community – the makranis out of the important jobs and gave us only police or forest jobs and that too lower ranks only. My grandfather and father wore joker-like shorts in those days!” Even this is more like a neutral observation that he shares; nothing inside him showing any negative attitude for the person that bestowed this favour upon his community! While taking us along the river for a good four kilometers, he shows various animal signs including antler rubbings of sambar and chital; diggings of pangolin – the strange, ant-eating denizen that’s seldom seen; lion pugmarks and leopard scrapes – all with the curiosity and interest of a young child. We stop for rest and find ourselves chatting again. Perched atop a rock ledge that overlooks a vast stretch of the Shingavda river, Abba softly murmurs “can’t believe this…it was all so different some thirty years back. Now it’s such a good forest…” Nibbling on the biscuits that we have taken out during this short rest, he talks with humility and simplicity seldom encountered today. Ears busy, I let my eyes roam…gazing at the river once haunted by hundreds of buffaloes of the maldhari herdsmen belonging to the Rabari, Charan, Ahir and Bharwad communities. It was a time when Gir teemed with their nesses – hutments surrounded by thick and broad hedges consisting of thorny branches of Zizyphus and Acacia.

Site of an evalcuated Ness in central Gir

We resume our walk, leaving the tangled vegetation behind, and continue further arriving at a place called pithdi-belan – the confluence of the Shingavda and Ardak rivers. Water is crystal clear with various shades of blue and green. Abba drinks several handfuls of water and in the process, finds a lion pugmark on a sand bar. A big male has walked past here early in the morning. He is known to them, claims the other, young guard. He shows little trace of water that remained in the tracks hinting at the lion having walked not long ago.

Indeed, the king walked this way

We are soon following the steps of the king! Here, the banks are overgrown with reeds of Phragmites karka and Typha angustata. There are occasional stands of Tamarix and young jamun (Syzygium cumini) trees too. One needs to be careful to avoid stepping on a hungry crocodile! We cross the river several times as water is still high and the dam downstream is ‘full’. A pair of red-wattled lapwings warns every creature of our arrival. We fail to trace the lion after intensive efforts in treacherously dense vegetation and tricky terrain. The search is finally abandoned, though reluctantly. The sparkling sand bars along the river and the small islands in its pools are a tell-tale sign of the protection and peace that prevail in this part of Gir. No tourists or other human activity except occasional patrolling by the forest staff and the routine operations of fire prevention and wildlife census. The birds are confiding and so are the beasts, including the magnificent sambar.

Hope, wait and trust - all in the eyes!

We spot a hind and a fawn – looking directly at us, but not with disdain, or so I think. I relax on a roundish sand bar at the confluence and recollect visiting this place during my study of the Indian peafowl in 1992-93. It is a nostalgic moment and I spontaneously think of the good times and able field assistants who taught me many a things about the flora and fauna of Gir during the short period that I spent. Leaving pithdi-belan, I reminisce further on the days spent in Gir, which had carved a permanent niche for this lion-forest in my heart. That’s what has probably brought me back here, this time with a different purpose – to assess the conservation status of the Asiatic Lion. We’ve walked at a leisurely pace along the river for about an hour and a half, now reaching a place called pola paana (hollow rocks). This is our destination for lunch. Settling atop a sandy mound protected by the dense shade of a karamda (Carissa carandus) bush, I stretch out.

Flow and shine

The river is quieter and wider here. Signs of Marsh Crocodile or Mugger are to be seen all around. A woolly-necked stork literally hangs in air for a while before landing as if it is well aware of the danger lurking beneath the calm waters. A pied kingfisher displays its fishing skills, first hovering and then swooping like a falling stone…splosh…to emerge with a fish in its sharp, long beak. Having secured food and content, it flies off. Our food also arrives in the meanwhile from the nearby Dabhala chowki. While food is being served in our plates, the alarm calls of langur and chital from the opposite bank draw our attention. Seems like the efforts of a hungry leopard to secure some food. In Gir, leopards are surprisingly active during the day, possibly a strategy to temporally avoid lions which are invariably stretched out under shade by this time of the day. A siesta is welcome for us too after lunch. As I stretch out again, my eyes naturally take to sky. Three Black Storks are mulling over a descent on the river, but continue circling high up over our heads. These migrants from far off Russian wetlands also have an immature individual among them, possibly last year’s chick accompanying the parents for the first time to this vast forest of the lion. On the other bank, the alarm calls continue. We scan with our binoculars, lazy to get up, but optimistic and excited; nothing surfaces in our view. I don’t remember when I doze off, leaving aside the general alertness of a vulnerable human being in a forest with large predators and completely ignoring the persistent alarm calls of chital on the opposite bank.

One of the rocks could come alive as a sleeping croc!

Abba is up before us and ready to go. His smile is a bigger greeting than any words can convey. We start walking towards the Shingavda reservoir – our final destination for the day. This is the fourth day of our walk across Gir forest. So far, everything seems in perfect order. The afternoon walk is a bit tough as temperature soars a little above 35 degrees and the sound of walking over teak leaves makes sure we are deprived of any decent wildlife sighting. Passing by the old, abandoned ness sites, I kind of feel strange. It is as if the contrasting emotions of loss and gain are still lingering. I say ‘loss’ because a thriving culture of pastoralists who lived and died among the prides of lions was permanently lost from the area as the National Park was freed of ‘all’ its human elements. ‘Gain’ because this change marked the beginning of a new era in the history of Gir. Recovery of the habitat was promptly followed by an increase in the number of wild ungulate prey. Many believe that this change has had a negative effect on the use of this area by the lions. We do not see that. In most areas of what is now the Gir National Park (or Core Zone), including the route that we have taken today, we encounter scats, pugmarks and other signs of lions. The high number of sightings and signs of prey betray the cause of this.

Rich habitat - the other pride of Gir

Round-the-year availability of water in Shingavda, Dhatardi, Bhuvatirth and Ardak rivers ensures good habitat quality. It seems that what was provided by the buffaloes and cattle of the maldharis decades ago is now available in the form of wild prey such as nilgai and sambar. There’s also a mention of the increasing denseness of the habitat making it difficult for the lions to hunt, but scientific evidence and observations show that neither the whole of National Park is such forest, nor is hunting made difficult for this large cat that stalks and surprises its quarry at close quarters. A thorough study of lion hunts/kills made by Ravi Chellam has thrown more light on this, and for now, the dominating presence of lions in this region is evidence enough of his observations. The forest everywhere is showing signs of activity and animal presence. There is a fair regeneration of food plants. Though walking yields fewer sightings compared to a drive, we are rewarded with many animal signs. These include bark chewing, antler rubbing, shed antlers, and even kills. We reach Dabhala check-post and rest for a few minutes before tea arrives. Sipping tea from steel saucers; the occupants of the forest staff quarters make typical, loud sounds, as people in this part often do. The walk is still on, but we relieve Abba from here. He greets us and bids goodbye, touching his heart.

As we continue further, new stories unfold as it is the young guard accompanying us – Dilipbhai’s turn now. Our jeep arrives in a short while and takes us to the Shingavda dam. The drive seems very fast and a rather shallow experience compared to the walk. The calm waters of Shigavda river spread far and wide guarded by the lengthening shadows of the Acacia trees.

The Shingavda Dam refflecting a quiet, evening mood

Here is a near-perfect union of nature’s gift – water and man’s technology – a dam. Or, is it? Much of the water that is received through the forested hills of Gir National Park ends up in the sugarcane fields of Kodinar taluka through several dams located within and on the periphery of the Gir Lion Sanctuary and National Park. People living in this part around Gir are surely not oblivious of this fact, but they possibly aren’t aware that they are in essence consuming the lion’s share! Much to my amazement this ecological foot-print also continues towards my own home, where each cup of morning tea probably has a bit of Gir in it!!

A forest engulfed by the advancing shadows

As I marvel at this connection that I share with the Asiatic lion, the sun is on its way to enlighten the other side of the globe.

A lion roars in the distance reminding me that the forest now belongs to its rightful owner…

Another nice thing about this road is that for some stretch it goes along the River Vennaru—one of the tributaries of River Kaveri—until a place called Thiruvarur. It is not uncommon to find some huge Ficus trees along the bank of this river with their roots falling on top of the water surface. It makes for an amazing sight to see kids grab these roots to swing back and forth, and plunge into water. I always fancied doing this someday but have sadly not managed so far. Hopefully some day in future!

We reached Thiruvarur to catch a train to reach our village. I was very excited about this train journey. When I was a kid, my parents used to take us to our native place every year during the summer holidays. The best part used to be this 20-minute train journey. It was great fun just sitting by the train window and watching the fast-moving trees and electric and telephone posts go past. When the train passed through some villages there used to be a bunch of kids standing by the rail tracks waving their hands happily and yelling out. As a kid, I never understood why they did that and why they were so happy to wave at strangers. Nevertheless, whenever I see them, I too wave back and it has always felt really good. Another exciting thing is the sound of the running train (..tadak..tadak..tadak..tadak…) and especially that distinct loud noise it makes when it passes through a bridge on a river (…dudun..dudun..dudun..dudun…). It used to move on a coal engine in old times and sometimes sitting by the window was not always fun. In a compartment near the engine you could get minute particles of coal and soot in your eyes, which spoil your experience of the journey. This time there was no such problem as the train ran on a diesel engine and interestingly the track has not changed. Still a metre gauge! I was by the window experiencing fast-moving trees, electric and telephone posts, waving at kids, listening to the music of train track on the river bridge. I watched birds perched on power lines and vast green sheets of paddy fields.

The train slowed and stopped at the station and I got down to see the first thing on my list. The banyan tree by the side of the ticket counter. No change. I was pleased. I passed a bazaar to reach our village and was greeted by some old familiar faces. As I entered the village, I looked at the pond by the temple (I learnt swimming in this very pond with a dry bottle gourd on my back as a float). The water was not looking very clear. Later I learnt that fishes are being cultured there now and the water is not potable anymore! One thing that still remained unchanged was the sight of cow-dung cakes on the parapet wall surrounding the pond. There are about four ponds in this village. I was walking towards the second one which has lotus and lilies, and a huge Madhuca indica tree by its side.  No change here as well.

These trees and ponds are natural landmarks that helped people find their way and directions. If I asked for a short-cut to my uncle’s house ten years ago, this is how the known local person would have explained…

From the lotus pond go straight and take the cart track which goes through the paddy fields. After about half a mile there will be an eecha tree (Phoenix sylvestris) with baya weaver bird nests, walk for about a mile from there and you will see a series of palm trees with toddy pots on it. From there take the road which goes north and you will see a small Shiva temple with a pond. Walk up to the fourth lamp post and you will see a poovarasu tree (Thespesia populnea) in front of one house…that’s your uncle’s house…

The date palm tree where the baya weavers used to nest

There is a nice tar road that goes to my village now, but I preferred to take the short-cut. I saw the Phoenix tree, but there was no baya nest; I saw palm trees, but no toddy tapping now. I remember having palm and coconut toddy when I was there last time. I wanted to have Phoenix toddy but the season was over. I wonder if I will have another chance to taste that ever!

I walked through the cart track with a paddy field on one side and a small canal on the other. I reached a small concrete bridge. I remember as a kid we used to sit on that parapet, fishing, using a long bamboo stick with suspended nylon thread and earthworms as bait in the hook. I got my first (and the last) fish from there. It could take us almost half a day to catch one long fish. I remember how fascinated we used to be to watch schools of fingerlings swimming on the clear water surface in that canal. I stopped there for a while and looked around. Vast spread of paddy field filled with spider webs gleaming in the morning sun. The irrigation canal hosting a checkered keelback snake that peeped out from the water and looked around like a periscope. A blue jay on top of a crown-less palm tree, black drongo and yellow-billed babblers sitting on a small nochi tree (Vitex negundo), palm swifts flying overhead, ditch jewels, yellow-tailed ashy skimmers, picture wings, and golden dartlets perched and flew along the canal bank vegetation. Crimson tips, danaid eggflies, and angled castors fluttered around as a lone crab on the bank of the canal moved slowly inside the turbid water. I was surrounded by  the nostalgic thoughts of my childhood days and the different lifeforms of my countryside.

Paddyfield full of spiderwebs

I looked at that moving crab and remembered how locals used to catch it. This crab is called vayal nandu in Tamil (crabs found in paddy fields—is it the Indian rice field crab Oziotelphusa senex senex Fabricius?). These crabs are not huge, like sea crabs, so they won’t yield much flesh but are very tasty when cooked with pepper. It was a dry season and burrows of these crabs along bunds of the paddy fields were visible prominently. People used a small kite made of very thin paper (sometimes very thin plastic sheets), which whirls when wind blows as it is twisted and bent to the shape of a wheel. While it rotates, it produces a sound somewhat like flowing water. They would keep this near the entrance of the burrow while inserting a stick/rod inside the burrow. If the crab catches the stick then they pull it out immediately. But it’s a meticulous work which needs quite a lot of patience. People believe that as the crab hears (?) the flowing-water sound from the kite, it believes that water has come and slowly comes out of the hole.  I am not sure about the hearing skills of crabs, however, inserting a rod into its burrow would surely irritate the crab to catch the other end of the rod and fall into collector’s vessel.

Peeping water snake and crawling crab.

I walked towards my house. It is still thatched with dry coconut leaves in the front and rest of the roof is tiled. Still the same mud walls. It is fenced with adu thoda plant (Justicia adhatoda earlier know as Adhatoda vasica—Adu thoda means in Tamil a plant avoided by goats and other cattle). After meeting my folks, I looked around that old house to find some of the things on my list. They are, the flying insect which goes inside the mud wall with a caterpillar, another insect which wags its tail up and down, a huge black flying insect, and a millipede. I saw all of them! The first one is a wasp which takes caterpillars and other small insects inside the mud wall and seals the hole after sometime. The second one is also a wasp (Evania sp.) that wags its abdomen constantly. This wasp deposits eggs in the egg capsules of cockroaches and the developing larvae feed on the cockroach eggs. The third is a carpenter bee (Xylocopa sp.). When we were kids, our elders told us that it was a kulavi, i. e. wasp in Tamil, although this insect belongs to bee family.  As a kid we were very scared of this insect, especially, of the buzzing noise it makes as it flies around you. I have seen this insect recently in other places but I was particularly interested to see their roosting or nesting site in our old village house. We generally see them going inside the bamboo pole which supports the tiles/thatches on the roof. And I was lucky to spot one this time. I wonder if we can even find this beautiful insect in concrete jungles, and even if we do, I wonder where they would roost or nest.

Some of the insects in my bucket list to see during my trip to the countryside

The last one is a black-and-yellow millipede. I remember everyone hates even the presence of this organism and women in particular. We generally see this millipede in moist walls, bathrooms, and near water taps. Sometimes we can see them in a group and they will fill that place with a strange unpleasant smell. I saw a group of millipedes in the backyard of our house. What was missing in that place was a red-and-black millipede. This one is double the size of the previous one. Apart from this black-and-yellow millipede the other interesting thing that I noticed in our backyard is an unusually high number of snails. I was hoping that this is not an invasive snail. In the quest for identification of this millipede, I later found that it is (Harpaphe haydeniana—yellow-spotted millipede) an exotic species native to America!

An alien yellow-spotted black millipede and a(n invasive?) snail

My next target was Naked Neck! Yes, it is a kind of chicken that I used to see in my village. This breed does not have feathers on their neck and vent. Only a bunch of feathers decorate the top of their head. Locally, it’s called as krappu kozhi, due to its funny-looking hair style! Krappu is a distorted Tamil version of crop—crop-cutting is one type of hair style in Tamil Nadu and kozhi is fowl. The hen and the chicks of the Naked Neck are really cute-looking things with a patch of feather on their head. This was added to my ‘bucket list’ just before my trip as I was reading an article on diversity in farm animals by Theodore Baskaran in one of the Tamil Magazines Uyirmmai (November 2010 issue- http://www.uyirmmai.com). In this article, he mentions how this type of breed is now rare to see as there is more demand for broiler chicken. I took a stroll on the streets of my village with some kids accompanying me searching for and inquiring about krappu kozhi. Although a few old people were aware of this type of chicken, they were unable to tell me where I could find it. Finally, in one corner of the village we manage to sight a Naked Neck rooster but not the hens or chicks. Upon searching on the internet on this, I found that Naked Neck is a breed originally from central Europe.

Naked Neck rooster

It was Diwali eve but there was hardly any noise of crackers. I sat with my folks on the steps of our house facing the street. We recalled our olden days when we used to go swimming in the temple pond, fishing in the canal, visiting our own paddy fields and, watching the toddy-tapper skilfully climbing the coconut trees and elegantly descend from there, constructing toy buildings with sticks by joining the unripe fruits of  Morinda pubescens, having stone-skipping competitions in the pond, riding in the bullock cart for temple festival, throwing stones at jamun and tamarind trees for fruits and hurriedly picking them up from the ground while competing with others, watching movies sitting on the sand in the only touring talkies of that village, panic-ridden cycle rides through the graveyard to the second show of the movie in our village and many such stories.

It was late evening. Street lights were on and the surroundings were filled with the cacophony of birds. But our stories of our past in the village continued like the non-stop call of the common hawk-cuckoo that was calling from the nearby neem tree…

Steep cliffs of the eastern coast of Tillanchong

We were camping on an uninhabited island called Tillangchong. The island has always remained a mystery even to researchers as getting access is very difficult. That’s why we chose to come here.

The island has about 5 bays, and in each of these bays extends a reef, and these reefs surface in low tide as they start from the low tide line at a depth of less than one meter and extend all the way into deep waters as deep as 25 meters. The island is about 100 km away from Camorta, in Central Nicobar. The narrow stretch of island has a mountainous terrain, and dense forest estimated at about 80-85 percent forest cover. My aim, in the visit to this island, was to evaluate the biological efficacy of the traditional management systems that exists in and around this island.

For several years, the coastal land of this island has yielded coconut plantations which are traditionally harvested by the villagers of Kakana district in Camorta and Trinket Island in the month of March. During the rest of the year the only other inhabitants are Thai or Burmese poachers, reputed to roam with sophisticated weapons and steal from people or kill on sight. Rumours float around that they are powerfully built and in their own country they are often thieves, murderers, major mafia figures and even former warlords. We have always been warned to be extra cautious while working on this island.

We had arrived four days ago on an expedition to survey corals and sea grass. We reached the island during the early hours of the morning, cleared the camp site, set the fire and put up the tent. That morning we walked along the beach and collected plenty of flotsam. In the afternoon we stretched out under the shade of large Pandanus trees along the shore when at a distance we sighted a dinghy headed straight for us. “These are Burmese poachers,” Emanuel said based on the years of experience to this island, “And as far as I know they are here to poach sea cucumbers.  They won’t harm us and will try to befriend us.” The dinghy stopped 100 m from our camping site and we all ran into the woods. We watched them through the leaves and they watched us through their binoculars. We did not move, they waited and waved at us and after 15 minutes continued their boat ride.

The next day we set off to survey the east coast of the island. We had just moved around the first head rock when we sighted the same dinghy of the previous day. Elrika insisted that we turn back but after contemplating we decided to move on. As we neared, we saw five men busy fishing under the hot sun. Elrika being the only girl on the boat decided it best to go unnoticed. She hid inside the hatch. The poachers looked at us and waved, and we waved back. They were calling us towards their boat; we signalled that we would come later. That afternoon we surveyed the entire eastern coast and got back to our camp late in the evening. That night I did not sleep well and had strange dreams of being attacked. A couple of times I heard the sound of their dingy and hoped that that would not turn to reality.

A rocky outcrop at the southern tip of the island

On the third day we cast off to survey the west coast of the island, a vital part of the island with mountainous volcanic-like terrain and beautiful corals. We raced down the vast blue-green water and headed north of the island. The tropical sun was hot and I felt it burn my skin even through my shirt. Sea birds were dancing along the shore. The water was crystal clear and the sun’s reflection through the water made it even brighter. We were diving and following standard procedures of data collection. Our boat was anchored close to the shore and Emanuel, Euriel and Cain were waiting on the boat.

We finished our dive and as we surfaced, Emanuel screamed “look there are men on the shore”. We got onto the boat and looked carefully. Three men were walking on the nearby shore. Yoayela started the boat engine and we approached the shore. We anchored the dinghy 100m away. Elrika hid.

Near the den of the poacher’s camp; their dinghies almost camouflaged

As we neared, the men ran taking shelter in the coastal forest. We spotted many heads. “They are Burmese and this is their camp site” said Emanuel. We waited for 10 minutes and signalled them to come out. We scanned the shore and at one end we saw 2 camouflaged dinghies. We were curious and we decided to go closer. As we neared, six men appeared from the forest. We stopped the engine and anchored the boat. They waved at us and called us onto the shore. Yoayela, our Karen (a Burmese tribe) field assistant was confident of making conversation as he knew a few words of Burmese. So Emanuel and he jumped into the water and swam toward them while we watched from a distance. Emanuel and Yoayela reached, and the men encircled them. In a while, they were shaking hands and communicating. The Burmese took them to one side of the shore and they sat down in a circle on the sand.

By now curiosity was killing me. I wanted to get to the shore but Elrika stopped me. I had to take a decision. Where would I ever get such an opportunity to meet them again…but a bit of fear held me immobile – What if they kill me? It’s a reasonable risk, I knew. But I couldn’t resist the temptation. “Okay I’m going”, I told myself sternly. I took a packet of biscuits and swam to the shore – for a brief instant I felt heroic.

As I neared the beach, two men approached me with a broad smile; I shook hands with them and gave them the packet of biscuits.   The shorter man kept one hand at all times around his machete slung behind him across his shoulder. He looked at me through the top of his cold, killer eyes and hit his hand on his chest pronouncing loudly: “I am Burma.” In response I hit my hand on my chest and said “I am India”. A tattered T-shirt hung from his muscular shoulders, and a dirty round cap was perched on his angular face. “Tenha yistin yealak” said he and started walking (I got here only yesterday and it took us five days to reach this island). I nodded my face and walked with them. The people at a distance seemed suspicious of my presence. They thought I was from the Navy or Police. But as they saw me closely, they were convinced. So far, so good, I thought. We all shook hands and sat down.

Some of them were comprehensively, celestially and magnificently stoned. They looked at me closely, inquisitive and uninhibited. They tried my snorkelling gear and touched my T-shirt, my curly hair and the tuft of long hair hanging at the nape of my neck. There was nothing invasive about these moments, since they arose from pure and untainted inquisitiveness. One of them climbed a nearby coconut tree, plucked tender coconuts and cut open a few and offered them to us. We soon got involved in a conversation. I realised Yoayela was interacting fluently with one man. His name was Saw Athoo and he too knew the Karen language.  So Yoayela and Athoo played the role of respective translators. He then sought to explain about me to the others by recounting how good I was and that I had met other Karens and he also made up a story about me being adopted and brought up in the Nicobars.

Yoayela, asked them why they chose travelling such a great distance illegally into foreign waters over finding means to earn money back in their hometown. Saw Athoo explained, “Our paddy fields have been submerged due to cyclones and other calamities. Half of the produce from the remaining land has to be given to our government. We are therefore left with no option but to travel foreign waters as it fetches more money to support our families”. I could not help thinking of the differences in our existence. When his family needs he must depart on a tiring dangerous journey. At home, I pop down to the local supermarket and in minutes I can find almost anything I want, although I rarely contemplate the convenience of this luxury.

We spoke of religion, politics, climate, economics, culture, marine life and life in general between the two countries, Yoayela and Athoo translating. We spent almost 1 hour together. As we were ready to leave, the short man gave me a 25-liter jerry can with diesel and said “this is Burma gift.” I refused to accept the gift but he insisted that I take it. In return, I had nothing to offer except my sincerest thanks, once again we shook hands and we swam back to the boat. Back on the boat, Elrika and the others were waiting anxiously. I was bombarded with questions and I answered them all. This was a happy day for me. I had interacted and shared a bond of friendship with strangers who are notorious for their acts.

Friends or foes?

The next day we surveyed the eastern part of the island and the bay where we were camping. At around 4 in the evening I walked through the forest to the small pond to take a much needed cleaning, with Elrika following. I was walking fast in the forest to avoid the mosquitoes waiting to feast on me. All of a sudden, I felt something strike my toe. I continued to walk but just managed to take a few steps and felt a bit uneasy. I sat down to examine the prick on my toe. I thought the thorn of a Pandanus leaf had lodged into my skin. There was a sudden excruciating pain and I could see a drop of blood trickle down. I held my foot tight in agony. Elrika ran toward me with a stick and moved the beast that was all ready to strike again. A sudden fear gripped me; I realized that I was just bitten by a Pit Viper. Elrika calmed me down and suggested that we get back to the camp as quickly as possible. I limped my way back and though the distance was not more than 200m, the path seemed never ending. I reached my tent and slumped on the ground, exhausted.

My new fear

Elrika called out to everyone and told them about the incident. Within minutes Yeaoyela, Euriel, Cain and Emanuel arrived – and the pace of action accelerated. Emanuel looked worried but at the same time he was calm and composed. He ran into the forest and got some jungle medicines, while Yeayola ran to the boat and got the machete. Meanwhile I kept myself busy recounting the details of the incident. In five minutes Emanuel was back with a bunch of leaves. Slowly he squeezed the juice out of those leaves on my entire foot. By now the toe was turning blue and we realized the importance of a lesion in order to let out the venom. Emanuel ordered me to hold my foot and he set off to make a tiny cut with the machete. I was scared. Common sense screamed, “Allow them to make the slit,” but the pain triggered my instinct to react otherwise.  I held my fist tighter and pushed everybody away. Repeated attempts were made to convince me but I was reluctant. Finally I took the needle and pierced myself.  Few drop of blood oozed out. I wiped out the blood but the foot continued to turn blue.

I could see the fear in Elrika’s eyes that manifested into anger because of my stubbornness. “VARDHAN! DO YOU WANT TO LOSE YOUR LEG?” she had the shaft of her hand stretched across my shoulder blade, pushing her weight against mine to pin me down, “Gangrene, Vardhan, that’s what it’ll lead to if you don’t treat it now!” Yoayela turned to her about to say something. He turned back to me, then turned to her and popped the question: “Should we take him to the poacher’s camp? It’s only a half hour away by dinghi.” He reasoned that there would be experienced elders who would be in a position to help me out. I saw the reservation in my heart reflected in Elrika’s eyes. They were Burmese…and poachers. We knew there were 22 of them, of which we had earlier only met six – what if the leader decided to kill us; that they didn’t want us around. But the nearest island with medical facilities was six hours away by boat. It was unanimously decided that I should be taken to the Burmese camp. Emanuel carried me to the boat. Yoayela and Cain started the boat engine and once again we were set off to meet the poachers. It had already turned dark and the only sound I could hear was the thumping of the boat engine and my heart beats, loud and clear, anxious to reach the destination of hope. I was watching the stars and holding my foot tighter. The pain was getting unbearable. I was counting every minute. Though I knew, I quietly asked Emanuel “How long will we travel?”

Forty minutes later, we were at their camp site. We anchored close to the shore and waited for some time. A group of poachers came to greet us on the shore. On seeing Emanuel carry me across the sand they realised something was wrong. Yoayela, explained to them about the snake bite. They examined my toe and tied a tourniquet below my calf muscle. They offered their shoulders for support while I limped along a winding path through the coastal forest that seemed to have no end. All the way they calmed me down and assured me that I would be fine. Mosquitoes and sand flies were having a feast on my poisoned blood.

Through the twists and turns I saw the light of their camp growing stronger and brighter till I was sure we’d reached their den. It was an open space, a clearing of almost 250 square meters – quite a surprise after the narrow winding path. On the left stood a wooden platform on stilts, 2 men stood at the edge of the platform boiling sea cucumbers in metal drums below. Their faces were blazing with the burning fire that made them sweat profusely. One of them smiled at me and came closer while the other continued working. On the right were three large wooden structures on stilts. The walls of these structures were made of bamboo mats. I was soon encircled by men and everybody seemed concerned. They were all talking a language that was difficult to understand but soothing to the ears. I was so amazed at the site that for a moment I forgot about the pain. Not for long.

I was offered to sit on a nearby platform next to a leathery old man. He was smiling, a distinct vast smile that covered almost half his face, as if he had been frozen in the middle of a belly laugh. When he learned of my misfortune, his expression changed to a strange mix of pride and worry. The wrinkles seemed to steady his hands with experience…or was it really mine they were steadying?

He put his hand on my chest and told me to calm down. He offered me water, lit a cigar, and immediately set to work. He instructed the others to hold my foot on the ground while he burned the area around the snake bite with the lit cigar. Emanuel, who had experienced my strength of resistance an hour earlier pinned my back into immobility between his knees and his arms, while three Burmese poachers held my leg down. Watching it made every jab of his burning cigar against my sensitised skin even more painful.

And then he applied some strong smelling balm which set my nerves ablaze. The old man wasted not a minute to heat the surgical blade which would slit a portion of my toe open; at one point I allowed hysteria to take refuge within me. Another man bit me, to remove the venom, but why was he hurting me? I wanted them to stop; just make it stop. And it did. The man stopped. I could hear, I could see, I could smell beyond pain. The pain stopped.

The old man believed in touch as the ultimate means of communion between man and man. He put his hand on my chest and assured me that I would be alright within a week. There was a confidence on his face and his touch. That touch from a stranger had a healing power. Suddenly I felt better. Later I was offered green tea and an energy drink. I gulped it down quickly. I offered my sincerest thanks to everybody around for getting the venom out of my body. One of them knew a few words of English. He asked me inquisitively, “What is your name,” and I answered. I asked him the same and he said “Pochala.” Later he asked me, “When Navy come?” I answered “I don’t know,” and told them, “You should not stay here and move away from here as fast as you’ll can”.

In a while, a pile of rice topped up with gravy was placed on my hand. We had to have dinner before we left the place. I looked at the pile of rice and looked at my watch. We had already spent 2 hours at their base camp and my thoughts were of Elrika. She was alone at the camp and it had turned dark. What must she be thinking? Will she be worried for our safety? Will she find the torch? What will she do sitting alone for so long? What if a wild boar or the crocodile whose tracks were found close to our camp attacked her in the darkness? I had to go back fast. Without hesitation I ate the entire chunk of rice. The food was spicy and tasty. I particularly liked the gravy and the meat pieces. Later I was told that the delicious meat was of a reptile – a Water-Monitor Lizard.

A water-Monitor lizard at the poacher’s camp

Having done that, I stood and said a final good bye to everybody. The old man decided to stay on at the camp. I looked into the old man’s eye and offered my thanks. I don’t know if he understood my feelings, but I guess my body language said everything that I had to say. He patted me on the back and I shook hands with him. Emanuel and Athoo gave me their shoulders and I limped to the shore as the others focused the torch on the small jungle path. The night was bright. I looked towards the water. Moonlight shattered on the water, shedding streaks in the crystal clear water. I was carried to the boat. I said a last good bye to my new friends that I may never meet in my lifetime. I thanked them a million times and I thanked my stars. In the minutes before the dingy started and spluttered away from the shore the short man I met first – the one who kept one hand on his machete while he shook mine with his free hand – held my hand once more and lightly squeezed them as a bond of friendship. I waved goodbye and continued till I could see them no longer.

Back at the camp Elrika was sitting alone on the shore, waiting for me and the others. I told her about all that had happened and she listened intently as if I was telling her a fairy tale. She was happy that they had got the venom out. I was tired and fell asleep in no time. That night I tossed and turned in my tent deliriously wandering through a dream world, alternately sodden with sweat and then racked with the intense foot pain. The morning brought no relief. We packed our tent and our bags. I was once again carried to the boat. In minutes the dinghy started and we moved further away from the island. The sea appeared wide and sluggish; I lay asleep on the boat on a pile of bags, with the hot breeze hitting my face. The sun seared my eyes; flares of cerise and magenta were steaming out of the island. I looked across rile and ruffle of the bay, I tried to fit my feelings within a frame of thoughts and facts. I thought of something my mother had once told me, “There is a kind of luck that is not more than being in the right place at the right time, a kind of inspiration that is not more than doing the right thing in right way, and both only happen when you empty your heart of ambition, purpose, and plan; when you give yourself completely, to the golden, fate filled moment. I was never sure what she meant by “giving yourself to golden fate filled moment” but with this incident I understood what she meant. The entire experience shunned me and probably helped me to understand the dimension of humanity.

Today we have also launched The Weekly Wildlife, Nature and Conservation Photography Contest, where you can post photographs related to that week’s theme. Other members of the group will vote for the photographs they like best and at the end of the week, votes are counted and a winner is declared.

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