While coffee is grown by the relatively well-off, farmers in the plains rarely have the capital to invest into seeds and fertilisers each sowing season. They borrow from local moneylenders, who charge annual interest rates between 40 and 300 percent. Few farmers are able to repay these debts, which turn into crippling inheritances passing from father to son.

For decades, this was the saga of farming here. But since the 1990s, a massive but quiet economic revolution has unfolded, driven by trade in a rather unusual commodity.

Cattle dung. Nearly all the 30,000 farmers in these dry-lands keep cattle, mainly as draught animals and also for dung, traditionally an important input into farming. Farmers began selling this humble cow-dung because it fetched a far higher price than chemical fertilisers: for the price of one kilo of cow-dung you could buy 10 times its subsidised chemical equivalent.

But who was buying such expensive manure? It was coffee growers from the adjoining hills. They had had a major windfall in the early 1990s from soaring global coffee prices. The market leaders, Brazil and Colombia, suffered a series of frosts and droughts to which they lost half their produce. This seriously dented the global supply and pushed prices to heights never seen before. Smaller players like India made a killing, bringing massive profits to coffee growers in this region.

Flush with cash, they sought organic manure because it improved the yield and quality of coffee. And of course, conscientious and discerning consumers like you and I were willing to pay higher prices for coffee grown on organic inputs. Does this not sound like a fantastic example of consumer choice benefitting the last link in the value chain—the impoverished farmer of our story who supplied cow-dung to the coffee grower?

But, let’s not stop with the farmer. Let us take this story a step further. Lying just beyond the fields of these farmers is a large and spectacular tract of forest, stretching from Nagarahole and Wayanad, to Bandipur and Mudumalai. Together, these jungles hold nearly a fifth of the world’s remaining tigers and Asian elephants.

Is our demand for organic coffee driving elephants in southern India to the brink?

Which brings us to the twist. The cow-dung that goes into organic coffee, comes straight out of the cattle that graze—illegally—inside the last strongholds of the tiger and the elephant. Farmers have nowhere but these fragile forests to graze their cattle, which number in lakhs. And since the dung trade began, their populations have risen sharply. These cattle convert the forests, with ruthless efficiency, into first class manure. As they have marched in, the forests have retreated and the numbers of wild herbivores—deer, wild cattle and elephants—have declined.

Thus, in a strange juxtaposition only globalisation can bring, the frosts in faraway Brazil and, not to forget, conscientious consumers of organic coffee worldwide, have helped convert some of the best and last remaining elephant and tiger forests in the world first into cow-dung and then into coffee.

So, as you take your next sip of coffee, perhaps you want to check if it tastes… just a little bit strange.

- M D Madhusudan and Pavithra Sankaran

This article appeared in the Times of India dated 25 June 2010.

An endangered lion-tailed macaque lies dead on the road in a rain forest fragment in the Western Ghats. (Photo: Kalyan Varma)

Crunch! Splat! Thud! A daily massacre is occurring under the wheels of our vehicles. Thousands of lives are snuffed out tragically, instantaneously, and yet, we hardly notice.

Around India, as in other parts of the world, millions of animals risk daily encounter with increasingly fast vehicles plying on an expanding meshwork of roads and highways. Roads through our countryside and forests and the people who drive vehicles on these routes cause the highest toll. This is a toll of actual lives—a headcount of animals crushed to death or else greviously injured and mutilated. Even leaving aside domestic dogs and cats, an indiscriminate diversity of wild species from butterflies, squirrels, lizards, and partridges to more threatened species such as leopard cats to tigers and lions, mouse deer to sambar and elephant, lorises to langurs and lion-tailed macaques, and sheildtail snakes to king cobras come to a sticky end.

The scale of the problem is imposing. India boasts of having the second largest road network in the world, second only to the United States. According to India’s National Economic Survey of 2007 ― 08, this is no less than 3.34 million kilometres [1]. Although only around half of this is surfaced and less than 2 percent of this comprises National Highways, the latter alone account for 40% of our total traffic. Like many things in India, the ‘total’ in that expression is a very large number indeed. In 2006, India already had around 86 million registered motor vehicles. A study [2] from IIM, Lucknow, records that the distance travelled in a year by a person in India (averaged across the entire population) soared from 285 km in 1950 — 51 to 3,470 km in 2000 — 01. At the time of writing, even this has nearly doubled. The study also estimates a staggering total motorized traffic volume of around 5,600 billion passenger-kilometres per year, currently. With an annual rate of increase hovering around 7 – 8%, this is poised to skyrocket to nearly 13,000 billion passenger kilometres by 2020.

With such traffic, it would be scarcely surprising if animal kill rates were high, too. Roads passing through forest and other natural areas such as grasslands and wetlands are of greater concern from a conservation point of view. The few studies that are available from Indian forests indicate a grave situation already. Studies have documented kills ranging from dragonflies and butterflies, to many larger mammals and birds including carnivores [3]. Around noon in Nagarahole – Bandipur in southern India, as 50 – 100 vehicles zip past every hour, a study patiently documented around 40 kills of insects such as butterflies and dragonflies for every 10 km every day, doubling over the weekends with increased traffic. A rough calculation indicates that vehicles here kill around 15,000 animals every year in just that 10 km of road [4]. In the Anamalai hills of southern India, a study of road kills of reptiles and amphibians found that around 6 were killed per 10 km of road every day during the monsoon [5]. Conservative extrapolation would suggest that a 100 km stretch of road through forests here witnesses an annual slaughter of around 10,000 amphibians and reptiles. Even this estimation is based on a study carried out 10 years ago when traffic volumes were much lower. Widening of roads and unregulated, ill-planned tourist influx has, if anything, made things worse.

Reptiles, such as this vine snake, and amphibians are among the worst hit in road kills. Photo: Kalyan Varma

Species struggle to survive

Such patterns of death on the highways are a common feature wherever roads traverse our forests, grasslands, and wetlands. Along the Western Ghats alone—a hill range much touted as a centre of amphibian and reptilian diversity with so many new species even now being discovered and described—hundreds of thousands are probably killed every year. These numbers should not make us proud that we have so many animals to subject to such wanton slaughter—that would merely be a dangerous assumption, a form of denial, or sheer ignorant optimism. Neither can we take heart from areas where few deaths are now seen along roads, until we can be certain that this is not due to populations having already been pushed over the brink.

Planners and managers neglect to take the problem seriously. Even when they are aware of the issue, they feel nothing needs to be done because they believe that while many are killed on roads, many others escape and the species can survive. What they fail to understand is that the additional mortality on roads can tilt the demographic scale against a population that already grapples with various natural factors and human-caused disturbances for survival. Studies from elsewhere have revealed that the negative effects of high traffic density can be as serious as direct loss of forest cover for amphibians and traffic needs to be avoided or maintained at low density for up to 2 km around breeding ponds if frog diversity is to be conserved in the landscape [6]. Another study estimates that even if 10% or more of the adults annually risk being killed by vehicles along roads near breeding areas, the population will eventually perish [7].

In most cases, all that the animal is trying to do is, like the proverbial chicken, to get to the other side. The road surface and corridor itself is of little use to most animals. Perhaps a dove or myna would find some fallen scraps of food worth eating, a lizard or snake may be attracted to bask on the hot surface, as to a rock on a sunny day. Dragonflies and mayflies may be attracted to the polarized light emanating from the asphalt, a form of light pollution that fools them into believing that they are over the surface of a water body [8]. As they fly around to feed or defend territories or even try to lay eggs on the water-road, they imperil their own survival. And then the road becomes an ecological death-trap [9], where the very adaptations evolved over millenia to enable these species to locate their food and thrive in their environment now nudge them to their death.

Even quick-footed species, such as this leopard cat, get killed with the increasingly faster traffic. Photo: Kalyan Varma

Deadly break in tree cover

The roadkill threat is not something only ground-dwelling face. The threat of roadkills is particularly acute for many tree-dwelling species that do not normally cross on the ground. With roads mercilessly slicing through our forests and government departments and road contractors recklessly widening roads and slashing all vegetation, including regenerating trees and saplings on either side, the tree cover breaks over the road. Besides loss of natural vegetation and native species typical to each area, this causes increased soil erosion and landslides. This leads to further expenditure in road maintenance—providing further opportunity for ecological damage. All of this adds to wastage of public money, while also wrecking the tree cover that would have allowed many species to safely cross the road overhead.

Unable to cross overhead using the overlapping branches of intact forest canopies, the animals now face a permanent problem—a serious, life-threatening challenge—of a gap caused by the break in tree cover over the road. That crossing, even if takes only a few seconds or minutes, can be an agonisingly long and threatening one for an animal trying to cross even a moderately busy road. In the absence of tree cover, arboreal animals are sometimes forced to use electric wires of powerlines to cross, leading to the double jeopardy of electrocution deaths for species such as lorises and lion-tailed macaques [10]. The roads and powerlines through our forests are increasingly turning into graveyards of tree-dwelling species such as monkeys, lorises, civets, squirrels, and tree shrews.

Animals may also be seriously stressed or change their behaviour in the vicinity of roads. Studies from Africa on elephants and chimpanzees, have shown how they tend to avoid roads and change their behaviour, due to the associated risks as one would expect from such highly intelligent species [11].

An elephant mother uses her body to shield her calf from an approaching vehicle as they cross the road. Photo: Kalyan Varma

Other factors may compound the road problem. The building of culverts, fencerails, barricades, chain-link and barbed-wire fences, and other concrete and metal structures along roads makes the crossing even more difficult. Parapet-like walls running without a break for hundreds of metres or kilometres along roads, especially on hill roads, become insurmountable obstacles for species such as porcupines, pangolins, turtles, young birds and mammals, to name just a few. On hill slopes disfigured by such roads, even large animals such as sambar and elephants have to negotiate the upper slope, cross the road, and try to somehow step or jump over roadside walls and culverts to step or land safely on the steep lower slope. Another compounding factor is the attraction of animals to road-killed carcasses, which may lead to further deaths from speeding vehicles until the carcass is safely disposed away from the road.

As roads become wider and busier, the number of animals crossing and the rate of roadkill usually increases, but beyond a point it may actually begin to decrease [12]. This usually happens when roads become four-laned highways or expressways catering to tens of thousands of vehicles every day. The reduction may be due to the decimation of wildlife populations along the road as well as a ‘barrier’ effect, where many animals actively avoid the road and avoid crossing it [13]. A road like this passing through a forest or key natural habitat essentially cleaves it into two pieces. For many species, this is an added fragmentation of an already fragmented habitat [14].

Impact of ecological changes

In addition, roads are now well known to cause various ecological changes, leading to a wide range of impacts including many, often unnoticed, detrimental effects on wildlife [15]. The disturbance associated with roads and the opening created by the road corridor does favour some species; unfortunately, these are mostly undesirable ones. Alien weeds spread along roads using them as highways to invade into ecosystems [16]. The exposure along the road dessicates and dries vegetation, making it more prone to fires. Trees are more exposed, too, and may fall due to high wind speeds along the road or suffer from stress related to altered ecology. All of these contribute to permanent and chronic changes in the environment and habitat, thereby affecting wildlife and ecosystem health.

Yet, this is only a small part of the story. No study has yet comprehensively addressed all animal taxa from invertebrates such as snails and ants to large creatures such as peafowl and elephants. Even the studies carried out so far may underestimate the true damage. Many animals are struck and badly wounded by vehicles along roads but manage to flee or drag themselves away from the road corridor to die unseen and unrecorded by researchers some distance away. It is not unusual for road-killed animals to be removed off the road or consumed by scavengers, including people, and thereby the kills go unrecorded. Even when dead animals on the road are noticed, other pervasive problems related to the road within forest areas are overlooked. This includes animals killed during road construction, earthwork and annual maintenance operations, particularly slow-moving and burrowing species such as turtles, snakes, and soil fauna.

Poor data on forest roads

No study has yet even catalogued the extent of roads through natural areas, especially forests, across India or the loss of forest cover due to roads. A notable exception, from Garo Hills in Meghalaya, showed that just in this region the 456 ha of biodiversity-rich forest was lost to roads between 1971 and 1991 [17]. Another long-term aspect is the issue of increased access: people moving in and settling or polluting otherwise remote areas.

While more studies on road ecology are required in India, there is also urgent need to use existing information and experiences from other countries to begin to reduce and avoid this carnage [18]. This requires the immediate attention and close coordination of ministries and departments related to roads and forests (or other natural ecosystems). Most important, it requires the attention of the citizen, the casual driver, the tourist—particularly the vehicle-based ‘eco-tourist’—whose individual initiative, sensitivity, and care could save thousands of animal lives.

A range of measures could help remedy the situation. Some are merely engineered quick-fixes that can help in certain locations or in the short-term, such as artificial ‘canopy bridges’ for movement of arboreal mammals [19]. Other measures include proper deployment of speed breakers in roads through forests, creation of underpasses and overpasses that are well-designed keeping in mind the ecology and behaviour of the species whose mortality rate is sought to be mitigated. Signboards informing people to look out for and allow wildlife to cross and measures to check overspeeding may also be implemented. Such short-term measures, if implemented based on research that has identified roadkill ‘hotspots’ can have very positive effects. For example, the installation of just four speed-bumps along 1.5 km of highway passing through a forest in Zanzibar, helped reduced the mortality of threatened red colobus monkeys by 85% in first nine months itself. Prior to this, every year, vehicles used to kill 15% of the colobus monkey population living near the road [20]. Slowing down vehicles at key locations is a very crucial aspect that reduces likelihood of road kill while providing greater reaction time for drivers and animals to evade a collision.

Longer-term and more sustained measures require a deeper understanding of the landscape through which roads pass and a greater sensitivity to the species we share this world with. The number, extent, and width of roads passing through forests and wetlands should be strictly regulated. Improvements to the quality of the road surface and adequate signages should be the emphasis for driver comfort and safety, not increasing the number of lanes or width of the road or the speed with which vehicles can traverse these crucial stretches. As there is virtually no understanding of these issues among planners, land managers, and the wider public, despairing conservationists today regard narrow, bad roads as a great boon, one that is surpassed only by the complete absence of roads.

Encourage vegetation growth

A key long-term measure is to encourage natural vegetation on either side of the road. Currently, vast amounts of public money is wasted in slashing all vegetation on either side of thousands of kilometres of road, with the spurious claim that this improves visibility or makes the road safer. In fact, dense weed growth rapidly chokes up the opened spaces on roadsides, replacing more pleasing and open, natural, native vegetation. In forest areas where tree cover would have naturally shaded out weed growth—performing a public service at no cost and with considerable aesthetic benefits—the opened spaces with obnoxious weed growth now represent a wasteful annual cost of repeated slashing in the guise of road maintenance. The lack of any understanding that good, stable, and safe roads really need consideration of ecological aspects as well, is one of the glaring failings of the government and road construction companies.

An example of a good forest road, used even by trucks and buses, with unbroken canopy over the road. Photo: NCF

The design and adoption of regulations is urgently needed. Forest roads should mandatorily retain and maintain tree canopy connectivity over the road. Where such connectivity has been lost, at a minimum, for every 200 metres of road, a 50-m-wide stretch needs to be marked off with signs and speed breakers and the tree canopy with overlapping branches re-established overhead. Efforts to establish and maintain such stretches should begin as a top priority along all roads through our wildlife sanctuaries, national parks, tiger reserves, reserved forests, and their buffer zones.

Guidelines need to be involved keeping specific species and landscape considerations in mind. For instance, in tropical forests of equatorial Africa, the home of the highly endangered great apes (gorillas and chimpanzees), the IUCN has prepared best-practice guidelines on a range of issues, including road planning [21]. This includes recommendations to plan roads at least 5 km away from protected area boundaries, reduce road width of primary roads to less than 7.5 m (less than 12.5 m including graded portion and shoulders) and width of secondary roads to less than 4.5 m (8.5 m including shoulders), avoiding road construction in closed-canopy forests, minimising the number of secondary roads, and re-using old roads rather than build new roads. There has been some effort to develop such guidelines in India [22], but there is much more to be done.

Forest areas around the world, including in India, are transected by a large number of old, unused, and unnecessary roads (e.g., old logging coupe roads, roads built during dam construction, or as ‘game’ roads for hunting). It is time to undo the damage wrought by these roads by actively removing these roads and ecologically restoring natural vegetation. Although the methods available for road removal may cause some short-term disturbance, research has clearly established the conservation benefits in the medium- and long-term [23].

An overarching need, although perhaps the most difficult one, is the sensitisation and involvement of individual drivers. A vast majority of drivers probably have no deliberate will to kill animals. They presumably have no wish to cause lasting harm to the environment or to the public exchequer by insisting on roads made and managed by ecologically illiterate and insensitive agencies. When individuals become aware and begin to care it can have two useful effects. As drivers, they can adopt more responsible driving practices, watch out for and respect animal crossings, and avoid other unsavoury practices such as feeding animals by roadsides. This, as a direct contribution, can help save hundreds to thousands of animal lives over an average driver’s lifetime. Second, by example, by persuasion, or ultimately by their vote in a ballot box, they can indirectly influence others to save thousands of lives, minimise ecological damage, help to improve roads, and make the driving experience along roads through natural areas infinitely more pleasant. When the paths of people and animals cross, each can then go their own way, leaving behind not a flattened carcass but the memory of a pleasant encounter.

Footnotes

[1] Economic Survey 2007-2008, Ministry of Finance, Government of India. Link accessed 17 April 2009.

[2] Singh, S. K. (2008) CO2 emissions from passenger transport in India: 1950-51 to 2020-21. Proceedings of the Better Air Quality 2008 Workshop, Bangkok, Thailand. Link accessed 17 April 2009.

[3] Chhangani, A. K. (2004) Frequency of avian road-kills in Kumbhalgarh Wildlife Sanctuary, Rajasthan, India. Forktail 20: 110-111.

Kumara, H. N., Sharma, A. K., Kumar, M. A., and Singh, M. (2000) Roadkills of wild fauna in Indira Gandhi wildlife sanctuary, Western Ghats, India: implications for management. Biosphere Conservation 3: 41-47.

Sundar, K. S. G. (2004). Mortality of herpetofauna, birds and mammals due to vehicular traffic in Etawah district, Uttar Pradesh, India. Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society 101: 392-398.

Radhakrishna,S. Goswami, A. B. and Sinha , A. (2006) Distribution and Conservation of Nycticebus bengalensis in Northeastern India. International Journal of Primatology 27: 971-982.

Areendran, G. and Pasha, M. K. S. (2000) Gaur Ecology Project, Report, Wildlife Institute of India, Dehradun.

Johnsingh, A. J. T., Sankar, K. and Mukherjee, S. (1997) Saving prime tiger habitat in Sariska Tiger Reserve. Cat News 27: 3-4.

[4] Rao, R. S. P. and Girish, M. K. S. (2007) Road kills: Assessing insect casualties using flagship taxon. Current Science 92: 830-837.

[5] Vijayakumar, S. P., Vasudevan, K. and Ishwar, N. M. (2001) Herpetofaunal mortality on roads in the Anamalai Hills, southern Western Ghats. Hamadryad 26: 265–272.

[6] Eigenbroda, F. Hecnarb, S. J., Fahrig , L. (2008) The relative effects of road traffic and forest cover on anuran populations. Biological Conservation 141: 35–46.

[7] Gibbs, J. P. and Shriver, W. G. (2005) Can road mortality limit populations of pool-breeding amphibians? Wetlands Ecology and Management 13: 281–289 .

[8] Horváth, G., Kriska, G., Malik, P. and Robertson , B. (2009) Polarized light pollution: a new kind of ecological photopollution. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment 7; doi:10.1890/080129.

[9] Robertson, B. A. and Hutto, R. L. (2006) A framework for understanding ecological traps and an evaluation of existing evidence. Ecology 87: 1075-1085.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecological_traps

[10] Radhakrishnan, S. and Singh, M. (2002) Conserving the Slender Loris (Loris lydekkerianus lydekkerianus). Pages 227-231, National Seminar on Conservation of Eastern Ghats, March 24- 26, 2002, held at Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh; personal observations.

[11] Hockings, K. J., Anderson, J. R., Matsuzawa, T. (2006). Road crossing in chimpanzees: A risky business. Current Biology 16: R668-670. Watch movie here.

Blake, S., Deem, S. L., Strindberg, S., Maisels, F., Momont, L. Isia, I., Douglas-Hamilton, I.,Karesh, W. B., Kock, M. D. (2008) Roadless wilderness area determines forest elephant movements in the Congo Basin. PLoS ONE 3(10): e3546. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0003546

[12] Seiler, A. (2003) The toll of the automobile: wildlife and roads in Sweden. PhD thesis. Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences, Uppsala. Link accessed 11 Feb 2009.

[13] Laurance, S. G. and Gomez, M. S. (2005) Clearing width and movements of understory rainforest birds. Biotropica 37: 149–152.

Laurance, S. G., Stouffer, P. C. and Laurance, W. F. (2004) Effects of road clearings on movement patterns of understory rainforest birds in Central Amazonia. Conservation Biology 18: 1099–1109.

Goosem, M. (2001) Effects of tropical rainforest roads on small mammals: inhibition of crossing movements. Wildlife Research 28: 351–364.

[14] Goosem, M. (2007) Fragmentation impacts caused by roads through rainforests. Current Science 93: 1587-1595.

See also this article by Rhett Butler on roads as enablers of rainforest destruction.

[15] Noss, R. The ecological effects of roads. Link accessed 17 April 2009;

Spellerberg , I. F. (1998) Ecological effects of roads and traffic: a literature review. Global Ecology and Biogeography Letters 7: 317-333;

Forman, R. T. T. and Alexander, L. E. (1998) Roads and their major ecological effects. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 29:207-231;

Trombulak, S. C. and Frissell, C. A. (2000) Review of ecological effects of roads on terrestrial and aquatic communities. Conservation Biology 14: 18-30;

Donaldson A. and Bennett A. (2004) Ecological effects of roads: implications for the internal fragmentation of Australian parks and reserves. Parks Victoria Technical Series No. 12. Parks Victoria, Melbourne.

Fahrig, L., and Rytwinski, T. (2009) Effects of roads on animal abundance: an empirical review and synthesis. Ecology and Society 14(1): 21.

[16] Gelbard, J. L. and Belnap, J. (2003) Roads as conduits for exotic plant invasions in a semiarid landscape. Conservation Biology 17: 420–432.

[17] Bera, S. K., Basumatary, S. K., Agarwal, A. and Ahmed, M. (2006) Conversion of forest land in Garo Hills, Meghalaya for construction of roads: a threat to the environment and biodiversity. Current Science 91: 281–284.

[18] Forman, R. T. T., Sperling, D., Bissonette, J., Clevenger, A., Cutshall, C., Dale, V., Fahrig, L., France, R., Goldman, C., Heanue, K., Jones, J., Swanson, F., Turrentine, T., Winter, T. (2002) Road Ecology: Science and Solutions. Island Press, Washington, D. C. Read review here.

http://www.wildlifeandroads.org

http://www.peopleandwildlife.org.uk/biblio.shtml#road

[19] Weston, N. (2002) Why did the ringtail cross the road? Using Rainforest Research, Cooperative ResearchCentre for Tropical Rainforest Ecology and Management, Australia.

Goosem, M., Izumi, Y. and Turton, S. (2001) Will underpasses below roads restore habitat connectivity for tropical rainforest fauna? Ecological Management and Restoration 2: 196–202. See also this article about faunal underpasses.

Laurance, W. F., Goosem, M. and Laurance, S. G. W. (in press) Impacts of roads and linear clearings on tropical forests. Trends in Ecology and Evolution in press.

[20] The Zanzibar Red Colobus Monkey: behavior, ecology, and conservation. DVD documentary, T. T. Struhsaker, Department of Biological Anthropology and Anatomy, Duke University, USA.

[21] Morgan, D. and Sanz, C. (2007) Best practice guidelines for reducing the impact of commercial logging on great apes in Western Equatorial Africa. IUCN SSC Primate Specialist Group (PSG), Gland, Switzerland. 32 pp.

[22] Rajvanshi, A., Mathur, V. B., Teleki, G. C., Mukherjee, S. K. (2001) Roads, sensitive habitats and wildlife: environmental guidelines for India and South Asia. Wildlife Institute of India, Dehradun.

[23] Switalski, T. A., Bissonette, J. A., DeLuca, T. H., Luce, C. H. and Madej, M. A. (2004) Benefits and impacts of road removal. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment 2: 21-28.

The Anamalai landscape showing Vazhachal Forest Division and the adjoining Protected Areas (dark green)

Rainforests extend as far as the eye can see. The twin peaks of Karimala Gopuram (in Parambikulam Wildlife Sanctuary) are visible in the distance while the Lower Sholayar reservoir is seen in the foreground

I first visited Vazhachal in February 2008 with some of our Western Ghats research team comprising Raghunath and Drs. A.J.T. Johnsingh and M.D. Madhusudan. We approached from Chalakudy and reached the Forest Rest House near the Athirapally falls by late afternoon. The Chalakudy river negotiates big rocks at Athirapally and cascades down in three big plumes. This water then rushes down in a torrent just outside the rest house before continuing its journey through the Vazhachal forests. Even inside the rest house, the muffled roar of the water is always audible. We were surveying the Parambikulam – Vazhachal region to assess the status of the habitat for large mammals. The next day we intended to drive to Valparai but in the interim, we decided that it would be worth taking a short night drive to see if we could spot some wildlife. Soon after we left the falls, we ran into a herd of four elephants with a small calf. Startled by the sudden appearance of our headlights, the pachyderms were decidedly nervous, pondering whether to cross the road or bide their time, their jerky movements and staccato trumpeting reflecting their mood. Vinod, the Forest Guard who had been assigned to accompany us, muttered nervously as we crawled forward. Without warning, a lone motorcyclist came around a bend from the opposite direction and, unaware of the danger lurking a few feet away, passed within arm’s length of the herd. The elephants appeared taken aback which is probably why they did not react. As one of us used a flashgun, the elephants started in alarm, making Vinod mumble frenziedly, convinced of an imminent fatal charge. The matriarch moved towards us truculently while the others closed protectively around the calf. We were forced to reverse the vehicle around 300 m, where we switched off the headlights and watched in silence for a quarter of an hour as the herd crossed in the moonlight.

The Chalakudy river cascading past the Forest Rest House

Along this road to Vazhachal, there is hardly a spot where elephant signs are not visible. They are everywhere in the form of fresh and old dung, strips of bark ripped off tree trunks, broken and twisted reed culms and occasionally, the strong unmistakable smell of elephants close at hand albeit out of sight. On several occasions, I have been stopped by nervous bikers, inquiring about the presence of elephants on the road I had just passed through. Nilgiri langurs are also ubiquitous along this stretch of forest, the silence being frequently punctuated by their joyous whoomps. At any point along the route, if one waits a while in silence, there is a fair chance that one will spot a troop feeding or cavorting in the canopy. The Vazhachal forests are also rich in hornbills, with all four species of peninsular India, the Malabar grey, Indian grey, Malabar pied and great hornbills reportedly occurring. Other than the Indian grey hornbill, I have had quite a few sightings of each of the other three species in these forests. The resonating calls and booming wing beats of great hornbills are also frequently audible here. I remember one evening drive being particularly fruitful, when we saw seven Nilgiri langur troops and a solitary great hornbill before dusk and 13 sambar, a porcupine, two sloth bears and two leopards by the time we reached the rest house at around 8:00 PM. I have also seen the southern birdwing, India’s largest butterfly species, here.

Once when going to a tribal settlement located near this road, I came across a group of Kadar tribals accompanied by around 20 dogs of all sizes, colours and ages. This was obviously a hunting party. The tribesmen initially denied that they were out on a hunt but under friendly questioning aided by copious quantities of biscuits and peanut candy, finally admitted that they would catch small animals such as monitor lizards, hares and mouse deer if they chanced upon them. Without a doubt, such a large pack of dogs would have had no problem in bringing down even large-bodied species such as the sambar. Hunting is a major threat for wildlife in Kerala and has resulted in the “empty forest” syndrome in many parts of the state where habitat exists but wildlife populations have largely been decimated. Although the tribal population may be hunting in a more sustainable manner by meeting only their immediate consumption needs, it is a moot point as to whether the same can be said of the local settlers who have immigrated from other parts of Kerala and from neighbouring Tamil Nadu to take up residence in and around these forests.

Regrettably, the continued existence of this road in its present state has been jeopardized by a proposal for its widening and upgradation into a National Highway connecting Pollachi in Tamil Nadu with Chalakudy. It does not need much imagination to think of the disastrous consequences of increased traffic volumes and associated human activities on this pristine habitat and its fauna. However, the most serious threat to the existence of the Vazhachal forests is the Athirapally Hydroelectric Project, a 163 megawatt project that was proposed by the Kerala State Electricity Board in 1994. The Government of Kerala is proceeding with this proposal to build a dam five kilometres upstream of the Athirapally falls and 400 m upstream of the Vazhachal rapids at a cost of Rs. 675 crore. However, environmental groups have opposed the project on grounds that the dam will require the diversion of forest land, elephant corridors will be cut off, the picturesque Athirapally waterfalls may eventually fade into insignificance, people downstream of the dam may not get enough drinking water and the composition of the fish fauna of the Chalakudy river will be altered. The Athirapally area recently came into prominence with the discovery of Lagenandra nairii, a new species of fish. Besides, Gymnema khandalense, a rare medicinal plant earlier thought to be restricted to the Sahayadri region of the northern Western Ghats, reportedly occurs here. The Athirapally River Forum, supported by other NGOs, has filed a petition against the construction of this dam in the Kerala High Court. Over harvesting of reeds (Ochlandra sp.) to the tune of 200 metric tonnes annually, human encroachments of forest land, penstock pipelines disrupting connectivity for terrestrial mammals and high-tension powerlines disrupting canopy contiguity for arboreal mammals are some of the other threats to the forests of Vazhachal.

The magnificent Athirapally falls are in danger of drying up

Penstock pipelines deter the movements of terrestrial mammals

Much of the Vazhachal forests are due to be added as a buffer to the proposed Parambikulam Tiger Reserve. This is certainly a blessing since only its inclusion as a Critical Tiger Habitat will prevent the exploitation of these forests, a very important stretch for the movement of elephants and also among the best established breeding habitats for Malabar pied and great hornbills in the Western Ghats. However, much time has passed and the final notification of Parambikulam Tiger Reserve is still pending owing to ongoing boundary disputes and negotiations. In the interest of conservation, it is imperative that a decision be reached soon.

On a humorous note, I was once unable to procure a room in one of the rest houses in Vazhachal due to tourist bookings and was forced to spend a night in a Forest Department dormitory. Although the rest houses are well maintained, the same cannot be said of the dormitories which have fallen into a state of disrepair and resemble haunted buildings. Fortunately, I was accompanied by Sasi, my trusty field assistant, that night. We retired early after a simple dinner at a local stall. The rooms were stuffy, there was no electricity and the musty mattresses were riddled with gaping holes and crawling with bedbugs. We dragged a couple of the relatively better-looking mattresses onto the verandah, closed the collapsible gate in case an elephant or a leopard decided to pay a visit and dozed off. Sometime later, I was woken by a sensation of something nibbling at my toes. A flash of my torch revealed a large black rat. My yell of disgust awoke Sasi, who started shouting frantically from the other end of the verandah, certain that something was attacking me. We did not sleep thereafter, and spent the rest of the night swatting bedbugs and watching out for rats. At daybreak we hit the road again with alacrity, the invigorating air refreshing us within a few minutes.

Will these forests remain this way? For the future of the tiger and elephant in the southern Western Ghats, it is imperative that they do

Photographs by Kamolika

A bizarre encounter with a couple of wild dogs recently etched an indelible mark on my mind. Wild dogs are generally known to be averse to human presence. But our recent encounter with this beautiful canid is bit different. Commonly, naturalists and wildlife photographers take pains to watch them from a distance and photograph them. But this time, roles were swapped. It was their turn now. They watched us …..from a distance.

This anecdote goes two-three weeks back when the rain gods had mercy and Valparai got a breather from the heavy showers that engulfed it during the past one month. It was a sunny day with intermittent showers and the weather seemed perfect for a long drive. We unanimously decided to undertake a long drive and zeroed in on Shekalmudi as the destination, at a distance of about 30 kilometres from Valparai.

We passed through several tea estates, stopping for brief photography sessions on the way. At Solayar dam, we topped to catch a quick bite. Post-lunch we crossed a small market place after the dam and just when we were out of its din and entering the tea estate again, we caught sight of a wild dog sitting on the edge of a tea garden.

The tea garden was about six feet above the level of the road and the mud around perfectly blended with its reddish brown coat but it was the green tea bushes in the background that gave it away. It was late in the afternoon, say 2.30 p.m. The wild dog was watchful and appeared to be on guard resting behind a stone. It was totally unprepared for our sudden intrusion. It must have seen many a passer by, but none who would stop and watch it and least of all pull out gadgets and click pictures.

Fearing it would flee at our unanticipated appearance, without much ado we clicked as many pictures of it as possible till the dog started becoming wary and uneasy at our presence and very reluctantly walked into the bushes. We peeked through the bushes lest we miss out on some other member of its pack, but there were none in the vicinity. Contemplating various reasons why a wild dog opted to sit at the edge of a tea garden looking out on the road, we hypothesized that probably there was a kill in the tea bushes yonder there which it was guarding. The air around was rent with a foul stench of dead meat, which further strengthened our supposition.

After the wild dog left, we decided to move on towards our original destination – Shekalmudi. Words cannot express our emotions after this extraordinary but pleasant meeting. It was indeed a close encounter with a wild dog, the closest we’ve had so far. The lush green around was mesmerizing. The silence of the hills was occasionally broken by the melodious song of the Malabar Whistling Thrush. A heavy but short-lived downpour mid-way and warning by a passing estate worker of poor road conditions due to a tree fall ahead prevented us from going any further. At the nearest suitable point we made an about turn and headed back. On the way back, we jokingly remarked that while returning, we must be on the lookout for the ‘wild doggies’. It was as if the wild dogs could read our mind. This time the sentinel encountered earlier was accompanied by a second one and both the wild dogs seem to maintain a strong vigilance.

Since we were on the lookout for them, they were easy to spot. They were lying apart from each other in the same place, where we had seen the first wild dog. The time elapsed between the first encounter and the second was roughly about an hour. While one withdrew into the bushes as soon as we stopped the car, the second one, which was perhaps, the one we had encountered first, refused to budge. While we both went berserk clicking as many pictures as possible, this wild dog sat there watching us intensely from its perch without batting an eyelid and with an expression of amusement that can best be described in the following words. “It is business as usual for us…but …who are these two intruders?”

We admit our guilt of intruding as unwanted visitors during the possible meal time of these two dogs but we assure you that their sight was irresistible and most nature lovers would choose to absolve us of this guilt.

After being contented that we had had as many pictures as possible, it was time to say farewell to the wild dog that had so patiently obliged us and kept us company without withdrawing. It had been nearly twenty minutes that the wild dog and we had been together and not for a moment did the wild dog shift its gaze from us. As we were getting ready to move, the silence was broken by sounds of laughter of children coming from a distance. The voices seemed to draw closer and a group of three to four school children came into sight. The wild dog twitched its ears, look towards the direction of the sound and with one last look at us, slowly but reluctantly retreated into the tea bushes.

Following closely on the heels of the school children was a stray dog. We feared that if it smelt the rotting meat, it might search for the source, which could give rise to a possible tiff between the wild dog and its domestic counterpart. We left the wild dog behind and moved on. About 50 metres away, in the adjacent garden, a group of female estate workers were busy engaged in plucking tea leaves. We volunteered to warn them about the presence of wild dogs nearby. They disclosed a surprising fact. They told us that the presence of wild dogs was not new to them. The spot was a regular haunt for these wild dogs that waited every afternoon for chicken waste to be dumped in the thick vegetation across the road. The waste was dumped by a broiler shop in the market nearby. The foul smell, which we earlier presumed was from a kill in fact emanated from the chicken waste.

Laughing at our own theory of wild dogs guarding their kill from stray dogs and other animals we moved from there. Once we were clear off the tea gardens and entered the crowded market place again, we saw an interesting signboard on a broiler chicken shop, which read as follows:

 ‘More taste, less waste’.

It was the last week of January…winter was retreating. We were in the beautiful landscape of Koyana Wildlife Sanctuary in such pleasant weather; located in the majestic Sahyadri mountain ranges of Maharashtra. The objective was to initiate a project to monitor wildife in this region. Eminent scientists Dr. AJT Johnsingh and Dr. MD Madhusudan from NCF were there to train forest department people. The Conservator of Forests, Mr. Rao, who with great enthusiasm took this initiative of wildlife monitoring, was very happy that Dr. Johnsingh accepted his request to train his staff. Dr. Johnsingh, known as one of India’s pioneering wildlife biologists was introduced to the forest department staff. They were very excited to know that Dr. Johnsingh would be with them in the field to share his observations and knowledge about forests and wildlife.

A view of Koyana Wildife Sanctuary

Koyana Wildlife Sanctuary forms the catchment of the Koyana River and to visit the interior of the Sanctuary, traveling up the Koyana by boat is a must. The location Maldev, where we wanted to go, was around two hours by boat. We started off from Koyananagar, with Forest officers and Scientists chatting about various issues related to wildlife and conservation.

Mr. Mohite, a range officer, was placed in charge of all the arrangements for our program inside the Sanctuary. He started a discussion about the arrangements in a very low tone with his staff. I tried to listen to their discussion but amidst other sounds, I could hear only one word with time intervals – Shamrao…shamrao…shamrao…
I had no idea who this Shamrao was and why they were talking about him. At the end, Mohite ordered his staff, “as soon as we land there, you six persons will search for Shamrao and bring him to the base camp. In any case, I want him to be with us for next four days.”

Koyana backwaters

After two hours of wonderful journey through the backwaters, we landed at Maldev. As per the order the six men disappeared in search of Shamrao.

The location of base camp was astounding, we were in the heart of the sanctuary, surrounded by giant hills of dense mixed forests, steep slopes and valleys filled with backwater of the Koyana reservoir. Soon, we sighted a gaur herd grazing on a hill slope and all of us engaged in watching them.

The plan for the next four days was to visit different areas of the sanctuary and walk along the trails, Dr. Johnsingh would explain the traits of various wild animals and plants, and of techniques to identify the presence of wild animals. Conservator of Forests, Mr. Rao was keen to know our plans for the next few days – where we were to go, whether packed lunch was required, where the camping sites were located and other similar issues. But, the officer in charge, Mr. Mohite was in no mood to discuss all these. He had a nervous look on his face, frequently scanning the region for a face he was expecting… After a while, somebody told Mohite that Shamrao had come. Mohite turned around. With a calm face, he whispered, “now I don’t need to worry about the field plan”.

The six soldiers who had disappeared earlier were climbing down a nearby hill. In their midst was a strong old man aged at least seventy years. The six soldiers were very happy and described with bubbling excitement, of how they bravely and cleverly found this man. My curiosity rose when I came to know that this man belonged to a shepherd community and lived in this area.

In many remote corners of the Sahyadris, where existence of human settlement seems impossible, one can find small hamlets of Shepherd living happily with their cattle, far from mainstream society. For centuries, they have lived in such areas. These people have immense knowledge about the forests and wildlife of the Sahyadris, perhaps greater than any other person or community in this region.

As Shamrao arrived, Mohite told him their objective and asked him to stay with us for the next four days. With a lot of vigour, Mohite started discussing with him about trails we could follow, camp sites and so on… Shamrao became the adviser of this field programme.

The next day we left early in the morning. Along the trail, Dr. Joshnsingh explained the identification techniques of different wild animals, showing signs of their occurrence; Shamrao nodded with admiration of Dr. Johnsingh’s knowledge. At some instances, Shamrao told stories and description of wild animals he encountered; listening to him, Dr. Johnsingh too admired his experience and observations.

Dr. Johnsingh explaining the field techniques to forest department staff

My interest too was aroused. Slowly, I started gathering information about Shamrao. For over sixty years, this man was living here, roaming around the densely vegetated Koyana valley. In the sixty’s the Koyana dam was built. The tiny human settlements in this valley were rehabilitated. But this man didn’t go. In 1985, this valley was declared as a Wildlife Sanctuary; but he refused to go elsewhere and stayed back alone with his wife and children.

Shamrao

But, this came at a cost he had to pay for. Shamrao was looking for a girl willing to marry his elder son. To his dismay, none of the girls from his community were ready to stay in such a remote place without a road, electricity nor neighbours to seek help in times of trouble. Shamrao worried a lot about this issue. Finally, he reversed the whole traditional system. He offered dowry to the girl’s father, convincing him for his daughter’s hand in marriage to his son. It was a big lesson for Shamrao and his family. His sons realised the gravity of the situation and left Shamrao, shifting to nearby cities to live their lives in the company of ‘civilised society’.

Old Shamrao and his wife still live in the company of forests and wildlife from where the nearest human settlement is around 20 km. His major source of livelihood is milk from his cattle. His assets of cattle remain almost static. Each year he loses 3-4 cattle to leopards and tigers, which to him is quite normal. This man roams the deep forests beyond his hut foraging for fodder to feed his cattle, and to collect fruits and wild vegetables for his family; he is engaged by Forest Department personnel to guide them through routes in the forest.

I wondered how this man could wander in such dense forests alone without fear. I was overawed by his fearlessness and sense of place in the forest. Soon, I got his ‘inside story’. I was told of his singular fear from some of the forest staff that Shamrao had his set of fears, not of the forest or wild animals, but.. – his wife! By roaming the forests he stays away from home during the day and from the tempers of his wife. Strange though it seemed to me then, I realised that behind his immense knowledge of forests and his fearlessness, here was a timid man –fearful of none other than his only companion in the forest.

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After walking along the rugged terrain, inside the dense forests for over two days, we reached another camp site. That evening sitting around a campfire Dr. Johnsingh and the Conservator of Forests, Mr. Rao, encouraged Shamrao to talk, to learn of his experiences and observations. Thoughts drifted through my mind – the man was here for the last sixty years, and he is the only witness to all the changes in this landscape. His observations of wildlife over many years have given him knowledge of their occurrence, their favoured trails and an idea of their numbers. The Forest department uses him to show the pathways inside the forests; even poachers might use his experience during their hunts. A singular fact remains-the man is a storehouse of information of this landscape. If he decided to speak freely, it would be a great contribution to the ecological history of this land and to our understanding of wildlife as well.

Time will pass on and this last human from Koyana forests will disappear from Koyana valley. Officially, this area will be devoid of any human disturbance. All his knowledge and experience will remain unnoticed, unrecorded forever.

The interactions between all of us were going on in the light of the campfire. Everyone listened carefully enjoying the conversations between Dr. Johnsingh and Shamrao. In the quiet of the campfire and the exciting atmosphere somebody whispered,  “aayeella…truly, this Shamrao is our Marrathi Johnsingh!’’

A fifty-six year old farmer. You live in Maguvinahalli, a village on the northern edge of the famous Bandipur National Park.

Every year, at the end of summer, you till your meagre 4 acres, sow some jowar and some sunflowers. For weeks you work in the baking heat. Once the monsoons arrive, you continue working, in the pouring rains.

Once the seeds have sprouted and you have a crop, you don’t relax, no sir, you don’t. You build a thorn fence around the field. And a machan (platform) on the peepal tree in your field for you to sit up on, all night. Waiting and watching for the elephants.

Yes, the elephants. They come from the forest, to feast on your precious crop. Last year, your brother Murthy lost everything in a single night to a herd of 9 elephants. It happened at the very end of the season, a few days before the harvest. He still owes the moneylender 14,000 rupees.

So for several weeks you get no rest at all. Night after dark night you sit up on the machan, shaking your head and muttering to yourself to keep sleep away. They are eerily silent, these elephants. You have to be alert all the time.

You look out of the machan, moonlight outlines the distant hills. The silence is broken by the roar of a speeding vehicle on the highway. It used to be a small dusty strip when you were a boy. Now it is dangerous to cross with all the tourist traffic.

You have heard the tourists pay 3000 rupees for a day at the hotel at the edge of your village. You could buy seeds for a whole season with that! Why would they spend so much just to see some elephants? They could instead sit up in your machan, for free.

The gentle breeze lulls you into a dangerous calm. Your head tilts. You sleep.

Krrrshhk! You are suddenly wide-awake, but it is too late. You fumble for the match and light a firecracker. The wick forms an arc of light, then bursts. Your hand is shaking as you throw another. It is louder than the last. One of the elephants lets out a cry. You can feel the earth shake under you.

As quickly as they came, they are gone. But the silence is not comforting. You sit numbly, not wanting to move.

Dawn arrives and reveals the damage. In the ten minutes they spent in your field, the elephants have taken half your crop.

Lead settles in your stomach, you can’t even feel anger. Slowly, you tuck the matchbox and firecrackers into the folds of your dhoti. And walk home.

The dawn chorus of forest birds breaks the heavy silence.

A chance close-up with a brown mongoose―endemic to the Western Ghats and Sri Lanka―catapulted me from obscurity to a contributor on the NCF blog. And this experience of mine might endear me to many a wildlifer or prove to be a cause for envy for some ‘world famous‘ photographers.

It was a rainy evening in March this year when I heard an excited scream from Jegan who was standing outside our house in Valparai. Even before I could comprehend much, Jegan rushed in and said that he had sighted a brown mongoose just outside our house. This initial excitement was followed by a hurried phone call to Divya Mudappa and I remember hearing an equally excited response from the other side of the line.

After his excitement died down, Jegan explained to me that the brown mongoose he had just sighted was endemic to the Western Ghats and Sri Lanka. Not much is known about its habits and habitat and so far the only published photographs have been taken with a camera trap and that too is a night-time shot. I forgot all about the brown mongoose till I actually came face to face with it on a May morning.

It was a warm May morning at about 11:30 and I was standing outside the kitchen door of my house in Valparai, chatting with an old friend over the mobile, when I was suddenly distracted by the cacophony of a group of jungle mynas and a Western Ghats Striped Squirrel in the nearby mango tree. They were apparently disturbed by something.

I looked in the direction of this commotion only to find myself being stared at by a creature. It was about eight feet away from me―with a furry brown coat and a conspicuously bushy tail. I suppose it had been there for sometime, but I had been unmindful and oblivious to its stealthy entry. I was taken by surprise at its sudden appearance and took a few moments to gather my wits about me. Suddenly, I recalled the incident of two months ago. Oops! The creature was nothing but a brown mongoose!

Without wasting much time, I promptly fetched the camera and clicked some pictures of it. As I did not have my 300 mm lens at that moment, I had to restrict myself to using the wide angle lens and I shall always regret not having been able to use my zoom lens to click it at such close quarters.

The animal had apparently come to the garbage pit (dug outside our kitchen for disposing vegetable waste) in search of food and found itself in the midst of jungle mynas and a squirrel, which were pretty much perturbed by its proximity. The mongoose made several patient albeit futile attempts to enter the pit and choose its pick but unfortunately it was not to be. The mynas perceiving it to be a potential threat were not prepared to take any chances and swooped on it numerous times.

The mobbing often compelled the mongoose to run and take cover, only to defy the birds and return to the pit. This was repeated several times before the mongoose finally called off its pursuit and returned to the bushes from where it had emerged. Its defiant approach made it evident to me that food was on its list of priorities that morning. The entire episode lasted for about 10-15 minutes and all the while the mongoose, though aware of me, chose to ignore my presence.

After this, I chanced upon the brown mongoose again a few days later near the same garbage pit. However, contrary to the previous encounter, it didn’t retain its bold disposition and fled at my appearance.

The most recent encounter with the mongoose last month was most interesting. It was not alone but with a younger member from its family―a baby mongoose! In this context, let me tell you that owing to the saturation of the garbage pit outside the kitchen we were compelled to dig a new one. The window of one of the rooms overlooks this new pit.

Jegan and I stood at the window one morning at about 8 a.m. when he suddenly stopped speaking and pointed towards the garbage pit. Looking in the direction, I sighted two mongooses. I suppressed an excited squeal when I saw that it was the brown mongoose accompanied by its baby―a miniature version of its own self. The baby followed its mother and its puzzled movements and unsure steps indicated that it was still in its initial period of training. Mother and baby were out to explore the new garbage pit, though it didn’t appear very promising. After a quick peep into the pit, mother signaled to the baby to move on and we both watched on till they disappeared quietly into the bushes. Or perhaps, the mother was wary of our presence and decided to play safe.

Enchanting indeed, but the brevity of this particular encounter didn’t permit us to take any picture of this rare sighting. In retrospect, it occurred to me that during my first encounter with the mongoose, the bold disposition on the part of the adult mongoose could have possibly been triggered off by the hungry baby in its den.

Ever since my first meeting with the brown mongoose I have been on the look out for it in order to make up for the picture I couldn’t take. However, during all my subsequent meetings it has caught me unaware leaving me with little or no time for preparation in order to fulfill my desire. I admit that my inability to fulfill my desire left me frustrated but it has been compensated by the very sight of this beautiful animal and I shall always cherish those magical moments.

Kamolika Roy Chowdhury
(Email: kamolika76@gmail.com)

We waited on the road, watching the traffic go by. Behind the building, we saw him move. He was a young tusker, with asymmetric tusks—his left tusk slightly curved forward while the right pointed straight down. With dignity and grace, and with all senses alert, he walked down towards the road.

The road was not a very busy one by the standards of any city, but for the little hill town of Valparai, here in the Anamalai hills of south India, it was arterial. The tusker was in a little plantation of Eucalyptus above the road. Below the road were the Iyerpadi tea estates, the Iyerpadi factory, houses of estate managers and workers, a swamp-stream, and beyond that a patch of rainforest close to the Anamalai Tiger Reserve.

Besides us, some of the estate people were watching the elephant. On the road, vehicles plied back and forth and some people went walking past, hardly fifty metres from the elephant. The elephant could see, or sense, all of us; with his trunk up, he monitored our scent and presence. Nervous, he let out a short blast of a trumpet. Yet, it did not seem that he trumpeted from anger; it seemed a brief  warning to get us off his path, and let him through.

While others watched, I moved closer to try and get a better look and a photograph. A little skid-trial came down the slope to the road and below the road a path led through the tea estate. The elephant seemed to be moving down that way. I stood right there, at that intersection, and sure enough he emerged, hardly thirty metres away.

He looked grand in the evening light. I was awed and clicked away to try and get a photograph that would fittingly record his grandeur.

And yet—I stood right in his path. He stopped, alert, and looked at me directly.

Divya and others who were watching from some distance urged me to move from there. And yet, I stood as if transfixed. Perhaps it was that wholly unnecessary photograph that kept me. Or, a falsely superior rationalisation:  “This is not the way he should go. There are houses and people down there. Maybe if I block this path, he would go around taking, what I think, is a better route.”

He gave me a few moments to reconsider my stupid, irrational decision. As I did not move, he did. Gently, he turned away, to swing down, taking a more inconvenient, steeper, rocky slope.

A group of women, coming to collect firewood, were casually walking towards the elephant, thinking it was one of the domestic elephants being used in tree-felling operations. We convinced them that it was a wild elephant and urged them not to go in that direction. On the steeper slope, the tusker turned back and swung down—towards the same route he would have more easily taken if I had not foolishly stood in his way. He kept moving, now forced to cross the highway a little further ahead of where he had intended.

We tried to halt the traffic on both sides for a few minutes to let him cross. It was scarcely necessary, he knew how to deal with traffic and crossed the road without a hitch and without disturbing anyone in vehicles or on foot.

He was heading in the general direction of the houses and the factory and anyone watching him, who did not understand the elephant in him, would perhaps have thought this spells trouble.

The tusker wanted no trouble, however, and just wanted to be on his way. And it was wonderful to watch how gracefully he moved, carefully avoiding the proximity of the houses. He needed to go that way, because beyond these houses and factory in Iyerpadi, was a rainforest fragment and the Tiger Reserve, and, perhaps, respite from others like us.

He quickened his step. He walked down. He swung away from the houses. He avoided a car that was coming up on an estate road (although he was close enough to it that the people in it may have got a scare). He turned down the valley, past the temple, into the swamp, and reached a path that would take him, without crossing any further road or colony, towards the forest patch.

A bunch of kids appeared from the vicinity of houses, all excited and trying to follow the elephant as he walked away. We dissuaded them—with a little persuasion, they stood to watch him from a safe distance. We had come to the colony to inform the people to watch out for this tusker on the move, but, again, it was scarcely necessary. The people had seen him and, moreover, the tusker had no interest in the houses. He really knew where he was going.

I will remember him as a gentleman of Iyerpadi and I will remember my foolishness of that evening. This is my apology to this gracious and peaceful elephant. I am sorry I stood in your path. I am sorry for thinking I knew better than you.

* * * * *
25 April 2009, Iyerpadi

There is a hint of rain in the air. And the clouds hang dark over the landscape.

The fallen trees by the road

We come upon the fallen trees a short while later. Twenty-two of them, many towering giants felled as if by an invisible blow, scattered along less than two kilometres of road through the forest. In their fall, they had snapped some of the neighbouring trees leaving their crownless, leafless boles standing like wooden pointers at the sky. These trees had not been felled by axe or chainsaw; at first look, their fall was natural. Was it?

A picture begins to emerge as we look closer to understand what has transpired here. The trees must have all come down at roughly the same time and not so long ago either, as the leaves were still on the branches and just turning brown. A thunderstorm with lashing rain and wind and even hail, typical of this pre-monsoon season, would be the most obvious, immediate cause. There was not one, but two recent storms, on 21 and 24 April. The ground is littered with leaves, twigs, and branches, much of the latter has clearly broken off during the wind and rain. The tree falls seem only natural.

All but one of the trees that have fallen are large, over a metre in girth, some more than twice that. Several are Vateria indica, true giants of the dipterocarp family. Upright, their crowns would have emerged over the rest of the forest canopy, drinking in the bright sun, but exposed to every buffeting wind. Their disproportionate misfortune—if one may so label the almost instantaneous end to their centuries-long existence—seems natural, too.

Almost a third of the trees had fallen on a short stretch of road, less than half a kilometre long, which climbed a little rise—a small, exposed hill crest—before it dipped down into a stretch of bamboo and drier forest. The forest here had clearly received the battering of the wind and rain, in sharp contrast to a more sheltered valley a little distance away. The damage from the storm was only natural, one may be led to believe.

And yet, and yet, a nagging thought tugged us away from believing what appeared to be so plainly evident. Why were all these trees along the road? Is it because we could not see far into the interior of the forest, where doubtless some trees have also fallen? Or, is it the road itself, this earth-scar cleaving its way through the forest that in some insidious, silent way brought down these giants of the rainforest? We look a little closer and the picture begins to clarify even more.

Taking down others

The road takes a sharp bend and we are able to see the opposite slope above the earth-scar. One tree has fallen on that slope, amidst hundreds, and it is just over the earth-scar. The fallen trunk has been axed and sawed and moved out of the way of vehicles. The earth-scar brooks no obstruction.

All along the road, the earth has been scraped or gouged off the sides, to fill in erstwhile potholes. Even as these road-surface quick-fixes have exposed the roots of tree after tree, they cling to the sides, trying to hold back what is left of the earth. The earth-scar feeds on itself.

Punctuated along its length are deepening furrows where, with the open sky and the slope, the pelting rain can now directly strike the earth and carry the soil away. The gullies cut the sides and more roots show. The road goes one way, the soil another. The earth-scar spawns scars.

The forest is a churning engine of life, more complicated than anything human-built, and it can clothe and heal itself. As it tries to heal itself, through a succession of forest ferns, shrubs, and trees, its innards are ripped again by the repeated, thoughtless slashing of vegetation along the road. The canopy, once fully covered overhead, is now rent asunder; the streaming light feeds the weeds. Now the weeds have to be controlled by slashing, again. The rainforest canopy that kept the weeds away and clothed the earth with beautiful ferns and orchids for no extra charge is ignored by the people who, for wages paid by the government, slash away under the arc-sky over the road. The earth-scar craves the sun.

Mikania weeds on slashed roadside

The weeds that now stifle the rainforest seedlings, like a wart growing on a wound, have traveled along the road, with the vehicles, and the dust and the people and their plastic and debris. The mikania is here, and the lantana, as is the eupatorium. With the fall of the giants, light can now stream into the forest, and the weeds, too. The road has also brought a plantation nearby; the seeds of the robusta coffee grown there have now spread into the rainforest. The understorey is a beguiling green—every fourth or fifth plant growing among the future forest is a robusta. The earth-scar brings visitors.

Like the vehicles, the wind, too, can speed along the earth-scar. It can gently toss the leaves and sway the branches. It can lighten the humidity and desiccate the earth. It can bring moisture to the forest even as it lifts it from the leaves. It can, and it does, also blow the trees over. The earth-scar funnels the wind.

Is it Nature that felled these trees? Perhaps. Is it the road? Or is it I, who, getting into my car, ride the earth-scar back home?

As we reach the checkpost, the langur are still watching. There is a hint of rain in the air. And the clouds hang dark over the landscape.

The dipterocarp tree

Looking up from the road, I see the blue arc of the sky slicing through the forest canopy. Into the arc, the dome-like crown of a tall dipterocarp tree emerges from the dark rainforest. The tree is over a hundred feet tall, its straight bole emerging from a spread of stout roots that snake along the ground to meet and form supporting buttresses. Two-thirds of the way up, the bole is encircled by a ring of bird’s-nest ferns. Further up, the branches are held out, firmly, confidently, and hold clusters of two-winged fruit. The fruit await a gust of air to disperse across the forest with their valuable package of seed.

The scratch-mark of man and seeds in the leaf litter

I am at a place where the foothills of the Western Ghats hills begin to merge with the plains. The great Periyar river is not far. The rainforest around me is testimony to the amount of rain this place must receive every year. This is a small fragment of the humid tropical wet evergreen forest that once covered vast stretches in the foothills and plains of Kerala. I am sweating in the humidity, and the shade of the tree is welcome. The road and the village nearby mark the presence of people in the landscape. The tree itself carries the mark of people, too. A row of bamboo stakes are driven in an ascending line into the tree—driven many months or years ago by a honey collector who needed to ascend to reach a hive of bees on a high branch. At the base of the tree someone has scratched for the ooze of resin, too.

I hear the call of the Malabar Grey Hornbill and the Fairy Bluebird, and hidden amidst the leaf litter are two-winged dipterocarp seed.

***

The spathodeas by the road

Its a few days later and I am in a little town in the hills—a wannabe tourist town of little distinction and much crowds, garbage, and noise. Loudspeakers blare songs extolling the virtues of various political parties—perhaps they  feel that the election is all song-and-dance. The street is full with the press of people, cars and buses, carts with fruit and vegetables, pavement hawkers, and the passers-by. Some goats eating vegetable waste and a woman who is sitting and spitting, chewing betel leaf, appear to be the only calm creatures amidst the bustle.

The seed-strewn street

Its a blistering hot, sweaty day. The sun is scorching. I look up at the wide expanse of blue sky flanked by the untidy cluster of buildings on each side. There is little shade. There would have been, perhaps a little over a hundred years ago: a dense canopy of cool, dark rainforest. Now, I see few trees close by: two spathodeas or African tulips, backed by a dour line of Australian eucalypts behind the buildings. On the spathodea, the bright red flowers of the year gone by have turned into brown spike-like pods that are dehiscing open with the dry weather. With a gust of wind, little seeds with their disc-like wings take to the air and drift all around, over the street, onto the buildings, and into the ditches.

I hear the sound of the car-horn and the election-song, and the ground is littered with African tulip seed.

***

Another famous song comes to mind:

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
…
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

(From Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the wind“, 1962)