Issue #2 - May 2007
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India Diary, part 1 - Maharashtra.
by Andrew Skeoch
Peacock at Pench NP
Prologue
India may seem like an unlikely destination to experience the wilds of nature. With a population of over a billion people, are there any places in the subcontinent that human presence has not overwhelmed? Well, fortunately, there are. India has a diverse range of landscapes and habitats, and many forest and wild areas are protected by a well-established national park system.
In these jungles can be seen elephants, bison, deer, sloth bears, giant squirrels, rhinoceros, leopards, mongoose, and the lord of them all, 'Shere Khan', the majestic Bengal Tiger. In the Ramayana, Hanuman the cheeky monkey god helps defeat the evil king Ravana, and throughout the forests of India, his army can still be heard whooping and crashing through the canopy. Birdlife can be extraordinary too, with over 1300 species ranging from overwintering Eurasian visitors to tropical residents like Fairy Bluebirds, Sunbirds, Paradise Flycatchers, Trogons and Hornbills. And then there are the butterflies, lizards, orchids...
I first visited India in my early twenties, an overland backpacking trip that opened me to the world. More recently, when Sarah and I began looking to extend our nature sound recording to overseas locations, India beckoned as a destination to return to. We visited in 2002, a three month journey that began in the forests of Nepal, and then on to the Western Ghats, the range of mountains down the west coast of India. From that field trip we have so far published two recordings; "The Himalayas", and "The Sacred Forests of India: Nagarahole", the latter representing one of India's wildlife hotspots.
Late last year, we returned for a 3 month field trip, criss-crossing the subcontinent from Kerala in the tropical south, to the woodlands of Maharashtra that inspired Kipling, north west to the lunar-like landscapes of The Rann of Kutch in Gujarat, and finally east to Orissa, and the seldom-visited forests of the Eastern Ghats.
As much as field work and nature, our journey was about people, as any visit to India will always be. Firstly our dear friends and neighbours, Richard and Prue, who joined us for the first six weeks at our invitation. For them, a first experience of India, a step out of western culture, an insight into our 'on-the road' lifestyle, and ultimately a rich, if at times overwhelming experience. (Richard has offered to write from his experience of observing us 'on location', so we look forward to publishing his thoughts next newsletter).
Secondly, our new friends in India. Before we set out, I made email contact with several local wildlife enthusiasts, which led to invitations to give talks in Mumbai, Bangalore and Pune. This then led to overnight excursions to nearby wildlife areas, much laughter and companionship, being introduced to some fine eating establishments, and ultimately, to friendships that have touched our hearts deeply.
Lastly, to those Indian people who both obstructed and assisted us in the most extraordinary ways. Our drivers get a special mention on both counts, as do staff of the Indian Forest Service, plus our fellow travellers on long train journeys, people we met on jungle paths or those who invited us to stay in their homes.
In this first part of our diary we take you to Maharashtra, to the jungles that inspired Rudyard Kipling. We begin having just spent two fruitless but enjoyable days at Pench National Park...
Pench Forest Morning
Tuesday 19th December 2006.
(On the road, between Pench National Park and Nagzira Wildlife Reserve, Maharastra)Our driver Santosh wears all black and looks like small-time mafia. However in the few days he's been working for us we've discovered he's quite devout, offering obeisance whenever he begins the day's driving or passes a temple. On the dashboard, a small plastic icon of Sai Baba lit by lurid purple and red lights radiates blessings. Also on the dashboard are his, not one but two, mobile phones. After two days at Pench he seems relieved to be away from the boredom of nature and back in mobile reception.
Our time at Pench has been a washout. Not totally; it is wonderful forest area rich in birds and wildlife, and we've seen Nilgai and Jackals for the first time (although the Tigers that everyone who comes here to see have eluded us). However the first morning on safari revealed a bureaucratic obstacle; we are not allowed to get out of our vehicle. This is a common practice in Project Tiger Reserves, partly to protect visitors, but one suspects 'crowd management' is really behind the directive. With dozens of jeeps carrying mostly urban Indian visitors through the park, the threat of wild areas being trashed or wildlife disturbed by careless visitors is understandable. For us though, this presents an insurmountable problem, as we cannot record from inside the vehicle! Rohan, the parks guide designated to accompanied us, was insistent, and we could see he feared for his job if we took a typically Australian liberal view of the rules. Attempts to get special permissions having failed, we cut our time there short, and have left early this morning to move on to Nagzira, some 250km away.
Nilgai and Peacocks at Pench
We've been advised that we must arrive at the Nagzira park gate before 4pm, as any late-comers will not be allowed to pass. With a few hours up our sleeve, we are optimistic it will not be an issue. However Santosh is alternating mobile phones, and although his Marathi conversations are a mystery to us, I get the sense he is trying to describe our location as we drive through the countryside and rural villages. It occurs to us that maybe he wishes to bail out of a disintersting job and get a replacement driver to meet us enroute.
Sure enough, we arrive in a dusty provincial town and Santosh advises us he must return to Nagpur, another driver "is coming". We wait. The minutes tick by. We grab some lunch and Sarah gets supplies from the markets. More mobile phone calls are made. "Not long now, he will arrive". Santosh fills in time by solemnly replacing the 'chillies and lime threaded on a string' offering that hangs off the car's radiator. Its been an hour now, when finally a vehicle pulls up and four young men get out. They all look underage; which is our new driver? After much animated discussion one is handed the keys with admonitions from Santosh to look after us and his car. Luckily our new driver looks to be the more mature of the group. His name is Satish. "Does he speak English?" "A little" replies Santosh with much grinning and head wobbling.
We hop in, eager to get going. Satish looks at us with a boyish grin and says "Nagzira, blast off!". What have we gotten ourselves into? Fortunately he seems a good driver, although a little heavy on the juice. With a little time to spare we roll up to Nagzira Gate, and I go into the adjoining office to pay entrance fees. The clerk on duty seems perplexed, we are not expected. He should have recieved a message from the Divisional Field Officer's department advising our earlier arrival date, but our new itinery does not seem to have come through. A short-wave radio conversation ensues. Lots of rapid-fire shouting and airwave static. No we are not booked. Although inwardly concerned, I don't let it show, putting on a confident air of "just tell me when you get it sorted out". Sometimes its fun playing 'Roger of the Raj', but this is not one of them. Eventually the clerk turns to me and says "How many days are you staying?". "Six days we are booked". "Not possible, I can only accept entrance fees for two days". "Why?" "Because park is closed Thursday". (There is something Spike Milliganish about all this, not surprising that he grew up in India.) Closed? It is Tuesday afternoon, I decide not to try and work it out here and now, and agree, paying two days fees. We collect a guide for the duration, a quiet man from a local village named Radisham who seems to speak no English at all.
Nagzira is a remote area, a collection of small domed hills rising from the plain, covered with dense forests. We drive down a dirt road through grass and deciduous woodlands, the teak leaves beginning to dry and fall, as its been a few months since the end of the monsoon. In another month the forest will look quite bare, and dinner-plate sized teak leaves will be littering the ground. By April and May it will be 45 degrees celcius everyday, but for now the forests look green and pleasant. A family of quail scamper off the track ahead, the first we've seen in India.
We've been advised that our accomodation here will cost 200 rupees a night, about US$5, so we have no great expectations. We arrive at a compound where there is a canteen, and proceed the kilometre or so on to our accommodation. To our relief, it turns out to be rather romantic lodge set among immaculately manicured gardens overlooking a lake. Amazement's never cease. There is no electricity here at all, so it is quiet and all lighting is from candles and lanterns.
After settling in we return to the canteen for an evening meal. It is a basic village setup, with a mud floor and wood-fired stove. The head chef oversees a group of boys and woman who prepare food ingredients on the floor in various corners. However it looks clean enough, and the greatest threat to our wellbeing seems most likely to come from the chef's heavy reliance on salt and chillies. Over dinner we meet a wildlife enthusiast who has driven down from Pune with a personal mission to sight Tigers. His name is Rajeet, and it turns out he knows our friends from Pune, Rahul and Gaurav. Even India is a small world.
As with many Indian parks there is a curfew, and even though we are staying in the heart of the forest, we are not allowed to go out until 6am in the morning and must return by 11am. We brief Satish and Radisham for the next morning, and get an early night.
Wednesday, 20th December
Our driver and guide sleep in the car overnight, parked at the back of our lodge. At 5.45am I go downstairs and wake them. They are both shivering from the cold, with only thin blankets for warmth, Sarah offers them our blankets to wrap around themselves until the morning chill wears off.
By 6am we are on the main west road, driving through the darkness of pre-dawn and encounter Rajeet, driving slowly back the other way. He is ecstatic. He has just seen a Tiger, a big male that walked along the road in front of his car for a while before heading into the undergrowth. Even though dawn is one of the best times to see Tigers, Rajeet has been extraordinarily lucky. We drive on a few hundred metres to where Rajeet saw his beast. It is beginning to get light, and a Langur is giving alarm calls a short way off in the forest, indicating the tiger is still around. I decide to stop and record, its the first time I've heard those calls so clearly. The dawn birdsong is gathering pace too, but disappointingly seems to be dominated by Parakeets screeching as they fly overhead. A Racket-tailed Drongo calls overhead, a beautiful fluting call that I haven't heard them make before, which is not surprising as they are such extraordinary vocalists and mimics.
Langur alarm calls and Racket-tailed Drongo
The forest here is dense evergreen jungle, and there is no way I could see a tiger. For safety I stay close to the vehicle, although I understand they are not usually a threat to people. During our first Indian visit in 2002, we were with a parks ranger who ran after a tiger with his camera in hopes of a closer photograph before the animal headed into the scrub. No doubt he knew from experience that in that circumstance it was reasonably safe. For myself, in the absence of that knowledge, I've decided to adopt an approach best summed up by our Australian prime minister's immortal advice to 'be alert, not alarmed'.
Meanwhile, Radisham, our guide and protector, has fallen asleep in the back seat of the car. Satish is getting fidgety, and wakes Radisham up to chat with him. Sarah tells them both to be quiet as I am recording. The dialogue moves to intimate whispers. It becomes obvious we are going to have a problem with these two as they have no idea of how to be quiet. After a while we move on, exploring the maze of forest tracks. As we move further from the core areas, the forest becomes drier and more teak-dominated. The purely evergreen woodlands seem to have relatively little birdlife, so these drier mixed-forest areas are worth investigating further. We come across a riverine area with adjacent teak forest that looks promising. However it is now nearly 9am, and the morning birdsong has abated.
I take the opportunity to impress on Radisham and Satish the importance of absolute silence by showing them how sensitive the microphones are. This strategy fails completely as they are fascinated by being able to hear every sound they each make. On our way back we pause at the tiger location again. The Langur calls are still audible, although less frequent and some further distance away. We are warming to Radisham, who has a quiet and thoughtful temperament, and we are managing to communicate even with the most rudimentary English. By contrast Satish is acting like a cheeky kid, showing off and telling jokes. As we stand by the car a Chital (Spotted Deer), presumably unsettled by our presence, suddenly gives off an alarm call, a loud yelp. Satish, startled, dives into the car, leaving us laughing at his unease. He covers up by pretending to get something from the car and emerges with a big grin.
Evening safari is from 3pm until 6, and reveals little. The forest is quiet, and the only highlight is a group of grazing Gaur (Indian bison), including one massive bull looking oddly cute with his white lower legs.
It is confirmed, tomorrow the park will be closed, a holiday for guides and staff prior to what is often a busy weekend of visitors. We've been told that despite being surrounded by forest, we will not be able to go into it for the day. Grounded. Over dinner Rajeet tells us he has obtained special permission to go out of the park and visit neighbouring wetland areas, and invites us to join him. If we take our vehicle we can all go together, so we agree to pick him up at his nearby lodgings at 6am.
Evergreen forest at Nagzira
Thursday, 21st December
I go down to wake the dynamic duo. Satish sleepily winds down the window. "Sorry Sir, program is cancelled". "Why?" "Permissions not granted". India strikes again. Disappointed we nevertheless get up and spend some time looking over the beautiful lake in front of the lodge. With the first light a haunting series of calls come floating over the waters, from a pair of Grey-headed Fish Eagles roosting on the far shore. They call a few more times, and I fortunately manage some recordings of these wonderful birds.
Over breakfast Rajeet explains the debacle: his family is friends with the local Range Field Officer, who originally gave him permission for our excursion. However a few months ago a new Divisional Field Officer had been appointed, and to assert his superiority he had decided to countermand this permission. So we are indeed grounded for the day. With nothing better to do we sit around the canteen, I get some nice photographs of Flameback Woodpeckers patrolling nearby tree trunks, and we are shown a pair of Collared Scops Owls roosting right outside our lodge.
That evening, on the balcony of our accomodations, we have Nightjars circling us and calling in the twilight. Another nice recording. Our lodge is turning out to be a better recording location that the forest!
I am becoming fascinated by the diversity of Indian owls in this area. Every dawn and dusk there is an owl 'happy-hour'; a chorus of Jungle Owlets, Spotted Owlets and Scops Owls calling near and far. After hearing these calls at various locations across India over recent weeks, I am now able to recognice which species is calling.
After our enforced rest day, we are looking forward to making up time with an early start in the morning.
Friday, 22nd December
Our driver and guide have disappeared. Well, they're not where they're supposed to be. When I go down to wake them, the car is not there and all is quiet. I suspect they have stayed over at the canteen for the night, but I'm not willing to risk a walk through the forest in the pitch darkness to find out. Once again, those precious minutes before dawn tick away. Then I see the lights come on nearby at Rageet's lodge. He'll be preparing for an early departure too, so I make my way over there and ask his assistance. He drops me off at the canteen and sure enough, there they are fast asleep. Rageet's guide 'kicks them out of bed' with a barrage of stern language, while I stay silent. Satish in particular looks sheepish and they both keep to themselves. I am sure that they have simply not appreciated how important an early start is to us. It is very difficult to know what to do in circumstances such as these. To get angry does not go down well in many Asian cultures, but to just take it in one's stride and say nothing often encourages even more problems.
We pick up Sarah and our gear and head into the forest, aware that we've already missed the predawn birdsong. So, another hasty change of plan; we'll head for the riverine area and spend the morning there. Luckily this spot turns out to be a winner, with a variety of Pigeons, Bulbuls, Flameback Woodpeckers, Orioles, Prinias, Fantails, Drongos, heaps of small birds and best of all, a pair of Hornbills. This is our first good morning of recording at Nagzira.
However Sarah, staying back at the vehicle, has been having more problems trying to keep Satish and Radisham quiet. Repeatedly shushing them is having little impact. Its difficult to be stern with them, as they are having such a good time together and becoming friends in a way that only Indian men can. The physicality and intimacy they are displaying is commonly seen between young men in many Asian cultures. Yet whilst Sarah and I are familiar with this, and know it doesn't imply anything less than innocent, nevertheless we can't help feeling that perhaps we should be 'looking the other way'. Now they are sitting in the back of the vehicle, heads together whispering in each other's ear, sharing confidences. Satish is holding Radisham's hand and tracing out letters on it. When I finish recording they emerge and walk toward me with broad smiles, arms around each other. It is time to talk.
"Guys, you have caused us a big problem this morning"... They're looking sheepish again. "We are employing you to do two things: be available when we need you, and be quiet when we need you to, do you understand?" Heads nod. They can see I'm not angry with them, and the big grins return.
Meanwhile Sarah has come up with an obvious strategy; when we're recording we simply separate them, Radisham can stay with me and Satish with the car. On the way back we try it out, with partial success. Unable to converse, Satish occupies himself with a spontaneous burst of car polishing.
That afternoon we discover another likely location, a narrow valley in among the hills, and plan to return there in the morning. Satish is beaming that evening; "Tomorrow morning sir, five and a half!!"
Saturday, 23rd December
Precisely on 5.30am Satish and Radisham appear at our door, wrapped in blankets and holding a lantern; "Ready sir!!". We're touched, they are genuinely going out of their way to make up for things. We gather our equipment and head down to the car. However Radisham is standing by the car, shaking his head slowly and muttering one of the few English words he knows; "Problem". We have a flat tyre. Why do we suspect this is not going to be an ordinary 'change it quickly and get going' flat tyre?
Satish is under the rear of the vehicle attempting to release the spare. At this point I should point out that Satish's appearence is usually immaculate, with starched shirts, a comb ever ready in case of a stray hair, and a ring on every finger. So he's not enjoying wrestling with the completely rusted bolt holding the spare tyre in place. I have a look myself; the spare is beyond bald, with strips of radial ply steel showing through in places. It doesn't look like we should risk going anywhere on it. Satish emerges defeated, his hands covered in grime. To cap it off he's scraped his finger slightly and holds it up for Sarah's sympathy. "Injury" he says.
Radisham comes to the rescue with a plan. They'll remove the flat tyre, borrow a motorcycle, and together ride into the nearest town to get it repaired and be back "in an hour". We know it is an hour into the nearest town alone, so we are already kissing another morning goodbye. As they happily depart, laughing like kids and rolling the dead tyre along with a stick, we are struck by an association - who do they remind us of? We amuse ourselves by concluding that they are like an Indian Mr Bean or Jim Carrey duo, who have not the slightest realisation of the havoc they cheerfully wreak on those around them. By the time they return four hours later, it is too late for any safari.
Sunday, 24th December
Our last morning at Nagzira. If we are to obtain any further recordings here, this will be our last opportunity. We decide to make for the narrow valley, and arrive there just after dawn. The birdsong is subdued, but in hopes that it will pick up once the first sunlight hits the jungle, I set up the microphones. Radisham squats with me as we plug in the gear and begin listening. We have a problem. I'm hearing something amplified through the mics I don't want to hear - hindi pop music, probably played through a bull-horn speaker and drifting from a nearby village. Radisham can hear it too now, and he gives me a happy head wiggle. Its Sunday, village holiday.
Knowing this location will be useless, we move to another likely spot, but the music is equally audible there too. Fighting off despondancy, I notice a small track that leads around the shoulder of a hill, and it occurs to me that it may afford some acoustic shelter. However Radisham tells me the road is closed, "not permission". We compromise. Leaving the car on the main track, I walk the few hundred meters around the hill, place the recorder and walk back.
This strategy is surprisingly successful, with the microphones left in the forest to collect the surrounding ambience, I record around two hours of beautiful birdsong.
Returning to the canteen, we meet up with a radiant Rajeet. He has seen his second tiger, and this time used his mobile phone to record it walking slowly along the forest track in the half light. We're delighted for him, he's been a great companion and has patiently awaited a sighting of the great animal.
By now, Satish is reminding us of someone else. We start calling him 007, Satish Bond; charming, suave, and invincible behind the wheel. He loves it, and great mirth ensues. That afternoon, we return to Nagpur ready for tomorrow's flight to Gujurat. Satish is dumbfounded that after all the problems we still give him a substantial tip. We are treated with a last beaming smile before he leaves us.
Tomorrow will be the beginning of our time exploring the desert landscapes of the Rann of Kutch. And it will also be Christmas Day, somewhat of a non-event in most of India. It seems a fitting way of summing up our time Maharashtra, in which so many of our efforts have led to anti-climaxes. We have approached each day as a precious opportunity to gather recordings and images, and so the disappointments have been heartbreaking for us. Nevertheless, it has been a rich experience, both in terms of our engagement with nature and insights into Indian culture and character. More than anything though, we have learned about ourselves, how to balance action with acceptance, responding to situations positively without exhausting ourselves in indignant frustration. Reflecting on all this now, viewing the photographs and listening to our recordings, we realise that our days at Nagzira have not been as 'fruitless' as we had once thought.
But more surprises await us in the weeks ahead...
