If climate change is your biggest concern, $50 billion has been well spent to convince the world of man-made global warming and its dramatic threats. But sold on the hypothesis of a projected catastrophe, we are ignoring the clear and present dangers facing the earth
Open magazine, 27 Nov, 2009
First, a disclaimer: this article does not intend to make the reader doubt the dangers of global warming. It intends to go a little further.
Second, an admission: it is never easy to approach any ‘gospel truth’ with facts and reason. Ask Dr Mitchell Taylor.
One of the most startling advertisements of climate change is that global warming has made life difficult for polar bears and will wipe out two-thirds of their population in the next 50 years. In 2002, however, a USA Geological survey of Wildlife noted that polar bear populations ‘may now be near historic highs’. More recently, the US Fish and Wildlife Service recorded that that there were 20,000-25,000 polar bears, up from 5,000-10,000 estimated in the 1950s and 1960s.
Those reports did not make news. But then, Dr Taylor, one of the planet’s most experienced Arctic biologists who has been following polar bears for three decades, happily—and inconveniently— reported that of the 19 different polar bear populations, almost all were at optimum levels or increasing; only two have for local reasons modestly declined. Even the southern less ice region of the Davis Strait, Dr Taylor noted, ‘is crawling with polar bears. It’s not safe to camp there. They’re fat. The mothers have cubs. The cubs are in good shape.’
The result of his report? Dr Taylor was barred from the much-hyped meeting of the Polar Bear Specialist Group (PBSG), set up under the IUCN Species Survival Commission, held in July this year at Copenhagen, because his views running ‘counter to human-induced climate change are extremely unhelpful’.
Covered with much fanfare by the media, the PBSG meet ‘renewed the conclusion from previous meetings that the greatest challenge to conservation of polar bears is…climatic warming’. The ban on Dr Taylor, and his field observations, went largely unreported.
THE MYTH
Dr Taylor was not the only one doubting the theory of man-made global warming or its impact.
The United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report of 2007 (fourth assessment) authored by 52 scientists, claimed a scientific consensus on its findings that increasing emission of greenhouse gases due to human activities had already triggered a dangerous trend of global warming and unless emission levels were controlled, the trend would soon lead to rapid melting of snow and ice, causing rivers to dry up and coastal areas to disappear under a rising sea.
But so far, at least 650 scientists from around the world have questioned the report’s findings. Dissent has always been there. According to a survey of 530 climate scientists in 27 countries, conducted in 2003 by Dennis Bray and Hans von Storch at the GKSS Institute of Coastal Research in Germany, 82 per cent said global warming was happening, 56 per cent said it was mostly caused by human activities, and only 35 per cent said models could accurately predict future climate conditions.
More recently, a study published in Energy and Environment in 2008 found that of a total 528 papers on climate change (2004-2007), only one paper made any reference to climate change leading to catastrophic results. While 32 papers rejected the IPCC consensus outright, 263 did not commit either way.
Of course, there is a consensus that the climate is changing. Climate is determined by averaging weather variables over an extended period and has been changing ever since the earth has been turning. And, nobody denies that the earth’s resources are getting increasingly stretched due to spiralling population and human development. So, leave alone science, the common sense way forward is to adopt environmentally sustainable economies and lifestyles.
But forced to acknowledge climate change as the biggest threat facing mankind, the scientific fraternity has been raising three fundamental questions. Is the global climate really warming up? If so, is the change due to human activities (greenhouse gas emissions) and can it be controlled by human intervention (reduction in emissions)? Are the alarming forecasts of imminent tipping points realistic?
• A number of scientists deny any evidence of any unnatural or significant rise in global temperature. For example, they refer to the Nasa Giss data that show how the South Pole winter (June-August) has cooled about 1 degree Fahrenheit since 1957 and the coldest year was 2004. Nasa itself, after hyping the year 1998 as the hottest in US history, eventually accepted a data error and corrected the record to 1934 as the hottest year.
According to these sceptics, while bandying about the lowest ice extent since satellite monitoring began in 1979 in the Arctic, climate activists gloss over the fact that the Southern Hemisphere, Antarctica, has set a new record for maximum ice extent. Since 1979, the trend has been progressively upwards for the total Antarctic ice extent, with a number of new records set over the past 15 years.
Some, like Philip Stott, professor emeritus of biogeography at the University of London, argue that historically, there have been sharp rises in temperature over very short periods. In 1200 AD, Europe was 2 degrees centigrade warmer than it is today and agriculture flourished even in Greenland.
• Many agree that the climate has been showing a warmer trend but maintain that there is no scientific evidence to prove that the warming is man-made or it can be controlled by reducing GHG emissions.
Some of them, like Sallie Baliunas and Willie Soon of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, blame solar activities, and not GH gases, for the warming trend.
Others, like Luc Debontridder of Brussels’ Royal Meteorological Institute or Professor Geoffrey G Duffy of the University of Auckland, maintain that water vapour and water condensed on particles as clouds have a much greater greenhouse impact than carbon dioxide (CO2). Incidentally, atmospheric water vapour is not anthropogenic, its formation and dynamics are independent of human activities.
• The scientific fraternity is most critical when it comes to random doomsday predictions. Mike Hulme, head of the EU integrated project Adam (Adaptation and Mitigation Strategies), recently blamed alarmist tendencies for “complicating things with climate change myths” by linking everything—from hurricane Katrina to Mumbai rains—to global warming. He slammed movies like The Day After Tomorrow and Age of Stupid for exaggerating threats of climate change.
Back home, not too long ago, the country’s most prominent climate expert appeared on a news channel to support the theory that global warming was behind the melting of the ice Shiva Lingam (stalagmite formation) at Amarnath. He looked more angry than embarrassed when reminded that the stalagmites in the neighbouring caves were in good health because they did not have to suffer the temperature rise caused by too many jostling devotees.
Unfortunately, the IPCC itself triggered this alarmist trend. So much so that in the final draft of the fourth assessment report released in 2007, the panel had to revise its exaggerated predictions made in 2001 and reduce the overall estimate of the effects of global warming by 25 per cent.
THE SCARE
For India, the most dramatic climate forecast is that the Gangotri glacier will disappear by 2035, reducing the Ganga to a seasonal river.
The recent report on Himalayan glaciers by Dr VK Raina, a former deputy director general of the Geological Survey of India, found it ‘premature to make a statement that glaciers in the Himalayas are retreating abnormally because of global warming’. On Gangotri, the report said that the glacier had been retreating rapidly at about 20 metres per year until 2000, but has since slowed down considerably, and practically remained standstill since September 2007.
“Data generated from the Himalayas over the last 100 years indicate that the glaciers have been retreating continuously, barring a flip here and there. But the rate of retreat has not been alarming or unnatural, especially in the last decade or so. There is nothing to support claims that these glaciers, including Gangotri, will disappear in the next few decades,” maintains Dr Raina.
In a paper published in Current Science last year, Dr Sharad Jain, a professor at the Indian Institute of Technology, Roorkee, pointed out that even if the annual recession rate of the Gangotri glacier reaches 40 metres – which is double the current rate—a glacier that measures 30 km in length will take about 700 years to melt away.
“It was a rather simplistic way to explain the improbability of the glacier disappearing in the near future. After considering nonlinearities and to make a conservative estimate, the time-span could be assumed to be hundreds of years. If the snout of the Gangotri glacier was indeed at the Gangotri temple about 4,000 years ago, its retreat over four millennia has been just 18 km,” explains Dr Jain.
Even if we assume that the Gangotri glacier is in real danger of melting away, will it make the Ganga a seasonal river?
Three rivers—the Chambal, Ken and Betwa—contribute to the Ganga through the Yamuna. In Bihar, four mighty rivers—the Ghaghara, Gandak, Kosi and Sone—join in. Together, these tributaries bring enough water to make the Ganga’s flow at downstream Patna almost 17 times its flow at upstream Devprayag. But even in the headwaters region, the Ganga depends only partially on the Gangotri glacier for water. As Dr Jain points out, snow and glacier melting contribute only 29 per cent to the annual flow at Devprayag; the rest is from rainwater. More than 70 per cent of the flow at Haridwar is due to rainfall and beyond Haridwar, the influence of the Gangotri glacier on river flow becomes progressively less—at Allahabad, it is less than 4 per cent.
“Most of the Ganga’s catchment is rain fed. Even during the lean season, there is enough baseflow (discharge derived from groundwater sources), particularly downstream Haridwar. Glaciers or no glaciers, the Ganga will remain a perennial river as long as groundwater tables are intact,” claims Professor I B Singh, an authority on the Ganga and a veteran geologist with Lucknow University.
The other perceived threat of global warming—rising sea levels leading to erosion, salinity and inundation—has unsettled many in India, particularly along its 8,000-km-long coastline.
While a significant rise in sea levels and subsequent inundation still remain only a possibility, increasing salinity and rapid erosion are already making lives miserable for much of India’s coastal population. But can these trends be attributed to climate change?
“Over the last 2,000 years, many rapid warming and cooling episodes occurred on 100-year scales. This has resulted in the rise and fall of sea levels. The threat perception on account of sea level rise is less compared to the other factors,” says Dr TN Prakash, a senior scientist at the Centre for Earth Science Studies, Thiruvananthapuram.
According to Dr Prakash, coastal erosion is a natural, seasonal phenomenon. But the impact is being felt more severely in recent years due to destruction of protective mangrove covers and reduced sediment discharge by rivers. Other human factors, like rampant beach mining, also add to the problem. As recently as the Asian tsunami of 26 December 2004, mangroves acted as a buffer in a number of stretches along the coastline. Without the effective bio-fencing of mangrove cover or dune vegetation, coastlines are increasingly getting exposed to erosion.
A free-flowing river gathers sediments as it meanders inland and deposits the load when it reaches the sea. This sediment load compensates for much of coastal erosion. But when a dam is built on a river to brake its flow, the river’s sediment load settles down in the dam’s reservoir.
Globally, more than 50,000 large dams are in operation today. At least 100 billion tonnes of sediment has been retained in these reservoirs in the past 50 years, causing significant reduction in the flux of sediment to coasts. From Egypt (Nile river delta) to Morocco (Moulouya wetlands) to Louisiana (Mississippi river delta), big dams exacerbate coastal erosion across the world.
Too many dams on rivers also mean that too little water reaches deltas. This, in effect, results in limited percolation to coastal aquifers. Also, restricted river flow forces coastal people to extract more and more groundwater, already under severe pressure due to a spurt in population along the coasts. It is this low-recharge-high-extraction scenario (not any perceived rise in sea levels) that is making coastal aquifers vulnerable to seawater ingress.
“There is need for reorientation in our thinking. We should ensure better management of water resources instead of worrying about climate change over which we anyway have no control. By extracting too much groundwater, constructing big dams and allowing effluents to enter the water system, we have created a water crisis that poses a far greater challenge,” says Dr BP Radhakrishna, former president of the Geological Society of India, Bangalore.
THE BLINDSPOT
If you are taken in by the apocalypse scenario of a future water catastrophe caused by glacier meltdowns and rise in sea levels, you had better figure out how severe a water crisis is facing us right now.
Consider these:
• By 2015 all countries, except Canada and Scandinavian nations, will suffer water shortage in at least a part of their territory. If present trends continue, according to the UN Water Report of 2007, 1.8 billion people will be living in countries or regions with absolute water scarcity by 2025, and two-thirds of the world population will face water stress.
• Such water scarcity will also jeopardise our food security. Agriculture and animal husbandry are water intensive processes. It takes a litre of water to produce food worth one calorie of energy. So, to satisfy the need of 3,000 calories per person for a population of 6.5 billion on earth, our daily requirement of water is equivalent to a water body that is 1 metre deep, 1 kilometre wide and 7 million kilometre long—long enough to encircle the earth 180 times.
• Already, in parts of the world such as West Asia, the Indo-Gangetic Plain, the North China Plain and the High Plains in North America, human water use has exceeded average annual water replenishment. With 60 per cent of the global population and just 36 per cent of the earth’s available freshwater share, Asia faces the grimmest crisis.
• An analysis of Nasa satellite data published in Nature this August shows that the groundwater level has been going down by 33 cm per year in India’s northern plane (Rajasthan, Punjab, Haryana and Delhi) over the past decade due to over extraction.
Indeed, if we trace the growth of our so-called ecological footprint, water emerges the biggest casualty. While the world’s population increased by 300 per cent in the 20th century, the use of water increased by a staggering 700 per cent. Over a longer period of 250 years since the Industrial Revolution, carbon dioxide formulations in the atmosphere have gone up by approximately 37 per cent, methane by 150 per cent and nitrous oxide by 16 per cent.
But does our water security depend on climate change? The IPCC report does offer projections of how global warming will impact groundwater and rainfall patterns, but the latest UN World Water Development Report of 2009 notes that ‘these impacts are likely to be small (and possibly negligible) compared with the stresses placed on groundwater systems by current socio-economic drivers’.
Besides causing groundwater depletion, these socio-economic drivers have also triggered a problem of contamination. Already, 1.7 billion people lack access to safe water in developing countries. In India and Bangladesh, more than 500 million people are living in an arsenic affected area of 600,000 sq km in the Ganga-Meghna-Brahmaputra plain. In India alone, at least 62 million people, including 14 million children, are suffering from fluorosis.
“If we compare the total amount of available water on earth to a water bottle containing 18 litres of water, the available surface freshwater is only three teaspoons. This puts enormous pressure on the groundwater stock which is again less than 1 per cent of the earth’s total water. We are taking little care of this priceless reserve. Groundwater arsenic and fluoride contamination in developing countries could be more serious than any human tragedy known to mankind,” warns Dr Dipankar Chakraborti, director, School of Environmental Studies, Kolkata.
The major water contaminants created by human activities are microbial pathogens, nutrients, pesticides, oxygen-consuming substances, heavy metals and persistent organic matter. These pollutants enter water systems through agricultural run-off, domestic and industrial effluents and inadequately treated wastewater discharge, erosion, mine and landfill leachate, litter disposal etcetera. Every aspect of our lifestyle and economy endangers the water sources we live on.
Sample these:
• Approximately 2 million tonnes of human waste is released annually into rivers and streams around the globe.
• It is estimated that 90,000 to 100,000 chemicals are in regular use; many of them toxic.
• In the US alone, industries produce more than 36 billion kg hazardous organic chemical-based pollutants every year, and only 10 per cent of this is being disposed of in an environmentally responsible manner.
• Projected increases in fertiliser use for food production over the next three decades suggest that there will be a 10–20 per cent global increase in river nitrogen flows.
“These are not computer-simulated trends. These are real, hard data. While climate change is natural, the hype over it is political. This din diverts our attention from pollution, the biggest man-made disaster,” says Dr Arun D Ahluwalia, director, Centre of Advanced Studies in Geology, Punjab University, Chandigarh.
Five years back, water scientists Michel Meybeck and Charles Vörösmarty warned that “the global impacts of human interventions in the water cycle…are likely to surpass those of recent or anticipated climate change, at least over decades.”
Granted, the UN declared 2005–2015 the International Decade for Action (Water for Life), ‘to enhance international cooperation in addressing the exploitation and degradation of water resources’. But even after half a decade, there is hardly any effective move for inter-governmental agreements to protect trans-boundary freshwater systems, or a commitment to cut down on use of pesticides and toxins that poison water worldwide. The world has been too busy fighting the perceived threats of global warming.
THE BOTTOMLINE
But even if the climate change debate is far from over, shouldn’t we anyway try to reduce air pollution? Won’t the mitigation methods prescribed to fight global warming anyway help the environment?
Yes, we should cut down emissions by all means. But we should set ourselves realistic targets. Pushing for high targets will always delay a global consensus. More importantly, reducing emissions requires making compromises – both individual (lifestyle) and economic. Since we and our economy can make only that much compromise at a time, higher emission targets may not leave room to set effective targets for reducing water usage or regulating contamination.
And, no, not all prescriptions to fight climate change are necessarily healthy. We should not encourage bio-fuel or jatropha cultivation, without assessing how it will affect our food security on a planet of finite land and water resources. We should not promote plantation of fast-growing trees, particularly in areas where rootstocks can bounce back, without assessing how monocultures damage soil quality and biodiversity. But yes, we should start asking questions.
A few years back, Professor Stott described the “climate angst” as “each successive generation’s craving for its own Noah myth”. Today, few remember the scare of global cooling in the early 1970s when alarmists started predicting the imminent collapse of the world. That climate hysteria lasted for about two decades till, in the late 80s, it was time for global warming.
Copenhagen 2009 comes two decades after the IPCC was established in 1988 and released its first report in 1990. With no real deal in sight (see next post below), perhaps it is time for the pundits to move on to the next climate scare.
Meanwhile, you may still refuse to go with the flow. The world may yet avoid water wars.
Mazoomdaar is an independent journalist and filmmaker
Hierarchy Begins at Home
Why rich bullies in the climate debate should not surprise us
Open magazine, 27 Nov, 2009
Alphonse Karr did not know about global warming but his now clichéd observation holds good for the climate deadlock. The flickering hope died out three weeks before Copenhagen. No, there will be no legally binding international deal on emission cuts. We won’t hear any definite word on other contentious issues, such as financing and technology transfer, either. Already, Copenhagen has been reduced to ‘setting the stage’ for the next climate summit at Mexico in 2010.
The green diehards are outraged. Yes, the global responsibility of reducing greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions—possible only by compromising national economies and individual lifestyles—is supposed to be shared by all nations. But is it really surprising that many have found ways to appear more (or less) equal than others?
The contention is simple. Due to higher population density and inferior technologies, the developing countries (read China and India) will together account for more than two-thirds of the world’s GHG emissions by 2020. So the developed world (read the US) wants these countries to invest big in green technologies.
The poorer nations argue that they have a lot of catching up to do in terms of growth and that they cannot afford to saddle their economy. Asia or sub-Saharan Africa, they point out, may account for much of the global GHG burden, but per capita emissions in these poorer parts of the world are still negligible, compared to Europe (230 per cent) or North America (500 per cent). Therefore, the developing world wants the rich nations to mind their own emissions, and, help poorer nations financially to upgrade technology.
Taking a cue from former Argentine President Néstor Kirchner, if we mark out the poorest countries on the globe, we also end up demarcating the areas with highest concentrations of biodiversity on earth. Conversely, to identify the areas with severe environmental degradation, we only need to highlight the richest nations on the map. Naturally, the Indian climate establishment and its negotiators do not want the developed world (read the US) to lecture them on emission cuts.
But it is difficult to escape a feeling of déjà vu at home. If we repeat the above exercise on India’s map, we only have to identify the poorest districts to get the forest map of the country. Much of prosperous India won’t show even a few specks of green from the sky. Not too long back, all these areas were forested, rich in biodiversity. Evidently, across the country, those assets have been exploited for economic growth.
Today, global warming or not, science tells us that we must save whatever little forests remain. Still, we do not limit mining or mega-constructions inside forests because these are economic activities that keep making us richer. Instead, we tell poor forest communities, people who did not or could not cut down their forests and make money like we did, to make livelihood sacrifices to secure the country’s ecological future.
Now, how different is that from the US telling India to cut down emissions no matter what to secure the earth’s future?
Recently, the Centre raised the compensation for those moving out of India’s prime forests to Rs 10 lakh per family. But what are such families, uprooted from their lives, supposed to use the money for? To buy land outside forests (because it was not provided free), spend for infrastructure (because little was built) and gamble at some alternative livelihood (because no vocational training was provided). In effect, they will end up giving the money back to our structured economy without finding so much as a foothold.
How different is that from the developed world’s strategy of offering aid to developing countries to fight global warming and then making them buy low-carbon technologies?
So, what is the only consensus at Copenhagen? Convenience.Again, take the example at home. While we want to shift a few thousand families from core critical forest areas, we have given land and other rights to millions living in the so-called non-critical forests across India. On paper, the idea is to allow them limited exploitation (as opposed to our plunder) of forest resources. But these marginal communities understand little of rights and less of responsibility. Between their poverty and the lures of a parallel (mafia) economy, much of these forests will be lost soon.
If we were indeed serious about conservation, we could have empowered these communities while giving them rights to exploit those non-core forests. Regular conduct-based incentive schemes would encourage and justify sustainable use of forest resources and, importantly, keep the mafia out. But such schemes dent the economy. So does absence of mafia.
So, past rhetoric notwithstanding, a number of world leaders and top climate negotiators have been quite candid in the last three weeks that no save-the-earth deal is going to be inked at Copenhagen. Of course, there are talks of raising two funds—one to protect poor countries from the worst impact of climate change and the other to reduce deforestation in the developing world. Also, the new market for clean technologies will get a boost. A lot of money will change hands. Few will need to change their lifestyles, or cut emissions directly.
Karr was right, after all. The more things change, the more they remain the same.
Open magazine, 27 Nov, 2009
Alphonse Karr did not know about global warming but his now clichéd observation holds good for the climate deadlock. The flickering hope died out three weeks before Copenhagen. No, there will be no legally binding international deal on emission cuts. We won’t hear any definite word on other contentious issues, such as financing and technology transfer, either. Already, Copenhagen has been reduced to ‘setting the stage’ for the next climate summit at Mexico in 2010.
The green diehards are outraged. Yes, the global responsibility of reducing greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions—possible only by compromising national economies and individual lifestyles—is supposed to be shared by all nations. But is it really surprising that many have found ways to appear more (or less) equal than others?
The contention is simple. Due to higher population density and inferior technologies, the developing countries (read China and India) will together account for more than two-thirds of the world’s GHG emissions by 2020. So the developed world (read the US) wants these countries to invest big in green technologies.
The poorer nations argue that they have a lot of catching up to do in terms of growth and that they cannot afford to saddle their economy. Asia or sub-Saharan Africa, they point out, may account for much of the global GHG burden, but per capita emissions in these poorer parts of the world are still negligible, compared to Europe (230 per cent) or North America (500 per cent). Therefore, the developing world wants the rich nations to mind their own emissions, and, help poorer nations financially to upgrade technology.
Taking a cue from former Argentine President Néstor Kirchner, if we mark out the poorest countries on the globe, we also end up demarcating the areas with highest concentrations of biodiversity on earth. Conversely, to identify the areas with severe environmental degradation, we only need to highlight the richest nations on the map. Naturally, the Indian climate establishment and its negotiators do not want the developed world (read the US) to lecture them on emission cuts.
But it is difficult to escape a feeling of déjà vu at home. If we repeat the above exercise on India’s map, we only have to identify the poorest districts to get the forest map of the country. Much of prosperous India won’t show even a few specks of green from the sky. Not too long back, all these areas were forested, rich in biodiversity. Evidently, across the country, those assets have been exploited for economic growth.
Today, global warming or not, science tells us that we must save whatever little forests remain. Still, we do not limit mining or mega-constructions inside forests because these are economic activities that keep making us richer. Instead, we tell poor forest communities, people who did not or could not cut down their forests and make money like we did, to make livelihood sacrifices to secure the country’s ecological future.
Now, how different is that from the US telling India to cut down emissions no matter what to secure the earth’s future?
Recently, the Centre raised the compensation for those moving out of India’s prime forests to Rs 10 lakh per family. But what are such families, uprooted from their lives, supposed to use the money for? To buy land outside forests (because it was not provided free), spend for infrastructure (because little was built) and gamble at some alternative livelihood (because no vocational training was provided). In effect, they will end up giving the money back to our structured economy without finding so much as a foothold.
How different is that from the developed world’s strategy of offering aid to developing countries to fight global warming and then making them buy low-carbon technologies?
So, what is the only consensus at Copenhagen? Convenience.Again, take the example at home. While we want to shift a few thousand families from core critical forest areas, we have given land and other rights to millions living in the so-called non-critical forests across India. On paper, the idea is to allow them limited exploitation (as opposed to our plunder) of forest resources. But these marginal communities understand little of rights and less of responsibility. Between their poverty and the lures of a parallel (mafia) economy, much of these forests will be lost soon.
If we were indeed serious about conservation, we could have empowered these communities while giving them rights to exploit those non-core forests. Regular conduct-based incentive schemes would encourage and justify sustainable use of forest resources and, importantly, keep the mafia out. But such schemes dent the economy. So does absence of mafia.
So, past rhetoric notwithstanding, a number of world leaders and top climate negotiators have been quite candid in the last three weeks that no save-the-earth deal is going to be inked at Copenhagen. Of course, there are talks of raising two funds—one to protect poor countries from the worst impact of climate change and the other to reduce deforestation in the developing world. Also, the new market for clean technologies will get a boost. A lot of money will change hands. Few will need to change their lifestyles, or cut emissions directly.
Karr was right, after all. The more things change, the more they remain the same.
Green To The Gallery
Jairam Ramesh created hope, now it is time for him to deliver
New Indian Express, 15 Oct, 2009
A lot has changed in the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) in the last four months. A Congress minister has taken charge — a minister who looks confident, talks smooth, means business and loves attention. And he has unleashed his doctrine of pop conservation.
Of course, the new MoEF has taken a few sound decisions. For example, it has introduced tripartite MoUs among the Centre, respective states and the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA). It has started setting up tiger protection forces with young recruits and rigorous training. It has also decided to absorb youth from forest communities as guards on contract.
All these proposals, however, were in the pipeline for months — thanks to NTCA’s consistent attempts at reforms. To Jairam Ramesh’s credit, he implemented them quickly.
There are a number of similarly sound proposals waiting for the new minister’s attention. A separate wildlife secretariat and a specialised sub-cadre, reforms to build scientific capacity, relocation of villages from critical forest areas, restoration of vital forest corridors — the list is long. Unfortunately, Ramesh has been a little too busy for all these.
Within weeks of taking charge, the new minister sought credit for unlocking the Rs 11,000-crore Compulsory Afforestation Fund Management and Planning Authority (CAMPA) booty. Now the states will receive Rs 1,000 crore every year for afforestation — a big boost as the cumulative green budget of all states stands at just Rs 800 crore.
But our governments have a notorious past when it comes to utilisation of funds. To cite just one example, records from 16 tiger reserves show that in 2008-’09 alone, Rs 21 crore out of a total central allotment of Rs 93 crore remained unspent. Most government agencies fare worse even after they try to rush expenditure in useless, ad hoc projects towards the end of every fiscal cycle.
The CAMPA funds will achieve little without scientific planning and professional monitoring. For example, the money could be utilised to restore some of India’s most critical forest corridors. But why take the trouble when Rs 11,000 crore anyway makes for good headlines?
During his first official visit to Corbett Tiger Reserve in June, Ramesh spoke a lot of sense before dropping a bombshell. Micro-light aircraft will be acquired, he announced, to help monitoring and surveillance. After all, they use these fancy flying machines in Africa.
The Corbett staff was left confounded. They slowly gathered courage to point out that the honourable minister’s idea was not quite practical. Surely the Corbett staff needed better equipment, vehicles and manpower. But micro-lights, they pointed out, fit the bill for monitoring open African savannas, not dense canopies that make much of India’s forests visually impenetrable from the sky.
Moreover, only five tiger reserves in India are big enough to spread over 2,000 sq km each. While it would be tough to manoeuvre a micro-light over such small forest patches, effective ground monitoring of such limited stretches is always possible (except perhaps in Sunderbans and Namdapha). Then, of course, there are other tricky issues of felling trees to clear space for runways, etc. Hopefully, bureaucrats at MoEF will be able to convince their minister to stay grounded.
But Jairam Ramesh has already moved on to newer stunts. His recent exclamation in Bhopal on how holding toxic waste did not make him cough or his eager handling of a python for the camera at a national park can be dismissed as naiveté, But it gets a little serious when he attempts to deflect attention from real issues in Parliament by announcing plans to reintroduce cheetahs.
The biggest argument for reintroduction is that the cheetah will become the mascot of our neglected grasslands and help its protection. Incidentally, the same grasslands are also home to the amazing still-not-extinct great Indian bustards. If we show a fraction of the enthusiasm we have for the cheetah, we can still bring back this majestic bird from the brink of extinction.
Even if the cheetah project doesn’t demand government funds, it will require vast tracts of land that only the government can facilitate. The few dozens of surviving bustards need only small undisturbed corners of fields to hatch their eggs. If Ramesh cannot offer incentives to encourage a few farmers to leave small portions of fields uncultivated for bustard nesting, his ministry has no business discussing thousands of hectares for some exotic experiment.
Then, there is also the question of accountability. Ramesh has been talking tough on environmental clearances but his ministry is silent about the fiasco over clearing Mayawati’s memorial park project on a green expanse in Noida. While the minister was in China last month, the MoEF reversed the stand earlier taken by its own regional office at Lucknow and gave a clean chit to the Uttar Pradesh chief minister.
Following the mass outrage, the ministry swung into damage control mode and again changed its stand. But till date, no one has been held responsible for trying to destroy the case against the Uttar Pradesh government. If Mayawati is eventually let off in the case, the appointment of the next chief secretary at Lucknow will perhaps throw some light on the mystery.
It will be indeed a tragedy if the great green expectation triggered by Ramesh’s appointment fizzles out too soon. To be fair, nobody expected Ramesh to turn any wheel in his first 100 days in office, but many believed it was time enough for him to at least get a firm grip.
Better late than never.
(The author is a journalist and filmmaker. E-mail: mazoomdaar@gmail.com)
New Indian Express, 15 Oct, 2009
A lot has changed in the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) in the last four months. A Congress minister has taken charge — a minister who looks confident, talks smooth, means business and loves attention. And he has unleashed his doctrine of pop conservation.
Of course, the new MoEF has taken a few sound decisions. For example, it has introduced tripartite MoUs among the Centre, respective states and the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA). It has started setting up tiger protection forces with young recruits and rigorous training. It has also decided to absorb youth from forest communities as guards on contract.
All these proposals, however, were in the pipeline for months — thanks to NTCA’s consistent attempts at reforms. To Jairam Ramesh’s credit, he implemented them quickly.
There are a number of similarly sound proposals waiting for the new minister’s attention. A separate wildlife secretariat and a specialised sub-cadre, reforms to build scientific capacity, relocation of villages from critical forest areas, restoration of vital forest corridors — the list is long. Unfortunately, Ramesh has been a little too busy for all these.
Within weeks of taking charge, the new minister sought credit for unlocking the Rs 11,000-crore Compulsory Afforestation Fund Management and Planning Authority (CAMPA) booty. Now the states will receive Rs 1,000 crore every year for afforestation — a big boost as the cumulative green budget of all states stands at just Rs 800 crore.
But our governments have a notorious past when it comes to utilisation of funds. To cite just one example, records from 16 tiger reserves show that in 2008-’09 alone, Rs 21 crore out of a total central allotment of Rs 93 crore remained unspent. Most government agencies fare worse even after they try to rush expenditure in useless, ad hoc projects towards the end of every fiscal cycle.
The CAMPA funds will achieve little without scientific planning and professional monitoring. For example, the money could be utilised to restore some of India’s most critical forest corridors. But why take the trouble when Rs 11,000 crore anyway makes for good headlines?
During his first official visit to Corbett Tiger Reserve in June, Ramesh spoke a lot of sense before dropping a bombshell. Micro-light aircraft will be acquired, he announced, to help monitoring and surveillance. After all, they use these fancy flying machines in Africa.
The Corbett staff was left confounded. They slowly gathered courage to point out that the honourable minister’s idea was not quite practical. Surely the Corbett staff needed better equipment, vehicles and manpower. But micro-lights, they pointed out, fit the bill for monitoring open African savannas, not dense canopies that make much of India’s forests visually impenetrable from the sky.
Moreover, only five tiger reserves in India are big enough to spread over 2,000 sq km each. While it would be tough to manoeuvre a micro-light over such small forest patches, effective ground monitoring of such limited stretches is always possible (except perhaps in Sunderbans and Namdapha). Then, of course, there are other tricky issues of felling trees to clear space for runways, etc. Hopefully, bureaucrats at MoEF will be able to convince their minister to stay grounded.
But Jairam Ramesh has already moved on to newer stunts. His recent exclamation in Bhopal on how holding toxic waste did not make him cough or his eager handling of a python for the camera at a national park can be dismissed as naiveté, But it gets a little serious when he attempts to deflect attention from real issues in Parliament by announcing plans to reintroduce cheetahs.
The biggest argument for reintroduction is that the cheetah will become the mascot of our neglected grasslands and help its protection. Incidentally, the same grasslands are also home to the amazing still-not-extinct great Indian bustards. If we show a fraction of the enthusiasm we have for the cheetah, we can still bring back this majestic bird from the brink of extinction.
Even if the cheetah project doesn’t demand government funds, it will require vast tracts of land that only the government can facilitate. The few dozens of surviving bustards need only small undisturbed corners of fields to hatch their eggs. If Ramesh cannot offer incentives to encourage a few farmers to leave small portions of fields uncultivated for bustard nesting, his ministry has no business discussing thousands of hectares for some exotic experiment.
Then, there is also the question of accountability. Ramesh has been talking tough on environmental clearances but his ministry is silent about the fiasco over clearing Mayawati’s memorial park project on a green expanse in Noida. While the minister was in China last month, the MoEF reversed the stand earlier taken by its own regional office at Lucknow and gave a clean chit to the Uttar Pradesh chief minister.
Following the mass outrage, the ministry swung into damage control mode and again changed its stand. But till date, no one has been held responsible for trying to destroy the case against the Uttar Pradesh government. If Mayawati is eventually let off in the case, the appointment of the next chief secretary at Lucknow will perhaps throw some light on the mystery.
It will be indeed a tragedy if the great green expectation triggered by Ramesh’s appointment fizzles out too soon. To be fair, nobody expected Ramesh to turn any wheel in his first 100 days in office, but many believed it was time enough for him to at least get a firm grip.
Better late than never.
(The author is a journalist and filmmaker. E-mail: mazoomdaar@gmail.com)
কোথায় পাবো তারে
আনন্দবাজার পত্রিকা ৯ অক্টোবর ২০০৯
জঙ্গলে তার মুখোমুখি হওয়ার রোমাঞ্চের কথা ছেড়েই দিলাম, ঝোপের ফাঁকে এক ঝলক-ই যথেষ্ট। ভয়ংকর কি কখনো সুন্দর হতে পারে? বা অতিকায় ক্ষিপ্র? আভিজাত্যে কি মিশে থাকতে পারে ধুর্ততা? শুকনো পাতার ওপর নিঃসাড়ে পা ফেলে যেতে যেতে হঠাত থমকে তার চকিতে ঘাড় ফিরিয়ে তাকানো, সেই দৃষ্টিতে মিশে থাকা আত্মবিশ্বাস এবং অবিশ্বাস, আর যেকোনো মুহুর্তে একটা আলতো লাফে অতবড় অবয়বটার বেমালুম গায়েব হয়ে যাওয়া – না দেখলে বনের বাঘ ব্যাপারটা বুঝিয়ে ওঠা কঠিন।
মনে পড়ছে ২০০৫-এর সেই করবেট কান্ড। ঢিকালায় এক বাঘিনী তার চার সন্তানকে নিয়ে মাঝেমধ্যেই ট্যুরিস্টদের দর্শন দিচ্ছিলেন। ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের ক্যান্টিনের পিছনে ফেলে দেওয়া উদ্বৃত্ত খাবার চাখতে রোজই কিছু বুনো শুয়োর ভিড় করতো। গরম বাড়তেই চার বাড়ন্ত বাচ্চার পেট পালতে নাজেহাল বাঘিনী সুলভ শিকারের আশায় সন্ধ্যের পর ওই আস্তাকুঁড়ে হানা দিতে শুরু করে।
মাস দুয়েক যাবত সাপ্তাহিক শূয়োর শিকার নির্বিঘ্নেই চলছিল। কিন্তু ২৬-শে মে রাতে ক্যান্টিনের কর্মচারী মদন পান্ডে তার নির্জন স্টাফ কোয়ার্টারের পৌছতে একটু বেশী-ই দেরী করে ফেলেন। ওদিকে তখনই বাঘিনীর এক লায়েক সন্তান শিকার-শিকার খেলার মেজাজে মা-কে ছেড়ে আস্তাকুঁড় ছেড়ে একটু এগিয়ে গিয়েছিল। বেচারার দোষ নেই, চাবি হাতে তালার ওপর ঝোঁকা অবস্থায় পান্ডেজিকে পেছন থেকে দেখে অনভিগ্ম চোখে জংলী শিকার মনে হতেই পারে। পান্ডেজি-র কপাল ভাল, কাঁচা বাঘের হাতে পড়ায় তিনি রক্তক্ষয় আর অঙ্গহানি-র ওপর দিয়েই সে যাত্রা রক্ষা পান।
নেহাত-ই দুর্ঘটনা। কিন্তু করবেটে মানুষখেকোর গুজব রটতে বেশী সময় লাগে না। দুদিনের মধ্যেই ঢিকালা হাউসফুল। তারপর সেই ঝড়ের সন্ধ্যে।
সেদিন বিকেল থেকেই আকাশ অন্ধকার। ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের মাঝখানের মাঠে কচি-কাঁচারা জঙ্গল সাফারি থেকে ফিরে খেলায় ব্যস্ত। বড়রা চা-কফি পর্ব সেরে বাঘ না দেখতে পাওয়ার অনুযোগ নিয়ে কাছে ভীড় করেছেন। হঠাত বড় বড় ফোঁটায় বৃষ্টি আর দমকা ঝড়ে পাওয়ার কাট। অন্ধকারে দৌড়ঝাঁপ শুরু হতেই, একটা লম্বা বাজ পড়ল খানখান শব্দে । বেশ ক’মুহুর্তের জন্য দিনের মত স্পষ্ট আলোয় দেখা গেল পাঁচ-পাঁচটি বাঘ -- ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের ঠিক মাঝবরাবর এগিয়ে আসছে।
আসলে রামগঙ্গা নদীর চর থেকে ওই ঢিকালা আস্তাকুঁড়ে পৌছবার সোজা রাস্তা ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের মাঝখান দিয়ে। নিজের রাজত্বে ট্যুরিস্ট-এর ভিড় এড়াতে ঘুরপথে যাতায়াত বাঘিনীর নিশ্চয় মর্যাদায় বেধেছিল। চার লায়েক সন্তানকে নিয়ে তিনি তো নির্বিবাদে মিনিট দুয়েকের মধ্যেই গায়েব হয়ে গেলেন। পেছনে রেখে গেলেন আতঙ্কে দৌড়তে গিয়ে হাড়ভাঙ্গা রেঞ্জ অফিসার রাওয়াত সাহেব, আর এক দল ফ্যাকাশেমুখো ট্যুরিস্ট।
সে’কদিন ঢিকালায় নাইট কারফিউ-তে সন্ধ্যে সাতটার মধ্যেই ক্যান্টিন বন্ধ হয়ে যেতো। ট্যুরিস্টরা প্যাকড্ ডিনার নিয়ে নিজের নিজের ঘরে দরজা বন্ধ করে জানালার পাশে বাঘ পরিবারের হেটেঁ যাওয়ার অপেক্ষায় বসে থাকতো ঘন্টার পর ঘন্টা । ঘরে বসে বাঘ দেখার লোভে রাতের পর রাত কারো মুখেই কোনো অভিযোগ শুনিনি । এ এক আশ্চর্য আকর্ষন। সাধে কি আর ভারতের বিভিন্ন বাঘবনে লাখ-লাখ দেশি-বিদেশি ট্যুরিস্টের ভীড়?
বাঙ্গালীর অবশ্য বেঙ্গল টাইগারের ওপর স্বভাবতই বিশেষ অধিকার। রসিকতা নয়, দেশের নানা জঙ্গলের হোটেল আর গেস্টহাউস রেজিস্টারে বাঙ্গালীর এই ব্যাঘ্রব্যাকুলতার যথেষ্ট প্রমাণ মজুত। ভিন প্রদেশে ছোটা ছাড়া গতি নেই কারণ সুন্দরবনে কয়েক ডজন, উত্তরবঙ্গে গুটিকয়, আর বেহালায় সৌরভ গাঙ্গুলী ছাড়া যাবতিয় রয়্যাল বেঙ্গল টাইগারেরই সাবেক নিবাস বাংলার বাইরে।
কিন্তু সরিস্কা থেকে নামডাফা আর রাজাজি থেকে বান্দিপুর, যেখানেই কাজের ফাঁকে বাঙ্গালী-অবাঙ্গালী ট্যুরিস্টদের সাথে আলাপ হয়েছে, অধিকাংশেরই শুনেছি এক অভিযোগ। এতবার জঙ্গলে গিয়ে তাদের একবার-ও বাঘের দেখা মেলেনি।
ইন্টারনেটে গুগল্-এ টাইগার টাইপ করলে নয় কোটির বেশি রেসাল্ট পাওয়া যায়। সারা দেশের জঙ্গল ঢুঁড়লে মাত্র ১৪০০ বাঘ। আবার এই ১৪০০ বাঘের বেশীর ভাগই যেহেতু অরণ্যের এমন এলাকার বাসিন্দা যেখানে সাধারন ট্যুরিস্টের প্রবেশাধিকার নেই, দু-চার দিন কোনো জঙ্গলের ট্যুরিসম্ জোন সকালে-বিকেলে জীপে-হাতিতে চষে ফেললেই যে এক-আধটা বাঘ দেখতে পাওয়া যাবে তার কোনো নিশ্চয়তা নেই।
শুধু যে দ্রুত কমতে থাকা সংখ্যাই বাঘের বিরল দর্শনের কারণ তা কিন্তু নয়। নাকের ডগায় থেকেও দেখা দিতে না চাইলে জঙ্গলে বাঘের দেখা পাওয়া প্রায় অসম্ভব। আমাদের মত শহুরে আড়াই-ইন্দ্রিয়ওয়ালাদের কথা ছেড়েই দিলাম, সারা জীবন জঙ্গলে কাটানো ওস্তাদ গাইড এমনকি পোষা হাতিকেও বাঘ ধন্ধে ফেলে দেয়।
বছর কয়েক হল, ওই করবেটেই তিনটি হাতি নিয়ে এক বাঘিনীকে ইডেন গার্ডেনের চেয়েও ছোটো জংলা ঘাসজমির পরিধিতে আড়াই ঘন্টা ধরে খোঁজার পর আমরা শেষমেষ হাল ছেড়ে দিয়েছিলাম। বাঘিনী মহোদয়া গোটা সময়টা ঐ পরিসরেই ছিলেন এবং তার তাজা পদচ্ছাপের ওপর বারবার আরো তাজা পদচ্ছাপ এ কথাই প্রমান করেছিল যে তিন-তিনটি হাতির উপস্থিতিতে এলাকা ছেড়ে সরে পরতে না পারলেও, তাদের লেজে খেলিয়ে ম্যাডাম অনায়াসে অধরা (অর্থাত অদেখা) থেকে যান।
যে কোনো শিকারীর সবচেয়ে বড় অস্ত্র হল আচমকা হামলা করার দক্ষতা । বিশেষত যারা একলা শিকার করে তাদের পারিপার্শ্বিকে মিশে গায়েব হয়ে থাকার একটা অদ্ভুত ক্ষমতা আছে। বাঘ জঙ্গলের শ্রেষ্ঠ নিসঙ্গ শিকারী। যারা বলে জঙ্গলের রাজা হল যুথচারী সিংহ, তারা এসে দেখে যাক ভারতীয় অরণ্যের একচ্ছত্র বাঘ -- সুন্দরবনের ‘দখিনরায়’ (দক্ষিনে রাজত্ব যার), মধ্যপ্রদেশের ‘বাঘ দেও’ (বাঘদেবতা), কর্নাটক তটের ‘পিলিভুথা’ (সোনালী আত্মা)।
এতবড় রাজ্যপাট একা সামলানোর জন্য বাঘের দাঁত-নখ-শক্তি-ক্ষিপ্রতার তুলনাবিহীন সমন্বয়ও ঠিক যথেষ্ট নয়। তাই নিঃশব্দচারী বাঘকে তার শতাধীক সোনালী-কালো ডোরা ব্যবহার করে নিজের ১৫০-২৫০ কেজি অবয়বখানি শত্রু এবং শিকারের চোখের আড়ালে রাখার এক অভিমন্যু-সুলভ শিল্প আয়ত্ত করতে হয়েছে।
তাই জঙ্গলে গিয়ে বাঘের দেখা না পেলে একদম মুখ গোমড়া করে বেড়ানো মাটি করবেন না। যে কোনো মুহুর্তে তেনার দেখা পাওয়ার ছমছমে সম্ভাবনাই বাঘবনের আগমার্কা নিরন্তর রোমাঞ্চ । সেই অপেক্ষার ফাঁকে ফাঁকে প্রত্যেক ভিন্ন বাঘবনের জাদুবাক্স আপনাকে দেবে অসংখ্য আবিষ্কারের সুযোগ। শুখা পর্ণমোচী, আর্দ্র পর্ণমোচী, বর্ষাবন, চিরহরি, নোনা তটবন -– বাঘের বিচরণ সবরকম জঙ্গলেই। বড় মিঞার আশায় আশায় এতরকম অরণ্যকে জেনে ওঠার আনন্দই আপনার ব্যাঘ্রপ্রেম আর ধৈর্যের সবচেয়ে বড় পুরষ্কার।
আর যদি শিকে ছেঁড়ে? সে অভিগ্মতা অলৌকিক। মাইক সালিসবারি, বিবিসি ন্যাচারাল হিস্ট্রির অন্যতম কিংবদন্তী, বহু বছর আফ্রিকা আর উত্তর মেরুতে কাটিয়েছেন গরিলা, সিংহ আর মেরু ভল্লুকের মত অসাধারন প্রাণীদের নিয়ে কাজ করে। বছর তিনেক আগে রনথম্বরে প্রথমবার বাঘ দেখার পর দীর্ঘক্ষণ তার মুখে কথা সরেনি। অবশেষে তার অস্ফুট উচ্চারণে ছিল অসংলগ্ন মুগ্ধতা, তার অভিভুত চোখে জল।
রনথম্বরেই এক শীতের সকালে ঝানু ড্রাইভার রইস খানের ভরসায় পৌছেছি কাচিদা-র জঙ্গলে। ঘন্টা দুয়েক ঘোরাফেরার পর হঠাত চোখ পড়ল রাস্তার গজ কুড়ি দূরে অল্প জমে থাকা জলে। শুকনো পাতা আর পাথুরে প্রেক্ষাপটে প্রায় অদৃশ্য গলা অবধি ডুবে থাকা বাঘ। সেই প্রথম দেখলাম রইসের চোখে সামান্য সম্ভ্রম । “আপনে তো বড়িয়া স্পট কিয়া আজ!” বাঘের বদান্যতায় সেদিন থেকেই রইস-এর সঙ্গে বন্ধুত্বের শুরু।
জঙ্গলে দক্ষ ড্রাইভার বা গাইডের ষষ্ঠেন্দ্রিয়ের কোনো বিকল্প নেই। রনথম্বরের রইস খান, নাগারহোলের বিক্রম নানজাপ্পা বা বান্ধবগড়ের সলিম খান-দের থেকে জঙ্গলের প্রথম পাঠ শিখেছেন অনেক নিয়মিত ট্যুরিস্ট। যেমন ধরুন, জঙ্গলে নজর রাখার পদ্ধতি । একই দিকে লাগাতার তাকিয়ে থাকলে, বেশীরভাগ সময় ধরতেই পারবেন না কোনখানে জানোয়ার জঙ্গলের রং-এ মিশে আছে। আপনাকে বারবার জঙ্গলের বিভিন্ন অংশে নজর ফেলতে হবে যাতে চোখ অভ্যস্ত না হয়ে যায় আর সামান্য নড়াচড়া-ও ধরা পড়ে । শুনতে সহজ কিন্তু গাইড আঙ্গুল দিয়ে পশুপাখি দেখালেও অনেক ট্যুরিস্টেরই খুঁজে পেতে বেশ সময় লেগে যায়।
কিন্তু জঙ্গলে শুধু দেখতে জানাই যে যথেষ্ট নয় তা টের পেয়েছিলাম বছর দশেক আগে সরিস্কায় । তিন বন্ধুর সাথে বিকেলের জিপ সাফারিতে বেরিয়েছি। কালিঘাটি পেরোতেই বাদিকের জঙ্গলে ময়ুরের অ্যালার্ম কল। একটু অপেক্ষা করে পাহাড়ি-র দিকে এগোতেই, আবার। এবার বাঁদর, ঠিক রাস্তার ওপরের দুটো গাছে। দুজন করে দুদিকের জঙ্গলে চোখ রেখে শ’খানেক গজ এগোতেই দর্শন দিলেন্ তিনি। আমি কিছু বোঝার আগেই পাশে বসা জয়দীপ ছিটকে দাঁড়িয়ে উঠল উত্তেজনায়। “দ্যাখ, দ্যাখ, দ্যাখ…” সেই আর্তনাদে চমকিত বাঘবাবাজি এক ঝলকে, আরেক বন্ধু সন্দীপন দেখে ওঠার আগেই, জঙ্গলে মিলিয়ে গেলেন। অনেক ভর্তসনা সহ্য করে সেদিন জয়দীপ শিখেছিল যে জঙ্গলে অন্যের দৃষ্টি আকর্ষনের জন্য হাতের ইঙ্গিত বা কাঁধে টোকাই যথেষ্ট।
দেখা আর বলা ছাড়া, জঙ্গলে শুনতে জানাও জরুরী। অনেকেই জানেন যে অ্যালার্ম কল বা ত্রস্তডাক বাঘ বা অন্য শিকারী জানোয়ারের উপস্থিতি জানান দেয়। কিন্তু অ্যালার্ম কল মাত্রেই নির্ভরযোগ্য নয়। অনেক জংলী জানোয়ার-ই সহজে ভয় পায় । আমি চিতল হরিনকে ট্যুরিস্ট গাড়ি দেখেও অ্যালার্ম কল দিতে শুনেছি। বাঘের সন্ধানের জন্য সবচেয়ে নির্ভরযোগ্য অ্যালার্ম কল বাঁদর আর শেয়ালের। কারন? জংগলে বাঁদর আর শেয়ালকে ভয় দেখায় বাঘ ছাড়া সাধ্য কার?
কিন্তু এত কান্ডের পরেও তো জঙ্গলে গিয়ে বাঘের দেখা নাই মিলতে পারে। তবে আর কি? সারাদিন বাঘবন চষে রাত্রে মন ভোলান বাঘের গল্পে ।
মনে আছে সারাদিন জঙ্গলে বাঘখোঁজা ঘুরে ক্লান্ত সন্ধ্যায় সর্পদুলির রেঞ্জ অফিসার উমেশ তিওয়ারি-র কোয়ার্টারে আমরা ক’বন্ধু জমিয়ে বসেছিলাম। সন্দীপন সেবারও সঙ্গে ছিল । তিওয়ারিজি-র হাতির পিঠে মানুষখেকোর মুখোমুখি হওয়ার রোমহর্ষক অভিগ্মতার গল্প কেউই ভুলিনি এখনো ।
সন্দীপন এখন মুম্বইবাসী। ওর বাঘের খোঁজ শুরু আট বছর বয়সে জলদাপাড়ায়, কিন্তু আজও কপালে দর্শন জোটেনি । শুনলাম এবছর কেরালায় সাইলেন্ট ভ্যালি ঘুরে এল। প্রতি বছরই একবার কোনো না কোনো জঙ্গলে ঢুঁ মারে। করবেটের কথা উঠলে ঠিক জিগ্মেস করে ফের একবার তিওয়ারিজি-র সঙ্গে বসা যায় কবে।
(লেখক একজন সংরক্ষণ সাংবাদিক এবং তথ্যচিত্রনির্মাতা)
জঙ্গলে তার মুখোমুখি হওয়ার রোমাঞ্চের কথা ছেড়েই দিলাম, ঝোপের ফাঁকে এক ঝলক-ই যথেষ্ট। ভয়ংকর কি কখনো সুন্দর হতে পারে? বা অতিকায় ক্ষিপ্র? আভিজাত্যে কি মিশে থাকতে পারে ধুর্ততা? শুকনো পাতার ওপর নিঃসাড়ে পা ফেলে যেতে যেতে হঠাত থমকে তার চকিতে ঘাড় ফিরিয়ে তাকানো, সেই দৃষ্টিতে মিশে থাকা আত্মবিশ্বাস এবং অবিশ্বাস, আর যেকোনো মুহুর্তে একটা আলতো লাফে অতবড় অবয়বটার বেমালুম গায়েব হয়ে যাওয়া – না দেখলে বনের বাঘ ব্যাপারটা বুঝিয়ে ওঠা কঠিন।
মনে পড়ছে ২০০৫-এর সেই করবেট কান্ড। ঢিকালায় এক বাঘিনী তার চার সন্তানকে নিয়ে মাঝেমধ্যেই ট্যুরিস্টদের দর্শন দিচ্ছিলেন। ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের ক্যান্টিনের পিছনে ফেলে দেওয়া উদ্বৃত্ত খাবার চাখতে রোজই কিছু বুনো শুয়োর ভিড় করতো। গরম বাড়তেই চার বাড়ন্ত বাচ্চার পেট পালতে নাজেহাল বাঘিনী সুলভ শিকারের আশায় সন্ধ্যের পর ওই আস্তাকুঁড়ে হানা দিতে শুরু করে।
মাস দুয়েক যাবত সাপ্তাহিক শূয়োর শিকার নির্বিঘ্নেই চলছিল। কিন্তু ২৬-শে মে রাতে ক্যান্টিনের কর্মচারী মদন পান্ডে তার নির্জন স্টাফ কোয়ার্টারের পৌছতে একটু বেশী-ই দেরী করে ফেলেন। ওদিকে তখনই বাঘিনীর এক লায়েক সন্তান শিকার-শিকার খেলার মেজাজে মা-কে ছেড়ে আস্তাকুঁড় ছেড়ে একটু এগিয়ে গিয়েছিল। বেচারার দোষ নেই, চাবি হাতে তালার ওপর ঝোঁকা অবস্থায় পান্ডেজিকে পেছন থেকে দেখে অনভিগ্ম চোখে জংলী শিকার মনে হতেই পারে। পান্ডেজি-র কপাল ভাল, কাঁচা বাঘের হাতে পড়ায় তিনি রক্তক্ষয় আর অঙ্গহানি-র ওপর দিয়েই সে যাত্রা রক্ষা পান।
নেহাত-ই দুর্ঘটনা। কিন্তু করবেটে মানুষখেকোর গুজব রটতে বেশী সময় লাগে না। দুদিনের মধ্যেই ঢিকালা হাউসফুল। তারপর সেই ঝড়ের সন্ধ্যে।
সেদিন বিকেল থেকেই আকাশ অন্ধকার। ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের মাঝখানের মাঠে কচি-কাঁচারা জঙ্গল সাফারি থেকে ফিরে খেলায় ব্যস্ত। বড়রা চা-কফি পর্ব সেরে বাঘ না দেখতে পাওয়ার অনুযোগ নিয়ে কাছে ভীড় করেছেন। হঠাত বড় বড় ফোঁটায় বৃষ্টি আর দমকা ঝড়ে পাওয়ার কাট। অন্ধকারে দৌড়ঝাঁপ শুরু হতেই, একটা লম্বা বাজ পড়ল খানখান শব্দে । বেশ ক’মুহুর্তের জন্য দিনের মত স্পষ্ট আলোয় দেখা গেল পাঁচ-পাঁচটি বাঘ -- ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের ঠিক মাঝবরাবর এগিয়ে আসছে।
আসলে রামগঙ্গা নদীর চর থেকে ওই ঢিকালা আস্তাকুঁড়ে পৌছবার সোজা রাস্তা ট্যুরিস্ট কমপ্লেক্সের মাঝখান দিয়ে। নিজের রাজত্বে ট্যুরিস্ট-এর ভিড় এড়াতে ঘুরপথে যাতায়াত বাঘিনীর নিশ্চয় মর্যাদায় বেধেছিল। চার লায়েক সন্তানকে নিয়ে তিনি তো নির্বিবাদে মিনিট দুয়েকের মধ্যেই গায়েব হয়ে গেলেন। পেছনে রেখে গেলেন আতঙ্কে দৌড়তে গিয়ে হাড়ভাঙ্গা রেঞ্জ অফিসার রাওয়াত সাহেব, আর এক দল ফ্যাকাশেমুখো ট্যুরিস্ট।
সে’কদিন ঢিকালায় নাইট কারফিউ-তে সন্ধ্যে সাতটার মধ্যেই ক্যান্টিন বন্ধ হয়ে যেতো। ট্যুরিস্টরা প্যাকড্ ডিনার নিয়ে নিজের নিজের ঘরে দরজা বন্ধ করে জানালার পাশে বাঘ পরিবারের হেটেঁ যাওয়ার অপেক্ষায় বসে থাকতো ঘন্টার পর ঘন্টা । ঘরে বসে বাঘ দেখার লোভে রাতের পর রাত কারো মুখেই কোনো অভিযোগ শুনিনি । এ এক আশ্চর্য আকর্ষন। সাধে কি আর ভারতের বিভিন্ন বাঘবনে লাখ-লাখ দেশি-বিদেশি ট্যুরিস্টের ভীড়?
বাঙ্গালীর অবশ্য বেঙ্গল টাইগারের ওপর স্বভাবতই বিশেষ অধিকার। রসিকতা নয়, দেশের নানা জঙ্গলের হোটেল আর গেস্টহাউস রেজিস্টারে বাঙ্গালীর এই ব্যাঘ্রব্যাকুলতার যথেষ্ট প্রমাণ মজুত। ভিন প্রদেশে ছোটা ছাড়া গতি নেই কারণ সুন্দরবনে কয়েক ডজন, উত্তরবঙ্গে গুটিকয়, আর বেহালায় সৌরভ গাঙ্গুলী ছাড়া যাবতিয় রয়্যাল বেঙ্গল টাইগারেরই সাবেক নিবাস বাংলার বাইরে।
কিন্তু সরিস্কা থেকে নামডাফা আর রাজাজি থেকে বান্দিপুর, যেখানেই কাজের ফাঁকে বাঙ্গালী-অবাঙ্গালী ট্যুরিস্টদের সাথে আলাপ হয়েছে, অধিকাংশেরই শুনেছি এক অভিযোগ। এতবার জঙ্গলে গিয়ে তাদের একবার-ও বাঘের দেখা মেলেনি।
ইন্টারনেটে গুগল্-এ টাইগার টাইপ করলে নয় কোটির বেশি রেসাল্ট পাওয়া যায়। সারা দেশের জঙ্গল ঢুঁড়লে মাত্র ১৪০০ বাঘ। আবার এই ১৪০০ বাঘের বেশীর ভাগই যেহেতু অরণ্যের এমন এলাকার বাসিন্দা যেখানে সাধারন ট্যুরিস্টের প্রবেশাধিকার নেই, দু-চার দিন কোনো জঙ্গলের ট্যুরিসম্ জোন সকালে-বিকেলে জীপে-হাতিতে চষে ফেললেই যে এক-আধটা বাঘ দেখতে পাওয়া যাবে তার কোনো নিশ্চয়তা নেই।
শুধু যে দ্রুত কমতে থাকা সংখ্যাই বাঘের বিরল দর্শনের কারণ তা কিন্তু নয়। নাকের ডগায় থেকেও দেখা দিতে না চাইলে জঙ্গলে বাঘের দেখা পাওয়া প্রায় অসম্ভব। আমাদের মত শহুরে আড়াই-ইন্দ্রিয়ওয়ালাদের কথা ছেড়েই দিলাম, সারা জীবন জঙ্গলে কাটানো ওস্তাদ গাইড এমনকি পোষা হাতিকেও বাঘ ধন্ধে ফেলে দেয়।
বছর কয়েক হল, ওই করবেটেই তিনটি হাতি নিয়ে এক বাঘিনীকে ইডেন গার্ডেনের চেয়েও ছোটো জংলা ঘাসজমির পরিধিতে আড়াই ঘন্টা ধরে খোঁজার পর আমরা শেষমেষ হাল ছেড়ে দিয়েছিলাম। বাঘিনী মহোদয়া গোটা সময়টা ঐ পরিসরেই ছিলেন এবং তার তাজা পদচ্ছাপের ওপর বারবার আরো তাজা পদচ্ছাপ এ কথাই প্রমান করেছিল যে তিন-তিনটি হাতির উপস্থিতিতে এলাকা ছেড়ে সরে পরতে না পারলেও, তাদের লেজে খেলিয়ে ম্যাডাম অনায়াসে অধরা (অর্থাত অদেখা) থেকে যান।
যে কোনো শিকারীর সবচেয়ে বড় অস্ত্র হল আচমকা হামলা করার দক্ষতা । বিশেষত যারা একলা শিকার করে তাদের পারিপার্শ্বিকে মিশে গায়েব হয়ে থাকার একটা অদ্ভুত ক্ষমতা আছে। বাঘ জঙ্গলের শ্রেষ্ঠ নিসঙ্গ শিকারী। যারা বলে জঙ্গলের রাজা হল যুথচারী সিংহ, তারা এসে দেখে যাক ভারতীয় অরণ্যের একচ্ছত্র বাঘ -- সুন্দরবনের ‘দখিনরায়’ (দক্ষিনে রাজত্ব যার), মধ্যপ্রদেশের ‘বাঘ দেও’ (বাঘদেবতা), কর্নাটক তটের ‘পিলিভুথা’ (সোনালী আত্মা)।
এতবড় রাজ্যপাট একা সামলানোর জন্য বাঘের দাঁত-নখ-শক্তি-ক্ষিপ্রতার তুলনাবিহীন সমন্বয়ও ঠিক যথেষ্ট নয়। তাই নিঃশব্দচারী বাঘকে তার শতাধীক সোনালী-কালো ডোরা ব্যবহার করে নিজের ১৫০-২৫০ কেজি অবয়বখানি শত্রু এবং শিকারের চোখের আড়ালে রাখার এক অভিমন্যু-সুলভ শিল্প আয়ত্ত করতে হয়েছে।
তাই জঙ্গলে গিয়ে বাঘের দেখা না পেলে একদম মুখ গোমড়া করে বেড়ানো মাটি করবেন না। যে কোনো মুহুর্তে তেনার দেখা পাওয়ার ছমছমে সম্ভাবনাই বাঘবনের আগমার্কা নিরন্তর রোমাঞ্চ । সেই অপেক্ষার ফাঁকে ফাঁকে প্রত্যেক ভিন্ন বাঘবনের জাদুবাক্স আপনাকে দেবে অসংখ্য আবিষ্কারের সুযোগ। শুখা পর্ণমোচী, আর্দ্র পর্ণমোচী, বর্ষাবন, চিরহরি, নোনা তটবন -– বাঘের বিচরণ সবরকম জঙ্গলেই। বড় মিঞার আশায় আশায় এতরকম অরণ্যকে জেনে ওঠার আনন্দই আপনার ব্যাঘ্রপ্রেম আর ধৈর্যের সবচেয়ে বড় পুরষ্কার।
আর যদি শিকে ছেঁড়ে? সে অভিগ্মতা অলৌকিক। মাইক সালিসবারি, বিবিসি ন্যাচারাল হিস্ট্রির অন্যতম কিংবদন্তী, বহু বছর আফ্রিকা আর উত্তর মেরুতে কাটিয়েছেন গরিলা, সিংহ আর মেরু ভল্লুকের মত অসাধারন প্রাণীদের নিয়ে কাজ করে। বছর তিনেক আগে রনথম্বরে প্রথমবার বাঘ দেখার পর দীর্ঘক্ষণ তার মুখে কথা সরেনি। অবশেষে তার অস্ফুট উচ্চারণে ছিল অসংলগ্ন মুগ্ধতা, তার অভিভুত চোখে জল।
রনথম্বরেই এক শীতের সকালে ঝানু ড্রাইভার রইস খানের ভরসায় পৌছেছি কাচিদা-র জঙ্গলে। ঘন্টা দুয়েক ঘোরাফেরার পর হঠাত চোখ পড়ল রাস্তার গজ কুড়ি দূরে অল্প জমে থাকা জলে। শুকনো পাতা আর পাথুরে প্রেক্ষাপটে প্রায় অদৃশ্য গলা অবধি ডুবে থাকা বাঘ। সেই প্রথম দেখলাম রইসের চোখে সামান্য সম্ভ্রম । “আপনে তো বড়িয়া স্পট কিয়া আজ!” বাঘের বদান্যতায় সেদিন থেকেই রইস-এর সঙ্গে বন্ধুত্বের শুরু।
জঙ্গলে দক্ষ ড্রাইভার বা গাইডের ষষ্ঠেন্দ্রিয়ের কোনো বিকল্প নেই। রনথম্বরের রইস খান, নাগারহোলের বিক্রম নানজাপ্পা বা বান্ধবগড়ের সলিম খান-দের থেকে জঙ্গলের প্রথম পাঠ শিখেছেন অনেক নিয়মিত ট্যুরিস্ট। যেমন ধরুন, জঙ্গলে নজর রাখার পদ্ধতি । একই দিকে লাগাতার তাকিয়ে থাকলে, বেশীরভাগ সময় ধরতেই পারবেন না কোনখানে জানোয়ার জঙ্গলের রং-এ মিশে আছে। আপনাকে বারবার জঙ্গলের বিভিন্ন অংশে নজর ফেলতে হবে যাতে চোখ অভ্যস্ত না হয়ে যায় আর সামান্য নড়াচড়া-ও ধরা পড়ে । শুনতে সহজ কিন্তু গাইড আঙ্গুল দিয়ে পশুপাখি দেখালেও অনেক ট্যুরিস্টেরই খুঁজে পেতে বেশ সময় লেগে যায়।
কিন্তু জঙ্গলে শুধু দেখতে জানাই যে যথেষ্ট নয় তা টের পেয়েছিলাম বছর দশেক আগে সরিস্কায় । তিন বন্ধুর সাথে বিকেলের জিপ সাফারিতে বেরিয়েছি। কালিঘাটি পেরোতেই বাদিকের জঙ্গলে ময়ুরের অ্যালার্ম কল। একটু অপেক্ষা করে পাহাড়ি-র দিকে এগোতেই, আবার। এবার বাঁদর, ঠিক রাস্তার ওপরের দুটো গাছে। দুজন করে দুদিকের জঙ্গলে চোখ রেখে শ’খানেক গজ এগোতেই দর্শন দিলেন্ তিনি। আমি কিছু বোঝার আগেই পাশে বসা জয়দীপ ছিটকে দাঁড়িয়ে উঠল উত্তেজনায়। “দ্যাখ, দ্যাখ, দ্যাখ…” সেই আর্তনাদে চমকিত বাঘবাবাজি এক ঝলকে, আরেক বন্ধু সন্দীপন দেখে ওঠার আগেই, জঙ্গলে মিলিয়ে গেলেন। অনেক ভর্তসনা সহ্য করে সেদিন জয়দীপ শিখেছিল যে জঙ্গলে অন্যের দৃষ্টি আকর্ষনের জন্য হাতের ইঙ্গিত বা কাঁধে টোকাই যথেষ্ট।
দেখা আর বলা ছাড়া, জঙ্গলে শুনতে জানাও জরুরী। অনেকেই জানেন যে অ্যালার্ম কল বা ত্রস্তডাক বাঘ বা অন্য শিকারী জানোয়ারের উপস্থিতি জানান দেয়। কিন্তু অ্যালার্ম কল মাত্রেই নির্ভরযোগ্য নয়। অনেক জংলী জানোয়ার-ই সহজে ভয় পায় । আমি চিতল হরিনকে ট্যুরিস্ট গাড়ি দেখেও অ্যালার্ম কল দিতে শুনেছি। বাঘের সন্ধানের জন্য সবচেয়ে নির্ভরযোগ্য অ্যালার্ম কল বাঁদর আর শেয়ালের। কারন? জংগলে বাঁদর আর শেয়ালকে ভয় দেখায় বাঘ ছাড়া সাধ্য কার?
কিন্তু এত কান্ডের পরেও তো জঙ্গলে গিয়ে বাঘের দেখা নাই মিলতে পারে। তবে আর কি? সারাদিন বাঘবন চষে রাত্রে মন ভোলান বাঘের গল্পে ।
মনে আছে সারাদিন জঙ্গলে বাঘখোঁজা ঘুরে ক্লান্ত সন্ধ্যায় সর্পদুলির রেঞ্জ অফিসার উমেশ তিওয়ারি-র কোয়ার্টারে আমরা ক’বন্ধু জমিয়ে বসেছিলাম। সন্দীপন সেবারও সঙ্গে ছিল । তিওয়ারিজি-র হাতির পিঠে মানুষখেকোর মুখোমুখি হওয়ার রোমহর্ষক অভিগ্মতার গল্প কেউই ভুলিনি এখনো ।
সন্দীপন এখন মুম্বইবাসী। ওর বাঘের খোঁজ শুরু আট বছর বয়সে জলদাপাড়ায়, কিন্তু আজও কপালে দর্শন জোটেনি । শুনলাম এবছর কেরালায় সাইলেন্ট ভ্যালি ঘুরে এল। প্রতি বছরই একবার কোনো না কোনো জঙ্গলে ঢুঁ মারে। করবেটের কথা উঠলে ঠিক জিগ্মেস করে ফের একবার তিওয়ারিজি-র সঙ্গে বসা যায় কবে।
(লেখক একজন সংরক্ষণ সাংবাদিক এবং তথ্যচিত্রনির্মাতা)
From Nagarhole To Bhadra
New Indian Express, 20 August, 2009
A young tigress caught in a village cowshed near Nagarhole National Park was released in Bhadra National Park last month. She did not survive.
Nagarhole now boasts a saturation density of tigers — 10-15 animals per 100 sq km — leading to frequent territorial battles. A tigress probably lost such a battle and had settled in a plantation close to the park in December, 2008. Experts identified her as the same cub-rearing tigress photographed inside the park a few months earlier. A young tigress was also spotted in the area and some felt she was the daughter of the displaced tigress.
The supposed mother-daughter duo lived on a livestock diet. They had to dodge angry, armed villagers on many occasions and there was no warranty that they would be able to feed on their hard-earned kills as the carcasses were often snatched away.
After one such major chasing operation involving hundreds of people, the older tigress disappeared. Since this April, the young tigress made a few kills and lost most of them to villagers. On June 28, she was surrounded by a mob and was tranquilised at point blank range. She scampered to a nearby cowshed and collapsed. Her last three kills had been recovered by villagers. She looked emaciated and was all of 18 months.
The young tigress’ ordeal had just begun. The local forest staff had little infrastructure or skill to handle such a situation — not even a veterinarian on call. Under mounting public pressure, they did not have much of a choice either. The range officer did his best to sedate the tigress and secure her in a cage. Nobody knew what do with her. The news reached top bosses in the state and Centre. Big and small scientists were contacted for advice. This brainstorming continued even as the tigress regained consciousness.
Since the tigress had never attacked people, some suggested that she be radio-collared and released near the capture site. But fearing mob fury and future dispersal from Nagarhole, the forest department decided to take her to Bhadra. While the decision took shape, the tigress waited and starved. Then she suffered a seven-hour drive to Bhadra, awake in a jumpy cage. By the time she reached Bhadra late on June 29, she was in no state to drink or eat.
In Karnataka, search was on for a radio-collar. A biologist from Maharashtra agreed to fly a spare collar. Experts and veterinarians from different NGOs congregated at Bhadra with the coveted radio-collar on the morning of June 30.
Still not ready to drink or eat, the tigress did not look good at all. Experts found her too weak to be tranquilised. After another round of hectic debate, around 3 pm, she was finally released in an area apparently unoccupied by a resident tigress.
Four days later, the tigress was found dead. Did she die of capture myopathy (stress) aggravated by the long journey without sedatives? Was she too weak due to starvation? Or did another big cat kill her? This episode raises a number of questions.
One, if it had been scientifically established that Nagarhole had reached a saturation, why was there no strategy in place to deal with the increasing number of dispersing tigers? Why debate the possibilities after caging it?
Two, how do we know for sure that all such individuals are dispersing tigers and not part of a local sub-population? In this case, some veterinarians claimed that the tigress was about three to four years old, implying that she was not the daughter of the older tigress but an unrelated adolescent tigress roaming the same area.
Three, why is there no policy on dealing with public pressure for removing a tiger that never attacked people? Why is there no policy to stop recovery of carcasses that force hungry animals to make more kills? Why is there no policy of fast and reasonable compensation for livestock losses to minimise public anger?
Four, why have forest staff not been trained to deal with such emergency situations? Why was there no coordination with the district administration to control mobs? When it came to trapping, where were the mandated cages, radio-collars and trained veterinarians?
Five, why take an already stressed animal for a seven-hour drive without sedating? Sedating an animal on two consecutive days would be risky, but if the authorities had been clear about the plan, the tigress could have be driven straightaway to Bhadra after capture and released with a radio-collar.
Six, who would be responsible had the stressed out, displaced tigress wandered out of Bhadra in search of its lost territory and attacked people in the course?
Sadly, these questions are not unique to Nagarhole or Bhadra and demand honest answers. But we would rather be philosophical every time an animal dies in our hands. Since we are inside the system, our efforts must always have been the best, and since we are not poachers, our intentions always right.
The writer is an independent journalist and filmmaker
A young tigress caught in a village cowshed near Nagarhole National Park was released in Bhadra National Park last month. She did not survive.
Nagarhole now boasts a saturation density of tigers — 10-15 animals per 100 sq km — leading to frequent territorial battles. A tigress probably lost such a battle and had settled in a plantation close to the park in December, 2008. Experts identified her as the same cub-rearing tigress photographed inside the park a few months earlier. A young tigress was also spotted in the area and some felt she was the daughter of the displaced tigress.
The supposed mother-daughter duo lived on a livestock diet. They had to dodge angry, armed villagers on many occasions and there was no warranty that they would be able to feed on their hard-earned kills as the carcasses were often snatched away.
After one such major chasing operation involving hundreds of people, the older tigress disappeared. Since this April, the young tigress made a few kills and lost most of them to villagers. On June 28, she was surrounded by a mob and was tranquilised at point blank range. She scampered to a nearby cowshed and collapsed. Her last three kills had been recovered by villagers. She looked emaciated and was all of 18 months.
The young tigress’ ordeal had just begun. The local forest staff had little infrastructure or skill to handle such a situation — not even a veterinarian on call. Under mounting public pressure, they did not have much of a choice either. The range officer did his best to sedate the tigress and secure her in a cage. Nobody knew what do with her. The news reached top bosses in the state and Centre. Big and small scientists were contacted for advice. This brainstorming continued even as the tigress regained consciousness.
Since the tigress had never attacked people, some suggested that she be radio-collared and released near the capture site. But fearing mob fury and future dispersal from Nagarhole, the forest department decided to take her to Bhadra. While the decision took shape, the tigress waited and starved. Then she suffered a seven-hour drive to Bhadra, awake in a jumpy cage. By the time she reached Bhadra late on June 29, she was in no state to drink or eat.
In Karnataka, search was on for a radio-collar. A biologist from Maharashtra agreed to fly a spare collar. Experts and veterinarians from different NGOs congregated at Bhadra with the coveted radio-collar on the morning of June 30.
Still not ready to drink or eat, the tigress did not look good at all. Experts found her too weak to be tranquilised. After another round of hectic debate, around 3 pm, she was finally released in an area apparently unoccupied by a resident tigress.
Four days later, the tigress was found dead. Did she die of capture myopathy (stress) aggravated by the long journey without sedatives? Was she too weak due to starvation? Or did another big cat kill her? This episode raises a number of questions.
One, if it had been scientifically established that Nagarhole had reached a saturation, why was there no strategy in place to deal with the increasing number of dispersing tigers? Why debate the possibilities after caging it?
Two, how do we know for sure that all such individuals are dispersing tigers and not part of a local sub-population? In this case, some veterinarians claimed that the tigress was about three to four years old, implying that she was not the daughter of the older tigress but an unrelated adolescent tigress roaming the same area.
Three, why is there no policy on dealing with public pressure for removing a tiger that never attacked people? Why is there no policy to stop recovery of carcasses that force hungry animals to make more kills? Why is there no policy of fast and reasonable compensation for livestock losses to minimise public anger?
Four, why have forest staff not been trained to deal with such emergency situations? Why was there no coordination with the district administration to control mobs? When it came to trapping, where were the mandated cages, radio-collars and trained veterinarians?
Five, why take an already stressed animal for a seven-hour drive without sedating? Sedating an animal on two consecutive days would be risky, but if the authorities had been clear about the plan, the tigress could have be driven straightaway to Bhadra after capture and released with a radio-collar.
Six, who would be responsible had the stressed out, displaced tigress wandered out of Bhadra in search of its lost territory and attacked people in the course?
Sadly, these questions are not unique to Nagarhole or Bhadra and demand honest answers. But we would rather be philosophical every time an animal dies in our hands. Since we are inside the system, our efforts must always have been the best, and since we are not poachers, our intentions always right.
The writer is an independent journalist and filmmaker
Conservation: the New Killer
Siblings may mate but neighbours must not. That’s the bizarre science guiding the Government’s current relocation drive. If habitat loss, conflict and poaching don’t finish off the tiger, crippled genes will
OPEN magazine, 24 July, 2009
There must be three particularly worried men in India’s forest establishment today. RN Mehrotra, Rajasthan’s principal chief conservator of forests, who rushed the tiger re-introduction programme in Sariska without meeting a single ground requirement last year. PR Sinha, the director of Dehradun-based Wildlife Institute of India (WII), who succumbed to Mehrotra’s pressure and hurriedly flew in three random tigers from Ranthambore. And caught between the two, Dr Rajesh Gopal, chief of National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA, formerly Project Tiger), who failed to put his foot down in time and must now defend his colleagues in government.
They should worry, and for issues bigger than saving their skin.
Last month, the Government acknowledged that the condition of as many as 16 tiger reserves in India is “truly alarming”. One does not need to read much into the officialese to realise that we are looking at quite a few potential Sariskas or Pannas. The only option for regenerating tiger populations in so many empty reserves will be to bring in a few from other reserves, as the Government has been doing in Sariska and Panna. Unfortunately, the Government has set such a terrible example of re-introduction that, if followed without course correction, it may put most of India’s remaining tigers on the path to certain extinction.
It all began as a desperate attempt at redemption. Ever since the infamous local extinction of tigers at Sariska in 2004, it has been all bad press for those responsible for the tiger at the Centre and in the 17 tiger states of India. So once they presented themselves with the opportunity to achieve an unprecedented feat in the history of conservation, they were in an unusual hurry.
Never mind that the ground conditions that led to the wipeout at Sariska were not rectified, the Rajasthan forest department demanded that the reserve be repopulated and the Centre agreed to fly in tigers from Ranthambore last year. Between June 2008 and February 2009, three big cats—one male and two females—were rushed to Sariska. At least another half a dozen are expected to be flown down in the next 18 months.
Once the roar returned to Sariska, few were in the mood to complain about what the state forest bosses had chosen to ignore in their hurry. Villages inside the core area stayed put. Rowdy pilgrim traffic flowed unchecked. Heavy vehicles plied on a state highway across the reserve.
But the officials had overlooked something far more important in the rush.
When PCCF Mehrotra and his men were preparing to celebrate the anniversary of the world’s first wild tiger re-introduction two weeks ago, my investigation for a national daily revealed that the three tigers were picked up without DNA tests or even territorial analyses. The randomly selected tigers, as luck would have it, came from the same father.
But why is it dangerous to introduce half-siblings as a founder population? Because, in a small population, their inbreeding can lead to the death of the offspring (see graphic). Over successive generations, it causes reduced fertility and sperm viability, lower birth rate, higher infant mortality, slower growth, smaller adult size, fluctuating facial asymmetry, weak immunity etcetera.
The effects of inbreeding are nullified in a bigger population through natural selection of the stronger gene. But if we try to generate a new population through inbreeding, as in Sariska, it will have no long-term viability. The selection of two tigresses for Panna was as random, but Panna is secure because it is sourcing tigers from two populations—Bandhavgarh and Kanha—ensuring genetic variation.
In the last two weeks, the Government has not tried to deny that no DNA test was conducted or that half-siblings were brought to repopulate Sariska. But, on and off the record, top officials have been trying to defend the indefensible. Sample these:
“A scat analysis done earlier in Ranthambore showed overall good heterozygosity (genetic variation). So we didn’t feel DNA tests of targeted individuals necessary,” says WII’s Sinha.
By this logic, we could select a town for its genetic diversity and then end up blindly picking three individuals from the same lane who just turn out to be from the same family.
“It is not feasible to select genetically unrelated tigers. Inbreeding is not even a threat in the wild,” says NTCA’s Dr Gopal.
Ironically, in a protocol for tiger re-introduction issued by the NTCA, Dr Gopal himself underlined the importance of genetic dissimilarity in a founder population.
Not that there was no standard international practice for re-introduction. Our officials only have to look to the guideline set by International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) to recognise how the international standard practice has been flouted.
► The IUCN guideline demands that only genetically unrelated animals be selected for a founder population. Our officials did not bother to ensure this by conducting DNA tests. They did not even consult WII’s own photo data on Ranthambore tigers which could have helped demarcate territories (spatial analysis) and minimise the chances of selecting genetically related tigers.
► By choosing tigers from Ranthambore for Sariska, our officials did follow one IUCN guideline which recommends bringing animals from the wild stock nearest to the re-introduction site. But they ignored the next guideline that says no animal should be sourced from a bottleneck (isolated) population. Once part of an extended forest that ranged from Madhya Pradesh to Rajasthan, Ranthambore gradually lost connectivity and became a bottleneck population where no outside tigers (genes) have entered in the last three decades. The present Ranthambore tigers come from a source population of 14 tigers in the mid-70s. While it will take longer for the effects of inbreeding to be visible, most tigers here would be genetically related by now.
► The IUCN guideline also rules out taking away animals from a population if it puts that population in danger. So now, if our officials conducted thorough DNA tests and took away the few
genetically unrelated tigers from Ranthambore to Sariska, it would further reduce the genetic diversity in Ranthambore, leading to severe inbreeding.
“It’s very depressing that no one seems to be worried about the genetic decline resulting from inbreeding in so many small tiger populations in India,” says Peter Jackson, former chairman of IUCN CAT Specialist Group, and the only person other than Jim Corbett to have a tiger subspecies named after him.
Concurs PK Sen, former director of Project Tiger: “In reserves linked through forest corridors, a bigger breeding population keeps the gene pool healthy. But one must be careful while selecting tigers from a pocket reserve like Ranthambore. So DNA testing is a must before re-introducing tigers, particularly when we are repopulating from zero.”
“Inbreeding may take many generations to show effect, but it may also wipe out populations. Of course, getting siblings for a founder population is strictly not done. I think, instead of taking chances, we could bring tigers from different source populations when we have the option,” says Dr Uma Ramakrishnan, scientist with Bangalore’s National Centre for Biological Science (NCBS), whose paper on tiger genetics is about to be released.
Jackson elaborates on this: “Ranthambore’s tiger gene has been damaged by inbreeding. Given that, it seems to me quite wrong to send only Ranthambore tigers to Sariska. I think they should be from different genetically healthy populations like Kanha.”
So why didn’t the Government bring tigers from different reserves to Sariska, just as Panna is getting from Bandhavgarh and Kanha? Why weren’t a few tigers from other reserves brought to Ranthambore to give the stagnant population a genetic boost? Because our policymakers refused to shed their blinkers.
The re-introduction policy of the Government is based on the assumption that tigers in India—Panthera tigris tigris, one of the nine global subspecies—show unique genetic traits in their different geographic isolations. Referring to a 2008 research paper by Dr SP Goyal of WII, experts in the Government insist that tigers in these geographical isolations—northern, north-eastern, southern, western and central—have become genetically unique and must not be mixed.
After the local extinction in Sariska, Ranthambore is the only remaining tiger population in the so-called western landscape. So, according to the Government’s present policy, even if the population is suffering early inbreeding in Ranthambore, tigers from other landscapes cannot be sent here, lest genetic mixing take place. Going by the same logic of purity, all tigers for Sariska must come from Ranthambore, the only existing western population.
But is this policy scientifically sound? Arguably the most significant work on tiger taxonomy, by Dr Stephen J O’Brien in 2004, found a new subspecies—Malayan tigers (Panthera tigris jacksoni)—that was earlier considered part of the Indo-Chinese (Panthera tigris corbetti) population. This landmark study also reaffirmed that the entire Bengal tiger population was one subspecies.
Dr Goyal used much shorter gene sequences and much fewer parameters than Dr O’Brien did, and anyway, even his results do not show any significant genetic difference among Indian tigers other than those in the northern landscape comprising Corbett and Rajaji national parks. Anyway, Dr Goyal’s study merely recommended sourcing tigers for Sariska from Ranthambore and did not say anything against similar sourcing from Bandhavgarh or Kanha.
“Nothing in his (Dr Goyal’s) paper indicates any significant genetic difference between the western and the central tigers. If two populations have been separated naturally—as leopard cats in north and south India have always been—it is wise not to mix the two populations because it will interfere with the natural evolutionary process. But where the separation is man-made, [as with the] historically recent loss of forest connectivity, there would be no harm in mixing populations,” according to Dr Shomita Mukherjee, wildlife biologist with NCBS.
Agrees Dr Ullas Karanth, one of the world’s foremost tiger scientists: “I do not think there is any problem in introducing tigers from neighbouring populations. Anyway, the central and the western forests were connected in recent history. And if there is any doubt, molecular tests can always resolve the issue.”
Only a decade ago, when the future of the highly inbred Florida panthers was in doubt, a few female Texas pumas were introduced to give them a genetic boost. That introgression was successful and signs of inbreeding (crooked tails and cowlicks) decreased among Florida panthers. Today, with 20 per cent of the Texas puma’s genetic make-up, the Florida panther is still listed as a separate subspecies.
“It is more a question of adaptation. Texas panthers showed good adaptability and their reintroduction was a success. Tigers have survived in all types of climate – from Siberia to Sunderbans. I do not see why tigers will have a problem if they are moved between Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. But if we want to be genetically sure, we have to conduct a thorough study of adaptive variations —for example, genetic specifications that make a population cope better with heat. But even such a thorough genetic study should not take more than 8-12 months,” explains Dr Ramakrishnan.
Agrees Dr Qamar Qureshi, a senior scientist with WII: “We need to go a little further into the molecular study before deciding whether we can mix the Madhya Pradesh (tiger) population with Rajasthan’s. At this stage, we do not have enough data. Even if the three tigers brought to Sariska are siblings, we can offset the recessive effect by selecting a few genetically unrelated tigers for future reintroductions.”
Sen, for one, will rely on common sense: “We may well conduct thorough studies. But we know that Ranthambore’s population is bottlenecked and that Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh had forest connectivity in the recent past. So there is no harm in bringing a few males from Bandhavgarh or Kanha to Sariska. Of course, females can be brought from Ranthambore.”
Dr Mukherjee backs Sen: “Care should be taken in bringing in females who know each other. In a cat social system, neighbouring females are usually related. In fact, it is better to bring two neighbouring females, sibling or not, for a new population. But the male must be genetically unrelated.”
But Valmik Thapar, the world’s most prolific tiger author, insists Ranthambore should not be further compromised. “No tiger should be removed from Ranthambore till we conduct a study to verify if Ranthambore has a surplus, genetically sound population to serve as a source. Also, we need to take an informed decision on bringing tigers from different reserves to boost genetic viability,” according to him.
But it might be more than science that explains the Government’s approach. “Ranthambore-Sariska and Bandhavgarh-Panna are both intra-state transfers of tigers. The Government is perhaps seeking an excuse to avoid political embarrassment in failing to accomplish inter-state transfers of tigers, as between Bandhavgarh and Sariska. We all know how efforts to bring a few lions from Gujarat to MP to set up a second lion sanctuary failed, though both have been BJP-ruled states for a long time,” points out Fateh Singh Rathore, ex-conservator of Ranthambore.
Be it bad science or good politics, the present ad hoc models of reintroduction threaten the future of India’s few surviving tigers. Except in a few contiguous landscapes, India’s tigers survive in small populations in fragmented forests at different stages of inbreeding. Our obsession with purity will leave them to peter out in genetic isolation.
“Successive governments have done precious little to re-establish forest corridors and buffer areas for healthy tiger dispersal which remains the only long-term prescription for conservation,” says Dr Dharmendra Khandal, a Ranthambore-based wildlife biologist. “In the short-term, we should use this reintroduction drive to genetically boost populations. Unless, of course, the Government believes poaching and conflict will wipe out tigers much before inbreeding does.”
In his early weeks as the Union minister for environment and forests, Jairam Ramesh has grabbed enough newsprint and airspace by making popular noises on hiring light aircraft for jungle surveillance and bringing back the cheetah. It’s time for some hard decisions.
Jay Mazoomdaar is an independent journalist. He broke the story of the local extinction in Sariska in 2005
OPEN magazine, 24 July, 2009
There must be three particularly worried men in India’s forest establishment today. RN Mehrotra, Rajasthan’s principal chief conservator of forests, who rushed the tiger re-introduction programme in Sariska without meeting a single ground requirement last year. PR Sinha, the director of Dehradun-based Wildlife Institute of India (WII), who succumbed to Mehrotra’s pressure and hurriedly flew in three random tigers from Ranthambore. And caught between the two, Dr Rajesh Gopal, chief of National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA, formerly Project Tiger), who failed to put his foot down in time and must now defend his colleagues in government.
They should worry, and for issues bigger than saving their skin.
Last month, the Government acknowledged that the condition of as many as 16 tiger reserves in India is “truly alarming”. One does not need to read much into the officialese to realise that we are looking at quite a few potential Sariskas or Pannas. The only option for regenerating tiger populations in so many empty reserves will be to bring in a few from other reserves, as the Government has been doing in Sariska and Panna. Unfortunately, the Government has set such a terrible example of re-introduction that, if followed without course correction, it may put most of India’s remaining tigers on the path to certain extinction.
It all began as a desperate attempt at redemption. Ever since the infamous local extinction of tigers at Sariska in 2004, it has been all bad press for those responsible for the tiger at the Centre and in the 17 tiger states of India. So once they presented themselves with the opportunity to achieve an unprecedented feat in the history of conservation, they were in an unusual hurry.
Never mind that the ground conditions that led to the wipeout at Sariska were not rectified, the Rajasthan forest department demanded that the reserve be repopulated and the Centre agreed to fly in tigers from Ranthambore last year. Between June 2008 and February 2009, three big cats—one male and two females—were rushed to Sariska. At least another half a dozen are expected to be flown down in the next 18 months.
Once the roar returned to Sariska, few were in the mood to complain about what the state forest bosses had chosen to ignore in their hurry. Villages inside the core area stayed put. Rowdy pilgrim traffic flowed unchecked. Heavy vehicles plied on a state highway across the reserve.
But the officials had overlooked something far more important in the rush.
When PCCF Mehrotra and his men were preparing to celebrate the anniversary of the world’s first wild tiger re-introduction two weeks ago, my investigation for a national daily revealed that the three tigers were picked up without DNA tests or even territorial analyses. The randomly selected tigers, as luck would have it, came from the same father.
But why is it dangerous to introduce half-siblings as a founder population? Because, in a small population, their inbreeding can lead to the death of the offspring (see graphic). Over successive generations, it causes reduced fertility and sperm viability, lower birth rate, higher infant mortality, slower growth, smaller adult size, fluctuating facial asymmetry, weak immunity etcetera.
The effects of inbreeding are nullified in a bigger population through natural selection of the stronger gene. But if we try to generate a new population through inbreeding, as in Sariska, it will have no long-term viability. The selection of two tigresses for Panna was as random, but Panna is secure because it is sourcing tigers from two populations—Bandhavgarh and Kanha—ensuring genetic variation.
In the last two weeks, the Government has not tried to deny that no DNA test was conducted or that half-siblings were brought to repopulate Sariska. But, on and off the record, top officials have been trying to defend the indefensible. Sample these:
“A scat analysis done earlier in Ranthambore showed overall good heterozygosity (genetic variation). So we didn’t feel DNA tests of targeted individuals necessary,” says WII’s Sinha.
By this logic, we could select a town for its genetic diversity and then end up blindly picking three individuals from the same lane who just turn out to be from the same family.
“It is not feasible to select genetically unrelated tigers. Inbreeding is not even a threat in the wild,” says NTCA’s Dr Gopal.
Ironically, in a protocol for tiger re-introduction issued by the NTCA, Dr Gopal himself underlined the importance of genetic dissimilarity in a founder population.
Not that there was no standard international practice for re-introduction. Our officials only have to look to the guideline set by International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) to recognise how the international standard practice has been flouted.
► The IUCN guideline demands that only genetically unrelated animals be selected for a founder population. Our officials did not bother to ensure this by conducting DNA tests. They did not even consult WII’s own photo data on Ranthambore tigers which could have helped demarcate territories (spatial analysis) and minimise the chances of selecting genetically related tigers.
► By choosing tigers from Ranthambore for Sariska, our officials did follow one IUCN guideline which recommends bringing animals from the wild stock nearest to the re-introduction site. But they ignored the next guideline that says no animal should be sourced from a bottleneck (isolated) population. Once part of an extended forest that ranged from Madhya Pradesh to Rajasthan, Ranthambore gradually lost connectivity and became a bottleneck population where no outside tigers (genes) have entered in the last three decades. The present Ranthambore tigers come from a source population of 14 tigers in the mid-70s. While it will take longer for the effects of inbreeding to be visible, most tigers here would be genetically related by now.
► The IUCN guideline also rules out taking away animals from a population if it puts that population in danger. So now, if our officials conducted thorough DNA tests and took away the few
genetically unrelated tigers from Ranthambore to Sariska, it would further reduce the genetic diversity in Ranthambore, leading to severe inbreeding.
“It’s very depressing that no one seems to be worried about the genetic decline resulting from inbreeding in so many small tiger populations in India,” says Peter Jackson, former chairman of IUCN CAT Specialist Group, and the only person other than Jim Corbett to have a tiger subspecies named after him.
Concurs PK Sen, former director of Project Tiger: “In reserves linked through forest corridors, a bigger breeding population keeps the gene pool healthy. But one must be careful while selecting tigers from a pocket reserve like Ranthambore. So DNA testing is a must before re-introducing tigers, particularly when we are repopulating from zero.”
“Inbreeding may take many generations to show effect, but it may also wipe out populations. Of course, getting siblings for a founder population is strictly not done. I think, instead of taking chances, we could bring tigers from different source populations when we have the option,” says Dr Uma Ramakrishnan, scientist with Bangalore’s National Centre for Biological Science (NCBS), whose paper on tiger genetics is about to be released.
Jackson elaborates on this: “Ranthambore’s tiger gene has been damaged by inbreeding. Given that, it seems to me quite wrong to send only Ranthambore tigers to Sariska. I think they should be from different genetically healthy populations like Kanha.”
So why didn’t the Government bring tigers from different reserves to Sariska, just as Panna is getting from Bandhavgarh and Kanha? Why weren’t a few tigers from other reserves brought to Ranthambore to give the stagnant population a genetic boost? Because our policymakers refused to shed their blinkers.
The re-introduction policy of the Government is based on the assumption that tigers in India—Panthera tigris tigris, one of the nine global subspecies—show unique genetic traits in their different geographic isolations. Referring to a 2008 research paper by Dr SP Goyal of WII, experts in the Government insist that tigers in these geographical isolations—northern, north-eastern, southern, western and central—have become genetically unique and must not be mixed.
After the local extinction in Sariska, Ranthambore is the only remaining tiger population in the so-called western landscape. So, according to the Government’s present policy, even if the population is suffering early inbreeding in Ranthambore, tigers from other landscapes cannot be sent here, lest genetic mixing take place. Going by the same logic of purity, all tigers for Sariska must come from Ranthambore, the only existing western population.
But is this policy scientifically sound? Arguably the most significant work on tiger taxonomy, by Dr Stephen J O’Brien in 2004, found a new subspecies—Malayan tigers (Panthera tigris jacksoni)—that was earlier considered part of the Indo-Chinese (Panthera tigris corbetti) population. This landmark study also reaffirmed that the entire Bengal tiger population was one subspecies.
Dr Goyal used much shorter gene sequences and much fewer parameters than Dr O’Brien did, and anyway, even his results do not show any significant genetic difference among Indian tigers other than those in the northern landscape comprising Corbett and Rajaji national parks. Anyway, Dr Goyal’s study merely recommended sourcing tigers for Sariska from Ranthambore and did not say anything against similar sourcing from Bandhavgarh or Kanha.
“Nothing in his (Dr Goyal’s) paper indicates any significant genetic difference between the western and the central tigers. If two populations have been separated naturally—as leopard cats in north and south India have always been—it is wise not to mix the two populations because it will interfere with the natural evolutionary process. But where the separation is man-made, [as with the] historically recent loss of forest connectivity, there would be no harm in mixing populations,” according to Dr Shomita Mukherjee, wildlife biologist with NCBS.
Agrees Dr Ullas Karanth, one of the world’s foremost tiger scientists: “I do not think there is any problem in introducing tigers from neighbouring populations. Anyway, the central and the western forests were connected in recent history. And if there is any doubt, molecular tests can always resolve the issue.”
Only a decade ago, when the future of the highly inbred Florida panthers was in doubt, a few female Texas pumas were introduced to give them a genetic boost. That introgression was successful and signs of inbreeding (crooked tails and cowlicks) decreased among Florida panthers. Today, with 20 per cent of the Texas puma’s genetic make-up, the Florida panther is still listed as a separate subspecies.
“It is more a question of adaptation. Texas panthers showed good adaptability and their reintroduction was a success. Tigers have survived in all types of climate – from Siberia to Sunderbans. I do not see why tigers will have a problem if they are moved between Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. But if we want to be genetically sure, we have to conduct a thorough study of adaptive variations —for example, genetic specifications that make a population cope better with heat. But even such a thorough genetic study should not take more than 8-12 months,” explains Dr Ramakrishnan.
Agrees Dr Qamar Qureshi, a senior scientist with WII: “We need to go a little further into the molecular study before deciding whether we can mix the Madhya Pradesh (tiger) population with Rajasthan’s. At this stage, we do not have enough data. Even if the three tigers brought to Sariska are siblings, we can offset the recessive effect by selecting a few genetically unrelated tigers for future reintroductions.”
Sen, for one, will rely on common sense: “We may well conduct thorough studies. But we know that Ranthambore’s population is bottlenecked and that Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh had forest connectivity in the recent past. So there is no harm in bringing a few males from Bandhavgarh or Kanha to Sariska. Of course, females can be brought from Ranthambore.”
Dr Mukherjee backs Sen: “Care should be taken in bringing in females who know each other. In a cat social system, neighbouring females are usually related. In fact, it is better to bring two neighbouring females, sibling or not, for a new population. But the male must be genetically unrelated.”
But Valmik Thapar, the world’s most prolific tiger author, insists Ranthambore should not be further compromised. “No tiger should be removed from Ranthambore till we conduct a study to verify if Ranthambore has a surplus, genetically sound population to serve as a source. Also, we need to take an informed decision on bringing tigers from different reserves to boost genetic viability,” according to him.
But it might be more than science that explains the Government’s approach. “Ranthambore-Sariska and Bandhavgarh-Panna are both intra-state transfers of tigers. The Government is perhaps seeking an excuse to avoid political embarrassment in failing to accomplish inter-state transfers of tigers, as between Bandhavgarh and Sariska. We all know how efforts to bring a few lions from Gujarat to MP to set up a second lion sanctuary failed, though both have been BJP-ruled states for a long time,” points out Fateh Singh Rathore, ex-conservator of Ranthambore.
Be it bad science or good politics, the present ad hoc models of reintroduction threaten the future of India’s few surviving tigers. Except in a few contiguous landscapes, India’s tigers survive in small populations in fragmented forests at different stages of inbreeding. Our obsession with purity will leave them to peter out in genetic isolation.
“Successive governments have done precious little to re-establish forest corridors and buffer areas for healthy tiger dispersal which remains the only long-term prescription for conservation,” says Dr Dharmendra Khandal, a Ranthambore-based wildlife biologist. “In the short-term, we should use this reintroduction drive to genetically boost populations. Unless, of course, the Government believes poaching and conflict will wipe out tigers much before inbreeding does.”
In his early weeks as the Union minister for environment and forests, Jairam Ramesh has grabbed enough newsprint and airspace by making popular noises on hiring light aircraft for jungle surveillance and bringing back the cheetah. It’s time for some hard decisions.
Jay Mazoomdaar is an independent journalist. He broke the story of the local extinction in Sariska in 2005
Rajasthan govt sent tiger siblings to repopulate Sariska
DOOMED? Two sisters and their half-brother were selected without DNA test
Hindustan Times, 29 June, 2009
As the Rajasthan forest department celebrates the anniversary of India’s first wild tiger repopulation drive, evidence with Hindustan Times suggests that all three big cats – a male and two females -- airlifted from Ranthambhore to repopulate Sariska are siblings.
All three tigers come from the same father, known as Anantpura male. The two females are from the same mother, known as Jhalra female or machhli. Before selecting tigers for relocation, no DNA analysis was conducted to ensure genetic dissimilarity. As a result, if corrective actions are not initiated, the future tiger population at Sariska might suffer acute inbreeding depression (See box).
An analysis of the photographic census data gathered by Wildlife institute of India (WII) in 2006 clearly shows that one adult male occupied the entire territory where these three tigers were born during 2004-2006. Tigers are highly territorial and a male do not allow other males to breed with the females residing within his territory.
“While there are enough telling evidences to conclude that all tigers sent to Sariska came from the same father, there is nothing to suggest otherwise. The state authorities should have used the WII expertise of DNA analysis to eliminate the risk,” said Dr Dharmendra Khandal, a field biologist based in Ranthambhore.
It is very important to conduct DNA test before introducing tigers, particularly when we are repopulating from zero. In interconnected forests, a bigger breeding population keeps the gene pool healthy. But one has to be very careful about pocket reserves like Ranthambhore or Sariska,” said PK Sen, former director, Project Tiger.
While Rajasthan forest bosses denied that the male and female tigers came from the same father, PR Sinha, director of Dehradun-based Wildlife Institute of India, agreed that only a DNA analysis could confirm it. “We did not conduct any DNA test so far as it was not felt necessary. Having two sisters in Sariska is not an issue but the male must be from a different lineage for healthy reproduction. We have blood samples. We can check,” he said.
Dr Ullas Karanth, India’s leading tiger scientist, felt that gene analysis was a must for selecting tigers for relocation: “Why take chances when a DNA test can resolve such issues? These relocation drives seem like knee-jerk exercises done in a hurry but we cannot compromise on science.”
Experts, however, claim that the situation can still be salvaged. “Even if these tigers are siblings, they are only a part of the source population as we are supposed to bring in more tigers. If these new tigers are selected genetically, the future Sariska population won’t be affected,” explained Dr Qamar Qureshi, a scientist with Wildlife Institute of India.
Only if the Rajasthan forest department learns its lessons and opts for DNA tests before picking up another arbitrary male for Saiska to meet its self-imposed July 11 deadline. Ensuring genetic variation is one of the fundamental requirements in the protocol recently issued by the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) for tiger relocations.
INSIDE STORY
Decoding the Sariska tiger puzzle
All the three tigers sent to Sariska so far have grown up in and around the tourism zone of the Ranthambhore National Park. Many field guards, guides and regular tourists have spotted and photographed them. They all have a clear idea of their lineage and can confirm they are step-siblings.
“Not many will go on record fearing action against them by the park authorities,” said Aditya Singh, Ranthambore’s well-known wildlife photographer. “But we have seen these tigers grow up. The male was born to the tigress in the Chiroli zone of the park, and the two females to another tigress in the Jhalra zone. All three cubs were fathered by the same male as he was the only dominant tiger in that area since 2004. He has been filmed mating with the Jhalra tigress. I can’t believe the park authorities did not know this.”
Hindustan Times has analysed the Wildlife Institute of India’s 2006 tiger census. The census extensively used camera traps and clicked 356 photographs of 31 tigers in Ranthambhore over 19 days.
The result threw up five adult males – two of them too young to have fathered the male cub born to the Chiroli tigress. It clearly defined the territories of the three other males, as well as that of the Jhalra and Chiroli females.
As the accompany map of Ranthambore shows, the territories of the Jhalra and Chiroli females fall within the territory of Anantpura male. Except under rare circumstances, the other males in the park could not have mated with either of the two females without dislodging the Anantpura male from this area. It follows that all cubs born to the Jhalra and Chiroli females during that time were fathered by Anantpura male.
“Very rarely will a male tiger allow other males in his territory,” said Fateh Singh Rathore, ex-conservator of Ranthambore. “I do not see any chance of any other male mating the Anantpura male’s tigresses.”
“The fact that the Anantpura male shared space with the Chiroli male cub indicates that they are father and son. A male tiger would kill the litter of another male,” said P.K. Sen, former director, Project Tiger.
Hindustan Times, 29 June, 2009
As the Rajasthan forest department celebrates the anniversary of India’s first wild tiger repopulation drive, evidence with Hindustan Times suggests that all three big cats – a male and two females -- airlifted from Ranthambhore to repopulate Sariska are siblings.
All three tigers come from the same father, known as Anantpura male. The two females are from the same mother, known as Jhalra female or machhli. Before selecting tigers for relocation, no DNA analysis was conducted to ensure genetic dissimilarity. As a result, if corrective actions are not initiated, the future tiger population at Sariska might suffer acute inbreeding depression (See box).
An analysis of the photographic census data gathered by Wildlife institute of India (WII) in 2006 clearly shows that one adult male occupied the entire territory where these three tigers were born during 2004-2006. Tigers are highly territorial and a male do not allow other males to breed with the females residing within his territory.
“While there are enough telling evidences to conclude that all tigers sent to Sariska came from the same father, there is nothing to suggest otherwise. The state authorities should have used the WII expertise of DNA analysis to eliminate the risk,” said Dr Dharmendra Khandal, a field biologist based in Ranthambhore.
It is very important to conduct DNA test before introducing tigers, particularly when we are repopulating from zero. In interconnected forests, a bigger breeding population keeps the gene pool healthy. But one has to be very careful about pocket reserves like Ranthambhore or Sariska,” said PK Sen, former director, Project Tiger.
While Rajasthan forest bosses denied that the male and female tigers came from the same father, PR Sinha, director of Dehradun-based Wildlife Institute of India, agreed that only a DNA analysis could confirm it. “We did not conduct any DNA test so far as it was not felt necessary. Having two sisters in Sariska is not an issue but the male must be from a different lineage for healthy reproduction. We have blood samples. We can check,” he said.
Dr Ullas Karanth, India’s leading tiger scientist, felt that gene analysis was a must for selecting tigers for relocation: “Why take chances when a DNA test can resolve such issues? These relocation drives seem like knee-jerk exercises done in a hurry but we cannot compromise on science.”
Experts, however, claim that the situation can still be salvaged. “Even if these tigers are siblings, they are only a part of the source population as we are supposed to bring in more tigers. If these new tigers are selected genetically, the future Sariska population won’t be affected,” explained Dr Qamar Qureshi, a scientist with Wildlife Institute of India.
Only if the Rajasthan forest department learns its lessons and opts for DNA tests before picking up another arbitrary male for Saiska to meet its self-imposed July 11 deadline. Ensuring genetic variation is one of the fundamental requirements in the protocol recently issued by the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) for tiger relocations.
INSIDE STORY
Decoding the Sariska tiger puzzle
All the three tigers sent to Sariska so far have grown up in and around the tourism zone of the Ranthambhore National Park. Many field guards, guides and regular tourists have spotted and photographed them. They all have a clear idea of their lineage and can confirm they are step-siblings.
“Not many will go on record fearing action against them by the park authorities,” said Aditya Singh, Ranthambore’s well-known wildlife photographer. “But we have seen these tigers grow up. The male was born to the tigress in the Chiroli zone of the park, and the two females to another tigress in the Jhalra zone. All three cubs were fathered by the same male as he was the only dominant tiger in that area since 2004. He has been filmed mating with the Jhalra tigress. I can’t believe the park authorities did not know this.”
Hindustan Times has analysed the Wildlife Institute of India’s 2006 tiger census. The census extensively used camera traps and clicked 356 photographs of 31 tigers in Ranthambhore over 19 days.
The result threw up five adult males – two of them too young to have fathered the male cub born to the Chiroli tigress. It clearly defined the territories of the three other males, as well as that of the Jhalra and Chiroli females.
As the accompany map of Ranthambore shows, the territories of the Jhalra and Chiroli females fall within the territory of Anantpura male. Except under rare circumstances, the other males in the park could not have mated with either of the two females without dislodging the Anantpura male from this area. It follows that all cubs born to the Jhalra and Chiroli females during that time were fathered by Anantpura male.
“Very rarely will a male tiger allow other males in his territory,” said Fateh Singh Rathore, ex-conservator of Ranthambore. “I do not see any chance of any other male mating the Anantpura male’s tigresses.”
“The fact that the Anantpura male shared space with the Chiroli male cub indicates that they are father and son. A male tiger would kill the litter of another male,” said P.K. Sen, former director, Project Tiger.
In Search Of The Snake Demon
In the heart of Thar Desert, a mysterious snake is believed to be sucking the life out of its victims in their sleep without ever having to bite. Horror stories about the peeuna (one that drinks) have travelled across the sands for centuries. Jay Mazoomdaar chases the myth to find the snake behind the scare.
OPEN magazine, 26 June, 2009, pg 40-44
THE FURROWS BETWEEN their narrowed eyes cut deep. The chunky gold earrings glistened with sweat in the morning sun. The spades came down in short bursts and threw up coarse desert sand in the air. Their shrill excitement betrayed discomfort. Never before had they even thought of catching snakes alive.
The Kolis are the traditional snake people in this part of Rajasthan. But they do not pet snakes for a living. In the desert where snakes are no less fabled than demons, Kolis only have to display dead snakes – venomous or not -- to earn a fast buck. But this morning, their brief was different.
Suddenly, a scream erupted from the huddle around the rodent burrow that was being carefully dug up. As the bodies straightened all around me, I bent over and saw the forked pink tongue flickering out of the rat hole at our feet. The shovels came down again and the shiny red head was exposed.
Immediately, I identified the snake. My heart sank. But the Kolis were hysterical. “Catch it! Catch the peeuna before it strikes!” As the majestic 4-feet-long snake wriggled between my fingers, I feared that my quest had hit a dead end.
I HAD FIRST heard of the peeuna in 2002 at a highway dhaba in Pokhran, the site of India’s two nuclear tests. Some locals were discussing snakes and what I gathered in fifteen minutes or so sounded bizarre, more so coming from the seat of the new, nuclear India. In the deserts of Rajasthan, a snake called peeuna killed victims in their sleep by sucking their breath out. It struck in the night and envenomed victims through their breath.
I heard the same story again last year, this time from a young field biologist. Dr Dharmendra Khandal was passing through the Thar in 2007 when he learnt about the myth. Many deaths, he said, were still blamed on the peeuna.
This got me thinking. Science certainly could not explain a “breath-taking” snake but obviously, something was killing dozens of people in the dead of night in the Thar. Was it a snake? Or was it something else?
Extensive search on the web yielded little. The peeuna myth was apparently prevalent beyond the boundaries of India, in Pakistan’s Sindh province, where the snake was also known as phookni (one that blows).
A couple of websites identified peeuna or phookni as the Sindh Krait (Bungarus sindanus) – a rarely reported variety of Krait believed to be “10-15 times more venomous than India’s big four” – Cobra, Russell’s Viper, Saw-scaled Viper and Common Krait. Apparently, the Sindh Krait’s habitat – in and around the Thar – was where this peeuna or phookni myth was prevalent.
There was no preserved specimen of the Sindh Krait anywhere in India. One authoritative source that offered clues to the Sindh Krait’s identification was A Contribution to the Herpetology of West Pakistan (1966) by Sherman A Minton (Jr) where he talked about a Krait variety with a mid-body scale count of 17 (instead of the usual 15). Minton also mentioned that pee-un was a local name for the Sindh Krait. But nothing known about the Sindh Krait suggested that it could envenom victims by breathing or blowing.
My rather disappointing research ended in September, the beginning of the three-month high snake season in the Thar Desert. Arranging for Dr Khandal and his precious kit of anti-venom serum to join me on the way, I headed for ground zero.
OUR FIRST STOP was Jaipur, where we had sought an appointment with Vishnu Dutt Sharma, who had retired as Principal Chief Wildlife Warden of Rajasthan. Nearly an hour had passed on Sharma’s terrace garden in Jaipur since I drove down from Delhi but there was little headway. Like us, Sharma had heard about the peeuna and he confirmed that the geographical reach of the myth coincided with the region of the shifting sand dunes.
On Sharma’s recommendation, we hit the road again for a 300-km drive, to the desert headquarters of Zoological Survey of India (ZSI) at Jodhpur.
As chance would have it, we stopped for dinner at the Tiranga Dhaba, a few kilometres from the town of Barr. Raju, the diminutive proprietor, left the cash counter to join us the moment we mentioned snakes. “We have had a naag (cobra) at this dhaba for years but it never struck anybody. His ways are mysterious,” he looked upward with folded hands.
But what if someone was bitten? “Why? The Kesriya Kawarji temple is not far from here. You just need to tie blessed threads from the temple on the snakebite victim.”
What about the peeuna? “We don’t get peeuna cases here. But if we got one, Kesriya Kawarji would have cured it.”
The food was hot and spicy, and with Kesriya Kawarji watching over the Tiranga Dhaba, the resident cobra was nowhere in sight.
Dr Padma Bohra, director of ZSI’s Desert Regional Centre, dismissed the peeuna as “a local name given to vipers by the villagers” before admitting that she did not know enough about “local snakes”. Then, she handed us over to ex-director Dr Narendra Singh Rathore.
Now retired, Dr Rathore had developed the present ZSI campus and sounded a confident man. “Oh, yes, it is the Sindh Krait. You know, Sharma-ji described the Sindh Krait as peeuna…”
Sharma-ji, the late RC Sharma, was a ZSI scientist of repute and had written a book on snakes in 2003. Sharma’s assertion, coming after Minton’s observation, strengthened the case for the Sindh Krait. But could Dr Rathore possibly explain the peeuna’s killing method?
“Like mosquitoes, this Sindh Krait comes close to sleeping people by following carbon-dioxide density which is highest near one’s nose. So this snake reaches your face. Of course, how exactly it kills is a matter of research.”
Was there any scientific proof of this theory? “I am not sure. But since Sharma-ji had said this…” Dr Rathore trailed off.
I wondered out loud if Dr Rathore had, in fact, ever seen a Sindh Krait.
“Me? Umm… Sindh Krait… well, of course, we have a preserved specimen at the ZSI museum. Come, I will show you.”
Fingers crossed, we accompanied him to the museum, only to find a very old, discoloured specimen labeled “common krait”. Dr Rathore looked sheepish for a moment. But he gathered himself double quick.
“Ah, wrong labeling! Of course, I will tell them to change the label…”
When Dr Khandal offered to count body scales to determine if it was indeed a Sindh Krait, Dr Rathore quickly put the jar back and guided us out of the museum.
POKHRAN WAS STILL very much an Army hub with too many no-entry zones in and around. At any time of the day, outsiders can sense a number of prying eyes trailing them. That Dr Khandal was carrying a snake stick prominently labeled ‘Made in Pakistan’ did not help our case.
Dodging suspicious sleuths, we sought out Subhash Ujjwal, a school teacher known to Dr Khandal through a social networking site. “When we were kids, peeuna was a big scare even here at Pokhran. Children were made to drink milk with garlic and onion in the night to keep the peeuna away. If you travel west, you will find peeuna…villagers still sit up all night in fear…You know, I always wanted to make a film on peeuna. Isn’t it a great horror subject?”
We didn’t quite share his enthusiasm for making a monster out of a snake (a la Anaconda). So Ujjwal turned to religious mythology.
About 1200 years ago, a childless herdsman Mamraw lived in Chalkana village near Chautan. After seven yearly pilgrimages to the Hinglajmata temple in Baluchistan, the goddess told him that she was pleased and would come to his home as his daughter.
Mamraw went on to have seven daughters -- Awra, Achhi, Chhechhi, Gehli. Duli, Rupa and Langdey -- and a son named Mehrok. Nobody, however, came to know that the girls were no ordinary mortals.
Every grazing season, Mamraw took his cattle to Sindh along with the other herdsmen of Barmer but as the years passed, Mehrok decided to take over his duties. To convince old Mamraw, the daughters offered to accompany their young brother.
Free from the watch of their father, the siblings made merry on their way to Sindh and soon enough, strayed away into the forbidden kingdom of Nanangunj, ruled by the cruel King Sumrah. Predictably, the day Sumrah spotted Mehrok’s beautiful sisters, he desired all of them and put his soldiers to keep watch.
But the sisters used their divine powers for the first time and morphed into snakes. Every time they would step out for a bath in the river or to collect firewood, they would become snakes. But Mehrok was more afraid of snakes than he was of the king himself. He would always nag the sisters to stay indoors and be their human selves.
One day, as the sisters laughed at their brother’s silly fears and proceeded to leave the house, Mehrok was enraged. “Go! I know all of you want to elope with the king’s men! You think I don’t understand? You all go out hoping to be picked up for that king!”
Awra, who was until now trying to pacify him, was furious. “You wimp of a brother, you so scared of snakes,” she hissed, cursing Mehrok to be attacked by a peeuna. The next moment, Awra and her sisters were repentant but Goddesses as they were, the curse could not be undone.
Soon enough, a peeuna envenomed Mehrok late in the night. He would die as soon as the first ray of the sun touched him. But the sisters covered him with a kaali lowri (black blanket) so that no sunlight would reach him. Once they succeeded in buying time, the goddesses summoned all their powers and eventually cured their brother.
The seven sisters were soon promoted in the hierarchy of divinity. While Awra the eldest got her own temple at Tanoth near Jaisalmer, all the sisters became staple deities all over the region as the saatmaata pat (seven mother goddesses).
Impressed that curing a peeuna attack was a miracle worth canonization, we decided to seek lesser glories ourselves.
The landscape started changing as we headed westwards from Jodhpur. Seemingly endless stretches of thorny scrub would give way to dry fields. Where the blackened ears of maize, deprived of seasonal rain, thinned out, there would be rare patches of saline clay. Or suddenly, ancient rock mounds held up their blunted heads against strong winds that razed the stones like sandpaper.
Every now and then, against this landscape of dull yellow, bleached green and clear blue, came defiant bursts of colour in red, orange and indigo turbans, veils, drapes and thread ornaments melting in the hot air.
After a rather heavy lunch, I was feeling a little drowsy in the backseat when a sharp turn made me sit up. I looked out the car window and my jaw fell. We were two hours from Barmer and in a magic land.
The sunset sky was visible only through flying carpets crisscrossing in all directions. The spreads changed shape in the air, their intricate, animated patterns transforming every moment. We stood watching the carpets fly, float and twirl before gently dropping on the thorny, airy canopies of kair and khejri.
To complete the magic, each flying carpet was full of song. Together they created such a deafeningly happy orchestra that I had to shout to Dr Khandal, who was standing next to me, to rush for his Canon 20mm. He captured hundreds of house sparrows, patronias and rosy pastors in each frame, but not the magic.
When we reached the District Magistrate’s office at Barmer for a permit to visit the sensitive border areas, the papers moved slowly. But opinions on the peeuna were coming thick and fast.
The DM’s personal secretary mentioned that somewhere near a place called Chautan lived a spiritually gifted old Muslim woman, renowned for curing peeuna victims. The orderly had a warning -- there was absolutely no cure for peeuna venom unless the poison itself was scooped out from inside the victim’s throat.
The legal officer, rather annoyed at being held up beyond office hours, decreed that we had little chance of survival if we slept out in the open in peeuna land and that we would have to sleep in the open if we ventured beyond Chautan.
Permit in my pocket, I went to try laal maas at Barmer’s Kalinga hotel. The thumb rule for preparing the desert’s most exotic meat dish is to use 60 potent red chillies for every kilogram of meat. I can vouch that the Kalinga chef got his flavours right that night.
AT 6 FEET 6 inches, Shaubat Ali stood out in the crowd at Alamsar and welcomed us with the generosity of a rural aristocrat. For over four centuries, his family had been breeding Sindhi horses at a rudimentary farm. Ali assured us of mutton biryani for dinner and a charpoy each to spend the night in the open at his stud farm and sent us off towards Serwa.
The old snakewoman we had heard so much about was too frail now to take visitors. But her mantle had fallen on Kayem Khan who practiced unani with his elder brother Sultan. “I am the only one who treats peeuna victims here. Why, even yesterday I treated four cases,” Kayem greeted us at his clinic-cum-residence in Serwa.
There were two types of peeuna, we are told, red and black. While Kayem thought the black peeuna was more aggressive, Sultan insisted that the red peeuna killed faster. Symptoms included headache, breathlessness, swelling of the face, heavy tongue, slurred speech, stinking mouth and, most importantly, a small blister in the throat.
The treatment, the Khans explained, was simple. The “doctor” inserted two fingers into the victim’s mouth and pulled out the blister with the puss in it. The victim spat the puss – Sultan claimed it was peeuna venom – and recovered in about half an hour.
Kayem explained that frequent cases of saw-scaled viper (Echis carinatus) bites were also recorded in the area but those victims were treated at the government health centre with anti-venom serum. “But serums don’t work against peeuna venom. So peeuna patients never go to hospitals. They come to me.”
Do they get cured? “Victims die when they get late. Otherwise, very few died in my hands,” Kayem refused to be specific.
It was the Khans who suggested we try the Koli community in the region to find us a peeuna. Of course, the brothers would identify the snake for us if we could catch one.
Just an hour to sunset, we reached a Koli settlement at Salaria, 7 km from Serwa, and the younger members of the community jumped at my Rs 200-a-snake offer.
“We have to start early. Wind blows away sand grains and snake marks disappear within hours of sunrise. But will you pay us for every snake we find or every snake you manage to catch,” asked Bhavaram, the village headman.
Details of the deal sealed, we headed back to Shaubat Ali’s farmhouse (and biryani) for the night. Just where the blacktop road ended and the fields began, a mosque was gearing up for Eid. “No moon tonight,” Dr Khandal prepared me for our first dark night in the open in peeuna land.
The moment we settled into sleeping bags and reluctantly switched off our torches to save battery, the sky came alive. I am not sure how long I stared at the stars before Dr Khandal’s ominous voice spoke again. “Remember to check inside your shoes for scorpions before you put them on in the morning. That is if the snakes don’t take you in the night.”
The morning sky was still dark when we joined the Kolis. They split into five teams and fanned out to look for snake-lines in the sand. I followed my team with fingers crossed. Half an hour later, a little Koli boy came running. The team with Dr Khandal had caught a red peeuna. I immediately wanted to rush but they were still a kilometre away. An hour later, another messenger rushed in with the news of another red peeuna.
Soon enough, the Kolis spotted a few clear lines on the sand and started digging up. The winding burrow went deep inside the ground. The Kolis were uncomfortable, tense. Suddenly, a flickering tongue protruding from the hole made the Kolis scream. “Catch it, catch the peeuna before it strikes.” I bent over the exposed burrow and, goaded on by the Kolis, caught the snake. The Kolis screamed again, swearing it was the red peeuna, the same as the other two caught by Dr Khandal.
I knew better and my heart sank. If this rather harmless red-spotted royal snake (Spalerosophis arenarius) was the deadly peeuna that killed people without even having to bite, I had indeed been chasing a stupid country fable for four days and over a thousand kilometres.
THE KOLIS, when shown how benign their red peeuna was, looked stumped. With three royal snakes tucked in plastic boxes, and our spirits low, we called again on the Khan brothers at Serwa. Sultan made an expansive gesture the moment he saw the snakes. “Red peeuna! How did you manage to catch them?”
A big crowd had gathered in the courtyard. We took out a royal snake – peeuna to others -- from the box and asked the brave ones to step forward. Soon, as the Khans watched on glumly, the “deadly” red peeuna passed hand to hand.
But Kayem had not given up yet. “Maybe the red one is harmless. But don’t dismiss the black peeuna. Don’t you see I get so many victims…” Someone in the crowd then named Jano, who lived nearby and had come to the Khans about two weeks ago with symptoms of a peeuna attack.
But before we could find Jano, someone very important had sent for us.
Narayan Pal Bishnoi, the portly station in-charge at Serwa Police station, seemed to be a friendly neighbourhood policeman. “This Serwa is a very peaceful posting… mostly petty cases, you see,” he said. Some 17 rape cases stood out on the crime chart on the wall listing “petty” cases. I asked him about the peeuna instead.
Bishnoi promptly summoned Chunilal, a local stringer with a Hindi daily, who had news for us already. “Only this morning I have seen a peeuna, crushed on the road, some 8-9 km towards the Indo-Pak border.”
Was it a black snake? Yes, it was.
Dr Khandal rushed to the spot near Wadha village and was back in half an hour. The snake was in remarkably good shape for road kill. One look at the snake and we knew it was a krait. But was it indeed the rare Sindh variety?
The black beauty measured 3 ft 10 inches in length. Its solid white band split in two channels running on both sides before vanishing into the shiny off-white belly. We did a thorough scale count. It was a regular Common Krait.
I remembered corresponding with herpetologist Romulus Whitaker when he had doubted if there was any scientific basis at all to the conclusion drawn by Minton and Sharma that the Sindh Krait was the peeuna. Maybe, it was just the Common Krait, after all.
We thanked Bishnoi and walked across the road to meet Dr Dinesh Dutt Sharma at the government health centre. A young medical graduate, he had handled quite a few snakebite cases successfully. Victims, said Dr Sharma, usually came with the snake that had bit them. The bandi (saw-scaled viper), he said, bringing us one left by his patients the previous day, was the common killer.
“I haven’t seen any peeuna patients but people here talk about it. This peeuna snake does not bite but causes a boil inside the throat. Maybe, it’s something science cannot explain…”
So we went back to the Khans. Their faces lit up when we showed them the dead krait. “Yes, this is the one. Now don’t tell me this is also harmless.”
We assured him that the krait was by far the country’s most venomous snake. Kayem smiled victoriously and told us he had sent for another dead black peeuna. Apparently, some villagers had killed and burnt the snake the day before.
The burnt remains reached us in a few minutes. Dr Khandal wiped and washed it till a portion of its mid-body showed clear scale patterns. He looked excited after the count. “Mid-body scale count is 17. This must be our Sindh Krait. But I can’t count the ventrals. Why did they have to burn it…”
A triumphant Kayem now offered us tea but Chunilal arrived just then, saying he had managed to track Jano, the peeuna survivor.
Within a kilometre from Serwa, Alisaron Ka Dera was a settlement of Bheel tribals where some Muslim families had also settled. Jano turned out to be the sickly odd man out in an extended family of robust men and women.
“A peeuna sucked my breath in the night about two weeks back. It felt terrible in the morning. As the day progressed, I started feeling worse. They took me to Kayem Khan in the evening.”
Jano’s brothers described how Kayem had removed the venom from Jano’s throat. Within an hour, they said, Jano was fine. If what they claimed was true, Jano had been cured 18-20 hours after the venom had entered the bloodstream. If the peeuna was the krait, that was impossible. Besides, we were yet to figure out the “poison-breathing” apparatus.
AS WE DROVE back to Alamsar, the clutter started to clear up. While the desert people mentioned the saw-scaled viper as a killer snake, they did not seem to know about the krait. But if we could find two kraits in two days – we spotted one alive later – it was obvious there were enough kraits around to cause a considerable number of deaths. The fact that nobody even mentioned krait bites meant that the cases were being explained as something else -- as peeuna attacks.
Romulus was right. So were Minton and Sharma. Both Common and Sindh Kraits were behind the myth. Anyway, there was not much to distinguish the two by merely looking at them.
Professor David A Warrell, founding director of Oxford’s Centre for Tropical Medicine, had cautioned me that there was no evidence that polyvalent serum was effective against the Sindh Krait’s venom. But why would victims of Common Krait not respond to serums? Surely, not all peeunas were Sindh Kraits.
I recalled how an attendant at the Serwa health centre described a snake bite -- unstoppable bleeding, excruciating pain at the bite spot and an ugly swelling – all typical of a saw-scaled viper bite. The krait struck in the night and victims in their sleep would not know they were bitten.
Moreover, the krait’s sharp fangs left no mark and there was no local irritation. Among a people used to painful viper bites, the discreet krait became the mythical peeuna -- the “breath-sucking” snake that did not bite!
By the time krait victims woke up, the lethal neurotoxins would have already done substantial damage. Since polyvalent serum does not reverse damage caused by venom – it only stops further damage once it is administered – the chances of a late stage victim’s survival are always bleak.
No wonder Dr Sharma or his predecessors at the government clinic could not help so-called peeuna victims with anti-venom shots.
Dr Khandal agreed with my conclusions but he reminded me of the last bit of the puzzle. “How do you explain the blister inside the throat?”
I had no answer. To my knowledge, krait bite caused headache, drowsiness, dilated pupils, heavy eyelids, blurred vision, limb paralysis, coma and total respiratory failure. I had also read about increased oral secretion. But not a blister.
I returned to research and stumbled upon an interesting phrase – pooling of saliva – in a paper in The Lancet by Dr H.S. Bawaskar, a field doctor based at Mahad in Maharashtra. Dr Bawaskar was, in fact, explaining dysphagia or bulbar palsy, a symptom of neurotoxin. Put simply, krait venom triggered muscle paralysis at the pharynx which caused accumulation of saliva in the throat.
I checked with Professor Warrell and got a confirmation. So could this blob of saliva be the “puss” or the “venom” the Khans claimed to be pulling out with their fingers by puncturing some imaginary blister? I rang up Dr Bawaskar from Jodhpur and he agreed.
But taking out saliva would not save a krait victim. So how could the Khans claim a high success rate? “Those who get cured by such quacks were never bitten by the krait in the first place because snakebite is not the only trigger for bulbar palsy. Such patients would not get cured of whatever disease they have if their saliva is taken out but they won’t die quickly like snakebite victims either,” explained Dr Bawaskar.
I remembered Jano. If his was really a case of peeuna attack, would he be alive 18 hours after a krait bite, without medication?
On our way back, we stopped over at Jodhpur to visit Dr Phoolchand Kanojia, a top scientist with the Desert Medical Research Centre. He was planning research projects on the venomous snakes of the desert and had collected a few dead saw-scaled vipers from different government clinics during a recent trip to Chautan.
Dr Khandal took out the dead Common Krait slumped in a bottle. The scientist’s eyes widened. “Such a big krait! Are there kraits in the desert?” We quickly briefed Dr Kanojia and Dr Khandal agreed to lend his find for Dr Kanojia’s collection.
Back on the road, we headed for a relaxed lunch.
“So, could we explain the dreaded peeuna, after all?” Dr Khandal weighed my question with his eyes shut. “The more you know, the more curious you feel.”
I could tell he was waiting to have another look at the burnt krait he was carrying home.
“At least, the so-called red peeunas should be safe now. I hope the Kolis stop killing those innocent beauties.”
The author is an independent journalist and filmmaker.
OPEN magazine, 26 June, 2009, pg 40-44
THE FURROWS BETWEEN their narrowed eyes cut deep. The chunky gold earrings glistened with sweat in the morning sun. The spades came down in short bursts and threw up coarse desert sand in the air. Their shrill excitement betrayed discomfort. Never before had they even thought of catching snakes alive.
The Kolis are the traditional snake people in this part of Rajasthan. But they do not pet snakes for a living. In the desert where snakes are no less fabled than demons, Kolis only have to display dead snakes – venomous or not -- to earn a fast buck. But this morning, their brief was different.
Suddenly, a scream erupted from the huddle around the rodent burrow that was being carefully dug up. As the bodies straightened all around me, I bent over and saw the forked pink tongue flickering out of the rat hole at our feet. The shovels came down again and the shiny red head was exposed.
Immediately, I identified the snake. My heart sank. But the Kolis were hysterical. “Catch it! Catch the peeuna before it strikes!” As the majestic 4-feet-long snake wriggled between my fingers, I feared that my quest had hit a dead end.
I HAD FIRST heard of the peeuna in 2002 at a highway dhaba in Pokhran, the site of India’s two nuclear tests. Some locals were discussing snakes and what I gathered in fifteen minutes or so sounded bizarre, more so coming from the seat of the new, nuclear India. In the deserts of Rajasthan, a snake called peeuna killed victims in their sleep by sucking their breath out. It struck in the night and envenomed victims through their breath.
I heard the same story again last year, this time from a young field biologist. Dr Dharmendra Khandal was passing through the Thar in 2007 when he learnt about the myth. Many deaths, he said, were still blamed on the peeuna.
This got me thinking. Science certainly could not explain a “breath-taking” snake but obviously, something was killing dozens of people in the dead of night in the Thar. Was it a snake? Or was it something else?
Extensive search on the web yielded little. The peeuna myth was apparently prevalent beyond the boundaries of India, in Pakistan’s Sindh province, where the snake was also known as phookni (one that blows).
A couple of websites identified peeuna or phookni as the Sindh Krait (Bungarus sindanus) – a rarely reported variety of Krait believed to be “10-15 times more venomous than India’s big four” – Cobra, Russell’s Viper, Saw-scaled Viper and Common Krait. Apparently, the Sindh Krait’s habitat – in and around the Thar – was where this peeuna or phookni myth was prevalent.
There was no preserved specimen of the Sindh Krait anywhere in India. One authoritative source that offered clues to the Sindh Krait’s identification was A Contribution to the Herpetology of West Pakistan (1966) by Sherman A Minton (Jr) where he talked about a Krait variety with a mid-body scale count of 17 (instead of the usual 15). Minton also mentioned that pee-un was a local name for the Sindh Krait. But nothing known about the Sindh Krait suggested that it could envenom victims by breathing or blowing.
My rather disappointing research ended in September, the beginning of the three-month high snake season in the Thar Desert. Arranging for Dr Khandal and his precious kit of anti-venom serum to join me on the way, I headed for ground zero.
OUR FIRST STOP was Jaipur, where we had sought an appointment with Vishnu Dutt Sharma, who had retired as Principal Chief Wildlife Warden of Rajasthan. Nearly an hour had passed on Sharma’s terrace garden in Jaipur since I drove down from Delhi but there was little headway. Like us, Sharma had heard about the peeuna and he confirmed that the geographical reach of the myth coincided with the region of the shifting sand dunes.
On Sharma’s recommendation, we hit the road again for a 300-km drive, to the desert headquarters of Zoological Survey of India (ZSI) at Jodhpur.
As chance would have it, we stopped for dinner at the Tiranga Dhaba, a few kilometres from the town of Barr. Raju, the diminutive proprietor, left the cash counter to join us the moment we mentioned snakes. “We have had a naag (cobra) at this dhaba for years but it never struck anybody. His ways are mysterious,” he looked upward with folded hands.
But what if someone was bitten? “Why? The Kesriya Kawarji temple is not far from here. You just need to tie blessed threads from the temple on the snakebite victim.”
What about the peeuna? “We don’t get peeuna cases here. But if we got one, Kesriya Kawarji would have cured it.”
The food was hot and spicy, and with Kesriya Kawarji watching over the Tiranga Dhaba, the resident cobra was nowhere in sight.
Dr Padma Bohra, director of ZSI’s Desert Regional Centre, dismissed the peeuna as “a local name given to vipers by the villagers” before admitting that she did not know enough about “local snakes”. Then, she handed us over to ex-director Dr Narendra Singh Rathore.
Now retired, Dr Rathore had developed the present ZSI campus and sounded a confident man. “Oh, yes, it is the Sindh Krait. You know, Sharma-ji described the Sindh Krait as peeuna…”
Sharma-ji, the late RC Sharma, was a ZSI scientist of repute and had written a book on snakes in 2003. Sharma’s assertion, coming after Minton’s observation, strengthened the case for the Sindh Krait. But could Dr Rathore possibly explain the peeuna’s killing method?
“Like mosquitoes, this Sindh Krait comes close to sleeping people by following carbon-dioxide density which is highest near one’s nose. So this snake reaches your face. Of course, how exactly it kills is a matter of research.”
Was there any scientific proof of this theory? “I am not sure. But since Sharma-ji had said this…” Dr Rathore trailed off.
I wondered out loud if Dr Rathore had, in fact, ever seen a Sindh Krait.
“Me? Umm… Sindh Krait… well, of course, we have a preserved specimen at the ZSI museum. Come, I will show you.”
Fingers crossed, we accompanied him to the museum, only to find a very old, discoloured specimen labeled “common krait”. Dr Rathore looked sheepish for a moment. But he gathered himself double quick.
“Ah, wrong labeling! Of course, I will tell them to change the label…”
When Dr Khandal offered to count body scales to determine if it was indeed a Sindh Krait, Dr Rathore quickly put the jar back and guided us out of the museum.
POKHRAN WAS STILL very much an Army hub with too many no-entry zones in and around. At any time of the day, outsiders can sense a number of prying eyes trailing them. That Dr Khandal was carrying a snake stick prominently labeled ‘Made in Pakistan’ did not help our case.
Dodging suspicious sleuths, we sought out Subhash Ujjwal, a school teacher known to Dr Khandal through a social networking site. “When we were kids, peeuna was a big scare even here at Pokhran. Children were made to drink milk with garlic and onion in the night to keep the peeuna away. If you travel west, you will find peeuna…villagers still sit up all night in fear…You know, I always wanted to make a film on peeuna. Isn’t it a great horror subject?”
We didn’t quite share his enthusiasm for making a monster out of a snake (a la Anaconda). So Ujjwal turned to religious mythology.
About 1200 years ago, a childless herdsman Mamraw lived in Chalkana village near Chautan. After seven yearly pilgrimages to the Hinglajmata temple in Baluchistan, the goddess told him that she was pleased and would come to his home as his daughter.
Mamraw went on to have seven daughters -- Awra, Achhi, Chhechhi, Gehli. Duli, Rupa and Langdey -- and a son named Mehrok. Nobody, however, came to know that the girls were no ordinary mortals.
Every grazing season, Mamraw took his cattle to Sindh along with the other herdsmen of Barmer but as the years passed, Mehrok decided to take over his duties. To convince old Mamraw, the daughters offered to accompany their young brother.
Free from the watch of their father, the siblings made merry on their way to Sindh and soon enough, strayed away into the forbidden kingdom of Nanangunj, ruled by the cruel King Sumrah. Predictably, the day Sumrah spotted Mehrok’s beautiful sisters, he desired all of them and put his soldiers to keep watch.
But the sisters used their divine powers for the first time and morphed into snakes. Every time they would step out for a bath in the river or to collect firewood, they would become snakes. But Mehrok was more afraid of snakes than he was of the king himself. He would always nag the sisters to stay indoors and be their human selves.
One day, as the sisters laughed at their brother’s silly fears and proceeded to leave the house, Mehrok was enraged. “Go! I know all of you want to elope with the king’s men! You think I don’t understand? You all go out hoping to be picked up for that king!”
Awra, who was until now trying to pacify him, was furious. “You wimp of a brother, you so scared of snakes,” she hissed, cursing Mehrok to be attacked by a peeuna. The next moment, Awra and her sisters were repentant but Goddesses as they were, the curse could not be undone.
Soon enough, a peeuna envenomed Mehrok late in the night. He would die as soon as the first ray of the sun touched him. But the sisters covered him with a kaali lowri (black blanket) so that no sunlight would reach him. Once they succeeded in buying time, the goddesses summoned all their powers and eventually cured their brother.
The seven sisters were soon promoted in the hierarchy of divinity. While Awra the eldest got her own temple at Tanoth near Jaisalmer, all the sisters became staple deities all over the region as the saatmaata pat (seven mother goddesses).
Impressed that curing a peeuna attack was a miracle worth canonization, we decided to seek lesser glories ourselves.
The landscape started changing as we headed westwards from Jodhpur. Seemingly endless stretches of thorny scrub would give way to dry fields. Where the blackened ears of maize, deprived of seasonal rain, thinned out, there would be rare patches of saline clay. Or suddenly, ancient rock mounds held up their blunted heads against strong winds that razed the stones like sandpaper.
Every now and then, against this landscape of dull yellow, bleached green and clear blue, came defiant bursts of colour in red, orange and indigo turbans, veils, drapes and thread ornaments melting in the hot air.
After a rather heavy lunch, I was feeling a little drowsy in the backseat when a sharp turn made me sit up. I looked out the car window and my jaw fell. We were two hours from Barmer and in a magic land.
The sunset sky was visible only through flying carpets crisscrossing in all directions. The spreads changed shape in the air, their intricate, animated patterns transforming every moment. We stood watching the carpets fly, float and twirl before gently dropping on the thorny, airy canopies of kair and khejri.
To complete the magic, each flying carpet was full of song. Together they created such a deafeningly happy orchestra that I had to shout to Dr Khandal, who was standing next to me, to rush for his Canon 20mm. He captured hundreds of house sparrows, patronias and rosy pastors in each frame, but not the magic.
When we reached the District Magistrate’s office at Barmer for a permit to visit the sensitive border areas, the papers moved slowly. But opinions on the peeuna were coming thick and fast.
The DM’s personal secretary mentioned that somewhere near a place called Chautan lived a spiritually gifted old Muslim woman, renowned for curing peeuna victims. The orderly had a warning -- there was absolutely no cure for peeuna venom unless the poison itself was scooped out from inside the victim’s throat.
The legal officer, rather annoyed at being held up beyond office hours, decreed that we had little chance of survival if we slept out in the open in peeuna land and that we would have to sleep in the open if we ventured beyond Chautan.
Permit in my pocket, I went to try laal maas at Barmer’s Kalinga hotel. The thumb rule for preparing the desert’s most exotic meat dish is to use 60 potent red chillies for every kilogram of meat. I can vouch that the Kalinga chef got his flavours right that night.
AT 6 FEET 6 inches, Shaubat Ali stood out in the crowd at Alamsar and welcomed us with the generosity of a rural aristocrat. For over four centuries, his family had been breeding Sindhi horses at a rudimentary farm. Ali assured us of mutton biryani for dinner and a charpoy each to spend the night in the open at his stud farm and sent us off towards Serwa.
The old snakewoman we had heard so much about was too frail now to take visitors. But her mantle had fallen on Kayem Khan who practiced unani with his elder brother Sultan. “I am the only one who treats peeuna victims here. Why, even yesterday I treated four cases,” Kayem greeted us at his clinic-cum-residence in Serwa.
There were two types of peeuna, we are told, red and black. While Kayem thought the black peeuna was more aggressive, Sultan insisted that the red peeuna killed faster. Symptoms included headache, breathlessness, swelling of the face, heavy tongue, slurred speech, stinking mouth and, most importantly, a small blister in the throat.
The treatment, the Khans explained, was simple. The “doctor” inserted two fingers into the victim’s mouth and pulled out the blister with the puss in it. The victim spat the puss – Sultan claimed it was peeuna venom – and recovered in about half an hour.
Kayem explained that frequent cases of saw-scaled viper (Echis carinatus) bites were also recorded in the area but those victims were treated at the government health centre with anti-venom serum. “But serums don’t work against peeuna venom. So peeuna patients never go to hospitals. They come to me.”
Do they get cured? “Victims die when they get late. Otherwise, very few died in my hands,” Kayem refused to be specific.
It was the Khans who suggested we try the Koli community in the region to find us a peeuna. Of course, the brothers would identify the snake for us if we could catch one.
Just an hour to sunset, we reached a Koli settlement at Salaria, 7 km from Serwa, and the younger members of the community jumped at my Rs 200-a-snake offer.
“We have to start early. Wind blows away sand grains and snake marks disappear within hours of sunrise. But will you pay us for every snake we find or every snake you manage to catch,” asked Bhavaram, the village headman.
Details of the deal sealed, we headed back to Shaubat Ali’s farmhouse (and biryani) for the night. Just where the blacktop road ended and the fields began, a mosque was gearing up for Eid. “No moon tonight,” Dr Khandal prepared me for our first dark night in the open in peeuna land.
The moment we settled into sleeping bags and reluctantly switched off our torches to save battery, the sky came alive. I am not sure how long I stared at the stars before Dr Khandal’s ominous voice spoke again. “Remember to check inside your shoes for scorpions before you put them on in the morning. That is if the snakes don’t take you in the night.”
The morning sky was still dark when we joined the Kolis. They split into five teams and fanned out to look for snake-lines in the sand. I followed my team with fingers crossed. Half an hour later, a little Koli boy came running. The team with Dr Khandal had caught a red peeuna. I immediately wanted to rush but they were still a kilometre away. An hour later, another messenger rushed in with the news of another red peeuna.
Soon enough, the Kolis spotted a few clear lines on the sand and started digging up. The winding burrow went deep inside the ground. The Kolis were uncomfortable, tense. Suddenly, a flickering tongue protruding from the hole made the Kolis scream. “Catch it, catch the peeuna before it strikes.” I bent over the exposed burrow and, goaded on by the Kolis, caught the snake. The Kolis screamed again, swearing it was the red peeuna, the same as the other two caught by Dr Khandal.
I knew better and my heart sank. If this rather harmless red-spotted royal snake (Spalerosophis arenarius) was the deadly peeuna that killed people without even having to bite, I had indeed been chasing a stupid country fable for four days and over a thousand kilometres.
THE KOLIS, when shown how benign their red peeuna was, looked stumped. With three royal snakes tucked in plastic boxes, and our spirits low, we called again on the Khan brothers at Serwa. Sultan made an expansive gesture the moment he saw the snakes. “Red peeuna! How did you manage to catch them?”
A big crowd had gathered in the courtyard. We took out a royal snake – peeuna to others -- from the box and asked the brave ones to step forward. Soon, as the Khans watched on glumly, the “deadly” red peeuna passed hand to hand.
But Kayem had not given up yet. “Maybe the red one is harmless. But don’t dismiss the black peeuna. Don’t you see I get so many victims…” Someone in the crowd then named Jano, who lived nearby and had come to the Khans about two weeks ago with symptoms of a peeuna attack.
But before we could find Jano, someone very important had sent for us.
Narayan Pal Bishnoi, the portly station in-charge at Serwa Police station, seemed to be a friendly neighbourhood policeman. “This Serwa is a very peaceful posting… mostly petty cases, you see,” he said. Some 17 rape cases stood out on the crime chart on the wall listing “petty” cases. I asked him about the peeuna instead.
Bishnoi promptly summoned Chunilal, a local stringer with a Hindi daily, who had news for us already. “Only this morning I have seen a peeuna, crushed on the road, some 8-9 km towards the Indo-Pak border.”
Was it a black snake? Yes, it was.
Dr Khandal rushed to the spot near Wadha village and was back in half an hour. The snake was in remarkably good shape for road kill. One look at the snake and we knew it was a krait. But was it indeed the rare Sindh variety?
The black beauty measured 3 ft 10 inches in length. Its solid white band split in two channels running on both sides before vanishing into the shiny off-white belly. We did a thorough scale count. It was a regular Common Krait.
I remembered corresponding with herpetologist Romulus Whitaker when he had doubted if there was any scientific basis at all to the conclusion drawn by Minton and Sharma that the Sindh Krait was the peeuna. Maybe, it was just the Common Krait, after all.
We thanked Bishnoi and walked across the road to meet Dr Dinesh Dutt Sharma at the government health centre. A young medical graduate, he had handled quite a few snakebite cases successfully. Victims, said Dr Sharma, usually came with the snake that had bit them. The bandi (saw-scaled viper), he said, bringing us one left by his patients the previous day, was the common killer.
“I haven’t seen any peeuna patients but people here talk about it. This peeuna snake does not bite but causes a boil inside the throat. Maybe, it’s something science cannot explain…”
So we went back to the Khans. Their faces lit up when we showed them the dead krait. “Yes, this is the one. Now don’t tell me this is also harmless.”
We assured him that the krait was by far the country’s most venomous snake. Kayem smiled victoriously and told us he had sent for another dead black peeuna. Apparently, some villagers had killed and burnt the snake the day before.
The burnt remains reached us in a few minutes. Dr Khandal wiped and washed it till a portion of its mid-body showed clear scale patterns. He looked excited after the count. “Mid-body scale count is 17. This must be our Sindh Krait. But I can’t count the ventrals. Why did they have to burn it…”
A triumphant Kayem now offered us tea but Chunilal arrived just then, saying he had managed to track Jano, the peeuna survivor.
Within a kilometre from Serwa, Alisaron Ka Dera was a settlement of Bheel tribals where some Muslim families had also settled. Jano turned out to be the sickly odd man out in an extended family of robust men and women.
“A peeuna sucked my breath in the night about two weeks back. It felt terrible in the morning. As the day progressed, I started feeling worse. They took me to Kayem Khan in the evening.”
Jano’s brothers described how Kayem had removed the venom from Jano’s throat. Within an hour, they said, Jano was fine. If what they claimed was true, Jano had been cured 18-20 hours after the venom had entered the bloodstream. If the peeuna was the krait, that was impossible. Besides, we were yet to figure out the “poison-breathing” apparatus.
AS WE DROVE back to Alamsar, the clutter started to clear up. While the desert people mentioned the saw-scaled viper as a killer snake, they did not seem to know about the krait. But if we could find two kraits in two days – we spotted one alive later – it was obvious there were enough kraits around to cause a considerable number of deaths. The fact that nobody even mentioned krait bites meant that the cases were being explained as something else -- as peeuna attacks.
Romulus was right. So were Minton and Sharma. Both Common and Sindh Kraits were behind the myth. Anyway, there was not much to distinguish the two by merely looking at them.
Professor David A Warrell, founding director of Oxford’s Centre for Tropical Medicine, had cautioned me that there was no evidence that polyvalent serum was effective against the Sindh Krait’s venom. But why would victims of Common Krait not respond to serums? Surely, not all peeunas were Sindh Kraits.
I recalled how an attendant at the Serwa health centre described a snake bite -- unstoppable bleeding, excruciating pain at the bite spot and an ugly swelling – all typical of a saw-scaled viper bite. The krait struck in the night and victims in their sleep would not know they were bitten.
Moreover, the krait’s sharp fangs left no mark and there was no local irritation. Among a people used to painful viper bites, the discreet krait became the mythical peeuna -- the “breath-sucking” snake that did not bite!
By the time krait victims woke up, the lethal neurotoxins would have already done substantial damage. Since polyvalent serum does not reverse damage caused by venom – it only stops further damage once it is administered – the chances of a late stage victim’s survival are always bleak.
No wonder Dr Sharma or his predecessors at the government clinic could not help so-called peeuna victims with anti-venom shots.
Dr Khandal agreed with my conclusions but he reminded me of the last bit of the puzzle. “How do you explain the blister inside the throat?”
I had no answer. To my knowledge, krait bite caused headache, drowsiness, dilated pupils, heavy eyelids, blurred vision, limb paralysis, coma and total respiratory failure. I had also read about increased oral secretion. But not a blister.
I returned to research and stumbled upon an interesting phrase – pooling of saliva – in a paper in The Lancet by Dr H.S. Bawaskar, a field doctor based at Mahad in Maharashtra. Dr Bawaskar was, in fact, explaining dysphagia or bulbar palsy, a symptom of neurotoxin. Put simply, krait venom triggered muscle paralysis at the pharynx which caused accumulation of saliva in the throat.
I checked with Professor Warrell and got a confirmation. So could this blob of saliva be the “puss” or the “venom” the Khans claimed to be pulling out with their fingers by puncturing some imaginary blister? I rang up Dr Bawaskar from Jodhpur and he agreed.
But taking out saliva would not save a krait victim. So how could the Khans claim a high success rate? “Those who get cured by such quacks were never bitten by the krait in the first place because snakebite is not the only trigger for bulbar palsy. Such patients would not get cured of whatever disease they have if their saliva is taken out but they won’t die quickly like snakebite victims either,” explained Dr Bawaskar.
I remembered Jano. If his was really a case of peeuna attack, would he be alive 18 hours after a krait bite, without medication?
On our way back, we stopped over at Jodhpur to visit Dr Phoolchand Kanojia, a top scientist with the Desert Medical Research Centre. He was planning research projects on the venomous snakes of the desert and had collected a few dead saw-scaled vipers from different government clinics during a recent trip to Chautan.
Dr Khandal took out the dead Common Krait slumped in a bottle. The scientist’s eyes widened. “Such a big krait! Are there kraits in the desert?” We quickly briefed Dr Kanojia and Dr Khandal agreed to lend his find for Dr Kanojia’s collection.
Back on the road, we headed for a relaxed lunch.
“So, could we explain the dreaded peeuna, after all?” Dr Khandal weighed my question with his eyes shut. “The more you know, the more curious you feel.”
I could tell he was waiting to have another look at the burnt krait he was carrying home.
“At least, the so-called red peeunas should be safe now. I hope the Kolis stop killing those innocent beauties.”
The author is an independent journalist and filmmaker.
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