Jet Set Weekend

“Wake up! Quick!” A frantic whisper from my wife - gazing ahead, her eyes almost popping out - stirred me back to life. I had dozed off waiting, waiting and waiting… A quick turn of the head in the direction of her eyes revealed a bright fiery orange something with black stripes some distance away, hidden partially by slender deep brown barks of deciduous trees. It was a tiger! A huge male (the guide put it down to about 200 pounds) tiger - sauntering through the bush land and scarce vegetation so characteristic of the dry climate of Ranthambhor National Park. Gorgeous, hypnotic, mystique were the words that came to mind in a snap! Bulky, yet regal in every move it made.
Ranthambhor, lying in a cradle formed by the Aravalli and the Vindhya ranges - two very old mountain ranges – in Rajasthan is home to around 30 odd tigers and along with Kanha, Bandhavgarh, Pench and Corbett ranks pretty high in the Project Tiger success list. So much so that tiger cubs from the park fitted with radio collars, (for the first time in India) are being moved to nearby Sariska for a fresh lease of life – rampant poaching by hunter gatherers from the Mogiya tribe unfortunately being the reason for its extinction there. In fact in one sting operation in the early nineties TRAFFIC (an organization that monitors the wildlife trade for the World Wildlife Fund) had discovered dozens of families in Delhi’s Sadar Bazaar engaged in the trade of animal body parts. After all a tiger skin can fetch more than $1500! As the availability decreases with tiger numbers, the prices soar. And with a buoyant Asian economy, affordability is only increasing. Wildlife protection forces are usually understaffed and the budget laid out for conservation by the Government is meager at best. The situation worsens when there are religious sites present within the premises of the reserve – as is the case with both Sariska and Ranthambhor. This allows unrestricted human entry within the park and makes poaching control trickier.
His highness paused for a second to cast a fleeting glance at his subjects – the event being noted and marked by a zillion clicks from all possible photography equipment on show from the zillion gypsys that had gathered there – word of the monarch spreads like lightning in these parts; and that too, if I may add, by word of mouth! The langoors, sambhars, cheetals, peacocks all play their own part in this evolved mode of communication which can be described in simple terms as an “alarm call” traceable even at large distances. The tiger turned its head and walked away apparently irritated by the high decibel levels being maintained in its realm; for few park visitors in India are aware of the etiquette to be followed in the jungle. For most, it’s just another outing on a weekend where they cut loose and yell at close to top of their voices and sometimes even go to the extent of littering the parklands!
Education and awareness of the importance of the jungle, not only from an aesthetic view, but also from an ecological perspective which has the potential for impacting the economy of the country, is imperative for its survival in the long run. This is something where the wild life department needs to dig deep and come up with plausible solutions. Without a nation wide awareness about the need and ways of the jungle, saving it would require a Herculean effort, not to say it doesn’t already does so!
The terrain of Ranthambhor is unique. At the far end there are the two mountain ranges forming a V like pattern. The near end is fenced by the huge Ranthambhor fort – built by a Rajput ruler and now largely in ruins. Nested in between is the major portion of the forest with tracts of undulated grass lands and three beautiful lakes. The grasslands here are different from the ones in Kanha where it stretches till the end of ones imagination; here, because of the hilly nature of the terrain the land climbs up now only to take a plunge the next to form a sort of valley – and all the while brooks, seeming to come from the magical places which are “the haunts of coot and hern” immortalized so well by Tennyson, spurt by in a hurry, sweeping away almost anything that dared hinder their march. What with early rains (mid-June) this year Ranthambhor was exploding with life. The usual dry dusty sparsely vegetated land was transformed into a bright green bushy garden with even the lakes taking on a greenish hue. Crocodiles or magar as it is known in India swarm the lakes which are also the hunting ground for a large number of wading birds including herons, a variety of storks, mallards, stirlings etc. The birds patiently look out for a catch – remaining stationary for minutes at an end sometimes - while the crocs appear to be prepared to wait as long as it takes to lay an ambush. Often one can notice a stork take a furtive step or two towards a potential prey only to squinch back on detecting a croc taking a sun bath in its way. Now and again we would come across a small brown hare nibbling on a light snack in the afternoon or a woodpecker making heavy weather of a thick dark bark of a tree as ancient as the earth itself. The hilly parts on the other hand provide a better opportunity to spot predatory birds and provide a breathtaking view of the plains below.
Unfortunately, Ranthambhor doesn’t have any forest rest house within the park. Hence, one has to put up at the various hotels outside the periphery of the park. The state tourism hotels are reasonably priced and have decent facilities, though the efficiency of service is poor. One good place to stay could be the Ranthambhor Bagh, owned and run by Aditya Singh, a dedicated conservationist and photographer. Herds of photographers, wildlife enthusiasts, naturalists etc usually drop anchor there during their visits to the park, hence one could be in for some very interesting and intellectually stimulating evenings with loads of tips and suggestions coming ones way. There one can also run into Salim Ali, a very competent naturalist and “tiger driver” who has worked with BBC on various projects. If one can enlist him for ones services as a guide during ones stay there one is assured of a trip worth remembering! At least the chances of spotting a tiger will surely move up by several notches.
Ranthambhor National Park, which is a part of the much larger Ranthambhor Tiger Reserve, lies in the Sawai Madhopur district of eastern Rajasthan. The Sawai Madhopur Sanctuary, followed by the Sawai Mansingh Sanctuary and the Qualji Closed Area lies further South-West of the park. Sawai Madhopur, the nearest rail head, is 5 hrs by train from New Delhi. Mewar express and Shatabdi both link the two towns with daily runs. The town is accessible by road as well, however what with roads being is poor shape, the journey might take about 9-10 hrs!

A Magical afternoon!

Brrrrr! The wind was killing – it seemed to be blowing a gale – so chilly was it that holding the bricklike Minolta SR-7 steady was an ordeal in itself! To the locals however, it was a gentle, soothing, refreshing breeze typical of fall, bringing with it a sense of “the last happy days” – epitomised so well by Keats - before the harsh, frosty, gloomy winter sets in. I was freezing on the outskirts of a Dutch village.
Village??! Ha! Well, that’s what they call Breukelen. However, to one for whom the visual association of the word is a multitude of mud huts, some covered with thatched bamboo and some with red clay tiles, cow dung slapped on the walls of almost all of them - connected by a network of uneven threadlike patches of land - de-grassed by ages of footfall, this was a far cry. This was a regular township. Rows of pretty cottages with even prettier little gardens in front – flowers of different hue and size popping out from the grass, with furry little kittens crouched between the stalks, fenced by uniformly pruned small hedges – the entrance marked by a waist high whitewashed wooden gate and little children playing with their roller skates nearby - pretty much reminiscent of the world of fairy tales one found oneself steeped in as a child. Probably due to reduced pollution or probably due to some unknown reason, the colours here appear so much brighter, the images so much sharper, as if suddenly, the brain was manipulating the images formed by the eye using its own Photoshop!
I walked along the canal, past a few cherry orchards towards a bridge that crosses into Breukelen. The bridge appeared like a mirage at a distance – and as I came closer, human forms seemed to emerge from the fog as if some conjuring sorcerer was flaunting her wizardry. This was one long row of fishermen sitting still like sculpted works of art with fishing rod in hand and a bag of bait next to the portable chair. For nearly more than half a minute no one moved! No one spoke! They just sat there as if glued to their seats with sealed lips and gaze fixed on the rod as if strength of mind was all it took to get a finned one to swim into its grave! Fishing, I learnt later, is a major leisure activity with the Dutch, across all age groups. Thursday being working, understandably, this was an old men’s troupe.
Leaving the fishermen to their meditation, I took the bridge. I had walked no more than a few feet, when a blast of cold wind caught me unawares and threw off the scarf that wrapped my ears. Groping about for a few minutes, for it was difficult to keep ones eyes open, I managed to recover. The wind surging down the canal was, by virtue of being able to flow unobstructed, much stronger. I somehow managed to cross over, stopping only for a few seconds midway to drink in the breathtaking view!
Breukelen bears some resemblance to colonial small towns in India – albeit it is much more beautiful. There is a main thoroughfare that cuts through the village and connects it to other towns. Branching off from this artery are narrow lanes on which the residential and other town buildings stand. Running parallel with the road system is an intricate canal system which enhances the beauty of the town. Some of the houses in fact directly open onto the canals with small paddle boats tied to the entrance. What with ducks quacking and the flame coloured leaves – characteristic of autumn – scattered all around, “idyllic” was the only adjective that came to mind that could aptly depict the scene! The houses here are almost all built in the same style with sloping roofs and never more than two stories in height – most of them being cottages with only a few apartments – the situation being entirely different in larger cities like Amsterdam. Even the colour combinations and decoration are same creating a notion of uniformity. The windows typically are adorned by white laced curtains with small flower pots on the sill. The entrance is usually through a ubiquitous small garden in front of the porch and a yet smaller backyard bringing up the rear. The public houses like the bars, cafes restaurants, grocery stores, banks are all lined next to each other near the town centre. The eating houses with their pretty interiors done up entirely in wood and often lit be a few candles render a distinctive old world charm. Coupled with the whiff of some exotic dine, the feel is enthralling, delightful and unreal!
Nature, as has often been observed, is notorious for its unpredictable bearing. Though we often lament at her inconsistency, this diversity and the consequent mood changes on offer, holds us in significant awe. Within a quarter of an hour of entering the village, a swirling motion began in the air and the mist began to thin out and disappear, reminiscent of the last cold winds of winter being shoved out by the first spring air, bringing with it a fresh lease of life, in Fellini’s Amarcord. Slowly, the sun peaked out – a mild patch of light on the church spire to begin with, it brightened with every passing minute till the entire town basked in the bright, warm light. Even here, the indiscernible presence of a fairy Godmother waving her magic wand and directing the change of scenes, stupefying us, mere mortals was unmistakable!