On a private reserve, Rohini Nilekani comes safely face to face with elephants and rhinos. Can we find ways to coexist in India too, adapting to animals as they have to us?
It was a bunker made of reinforced concrete and steel. It was half underground, and camouflaged with mud, leaves and grass. Just beyond this innocuous-looking mound was a waterbody about the size of a large swimming pool.
Ahead of it, we could see an African tusker making his way to the pond.
“Hurry, the animals are already here. We are late,” said our guide, as he opened a metal door to reveal steps leading down into a dark chamber.
We emerged, curious and a bit nervous, from our safari jeep. One by one, we entered this man-made cave. It was surprisingly roomy inside, with a modern toilet to one side.
Our guide slid open steel windows all around the room, each 2 ft tall and at eye level. There were no grills or meshes.
Then the evening show started.
The elephant reached the water, gauged the scene and slowly started drinking. He was soon joined by others, attracted to the best water source in the vicinity. This was their evening routine.
Before our wonderstruck eyes, white rhinos began to edge in. Four mothers with four calves of varying ages eyed each other and the tuskers. From afar, zebras and an eland were watching too, waiting their turn.
This was a unique African safari experience for us. We were on a private conservancy in Zimbabwe, spread over 150,000 hectares, far from the tourist rush in Masai Mara. Here, the owners have successfully created a haven for thousands of creatures.
The conservancy sits at the edge of a large national park. Just beyond the private estate, on its other edge, the bush has been cut down for sugarcane farms that stretch to the horizon. The pressure on the land is growing, even in Africa, which has a similar population of 1.5 billion but almost three times the land mass of India.
Africa has long followed a strategy of private-owner-led conservation, prompting as many bouquets as brickbats from the world’s environmentalists. It is true that ownership of these conservancies is rarely with indigenous peoples. It is also true that only elites can afford such wildlife tourism.
In India, such a strategy is neither possible nor desirable. Our conservation is led by the state and its forest departments. I argue that we will need the participation of all landowners in the country to restore and heal our lands, whether on plantations and farms or in urban corporate campuses. Luckily, we have the Forest Rights Act, 2006, which enables long-time forest dwellers to assert individual and community rights over the forest. They are closely watched over by state forest departments, which often encourage voluntary relocation outside the core areas.
Where the law has been implemented, civil society organisations are strengthening the capacity of the people to regenerate the forest while increasing their livelihood opportunities. They keep meticulous records of flora and fauna, so that the impact of this progressive legislation can be monitored.
Amid growing human-animal conflict, India’s commitment to increase its forest cover has never been so critical. We must recreate a new culture of co-existence, for we need the biodiversity to secure our own futures. We must redevelop a shared wilderness, where humans can adapt better to animals, as they have adapted to us.
Meanwhile, back to Africa, as we sat in the sunken hide, trying our best to be quiet, the animals came closer and closer.
Tusks and horns were literally within reach. The animals could sense us, but they had seen humans here before. They peered at us intently, discounted any threat and continued their usual activities. Waves of gratitude and awe washed over us. It is truly the experience of a lifetime to safely come face to face with the giant head of a rhino or a bull elephant.
We watched, fascinated. There was a clear hierarchy. Some elephants were more equal than others and nudged away juniors to access the sweetest spots at the freshwater inlet. Sometimes, the rhinos were able to displace the elephants, maybe from an ancient sharing culture, or because long and sharp horns can be an effective deterrent to conflict.
By and large, despite the occasional head butts and trunk nudges, trumpets and snorts, all animals big and small were able to quench their thirst. The endless sky, fiery from the setting sun, created perfect backdrops, as did clear reflections in the pool. One by one, the animals began to move away.
Will we ever have such an experience in India, which can boast of similar biodiversity as the African continent? Which has the bears and tigers that Africa does not? Which has millions of people eager to experience the wild, and better protect our biodiversity? The debate on conservation is so polarised that it would be hard to get a consensus on such an idea.
We will never forget that encounter. My little grandson wants to be a conservationist when he grows up. I think those two precious hours in the company of magnificent, gentle creatures further cemented his dream.
As a parting gift, a young elephant looked straight at us, scooped up mud from the bottom of the pool with his trunk, and squirted it squarely at us through the window. Before we could duck, our clothes and cameras were sprinkled with wet soil. In the spirit of the season, we received it as a blessing from Ganesha.
