March 17, 1999, Wednesday, sunny, 22-34C
[20:13 @ Rm.111, Kanha Jungle Lodge]
A
day of great beauty, sadness and amazement.
The
beauty is of Kanha National Park. It
seems that the more I see it, the more beautiful it becomes. Today, it is the brilliant greenness,
especially in the early morning and late afternoon light. Greens of various shades, tints and tones
that dazzle the eyes. I have never seen
sal as I saw it today.
We
(Anne, Kim, Chris and I) left KJL at 06:30 with me at the wheel. At Mukki Gate, I did the paper work and paid
the fee – about Rs.600 for all, my personal treat for my friends. At the booth I was told by a guide name Guru
that Tirath would be our guide, but Tirath, probably warned by Rajeesh Gopal,
declined. So Guru became our
guide. Our destination of the day was
Kisli, which is situated on the opposite side of the park from Mukki. Our intention was to visiting Kipling Camp,
owned and operated by Bob Wright, father of Belinda Wright. Back in the 1970s, Belinda lived on the
periphery of Kanha for several years doing pioneering work on tiger poaching,
and even today is still a bit of a legend in these parts. Tarun somehow heard that she might be in the
vicinity as we speak.
Enroute
from Mukki to Kisli, we traversed many areas I have never seen before, all
exquisite. We arrived at the Kisli gate
around 10:00, and decided to gas up the vehicle first, since it was running on
near empty, then return to the park till noon.
Believe it or not, it took the people at the gas station more than half
an hour to put in the fuel and fill out the paper work. This, again, is India for you.
I’m
in love with Kanha, have fallen deeply in love with Kanha, and am falling
deeper and deeper in love with Kanha, and yet, this could be the very last time
I would ever see her in my life. We
spent the 5-hour morning drive going from Mukki to Kisli. For about a half hour, I let Anne drive, at
her request. She hadn’t driven a
standard shift for years, and had a hard time getting the Gypsy moving from
rest uphill. Sitting next to her, I
re-experienced my driving-instructing days, soft-spokenly coaxing her
along.
But
something amazing occurred when we were exiting the Kisli gate shortly before
noon. We came across a Gypsy driven by
an elderly Caucasian gentleman. Our
guide, Guru, pointed out that he was Bob Wright, owner of Kipling Camp, Belinda
Wright’s father. I turned the Gypsy
around and pulled up along-side Bob, driver-door to driver-door. I reminded him of my visit to his home in
Calcutta in 1997, and inquired about Mrs. Wright. “She is in Delhi,” Bob informed me, and asked me what I was doing
at Kanha. I briefly outline our
program, then asked about Belinda.
Amazingly, he said, “Good timing on your part. She is arriving at Kipling Camp from Delhi as we speak.” I asked if I could see her briefly some time
in the early afternoon, after they've had their reunion. Bob consented, for some time at “midday.”
We
went to a roadside thatched café for some lunch, where all the tables but one
(about 6) were occupied by young Caucasian travelers, mostly back-packers,
giving us a sense of security about food quality and hygiene. I ordered chapatti with a certain bean
filling. Some time after that, while we
were chatting, I heard a strange noise behind me. I was sitting with my back to the bamboo-slat wall that one could
see through. I turned, and saw, less
than 15’ feet from us, a chicken in the process of being killed by a 14-15
year-old boy named Arjun. Its throat
had just been slashed, though its head remained attached, and it was bleeding
profusely on to the ground, still struggling and flapping. This reminded me of my childhood days, when
my mother and aunts used to kill chickens this way. After about 5 minutes, the chicken was finally limp, and the boy
began to pluck off its feathers. And
then it was taken into the open kitchen and cut up. Finally, some 15 minutes later, chicken tandoori was served up to
the table next to ours. I’m not quite
sure what to say about eating meat for now, but I think this experience should
have some subsequent effect.
Around
13:30, we arrived at Kipling Camp. It
is about the same size land-wise as KJL – about ten acres - but unlike KJL,
whose rooms are attached and arranged linearly in a square as in a motel,
surrounding the central dining pavilion and the fire pit, Kipling Camp has its
buildings detached and far apart, with its grounds having a more open
feel. The rate is Rs.2700 daily (about
CDN$100) – less than 2/3 that of KJL’s CDN$160. We were very pleasantly invited into the open dining room by two
young women from the UK who’s been here for several weeks, and seated at the
sofa and chairs in the lounge area.
They kept us chatting for awhile, telling us that Belinda would be there
shortly. After some minutes, Bob Wright
came in, sat down next to me on the sofa, and chatted further about our
campaign and its difficulties in India.
After a bit, he observed, not condescendingly, “Your first mistake is to
have picked the wrong partner.” After a
few more minutes, one of the two young ladies came back into the dining hall
and announced that Belinda was on her way to the fining room.
When
Belinda did come in, she was accompanied by a gentleman in his 50s, who did not
seem particularly friendly. Upon seeing
her, I rose and crossed the conversation area to meet her. She looked beautiful and radiant as Kanha,
and younger than before, and more regal than ever. Bob got off his place in the sofa next to mine and gave it to
Belinda. Through this process she did
not introduce her companion to us, so I did not greet him. Besides, I was totally engrossed in her to
notice much else. I did introduce Anne,
Kim and Chris. We sat back down. After a very brief exchange of pleasantries,
I cut straight to the chase, and talked business. I asked her tangentially, without mentioning any names, whether
WPSI (Wildlife Protection Society of India), of which she is a director, would
be interested in being WCWC’s conservation partner some time in the
future. She told me that WPSI is now at
an all time high in conservation output.
Although they now have 42 full time employees and some two dozen project
all over India, they are spread so thin they could hardly taken on new project
even with extra funding without having yet to enlarge the work force. They have also vastly expanded their scope
from their previous undercover operations.
They have gone broadly into the field and helped out many government
wildlife protection projects. To my
question as to whether corruption may have consumed a part of their donations,
she said that all their donations are in kind and project specific. Their current largest project is to save the
sea turtles, but tiger protection remains at the heart of their concern. At one point, she made a simple statement
that left no room for doubt, which impressed Kim greatly. “We are fully dedicated to wildlife
preservation.” This coming from
Belinda, especially in contrast to Pradeep, rang loud and true. At one point, while I mentioned our 6-month
wait for the Indian government to grant us permission to infuse Canadian funds
into India, she laughed and said, “We could have done it in 24 hours.” She too was engrossed in the conversation,
with no sign of fatigue after the long train ride, and I had no idea how much
time had elapsed when her prince-consort-like companion suddenly re-entered the
picture and almost physically hauled her out of her seat, saying, “You have
talked enough. It’s time for some
lunch, then rest,” without a word of courtesy to us. I asked quickly if we would have any time in the near future in
Delhi for an unhurried meeting, preferably with Ashok also, citing that I owed
her a dinner. She said that she would
be back in Delhi as of March 21st, but the 28th through
30th would not be good due to some friend’s wedding; the 31st
onwards she’d be relatively free. She
asked me to call her when I get back to Delhi.
The
return drive was done by Chris. At some
point along the way, Anne had tears in her eyes. I asked her if she was alright.
She said, “We’re saying farewell to Kanha. That’s why I am sad.”
In
the evening, after dinner back at KJL, a few things were discussed between us
(Anne, Kim, Chris & I) and Faiyaz and Tarun. First, Tarun admonished us about eating at the roadside joint,
for two reasons: hygiene, meaning that if we got sick, Tarun would get the
blame for having one of KJL’s guests fall ill; Tarun was extra upset because he
was just yelled at by Pradeep today on the phone about KJL volunteers (Kim and
Chris) falling sick for eating the wrong thing at Balaghat.
Second
is that our guide would take the news back to the park guides circle that
Anthony Marr et al could not afford to eat in a proper eatery and had to eat on
the cheap. “In a few days, everyone
will know about it, and it would be bad for the reputation of KJL whose clients
could not afford to eat at a more expensive place,” said Tarun. I thought only the Chinese people talk about
saving face. This is outrageous,
although I should be used to this kind of thing in India by now. I explained that I paid for the guide’s
lunch and also Chris’s (Kim and Anne did not eat), and that by the end of the
park drive at 18:00, I tipped the guide Rs.130, which doesn’t support the
notion that I could not afford to eat at a good restaurant. Further, it was in part the guide’s
suggestion that we ate there, on account of its excellent shade and open,
breezy layout.
Faiyaz
bought a whole bunch of newspapers, and found at least three articles in Hindi,
concentrating on Mr. Anthony Marr and Dr. Anthony Marr. He predicted that there would be more in the
evening edition of various other papers.
“I would suggest that you not go with me to visit the panchayats
tomorrow. I will give you the reason
later.”
I
said, “I think I know the exact reason.”
He
then said that given the broad based newspaper coverage (almost all about me
and little about him and Sucheta), “you will be even higher profile than
before, and Gopal will be even more wary about what you do than ever
before. If his informants spot you
still working with the villagers, it would give them the excuse to do certain
unpleasant things to you, including arrest you for any number of trumped up
charges with conjured evidence.”
“And
that would be the end of your work here, and of Tiger Trust,” said Tarun.
I
could not help but shoot back, “and that would be a great pity, wouldn’t it,
given Tiger Trust’s critical role in saving the tigers around here.”
Tarun
broke into a grin. He had never thought
much of Pradeep’s conservation program.
“Anthony, you have within a month done more than Tiger Trust has done in
years, and, boom, brought Tiger Trust to such a high profile just like that – I
mean, after years of silence since the death of Kailash, suddenly, Tiger Trust
is the talk of Kanha – I don’t want to see it suddenly snuffed out.”
Tarun
is what I would call right wing, and if only because he is Pradeep’s nephew I
don’t trust him, but there is something primal in the man that makes me like
him even if he rats on me to Pradeep, which I know he does. For example, Pradeep questioned me while he
was here what I was doing with Anne and Faiyaz behind closed doors, because, he
told me, Tarun had reported to him that there was a lot of closed door meetings
going on.
After
everyone had left, I told Faiyaz about Tirath declining to accompany us in the
park today. Faiyaz did not seem at all
surprised, and likewise interpreted it as Tirath’s fear of serving Tiger Trust
given our problem with Rajeesh Gopal, or perhaps at Gopal’s direct order. Also, that morning of Feb. 20 or so, when
Tirath arranged to go with us but went with another party, it was for the same
reason, except now more than even then.
Faiyaz also explained to me that all the guides know me or at least know
about me as “an internationally renowned conservationist”, and given that, any
news about me is big news, and bad news is bigger than good news.
Triumph
of the day. The newspaper articles did
mention the cattle overpopulation problem, and in judicious terms. So now, cattle overpopulation is news in
Madhya Pradesh. Hundreds of thousands
of people are at this very moment reading about it, thinking about it, perhaps even
talking about it. This in itself is an
accomplishment. Sucheta cab fume about
it all she wants.
“New
neuronal subcircuits are right now being formed, Faiyaz, in the brains of
hundreds of thousands of your countrymen who may not have spend one minute in
their entire lives thinking about tiger conservation. To you, Anne, and me,” I said, making a toast. “And if they talk about it, the new neuronal
subcircuit called ‘Tiger Conservation’ will be formed in other brains.”
“LaMarckian
evolution in a very physical sense - the evolution of neuronal circuitry. The evolution of thought,” he said.