About a Nut……..and a Leaf

The first image which my mind conjures up when I think about tamul-pan is that of an old granny whom I met many years back during a brief stopover at a village. We Assamese stand by a long tradition of tamul-pan which is a concoction of betel leaves, raw areca nut and some lime smeared on the leaf – a tradition which is pretty much inescapable if you are in Assam. We chew it as a mild intoxicant, offer it to bhokots (monks) in prayer meetings, offer it to the Gods in our marriages, offer it to the departed soul for his appeasement, even our wedding invitation cards are adorned with that familiar image of tamul-pan arranged on a bota (a sort of brass chalice), and not offering it to the husori (Bihu balladeer and dancing groups) players when they come visiting every household in Bihu time, would be tantamount to a sacrilege.

To come back to my story, the granny I met must have been in her 80s, if not in her 90s, and we exchanged greetings. She grabbed a seat beside our family, and talked about this and that, mostly about how old customs are dying out even in the villages. She was very bent over due to her age, her hair was all silver and she had that sweet toothless smile with those twinkling eyes which most grannies seem to have. She had lost all her teeth, and her daily diet consisted of only milk and boiled rice mashed to sheer liquid consistency. Anyway as we were talking, she loudly exhorted her daughter-in-law to offer us tamul-pan (you see, in rural Assam you absolutely have to offer guests tamul-pan). The daughter-in-law placed a bota with tamul-pan in front of us, and a wooden mortar and pestle in front of granny. We watched with fascination as granny proceeded with a single-minded devotion to place first the leaf, and then the nut and lime together in the mortar-bowl, and mashed it all together with her pestle. When she put that powdered brown-green mix in her toothless mouth, her face lit up like a kid who has just got the candy which she was always wishing for. Afterwards she told us how chewing tamul-pan was one of the few pleasures she still enjoyed in that ripe old age. That wonderful image of the old granny with the beatific smile on her lips and eyes has stayed with me.

So when I was visiting Meghalaya just last month and as I saw Khasi people, mostly ladies chewing their kwai (the Khasi equivalent of tamul-pan), that long-loved image came back to me. I saw Khasi ladies in their traditional jainsem dress (with built-in pockets for holding knick-knacks and of, course for holding the beloved kwai), some of them carrying produce to the local markets in their khoh (traditional Khasi bamboo baskets), some with their babies strapped on their backs, others sitting by their shops and tea-stalls and chatting, but all of them with their customary red lips (locals call it the ‘Khasi lipstick’ and it comes from a combination of chewing the lime and nut in kwai). This form of Khasi beauty has been immortalized in a song by balladeer Bhupen Hazarika in his song ‘Lien Makao’ where he sings about a lovely Khasi maiden whose jainsem has been “woven by lightning” and with “alluring red lips”. The Khasi menfolk are mostly seen with their ubiquitous pipes which seems like a natural extension of their face (to be fair though, I saw far lesser men with pipes in Meghalaya the last few times).

Just like us Assamese, the Khasis too have placed their kwai on a pedestal which is accorded to a beloved family member. Khasi people in markets, in shops and on their home porches congregate over kwai, end their meals with kwai and when a person dies, the formal reference is that the departed soul has gone to heaven to enjoy kwai with God. Every other person you meet is most likely to be chewing kwai which also helps to keep warm, particularly in the winters when a small piece of fresh ginger comes gratis with the kwai. The last few times I have visited Meghalaya, I have also made it something of a custom, to imbibe the local kwai but there is one great difference. You see, unlike the Khasis, every time I chew kwai, my face and ears turn beetroot-red. My mom tells me it is because the Khasis traditionally put more lime in their kwai, and also due to the fact that their areca nut is fermented in water, unlike ours (fermented nut is supposed to impart a better taste but I wouldn’t know).

Youngsters now are veering away from the traditional tamul-pan or kwai and moving on to pan masala mixes available in sachets and therefore, more convenient. I cannot say that either is really a good habit. Chewing any form of betel nut concoction is unhealthy for the teeth and also carcinogenic; in fact, instances of mouth cancer in the country are highest in the North-east.

Anyway, whenever I think of old granny and the red-lipped Khasi ladies, I cannot help but smile when I see this connect in our region.

A Business that Flies…

I recently made a couple of trips to a place called Sonapur in the outskirts of Guwahati; the town lies on the highway barely 30 kms away. Earlier Sonapur was famous for its scenic beauty, the quaint picnic spots it had to offer and its sweet, juicy oranges. Sonapur is now more known for the multitude of dhabas that have come up along the highway, some of whom have grandly advertised themselves as ‘resorts’. The town itself is bound on one side by the highway, on another side by a tea estate and ringed by agricultural land all around. Besides this, Sonapur is also home to a defence establishment (whether army or air force, I don’t know for certain). Beyond the mushrooming of the said dhabas along the fringes and the recent opening of 2 vehicle showrooms along the highway (a Mahindra one for commercial vehicles and another belonging to Maruti cars), there is little commercial and industrial activity to be seen in the place.

Anyway, when I went into the town I asked an old resident as to the predominant occupations of the local folk. He replied that most people were cultivators, some of them ran myriad trading businesses (grocery, convenience, clothes stores, etc). Besides the regular clientele of defence personnel and their families, there is a fair sprinkling of hill tribal communities who also came down to sell their produce in the town, forming another customer group for the town’s traders. When I further enquired about any other business besides the stores and the ubiquitous dhabas, the geriatric man replied, “Oh yes, a great many do engage in ‘flying business’.” Flying Business?! This was the second time in as many months that I had come across the term. The first was when an old acquaintance had claimed that flying business was in fact, one of his major sources of income. I asked him what he meant and he explained.

To the uninitiated, let me make it clear that the term has nothing to do with propellers, aeronautics, flight ticketing or any other paraphernalia that we normally associate with ‘flying’. It is in fact a business that possesses no concrete definition; it operates mostly on the twin bases of local know-how and sociability. For instance, when one party decides to sell off a plot of land and you get hold of an interested buyer and arrange for the deal to materialise, you charge a certain fee as the facilitator – this is one model of flying business. Oh, flying business has numerous models of operations – again for instance, if you are new to a place and someone comes along who manages the gas connection and the police verification for your new rented home, that becomes yet another illustration of how a flying business may be conducted. Chances are that the same guy will also come forward to get you the registration certificate for your newly-purchased car, finagle a trading licence from the oily local officials, get you a maid or even arrange for the neighbourhood electrician to install the fancy chandelier in your living room. I guess you may call this guy a broker or even a middleman. In its essence, a person who engages in flying business is a sort of all-rounder offering his services; he does ‘this’ and ‘that’ and 'everything else' – his only consideration being the fee. The flying businessman may therefore, be considered a necessary and very useful part of the local community, providing his services through the extensive native network that he has cultivated.

The downside is that flying businessmen are often less than sincere about the services that they supposedly offer. They might charge fees upfront for 'incidental expenses' for things which never materialise; frequently leave you hanging with vague statements of ‘you know how it is, these things take time’ after taking responsibility or even rip you off with legal documents or certificates of decidedly dodgy provenance. There is quite simply no accountability mechanism through which one can ensure that services are rendered on time, as promised and in the correct manner. These are all reasons why the term ‘flying business’ has acquired a certain shady connotation today. Perhaps when you are a flying businessman, it is a constant temptation to just take off…..with your client’s bucks!!

Armour of Love: From Nippon to Assam

Weaving is deeply rooted in Assamese culture; in fact, it was customary for every Assamese household at one time to possess atleast one spinning wheel and a loom. Elaborate silk panels woven in Assam depicting typical cultural motifs and religious symbolisms have ended up in museums and monasteries worldwide. Weaving was not restricted to a particular caste nor was it restricted to household with means – every woman and girl irrespective of caste or economic standing spun and wove their own cloth. Dexterity in weaving was one of the prime sought-after qualities in girls of marriageable age in earlier days.

One of the customs among Assamese womenfolk was the preparation of armour made out of – you could never guess it – Cotton! During times of war, diligent wives would gin, card, spin and weave cotton to fashion a piece of cloth (all within a single night) and present it to their menfolk in the morning as they set out for the battlefield. This piece of cloth was known as a ‘kobos kapur’ literally translating into ‘armour cloth’; the men proudly wearing it as a belief that it granted invincibility to the wearer. This custom is all the more heart-affecting cos the Assamese army in the days of the Ahom rulers was hardly composed of warriors. Instead, the Assamese soldier was actually a ‘paik’ – a civilian beholden to the local feudal lord or the Ahom king called up to military duty in times of war. So, when these farmers or woodcutters or fishermen or otherwise peaceable folk went out to war clad in homespun armour made out of just cotton, their courage and sense of duty becomes all the more admirable.

Scientifically, there is a basis to armour spun out of soft fibres like cotton. The soft body armour functions just like a very strong net. The interwoven strands of greatly slender and elongated cotton disperse the energy emanating from the point of impact over a wide area, thus reducing injury from abrasions.

One can see a striking parallel in a far-more warlike land like erstwhile Imperial Nippon governed by the strict Bushido code of war. When Japanese warriors of the Imperial army set out to war, it was the custom of their womenfolk to present them with pieces of cotton cloth to be worn as vests, belts, headbands or caps. This cloth was called the ‘Senninbari’ (or 'the thousand person stitches') – a strip of cloth with a thousand stitches, each sewed by a different woman and lovingly presented to the warrior to protect him. During the Second World War, mothers and sisters and wives would stand near the local train station or temple or store and hold out their senninbari to passing-by women so that they could sew in that one stitch. Oftentimes the senninbari was lined with a few strand of hair of the woman or studded with coins as additional amulets.

Whether it is Nippon or Assam or anyplace else, it is the devotion and love of the women of the land manifested in heartfelt simple ways, sometimes even in fragile homemade pieces of cloth which I am sure in ways unfathomable, somehow lend a different spirit to the wearer.

In Deep Waters no longer Still....

The recent spate of floods in the state has affected man and animal alike, uprooting them from their homes and rendering them shelter-less. A tenuous struggle for survival and escape from the rising waters has taken a toll on lives - both human and animal. This is just a collection of pictures of the flood-laden landscape of animals and accompanying little vignettes.

Take a close look at the picture above of villagers gathered around their precious few possessions in a country boat as they paddle to higher ground. The bottom right corner of the pic shows a man perched upon what looks like a little mound, and something resembling maybe a tree stump in front of him. A closer observation reveals that the stump is actually the tip of the trunk of an elephant thrust upwards by the pachyderm to breathe in air, and the man is the elephant’s mahout clinging on precariously to the great beast’s back. The Asiatic Elephant is on an average, 9 feet tall at the shoulder; so the ground must be submerged under atleast 9 feet water.

Deer like the ones shown here sheltering on an embankment, are particularly at threat in the present situation. Deer in the wildlife parks of the state are being compelled to escape from their protected environs. Reports suggest that a large number of deer have entered villages at the fringes of such parks, where some have been bitten by dogs while many others have been injured after getting entangled in fences surrounding people’s homes. A great many number of deer, being the naturally jumpy, nervy animal that it is, have been struck down by speeding vehicles on highways. Added to all these, poachers are having a field day killing large numbers of deer which have ventured out. Venison is highly regarded as a local delicacy and with the deer forced closer to human habitations, they have become exposed. However, while at one end, there are wantonly careless drivers who are mowing down hapless animals and opportunistic poachers killing the animal for their meat, due recognition has to be accorded to the efforts of wildlife guards and conservationists who have rescued and saved stricken animals – deer, rhino and elephant calves, primates. I saw a news footage of a herd of deer that had taken refuge at a football ground besides some cows contentedly munching grass, alongside a group of village kids playing ball nonchalantly in the background.

The rhino featured in the pic here stopped traffic in the busy national highway (NH 37) for almost half a day when it strayed out of Kaziranga park, searching for shelter on the highway. Forest guards fired blank rounds in the air in a bid to chase the rhino away into the adjoining hills. Even as the guards’ efforts proved futile, the busy traffic on the highway slowly and gingerly weaved its way forward under the watchful eyes of the foresters, with the rhino being at times, hardly more than 20 feet away from some of the vehicles. The rhino took its own sweet time however, in moving away from the scene after some hours.

In the midst of all these – nature’s fury, tireless efforts by wildlife personnel and the grimy acts of unscrupulous poachers – I hope and pray that animal (and man) emerge from the present ordeal triumphantly stronger and hopeful.

‘Yogi-c’ Bear!

I had the opportunity last week to go to the city zoo. The Guwahati zoo is to say the least, quite large and juxtaposed against the heaving concrete mass of the city just outside its walls, acts as an oasis of green resplendence. I have seen pictures of zoos worldwide, especially in Europe and America where the facilities are immaculately designed and maintained, lawns are manicured, and the zoo enclosures are extremely animal- and viewer-friendly. I remember seeing a programme about a rhino in some zoo in America where the animal was barricaded within metal rods so designed to almost look and feel like bamboo stalks, while at the same time, being strong enough to restrain. It was an African White Rhino and his enclosure was spotlessly clean; even some of the foliage on a trellis beside his enclosure was amazingly life-like but artificial. The animal looked quite happy too. It is with some sense of regret mixed in part with no small measure of pride, that I say that our city zoo is unlike the other zoos I had just talked about. You see, the Guwahati zoo itself rests within a reserve forest which means that for a large part of your trekking within the premises, you do feel as if you are in a forest and not a man-made facility. The topography of the zoo is also quite unique; the terrain is undulating fringed by small hillocks on the northern side, ringed by bamboo thickets in places. The zoo also has natural water-bodies though I confess that they may definitely be better looked-after. The terrain slopes down from north to south with the lower southern side (the part untouched that is) somewhat marshy, where some of the water-loving animals are kept. As we entered through the shining new gate of the zoo, we were greeted by the loud (almost vulgar-sounding) hoo-hoos of the Hollock Gibbons, and therefrom started a magical 6 hours. I present before you here, the story of one particularly sage Himalayan Black Bear who blessed us with an unique visitation that hot sunny day. He sat on his haunches with all the utmost seriousness of a person contemplating the more subtle stuff in life; he looked so much like the ‘Laughing Buddha’ figurines sold and bought these days that it was decidedly uncanny. Lets call him ‘Yogi’.

A man's destiny that is truly wonderful

Moloy: The Forest Man

When I saw the animated short film ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ a year back, I liked the film for its minimalistic pastel-sketching look (so minimal that you can see the lines and curves forming the pictures) and needless to say, the profound idea, so simple in its conception yet utterly jaw-dropping for anyone who pauses to consider undertaking it. The man I praise now has I am sure, never seen this film or heard of its protagonist, Elzéard Bouffier but what he has done and is still doing, may be the subject of a film named ‘The Man Who Planted Trees - II’; only this film would not be fiction but the biography of a real-living person.

The film based upon a short story, is about Bouffier, a solitary shepherd who over the course of 40 years, plants trees of all kinds, and brings back prosperity and a reason for living to an entire tract of desolate region in the French Alps. The man I am basing this piece on, is a simple villager named Jadav Payeng, who over the course of almost 3 decades has brought back greenery and life to a barren stretch of land in Assam. Whereas the achievement ascribed to Bouffier was just fiction, what Payeng has achieved exists very much for anyone to see.

A particular geographical feature of the Brahmaputra Valley in Assam is the sandbar, a tract of land of river sand which gets created whenever the water level of the river goes down in winter. Short grasses grow in these barren, exposed bits of land till the time monsoon steps in again and the river reclaims what once belonged to him. Once in a while, the river may change its course slightly and leave behind sandbars which are not reclaimed. The hero of this piece, Payeng (affectionately called ‘Moloy’) singled out one such sandbar 3 decades back and started planting bamboo trees in the barren land. He planted the trees by himself on land which was not his (it belongs to the Forest Deptt.) using his hands and maybe, a shovel. He nurtured the tender plants (on land which as the authorities informed him, was barren and not suitable for growing anything except bamboo), and the first forest sprang up - a bamboo thicket.   

I suppose it was at this point (the first tentative success) that Moloy must have thought of having a full-fledged forest with different trees and animals in it as well. So, he extended the purview of his vision, planted seeds of different trees this time around, transported red ants into his forest (as someone informed him, red ants positively affect the acidic properties of the soil) getting stung by them, stood guard over the first saplings as they grew up, and his single-minded passion has now resulted in a man-made forest cover stretching over nearly a 1000 hectares which animals like elephants, tigers, deer, rhinos and others like snakes, different birds have made their home. His efforts have been recognised by the authorities who have started aiding him now, and what he has accomplished is slowly becoming known to people. The Chief Minister of Assam has bestowed Moloy with the well-earned moniker ‘The Forest Man’ and the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) has honoured him on this year’s 'Earth Day'.

It was in Feb this year that I got an opportunity to see a short programme where Moloy was being interviewed in the midst of his forest. I remember being stuck by a few points about this person and I shall attempt to present these here to drive home the enormity of what he had undertaken and achieved.

> Even as he started out, Moloy was very clear about his motivations. The idea always has been to bring greenery and life to a land where previously, there was nothing. The idea never was and still is not, to somehow benefit personally from this transformation. Moloy’s only income comes from a few cows which are looked after by his son and elder brother cos he himself is always working in the forest; I guess the wants of a man as simple as he is, are very few – so meagre that  even a few pints of milk from his cows suffice.

> To prevent poachers and tree-fellers, Moloy himself guards his forest. Armed with only a lantern and a stick, Moloy sleeps alone in the forest night. He says that even the animals of the forest take him as their own. On being asked by the interviewer about the danger of snakes, Moloy replied simply that they do him no harm; in fact, on many occasions, snakes slither over his body as he lies in the forest at night, never harming him.

> On more than a couple of occasions, Moloy had confronted gangs of tree-fellers who had come into his forest at night. Himself armed with just a stick, he says that he had challenged the trespassers armed with axes, that they would have to kill him before they could harm his beloved trees. They had backed down in the face of such dauntlessness.

> Towards the end of the interview, the interviewer asked Moloy as to who would defend the forest once he was gone. Moloy’s reply was deceptively child-like; he said,” This forest I have planted belongs to the people of the world. The oxygen that the forest releases is being breathed in by the people of the world. This forest and its inhabitants will be cherished and looked after by the people after I am gone.”

Huh?! Hearing this response, I thought to myself, “How little this person knows – he believes that his little forest in a former sandbank in Assam benefits entire humanity.” Then I realized my folly. Somehow the thinking of this (almost) illiterate goes beyond just ‘me’ and ‘mine’ and he is able to preoccupy himself with the good of all mankind! It was my thinking which I found regressive and self-occupied.

All along in this piece, I have referred to the forest as ‘Moloy’s forest’ (which is what the local people call it interestingly), though a forest can hardly be created by man alone, and the ownership of such a forest of course, is never man’s prerogative. But somehow I feel as do the locals, that it is only right.

I have adapted the title for this piece from a line in the story ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ and the short clip from the film towards the end where narrator lauds the efforts of Bouffier, provides the context.

Different Folks, Similar Strokes

A visible part of Christmas celebrations worldwide is the singing of Christmas carols - a tradition involving a group of singers going from door-to-door and regaling the residents with carols (like the famous ‘Joy to the World’). Carols may also be sung by larger, more professional groups formed from church choirs. Though carol singing is an art and as art goes, different groups bring their own variety into their songs but there is one detail which is seemingly common. The objective of all carol singing is to spread joy and merriment among the listeners, and sing praises of the Lord and invoke His blessings upon all.

We have something like the Christmas carols much closer to home in the form of Bihu Husoris. Bihu (the spring festival of Assam) is celebrated with its own set of traditions and comes accompanied by a lot of singing and dancing. One of the Bihu customs is the husori.

Here’s how Christmas carols and Bihu husoris bridge the divide and become similar. Every spring young people form their own bands (which traditionally comprised only male members) to sing and dance to the tune of a category of Bihu songs called ‘husoris’. Two enduring motifs of all ‘Husori geets’ (husori songs) are God and Nature. Carols too, are about the same spirit of spreading happiness and warmth, and praying to the Lord.

Just like the Christmas and caroling groups, these bands (called ‘Husori dols’) are an integral part of the spring festival. The husori dol congregates first at the local prayer-house (naam-ghar) or the house of the village headman (gaonburha) or under a big tree (traditionally believed to house the spirit of Nature). Thereafter, they would go about their business of spreading benediction and good cheer. The husori dol would announce their arrival to the people of the house with energetic bursts of drumbeats from outside the gate (podulimukh). The house-owner would venture out to the gate and cordially invite the dol into the front-yard and bid them welcome. The first words of the husori would traditionally sing the praise of the Lord. A husori dol uses few instruments – typically a drum (dhul) and a kind of trumpet (pepa). The dol would sing and dance and before leaving the house, all assembled – the dol and the household – would prostrate on the ground and pray to the Lord asking for His protection, and praying for good health and contentment of the people of the house. The house-owner typically offers betel nuts, a few leaves of paan, maybe a good piece of home-spun cloth and sometimes, a few coins. 

This husori custom typically exists in villages resigning urbanites like myself to be content only with the images on TV and in newspapers. This year though, I have my own Husori tale. A couple of us friends ventured out on 14^th April (the traditional 1^st day of Spring) and leaving the city behind, we took a trip to a resort. As we turned off the highway and onto a lane, we saw a bunch of kids in the middle of the road. These kids turned out to be amateur husori dols waiting for passing-by vehicles – boys in dhotis with crisp clean gamosas (a piece of cotton cloth with red and intricately patterned woven motifs) wrapped around their heads, and young girls dressed in mekhela chadors (silk sarees) and adorned with traditional Assamese jewellery items. The youngest boy was almost as tall as his dhul! 

We stopped and the kids in the dol started their husori; the boys began beating their drums, the girls started singing and swaying to the beats. I must confess that the singing was slightly off-key and the dancing was mediocre, but they were kids after all and I wasn't complaining. The tall-as-his-dhul boy was beating his drum for all it was worth, and the simple, easy grace with which those kids performed was simply heart-warming. Obviously the husori was being conducted very amateurishly and for money but I could not help being taken in by the beauty of the moment. I fished out a few notes and started distributing among the kids. It was then that my friend pointed further along down the road. I followed the outstretched finger and saw not one, not two but five other husori dols patiently waiting for us further ahead! The kids of the first dol happy now with their collection, bade us onward with that now-universal greeting – ‘Happy Bihu!’ We made ritual stops for all the dols; all kids and very young at that. It was obvious that the girls had borrowed their mothers’ and elder sisters’ dresses; the mekhelas were all in sizes many times big and held together with safety pins, and the little girls had difficulty moving around in their heavy dresses. I suppose it was easier for the boys – all they had to figure out was the intricacy of dancing and staying inside their dhotis at the same time! I ran out of small change, my friend ran out of patience but eventually, we negotiated past all the dols, with raucous shouts of cheer or disappointment (depending on their collection) from the kids. As we moved on ahead towards the resort, I looked back and saw another car turning into the road, and all the kids preparing their song-and-dance routine for the new visitors. I felt glad that we had made that trip and wished myself silently – ‘Happy Bihu’!

Spring’s Here

Assam heralds spring with the month of ‘Bohag’; as per the Assamese almanac, 1st day of Spring falls on Apr 14th this year. Nature of course, follows its own primordial clock cocking a snook at man-made numerals. So, we already have green buds stretching their tender necks out on trees, the violet-white ‘kopou’ flower (an orchid whose blooming is traditionally associated with Spring’s coming), and the cuckoo shrilly calling out (another omen for Spring’s onset) in the nippy mornings.

The spring festival of Assam (Bihu) traditionally celebrated as an ode to the season and the fertility and regeneration of all nature, is replete with references to the natural world. So, Bihu songs contain words like ‘phool’ (flowers), ‘kuli’ (the cuckoo bird), ‘kopou phool’ (the orchid – foxtail), ‘bhumura’ (the bee), ‘nodi’ (the river), and of course, those extolling love and romance. So we have among bihu songs, dedicated categories of songs just for l’amour – ‘Joranaam’ (a kind of competitive teasing) where bands of boys and girls attempt to sing the other out through retorts and friendly insults, ‘Prem-peeriti morom-bhalpua naam’ (songs exploring love and affection). There are other types too, some based on history, others about the pangs of separations and still others which are just silly and contain ‘nonsense lyrics’ but nevertheless heart-warming. There is a colloquial quality to Bihu songs which is difficult to find pretty much anywhere else, and with a simple and unpretentious character which stays with you for awhile.

Sample this Bihu couplet:

hahe hoi tumare pukhurit parimgoi, paro hoi tumar salot sorimgoi;

ghame hoi xumamgoi, makhi hoi suma dim galot

[English Translation]: I shall be a swan and swim in your pond, I shall be a pigeon and sit on your roof; 

I shall be perspiration and shall enter in your body; I shall be a fly and kiss your cheeks.

Even as I am writing this, I hear a cuckoo calling out persistently somewhere outside. Yes, all the signs are here – Spring has come visiting!!

The Collective Consciousness of a Storm named Bordoisila

The first of the spring rains hit the city yesterday morning bringing a brief respite from the dust blowing around. This cycle of dust storms and then, rains in this period (Mar-Apr) is a regular phenomenon in this part of the world though, signaling the onset of Spring and sometimes, continuing well into the later part of April. There is an interesting Assamese legend explaining this local phenomenon. This legend bears telling in a dark room lit up by the feeble light of a hurricane lantern  with the wind howling outside, just as I heard this tale for the first time so many years ago. We call this fierce wind the “bordoisila” and legend has it that she is a married lady.

THE OVERTURE

So, in the mid of March (which is the Assamese month of Sot), Bordoisila rushes to her mother’s home (Assam), flying like the wind and in her haste, bringing a trail of destruction in her wake. So, when we are well and truly in March, dust winds blow around, picking up dirt and stray stuff and whirling them around.

THE CRESCENDO

Sometime later towards the second week of April, when Bordoisila leaves her mother’s home, she unleashes another series of frightful bursts in her wake. Only this time she is sad after her short maternal visit; so she burst into tears. If the heaving dark masses of rain-laden clouds wasn’t such an ominous sight, the manner in which massive rain clouds assemble in the sky seemingly at a moment’s notice turning day into night, is undoubtedly one of nature’s most awe-inspiring tricks. Blinding lightning flashes and loud thunderclaps follow with heavy rainfall, and you can feel the full force of Bordoisila’s agony all round you. It’s a nice legend though and if one stops to think about it, bridled passions and the accompanying emotional outpouring which often follows, is very much human nature and by extension, a part of all nature itself.

Numerous rituals have been built around the legend of Bordoisila and the quaintness of these traditional rites handed down over the years, is simply heart-pleasing. One of these rituals is a poem still being taught to children in the villages – “Sotor bihut Bordoisila makor ghoroloi jai, gos gosoni ghor duar niye uruai” which literally translated means, “Bordoisila, the symbol for whirlwinds, visits her parents in the month of Sot, uprooting trees and houses along the way.”

Another short couplet ritually forms a charming part of Bihu-naam (Assam’s spring-songs). It goes like this:

"......nalbirinar paah, brahmaputrot halise jalise, boga koi bogoli nil aakaxot urise,

aahise bohagi tai maa'kor ghoroloi bordoisila hoi..........."

Literally translated (to the best of my abilities), it says, “Alongwith the new buds on trees and the brimming waters of the Brahmaputra, the frolicking herons in the blue sky, Spring comes to us in the form of Bordoisila visiting her mother..”

To make Bordoisila feel welcome in her mother’s home, people do their own bit in their homes. A traditional comb made of bamboo called ‘kakoiphoni’, and wooden stool called ‘borpira’ is left outside in the courtyard for Bordoisila to comb her tresses and rest awhile, before continuing along her journey.

I am sure that cultures worldwide have built their own legends and traditions around local storms, so many of whom have feminine names (‘Mala’, ‘Laila’, ‘Melissa’ and the fearsome ‘Nina’); I wonder why?!

Nature Ground Cover Inc. – over & above!

The carpet must be one of the oldest home decoration thingy that’s there – indeed the oldest one dates from BC and was found preserved in ice! Before nylon, polyester, acryclic and other synthetic blends came along, carpets were made from wool, hair, cotton, silk and even metal. And there have been amazingly elaborate and huge carpets woven by the hands of men. Perhaps the earliest idea of something like a carpet came to man from observing nature’s own ground cover.

A day-long trip outside the city drove home this point for me.

Carpet#1 – Simalu – The large crimson blooms of the ‘Simalu’ flower paint the sky red in the months Jan – Mar; as evident from the pic, they also do a good job of colouring the ground beneath a deep red. Interestingly the pods in the flower exude a cotton which has traditionally been used for filling pillows and cushions. It is said that when in full bloom, there are very few flowering trees than can compare with the simalu.

Carpet#2 – Looks like an indigenous cockscomb – The pic might give an impression that the plant has actually been cultivated as a crop cos the ground cover is so intense. Truth is, it grows wild but grows in such a close-cropped fashion as to be almost mistaken for a cultivated swatch. It was growing adjacent to a garden patch where garlic was being grown. The tall green stalks and up-thrust, featherlike spikes of tiny red blossoms of the plant do an effective job of carpeting the ground.

Carpet #3 – Indistinguishable pink moss-like plant – The pic was taken in a field which had been left fallow for the season. As my guide informed, this plant grows profusely for a very short time in fallow fields (it evidently needs the full heat of the wintry sun cos if you notice in the pic, it doesn’t grow under or near the harvested paddy stalks) before disappearing just as mysteriously as it arrived. 

Who says barter is dead?

Barter very much alive at Jonbeel Mela!

Barter is trade without using money. We all barter sometimes; my uncle regularly barters with his 3-year old son during the kid’s meal-time, and the exchange rate is “you-eat-your-food-now-and-later-I’ll-take-you-for-a-car-ride.” In Assam, an annual mela (fair) founded entirely on this barter concept by the erstwhile Ahom kings perhaps in the 15^th century is still going strong today. This fair called the Jonbeel Mela is held every winter at a historic place known as Dayang Belguri in Morigaon, around 32 kms away from Guwahati. The name Jonbeel comes from 2 Assamese morphemes – ‘jon’ meaning moon and ‘beel’ meaning wetland – because this fair is held beside the eponymous beel which is shaped like a crescent moon.

This fair is a 3-day event commencing when the tribes from nearby hills come down to this place in the plains to barter their goods with the local populace. The hill people like the Tiwas, Karbi, Khasi and Jaintia trade in their indigenous items like ginger, wild honey, turmeric, etc. for the traditional pitha, sira, akhoi, muri (local Assamese delicacies made of rice flour, puffed rice, etc. which are conventionally prepared in this season). In the olden days when trade and commerce was intermittent and scarce, I suppose that this fair must have played a more than symbolic role in the sustenance of the people. In todays age, the Jonbeel Mela must be upheld as a showcase of the cultural landscape that exists in the region, and the simple joys that people engage in, adding gaiety and colour to their lives.

My mother tells me that when she was a small girl living in a place called Jagiroad very close to Jonbeel, she used to go to the mela every year. The local kids used to call the hill tribal traders ‘mama’(uncle) and ‘mami’ (aunt), and it was a grand opportunity for the young ones and the old too I suspect, to partake of fresh-tasting food items from the hills and have fun. The mela is interspersed with colourful activities like communal fishing on the beel, performance of various tribal music and dance forms, cock-fighting, and descendants of the erstwhile Rajas mingling with the people to conduct a puja, collecting taxes and finally, arranging a grand communal feast on the banks of the beel.

The Jonbeel Mela seeks to serve as a living bridge among the various tribes and communities scattered in the region, and this noble ideal together with the alter-purpose of serving as a cultural showcase, has to be appreciated and carried forward.

Every January the hill people still come down to mingle with the people from the plains. Every winter the Jonbeel comes alive with joy and songs. And yes, the young ones still call their hill neighbours mama and mami.

For more info and colourful pics of the Jonbeel Mela, you may visit the following 2 links. 

Link #1

Link #2 

Leopard in the City

I had been meaning to write on ‘Urban Wildlife’ for some time now; an urge driven mostly by my experiences in our national capital, Delhi. It was in 2000 that I remember being astounded by the sheer number of squirrels traipsing on trees, buildings and on the pavements in delhi. I was staying near Connaught Palace at that time, and squirrels were omnipresent; with their cute brown fur, their tiny forelimbs clutching at food. Years later when I was staying in South Delhi, we had a tract of protected forest right behind our college – an extrusion of the Delhi ridge. Peacocks, foxes, Nilgai (blue bulls, a type of antelope) and squirrels of course, were to be found in plenty in the forest, which is open to public. We used to roam in the forest sometimes, looking out for peacocks with their majestic plumage all fanned out and collecting their pretty feathers from the ground. Once when I was climbing down a small ridge in the forest, I must have startled a family of nilgais for they burst out from behind a thick green wall of foliage, and galloped right down below me, not more than 10 feet away. Congested Mumbai too, has its share of wildlife and a large protected forest in Sanjay Gandhi National Park, home to an astounding range of flora and fauna.

Guwahati located along the southern bank of the Brahmaputra, is bounded by hills on the other sides. The expanding city corridors and the main city itself now form the largest metropolitan area in north-eastern India. For a city that has 11 forest reserves, including 2 wildlife sanctuaries in its vicinity, Guwahati may very well boast of the highest concentration of wildlife.  Guwahati and Greater Guwahati are home to several rare mammals like the elephant, tiger, leopard, primates etc. With shrinking living spaces and a tentatively-shared habitat it is common for these animals to stray into the city sometimes.

The latest such incident occurred this January 7^th, when a male leopard strayed into the city, mauling and injuring 4 people before it was tranquilised by Forest personnel and whisked away for rehabilitation. What happened that day is a stark reminder of the sad drama that gets invariably played out in man-animal confrontations. The animal cowed and unsure of a city environment, wants to pass through and finding his escape difficult, attacks the first thing he sees, in this case, humans. People on the other hand, being informed of such an animal in their vicinity, congregate and surge towards the spot where the animal was seen. The unsure animal now further cornered and feeling threatened by human sounds and sights, becomes more aggressive and goes into a frenzy. In this case, the unruly crowd that had assembled to see the cornered animal, made the task of tranquilising the leopard all the more difficult. A procedure that should have clinically taken 5 minutes took 45.

Some days back, a tiger was killed by police bullets outside Kaziranga. The tiger has strayed out of the park and was resting in a bamboo grove by the highway when it was spotted. Predictably a crowd gathered at the spot and a media photographer trying to get a good picture of the tiger, got in the way of the animal trying to escape. The tiger finding its way blocked lunged at the photographer, and the armed police beside felled the animal like a mad dog. A wildlife personnel said, “Point a camera at a tiger or a leopard and it thinks it is being attacked. After that it will lunge at you. That is cat behavior.” It is pertinent to note that where Nature has given the leopard claws and teeth, it has given us humans, the brain and the demeanour to think and act sensibly. The leopard stays true to its nature but do we?

Portrait of the Countryside in Winter

I was fortunate to take 2 trips through the countryside this month – once by road and again by train. Though Assam has great bio-diversity across, both the trips I undertook were along the Brahmaputra valley, which is sub-tropical. As the name itself suggest, the river Brahmaputra is the principal geographical feature here, influencing as it has for centuries now, both the land and the people that live in it.

To be sure, when you are in these areas, the perceptible difference between summer and winter landscapes is not great. Nevertheless to the discerning, winter landscapes in the valley present uniqueness. The first sign that winter has crept in often lies along the roadside in the tall, silver stalks of the kohua bon. These slender reeds thrusting their tall cottony stalks into the sky grow in big bunches, creating large undulating splotches of silver and green. The second sign grins in your face with blossoms of varying shades of yellow, rising up from flower beds, tumbling down from corners of walls, the bamboo fences of peoples’ dwellings – marigolds and black-eyed susans. These two flowers grow profusely in this season, often voluntarily, with little care, presenting their sunny faces and soaking in the wintry air.

Fields of winter paddy clothe the ground in gold, often wreathed in mist till late in the day. Of course, when you are in the valley, you can trust the river to present the starkest feature of the season. Every winter, the deep waters of the Brahmaputra recede, unearthing large sand-banks (chaporis) of clayey soil, stretching for miles around. This wonderful illustration of regenerative nature provides sustenance to man and beast – people grow varieties of winter vegetables and mustard here, and animals like the rhino and large herds of elephants, make these chaporis their winter home, feeding on the grasses that grow in this short season.

Winter is also the time when you find entire roadside markets of vendors selling oranges, with their citrusy smell pervading the road. People do take advantage of the nippy air, the receding river, the soft sun and the vistas that nature presents and go out; picnicking by the shores, even in the fallow paddy fields by the road. Sometimes these picnics (bon-bhuj) are interspersed with little trips to wildlife sanctuaries like Pobitora and Kaziranga, where an early morning jeep or elephant safari is succeeded by large meals prepared by the families themselves al fresco at the picnic sites (on the river shore, or by forests, or near hilly glades, or by streams). December and January is the time for such excursions, and they come out in droves – in cars, in minivans, small and large buses. Yes, winter is fun!

Death of a Balladeer in Mumbai

There was a quote I found in a newspaper some days back; reflective of the general public mood in the wake of Anna Hazare’s agitation against corruption in the echelons of power. I reproduce it here - "You chase the drunken elephant towards us, but if we people come together, we can tame him too"; said by a hypothetical commoner Assamese of bygone times to the ‘Swargadeo’, the Divine Title assumed by the Ahom king (the Ahoms ruled over Assam for more than 600 years). The words speak of the power within the common people like us, held within our throbbing hearts and pulsating blood to even subvert the will of a heavenly creature like the ‘Airabot’ (the Royal Elephant of the Ahoms). These evocative words might have been poured into a song, a book or a film – I do not know, for Bhupen Hazarika, the man who penned them, also composed songs, wrote lyrics, created screenplays, directed movies, authored books. And Bhupen Hazarika, the man who could create such a landscape of sheer beauty for us Assamese, for his country and indeed for the world, died today evening in Mumbai.

Dr. Bhupen Hazarika (1926 - 2011)

Bhupen Hazarika was a symbol of Assam, the North-east and the Assamese like nothing before has been, and nothing after probably ever will be. His songs, the wonderful poetry he wove, the music he composed are a part of the consciousness which the Assamese society possesses or lays claim to. Indeed, he could create ethereal magic out of nothing and everything. Dew drops glistening from the wires strung across telephone poles, a mother harshly admonishing her child with a switch – everything was grist to that wonderful imagination. In his compositions, this maestro consistently held aloft the motif of the mundane, the everyday into a thing of great beauty.

It is perhaps immaterial at what unthinkably tender age Bhupen Hazarika composed and sang his first song, or which were the many commendations and awards that a grateful people bestowed upon him, or who were all those great singers and musicians and artists who collaborated alongwith him to create great masterpieces. What matters is he created universal images for everyone who seeks to lend this great artist his senses, for all time to come.

For a long time (since June this yr), this great artist under the ravages of old ages, had been ill and admitted in a private hospital in Mumbai. A few days back, when the news of him suffering a complete renal failure came, the newspaper report proclaiming this carried a detail which I felt very numbing. The report stated that Bhupen Hazarika as he lay strapped onto a life-support system, seemed oblivious to everything else, but one thing. His head doctor said that the 85-year old was responding only to Bihu geet (the harvest songs of Assam) – he seemed to have just that little bit of consciousness to lightly tap his fingers to the rhythm of the song which was played to him intermittently. At 16:37 today evening, those frail fingers stopped tapping their wonderful magic into our lives.

(You can know more about Bhupen Hazarika in the following 2 links.)

Website dedicated to Bhupen Hazarika 

Wiki's Stub on Bhupen Hazarika 

A Heart Purple

With living spaces shrinking for man and wild animals, both are becoming increasingly violent and their spreading conflicts are turning progressively ugly. The loser in most cases is the wild animal. So when I read the newspaper front page on 27^th July, I was dumbfounded.

The usage of the phrase ‘into the lion’s mouth’ is merely connotative of knowingly and willfully doing something dangerous, like approaching a feared person, especially in order to ask a favour. The literal usage of ‘into the lion’s mouth’ has now been exemplified by a man, who undertook this dangerous task not to entertain an audience (à la the lion trainer in a traveling circus) but to save the beast’s life.

The Centre of Wildlife Rehabilitation & Conservation (CWRC) based out of Kaziranga is committed towards the protection of wild animals; they rescue and rehabilitate animals who come into conflict with man in shared habitats. On 26^th July, a team from CWRC set out for a village near Kaziranga on hearing reports that a leopard had been trapped. The team comprised of veterinarian Abhijit Bhawal, Raju Kutu and Tarun Gogoi (both animal keepers). The female leopard had attacked a villager earlier in the day, and was now facing imminent death at the hands of the agitated villagers. Armed with sharp weapons, the mob converged at the spot and surrounded the leopard in a vegetable field, but it managed to outwit the mob momentarily by jumping into a drain. The CWRC team equipped with a tranquiliser gun and a net, attempted to tranquilise the animal when it was inside the drain but the visibility was too poor to take a shot.

The leopard jumped out of the drain and took shelter inside a bamboo grove with the mob hot on its trail. Tarun ran along with the villagers to the spot where the leopard was taking shelter, trying to persuade them not to attack it. When the mob did not pay heed to his pleas, Tarun jumped on the leopard and held it tightly to save it from being beaten up. By the time Abhijit and Raju arrived on the spot and netted the leopard, Tarun’s right hand upto his forearm was inside its mouth. On seeing the netted down leopard, the villagers calmed down and the team extricated Tarun’s mauled arm from the big cat’s mouth. Injuries to both Tarun and the leopard were not severe – Tarun was hospitalized and subsequently discharged; the leopard was tranquilised and shifted to CWRC, undergoing treatment for a minor injury. Even as I am writing this post, the rescued and rehabilitated leopard must be going through its paces back in the wild.

Tarun aiding another big cat

Speaking to the media after the fateful incident, Dr. Abhijit who was in the CWRC team that day says this of with Tarun says, “He had put his hand inside its mouth to protect his face and head. Had it not been for Tarun’s courageous effort, the leopard would have been beaten to a pulp by the irate mob.” In recognition of this extraordinary act of selflessness and superlative courage, a NGO engaged in wildlife activism, Nature’s Beckon has instituted the ‘Green Salute Award’ and presented it to Tarun Gogoi.

I wonder what citation has been presented to Tarun in the Green Salute Award but there is a very poignant commendation which is commonly used in awarding military Medals/ Decorations/ etc., especially a line which goes something like this – “….Awarded For Extraordinary Heroism above and beyond the call of duty”. What Tarun has done, the qualities that he displayed in saving the leopard in that bamboo grove that 26^th July, his sense of what he probably thinks is ‘wildlife conservation’ goes beyond any touchstone elucidated, expected and exhibited.

Appended  below is a news clipping of the incident;  it does not show actual footage of the rescue but is informative.

No matter how strong II.

The final tale involves a mother elephant and her calf who found themselves by a cruel twist of fate, pressed against the sides of a rocky ravine. This happened around 28^th April in Karbi Anglong district when the duo fell into a 30-foot gorge beside a hill. The mother and her two-month old calf stayed trapped in this rock tomb until local people and then, wildlife vet teams reached them. Reports say that the two got trapped very close to each other, with the mother being hardly able to move and only using her trunk to caress her calf. The mother even tried – unsuccessfully – to suckle her calf. A vet at the site says this of the mother, “Despite being trapped between two huge rocks she tried her best to suckle the calf but in vain. We saw it but were helpless.”
 

Eventually the vet teams with the assistance of the locals, were able to rescue the trapped calf, digging a 100-metre trench removing several rocks to reach the stricken calf. They fit the calf on a sling and lifted it, while the rest of the team and some villagers pulled it from outside. The severely traumatized and injured calf calf was carried down the hill on a stretcher and rushed to the nearest Range Office where it was treated.

Rescue attempts to save the mother were complicated by the terrain, inclement weather and the sudden appearance of a wild elephant herd in the area. Eventually after four days of being trapped, the mother succumbed to her injuries. The body of the mother elephant will forever stay entombed in this rocky grave because it proved impossible to retrieve her carcass.

As per latest reports, the calf was recuperating from its injuries in CWRC at Kaziranga.

It seems that with all the speeding trains, falling rocks and man-made obstructions, not to mention deliberate human action like poisoning water-holes, fate has dealt Assam’s elephants a very bad deal. However, this conclusion in itself, is deficient and hasty. In the ever-hard struggle for living space in a confined environment, both the elephant and man are losing their cool – rapidly. According to records, wild elephants have killed about 279 people in Assam since 2001, while 289 elephants have died during the period, many of them victims of retaliation.

The Trapped Mother-calf

It is this no-winners battle that gets highlighted in This Land We Call Our Home – Man Elephant Conflict of Assam, a short film that has got selected in the competition segment of this year’s Cannesfestival. This film shot by husband-wife duo, Vikeyano Zao and Indrajit Narayan Dev is their second film-making venture that has got shortlisted by Cannes. Their first film, The Last of the Tattooed Head-hunters exploring the head-hunting practice of the Konyak Nagas was the first film from North-East to make it to Cannes last year.

In this film shot all over Assam in the forests, sand-bars and estates that are the last bastion of the elephant, the conflict between man and the beast is examined in detail. The film is said to portray some very poignant and blood-curling scenes, shot in a matter-of-fact style. The outlook is not encouraging as filmmaker Zao says, “When we talk about national parks, many of us know only about Kaziranga. But what about the other forests? The situation is very bleak in Assam.”

The elephant may be strong in itself, but perhaps now more than ever, it needs our help.

[The title of this and the preceding post has been borrowed from the opening lines of Rufus Wainwright’s “Dinner at Eight”.]

No matter how strong I.

At around 5,000 kgs and standing 9 ft. tall, the Indian Asiatic Elephant presents an imposing picture and seemingly brooks no nonsense. India is home to just under 30,000 elephants with half of them in the North-Eastern states, particularly Assam where they eke out a very precarious existence. In the fortnight starting 20^th April, this magnificent beast with this gargantuan frame and girth has been hit by locomotives, found itself encircled within concrete walls and entombed by rocks in my state.

The first jumbo incident occurred in the second week of April in Gibbon wildlife sanctuary along the Assam-Nagaland border. The elephant, a young male around 10 – 12 years old, got injured after being hit by a train near the sanctuary. With its injured left foreleg, it found the strength somewhere to limp about for a week, painfully keeping up with its herd until it was forced to stop. It was then spotted, tranquilised and treated on 20^th Apr by a vet team from Centre for Wildlife Rehabilitation & Conservation (CWRC) based in Kaziranga. On closer observation, another wound on the rear of the elephant’s head was found and treated.

The Gibbon Elephant

And at that spot, the poor animal stayed immobile for a fortnight from 20^th Apr to 4^th May, until it finally succumbed to its injuries. It must be said here though that the local forest authorities tried to save the jumbo, keeping it under constant observation all the while. Forest officials even had a muddy pit dug close by to where the jumbo lay, filling it up with water from a fire tender, dragging the animal to the comfort of the artificial pool. The diagnosis was grim, a second tranquilising and treatment was undertaken, a round-the-clock surveillance mounted up to guard the defenceless jumbo against carnivores, and even saline bottles administered to replenish the animal’s failing strength. Ultimately however, all these efforts came to naught, the Gibbon elephant eventually adding to the tally of elephant deaths caused by locomotive hits. It is poignant to note that from 9^th Apr (the date on which it was hit) to 4^th May – a period of almost a month - this magnificent animal limped, suffered and starved until it met its merciful end.

The second jumbo tale is more in the nature of an inadvertent but nevertheless damaging human obstruction. On 25^th April, three wild jumbos were injured in Golaghat after they found themselves cordoned off between a concrete wall on one side and an electric fence on the other. Yes, this actually happened when the trio moving along a designated elephant corridor entered into a plot fenced off by a private company in alleged contravention of forest laws.

Man-made walls in Elephant Corridor

When it was observed that the jumbos were trapped, the forest authorities’ attempts to guide them towards an opening in the fence were very amateurish, to say the least. I saw this news clipping where a few very terrified forest guards burst some crackers (the sort we use in Diwali), and resorting to uselessly flailing their arms and shouting loudly. One forest guard was even seen folding his hands and mumbling something, obviously in prayer, seeking divine intervention to guide the jumbos to safety. It certainly seems that prayer forms a very important weapon in the local guards’ arsenal when it comes to assisting stricken animals.

So, it comes as no surprise that the panicky jumbos among all this ruckus, started banging themselves against the thick walls in an attempt to escape. After nearly three hours, the bruised animals finally managed to escape through the same opening in the wall through which they had entered.

Last heard, the forest authorities, the local administration and the company people were squabbling over the ownership of the plot cordoned off. Till its resolution, many more wild jumbos are likely to land themselves in similar trouble cos the land form parts of the elephant corridor.

(To be concluded)

The Raging Bull of Orang

Massive. Stolid. Ungainly. Your mind might very well kick-off with these words when you see a rhino for the first time. I know my mind did, when I first saw the rhino in the city zoo so many years back. Seeing one in the wilds, in its natural surroundings is however, quite different. For an animal which is the second largest on land, smaller only to the elephant, it gives off an aura of invincibility, given its size coupled with its armour-like hide. It almost looks regal and peaceful given that being a herbivore, you are likely to see it munching grass and leaves.

There’s an element of incongruity too about the rhino’s appearance; if you see one from the rear, it seems as one friend remarked ‘to be wearing shorts’! Its skin has many layers and folds, the last fold ending just above its rear knees.

Once found extensively in India from across the Indus Valley in the west to Burma in the east, the Indian or Greater One-horned Rhinocerous survives today in its natural habitat only in Nepal, Bengal and Assam. Assam accounts for the most significant rhino population, its ecological status ‘endangered’ due to poaching. Rhinos are killed for their horns, which are bought and sold on the black market, and which are used by some cultures for ornamental or (largely pseudo-scientific) medicinal purposes.

Orang the smallest national park in Assam, is home to around 68 rhinos as well as other threatened mammals. Perhaps Orang’s most famous inhabitant was ‘Kaan-kata’ – a feared and cantankerous male rhino (also called a bull rhino) who roamed the grasslands of Orang for close to 4 decades. Kaan-kata which means ‘the one with the cut ear’, owed its name to the fact that poachers’ bullets had chipped some portion of his left ear when it was younger. It has been said that Kaan-kata had survived other attempts by poachers since that fateful incident.

Owing to these unpleasant human encounters, Kaan-kata had developed a marked testiness towards people, charging at sight. Such was his sway that both forest staff and poachers were very wary of coming close to Orang’s most famous denizen, not daring to cross its path.

Lording over the grasslands of Orang in its lifetime, Kaan-kata breathed his last in Feb this year in his beloved and only home. The forest staff found Kaan-kata’s lifeless body in the morning of 16^th Feb at a spot, roughly at the centre of the park. The body bore no external injury and the horn was intact too. Post mortem confirmed that the aging patriarch had succumbed to the ultimate malady – old age.

In death, Kaan-kata elicited wistful reminiscences from local forest staff over his intrepid nature and post-16^th Feb I suspect, his exploits will become a part of Orang legend. Like the time that Kaan-kata charged at and attacked the vehicle of a divisional forest official (pretty much the top officer in a forest division) 3 years back. Poachers too, were at the receiving end as one forest official has said, “A poacher who was arrested a few years back had revealed during interrogation that Kaankata had chased him along with a few others for more than 2km.” In fact, Kaan-kata’s trepidations had spooked poachers to such an extent that they had stopped entering into Orang at daytime being fearful of Kaan-kata.

Kaan-Kata at his final resting place: At last, angry no more

The way I see it, Kaan-kata fought not only for himself but for the right of all animals everywhere to rid themselves of the yokel of human greed and interference. We need more Kaan-katas.