I must say I am
exceedingly lucky to have not only seen a Himalayan Griffon but was at a
touching distance!! It so happened I was at Corbett in Kumaon, and also so
happened that a Himalayan Griffon had injured itself and was in care at a local
resort. I need point here that the forest officials have been quite callous and
don’t seem to be concerned or shall I say bothered, it is individual or group
effort and care that see these incidents have positive end. And finally, it so
happened that on the day of my visit the Vulture was set to be released. Wow.
So here I was incredibly excited and facing the Himalayan Griffon. What a
massive bird. It seems that the vulture had started to like the place and
refused to budge out of the confinement despite much prodding by the volunteer
in protective gear. The bird surely is aggressive. They left the door open and
I trained my camera standing at a distance…minutes passed it won’t come out and
so I went near the door and lo the bird hops out and few long strides was up
and away, in the melee I forgot to take the picture. Geez. But must say the
bird truly is a beauty, what an amazing sight. Some of these vultures have wingspan
as long as 10ft. My good luck was on a long leash, the bird alighted on a tall
tree few hundred metres away. So we crept up to the tree, and I got some really
wonderful pictures. Later the bird was seen soaring the sky thousands of feet
up, how exhilarating indeed.
The Himalayan
Griffon Vulture (Gyps Himalayensis)
inhabits in mountains of the higher regions of the Himalayas, the
Pamirs, Kazakhstan and on the Tibetan Plateau between 1500 and 4000 metres of
elevation. It performs altitudinal movements during winter, and frequent lower
areas while the young birds wander down onto plains (the above is a juvenile).
The Himalayan Griffon Vulture is the largest of the genus Gyps. They feed only
on carrion and gather around carcasses located by soaring and gliding over
large areas with their keen eyesight. They find mention in the history of the
Tibetan culture as the dead bodies were left to be fed by these Vultures during
the very cold periods of the year. The frozen soil did not allow burying the
dead. I am sure we are aware of practices by Parsis, but those are mostly
White-rumped or Indian Vulture (long billed).
Gumani
Pant: the voice from Kumaon hills
I was at Ramnagar
in Kumaon region of Uttrakhand state tucked in the feet of Himalayas along the
Shivaliks. Few enquiries and some luck I was at the door of seventh generation
of poet Gumani Pant. The elderly man was taken by surprise. We talked about
general things, I was handed some books to refer. The one that caught my
attention was Says Gumani by Charu
Chandra Pande. Other source includes Gumani
Kavi Virachit Evam Bhasha Kavya by Devidutt Pande and Gumani Neeti by Rebadutt Upreti.
Gumani Pant
(1791-1846) was one of the earliest voices from Kumaon, apart from his
dexterity with Sanskrit he was the originator of khariboli in Hindi verses much before Bharathtendu Harishchandra
–to whom it is credited. Gyan bhaishajya
manjari is work of Gumani on medicine, dealing with maladies and philosophy
in the form of couplets in Sanskrit. His Panch
Panchashika is a theological work based on the philosophy of the Upanishad.
Gumani witnessed rule of three sets of rulers during his lifetime –the Gorkhas,
the British and the Tehri king. Apart from felicity with different languages
Gumani’s versatility is reflected in the choice of subjects, from sublime to
ridiculous, here he see jest as one of his friend slipped and fell (must add
the English translation is wanting)
Yo
brahmand chadi udi kamar ki dwi tuti pada
Akhan
meh athi dah ye bhakath ch meri khabar ko karon
O
ija babjyu kaka sun sabbai mishri khana su daiyo
Layavo
dudh sithab pran udni ha ram yo meh maryu
Oh the universe
behold my waist has broken into two
My soul breaks
away and takes wing
My eyes burns, Oh
is there no one to look after me
Mother, father,
uncle …hear O hear
I’ve fallen, I’ve
hurt, don’t you see?
Give me sugar
candy to eat
Oh quick I say,
fetch milk, hurry –
Otherwise I will
die, Oh Ram, I am done!
This poem is whispering of fruits
called Kafals (myrica esculanta) that yields small pea size stone fruit. The
colour of the ripening fruit is pink, which gradually turns darker.
Khana
layak indra ka hum chiya bhulok ayi pada
Prithvi
me lag yo pahad hamri tthathi rachi dev lai
Yeso
chithe bhichari kafal sabai ratha bhay krodh lai
Koi
aur buda khuda sharm lai neela dhumaila bhaya
We are created for indra, the
king of gods
But unfortunately dropped down
below
Among the mortals here
And even here, on this planet
alas!
We are made to dwell on these rugged
hills
How unfair is the play of the
destiny
Thinking thus in their hearts
against god’s injustice
All the kafals turn red in fury
And yet others, who were old and
haggard
Turned dusty blue in utter
shame.
Gumani lived
during the period of turmoil as the colonialism was taking its root in the
subcontinent. Colonial Britain was spreading its tentacles through East India
Company, he verses makes the irony a satire
Yo
angrej kahan se aya kon wathan meh rahta hai
Kahan
aye ke raj kare sab lok isi ko chahath hai
Hindustani
boop isi ka tej na koi sahta hai
Jo
honi na rahe hue bin suno Gumani kahta hai
Where from does
the British hail? Which homeland is his abode?
And where does he
reign? People even try to seek favour from them
No Indian prince can
face his fierce might
Says Gumani, it
was thus ordained: whatever is to happen will happen
Here is one poem
that talks of good times and opulence
Kela
nimbu akhod dhadim rikhu naring adho dahi
Khaso
bhath jamoli ko kalkalo bhuna ghadera ghaba
Chuyda
sangh uthyol dhudh bhaklo thyu gaay ko dhanodhar
Khani sunder mauniya daphduva gangawali roaniya
Banana, lemon, walnut,
pomegranate, sugarcane, orange, ginger and abundant curd
Arum in dried leaves, tender
stalks and corns, aromatic rice baked beaten flat or boiled
Thick delicious milk of cows and
granular butter indeed
Big cakes of rice powder fried in
clarified butter
That is what they eat, the people
of gangawali
According to
UNESCO’s list of languages Kumaoni is placed under unsafe category -which
requires consistent conservation efforts. Kumaoni is one of the Pahari language (other being Garhwali),
and is very much influenced by now extinct Khasas language. It has many dialects (about 20 recorded) that
change with the region.
Jim Corbett: a
hunter turned conservator, naturalist, a writer, a magnificent fellow
If
Corbett Park is the oldest wildlife sanctuary in the country, it is a tribute
to Jim Corbett. The man had a colossal presence in Kumaon region, born in Nainital
(1875-1955) he was instrumental in initiatives for conservation effort.
I
was reading these interesting observations “All birds and all animals have
their own language and though –with few exceptions –one species cannot speak
the language of another species, all the jungle folk understand each other’s
language. The best three of the exceptions are, the racket-tailed drongo, the
rufous-backed shrike, and the gold-fronted green bulbul. To bird lovers the
racket-tailed drongos is a never ending source of pleasure and interest for, in
addition to being the most courageous bird in our jungles, he can imitate to
perfection the calls of most birds and of one animal, the cheetal, and he has a
great sense of humour. Attaching himself to a flock of ground feeding birds
–jungle foul, babblers, or thrushes –he takes up a commanding position on a dead
branch and, while regaling the jungle with his own songs and songs of other
birds, keeps a sharp lookout for enemies in the way of hawks, cats, snakes, and
small boys armed with catapults, and his warning of the approach of danger is
never disregarded. His services are not disinterested, for in return for
protection he expects the flock he is guarding to provide him with food. His
sharp eyes miss nothing, and the moment he sees that one of the birds
industriously scratching up or turning over the dead leaves below him has
unearthed a fat centipede or a juicy scorpion he darts at it screaming like a
hawk, or screaming as a bird of the species he is trying to dispossess does
when caught by a hawk. Nine times out of ten he succeeds in wresting the prize
from the finder, and returning to his perch kills and eats the tidbits at
leisure, and having done so continues his interrupted song” ….. later in same
chapter he writes “I don’t know if racket-tailed drongos can learn to talk, but
I do know that they can learn to whistle tunes. Some years ago the Anglo-Indian
station master of Manakpur Junction…supplemented his income by teaching drongos
and shamas to whistle tunes. Trains halted at the junction for breakfast and
lunch and it was a common sight to see passengers running over to the station
master’s bungalow to hear his birds, and returning with a cage containing a
bird that whistled the tune they fancied most. For these birds, plus an ornate
cage, the station master charged a flat rate of thirty rupees”. (from the book Jungle Lore) 
Here
he capsulate years of field knowledge of tracking into easy understanding “all
animals that run down their prey have big toes as compared with their pads, and
all animals that stalk their prey have small toes as compared with their
pads”….. “if you look at the tracks of a house dog and cat, you will see what I
mean by big toes and small pads in the track of the former, and small toes and
big pads in the track of the latter”. Aha that we should look out for next time
as first step towards identifying tracks, and then extend that to jungles.
Corbett also gives insight into identifying poisonous and non poisonous by the
track. It is quite an interesting read.
Another reference is found in book The
Man-eating Leopard of Rudraprayag
“…when a leopard or tiger is walking at its normal pace only the imprints of
the hind feet are seen, but when the normal pace is for any reason exceeded,
the hind feet are placed on the ground in advance of the forefeet, and thus the
imprints of all four feet are seen. From the distance between the imprints of
the fore and the hind feet it is possible to determine the speed at which an
animal of the cat tribe are travelling.”
I came to know
about Sultana daku in 1997-98 from
‘punditji’ who runs a sweet shop in alley of Karol bagh. There were three
elderly people running the shop those days, averaging an age of 80, the owner
who sat at the counter in Gandhi cap, the waiter cum does-everything-else man
and finally the cook. Now though the waiter survives aging 85, still serving
delicious, rather subtle sweet sandesh, from
palm jaggery and milk concentrate. The shop has a long history; started in 1940
it has seen many ups and downs. Nehru and Patel, yes Jawaharlal and Sardar, were
regulars. Till three decades back the shop supplied sweets to power that be,
including Pranab Mukerjee (who now is President of the country). I have spent
hours and hours of lazy afternoons in this shop, mostly reading some books I
carried. In the meanwhile Punditji regaled me with the stories from the past,
of Sardar Patel who once came rushing in his jeep and asked punditji to come
with him, and then he takes off…the problem being he keeps repeating the
stories. One of the stories he narrated
was about Sultana daku. Punditji
hails from Nainital, when he was about 10, the family went for a pilgrimage
trek to haridwar, for darshan. They
hid the currency coins in flour that they carried to prepare food on the way,
as was the custom those days. They were attacked by the dacoits and things
looted, as they were ruing their fate came Sultana daku riding on his horse and demanded what happened. On hearing he
not only compensated for their loss but also gave them his share as offering to
god. Another story of how Sultana looted only rich, in this case a moneybag
named Karak singh, and the daring tactic he used apart from his benevolent
nature towards poor made him part of local folklore. Sultana notified the
fellow the hour he would come to loot, and came dressed as a cop in the guise
of protection and cleaned up the coffer!!
Corbett
has devoted a chapter in his book My
India on Sultana daku
appropriately titled Sultana: India’s Robin Hood. Eminently readable the chapter ends on a poignant note that
reverberates in the mind for a long time. “ I could have wished that justice
had not demanded that Sultana be exhibited in manacles and leg irons, and
exposed to ridicule from those who trembled at the mere mention of his name
while he was at liberty. I could also have wished that he had been given a more
lenient sentence, for no other reasons than that he had been branded a criminal
at birth, and had not had a fair chance; that when power was in his hand he had
not oppressed the poor; that when I tracked him to the banyan tree he spared my
life and lives of my friends. And finally, that he went to his meeting with
Freddy (the cop in-charge of catching him), not armed with knife or a revolver,
but with a watermelon in his hand”.
The
book My India opens with a dedication
that includes “…in my India, the India I know, there are four hundred million
people, ninety per cent of whom are simple, honest, brave, loyal, hard working
souls whose daily prayer to God, and to whatever government is in power, is to
give them security of life and of property to enable them to enjoy the fruits
of their labours. It is of these people, who are admittedly poor, and who are
often described as ‘India’s starving millions’, among whom I have lived and
whom I love, that I shall endeavor to tell in the pages of this book, which I
humbly dedicate to my friends, the poor of India.”
