Come October, and season begins in Gir, the home of the fabulous
Asiatic lion. Zerin Anklesaria was there recently and, thankfully, lived
to tell the tale.
ZERIN ANKLESARIAUpdated: September 6, 2013 19:51 IST
On a quiet night, so they say, the roar of an adult male
lion can be heard five miles away. No such roaring welcome greeted us
as we drove into Sasan Gir with the moon riding high, but we were
certainly in lion country, with road signs pointing the way to Mane Land
Jungle Lodge, Lion’s Paw Resort, Pride of Gir, Elsa’s Lair, and so on.
For
me, this was a sentimental journey, for my father had served under the
Nawab of Junagadh before Independence and as children we had visited
Gir, staying in palatial grandeur at The Royal Hunting Lodge. The Nawab,
a great animal lover, rarely hunted and it was chiefly maintained for
Indian rajas and British VIPs for whom a lion was a prized trophy.
A
party of 20 of us stayed there for four memorable days in sybaritic
luxury. This was soon after the then Viceroy, Lord Linlithgow, had left.
The cellars were still stocked with the choicest wines, and the larders
with cheeses, jams and canned fruit from Australia. The chefs cooked up
mind-boggling meats, game and desserts.
Six of us
little girls were allotted the master bedroom where the centrepiece was
an enormous double bed with an 8-inch box-spring mattress imported
especially for the Viceregal couple. Far from prying adult eyes, we
spent our evenings using it as a trampoline to see who could jump the
highest. The bed survived the onslaught. The mattress did not.
The
world outside presented a harrowing contrast. A single tarred road led
to the hunting lodge, and the Forest Officer occupied the only other
building. Jeep tracks meandered through the forest and the Maldhari
herdsmen merged with the hard, brown earth, living in poverty with their
cattle in villages scattered across the 1400 sq. km of the sanctuary.
In this semi-desert region agriculture was impossible.
Coming
here now what a difference I found. We drove in from Rajkot on
ribbon-smooth roads to the peripheral areas of the sanctuary — all neat,
well-planned and free of garbage. With tourism has come unimaginable
prosperity. Accommodation ranges from dharamsalas and budget hotels to
the lordly Taj; canals supply water for gardens and cultivation; and
local children study at an English medium school.
Our
first safari started off rather tamely. I had the front seat in the
jeep and couldn’t hear what the guide was saying. My information came
solely from the grumpy driver who pointed out ‘snake’, ‘deer’,
‘mongoose’ and other uninspiring fauna in a single word. ‘Budd’ had me
stumped, till he amplified. ‘Peacock’, he said.
It
was just half an hour to closing time when we got the exciting news. A
tracker came and whispered to the guide, who passed along the magic word
‘lion’. We took our place in a line of jeeps and waited in reverential
silence as if in church. At last it was our turn to enter the sanctum
and we moved down a track deep into the jungle. There, under the shade
of a tree, we came upon them, two lionesses and five cubs, feasting on a
nilgai. A thrilling sight but a poor photo-op, for the evening sun cast
too many shadows and the lionesses were sitting low in the long grass,
while bits and pieces of cub flashed in and out of the frame
three-quarters two pointy ears, half a puckered face, a raised paw, a
tail tip.
Later we encountered two angry lionesses
rearing up on their hind legs, clawing and snarling at each other.
Photo-op? Alas no! They were so enraged that our jeep had to keep a safe
distance.
Back at the resort, everyone was envious.
Some unfortunates had spent a packet on as many as three safaris, and
seen only monkey, deer, and, of course, ‘budd’. Tourists often think
that a lion sighting is guaranteed and, when disappointed, are vocal in
their displeasure. A manager was once rudely roused from his slumbers by
angry guests who had been out in vain since 5 a.m. They staged a gherao
and shouted slogans, ‘Paisa vasool, paisa vasool’, demanding their
money back.
The kings of the forest are as lazy as
feudal monarchs. The male has only to guard his territory and propagate,
which he does with maniacal zest. Everything else is left to the
lioness. She must hunt for prey, feed and train her cubs and protect
them from predators, including other lions. An adult male is the lord of
his territory and eliminates all future rivals including his progeny,
knowing that otherwise they will kill him when in their prime. The
‘sons’ in a pride are therefore highly prized, pampered and protected,
both by their mothers and the Forest Officers. Patriarchy is as
invidious in the jungle as outside it.
Lions are far
more human-friendly than leopards or tigers, but only as long as one
keeps within limits. In earlier days, the ‘pagis’ or traditional
trackers, ever eager to display their affinity with the animal to
visiting dignitaries, would place a handkerchief on the mane of a
sleeping lion with the help of a stick, while another would retrieve it.
However, one day, legend has it that the lion suddenly woke up, and
both entertainment and entertainer came to a gory end.
Then
there was the biker on his way to a local temple. Seeing a gorgeously
maned specimen sitting quietly by the roadside, he whipped out his
phone-camera and edged closer and closer until the lion took umbrage,
and with a mighty swipe of its paw dispatched the foolish young man to
the other world. In the jungle this lordly animal is king, and mere
humans who disrespect his royal status pay a heavy price.
http://www.thehindu.com/features/metroplus/travel/pride-of-the-jungle/article5100585.ece?homepage=true
100 women from Sasan Gir, Bhalchhel and Haripur joined the hunger strike in Sasan Gir on Sunday. 
