I am here in a village that seems to be in the middle of nowhere. There are dirt roads for miles in every direction and an endless dry deciduous forest with streams flowing through it. At night I awaken to the call of elephants. Within this basic, yet spacious room with half a roof, I live. Staring at the night sky from my bed, I recall the majestic elephants I had been lucky to see in the day. Here I am in Chik Yel Chetti village, near the Bandipur National Park in Karnataka, India. So what is the story of this place that I wish to write about?
The old story goes like this... Once upon a time, elephants, tigers, leopards, gaurs, cheetal, hares, snakes, and many other wild animals, birds, bees, and butterflies roamed this land. One day the tribal man walked through the forest silently, unafraid, and barefooted. He heard a sound ahead. He looked at the tracks below and realized it was the elephant. He then walked noisily and confidently knowing that the elephant will turn away. Just as he thought the elephant turned away and the tribal man continued onwards now distracted by a honey bee. Ah yes, just what he had been looking for. Following the honey bee he is led to the sweet and nourishing honey. He climbs the tall tree, plucks part of the comb, and takes it home to his family. Sweet nectar... One day, the forest official come to the tribal man and says that they must leave for the forest and animals must be protected and humans cannot be allowed within the forest anymore. Shoved into government housing at the bottom of a nameless hill, the tribal man finds himself and his family. One concrete road with half-baked houses on either side is his home now. No more the community living that had houses in a circle, a fire pit in the middle where all the important occasions took place; weddings, trials, conversations. He must live in a row for a few years only to be moved elsewhere in another few years. He is given land and no longer can he follow bees into the forest, and walk amongst the giants. Now instead he must grow things on this land and grapple with a new concept he has never dealt with before...money. The new story goes like this... Several years have passed and now the tribal people live in villages like Chik Yel Chetti, Guddekere, Buddhikatte etc. and have become accustomed to agriculture, living separately, and earning daily wages. Some of the tribes called the Jenu Kurubas and Soilgas knew the forest like the back of their palm. Now they are dependent on money for survival and do not go into the forest anymore. They have forgotten how to live or walk in the forest. Fear follows them as they grow worried about losing their crops to herds of migrating elephants. They try to scare the elephants away. This has caused the elephants to become fearful of humans and attack them. The elephants are feared, and no one ventures out after dark. Stories of elephant attacks fill their nights. They understand why the elephants come and why they attack. They come because the forest size has decreased due to excessive logging and harmful invasive species of plants that have taken over causing a lack of food for the elephants. Do the tribal people hate the elephants? No. They are a part of life, a reality. As one man said, “we are in their territory and we must accept the loss as a part of life.” Outsiders love to call this as the human-elephant conflict. But is it? Who is really in conflict? We have forgotten one character in this story; the corrupt forest official. One of the biggest reasons for the diminishing size of the forest has been excessive logging and hunting in the Bandipur forest. About 25 years ago vehicles were allowed within the forest at the rate of Rs.5 per entry to take one load of dead and dry wood that people could find. They were prohibited from cutting trees. However with some bribing, the loggers from bigger towns and cities in Kerala and Karnataka were able to get away with 200 loads of green trees per day with each load weighing approximately 9000 to 10,000 kg. Suddenly with most of the tigers being wiped away and the elephant habitat becoming threatened, certain tiger and forest reserves were put in place throwing the tribal people out. They were accused of hunting, and logging. What do I find now? None of them dare to enter the forest to cut trees or kill animals, because the fines are so high. But is that the only reason? When I ask them about the forest, they say, “We can only survive if the forest is healthy, and so we want it to be healthy.” Now the forest department comes out with a draft that claims 2500 acres of land need to be added to the national park within which are 140 odd villages. Nowhere in the document is it mentioned that the people of these villages need to leave. However one official decides to use this draft and the illiteracy of the people to his advantage and spreads the rumour that they will all have to leave. He wants the people to sell their lands. The tribal people have been made to feel afraid, small, insignificant, and dirty by these forest officials over the last several decades. Before that there were others who made them feel that way. I look at Satish, a friend I have made here. He tends to his cow that broke her horn and hurt herself. He has not gone to work since she got hurt. He refuses to leave her alone and tends to her wounds. Every day I see him in the fields. Today he has tied her to a tree, letting her rest, while he works nearby. I see no hate in him towards the elephants, the forest, the forest officials, and life. All he wants to do is to get by. But to get by he must earn his daily wages. Where is the conflict? What do we value in life? Can you feel it slipping away?
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“Maushi” in Marathi means my mother’s sister. She is often called Mangal Maushi or Mangal Bai. “Bai” is also used to mean lady or maid servant in Maharashtra. By profession, Mangal is Mangal Bai and has been working at the IofC (http://www.iofc.org/) center in Panchgani, India, called Asia Plateau for several years. I wish I could give you a figure, but what if she cannot tell you her age? So I will guess that she has worked here for 45 years. Once upon a time, there used to be a farm at the center where Mangal spent her younger years working. Due to my interest in farming, I asked her about her work. She told me about the days when the center was completely self-sufficient and produced all kinds of vegetables using only cow dung and compost as soil additives. She feels horrified by the use of chemicals now in the fields. Her eyes glowed as the memories of the early years flowed through her and she described how the center did not have enough money but they always had a lot of food. So for the extra work they did, they received 4 kgs of potatoes instead. When I asked her if she preferred to have received money instead of food, she merely responded, “Work is not for money, it is for personal satisfaction. Those were the days of abundance.” There were 20 cows, and 500 chickens that once lived and all of them slowly died. She looked pained as she thought of the cows that died. She felt that she had a special connection with them. Then she said something that moved me so much, “ माणूसच प्रेम तुटतो पण गायच प्रेम कधी तुटत नाही" Love and loyalty between people breaks but the love given by a cow never breaks. Times have changed. How we live, how we love, and how we grow food has changed. Instead of working in the fields which she loves, she folds laundry and cleans rooms. She dislikes the newer maids; they do not understand what working with integrity means she says. They only work for money. Gone are those days, when we harvested 100 sacks of potatoes, 100 kgs of cauliflower, and went home with happy hearts and full stomachs. Mangal Maushi is living her long life, as I look towards the future, hoping not to be laughed at again and again when I propose a chemical-free, simple life. Dedicated, motivated, and honest are apt adjectives to describe Mr. Seyie from the Angami tribe. The owner of a gas service company and a father of five children, Mr. Seyie believes in running his business ethically. With increasing oil prices and unethical competitors who goad their customers into paying a bribe to jump the gas queue, it is becoming increasingly difficult for him to provide gas to people in an ethical manner. As we drove up “Pagla Pahad” (Mad Mountain) in Mr. Seyie's car, we heard his story. The unfortunate Pagla Pahad has received its name because of the enormous number of landslides that have taken place there during monsoon, effectively blocking the narrow and horrifying national highway. “This has never happened in my father's time and even in my time” said Mr, Seyie about the landslides. His explanation was that since the last six years these landslides that had been occurring were due to excessive logging and plantation of Teak trees on the top of the mountain. With heavy rainfalls, there aren't enough trees to prevent soil erosion. The young mountains of Nagaland are still too weak to withstand such trauma. As we drove, my eyes lingered over uprooted trees, and bamboo washed down the slopes. The mountain sides look scarred as massive patches of a once thick rain forest, have been washed away. The mountain bears scars that may never heal. A story becoming more and more common all over the Nagaland mountains. |
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