On September 16, 2002, 400 villagers with 4,000 heads of cattle in tow entered the Ranthambore National Park. They threatened to kill the tigers and destroy the park because their own cattle had no fodder or water outside. They refused to yield and the impasses continued for some days till an amicable settlement was reached three days later. The police contingents were withdrawn, and hoteliers, of all, breathed a sigh of relief.A gory crisis may have been averted, but the incident, being followed by wildlife conservationists and environmentalists, triggered off a debate on broader issues. So, who was culpable for all this? The villagers alone? Just because they can think of nothing else but their cattle? Never mind that they have to eke out a subsistence from a parched land around. Who else is culpable? The government, of course, the favourite whipping boy of all.
Ashok Kumar, WTI Senior Advisor and Trustee, argues that even conservationists, wildlifers, NGOs are culpable too, to some extent. Here, Kumar narrates a first-hand account dating back to 1990 when he was part of a factfinding team that visited Ranthambore. As he reminiscences, “It is a story of what we did not do.”
RANTHAMBORE: It was the summer of 1990. Thomas Mathew, the then Secretary General of WWF-INDIA had given me the break I needed, of going over various programmes, and think over, in what way I could contribute to conservation of wildlife.
Tom came up with the question: what would it take to secure Ranthambore for wildlife in the long-term, money being no object. A factfinding study of Ranthambore was decided upon. One June morning, Tinnie, a plucky young lady; Ajay Rastogi, who had a deep understanding of social and biological issues, and I drove off in a Gypsy with me at the wheels.
Around midday, we drove into Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary where Ajay had fixed up for us to meet someone who knew Ranthambore at the ground level. After a briefing session, we drove to Sawai Madhopur, the town where Ranthambore is. The following morning we drove out but not in the direction which tourists take – quite the opposite: towards Khandhar, a hilltop fort in ruins.
Our first destination was a resettled village, Shyampur, which had voluntarily given up its land inside the park. Here we heard a horrific tale of broken promises. Much had been offered: bulldozers, which would level the new land; funds for various other things; but the most shocking of all was that the villagers were being treated as unauthorised settlers by district authorities.
I have some knowledge of Indian agriculture, and wondered what this rock-strewn dry land would yield to a farmer. Tinnie sat with the women, while Ajay and I sipped tea with these hospitable people who nevertheless did not have rancour. I thought to myself, knowing these people would be the key to understand what we would need to do. We saw other villages. One was Kailashpuri named by Kailash Sankhla, the first Director of Project Tiger, after his own name.
We drove beyond Khandahar through villages, most of us never get to visit. Past that, a bleak countryside shimmered in summer heat, the soil baked hard and pebbly from which it seemed impossible to eke out a living. At a distance, an expanse of green gave some hope, soon to be belied. The road had become distinctly difficult to drive over.
