There are rivers of immense might and depth and rivers of gurgling joy. The Kabini is a river of life and of remarkable responsibility. One of the lifelines of the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, it flows from Wayanad in north-east Kerala into the Kabini reservoir in HD Kote taluk, Karnataka, and further east to T Narsipura, where it merges with the Cauvery. The Kabini’s course resembles a dancing Chinese dragon — a symbol of life-giving rain — as it snakes through the slip of civilisation between the Bandipur and Nagarahole national parks, teeming with animals and birds. Since the river was dammed in 1974 — at the cost of thousands of acres of forest and the relocation of over 30 villages — its backwaters recede in the summer to reveal a winding ribbon of blue flanked by lush meadows. Every year, this dramatic landscape, flecked with dead tree trunks, becomes a playground for over a thousand Asiatic elephants from four neighbouring national parks in what is arguably their largest congregation in the wild anywhere. It so happens that a tusker’s shrill trumpeting enlivens our afternoon safari circuit through the south-eastern Nagarahole forest. It is an alarm call, says Shankar Ganesh, a Bangalore-based techie, who moonlights as a naturalist and guide, as he leans out the nine-seater to scan the bamboo groves and bushes for a predator. An old gentleman from Delhi insists the stag round the bend is a barasingha, despite assurances otherwise. Others tick boxes: spotted deer, sambar, serpentine eagle, langur, gaur, blue jay, elephant, and finally, a dash of leopard. Ganesh, who is also an avid wildlife photographer, looks relieved. “Most first-time visitors, and of late, photographers, come to Kabini specifically for big cat sightings,” he says. The quintessential Kabini experience may involve a herd of elephants fording the river, a tiger slithering through the dry deciduous forest or hundreds of deer nuzzling the grass, but it won’t include a gaggle of tourists. Bordering a 2,183-sq-km protected area, the largest in south India, this is one of the country’s most exclusive wildlife and leisure destinations. A night at one of the upscale resorts hugging the curves of the Kabini — and there are only half a dozen — costs between Rs 5,500 and Rs 35,000. “The forest department has always been protective of the Kabini region, which is among the best places to spot large mammals in the country. It is not easy to set up a new resort here,” says Sarath Champati, a naturalist and a member of the Karnataka Ecotourism Board, who runs an NGO that involves local communities in conservation efforts and consults for Orange County, a luxury resort with 37 Kuruba-style cottages spread over 15 acres by the river. Hospitality chains have been vying for real estate on the river bank, but the delineation of eco-sensitive zones and the cap on the number of vehicles allowed into the forest — 11 vehicles, carrying about 120 people each in the morning and evening — imposed by a recent Supreme Court judgment have kept tourism under check. Across the crocodile-infested waters is the stately Kabini River Lodge, the 54-acre heritage property that first put Kabini on the tourist map in the 1980s. It was Colonel John Wakefield, a naturalist from the Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge in Nepal, who turned the Mysore Maharaja’s former hunting lodge near Karapura, a hamlet on the banks of the river, into a world-class wildlife lodge. Run by the Jungle Lodges and Resorts, a government undertaking, it operates safaris for all the resorts in Kabini. “Kabini has emerged as one of the best models for regulating wildlife safaris in the country and it is one reason why this region will continue to remain off the radar, unlike other national parks where there has been rampant commercialisation,” says Kunal Sharma, who has managed the property for six years now. Sharma estimates that a total of about 50,000 tourists enter the reserve forests through Kabini in a year. Tourism in the Kabini region has been associated with the IT boom in Bangalore, says PM Muthanna, a researcher with the Wildlife Conservation Society-India. “Conservation efforts in the region, coupled with the locals’ tolerant attitude towards animals, have boosted prey and predator density in the protected forests over the decades, but tourism could upset the balance,” Muthanna warns. At The Bison, an eco-camp with just 11 rooms — African tents, machans and a cottage — that came up in 2006 near Gundathur village, bordering the national park, 26-year-old Shaaz Jung, a naturalist, says conservation and tourism can go hand in hand. Persian rugs, rich upholstery and pillows lend a whimsical luxury to the reception area, a wood cabin on stilts. Tourism is a tool for conservation, Jung argues, and, therefore, must be promoted. “The safari cars also act as patrol vehicles within the tourism zone. We alert the forest department about fires, injured animals and any illegal activities,” he says. Ecotourism must involve the ethical pursuit of giving back to the environment without taking from it and creating trust among and dialogue with the local communities, says Jung’s father, Saad bin Jung, a naturalist and tourism entrepreneur who acquired 12 acres of land here in the 1990s. Located on a quiet riparian grassland by a bend in the river, overlooking the two na-tional parks, The Bison employs almost two dozen locals and has a low carbon footprint. Once a remote tiger safari camp, Kabini, with its promise of responsible luxury, is emerging as a leisure destination. “The focus on big cats alone is wrong,” says Venkatesh Kolappa, a former marketing executive who gave it all up for a life in the wild as a naturalist at Orange County. Kolappa has fostered small ecosystems in the campus that are now home to black ibises, chameleons and bullfrogs. “This evening, we saw a monitor lizard during the safari and I was excited. I see leopards and tigers often enough, but to spot a rare bird or reptile is pure joy,” he says. The story of his life, he says, was dramatised into a Tamil film, Mayakkam Enna (2011), by filmmaker Selvaraghavan after a visit to the resort. Sukanto Das, a senior naturalist at The Serai, a resort run by the Café Coffee Day group, says he discourages guests from seeking the adrenaline rush of tiger spotting. “We request them to respect the forest, observe the flora and fauna, go kayaking on the river and relax at the resort,” Das says. The Serai, with its 20 rooms, employs a hundred people, over 80 per cent of them locals. Das estimates that over 2,000 locals benefit directly from tourism along the Kabini. Back at Orange County, as we wait for the boat beside a termite hill, cormorants and egrets hover over the water and village women forage for nutritious greens or soppu along the banks. Angling was banned in 2010 and the legendary mahseer — a record 120-pound specimen was caught from the river by the late taxidermist De Wet Van Ingen in 1946 — have made way for commercially viable fish. Villagers and the kuruba tribals of the region have moved on to greener pastures. Thirty-four-year-old Selvaraj, from Beerampalli village, collects 10-20 kg of waste — plastic, paper, glass — generated by Orange County every day to segregate and sell in HD Kote. “I make Rs 10,000-15,000 a month. I no longer have to worry about subsisting on agriculture alone or enter the forest to gather wood and produce,” he says. A pattering shower drenches the ragi and sugarcane fields along the Kabini and the wind sends hundreds of cotton seeds parachuting into the air. The sky closes in, dark and intense, as if to throw itself down on the grass. The monsoon by the Kabini — now that's a story for another day.
