Wildly dramatic

Growing up on a tea estate near Munnar in the 1950s, I was enchanted by the densely forested hills ringing the plantation. For Gurusamy, a...

Growing up on a tea estate near Munnar in the 1950s, I was enchanted by the densely forested hills ringing the plantation. For Gurusamy, a wizened Muduvan tribal, had told us children, in his own inimitable way, that those hills harboured wildlife 8212; panthers that stole into housing colonies to prey on unwary dogs; sambar, barking deer and wild pigs that could not resist the temptation to raid vegetable gardens at night; the occasional herd of elephants that bulldozed the plantain groves for their succulent stems; and the family of bears that came nosing around for honeycombs now and then, making the tea-pluckers flee helter-skelter. Enough jungle lore to fire any 10-year-old8217;s imagination.

Further, to fuel my love for these hills and their wild denizens, there was the silver-haired John Gouldsbury, a British planter whose passion for conservation was infectious. With his binoculars he used to scan the surrounding hills for wildlife every morning. And if he spotted anything 8212; be it a boar or a wild dog 8212; his day was made. He was as knowledgeable about wildlife as he was committed to its conservation.

Today, 45 years later, most of Munnar8217;s hills are denuded 8212; shorn clean of all vegetation 8212; thanks to the scourge of development8217;. Yet, against all odds and within these hills, some wild thing emerges to enthuse, and sometimes unnerve, nature lovers with occasional dramatic appearances.

The other day, for instance, a gaur suddenly jumped off an embankment on to the road below, narrowly missing a passing motorcyclist. Then, while trout-fishing recently, my cousin all but walked into a gaur in scrub jungle. The bovine, as still as a boulder, suddenly snorted its annoyance, sending him scampering. And last week, while returning to Munnar around midnight, I encountered a gaur on the road. Despite the blinding headlights of my car, it never flinched. For several minutes it stood its ground resolutely. The message was clear: I was an intruder in its territory. Then, with a scornful shake of its head, it loped down a ravine.

On the other hand, the sambar hind I chanced upon the other day was as timid as a mouse. Alarmed by the sudden appearance of our jeep, it desperately dashed across the road 8212; only to find its path blocked by a stretch of barbed wire fencing. Frantic, it spun round and sped up a steep embankment, to rejoin an unchivalrous stage watching the proceedings below from the safety of a ridge!

Elephant Lake on the outskirts of Munnar is popular with trout anglers. As is name implies, it is the haunt of wild elephants which hardy fishermen like me have learnt to take in their stride. However, the other day, I was advised to stay away from the lake. A tigress with two cubs had been sighted there recently. I was elated. For I had seen a tiger there during a fishing trip a few years ago. Apparently, it had now raised a family despite the upheaval and deforestation taking place on the other side of the range, thanks to a rash of new resorts.

Considering the rate at which wildlife habitats are being usurped by humans, it is surprising that there have been hardly any human-wildlife conflicts in Munnar. We did have a near-fatal one last week, though. Two couples from Mumbai were strolling through a tea field when they came across a browsing tusker. They immediately retreated. But, though unprovoked, the elephant inexplicably charged them, all but catching up with them. They narrowly escaped by jumping into a ravine. Unable to enter the ravine, the enraged pachyderm vented its frustration by trumpeting and hurling mud at the terrified tourists.

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8220;We did absolutely nothing to provoke the tusker,8221; one of the badly shaken survivors told me. But, quite obviously, someone else had 8212; and these unfortunates had faced the music as, no doubt, will many others.