BOOK REVIEW-- THE FORESTER'S DILEMMA

                           IN PURSUIT OF A MAN-EATER  by  SUNEET BHARDWAJ.

     Ruskin Bond had once remarked that India has more writers than readers. That, I feel, is a bloody good thing, especially as journalism has fallen by the way side on our journey to a New India. Among the writers, I am happy to note, are an increasing number of bureaucrats and civil servants. Most of them, however, pander to the muse only after they retire, so it is refreshing to come across a book by a young serving  civil servant, and that too on a subject that steers clear of politics, administrative shenanigans and prescriptions for reform, which is generally the leitmotif of us retired babus.

     Suneet Bhardwaj is a 2012 batch Indian Forest Service officer of the Himachal cadre and he has just published his first book, IN PURSUIT OF A MAN-EATER. It is an engrossing account of the search ( in which he was personally involved) for a man eating leopard in the mountainous Thunag village of Mandi district. This leopard had accounted for three victims, and though it was never positively identified, the shooting of two leopards in the area over a week did result in a cessation of the human killings. Suneet confesses that he still does not know whether both, or either, or neither of the leopards was the actual man-eater. This is how, unfortunately, Russian roulette plays out in the jungles: in animal-human conflict situations it is perhaps better to be safe than to be sorry.

   But the search for the man-eater is just a peg on which the author hangs a larger tapestry, in which the real interest and value of this book lies: the ecology of the leopard and the dilemma of a forest officer when faced with such a situation. Suneet has done his research well, made good use of his training at the Wildlife Institute of India at Dehradun, and drawn valuable conclusions from his as yet limited experience.

  He explains why a leopard, though the smallest of the bigger carnivores in India ( tiger, lion) is undoubtedly the most dangerous of them. This is because it has a much wider habitat, unlike the tiger or lion which inhabit specific, limited areas, usually Protected Areas; the leopard is a far more adaptable animal and can live in scrub forests or mountainous areas; it is a master of camouflage and, unlike the bigger carnivores, it hunts at night. All these traits enable it to live in close proximity with humans and results in more human-animal conflicts ( as in the Thunag case). Suneet reminds us of Corbett's man-eating leopard of Rudraprayag which had killed almost 400 people before being put to rest. But, as he says, such a number is not conceivable these days. 

  In describing in some detail the actual search for the Thunag man-eater the author takes the reader through all the steps and alternatives: the cage trap, the machan, the tranquiliser gun, the tracking on foot. Sadly, in this case none of them worked, because the leopard was too canny and always a step ahead of the hunters. But in the process Suneet reveals honestly the forester's classic dilemma in such situations: should he kill the animal or try to save it?

  A forester's basic instinct, born of training and aptitude, is to try and capture the predator, not kill it. This, however, may take days and weeks and if the animal is not removed soon, or if its attacks continue in the interim period, public anger and political pressure to shoot it will mount. At such a point, persisting with efforts to capture the animal ( instead of killing it) becomes counter productive too- as Suneet notes wryly, the villagers' anger can turn into hostility towards the natural world, and undo years of painstaking efforts at educating them on the importance of conservation. For the forest officer it's a difficult choice to make: every human killed or injured is one too many, but at the same time time the man- eater may not be a deliberate villain but forced into this role by an injury ( usually inflicted by humans), old age or an accidental confrontation. A forester is, however, rarely allowed the time and  space to evaluate all these reasons/ options dispassionately, what with an ignorant media, opportunist politicians and fame seeking shikaris lusting for blood. As Suneet cautions: " Extermination of top carnivores will do more harm than good" and " Media and politics have to align with Nature conservation and education."

  In a lighter vein, Suneet also lists out the positive aspects of having a man-eater on the prowl in an area: the liquor stores, lovingly called "thekas" in the local dialect, close early in the evenings as everyone rushes to the safety of their homes; fewer drunks fall off hillsides, trying to find their way home on the narrow, winding paths; housewives are happy to have their husbands home to help out with the household chores! But the most interesting effect, as noticed by the author in Thunag and the villages around it, was the sudden spike in the construction of proper toilets. Inspite of govt. schemes and official claims about defecation free villages, people still prefer to go out in the open. A prowling man-eater, which hunts in the darkness of late evenings and early mornings, makes this a very dangerous proposition, and Suneet noticed that toilet construction in the area picked up steam during that period. Some good always comes of evil, is the old adage, I believe. Maybe the government could consider temporarily releasing a man-eater or two in those panchayats which are lagging behind in the Swacch Bharat targets!  

  " IN PURSUIT OF A MAN-EATER" is a very readable book full of empathy for the creatures of the wild and for the simple villagers who share the forested spaces with them. It fairly depicts a forester's perspective in an age when human and biotic pressures are becoming unsustainable. And finally, it opens an instructive window into the lives of villagers in the mountains. Suneet Bharadwaj should continue writing ( when he is not sitting on machans, that is ! )

IN PURSUIT OF A MAN-EATER

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Rs. 250.00

DILLI CHALO ! -- TO THE BORDERS OF DEMOCRACY.

   In Mr. Modi's New India coming is as difficult as going, as the chappie told the sexologist. When I came upto the mountains in June this year to take a break from Covid and Kejriwal it was like an obstacle race: what with police barriers, health checks and the need to obtain that priceless E-pass which stated that I would be quarantined if I was coming from a "hot spot." That made me break out in a cold sweat since I knew from experience that it would be some middle pass constable at the barrier in Parwanoo who would determine if I.P.Extension, Delhi 110092 was a hot spot or not. And since said constable would not know the difference between a hot spot and a G-spot, I would in all likelihood spend the better part of my remaining life in a quarantine centre which could, at any time, be declared an NRC detention centre by Mr. Amit Shah. An understanding D.C. Shimla, however, took care of that problem as also of the long queues at Shoghi, and we finally reached Puranikoti, offering thanks to the Lord in the manner of the pilgrim fathers when the Mayflower hove- to off the coast of an unsuspecting America.

  I had thought that returning to Delhi a few months later would be a cake-walk. It wasn't. Our doughty farmers had decided to have a few nights- out and sleep- ins at the Singhu border to personally witness the dawn of the Achhe Din above the Delhi skyline; the Haryana and Delhi police, with their customary generosity, had resolved to give them a cold bath with their water canons for free; and Mr. Modi had made up his mind that this was his Margaret Thatcher cum Ambani moment. The result was that the border was sealed like an Amazon parcel.

  We made it to I.P.Extension after surviving many detours, including one through Ghaziabad where they stopped building roads at the turn of the century ( the 18th century , that is.) I was keenly looking forward to spotting many Khalistanis, Pakistanis, Urban Naxals, Maoists, terrorists and fragments of the Tukde Tukde gang on the way, as had been promised by many union Ministers, but was disappointed: there was only one suspicious looking chap near the vividly named village of Pasinakalan, hiding with a camera behind a bush, but enquiries revealed that he was an anchor from one of the tukde tukde TV channels, grabbing a byte, or perhaps a bite, because the farmers would not share their pizzas with him.

  And so I am now in my Delhi flat, waiting for starvation to set in as the farmer blockade intensifies; it's a good time to reflect on the upper and middle-class Delhi-wallahs in their sterile bubbles. Citizens of Delhi are a class apart ( may their tribe NOT increase). They don't give a fig, or an avocado, about the farmers' issues as they get their food from Big Bazaar and JIO retail, their news from Arnab Goswami and Navika Kumar, and their cheap thrills from Netflix and Amazon Prime. They are outraged by farmers having pizzas and foot massages at the Tikri border, not by the 10000 farmer suicides every year or by women and children sleeping in the open at night with temperatures dipping to four degrees celsius. Wannabe Adanis all, they hate any disruption of their vacuous cycle of life, centered around Gymkhana Club, the Audi parked outside their Greater Kailash house, dinner at Sana-Di-Ge in Chanakyapuri , the evening stroll in Lodhi gardens. They are the frogs who think the water will always be at a comfortable 24 degrees celsius, even as the BJP lights one fire after another under them.

  It was freezing cold on the drive to Delhi, but the cockles of my aging heart were warmed by the compassion being shown by our Prime Minister towards the kissans and the jawans in equal measure. The former were repeatedly assured that their were demands would be considered sympathetically, even as he proclaimed at every opportunity that there would be no roll back of the three Acts. He dedicated himself to our brave soldiers even as they were made to shell out- voluntarily, of course- more than Rs. 200 crores from their salaries towards the PM CARES fund. He is constantly talking to farmers- the problem, however, is that the kissans he harangues are usually a couple of thousands of miles away from where the protestors are camping at the Delhi borders. Even his vaunted oratory can't carry that far. It is an imprimatur of his empathy that, according to media reports, twenty farmers have so far perished at Delhi's borders- killing with kindness, you would say ?

  As for Delhi itself, it almost appears that history is visiting us again. Modern Delhi has been the site of seven cities before the present one: Mehrauli, Siri, Tughlaqabad, Jahanpanah, Ferozabad, Dinpanah and Shahjehanabad. Thanks to the arrogance and ineptitude of this government, an eighth city now appears to be coming up at the Singhu- Kundli border. It already has a population of two lakhs or so ( more than any of the earlier seven cities, it may be noted), gyms, massage parlours, laundromats, stalls stocking everything from Parle biscuits to shoes, outlets serving pizzas, biryani, coffee, tea and Indian "thalis", even its own newspaper, appropriately named Trolley Times. The protestors are also setting down roots here- literally. The have planted vegetables on the road dividers and the berms of the highway, and expect to harvest them next year, no doubt a gentle reminder to the govt. that as you sow so shall you reap ! And this is only the beginning, for let us not forget that we are dealing here with a community- the Sikhs- who have been the pioneers of the Indian diaspora in the developed world, known for their ingenuity and organisational skills. Soon it will be time to give the new city a name: since the township has been born of the arrogance and pride of one supreme leader, I would suggest " Hubristan", or, if an Indian sounding one more germane to the issues at hand is preferred, then why not  "MSP nagar" ? 

  The times also stir up a wisp of dejavu. Delhi is- or soon will be- under siege by the farmers, exactly 163 years after it was last besieged by the soldiers of the East India Company in 1857. Then, as now, the siege was led by the sturdy Sikhs who marched along the same Ambala- Karnal- Panipat- Delhi route that today's farmers are taking. I sincerely hope we Delhi-wallahs have read our history, if nothing else. In 1857 Delhi had to surrender, if you are old enough to recollect.

PRIORITISING THE NRI VOTE ALONE IS DISCRIMINATORY

    It is no secret that an overwhelming proportion of the Indian diaspora abroad roots for Mr. Modi, mesmerized by his hallucinatory vision, "Sholay" persona and unkept promises. The current of nationalism courses strongly in their veins, perhaps to assuage the latent guilty feeling of having deserted their country for a better life abroad. And yet, safely insulated by a few thousand miles and cushioned from the daily shocks in this country, they like to believe that India is becoming a Valhalla under Mr. Modi. The grass, after all, is always greener on the other side- especially if you don't have to do the mowing.

   The BJP is far too shrewd to have missed this joker in the rigged pack of cards it has been dealing out for the last six years. According to official figures, there are 10. 17 million NRIs who are registered to vote in Indian elections ( but rarely do so because under present rules they have to come physically to their respective polling booths to cast their vote). The importance of this captive vote bank for the BJP cannot be over emphasized: it translates roughly into 20000 votes per Parliamentary constituency, which perhaps is more than the average winning margin for a seat! The BJP is not wrong in considering this an almost captive vote bank.

  This is the actual backdrop against which we must assess the latest proposal of the Election Commission of India ( ECI ) to allow NRIs to vote in all elections via the ETPBS ( Electronically Transmitted Postal Ballot System ). The dog whistle is loud and clear and the ECI has an acute ( albeit selective) sense of hearing. On the face of it, this appears to be a progressive step but is not: it is a cold blooded, calculated, discriminatory gambit and raises many questions.

  First, why should NRIs be given the right to vote at all as long as they stay abroad ? They have no stakes in this country  and are usually in queue for citizenship of their adopted country . They pay no direct or indirect taxes in India. Many of them do derive some income in India from bank deposits, equity holdings, rents, savings accounts etc. but most of them pay no tax on this also, either in India or in the country where they are resident/working. Yes, they do send almost US $ 70 billion in remittances, but then the recipients of this money in India do get to vote, so why should the NRI enjoy a privilege that other citizens do not ? The battle cry of the American war of Independence was " No taxation without representation ! " The logic in the case against NRIs is " No representation without taxation." The poorest migrant labourer from Bihar has a better claim to the vote than the richest NRI because he pays a tax even when he buys a kilogramme of salt, whereas the latter pays nothing ( in India ) on the millions he makes in Silicon valley. But millions of labourers rarely get to vote ( as we shall see) because of systemic deficiencies.

  Second, why should NRIs have any say in determining who, or which party, forms a govt. here when they will be completely untouched by the effects of any decision taken by this govt.? The citizen who lives in India has to suffer the consequences of his choice, and therefore has a vital stake in govt formation. The NRI is safely cushioned from the consequences of his vote, therefore his nationalism, or capitalism, or Marxism, or Luddite-ism, should not be allowed to influence the process here. It is like allowing a non- shareholder of a company to cast his vote at the AGM.

  The ECI's recommendation to allow electronic postal voting for NRIs alone is also wrong because it is selective, discriminatory and elitist on three counts. There are tens of millions of citizens in this country who are unable to vote because they cannot access their polling booths: the ECI has not shown any urgency or concern to give them a similar facility as it has now recommended for the NRIs.

  According to the Census 2011 there are 45.40 crore migrants ( mostly labour) of which 28 crore are eligible to vote- they constitute 35% of the total registered voters in the country ! But most of them are unable to vote because they are by definition migratory, moving from state to state or place to place, have their votes in their villages but cannot afford to go back to their villages to cast their vote.

  The number of people suffering from certified disabilities is 21.90 million; they too find it difficult to vote in a country where public spaces are not at all disabled friendly. Merely providing a wheel chair at a polling booth is only a symbolic gesture, the real challenge is getting from the residence to the booth, and in negotiating the long queues there.

  A third category which is discriminated against is Senior Citizens. Even if we ignore the people in the 60 + category ( 104 million ), that still leaves 13.73 million people in the 80 + group, for most of whom even stepping out of the house is fraught with risk.

  The vast majority of voters in these three vulnerable categories go unrepresented in our electoral process because they are unable to access the polling booths. Which, incidentally, is the primary reason why their welfare seldom features in the govt's policies. One would have expected that the ECI and the central govt. would have devised a scheme to first extend the benefit of ETPBS to them, before doing so for their blue eyed NRIs. For these are voters living right here, not thousands of miles away: surely they should have at least an equal if not greater say in choosing a government to rule them. The technological architecture- Aadhar, internet connectivity, mobile phones, ID verification process - is already available to enable the ETPBS for them also, so why this obsession for the NRIs alone?

  By all means give the ETPBS to the NRIs if you must, but give the benefit first to the citizens who reside here but have been disenfranchised by either the vagaries of fate or our own policies. This would ensure greater participation of the actual citizens of the country in our democratic process.

  

POETIC JUSTICE.

  I am afraid we have been most unkind to our judges these past few days, accusing them of lacking in both humour and the finer sensitivities. We regard them as dull persona, so boring that they are unable to entertain even a doubt, their vocabulary limited to "whereas" and "preponderance of evidence" and  "catena of rulings" etc. Not so. My eyes have now been prised open by an Additional Sessions judge in Delhi who earlier this month delivered his judgment in verse ! Seriously, you can google it. He was adjudicating on an application for bail which the police, as is their wont, was forcefully resisting. The ADJ, after discussing the background of the case in flowery doggerel, granted bail but had a cryptic message for the prosecution in the final stanza of his order:

   Take your freedom from the cage you are in,

   Till  the trial is over, the state is reigned in;

  The state proclaims to have the cake and eat it too,

  The court comes calling: before the cake is eaten, bake it too.

This is not only good law, it is good culinary advice too: you can't cook someone's goose without baking it, even though our Supreme Court these days has an innovative recipe in which there are different sauces for the goose and for the gander. But I am on a different point here: doggerel jurisprudence is definitely preferable to sealed cover or Master of the Roster jurisprudence, it lends a softness to  the harshness of the law and somewhat softens the pain of the convict. For example, instead of being told that he is sentenced to be executed, an accused would much rather prefer these lilting lines:

" And so, to put this case reluctantly to bed,

You shall swing by the neck until you are dead."

Why, it almost sounds like a lullaby , the type Neerja used to sing to our two sons when they gave her too much trouble at bedtimes as enfants terrible. And who knows, this thing might catch on, and very soon petitions might also be couched in verse. Arnab Goswami's next Article 32 plea might begin like this:

And may it please your Lords,

Even I am completely out of words

To describe how the law is trying to overawe,

My TRP given right to say that day is night,

And to stretch the truth along with my vocal chords."

  Or the next time the irrepressible Mr. Prashant Bhushan posts a tweet about his favourite judge the Attorney General may string him up with this poetic advice:

Having read all the tweets, it is my advice

That Mr. Bhushan's words are no surprise;

He has said nothing new

These things we all knew,

But since voicing the truth amounts to dissent

Therefore he is held liable for contempt.

Surely, this verse is worth more than just one rupee ?

Reverting to the Delhi case, however, I learn that the accused has still not been released because the chaps in the police station are all in a huddle trying to figure out what exactly the order meant. More accustomed to the curse than the verse, to crime rather than rhyme, they are now thinking of consulting Mr. Shashi Tharoor who is always happy to encourage anyone who displays a scripturient urge.

I would love to be in court to hear these poetic exchanges between bench and bar; why, it would be almost like a "kavi sammelan" in my home town of Kanpur (minus the Kanpuria expletives, of course) or the recent Tata Literary Festival without the self serving censorship nobody told poor Mr. Noem Chomsky about last week: he had come to court expecting to get a fair hearing, but discovered his name had been removed from the cause list, just as the Tanishq ad had been removed from your screens. Must say the Tatas have been getting pretty good at showing a yellow streak when confronted with any likely unpleasantness or criticism. And speaking of colours,  pretty soon they may even rebrand their RED LABEL tea as SAFFRON LABEL tea- that would immensely please a certain ex- tea seller, what? 

  But the celestial Calliope, the Greek goddess of poetry, does not reside in Indian courts only. Courts in America too mix the lyrical with the judicial, at least when they are not sentencing people to the electric chair by the dozen . (Incidentally, I hear that TESLA is coming out with a more fuel efficient version of the electric chair, called FRYEM.) Here is a gem I discovered in a law journal. It is from the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania and involved a dispute between one Mrs. Liddle and Mr. Schulz. The former had bought two emus from Mr. Schulz to start an emu farm but the emus refused to breed, probably because they were not emused by their job description. Liddle filed a suit against Schulz for recovery of the price paid by her. Losing in the trial court, she then filed an appeal in the SCOP. The appeals judge was one Michael Eakin. Dismissing the case, the judge ruled, in iambic pentameter:

 The learned trial court, in well reasoned words,

  Held Liddle's case was as flightless as the birds;

  And her appeal, in turn, we must now find

  As barren as the breeders herein maligned. 

   Now, I must confess, I would not at all mind losing a case if it was put to me in such rhythmic and poetic form. So here's a suggestion for all our judges: instead of writing 2000 page judgments or orders in Sanskrit, why not simply pen a sonnet,  limerick , ode, elegy, ballad, acrostic or the wonderful Indian "doha" (of Kabira fame) ? It would save the courts time, educate the bar in the finer use of language, and send the accused to jail in a happy frame of mind, lustily singing: " Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage..."  Poetry can transform lives, and perhaps the law too.

I now await the elevation of the said ADJ to the High Court and keenly look forward to him finding words that rhyme with "habeas corpus". Once this milestone is reached then perhaps our courts will be able to overcome their reluctance to engage with these two words. That would truly be poetic justice.