The last wilderness

Being the warden's daughter had its perks, it did not necessarily entail going to the national park to see animals, I literally grew up with them - an abandoned leopard cub was brought home when she was just a few days old, a bear that was our house guest for some weeks, a navrang that came injured and stayed till death did us apart, a gazelle, some monkeys that came to town to get their ears pierced to wear silver rings that would help in census later…. Of course, not counting the cows, goats, the dogs and the cats that walked in and out of our house, not talking of Michel Angelo, though.

Perhaps that was my first lesson in minimalism and my first feel of incredible glee. When Fanta and Thums Up were pulled out of its wide neck, ahmm! It was pure ecstasy!
That delight was our prime reason to go to Hazaribagh National Park, of which my father was the warden for several years. The park, spread over 72 sq. miles, had no electricity, no phones, but it was our fiefdom and we loved it.

The improbable fridge was what the national park was - pristine and untouched by man. The Sal trees were marvelously thick and in it lived a huge crop of sambhar, spotted deer, bison, rabbits, wolf and a wide variety of orioles, curlews, finches, sparrows and lapwings. There were leopards and bears too, but of a tiger all I ever saw was pugmarks cast in plaster of paris and stories of its sightings.

Being the warden's daughter had its perks, it did not necessarily entail going to the national park to see animals, I literally grew up with them - an abandoned leopard cub was brought home when she was just a few days old, a bear that was our house guest for some weeks, a navrang that came injured and stayed till death did us apart, a gazelle, some monkeys that came to town to get their ears pierced to wear silver rings that would help in census later…. Of course, not counting the cows, goats, the dogs and the cats that walked in and out of our house, not talking of Michel Angelo, though.

For some time, my father had a small quarter inside the park, actually in the middle of the jungle. A non-descript tiled house with cement floors and windows without grills, served as our weekend getaway. Invariably, on Saturdays, parents and we kids, the four of us, would dump essentials in the rickety jeep and drive nearly 28 kilometers inside our jungle house that was surrounded by thick sal trees and orange balsams that threw in that much-needed gladness. At night, the air would be laden with the fragrance of wet eucalyptus leaves and the mornings would unwrap with chirping of the birds.

In the middle of the jungle, 10 kms from the Pokhariya entry point at Patna-Hazaribagh highway, was the canteen, an island within a man-made lake. The wooden bridge often creaked after rains and we would run the tiny distance with our eyes closed, asking God to save us from falling into the moss- burdened water

Another favorite pastime was hoisting huge salt licks (blocks of salt) on tree trunks to provide that extra zing for the deer family. And one day, out of sheer curiosity, I dug my nails into the salt lick and actually tasted it. Whoosh! It hit straight, it was that strong! After that salt licks were left for the deer, while we went romping after father, an avid photographer, in bushes and marshlands looking for rare birds. One night, we also sat on a machan, to watch a leopard kill a goat that was tied to a tree. It was a ploy to provide food to the hungry leopard that often strayed into the neighboring villages looking for food.

I peeked into childhood and minimalism again when I visited the park a week ago. There is still no electricity, no phones, no fridges. It still has 43 rooms, with beds for Rs 75 night. The only addition is the paddleboat that can be hired for Rs 25 for 20 minutes. The entrance fee has gone up - Rs 80 for a car, Rs 200 for a bus, one rupee for a cycle while pedestrians can walk in free. The canteen, that can seat 50 people, still serves dal-rice and vegetable for Rs 20, half a plate of chicken comes for Rs 35.

The number of animals seems to have dwindled; the park has lost its sheen. The porcelain-skinned Bengali women who came in busloads earlier have gotten fewer in number; the flowers have dried, the bridge no longer creaks. My father is old now and Hazaribagh National Park is no longer my fiefdom.

But go there once; the woods are still gorgeous. And the feeling sheer catharsis!

Published in Discover India magazine, March 2004.