More at http://www.sanctuaryasia.com | Perspective
I cannot imagine a tomorrow without all those experiences I had. I want other children to feel the awe of
wildernesses 20 years from now. But I cannot do this alone.an open, well-ventilated area where it
was easier to work, record vital signs,
draw blood, collect hair samples and
parasites, check canines to age her, and
record body measurements.
The real task was, of course, weighing
the animal! I watched as a teak branch
was brought down, a huge sack spread
with the majestic beast placed on it (not
an easy task). With the sack secured
to the teak log, a spring balance was
attached. Watching from a distance I
wondered how they would lift the heavy
cat. The lioness now looked like it was
in a huge hammock. Between 10 and
12 people united to lift that beautiful
creature off the ground and the scale
then revealed its weight.
Little did I imagine that then
some years later, I would turn from
tiny spectator to a part of the entire
operation. Many years later I found
myself in Gir again, in a diff erent season.
The lush green Gir forests I remembered
as a child had metamorphosed into a
leafl ess, dun-coloured landscape. The
scorching Saurashtra heat, 46oC was
daunting but adrenalin had kicked in and
nothing mattered, not the blinding sun
nor the searing wind. I was fi nally part of
something I was born to do... be a part of
a team working to protect endangered
wild creatures.
MORE THAN A COOL JOB
The responsibility allocated to me was to
note measurements for morphometric
data and to check on the anaesthetised
lion’s vital signs. There was no room for
laxity or error. Focused totally on the task
at hand, I found myself smiling inwardly
at the amazing feeling that I was fi nally
becoming “my father’s daughter”.
Somewhere between being a
spectator, watching my dad collar
mysterious desert creatures, lions and
tigers, I was now assisting him in the fi eld.
My life had come full circle.
When I was little, it was just the
excitement of being part of the coolest
job in the world. Now, years later I
have come to understand the critical
importance of research for conservation
and to understand ethology or the study
of animal behaviour.
Over decades the work of scientists
such as my father’s has helped provide
management advice for Protected
Area conservation, securing forested
corridors to ensure gene fl ow and to
avoid bottlenecking wild populations.
Had the bottleneck that confronted the
lions of Gir in the 1900s not been dealt
with when their population was down
to less than 50, they would have been
lost forever. Times change. Technologies
change, but the fact is that 50 has
turned to 500 and we are now worried
about a totally diff erent problem. Will
this population be inbred? How will
genetic variation be introduced into the
population of Gir lions?Unlike tigers
where we can work toward mixing and
matching isolated populations through
corridors, what is to be the fate of the
lions of Gir?
With the passage of each year,
the need to conserve wild species has
become self-evident. I still accompany
my father on his never-ending fi eld
trips, but I can now notice the small but
disturbing changes. The desert paradise
together with its fascinating creatures
is fast disappearing. The chinkaras we
took for granted have begun to make
fewer appearances as we ride across
the salt desert. Many grasslands are
now ploughed for cultivation. Kutchh
and Saurashtra seem to have lost
some of their ‘vastness’, for lack of a
better word.
Each time I see a spiny-tailed lizard’s
burrow dug up, my heart sinks. So many
animals I used to see and was in awe
of, are now rare or invisible. Even the
ubiquitous wolf has become a rare sight
to celebrate. The same goes for the
hyaena that patrolled the wolf’s turf at
night. Yes, one does hear the occasional
howl of a lone jackal in the distance, and
that sense that the desert is alive is still
there, but not quite the way it used to
be. Gone too are the grazing herds of
sheep that the migrating Rabari would
bring in from central Gujarat during the
short monsoon. What one sees now
is a landscape marred by wind mills,
denuded and dug out for limestone,
and glittering solar fi elds of green
energy. But has this change usheredAn aspiring wildlife conservationist,
Harshini Jhala is currently pursuing her
Masters in Conservation Biology from the
University of Kent.in happiness for the local community?
Not for the Rabaris I presume. I see
the bounty of the arid landscape
that sustained traditional livelihoods
and local wildlife with which they had
coexisted for millennia being displaced
by unplanned, modern development.
Does this leave me without hope? No.
Despite the dismal prognosis and the
laments of conservationists who suggest
that we are only delaying the inevitable, I
am still hopeful. There are success stories
and they paint a diff erent picture. I have
witnessed a few myself including the
magical recovery of the Asiatic lion and
the promise that the tiger will outlive
the dire predictions of yesteryears.
Across the planet, wolves are recolonising
parts of their prior ranges in the U.S.
and Europe. Bears too are returning to
a Europe populated by younger, more
visionary people. In Chad the scimitar
horned oryx has been reintroduced and is
being protected.
The impossible is doable.
Since I was a child I have admired my
father’s work, and now I am determined
to use that experience and knowledge
to take the battle forward. I cannot think
of a better way to spend my life than
to work to restore nature, repair past
damage done, and protect, savour and
understand better the delicate balance
on which the life-support systems of our
planet function. It’s a dream that can and
must come true and for this to happen
more people must somehow work
together in joint purpose.
I have a sentimental reason that
draws me to conservation as well. I have
gained so much from the wilderness and
it is time for me to
give back. I cannot imagine
a tomorrow without all those
experiences I had.
I want other children
to feel the awe of
wildernesses 20 years
from now. But I cannot
do this alone. t