Relevant even after a decade of its first appearance

SAHYADRI: Reminiscences and Reflections edited by Sudhirendar Sharma. 

Photographs by N.A. Naseer. Prakruti, Sirsi, Karnataka, 2009.

THE benevolent mountain ranges of Sahyadri, the Western Ghats that runs parallel to the West coast of peninsular India, is a unique landscape that must be why it is even recognized as an UNESCO World Heritage Site. There is much to celebrate here thanks to its highly vibrant natural heritage. However, it has its own share of sorrows too, as conflicts keep arising due to competing forces in action for exploiting its rich natural resources. Understanding such pains hidden in these spectacular hills and valleys, therefore, is increasingly becoming necessary, since it impacts the life of billions in peninsula. The book, Sahyadri: Reminiscences and Reflections serves this purpose enormously.

  

The theme based books on Western Ghats by different experts, treating domains like geology, geography, biodiversity, large wildlife, landscape dynamics, among others, are not rare. And, innumerable literature too is available for user groups like eco-tourists, trekkers and bird watchers. But, this scholarly book stands out as it presents multiple perspectives lucidly, which could enlighten wide spectrum of readers, from ecologists to economists to policy makers. At the same time, it could be enjoyed by the general reader like a coffee table book with compelling photographs. The only other book, perhaps, which could be compared with this in this genre would be Sahyadris: India’s Western Ghats: A Vanishing Heritage, edited by ecologist Kamala Bawa and photographer Sandesh Kadur. Sudhirendar Sharma, a writer and sustainable development professional who has meticulously documented the dynamics of natural resources governance over the decades, has edited this book of eighty pages.

The captivating images of the landscape and its life forms by brilliant photographer N.A. Naseer, have added enormous value to this book. As the editor puts it in his preface, it is an attempt to capture these rich natural phenomena and the challenges in defending them. It focuses mainly on multiple events that took place from the eighties onwards that continue to influence the present and future of these mountains. It can, thus, be seen as a sequel to his own earlier book, Paradise Lost, Almost (2006). While most of the articles here are a reproduction of published works in mainstream print media by different scholars, a few are exclusively written ones.

The first one, ‘Mountains without snow peaks’, gives a vibrant overview of diverse life forms that make this landscape distinct. From of next fourteen write-ups, four broad categories can be discerned. The first set is about the Appiko movement (a ‘tree embracing’ movement), a unique protest by farmers and peasants that originated in the hills of Karnataka in the eighties. It was to protect their surrounding forests from the government agencies, that had started mono-culture plantations by clear felling trees. It later evolved into a movement by itself, obviously inspired by the Chipko movement of Himalayas. While ecologist Madhav Gadgil’s article gives intricate natural science ethos that must underline the forest management, environmentalist Claude Alvares argues for respecting the voice of local communities in policies and practises of natural resources management. The third one is by the editor himself, which comprehends the importance of genesis and evolution of such people’s action. These insightful arguments have enhanced the worthiness of this book, which are relevant even today in discourses on sustainability and equity.

An article by the editor that stands out as second category is on the history and impact of the ‘Save Western Ghats movement’, one of the most important people’s movements of independent India that took place in the eighties. The historical march from Kerala to Gujarat and the subsequent sensitizing efforts, not only caught the imagination of the wider public on the importance of Sahyadris, but also became a watershed for many environmental movements in subsequent years. Such spirit of collective action seems to be the only true hope left for this ecologically sensitive area.

The third bunch of articles narrates the bewildering mosaics of diverse forms of land and life that  make this unique habitat. And the last pool of essays represent the multiple challenges this land and its people face due to depletion of natural resources caused by wrong priorities in developmental policies.

Much water has flown now in the rivers of Sahyadri, since this book was published in 2009. Once seemingly simple challenges have now grown into complex conflicts. Though many solutions have been proposed over the last decade to address them, including that of Madhava Gadgil’s Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP), and the report of the Kasturirangan Committee, there seems to be no forward movement. Pandurang Hegde, an activist of the Appiko movement, and incidentally the publisher of this book, believes that a fresh scholarly effort is needed to capture the magnitude of all the issues that are shooting up now in different trajectories. Indeed, any such effort must look into the eco-friendly traditional lifestyles of ‘ecosystem’ people of Sahyadri as well, which may help in exploring the ways forward that could balance economic aspirations and ecological obligations.

Keshava H. Korse

Conservation Biologist and

writer based in Sirsi, Karnataka

First published in the Seminar, November 2020. Few copies of the book are still available. If interested, drop a mail to appiko@gmail.com

One among the muri

Things seemed settled after rather turbulent rains. The clouds had left the sky blue, and multiple hues of green had covered the land. Gangu knew the Chilar must be calling, its crystal clear flows inviting girls to engage with her in some water games. 

Much before she could pronounce, Dhurpi, Thaki, Rakshmi, Janni and Kanti were ready to head for the river with their share of stuff to carry. In their early teens, it was that part of the year this bubbly bunch awaited with excitement for being in Karjat.  

As girls raced ahead dancing and giggling, the familiar setting echoed the past with its melancholic unease for Gangu. Twice their age, she was still ferrying the girls to the riverfront while all her peers had moved out with their grooms. Why?

Is she short of feminine attributes or is the lady luck taking time to smile on her? Her thoughts were speared by a loud call by one among the bunch ordering others to take their positions along the riverfront, to set themselves up for a day of fun and frolic. 

Gangu inspected shallow waters for depth and clarity, to lay trap for catching muri. For her and rest of her clan, what was a freshwater loach to others was an enticing delicacy. She often wondered how her Katkari tribe would survive if there were no muri!

Kanti had led the group to scout for slimy snails and small crabs to set the bait for unsuspecting muri. Placing the crushed bait beneath few stones placed on a black pan, the entrapment was carefully lowered in shallow waters for muri to forage upon.     

The crystal clear waters flowing at a leisurely pace allowed muri the so-called free lunch as the girls went about washing muddy clothes and dirty utensils. With few muri busy taking the bait, the pan would be slowly lifted out of water for the first of many such harvests.  

With sumptuous pickings from different locations, Gangu was ready to feed the girls with delicious muri cooked over a makeshift stove. By the time the girls had danced around and the clothes had dried, the catch was enough to take back for the household. 

Little did it occur to any in the bubbly bunch that they were learning a rather unique practice of catching small fish that would often evade fish nets? That they could learn the trick while at play has been an unwritten virtue of such informal schooling. 

While treading home after a busy day, Gangu thought for herself if she too was not one among the unsuspecting muri who awaited someone to cast a bait for her. Was she ready to give herself up for someone’s consumption, she wasn’t sure yet.

- Sudhirendar Sharma

(Rajeev Khedkar, who has spent a lifetime working for securing land rights for Katkari in Raigad, has helped provide the basic framework for this short story).

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The short story is based on the daily life of Katkari girls, the once forest people living in the Western Ghats of Maharashtra (Raigad and Thane), with a special relationship to forest creatures such as the tiger and carried  the sir name of ‘waghmare’, (wagh = tiger, mare = slayer; so tiger slayer). Today this tribe is highly dependent on others for their livelihoods and for a place to live. Most Katkari are landless with only periodic and tenuous connections to their original nomadic, forest-based livelihoods. Many have become bonded laborers working on the brick kilns/charcoal units serving the urban and industrial interests of Greater Mumbai. Their special skills in freshwater fishing, hunting of small mammals/birds remain exclusive.

Malin: A haunting manmade tragedy

The Malin Memorial: author (in hat) with Pandurang Hegde

The village of Ahupe, overlooking the twin mountains of Machindergad and Gorakhgad in the Western Ghats, is tucked picturesquely at an altitude of almost 4,000 ft in the Ambegaon taluk of Pune. This little plateau is a favourite of weekend trekkers who climb upwards from Khopivali in the Konkan to enjoy the lush green valleys and amazing waterfalls. Despite its craggy hills and picturesque dales, it remains one of the most deprived areas, inhabited predominantly by the Mahdeo Koli tribe.

The undulating landscape on basalt rocks is largely grassy, though the cattle population in the region remains sparse. This is because the grass cover is not fodder for cattle, but has a role in binding the top soil layer on the rocky surfaces. The region is home to several devrais, sacred groves protected by rural communities to preserve their biodiversity.

Not many trekkers and tourists ever notice that about 10 km from Ahupe is the uninhabited village of Malin, where no humans live today, because on July 30, 2014, a massive landslide had swallowed up almost the entire tribal village of around 50 families. The final death toll was 153 when the rescue operation was stopped, and around 100 people were reported missing. Nothing of the old village remains except for its school building. A memorial with the names of men, women and children who died has been erected by the State Forest Department. In addition, trees bearing the names of the deceased have been planted to make the lifeless slope look green again.

The Malin tragedy has been long forgotten, but it did trigger a familiar environment versus development debate then, leading to inconclusive studies on the cause-effect of landslides. Interestingly, a few months before the tragic event, in December 2013, the infamous Western Ghats Ecology Experts Panel of the Union Environment Ministry had declared 37 villages in the Ambegaon taluk as ecologically sensitive, banning all kinds of mining, quarrying, and big construction activities. Ironically, the taluk continues to remain a hotspot for real estate developers who entice city-dwellers to park their disposable income in farm houses and boutique residencies.

There were incessant rains the week before the tragedy, as much as 600 mm, which had triggered mudslide of a deeply weathered soils the slope of which are known to be susceptible to disturbance. It is recorded that disturbances were caused by the flattening of large tracts of hills to promote paddy cultivation as a source of livelihood for the tribal under the government scheme called Padkai. In reality, padkai is a traditional practice wherein tribes carefully select small patches of barren uplands to be converted into fields using bullocks. Appropriation of this by the government resulted in heavy earth-moving equipment leveling the land with no regard to its vulnerability.

Given the nature of such ecological devastations, attribution of cause(s) remains a contested subject. The Western Ghats remain as vulnerable as these were on the night of July 30, 2014, and no less than remembering the day as an avoidable human tragedy can have those perished rest in peace.

Utter desolation has settled on the spot which was full of life only a few years ago. Where households once stood with its teeming population, the traveler now beholds a lonely wilderness of concrete memorial of dead people, tall grass and abandoned building, the fittest emblem of the manmade folly. Has the tragic fate of Malin stirred the popular imagination in this country or have we forgotten the past to commit ourselves to repeat it? With landslides being a recurring phenomenon ever since, have we not circumscribed our ecological vision like a frog in the well?

First published in the Hindu BusinessLine, issue dated July 30, 2020