Beyond the Tall Grass: Kaziranga National Park

By Kalyani Candade. This article was originally published in the New Indian Express, Chennai on Sunday March 25th 2009.

He tossed his head vigorously and pawed the earth, twice. Then, magnificent horns arced inward in a wide curve, nostrils flaring, he took one tentative step towards us. Again, he drank deeply of the fresh morning air, breathing in every new message the wind brought. It was early, still time for the alarm bells to go off when the tourist convoy began. “Don’t move”, our driver whispered and we froze, sitting, standing, on the seat, half off the step, hanging on with bated breath in the open jeep…

Finally, he decided we were worth investigating. There we stood, wildlife enthusiasts and wild water buffalo, face-to-face across a distance of thirty feet on a narrow forest road. Slowly, cautious step after cautious step, he closed the gap between us, majestic, proud, curious. And then a camera clicked. ALARM! A toss of head, a lightning turnaround, and off he went, thundering down the road he had just come up.

We were in Kaziranga National Park, Assam, more famously known as home to the highly endangered Great Indian One Horned Rhinoceros. Located at the edge of the Eastern Himalaya Biodiversity Hotspot, covering 430 sqkm in the districts of Golaghat and Nagaon, the National Park has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and attracts visitors from across the world. The morning was young and we hadn’t yet seen rhino, but this was a bonus; encountering at such close quarters the magnificent ancestor of the domestic buffalo, the Wild Asiatic Water Buffalo. Also high on the IUCN Red List of endangered species, estimates put the total population of his kind at less than 4000, with just about 2500 mature individuals.

We left him watching us from his hiding place in the tall elephant grass, curving horns a dead giveaway. The mist was clearing, and we could see stretching on all sides the vast grassland that Kaziranga is famous for, the early rays of the sun slanting across to tint the tall emerald blades with red-gold highlights. The air was chill, and a light wind made us even colder in the open vehicle. Expectations ran high as we scanned all sides for a glimpse of rhino.

Suddenly our driver pulled to a side. “Listen”, he whispered, pointing to the sky. For a moment, nothing, and then, a distinctive thud-thud-thud, like a helicopter flying overhead. HORNBILL! I had heard the noise before, made by the wing-beat of the Great Pied Hornbill, heralding its approach from almost a kilometer away. And then, we saw not one, but two of the large, majestic birds as they flew languidly overhead. One of them settled on a tree nearby, giving us plenty of time to look at his brilliant yellow and black casque. I felt strangely privileged.

By now, the sun was fairly high in the sky, and in the river along the track, tortoises were making their appearance, jostling and shoving for prime basking locations on dead tree trunks. Frequently we surprised swamp deer browsing on the track, and jungle fowl busily scratching away at huge mounds of rhino dung. We hadn’t seen rhino yet, though.

“The visibility is bad this time of the year,” explained our guide. “The grass is high, that is why you can’t see them.” We kept peering hopefully into the tall grass, and caught perhaps a flash or two of grey. Small consolation.

And then we rounded a bend and pulled up to a side, along with four or five other Jeeps, all attention trained on a clearing with a large mound of rhino dung. What were we waiting for, I wondered. “Rhino” explained our guide. “He’ll come now.” And how did he know that? Was the rhino such a creature of habit? “He does potty in the same place every day”, I was told. “He comes here every morning to do his job”.

Sure enough, within minutes, the rhino arrived. He looked at the battery of Jeeps rather unhappily, then proceeded to do what he had to do. Cameras clicked and whirred to record the moment. Then, as silently as he came, he melted away. I didn’t know whether to feel happy that I had seen rhino, finally, or to feel ashamed at what we had collectively just done. Was my need to see rhino so great that I was ready to deny him his dignity? The uneasy question refused to go away.

We saw more rhino on the last lap of our drive, scattered, browsing unconcernedly in the grass. The highlight, however, was a large herd of wild water buffalo resting on a sand bank, bulls, cows and calves, resting, sparring, cavorting… It helped bring back the joy of the earlier part of the morning, and the feeling of enrichment.

As we drove out of the sanctuary, I understood why Kaziranga was a World Heritage Site. Not just for its flagship species, but for the vast and diverse wealth of flora and fauna it protected. And I made a silent promise to the rhino. Next time, I would not lie in wait near his toilet. The piles of dung would be enough indication that he was well and thriving.

This article was originally published in the New Indian Express, Chennai on Sunday March 25th 2009.