The Asiatic lion, slightly different from its African cousin, was a highly sought-after trophy during the British Raj. There are descriptions of its cold-blooded slaughter, giving us an insight into the colonial mindset. The discomfiture we feel reading of the gratuitous hunting of lions shows us just how differently we now view the situation. Unfortunately, this change did not come about easily. These essays reveal the many decades it took before hunters realised how threatened these lions were. At the turn of the century, imperialist hunters were showing concern for the plight of lions in their writing, but they were still happy to obtain that very special permission to hunt one lion before he/she left.
It is interesting, however, to learn how fortunate we—and the lions—were that a generation of Junagadh nawabs were not keen hunters. Not only did they find excuses not to shoot lions, they actually provided complete protection at a very heavy cost to the exchequer. The foresight of these men allowed us to hold on to our pride and ensured a flourishing lion population. After Independence, when things could have gone wrong, some highly concerned and committed conservationists did not allow the situation to get completely out of hand.
It is clear that we also had some very sensitive politicians. It was moving to read the remarkable incident in Mahesh Rangarajan’s essay where he describes how then prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru found time to dictate a note providing the support needed to save the lions. And this, in an unrest-filled country just a few days after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, when he had many pressing problems on his hands. How much easier it would be for our natural heritage if our present-day politicians shared such a deep regard for nature!
E.P. Gee’s experiences make for fascinating reading: after taking hundreds of pictures and watching a pride of lions throughout the day, the inspector general of forests describes his excitement, as great as if he had shot a lion. This was a generation that grew up as hunters but realised that the time for hunting had passed. Instead, they committed themselves to protecting Indian wildlife. Whatever their field, they worked relentlessly to save the Indian wilderness—tea planters, princes, civil servants, foresters, or just concerned citizens.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a first-hand description of one of the most important conservation actions in the history of Independent India. The incident, when a few lions were relocated in UP in 1957, is generally described as a failure and is referred to whenever a second home for Gir lions is discussed. However, reading this piece for the first time, I found details that I had not previously come across. It gives a new perspective on relocation and leaves me more optimistic. Clearly, we should not consider it a complete failure. Essays like this underline the importance of bringing these texts into the public domain: it is a huge favour to the conservation community the world over.
In the last few decades our approach towards lions has changed: it is the genetics of the Gir lion that is both fascinating and an area of great concern.
There are many lessons to be learned from this book: many species, including the tiger, are going through situations similar to that of the lion at the turn of the 20th century. Such documentation is therefore crucial and it is important that it is disseminated widely.
This book certainly will interest people like myself who practise conservation but it is valuable reading also for all those who are concerned about the environment and wish to know more about our natural heritage.
