It starts to pour in the middle of the night. I wake at six to a gloomy morning, cold rain beating down through the trees. So much for bird-watching at first light. A party of German tourists, undeterred by the dank and wet, or just doggedly set on getting full value out of their Nepal package (Chitwan for nature, Pokhara for mountains, Kathmandu for culture), are setting off for their scheduled elephant ride. As we walk down to the river to see them off, I am warned about the leeches in the grass. Sure enough, I spot two slim black matchstick-sized worms leaping with surprising speed towards me, one grabbing my ankle. If there’s one thing in nature that fills me with cringing horror, it’s leeches. And hearing photographer Narendra Bisht’s stories of giant blood-engorged leeches encountered on his trip to Namdapha doesn’t help either. I am better off indoors, I decide.
Several hot cups of masala chai help but the weather still hasn’t let up. From the balcony of my wooden bungalow at the Gaida Jungle Lodge, I contemplate the rain-sodden prospect and try to philosophise. This is the terai forest and these are the rhythms of its seasons. One shouldn’t expect endless golden sunshine and animals parading themselves on demand. But it still feels like a letdown.
Then we get lucky. The sky clears in the afternoon; we scramble onto the howdah on Chanchal-kali’s back and set off into Chitwan’s heart. Across the river begins the layered forest — ferns and red-flowered wild ginger on the ground, an under-storey of kadipatta and other shrubs, semal, sheesham and khair trees soaring overhead, with lianas twining and joining the whole. Water pools everywhere, green and still or brown and seething with frogs. It would have been tough going but for our elephant, the original all-terrain vehicle. Chanchal-kali bears us steadily through the vegetation, bringing down the occasional branch that blocks our path, tunnelling deep into the jungle. I look up at the towering semal silk-cottons and imagine the forest in March when the trees are bare but for their big red flowers and the fragrant scent of kadipatta blooms fills the air. For now, the forest is wetly green, the trees hung with orchids and ferns, the creak of cicadas surrounding us. Just as I am lulled by the sway of the howdah, the mahout murmurs, “Bagh”. I’m hissing, “Where? Where?” and then I gasp. Very close, part-hidden by the foliage, gleams a young leopard cub, golden-furred, blood spatters on its mouth. It retreats into the undergrowth and we circle around in pursuit, catching up just as it ponders whether to climb a tree. We stare at each other for 10 minutes, but Chanchal is uneasy. She stands still at the mahout’s urging, but we can feel the deep shudders throbbing through her body. Sukhram, the mahout, tells us later that she was once savaged by a tiger and has never forgotten her fear of big cats.
We leave the leopard in the forest and emerge out in the grasslands, a golden panorama stretching out to the Rapti river and dark sal forests on the hills, the Sivaliks and the Burhi Rapti river to our south, the Mahabharat range to our north with snow-clad peaks rearing up beyond. Mountains, forests, grasslands and water are all visible in one wide sweep of the eye. It is this exceptional natural beauty, along with the presence of the Great One-horned Rhinoceros, which has given Chitwan National Park the status of a Unesco World Heritage Site. Apart from Kaziranga in Assam, this is the only national park where the endangered Rhinoceros unicornis can be found. And we soon come across two, a male and a female, placidly grazing in the elephant grass on the edge of the forest, hill mynas hopping on and off their backs.
I have a soft spot for ugly animals — warthogs are my favourite, but the rhino is a strong contender too. That armour-plated hide, piggy eyes and prehistoric look — they might have been left behind from the dinosaur age. The 20th century was not kind to them. Hunting by Rana rulers and their royal guests reduced rhino numbers to less than 100 at the turn of the century. An 11-day shikar party for King George V killed 18 rhinos, 39 tigers, two bears and several leopards. A hunt organised for Lord Linlithgow, whose lethal talents are on record at the Bharatpur National Park as well, knocked off an incredible 120 tigers, 38 rhinos, 27 leopards and 15 bears in Chitwan. Large-scale felling for timber decimated the sal forests. Logs were rolled down the Kosi, Narayani and Rapti rivers into British India to supply the railways with sleepers, disturbing and destroying rhino habitat.
The introduction of DDT in the 1950s allowed more people to clear, cultivate and settle in the malaria-ridden terai, and rhinos lost most of their habitat. What had once been a swampy jungle zone, an impenetrable barrier left untouched by the 19th-century Nepalese government to ward off enemy invasions from the Indian plains, became home to thousands of farmers growing paddy and mustard, and rearing large herds of cows and buffaloes. The settlers sidelined Tharu shifting cultivators, the only group then inhabiting the terai, who are believed to be genetically resistant to malaria. The Nepali government stoked the settlement process further by giving generous grants of land to ex-servicemen and people from the hills in order to cultivate a loyal political constituency in the region. Development aid from the USA fuelled more intensive agriculture, trade and industry.
As the terai was transformed, preserving its remaining wild vestiges became a priority. The former hunting reserve of the Ranas was declared as the Royal Chitwan National Park in 1973. Thanks to strict protection (and a spot of ‘compulsory relocation’ that saw more than 22,000 villagers evicted from the national park, and thousands more surrounding villagers denied access to grazing, fishing and other forest rights), the number of rhino in Chitwan climbed up to 535 in 1995. But another downturn in rhino fortunes came with the Maoist insurgency. The forests became off-limits to government officials and poachers had a field day. Today, a single rhino horn, weighing a kilo or more, can fetch US $40,000 and more in Hong Kong. If the rhino personifies endearing ugliness for me, for Chinese men it signifies raw sexual power. The cultural pluralist in me says that the Chinese are welcome to their animal analogies, but I can’t help thinking that rhino poaching is a pretty pathetic tale of human anxieties and appetites and the destruction that follows in their wake.
Now that the Maoists have joined the government, rhino numbers are bouncing back and so are the tourists. The park gets an astonishing 400,000 visitors every year. Fifty per cent of the revenues are directly spent on the villages in the buffer zone, a policy the Indian government could do well to emulate. According to our guide Hari Bhujel, each tourist creates three jobs, so it’s no wonder that they are welcomed and treated wonderfully in camps like Gaida, one of the seven lodges inside the national park. Gaida has its own team of elephants that are allowed into the park and an expert team of naturalist guides. Their programme varies with the seasons. After the monsoon rains, when the forest has reclaimed all the roads, the only way to view wildlife is on elephant-back or on the river. We float downstream in a dug-out canoe that sits low on the water, passing sandy shoals where marsh crocodiles and gharials bask in the sun. I am careful not to trail my hands in the water. Different kinds of kingfishers flash past, an adjutant stork paces the riverbank, plump golden plovers crowd the pebbles in shallow waters. The winter bird migrations from the north have just started. It’s very peaceful.
In January, villagers will be allowed into the park to cut grass for thatching their roofs. Then they will set fire to the grass to encourage fresh growth. That’s the best time to view wildlife, for the grass is more than 14 feet high the rest of the year, tall enough to hide a herd of elephants. From February to April runs the return migration of birds — Chitwan has recorded 552 species, half of all the birds found on the Indian subcontinent. Then there are the butterflies. A gorgeous swallowtail, its wings a shimmering black and mauve, leads us back into the forest. Hari tracks a deep-throated booming hoom-hoom call and leads us to a semal where a pair of large brown fish owls sits, puffing their neck feathers. On another ride, we come across a giant male rhino freshly gleaming with mud, seeking a shady respite from the high afternoon sun in the meadows. Another one lies in a wallowing pond, keeping a bored eye out in case we get too close.
We are beginning to feel the heat too and we turn back to the lodge for lunch and our promised treat — an elephant bath in the river. We’d seen a couple of tourists do this the previous day and they were ecstatic, so we decided to follow suit. We mount our bare-backed elephants, no howdah-trappings to hold on to, and at first, I’m nervous. An elephant’s back is very wobbly and the ground is a long way off. But Sukhram tells me how to sit and I immediately feel at home. Soon we are ambling down to the sunlit river and I feel like Sheena, queen of the jungle, ready to swing from a liana or two. The elephants enter the water, suck up huge quantities in their trunks and — this is the best bit — spray it all over their backs on us. It’s exhilarating, this shower of deliciously cool water that hits all at once, leaving us gasping for breath. It’s like playing holi, but much better. After a while the elephants roll over on their sides in the water; we scrub their thick bristly hides and they grunt contentedly. Heaven.
My love affair with elephants deepens when we visit the nearby breeding centre in Khorsor, Sauraha. Domesticated elephants are essential for patrolling, conservation and tourism in the park, and also for rescuing flood-hit villagers. The centre has several baby elephants, two of whom cross a fence with surprising agility to come lolloping up to us, their trunks snuffling at our hands, seeking hoped-for treats. Alas, we have come empty-handed and they desert us for a group of schoolboys who have biscuits to offer. Elephants really like to eat. Chanchal-kali who sets off for the forest with two balls of rice, molasses and grass tucked into her trunk like a tiffin box, soon begins to swipe at every passing stand of Saccharum grass that we come across in the meadows. But then, she has a figure to maintain.
While I’m having a more conventional bath one evening at the lodge, the drums start. A ‘Tharu Cultural Evening’ is about to begin. I arm myself with a gin and tonic and watch the white and red-clad dancers assemble. They are young men who have cycled in from a nearby village. They launch into a whirling War Dance, each dancer’s sticks striking another’s swiftly and surely. A Harvest Dance is followed by a Self-Defending Dance in which the stick-ends are set aflame and the dancer weaves arcs of fire around his body. The finale is a Happy Occasion Dance, a Bollywood-style jiggle and swivel. We move on to a barbecue under the starry sky and linger late, as fireflies glow on and off around us.
The festival of Dashain is approaching and it is a time for homecoming. Buffalo calves and goats will be sacrificed, the meat shared with family and friends. Many on the staff at the lodge are Tharus from local villages but they will be on duty. To lift their spirits, Prakash Neupane, the lodge manager, has gathered everyone in the open-air sitting area. Bolram strums a guitar; Hari leads the folk songs as Ram, Prakash and Dukhiram dance. Tomorrow we head back to Delhi, but tonight we share their music and laughter.
The information
Getting there by air
The nearest airport is Bharatpur, about 25km from Chitwan. Royal Nepal Airlines (www.royalnepal-airlines.com) has daily flights to Bharatpur from Kathmandu.
BY ROAD Sauraha, where a lot of the tourist accommodation is concentrated, is six hours by road from Kathmandu. Buses ply between Kathmandu and Tandi (6km from Sauraha). Your lodge can usually arrange transport for you from Kathmandu. BY TRAIN If you’re travelling from Delhi, alight at Gorakhpur and cross the border at Sanauli. A taxi to Sauraha will take about six hours. From eastern India, alight at Sagauli and cross the border at Raxaul Bazaar. A taxi to Sauraha takes about five hours. Lodges such as the Gaida Wildlife Lodge, where we stayed, can arrange transport from Gorakhpur or Raxaul Bazaar for approx. Rs 12,000 (round-trip).
Where to stay
There are two kinds of accommodation at Chitwan: luxury and budget. The luxury hotels are inside the park and offer packages that include room and board, park entry fees, elephant and canoe trips, expert guides, cultural and educational events. We stayed at Gaida Wildlife Lodge (Rs 7,500 per person for 2N/3D; 00-977-1-4215409/ 4215431, www.gaidawildlife.com), which has 32 twin-sharing bungalows with solar-powered showers, a common dining hall, a bar with a deck overlooking the river, and electricity for four hours every evening. The staff is knowledgeable and friendly. They also run a luxury tented camp, 5km from the lodge.
The oldest and best-known lodge in the park is Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge (00-977-1-4361500, www.tigermountain.com), run by the Tiger Mountain Group. This lodge is generally credited with introducing eco-friendly tourism in Nepal. The Group also runs a few other camps in Chitwan. See their website for tariffs (they’re much more expensive than the Gaida Lodge, with rates starting at around US $300).
There are more than 50 budget hotels located in Sauraha just outside the park’s border.
When to go
The best time to visit Chitwan is from mid-October to end-March.
Activities
Lodges in Chitwan offer a huge range of activities like elephant safaris, birding excursions, nature walks, and canoe rides. If you have the time you could also trek into the Churia hills, and visit the elephant breeding centre and the Tharu cultural museum in the park. And don’t, at any cost, miss having a bath with the elephants!