Steven Shaak
On "safari" at Bharatpur
Photo: Steve Shaak
Jerking to a halt, the train rolled into Bharatpur Station. The class and I funneled out of the train quickly toward areas vacant of people. Professor Dennis Taylor was off making arrangements for our accommodations that evening, while my classmates and I stood patiently inside a semicircle of staring Indians. Did they stare with curiosity? Did they stare with disgust? Did they stare with praise? I am not totally sure, but I did not feel quite as threatened as some of my other classmates. Most of us by this time were used to the stares, though others’ irritation grew progressively worse. With our arrangements settled, ‘tuktuks’ took us to our next destination, The Falcon Inn Hotel, which is very close to the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary.
The main topic of discussion was whether we should hike this afternoon or just finish lunch at the Falcon Inn and hit up the park in the morning.
We decided it was best to hike over to the park, scout it out and, if everything worked out, participate in a bike tour next day. At the gate we waited for a verdict about whether we could get in to the park before the sun fell behind the horizon. As it turned out, we not only had time to hike around the park, but had enough time to do the full blown bike tour of the sanctuary. Groups were assembled, and a guide was appointed for each group.
The bikes were retro with big seats, large wheel fenders, a book storage area behind the seat, and a bell on the right side of the handlebars. Now it was down to business; my attention was diverted to seeing the most birds, and I was poised and ready to go. I awkwardly rode the bike from a standing position, which was the most comfortable, and the height gave me a better vantage point to spot critters. I spotted monkeys right away, parakeets, and a nocturnal bird called a nightjar.
The tour seemed ‘safariesque,’ with large grazers like antelope and sour deer; animals like the jackal, jungle cat, and boar roamed the park. Our means of transport was not a convertible bus or jeep with tough tires, roll bars, and snorkel exhaust, but only our bikes and our feet. The safari effect was intensified by the dry, dusty soils and the acacia trees surrounding us from the riding path. Real safari or not, the sights were spectacular and the wetlands an added bonus.
The wetlands are actually the basis for the park. Fifty years ago the wetlands were hunted extensively for ducks. Now, after decades of work and effort, the hunting grounds have been remodeled into a bird sanctuary. Once the park was brimming with water, but recent droughts have caused drying of much of the historical wetlands. There has been a big push to reestablish the wetlands to their “healthy” level in order to increase tourism, which in turn will help the economy. I did not know what the wetlands had once been. From my perspective the wetland areas were teeming with interesting waterfowl like herons, egrets, spoonbills, ibis, and bar geese, not to mention the mammals roaming the park. .
Our guide was knowledgeable about the animals, plants, and historical components of the sanctuary. I learned a lot of valuable information from him. I would have liked to learn more animals and plants from him, but the sun was setting fast, the three hour tour ending, and our pace quickened. We were focusing on seeing the Indian sarus crane before we departed from the park. Our agenda was set--we peddled faster and faster.
We arrived at a small peninsula jutting out into the wetland surprisingly pointing to the two almost invisible sarus cranes in the distance. They were blurry red-headed figures on my camera screen, but were “HD clear” once I looked through a kind gentleman’s spotting scope.
There was a distraction from the sarus cranes, though. A female sour deer was walking on the peninsula very close to us, unaffected by our presence. I played with this deer while it bit on an acacia branch literally inches from my face. I made ‘kissy kissy’ faces at her as several of my classmates watched and took photographs. It was a thrilling experience, and I was ready to look for more animals. It was best to move anyway because the guide said that I shouldn’t get that close to the deer, even though the deer had come to me for the most part. I looked away from the deer and walked to the edge of the peninsula.
In my peripheral vision I saw movement. The deer had reared up on its hind legs, moving towards our backpedaling, smiling guide. Our guide smacked the deer’s head with the palm of his hand. The deer’s hair was tense and standing on end. I saw rage in its eyes, and its body poised in intimidation. The deer charged towards the guide who ran around flailing his binoculars behind his back, hitting the deer harder. The guide still seemed like he was playing, though, I felt he hit the deer excessively hard. The deer charged with a greater intensity and continuously pinned him down.
At this point a classmate, Steve M., was debating whether to take pictures of the scenario or to help the guide. He chose to help. I felt strange, almost indifferent about the situation. I could only stare like the Indians at the train station as the scene unfolded dramatically in front of my eyes. Wham! The deer flung the guide sprawling to the ground as pieces of his shattered binoculars fell on disturbed earth.
Steve M. was waving a stick at the deer, Troy (another classmate) was kicking the deer, and I was deciding on whether to help or not. Once the deer tackled the guide over a diagonal tree, I decided to help. I grabbed the stick as our guide crawled under the tree; the deer pressed against the tree as if the tree was the guide. I handed the guide the stick. He sprang back over the tree, brandishing the weapon; the deer reared.. The guide swung the stick on the center of its skull with a loud, sickening, auditory crack, inflicting a mortal, agonizing blow.
The massive, cow-sized deer buckled and crumpled to the earth. It lost function to the joints, its legs were useless; there was no more directed movement. The deer jerked often and haphazardly, inching closer and closer to the water’s edge until it was thrashing in the water. I kept hoping for its head to come up above the surface. Its remaining energy was being used for jerking its legs. Why couldn’t the deer just stick its head up for air? Why not? Eventually, Troy and Steve M. called me to “get the hell out of there!” I looked back as I reached the bike path. The beast lay still, the water was still, no more sound, the deer was dead.
What a strange event to ponder on a bike ride back from anywhere.