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desert Deer
endeared
The ditches
by the road had water; the dunes looked a darker shade of grey and the
vegetation all the greener… Seeing rain in Thar for the By Salman
Rashid My friend Dr Khatau Mal
sent a text message from Mithi about the rains this monsoon — rains that
had filled up the ponds of The weather was priceless: dark clouds across the sky, cool wind in the face and the call of peacocks not only resounding in the villages but springing out of the bush. Driving around Mithi on the bypass, we even heard the koel. I have been to Thar so many times that I have lost count. I have been there in high summer in the heat of May; in winter and during the monsoon months. But I had never seen rain in the desert. Though I have experienced heavy overcasts and shivered with cold in the gusting wind of August on the crest of the Karonjhar Hills outside Nagar, there was no rain. Friends have pointed out shallow gullies cut across the sand dunes where, they said, rivers had flowed in past rainstorms. They told me, too, of the verdure that bursts forth from the grey dunes after the merest sprinkling of rain. But for me it never rained and a verdant Thar was always a dream. Overnight in Islamkot a glorious sunset led into a still and muggy night. Far away in the west, sheet lightening ripped across the lowering skies and having commandeered the only mosquito net on the premises, I went to bed under the veranda so as not to be disturbed by the rain at night. The others slept on the terrace. With no power to turn the fan and not a breath of wind, it was a ghastly night. And when the rain came a couple of hours before sunup, it only just cooled the temperature, doing very little to subtract from the general discomfort. We drove out for Nagar against a cool, gusting wind to the calls of unseen peacocks. The dunes were indeed greener than I had ever seen them. Admittedly, Thar is not a desert as barren as the Takla Makan or the Sahara for here we have grasses of a dozen different kinds and several species of trees as well. But this was actually the first time I saw a veneer of green across the dunes. We hurried on to the 16th
century mosque of Mahmud, the king of Gujarat. On my first ever back in the
early 1980s, I was told it had been built by Mahmud the robber Turk of Ghazni.
The man sweeping the courtyard in those years of drought said I chided him for being a man of god on a full stomach. He looked hard at my wife and me and told us it was easy for us to say such a thing and we ought to live in the desert to know what life in the drought meant. This time around, too, there was a man with a broom in the courtyard but I did not make any inquiries regarding worshippers. Behind the mosque, concealed by its high banks is the famous pond of Bhodesar. Legend has it that Bhodaee, the king of the bygone and once fabulous city of Pari Nagar, despairing of the chronic shortage of water in his kingdom was advised to sacrifice his son Narundas to appease the gods. The prince was killed and buried where the pond now stands. They say thence the pond was indeed never destitute of water. Until the drought of the 1980s, that is. We saw a dry pond, its clayey surface cracked in a maze of squares and rectangles curling up at the corners. Bhodaee’s sacrifice, it seemed, had been in vain. But now the rains had washed the pink ridges of Karonjhar a deeper shade sprinkled. The slopes were flecked with the deep green of monsoon vegetation that was set to sharp advantage against a speckled sky of blue and white. This was a prospect I had longed for. We entered Nagar to the
calls of more peacocks and koels. With our work done, I went into town for
two reasons. The one to I spotted Nawaz Ali in a teashop. As I came in saying aloud my salaam, I sensed that my friend’s eyes were not what they used to be. He looked unseeingly in my direction. I introduced myself and recognition brought a smile to his face. We embraced and as always his first question was about Nusrat Jamil of Lahore who Nawaz Ali had met more than a decade ago and remembered. Though I hadn’t seen Nussi for months, I trusted she would be in good health and said so to our common friend. Then the stories flowed. This time he spoke of the twenty streams that wash the slopes of the Karonjhar Hills and whose water he has watched most of his 86 years of life go waste in the sands. Twenty, he repeated for emphasis, all of which he had seen in his years having walked the entire length and breadth of the Karonjhar. Dams, said Nawaz Ali, were the utmost imperative. Then there would be enough water to turn the entire Thar green. Two years ago when we had last met, Nawaz Ali had said, “My papers are ready. Any time now my marching orders will come.” These were his exact words and he said them in the way of a man who had lived a satisfactory life. He had no regrets other than the fact that no one listened to his plea for dams in the Karonjhar. He instructed me to put it in the papers and I laughingly told him that even if I did, it would not be read. Who reads English in this country? I said. Least of all people who matter. But Nawaz Ali Khoso was serious. He held my hand and said I had to. I promised. Every time I leave my old
friend in Nagarparkar, I dread of hearing of his passing away. His word about
his papers being ready I had wanted to check out the main square of Nagarparkar town. Friends had told me some of the beautiful buildings with pitched tiled roofs had collapsed in the earthquake of some years ago. I am sorry to report that damage truly has been done. The teashop in the square was a double-storeyed building which has lost its top. A few other old buildings near the bottom end of the bazaar too were missing. Other than these, the bazaar still reminded me of houses I had seen in Tuscany years ago. The trip rounded off well when we ran into a huge rainstorm outside Mithi. The ditches by the road had water; the dunes looked a darker shade of grey and the vegetation all the greener. This was time I should have been in Chelhar to check out the ponds as Khatau Mal had said. But the making of a living leaves little for leisure and we hurried back to Mirpur Khas.
A sequel of love, distress and ultimate unison of two Sambhars in Lahore’s Jallo Park By Syed Rizwan Mahboob With ever-increasing
habitat destruction and shrinking bio-diversity, news about existence of
endangered wildlife in any The richness of wildlife biodiversity in the above-mentioned localities has few equals in the province. For instance, the areas boast of good populations of grey and black partridges in the broken terrain. The river swamp areas and nullah beds along the international border are home to small pockets of blue bull (nil gai), hog deer (para) and if you are lucky, sighting of Sambhar (Swamp Deer) should not come as a complete surprise. The latter exists both as miniscule resident population besides odd animals occasionally crossing over from neighbouring territories. But Sambhar are not the only trespassers as regular sightings of common leopard are also reported almost annually. Last but not the least are several varieties of snakes including kobra (reported in Kartarpur area near Baba Guru Nanak shrine) and pythons who love to await their prey along beds of many seasonal streams. However, the story that I am now going to narrate does not relate to ferocious leopards or wily pythons but portrays sequel of love, distress and ultimate unison of loved ones against all odds. As already explained, it is not uncommon for the various categories of deer to occasionally cross over the international boundary. On a freezing winter morning some years ago, local wildlife staff was overjoyed to find a beautiful Sambhar stag who had accidentally crossed over to Pakistan near Ravi. Being young and full of vitality, it was only after some truly strenuous efforts that the wild beast could be subdued and immediately shifted to a large wildlife pen in Jallo Park in Lahore. It was first specimen of its kind from across the border ever to be brought to Jallo Park and it can be safely assumed that the animal curator did everything possible for keeping the animal happy and healthy. However, the male Sambhar simply refused even the choicest feed, typically offered to deer in zoos. Experienced vets were summoned who testified to perfect health of the stag but could find no reason other than initial shock for staying hungry. Days changed into weeks and then months but this particular deer continued its forlorn existence while accepting bare minimum quantities of feed at odd hours. As none of the zoo functionaries wanted to lose such a beautiful animal, every trick under their belt was tried. They even went to the extent of importing a few female Sambhar from different zoos within the province but to no avail. The forlorn Sambhar meted out some of the roughest treatment to these forced consorts who had to be hastily withdrawn from its enclosure. It was fast becoming clear that the trespassing Sambhar would never adapt to captive life and continue his pitiful life of solitude. Strangely enough, these wilful privations did little harm to his toned up body as he continued to grow in strength and bulk. The ordeal of Sambhar continued for a couple of years with wildlife functionaries losing hope of pairing the Sambhar for a happy family life. It was at this gloomy juncture that something strange — almost straight from Bollywood silver screen — happened. The word spread amongst wildlife functionaries that a young female Sambhar had recently crossed over the international boundary and, strangely enough, had given up without any resistance to officials manning a defense post. The news of capture of a wild and young female Sambhar gave a great idea to the wildlife managers. It was agreed that as a last resort, the wild female Sambhar may be freed and paired with the forlorn male in Jallo. To their credit, the concerned security officials readily agreed to the idea as the female Sambhar was immediately transported to the Sambhar pen in Jallo Park. Those who were lucky to witness the moment of entry of female Smabhar in the male’s pen would never forget the display of spontaneous love that the unison brought. The wild Sambhar who had lived like a destitute hermit for the last few years suddenly appeared to be transformed. Endless display of congeniality and innocent love amongst the wild beasts brought tears to the eyes of many who witnessed the moment. Mr. Shah, the unassuming in-charge of wildlife pens in Jallo Park was prompt in narrating the saga of lost love, connecting the missing links. In unequivocal terms, he pointed out that the two Sambhar had already paired on the Indian side of border before the male accidentally crossed over to Pakistan and lost touch with her beloved. Thereafter, he patiently awaited his soul mate for several years. The female must have known about her loved ones’ ordeal in some inexplicable manner which ultimately forced her to cross the border and accept captivity. In Shah’s words, the subsequent events leading to the re-union were scripted by Heavenly forces. He would even go to the extent of linking the capture of female Sambhar close to Guru Nanak’s shrine as yet another proof of the celestial nature of this love story. This rhapsody of love is told and re-told by Mr. Shah to select visitors to S?mbhar’s pen in Jallo wildlife Park who usually tend to accept it on its face value. The forlorn Sambhar and her coy female have lived happily since then, having successfully raised an impressive family of hinds and stags while testifying to the millennium-old adage that love knows no borders.
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Chelhar in the Thar Desert. Shortly afterwards, I was on a whirlwind trip
from Mirpur Khas to Nagarparkar and back.
something peculiar when I asked him why there were no worshipers for the
afternoon prayer: “Times are bad, there is little to eat because of the
drought and men have forgotten their Lord.”
meet my old friend Nawaz Ali Khoso, the keeper of a hundred tales of the
desert, and the second to see, once again, the bazaar with its pitched roofs.
always gave me a sense of foreboding. This time however the good man did not
sound the knell. But as I left him, a sense of dark apprehension filled me
up. Is this the last time I am seeing this teller of the most wonderful
tales, a true keeper of the historical record of Nagar?
particular locality always comes as a pleasant surprise. Areas closer to
international boundary or line of control in tehsils of Narowal and
Shakargarh can be included in categories of such rare heavens. Meandering bed
of River Ravi, a labyrinth of seasonal nullahs, abrupt inundations and
presence of defense fortifications may have discouraged the spread of human
population. However, these very constraints have also helped a precarious
wildlife population to continue its survival struggle against multiple odds.