A LIFE WELL LIVED; A STORY WELL TOLD
MK Ranjitsinh’s memoirs, which are a record of India’s wildlife from the princely era to the present, show how history and culture shaped the nation’s view and governance of wildlife
When Martin Luther King Jr used the words, ‘We are not makers of history; we are made by history’, it was interpreted in various ways: he was admonishing his black American audience to not let larger historical forces make them passive; he was urging them to make history; and he was conveying how history makes us. These words spoken in an utterly different context play on my mind as I delve into A Life with Wildlife by MK Ranjitsinh, a sweeping record of India’s wildlife from the princely era to the cusp of independence and after, up until today. The author is the link between royal and contemporary India and writes lucidly about how history and culture shaped the governance of wildlife.
This memoir is about a man’s passion for wildlife rooted in his boyhood in the princely state of Wankaner (Gujarat), and draws on the time he spent in “the hide” with his father, not merely watching animals but doing something quite extraordinary. The hide had a detachable wooden roof over which kills were placed to attract resident leopards. Often, the roof was removed and, writes the author, “my greatest thrill was to have Father raise me up to the glass — the only thing separating human from cat — panel so that I could put my hands under the leopards’ belly and feel the warmth through…” Such vignettes aside, what is significant is the abundance of wildlife then, and the vacuum that now exists. The sorry fate of the Great Indian Bustard illustrates the slide best: Ranjitsinh counted 28 in a compact two km in Jambudiya, also in Gujarat, in 1952. All that remains now are about 100 in India, and the world. The author draws a paradoxical inference here that wildlife was best preserved in states keen on hunting. He backs his argument with examples like Junagarh, where the nawab preserved the last of the Asiatic lions. Indeed, a third of India’s 650-odd sanctuaries and national parks are descendents of royal game reserves. The meat is found in the period when Ranjitsinh served as an IAS officer, giving a fascinating insight of how he worked ‘the system’ to channelize his interest into a vision for conservation. His initial years of service in Madhya Pradesh were spent partnering with forest officers to preserve the state’s natural heritage. This included securing Kanha (now a tiger reserve) thus giving a lease of life to tigers and the rare hard ground barasingha.
It was during his tenure as Director, Wildlife Preservation at the centre that Ranjitsinh made his most significant contribution as co-architect of the Wildlife Conservation Act (1972). This remains the primary instrument of protection. It was in these years, and then later as Secretary (Forests) that Protected Areas were expanded, many requiring adept handling of politicians. I am particularly fascinated with how the endangered Nilgiri tahr gained acreage in the now celebrated Eravikulam National Park in Kerala for 36 wagons of rice!
The Indira years throw light on the Iron Lady’s resolve to protect wildlife. Post the Gandhi-era the book takes on a critical note as governments dilute rules and regulations that protect the forest. Ranjitsinh retired in 1995 but continues to be a key figure in conservation. His memoir thus presents a unique perspective of governments indifference to nature and to the marginalised. He does not mince words, which may be the way of the retired bureaucratic. But then, he didn’t shy away from speaking his mind even when in service, standing up to then minister Bhajan Lal over the issue of (not) exporting frog legs. He takes unequivocal stands on contentious issues notably the Forest Rights Act, which he writes is “the most harmful Act in relation to the forests in the history of India”. He roots for the ghar-wapsi of the cheetah now extinct in India, a move criticized by some (including this reviewer) and holds us all culpable — ‘no community or group is blameless in the destruction and decimation of the forests and wildlife of India.’ The canvas of ‘A Life...’ is vast and touches on the author’s involvement with the conservation of the unique wildlife of Kashmir, and amazing encounters in the wild. It is an educative, evocative read, a worthy account of a wildlife warrior who soldiers on well into his 80s. A Life with Wildlife is essential reading for anyone who cares about the fate of India’s wildlife and its precarious future.