A life in the service of the wild and wildlife

Hindustan Times

2 days ago

Heartbreak sent Valmik to the jungles of Ranthambore. His first marriage had fallen apart in 1976 and he decided the best way to heal was to take himself away, out of his comfort zone, out of the urban jungle of New Delhi where he had been brought up, and into the wild, about which he knew very little. That instinctive decision would not just heal him, but change the course of his life, and the life of many a tiger.
He had heard about Ranthambore from his sister and brother-in-law — my parents — who filmed a documentary, The Jungle Life of Rajasthan, there a couple of years prior, and had pitched their tent under the great banyan tree at Jogi Mahal.
All three of them were now captivated by this special place and also by the man who was then the game warden (later, field director), Fateh Singh Rathore, with his Stetson, aviator glasses, and luxurious moustache.
When I arrived on the scene a few years later, Fateh kaka was at the hospital in New Delhi and gave me my first tot of honey, soon after I was born. It was with this pioneering trio, Valmik, Fateh kaka, and my father Tejbir, that I spent my formative years in Ranthambore, living under the canopy of the great banyan and Jogi Mahal, sleeping out in the open on charpoys with only mosquito nets for protection as the tiger's roar, the raspy sawing of leopards, the bark-like alarm calls of sambar deer, and the cacophony of langur monkeys echoed off the walls of the medieval fortress.
Often, we woke to find fresh tiger pug marks by our beds. This experience and these three exceptional men shaped me in different ways, and as I look back to an incredibly fortunate childhood, the die for my life was cast around the Jogi Mahal campfire. The discussions varied from the day's wildlife sightings to the positive changes in tiger behaviour post the ban on shooting — they had now started to roam more confidently and freely even during the day without the fear of being shot by trophy hunters — the problems they still faced, and what was needed to ensure their survival. The trio co-authored their first book, With Tigers in the Wild, in 1982, and Valmik went on to become a prolific author, with over 40 books in 50 years.
A village that had voluntarily left their ancestral lands in the heart of the National Park, and had been resettled on more fertile and accessible land at the edge of the reserve in 1977, required funding to build a wall around their village school. Jagan, the sarpanch, had come to meet Valmik on a scorching day in June to make a request for assistance. I happened to be present, and he sent me off in 48 degree Celsius heat in our open Mahindra CJ3B Jeep with Jagan sarpanch for a site visit to Kailashpuri village, about an hour's drive away. In his typical matter-of-fact, firm, and gruff way, he told me that it was now my responsibility to raise the funds required, which I was to calculate, and ensure the wall was built at the earliest. I followed his direction, delivered what was asked of me. As any 10-year-old would, I expected a pat on the back from the big man. No pat and no special mention was forthcoming, lest I think I had achieved something already. There was much more to be done, and so I quietly better get on with it. Quintessential Valmik! The foundation and its activities made a lasting impression on me and formed the basis for the many initiatives I presently work on.
Though Valmik relished his private time in the wild, observing, documenting, and photographing wildlife and tiger behaviour, he spent a lot of his time with forest officers, guards, conservationists, scientists, and with the communities that lived in or around India's national parks, tiger reserves and sanctuaries, finding innovative solutions to complex issues in his mission to help preserve India's 'natural treasury' as he called it. Valmik made countless critical interventions in the 150 or so government committees and boards he served over his lifetime. From the apex National Board for Wildlife chaired by the Prime Minister to the Supreme Court's Central Empowered Committee for Forests, many State Wildlife Boards, and also the Tiger Task Force set up by the then Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, in the aftermath of Sariska's tigers being poached to extinction. He famously gave a note of dissent — I think the only one — much to the chagrin of the powers that be. Valmik always said it as it was, without fear or favour. He didn't give two hoots about any nasty repercussions that might come his way. He unwaveringly believed in the truth and lived by it without exception.
In the last few years, he was disillusioned with the lack of courage and conviction among many who were tasked with protecting and preserving India's wildlife. Many of his suggestions and recommendations, including his many roars to create a specialised Indian Wildlife Service fell on deaf ears. But, he was not one to give up even when he knew the end was near.
As his family, friends, and well-wishers try to heal from the heartbreak of losing him less than a month after he was diagnosed with cancer, the fight to ensure the survival of India's wildlife and habitats, that is so intricately linked with the survival of our 1.4 billion people, will go on, taken forward by the countless people Valmik encouraged, inspired and mentored. That is his formidable and eternal legacy.
Jaisal Singh is an author, conservationist, and entrepreneur. The views expressed are personal.