Tragedy that every forest fire unfolds for the voiceless

Another monsoon is upon us. It’s a time when, ideally, melodies of Malhaar should have been sweetening the misty air of Shimla. However, the first showers rather appear as the strike of Lord Shiva’s trident — especially in a city that is still recovering from its frightening monsoonal experience last year. The first rains have fallen and with them have also fallen a few deodars; muck has eroded downstream and engulfed stranded vehicles in its path. One awaits with bated breath the next two months!

Before overcast clouds from the south-west arrived to create romance or pathos in Shimla hills, it was the smoke from forest fires that had filled the cityscape, and also the news columns. I have spent many nights keeping vigil at the Rescue and Rehabilitation Centre at Tutikandi as fires raged far away, and asking the forest guard incharge if he had received enough local help to put out the blaze. The worry, of course, is the safety of the rescued wildlife (mostly leopards and bears) that are housed at this centre for treatment, rehabilitation and even as their permanent home. However, on May 28, luck and efforts did seem to have run out as a fire threateningly approached the caged inhabitants.

In a strenuous situation amid choking smoke, the forest staff, led from the front by the Deputy Conservator of Forests (Wildlife), Shimla, did their all to save the wild inhabitants. Miraculously for the wildlife, the blaze took an upward turn, only to create another danger as it then headed in the direction of the Bal Ashram. The news spread and the entire district administration was on the spot taking control of the situation.

Unity is strength, and the joint efforts of the administration and citizens resulted in controlling the fire, averting what could have been a twin tragedy.

Countless such tragedies may indeed have been averted during the past summer, when surging sales of fans were reported in a city where buildings never had the need or provision for one, and daily life now seems to be transitioning into a welcome monsoon.

For those sensitised to walk the earth a bit more gently — a result of their passion and education in wildlife — the past summer was indeed a forgettable one. They were privy to the disaster that unfolded during the forest fire season.

I remember having a discussion with my superior as to the veracity of a social media image wherein a pheasant mother lay charred to death beside its clutch of eggs, obviously choosing death rather than abandoning her maternal instincts. Whether that image was real or not, the forest staff at Mashobra Range did rescue the orphaned cheer pheasant chicks from another forest fire. They are now being nursed at Kufri Zoo. The endeavour has been beautifully filmed by the Conservator of Forests, Shimla, to raise awareness about the silent tragedy that every forest fire unfolds for the voiceless.

Majority of forest fires are caused by humans. Isn’t lighting someone’s home on fire supposed to be a crime of the gravest kind? Many human hearts still resonate with the pain and suffering borne by the faunal forms of life, but it arguably takes a Boddhisatva-like sensitivity to acknowledge the suffering of the flora. Irrespective of our abilities to be sensitive, that plants are as alive was proved by the legendary polymath, JC Bose. More recently, in the ‘Hidden Life of Trees’, Peter Wohlleben has postulated strikingly on how floral life-forms feel, communicate, love and form social bonds. The recent forest fires in Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand have thus been a gigantic disaster in the Wohllebian or Bosonian sense.

In the difficult season gone by, one of the most heartening sights was the monthly report on wildlife monitoring from the Renukaji Wildlife Sanctuary. What a blessing a lone, small water pond in the forest can be to wildlife in the sweltering heat was captured by a camera put at a vantage point. Between June 13 and June17, the water hole, barely a foot deep, was amusingly used for a cool swim by a porcupine, a masked palm civet, a yellow-throated marten, a barking deer, a mother bear and her cub, and, yes, our omnipresent companions in Shimla — a macaque.

Life in the wild is not a rose, so let’s not add thorns to it. Those who have survived the fires, now have a monsoon to deal with. Shimla prays to the benignity of the rain gods!

— The writer is an Indian Forest Service officer