In the Nilgiris lies Gudalur taluk, a region dotted with patches of seemingly pristine rainforest and grassland. Given the astonishing variety of plants and wildlife in the area, conserving these forest patches is a key objective for the forest department and conservationists.
For a reporter too, this region is a great draw. After all, where else can you experience the possible threat of wild elephants around the corner, and simply tell others that this experience is just another day’s work?
In this region you can also find, after many arduous treks, hamlets where tribal communities, including the Kattunaickers and Paniyas, live. These communities still remain marginalised, with access to these hamlets limited. Many of them can be reached only after traversing farmlands, trails, and leech-infested swamps.
Fortunately for us, the forest department staff, mostly anti-poaching watchers recruited from the local communities surrounding Gudalur, are happy to ensure that curious journalists, especially from the English media, are accompanied safely to these remote locations without being pounced upon by a sloth bear or an angry tusker. Or, in the event that we are, at least show us the direction in which to flee.
Once we were heading to a hamlet where, we had heard, the felling of indigenous varieties of trees and the sporadic hunting of game such as black-naped hare, mouse deer, and wild boar had been sighted. We asked for a local anti-poaching watcher’s help to help us get to the village. He turned out to be an affable man and an expert animal tracker.
In his mistaken notion that our mission was to go see the Paniya community living there, the forest staffer nimbly led us through a small Shola forest, across a stream, and into the hamlet, and left us to our own devices.
After speaking to the locals, we learned that our information was right, and that there was a “fixer” who brought hunting enthusiasts to the village.
Asking around, we finally found his house and peered across the doorstep. In front of us was the organiser of the hunts and an alleged smuggler of scheduled timber. From the sound of it, he seemed to be hosting guests. We entered unannounced.
Much to our shock, we saw a familiar face there: the same forest staffer who helped us get to the hamlet was now sipping tea with the alleged smuggler and sharing what seemed like a hilarious story with him. That day we realised that in these dense forests, the lines between the hunter and hunted, law enforcer and violator, blur effortlessly.
