Madhuri Ramesh observed the lizard through binoculars. Its dark round head had emerged from the burrow and surveyed the sunlit world for danger. Nothing in the open arid land raised an alarm, not even the little hide made of shrubbery that concealed the researcher and her assistant, Musa Khan. She named the reptile ‘Plastic’, after the bits of debris embedded in the ground around his lair.
Minutes later, he crawled out of his cubbyhole, revealing his foot-long flat, hefty body and stubby legs. Other lizards surfaced until the entire colony lay sprawled out in the open on that searing hot April morning. If the reptiles have pride, it must rest on the dense rows of spines covering the full length of their tails, which gives them their name — the Indian spiny-tailed lizards.
Heat had transformed Plastic’s colours from slate grey to beige. Orange speckles adorned his head, and blue colour tinged the spikes of his tail. “Even lizards are colourful in Rajasthan,” Ramesh said.
Baked to his preferred operating temperature, Plastic waddled to a patch of the last remaining greenery and tore off leaves from herbs.
Dietary preference
Unlike any other lizard in the subcontinent, spiny-tailed lizards are vegetarians, an unusual dietary specialisation in a desert with scant rainfall and sparse plant life. Vulnerable to starvation in drought years, they make do with locusts. Otherwise, they don’t give the insects a second glance. Unlike other herbivores, the spiny tailed lizards lack the teeth to chew their greens. And unlike other lizards that lead independent solitary lives, these social creatures live in colonies. This combination of exceptional habits fascinated Ramesh. For a hundred years, no one had investigated the species. Studying it isn’t for anyone who wilts like a flower in the infernal desert summer.
Heat junkie
“I like hot weather,” Ramesh had confessed to Ravi Sankaran, a bird ecologist who was then researching floricans and bustards in the area. Who better to study the lizards than a self-professed heat junkie!
That dawn, she and Khan had trekked three kilometres, when the temperature was 40ºC, carrying their gear and a heavy jerrycan of water. Before slipping into the hide, they scoured the interior for any saw-scaled vipers seeking refuge in its cool shade. Once ensconced, they wouldn’t be able to move lest they scared the lizards into their boltholes. All they’d have to eat through the day would be dry rotis with a spicy pickle.
Ramesh watched Plastic swallow mouthfuls of leaves before he and the others made a run for it. They didn’t make for the nearest burrow but to their own as if tied to it by an imaginary string. Several hatchlings tried to jam themselves at the same time into a couple of narrow entrances, leaving their mothers out in the open. Startled, Ramesh looked around for the danger. Distorted by rising heat waves, the vision of a shepherd and his flock of goats shimmered like a mirage in the distance.
Missing nothing
“Gossip and shepherds travel far in the desert,” says Ramesh.
Every herder within a 40-kilometre radius felt compelled to call on her, convinced she was bored and dying for human company. She failed to persuade them that she found the reptiles’ social life as enthralling as a soap opera.
The curious residents didn’t know what to make of a woman who spent all her time with lizards. She had introduced herself as a doctoral student. Word spread and villagers lined up to consult this newly arrived “physician”. Khan extricated her from the situation by explaining that she had to prove she could herd the sanda , as they called the species, to get a government job. Mysterious were the ways of the administration, but being in its employ was one of the few careers available in that part of the country.
By the time the shepherd reached the hide, the place that had a moment earlier been crawling with lizards was deserted. After milking a nanny goat, the herder made cardamom tea while chatting with Khan in Marwari. The goats grazed on the low plants covering the ground, and the lizards resumed nibbling, at ease among the mammals. Although these visits disrupted her observations, she welcomed such opportunities to quiz the men about the grasslands and where they had seen sandas .
Ready to fight
After the man left, Ramesh returned to work. With his tail curled up like the “handle of a teacup”, Plastic swaggered around looking to pick a fight. If a rival or youngster wasn’t quick on its feet, he puffed himself up and charged. The display was enough to send the other lizard scurrying out of his way. The females didn’t escape his attention. He pounced on them not letting them eat in peace. Watching these antics, Khan commented, “He’s such a badmaash . We should give him a good beating.”
Besides Plastic, the hatchlings captivated Ramesh. Inflating themselves until they resembled animated balloons, they leapt on each other and rolled. The ferocity of their wrestling kicked up dust in the colony and amusement inside the hide. Until the arrival of the monsoon, the young would live under their mother’s protection in her burrow.
At sunset, Plastic and the other sandas retreated underground, plugging the entrance of their burrows with mud to deter night prowlers. Ramesh and Khan gathered up their stuff and trudged back to the village in the fading light. They’d return the next day for another episode of the sanda soap opera.
Janaki Lenin is not a conservationista but many creatures share her home for reasons she is yet to discover
