Life Is A Jungle

This sentiment has united the 7,000-odd residents of Lakrukhi, Pitpura, Dhorera, Bandapura, Keshopura, Bargama, Kailagaon, Loharra, Dhorei, Daulatia, Dudipura and Kailadevi. Tormented by the increasing barrenness of their desert Dhok-tree forest, they have formed a 41-member Jungal Raksha Samiti to turn back the hands of time. And the arms of human predators.

The charter imposes penalties like a fine of Rs 551 for anyone who dares to chop a tree—this in hamlets where annual incomes range between a measly Rs 1,000 and Rs 1,500. And, social boycott for those who refuse to pay up. Axes have been banned in all the hamlets. Only deadwood is allowed to be collected as firewood—provided it's lying on the ground. No camel carts or hired vehicles can be used to load wood so that the forests are protected from being pillaged for commercial reasons. Also, all villagers are sworn to a moral obligation to keep a strict vigil and report incidents of forest crimes to the Samiti.

For those surprised at stumbling upon such fervent activist environmentalism amongst a semi-literate, Scheduled Caste populace in hamlets that do not find mention in the map, the Jungal Raksha Samiti has a pointer: "We want to live. And for that Jungal Mata must live."

Indeed, for these grazier settlements, hemmed in by dry, deciduous desert forests on all sides, life is a boon granted by the jungle. It provides fodder for animals, fuel for the chulha, material for shelter, tree deities for native rituals and hope for the children. Here, life and the forest wither and thrive together.

?"The mata will be good to us now that we have decided to protect her. Three years ago, a great famine struck us because her own sons were plundering her. There were great dust storms because she was humiliated and angry," explains Mohan Chand, a gothiya (witch doctor) in Lakrukhi. The fact that the Samiti's chairman is from his hamlet lends an unmistakeable tone of authority to Mohan's shrill voice. Elders and womenfolk listen in rapt attention as he speaks between deep drags of the hookah: "We'll show the sarkar how to protect the jungal. Not like the forest department who act like guards to other people's wealth. But like sons who care for the mother who has nurtured them."

Her great grandson vigorously tugging at her grey hair, octogenarian Hirbai clucks her consent. Pagri-clad heads turn in her direction as she voices the aged wisdom that has worshipped environmental balance for centuries. "The jungal has big animals that kill small animals. Kill the jungal and the big animals will find prey in our animals," declares Hirbai, "Better to kill those who murder the jungal."

A harsh verdict from people who live a hard life. Like the primordial man, they struggle to exist and increase their tribe. Water is miles away, in muddy wells that have very little to offer. Various ailments are frequent in the sweltering summer months that see temperatures soaring to 48 degrees for days on end. And migratory herds of sheep from Marwar that prey upon fodder that rightfully belongs to their cattle are uninvited guests every year.

LAST year, I spent three days in jail because I fought with shepherds from Marwar. Gunshots were exchanged. We have decided that we'll die but ensure that others do not plunder our home this way," says a charged Ganpat Lal Mina, chairman of the Samiti. The sheep, he complains, pull out the meagre grass foliage from the roots, leaving it bare and dry. Imposing fines on the natives, the Class II dropout with an environmentalist's vision avers, is like dropping a grain of sand in the great Thar. "We have to struggle to be granted powers to punish other despoilers as we do ourselves," he observes. "But that can happen only if we are recognised as a village by the sarkar. Right now, we aren't even a recognised entity. It makes our task even more difficult."

?Yes, this fight has to be fought on many fronts. Are these simple folk equal to the task of such herculean defence? "Not without outside help that has been a long time coming," says Arun Jindal of the Society for Sustainable Development, an NGO based in Karauli, the nearest small town. Jindal observes that the administration's lack of interest in these struggling hamlets' conservational endeavours has been obnoxious. "The apathy is apalling. No gestures even to encourage them. That way at least a few others may have emulated them."

Not surprisingly, Karauli's Assistant District Magistrate Udal Singh and his colleague, the Superintendent District Magistrate S.N. Tiwari, are ignorant of the Samiti's existence. "It is hard to believe that such backward people could do a Chipko type of movement," says Tiwari. Quicker to rise to a diplomatic occasion, his superior, Singh, observes: "It is a pleasure to know that villagers are doing something like this. It is because of direct benefits they derive from the forests, not an altruistic movement...nevertheless, we appreciate it." However, one is firmly told, because these hamlets are a part of the buffer area to the Ranthambore National Park they are strictly within the Forest Department's jurisdiction. The administration will have nothing to do with it.

Meanwhile, the Forest Department claims to be working out 'schemes' to help these villagers. Refusing to comment on his predecessor's lack of contribution to the Samiti's cause, Karauli's newly-appointed Deputy Conservator Forests P.D. Gupta promises "technical guidance" to the village folk. "I have already started training my own people. Gradually, we'll take over the villagers. Conservation has to be approached scientifically."

Instincts, however, have no formula. For the Lakrukhi men and their Samiti brethren, an ailing jungal means impending death. The human urge to live has triumphed yet again. And with it, hopefully, will survive the forests of Rajasthan. With or without help.