Monday, 29 August 2011

In Search of the One-Horned Rhino




We woke up to driving rain and headed to the airport for our twenty-two minute flight from Kathmandu at 4400 feet to the Royal Chitwan National Park at 2600 feet, a steamy, wet tangle of vines and Saal trees like something out of The Jungle Book.

After three hours in the airport, twenty minutes in the air and an hour on the bus and then we were loaded into a troop transport truck that lumbered over the rain soaked road leading into the park. We saw a kingfisher flit through the trees and elephants crossing the river at a distance. The truck stopped at the edge of a wide shallow river, fast flowing and triple in size with the heavy rain. To our surprise, the elephants were headed in our direction and we soon realized that was the last leg of our transport to the park. Champakali, the Indian elephant, knelt down on her massive knees and the porters tossed our suitcases into a palanquin perched on her broad back. Then, we too climbed aboard and began a jostling trip across the river, through the marsh and up to the lodge.

A rainbow breaks through the monsoon clouds as we ride elephants through grass as tall as they are.
The advantage to an elephant is that she rises above the dense, wet-season foliage and with one command from her mahoot she will snap an obstructive tree limb or topple a small sapling to clear a path.  Elephant became our mode of transportation and we climbed onto the palanquin every time we ventured into the jungle looking for birds and game.
Riding Champakali through the Chitwan, Amy driving

Like all wildlife trekking, looking for tigers, leopards and rhinos in the jungle is somewhat like looking for Mom’s wallet and keys, you know they’re out there somewhere but your chances of finding them in any given place are slim. That is why we were so excited we came upon a large one horned-rhino standing on a bluff. Mom says it is a sight indelibly placed in her mind. Alas, we had no camera.

While scarcity of the one-horned rhino scarcity derives from his solitary nature it also attributable to the Chinese belief that the powder of the rhino horn can cure erectile maladies and is a powerful aphrodisiac. As a result the rhino is scarcer and scarcer in Nepal. A villager can get 40,000 to 50,000 USD for one horn.


On the bright side, the population of tigers in the park, once as low as 100 or so is now steadily increasing. Perhaps the rhino does not like this news but we were happy to hear it.


Although most of the wildlife eluded us, we did get to spend an awful lot of time with Pawankali and Champakali, two of the lodge’s elephants. These ladies were 45 and 36 years old, respectively. You can tell an elephant's age by the pink spots on its trunk. Pawankali was the more joyful of the two, with Champakali being prone to mischief and frequently earning a smack on the head with a metal rod, which we were assured the elephant “did not really feel”. When they wanted them to go forward or side to side the mahoots (elephant drivers) would tickle the elephant with their feet behind the ear, a gentle prodding. We got a chance to try our skills at driving the elephant as we left the jungle. Amy even mastered a few simple commands but lost her elephant stirrups and had to cling to the neck of Pawankali with her knees to stay aboard.

One morning, after game viewing and breakfast we had a lesson on elephant care down at the elephant stables. At the end of the lecture, we got to feed the elephants football size packets of grass and grain, called coochis. They would take three of them in their trunk and hold them there, but only eat one at a time. Always the ladies.

The mahoot produced a rope and circled Pawankali’s foot with it. He then asked us if we knew how tall an elephant was in relation to the circumferance of her foot. He said the first to guess correctly would get a prize. I guessed correctly, two circumfurances equaled one elephant, shoulder to ground. Since, I’d guessed right, Amy had to guess three and lost.

The prize: riding the elephant down to the river for its bath, all by myself. I was instructed to stand in front of the elephant so I was facing his trunk, to reach up grab the top of her ears and then she arched her trunk so I could step onto it. I did so and she lifted me up into the air so I could step onto her hed and then turn around and slip my feet behind her ears.

At that point we were ready to go. I gave her a tiny tickle behind the ears and we lurched forward. Amy and the mahoot followed behind on foot. It was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I felt a little selfish not sharing it with Amy, but I figured she’ll come back again and ride an elephant.

Down at the river, we had elephant showers. The elephant filled his trunk and sprayed us cooling us off. It was very very humid, an oppressive, sticky heat. So it was a welcome drenching. Then Amy and I paid pack Pawanikali’s kindness by giving her a bath. This required a bit more work. She lay down on the river bank and we scooped armfuls of water up onto her and gave her a scrub. I wish I could bring an elephant home.






On our last morning we said our goodbyes to Pawankali, the hiding tigers and the majestic rhino in his silver green forest and caught the elephant-back-troop-truck-bus-mini-plane back to Delhi to meet Dad.



2 comments:

  1. This was absolutely magical, what an experience

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  2. Wow! Great photos. Keep them coming....

    ReplyDelete