What’s now Orang National Park was a densely populated tribal village around a hundred years ago. But the villagers deserted their homes en masse when a virulent epidemic called Black Fever struck their village; and they never returned. Over the next hundred years Nature healed herself, tree by tree. And today Orang is one of the most beautiful sanctuaries in Assam, and has earned the sobriquet of Mini Kaziranga.
All along our drive from Guwahati, one could see a phenomenon that’s unique to this state and the faraway state of Kerala. There were innumerable pukhuris or ponds here, one in every house. In Kerala, they are called kulams. But in both these states the ponds are steadily being filled to satisfy the greed for land. Little realizing it’s these ancient ponds that maintain the water level in the nearby wells.
We passed by Mangaldoi, better known as the vegetable farm of Assam, and the farmlands stretched as far as the eye could see without a single tree to obstruct the view.
On the outskirts of Silbori village we saw a very intriguing sight. The school-going kids here had two distinct sets of uniform: one for Ahomis and another one for Bodos. An indication that ethnicity runs deep, painfully deep.
At the far end of this village was the gate to Orang National Park. And on the fringe of the forest was our abode for the day: Prashaanti Tourism Complex with a gallery view of the forest.
When we woke up, the forest was missing. Slowly the morning mist that enveloped the whole forest moved away, revealing it layer by layer. We drove through the mist, the driver steering the jeep more by instinct than by sight. And lo and behold, there was a lone one-horned rhino in the distance emerging from the mist like a pre-historic animal. When the mist finally cleared, it laid bare a stunning tapestry of green grasslands dotted with blue waterbodies - the kind you see in the nearby Kaziranga and the faraway Dudhwa, both of which are the preferred habitats of the endangered one-horned rhino.
The jeep soon stopped at the forest quarters where our guide Sunil showed us the overnight pugmarks of a tiger, and the horn-marks of a rhino desperately needing mineral supplements.
We had an inquisitive co-traveller on our return. An owlet would fly ahead of us and patiently wait for us to catch up, and the moment we did, it would fly again to the next waiting branch. Almost as if inviting us to come and take a photograph which I eventually did. And then it disappeared.
Then there was the hog deer peering from behind a tree, a crested serpent eagle strategically perched on a tree top, a green pigeon that flashed past as a green streak, a rose-ringed parakeet that landed in slow motion next to its nest, and a warbler doing the balancing act on a moving blade of tall grass.
Back at the forest gate, as we were sipping black saay (that’s how an Ahomi pronounces chaay), we saw a tame baby elephant Kaancha nibbling at the oltenga fruit, considered a delicacy by the elephants. And I thought to myself that good taste is inborn.
Nameri National Park
This park has a completely different topography from Orang and it adjoins the neighbouring state of Arunachal Pradesh.
A gentle walk of a kilometre from the Eco Camp takes you to the banks of the Jia Bhoroli river that is teeming with golden mahseer. And across the blue river you get the first panoramic view of this stunningly beautiful sanctuary.
A ride in a country boat takes you across to the forest department jetty, and then you walk on sparkling white pebbles scattered along the banks of the river like prehistoric eggs. The puddles on the riverbank have a reddish-brown algae that adds to the special aura of this landscape.
In the distance I saw a pair of ruddy shelducks, and the guide told us about a local myth. The fact that these ducks move around in pairs during the day and sleep separately in the night is interestingly explained in this story. It’s believed that Lord Ram came to the neck of these forests looking for Sita when she was kidnapped by Ravan. And when he came across a lovey-dovey pair of shelducks, he asked them if they had seen Sita. The haughty male shelduck chided Ram, ’What kind of a husband are you that you can’t even look after your wife?’ Hearing this unjust insinuation, Ram turned as red as the ruddy shelducks and cursed them. ’Henceforth, you and your mate will only be together during the day. In the night you will be separated and you will spend the whole night pining for each other!’ And the curse continues to be legally valid to this date.
The forest guard who doubled up as our guide proudly carried an antique single-barrel gun that hung from his shoulder on a frayed rope that was about to give way any moment. As he walked in front of me I kept stealing glances at the rope, wondering when it will break and the gun will come crashing down to the ground and go bang! Every guard in the forests of Assam has one such antique gun purportedly to be used against crouching tigers and hidden terrorists. But eventually it remains a mere psychological boost than a weapon of any potent use.
A few yards into the dense part of the forest, and there were tell-tale signs of a rampaging herd of elephants. The guide took a real close look at their dung, made a quick forensic analysis, and declared that it was around 48 hours ago that the elephants were here. Heaving a sigh of relief, we continued on our exploration. Only to run into a lone tusker fortunately separated from us by the security of a river in full spate. Further ahead was the clawmarks of a sloth bear on a tree trunk. Looking up we saw a bee-hive that must have drawn him here like a magnet.
Then we came across a patch of silk-cotton trees, leafless but with a flaming efflorescence covering the treetops. Flashes of colour were added to this arboreal flower garden: by green bee-eaters, scarlet minivets, emerald doves, red-whiskered bulbuls, golden orioles and purple sunbirds.
Ahead on an oltenga tree, I saw an animal seen only in the North-East: the Malayan squirrel. And this underlined the ecological fact that these beautiful forests in India were once contiguous with the verdant forests of Myanmar, Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia.
Yes, much before the world became a global village, it was a global forest.
