Nobody can buy a forest. So Pramod Nargolkar did the next best thing: he created one.
Over 20 years, he bought patches after patches of barren hilly tracts, some 25 kms from Pune. He collected saplings from various parts of India, including Eastern Maharashtra, the South, the North-East, and even the Andaman & Nicobar islands. Taking special care only to choose the ones that suited the unique climate and soil conditions of Pune. Today, in this 25-acre forest there are over 22,000 trees spread across 500 species.
For Pramod, this was only half his dream. He wanted to add another 25 acres to this painstakingly created forest. And then suddenly, inexplicably, he disappeared.
I travelled from Mumbai to meet Nayana Nargolkar, Pramod's wife. When I reached her house in Pune, I noticed that her house was named 'Bahava' which meant laburnum, the tree with flowers like molten sunlight. The name-board said Pramod Nargolkar. But there was no laburnum in sight, and no Pramod.
Nayana recounted that two places were really close to Pramod's heart: Melghat Tiger Reserve and the Andaman & Nicobar islands. And his infatuation with Nicobar islands turned out to be a star-crossed affair. Nayana recalled that fateful day in 2004 when he had gone to Nicobar islands with five of his friends. She said, 'Pramod had taken special permission to stay on Turtle Island. Though a rest house at a
height of 80 feet on a rocky cliff was reserved for them, they decided to stay in a tent on the beach. In the dreaded tsunami that struck, they all disappeared, except for the guard who was found after 12 days.’
From Nayana's house, we drove to Sipna, Pramod's own sanctuary on Pune-Panshet road. We passed by the Khadakvasla dam on the right; and along the river, we spotted a flock of migratory birds. After negotiating our way through the love birds from Pune who had strategically perched themselves on the rocks along the Khadakvasla river, we reached a spot from where we could get some good pictures of the birds of the feathered kind.
Balu, the young caretaker at Sipna, opened the gate to the sanctuary. Near the gate was a brick-red house that was the abode of Pramod. He used to stay here and tend to the trees right through their formative years. Now they had all grown up and were home to many birds, butterflies and insects. In fact, there are over 70 species of birds here, over 200 species of insects, 28 species of butterflies and 6 species of snakes.
The unwritten rule at Sipna is not to take anything away from there: be it flowers or fruits. They are reserved for the denizens of this sanctuary, who are growing in numbers by the day. Whatever is not consumed by the fauna would fall down and form the manure for the trees.
Balu said, 'Pramod Saab had instructed me not to harm any living being here. Not even snakes. In fact, all the snakes that are caught in the nearby villages are always released here.’
Sitting in the verandah, Nayana remembered that distant morning when she came here after a gap of one endless year after the tsunami. As soon as she stepped into the sanctuary, scores of birds collected near the house and created a ruckus. Almost as if asking her, 'Haven't they found him yet?'
Pramod was a well-known figure among the conservationists of Pune. He was designated as Pune's Chief Wildlife Warden, and was conferred the prestigious Vanashree Award by the Government of Maharashtra. He put in crores of rupees that he had earned over the years from his engineering firm, but he never took a rupee from his friends or even NGOs. Today in his absence funds have run dry; and Nayana even finds it difficult to maintain this 25-acre forest.
Pointing to the make-shift tents pitched near the waterholes, she said, 'These were Pramod's hideouts for indulging in his favourite passion: wildlife photography. He would hide here with his camera for hours on end and wait for the birds to come to the waterholes, without ever disturbing them.' Pramod has had many exhibitions of his wildlife photographs in the various art galleries of Pune.
Over the last seven years, many aerial sorties have been conducted by the Government of India to trace Pramod and his friends in the dense, hostile jungles of Nicobar. Nayana herself had accompanied the search parties on a couple of occasions, but every time they drew a blank. She has not given up hope though.
Pramod was washed away by a tidal wave. And Nayana hopes that one day very soon he would be washed ashore at the river behind Sipna sanctuary and would walk up to their farmhouse. And when she opens the door, he would be standing there, drenched but smiling.
