It was four years ago that I had last set foot in this amazing city forest called Sanjay Gandhi National Park in Borivali, in Mumbai. And that's a long time in the life of a susceptible forest.
The cancer of urban growth had spread deeper into this forest which is the only National Park in the world that's within the municipal limits of a city.
Spread over 100 sq kms, it is a veritable tapestry of wide-ranging habitats: semi-evergreen forest; mixed deciduous forest; dry, rocky plateaus; two massive lakes that supply water to our ever-thirsty city; scrubby land; and a mangrove creek. And it is home to over 50 reptiles, 300 species of birds, 150 species of butterflies and 800 species of flowering plants. In fact, my last visit here was to partake of a purple feast organised by a stunningly beautiful flowering plant called Karvi, or as the no-nonsense botanist would call it, Carvia callosa.
Four years on, I decided to check out on some new developments that I had heard about. And that's when I met the new CCF Sunil Limaye, an upright, diligent and committed forest officer; a breed that's become something of an endangered species.
Sunil had executed many an ambitious plan that would warm the cockles of any nature lover. Starting with free screenings of films on Nature, wildlife and conservation at their Interpretation Centre for students, to opening up a well-appointed tented accommodation in the middle of the park for wildlife enthusiasts.
The drive from Borivali main gate to the camp was ample proof of his clean commitment. This would arguably be the National Park with the maximum pressure of tourism of the picnic variety.
Thousands stroll in just to have a good time with care for the environment thrown to the forest wind; and scores of lovebirds come to run around the proverbial Bollywood tree, almost outnumbering the birds of the feathered kind. In the process, tonnes of plastic waste is dumped in these sacred precincts, but Sunil Limaye's co-workers clean up the place at dawn and dusk, despite the visitors repeating it 24x7.
After depositing our haversacks in the beautifully appointed tent, we proceeded on our evening trek.
On our way, we met a plant called commelina with gentle flowers of a bluish hue. Apparently this shy flower vanishes at the first onslaught of air pollution. A gentle reassurance that the tall, evergreen sentinels at the periphery of the park have done a commendable job of not letting the pollution in.
Then we were introduced to two other interesting characters in the forest: the signature spider and the giant wood spider. The signature spider is not an anonymous artist like the Buddhist sculptors of the nearby Kanheri Caves. It makes its web and then weaves its distinct signature on all four sides! The giant wood spider on the other hand makes its web at a 45-degree angle. The reason being, after its dinner it is used to throwing down the leftovers. And the acute angle of the web makes sure that the leftovers don't get entangled in its beautiful web, but go straight down to the forest floor.
By the time we walked back, it was sundown. And we had to pass the outskirts of the Lion Safari Park with its gigantic walls crowned with barbed wires. The place reminded me of Jurassic Park, and the deep-throated calls of the lions in the distance fuelled my primordial fear.
In the meanwhile the forest had dissolved into a formless black. The molten moonlight was trickling down a tree that had a stunningly white bark, and it looked like a ghostly apparition suspended in darkness. No wonder this tree is called the Ghost of the Forest.
Near the tented camp over 60 spotted deer had gathered. They were planning to spend the night near our tents, under a lamp-post, with the intuitive knowledge that they are safer here from the predators than deep inside the jungle.
There was a surprise in store for us waiting in a huge plastic jar: a spectacled cobra. It was rescued from a colony in Kandivali. It looked docile as it lay curled up at the bottom of the well-ventilated jar, sleeping.
The next day, Ramu the snake-rescuer decided to release it in the forest on the nearby Silonda trail.
On our way, we passed by the defunct Mafco factory, a place that had created havoc in this forest a few decades ago, as the leftovers after processing poultry were dumped in the forest. This attracted leopards as they got easy meat, and as a result lost their predatory instincts and were reduced to scavenging for food. Thankfully, Mafco was made to shut shop.
There were fresh leopard pug-marks on the path. I looked around, almost sure that though I couldn't see the leopard, the leopard was watching us.
We stopped by a dried up rivulet, next to a bamboo grove. And Ramu kept the jar sideways ever so slowly and opened the lid. The cobra hesitated for a few moments, and then slid out. The moment it was completely out of the safety of the jar, it stood up with its hood opened out in a warning posture. We waited for all of 10 minutes, but the suspecting hood was still up. It was only after the last one of us moved far, far away that it put its head down and slithered away into the safety of the forest.
But then, after all the atrocities we have committed to their habitats, are we worthy of their trust?
