The author explains how lack of state action is accelerating the extinction of this rare and graceful cervid
It is the symbol of the Vale of Kashmir. For centuries, the Kashmir stag, or hangul, has withstood foreign invasions, wars and insurgency. But it may not have contended with the dangers of modern life, for it is now on the fringe of extinction.
This last surviving Asiatic remnant of the European red deer family, which was once found all over Jammu & Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh, is today confined to the Dachigam National Park, 22 km from Srinagar. "There used to be isolated populations in Verinag, Kokernag, Wangat, Lolab and Gurez, but none are probably left now," says M K Ranjitsinh, former director (wildlife preservation), Government of India.
Dachigam evolved when the erstwhile Maharaja of Kashmir, Pratap Singh, declared the forest a hunting reserve (rakh) in 1910 and secured it with game guards by evicting 10 villages (thus, its name 'dachi-gam') in 1934. After India's independence in 1947, it was notified as a sanctuary. In 1981, 141 sq km of Dachigam became a national park, abutted by four conservation reserves that continue to act as buffer zones.
The shy hangul, however, has not been left in peace here either. "There is limestone quarrying going on near one of the reserves," says Nadeem Qadri, a Srinagar-based environmental lawyer. "The park is divided into three sections -upper, middle and lower. In Lower Dachigam, you have a fish farm, the chief minister's lodge, a system supplying water to Srinagar and a controversial merino sheep farm, established in 1961." But these are not the gravest threats facing the Hangul today.
For centuries, Dachigam has been a transit point for Gujjars and Bakerwals, the nomadic pastoralists of the area. In summer, they travel from Poonch and Rajouri in Jammu, cross the Pir Panjal and pass through Dachigam on their way to higher alpine summer pastures in the Gurez and Tulel valleys of north Kashmir. They use the same route to trek back to Jammu in winter. The herders' trek coincides with that of the hangul, which spends the summer months in upper Dachigam, where they calve. They return to the lower reaches in winter, just in time for the rut.
The two parties generally kept a respectful distance. "All this changed after Independence, when areas such as Gurez became frontlines for Indian troops on the Line of Control and were declared out of bounds for herders," rues Qadri. "The Bakerwals then set up permanent residences (huts called 'dhokas' in Kashmiri) in Upper Dachigam, triggering a most unfortunate chain of events."
It isn't simply that the hangul's traditional seasonal migration routes has been affected. "At the peak of the insurgency, the government armed the pro-India Bakerwals to defend themselves against militants. Today, these Bakerwals have turned poachers," says Ranjitsinh. He adds, "Their dogs are another menace. They gather in packs and harass the deer. During the summers in Upper Dachigam, the fawns are hunted, hinds are poached. This drives the deer to a sub-optimal habitat where they are hunted down by natural predators like common leopards or the Himalayan Black Bear."
The situation is hardly different in autumn and winter. The hanguls come down in September for the rut. Males bellow and reveal their presence. Bakerwal gangs hide along the deers' traditional routes and kill them. "The stags with the best genes are thus lost," say experts. And it is all showing. The hangul has one of the worst female-to-young ratios among animals in the wild. In other words, birth and survival of fawns is much lesser than deaths. "In my personal view, the species has already passed a genetic bottleneck, which means its gene pool is very small now," warns Ranjitsinh.
But has the state government done anything to protect its emblematic animal? Wary enviornmental activists claim the the odds are against the deer since the state forest minister, Mian Altaf Ahmed, is a Bakerwal himself, who is passionately protective of the the way of his tribe. But Ahmed has promised a reward of Rs 100,000 for the capure of a hangul, apparently because the government wants to promote captive breeding to save the deer.
Can anything more be done? "We are hoping that next year, when a new state government is elected, things will start to change," says Qadri. But will the hangul survive till then? "According to the latest census carried out in March this year, there are only between 80 and 110 of them left. Not surprisingly, the government has not released the survey's findings yet," says Qadri.
The time bomb is surely ticking.
