Light up the forest

I am 16 years old, and I’ll be starting college soon. Everyone is nervous about their first day in college, but I am excited. I hear my new classmates are equally excited about meeting me. That’s because I became rather famous three years ago when my father was the new Forest Officer at the Sarvamangalam Forest Range. I remember those early days when he took Mom and me through the forest in his jeep.  

Our driver was an old-timer named Muthu. He slowed down at places, waiting till we caught sight of elephants or foxes and, once, even a tiger in the distance. He said, “When you are familiar with the forest, you will be more comfortable. And the more comfortable you are, the more you’ll identify with the animals.“

Words of wisdom

Muthu was a great help. “He’s taught me so many things I wasn’t aware of,” my father said. That surprised me because my father was not only a trained officer but had also had three previous postings in treacherous jungle areas. “Muthu knows these animals,” he explained. I soon agreed with him. Muthu understood their behaviour and movements, and they too seemed to understand him.

I was in the jeep when we came face-to-face with an enormous elephant looming over us. Muthu stood up, raised his arms high in the air and waved them, side to side. The elephant stared at us for a scary moment, then shook its head making the sign of a horizontal eight, and walked away into the thicket. 

Muthu turned to me. “Everything comes in a package. Trees and bushes, fruits and roots, mud and slopes, pool and sky, and the animals living here. They don’t need protection. We just have to see that greedy folk don’t kill and plunder. That’s all. Nature protects its own, you see.”

Next year, we had our first crisis: a forest fire. It began in one corner of the jungle. Afraid it would spread, my father rounded up all his men. The villagers also turned up to help. The fire was put out. But next day, we heard of a terrible disaster. A tiger had been killed and skinned by poachers. Two trees had been felled and the wood spirited away. My father was furious. “That fire was to distract us. See how much damage they did in one night.”

Next week, Muthu was driving my father when they heard a shout. Muthu went into the bush to investigate. My father saw Muthu falling and heard him scream. When he ran there, he found Muthu with his foot caught in a metal snare set up by poachers. My father needed all his skill to gently remove the snare from Muthu’s foot. He helped Muthu into the jeep and drove him to the hospital. It was a deep injury and Muthu had to stay in the hospital for a week.

Fire alarm

Two days later, there was another fire in the forest. We were visiting Muthu in the hospital. My father said, “I’m taking the jeep. Call your mother to come and pick you up.”

After he left, Muthu said, “Another fire, another poaching. We have to act.”

“You can’t move for a week,” I protested.

Muthu said, “I’ve put my foot in it, I must remove it.” He called his friend Veerappan to bring his jeep along with a loudspeaker and a gun. “What’s that for?” I asked.

“To deal with the poachers,” Muthu said, gravely. For a moment I felt excited. Then I said, “I’m only 13”

Muthu said, “Bravery begins early. We’ll protect you and, together, we’ll defend our forest.”

Muthu used his clout as a “forest employee” to get himself out of the hospital.  The nurse protested, but gave him an injection for his pain, and let him leave. We got into the jeep and Muthu stretched out his legs in the back. His friend drove fast, instructed by Muthu. I don’t remember going so deep into the forest.

“Shouldn’t we tell Dad?” I asked. “Not now. He’s busy with the fire. Both are important: stopping the fire and the poachers.”

Sure enough, the poachers were at it. They hadn’t shot any animal yet but had marked two trees. But, now, we were there. Muthu lay in the back seat and shouted into the loudspeaker. “You’re surrounded. There are jeeps all around. Surrender now.”

The poachers saw our jeep coming, with a gun high in the air. They abandoned the tree and got into their truck. Veerappan noted down the registration number. 

At the end

Within two days, the poachers were arrested. My father was angry that we had risked our lives. My mother was petrified. But the press came and interviewed us, and the department gave my father a medal. Muthu was given a cash award. Slowly, things settled.

Muthu said, “Light up the forest with your understanding, don’t burn it down. It’s a treasure-house we have to preserve. Go to college and study hard. Become a forest ranger like your father. We need someone like you.”

So, now you know why I’m excited to go to college. It’s the first step.