Forest Trump by M. Rajshekhar
I am in a Gypsy with G.V. Reddy, racing towards Ranthambore Tiger Reserve. Forest Guards have just found a dead tigress and the park's field director is in a tearing hurry to get there. As we leave Sawai Madhopur behind, the road opens up and the driver steps on the gas. I've already spent five hours with a management report on the problems facing Ranthambore. And right now, I'm watching those problems unfold, like events on a 70 mm screen.

We blur past a gaggle of Rajasthani women. Almost instinctively, Reddy asks the driver to stop and go back to where the women are. It takes me a while to realize the women aren't just standing by the road. They are arguing with a forest guard. But by the time we get to him, the women have disappeared. They have run across the road into the abutting plains. The women were cutting firewood, the guard says. When asked to stop, a man accompanying them threatened to kill him. Reddy nods grimly and murmurs something to the driver. And before you know it, the Gypsy accelerates hard, bumping across the plain towards the women. They take to their heels scattering in all directions.

It's hard to say who the bad guys are- the folks trying to protect our forests or the people trying to eke a living. There is little industrial activity around Ranthambore. Mining is banned in the national park. Tourism hasn't resulted in many jobs.

Agriculture is not all that great either. The report I'd read estimated 85% of the villagers and 28% of the people in the towns, were totally dependent on the forest. This is precisely why I spent 10 days in December on the road trying to find answers to one question: can communities and forests live together? I finally found an answer in the Great Himalayan National park (GHNP), a little known park in Himachal Pradesh, when I met its director, Sanjeeva Pandey.

The park lies in an isolated part of the Kullu valley. Along its western rim, about 16,000 people live in 130 or so small villages. Traditionally, agriculture sustained these people. But the land most people owned was too small to see them through the year. So, they'd look at forest produce to augment their income. The equilibrium, however, was disturbed as the pharmaceutical industry began fuelling a huge demand for herbs. By 1998, when Pandey took charge, 4,000-6,000 herb collectors were entering the forest every year. As did 20,000-30,000 sheep and goats. Before any one knew what was happening, the roots of dhupe, used for making incense, and mehendi were being carted by the truckloads.

This was rather strange because as early as 1994, the World Bank had initiated a project at GHNP to reduce the people's dependence on the forest. The villagers were asked to form committees. Then they were given money. The World Bank asked the committees to use the money to figure out ways to reduce their dependence on the forest.

In retrospect, why it didn't work becomes fairly obvious. The committees have ignored the village poor, who were the most dependent on the forest anyway. Most committees were too large to understand everyone's needs. The committee for the villages in the Tirthan river's watershed covered 19 villagers, or 1,300 people. With the size, you cannot hear everyone. And invariably, it was the poor and the women whose voices were drowned out. Instead, the money went to the rich. Handlooms were suggested as an alternative livelihood. As the World Bank insisted, to ensure that the villagers had a stake in the venture, each of them had to put up about Rs. 2,000 but most of the people living close to the forest didn't have such money. As for the villagers who did buy the looms, some lugged these to neighbouring Sundarnagar and sold them.
Most villagers didn't even understand what the money was for. Some repaired roads. Others bought jersey cows- which made them even more dependent on the forest for fodder. A lot of villagers started eating more halwa than before. In 1999, the World Bank gave up on the GHNP after spending Rs. 5.6 crore in five years.

Pandey tried again. He and Rajendra Chauhan, the head of Sahara, a local NGO, started out by recruiting 12 group organizers. Their job was to coax the poorest women in every village to join a small Women's Saving and Credit Group (WSCG). Why women? Because they were the poorest and did most of the forest-related work.

Soon enough, the groups took shape. The women were asked to save a rupee a day. They balked. The initial plan was to get them to save Rs 2 a day. But they had no money. Chauhan and the organizers kept coaxing them- bargain harder with shopkeepers, stretch the rice at home for another day. Desperate to get the savings going, Pandey gave some women jobs at his departments' medicinal plant nursery. One band of women even quarried sand to scrounge for that daily rupee.
By December, some groups had saved up to Rs. 1,800. just the kind of critical mass Pandey was waiting for. He knew how impoverished the women were. And so, he had spent months looking for businesses where returns were quick and buyers could be found easily. Enter Eisenia Foetida.

Pandey first heard of this earthworm back when the herb collectors were wreaking havoc. Fearing some plants would vanish altogether, he had started nurseries. While looking for fertilizer for the nurseries, some one told him that E. Foetida could reduce 40 kg of leaves and kitchen scraps into compost in 30 days. It looked suitable. Heck, Pandey could even be the first customer. He needed manure for his nurseries.

The women balked again. After scrounging for months, they were being told to spend hard-earned money on 5 kg of earthworms! Some bought into the idea reluctantly. A month later, when the management paid early adopters Rs. 280 (for 40 kg of compost), the others sat up. Today, there are 870 compost pits between 72 groups. When the idea was mooted, every group had started with just one pit. In 2001, the groups produced over 6 tonnes of manure every month.

Since then, other businesses have kicked off. Apricots and walnuts are rich in oil.- a kg yields 500 ml. In earlier days, traders would buy these fruits for Rs. 16-20 a kg, extract the oil and sell it at Rs 200 a litre. Today, the women take loans from their group to buy seeds and extract oil. Some women have bought handlooms. Others have bought hemp to knit bags and slippers. The men are now being trained as porters, guides and cooks to accompany hikers into the GHNP. The WSCGs have even started cultivating medicinal plants in nurseries being set up in the park's buffer. These will grow plants in demand like taxus baccata. Its bark yields taxol, which retards tumours. According to Pandey, a 20 year old tree of taxus can yield up to 30 kg of leaves and 5 kg of bark, which can produce 4 gms of taxol – priced at a whopping $10,000. The women get the proceeds from the sale, and pressure on the forest falls. The women now earn as much as Rs 3,000 each month.

Pandey may be transferred next year. But he thinks the WSCGs will flourish. "A micro-credit group is one of the longest lasting institutions," he says. Afraid the project might rely too much on his department, he has pushed Chauhan and the women towards self-reliance. Sahara has started selling the compost to local orchards. And the products like the oil, shoes, bags and other are being exhibited at handicrafts melas and other fora. Chauhan is even setting up shops for these.

Cut back to Ranthambore where a World Bank eco-development project has been under way since 1996. But it hasn't made much headway. I asked some Gujjars who live around there. Reddy's team has been badgering them to learn new trades- tailoring, perhaps. Or vegetable farming. The villagers demur. That is work fit only for a darzi or a maali, they mutter. Any other job they would like to try? They can't think of much.

Reddy isn't giving up. The villagers have to be educated first. So, he has requisitioned Anganwadi workers from Rajasthan's women and child welfare department. He is obstinate. It may take 10 years, but he is sure he will get there.

from "Business World"
published in India--Dec.26, 2002; pages 48-50

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