<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6c9c7e80680e077f2fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="780"/><figcaption>Himani Tharu is so frustrated with her job as the only female mahout in a Bardia National Park elephant camp that she mustered the courage to speak to a journalist. Photo: MUKESH POKHREL</figcaption></figure>Himani Tharu may be the first female elephant mahout serving in Nepal's national parks, but her story is hardly inspirational.Instead, it exposes a system that is unable to welcome gender inclusivity. She faces double discrimination: first because she is a woman and second for belonging to an indigenous community.Harassed by her lower-level co-workers, and ignored by senior staff, Himani says she hopes no one will follow in her footsteps and become a female mahout.“I wouldn’t wish this much suffering upon anyone,” she says.Born on the outskirts of the Bardia National Park, Himani Tharu, 27, grew up close to elephant sanctuaries, and was familiar with both elephants and the people who cared for them.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">3/4th of the sky</a>, EditorialDespite that, Himani did not really want to become a mahout. She had plans to graduate from school and get a regular office job. But ten years ago, the Public Service Commission put out a notice for the position of a female mahout, and her family encouraged her to apply because it supposed to be a stable government job.Himani struggled to keep up with the demands of her new profession: she had to learn to take care of elephants, collect grass, take the elephants out to graze, constantly feed them, and clean up after them. She was also required to ride the elephants on the Nepal Army’s jungle patrols.She loved the elephants, especially a baby one, and made friends with them. It was her human co-workers who were unhelpful, disrespectful and ordered her around.“Sometimes they would leave me alone in the middle of the jungle and I would get lost. Other times they would lead my elephant into the river and leave it there,” she says.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s better halves</a>, Anil ChitrakarAs the only female among 30 mahouts at the national park, she is often targetted for bullying and harassment, but there is no one she could talk to because of the park's hierarchy.“Had there been about three or four of us women, they would not have dared misbehave but I am the only woman,” says Himani, recalling how her colleagues would deliberately make loud obscene conversations when she was around. When she told them to stop, they scolded her instead.Himani faced constant attacks on her character and integrity. Every time she even spoke to a fellow-mahout or asked for help from a male co-worker, she would subject to vicious teasing.“One of the senior male mahouts used to help me, but after other men in the camp started associating us he was intimidated and stopped coming near me,” says Himani.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/betterforbalance/">#BalanceforBetter</a>, Namrata SharmaAll complaints to senior officers at the camp were ignored, and Himani felt there was no point reporting her colleagues anymore when they engaged in lewd conversation when she was around.The whole system is gender-blind. The elephant camp does not have separate quarters for women, and she has to sleep in a dorm with 15 other men. It is worse when she had to go on overnight jungle patrols in Bardia National Park.Fed up with the treatment and frustrated with her job, Himani mustered the courage to speak frankly to a journalist. She said she had packed up to quit her job many times, but was always persuaded by her relatives and friends to stick it out.She says: “I am determined to find another job, and finally resign during this lockdown. I have put up with everything for so long, I don’t know how long I can take this.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/epidemic-of-online-sexism/">Epidemic of online sexism</a>, Shusma Barali<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Online-violence-against-women,2915" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Online violence against women</a>, Sahina Shrestha

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Don’t follow my footsteps, says female mahout

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70779c7e80680e06007cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2422" height="1752"/><figcaption>Misty jeep drives in Chitwan National Park. Photo: Rufus Van Gruisen</figcaption></figure>It was our mother’s idea to do a family visit to Nepal to mark her 80th birthday. Although over the years everyone had been to visit in various combinations, the idea was for us Van Gruisens with spouses to all be together with our children, who in 2004 ranged from 17 to seven years old, resident as far apart as the US, UK, Australia, India and Nepal. A carbon footprint that created memories and forged cousinly bonds.The cold months suited school holidays and us five siblings getting time off our various work commitments. In all, 21 of us were gathered in Kathmandu before heading off to Chitwan then a trek in the Annapurna foothills followed by New Year at Tiger Mountain Pokhara Lodge. As well as Christmas and New Year, there were birthdays to celebrate, and palaces, temples, jungles and mountain villages to explore.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/dads-deception/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dad's deception</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b707b9c7e80680e06007djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2552" height="1672"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“We don’t do sightseeing, Mum,” my teenage boys warned, supported by the doting younger cousins. Nepal is one of the world’s best family destinations offering a range of real adventure experiences that appeals to all ages, something for everyone.The Tarai in winter can be one of the coldest places in Nepal. Thick tendrils of grey fog insinuate their way into your bones, through the thatch roofs and bamboo walls, stubbornly refusing to be burned off by the weak winter sun. After warming ourselves by the fireside, my boys led their tribe of clamouring cousins, willing uncles and eager aunts on chilly wildlife safaris, elephant camp visits, misty jeep drives, boat rides and forest walks.Rinchen’s 16th birthday party featured the statuary elephant dung cake as well as late night singing, Tharu dancing and animal impersonations on the mud floor of the tented camp Golghar. We fell asleep under heavy quilts to the sound of nightjars and a distant deer barking an alarm call.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-naturalist-elite/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's naturalist elite</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-genesis-of-elephant-polo-in-chitwan/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The genesis of elephant polo in Chitwan</a>, Lisa ChoegyalAlways the keenest and most intrepid walker, our mother elected to miss the trek this time. On previous visits she had done most of Nepal’s main trekking routes, especially enraptured by the Everest region, and  in England she lived within reach of the Ridgeway with its ancient white horse carved into the chalk hills. My childhood had been punctuated with hearty Sunday afternoon walks through the ploughed fields and winter woodlands of Northumberland or, even worse, being dragged up Lake District peaks on day hikes to admire yet another view. It was only after I arrived in the Himalaya that I learned to love the rhythm and cadence of days spent travelling at the speed of my own two feet.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b707f9c7e80680e06007ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Our mother left us late last year. Actually, she would have preferred to have gone a couple of days earlier. “Why does dying take so long! I wish my brain would switch off,” she sighed impatiently. “You are so strong, and your time has not yet come.” Sarita, the Nepali nurse stroked her grey straying hair, something we were not permitted to do. Along with talking or laughing too loudly. “Well, I don’t want to be strong,” she said crossly.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70829c7e80680e06007fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Six weeks earlier I had been with her in the bleak flat landscape of Oxfordshire. “It was 80 years ago today that the Second World War started – 3 September 1939. So consumed with Brexit, no one seems to have noticed.” My mother was 94 and had taken to her bed. “I remember I was 14 and it was all rather an adventure. The air raid sirens rang out that first afternoon and we all sat in the kitchen which was supposed to be the safest place. That was the beginning.”Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-house-in-budanilkantha/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A house in Budhanilkantha</a>, Lisa ChoegyalMy mother’s wartime career went on to define her. Like many women from that era she missed out on a proper education, and found excitement in opportunities offered by World War II. She worked in SOE (Special Operations Executive, secret stuff) based in Ceylon (as it was then), and later founded the Special Forces Club in London, located in a crescent behind Harrods and known by taxi drivers at the Spooks Club.We had all gathered from our various corners of the globe, around her high-tech bed in a pleasant beige room in an Oxford hospital. Outside the autumn trees ebbed into gold. At her insistence there were no tubes, no sighing machines, no medical clicks and beeps. “The British national health is very good at being born and dying, not so great in between” my sister with two medical daughters observed dryly.My other sister, who lives in India, kept vigil each night sleeping on the blue lino floor. “Very third world,” discerned the doctor with mild disapproval on one of his rounds, spotting the mattress propped against the wall. My sister was annoyed to have missed the actual moment of her death, around the midnight hour. Typically with minimum fuss, it must have been quiet and peaceful.Sangjay and Rinchen stood beside her bed, a little bleary after long flights. They were lucky to find her lucid and chatty on one of those last days. “We have left the world in such a mess and it will be up to you to sort it out and save us” she tells them, passing the baton of responsibility. “Our generation has so much to be blamed for.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-kathmandu-crowd/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Kathmandu Crowd</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-kathmandu-crowd/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Survival Survivors</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70859c7e80680e060080jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Even with her last energy she appreciates her Nepali nurses in Oxford, and asks about Kathmandu friends. Recalling the family trip and time spent walking in the Himalaya, a distant look comes into her luminous pale failing eyes. “What I would like is for my ashes to be scattered in the Nepal mountains – at Tengboche, amongst the forest and rhododendrons with those beautiful views. Sangjay, can you arrange it?”Thus, the Van Gruisens are committed to make their own intensely personal contribution to VNY2020 with another family visit of siblings and cousins later this year.

Lisa Choegyal

Nepal: a family’s destination

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52269c7e80680e0522dcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"/><figcaption>Chitlang Valley south of Kathmandu. All photos : Lisa Choegyal</figcaption></figure>Our second son Rinchen was only six weeks old when we bundled him into the red Range Rover in a cosy basket cot wedged in the back, surrounded by all the clobber required at that age, and headed for the Tarai.The roads were slow, with the vomit-marked buses and garishly painted trucks belching fumes as they strained up into the Kathmandu Valley, and made slower by two-year-old Sangjay fretting in his constrained car seat. I couldn’t wait to leave town, back to nature (back to work more like), and get away after all the baby focus of the past weeks.As an older mother in my late 30s, by the time Rinchen arrived the whole baby routine was a triumph of juggling unscheduled nappy changes, feeding, tiredness and joy. Sangjay delighted in his new little brother, but the simplest tasks of daily life – staying clean, dressed, fed and rested – seemed to take up all my energy and planning.We returned to Kathmandu with our new bundle of ‘limitless preciousness’, Rinchen’s name in Tibetan. Life in Alpine Cottage settled into a baby routine that I soon came to resent. Our tiny A-frame glass and wood home in Bansbari was nestled amidst a fig, mango and lychee orchard, full of sylvan charm but now bursting at the seams. Hodgson, the highly-strung street dog with a perpetually diseased, liver-coloured coat, named after the erudite 19th-century British resident by an optimistic anthropologist who rescued him from the gutter, accepted the new arrival with distracted disdain.In 1985 it had been only Hodgson and I sharing the house, rented for Rs4,000 a month from my laconic landlord Prem Singh, who lived with his family in the adjacent garden, lovingly tending flower beds whilst nurturing his trees and two young sons. It was a relief to have my own place after the hectic ‘staff house’ in Sanepa.Owning nothing but a few <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18273#.XUKd8fIzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tibetan carpets</a>, several paintings and a couple of mattresses, living at floor level on a heap of cushions suited the wood floors and huge window of the minute sitting room. Its cramped sleeping gallery had a pitched plywood ceiling and was accessed by a nifty spiral staircase, treacherous during night time bathroom visits. Hodgson and I were joined by my husband Tenzin in 1986, and not long after by Sangjay, born in January 1987. We had built a bedroom and new bathroom onto the back of the cottage, but the space still felt small and confined.The dog Hodgson famously slept through the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/past-disasters-foretold/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">1988 earthquake</a> that had us sloshing around in our newly acquired waterbed, a trendy addition to the house swapped for an antique Tibetan rug with an American friend from USAID.“How frightening it must have been in the middle of the night!” worried my mother on a faint telephone line from London. “I’m sure you rushed Sangjay outside to safety!” Five months pregnant with Rinchen I had struggled to extricate myself from the waves of the waterbed, Tenzin lurching helplessly beside me. Trusty Sunita had Sangjay safe, and the waterbed craze did not last long in an earthquake zone.Itching to get back to some distraction from the stifling baby scene, I occupied myself between feeds verifying National Geographic articles and editing travel brochures on the polished table in our miniature dining room. Sangjay had been an engrossing novelty, but the second baby turned out to be a more manageable routine. After a few weeks of domesticity, a work visit to check on Tiger Tops and the proposed Tiger Mountain Pokhara Lodge site presented itself as the perfect escape plan. Packing the car with the baby gear, we all set off for Chitwan.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a522a9c7e80680e0522ddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bhimphedi’s HattisarBumping through Valley potholes unrepaired since the previous monsoon, we passed the temple at Thankot that marks the start of the historic walking trail through the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15911#.XUKe5fIzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitlang valley</a> to Bhimphedi, the lifeline linking Kathmandu to India that threads through villages past shrines, stupas, chaityas and patis.Prior to the Raj Path opening in 1956, this was the only route south to the outside world along which porters carried everything, including chandeliers and cars. For those rich enough to ride, Bhimphedi was where the ruling Ranas and other privileged travellers swapped their horses for elephants to navigate the Tarai. Winter was the only safe time to cross Nepal’s lowlands, rife with malaria and other notorious maladies that protected the kingdom from uninvited visitors.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a522f9c7e80680e0522dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A few years ago, after some trouble locating the key, I found the old elephant stables in Bhimphedi, a strangely shaped Rana period building with lofty doors and tall brick walls on the edge of town near the river. The dusty old howdahs and faded decorations were recognisable from sepia hunting photographs of visiting viceroys and maharajahs. Stacked on racks above the elephant stalls were the rolls of white cloth that had been used by beaters to drive the tigers towards the waiting guns, the tweed-clad sportsmen safely perched on elephants.“No one ever comes here,” smiled the wrinkled old chowkidar sadly, motes of dust and straw caught by the sunbeam slanting through the high windows.Read Also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-genesis-of-elephant-polo-in-chitwan/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The genesis of elephant polo in Chitwan,</a> Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52329c7e80680e0522dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52359c7e80680e0522e0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1060" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Decaying but intact, encrusted with dirt and spotted with blood, these relics lay where they had been stacked at the end of a long day hunting in the jungle many decades ago. Closing my eyes I could almost hear the clatter of chains, the thump of saddles, murmurs of long-dead elephants, and ghosts of their keepers calling softly to each other.

Chitlang, Chitwan and Children

To increase tiger numbers, you need prey. Prey need grass. Grass needs water. The tiger may be at the top of the food chain, but its fate is linked to the deer population which in turn depends on the abundance of grass, and which in turn hinges on the availability of water. Nowhere else in Nepal today are these intricate linkages within an ecosystem as stark as in Bardia National Park, which has seen the population of its tigers increase dramatically from 18 in 2009 to nearly 87 today. With Chitwan National Park nearly saturated with tigers, it is largely because of Bardia’s success that Nepal is set to become the first tiger range country in the world to exceed the target of doubling its population of big cats by 2022. But, there are clouds on the horizon. An adult male tiger needs a vast territory of 100sq km to roam in, while a female needs about 20 sq km. And each individual needs to make at least one kill of a deer-sized animal a week. But the prey density in Bardia has declined sharply from 93 to 77 per sq km just in the last five years. This is due to an increasing tiger population, forest encroachment on former grasslands, the abundance of tall grass species which deter deer, as well as a falling ground water table due to global warming. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935189c7e80680e03e035jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="627"></div> All this adds up to the tigers not getting enough prey. Tigers then venture outside the park to eat livestock, intensifying human-wildlife conflict and endangering conservation efforts. Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/habitat-destrcution-of-tiger-in-Tarai,3423" target="_blank">Allow tigers to roam freely</a>, Om Astha Rai <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/city-for-transshipment-of-wildlife,3424" target="_blank">Caught red handed with red pandas</a>, Smriti Basnet Today, Bardia National Park is at the forefront of research into restoring the predator-prey balance. Shyam Thapa of the Nepal Trust for Nature Conservation (NTNC) is studying a dozen especially designed research plots to find ways to encourage the growth of the kind of tender green shoots that the five species of deer in Bardia like to graze on. “There are no longer as many wild elephants, and no more gaur (wild ox), arna (wild buffalo) and nilgai (large antelope) that used to trample on the tall grass so the deer could feed,” Thapa explains. “The deer do not like the tall grass or the forest undergrowth because they need a field of vision to look out for predators.” <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935159c7e80680e03e034jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800">Photo: BIKRAM RAI</div> Before and after satellite imagery of Bardia clearly show the grassland being overrun by spreading forest cover. Drought caused by climate change, as well as the reduced flow of &nbsp;water in the Geruwa channel of the Karnali River because of boulder mining and the Bheri-Babai diversion upstream have lowered the water table and reduced grass cover inside the park. A lower water table favours the growth of trees, not grass. “We are trying to see what are the factors that will make the kind of grass that the deer like to eat grow back, because this will increase the number of deer which will in turn allow the park to support a larger tiger population,” says botanist Laxmi Raj Joshi at the NTNC. Like Chitwan, Bardia used to be opened for a few weeks every winter to allow villagers to collect thatch grass inside the Park. This further reduced grass cover, disturbed wildlife and caused wild fires. Since most farmers now have tin roofs or cement houses, there is no longer a need to open the park for thatch collection. Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/conserving-Chitwan-National-Park,1106" target="_blank">Conservation matters</a>, Hum Gurung <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/planned-new-east-west-railroad-and-expressway-threaten-the-Chitwan-National-Park,1079" target="_blank">Tresspassing into nature</a>, Bhrikuti Rai and Sunir Pandey The Park has dug wells and installed solar-powered pumps to ensure that the favourite watering holes of the animals do not go dry. There are also plans to translocate arna, gaur and nilgai from other nature reserves to restore the original habitat and add larger prey for tigers. With these measures, conservationists believe that Bardia and the adjacent Banke National Parks can accommodate another 100 tigers. But for now, as tiger numbers increase and prey density declines, tigers are venturing outside the park to prey on livestock. Wild elephants also often raid crops and trample houses outside the park, increasing tension between the Park and people. In order to reduce conflict between villagers and wildlife, Bardia National Park is experimenting with more effective electrical fences that can stop bull elephants and tigers (see box). “The idea is to reduce human-wildlife conflict,” says Cas de Stopelaar of the Himalayan Tiger Foundation based in The Netherlands, which is supporting the research on fencing and grasslands. “The tiger is an umbrella species, if you protect the tiger you protect everything. The idea is to increase the food for the tiger by increasing the food for its prey.” Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12526#.W_-nmdszbIV" target="_blank">Conflict vs conservation</a>, Sophia Tamot <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Conservation-and-tourism-Chitwan-National-Park,2957" target="_blank">Conservation and tourism</a>, Kristjan Edwards <h2>No fence-sitting on conservation</h2> <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935189c7e80680e03e035jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="627"></div> The grainy night-time webcam video shows a tusker approaching an electrical fence designed to keep wildlife from raiding crops outside the Bardia National Park. There is a small spark as the elephant gets a shock on its trunk, and retreats. In another clip, the same elephant returns, and knowing that the wire is live, uses his tusk to knock down the cement pillar. Through trial and error, the smart elephant has learnt that neither its tusk, nor the cement pole conducts electricity, and has learnt to destroy the fence without touching the wires. In another instance that was not caught on camera, a bull elephant lifts a dead tree with its trunk and flings it across the electrified fence, and walks across. Humans and elephants are constantly trying to outwit each other here in one of the biggest sanctuaries for wild elephants in Nepal. “The elephants always surprise us with how creative they are,” says Kumar Khadka of the National Nature Conservation Trust (NTNC) whose team has now come up with a prototype fence design that protects the pillar as well with electrified wire tentacles. The elephants are attracted by bananas and other treats placed inside the fence and are monitored by movement-activated cameras at night. So far, humans are winning. But one never knows if the elephants will come up with an even more clever plan to demolish the fence. Cas de Stopelaar of the Himalayan Tiger Foundation explains the importance of the fence research: “As tiger and elephants numbers inside the park increase, they will go out of the park in search of food. Human-wildlife conflict will reduce the villagers’ interest in conservation. So we need to have enough food for the wildlife inside the park, and have a stronger fence.” Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/how-humans-can-live-with-wild-elephants%20,4179" target="_blank">How humans can live with wild elephants</a>, Sheren Shrestha and Gokarna Jung Thapa <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/more-rhinos-means-more-encounter,4045" target="_blank">More rhinos mean more encounters,</a> Alex Dudley

It's a jungle out there

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/6369351a9c7e80680e03e036jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>JUNGLE LAW: Kanchhi Lama lives in Parsa near the Indian border. She has fortified her goat shed, but still fears leopard attacks.</figcaption></figure>Parsa National Park has 18 adult tigers today, up from seven in 2013. In Chitwan, tiger numbers have increased from 91 to 93. In Banke National Park it went up from 4 to 21, and from 50 to 87 in Bardiya National Park.Across the border in India, there have been similar increases. Here in the Valmiki Tiger Reserve, the number of big cats has gone up, but the exact count will be known after an ongoing Indian tiger census is completed. There has been a similar increase in Katarniyaghat Wildlife Reserve bordering Nepal. However, greater tiger populations along the India-Nepal border have increased the threat of cross-border poaching and human-wildlife conflict.“Our conservation efforts will succeed only if we see Chitwan, Parsa and Valmiki Tiger Reserve not as separate territories but as a complex,” says Ajay Sinha, Range Officer of the Valmiki Tiger Reserve in Bihar. “We are collaborating with Nepal to ensure that we provide animals what they need, and do not duplicate efforts. We communicate almost on a daily basis, bypassing bureaucratic procedures that would take months.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17191&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">It's a jungle out there</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17109&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Naturally Nepal</a>, EditorialBoth India and Nepal are now getting communities on both sides of the border involved in conservation. The two governments, with the help of World Wildlife Fund (WWF), have installed solar-electric fences to stop animals from entering villages, distributed biogas and LPG gas to reduce use of firewood, promoted livestock management to reduce encroachment into forests, and formed Rapid Rescue Teams (RRT) and Community-Based Anti-Poaching Units (CBAPU).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/6369351e9c7e80680e03e037jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last year, when several rhinos from Chitwan were swept into India by a flood, residents of Binwaliya village in Bihar rescued some and returned them to Nepal. Recalls one of the villagers, Sanjay Kumar: “The rhino was in the field, and we called the Forest Department which tranquilised it and sent it back. Previously, if we saw wild animals in our villages, we would try to shoo it away, injure it, or even kill it.”Since Nepal committed to doubling its tiger numbers, it began habitat management, protection, and community engagement, many of which have to be implemented side by side with India. Along the border in Chitwan and Parsa alongside India’s Valmiki Tiger Reserve in India, there are Nepal Army guard posts every 5-10 kilometers to stop cross-border poaching. All three sanctuaries have worked together to improve grasslands to attract prey for the growing number of tigers.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-tigers-now-number-235/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal tigers now number 235</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/how-many-tigers-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">How many tigers in Nepal?</a>, Kunda DixitWhere forests have depleted along the Nepal India border, local communities have helped rehabilitate many forest corridors.  Shikaribas corridor in Parsa and Khata corridor in Bardia have been extremely important in facilitating the movement of animal and growing their numbers. “Animals need not just food, but also open space for movement, and sheltered space for cover,” explains Bharat Gotame of WWF Nepal. “Tigers can travel 300 km over two days in serach of prey, and elephants have migratory routes. So, their habitat should not be fragmented.”But the impact of such fragmentation is already visible in Nepal, where the East-West Highway cuts through the Banke and Bardia National Parks and Shuklaphanta Wildlife Reserve. Last year alone, Bardia National Park lost over 60 wild animals to road kill, most of them deer. The new feeder roads that run parallel to the Indian border dissects the Chitwan-Parsa-Valmiki Complex.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935219c7e80680e03e038jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="667">“We need Smart Green Infrastructure with under and overpasses so that increasing connectivity does not endanger wildlife,” says Warden Ashok Bhandari at Bardia National Park.Haribhadra Acharya at Parsa National Park agrees, adding that since tigers are at the top of the food chain, more tigers means a healthier eco-system. “A healthy population of tigers means that there is also a healthy population of deer and other prey, and the variety of plants that these herbivores feed on,” Acharya explains.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/sun-striped-shadows/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sun striped shadows</a>, Lisa Choegyal <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/clouded-future-for-the-clouded-leopard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Clouded future for the Clouded Leopard</a>, Yadav GhimireyThe success of trans-boundary conservation and the increase in wildlife has brought another, more immediate threat to the very communities that protect them. Human-wildlife conflict has increased as wild elephants, wild boar and monkeys regularly raid farms. Leopards and tigers kill livestock and even humans. Parsa National Park has attempted to solve this problem by relocating two villages that were inside the park. However, several villages that line the Indian border and are sandwiched between forests of India and Nepal, are threatened by wildlife.One of them is Kanchhi Lama of Subarnapur at the edge of the Parsa National Park, who has fortified her goat shed with metal nets to protect animals from leopards. But she adds: “We hear leopards growling at night, and we are scared to go out.”In the west, the Khata Corridor provides the only link between Bardia National Park and India’s Katarniyaghat Wildlife Reserve, and several villages have regular encounters with tigers and elephants. Bhagraiya has 70 households and is surrounded by forests on three sides, and some villagers say it is now getting too dangerous to live there, and would like to be relocated.Laxmi Chand of Bhagraiya village survived an encounter with a leopard in her goat-shed recently, and says: “We have stopped planting crops in our fields near the forest. What is the point? Wild animals will destroy it all.”Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2018/02/07/no-tiger-no-mountain/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">No tiger, no mountain</a>, Kunda Dixit <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/Tigerman-tiger,930" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tigerman</a>, Lisa Choegyal

Nature without borders

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171136/636934c19c7e80680e03e014jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="1067"/><figcaption>Kunda Dixit</figcaption></figure>Across the world, human societies are suffering a growing nature deficit. The march of consumerism and economic globalisation has come at an enormous cost to the local and global environment. Much of the change is irreversible on a civilisational timescale: rivers destroyed by dams, landscapes mutilated, a cascade of extinctions and climate collapse.Nature is valueless, it cannot have a price tag. Our culture and religion regards nature as sacred. Nature matters to us because of its emotional value, and the health benefits of being amidst it cannot be measured in dollars and cents.But modern economics puts a monetary value to nature. It can be bought and sold without factoring in its intrinsic value. We are not required to calculate the cost of its destruction when evaluating its worth. An Environmental Impact Assessment of a project tries to calculate the impact to nature of infrastructure or development projects. There are attempts to post a cash value to ‘natural capital’ and ‘ecosystem services’, but these are narrow attempts to measure something immeasurable and priceless.The crisis of the anthropocene is rooted in governments, businesses and sections of the public regarding nature as free and limitless. This is why native forests have been logged until there is nothing left, smoke and emissions are pumped into the air and filled with toxins, river beds are mined, and the earth is warming because we are burning all this fossil carbon.This issue of Nepali Times carries a Special Package on nature conservation in the Tarai national parks. The results of the tiger census this year showed the encouraging result that Nepal was the first country to attain the target of doubling its tiger population four years ahead of schedule. The number of tigers has jumped from 200 four years ago to 235, with most of the increase in Bardia National Park.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17191&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">It's a jungle out there</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17216&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nature without borders</a>, Sewa BhattaraiTigers had nearly disappeared in Bardia after the Nepal Army was pulled out of anti-poaching duty during the conflict. But numbers there have soared from 18 ten years ago to 87 today. This is a phenomenal achievement.The reason tigers are important is because they are at the top of the food chain and protecting them protects everything else in the ecosystem. But as our stories on page 14-15 indicate, predator-prey imbalance can throw nature off kilter.The problem in Bardia is that while the tiger population has increased, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/how-many-tigers-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">there has been a serious decline in prey density</a> and this presents a danger to the new tigers. Predators then venture outside the park to attack livestock, thus weakening the villagers’ support for nature conservation.Nepal’s tiger range spans the open border with India, which means wildlife moves freely back and forth. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-tigers-now-number-235/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The resurgence of tiger numbers in nature reserves</a> on both sides of the border have increased the problem of human-wildlife conflict as well as attracted cross border poachers.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/crying-wolf/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Crying wolf</a>, Ryan Davy<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17514#.W_-2ANszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal's year of the leopard</a>, Shahani SinghThe success of tiger conservation was achieved through India-Nepal cooperation, and the new challenges must also be addressed jointly. Grass palatable to deer species are not so common because of the water table going down because of the flow of the Karnali River being diverted by boulder mining upstream. This has benefited trees, but not grass.Climate change has also made monsoon rains erratic. Large herbivores used to trample on the tall grass and allow deer to get to the tender shoots underneath, but Bardia’s once thriving populations of arna, gaur and nilgai have disappeared. Tiger numbers can be increased further if there is enough of the right type of grass.Tigers need prey, prey need grasslands, grass needs moisture, but humans have tampered with the water. The web of life links everything in an ecosystem together, and we need to understand this for nature conservation.Nature has intrinsic value, even though governments may try to give it economic value. For Nepal, nature must be valued also because biodiversity represents our national identity and our sense of self-worth. Nature should not just be protected in national parks. Our urban deserts need to be rewilded as well.Read also:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Preying%20on%20the%20predator,387" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Preying on the predator</a>, Priya Joshi<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17515#.W_-2WNszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Once there was a leopard</a>, Nirmal Ghosh<h2>10 years ago this week</h2>Nepali Times issue #426 of 21-28 November 2008 carried a column by Debi Sunar, the mother of Maina Sunar, 14, who was raped and killed at the Panchkhal barracks of the Royal Nepal Army. She lamented that neither the Army nor the Maoists were prepared to tell her the truth. Her quest for justice for Maina remains unfulfilled to this day. Excerpt:‘I had thought that I would get justice when the Maoists came to power. But now I see that they are too busy with their own vested interests. No Maoist leader or cadre has ever spoken to me after they got into government. I don’t understand how they could just forget about the victims of the conflict so soon.Not just the Maoists, many human rights activists and journalists have also taken advantage of my tragedy. They take hours and hours of footage of me and then they sell my suffering. The army also promised compensation, but I didn’t go to the Kavre district office because my struggle was not for money.I wanted to take the guilty to court to have them tried and then awarded damages.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/426" data-elementor-open-lightbox=""></a><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171136/636934c49c7e80680e03e015jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="509" height="796">