The Other Side of Gir

Gir National Park is regularly hailed as the last refuge of the Asiatic lion (Panthera leo persica) in the world. In the early 20th century, the Nawab of Junagadh declared the forested area of Gir a reserve to protect the disappearing population of lions. In 1965, the area was declared a sanctuary and then a national park. The growing population of lions has since slowly expanded into the surrounding areas. Lions can be found as far away as the outskirts of Dwarka, over 270 km away.

Gir is a dense deciduous forest interspersed with grasslands, shrubs, and evergreen trees. On my first morning safari in the park, Ketan, the naturalist accompanying me, said we were going to Andheri. Not the Mumbai suburb, of course, but a part of the park called Andheri (a dark place) because of the denseness of the canopy. There, we would stake out owls and raptors.

It was much colder and damper than I’d expected. Bundled up in the dark, we cocked our ears for the hooting of owls when suddenly, we heard the high-pitched screech of a crested serpent eagle, a bird of thick forests, not the dry, open habitat I had expected in Gir.

All the images of Gir I’d seen until then showed a dry, parched land. While this was true for large parts of my safari experience, what surprised me was how much water and greenery was all around us even though it was already February. Far from being dry, Gir is home to seven perennial rivers, southern Gujarat’s water lifelines, the Hiran, Shetrunji, Dhatarvadi, Shingoda, Machhundri, Ambajal, and Raval rivers. Four of these are dammed, and the reservoir formed by the Kamleshwar Dam on the Hiran is often called the “lifeline of Gir”.

When a national park houses a big cat species, all promotions tend to centre on that flagship species. This is an understandable marketing approach, and it does a great service to all the other species and the habitat as the entire region comes under protection.

Lions are undoubtedly a majestic sight in the wild, and watching them striding without a care in the world is truly worth the effort of getting to Gir. But when you’re there, don’t close your eyes to the bounty of this wonderfully stocked forest. Gir has a number of other cat species. Leopards, for instance, are part of the habitat though my quest to spot one went unfulfilled. Jungle cats, rusty-spotted cats, and wild cats are also part of Gir.

Another mammal I saw a lot of was the mongoose — at least two on every safari I went on. They popped up from behind rocks or logs, appearing to check us out.

Gir also has many birds of prey. The crested serpent eagle, Bonelli’s eagle, and the changeable hawk-eagle are species you can spot here, as are the brown fish owl, Indian scops owl, and forest owlet. Most surprising to me was seeing numerous mugger crocodiles (Crocodylus palustris). The waterways and dams are so well-stocked with them that the Crocodile Breeding Centre at Sinh Sadan near the ticket counter has been recently shut down because it isn’t needed anymore. A happy victim of its own success.

Perhaps the most common idea you hear about Gir is that “lions are everywhere” and you have to “have really bad luck to not see several on every safari”. As much of a captivating spectacle as it is, lions, like any apex predator, live life on their own terms. If they’ve decided to have a nap in the thicket, they will move only when they’re ready, not when a safari vehicle comes by.

On my last evening in the forest, waiting for the gates to open, Ajaybhai, my driver, and I set up our private lion lottery. “I’ll show you five today”, Ajaybhai said to me. Considering how sparse the sightings had been, I asked him to reconsider. We bet on cold, refreshing sugarcane juice as the winner’s post-drive reward. He laughed, confident in his prediction, and we set off.

This new route Ajaybhai took me on had many animal sightings. Over the course of the safari, we saw chital, sambar, a band of grey mongooses, and a pair of spotted owlets. But even though we were just 30 minutes from the end of our safari, we hadn’t seen a single lion. Then, we turned around a copse of acacia trees, and suddenly, Ajaybhai stopped the vehicle. With the eye of a local who’s grown up watching lions and spots them for a living, Ajaybhai peered into the thicket. Slowly he turned his head to me, and a grin broke out. He pointed into the thicket with one hand and held up four fingers with the other. Sure enough, there was a lioness, her two cubs, and a male lion lying in the shade, likely sleeping off a late lunch. We watched them until we had to leave. Driving back, I reminded Ajaybhai that we were still short of five sightings, but he raised his hand to reassure me. Almost on cue, a roar rang out from the trees on our left. It was answered almost immediately by another lion roaring back in reply. I couldn’t believe our luck and gladly conceded that the roaring counted as a sighting. I’d never been happier to lose a bet.

That evening, Gir decided to put on another show as we drove towards the gate for my last safari. The park has quite a few palash trees, and our route was laden with trees in bloom unseasonably early. Normally, they’re just budding in February, but they had already bloomed here, and the deep red flowers were dropping. Large swathes of our route were carpeted in red, debunking the customary brown-beige tones so popular in Gir documentaries. What surprised me most was how populous this tree is in this semi-arid land. I’d imagined it was more a tree of the thicker jungles of Central and North India, as solitary specimens that light up large green patches, leading to its common name, flame of the forest. Why wasn’t this side of Gir highlighted or mentioned in travel guides? I felt fortunate to have seen a different version of Gir’s habitat during my trip.