The shadow to our right moved ever so gently. We reversed the vehicle slowly and switched off the engine. And there it was – Melursus Ursinus, the sloth bear.
My daughter Miel and I were with Fateh Singh Rathore, en route to High Point, in the Ranthambhore Tiger Reserve on February 20, 2003. Driving leisurely, we had stopped for a bit at Lakarda, where, a decade earlier, Fateh almost lost his life when he was attacked by villagers and left for dead. The waterholes and lakes we passed were dry, with crocs and pelicans vying for the few remaining fish. “Drought is nature’s family planning device,” said Fateh, whose life has been dedicated to protecting the forest he loves. Looking to take in the eternal vistas of the Vindhyas and Aravalis, rather than indulge in tiger chasing, the bear we saw rewarded us with the sighting of a lifetime.
The male bear we saw was large and I figured it weighed around 120- 130 kg or so. In a draft chapter written for a book, ‘Mammals of India’, field biologists K. Yoganand, Clifford Rice and A.J.T. Johnsingh suggest that sloth bears evolved in the early Pleistocene (1.8 million to 11,000 years ago), and further confirm that “a fossilised fragment of a (sloth bear’s) humerus bone from the Pleistocene was found in the Kurnool basin of Andhra Pradesh and it is identical to modern specimens.” The mind boggles at the sheer vastness of time through which animals like the one we were watching have been able to survive the trials of life. At one time, scientists believed these bears were related to real sloths, perhaps because of their long nails, which we could see being put to great use not 20 metres from us.
Unmindful of us, the bear was working to a meticulous plan. In quick order he upturned a large stone, dug furiously under the gnarled roots of an acacia tree, scraped away the earth from a mound, and knocked over two or three small dry bushes. Job accomplished, it revisited all its sites, to the accompaniment of great whooshing breaths as its whitish snout sniffed for the presence of the ants, termites and grubs that constituted much of its diet. The strategy must have been perfected over millions of years. Insects tend to first freeze and then emerge to investigate or repair damage.
Bears are forest loving, tropical animals. Somewhere in the mists of time, bears and anteaters probably shared a common ancestor. Both not only eat the same kind of food, but also carry their young about on the backs in similar fashion, a sight I have seen more than once in the course of my travels through the Indian jungle. While such thoughts buzzed through my mind, “our” bear was busy helping himself from his buffet that was obviously being replenished every few minutes! Moving with an urgency I would not normally associate with sloth bears, he did his rounds – stone, tree root, earth mound, bushes and then back again. It was around 5.30 p.m. already and the light was fading. We stayed with the bear for over half an hour. It neither acknowledged us, apart from one brief glance when we first arrived, and it never stopped eating either.
Ranthambhore is of course best known for its tigers, but its relatively undisturbed habitats, with uncounted niches, provide sustenance for an amazing diversity of wildlife. The craggy rocks and deep ravines seemed tailor made for female sloth bears to bring up litters that may consist of two or three cubs. After mating and a gestation period of around seven months, mothers will retreat to secure dens in caves or ground hollows where their young will be born, usually in winter. The mother and cubs may not emerge from hiding for as long as two months, with the female caring for her defenceless cubs, while relying on stored body fat and moisture herself.
When the cubs are old enough to wander, they will be taken on short walks. At this time the protective mother is fiercely defensive of her young and this is when most human-bear conflicts are likely.
I still remember the horror that the extremely experienced forest guard Gaffar had to face when he got in the way of a protective mother not 100 metres from the famous Jogi Mahal. The bear attacked without warning, rising on its hind legs to attack Gaffar’s face and scalp. I know Gaffar well and he said he had to put his hand inside the bear’s mouth to get it to back away. He escaped with his life, and is back to patrolling his turf, but to date he insists that it was his and not the bear’s fault, and that he should have been more alert.
Bears are vital to the ecology of the forests in which they live. Opportunistic feeders they eat honey, fruit and even carrion. They thus not only turn the soil, and fertilise it with their droppings but also disperse fruit seeds far and near. Contrast Gaffar’s attitude to wildlife with that of the legion of social activists who insinuate that making bears dance on city streets should be the legitimate right of people, just because this is what once used to be done. The sloth bears range has been reduced dramatically thanks to deforestation. In the few forests where they now survive we cannot allow poachers to kill females and then sell their cubs to the highest bidders. Protecting wild sloth bears is not merely a matter of animal rights – though I for one find my stomach turning at the abominable cruelty and insensitivity of turning a miracle of evolution into a clownish performer – it is an ecological imperative.
Like the tigers of Ranthambhore and scores of other forests, sloth bears are in trouble today. Poachers kill them for the value of their bile and fat. Their claws are sold as talismans. Their most serious threat, however, comes from activists who cannot recognise either the immorality or the ecological insanity in championing the rights of those who kill mothers to steal their cubs.
Fortunately, despite all kinds of efforts and political skulduggery, attempts to legalise this bear trade have failed. Technically, anyone caught with a sloth bear, alive or dead, faces ten years in jail. But this is not the only defence the bears have. Thanks to Kids for Tigers, the programme that is reaching out to over one million Indian children, the general public is turning away from the disgusting bhalu naach or bear dance that was once common across India.
Don’t watch bear shows (or snake shows, or monkey shows!). And support wildlife efforts to save habitats such as Ranthambhore (and Bandipur, and Nagarhole, and Bhadra and Kudremukh!). This is the barest of all the bear necessities required for the survival of this amazing animal.
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Bittu Sahgal
The writer is the Editor of Sanctuary Asia magazine.[/column]