Weekly Travel Feature

After the Elusive One-Horn Rhino in Nepal's Chitwan National Park

Prepared by Harold Stephens
Travel Correspondent for Thai Airways International

The Chitwan National Park in Nepal’s lowland forest area, called the Terai, is not far from Kathmandu, less than 150 klm or five or six hours by road. Travel writer Robin Dannhorn and I caught a morning bus at the outskirts of Kathmandu and were at the bus stop in Narayanghat––an hour’s drive from Chitwan––in the early afternoon, in time to join an elephant safari in a search for the elusive one-horn rhino. We were not losing any time.

Still, we did have a long way to go. We wanted to explore the two largest wildlife reserves in Nepal, Chitwan and Barida in the west, both inhabited by the indigenous Tharu people. Not so long ago, the two parks were once called the Royal Chitwan National Park and the Royal Bardia National Park. The overthrow of the royal family in Nepal changed all that.

Prior to the 1950's, there were only a few scattered settlements carved out of the jungle by the Tharu. Chitwan was completely wild and used as the hunting preserve of the Rana Prime Ministers, who then ruled Nepal. They organised great hunts, to which they often invited the Viceroys of India or the Royalty of Europe.

From Kathmandu to Narayanghat our bus travelled the Mahendra Highway, high above deep gorges, following the Trisuli and Buri Gandaki Rivers that eventfully find way into the Ganges. The highway drops from the mountains into a wide verdant valley where it’s tropical with green rice fields and the river widens. Farmhouses are of painted mud with cattle housed beneath. It’s picture postcard scenery.

We were now in the Terai.

Other than being one of the most interesting and exciting pieces of real-estate left on this planet, the Terai is a belt of marshy grasslands, savannas and forests lying at the base of the Himalaya range––not only in Nepal but in India and Bhutan as well. The Terai zone is basically an ecoregion, or ecosystem, of savanna and wetlands, of tall grasslands and evergreen forests. The grasslands are among the tallest in the world. This ecoregion is home to the endangered one-horned rhinoceros as well as elephants, tigers, bears, leopards and other wild animals. Much of the ecoregion has been converted to farmland, but thanks to the Chitwan National Park and the Bardia National Park, these areas are home to some of the greatest concentrations of rhinoceros and tiger remaining in South Asia.

We were met at the bus stop in Narayanghat by a ranger from Tiger Mountain and led to the lodge, through native Tharu villages. The lodge, consisting of a large hall and adjoining huts, is built of native material and is in keeping with the habitat of the villages. Ceilings are high and vaulted and the walls, constructed of tough elephant grass reeds, are plastered over with a mixture of mud and cattle dung. The construction, contrary as it might sound, is very pleasing in appearance having been painted over with a blue coloured wash and adorned with clusters of painted flowers.

But Robin and I had little time to linger to admire the setting. We were hastily introduced to Bhrikuti Kali and Baleram Matha. They were waiting for us at the edge of the lodge. Bhrikuti Kali was our elephant, a 35 years old, four-ton beast that looked as high as a two-storey building. Baleram Matha was the mahout, a native Tharu who had been pals with Bhrikuti Kali for nineteen years. You can say they both understood one another, at least by the 36 commands that Bhrikuti Kali knew to follow.

Mounting the howdah astride the elephants back was simple enough, but staying seated was another thing. The lodge has constructed a wooden platform with steps leading to the top. The elephant backs into place and when you take your seat you almost don’t know you are seated on the howdah, that is, until the elephants begin to more forward.

The howdah can seat four; two on each side, with wooden foot rests. The seating arrangement is not uncomfortable but that changes the moment the elephant begins to move out. He moves with cushioned feet, planting each foot softly, chee-op, chee-op, but the movement on the howdah is anything but comfortable. We lurch from side to side, ending each lurch with a sudden jarring jolt. One must hold onto a wooden cross bar to keep from falling backwards. Getting used to the motion is not easy. Taking photographs is most difficult.

Jiteu Chaudhary is a park naturalist who had joined us. He stood on the elephant’s rump holding on to the howdah. The mahout takes commands from him. Jiteu was determined to find rhino for us.

We did not enter the major Chitwan park area. Unfortunately it has been closed by the new government. Rather than continuing to fight the Maoist rebels, a war that lasted for many long years, the government invited the rebels to join them. Once united, the Maoists took charge and decided to close the national parks until a new lease with the concession operators, like Tiger Tops, is re-negotiated. Technically, however, this wasn’t a hindrance for us. Around the wildlife reserve area is a buffer zone that is an extension of the park where the native people can farm and graze their cattle. Wild game animals come out from the sanctuary and roam freely in the buffer zone.

Rangers keep a close tag on the wildlife. As late as 1950 some 800 rhinos existed in Chitwan. The number now is estimated to be 400. Primarily responsible for the decline of wildlife was not hunting and poaching but the resettlement of large numbers of Nepalese hill people in the valley during the 1950's, following the wake of economic crisis in the hills. About three-quarters of the forests and grassland were destroyed in order to make new farms.

Chitwan is laced with one river after another which we each had to cross. We were joined by another elephant carrying two women. They spoke Nepalese and I assumed they were wives of government officials. Their mahout and ours devised a plan to flush out game that might be in the underbrush. One elephant made a wide path driving game towards the other elephant. We rolled along, lurching, wallowing in the swamp when we came to marsh areas. Those magnificent elephants, with their huge feet––tchewch, tchewch, tchewch. They eat constantly, reaching out with their trunks to snatch plants and leaves to munch on. Our mahout, Baleram Matha, explained that Bhrikuti Kali eats 500 kilos of green plants and vegetations every day, plus another 30 kilos of grain.

Jiteu, the naturalist, was most helpful. He told us the names of the trees and shrubs, the animals, the plants and the birds. We stopped when game was near. He and the mahout have remarkable eyesight. The elephant stops and they both point ahead to the right or to the left. It’s samber deer ahead, one of the five species of deer in Chitwan. Further on it’s wild pig they spot. Monkeys chatter in the trees.

I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to get lost. It didn’t help when Jiteu said if we happened to get knocked off the elephant in the brush, get back aboard as quickly as possible. And how does one do that? I couldn't help thinking about Karna Sakay, the retired forest officer Robin and I met in Kathmandu a few days before. I remembered what Sakay said about elephants sometimes getting so spooked and taking off into the bush that their mahouts cannot stop them. It isn’t tigers that spook them as much as it might be a sloth bear or a wild boar.

In 1962 the Nepalese Government set aside that portion of the Chitwan Valley, south of the Rapti River, as a wildlife sanctuary, but it was in 1967 that Sakya set the line of demarcation of the sanctuary, all on elephant back and some by foot. All hunting was banned, and a force of armed guards – the "rhino patrol" – was created to protect the sanctuary from poaching and agricultural encroachment. But, as Sakay pointed out, poaching of the rhino for its horn, highly prized by the Chinese for its medicinal value, continues, despite the presence of the armed guards.

The two animals, for which the Park is most famous, are the Royal Bengal Tiger and the Great One-Horned Rhinoceros. Other large mammals include the leopard, the gaur (largest of the wild cattle), the sloth bear, the wild boar, the sambar deer, the spotted deer, the hog deer, the barking deer, the wild dog and the Gangetic dolphin. A large variety of smaller mammals are also present such as langur monkey, rhesus monkey, jungle cat, leopard cat, fishing cat, mongoose, civet cat, jackal, otter, marten, porcupine and squirrel.

There are two kinds of crocodiles, the marsh mugger and the gharial. Over 400 species of birds have been identified.

In former times, the Great One-Horned Rhinoceros had a wide range, extending as far west as the Indus Valley. Now there are only some 2,000 left, the two areas of concentration being Kaziranga Park in Assam and Chitwan National Park in Nepal. This rhino favours a habitat consisting of marshy swampland covered with tall grass.

During the last fifty years the tiger population of the Indian subcontinent has decreased from 40,000 to a little over 3,000. The approximately 40 resident adult tigers in the Park, from a larger breeding population of about 70, is the biggest left in Asia. One Rana prince was noted to have killed 1,670 tigers.

When wild game was ahead, Bhrikuti Kali stopped abruptly, almost sending us over her head to the forest floor. We came to one high grass area when she did just that––stopped dead. Jiteu pointed toward the thick bush and whispered––rhino. He didn’t have to warn our elephant; Bhrikuti Kali knew it. She reared back. At this point she had to be cautions, not knowing if the rhino might charge. The other elephant appeared at our side, both defiant now and prepared to face the menace. Our mahouts kicked hard with their heels behind their elephants’ ears and drove them forward.

Suddenly the rhino came into view. Trailing a pace or two behind the mother was a young calk, maybe three or four months old. What a magnificent beast, more like a locomotive than a living creature. We could plainly see folds of thick skin giving the impression of armour plating. And there was her horn, little more than closely matted fibers but yet so sought after it could mean her extinction had not caution been taken. She did not rush to flee but slowly sauntered away into the bush, the young one following her.

It’s always pleasant, and rewarding, to sit back in a game park lodge after an exciting day in the bush and talk about what you had seen and experienced. Sometimes it’s nice, too, to prove the rangers wrong. When we asked about the possibly of seeing tiger, they said the chances were slight. They were wrong, so wrong. A few days later we saw our tiger close up. In fact, it was too close up for comfort. I’ll save that tale for next week.