Dacoits and dolphins

A boat ride on the Chambal opens up a world that is still unspoilt

The sun is setting on the Chambal. All is quiet, except for the distant clang of a solitary temple bell. A buffalo grazes on the edge of a ravine on the riverfront, kicking up some of that legendary yellow dust that Chambal is known for. Scenes from the Bollywood classic Sholay play in my head as I imagine a grizzled old dacoit in its place. Just then, a Ganges river dolphin disturbs my reverie, curving gracefully out of the water, then landing back with barely a plop.  

For a river this close to Delhi, the Chambal, one of the largest tributaries of the Yamuna, is remarkably unspoiled and quiet. The river, 425 km long and as much as six km wide in parts, is one of India’s and indeed the world’s last remaining habitats of the endangered Gangetic river dolphin. 

 

A river dolphin

Ahead, something stirs on some pontoon floats on the riverbank. It’s a turtle, our guide says, handing me his binoculars. And suddenly, a dozen-odd turtles, taking in the last of the day’s watery sun, come into focus. “They seem so exposed on the float,”  I comment worrying that they’d make easy targets for poachers. “No one bothers them here,” says the guide. This region, he tells us, has been a part of the National Chambal Sanctuary since 1979.  

Further ahead there’s a sand bar, and as we approach it, the boatman kills the engine. An adult crocodile is lying on it, yawning as it bakes in the sun. This is the first time I’ve been so close to a crocodile, and I’m fascinated by its evil unblinking yellow eyes and wicked jaw full of orthodontically-challenged teeth. It makes an unexpectedly swift beeline for the water, and the boatman starts the engine hastily, putting much-needed distance between him and us. After this first sighting, we see muggers everywhere. “They’re good hunters,” says the guide, “and go as far as a kilometre inland in search of food!” It’s no wonder, I muse, that there’s so little human habitation here.

Next, I spot a Ruddy Shelduck sitting on a half-submerged gharial. It comes ashore on a slip of sand, a fish wriggling in its quirkily-shaped snout. Gharials once inhabited all the major river systems of the Indian subcontinent; today, they are listed as being critically endangered, distributed across only two per cent of their former range. Their populations have been decimated by pollution and habitat loss — lucky for us the Chambal is still clean and quiet enough for them. 

A crocodile spotted at the sanctuary

Not just gharials and river dolphins, the Chambal Sanctuary is also home to smooth- coated otters, Indian striped hyenas, jungle cats and other lesser known mammals. It has over 316 species of resident and migratory birds — including skimmers, lapwings and martins that swoop picturesquely every now and again to the water’s surface. 

Once again I wonder at how robust this riverine ecosystem seems. Ganges river dolphins are considered to be an “indicator  species” —indicating by their very presence, the relative good health of their habitat. In fact, the boatman avers that the water of Chambal is potable. I’m happy to leave his assertion untested, and remember the old legend that this river is considered cursed from the time when it was in the realm of Shakuni, maternal uncle to the Kauravas. It was somewhere here that Pandavas lost the dice game to the Kauravas. When their wife Draupadi was disrobed in court, she cursed all those who drank the waters of the Chambal. Perhaps this curse has protected it thus far.

A Ruddy Shelduck

Few tourists visit the Chambal, which is both a bane and a boon. To date, the only decent tours operational here are conducted by Chambal Safari, a sustainable tourism outfit that runs the heritage resort/wildlife camp Mela Kothi in the nearby Jarar village. Ram Pratap Singh, its affable owner, is planning a birding festival in December to raise awareness about the Chambal’s bird and animal life amongst birding and wildlife enthusiasts. Perversely, I wish that this unspoiled riverine ecosystem remains as it is, undiscovered and slightly off the beaten path. 

The river itself, I rue, watching a flock of martins take flight against the setting sun, must follow its fate and empty endlessly into the polluted sewage drain we call the Yamuna. Then the boat docks, I touch the magical waters of the Chambal in farewell, and return to my everyday life.