Wild India [antikvár]

Introduction A traveller arriving by air almost invariably lands in the small hours of the night. When the doors open, a gust of heat like the blast from a furnace reminds him that this is India. The last time I landed at Dum-Dum, Calcutta's airport, at 2 a.m. the temperature stood at a clammy 33°C. In spite of the hour, the airport was swarming with people and every bench crowded to capacity with shrouded, sleeping figures and their cloth-bound bundles. Many lay untidily on the floor, still wearing their tinsel garlands of departure, but looking like the aftermath of a massacre. Airports in India, like railway stations, serve as neighbourhood dormitories, through which travellers must fight their way, aided by the enthusiastic khaki-clad baggage touts, who perhaps an hour later will triumphantly find their suitcases for them and obtain a taxi. Seasoned travellers will know that it is useless to hurry and that one after another the many officials, with contemplative devoHon to duty, will examine minutely every stamp on every page of every passport. In planning an itinerary they will also have learned to accept at face value the charmingly worded notice stamped on the Indian Tourist Department brochure that 'all factual information is liable to change without notice.' What could be more disarmingly frank than this? Whether you spend the remainder of the night in a modern hotel or in a mahogany and red velvet relic of the Victorian era, the unmistakable smell and sounds of India will greet the new day. The smell is compounded of burning cow-dung, spices and hot dust. From the roof-tops will come the squealing of Black Kites, locally called Pariahs for their scavenging habits, and as likely as not you will hear the chatter of the ubiquitous Mynahs. In the streets below there will be the incessant noise of taxi-horns and of people. Hundreds, thousands of them, some hurrying to work, others wandering aimlessly or talking in animated groups, or begging. In India it is almost impossible to escape the sight of people. In 1984 her population was approaching 750,000,000 and increasing at a rate of 1,000,000 a month. The city of Calcutta alone has a population of 10,500,000 — an average density of nearly 100,000 people to the square kilometre. You can generalise about some countries, but not about India. It is a land of too many superlatives and contrasts, too great a range of widely differing scenes, too bewildering a complexity of ethnic origins, traditions, languages and religions. It is an unbelievably beauKful land, whether seen in the glare of the midday sun when its colours are harshly brilliant, or at dawn when the palm trees stand Hke disembodied sentinels above the candescent mist rising from the paddyfields. Wherever you go, its colourful pageant flows past you, ever changing. This fascinating region is so vast and its life so diverse that no-one can know more than a fraction of it. In offering the reader something of the impression which it has made on me I am aware that it has been acquired, perhaps imperfectly, through Western eyes. The many photographs that follow, however beautiful in themselves, can represent only a fraction of the splendour which at every turn awaits the traveller. Because my interest and that of my colleague, the photographer Gerald Cubitt, lies primarily in the natural environment, we have deliberately omitted the incredibly rich heritage of man-made treasures, such as the voluptuous Hindu and assertively austere Islamic shrines, which for 3000 years have continued to increase in number. These are described and illustrated in a host of guide-books. The India of the British Raj embraced not only the great Indian peninsula and its many princely States, but also what is now Pakistan to the west, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan to the north and what has now become Bangladesh in the east. Ceylon (now called Sri Lanka) and even Burma, which has nothing in common with India, were usually included, if only because they were coloured pink on the map as being at that time within the British sphere of political influence. Since the Partition of India in 1947 all these counhies have gained thek independence as Sovereign States, except Sikkim — which has become part of India. Although this book deals principally with India, the phrase 'Indian subcontinent' is used when reference to these adjoining countries is also involved, for example in the case of the dishibu-tion of animal species or geological feahires. Sri Lanka is omitted because this great island has been separated from the conKnental land-mass for many miUions of years. Visitors to India may be confused by the disappearance of once familiar place-names, because in 1956 the States were reorganized and many were given new names. India itself has the Hindi name Bharat, and although English is still the lingua franca of nearly all educated Indians, Hindi is officially the national language under the Constitution of India. However, since each ethnic group fiercely demands that its language should remain inviolate, it may be some years before this becomes fully effective. There would be an obvious unifying advantage in a single language. At present there are 15 'official' languages and 45 others spoken to a lesser degree. In addition, more than 700 quite different dialects are still current in various parts of the counbry. If ever a government had difficulty in communicating its policies to its people, it is that of India. A crowded scene in Old Delhi. With a population of some 750 million, India is enduring severe social and economic problems related to ever-growing human pressures. The Legacies of Invasion To understand the reasons for the extraordinary diversity of the Indian scene one must turn to its turbulent history and to the complex influences of its numerous religions. For 3000 years the renown of the rich natural resources of the subcontinent attracted powerful invaders, many of whom brought with them new religious beliefs which they established during their conquests. Indi-