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Raja ban gaya gentleman!
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The city will soon have a new resident - Raja, a giraffe. PRAKASAM K. UNNI travels with the team that brings the giraffe from the Mysore zoo to Thiruvananthapuram, and writes...
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Which mother would let her two year-old baby travel with a group of strangers? Honey, the sole female giraffe at the Sri Chamarajendra Zoological Gardens in Mysore, did so. She let her baby Raja set out on a journey to Thiruvananthapuram, never to return.
But then, Honey had never been fond of him, the third of her sons. She, like many giraffes in captivity, had failed to feed and nurse him when he was young. Raja had been reared by the zoo-keepers. Therefore, though almost 13 feet tall, he is comfortable with the short-statured humans around him. He lost his father, Henry, a few months ago.
A month ago, when he was set apart in a grassy patch of his own and given an odd-looking contraption, a packing crate for travel, which none of his three brothers had, he had been proud, but a little suspicious. But when his food was served there, he liked it. He now had his own dining room.
Raja never realised his `dining room' had a door. As he walked into his room for a brunch at 11 a.m. on May 15, the door that had been disguised as a walkway with grass, mud and cow dung, was shut to trap him in.
With forced optimism, he may have reasoned that these people who had reared him must mean well. Maybe, they were just pulling his long leg. He waits for the rahu kaalam to be over -- it was from 12 noon to 1-30 p.m. on that day. The crowds gather and he becomes the star of the day.
Despite growing crowds, Raja has no star tantrums. He cooperates as his room, now his crate, is padded with coir and foam, his food and drinking trough are placed, and the wires of the crane that would carry him onto a vehicle are fastened to the 1.25 tonne crate. A little after 5 p.m., his crate is lifted and placed on a truck with a 38 feet long trolley trailer. Cameras click, and the vehicle moves towards the gates of the zoo. He bids a silent farewell to his mama, elder brothers Krishnaraja and Chamaraja and playful kid brother, Yuvaraja, just six months old. After completion of formalities and a puja, by the driver of the truck, with kumkum-smeared ash gourd and incense, at 9 p.m., the journey begins.
Accompanying Raja are K. Harikumar, the superintendent, and Abdulsalam, the vet of the Thiruvananthapuram zoo, besides keepers Vimalan and Chandran. C. S. Yalakki, the director of the Thiruvananthapuram zoo, who had camped at Mysore for more than a week to oversee operations, sees the giraffe and its entourage off. His absence from the scene of action thereafter, he says, would increase his anxiety manifold.
But, for Abdulsalam and Harikumar, trying times are ahead. Worried and involved, they had gone through the checklist of medicines umpteen times -- dressing material, antibiotics, vitamins, antiseptics and, tranquilisers. Documents for transfer were scrutinised and minutiae discussed. They were doing something rarely attempted -- the transport of a giraffe by land.
What gives the giraffe its beauty and grace is its Achilles heel too. "Its long neck and legs make it highly prone to injury when being transported. It rarely sits down," says Harikumar. "With the largest heart and highest blood pressure among mammals, it is susceptible to shock and consequently death, especially since the flow of blood to its brain is regulated by an intricate arrangement through a series of valves in its neck," adds the doctor.
Though the route of about 900 km through Bangalore, Salem, Madurai and Nagercoil had been recced twice, all are "travelling on the edge". The maximum speed possible is only 25 to 30 km per hour. If the crate brushes against any of the over-hanging branches or wires, it could mean a severely injured animal at the least or a dead one at worst. A pilot car carries the superintendent and a supervisor from the Mysore zoo who check out the low-hanging branches, power lines, telephone wires and TV cables. Instructions are passed on to the truck inching behind, using hand signs. In the truck's cabin, Abdulsalam and the driver watch out for the hand signs and obstructions. On the trailer, Vimalan stands sentinel holding a long bamboo pole with a cross-piece at its top to lift the wires and cables above the crate and to cut intruding branches. The truck crawls, grinds, zigzags and is forced to break traffic restrictions to keep Raja safe. Drivers of other vehicles and the police are helpfully benign. The first leg of the journey out of Mysore is incredibly slow. Just 10 km is logged in an hour. "The giraffe," Harikumar feels, "is a little anxious." And suddenly, all grow anxious. But as the night deepens, Raja, the child that he is, looks amused and eager. And surprisingly, the blinding headlights of passing vehicles do not discomfit him. The doctor attributes this to the fact that Raja's enclosure at the Mysore zoo had been adjacent to the road. "He must have grown used to it. So, he need not be blindfolded in transit".
Sitting in the truck's cabin, the vet monitors the state of the animal continuously. "He is in fine condition. His lips and ears twitch. He is also chewing the cud. These are positive signs," he explains. Past 2 a.m., when Raja feeds for the first time during the journey, all are overjoyed. The stretch of road after Mandya is nightmarish. The trees that criss-cross the road with intertwined low branches make everyone hate the very sight of greenery. The tarpaulin covering the top of the crate is ripped, a supporting bar of the mesh roof falls off. Everything is attended to on a war footing. Harikumar and the vet, though gazetted officers, turn cleaners. When the straight eucalyptus trees later burst into view, there is a sigh of relief.
The truck driver, a fan of Rajnikanth, plays songs from the superstar's films at full blast once in a while to ward off sleep. A little past Chennapatna, a cat crosses the path of the vehicle and the driver turns apprehensive. At 4 a.m., the group decides to bivouac. Everyone goes to bed wherever possible -- on the trailer, inside the car, by the side of the road. But, 93 km into the journey, Raja is in no mood to sleep.
Next morning, Raja's insomnia is cause for alarm. But Harikumar reassures everybody, "When a giraffe was transferred from Kolkata to Chennai, it did not sleep for the first three nights. So there is no cause for undue worry." Everybody makes nature his privy, skips bath and by 10 a.m., the convoy winds into Bangalore. Intersections, crossings and speeding vehicles are negotiated with caution. Commuters, drivers, pedestrians and even traffic police officers turn child-like. They look agape or shout, "Giraffe, giraffe."
When Bangalore city is left behind, Raja sulks. After rest and being pampered for three hours, the pout disappears and the journey continues. At the forest checkpoint of the Tamil Nadu government in Hosur, official high-handedness makes Raja sweat in the broiling sun without shade for more than an hour. He looks dismayed and it takes effort and generous helpings of peepul leaves, his favoured fodder, to make him smile again.
By dusk on the second day, the convoy reaches Gangasandra in Dharmapuri district. Crowds gather. Harikumar faces a staccato of questions. "Did you capture it from a forest? From where is it? Where are you taking it? Is it being taken to be butchered? How much have you paid for it?" and even, "What is it?" and "Is it a camel?" An animal-wise peasant asks the doctor, "How many teeth does it have?" But a slip of a girl who had been trying to sell the superintendent a string of jasmine all evening asks the question that stumps everybody. "You have bought a camel for (Rs.) 5 lakhs. Then why can't you buy flowers from me for Rs. 5?"
Sheets of rain and gusts of wind lash the convoy at Gangasandra. While everyone sits tight in their vehicles, Raja enjoys the rain, munching his favourite leaves again. After the rains, the journey continues at a snail's pace to avoid skidding. Everyone is on the lookout for puddles of water that could conceal potholes. The convoy reaches Krishnagiri after nightfall and repairs to the truck's lights are being done. I take my leave of Raja and his hardy friends. As I say goodbye, Harikumar and Abdulsalam are tying their tongues in knots trying to pronounce the word for giraffe in Tamil - `Ottakachivinki'. Later, as I travel by the road that Raja will soon take, unseasonal rain pours. A silent prayer goes up as one realises that one can pray for a giraffe too.
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