Burning Hills

We get two spells of monsoon every year – southwest (July, August) and northeast (October, November). Thus during the second half of the year, the grasses on the surrounding hills provide food and nourishment to the local cattle.  Some fast-growing native plants have taken root on the hills and have started growing in to young trees. Come February, the effects of the monsoon are long gone. The soils are dry and heat starts going up (above 35 deg C). The beautiful lush green rolling hills are turning brown. The shepherds are beginning to think about buying cattle feed. The desperation for cattle food gets intense as days go by. 

One fine morning we hear crackling sounds in the distance. We know enough now to fear for the lives of all the thousands of creatures that have made their homes in these hills. The sound is now accompanied by smoke. In a few minutes we catch a glimpse of the raging fire. Man made. The fire displays its ferocity, leaping over huge boulders and engulfing everything that is in its way.

A road and a creek, approximately 300 meters, between us and the foothills of the burning hills. From the comforts of our house we helplessly watch the fire sweep from west to east. The scale of this fire makes it one of the most horrible and disturbing sights. The hills that were green in the morning are burnt to ashes in less than an hour. Grasses, young plants, thorny trees, nests, young hatch-lings, eggs, bugs, worms, snakes, wild hares. All wiped clean. Just so there can be new blades of fresh grass, if and when there are summer showers. The new growth can then feed the cattle for some time before the next monsoon sets in. Also walking up and down the burned hills will now be easier and less hazardous. This is a typical shepherd’s way of thinking.

Seven years ago when we came here looking for land I saw this man-made fire for the first time in my life. It left me unsettled for many days. I felt compelled to do something about it. But the ease and discreetness with which someone could destroy the life on the hills soon put things in perspective.
Wind, rain and birds ensure that a good mix of native plants come up on the hills. Why can’t these hills be allowed to have native trees grow big and tall? Those trees can then be lopped and fed to the cattle. After all, the native trees and shrubs (neem, palm, teak, muddy, avaram, caloptropis g., dodonaea v., Acacia spp.) don’t take very long to get well established. If only small sections of these hills can be left alone, untouched by humans (and the fire they make) we can create a paradise around us. But the growing demands for milk and meat won’t let that happen.
Such is the tragedy of the commons.

-- Hema