Chitwan

Spectacularly situated on the banks of the Rapti River, opposite a prime area of jungle, SAURAHA (pronounced So-ruh-hah) is one of those unstoppably successful destinations at which Nepal seems to excel. In some lights it looks like the archetypal budget safari village, with its lodges spread out along dusty roads at the edge of the forest; at other times, you could half-close your eyes and imagine yourself in a mini Thamel. While there’s still a lot to recommend it, not least the ease of access into the park, Sauraha loses a little more of what once made it so enjoyable each year: buildings are springing up at an alarming rate.

The fast-changing cluster of shops and hotels that make up Sauraha “village” constitutes most of the action, though there’s little to do except shop, eat and plan excursions.

Whether CHITWAN NATIONAL PARK has been blessed or cursed by its own riches is an open question. The coexistence of the valley’s people and wildlife has rarely been easy or harmonious, even before the creation of the national park. In the era of the trigger-happy maharajas, the relationship was at least simple: when Jang Bahadur Rana overthrew the Shah dynasty in 1846, one of his first actions was to make Chitwan a private hunting reserve. The following century saw some truly hideous hunts – during an eleven-day shoot in 1911, a visiting King George V killed 39 tigers and 18 rhinos.

Still, the Ranas’ patronage afforded Chitwan a degree of protection, as did malaria. But in the early 1950s, the Ranas were thrown out, the monarchy was restored, and the new government launched its malaria-control programme. Settlers poured in and poaching went unpoliced – rhinos, whose horns were (and still are) valued for Chinese medicine and Yemeni knife handles, were especially hard hit. By 1960, the human population of the valley had trebled to one hundred thousand, while the number of rhinos had plummeted from one thousand to two hundred. With the Asian one-horned rhino on the verge of extinction, Nepal emerged as an unlikely hero in one of conservation’s finest hours. In 1962, Chitwan was set aside as a rhino sanctuary (becoming Nepal’s first national park in 1973); and, despite the endless hype about tigers, rhinos are Chitwan’s biggest attraction and its greatest triumph. Chitwan now boasts around 508 rhinos, and the park authorities have felt confident enough to relocate some to Bardia National Park. A number were killed by poachers during the conflict but now the soldiers are back at their posts in the park the problem has declined (though it has not been eradicated).

There are thought to be around 122 tigers in the park. Chitwan also supports at least four hundred gaur (Indian bison) and provides a part-time home to as many as 45 wild elephants, who roam between here and India. Altogether, 56 mammalian species are found in the park, including sloth bear, leopard, langur and four kinds of deer. Chitwan is also Nepal’s most important sanctuary for birds, with more than five hundred species recorded, and there are also two types of crocodile and more than one hundred and fifty types of butterfly.

Visitors can only enter the national park accompanied by a guide, and guides for activities such as jungle walks, elephant rides, canoe trips and jeep safaris vie for your attention once you arrive in the vicinity of the park. Note, however, that promises of “safari adventure” in Chitwan can be misleading. While the park’s wildlife is astoundingly concentrated, the dense vegetation doesn’t allow the easy sightings you get in the savannas of Africa (especially in autumn, when the grass is high). Many guides assume everyone wants to see only tigers and rhinos, but there are any number of birds and other animals to spot which the typical safari package may not cover, not to mention the many different ways simply to experience the luxuriant, teeming jungle: elephant rides, jeep tours, canoe trips and jungle walks each give a different slant.

Large patches of jungle still exist outside the park in Chitwan’s heavily populated buffer zone, albeit in a less pristine state. The areas designated as community forests were originally conceived to reduce the need for residents of this critical strip to go into the park to gather wood, thatch and other resources, but they’re now nearly as rich in flora and fauna as Chitwan itself. Two forests, Baghmara and Kumroj on the outskirts of Sauraha, offer alternatives to entering the park itself, and the elephant rides, particularly, are often no less rewarding.

Another community forest, the Bis Hajaar Tal (“Twenty Thousand Lakes”) wetland area, is one of the best areas – inside or outside the park – for birdwatching, though the growth of water hyacinth has reduced bird numbers. There are plenty of animals, but it’s one of the few areas of jungle that can be visited independently with relative safety – though, as always, you’ll probably get more out of it in the company of a good guide. Nepal’s second largest natural wetland, the area, provides an important corridor for animals migrating between the Terai and the hills. The name refers to a maze of marshy oxbow lakes, many of them already filled in, well hidden among mature sal trees. The area teems with birds, including storks, kingfishers, eagles and the huge Lesser Adjutant. The forest starts just west of Baghmara and the Elephant Breeding Project and reaches its marshy climax about 5km northwest of there.

DEVGHAT (or Deoghat), 5km northwest of Narayangadh, is many people’s idea of a great place to die. An astonishingly tranquil spot, it stands where the wooded hills meet the shimmering plains, and the Trisuli and the Kali Gandaki rivers merge to form the Narayani, a major tributary of the Ganga (Ganges). Some say Sita, heroine of the Ramayana, died here. The ashes of King Mahendra were sprinkled at this sacred tribeni (a confluence of three rivers: wherever two rivers meet, a third, spiritual one is believed to join them), and scores of sunyasan, those who have renounced the world, patiently live out their last days here hoping to achieve an equally auspicious death and rebirth. Many retire to Devghat to avoid being a burden to their children, to escape ungrateful offspring, or because they have no children to look after them in their old age and perform the necessary rites when they die. Pujari (priests) also practise here and often take in young candidates for the priesthood as resident students. Suggestions that a hydroelectric project might be built just downstream of the confluence seem, fortunately, to have fallen by the wayside.

Dozens of small shrines lie dotted around the village, but you come here more for the atmosphere than the sights. Vaishnavas (followers of Vishnu) congregate at Devghat’s largest and newest temple, the central shikra-style Harihar Mandir, founded in 1998 by the famed guru Shaktya Prakash Ananda of Haridwar. Shaivas (followers of Shiva) dominate the area overlooking the confluence at the western edge of the village.

The confluence

To reach the confluence, turn left at a prominent chautaara at the top of the path leading through the village: Galeshwar Ashram, on your right as you walk down the steps, and Aghori Ashram, further downhill on the right, are named after two recently deceased holy men. One of them, the one-armed Aghori Baba, was a follower of the extreme Aghori tradition and was often referred to as the “Crazy Baba”, claiming to have cut off his own arm after being instructed to do so in a dream. Various paths lead upstream of the confluence, eventually arriving at Sita Gupha, a sacred cave that is closed except on Makar Sankranti, and Chakrabarti Mandir, a shady temple area housing a famous shaligram that locals say is growing.