To some Dwimary may be a title preceded by a first or probably a middle name. For me, it is a small river with a boulder-strewn bed. During the lean seasons its flow is just perceptible and with rainfall in the Bhutan catchments it flows with a raging torrent. The river emerges somewhere from the Bhutan Himalayas and enters the Manas National Park from the northern ‘tip'. The generations of forest officers and staff working in Manas National Park call the said area as ‘Dwimary'. Looked from a vantage point, the scenic beauty of the area cannot be described in words like ‘very beautiful'. For, the qualities like the haunting serenity of the place, the unknown depth of throb of life is just left out.

It was a haven for the wild ungulates like the two jungle dwelling deer called the sambar (sor pohu) and the muntjac or the barking deer (sugori pohu). The other two deer —the hog deer and the swamp deer — stayed out of the area as it was not their habitat. Only when certain palatable grasses grew in abundance, solitary or small group of hog deer make their appearances.

If you were an early riser in the nearby Dwimary Beat, I suggest that you take an early morning stroll along the river bed. And you would be greeted with the indirect evidence of the majestic Royal Bengal tigers: pug marks on the fine sand. Chances are that one might find the occasional tiger kills there too. Nevertheless, it is a wonderful place to rest and meditate with Spartan comforts. But, we almost lost it forever had it not been for a crazy idea and the resultant apparently dangerous journey...

Year 2004. month of September. The sprouts of Saccharum procerum or kohuwa grasses were now full grown to give off the candy floss like white fluffy flowers. In the undisturbed river banks and the river islands their presence spread over many square kilometres. It evokes a kind of intoxicating madness in your heart and mind when you see them shimmering under the clear moon of the autumn season. Add to that the autumn breeze which comes from faraway land that ruffles your hair and whispers into your ear; telling the stories of those lands you have not been to.

Early that month, on September 7, the youngest daughter was born unto us. I named her Kohuwa. Feeling relieved, I turned my attention to field work. One night, after falling off to sleep, the subconscious mind suggested something wonderful. Waking up, I found the dream suggested that it was possible to take a long range elephant back ride covering two thirds of Manas National Park. So, I started asking around. Because, the last known information was that of 1994. At that time, estimation of tiger population was going on and gunfight broke out between the poachers and the forest guards in an encounter. The poachers' group sustained heavy casualties.

When I took over as the Field Director of Project Tiger, casualties again mounted on the side of tree-fellers and the poachers. But I saw stars. More than the two-third of the park was unoccupied and sustained long range patrolling from Bansbari Range was the only solution, but no means adequate. I decided to lead from the front.

“Why take a nonsense chance, Sir? ‘They’ are all holed up at Dwimary!” was the response from all quarters. I remained adamant. For, at faraway Kokilabari, on the eastern flank of the National Park, I had an ally named Manas Maozigendri Ecotourism Society. Phwjwngswr Narzary, a youth with steely look, silenced all my doubts. “All these, in Dwimary, Sir, are only timber thieves and shikaris. They are camping in large numbers. They are damaging the habitat in nearby Bhutan too!” He sighed. I told him on what date I would start on the elephant back operation via Dwimary.

The time slipped by. On the appointed date, the media persons arrived and we trooped to Mathanguri (Matharguri of the yore) and spent the night there. With a hurried morning breakfast with fried rice we started the Day Zero.

Eleven elephants. Five forest guards with one trusty .315 bolt action rifle each and eleven mahouts, one ranger and one conservator of forests made up the departmental group. The rest was drawn from the photographers, botanists, journalists and the electronic media persons.

Sivasish Thakur was from The Assam Tribune who would be astride departmental tusker Mohan along with me. Pritam Brahmachoudhury, the scribe from Kokrajhar, working for The Telegraph rode another elephant. Manideep Boro from the NE TV clambered up his elephant. Young forest ecologist Pranjal Bezbaruah also accompanied us. I had instructed my beat officer of the Sadar Beat for video recording the events. While, Samarendra Sarma (also from The Assam Tribune) would be recording the same in still format as a photographer.

Then with a silent prayer on the lips and fingers on the triggers we started out to the unknown. I carried my departmental .32 revolver and a Garmin 72 global positioning system (GPS) with full batteries. Calculating the geographical coordinates of Dwimary point, I uploaded that to the GPS. This means as we come near the point, the same would show up on the screen, making it easy for our stealthy approach to the mischief-mongering timber fellers' camps. But the road was totally erased from the present generation of the mahouts and was getting increasingly difficult to navigate through the thick jungle. Sometimes we almost ran into the nests of stinging wasps of the jungle, then back away, the mahout furiously guiding the elephant with his command just above whisper — pichu... pichooo... dhat.

Sometimes we would only hack through the jungle lianas. There were unidentified trees laden with fruits with very tempting colours. The canopy almost blocked out the sky and the bright November sun. The continuation of the confusing play of light and dark in motion was like a riddle never to be solved.

My heart was full to the core with some unknown happiness seeping in from the greenery all around. And I forgot what would pose as a danger. I felt no fear anymore. By this time we got used to the motion of elephant and made past the old destroyed beat of Garuchara. Beyond that, my GPS showed that we were turning in the same place: a case locally known as poruwai powa. It is the worst case of terrestrial navigation in jungle when in confusion you lose way and come to the same spot again and again, getting awfully nervous. With GPS in hand, I took command and we got out of that confusion very soon.

At Rabang and Suti Rabang, we accosted a group of timber fellers and burnt their pushcarts and important life support materials like food, kerosene, clothes and medicines. By this time the programmed spot Dwimary made its appearance and decided to act.

Meanwhile, Sivasish and yours truly had sighted a living rhino near Garuchara. I never knew that this discovery after the rhino population in Manas was supposed to have been wiped along with what was to follow at Dwimary would alter the course of the trouble-torn National Park.

We reached Dwimary and approached from the south. In a short spell, we made bonfire of the entire camps and the equipments. My deputy field director was an active man and he had moved to the eastern flank of the park to support my operation. Night came down heavily, making our progress difficult. The GPS was now underpowered as more than eight hours had elapsed. We were unerringly guided by two staff of Manas National Park — Lohit Basumatary and Ramcharan Boro. The forest guards knew the area with high degree of familiarity and used the wireless communication to take us to the Kalanadi river bed. My body was stiff from riding the elephant for eighteen hours at a stretch covering 38 kilometers.

Convention Hall, Kohora Range of Kaziranga National Park. Many were gathered for discussing the future of rhinos in general. I was given a chance to speak. I mentioned my chance discovery of a living rhinoceros in Manas National Park. There was a deafening applause. I felt as if my tears would roll down out of joy. Soon, as deliberations began, India Rhino Vision 2020 took shape. It aimed at translocation of rhinos to Manas, Orang narional parks and Laokhowa wildlife sanctuary. We were assured that this is highly scientific practice elsewhere and could multiply our rhino population to the tune of 3000-plus.

Anyway, the initiative came from Wildlife Trust of India to translocate five rhinos from the Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Centre at Borjuri near Bokakhat. And that did happen. Last year, the first wild to wild translocation took place. The first batch of two male rhinos from Pabitora wildlife sanctuary was handed over to Manas National Park authorities with much care.

Meanwhile, the operation Dwimary cleanup achieved more than what I could expect. A elephant rehab centre came up slowly. It was followed by a similar programme involving bears.

So what not a creative idea would do for wellbeing of the wilderness? But... The weapon technician was checking my revolver towards my fag end in Manas National Park. He pursed his lips. “What is the matter?” I asked. “Sir, I know, it accompanied you in many missions. But little did you know that it was incapable of firing a single round of ammunition!”

Abhijit Rabha