Machhli, the most famous tigress we have known, passed away on August 18 in the Ranthambore Tiger Reserve in Sawai Madhopur district in Rajasthan. News of her death was reported widely, her popularity especially evident on social media. Photographs included not only the ‘legendary’ tigress’s exploits but even of her last rites — the image of her emaciated body covered with white cloth, flowers strewn on her, and then the funeral pyre, all evoking sadness and nostalgia. Those who have seen her came forward with their accounts and photographs.
The day after she died, a report in The Hindu, dramatically headlined “Iconic tigress Machhli walks into history”, discussed her family history, her exploits in the forests of Ranthambore, and the contribution she made to tourism. It stated that at 19 years, Machhli was the “oldest tigress in the wild”. As Machhli lay feeble, the forest staff cared for her, feeding her and monitoring her progress as she was not unable to function on her own, it said. All this is understandable given the popularity and fame that Machhli had garnered over the years. However, we also need to unpack some questions that revolve around the tigress’s celebrity status.
One among the many Hundreds of wild animals die in India and elsewhere every year. In fact, many are more endangered and less visible or accessible than the tiger. Wild tigers die regularly in the forests of this country. Estimates suggest that nearly 75 tigers died in the wild — due to reasons such as poaching, electrocution, old age and infighting — in the first six months of 2016 alone. None of these tigers is different in any significant way from Machhli, but we know virtually nothing about them.
An explanation of why and how Machhli earned the fan following that she did was offered by the noted environmentalist and honorary secretary of the Tourism and Wildlife Society of India, Harsh Vardhan. He said to this newspaper: “Machhli remained a champion hunter and displayed her wits, whether lying in lake water or by the side of a stone ‘chhatri’, offering innumerable opportunities to visitors in jeeps or open trucks to photograph her as many times as they could.” It is unlikely that any other tigress, whether in Ranthambore or elsewhere, is any less skilled a hunter than Machhli. In fact, she wouldn’t have survived in the wild if not for these skills and yet we are given an image of her as a gifted and special animal. Stories on Machhli are full of exuberant adjectives: she was the “oldest”, the “most photographed”, the “champion hunter”, an “icon”. Which other tiger can boast of having won a ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’ for his or her ‘contributions’? Central to all these narratives is the idea of performance, spectacle, and the power of an image.
One logic demands this spectacle as a catalyst for wildlife conversation — an icon is needed to reach out to the public and grab their attention. This, in the current context, and certainly in the case of Ranthambore, is deeply linked to the urban conservation public and the tourism industry. Mr. Vardhan’s quote makes that rather explicit. It is the urban elite, with time and money for leisure and access to expensive equipment, who value a Machhli who offers “innumerable opportunities” to be photographed. These photographs are ‘trophies’ that are then circulated widely in cyberspace, accumulating accolades and recognition for the photographer and in turn further reinforcing the iconic status of the animal itself.
A drain on resources
It is not incidental that the narrative about Machhli includes the Rs.65 crore she brought to Ranthambore every year, or that the establishment goes out of its way to keep a wild dying tiger alive using all means at its disposal. Some commenters have noted that she was an animal who was performing no ecological function while being a huge drain on the scarce financial resources that could have been put to better conservation use elsewhere. Also, what is wild anymore, one may ask, about a tiger that is treated medically when unwell or injured, offered tethered animals as food because she is unable to hunt on her own, and cared for by forest staff in the last days of her life?
What looks at first as a contradiction — a cared-for star animal who was the most famous ‘wild’ tiger in the country — might not be one when the lens is changed. The icon might have been domesticated, but the myth of the wild is allowed to perpetuate because the show must go on for as long as possible.
One also cannot miss the irony and the inevitable comparison of the Machhli story with that of Ustad, the other tiger from Ranthambore who occupied centre stage for many months. While Machhli was an animal whose life in Ranthambore was being extended by all means possible, Ustad was a completely functional and independent tiger when he was taken out of the forests for reasons and in a context that are still contested and debated.
Pankaj Sekhsaria is a photographer, writer and member of the Kalpavriksh Environmental Action Group.
Published - August 23, 2016 01:54 am IST
