The Wild and the Tame
During two years of field research in Ruhuna (Yala) National Park on
the arid south-eastern coast of Sri Lanka, my wife and I were fortunate
enough to witness a fantastic array of intriguing and exhilarating
wildlife behaviour. Of the myriad memories of those years that are
permanently etched upon my mind, one of the most vivid originates from a
dry and dusty late summer day when the blazing sun caused the vast
coastal plains to shimmer and dance.
There on the baked, cracked earth the thunder of hooves resounded as
an imposing pair of Indian or water buffalo (Bubalas bubalis bubalis)
bulls attempted to settle their differences. The clatter of heavy horns
and swirling clouds of dust churned up by the straining adversaries
seemed to draw the attention of all in the vicinity, causing an unusual
stillness to settle as other movement ceased while the collective gaze
was drawn to the ongoing battle.
Finally the combatants broke apart, flanks heaving and nostrils
flaring, the apparent victor, massive and proud, then found the
adrenalin-fuelled strength to make one last charge from which his
vanquished foe turned and fled.
As the defeated buffalo cantered past, a thin, crimson rivulet could
be seen glistening in the sun, shaping its sinuous course from shoulder
to immense chest. In the thorny thickets of scrub he disappeared, no
doubt to find some remnant mud wallow in which to rest and recuperate
and so to fight another day.
These two prime buffalo bulls were probably fighting over territorial
rights which translate rather directly to mating rights. Usually, mature
males lead solitary lives, occupying a particular area which they defend
from potential competitors. In most instances a frontal charge is enough
to see off any interloper, however, when the rutting season is at its
peak so are levels of belligerence, leading to more serious, physical
encounters.
The typical herd is made up of females and their assorted offspring
with the occasional young bull thrown into the mix. The latter, however,
often group together to form bachelor herds, roaming the land until
heightened maturity sees them disperse to claim their own territories.
Calves, usually born singly after a 10 month gestation, are woolly and
gangly with long, spindly legs and soft, trusting eyes.
The mother gives birth in seclusion, taking herself away from the
herd to deliver in some quiet, shady grove, rejoining her kin as soon as
the calf can totter along with some ability. She will nurse for 6-9
months at which time her little charge will be weaned.
Adult males are more muscled and larger than females, with
exceptional bulls weighing well over 900kgs. As with the body, there
exists a sexual dimorphism in the horns. Females display a wide, thin,
up-curving crescent while the male horns are usually thicker-set but
shorter.
Wide variation on this theme exists with some individuals being the
unfortunate possessors of down-curving horns, leading to a woeful
countenance, while others have one horn up and one down forming a
distinct and comical S-shape. According to W.W.A Phillips the largest
set of horns on record in Sri Lanka measures 45 3/4 inches on the right
side and 51 inches on the left, with a circumference of 14 1/2 inches.
Whether these belonged to a male or female is unknown.
Most of the "wild" buffalo found in Sri Lanka are actually feral,
having reverted to a wild state after being released or escaping from
domesticity. Many are those that live a double life, penned during the
dry season and released to roam the forest trails when the grasses and
herbs upon which they feed are in flush.
A true wild strain does exist but can only be encountered in the more
inaccessible dry zone forests of the country like the northern parts of
Ruhuna and Wilpattu. There is a continual gradation between the wild and
domesticated stock, dependent upon the degree of interbreeding, but for
the most part the divergences are prominently written in the physical
features and dispositions of the different types.
Like any animal kept subjugated by the demands of human owners, there
is a sense of resignation that sets the features of domestic beasts.
Greyish to purplish-black with rounded torsos and limbs that appear
heavy-jointed and ungainly, the village buffalo tend to be almost
disturbingly placid, eyes betraying no hint of concern even as vehicles
flash past a milling congregation.
In contrast, the untamed buffaloes that inhabit the littoral zone of
Ruhuna's Block II for instance, possess that steely glint of eye only
manifest in those that know no master.
These buffaloes are leaner and lighter of foot than their yoked
brethren but any appearance of diminished size is but illusion for these
beasts represent the epitome of brute strength. Few sights in Sri
Lanka's expansive dry zone tracts can excite the imagination like that
of a galloping herd of truly wild buffalo, muscles bunching and rippling
as they pound across the open grasslands.
Quite apart from the physical characteristics that separate the real
wild buffalo from their feral and domestic kin, the former seem to have
a streak of fierce pride which makes them much more confrontational,
although only really dangerous when persecuted or wounded.
In the early years of the previous century an outbreak of rinderpest,
an acute intestinal virus, threatened to wipe out the wild buffaloes of
Sri Lanka. This disease, much feared by stock owners and
conservationists alike, was controlled, and subsequently wild
populations have stabilized and even flourished in some areas.
Domestic buffalo meanwhile remain an integral part of many lowland
communities. They are utilized extensively in the cultivation of paddy,
both ploughing the fields prior to the sowing of seeds and threshing the
harvested grains.
Their milk and its products, particularly the rich, yellowy ghee
butter and smooth, tangy mee kiri or curd are village staples and urban
treats. Even their waste, in the form of manure, is put to use as a
tried and tested cheap fertilizer.
Wild or domesticated, all water buffalo, as their very name implies,
love water. Whether in a remote and serene jungle pool or amid the
bustle of the village wewa, these creatures are often fully submerged,
with only a pair of nostrils and perhaps a horn or eye to betray their
presence. The water fulfils the dual purpose of cooling the skin and
keeping away the hordes of biting flies that otherwise tend to plague
the animals.
While they may not have the physical presence of the elephant, the
glamour of the leopard, or even the delicate beauty of the spotted deer,
the Indian or water buffalo, with its two tribes and multiple variances,
has its place secure among the wondrous diversity of this much-blessed
island.
(SLT)
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