At dusk, the giants came, crashing through the jungle. But, as always, the cooks and waiters were ready for them, with saucepans and whistles. After a brief exchange of trumping and hooting, there was a splintering of trees, the beasts fell back and the lodge fell silent.
"Elephants," said the cook. "They know the game."
Across central Sri Lanka, similar scenes are played out each night. During our two weeks, almost everywhere we went was designated "area of human-elephant conflict". Two years after the end of the 26-year civil war, it's almost as if old front lines have reformed. With 70 per cent of the wild elephants living outside national parks, they are in constant competition with farmers for the country's rice crop. Around Habarana, the farmers even build watch-huts high in the trees. One night, I persuaded a farmer, called Mohathun, to show me his tree house. It had room for three farmers and a cosy hearth. "Once we sang to scare off the elephants," said Mohathun, "but now we use fireworks."
For me, this uneasy coexistence of man and elephants is fascinating. But even more remarkable is that such creatures exist here at all. Sri Lanka is slightly smaller than the UAE, and yet it manages to support not only big cats but also more than 6,000 wild elephants. How does it do it?
The answer, I now realise, has much to do with the island's shape, like a planter's hat. Around the coast, we found ourselves on a brim of low flat plains, of paddy fields and palms. But towards the centre, an enormous hump of rock appeared, about twice the size of Qatar and more than 2,100 metres tall. When the clouds off the Indian Ocean hit this, they turn to rain, creating vast rivers. Humans have been fighting over the greenery for centuries, beginning with the Sinhalese invaders (around 2500 BC), followed by the Tamils (around 200 BC). Animals like the forest too, and they have flourished.
I doubt the animals have ever been impressed by these cities. Civilisation has, however, left them a vital amenity: the Minneriya Tank. Big enough to swallow a large town, it survives the annual drought. Over the last 2,000 years, this tank has become a rallying point for elephants, known as "The Gathering". On the day of our visit, they were arriving by the herd. I hate to describe animals as looking "happy" or "sad" but these beasts seemed overjoyed. Huge groups, totalling more than 200, danced around, flapping their ears and waving their trunks. This is as near as elephants get to holding a shindig.
for more check this link .. its from a news paper website in UAE
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/travel/sri-lankas-pachyderm-paradise
"Elephants," said the cook. "They know the game."
Across central Sri Lanka, similar scenes are played out each night. During our two weeks, almost everywhere we went was designated "area of human-elephant conflict". Two years after the end of the 26-year civil war, it's almost as if old front lines have reformed. With 70 per cent of the wild elephants living outside national parks, they are in constant competition with farmers for the country's rice crop. Around Habarana, the farmers even build watch-huts high in the trees. One night, I persuaded a farmer, called Mohathun, to show me his tree house. It had room for three farmers and a cosy hearth. "Once we sang to scare off the elephants," said Mohathun, "but now we use fireworks."
For me, this uneasy coexistence of man and elephants is fascinating. But even more remarkable is that such creatures exist here at all. Sri Lanka is slightly smaller than the UAE, and yet it manages to support not only big cats but also more than 6,000 wild elephants. How does it do it?
The answer, I now realise, has much to do with the island's shape, like a planter's hat. Around the coast, we found ourselves on a brim of low flat plains, of paddy fields and palms. But towards the centre, an enormous hump of rock appeared, about twice the size of Qatar and more than 2,100 metres tall. When the clouds off the Indian Ocean hit this, they turn to rain, creating vast rivers. Humans have been fighting over the greenery for centuries, beginning with the Sinhalese invaders (around 2500 BC), followed by the Tamils (around 200 BC). Animals like the forest too, and they have flourished.
I doubt the animals have ever been impressed by these cities. Civilisation has, however, left them a vital amenity: the Minneriya Tank. Big enough to swallow a large town, it survives the annual drought. Over the last 2,000 years, this tank has become a rallying point for elephants, known as "The Gathering". On the day of our visit, they were arriving by the herd. I hate to describe animals as looking "happy" or "sad" but these beasts seemed overjoyed. Huge groups, totalling more than 200, danced around, flapping their ears and waving their trunks. This is as near as elephants get to holding a shindig.
for more check this link .. its from a news paper website in UAE
http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/travel/sri-lankas-pachyderm-paradise
