An Indian Journey through Lent, Day 29
Monkey Business
Like other Indian towns Shimla harbours a far wider variety and greater numbers of fauna than most western towns. In a typical Indian town you are likely to encounter cows which, since Hinduism gives them the status of gods, are allowed to roam everywhere (though they can be treated quite abruptly by humans if they stand in the way for too long); donkeys, horses (both of which can be used as beasts of burden), crows, kites, and in drier areas camels. Manali even has its own yak which can often be seen wending its way down to the town’s mall.
Then there are what I call India’s dominant species, dogs and monkeys (In India the contest between cats and dogs has been decided!). Packs of dogs roam and lounge in every Indian town. Generally this is not a problem. The dogs are usually good-natured. I’m often barked at and chased when I ride my German mountain bike in Manali, but that’s because I’m an unusual sight (and smell), and the dogs peel off without having done anything when I reach the edge of their territory. Only when a dog contracts rabies is there panic among dogs and humans alike.
The dogs rule at ground level. They are mobile, their teeth are good weapons and they hunt in packs. But everywhere else, and even on the ground, monkeys roam free. I often hear them clambering over the roof at Johnson’s Café, one of Manali’s more prestigious water holes.
Monkeys simply climb and jump to avoid dogs, but they and humans have a tense relationship. Monkeys are so superbly athletic that they are very rarely caught. Although they are much smaller than humans they are very strong, and their bite is dangerous. Humans are more numerous, cunning, and we have guns. But if a troupe of monkeys appears humans tend to keep out of their way. Dr Paul, the medical superintendent of the CNI’s Maple Leaf Hospital in forested grounds at Kangra told me that he has been attacked and knocked to the ground by four monkeys, and Rajni Bala, a new presbyter who lives in a girls’ hostel there says that she and the young girls live in fear of being attacked.
This strange ménage à trois does, however, produce its humorous moments. This afternoon as I passed the Cecil Oberoi, one of Shimla’s most luxurious hotels, I noticed a monkey clambering over its portico, nursing its injured front paw. It had clearly been on an expedition higher up in the multi-storeyed hotel, and was trying to get away. The tree it wanted to climb down had a large trunk and no branches, and with its injured paw the monkey had to be careful. Just then a dog passed by on the other side of the road. The monkey let out an alarm, but the dog ignored it, so the monkey made its way to ground level and loped off carefully in the opposite direction. Just then a very human, female, loud alarm call (We call it a scream!) sounded from behind an open window several floors up in the luxury hotel. In a flash of orange-brown a second monkey streaked down the building to ground level and off in the same direction as the first. The Indian who had been watching this little drama unfold with me turned to me and said, between chuckles, “If you don’t want to let the monkey in, close the window!”
Monkey Business
Like other Indian towns Shimla harbours a far wider variety and greater numbers of fauna than most western towns. In a typical Indian town you are likely to encounter cows which, since Hinduism gives them the status of gods, are allowed to roam everywhere (though they can be treated quite abruptly by humans if they stand in the way for too long); donkeys, horses (both of which can be used as beasts of burden), crows, kites, and in drier areas camels. Manali even has its own yak which can often be seen wending its way down to the town’s mall.
Then there are what I call India’s dominant species, dogs and monkeys (In India the contest between cats and dogs has been decided!). Packs of dogs roam and lounge in every Indian town. Generally this is not a problem. The dogs are usually good-natured. I’m often barked at and chased when I ride my German mountain bike in Manali, but that’s because I’m an unusual sight (and smell), and the dogs peel off without having done anything when I reach the edge of their territory. Only when a dog contracts rabies is there panic among dogs and humans alike.
The dogs rule at ground level. They are mobile, their teeth are good weapons and they hunt in packs. But everywhere else, and even on the ground, monkeys roam free. I often hear them clambering over the roof at Johnson’s Café, one of Manali’s more prestigious water holes.
Monkeys simply climb and jump to avoid dogs, but they and humans have a tense relationship. Monkeys are so superbly athletic that they are very rarely caught. Although they are much smaller than humans they are very strong, and their bite is dangerous. Humans are more numerous, cunning, and we have guns. But if a troupe of monkeys appears humans tend to keep out of their way. Dr Paul, the medical superintendent of the CNI’s Maple Leaf Hospital in forested grounds at Kangra told me that he has been attacked and knocked to the ground by four monkeys, and Rajni Bala, a new presbyter who lives in a girls’ hostel there says that she and the young girls live in fear of being attacked.
This strange ménage à trois does, however, produce its humorous moments. This afternoon as I passed the Cecil Oberoi, one of Shimla’s most luxurious hotels, I noticed a monkey clambering over its portico, nursing its injured front paw. It had clearly been on an expedition higher up in the multi-storeyed hotel, and was trying to get away. The tree it wanted to climb down had a large trunk and no branches, and with its injured paw the monkey had to be careful. Just then a dog passed by on the other side of the road. The monkey let out an alarm, but the dog ignored it, so the monkey made its way to ground level and loped off carefully in the opposite direction. Just then a very human, female, loud alarm call (We call it a scream!) sounded from behind an open window several floors up in the luxury hotel. In a flash of orange-brown a second monkey streaked down the building to ground level and off in the same direction as the first. The Indian who had been watching this little drama unfold with me turned to me and said, between chuckles, “If you don’t want to let the monkey in, close the window!”
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