Hunting permits have been issued once again to a privileged few rich, foreigners this season. These permits ought to be called license to kill rather than to hunt. Their favourite slaughter is the Houbara Bustard, which they are determined to eliminate from Sindh, just as they have wiped it off their own land in the Middle East.
The Houbara Bustard is a migratory bird, which comes to warm lands in winter. It is an endangered species, that is to say it is near extinction. Once there were several species of Bustards but many have been hunted to extinction. One of the surviving species is the Houbara.
As long as pandering to the rich foreigners is our idea of hospitality, licenses will be issued for hunting the Houbara for a handful of silver we have aided and abetted in the final death of the bird. Every year the Sindh Wildlife department and environmentalists shout themselves horse to stop the killing of Houbara, but their screams fall of deaf ears.
Hunting is no longer a sport. Gone are the days when a couple of hunters would trek through the land, wait patiently for hours, sight their prey and shoot. No one knew the lay of the land as well as hunters; and no one had as much respect for the prey either.
A sport is a challenge, a test of skill. You won some and lost some as in any game. There was no other sport that was as sole-satisfying as hunting, probably because its roots are in the hunter-gatherer stage of human evolution. It is said that hunters were the kindest, mildest, bravest and most humane humans. They were the only people I have known in whose hands the gun was not a murderous weapon.
Of course the Middle East bunch are not the only ones who have made a farce of the sport. The nawabs and rajas led the way. Beaters would guide birds towards the hunting ground, and noble lords and ladies, often sitting comfortably in their jeeps, would fire when the flocks few up. Several guns went off together, because most of the nobility were poor shot. Professional gunmen would bring down the birds, but it was always the nawabs and rajas who were complimented. It is the same set up with the Middle East bunch who hunt the Houbara.
But they arrive at the hunting ground in modern style. The area nearest to Karachi where they hunt is Mirpur Sakhro, which is just off Gadap. In the early morning, on a Sunday usually, you can see a large convoy of special vehicles on the National Highway. Enclosed vans in steel grey, they are fitted with every comfort, such as air conditioning, fridge full of food and drink and, probably, portable audio and video sets for entertainment.
The windows are darkened so one cannot see inside, but the shape of the vehicles and the dark windows give the impression of mobile jails.
I wonder if the hunting ground is carpeted so that Mr Moneybags from abroad does not get his feet dirty. The hunting permit states a bag limit, that is to say, how many birds may be shot. That is a laughable condition. Who counts, and who has the courage to stop these vehicles and inspect them when they return from the hunt? It is no secret that there is indiscriminate killing of Houbaras. The bag limit is a joke.
Some years ago the Middle East bunch finally were embarrassed by the criticism and assured us that they were breeding birds to replenish the stock. There is no evidence of their good intentions.
But one must blame oneself for the near extinction of the Haubara. In fact I should start by cursing Ayub Khan, a hunter in the nawab and raja style. It was for him that a jeepable track was put in to Mirpur Sakhro. On both sides of the track were large marshy areas with bulrushes and other similar vegetation which provided a good habitat for birds. One could see large flocks. It was enthralling to see birds suddenly rise and circle the sky, then settle back.
At Mirpur Sakhro is the tailend of an irrigation canal. Large and small farms dot the village that has now grown into a considerable town. Which means there is over population. A chaotic market place has developed near the point where the road meets the National Highway. The marshes are riddled with water logging and salinity. It is no longer a place for the birds. It is not a happy hunting ground anymore. Even though the agriculture farms are lush, the natural fauna and flora is dying out.
How is it possible to actually hunt in such a place? A shoot will have to be artificially set up. But, I suppose, these pseudo hunters do not mind as long as they can indulge their delight in slaughter. I do not think they even bother to load their guns; the servant battalion must be doing that Mr Moneybags from the Middle East simply has to pull the trigger.
Whenever in company I talk about one of my pet peeves, such as the fate of the Houbara Bustard. Someone is bound to offer the usual advice: "Why don't you write about it?" Nobody ever asks what shall we do about it? As for writing about it, the country's newspapers, magazines and occasionally, when they can spare a few minutes from their yellow journalism, the electronic media too takes notice. Reams and reams and thousands of column inches have been written. The Sindh Wildlife department and environmentalists also draw government and public attention to it. The message however never gets through. As someone said: Those who matter don't care; those who care don't matter. In the latter category are journalists, environmentalists and the poor helpless Sindh Wildlife department.
Enough about the fate of the Houbara Bustard; there is another bird that was once a frequent visitor but now is rarely seen: The hoopoe. It has rightly been called a royal bird. Small and slim it looks royal with its crest, its stylish curved feather at the back of the head and zebra stripe wings which look stunning on its sand colour coat. I met it after, what? Thirty years or so, in the park where I sometimes take a walk.
The hoopoe is not hunted, so why has it virtually disappeared from Karachi? Somebody tell me.