EXCLUSIVE | The Forgotten Sentinel of Manas: The Story of Fakru Kachari

One cannot tell the story of Manas without recalling one man, who watched over its woods long before it was turned into a park, long before tigers became symbols, long before the uniforms on the dress of forest camps were put on.

His name was Fakru Kachari - one of the first forest rangers of this land.

He lived and died for Manas.

However in the present day, his name is hardly seen on files and plaques. But in Purana Borgaon, a fringe village near Bhuyanpara, the memory of Fakru still breathes in the air, in the tremor of the bamboo leaves, in the pride of his grandson Karan Singh Mushahary, who still calls him as the "first protecter of our forest".

"He Served When the Country Was Still Fighting For Freedom"

Karan sits on the veranda of his thatched house, his voice soft but certain. He points toward the forest line visible beyond the paddy fields. 

"My grandfather served during the british times," he begins. "He was a ranger at the time when there was a raging independence movement. He retired on 1947, the year India gained freedom. But he never experienced the freedom he dreamed of. On his way home from Tawang to Guwahati he was ambushed and murdered at a location called Baghmara. Brutally. We were not born then, but heard stories about him from my father."

Karan takes a deep breath as memories of his grandfather flood back.

One can hear the cicada softly in the forest. Somewhere, a cow moos lazily. The scene is sacred- it seems like the man who is being remembered is still around, and he is listening.

Before Manas Became Manas

Long before Manas was declared a national park or a UNESCO heritage site it was nothing but a forest. A huge, wild, untamed forest - home to elephants, tigers, and humble village folk.

It was in those raw and uncertain years in which Fakru Kachari served.

He had worked in Pungguri and Ghoramara, which would later form up the famous Bhuyanpara, Bansbari and Koklabari ranges.

Locals say, he was a forest man in all its meaning,-- walking many miles daily on foot, armed with a rifle and a notebook, guarding trees from loggers, protecting elephants from hunters, and sometimes protecting himself from the loneliness of duty.

According to Karan, he used to tell people that he found his home in the forest. He would go out on patrol and leave and return weeks later. The jungle was not something that was being assigned to him, it was a living creature.

A Ranger Before Independence

During those times, being a ranger was not a government job, it was more of a test of endurance. No motorbikes, no radios, no teams.

Rangers like Fakru patrolled alone, through floods, storms, and nights full of wild calls.

The local elders say that he was strict but kind, and he never permitted a tree to be cut without reason.He used to sit with villagers by the fireside, warning them gently -“Forest is mother. Don’t hurt her.”

People listened. Out of respect, out of fear, or maybe both.

The Forest He Left Behind

When Fakru started patrolling these forests, man and nature had no boundaries.

Elephants used to roam freely close to the villages. People collected bamboo and thatch and got only what was necessary. The Manas River was their lifeline- sometimes cruel, sometimes kind.

The beats that he used to patrol, Ghoramara, Pungguri and Bansbari, are now being patrolled by forest guards equipped with wireless sets and vehicles. Where his old camp once stood, there is now an SSB camp. The forest he loved has changed with time but the memory of his devotion still lingers in the soil.

Purona Borgaon: The Village That Remembers

Walkthrough Purona Borgaon today and you will still hear his name in the conversations.

"He belonged here," villagers say.

To them Fakru was not just an ranger, he was one of their own. When elephants used to invade the field, he used to chase them gently never allowing anyone to harm animals. Karan now farms the same land his grandfather once walked across on patrol. “Every time I go near the forest, I feel his presence,” he says. “Sometimes, in the stillness of the trees, I can almost hear his footsteps.”

The Unwritten History of Manas

In official archives, the story of Manas begins with its declaration as a sanctuary in 1928.

However, on the ground it had started long before, in the hands of men like Fakru Kachari who guarded its wilderness without fanfare or funds. Without people like him, perhaps there would have been no forest left to protect later. He and others like him kept alive what the world would one day call “natural heritage.” They didn’t speak of conservation; they lived it. There’s a lesson in that — that the roots of protection don’t always begin with policies. Sometimes, they begin with one man’s love for the forest.

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