It was the morning of July 20, 2019, when the ship from Port Blair docked at Campbell Bay, the southernmost tip of India's Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Stepping onto the pathway, I felt the warm, humid air wrap around me like a gentle hug. It carried the fresh smell of the ocean mixed with rich earth. Great Nicobar Island, spreading over more than 1,000 square kilometers, seemed like a secret world, a vast, green paradise where time slows down to match the rhythm of crashing waves and whispering leaves. I was posted there for service, staying nearly two and a half years until early 2022. This time allowed me to dive deep into the island's stunning beauty, its unique wildlife, and the simple lives of its people. Yet, beneath this charm, natural risks like earthquakes linger, and now a massive project threatens to shatter this delicate balance.
The island's tropical rainforest is its beating heart, a thick blanket of green that covers most of the land. Towering trees reach for the sky, tangled with vines and ferns that create a living maze. Rain is a daily friend here, falling in almost every month, sometimes as light showers that make everything sparkle, other times as heavy storms that turn the air fresh and alive. During my first hikes on the muddy paths near Campbell Bay, the soft ground cushioned my steps, and hidden birds filled the air with songs. This forest is not just beautiful; it's a treasure of life, home to rare plants and animals that thrive in its wet, warm embrace. The constant rain keeps the island lush, painting it in endless shades of green that change with the light.
What makes Great Nicobar truly special are its unique creatures, many found nowhere else. The macaques, with their long tails and clever ways, roam the beaches and forests. These monkeys watching visitors like me with curious, intelligent eyes. They make you feel like you're in their world, not the other way around. Deeper in, the Nicobar megapode, a rare endangered bird with shiny black feathers, builds nests from piles of earth and leaves. Spotting one is a thrill; their scratchy calls echo like secrets in the undergrowth. The island buzzes with life: colorful kingfishers flash by streams and special insects like the Nicobar tree shrew scurry about. Many of these birds, frogs, and insects are rare or endangered, making the island a living museum of nature's wonders.
No spot captures the island's magic like Galathea Bay, a wide curve of soft white sand on the southeast coast, bordered by mangroves and clear blue waters. Here, a river meets the sea in a gentle mix, creating a spot rich with fish, silver snapper and mullet darting in the currents. Local fishermen cast their nets, while birds like herons stand still, waiting for a meal. I spent many peaceful evenings there, listening to the waves and the night chorus of rare frogs. But the bay's greatest gift comes from November to February: the arrival of giant leatherback turtles. These massive creatures, weighing up to a ton with tough, ancient shells, crawl from the ocean at night to lay eggs in the sand. Watching their slow, powerful movements under the stars feels like witnessing a miracle, one of the world's true natural wonders. This spectacle draws VVIPs from across India and beyond, who often visit quietly and camp in simple setups to see the turtles. Their trips are kept private, away from public eyes, to protect the site and maintain its peace. Pioneers like conservationist Satish Bhaskar have studied these shores for years, but many high-profile visits remain low-key.
Beyond the wild beauty, the island's people add warmth to its story. The Shompen tribes live deep in the forests, one of the world's most isolated groups. They hunt and gather, knowing the land's secrets like healing plants and hidden paths, with little contact from outsiders. I always respected their privacy, never venturing into their areas. Closer to the settlements, the Nicobarese tribes build longhouses and live in close-knit families, passing down traditions tied to the sea and soil. Many residents are settlers, often retired army personnel seeking quiet lives after service. But farming is the island's lifeline. In places like Laxmi Nagar, Gandhi Nagar, and Shastri Nagar, hardworking farmers grow vegetables such as okra, brinjal, and greens. These small farms are the main source of fresh food, since other things come by ship. People here depend on the land and ocean for their living, facing frequent rains in areas like Laxmi Nagar that keep the soil fertile but sometimes too soggy for easy work.
Yet, this paradise has its challenges. Sitting in a shaky part of the earth, Great Nicobar feels frequent earthquakes. During my stay, I experienced many tremors, most mild just enough to rattle windows and quicken hearts. They happen often, sometimes weekly, a reminder of the deadly 2004 tsunami that reshaped coasts and took lives. This natural unrest makes the island feel alive but fragile.
Now, the Great Nicobar Project casts a long shadow over this beauty. This huge plan, costing Rs 72,000 crore, aims to build an international port, airport, power plant, and a new township across 166 square kilometers. It's meant to bring jobs, trade, and growth to this remote spot, boosting India's position in the Bay of Bengal. But from my time living there, I see the deep harm it could cause. The project will clear vast rainforests, destroying homes for rare animals like the megapodes, frogs, and insects. Galathea Bay, the turtles' sacred nesting ground, faces direct threats from dredging, ships, and noise potentially ending their ancient visits forever. The constant rain and earthquakes add risks: cleared land could lead to more floods, erosion, and disasters, especially since the island sank 15 feet in 2004. The Shompen and Nicobarese tribes stand to lose the most their lands split, traditions broken, and communities exposed to outsiders, risking cultural loss or even worse. Farmers in the villages could see their fields turned into concrete, cutting off their only way to live. Experts warn that environmental checks were hurried, ignoring full dangers like seismic activity and long-term effects on wildlife. Biodiversity losses are brushed off as small, but they could wipe out unique species. In chasing development, we're gambling with a priceless natural heritage, one that supports life, fights climate change, and offers peace in a busy world.
As I left the island in early 2022, early talks of the project already stirred worry among Islanders. Progress is important, but must it destroy such beauty? Great Nicobar is more than just land; it's a perfect balance of forest, sea, and life, a place that teaches us humility. If we lose it to this project, we lose a piece of our planet's soul, and the wonders like leatherback turtles and ancient tribes may fade away. It's time to rethink: true development should protect, not ruin, paradises like this.
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