On Tuesday, we started work in our second area—a small pocket of badlands just outside the town of Gokak in the southwestern state of Karnataka. Twelve years ago, when the GSI first started work here, these badlands were isolated. But with the continued growth of India, a nearby village has extended a dusty road with a string of small houses and huts to the border of these badlands. It makes fieldwork a whole new experience.
The stretch of outcrop where we find Dinosaur-age fossils, also happens to fall in the Murkibhavi’s backyard. The Murkibhavi’s are a family of 17; they are three brothers, their three wives, and 11 children. They all live together in a small ranch-style mud brick house with three mud-floor rooms and no plumbing or electricity. With the help of new irrigation wells, they farm the land adjacent to the outcrop, growing grains and corn. They also keep goats, cows, water buffalo, and chickens, all just in front of their house.
We first met the Murkibhavi’s and all of their curious neighbors last year. After the initial shock of seeing a westerner and one that plays in the dirt in the hot sun, most families gave in to their curiosity and sent a troop of kids on small fact-finding missions. I would show them examples of the fossils and communicate with pictures of the fossil animals in my notebook. I would also wow them by taking their photos and showing it to them on the camera’s digital display screen. On occasion, I would also give them a spare chocolate or other candy I had. In hindsight, it’s not surprising that the news traveled through the village like wildfire, and that a year later, the wildfire hasn’t died down. The village kids follow me through the outcrops in swarms shouting, “America, America,” “photo, photo,” and “chocolate, chocolate,” sometimes in succession just like that. Although the typical Zen-like experience of prospecting for fossils feels more like the pit at the New York Stock Exchange, it’s one of my favorite things about fieldwork here.
Once the kids settle down and realize what I’m doing, they act as vacuum cleaners on the outcrop. Shuttling barefoot across thorn-covered slopes, they bring me possible finds and await one of my three verdicts in their native tongue (Kannada): “simpy” (clam or snail), “ami” (turtle), or “nayhee” (not a fossil). The last verdict, of course, comes with lots of jeers from the other kids. Today, we added a fourth verdict: “mosa-lay” when Sidappa found a crocodile bone. By the end of the trip, I’m hoping to add a fifth verdict: "mammal."