JOIN USI’ve always said, “I don’t want this safari to be a mindless tiger-chase. It’s okay if we don’t see a tiger, but I’d also like to stop for all the other animals, birds and reptiles”.
As a result, I was the easy guest for guides to deal with. They didn’t have somebody breathing down their neck, asking, “Why haven’t we seen the tiger yet?” In the many years I spent visiting forests, I never saw a tiger. Not that the guides didn’t try to track the predator. But, I was always too happy enjoying the other sights to press them to go that extra mile. With everybody showing me photos of their ‘encounter with the tiger’, I decided to undertake my first dedicated search for the big cat. I had the option of going to either Bandhavgarh or Kanha National Park, both in Madhya Pradesh. I chose the latter.
Kanha, in winter, has weather that makes you shiver despite your woollens. Driving through the beautiful Sal forest interspersed with rolling meadows, pinkish grass, white sheaves, glistening water bodies and a low-hanging mist, I half expected film stars to appear through the mist and run around trees, a la Bollywood.
Besides Sal trees, the forest is also home to the ubiquitous Indian ghost tree, Kullu, a tree that turns ghostly white in summer. Kanha’s stars, albeit the four-legged and the winged kind, were each endearing in their own way — sambar deer strolling with their young, gaur grazing in the misty meadows, herds of barasingha (swamp deer) sunning themselves, and langurs indulging in funny antics. The cuteness competition was won hands-down by the spotted owlets living in a hollow near the park gate, their celebrity status mandating photo-stops by all visitors, each time they entered and exited the park.
The first day’s safaris, in the Kisli zone, were uneventful. The next morning, we set off in the wee hours as usual, but this time, to the Kanha zone. Our driver and guide for the day seemed to share great camaraderie — very important for good teamwork that is required to track a tiger; our prospects looked bright. They animatedly discussed possible routes and tiger movements — a sign of knowledge; prospects were now brighter. To add to that, they spotted pugmarks, as fresh as they come. We followed the pugmarks for a while, until they disappeared into a bush. After discussions on what path the tiger could have chosen, we drove towards that area. Sure enough, the pugmarks re-appeared on the road.
The air was electric with excitement as we sped along, as fast as the forest’s speed limit would permit. The guide stood on his seat, trying to spot the beast. It seemed like this would be THE day. And, it was. My friend seated behind me hoarsely whispered, “Tiger! Tiger!” A handsome, juvenile male walked on the road ahead; his coat’s flaming yellowness intensified by the golden morning light. As he heard the rumble of our engine, he turned to look at us and darted into a nearby shrub. If this were a sitcom, the background track would be playing a sympathetic “aww” just about now. Why? Because I hadn’t seen the tiger!
The standing guide had blocked my view; all my friends had seen the tiger and were aglow with excitement. We congratulated the driver and the guide for their brilliant tracking. I was a little glum. Our friends in another jeep, too, had enjoyed a long sighting of Langda Munna, a special tiger — the stripes on his forehead actually spell out the word ‘Cat’. As we disbelievingly crowded around our friends that afternoon, looking at photos of Munna, I crossed my fingers in hope.
Cameo
That evening, almost at the end of our safari, we saw jeeps lined up along an embankment in an area called Badrinath. We pulled over. In hushed tones, another guide informed us that a tigress had climbed down the embankment, and would most likely walk in the valley below. Soon, excited whispers told us that the tigress had been sighted. Everybody in my jeep could see her, but I couldn’t! My friend then nudged me to her side of the jeep, so that I could take a look. There the tigress was — a lithe silhouette in the dark evening. Then, faster than I could say ‘tiger’, she was gone. All that remained was the memory of her regal gait.
On my last safari before I returned home, we unsuccessfully tried spotting the tigress in the same area she was seen last evening. Driving to the airport, I wondered if I should have gone to Bandhavgarh. ‘Eager-for-tiger’ me was probably rolling with laughter, a smug ‘I-told-you’ look on the face. But, on hindsight, I had enjoyed being in the forest; Kanha is a pretty maiden.
All the animals looked gorgeous with their lustrous winter coats. Sightings of barasingha, spotted owlets, jackals and a sloth bear made my trip, as did following fresh pugmarks everyday. And, to be fair, I did have a fleeting glimpse of the big cat; at least the jinx was now broken. The tiger, though, still owes me an unhurried date.