Chasing the rains in Nagarhole

As we drive through the forest, jumping along jauntily in the safari jeep, the very aroma in the air changes. The smell of rain hitting the earth at a distance envelopes us slowly. This is the second pall of showers in three days. The rare spell of sunshine we are basking in quickly gives way to grey clouds, slivers of lightning in the distance, with a surreal and subdued cloud-muted light cast over the green expanse in front of us.

The cameras go click-click-click. And then the skies open their mouths fully and the rain unleashes itself with force. The forest plunges into an eerie darkness. Suddenly the Nagarhole National Park holds out promise of another kind — not the dangling carrot of ‘wildlife spotting’, but a glimpse of what a forest looks like in a downpour. It’s our first time inside the forests during the rains. It looks beautiful. And overwhelming, this power of nature.

The Park is spread over Mysuru and Kodagu districts, and is part of the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, which is home to one of the widest ecological richness and a variety of plants and animals in the country. Nagarhole is famous as a tiger reserve, and for its vast teak wood plantations.

Huge herds of spotted chital are huddled together feasting on the lush grass, without a care for the rain. Don’t they feel like taking cover, you wonder. How long before their silken coats dry off? Do deers ever catch a cold, I thought I saw one or two shivering or was it my imagination, because I was shivering in the sudden cool air? They only look up, some of them, with their big beady eyes, to see our noisy jeep, with some others scuttling across the road as if they suddenly realised the grass is greener on the other side.

While most wildlife enthusiasts seek out the forest in summer, when animal sightings are at its best, (because they come to water holes in search of a drink) it’s not such a bad idea to go when the rains start arriving — for starters, temperatures are cooler.

Nothing can match the sight of seeing fresh green grass and shrubbery around, that has sprung up with the first spell of pre-monsoon rain. They sit in contrast to the tall standing bare trees that have shed all their leaves and have opened out their arms inviting the rain’s embrace. It’s such a reaffirmation of life and all things green and wild we still need to be thankful for on our planet.

Glimpses of wildlife

Earlier in the morning, the same rains had played truant and worked to our disadvantage. We had woken up to a beautiful birdsong in our tent at the resort we stayed at and had set out in a good mood and with great hopes of a fruitful jungle safari. Reaching the Veerahosanahalli Gate of the Park at 6.15 am to board the safari, we were greeted with disappointment.

The Forest Department had cancelled the morning safari because it had rained the previous night. The mud-tracks in the forest can get slushy enough for safari vehicles to get stuck. “Why don’t you drive down to the base camp gate? The safari there might be on if it hasn’t rained in that area,” the guard had said. So off we went on the Nagarhole main road that cuts across the forest, our eyes peeled open, fingers crossed in hope.

Herds of deer are feasting on breakfast by the roadside. A small family of wild boar are ferreting around in the wet ground by the roadside. A crested hawk eagle is almost missed, as it sits grumpily on a tree branch high up in the sky. The only guys who seem to be enjoying themselves are the giant Malabar squirrels, all bushy tailed and busy running up and down the trees. And then we spot a tusker, a little in the distance ahead, crossing the road. A bit of excitement. A bit of heart-thumping urban fear of all things wild.

We stop reverentially. And wait to give peaceful way. He is obviously averse to our presence in his territory. He crosses, turns around to face us, and gives us one threatening smell-up, raising his trunk high, shaking his head vigorously, and doing a mock run towards us. We abidingly flee from there. A little scared with the encounter — what if he had really charged towards us? — and a little joyous on seeing the handsome fellow!

Monsoon safari

But at the base camp gate, they dismissively wave us forward to the next gate, which exists near Kutta, saying the safaris are starting there. So onward we go, in an urge to rush, but having to keep up with the lawful speed limit of 30 kmph because animals may cross anytime. We are rewarded, one last time, by a pair of dhole (Indian wild dogs) frolicking by the roadside. These notoriously shy creatures who slip away into the bush, decided to hang around and allow us to watch them for a few seconds.

At the Nanachchi Gate, we are finally told that the safari is on, if there are enough people to fill the Forest Department van. Very soon, others land there with the same hope, and off we go into the jungle. Everyone wants to really see a tiger, but most know we won’t. The weather is not really conducive. With crying babies and chattering families we set out, everyone egging the hassled department driver to “just show us one tiger.”

The numerous small water tanks in the region have filled up sumptuously with rain water; all the dry arid pictures of the harsh summer we had seen in the newspapers have morphed into green stretches. And then, in one of the water tanks, we spot a mother elephant and her little baby drinking water. The elephant looks heavily pregnant. A reaffirmation, that the cycle of life and regeneration is eternally turning.