It was the empty pair of shoes lying by the side of the dirt track which really bothered me. After all, this was Bandhavgarh National Park, which we were told has the highest density of tigers in India, and those lonely leather shoes were only a few hundred metres inside the main gate.
It was early morning in the 437sqkm national park, north-east of Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh state, and we had just started the first of four safaris we would make into Bandhavgarh over the next two days.
As we drove along in our open jeep, I took mental note that after being “on safari” for only a few minutes, the score was already: Tigers 1, Humans nil.
At that moment, I wished I had carefully read the fine print of my travel insurance policy. What if they had slipped in an escape clause to nullify cover of those who failed to escape claws?
It came as a relief to discover later in the day that the pair of battered black shoes belonged to a mahout who had slipped them off to avoid getting them wet while he washed his elephant.
It seemed only fair that the tigers should occasionally get the upper paw. Their treatment by people over the centuries has been something less than humorous.
Hunted for royal cudos, sport, skins and various body parts, to be used to make old Chinese men feel more virile, the tiger population has been decimated, to a stage where today, with diminishing food sources and habitat, it is estimated there are less than 1500 wild tigers left in India.
Bandhavgarh, the former hunting preserve of the Maharaja of Rewa, was made a national park in 1968 and declared a tiger reserve under Project Tiger in 1993.
It was once a royal tradition that a maharaja must kill more than 100 tigers to validate his courage and worthiness and a hunting procession of courtiers, servants and beaters could involve up to 2000 people. The local tigers were obviously used to crowds.
The park is promoted as having the highest density of tigers in India, up to 50 of these magnificent, long-persecuted creatures.
We had cameras poised right from the word go, sitting in the back of the open jeep, guided by Nature Heritage Resort conservationist, Deepak Talan, who made it look something of a military exercise, dressed in army khaki camouflage shirt and pants, topped with a rakish, broad-brimmed hat.
The fact that Deepak was paralysed from the waist down and had to haul himself from a wheelchair into the jeep’s passenger seat each morning, somehow added colour to the exercise.
Deepak didn’t offer, and I didn’t have the heart to ask, how he lost the use of his legs. Probably in some heroic act, fighting off a tiger, I mused. Blasted wild beasts!
We were having an iconic travel experience (i.e. hunting tigers in India) and it was easy to be Kiplingesque (Rudyard Kipling, of course, the famous novelist), imagining peering out at the forest and scrubland from beneath a pith helmet with a large gun balanced in the crook of an arm. Sweat stains spreading in the armpits of the khaki shirt, bravely facing the unknown.
Simply smashing thoughts.
But my safari companion quickly took the pith out of me when I mentioned the empty shoes.
This was Jungle Book country, and we were hunting Shere Khan. Unfortunately, Shere Khan was reluctant to be seen.
The initial absence of tiger sightings really wasn’t surprising, considering the method of the hunt.
Safari’s started in the dark of early morning, where a convoy of dozens of jeeps, stuffed full of rugged-up Indian families and overseas tourists, converged to wait outside the main gate. Meals on wheels.
Each jeep was assigned a forest department guide, and when the gates were opened, the vehicles sped through the park, the guides competing to be the first to “spot a tiger”.
Out of luck, the jeeps invariably converged at a meeting area called Centrepoint, where local villagers sold bottled water, marsala tea and snacks to tourists, while mahouts, in contact by hand-held radios, rode their elephants through the high grass in an attempt to locate a tiger.
The morning and afternoon safaris are an adventure of sights and smells, with the jeeps moving from rich, green grasslands, through the dappled light of forests and up onto rocky escarpments which provide a misty distant view of one of the Indian tigers’ few remaining kingdoms.
Along the way, there’s talk of elusive leopards and sloth bears, the sight of a wild boar family crossing the road, the piglets trotting behind their ugly mother in stiff-legged, clockwork unison.
Tiger’s like piglets. Their relaxed trot suggested there were no tigers around.
Delicate sambar deer grazed quietly beneath the forest canopy, in which troupes of gray langur monkeys foraged for fruit, buds and flowers.
They have a symbiotic relationship. The monkeys drop tasty tree shoots which the deer love, but most important, the deer’s ears are pricked to hear the bark of the male monkey, warning the troupe of a stalking tiger.
It’s the sign for the deer to vanish into the forest and the monkey mothers to gather their young up into in the treetops.
The jeeps disperse down different tracks, and now and then, the guide signals the driver to stop the vehicle, listening intently to the sounds of the forest, or searching the sand for pug marks.
We see nothing, but the intense concentration of the tracker is infectious.
The hoot of a langur monkey echoes in the distance. Minutes pass, then another monkey hoots, this time nearer.
A tiger is coming our way, whispers the guide. We wait. Fingers tremble on camera shutter buttons. We wait.
A monkey hoots further off. The driver is signalled to start the jeep and head in that direction. We play this “cat and mouse” game for hours and there is a very real feeling that we are the “mice”.
Despite his disability, Deepak, lean, swarthy and agile, is driven by his passion to preserve India’s tigers.
A flash of sadness crossed his face as he told of a recent report of Indian tiger skins being sold in Russia as highly-prized, expensive “camping tents”.
During an evening chat around the campfire, Deepak explained the moral dilemma of conservation in a country like India.
He was asked why so much effort, time and money should be dedicated to saving the tiger when 25 per cent of India’s 1.2 billion people still live in dire poverty?
“There must be people who can save a flower so when good times come, they have the seed,” he says.
“Some people say India is a poor country and saving a tiger is a luxury. But you cannot sacrifice the beauty of India for the sake of modern things.
“Would you deny us beauty? It is our heritage.”
Finally, Deepak leads us to a place where he assures, we will see a tiger.
A tigress has made a recent kill to feed her two young cubs. The deer carcass lies in the long grass on the banks of a small pond skirted by forest.
In the silence of the wait, we can smell the dead deer on the warm breeze which stirs the feathery-white tops of the river reeds. The tigress is not far away. Twenty minutes pass; waiting, watching. Watching, waiting.
Then, through binoculars, there is slight movement in the dappled shadows of the undergrowth. An ear flickers, she turns her head we see her, less than 100m away, on the edge of the forest.
Intent on protecting her food and her cubs, she had been watching us all along.
Standing on the back of an open jeep, it was a somewhat removed but still powerful encounter. Before we had even set eyes on our first wild tiger, it had seen us. It was watching our every movement.
Were we safe? “Of course,” assured the guide. The tigress had eaten.
Later, back at the resort, we were told that, a couple of years ago, a village woman had been killed by a tiger while gathering firewood inside the park, and that our host, Nature Heritage Resort owner, Rajvardhan Sharma, was a local hero.
In 2003, Raj was mauled by a tiger while saving the lives of two tourists who were being attacked in a jeep.
The tiger, its jaw broken and driven mad with pain after being hit by a forestry vehicle, walked along the track towards the vehicle.
It padded up to the jeep as the tourists happily took photos, then jumped in the cab and mauled one before dragging another out onto the sand.
Raj beat the tiger off with sticks and a piece of bamboo, was gashed when the animal grabbed his forearm in its jaws, and continued beating it until it released him.
The injured tiger disappeared into the forest and unable to effectively hunt or eat, undoubtedly died.
The way Deepak explained it, despite Raj’s amazing bravery, no one really won that day.
The score: Humans nil; Tigers nil.
For Part Two, please bookmark out site
* For information on saving the tiger, visit: www.natureheritageresort.com; www.toftiger.org; or www.globaltigerpatrol.org.
Photo Credits
Bengal tiger – (c) wallpampers.com.jpg
deer – bandhavgarh – (c) www.pestravel.net.india.jpg
angur-monkey- (c) CNNAS.com.jpg
safari – bandhavgarh – (c) Tourism of India.jpg
Bengal tiger (c) Thundafunda.com.jpg
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