The Pachyderms of Jim Corbett National Park

The journey from paperback editions of various books penned by the legendary hunter-turned-conservationist Edward James Corbett, or Jim Corbett, as h's popularly known, to actually driving through the very place he once walked, was nothing short of exhilarating. During my growing years, I devoured his books, often closing my eyes between chapters to imagine what it must have been like to cover mile after mile, letting the jungle sounds course through his senses.

The matriarch warns us to stay away - Dhikala zone, Corbett National Park

You can imagine then, how it must have felt for someone who’s dreamed of this moment their whole life, to breathe the very air that Corbett once breathed, to drink in the beauty of the varied landscape that was until a short while ago, just a place that existed in my mind. 

I could wax eloquent about the park, and still not do justice to the breathtaking landscape that includes a diversity of flora and fauna.  Perhaps I’ll save this for another time.  Although the vast grasslands, riverine beds, and the towering Sal trees seduced me completely, what blew me over was the sheer density of elephants that roamed these jungles. The pachyderms were everywhere. Almost every turn, every patch in the grasslands had large herds or lone tuskers eating their way through the jungle. What amazes me about elephants, irrespective of the topography or location, is their ability to hide. A creature as large and noisy as the elephant can melt into the vegetation or stay absolutely silent if it wants to. I have encountered this behavior several times, whether it’s the dry, deciduous forests of  Bandipur, the dense, hilly terrain of B R Hills or the diverse jungles of Corbett, the elephant emerges from behind a shrub or the lantana, swiftly and silently, taking you by complete surprise. 

I remember the time when we were following fresh pug marks, our jeep hurtling through the jungle track, when all of a sudden, from around a bend came a loud crash. This happened just as the jeep passed the bend. An extremely annoyed female elephant emerged from the thicket, startling all of us completely, for there wasn't the slightest sound until moments ago. We were even more surprised when she was followed by a small herd of five or six females, including a calf. Of course, we left from there in a hurry, relieved that the matriarch decided to make her presence felt after we’d passed. Had it been a few seconds earlier, the consequences could’ve been disastrous. 

Besides the fact that the herds I spotted in the Dhikala zone of the national park were enormous in number, the other unique trait I noticed was the size of the elephants. Now, before you jump to counter my observation, let me clarify that this is purely a subjective pronouncement. Somehow, the elephants here appeared marginally larger than their South Indian cousins, especially the males. 

Speaking of male elephants or tuskers as they’re popularly referred, I had the opportunity to observe and photograph two large, lone tuskers on different occasions. The first one, a  handsome, albeit full grown male, blocked our path on the Dhikala-Gairal road.  At first, he ignored us, feasting on the succulent leaves from a tree. Then things got interesting when another safari vehicle blocked his path from the opposite direction. I expected him to lose his temper and express his annoyance. Our tusker though, remained calm, composed and in no rush to get anywhere. He continued on his way forward, while we followed slowly. The other vehicle had no choice but to back up as the elephant ambled along, stopping on and off to grab a tasty snack from the infinite jungle pantry. My husband and I clicked away furiously, hoping to somehow get some good headshots. 

“Headshots? Why didn’t you say so before?” ...is what I think the fellow thought, as he stepped into the thicket for the briefest moment, allowing us to pass. Once we drove past, he got back on the jungle track, now following our vehicle as we managed to get some excellent headshots. After a while, I put down the camera and simply gazed at this attention-seeking tusker. I could’ve sworn he enjoyed every minute of it. 

That’s when things changed from interesting to exciting. A tigress, clearly disturbed by the elephant’s presence, emerged from the undergrowth and walked right between our jeep and the elephant! Awestruck by the unexpected appearance of the tigress, I missed the chance to get both animals in one frame. It would’ve made such an excellent picture! Quickly regaining my composure, I did manage to get her on film before she slinked away from her nemesis.

If the Dhikala zone was teeming with herds as large as 40, the Bijrani zone had some formidable tuskers of its own. Considered to be the best zone to spot tigers, after Dhikala of course, this zone has an ethereal beauty that leaves visitors mesmerized. Boasting sky-high Sal trees, small water bodies that run through rather hilly terrain, the Bijrani zone is marked by unexpected curves that hold the promise of something exciting right around the corner. This was where we saw the second tusker. If his Dhikala cousin was large, this was one bulky. His trunk was thick and his beautiful, but deadly, tusks gleamed as he walked, rapidly and purposefully towards our vehicle. I was sure he would charge, for he was in the state of “musth”, a condition where a mature bull has up to 60 times its normal testosterone levels. It’s highly dangerous to approach bull elephants during this time. Their aggression levels rise to a great extent, so much that they attack with the intent to kill. It’s not uncommon for elephants, both wild and tame, in musth to attack and sometimes kill one of their own. 

I noticed the telltale temporal discharge close to its eyes, right in front of the large ears. The determined gait with which it marched towards us and the fact that 4 other safari jeeps blocked our path in front, naturally made me very nervous. The driver left the engine on, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. This one, strangely, didn’t display the typical aggressive behavior of an elephant in musth;  although we weren’t sure what he’d do if he got too close to us. Well, we didn’t wait to find out.

Our naturalist was a man who’d worked with the forest department for nearly 20 years. His experience told him not to take any chances with the formidable battle-tank forging towards the jeeps. Gesturing the other drivers to move ahead, he instructed our driver to step on the gas. Once the jeep was at a safe distance and my adrenaline subsided, I realized how fortunate I was to be able to photograph these intelligent, temperamental creatures in the wild.

Sure, the Jim Corbett National Park’s biggest attraction is its tigers; but the highlight of my trip was the elephant encounters. From the endless herds feeding placidly and the little calves indulging in juvenile games, to the testosterone-charged handsome bulls, the pachyderms of Corbett stole my heart. 

The Christening of Tigers in India

Wildlife photography aside, a well-informed naturalist can make all the difference between a good safari and a mediocre one. A well informed as well as communicative naturalist ensures you don’t just enjoy the safari, but also return with a profusion of interesting trivia. Fortunately, we’ve had the well informed and the communicative kind accompanying us on most of our safaris. Their vast knowledge of every plant, animal, and even insect species never ceases to amaze me. Of all the trivia and tidbits of information that I’ve picked up over the years if there’s one thing I derive great pleasure from, is understanding how a tiger was christened. There’s always an interesting and sometimes amusing story behind this.

The famous Spotty scent marks a tree

Tigers, once identified, are given unique IDs by the forest department. You have the usual T series such as T - 31, T-2 and so on, which are used for official purposes such as tiger census and record maintenance. That said, the naturalists and forest guards usually christen the resident cats with names that are assigned either because of an incident, a unique personality trait, or sometimes because they think it’s endearing to call a tiger by a particular name. This blog is the story of these tigers and how they earned their names. While I’ve had the privilege of photographing some of these big cats, there are others I wish to see very soon and some others I can no longer hope to see because they’re now dead.

Our guide and driver Sultan, who accompanied us on 6 safaris in Bandhavgarh, was a man of few words and many years of experience, first as a forest guard, then a mahout, and finally as the driver of safari jeeps. That said, a little persuasion and small talk later, he opened up with some rather amusing anecdotes about the popular tigers at Bandhavgarh.

Charger, the dominant male that breathed its last in September 2000, earned its name because of his aggressive disposition and penchant for charging at safari jeeps and elephants. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me make it clear that he did not, in the 17 years that he lived, harm any humans.

“Charger would silently await the unsuspecting jeeps to come close before jumping out from behind the tall grass and rushing forward. He always stopped short a few meters from the vehicle, growling menacingly at the terrified tourists. He was a large, handsome male, albeit a ferocious one,” explained Sultan.

Once familiar with Charger’s antics, the guides and drivers were extra vigilant when they drove into his territory, always on the lookout for an impending charge or an unexpected roar. It is said that this fearless beast didn’t refrain from charging at elephants either. I wonder how I’d have reacted if I were in the jeep that ran into Charger. Would my hands shake with fear, would I manage to take photographs? Sadly, I’ll never know the answers to this questions, for the legendary Charger, after the death of his mate Sita, the matriarch of Bandhavgarh, met his end too.

Hungry for more, we requested Sultan for more stories. He grunted incoherently, before clearing his throat.

“Then there’s Pannalal…” he began.

“Pannalal?” I quipped, intrigued and amused by the personification of the animals.

He threw me an annoyed glance before continuing.

“We named him Pannalal because he wandered from the Panna Tiger Reserve into Bandhavgarh.”   

Well, so much for creativity, I thought, disappointed because Sultan settled into one of his long silences again. Traversing a distance of almost 210 kilometers is a bit too much for a tiger, whose territory normally ranges from 60 to 100 square kilometers. Was he in search of a mate? Was it the lack of prey? Or was he driven out by another more dominant male? No one really knows, for not much has been documented about the reason behind Pannalal’s migration from Panna to Bandhavgarh.  

While Pannalal and Charger were two tigers I haven't photographed, the former because I haven’t been fortunate enough to see him yet, there’s one rather popular tigress I did see and capture on camera - Spotty, a tigress I have written about in detail previously. Now, it makes sense if a leopard were to be named Spotty, evidently because of the rosettes that adorn its sinewy body. But Spotty, the tigress?

Spotty, along with one of her daughters

“There’s a ‘T’ shaped spot on her forehead,” explained Sultan, “hence she’s Spotty!”

I barely managed to suppress a smile. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out the so-called T shape, but I wasn’t about to argue with the expert.

“Spotty has a sister, Dotty. It rhymes,” he shrugged.

That evening, as we huddled by the bonfire, munching delicious paneer fritters and sipping some piping hot ginger tea, I thought a chat with the resort manager might throw some light on the tigers of Bandhavgarh.

“We’ve known and track these tigers right from birth. The naturalists coin unique names for the big cats, and the most popular ones stick,” he explained, the tea having loosened his tongue.

“For instance, there’s ‘Bhagodi’...she bolts into the nearest thicket every time she hears a jeep and Solo… no prizes for guessing why it’s called Solo,” he guffawed. Clearly, the person who christened these animals wasn’t having a very good day.

Closer to home, the Nagarhole and Bandipur Tiger Reserves boast a very healthy population of tigers. The Tiger Tank Tigress and her cubs, as well as the Powerline cubs, enjoy a celebrity status in Nagarhole and it’s safe to assume that almost no photographer who spends a couple of days patiently waiting to capture them on camera goes home disappointed. Celebrity status aside, their names elicited not more than a yawn from me. Unlike the naming of the dominant male in Bandipur, the naming of the Nagarahole Tigers that I photographed didn’t have a story that interested me.

Speaking of the dominant Bandipur male, after the passing of Prince, the famous tiger that attracted photographers from far and wide, another male soon acquired his predecessor’s territory. Such is the way of nature. He was the Basavanna Katte male, also addressed as Mahadesha.  

When I first laid eyes on Mahadesha, I was astonished by his size. He was handsome and big for a six-year-old tiger and very confident in his stride. Mahadesha settled down behind a bund, giving us ample time to admire and photograph him. Satiated, we drove back to camp, my head full of questions about his rather interesting name.

"There was a forest officer, who’d decided to name his son Mahadesha. However, when he had a daughter instead, he christened this cub ‘Mahadesha’, which coincidentally, was born around the same time. Mahadesha is like his son," one of the naturalists explained when I enquired. A delightful story indeed!

Although I’ve had the good fortune to spend time and photograph some of these tigers, I wish I could travel back in time to observe this one tigress that Valmik Thapar discusses in great detail in his book, The Secret Life of Tigers. She was the tigress, Noon.

Noon walked the jungles of Ranthambore in the 80s before she was killed by poachers. Her diurnal hunting nature earned her the name, as she mainly hunted during the day, especially between mid-morning and noon, a behavior unlike the rest of her kind. Trained by their mother, Noon’s cubs emulated similar hunting techniques, stalking and killing their prey during the day. Perhaps it was Noon’s bold and trusting nature that led to her unnatural demise, robbing many wildlife lovers and conservationists of their chance to spend time with her.

Compared to the numbers in the 80s and the 90s, there are many more tigers that walk the jungles of India today. Some like the late Noon, Prince, Charger, Machali and Genghis Khan were famous, while there were others who were born and lived in anonymity. I only hope that I’m fortunate enough to observe, photograph, and write about these majestic cats in time to come.