Donald Anderson, the son of the once-famous hunter turned conservationist, Kenneth Anderson, in his book, The Last White Hunter, spoke about his love for the jungles and how he’d grab every possible opportunity to take a break from city life and disappear into the wilderness. When someone asked him if he wasn’t bored already, looking at the same trees, driving down the same roads, and often, tracking the same animals, he said that they wouldn’t understand the fondness he had for the wild.
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| Peek-a-boo! |
I felt like Don was speaking to me from beyond the grave when I read this portion of the book. I’ve been asked time and again, why I make a beeline for the jungles at the drop of the hat?
It’s the same trees, the same jungle tracks, even the same species of wildlife. Why then, like an addict drawn to her fix, do I find myself in the midst of the jungles every now and then?
This is because it’s a refreshing new experience every single time, in addition to the pollution-free air, the melodious bird and animal sounds that replace the honking that I have to endure in the city, and the feeling of exhilaration that comes from being amidst nature. The absence of predictability in the jungles is what differentiates one day from another.
In fact, this point was driven home during one of my trips to the Bandipur Tiger Reserve.
I’ve seen several leopards, though nearly not enough, across various reserves in India. I’ve seen them catch forty winks on a comfortable branch high above the ground, and I have seen them quake with fear when its fearsome cousin, the tiger walks below the tree they’re resting on. I’ve seen them saunter boldly along the fire line, and I have seen them when they’re almost impossibly camouflaged within the thicket. Yet, every experience is distinct from the other.
Coming back to the Bandipur trip; the evening safari had just started, and the naturalist received a message that another vehicle had just spotted a large male leopard. We headed straight to the spot, hardly feeling the bumps as our vehicle hurtled along the track. The monsoon was a long way off and the earth was bone dry, the dust covering our clothes and faces. No one seemed to care, for all we just had one thing on our mind… tracking down the leopard.
To a safari junkie, a leopard resting on a tree branch or on the ground amid the lantana is a textbook sighting. Make no mistake, it gets the pulse racing every time.
Cameras out, I strained hard to spot the rosettes, the lantana and the dry shrubbery obscuring the handsome cat.
“Madam, it’s right there, straight ahead,” the impatient naturalist said, probably convinced that I was going blind.
I squinted, trying hard to follow his instructions when I finally saw it lounging lazily, although brilliantly camouflaged. It was a fine specimen with beautiful rosettes glistening in the sunlight. Awestruck, we got busy photographing the leopard, when another safari vehicle joined us from the opposite side. Now, to understand what happened next, it is important that I describe our respective positions.
To our left was the leopard, at a distance of roughly 300 meters. The other vehicle, which comprised the driver, naturalist and three guests, faced our vehicle, the leopard on their right. Like us, they whipped out their cameras and got busy clicking, the lot of us completely engrossed in the leopard’s antics.
“Oh my God… leopard..leopard!” yelled one of the guests from the other jeep suddenly.
“Of course lady, we know it’s a leopard,” I thought drily, rolling my eyes at the delayed outburst.
“There, there!” she exclaimed, pointing in the direction behind us.
We turned in unison, awestruck by what ensued in the next couple of seconds.
Out jumped a fully grown female, followed by three sub-adult leopard cubs, in quick succession.
I gasped aloud, the camera forgotten, staring at this rare sight of a leopard family on one side, and a male leopard on the other opposite side.
Although the excitement among the guests was palpable, we knew better than to make sudden movements that would scare these wonderful beasts away and deprive us of this unusual opportunity.
We watched intently, as the male grew increasingly agitated. The clump of lantana between the family and the lone male prevented them from seeing each other. They could, however, catch each other’s scent, and that was sufficient for the male, who stood absolutely still for a few seconds, then bolted deep into the jungle.
It seemed that the female and the cubs had won this round. They relaxed and melted into the vegetation as we watched, forgetting to breathe during those intoxicating few minutes.
We got back to camp that evening, our faces flushed, hearts hammering in excitement, when someone commented that the leopard quota for this year was done. I nodded in excitement, not knowing that this couldn’t be further from the truth.
A rather groggy bunch left for the safari the following morning.
I yawned, fighting off sleep as the vehicle rumbled on, the cool morning breeze caressing my face, urging me to nod off, just for a little bit.
Every once in a while, there comes a time during the safari, when not a bird nor an animal is seen. The jungle is almost silent, except for the comfortable hum of the engine and the squeaking of the rexine seats every time one of the vehicle’s restless occupants shifts their posterior. This, coupled with the morning sun, can be the perfect setting for a quick nap. So you can’t blame me for nodding off after about 2 hours into the jungle, without having to lift my camera once.
We traversed along the jungle track, making a turn towards the familiar Mangala dam area. I drifted in and out of my nap, while we drove on, until I was awakened by a sudden jolt. The driver had braked suddenly, pointing at the small pug marks along the track.
Shaken from my reverie, I gaped at what seemed to be a leopard’s pugmarks. They were fresh, which means the animal had just walked past.
Gunning the engine gently, the driver and the naturalist assumed the air of two men on a mission, scanning the scrubs and treetops for signs of the leopard. The tracks continued for a couple of meters before disappearing abruptly. A collective sigh escaped our lips as the realization hit us that the elusive animal had probably taken off at the sound of the vehicle.
Well, there was nothing more to be done other than head back to camp, for we were nearly out of time. I sat back and relaxed, staring absently at the dry grass that grew tall alongside the jungle track.
Then, I saw something move, stealthily, gracefully between the grass.
“Oh.. oh…” was all I managed, pointing excitedly at the crouching cat.
Her face, partially hidden behind a shrub, was beautiful in the morning light. The sinewy, golden body was tense, alert for the smallest signs of trouble. Time stood still, as she stared back, her gaze not leaving us for a second.
Then, she stood abruptly, turned around, and retreated into the jungle.
The spell was broken and our time was up; but I knew that as far as leopards are concerned, elusive as they may be, we were just getting started.
