A hailstorm in BR Hills

The onset of monsoon in Bangalore usually fills me with dread. I shudder at the thought of the waterlogged streets, the craters that are otherwise referred to as potholes, and the murky waters bubbling up from the beneath the sewers, threatening to spread disease all around.

A waterhole filled to the brim

In the jungle though, it’s a different story altogether. The fragrance of the earth following a downpour, the fresh burst of green and the tiny pearls of water that roll down the leaves, the jungle envelopes you in its enchanting spell.

 Of all the reserve jungles in South India, the Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills Tiger Reserve is my favorite place to visit in monsoon. A lofty hill range in Karnataka, this picturesque piece of heaven is a crucial wildlife corridor that connects the Eastern with the Western Ghats. 

One of my most memorable trips to this place was in 2015. We entered the jungle roughly three hours before sunset. The clouds had cleared after a light afternoon drizzle, and the jungle was abuzz with melodious bird songs and the comforting croaking of frogs. The sturdy 4X4, driven by an experienced naturalist, tackled the precarious and slushy terrain with aplomb.

Although we’d not seen anything more than spotted deer and curious langur monkeys, the drive was turning out to be a rather delightful experience. The small pockets of water bodies with the mist rising off the surface and the water dripping down from the leaves added to the heady combination of the high-pitched cicada sounds that seemed to reach a crescendo before dying down. Needless to say, I was enjoying myself thoroughly. 

That said, the best was yet to come. 

Rains in the jungles are unpredictable, and that’s the beauty of it. The clear blue skies give way to dark, angry clouds in a matter of minutes. We experienced this phenomenon as we drove deeper into the jungle, the clouds blocking the sun until the whole area was under the dark shadow of monsoon clouds. We had just enough time to roll down the tarpaulin, as the skies unloaded their fury, the sheets of water coming down hard. The water seemed to hit us from all directions, and we found ourselves partially soaked, despite the tarpaulin, which now flapped helplessly in the wind.

An elephant walks away after a satisfying drink

That’s when it began, the “pok, pok” of hailstones. As if on cue, the ground beneath us rumbled and I was astonished to see a huge mass of grey rush past. 

It was a herd of elephants running pel mel as the hard bits of ice hit their backs. I stuck my face out to get a better view, only to hastily draw it back in after a volley of hailstones smacked my face.

It was a sight to behold. The hailstorm in the jungle, the hum of water as it ran down the hill, and the thundering of the earth as the elephants rushed past. Thrilling as it was, we were grateful not to be in the herd’s way when pandemonium broke loose.

We resumed the safari after the storm subsided and the clouds cleared once more. Our progress, however, was slow despite improved visibility. The rain had loosened the earth in many places, and the soft, red earth, combined with water meant we had a rather slippery and dangerous terrain to negotiate.

We still had an hour’s daylight with us, so the naturalist dexterously drove through the slushy trail, many times revving the 4X4 until squishy clods of earth flew all around, some of it finding its way onto our clothes and arms. Soon, the precarious slopes were behind us, and we found ourselves in a part of the jungle that wasn’t as difficult to drive; or so I thought. I believed I jinxed it with this very thought.

Sturdy as it was, the Bolero met its match when it landed softly into a quagmire. No amount of revving seemed to help. In fact, it only drove one of the rear and front wheels deeper into the earth, while the other wheels rose gradually until our ride was at a comical 30-degree angle. I found myself sliding to one side, and the naturalist thought it was best we disembark, while he figured out a solution; and we needed a solution fast, for dusk was fast approaching and we were in a jungle that housed a fairly large population of wild elephants.

Now that the occupants were off the vehicle, the naturalist wasted no time in dislodging the Bolero, albeit with some difficulty. We were back in business, a relieved lot heading back to camp, thinking of the hot tea and potato fritters that would be doled out shortly.

Sitting by the tent that evening, my husband and I watched the birds as they retired for the day, chirping noisily, flying in large and small flocks. Twilight enveloped the cloudy skies and a light drizzle began. At that moment I leaned towards my husband and whispered, “There’s a scorpion on one of your shoes… must have climbed on during the safari!”

  

  

The Sounds of the Jungle

So obsessed are we, in the pursuit to spot the big cats, that we often forget to observe the beauty of the jungles that surround us. We hear, but don't listen. We look, but we don't see. We admire, but seldom appreciate.

The jungle, to me, is a place where imagination comes alive. A large rock sheltered by the bushes resembles a gaur or an elephant in the twilight. Twigs take on the shape of snakes, lying motionless, patiently waiting for an unsuspecting hare or rat to come by. Sometimes, on a moonless night, something scurries past, rustling a bed of dry leaves. And I find myself playing guessing games, wondering what it could be.

It was one such warm, moonless night, when I found myself in a dark tent, surrounded by acres of thick jungle. It was our third visit to the K.Gudi camp in Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills for short. The fact that my husband and I were the only guests at the camp and the lack of electricity added to the excitement. At about 8 30 that night, after we were done with a delicious, but simple dinner, I decided to step out for a while to take in the familiar, soothing, sounds of the jungle. The cicadas, after making quite the racket, decided to take a break, giving the nightjar the perfect opportunity to make its presence felt. I felt myself being lulled into a stupor, my thoughts wandering all over the place. This blissful state of affairs continued for a good thirty minutes or so until the realization suddenly hit me that all the denizens had quietened down. Now if you've been to the jungles as often as I have, you'll know at once that a silent jungle can mean only one thing – a predator was on the move. I was alert, straining my ears for a faint rustle, or the rough, sawing sounds of the leopard.

Soon enough, the deathly, oppressive silence was shattered by the alarm call of a sambar deer. "Dhonk, dhonk, dhonk!" it went. I followed the direction of the sambar's alarm call, and mentally traced the path of the cat that must have walked around the periphery of the camp, barely 200 meters from the tent. Was it a tiger, or a leopard, I don't know. For I was as blind as a bat, my ears doing all the listening and seeing for me. I retired to the safety of the tent, as the calls continued well into the night. Sleep, of course, eluded me, for I was high on the heady mixture of thrill and curiosity. The sambar stopped calling eventually, signaling that it was safe for the denizens to come out of their hiding. A few hours passed, and I could hear the wild boars outside, sniffing and devouring any tasty tidbits they could find. My glow-in-the-dark watch showed that it was nearly 3 AM, and I decided that I simply had to get some sleep.

"Oye, wake up, wake up," someone whispered frantically. Groggy and confused, I grumbled at my husband for disturbing my sleep. "Listen, it's a barking deer!" he whispered, hardly able to contain his excitement. Sure enough, it was now the barking deer's turn to call out. Something was definitely afoot, moving stealthily about, but this time, the calls were from the opposite direction, indicating that the predator was returning to its lair, which clearly wasn't too far from the campsite. I imagined it to be a leopard, returning from its hunt to the comfort and safety of a tree. We passed, what was left of the night, listening expectantly for more alarm calls. They'd died down of course, and we found ourselves dozing off, as the first light of the dawn kissed the dewy foliage.

Thirty minutes and two cups of tea later, we were on the morning safari. I mentioned the previous night's alarm calls to the driver and the naturalist, and they weren't too surprised, but nevertheless excited.

"We heard it too!" they exclaimed, in unison.

"This particular leopard lives somewhere close to the camp," said the driver. "But, he's a master of camouflage, so the guests rarely get to see him."

No sooner had he spoken, we saw a rush of yellow and dark spots jump across the fire trail, and crash into the bushes. It was the leopard alright! My jaw dropped in awe at the fleeting glimpse of this beautiful creature, just before it vanished.

"You're fortunate madam," the naturalist said, grinning from ear to ear. "Most people only hear him, you got to see him too, albeit for a few seconds."

Lucky indeed! But I couldn't wait for nightfall, until I heard him again, in the alarm calls of the deer, and the silence of the cicadas.

Taking Home a Tasty Human: Understanding the Tiger’s Palate

The reactions are almost always predictable. Bubbling with excitement, I immediately sent images of the tiger we spotted on our last trip to Biligiriranga Hills (also known as BR Hills) to almost everyone in my phone book. Although some of the reactions were the expected "wow" and "amazing", I was surprised when some folks asked if I wasn't afraid of being attacked.  My response, apart from rolling my eyes, is usually the same. I tell them that it's the elephants I worry about, and not so much the cats.

Thanks to a healthy dose of cheesy Bollywood flicks and folklore, tigers and leopards are perceived to be vicious man-eaters that never miss an opportunity to take home a tasty human or two. Nothing could be further from the truth. Tigers prefer their natural prey like the chital or spotted deer, sambar deer, and other species from the herbivore family. They avoid human settlements and instinctively prefer fleeing to attacking should they run into humans. But one could argue that the phrase "man-eater" wouldn’t exist if there weren't instances of the big jungle cats molesting and devouring humans.

Yes, tigers and leopards have killed before and will kill again. But not because they have developed a "taste for human blood"; it’s because of the extreme human-animal conflict that drives this beautiful, noble creatures into a corner, where they have to choose between killing and being killed. Sometimes, it's a purely accidental attack. Most jungle cats turn man-eaters because they are either old, or injured. It's surely some form of desperation that drives them to kill and devour man. In fact, conversationalists and those working in the forest department will tell you that there have been instances where tigers and leopards have mauled people without so much as tasting their blood! This only happens when they feel threatened.

Of course, by the time I explained this to the umpteenth person who’d asked me this question, I simply lost patience, and found it convenient to smile, play dumb, and say, "Yes, it was so scary!"

My husband and I have been to many safaris in India and have spotted several tigers in the wild. Yet, the feeling of absolute awe, every time we go around a bend, expecting a tiger to emerge, is hard to describe.

If you’ve spotted a tiger in the jungles even once in your lifetime, you must consider yourself fortunate. The rate at which these animals are being hunted (sometimes poisoned) for their skin, bones, and teeth, falsely believed to have medicinal properties and protective powers, we'll soon have to contend with watching the tiger in a cage, pacing about hungrily, stripped of all its dignity and splendor.

When the Jungles Come Alive

Have you ever watched a hunt in progress? When the predator patiently stalks its prey, crouches low, until the final spring that usually spells certain death for the hunted? If you have, then you must consider yourself among the lucky few. As for me, I haven't had the fortune of watching a tiger or its smaller cousin, the leopard, in action. Although I have witnessed a dhole (commonly referred to as the Asiatic Wild Dog) feeding on fresh kill.

Native to South and South East Asia, this unique species of carnivore are often dismissed and trivialized as “only wild dogs” when discussing some of the fiercest creatures that walk the jungles today. I beg to differ. If you have watched one of them tearing away at a deer's throat, you'll most certainly agree with me. Highly social, dholes usually hunt in large packs, killing their prey very painfully by disembowelling them and biting off huge chunks, even while poor animal is alive. They don't even spare the mighty tiger when confronted, although most choose to stay away from tigers, unless they're in packs of 20 and see no choice but to bring the tiger down.

The one we encountered while on a safari in Biligiriranga Hills or B R Hills had slunk away from its pack. Slightly bigger than the average city mongrel, this wild dog had something large in its jaws, and was having considerable trouble dragging the dead animal, which appeared to twitch from time to time. We stopped our jeep and waited in complete silence, until it came into full view. Like most wild animals, I expected this one to turn tail and disappear into the forest as soon as it saw humans. This dhole did anything but run. It stood still and stared at us for a few seconds before deciding to begin its meal right there!

We watched in fascination as it hungrily tore away at the young spotted deer's throat, before proceeding to rip off large chunks from its flank. I'd never seen anything quite like this, except for the deer carcass I once saw abandoned by a large jungle cat in Bandipur. You can usually smell it before you see it. Anyway, coming back to our lone dhole, after about 10 minutes, it decided it had had enough of the audience, and proceed to enjoy what was left of his meal in peace. Dragging the remains, it melted into the forest, even as our cameras silently clicked away.

Supremely satisfied with the fruitful morning safari, I decided to get some shut eye after breakfast, considering there wasn't much to do until half past three. Later in the evening, after gulping down steaming cups of tea, my husband and I hopped onto the safari jeep that was waiting for us. In the second jeep, that was to follow us at a distance, were a group of rather noisy, brightly dressed boys and girls.

The jeeps rumbled on. Stopping at regular intervals, the bored driver waited patiently as the cameras went into overdrive. Spotted deer, sambar, and beautiful birds in various shapes, sizes and colors, the jungle was full of them. But the best was yet to come. Before I tell you what that is, it's important that I explain the topography of this forest, especially the core area. Located at an altitude of 5,091 feet, the B R Hills Wildlife Sanctuary comprises of dense, lush green forests. On one side of the jungle path is the forest, while on the other is a sloping drop. Our jeep traversed slowly along the narrow jungle path.

All at once, a 'swish' sound brought us to an abrupt halt. At first I couldn't see anything, just the trees and shrubs swaying gently in the wind. Suddenly a shrill trumpet startled all of us, and before we could react, a large female elephant came rushing towards the driver's side. Her trunk was raised, her tail high up in the air, and she certainly looked like she meant business. Then the driver, also our guide, did something that truly worried me; he turned off the engine. My mouth agape, I stared at him in shock!

He turned around and motioned us to stay silent. My throat was dry and my voice had long abandoned me anyway. So screaming was out of the question. We were as still as a rock.

Meanwhile, the elephant in question had retreated a few feet, before she repeated the same thing. As she rushed towards us once more, kicking up a cloud of dust, I caught a glimpse of her calf standing a few feet away. Protected by another female, the poor calf looked absolutely petrified. It made sense now; she was worried for her baby. Her mock charge meant she was gauging the level of threat that we posed, and by not reacting or moving, we wanted to show that we meant no harm. This back and forth mock charge lasted for almost 10 minutes, during which my husband continued taking pictures. As for me, I was absolutely terrified, considering the elephant sometimes came within touching distance of the jeep.

All the while, the folks in the second vehicle watched us from a safe distance. The young mother finally disappeared behind the trees, and our jeep started to move. Heaving a sigh of relief I turned to look back at the other jeep. It was not over yet. The angry pachyderm emerged from behind the cover of the trees and proceed to display the same behavior, trumpeting shrilly and rushing towards jeep #2. Unfortunately, one of the women, dressed in bright yellow, started to scream bloody murder the moment she spied the elephant. That did it. No more mock charges...it was time for the real thing. Trunk down, ears flapping wildly, the angry animal rushed in mad fury towards the jeep. The hysterical girl was now sobbing loudly, and there was nothing we could do.

The driver in their jeep, displaying great presence of mind, realized that one nudge and their vehicle would go toppling down the slope. Stepping on the pedal, he drove as fast as the rocky terrain would allow. It was a sight to behold. Our jeep in front, the other jeep following us, and one temperamental beast giving a hot chase! The madness lasted for around 15 minutes, before our pursuer decided it had had enough. We managed to reach our resort without further incident. The lady of course, was shaking like a leaf!

As for us, well, we couldn't wait to go again. Who knows what it might be this time? A predator concealed in the shadows? Langur monkeys hanging from tall trees, ever alert for tigers and leopards? Perhaps a herd of elephants if we got lucky? With the jungles, one can never tell!

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: Although there are plenty of options in Chamrajanagar, none of these allow safaris, except for the ones offered by the government, which are a waste of time. If a jeep safari is on your mind, then the only option you have is Jungle Lodges and Resorts. A word of caution though, Jungle Lodges is going to burn a large hole in your pocket! Go only if you're okay with mediocre food, but awesome safari, for the exorbitant price.

When to Go: The sanctuary is open throughout the year, although the monsoon season is best avoided. Try planning a visit between October and May.

What to Do: Safari, safari and more safari! You can also try visiting the Biligiri Ranganathaswamy Temple, which is believed to be over 200 years old.

How to Get There: You can either take the Bangalore – Kankapura – Malavalli - Kollegal – Yelendur- B R Hills route, or try the Bangalore – Mysore – Chamrajanagar - B R Hills stretch. Watch out for wildlife en-route, especially lone tuskers and elephant herds. Distance varies between 181- 200 kilometers depending on the route you take.