Pugmarks in the rain

I remember the first time I saw her. It was a misty winter morning, and the visibility was rather poor. We saw her sitting right in the middle of the track, the blanket of white giving her an ethereal appearance. 

Our safari vehicle came to an abrupt halt, stunned by the sight of the gorgeous tigress licking

her paws nonchalantly. Unperturbed by our presence, she continued grooming herself while we watched, mesmerized by the bold feline who would captivate the hearts of many tigers and humans alike in the years to come.

She has charmed many a tiger since then, raised two handsome male cubs to adulthood, lost two more when they were barely a of couple months old, and, as recent pictures suggest, is now bringing up at least one more cub in the jungles of Bandipur. 

Despite having photographed her many times over the years, my eyes always search for the familiar face in the jungle. Her unblemished, rich coat, the little patches of white on her ears, and those artful markings above her eyes earned her the moniker that stuck; beautiful! 

It was typical monsoon weather, the rain having washed the jungle clean the previous night. 

We set off in the morning, our driver expertly maneuvering the 4X4 through the muddy track. Though it had ceased to rain, the water droplets rolled off the leaves, showering us whenever the wind rustled through the trees. A peacock called out melodiously. “Meao…meao!” it went, perched atop a dead tree that was ravaged by the monsoon winds.

“Pug marks!” our driver said, abruptly bringing the vehicle to a halt. He pointed to the deep indents in the soil, his focus shifting to the dense undergrowth. 

“It’s a female,” he continued, “and it’s fresh!” 

Sure enough, the distinct pugmarks indicated that a tigress had just passed by. The absence of tire tracks over them suggested that she’d crossed moments ago. I peered into the imprints, amused by my reflection in the small puddle that had formed within. 

Like Hansel and Gretel in the fable, we followed her tracks, hoping she’d emerge from the thicket. 

But kismet had other plans. Instead of spotting the orange and black stripes, we were met with two muddy boulders, and one of them wasn’t in a very agreeable mood. 

Protective of her calf, the female elephant was having none of it as we tried to drive past. Unusually agitated, she blocked our path, refusing to budge. Her little one, its tiny tusks just starting to emerge, watched casually as his mother trumpeted and charged every time we so much as inched forward. What a sticky situation it was! 

With no other choice but to give up, our driver shifted into reverse and left the mother and son alone. Needless to say, we were a disappointed lot, but there was more to come. 

We decided to circle the thicket to try and track the tigress from the other side. Negotiating the mire wasn’t easy, and complicating our progress was the rain, which began as a steady drizzle. 

A couple of minutes into the drive brought us face to face with another safari vehicle. The driver, who was conveniently on the other side of the elephants by the bend, gleefully informed us that he’d seen the tigress by the track. She glanced at the excited crowd and melted away into the jungle as the drizzle turned into a downpour. At least that explained the agitated behavior of the mamma elephant!

That said, there was nothing more to do but to head back, disappointed, drenched, and in desperate need of a hot breakfast and a cup of tea.

It was our seventh safari and we’d had our fair share of elephants, sambhar deer, and alluring peacocks. Of the tiger, there wasn’t a glimpse.

Joining us on the fateful day were a knowledgeable naturalist and some affable companions. The afternoon sky, although the colour of dull steel, had mercifully not opened up. 

Nearly thirty uneventful minutes had passed. We encountered more sambhar deer, some disinterested peafowl, and large herds of the mighty Indian gaur. Our naturalist shared some interesting trivia on gaur behaviour, then turned to face us, and said, “You know, it’s been four years since I last saw her...”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than she revealed herself. It was as if the naturalist had conjured her up from his imagination! 

The same delicate markings above her eyes, the same unblemished coat. There was no doubt… it was her at last! 

She moved with the elegance of a lyrical dance, her sinewy muscles firmly planted on the rain-kissed earth. 

Our driver reversed the vehicle, sensing her mood for a stroll along the jungle track. 

She walked along the track, casually at first, stopping in characteristic tiger behavior, sniffing the air and scent-marking some bushes and trees that were the unfortunate recipients.

Her eyes darted this way and that as if looking for something. Pausing from time to time, she continued sniffing the air, her enormous head cocked to one side. What could it possibly be? 

The excitement in the jeep was palpable. I put down my camera and gazed at her as she walked a few yards, stopped to sniff, and stared intently into a thicket. It looked like she’d found what she was looking for.

We backed up further, putting enough distance between the vehicle and the animal. At the very moment, our ears picked up a faint noise behind us. The lantana shook, disturbed by whatever was concealed. Tearing my eyes off the tigress, I turned my attention to the noise behind us, and there it was! The cause for all the sniffing and staring. 

It was a gaur calf. A little older than a month, it still wore the soft brown coat of a baby. The terrified animal knew it had been seen by the predator. It panicked, running helter-skelter, unable to make sense of a world without its protective herd. 

She tigress crouched, unable to contain herself any longer. She sprang forward like an arrow, intent on securing a meal for herself and maybe her little one. We watched, open-mouthed, as the tigress chased the frightened calf, which ran as fast as its little legs could carry it! The bushes parted, and there was a great commotion as the hunt ensued.

Then, suddenly, it went quiet. Unbelievably, the calf had gotten away! It sure was its lucky day, although not so much for the tigress, who would go without a meal until her next attempt to bring down a hooved beast. And who knows when that would be?

Well, it wasn’t her first rodeo, and try again she would. For, such is the way of life in the jungle, where survival is a matter of stealth, speed, and sometimes sheer courage. 

The magnificent creature paused for a moment, grooming herself before she resumed her walk, once again getting us to back up as she sauntered leisurely. 

Then, having decided she’d had enough of walking along the track, she turned around and gracefully melted away into the shrubbery. A beautiful tigress she is indeed! 

  

The winking tigress of Bandipur

The best things in life are often those that are least expected! The same applies to safaris. 

We were on the lookout for the bear-killer. A moniker earned by a bold male tiger after he had killed a sloth bear in a waterhole. Usually a formidable opponent, the bear did not stand a chance, having been caught by surprise by a lethal attack from behind when it bent down for a desperate drink. At least, that’s how the story goes, since I was not there to witness this rare moment. Gathering bits of information from the videos shot by the lucky ones who watched the show from close quarters, we wasted no time in heading straight to the said waterhole to try and catch a glimpse of he-who-dared-to-dine-on-the-mighty bruin! 

The harsh afternoon sunlight created silver ripples on the still waters, as we squinted to adjust to the brightness. Of the deceased bear, there was no sign. The tiger seemed to have polished off his delectable meal leaving no remnants for us to “ooh” and “aah” upon. 

The afternoon dragged on, while we shifted uncomfortably in our seats, wiping rivulets of perspiration off our faces and necks. A restless human specimen, in his attempt to position his bazooka-like lens, violently shook the safari vehicle and its inhabitants, who were lulling off into a heat-induced slumber. A fellow guest opened his mouth to reprimand him, but shut it almost instantly, having spotted a dull-orange shadow with black stripes behind the drying vegetation. 

The tiger emerged into the open, and what a magnificent creature he was! Oblivious to the excited audience pointing their cameras, mobile phones, and fingers at him, he yawned and proceeded to immerse himself into the water, albeit butt first. 

His belly appeared full from his previous meal, and he alternated between drinking water and dozing off as a gentle breeze caressed the jungle. 

I put down my camera, giving my aching arms some rest, and simply watched the tiger as he stretched and emerged from the water, shaking the excess moisture off its pale coat, and walked majestically into the thicket. In a few moments, he was gone! 

It was nearly time to go ourselves. The blazing afternoon had turned into a mellow evening. A cormorant and egret circled the shallows, looking to grab a quick supper before retiring for the evening. It was the perfect end to a perfect afternoon. Or so I thought. 

Our safari driver, Pradeep, a man of great experience and an acute awareness of animal behaviour suggested we take a different route to the exit, rather than follow the convoy exiting the reserve. With some time to spare, we excited lot set off towards a more picturesque part of the jungle. The flat terrain soon changed, and we found ourselves ascending a hill as the 4X4 swallowed the undulations with aplomb. 

The landscape was simply breathtaking! The denuded hillock, devoid of much greenery in the summer months, appeared ethereal as the bare trees swayed on a bed of ash-littered earth. The ash was the result of the forest watchers’ efforts to prevent a forest fire, which is a dangerously common occurrence in the dry season. The watchers, through controlled fires, burn the dry grass, which would otherwise turn into a lethal blaze. 

We drove on, chattering animatedly about the bear-killer, as the sun gently lowered itself into the hills, when Pradeep brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt, his whispers a mix of urgency and excitement. 

“Tiger! Tiger!” he whispered. 

I scanned the fireline, expecting to see the hindquarters of a retreating tiger, when he impatiently pointed in a different direction. Lo, behold! There she was, resting on a bed of ash and soil, her rich coat contrasting against the dark earth beneath and the cornflower blue sky serving as the perfect backdrop. It was an unforgettable sight indeed!

A famously shy tigress, she seemed uncharacteristically at ease, as she gave us a casual glance and winked as if to say, “Well, the game is up. Looks like you found me after all!” 

The winking tigress!

At least that’s what I’d like to think, considering what actually happened was that she reflexively shut an eye to ward off the pesky horseflies that plague the jungles in summer. Having done that, she rose lazily, sauntering off into the brambles after liberally scent-marking the trees. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Bazooka-Lens, dismayed by the lost opportunity to photograph this elusive tigress groaned audibly at his folly. He had packed up the camera equipment after the first tiger sighting, assuming his tiger luck for the day was done. 

I felt a tad sorry for him, for nothing dampens the mood as much as a missed opportunity to photograph this magnificent feline, especially when one is right in front of you. 

The last rays of the sun almost disappeared as we drove back, each one of us still spellbound by the glorious evening. 

I hope to see her again someday, maybe with cubs or her mate. Only time will tell. Perhaps she might wink once more?

Blame it on the virus!

I don’t know why I took a long break from writing. It has always been so therapeutic to translate my thoughts into words, and words into stories and experiences. Was it the convenience of Instagram that allows me to add a couple of lines against a picture and hit “post” or simply the sheer apathy brought on by the pandemic? I’d like to blame both, but deep down I know that I’m guilty of a rather common ailment that afflicts writers… distraction! 

Documenting stories of my travels has always been a passion. That said, with no travels to document post-COVID, I let my passion wane. I convinced myself that most of 2019 was spent preparing for my travels to the Masai Mara Reserve in Kenya. Meanwhile, the lure of the Bandipur Tiger Reserve, which was fast turning into my home away from home, meant that I was too busy packing my bags just as fast I’d unpack them upon my return. When was I to write?

Excuses, excuses, right? This time around, I made up my mind to pull myself out of the impassivity that has clouded my mind, especially ever since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic.

So, what next? Well, I’d like to spend a few moments lamenting on the lack of travel in 2020. As someone who made a beeline to the nearest jungle at the drop of a hat, being trapped indoors for months together is, for the lack of a better word, rather suffocating. One might argue that everything in India is opening up, including the safaris and there’s nothing to stop me from embarking upon another one of my wildlife trips. That’s not entirely true… there is something that stops me from finding material for my next article, and that is the rapidly spreading virus that seems to completely disregard humanity’s patience. 

Can you imagine, the impudence of these “invisible to the naked eye” organisms that appear to have overstayed their “unwelcome”, in this case? Patience everywhere is running thin, and I’m no different. I would like to pretend that the homemade concoctions of garam masala and turmeric will render me invincible to the Coronavirus or be like the neighbourhood uncle who firmly believes it’s all a hoax; but better sense prevails and I realize that the possibility of contracting the infection, if I were to tempt fate by traveling for pleasure, is very high! 

So, reminisce I will, by getting back to writing my travel experiences from the good old days when catching a cold was what it was...very common! When running temperate was nothing more than a mere inconvenience that was in most cases resolved by a couple of over-the-counter antibiotics, liberal doses of paracetamol, and of course, “mummyji ki khichdi”. 

I’m going to sign off on that note, and promise to be back soon with a blog on my 2019 trip to the Masai Mara.

 

When it rained leopards

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.

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.