The Tiger Tank Tigress of Kabini

A cold, winter morning in November. The jungle is still, and the only sound that emanates is the cracking of bones. None of us move, afraid that the slightest movement might spoil her appetite. She’s seen us alright, this undisputed queen of the Indian jungles, but pays no attention. Enthralled, we continue watching, sometimes through binoculars, sometimes through the camera lens, or just directly, drinking in this magnificent sight.

The Tiger Tank Tigress

The Tiger Tank Tigress, as she was christened, tore a piece from the chital carcass, and swallowed.  We heard the “crack, crack,” again, as she breakfasted on a succulent morsel from the carcass.

I’ve heard from many wildlife enthusiasts, that in the tiger’s presence, one fails to notice everything else around them and focuses single-mindedly on this beautiful, sinewy beast. That morning in the jungles of the Nagarahole Tiger Reserve, this theory was put to the test. For nearly half an hour, we watched the Tiger Tank Tigress enjoy her meal. Not once did we notice a pair of elephants, slowly inching towards the tank for a drink of water. It was only when they got too close for the tigress’ comfort did we know of the pachyderms’ presence. The tigress, obviously thirsty from her meal, didn’t welcome the intrusion and snarled in warning. The elephants hesitated for a moment, before beating a hasty retreat. This was her territory, and she could come and go as she pleased. After all, she wasn’t called the Tiger Tank Tigress for nothing.

I watched the tigress enjoy her meal, thinking it was one of the best tiger sightings of my life.
Little did I know that a treat awaited me the following day.

It’s a common myth that a tiger will instantly charge at a human when confronted. As I’ve mentioned in my blog on tigers earlier, these majestic jungle cats are shy and prefer to stay hidden in the presence of humans. A healthy, young tiger, with plenty of game to stalk and kill, will never molest a human. There have been instances, where annoyed tigers have killed humans when provoked, but never ate so much as a bite. Occasionally, thanks to the effects of rapid deforestation, which has resulted in a sharp decline in the deer population, tigers are forced to kill cattle from the villages nearby. Should an angry villager raise his staff at the hungry animal, he might find himself on the menu. But that’s rare. I believe that every time we battle the city traffic, we are more at risk of dying from road accidents than being eaten by tigers.

That said, the following evening, we set off once again towards the jungles. Content with spotting a tiger, wild dogs, elephants, plenty of birds, gaur, langur, and the Malabar squirrel, among other denizens of the forest, we focused on tracking the elusive leopard. Fervently scanning treetops and rocks until my neck ached, we finally settled at a spot where a herd of gaurs grazed peacefully. The gaurs, mostly comprising adult females, didn’t mind the intrusion and continued grazing and grooming their calves. One of them even came close to the jeep and promptly sat down to masticate.

Gaur

A few minutes later, the female gaur stood bolt upright and focused intently on the lantana shrubs ahead. Her body still and alert, she sniffed the air suspiciously and without warning let out a high-pitched guttural sound. It was nothing like I’d ever heard before. On cue, the other females in the herd surrounded the calves protectively, while a second female broke off from her family and joined the first one, adding to the strange cacophony. This continued for a minute or so, before the two alert females charged into the thicket, warning whatever was in there to back off.

Our highly experienced driver, who doubled up as a naturalist, was convinced of a leopard’s presence in the vicinity. However, the gaurs’ warning bellows had given it away, and we were certain that the spotted cat had disappeared into the vegetation. Any leopard, with some bit of common sense, will not take on a fully grown gaur, leave alone two. It was an amazing experience, though to watch the gaurs graze contentedly one minute, and take on an aggressive stance the next.  We still had 30 minutes to go before heading back to our camp. So we drove to the Tiger Tank once more, only to find two adolescent male tigers lounging lazily on the bank. My jaw dropped open. These were the Tiger Tank Tigress’ cubs! Their coats were a deep yellow-orange, and the stripes dark. It was a sight to behold!

One of the cubs though vanished behind some trees the moment we arrived. The bolder of the two stayed and rolled on the grass playfully. As the cameras went berserk, he majestically stretched and made his way to the tank’s edge. Never taking his eyes off us, this handsome, mesmerizing animal quenched his thirst against the backdrop of a lush, green, jungle. We stayed on until we could before our driver reminded us that darkness was fast descending.

We drove back in silence, each one of us quietly replaying these unforgettable experiences in our minds.

As the tiger population in India steadily grows under the protective umbrella of Project Tiger, we must not forget that other animals are just as critical to the ecological balance and harmony of the forests. To me, the sight of elephants tearing into a bamboo grove, or a pack of wild dogs chasing deer is just as important as watching a tiger cross my path. While my affair with the Western Ghats continues, I can’t help but dream of seeing the lions and wildebeest in Africa someday.

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.

Nature’s Ultimate Predators

"How was the safari?" I asked someone who’d checked-in a day earlier at the Kabini River Lodges near Nagarhole.

"Nothing great!" he exclaimed. "All we saw were some deer, bison, birds, and dogs. I mean, I paid so much to come all the way here just to see some buffalo-like creatures and dogs? No tigers, no leopards. Such a waste!"
It's this single-minded obsession to spot the big cats that prevents people from enjoying their trips to the jungles. Sure, I'd love to see the tiger in all its majesty, or spot the shy leopard lounging lazily on a rock. But what I enjoy the most is the proximity to nature. The calling of the peacocks, trumpeting of elephants, or the "whoop" sounds the langurs make as they swing effortlessly from one tree to another, is music to my ears.

But what I'd never seen, until the recent Kabini trip, is a hunt in progress. Two days, and four safaris; the pack of eight Asiatic Wild Dogs, or the dhole, were a familiar sight. Three out of the four times we spotted them, these fearless, diminutive killing machines looked anything but ferocious. Frolicking in the grass, chasing each other around, this pack would remind anyone of their playful neighborhood dogs. Until, you watch them hunt.
On our last safari, we ran into the dhole family, clicking pictures and watching them from a safe distance. Soon the pack grew bored, and began walking lazily along the jungle track. As we continued watching, we saw a herd of chital or spotted deer, grazing peacefully at a distance. Suddenly, this picture of serenity took on a completely different turn. Pandemonium broke loose the moment the leader of the pack spotted the herd. Emitting a barely audible whistle-like sound, the pack broke into a run, splitting into small groups in a smooth flanking movement, catching the chital by complete surprise as they scattered haphazardly.

Unlike tigers and leopards, these communal hunters don’t give their prey the luxury of time to warn the others of the impending danger. They simply attack, tearing off chunks even as the terrified animal continues to run, eating them alive bite by bite. It is said that even the mighty jungle cats steer clear of dholes. Weighing as little as 13- 17 kilos, these rust-brown carnivores are said to bring down a lone tiger if need be. That said, what’s concerning is that these highly endangered species are ignored by most conservationists and researchers. Perceived as pests, the common folk look at them with the same disdain reserved for street mongrels. Adding to their misery is the fact that they aren’t as beautiful to look at or enthralling as other predators.
Coming back to the hunt. As the chase continued, our jeep followed at a distance, so as to not interfere with nature’s plan. It was chaotic mix of dust and hooves, before the herd and the dhole family disappeared into the thick, impenetrable vegetation. Whether or not the dhole went hungry that day, is something I don’t know. But when a new guest asked me how the safari was, I replied, my eyes twinkling with excitement – "It’s an experience that's going to remain imprinted in my mind for a really long time!"

Access'd Ooty

When she came into our lives sometime in the middle of 2010, we had no idea we'd take her on her first vacation so soon. But it just seemed so wrong to leave her behind, all alone, waiting for us to come home. So we took her along, on what turned out to be one of our most memorable trips so far.

I don't suppose you know what I'm talking about. It is our very own, 125 cc, stylish, Suzuki Access. Boasting a 4-stroke engine, and looking resplendent in black, the dealership fella called it the “perfect scooter for city use”. Little did he know that we had other plans for her!

A misty Saturday morning sometime in January 2011, my husband and I found ourselves heading to Ooty. Considering we'd not been married for long, money was a little tight, so this was going to be an overnight trip. A small backpack with a change of clothes and some water, that's pretty much all we needed. I'm going to leave out the mundane details of the Bangalore to Mysore stretch. The heavy traffic, suicidal cows jumping in the middle of the highway at regular intervals, and the innumerable coffee-houses, always make me feel like I've never left the city.

The awfully dull Mysore highway behind us, we crossed Gundlupet without incident. This, I believe, was when the real fun started. Considering we were now officially in the Bandipur Tiger Reserve limits, I really wonder how this narrative would have panned out if we'd had a flat. But we had other things to worry about, such as the forest officer at the Karnataka- Tamil Nadu check-post. He stopped us and stared suspiciously before asking me to take off my helmet.

"Madam, is he forcing you into this lunacy?" he enquired.

I was amused, at the same time touched by his concern. I told him I was fine and a willing participant to what he clearly thought was madness.

"Sir, why are you taking your wife to Ooty on a scooter? There are plenty of buses and cabs. This isn't even a powerful motorcycle!" he exclaimed.

It took some convincing before he bid us adieu, still shaking his head and muttering as we resumed our journey.

Nestled in the foothills of the Nilgiris and melting into the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary on one side and the Nagarhole National Park on the other, these jungles are part of the Nilgiri Bio Reserve. Despite efforts to prevent poaching and protect what remains today of the fauna, I fear that the generation after us will not enjoy the beauty of these beautiful, but rapidly depleting, forests of South India. At the risk of digressing, let me add that Bandipur was once a private hunting reserve for the Maharaja of Mysore, before it was established as a tiger reserve in 1974.

Back to where we were, it was just beyond the 'Safari point' in Bandipur when we came across the first herd of elephants. Elephants, when in a herd, are almost always peaceful and don't molest human beings. It is the lone tusker, especially one in the state of Musth, that you should worry about. Those fellows are best left to themselves. Anyway, coming back to our pachyderm family. They regarded us with mild curiosity and continued munching on the succulent bamboo that grows aplenty in these jungles. I imagined one of the little ones even went “slurp” before licking his lips with satisfaction!

The herd let us pass.

The next challenge came when we reached the 'safari point' at Mudumalai. Here we had the option of either continuing straight towards Masinagudi and taking the Kalhatti road, or turning right towards Gudlur. The Gudlur road is, undoubtedly, the most scenic, with the Moyar river serenely flowing on one side, while Kalhatti (which literally means 'steep ghat') comprises of 36 hairpin bends. Although I had immense faith on our Access, let's face it, negotiating 36 hairpin bends on a scooter is like trying to thread a needle with a rope! The engine would most certainly seize. So the obvious choice, and a wise one, was the Gudlur road. The extra two hours that we took to reach Ooty from the safari point made us realize how sturdy our 'city' scooter was. Pushed to its limit, sometimes by the wide craters on what must have once resembled a road, and sometimes by the buses and larger cars that simply whizzed past with little regard for our humble steed, she was one resilient workhorse.

As for us, well, I'd be lying if I said that we felt like James Bond who somehow managed to get out of diciest situations without a hair out of place. When we reached our destination, an old British Bunglow converted to a B&B, all we wanted was a hot bath, a steaming cup of tea and a warm bed. Before that, however, we had a very curious hotel manager to convince that we'd actually covered nearly 300 kilometers on a Suzuki Access. "Saar, where did you rent this in Ooty?" he enquired, without checking the Karnataka registration.

"It belongs to us," my husband replied.

The flummoxed chap walked out, peered at the registration number and then looked at our exhausted faces.

The "why" was written all over his face. But he restrained himself and showed us to our room.

I can't even begin to describe how tired we were. Our backs ached, our muscles were sore and despite the helmets, dirt covered our faces. But for all it's worth, I know we'll do it all over again.

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: Plenty of options available, depending on your budget. You could either try Kings Cliff if your purse strings aren't too tight, or the likes of Woodberry resorts or I-India if a budget vacation is on your mind.

When to Go: Whenever your heart desires. Ooty is one of those round-the-year destinations. That said, April to June or September to November are considered to be the best times to visit.

What to Do: I'd give the botanical garden and the lake a pass; they're too touristy and crowded for me. Long walks along the winding roads and the train ride to Coonoor should be in your 'to-do' list.

How to Get There: If you're in a car or on a motorcycle, you could either take the Bangalore- Mysore- Gundlupet - Bandipur- Gudlur- Ooty route or the Bangalore- Mysore- Gundlupet - Bandipur- Masinagudi-Kalhatti- Ooty road. Amateur drivers and scooterists are better off taking the Gudlur Road.