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.

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!”

  

  

Secrets of the Jungles

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, or at least a significant portion of it, the jungles delight you with a new revelation. The many secrets and treasures of Indian jungles, shrouded deep within the dense foliage, hold a mysterious charm; one that allures and excites its visitors with the promise of something new each time. 

The Elusive Mouse Deer

It was during one of those trips to a tiger reserve in South India that the spirits of the forest decided to shower me with their generosity. Following an impressive safari where we spotted a tigress with her cubs, some elephants, and the usual ungulates that throng the Bandipur Tiger Reserve, it was almost time to exit the park. 

I rested my camera on the seat and figured I’d watch the sunset. It was our last safari for the trip, and I wanted to take in as much of the sights and sounds of the jungle as possible. Just as we drove past a curve, our naturalist hurriedly signaled for the driver to stop. I picked up my camera that very instant and squinted hard to see what had caught the naturalist's attention. 

“There, by the bush!” he motioned excitedly. 

Sure enough, by the clearing, something the size of a house cat or a small, domestic pig, emerged from within a bush. It was like nothing I’d see before. Dwarfish stature, short legs, a mouse-like face, the animal was simply adorable! 

“Madam, it is a mouse-deer,” whispered the naturalist, as I got busy clicking. 

The fading light and the considerable distance between the mouse deer and the vehicle presented a challenge. It was not the ideal setting from a photographer’s point of view. But that’s the thing about wildlife photography; you cannot plan every shot, or position the subject where the light is good. You can either take the shot or leave it. I decided on the former. In the obsession to get that perfect picture, I didn’t want to risk missing out on this rare opportunity to not just see a mouse deer in the wild but also photograph it. It was an exciting moment indeed!  

Its small frame, nocturnal habit, and secretive nature make it a very difficult subject to capture on camera. The mouse-deer, considered to be the smallest ungulate, is also known as the Chevrotain. The Indian Spotted Chevrotain, a species of even-toed ungulate in the family Tragulidae,  faces a severe threat from poachers and destruction of habit. In fact, this diminutive ungulate was spotted in Chhattisgarh after a long hiatus of 112 years, in 2017. It was also bred in captivity and then reintroduced into the Amrabad Tiger Reserve in Telangana state. These statistics, although grim, should give you an idea of how challenging it is to be able to actually spot one in the wild. 

As I watched the mouse deer dart around like Alice’s White Rabbit, it occurred to me that this little fellow could be a tasty appetizer for a predator’s palate. I shared this thought with the naturalist. 

“It’s small stature and mottled markings provide excellent camouflage from predators, especially if they stay immobile. I’m sure many safari vehicles, in their pursuit of a tiger or leopard, have driven right past one! ” he quipped.

It was something to ponder over. Not only is it difficult to see the Spotted Chevrotain in its natural habitat, but it’s amazing how little we know of this elusive animal. It may lack the tiger’s royal presence or a leopard’s delicate grace, but the mouse deer is a charming little creature that deserves its rightful place in our jungles. Protecting this Tragulidae species not only requires focus on increasing their numbers in the wild, but also educating people about their behavior, habitat, and their importance in maintaining ecological balance. 

The Trusting Tigers of Nagarhole

In a tropical country like India, summer is the best time to spot wildlife and study animal behavior. The acute water scarcity and intense heat bring thirsty animals to river banks and watering holes for a quick drink, making it easier for naturalists and wildlife enthusiasts to observe and photograph the denizens of the forest. Wild cats such as tigers and leopards, which are usually brilliantly camouflaged in the thick vegetation, are easier to spot when the trees are nearly bare and dry.

The power-line subadult male

Karnataka, which has been victim to an unkind monsoon and a harsh summer, witnessed a marked rise in wildlife tourism this year. The recent forest fire that ravaged the Bandipur Tiger Reserve and the connecting jungles, has done little to impact ecotourism. Tourists continue to throng the jungles, desperate to catch a glimpse of the elusive leopard, the majestic tiger, or maybe an elephant herd.

I’ve been touring the Western Ghats for the last ten years, and never have I seen as many tigers and leopards on a single trip as I did on my recent visit to the Nagarhole Tiger Reserve in Karnataka. The flipside to the unrelenting heat, of course, is the adverse effect on the wildlife. The Kabini River is the lifeline of Nagarhole. Although reduced to half its volume, this crucial waterbody continues to be an important source of water for the residents of the jungle. However, the lack of water in the Bandipur area of the forest has driven most of the thirsty herbivores towards Kabini and the smaller watering holes in Nagarhole, while the highly territorial tigers and leopards continue to struggle with scant prey in Bandipur. Meanwhile, the Nagarhole cats have sufficient to eat, but not as many watering bodies to wallow in or quench their thirst.

The Backwater female

I had the fortune to observe some important aspects of tiger behavior this summer. A young tiger, for instance, popularly known as the Powerline Cub, is a sub-adult male born to a tigress that lives and frequents the power line that runs through the Nagarhole Reserve. Most tigers that are born and raised around the buffer area that’s earmarked for tourism, aren’t afraid of safari jeeps or the sound of human voices. They consider these sounds as a very normal part of their existence. The powerline cub was no different. Indifferent to the safari jeeps and the noise from the camera shutters, this handsome cat lolled lazily in the sparse grass. He barely glanced our way, and rolled on his belly until he found a comfortable spot to ‘cat nap’! There was another such instance, where we observed a tigress scent-mark her territory right in front of our jeep. Unperturbed by our presence, she continued marking the trees before disappearing into the thick lantana that’s enveloped what’s left of the vegetation. So mesmerized were we, by the tigress’ presence that we failed to see a leopard, cowering fearfully on a treetop, waiting for its feared feline cousin to leave. It was only when the naturalist’s trained eye caught some movement on a large tree did we notice the beautiful leopard staring at us with its soulful eyes. After ensuring that the tigress had left the vicinity, the leopard leaped off the tree and bounded away, presumably to a safer part of the jungle.

The tigers residing in the buffer zone of Nagarhole are so comfortable with human presence that one tigress blissfully napped close to a small watering hole, while we furiously photographed her. She threw a lazy glance or two our way a couple of times; but not once did she attempt to leave or appeared bothered by our presence. Although their familiarity with safari jeeps is unsurprising, I am not sure if the same holds good for people who run into a tiger while walking through the jungles. One of the two things is likely to happen. The tiger will either beat a hasty retreat or if curious, will come closer to explore. Contrary to the popular myth, tigers don’t attack humans unless provoked or driven into a corner. Their natural prey comprises deer, gaur, and other members of the herbivore family. They’d rather leave the two-legged humans alone.

This comfort that the tigers in protected areas have with humans, I believe, can be the bane of their existence. Going against the very instinct that teaches them to keep away from human beings, these tigers are gradually trusting us as a natural part of their ecology, making them highly vulnerable to poachers. Instead of bolting at the sound of voices or human scent, they stay. Does this make them easy targets? Are we interfering more than necessary? Do we realize that each time we drive or trek through a forest, we might just be meddling with their natural habitat?

For the generations in the future to enjoy the gifts of the jungle, wildlife tourism should be carefully controlled and closely monitored. Although it’s definitely a shot in the arm for the tourism industry and for conservation efforts, overdoing it could disturb this delicate balance that preserves the flora and fauna of the protected jungles. Karnataka, for one, has been reasonably successful in preserving its forests and the creatures that dwell in them. Although the man-animal conflict continues to plague the areas that border the jungles, it’s also heartening to know that much is being done towards the preservation of biodiversity in the state. Part of the Project Tiger conservation program launched by the Indian Government in the early 70s, Karnataka’s Nagarhole, Bandipur, Bhadra, Dandeli and Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple reserves boast a healthy and thriving tiger and leopard population, in addition to other critical species of animals, birds, insects, and plants. As someone who resides barely five hours away from these wonderful forests, I take great comfort from the fact that somewhere, some tiger is on a hunt right now, or a leopard is lazily perched on a tree, and perhaps an elephant herd is contentedly splashing around in a watering hole.

Let’s Talk Leopard

Having grown up on a healthy diet of Jim Corbett, my love for the jungles only grew when I switched to Kenneth Anderson, followed by Hugh Allen and Valmik Thapar, nearly 6 years ago.  So when I met my husband a decade back, we connected instantly over our passion for wildlife and the drive to explore the Indian jungles.

Blessed as we are to have visited most of the Tiger sanctuaries in Karnataka, we realized over time that most naturalists and promoters of ecotourism in India have a single-minded obsession – spotting the majestic tiger. Although still on the endangered species list, it's heartening to know that the tiger population in India has grown substantially over the last few years. What’s disheartening, however, is that in a bid to save the tiger, other critical species, which aren’t necessarily on the endangered list, are often ignored.

Mahadesha - The Tiger

On our recent trip to the Bandipur Tiger Reserve, we informed the naturalist that we’d like to observe all animal and bird species, to which he raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked us if the striped feline wasn’t on our list. Well, of course, it was. We’d love to observe a tiger in its natural habitat, as we’ve done many times before, but we’d also like to take in the different sights and the sounds of the jungle.

We started off on a cold January morning. As we ambled along, our naturalist pointed to our right and whispered excitedly, “There’s Mahadesha!” Following his gaze, I expected to see someone from the anti-poaching squad walking along the fire trail.  What I saw made my jaw drop. There he was, a fully grown male tiger, lazing around in a nearly dry water hole. The excitement in the safari jeep was palpable, the cameras clicking away furiously. After clicking some pictures, I put the camera aside and watched ‘Mahadesha (also known as the Basavanna Katte male)’ yawn and stretch. He rose in all his magnificence and melted into the thicket, as we continued to gaze at the spot where he’d just sat. It was an excellent day indeed, and we were just getting started.

 As we prepared for next day’s safari, I wondered what surprises the jungle had in store for us. Little did I know of the thrilling experience that awaited. 

It was around 4 in the evening and the naturalist told us that it’s unlikely that we’d spot anything at this time of the day. Indeed, the part of the jungle that we were to cover that evening lacked the usual deer and langur population, and we were quite certain that this wouldn’t be anything more than a peaceful drive in the wilderness. The drive was lulling me to sleep, and the delicious lunch a few hours before didn’t help. Just as I was about to slip into a sweet slumber, one of the guests exclaimed, “Leopard, leopard!”

I was instantly awake. Indeed, less than 70 meters from our jeep was a fine male leopard out on his post-lunch stroll. Leopards are shy and difficult to spot in the wild, so we were fortunate to have seen this one up close. His movements unhurried, his body sinewy, the spotted, smaller cousin of the tiger gave us a cursory glance before doing the vanishing act. But my excitement isn’t something everyone will share. Considered a nuisance by many, leopards are vital to maintaining the ecological balance. While studies show that there are four leopards for every tiger in India, the alarming reality is that these cats are often poisoned, trapped in snares, or simply shot. The future perhaps isn’t as grim for the leopard is it appears for the tiger, but at the rate at which these creatures are dying, I certainly hope they don’t meet the same fate as that of the tiger.

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!"

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.

800 Kilometers and One Bike: Part I

After a 600 something kilometer (two way) trip to Ooty on a gearless scooter, we’d just not had enough. We longed for something more, something different from the usual car trips we took. So, we decided it was time for the Honda Unicorn to make its debut. This time we zeroed in on the Bhadravati-Chikmagalur- Kudremukh belt, in 5 days.

The Unicorn was longing to stretch its legs and so were we; although, the first 100 kilometers later we realized that there wasn’t much leg-stretching for us. A fully loaded petrol tank, and a fully loaded backpack later (oh what a dumb thing to do!) we were off on a crisp October morning. This was to be the first 270 kilometers of our journey where via Tumkur,- Arasikere- Kadur – Birur – Tarikere, and finally Bhadravati, where we planned on staying the night at Jungle Lodge’s River Tern resorts. The roads were great, and the weather perfect. Our loyal steed devoured the distance hungrily.

Our first and only break, Café Coffee Day near Arsikere. Hunger was the least of my problems. I was paying for my lack of common sense. Instead of using saddle bags as is the norm, I was carrying a massive backpack, and the strain from the excessive weight started to show. My shoulders hurt, and my lower back felt numb. It served me right, I suppose, for not doing my homework and going with the decision to carry loads of clothes, and other knick-knacks on my back.

But the excitement of the trip, a strong coffee and some stale sandwiches later, I felt much better and was rearing to go. The route was simply picturesque, with beautiful sunflower and paddy fields, and clear blue skies to keep us company. The unpolluted air and sparse traffic was a refreshing change after battling peak hour traffic every day in Bangalore. The rest of the journey was uneventful, barring a small potholed stretch just before the Lakkavalli Dam.

The River Tern property is one of Jungle Lodge’s best, albeit expensive, ones. Overlooking the Bhadravathi River, you can either choose to stay in the cottages nearest to the "gol ghar", where the food is served or in one of the cottages on an island. We choose the latter. I'm not going to dwell too much on how our stay at Jungle Lodges was or the details of the Jeep and boat safari. But I must stress on the fact that the Bhadra Wildlife Sanctuary, a Project Tiger reserve, is a lot denser than either Bandipur or Nagarhole. Enveloped by a thick canopy of trees, you must be really lucky to spot any wildlife at all. Besides a few peacock, we did manage to glimpse a herd of the gaur and the usual population of chital. To be fair, it's a place that's suitable for bird watchers.

Moving on to phase 2 of our motorcycle trip. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of tea, we started for Chikmagalur. Refreshed after a good night's sleep, a shower (did I mention the bathroom has a one-way glass wall, which overlooks the expansive jungle?) and a good meal, I was determined not to let the steady drizzle dampen my spirits. The skies were grey, and it didn't seem like the sun was in any hurry to make an appearance.

The roads were slippery and wet, curving right through the rain-kissed forests. Our Unicorn hugged the hilly bends with strange familiarity, swallowing curve after curve as we sped ahead. At one point we simply had to stop, just to gawk at the massive trees that appeared to touch the sky. Besides cutting right through the Bhadra forest, this is one of the most scenic and traffic-free routes that you can take from Lakkavalli to Chikmagalur. Eighty-three kilometers, some tree-gawking and endless photo-sessions later, we reached Chikmagalur just in time for lunch.

End of day 2; it was time to give the bike and ourselves some rest. Moreover, my shoulders ached and my legs felt sore. Definitely time to call it a day. I went to bed that night, dreaming about the long ride to Kudremukh that awaited us the next day. From what I’d heard, it was going to be a challenging, yet memorable ride to the mighty Kudremukh range. Little did I know then that God was chuckling, making his own plans that involved riding through the dense jungles, soaked to the bone!

Click here for part II of 800 Kilometers and One Bike.

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: The best place to stay at Bhadra will be Jungle Lodges’ River Tern resort. Undoubtedly, they have the best boat and jeep safaris and great rooms. It’s this monopoly, however, that eggs them on to quote exorbitant prices. Chikamaglur has plenty of homestays that are easy on the pocket. We stayed at Nature Craft Homestay. They offer simple, home-cooked food and
clean rooms.

When to Go: If you’re planning to ride up, the best time will be between October and February, when the sun isn’t beating down mercilessly.

What to Do: You can visit the Lakkavalli Dam. But don’t miss the jeep and boat safaris, which are great if bird-watching is something you enjoy. Chikamaglur, on the other hand, has plenty of places to visit. You can drive up to the Muthodi Wildlife Sanctuary or hire a cab to Mullayanagiri, which is the highest peak in Karnataka.

How to Get There: The simplest route from Bangalore is via Tumkur,- Arasikere- Kadur – Birur – Tarikere, and finally Bhadravati. To go from Bhadravati to Chikamaglur, you must take the awesome route from Lakkavalli that goes right through the lush, green jungles.

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.