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! 

  

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.

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. 

All in the Family: Deciphering Tiger Behavior in the Wild

My tryst with tigers began almost 10 years ago when I first laid eyes on the erstwhile Prince, the alpha-male of the Bandipur Tiger Reserve in Karnataka. Little did I know back then that a chance encounter with a hazy mobile camera would grow into a full-blown love affair; one that would awaken in me an insatiable thirst for the jungles and its denizens. This desire to observe, photograph, and understand more about tigers in the wild gradually saw me evolve from a mere tourist to an eager learner. What delights me the most about studying these majestic cats is the fact that every encounter, sometimes with different tigers and many times with the same ones, allows me to learn something completely new about them. 

Mahadesha with his mate

“There are more ways than one to observe tigers in the wild,” an ex-forest department official once told me. 

“It’s all about perspective rather than just ‘seeing’ tigers,” he said. 

Intrigued, I asked what he meant. 

“Scat analysis, for instance, is a good indicator of the tiger’s diet and health, while scent-marking, clawing, cheek rubbing and vegetation flattening tell you a lot about their territories, time spent in certain areas and reproductive readiness. It’s also a non-verbal form of communication.”

“Meanwhile, the pug marks denote the age, sex, and overall health of a tiger,” he continued. “So you see, it’s not always about looking at tigers, as much it is about observing their behavior in a natural environment.” 

The wisdom of his words and immense love for the jungles reminded me of one of my favorite modern-day writers and conservationists, Valmik Thapar. Thapar, in his books, narrates the observations made over the years while tracking tigers in Ranthambore. He talks about some rare and thrilling experiences recorded during safaris; the kind that give you gooseflesh just by reading about them. So you can imagine my delight when one of Thapar’s experiences unfolded before my very eyes. 

It’s often believed that the male tigers rarely have a role to play in the upbringing of their cubs. Some of them are even believed to be rather aggressive and nasty towards their cubs. This myth was debunked by Thapar, who witnessed resident males in Ranthambore play an active role in raising their offspring. While reading about this was enlightening, to be able to observe and photograph this fascinating phenomenon is an absolutely unmatched experience. 

I was in Bandipur when the present day alpha-male, locally called the Basavankatte male or Mahadesha, was expected to arrive at a particular watering hole that he frequented. We also knew that he had fathered cubs some months ago, and the likelihood of spotting his cubs and mate was high. Soon we found ourselves near the said watering hole, cameras ready, hearts beating hard in anticipation. 

Soon enough, he made a grand appearance, walking leisurely towards the water body. Lowering his hind legs first ( tigers dislike getting water in their eyes and face), followed by the rest of his body, he made himself comfortable, giving us plenty of opportunity for some great shots. That’s when things got exciting. 

The tigress, his mate, sauntered in a few minutes after, swishing her tail gracefully. Emulating her partner, she dipped her body into the water, settling down less than 3 feet away.  We couldn’t believe our good fortune, for not only did we get to see a tiger, but we also managed to capture him with his mate in a single frame! 

The tigress, by now, slowly inched towards her mate. To me, it appeared that she was trying to ascertain his mood. A couple of tail swishing and nudging moments later, she rose and walked boldly towards him. Then, she gently nuzzled him, rubbing her cheeks against his. Mahadesha, in the meanwhile, seemed to enjoy the pampering and nuzzled back, without lifting his lazy backside from the cool water. 

Mahadesha with his cubs

Following this display of affection, things got intense. We detected a movement in the shrub by the pond. Out popped a small, furry head, followed by another, and a third one! The occupants of our safari vehicle were giddy with excitement. I’m surprised I managed to hang on to my camera, for the sight of this perfect feline family seemed to overwhelm and enthrall me simultaneously. 

The cubs, almost 11 months old, rushed to their mother at first, keeping a safe distance from their father. However, the female ignored her cubs as they bounded off her rump and tried to lick her. The cubs were now hungry for affection; if they weren’t getting it from their mother, they decided to try their luck with their father. 

It was a tense few seconds for the occupants of our vehicle, as we watched the cubs move playfully towards the big male. The familiarity with their father and his tender behavior towards the cubs made us realize that the tiny furballs were extremely comfortable with him. That’s when it dawned on us that this probably wasn’t the first time they were playing with him. They poked him with their tiny paws, licked, and nuzzled against his enormous body before plonking themselves beside him, thereby quashing the belief that the male tigers don’t play an important role in bringing up their cubs. This family was a picture of love and devotion, sharing not just territory, but also food. The overpowering smell of a decaying carcass and their tiny bellies bulging from a recent feast proved that they’d dug into Mahadesha’s prized gaur kill.

I put my down my camera and simply watched them, trying to imprint this scene in my memory. If good fortune prevails, I know I will see many more tigers and tigresses in the future, and possibly tigresses with cubs too; but I realized that an experience like this, where I’d observe and photograph the whole family together, was perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

Spending time with these magnificent cats in the jungles of India has changed my outlook and perception about tigers. It’s made me understand the strong familial bond that exists between these otherwise solitary hunters, and that they are, under normal circumstances, tolerant to human presence. That said, it would be half-witted and foolhardy to take their instinctive, predatory disposition for granted. 

Of course, in today’s age of convenience, it’s easy to read more about tigers from the comfort of your home or drive to the closest zoo to look at them pace restlessly in miserable little enclosures; but the thrill of the wait, the excitement that the first glimpse of the tail or the rich coat in the sun-kissed jungle, and the call of the tigress as she looks for her cubs, is a matchless experience. 

The Unsung Heroes of our Jungles - Part III

The problem of human-animal conflict is one that has plagued conservationists, forest dwellers, those living around reserves, as well as the animals for years. According to the environment ministry, encounters with wildlife saw approximately 1,144 human deaths between April 2014 and May 2017. Although the debate continues, a plausible solution to this challenge does not seem near. 

A leopard leaps off a branch in Nagarahole

Confined to grasslands and dwindling forests, the animals are driven to the fringes in search of food and territorial space. This, most often than not, spells trouble for the animals and the people residing in and around the jungles. Elephants, for instance, are extremely intelligent and shy. Given a choice, they prefer to stay deep inside the vegetation, feasting on succulent bamboo and grass. However, destruction of their natural habitat and crucial elephant corridors has resulted in these majestic creatures venturing out into the open and stumbling onto the paddy and sugarcane fields and in the process, realizing the easy availability of food. From railway tracks to fields and highways, elephants meet a ghastly, untimely end. Then there’s the problem of leopards straying onto highways, or even backyards of those who have homes bordering around forests; although, it’s comparatively rare for a tiger to venture into human habitation, unless looking for cattle. That said, tigers rarely molest human beings. This, I have spoken at length in one of my earlier blogs; so I’d be digressing if I dwell on this subject further.

The increase in incidents of human-animal conflict in recent times put forth a lot of uncomfortable questions, questions that no one has convincing answers to. Yet, it’s not all bad news. Tribal rehabilitation programs, a subject I had touched upon in my previous blog, are underway in Karnataka, while the state’s forest department has left no stone unturned in their effort to minimize the instances of animals in our backyards. So what happens when a wild boar or perhaps a leopard enters private property?

“Once we have confirmation that the information is 99% accurate, our team immediately swings into action, to remove the animal from the property and release it into the forest with as little trauma as possible,” explained a forest officer from the Karnataka Forest Department.

 

The jewel of Nagarhole

With people venturing deep into the jungles in search of firewood and food, the risk of chancing upon a tusker or a tiger is high. This, coupled with the rapid urbanization, means this problem isn’t going away anytime soon. Armed with walkie-talkies, mobile phones, and in the case of beat guards, and above, guns, personnel from the forest department patrol the forests regularly. It’s a tough job indeed; for they not only have to reduce human interference and watch out for forest fires, but also keep their eyes and ears open for poachers.

Speaking of poaching, this is a menace that has plagued the jungles of India since time immemorial. Always on the alert, the guards and foresters patrol national parks and reserves, looking out for suspicious activity and information on poachers. Be it Karnataka or any other forests in India, the demand for ivory, tiger skin and other body parts, as well as game meat has kept anti-poaching squads on their toes. Although, with the formation of the Special Tiger Protection Force, the instances of poaching in prime tiger and elephant reserves has reduced considerably. The Nagarhole Tiger Reserve, for instance, has 30 Anti-Poaching Camps. The beat guards, while on duty, are expected to report everything from animals that have died of natural causes or those who might have been killed by poachers, to the illegal felling of trees. Tracking software and GPS enabled mobiles automatically upload and share the recorded data with the range officer, thereby eliminating the need for manual reports and reducing the margin for error. Additionally, the placement of camera traps and the influx of tourism in certain areas, along with the Central Government’s blessing to protect and preserve what’s left of our wildlife and the green cover, have given the much-needed shot in the arm to the department’s wildlife protection efforts. Another smart move employed by the government is the inclusion of the locals and the tribal people in their anti-poaching drives and forest preservation plans.

I’ve spoken to numerous naturalists attached to various reserves throughout south and some places in central India, and all of them say the same thing; by offering the locals, jobs within the forest department, involving them in anti-poaching and forest protection drives, the government solves two problems at once. First, people have jobs, and second, with at least one member of each family employed by the department, the local population remains invested in conversation and protection efforts; this means the poachers lose local protection and assistance. There are many who poke holes into this plan, but I think it’s a start. Going by the teeming herbivore population in our jungles, and the increased probability of spotting a tiger or leopard in the wild, I’d say the efforts certainly seemed to be paying off.

The Unsung Heroes of our Jungles: Part II

In my previous blog, I touched upon the Forest Department’s (Karnataka) efforts at protecting and preserving our jungles. I also discussed how the ‘selfie’ menace has compounded the problem of human-animal conflict. In the next two parts, I will delve deeper into the challenges faced by the personnel attached to the forest department, tribal relocation and rehabilitation programs, conservation efforts including anti-poaching drives and management of tourists that throng Tiger Reserves every day.

Ecotourism has grown substantially over the years. I remember, when my husband and I started our love affair with the jungles of South India, ecotourism was at its nascent stages. The resorts and rest houses always had room for last-minute check-ins. So much has changed since then. The density of tourists who throng the resorts and guesthouses around forests has grown substantially. For employees from the forest department who’re dealing with a plethora of problems, to begin with, this presents a new challenge…managing the growing tourist population.

To minimize disturbance to wildlife and allow people to enjoy and appreciate all that our jungles have to offer, the forest department has limited the area reserved for tourism.  Besides earmarking specific areas for tourists, personnel from the forest department also need to decide on the number of safari vehicles allowed inside and the reserve. Although most animals that dwell in areas reserved for tourism are familiar with the sounds from jeeps and people, not regulating the number of tourists and safari vehicles can upset this delicate balance. Quite often during a safari, I’ve seen areas that are off-limits to tourists. Temperamental, shy, and territorial, the denizens of the jungles peppered around Karnataka need these areas to hunt, breed, and rest. As always, it falls on the shoulders of the RFO and his team to devise a park management plan that allows people to tour the jungles without exploiting the sanctity of the forests.

The summer of 2017 saw us pack our bags for a quick trip to the Nagarhole Tiger Reserve. During one of the safaris, I couldn’t help but notice the small dwellings along the fringes of the forest. Curious, I enquired with the naturalist as to whom these huts belonged to and if the government was okay with people living in such proximity to wild animals. I was told that they were tribals who grew up in these jungles and considered it their home.

I decided to follow up with an officer attached to the Karnataka Forest Department, and was astonished to learn that nearly 1500 - 2000 families lived inside the Nagarahole Reserve alone!

“How do they manage to coexist with wildlife? Does this mean more human-animal conflict? Where do they feature in the government’s plans of forest and animal corridor extension?” I directed all my questions at him.

“The commendable efforts at protecting endangered wildlife species and dwindling forests by the Karnataka Government and Forest Department bore fruit in terms of a marked increase in Tiger population, as well as more space for other animals such as elephants, leopards, and gaur to thrive,” he explained. “However, this also meant the forest dwellers and tribals had to share precious space with these animals. Therefore, in a bid to reduce human presence in crucial wildlife habitat, the Central Government launched the Tribal Rehabilitation Program.”

Under this program, the tribals willing to relocate are provided with a compensation between 10 to 15 lakhs or suitably compensated with land and homes. Although some families are willing to move out, some are hesitant, and there are others who’ve lived in the jungles their whole lives and would rather stay put. The objective of the program, according to the government, is not to force people to shift out of the reserves, but rather persuade them to make a living elsewhere. The reasoning behind this move is that lesser human interference means better chances of the flora and fauna thriving. For the people who gather honey and herbs from the forests, who can climb a tree faster than you can spell it, and those who exist in a symbiotic relationship with nature, their skepticism is understandable and only time will tell how successful the program will be. But for now, the government, as well as the tribal community, is testing the waters.

Stay tuned for my next blog on human-animal conflict, steps taken to prevent poaching and the development work undertaken by the Karnataka Forest Department.

The Unsung Heroes of our Jungles: Part I

Most of my blogs, so far, have been about my experiences in the jungles of India. The handsome tigers, shy leopards, elephants, wild dogs, or be it any denizen of the forests, my fascination with them is such that they end up as critical aspects of my writing.

Indeed, as a wildlife enthusiast and tourist, I have enjoyed being driven around in safari jeeps, anticipating a pleasant surprise behind a bend, above a tree, or perhaps, by a watering hole. That’s me, the tourist.

At the Nagarhole Checkpost

This time, at the recommendation from one of my readers, I decided that I would take off the tourist hat for a short while, and see the jungles from a different perspective. A perspective that would help me understand the relentless handwork, passion and true love for the jungles that keeps the unsung heroes from the forest department going every single day.

Let’s start with one of Karnataka’s most popular tiger reserves - Nagarahole. The Nagarhole Tiger Reserve, also known as Rajiv Gandhi National Park, witnesses heavy tourist footfall throughout the year. In summer, people from all over the country, and sometimes the world, brave the scorching heat to capture a prized picture of tigers drinking from a watering hole. The summer of 2017, in particular, was unforgiving. The lack of timely rains meant that most of the smaller water bodies were parched. If you’ve visited the popular Tiger Tank at Nagarhole, you surely must have noticed the solar panels, just before the tank. These solar panels are erected to pump water into the smaller water bodies from the borewells maintained by the forest department. During particularly harsh summer months, the personnel from the Karnataka Forest Department not only have to ensure adequate water supply for the animals, but watch out for forest fires, and sometimes put their lives in peril trying to prevent the fires from spreading.

It’s remarkable what it takes to keep the jungles and the tourists safe. Besides setting up anti-poaching camps at strategic locations within the reserves and patrolling in jeeps, motorcycles and on foot, the personnel from the forest department have to deal with another menace that plagues modern civilization these days.

An elephant crosses the busy Mysore- Ooty highway that passes through Bandipur

The “selfie” menace has caught on with an alarming fervor. Almost every day we hear of people run over by trains or falling off buildings, in a bid to gratify their narcissistic desires. Unfortunately, this is a problem that has spread to the jungles as well. Most recently, the newspapers carried an article on a man in Odisha who was trampled to death by an elephant while taking a selfie. On my last trip to Bandipur, I remember a group of noisy men who’d parked at the edge of the highway to Ooty, only to take selfies and yell incomprehensibly at passers-by. Luckily for them, a couple of forest guards on patrol put an end to the cacophony before something untoward happened. I call them lucky because, only 15 minutes after they left, a lone tusker passed the exact spot. Had they still been around, the consequences could’ve been tragic.

Another time, again on the Bandipur-Ooty highway, a couple of tourists were reprimanded by the forest guards for feeding spotted deer with chips! Herbivores such as sambar deer, spotted deer and elephants gather at salt licks or mineral licks inside the reserves to lick essential mineral nutrients from a deposit of salts and other minerals. Sometimes the forest guards create artificial salt licks at strategic points deep inside the forests, so that the animals replenish their sodium reserves by licking the salt off the rocks. The poor, unassuming deer, attracted by the scent of salt and comfortable with human presence, end up eating something that they’re clearly not supposed to.

Besides controlling unruly tourists, poaching, which is rampant in the jungles of India, is a big challenge for the forest department. One morning in January 2017, I woke up to the news that 14 poachers, comprising software engineers, environmental consultants and coffee estate owners, were apprehended by forest department personnel attached to the Bhadra Tiger Reserve. They shot two sambar deer for the meat, the accused confessed. Sometimes it’s the meat, sometimes the skin, the tusks, or various body parts that are believed to be aphrodisiacs - the poaching menace continues to keep the protectors of the forest on the toes. That said, had it not been for the vigilance of the forest department, our forests would be stripped of the diverse, rich, and beautiful flora and fauna.

So, the next time you visit a protected reserve, you might just notice someone, along with his team, quietly working in the background. This man is the RFO or the Range Forest Officer, who’s doing everything he can to ensure the generation after us enjoys the serenity of the jungles as much as we do.

Footnote: I found it impossible to cover everything that the Karnataka Forest Department does in a single blog. As such, I decided it would be best to divide the blog into a three-part series in my attempt to do some justice to their hard work and perseverance. Watch this space for the next blog in this series, where I’ll cover tribal rehabilitation and tourism management in wildlife reserves.