The winking tigress of Bandipur

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tiger! Tiger!” he whispered. 

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

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

The winking tigress!

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

Tiger Tales from Corbett

Sometimes you drive into the jungle for hours without so much as a glimpse of the big cats, elephants, or the nervous ungulates. There are times when your luck runs out and the birds, which would otherwise fill the air with a cacophony of calls, decide not to make an appearance either. In times like this, the naturalist or driver accompanying you tries to drive the boredom away and keeps you interested by recounting thrilling experiences or jungle lore.

The breathtaking landscape of Corbett

I returned from my trip to Corbett Tiger Reserve with not only a memory card full of wildlife pictures, but also with some exciting, and sometimes frightening and tragic stories from the jungles. Perhaps some of the stories that I recount here are true, perhaps some peppered with exaggeration from the narrators; there’s no way for me to corroborate. That said,I do believe that those who narrated these tales had no reason to spin a yarn, for I have read about experiences such as these in several books. They certainly don’t sound far-fetched to me.

Our driver Dilsher was a man of few words. He spoke when spoken to, and refrained from what he considered an unnecessary use of the vocal cords. It was only towards the tail end of our safaris, as he got to know us better, did he open up, narrating some gripping tales about the tigers that walk this jungle. 

“I was a young boy when this happened,” began Dilsher. 

“My uncle gathered twigs, dead wood, and dry leaves from the forest floor. A friend of his usually accompanied him during these trips, and they would go deep into the woods, mounted on elephants. We wouldn’t worry so much about their safety, because tigers, as a rule, don’t bother humans unless provoked or if they’re physically incapacitated to hunt. Moreover, the elephants acted as deterrents to the big cats. That fateful day, he gathered enough twigs and wood and decided to call it a day when he noticed one piece that he’d missed. As he bent over to pick it up, a terrible roar reverberated through the jungle and a big male tiger pounced on him, its powerful claws gripping his skull.”

Dilsher closed his eyes, trying to recollect what must have been a painful memory.

“His loyal elephant, hearing his master’s screams struggled to break the chain that bound its legs while precious seconds ticked by. His friend, who was not too far away when this happened, heard the commotion and rushed to his aid, thankfully riding on his elephant. Meanwhile, the chained elephant managed to break free and rushed to his master’s rescue. The disturbance annoyed the tiger, who mercifully failed to break its victim’s neck as tigers usually do, and the shaitaan scampered into the thicket. His friend brought my uncle back, profusely bleeding, but alive. Despite the multiple reconstructive surgeries, he lacks one ear and has a fleshy mess for a scalp,” finished Dilsher, as we drove into the forest rest house premises for the night. 

The Gairal Guest house 

I’d like to believe that providence kept Dilsher’s uncle alive. Perhaps it was the crouching position assumed by the man as he bent down to gather firewood that led the tiger to attack, mistaking the human to be one of the four-legged herbivores that are part of a tiger’s natural diet. However, when it comes to wild animals, there are no rules that apply. Just like there are people among us who exhibit deviant behavior for no reason whatsoever, sometimes perfectly healthy tigers also resort to behavior that’s unbecoming for their species. 

The following day, after a good night’s sleep at the forest guest house, we set off on what was to be our last safari in the Dhikala zone. We drove around for a while before coming to a halt at a spot that was said to be frequented by a particular tiger. To our right was a small, albeit picturesque waterhole, carefully covered by trees and shrubs. To our left were the sal trees casting their long shadows across the jungle floor.  

"Let’s wait here," said Dilsher, turning off the engine. 

We waited in silence, enjoying the cool morning breeze that gently caressed the leaves. A couple of minutes had passed with no sign of the tiger, when Dilsher, uncharacteristically, started to narrate another tale involving the same tiger that we were waiting for. This time the incident involved him and another tourist. 

“Last summer, we halted at the same spot, waiting for the tiger to make an appearance. It was after lunch, and the combination of the summer heat and the occasional jungle breeze lulled me to sleep. I’d turned off the engine, and after waiting for almost 30 minutes, dozed off. A couple of minutes later, I woke briefly and turned around to see that my guest, a lady was also asleep. The tiger wasn’t coming, and the heat was oppressive. I thought another short snooze would be nice. Soon, the two of us were fast asleep, when all of a sudden, I felt an inexplicable sense of danger. I opened my eyes slowly at first, and then wide in shock, as I saw before me a fully grown tiger, its forelegs outstretched on the bonnet. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Avoiding all eye contact, I lowered my head, hoping it would go away. The lady, in the meanwhile, also awoke and let out an audible gasp. I suppose I was relieved she didn’t scream. The tiger, its curiosity aroused, decided to investigate and circled the vehicle, sniffing it with great interest. My body felt like ice, and I am sure the lady felt the same too, for there wasn’t the slightest movement from us.”

“The tiger, by now, was bored, and just as suddenly as it had appeared, it walked away nonchalantly. We thanked our maker as we watched the beast vanish into the thicket. I asked the madam if she’d like to finish the rest of the safari. She told me to forget it and head to the nearest forest rest house, as she had to use the bathroom. Truth be told, so did I. I’ve never been more terrified in my life as I was that day,” he finished. 

I’m not sure how I’d react, should something like that happen to me. I looked around, imagining the tiger stretching itself on the bonnet. Something between excitement and fear ran down my spine as I replayed the story in my mind.

We did see a tigress that day, but from a reasonably safe distance. That was our last safari with Dilsher, but we did have one more in the Bijrani zone and one in the Jhirna zone. I hoped that the other driver had more stories for us. I wasn’t disappointed. 

The following morning, we met Jalees, a cheerful young man, who was to be our driver for the next two days. Jalees, it turned out, enjoyed conversing with guests, and regaled us with interesting stories and trivia during his tenure at the Corbett National Park. Of all the narratives we heard, one stands out from the rest. It’s the story of his unfortunate neighbor. 

There are some parts of Ramnagar town that borders the Tiger Reserve. In one place, I observed the human habitation is demarcated by a concrete wall that overlooks the jungle. It was apparently here that this incident took place. 

“Summer in North India is merciless,” began Jalees, warming up to the subject.

“Sometimes on an unbearably hot day, some people sleep with the front door open, although that’s not the smartest thing to do. This happened many years ago to the man who lived opposite my house.”

“We awoke to the sound of someone screaming in the middle of the night. My father and I rushed outside, and what we saw chilled us to the bone. Our neighbor, on a particularly hot night, had left his front door partially open. A wandering tigress, her curiously aroused, peeked in and grabbed the sleeping man by his ankle, yanking him like a rag doll. Dragging her surprised victim, she managed to pull him out into the open, while his family screamed in terror. The village was up, and soon, some of the brave men pelted the tigress with stones, hoping she’d let go of her prospective dinner and bound back into the jungle.”

“The tigress,  brave as she was, stood her ground. While she let go of her grip on the man’s ankle, she didn’t flee from the spot. Instead, she just sat down, possessively guarding my neighbor, who by now, had gone into shock.”

“Then what happened?” I asked anxiously. 

“A forest officer, whose residence was close by, was alerted. It was only when he shot twice in the air did she make a hasty exit,” said Jalees.

“My neighbor, though, did not survive. The trauma and loss of blood killed him,” he concluded sadly.

As we drove back through the Bijrani zone that evening, I noticed several hutments and small homes within the reserve, just a couple of meters from the exit gate. I saw women gathering leaves, and children playing with gay abandon. I am certain that if I had the opportunity to talk to some of the people who lived here, I’d return with many more stories, some perhaps unfortunate and alarming. Why do these people choose to live in such dangerous proximity to wild animals? 

“We understand wild animals. They seldom attack without provocation. If a tiger chooses to maul and kill one of us, it’s because we’ve occupied their homes; but where else do we go? We do not understand why people molest, loot, and kill each other. It’s complicated. This jungle has been our home for generations, and if sharing the space means skirmishes with wildlife, then it’s kismet,” a naturalist employed from a tribal village once told me. 

The simplicity and wisdom of his thought made me realize that human-animal conflict has been and will continue to be an unavoidable part of the lives of those who share their living space with animals. Yet, these wild animals, including tigers, are noble beasts that bear no malice towards the two-legged creatures that walk these jungles with their rifles cocked, their chests puffed up, and senses alert for the slightest movement or sound. 

The Pachyderms of Jim Corbett National Park

The journey from paperback editions of various books penned by the legendary hunter-turned-conservationist Edward James Corbett, or Jim Corbett, as h's popularly known, to actually driving through the very place he once walked, was nothing short of exhilarating. During my growing years, I devoured his books, often closing my eyes between chapters to imagine what it must have been like to cover mile after mile, letting the jungle sounds course through his senses.

The matriarch warns us to stay away - Dhikala zone, Corbett National Park

You can imagine then, how it must have felt for someone who’s dreamed of this moment their whole life, to breathe the very air that Corbett once breathed, to drink in the beauty of the varied landscape that was until a short while ago, just a place that existed in my mind. 

I could wax eloquent about the park, and still not do justice to the breathtaking landscape that includes a diversity of flora and fauna.  Perhaps I’ll save this for another time.  Although the vast grasslands, riverine beds, and the towering Sal trees seduced me completely, what blew me over was the sheer density of elephants that roamed these jungles. The pachyderms were everywhere. Almost every turn, every patch in the grasslands had large herds or lone tuskers eating their way through the jungle. What amazes me about elephants, irrespective of the topography or location, is their ability to hide. A creature as large and noisy as the elephant can melt into the vegetation or stay absolutely silent if it wants to. I have encountered this behavior several times, whether it’s the dry, deciduous forests of  Bandipur, the dense, hilly terrain of B R Hills or the diverse jungles of Corbett, the elephant emerges from behind a shrub or the lantana, swiftly and silently, taking you by complete surprise. 

I remember the time when we were following fresh pug marks, our jeep hurtling through the jungle track, when all of a sudden, from around a bend came a loud crash. This happened just as the jeep passed the bend. An extremely annoyed female elephant emerged from the thicket, startling all of us completely, for there wasn't the slightest sound until moments ago. We were even more surprised when she was followed by a small herd of five or six females, including a calf. Of course, we left from there in a hurry, relieved that the matriarch decided to make her presence felt after we’d passed. Had it been a few seconds earlier, the consequences could’ve been disastrous. 

Besides the fact that the herds I spotted in the Dhikala zone of the national park were enormous in number, the other unique trait I noticed was the size of the elephants. Now, before you jump to counter my observation, let me clarify that this is purely a subjective pronouncement. Somehow, the elephants here appeared marginally larger than their South Indian cousins, especially the males. 

Speaking of male elephants or tuskers as they’re popularly referred, I had the opportunity to observe and photograph two large, lone tuskers on different occasions. The first one, a  handsome, albeit full grown male, blocked our path on the Dhikala-Gairal road.  At first, he ignored us, feasting on the succulent leaves from a tree. Then things got interesting when another safari vehicle blocked his path from the opposite direction. I expected him to lose his temper and express his annoyance. Our tusker though, remained calm, composed and in no rush to get anywhere. He continued on his way forward, while we followed slowly. The other vehicle had no choice but to back up as the elephant ambled along, stopping on and off to grab a tasty snack from the infinite jungle pantry. My husband and I clicked away furiously, hoping to somehow get some good headshots. 

“Headshots? Why didn’t you say so before?” ...is what I think the fellow thought, as he stepped into the thicket for the briefest moment, allowing us to pass. Once we drove past, he got back on the jungle track, now following our vehicle as we managed to get some excellent headshots. After a while, I put down the camera and simply gazed at this attention-seeking tusker. I could’ve sworn he enjoyed every minute of it. 

That’s when things changed from interesting to exciting. A tigress, clearly disturbed by the elephant’s presence, emerged from the undergrowth and walked right between our jeep and the elephant! Awestruck by the unexpected appearance of the tigress, I missed the chance to get both animals in one frame. It would’ve made such an excellent picture! Quickly regaining my composure, I did manage to get her on film before she slinked away from her nemesis.

If the Dhikala zone was teeming with herds as large as 40, the Bijrani zone had some formidable tuskers of its own. Considered to be the best zone to spot tigers, after Dhikala of course, this zone has an ethereal beauty that leaves visitors mesmerized. Boasting sky-high Sal trees, small water bodies that run through rather hilly terrain, the Bijrani zone is marked by unexpected curves that hold the promise of something exciting right around the corner. This was where we saw the second tusker. If his Dhikala cousin was large, this was one bulky. His trunk was thick and his beautiful, but deadly, tusks gleamed as he walked, rapidly and purposefully towards our vehicle. I was sure he would charge, for he was in the state of “musth”, a condition where a mature bull has up to 60 times its normal testosterone levels. It’s highly dangerous to approach bull elephants during this time. Their aggression levels rise to a great extent, so much that they attack with the intent to kill. It’s not uncommon for elephants, both wild and tame, in musth to attack and sometimes kill one of their own. 

I noticed the telltale temporal discharge close to its eyes, right in front of the large ears. The determined gait with which it marched towards us and the fact that 4 other safari jeeps blocked our path in front, naturally made me very nervous. The driver left the engine on, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. This one, strangely, didn’t display the typical aggressive behavior of an elephant in musth;  although we weren’t sure what he’d do if he got too close to us. Well, we didn’t wait to find out.

Our naturalist was a man who’d worked with the forest department for nearly 20 years. His experience told him not to take any chances with the formidable battle-tank forging towards the jeeps. Gesturing the other drivers to move ahead, he instructed our driver to step on the gas. Once the jeep was at a safe distance and my adrenaline subsided, I realized how fortunate I was to be able to photograph these intelligent, temperamental creatures in the wild.

Sure, the Jim Corbett National Park’s biggest attraction is its tigers; but the highlight of my trip was the elephant encounters. From the endless herds feeding placidly and the little calves indulging in juvenile games, to the testosterone-charged handsome bulls, the pachyderms of Corbett stole my heart. 

The Christening of Tigers in India

Wildlife photography aside, a well-informed naturalist can make all the difference between a good safari and a mediocre one. A well informed as well as communicative naturalist ensures you don’t just enjoy the safari, but also return with a profusion of interesting trivia. Fortunately, we’ve had the well informed and the communicative kind accompanying us on most of our safaris. Their vast knowledge of every plant, animal, and even insect species never ceases to amaze me. Of all the trivia and tidbits of information that I’ve picked up over the years if there’s one thing I derive great pleasure from, is understanding how a tiger was christened. There’s always an interesting and sometimes amusing story behind this.

The famous Spotty scent marks a tree

Tigers, once identified, are given unique IDs by the forest department. You have the usual T series such as T - 31, T-2 and so on, which are used for official purposes such as tiger census and record maintenance. That said, the naturalists and forest guards usually christen the resident cats with names that are assigned either because of an incident, a unique personality trait, or sometimes because they think it’s endearing to call a tiger by a particular name. This blog is the story of these tigers and how they earned their names. While I’ve had the privilege of photographing some of these big cats, there are others I wish to see very soon and some others I can no longer hope to see because they’re now dead.

Our guide and driver Sultan, who accompanied us on 6 safaris in Bandhavgarh, was a man of few words and many years of experience, first as a forest guard, then a mahout, and finally as the driver of safari jeeps. That said, a little persuasion and small talk later, he opened up with some rather amusing anecdotes about the popular tigers at Bandhavgarh.

Charger, the dominant male that breathed its last in September 2000, earned its name because of his aggressive disposition and penchant for charging at safari jeeps and elephants. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me make it clear that he did not, in the 17 years that he lived, harm any humans.

“Charger would silently await the unsuspecting jeeps to come close before jumping out from behind the tall grass and rushing forward. He always stopped short a few meters from the vehicle, growling menacingly at the terrified tourists. He was a large, handsome male, albeit a ferocious one,” explained Sultan.

Once familiar with Charger’s antics, the guides and drivers were extra vigilant when they drove into his territory, always on the lookout for an impending charge or an unexpected roar. It is said that this fearless beast didn’t refrain from charging at elephants either. I wonder how I’d have reacted if I were in the jeep that ran into Charger. Would my hands shake with fear, would I manage to take photographs? Sadly, I’ll never know the answers to this questions, for the legendary Charger, after the death of his mate Sita, the matriarch of Bandhavgarh, met his end too.

Hungry for more, we requested Sultan for more stories. He grunted incoherently, before clearing his throat.

“Then there’s Pannalal…” he began.

“Pannalal?” I quipped, intrigued and amused by the personification of the animals.

He threw me an annoyed glance before continuing.

“We named him Pannalal because he wandered from the Panna Tiger Reserve into Bandhavgarh.”   

Well, so much for creativity, I thought, disappointed because Sultan settled into one of his long silences again. Traversing a distance of almost 210 kilometers is a bit too much for a tiger, whose territory normally ranges from 60 to 100 square kilometers. Was he in search of a mate? Was it the lack of prey? Or was he driven out by another more dominant male? No one really knows, for not much has been documented about the reason behind Pannalal’s migration from Panna to Bandhavgarh.  

While Pannalal and Charger were two tigers I haven't photographed, the former because I haven’t been fortunate enough to see him yet, there’s one rather popular tigress I did see and capture on camera - Spotty, a tigress I have written about in detail previously. Now, it makes sense if a leopard were to be named Spotty, evidently because of the rosettes that adorn its sinewy body. But Spotty, the tigress?

Spotty, along with one of her daughters

“There’s a ‘T’ shaped spot on her forehead,” explained Sultan, “hence she’s Spotty!”

I barely managed to suppress a smile. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out the so-called T shape, but I wasn’t about to argue with the expert.

“Spotty has a sister, Dotty. It rhymes,” he shrugged.

That evening, as we huddled by the bonfire, munching delicious paneer fritters and sipping some piping hot ginger tea, I thought a chat with the resort manager might throw some light on the tigers of Bandhavgarh.

“We’ve known and track these tigers right from birth. The naturalists coin unique names for the big cats, and the most popular ones stick,” he explained, the tea having loosened his tongue.

“For instance, there’s ‘Bhagodi’...she bolts into the nearest thicket every time she hears a jeep and Solo… no prizes for guessing why it’s called Solo,” he guffawed. Clearly, the person who christened these animals wasn’t having a very good day.

Closer to home, the Nagarhole and Bandipur Tiger Reserves boast a very healthy population of tigers. The Tiger Tank Tigress and her cubs, as well as the Powerline cubs, enjoy a celebrity status in Nagarhole and it’s safe to assume that almost no photographer who spends a couple of days patiently waiting to capture them on camera goes home disappointed. Celebrity status aside, their names elicited not more than a yawn from me. Unlike the naming of the dominant male in Bandipur, the naming of the Nagarahole Tigers that I photographed didn’t have a story that interested me.

Speaking of the dominant Bandipur male, after the passing of Prince, the famous tiger that attracted photographers from far and wide, another male soon acquired his predecessor’s territory. Such is the way of nature. He was the Basavanna Katte male, also addressed as Mahadesha.  

When I first laid eyes on Mahadesha, I was astonished by his size. He was handsome and big for a six-year-old tiger and very confident in his stride. Mahadesha settled down behind a bund, giving us ample time to admire and photograph him. Satiated, we drove back to camp, my head full of questions about his rather interesting name.

"There was a forest officer, who’d decided to name his son Mahadesha. However, when he had a daughter instead, he christened this cub ‘Mahadesha’, which coincidentally, was born around the same time. Mahadesha is like his son," one of the naturalists explained when I enquired. A delightful story indeed!

Although I’ve had the good fortune to spend time and photograph some of these tigers, I wish I could travel back in time to observe this one tigress that Valmik Thapar discusses in great detail in his book, The Secret Life of Tigers. She was the tigress, Noon.

Noon walked the jungles of Ranthambore in the 80s before she was killed by poachers. Her diurnal hunting nature earned her the name, as she mainly hunted during the day, especially between mid-morning and noon, a behavior unlike the rest of her kind. Trained by their mother, Noon’s cubs emulated similar hunting techniques, stalking and killing their prey during the day. Perhaps it was Noon’s bold and trusting nature that led to her unnatural demise, robbing many wildlife lovers and conservationists of their chance to spend time with her.

Compared to the numbers in the 80s and the 90s, there are many more tigers that walk the jungles of India today. Some like the late Noon, Prince, Charger, Machali and Genghis Khan were famous, while there were others who were born and lived in anonymity. I only hope that I’m fortunate enough to observe, photograph, and write about these majestic cats in time to come.

Wildlife of India: The Past, Present, and the Future

I must’ve been in high school when I was first presented with my very own copy of Jim Corbett’s book, “The Temple Tiger and Man-Eaters of Kumaon.” I devoured the pages in no time, and soon, hungered for more. My love affair with the jungles of India had begun. Corbett followed Rudyard Kipling, Kenneth Anderson, Valmik Thapar, and the list grew lengthier by the day. Little did I know back then, that someday I’d tour these incredible jungles with a camera in hand and a wild imagination in tow, looking for a good picture or a subject for an article.  Until then, my imagination was peppered with thoughts of tigers stalking unsuspecting deer, herds of gaur grazing peacefully, of leopards leaping from one branch to another, and of crocodiles slinking into the murky depths of a vast river. 

Jungle fowl engaged in a spat

Today, as I listen to the alarm calls of a spotted deer, sitting patiently in a safari jeep, I consider myself to be one of the fortunate few whose dream of capturing these memories on camera has finally come alive. A huge credit for this goes to the conservationists, forest department personnel, and all those who’ve battled for the protection and preservation of Indian jungles and its wildlife, making it possible for the likes of me to enjoy what remains of the flora and fauna in modern India.

The protection of endangered species and the forest cover is an ongoing battle, one that must be fought relentlessly at all times so that the generation after us isn’t relegated to photographing animals and birds at the zoo. Before the former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi launched Project Tiger in 1973, the population of these striped cats was on a rapid decline. By 1971, it is believed that a mere 1800 tigers remained in the wild. The demand was such that tiger skins adorned the living rooms of bureaucrats, nawabs and the elite of India and abroad.  It wasn’t just the taxidermists who had a field day, but also poachers who hunted and sold various body parts of tigers, monitor lizards and elephants, and a host of other species, to anyone willing to buy them. From marketing them as powerful aphrodisiacs to talismans, 19th century India saw a vulgar display of wild animal body parts as ornamental pieces.

An elephant herd by the banks of Kabini

Over the years, having toured numerous jungles across the sub-continent and read innumerable books on wildlife in India, I have come to the conclusion it isn’t all black and white as far as wildlife conservation is concerned. On one end of the spectrum are the experts who raise awareness and invest their heart and soul in the protection of critical species, and on the other end are the hapless villagers and tribal people who’ve lost crops, livestock, their homes and in some cases, lives to wild animals. Caught in the crossfire is the Forest Department whose main purpose today has become to strike a balance between the two.

A leopard in Nagarahole National Park

What then is the future of wildlife in India? Are we doing enough to put an end to forest degradation and wildlife protection? A small, but crucial, part of the answer lies in Wildlife Tourism. Thapar, who invested over 35 years of his life battling for the protection of Tigers in India, said that the future of Indian wildlife lies in Wildlife Tourism. For many, wildlife tourism may be a double-edged sword, a matter of debate... but I couldn’t agree more. When I think of the future of wildlife in India, I not only envision a thriving tiger and leopard population, but also a healthy percentage of endangered species such as the Barasingha, Black Buck, and larger mammals including elephants and gaur, living unmolested by man. To make this possible, it’s imperative that we protect their homes and ensure they have enough space to establish territories. I emphasize on the importance of territorial space, because animals, especially predators, in most cases are territorial. In the case of elephants, they are creatures of habit, migrating from one part of the forest to another, looking for food and water. As for tigers, the lack of territorial space means an increased risk of human-animal conflict. Simply declaring tigers as protected will not suffice. A sustainable and practical future for these animals starts with prevention of forest degradation and establishing critical animal corridors. All of this boils down to responsible wildlife tourism. For the jungles of tomorrow, the India of today needs to educate the generation of the future. We need to teach them to revere the jungles, love and respect our wildlife. I believe that the foundation has been set by our predecessors who dedicated their lives for preservation and protection of wildlife in India. I’m optimistic that the day is not far when the jungles as I envision them, will become a reality. 

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 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.