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.

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.

The Tiger Tank Tigress of Kabini

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

The Tiger Tank Tigress

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

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

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

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

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

Gaur

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

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

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

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

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