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.

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 Trusting Tigers of Nagarhole

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

The power-line subadult male

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

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

The Backwater female

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

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

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

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

Let’s Talk Leopard

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

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

Mahadesha - The Tiger

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

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

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

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

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

The Sounds of the Jungle

So obsessed are we, in the pursuit to spot the big cats, that we often forget to observe the beauty of the jungles that surround us. We hear, but don't listen. We look, but we don't see. We admire, but seldom appreciate.

The jungle, to me, is a place where imagination comes alive. A large rock sheltered by the bushes resembles a gaur or an elephant in the twilight. Twigs take on the shape of snakes, lying motionless, patiently waiting for an unsuspecting hare or rat to come by. Sometimes, on a moonless night, something scurries past, rustling a bed of dry leaves. And I find myself playing guessing games, wondering what it could be.

It was one such warm, moonless night, when I found myself in a dark tent, surrounded by acres of thick jungle. It was our third visit to the K.Gudi camp in Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills for short. The fact that my husband and I were the only guests at the camp and the lack of electricity added to the excitement. At about 8 30 that night, after we were done with a delicious, but simple dinner, I decided to step out for a while to take in the familiar, soothing, sounds of the jungle. The cicadas, after making quite the racket, decided to take a break, giving the nightjar the perfect opportunity to make its presence felt. I felt myself being lulled into a stupor, my thoughts wandering all over the place. This blissful state of affairs continued for a good thirty minutes or so until the realization suddenly hit me that all the denizens had quietened down. Now if you've been to the jungles as often as I have, you'll know at once that a silent jungle can mean only one thing – a predator was on the move. I was alert, straining my ears for a faint rustle, or the rough, sawing sounds of the leopard.

Soon enough, the deathly, oppressive silence was shattered by the alarm call of a sambar deer. "Dhonk, dhonk, dhonk!" it went. I followed the direction of the sambar's alarm call, and mentally traced the path of the cat that must have walked around the periphery of the camp, barely 200 meters from the tent. Was it a tiger, or a leopard, I don't know. For I was as blind as a bat, my ears doing all the listening and seeing for me. I retired to the safety of the tent, as the calls continued well into the night. Sleep, of course, eluded me, for I was high on the heady mixture of thrill and curiosity. The sambar stopped calling eventually, signaling that it was safe for the denizens to come out of their hiding. A few hours passed, and I could hear the wild boars outside, sniffing and devouring any tasty tidbits they could find. My glow-in-the-dark watch showed that it was nearly 3 AM, and I decided that I simply had to get some sleep.

"Oye, wake up, wake up," someone whispered frantically. Groggy and confused, I grumbled at my husband for disturbing my sleep. "Listen, it's a barking deer!" he whispered, hardly able to contain his excitement. Sure enough, it was now the barking deer's turn to call out. Something was definitely afoot, moving stealthily about, but this time, the calls were from the opposite direction, indicating that the predator was returning to its lair, which clearly wasn't too far from the campsite. I imagined it to be a leopard, returning from its hunt to the comfort and safety of a tree. We passed, what was left of the night, listening expectantly for more alarm calls. They'd died down of course, and we found ourselves dozing off, as the first light of the dawn kissed the dewy foliage.

Thirty minutes and two cups of tea later, we were on the morning safari. I mentioned the previous night's alarm calls to the driver and the naturalist, and they weren't too surprised, but nevertheless excited.

"We heard it too!" they exclaimed, in unison.

"This particular leopard lives somewhere close to the camp," said the driver. "But, he's a master of camouflage, so the guests rarely get to see him."

No sooner had he spoken, we saw a rush of yellow and dark spots jump across the fire trail, and crash into the bushes. It was the leopard alright! My jaw dropped in awe at the fleeting glimpse of this beautiful creature, just before it vanished.

"You're fortunate madam," the naturalist said, grinning from ear to ear. "Most people only hear him, you got to see him too, albeit for a few seconds."

Lucky indeed! But I couldn't wait for nightfall, until I heard him again, in the alarm calls of the deer, and the silence of the cicadas.