There’s only one principle that I have followed in my 35 years of travelling into the wild: Never visit the same place twice. The simple reasoning is, there’s so much to see in India you can’t see it all in one lifetime. (Is that the reason why we Indians believe in rebirth, I romantically wonder.) Of course, I did make an exception once. That was Silent Valley in Kerala. I have visited this forest twice. Once as a 23-year-old to make an anti-dam documentary on this endangered forest. And then as a 53-year-old with my son and my wife to relive my nostalgia.
I felt it was time to make a second exception. For a tiger reserve called Tadoba. (Usually, big cats don’t feature in my bucket list; even a flying lizard is enough to send me into raptures. But this time, the urge to spot the big cats suddenly overpowered me, and I decided to go there in the oppressive heat of 43 degrees C). On hindsight, it was a pretty good decision. Because it turned out to be the richest wildlife spectacle that I have witnessed in our amazing land.
Spread over 600 sq kms, Tadoba Tiger Reserve is an enchanting forest made up of three ranges that contribute in equal measure: Moharli, Tadoba and Andhari. And it is a supreme example of eco-tourism where the locals and the forest department do a wonderful job of protecting wildlife, and controlling close to a hundred congenitally vocal tourists every day.
21st April 2014
Day One. As we approached the buffer area of Tadoba, Mehar our sarathi slowed down at a village and pointed to a haystack where a leopard had climbed up to when he was caught stealing a calf in broad moonlight. He refused to be tranquilised in spite of two potent shots. And finally the villagers who had gheraoed the stack had to make way for the cat to retreat to the core area, his head still held majestically high.
After a hurried lunch we waited for the finest guide in Tadoba, Bandu, to pick us up. He arrived a second before 2.30 and we proceeded on our very first exploration.
Soon after entering the gate of the core area, we chanced upon a sloth bear. The glimpse was momentary as he was deep inside, foraging for termites in a distant mound.
Then we drove to a lake named Telia, which for some unknown reason had strange rainbow-coloured shores. Here we waited for a tiger spotted by another jeep three minutes ago. But no luck. And I realized that in Nature, just as in life, one has to be at the right place at the right time.
22nd April 2014
Day Two. Since most of the villages had been relocated outside the park long ago, there was not a single instance of cattle grazing. When the grass supply increased, the prey-base increased. And when the prey-base improved, the number of predators increased. Plentiful food, coupled with abundant water in all the water bodies, has made Tadoba a paradise for wildlife. The proof of the pudding was in the sighting. I saw bison, barking deer, chousingha, chital, sambar and nilgai, all in heartwarming numbers.
During my four-day stay in Tadoba, I didn’t find any litter in the forest whatsoever. When our diligent guide Nilkanth did find one lone plastic bottle that must have been surreptitiously dropped from a jeep, he got down, picked it up, and quietly put it in our jeep to carry it back to civilization.
At Telia, on a small mound there were four peafowl and a peacock, sunbathing. Nilkanth suddenly spotted a slight movement in the grass. It was a leopard lying in ambush. The sharp alarm call of a spoilsport langur was enough to scatter the peafowl in all directions. The leopard slipped away into the grasslands with, well, a sheepish grin.
The wait at the nearby lake at Pandhar Pauni was cut short by swarms of flies that would land on the sweaty, exposed parts of your body. They didn’t bite, they just stuck to your body and soaked in your sweat.
Bandu, our personal guide-cum-driver, was truly a son of the forest. At times he would stop the jeep and chat with langurs, bisons and even jungle fowl. Born and brought up in Tadoba, his instincts were finely honed. He set off to Telia again, guided by some sixth sense. On the way, he refused to stop when we spotted minor delights like birds and butterflies. Like a predator hunting its prey, his eyes were locked on a single target. And when we reached the lake, right enough there was a tigress cooling its heels in the water. After a full 30 minutes, she got up. And then slowly the drenched beauty walked towards us, and then turned and disappeared into the mystery of the forest.
The morning started with a leopard and the evening ended with a tiger. At the same lake. Busting the myth that leopards and tigers don’t coexist in the same territory.
23rd April 2014
Day Three. On the way to Panchdhara, near Khatoda gate, we came across a large group of wild dogs that soon split into two groups to prepare for an ambush. A pack of wild dogs is so ferocious and merciless that it sends a chill even down a tiger’s spine.
Then we saw two strange sights. A tree with as many as twenty-three beehives bustling with busybees. And a cluster of a tree called Ghost of the Forest. These trees are white in colour and on a moonlit night they rise above the forest like ghostly apparitions with their twisted arms outstretched. In one large patch there were around twenty of them; and I imagined what a sight it must be when they rise in eerie unison on a full moon night.
Mahua trees were in full bloom. When the mahua flowers and fruits fall down and fester, the langurs gather in large numbers to eat them. The fermented concoction gives them a high, and then they doze off in the shade till the effect slowly wears away. It’s another matter that those who have had one fruit too many get up with a hangover.
We could now see Tadoba lake in the distance. Nilkanth shared with us the legend of this lake. Many centuries ago, a marriage party of the Gond tribe that used to inhabit this forest was passing through. Since their throats were parched and there was not a drop to drink, they decided to dig a well. Unfortunately when they dug they hit a rock in which a god resided. More than hurt, he was angry. And in a fit of rage, he sent forth a deluge of water that drowned the unsuspecting marriage party. All the water that gushed forth in anger formed the Tadoba lake.
The tryst with another tigress was in the evening. It was near an evacuated village called Jamni. As if from nowhere, she emerged and got on to the road in front of us. And apparently once a big cat decides to take the road to its destination, even if it’s man-made, nothing can deter it. So, it passed by the two jeeps in front of us and came straight towards our jeep. And after giving a piercing look at the frightened eyes of my jeep, she passed by nonchalantly.
24th April 2014
Day Four. Only about 15 percent of the forest reserve is open to visitors. In the rest of the forest, the wild ways are unseen to man. And only 22 vehicles are allowed per trip, and every vehicle has to have a registered guide. All of them hail from the village and protect the forest like their own. They are knowledgeable, affable and willingly share information of various sightings with each other.
The last day of the trip was the best. It’s on that day that I drove through the Tunnel of the Cicadas. The rest of the forest was silent; but as you approached this tunnel, the singing of cicadas slowly became louder. When you were right in the middle, the sound was at its peak. And as you exited the tunnel, the sound again disappeared into the distance.
Who was to prepare me for the stripes at the end of the tunnel? Just as we emerged from this reverie, on the left was Wagdoh, the alpha male tiger in these neck of the woods. Acknowledged to be the largest tiger in the country, he was a sight to behold. He was deep inside the bamboo grove, and gave us glimpses of his majesty through fleeting bamboo curtains. And then he disappeared suddenly. The fact that he wasn’t seen again added to the ethereal quality of the sighting.
The next halt was Pandhar Pauni. When we reached there, we saw another tigress lying on the grass on the lakeshore, getting ready for a kill. Barely 50 feet away from her was a female sambar deer about to walk down into the watering hole. The alert deer suddenly noticed a faint movement in the grass as the tigress lifted her front legs and prepared for the big leap. And all of a sudden the sambar bolted with a sharp call that made even the wild boar and spotted deer disappear in a flash. Unmoved, the tigress got up and strode away as if nothing had happened. That’s when I realised that Nature is perfectly balanced. The predator and the prey are equally camouflaged; and so are their instincts equally matched. Which is why a predator makes a kill only once in 20 attempts.
This tigress is fondly called Maya by the guides. And there’s a strong rumour floating around that Maya is pregnant. Bandu gave that as the definitive reason why she didn’t give the sambar a hot pursuit. The news of pregnancy warmed my cockles. Because, any new birth, of any species in the forest, is the surest sign of a forest in the green of health.
