Primal Fear

direction), or that shisham leaves bunched up together made for excellent toilet paper. From my teenage perspective, Jaggi was really cool.

On that fateful day, he was leading us (a group of eight gawky kids) for a short walk into the Dhikala chaur (grasslands). Taking a drag of his cigarette, he asked us, ‘‘Do you know why I smoke in the chaur?’’ ‘‘To scare away dangerous animals?’’ one of us ventured a guess. ‘‘Nope,’’ he said. ‘‘To see which way the wind blows?’’ I offered. ‘‘No,’’ he said again, exhaling a substantial cloud. ‘‘The reason I smoke is because I’m scared stiff every time I walk in the chaur.’’ At that, we all broke into schoolboy giggles.

As we were savouring our light moment, a low, guttural growl was heard. Our hearts collectively skipped a beat as Jaggi asked us to shut up. We stood still, very quiet, very afraid for what seemed like a very long time.

Overhead, creepy vultures drew expectant circles in the sky and in the distance grey langurs were bellowing out staccato alarm calls.

Suddenly, this huge magnificent male tiger broke through the foliage onto the path 50 yards ahead. He looked pointedly at us — emitting a small warning snarl. Probably figuring that mere humans did not deserve more attention, he sauntered away majestically.

It was an authentic wild moment which left us all stunned. Even Jaggi, a veteran of tiger sightings, seemed at a loss for words. Every tiger addict has fond memories of similar formative experiences — regardless of whether the initiation was at age 14 or 40. Over the next two decades, I hunted for my tiger fixes with the desperation of a hardcore addict. In the beginning, it was all about getting to see as many tigers as I could. But I soon became aware that something more than just bagging sightings was keeping me going. It was the entire habitat in which these beautiful feline predators roamed that proved to be an equally powerful stimulus. Not just that, it was also the varied diversity of experiences that these wilds offered — be it attaining inner calm or an understanding of links between the closely circumscribed world of Man and that of largely-forgotten Nature.

Though each sanctuary in India is unique and has its own charm — the three places that I would recommend for the best ‘‘tiger experiences’’ would clearly be Bandhavgarh, Ranthambore and Corbett.

Bandhavgarh is in this list simply because it is, for me, the most beautiful sanctuary in Madhya Pradesh. The point is, it’s difficult go to a wildlife park in Madhya Pradesh and go back home without seeing a tiger. Hit the query ‘‘best place to see a tiger’’ on any Internet search

engine and Bandhavgarh will invariably pop up.

It’s best explained statistically. Out of the 4,000 tigers in the wild (though experts squabble over this figure) a majority of them are in India. In India, the majority of the tigers live in Madhya Pradesh. In turn, Bandhavgarh in Madhya Pradesh has one of the highest densities of tiger population. Let’s put it this way: if you don’t see a tiger in Bandhavgarh, never become a professional gambler.

Apart from the numbers, Bandhavgarh has a few other things going for it as far as tiger sightings are concerned. For one — the service sector in and around the park tries to ensure that you see a tiger. On my first morning there, the waiter who served me breakfast wished me with what sounded like a standard greeting, ‘‘May you see tiger today, sir!’’

Besides, the park authorities arm mahouts with walkie-talkies and send out their elephant fleet to scour the jungles for tigers every morning. If a tiger is spotted, word spreads quickly among the vehicles that ply tourists around the park and everyone makes a beeline for the spot.

The other thing is that the tigers themselves are habituated to humans and ignore them completely. This makes for prolonged sightings. Once, I watched two semi-adult tiger cubs for more than an hour while sitting on an elephant some 20 yards away. Over this period, numerous elephants bearing tourists came and went. People shouted. Cameras clicked. A child broke out into a loud wail and was admonished even more loudly by his mother. But the cubs, oblivious to all this, kept playing their own version of football with what seemed like a shaggy sambar head.

Ranthambore, on the other hand, is similar to Bandhavgarh in that tiger-spotting is frequent. But the habitat is different.

For me, it is the most picturesque sanctuary in the country. The Ranthambore fort, high up on a hill sits like a presiding deity and the ruins of summer palaces and hunting lodges dotting the scrubby landscape make for an ideal backdrop to see tigers stalking, hunting, playing with their young or just sunning themselves. I’ve known people to become blase‚ about incredible tiger sightings in Ranthambore — which in most other parks could easily have been an once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The thing to remember in Ranthambore is that park authorities don’t allow private vehicles in — which basically means that you have to depend on the merry band of jungle guides and Gypsy (or Canter) drivers who, by law, have to accompany you inside the jungle. They are a funny, cynical and often villainous bunch of guys who are wise to the ways of the park. It’s important to ask around before engaging one.

One evening, as scarves of dust spread above herds of chital and sambar gathered outside the lake near Jogi Mahal, a tigress appeared from behind us and walked purposefully towards our open Gypsy. Just as we were about to hit the panic button, our guide recognised the tigress and asked us to stay put. Apparently, this particular tigress was known to use the Gypsies in the park as an effective way to camouflage herself from her prey! We had an incredible time as the tigress moved with the Gypsy in very slow speed just a few feet from us — reaching a vantage spot without being spotted by her prey.

But in the end Corbett, for me, is still the best place for tiger experiences. You won’t see as many tigers as in Bandhavgarh or Ranthambore — for all you know, you might not even see one at all, even if you stay for a month. But the tigers here are truly wild (they don’t like humans) — and therefore very genuine.

One evening, I sauntered down to the Ramganga River, just a few minutes’ walk from the Ghairal forest resthouse where I was staying. I sat there on a while on sandy spur looking at the multi-hued kingfishers hovering over the clear waters looking for fish. About 20 minutes had passed when my daydreams were interrupted by a small avalanche of rocks and shale from the valley slope behind — a common occurrence during the hot weather. Dusting myself off, I decided to head back to the rest house to get my binoculars for a closer look at the kingfishers. I was away for a maximum of five minutes. As I neared the sandy spur, I saw the footprints in the sand just where I was sitting. I presumed they belonged to the chowkidar. As I came closer, I saw two sets of huge footprints — one larger than the other. A few more steps on, I discovered the cause of my rapidly growing unease: a perfect impression of the pad and toes of a large tigress. Beside it lay a smaller print, equably sharp, that of a cub several months old. Prints made earlier by my trainer shoes were also visible, the larger animal had neatly overstamped one of them with its own.

A chilling realisation dawned: the avalanche had signalled their arrival on the slope at my back. And they had patiently sat and watched me slap the dust from my trousers and the rock fragments from my hair and waited till I’d left before coming down to the water’s edge. Then, probably hearing me come back, they had just slipped somewhere into the nearby foliage. They could be just a few feet away!

I looked across to the resthouse, a cozy picture in the radiant dusk. My companion sat outside reading, awaiting my return; behind me, unseen in the shrubs, a mother and her offspring lay awaiting the departure of the intruder from their domain.

I stole away, remembering and silently repeating the exhortation that greets every visitor at the Corbett entrance gate.

For every time you see the tiger, the tiger sees you a hundred times.