I sat staring hard at my computer screen. I was straining my eyes looking at the road route network inside Bandipur. Yes, that’s right, Bandipur National Park. While there was little compromise on the effort I was putting in, you could sense the absolute lack of interest. I had always dreamt of working in Central India for my post-graduate thesis. After some negotiations, agreements, and gambling with logistics, funding and supervisors, I had to settle for working in Nagarahole. Although initially I didn’t quite like the change, I slowly grew into it. In fact, I was beginning to love it. Nagarahole is one of my favourite parks. And I would be spending over three months there. I was going to go to Nagarahole.

Down on two knees

The proposal was quite a big milestone along the journey. No romance in this one. I had to defend my proposed thesis work – to work on dholes (or Wild Dogs), in Nagarahole. And these proposal defenses, like I learned later, were in no way a cake walk. A group of scientists-researchers-faculty-peers sit on the edge of their seats looking at every slide you project on screen like prying raptors, waiting to rip it apart. This scrutiny is essential, albeit the discomfort. And thankfully, my defense was delivered and received with little criticism. I was all geared up to go to Nagarahole National Park. I kept imagining what it would be like, anticipating instances and basically, dreaming about spending over three months in my Nagarahole.

The big blow came when, I should have expected, there were issues with my research permits. So after everything had been planned, I had to change my field site. So my work in Bandipur was now ‘arranged’. My post-graduate dissertation field work would be in Bandipur. To dream of Kanha, to have had my heart set on Nagarahole and to finally end up in Bandipur. No, I did not like it. Not one bit.

And thus I sat and re-did all my pre-fieldwork preparations. And as I sat in my room looking at the computer screen, I felt more and more disgusted with it. The map of Bandipur, that I sat and stared at for hours, looked like some Tiger feaces which some vehicle drove over.

Offense after the defense

Reluctantly enough, I landed in Bandipur. And it was as if the place sensed my disdain. The very first week, I bumped my foot, bruised my knee, rammed my nose to a door beam, got lost in the forest – fell in the dark and scraped my palm, dropped a writing pad on my toe and got severe infections from tick-bites. And my routine wasn’t a breeze either. I had to walk about ten kilometers a day, every day. And since I had just begun working again, my body was yet to get used to it and hence the excruciating pain every morning. To add insult to injury, the first few weeks I saw almost nothing in the forest. And by ‘nothing’ I don’t mean just carnivores, I actually mean nothing. I would walk hours on end with some glimpses of chitals and langurs. The forest was beautiful, no debating that. But in the core area of a national park – no Elephants, no Gaurs, no Sambhars and most infuriatingly, no dholes. So, I thought, this is how my three dream months would go.

Indifference and Difference

Enough, I thought, this is just a three month stint. I will never come back to this god forsaken place, ever. I pushed myself to shed negative emotions and embraced routine. The aim was now to just do things right. Didn’t matter if it was not a place of my choice, it was still dholes I was working on.

To my surprise, things began to fall in place after about a month. My sampling protocol was strict and clean (thanks to my supervisors), work went smooth, I stopped damaging myself and there was a marked increase in wildlife sightings. Elephants, pythons, gaurs, leopards, tigers and of course, dholes. Now my work was no longer just a routine. I woke up every morning excited about walking the ten-fifteen kilometers. And every day was a learning experience, for the forest would have something new for me every couple of kilometers.

Understating ‘Luck’

Towards the last few weeks of my field work, however, everything seemed insane. My surveys went smoother than I could have imagined thanks to the support I got from the Centre for Wildlife Studies field teams. I realized I was going to complete sampling 900 kilometers of road routes (perhaps the first one to do something like that), although I had planned to do about 700 initially. Carnivore sightings – tigers and bears while on foot, dholes with pups, leopards in unimaginable habitats, blackbucks and not to forget, the most mesmerizing ten kilometer walk along the Kabini backwaters with over sixty elephants all around made me believe I was living in paradise. A co-supervisor of mine, while on visit, had told me “…none of your peers are getting an opportunity like this. You should exploit it…”. It took me three months to believe what he had said.

To Bandipur, With Love

When Edward Braithwaite penned down his life in ‘To Sir, With Love’, he presented a teacher’s perspective on disciplining a group of spoilt kids. Well, here you go – I present a bratty kid’s perspective on dealing with a teacher. With being unyielding for my irrelevant desires, Bandipur taught me how to ask for the right things in life. With walking over 900 kilometers in 108 days, it taught me perseverance. To manage working in the 40 degree heat of mid-February, it taught me endurance. When things did not go smooth on some days, it taught me patience. And that help will come your way when you make the effort to do things yourself. It also taught me that hard work has it rewards – the lesser you ask, the more you get.

My attitude towards this beautiful and noticeably colorful forest went on a crazy roller-coaster ride. It will not be a place I love, for Kanha already took it. It will not be a place where I feel at home, for Nagarahole is where my heart is. Bandipur is, however, one of the best teachers I have had in my life. You admire your teachers in a way that cannot be explained in words. This article is only a futile attempt at it.

This one is for everything and everyone responsible for the most amazing 108 days of my life.

The destination was set. My plan was almost concrete. Tickets booked, ideas churning and a strange sense of excitement dwindling through the alleys of my mind. My summer internship through May 2011 was to be spent at Kanha National Park for a month and a little more. But as it has so happened several times before, fate played foul and the project was shelved. No Kanha, no Wild Dogs, no reconnaissance.

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Change is not something I am very comfortable with, I know. But this is something I had to live with. The plan then was to spend the same time in Nagarahole and Bandipura. Not that I wasn’t excited, for I am fond of Nagarahole beyond words can possibly describe. But a stranger sense of ambiguity shrouded my worried mind. I sat through several bouts of a reverie, thinking of times spent a year ago in Nagarahole with a cheerful set of people whom I’d miss dearly this time round. But soon I found myself in a bus that drove westwards from Bangalore. I was going back home; I was on my way to Nagarahole.

Connections are often weird. You find them in places where you least expect it. The case with the volunteer team at Nagarahole was a fine example. Some old, known faces and others, well, faces of friends of friends. To sum it up, a crazybunch – not to mention a pleasant ‘silly’ness that was common in the group.

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My second day and the morning transect (transect number 19, I ought to remember) I was walking with Abhay. The walk was not one of the easiest. In the middle somewhere, we chanced upon a tiny little Mouse Deer by the side. We had hardly stopped to take measurements before the meek little ungulate scooted. The next couple of minutes got my blood rushing to my face like never before.

A rust colored animal began to run towards me from a little ahead along the path where we walked. Before I could realise it well, I was breaking into sweats, staring at a Dhole in the eye, which stood at around 8 meters from where I was. I instinctively signaled Abhay to to stay still. In a rather unusual manner, the Dhole gave a short yet loud growl, with a distinct question mark on its face. It retreated in about five seconds, retracing its path. It was not all that surprising that we saw it go back to another dog that stood waiting for this one, a little distance away. The Dhole, I am unaware of the communication it had with its pack-mate, now came back at us, and this time even closer. Another loud growl and we stood our ground. It ran back to its pack-mate and both of them disappeared into the bushes on the right. Soon after, one more dog followed and then, another one. Four gorgeous looking Wild Dogs on the path that I walked that morning.

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There is some inordinate and unexplainable joy in encountering animals you love. People with little or no interest in the natural world will perhaps never experience it. Albeit my first, this was an event that will go buried with a glamorous tombstone, alongside my most cherished memories. The signages along the main road of Nagarahole are true. Wild animals will show themselves to you when you least expect them. This one is for the Dholes of Nagarahole.

Dear Tiger,

A couple of thoughts have been crawling around in my mind for quite a while now. I found it apt to convey to you the thing that is bothering me most. I personally think you need to look at the increasing tourist attraction towards you with some amount of scepticism. I elaborate in this piece of literature, through my experience, almost everything that happens around you, perhaps in your ignorance.

We sit grimly, clad in a mist of excitement. The consistent humming sound of the gypsy is by now well embedded in our minds as a soothing background music that adds to the experience. Thick clouds of dust rise from the muddy forest paths behind us as we look around with anticipation. The narrow path ahead looks beautiful with strips of leaf litter. Majestic trees stand on either side of the path, allowing little sunlight to reach the ground. The path thus has a dappled mosaic of light and shade. The troupe of Langur monkeys sitting on tree branches above us look down with intrigue. Their little ones are perhaps a little scared too. They cling to their mothers for comfort. Some are indifferent and continue foraging on fruits, or, are busy with their acrobatics. We have already seen enough and more Spotted Deer around the path, with atleast one in every herd giving us an inquisitive stare as we drove by. The driver of the gypsy is determined and is keeping a good eye out for any signs that matter. The tour guide is sitting in one corner and looking around, pointing out every moving object and further giving us some tit-bits about it. We are now proud that we can identify a Drongo and a Treepie, giving use a sense of pride every time these noisy birds fly by. We are very aware of the peafowl’s presence all around as they moan out in high pitched “maeeeiioooow”s. The gypsy also paused every time that the guide saw a predatory bird soaring high in the sky, appearing like a gyrating speck of ink. He told us some complicated name that we did not understand, so we only register it as a ‘raptor’. At this point, we are beginning to show signs of boredom. We are consciously fighting it but it is slowly taking over. Our minds are seriously declaring that all this is fine but let us find what we really came here for.

The guide asks the driver to stop the vehicle. He stands up and turns this way and that. We wonder what insanity is driving the poor guide. At a distance, we hear faint sounds that we cannot decipher, “Aaaioow….aaaiooww..”. I look at my counterparts in the gypsy with a large question mark on my face. The guide whispers “Chital alarm call”. We are thinking positive now. We know the alarm is because of the predator around. The atmosphere suddenly gets sliced hard by a piercing “Dhank”, an odd sound like that of a motor vehicle that sneezed, whistled and honked at the same time. The driver turns around and tells us that it is a Sambhar Deer giving out its alarm call. This could mean that both these meek herbivores have sensed a predator around them. The driver now zips through the narrow paths and drives in the direction of the calls. Other gypsies around have heard it too and are driving around us to reach the place. Now we have come to the place where these guys seem to know for a fact that we will see you. A bunch of gypsies have lined up ahead and behind us as well. The people inside other vehicles are standing up and looking around with anticipation. A few photographers are trying their best to hold up their cameras with lenses almost as big as themselves. The forest that seemed placid till that moment is suddenly alive with the alarm calls of Peafowl, Chital and Sambhar. The Langurs on the trees also panic and warn the herbivores below of the danger that lurks ahead. Finally, the moment that we have been waiting for arrives. With your royal attire of golden brown and soot black stripes, you march out of the bushes. We see your majestic pelage undulate as the rippling muscles under it move. You do not seem to really care that we are around. You seem to be full of yourself. A cacophony of clicking and shutter sounds fills the air and takes over as the cameras in every gypsy are exploited by the tourists. Some are also yelling out in excitement. We find that very disturbing but our focus is still on you. You perhaps give us one passing stare, but that’s about it. You cross the muddy path and walk away into the thicket on the other side. Gratification pounces on us from the top and satisfaction creeps into our minds. Such is the tourist experience of getting a glimpse of you in any of the famous tourist-centric national parks of India.

If you remember, I had the privilege of seeing you in Kanha. Sure, it is one of your larger homes. But the size brings with it its own share of problems. Most people from outside India come to get even the slightest glimpse of you at Kanha. Their advantage is that if they miss out on seeing you there, they can scoot either to Bandhavgarh or Pench, which spread on either side. It came as quite a shock to see how the initial ‘interest’ in seeing you has now turned into an obsession in many people. They come from far and wide, I agree. But they have truly lost the point of visiting a jungle. They do not care for your counterparts. Except a few, no one seems to see or appreciate your beautiful home. A pleasant relief came when I saw some tourists actually enjoying the Barasingha, Gaur and the numerous bird sightings. The beauty of Kanha manages to gratify the hearts of many in spite of them missing a sighting of you. You should really be grateful for that. The large size of that house of yours, like I already mentioned, opens up possibilities to ram more and more vehicles inside. I am sure you would have experienced for yourself, the vehicle numbers being uncomfortably high. The weekends and holidays, you will agree, are the worst. The tourists are not very sane either. Some yell and shout at you in ape-like excitement. The drivers and guides, barring a few exceptions, add to the chaos. I don’t even regret driving away from you a couple of times, disgusted by the sheer number of vehicles and tourists surrounding you.

I then came down south to see if I could meet you in Nagarahole. Fortune didn’t favour and I missed seeing you. Or perhaps you sat hidden, watching me as I went around. The scene in Nagarahole seems to be rather different. The tourists who come to see you here don’t really seem to care that it is your real home. Some are even unaware of your existence here. Although it is a saddening thought, in a way, I think it is still better. Your house, however, seems far less disturbed thanks to you being so elusive down here. It was also heartening to see most people still getting excited looking at elephants, gaurs, deer and peafowl. Most of them also visit Nagarahole because they find it to be a beautiful place for a weekend getaway. I hope this trend continues to remain the same.

Finally I came over to Ranthambhore to say hello. I even ran into you a couple of times. The true madness of tourism definitely is manifesting in that dry land of yours. A few of us find the hot, dry and dusty ‘place’ of yours alluring. Not many people like it. A proxy like Kanha’s beauty won’t come into the picture. Tourists come there exclusively to see you. It is definitely not a comforting thought. They seem to go crazy, literally. They come, they roam. If they see you, they have attained nirvana. If they don’t, your home is trash and your existence is a hoax. They go home cursing you and your jungle. You must admit, Ranthambhore is tiny. Unfortunately it is also the place where tourist numbers are increasing geometric proportions. I personally love that place; the golden coloured grass, the burnt auburn coloured barren trees, the forts, relics and ruins of a lost era, with you and your kin now roaming those royal lands. But it is going to take a miracle to make tourists appreciate something like that.

The mistake is not completely that of the tourist. The tourist operators, resorts, drivers and guides all add to it. They create a more-than-essential hype about the whole idea of seeing you in the wild. The tourist hardly gets a chance to think beyond those lines. To top that, every merchandise store, restaurant and resort around the high profile national parks is named tiger leg, tiger tail, tiger eye, tiger safari, tiger whisker, tiger poop or the likes of it. All this merely adds to the hype. The resorts, cropping up around your homes like mushrooms, is another issue that is a little disturbing. They want to cater to high end tourists and provide unsustainable facilities. They are in fact exploiting resources like wood, water and land from within your house. This kind of eco-tourism is clearly economic tourism and not ecological tourism. Some people are of the opinion that tourism is helpful in spreading awareness of your plight and the need to conserve you and your jungle-mates. I disagree. There is no real effort put in that direction at all. Some tourists do not even know what a jungle is. Some want to see giraffes and zebras in your home while others want to see you in cages because they couldn’t see you in the wild. They come dressed in blinding bright colors into the safari, yell and shout upon seeing you and I needn’t mention what reaction the flashes that come out of their cameras trigger in you.

It is money that is fuelling all of this, dear Tiger. Not awareness, concern or conservation. Or perhaps that money is the only reason your protectors are managing to keep you alive in our jungles. Helpless as I feel, I humbly appeal to you for forgiveness. Forgive thy tourist.

Yours,
Arjun

Have you ever seen a couple perform a beautiful piece of Waltz? It is a treat for the eyes watching the man, his partner in his arms, glide across the ballroom floor. The lady embraces her man grimly, yet, in a delicate fashion. They display perfect poise and postures, turning with grace and elegance, her frilled gown gyrating with that sheen. The synchrony and finesse, the perfection with which their legs move, complementing each other makes it feel like watching two bodies of a single soul, intricately woven together; like two dollops of butter melting on a hot pan. Passion for each other and, passion for dance and romance blooms and beckons the heart, mind and soul of the spectator. You do not know what move they are going to make next. But every second’s anticipation is well worth the wait. Add some philharmonic orchestra in the background and you have a perfect picture. Such is the image of a well choreographed performance of Waltz.

Now let us picture this. The man is clumsy. He has no clue as to how he should support the lady in his arms. The lady nervously holds on to the man, anticipating a mishap. They are constantly and consistently tripping over each other. They fall even. The music goes off-beat and gets irritatingly stuck every now and then. The lady is unable to hold balance and turn around, leave alone with grace. The dancers do not know what their moves have to be. And even if they did, they are unsure. The choreographer suffers from evident and recurring bouts of ego issues and neither believes in his dancers nor works towards training them well. They do not know passion, they do not understand romance and they certainly do not want to be with each other. It is mentally painful to be exposed to such levels of mockery of art.

I seldom speak of topics unrelated to wildlife or the environment. This one is no different. Let us skim through the surface of bloopers, blunders and bureaucracy that fuels the present wildlife conservation crisis in India.

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Old Age or Heritage

Our country is truly blessed with a bounty of natural treasures. We have towering cliffs and labyrinthine valleys, silver streams that flow through emerald forests and miracle rivers quenching arid ravine lands. These are also home to a myriad of creatures, diverse and unique. India boasts of biological diversity that is matched by few places on the Earth. As is the case with all other valuable objects, these jungles also need protection. The safeguarding of these treasures means safeguarding a healthy future for ourselves. Protection is thus, of extreme importance. India has a wing in the ministry that is concerned with the protection and conservation of these natural riches, the Ministry of Environment and Forests. There are forest departments that govern and manage forests in every State. Down at the grass-root level are the forest guards. These are the people appointed to patrol our forests and defend them. They are the ones who hold the safety of wild animals and forests in their hands. For those of you who know less about the duties involved, it would be surprising to know that it is no cake walk. These men have to face wildlife poachers, encroaching villagers from all around the forest boundaries and in some cases even rebellious tribal folk who dwell inside the protected forest areas. Forest fires, natural ones as well as human-created ones at that, are a severe threat to the remnant forestlands. It is the tireless job of these guards to stand up and defend the jungles from all these pressures. Their job profile is nothing close to a dream walk in an enchanted forest.

That kind of a job requires people with strength and courage, dedication for work and a will to contribute arduously towards protecting the forests. One would imagine that these guards would be able, physically well built men. And most of the forest guards perhaps fit the bill. And that was two decades ago. So, most of the men who are in-charge today were hired around twenty years ago. There have been no new significant postings of forest guards for a very long time. The staff members have grown terribly old and continue to try and work in challenging conditions. I do not mean to offend them in any way whatsoever. These people have acquired commendable experience and skill over the years and I trust that a percentage of them still work diligently. But how wise is it to leave our jungles in the hands of such people? Sometime back in the near past, retired army personnel were supplemented to these guard posts and a few in higher levels as well. Our highlight still stands at ‘retired’. I do not deny that our servicemen are able, fit and willing. But it certainly doesn’t require a genius to figure how well they know of forest life and how good their knowledge of related aspects would be.

There were also pompous announcements in newspapers that in certain places, poachers were being reformed and given jobs as forest guards. The life that a normal guard leads is anything but smooth. The income is low and untimely, they are certainly not well armed, very little heed is given to the betterment of his family and community and the system is anything but supportive. How are we accommodating new postings for poachers, or ‘ex’-poachers in such a field? Are we not risking something bigger, by trusting a person with contacts and capabilities to continue working with the wildlife mafia, and that too by providing him the tag of a government employee? I needn’t mention that poaching would pay more than what the government does. So the ‘reformed’ poacher would always have options.

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Blame the Dance Floor

I spilled my guts out and spoke about the rather pathetic state of the guards. Above these guards is an entire hierarchy of officers and department staff. It is both uninteresting and ugly to get into details of how the power levels work in the system. We shall keep that aside for later. Bringing into focus the people at the higher levels, where in fact, I think the mistakes begin. Most of the higher officials are posted through merit rather than passion for the field. Maintaining the anonymity of names, I shall quote an example. In one of the famous Tiger Reserves that I visited, I had a brief conversation with a forest department staff member of a lower level. The park has more than one Assistant Conservator of Forest (ACF). The man with whom I spoke claimed that, while one of the ACFs is hardly ever around, the other one does not like to roam the forest. So that leaves the third ACF to patrol the forest alone. And it goes without saying that our representatives at the parliament who are passionate and genuinely care about these issues are an endangered species.

There are loopholes in the lower levels, loop holes in the higher levels and certainly large portholes in the middle where the intermediates sit established. Each one gives the other enough and more chances to point fingers and cover up their own faults. Everyone enjoys the unhealthy yet pleasing and gratifying blame game. In our country we have very often blamed the system for everything that goes wrong. The subliminal truth is that we too are a part of that system. But it is impossible for body cells and organs to remove cancer cells on their own, even though they all belong to the same system. Can we afford to sit and wait for surgery through interference from outside?

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‘Trick or Treat’-ing with Tourism

An aspect that is increasingly gaining importance is wildlife tourism. There are contradicting views on impacts of wildlife tourism in the country. It is not difficult to deduce that larger and larger number of tourists; especially those visiting high-profile Tiger Reserves like Kanha, Ranthambhore, Corbett or Bandhavgarh significantly increase the revenue. The tourism department, usually separate but sometimes clubbed in with the forest department, is beginning to exploit this opportunity. Sell the idea of seeing tigers in the wild, attract more and more foreign tourists, and increase revenue. ‘Trick the crowd sentiments and treat thyself’ seems to be the motto. Although it seems like a great scheme since tourism offers employment to the locals, facilitates economic growth et cetera, there are more things that go morphed and unnoticed. I shall brief an example of the Lions in India. For those of you who are not aware, there are two species of Lions in the world, viz. the African species and the Asiatic species. The African Lion, as the name suggests, is spread across the plains of the African continent. Their numbers are substantially high and effective conservation efforts, although with tourist attraction as a motive, has kept them going strong. The Asiatic Lion, originally the National Animal of India before the Tiger, was once spread from modern day states of Gujrat and Madhya Pradesh to Bihar. Excessive hunting reduced their numbers drastically, and, presently they are confined to a small isolated population of around 400 individuals in the Gir National Park of Gujrat. They are breading well and considerably increasing in numbers.

The main problems that crop up because of this rammed up pocket of lions are lack of space, inbreeding and susceptibility to epidemics. Gir cannot hold more than 250 Lions, but now there is an uncomfortable surplus. Inbreeding means mating and reproduction between individuals who are siblings or half siblings or plainly genetically related. Continued inbreeding creates a generation of genetically weak individuals. This means that their resistance to diseases, both extant ones and new alien ones, would be really low. In case one such lion contracts a disease, it can spread sporadically to the entire mass of weak lions that thrive within the limited space. It could wipe out the last few surviving wild Asiatic Lions from the face of the Earth. So what is the rational solution? We find a place away from Gir and establish an alternative breeding population of lions. After efforts in research for availability of space, prey animals and other suitable conditions, Kuno Wildlife Sanctuary in Madhya Pradesh was suggested as the ideal place to introduce lions. The Gujrat government adamantly refused to part with their Lions claiming that the lions were ‘Gujrati Lions’. They refused to donate the ‘pride’ of Gujrat to the neighbouring state of Madhya Pradesh. Mushy sentiments? Love for animals? Safeguarding pride? Let us dig a little deeper.

Madhya Pradesh currently boasts as the ‘Tiger State’ of India. It has three high profile Tiger Reserves, Kanha, Bandhavgarh and Pench. And the state has been marketing its wildlife with tourism aspect rather well. A foreign tourist who wishes to visit India to see Tigers usually plans to visit Madhya Pradesh. The same foreigner, to catch a glimpse of a Lion, has to go to Gujrat. Almost all of Gujrat’s wildlife tourism income is through Gir and its Lions. Lions are found nowhere else in India. But if Gujrat gives its lions away, Madhya Pradesh will then become the ‘Lion and Tiger State of India’, thus grabbing a significant chunk of income that the Gujrat tourism currently generates. Do we need more arguments to question the ‘sentiments’ of Gujrati Lions?

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Wrong partner, wrong moves

There are innumerable non-governmental organisations that are operating in the country today. Some are doing commendable work. The government can very well join hands with them and work towards betterment of the forests. But that would be utopian conditions wouldn’t it. The alliances and collaborations seem to be amongst those who can be partners in crime rather than those who can mutually safeguard the treasures. The few organisations that are well equipped, possess the potential to get work done and actually contribute effectively are stamped on and shunted off. Big bucks evidently favour patronization in the higher circles. We thus have large mining projects, irrigation and power plant projects that effortlessly exploit the ‘to-be-conserved’ resources in and around protected forestlands. Except for a few renowned big organisations, it doesn’t seem like the government’s choice of ‘partners’ has been very wise.

With such an explosion of awareness and information, one would expect that senses will be restored and they will pick up sanity at this point at least. But the truth is far from hope. The Lions are stuck in bureaucratic revenue issues and Tigers continue to slip out of hand. These big cats are charismatic and manage to get little attention. You can very well imagine the condition of less charismatic animals and plants. And the sudden decision to ‘re-introduce’ Cheetahs in India takes centre stage. There is miserable failure in executing initiatives and ideas proposed by numerable scientists and researchers to create a safe and sound system for conserving existing forests and wildlife.

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All of this certainly sounds gloomy and morbid. But I do not think that all hope is lost. What I see emerging at present is a generation of individuals with broader perspectives and sensitivity to such issues. It is indeed heartening to see young men and women of my age and some even younger, contributing towards wildlife research and conservation with commendable passion and dedication. I believe in myself and those of my kind to hold hands and conquer dreams. I trust in ‘us’ the ability to gather what’s slipping away. We have had enough of the bad music, wrong partners and painfully lame blame-games. And that is why I hold my hand out and appeal to my counterparts. Shall we Dance…?

Kanha Tiger Reserve, part of the Central Indian wild highlands, is located in the Mandla and Balaghat districts of Madhya Pradesh, India. Earlier divided into two sanctuaries of Halloen Valley and Banjar Valley, Kanha National Park now stretches over an area of 940 km². Together with a surrounding buffer zone of 1,009 km² and the neighboring satellite protected area, Phen Wildlife Sanctuary, it forms the Kanha Tiger Reserve. The park is famous world over for its rich wildlife; the charismatic Tigers, elusive Leopards, mangy Sloth bears, vain Swamp Deer or the ‘Barasingha’ and nasty packs of Dholes or Indian Wild Dogs. Along with two entrance gates ‘Kisli’ and ‘Mukki’, which are also the names of ranges inside, there is now a third entrance gate called Sarhi. The name ‘Kanha’ finds it genesis from the word Kanhaar which is a type of clay soil found around the villages that once existed amidst the forest stretches. Alternately, it is known to be named after sage Kanva who once protected all the jungle’s creatures in a time of peril. The lush Sal and bamboo forests, grassy meadows and plateaus of Kanha became the muse for Rudyard Kipling’s epic tale, “The Jungle Book”. This is the abode of the Seeyonee Wolf pack, lands where the elusive Black Panther – Bagheera, the convivial bear –Balloo and the hypnotic rock python – Kaa roamed free. The land where the atrocious monkey troupe – The Bandar log maintained havoc, where Tabaqui the Jackal betrayed and home turf of the legendary tiger Shere Khan.

Dr.Ruth DeFries of the Columbia University has a foundation that funds young students who intend to study and carry out research projects related to forests, environment and wildlife. This year, Vishnupriya and I were awarded the fellowship to study forest degradation in those forested areas around the actual core of Kanha National Park. The project, supported by Centre for Wildlife Studies, was being carried out with Dr.Krithi Karanth as our Project advisor. I had been longing to visit the central Indian jungles all my life. Finally, I was not only going to ‘visit’ Kanha, but also work there for two whole months – through January and February of 2010. My excitement knew no bounds.

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The Beautiful Baraf Villa

Vishnupriya and I took an overnight train to Nagpur in Maharashtra, which is around 270 kilometres from Kanha. After a quick lunch with my friend Ruchik, we took the hired cab and headed towards Kanha, munching on some delicious oranges that we had picked up from Nagpur. After a five and a half hour ride through fairly decent roads, landscapes around varying from villages, small towns and agricultural fields to visually pleasing teak forests in the outer limits of Pench Tiger Reserve, we reached the village of Mocha. Mocha village, where Dr.Ruth owns a house, is on the Kisli gate side of the park. Finding our way through the village roads late that evening, we managed to find Ruth waving to us, standing in front of the main gates to her mansion. A large green double gate opened into a long concrete driveway. On the right side was the caretaker’s house attached to a pleasant looking thatched outhouse. The rest of the driveway was surrounded by a large garden with a few trees and ploughed plots where the caretaker’s wife grew assorted vegetables. The mansion itself stood tall and wide, cream yellow in color. Large slopes of brick red coloured slate tiles stood in delicate contrast with the light coloured mansion. It was a beautiful villa. We acquainted ourselves with the place and with the rest of Ruth’s family who had gathered in the house for a big family get-together. We were thus put up in the outhouse. It was peak winter and Kanha was freezing over. The temperatures would drop down to around 2° Celsius at night. With very little furniture and hardly anything else in Ruth’s villa, it would get really cold. Hence, we decided to christen it ‘Baraf’ [Ice] Villa. The outhouse had nothing much inside. It had a rather large room with a big bed at one end and one spacious bathroom. Nonetheless, it had a homely feel to it.

The next morning, we saw the arrival of Meghna, the third person associated with our project. The team was now complete and the four of us planned and scheduled a reconnaissance for our transects. It was like a teaser for what we would be doing during the two months to follow. Like all trial runs, even this one was filled with a fair share of changes, modifications in methods, arguments and elimination of mistakes. The next day we were visited by Dr.Rakesh Shukla, the Research Officer of Kanha Tiger Reserve. He arrived in a hurry, beaming with enthusiasm. We met with him to seek permissions, directions and also plan out logistics. Within one brief meeting, he gave us the most comprehensive idea of the entire park. He truly left us impressed.

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Kanha: The First Look

Early next morning, while the air around us continued freezing, we woke up and rushed outside. No, we had not lost our minds. The gypsy that would take us on our first safari into the park had arrived at 5.30 am. Cuddled up in competitively heavy and thick jackets, coats and scarves, we sat in mighty eager and reached the park entrance. Trying to describe Kanha in words would be utter blasphemy, for the place is beyond descriptions. Yet, I shall make the best attempt to do justice. There was a permanent blanket of thick fog all around. The majestic Sal trees stood tall, with condensing dew pitter-pattering as water droplets fell from each leaf to another below. Creepers and lianas, tender and thorny ones alike, caressed and clung on to the massive tree trunks. A myriad of birds of every color had made cosy homes in the heavenly canopies. The numerous shrubs amidst the trees intimately embraced each other while creatures big and small dwelled inside. Dense bamboo groves adorned the landscape in various places, adding to the diversity. The rolling grasslands spread across vast stretches of elegant meadows, all with that very foggy blanket. The first rays of the Sun slowly showed up, gently touching the surface of the grass. It lit up the layer of fog above and we were surrounded by a golden haze. The little waterholes interspersed in the meadows shone under the golden rays of the Sun. As the Sun rose higher and higher, the towering Sal trees remained nonchalant, casting reticulate patches of calm shadows on the dense undergrowth below. With aesthetically scattered beautiful plateaus forming enchanting valleys in between, Kanha allured and captivated us with an unusual charm. It is indeed the most charming forest I have ever seen.

A Barking deer, standing coyly amidst the thickets welcomed us into the park. We drove further and reached the open meadows of Kanha. The Swamp deer or the ‘Barasingha’ strutted in vanity amidst the grass, flaunting their gorgeous antlers. The marvellous scape was heaven on earth. We saw two absolutely gorgeous Barasingha stags, lifting their heads up alternately and giving out their ‘rutting’ calls. Kanha is the only place in the world that has wild populations of Hard-ground Barasinghas. The drive continued and we were further charmed by herds and herds of Spotted Deer, sprinting and almost gliding over the grasslands. Up ahead, a couple of gypsies had lined up and the tourists inside were fidgety and jumping about. Our driver, like all other drivers, went and stacked the vehicle with the rest of them. To our left, amidst lush green bushes we spotted them. A courting pair of Tigers. They were at quite a distance, yet we could make out their brilliant golden brown and black striped pelage amidst the green streaks of the grass. The male, whose head looked massive, was indeed large and majestic. The female, although of the wild kin, looked oddly sophisticated. A radio-collared tigress, she was sleek and beautiful. She sat on the ground, adoring her mate, while he walked around her, spraying urine on tree barks and bushes. They occasionally got up, moved around and sat down together, nudging each other’s faces as they did. It was a sight worth a million bucks. But the stacked up line of gypsies attracted more and more vehicles from all around and we no longer felt comfortable being there. We drove away.

At the end of the ride, we visited the Kanha museum and interpretation centre situated in the heart of the park. It is a very informative and insightful enterprise that elaborates on every aspect of the national park and gives valuable information to the visitors. We then drove back feeling satiated. My first drive inside Kanha will definitely be treasured in memory.

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Mukki, Meghna and Muba Home

The week that followed, we were to spend on the other side of the park. We had booked for accommodation in a resort for the three of us at Muba Resorts, which is on the Mukki side of the park. It was late in the evening and the cab took us towards the little town of Baihar and further towards Mukki gate. We took a diversion from the main road and drove along what looked like deserted lands that had no lights for miles ahead. At rare intervals, a couple or two village huts stood grimly on either side of the road. But that’s about it. We drove through nowhere and finally reached the entrance of the resort. It looked deserted as well. Dim lights and a wooded gate, a tiny watchman who flashed the torch light at our faces and let us in and we drove through the serpentine path inside the property. Owing to limited budget, we had booked the less pricey ‘mud huts’. For the scary apprehensive first look of Muba that we got, it was a rather pleasant twist in the tale. It was built right at the border of the core-buffer area and thus the backyard was pretty much pristine forestlands. We fell in love with Muba at the very first look and it became a ‘home’ to us within the first two days. the mud hut was large and roomy. Beds inside were set up in a series one next to the other. The thatched roof behaved like a temperature regulator – keeping the insides warm in winter and cool in summer. Every morning, we opened doors to witness a fog covered patch of grassland in front. This was complemented by Racket Tailed Drongos and Rufous Treepies making noises in the woods behind. The staff pampered us with delicious food and treated us like we were from the royal bloodline. The place was pleasingly well kept. It was just meant to be ours, for, the very first night I found a garden lizard sitting on my pillow and later one day, a Wolf snake in the bathroom commode. We took random walks in the free time, paying visits to Tiger territories and Wild Dog dens in the Buffer zone. Wild dogs or Dholes are notorious canids that hunt in packs. Although they are adorable to look at and to admire, their habits are so nasty that they usually begin to eat their prey while it is still alive. It gave us an unusual thrill to look at tiny pug marks of wild dog pups on the wet mud near their den. The den was amidst a bunch of large boulders which had tree roots hanging down from the top. The entrance of the den faced a small serene stream. They must have had some luck in finding a good Realtor. Muba also brings back memories of Dr.Zafar Khan, the owner of the property and an uncontrollable wildlife enthusiast. A sparkle eyed, large-built man with a characteristic moustache; he was a born story teller. It seemed like his whole purpose in life was to excel at narrating convincingly entertaining stories. And he succeeded brilliantly at his skill. We spent many a memorable frosty night by the campfire where he narrated hilarious incidents from his life in the wild.

As an integral part of our project, Miss Meghna definitely deserves an ode. She is perhaps one of the funniest people I have met in my life. A first year PhD student under Ruth’s guidance, she hailed from Delhi. She was one of the typical and stereotyped Delhi girls. She had that floating accent and attitude, with slow and deliberate pronunciations for every word. Topping that was little trademark phrases of Miss Meghna, for example, “Hye Hye” with a raised eyebrow and a coy smile as a reaction to someone or something interesting. She was a delight to be with. She had bizarre thoughts and ideas. Being ‘normal’ was something she did not seem to know or understand. On our very first transect we got really late. It was getting dark and we were yet to walk back to the vehicle which was around 2 kilometres away. Vishnu and I panicked and paced back towards the vehicle, fearing naxallite problems since we were near the Chattisgargh side of the park. Our beloved Miss Meghna, until many hours later thought that we were running away fearing that Tigers might come out and attack us. She just couldn’t remember names. Places like ‘Jhalmala’ became ‘Chilbili’, ‘Chilpi’ became ‘Chilpa’, ‘Paraswara’ became ‘Paarsinaala’ and there were too many more to pen down. Being a couple of years older to us, she would treat me and Vishnu like we were little kids. Every night she would tell us stories before we fell asleep. The stories would be two or three lines long. It would be as random as it could get, about some chap called Dumpy Ahmed from Uttaranchal to her achievement in athletics, from secret recipes of vegetarian mothers giving their kids non-vegetarian substitutes to importance of SLEEPING in spite of airplanes and laptops. Although Miss Meghna stayed with us only for four days, she left a lasting impression in our hearts.

Jungle Cat and Mangal sutra: While on the Mukki side, Vishnu and I decided to go for a jungle ride in that zone as well. So we hired a gypsy from the resort and went on a morning drive into the park. Mukki left us even more speechless. It had comparatively denser parts and also, being the zone with higher lands, the Gaur herds had migrated to the Mukki side. I have always been in love with them and thus, the dozen and more sightings of Gaurs went much beyond merely satiating my craving. The morning ride that day, albeit pleasurable, did not stand out as far as animal sightings were concerned. We also took another ride the last evening before we left Muba at the end of that week. This afternoon ride was with a tourist guide Kamal, who managed to impress us with his astounding knowledge on animals, plants and history of the park. He knew the scientific names of almost every plant in the park. His knowledge on the the behaviour of animals was also commendable. I called this ride of ours Jungle Cat and Mangal sutra because the elusive Jungle cat crossing the road was the only animal that we saw, which was not a part of a couple. The other sightings, by default, strictly included couples. We spotted Barasingha couples, Spotted Deer couples, Sambhar couple, Wild boar couple, Jackal couple and a humongous Male Gaur with two of his mates. That pretty much sums up the mangal sutra part of it. That evening we drove to the top of Bahmni Dadar [read ~ Bum-knee The-aa-other] plateau, also known as the ‘sun-set’ point of Kanha. The top of the plateau offers a spectacular view of the entire national park. The setting Sun appeared like a blazing ball painted in vermilion red. And we drove away from Mukki and Muba for good; or so we thought.

Every facet of our stay on the Mukki side at Muba became too close to our hearts to be parted with easily. Our drivers Naval and Basanth, the owner of the cabs – ‘Bunty’– a scrawny looking twig of a person who owned half the town of Baihar, Vijay – the Manager of Muba whose affection for us was simply heartening, the sit-out and bridges over little streams at Muba resort, the extremely supportive Harsha – naturalist at Taj Kanha resort Banjaar Tola, the shops at Baihar and everything else that was a part of our lives for that one week. With a heavy heart, we bade goodbye to Mukki side and headed back to Mocha where an empty house awaited our arrival.

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Magic of Mocha

When we returned to Mocha, Baraf Villa was empty. Ruth had left along with the large family that had gathered. Only the caretaker of the house, Gyaani, his wife Yamuna and their two kids lived in a room adjacent to the outhouse. Everything seemed cold and hostile. We desperately missed living in Muba. The outhouse did not even have a table for us to stack up food stuff or equipments. The village itself was a little crazy. Every weekend, there would be a special Ramayan recital in all rural grandeur. Loudspeakers would boom with devotional songs repeatedly. The village mosque which was in close proximity treated this as a religious competition. The moment the Ramayan Bhajans came to a brief pause, the man in the mosque would start yelling out, also in the loudspeaker, his religious chant. So Vishnu and I had no option but to bear with this. As if all this wasn’t enough, one local tourist resort would play the same contemporary Hindi movie song over and over again. Thus, until around 2 am in the morning, we had to bear the blaring sounds of “Jai ram jai ram jai jai ram, jai sitaram jai jai sitaram..”, “Allah who akbar…Allah who akbar Allah…” and Atif Aslam howling “Teraa…hone lagaa hoon”, all at the same time. We were not really spared even during the day time. Gyaani had two little children, Sandeep and Sumit. While six year old Sandeep was a charming little angel of a child, his younger sibling Sumit was a two-year old terror. He just wouldn’t shut up. He would cry, yell and shriek all day long. After a tiring day’s work, we would return to the room only to hear Sumit screaming to his heart’s content in the background.

Slowly, we got used to it. And weirder still, we fell in love with it. We built a small table out of bricks and a metal sheet that was lying around. We familiarised ourselves with the shops and shopkeepers of the village. Everyone in the village, the Paan-eater and his son who owned the village dairy store, the owner of the grocery store whom we nick-named ‘three piece’ [he would wear a three piece suit everyday and sit in his shop for reasons best known to himself], the tailor who would photocopy our datasheets and everyone else around became our friends. They would greet us, smile at us and wave to us every time that we passed by. We had subconsciously memorised the Bhajans and we would hum along when we heard them. When Sumit began his lachrymal marathon, we would play songs on my laptop louder to combat the noise. We also often played with the two kids, their pet Rooster and the Langurs that occasionally dropped by. We made a home out of the Mocha house.

And before we knew it, January 2010 had come to an end.

Time flew faster than we had thought it would and the month of January had ended. At that point we were still enthused since there was the whole of February left. Although, Vishnu has started keeping track of the number of days left and updated the countdown to me every day.

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Assisting Antics

Our work involved finding remnant forest patches all around the park boundary and walking transects to assess degradation parameters and also assess habitat suitability for wildlife. This meant that we had to drive all over the place and spread out as much as we could. Thus, we hired two local assistants from a nearby village with motorbikes who would drive us around. Enter Harish and Kuldeep, two young chaps a little older than us. I honestly feel that work as such became less hectic because of these two. Both of them were street smart and thanks to them, we faced half the amount of problems that we would have had to face otherwise.

Even though they are worth a praise or two, it does not, in which ever way rule out the fact that they were absolute cartoons. The mornings would indeed be really cold. They would turn up shivering in the cold mornings, usually late by at least forty minutes, dressed up head to toe in layers of warm clothing. Only their eyes were visible, for the rest of their face would be wrapped up in a muffler. Vishnu stood next in line, wearing multiple jackets, multiple trousers and a pointy cap. I, being myself, stuck to my odd trend of attires and wore a thick jacket with a raised collar. The muffler went on my head, wrapped like a Turban. This was the look the four of us flaunted. While we drove around like this, it looked like two terrorists were escorting a destitute Gnome and an angry Sardar who were all on a conquest. Kuldeep was the slightly serious one of the duo. He excelled at identifying wild animal faeces and ended up being extremely helpful on field. Harish on the other hand, although commendably loyal and obedient, was the butt of all problems. Either his bike, or his stomach would misbehave on alternate days. Repeated punctured tyres, dust in the carburettor, fuel getting empty in the tank were few of the various problems his bike gave us.

On one of our transects, Kuldeep stumbled upon what looked like a large dull yellow colored pebble. The yellow pebble then began to give out dense yellow fumes. It was a fascinatingly scary sight. We asked the boys what that strange thing was. They looked at each other, giggled, and said “Kukkurmutthaa”. Vishnu and I were flabbergasted, both, with the name as well as with the behaviour of the weird pebble. Since we had no idea what a kukkurmutthaa was, we questioned them again and again. They brought more kukkurmutthaas and started hitting them, creating denser yellow fumes. They also claimed that they eat the kukkurmutthaas. This led us to thinking that it was a kind of fruit. But they denied the fact that it was a fruit. Finally after several more kukkurmutthaa questioning sessions, we realised it was the local name for a Mushroom. And the dense yellow fumes were just the spores of the mushroom. They asked me what a kukkurmutthaa was called in Kannada and I told them that it was called ‘Naaykoday’. This just put both of them in a fit of giggles. They found the name as funny as we found kukkurmutthaa. So every time after that incident, when Harish saw a mushroom, he would giggle once, point at it and say “Naaykoday”. I would nod affirmatively with a smirk on my face and say, “Yes. Kukkurmutthaa”.

It was also a mutual learning experience, being with them. They taught us local names for animals such as Beega, Laddiyaa, Sehi, Neelkant, Peerpeehu, Titteehi and several more. We in-turn thought it mandatory to teach them English. Although they knew a few select words, being educated in the village school, they weren’t fluent with it. They would add an unwritten “E” before any word that began with an “S”. So a school was eschool, squirrel was esquirrel etc. After sinfully painful attempts at teaching them the right pronunciation for a squirrel, Kuldeep only managed up to calling it a ‘Sukrul’. Vishnu actually fell down while she tried to laugh at it. It was bliss working with the two cartoons. I remain extremely glad to have met them and worked with them.

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Bagheera, will you date us? Balloo almost ate us!

One animal I almost desperately wanted to see in Kanha was the Leopard. Unfortunately, even the two month long stay did not help in giving me a leopard sighting. Nevertheless, it gives me a good enough reason to revisit Kanha. We never did see the other animal I was equally desperate to sight-the Sloth Bear. We did not get to see it in the safari rides; but that is hardly the end to that story.

Sloth Bears, very much unlike the convivial and cheerful image that Kipling had created of Balloo, are rather nasty and known for ill temper. Matted black hair covers their entire body. Their limbs are somewhat twisted and they walk in a clumsy manner, criss-crossing their legs as they do. They are stinky, mangy and will attack other animals or a human in close proximity with no rhyme or reason. They are highly feared by the local villagers who go into the forests to collect firewood and honey. All these, however, do not come in the way of my love for them.

We were in the middle of one of our transects. We had walked around 500 meters away from the main road into the jungle and further around 300 meters along our transect line. At that point, we heard some rustling movement towards our right side, from behind some large bushes. Vishnu and I knew for a fact that it was a herd of herbivores. We would generally know of a wild animal’s presence only by its tracks and its faeces. We rarely ever ‘sighted’ the animals. Excited and overjoyed with the possibility of a Chital or Wild Boar sighting, we made Harish and Kuldeep sit in the place where we left the transect line and slowly walked towards the bushes which were around 5o meters away. A large flock of Babblers sat in the bushes, babbling in the most irritating manner, somewhat hiding the rustling sounds of the deer. When we finally crossed the bushes and peeped on the other side, the deer had fled. Disheartened, we walked back to the place where the assistants were sitting and continued walking along our line. At about 80 meters from that point, we heard some women speaking to each other in close proximity. It was not an unusual occurrence as we would encounter many woodcutter women during our walks. Their voices were merely faint mumbling noises and we paid less heed. We had reached the point where we were to take readings. Kuldeep was setting up the tripod, Vishnu was measuring undergrowth cover and I was recording the tree density. Suddenly, the women who were softly speaking to each other began mumbling loudly. Further, they started gargling and growling in strange constipated tones. At once Kuldeep turned around and said “Yeh toh Baloo hain” [There’s a Bear over there!]. Excitement and panic simultaneously hit me and Vishnu like a lightening hits a tree on the hill top. We had seen many Bear droppings in our transects, but this was the first time we were in the presence of the animal. Our hands and feet turned cold. We did not dare even to move a muscle. Kuldeep went on to inform us at that point, that it was not a herd of Chital but the Bear that we had heard and tried to follow. If we had walked any faster, we would have run into the bear and he would have sliced our faces with ease. Presently, the Bear continued to make the weird noises. We just stood there in much tension and waited for it to leave.

While we waited in perpetual fear, our assistants found it apt to tutor me and Vishnu on ways to escape a bear attack. “You have to climb up a bamboo cluster” they said, “There is no way you can outrun the bear”. We tried to convince them that we could hardly climb a normal tree, leave alone a mass of grip-less bamboo clusters. They assured that we would get killed if we tried to run away. They went on to describe gory incidents of their village counterparts getting mauled and killed in bear attacks. After convincing them that we’d rather try to run away than attempt to climb up bamboo and fall hard on the bear below, they demonstrated the way a bear chases. So, two grown adults were imitating a bear, with heads hung down and criss-crossing arms while moving them in the air, as if they were running. Every now and then they would raise their heads with a jolt and say “He’ll look at you once like this”, head bends again, “..and chase you looking at the ground”. There. One real bear within some 40 meters of the place where we stood and two cartoons behaving like Bears, eliminating all our chances of survival. After around twenty minutes the mumbling brute moved away from us and we heard the growls slowly fading away. Relieved that we had survived the near-death-experience, we continued walking. Within two minutes, we found ourselves in the midst of a strong unusual stench. I asked Kuldeep what it was and at once, Harish, who was walking ahead of us, turned around and asked us to head back. There was fear evident on his face. We didn’t stop to think; we just fled. When we almost reached the road, a large herd of Chital flew across our path. We felt like banging our heads on the trees around. Later, a villager on the road informed us that the jungle patch where we went lingering was the territory of a female Bear. And presently, she had two cubs with her.

The second incident happened much later. This time, we had no assistants with us. Vishnu and I were only 100 metres along our transect line when I heard the same mumbling and growling sounds towards the right side. The same rustling of leaves from behind the bushes and similar flock of Babblers, babbling away to glory. Since we had stopped to record parameters, Vishnu was busy measuring grass length while I desperately tried to make actions to get her attention. When she finally saw me, I made actions to convey to her that there was a Bear in the bushes. Shell-shocked, she just collapsed onto the ground. We remained still. There was a clearing just ahead of the bushes and it stretched up to around 100 meters. At a distance, I saw the rotund mass of a black colored bear coming out into the open. Adrenaline rushed to every corner of my body. Fist in mouth, I chanted “oh my god…oh my god…oh my god…Vishnu…it’s the bear!!”. Vishnu, who was still sitting, had no idea that this was a second Bear that was at a distance. She misunderstood it to be the same one in the bushes next to us. There were two Bears! As usual, she froze and refused to move. The bear in the distance walked away into the bushes and so did the one close by. After giving it a few more minutes, we continued walking, thanking our stars that the bear hadn’t noticed our presence. As our assistants weren’t with us, each of our chances of getting killed was higher. Since there was a lot of dry leaf litter on the ground, we could not help but make noises as we moved. Only a few steps ahead and we heard the bear in the bush rushing towards us. The rustling got louder and louder and that too at an alarming speed. We scooted. We ran for dear life. That was the last time we would take a chance with bears around!

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Bicchia and Baihar

Bicchia and Baihar are both little towns that are located towards the North and South sides of the park respectively. Although nothing significant happened during our stay there, I feel that they deserve a mention. While at Bicchia, we stayed in a tacky hotel room that had stains of Paan spat on the walls, horrible mattresses and dirty bathrooms. The owner of the hotel was a grumpy old lady who would curse and complain every day when we begged her to give us hot water for bathing. It is also the place where my laptop stopped working properly, and there onwards we had do every possible circus act to make it work and stay in touch with the world. In Baihar, of course, we stayed at Bunty’s hotel. As I have already mentioned before, Bunty owned half of Baihar. He had one shop each for every livelihood need, his own hotel lodge and a travel agency. So any problem at all that we had in Baihar, we would promptly call up Bunty.

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Tuli and a personalised park

Tuli Tiger Resort and Tiger Corridor is a beautiful tourist facility on the Kisli side of Kanha. Vishnu had previously been a classmate of the owner’s son and we sought help from the resort staff for our tourist interviews. Everyone in Tuli generously helped us out. At every step and every phase, they offered assistance and standing support. We were immensely pleased with all of their naturalists-Veeru, Shiva, Devendra and Kaustubh, managers and other staff. Although other tourist facilities also did their best to assist our project, Tuli clearly stood out. The lighter moments we sat and shared around the Dining area and the campfire by the pool will always be cherished. We remain eternally grateful to each one of them. Tuli was also the place where we met Carroll and Ernie, two amazing gentlemen whose encouragement kept up our morale.

With more and more rides into the park, we slowly got to know it like the back of our hands. We knew the routes inside Kanha zone too well within the first few rides. So our regular driver, Rajesh would just ask us where we wanted to go. Our main intension, however, was to interview tourists at the interpretation centre and museum. On one such ride with Indrajit, the chief naturalist at Tuli, we got to see two male tigers in a single ride. There was one spell of rain that left us all drenched and shivering. It was then that we saw the first one, crossing our path within 10 feet of the gypsy. The second one, which we saw at the end of the ride that evening, was a really large male who followed our gypsy along the path while we drove backwards along the twisted hilly path for about ten minutes. That was one of the best sightings of a Tiger that I have had. We knew Kanha in and out better than we know Bangalore even as I write this. Kanha became a personalised park for us.

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Supkhaar, Muba and a final Goodbye

Supkhaar is a range on the right lobe of the national park. Even though it is not open for tourism, the main road that goes from Madhya Pradesh to Chattisgarh passes through Supkhaar range. On the day that we got chased by the Bear and abandoned the transect, we decided to drive to Supkhaar. Supkhaar has a forest guest house that was built in the 1920’s. Once the rest house for game hunters, it now stands as a mesmerising structure. The entrance gate was right next to the main road. All around it was absolute wilderness. Large, tall Casuarina trees line the entrance drive way to the guest house. It was a typical old fashioned building; thatched roof and dull colors.  The inside of the building was adorned with old paintings. The furniture and decorations were simplistic and elegant. There was no power supply to the guest house. Solar powered lamps were the source of light and large rectangular mats hung down from the ceiling, which were manually operated, behaved as fans. Supkhaar was beautiful.

On the last two days, our transect work was done. We were presently staying at Baihar, around 10 kilometres from Muba. We made quick change of plans and decided to spend our last day at our first home, Muba. When we went back, we really felt like we were back at home. Back in the mud huts, the same old friendly faces, greeting us with absolute delight and serving us food with genuine wide smiles. It was Holi season this time and Dr. Zafar Khan’s wife had also come over. Along with them was another family of Khans. It was already our last day in Kanha and two months seemed like they had passed within a wink. We ended the day with an afternoon safari ride. The final sighting we had was that of a large herd of Gaurs by the waterhole in the open meadows, and the Sun setting behind Sal forests in the background. It was the perfect way to say goodbye. Back at the resort, we sat with two families of Khans and laughed through the night. We took a night walk with a bunch of tourists, taking undue advantage of them being under alcohol influence. The two families of Khans were the most hilarious couple of families I have ever met. Of course, Dr.Zafar still took the cake when it came to entertaining us. Early next morning, we got into the cab and departed.

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Kanha, although a scientific research project for me and Vishnu, became the most emotionally moving experience of our lives. It gave us laughter and tears, hope faith and confidence, and most of all, the ability to handle ourselves and each other in times of crisis and yet manage to get work done. The people I met, the moments I shared with everyone involved, the emotions that took a stupendous roller coaster ride with every passing phase, the little things that got me agitated about Vishnu, the little even things that cracked us both up and left us in giggle fits, eating delicious food in tiny dhabas and hotels, the Chai and Daal-Roti at Chiraidhongri,  the Jalebi and Poha at Bicchia, the homely food that Yamuna didi occasionally cooked for us, the thousands of sights and sounds of pristine isolated jungles, walking through streams and rivers, stumbling down boulders and cliffs, the evenings back in the room, the songs that echoed in the Mocha outhouse reflecting my every feeling, the last time ‘three piece’ waved goodbye to us –not knowing that would be the last time, and every little, big, worthwhile, useless, lighter or frightful instance that occurred over the fifty five days will share a very special place in my heart. It was the longest duration I had spent away from home; perhaps why Kanha itself became a home after all. And my two months in Kanha came to an end.

Most parts that I have talked about may not have anything special about them. Neither the typical humour nor the strong opinions. But every aspect I have described here and a million more that I haven’t will remain closer to me than any other experience of mine. Ranthambhore has always been like my backyard. Nagarahole makes me feel like I’m at home. Kanha is my love.

This one is for Kanha