Article - On The Trail Of The Tiger

Bus journeys in India usually leave one irritated, uncomfortable and bored...

This one, courtesy UP State Tourism, was no different despite the “de luxe” tag. The air conditioning had broken down and the passengers – serving members of the armed forces and their dependents – were sloshing somnolently in their own sweat. Cramped, with both legs gone to sleep and a throbbing headache, my then 16-year-old self glumly contemplated a wasted weekend at a Corbett National Park overrun with day trippers scaring away the wildlife.

As we approached Ramnagar, the situation began to look up. The dessicated plains with their forlorn stands of withered mango trees and scraggy eucalyptus  gave way to denser growths of Sal, Kikar and Mohua trees. It was very like being in some medieval European cathedral, with shafts of dim emerald light lancing dramatically through the vaults of the majestic trees as though filtered through stained glass windows. The cool scented air was better than any air conditioning.

Entry to Corbett was held up at Ramnagar due to a bureaucratic hitch in the Forest Office there. After some wrangling, we finally made it through. After a short drive through gently sloping hills,  our bus was allowed past the barrier that marked the boundaries of the park. 

The forest outside the park bore marks of human usage and was less verdant. In counterpoint to this observation,  piles of teak logs lined the roadside at intervals on the way in. The park proper was a jungle that seemed untouched by man. The paved road gave way to a crude, but motorable, trail. Oddly enough, the ride was much more comfortable than driving on some of Delhi's potholed roads.

By one of those peculiar quirks of chance, we saw more wildlife while driving in, than during our 3-days stay in the park. A gloomy-looking wild boar went crashing through the undergrowth as though hotly pursued by some desi Obelix. A small herd of elephants paused in their browsing among the trees to to stare bemusedly at our battered bus. When the driver braked to allow photography, they retired with surprising grace and dignity. We also spied a flock of langurs moving through the treetops and herds of spotted and hog deer grazing in distant chaur, or small plain between the foothills.

We arrived at the Dhikala tourist complex by late evening and were put up at the Old Forest Rest House at Rs 100 per day. The accomodation was Spartan but adequate. The dinner we wolfed down that night was plain, but wholesome and filling, cheap at Rs 10 per head. The other dwellings – Swiss cottage tents, hutments and log cabins – were filled to capacity by foreign tourists, mostly Germans.

Despite stories in the press about misbehaviour, the staff were uniformly helpful and courteous. They took immense pride in “their” tigers, which they claimed were the largest sub-species of Felis tigris in India. The staff responsible for the elephant rides claimed to recognize several individuals by the distinctive shape of their facial markings and even had affectionate nicknames for them.

The elephant rides were held twice a day for two hours. Even though we saw no tigers initially, they were well worth it. We were able to observe langurs, deer and many varieties of brightly coloured birds. My grandfather's old binoculars came in handy here.

We were able to view only a fraction of Corbett National park's 520.8 square kilometres. Corbett has two kinds of vegetation; deciduous forest at altitudes varying from 400 to 1, 100 metres besides besides bamboo and elephant grass in the chaurs, especially around the banks of the Ramganga river.

Both provide excellent cover, but tigers tend to favor the latter. If the tiger spots you first, you have little chance of seeing it. There have been more cases of tigers viewing people, than vice versa. It is therefore advisable to wear dull green or drab earth-coloured clothing to avoid alarming the shy predator.

Only on the last day of our trip, were we able to glimpse the elusive big cat. At the end of a pleasantly aimless elephant ride, we happened to come upon a regal feline matriarch sunning herself in a distant glade. Her cub was playing with her idly switching tail, alternatively batting at it with both paws and trying to chew it. At last, tiring of this peculiar pastime, the tiger cub ambled over until it was facing mummy. The cub then planted its forepaws in her facial ruff, and proceeded to kiss the tigress, lovingly rubbing noses with her.

When the cub began to nibble her whiskers, the bemused mother decided she had had enough of these affectionate attentions. A gentle nudge by her sent the cub tumbling onto its back with all four paws bicycling wildly in the air. Ignoring squeals of outraged protest, the tigress then began grooming her child, licking the fur on its underside free of burrs and tangles.

Unfortunately, our ancient wrinkled mount chose this moment to vent a loud and sonorous rumble from her belly. The alarmed tigress gave us a dirty look and growled threateningly. She swiftly scooped up her frisky offspring by the scruff of his neck and vanished into the undergrowth. We were very lucky she hadn’t chosen to attack us.

This then was my last and most treasured memory of Corbett; an unexpected vignette of tender filial affection in an apex predator reputed for ferocity.