Riding on the back of a tiger survivor
BANDHAVGARH
ASHIM
CHOUDHURY *
Umaria is the nearest railway station to Bandhavgarh, less than 30 kilometers away. It is also one of the tidiest. Auto-rickshaws and taxis parked outside the station can take you to the tiger sanctuary, but for a small fraction of the price, Rs 30 per head, we hop onto a local bus. It was during that hour-long bus ride that we heard our first tiger story. ‘You are going to Bandhavgarh?’ The shy co-passenger with a baby in her arms asked. I nodded and she got chatting, saying she had seen tigers several times just outside her house. ‘They are not harmful, and do not attack you,’ she said when asked if she was not afraid. An hour later the park director, Mridul Pathak confirmed what that village woman had said, that Bandhavgarh tigers were human-friendly. During the next morning’s jeep-safari, I was surprised to see lone forests guards on bicycles with nothing but a stick for defense.
Pathak who, like the controversies, was surrounded by fawning listeners that included a journalist, two researchers, a photographer, a couple of rangers and some hangers on, was full of stories. “There are so many tiger stories, but it’s for you to decide what story you want to tell,” he said dramatically when asked for a suggestion. ‘First you take a look and then decide,’ he suggested. It was nearly two in the afternoon and we still had not had our lunch at the quiet forest guest house. Pathak added that morning safari had “better chances of spotting a tiger.”
So our safari was fixed for the next morning.
After a heavy lunch we sauntered out of the forest guest house. The main road at Tila wore a deserted look, dotted with empty grocery and a few souvenir shops. We took the mud road that branched off into the village, ending up in a blind alley where the women, bent over the day’s chores, laughed at us saying, ‘You have barged into our home.’ After browsing through some narrow alleys, and evading cows, we finally found a resting place on a ledge adjoining a mud house. When a young man materialized and we asked him for water he headed for the well across the alley. We drank the water hesitantly but were soon delighted by its sweet taste. As we returned the steel tumblers and settled down Dinesh Kumar Baiga said he was a casual labourer whenever work was available, which was rarely.
A trained guide, he had undertaken the three-month training offered to locals in 2017. But unlike some of his friends he had not found a placement with the forest department or the private tour operators. That made him sad. As more locals joined us the inevitable question cropped up: Had they seen a tiger? ‘Oh yes, right here where you are sitting,’ said Dinesh. ‘It jumped over that fence,’ he said. And we noticed a small enclosure where vegetables were growing. ‘It had a calf in its jaws, and dashed in the direction of the forest that lay behind the village. The tiger killed three more cows that fell on its path,’ he said. The time was around 2-3 in the morning. ‘It was summer and most people were sleeping outside in their courtyards or roof tops,’ Dinesh added. A half-drunk joined our conversation and I enquired if he could get us some mahua the local brew. Happily, he parked his bike and led me into a house on the lane.
Inside the courtyard children were running around and women were rushing between wood fires cooking the evening meal. In this melee I was handed a steel glass filled with mahua. It smelled fine, tasted divine. But I felt embarrassed with the women studying my face for signs of approval. Outside the house, in the distance, the forested mountains rose gently above the horizon. Many of the trees inside the core area of Bandhavgarh were mahua, attracting locals during summers when they flowered. Another tree that enticed local people to breach the wired fencing was the tendu trees whose leaves were used in beedi making, a common source of income. ‘Bandhavgarh, is one place where the human-animal conflict is at its highest,’ I recalled the forest director telling me earlier in the day. That night we went to bed early.
Next morning we woke up to loud knocking.
‘It’s six, the driver is ready,’ the caretaker told us, handing us a tray of tea.
It was still dark, when we mounted the open Gypsy, excited about our impending date with the big cats. Soon a middle-aged Gujarati couple, from California, climbed the jeep, and dampened our spirit. ‘This will be our third safari without any tiger sighting,’ the lady said. ‘Maybe you’ll be third-time lucky,’ I said, spreading some cheer in that cold, hazy morning. Minutes after we entered the core area we came upon a string of gypsies blocking our path. The driver spoke in hushed tones. Ahead of us people were pointing in a particular direction. We scoured every bit of the landscape through which a stream passed. But there was no tiger to be seen. After spending several minutes training our eyes on the invisible, we left, taking a desolate path.
Our first wild sighting was a spotted cheetal for which we stopped to take pictures. Soon we found ourselves in an open meadow with large herds of deer feeding on the grass. I could not help admiring the natural beauty of Bandhavgarh’s landscape, wide meadows and rising hills. Ram Avtar, our ageing and loquacious guide informed there were nearly a hundred adults and 28 cubs in the 716 square kilometer core area, making Bandhavgarh one the likeliest place for spotting a Royal Bengal tiger. The core was scattered among three places Tala, Magadhi and Khatauli. But where were the tigers? We finally came upon a small stream crossing where two gypsies were parked. Our heart missed a beat. But there was no tiger, just a majestic looking sambhar, drinking from a pool. A little ahead we came upon another group watching something in hushed silence. It was a large fish owl perched over a stream.
Soon, we had done several forest tracts and had nearly given up hope of seeing a tiger. Gopal Singh, the driver meanwhile announced teatime and soon we came upon a clearing with bamboo and tin shops selling tea, pakoras and omelet-bread. As we gorged on the food the California couple made plans with the driver and guide to take an elephant ride. The driver made frantic calls to get hold of the mahout. After tea as we got out of the clearing two elephants appeared along the gypsy track. One of them was a massive male, nearly twice as tall as the accompanying juvenile. Our driver and the mahout confabulated for a while but the latter would not allow anyone to mount the elephants without permission from his bosses. After a long wait, disappointed, we went away. In between guide Ramavtar told us the story of the mahout and his elephant Ashtham, how they had warded off a tiger attack.
Two tigers had fought viciously and one of them, injured badly, withdrew into a hideout. Neelam, the mahout, riding high on Ashtham, the elephant, was tasked with bringing out the injured tiger from its hideout. Chances were that if the tiger was not assisted, it would succumb to its injuries. ‘Neelam was assisted in this project by Binod Pakhale, and another forest guard,’ Ramavtar said. But despite their experience the three, waiting for some 20 minutes for senior officials to arrive, were not quite prepared for the sudden attack from the injured tiger. It leapt on the hind legs of the elephant scratching and biting. Ashtham swung around. But the tiger would not let go of his grip. The elephant spun around several times, finally shaking off the tiger. But as the elephant spun around, Neelam and the two beat guards were also thrown off the elephant’s back.
Pakhale, badly injured by the metal scaffolding on the elephant seat, ran for his life. But then he fell and never got up again. Neelam, also badly injured, lay on the ground, managed to fend off an attack by the tiger. But it came back. ‘Ashtham who saw his master under attack quickly stepped in, trampling the tiger under his heavy legs. The elephant, badly bleeding, survived the ordeal,’ the guide said as if the incident happened in front of him. Neelam and the other guard carried Pakhale’s body onto the ambulance that had arrived by then.
Much of this story I overheard, snatching bits and pieces of the conversation between the guide Ramavtar and the lady from California. Forest guides, apart from sensing tiger presence, also have an uncanny knack for sniffing out rich NRIs who they know will tip them generously for tales told well. I wondered if the elephant and mahout we had seen were actually Ashatham and Neelam.
Soon we were close to the wire fencing and Ramavtar explained how some time back a tiger stole a cow from the village across, flung the carcass from above the 15 foot fence into the forest before jumping in himself. However, in front of us, instead of a tiger, all we saw was a forest guard on a cycle coming from the opposite direction. Our driver asked him for leads. He had none to offer.
Sensing our disappointment Gopal Singh, the driver decided to take us to Rampur hill. It was a steep climb, a less used road, often taken as a last resort to spot the elusive feline. Singh suddenly stopped and looked down. We thought he had finally seen a tiger. Instead, he showed us a pug mark. ‘You see the large size, it’s a male,’ he said. Saying that it had gone in the same direction we were taking he stopped at many twists and turns, pretending that a tiger was somewhere round the corner. Then he showed us a scratch on the ground and even a dollop of tiger scat. But by now we were clearly tired of seeing telltale signs instead of a real tiger. But then, all of a sudden, the jungle opened up and we found ourselves on a rocky elevated tableland that gave a panoramic 360 view of the forest below us and the rising mountains beyond. The view was simply breathtaking. Just for this our visit was worthwhile.
Descending from our perch, just below we came upon caves, manmade. These were over hundreds of years old and were a part of the kingdom that once ruled from the ruined fort believed to be from third century BC when the Mauryas reigned. The caves scattered over the hills were made for soldiers to hide and surprise enemies. With no tiger sightings we visited one such cave. By the time we were finished it was time to return. We were a tad upset leaving the park without seeing a cat. Sighting a brightly coloured wild rooster somewhat lifted our sagging spirits. Then the driver’s phone rang and electrified the air with expectancy.
‘The elephant is waiting for us,’ Gopal Singh announced.
Then he turned the gypsy and drove in the opposite direction. Were we going back into the forest just for an elephant ride? The lady from California whispered into my ears, ‘They have sighted a tiger.’ That quashed all opposition as the gypsy hurtled along the bumps nearly throwing us into the air. ‘Hold the railing tight,’ the driver cautioned as he drove along uneven paths we had crossed a while ago. Other gypsies, returning to the gates, were surprised to see us going back. Meanwhile, the old guide went into raptures about how Neelam had been rewarded by the park authorities. That is when I asked.
‘Are we going to see the man you’ve been speaking about?’
‘Yes,’ the lady from California said.
There was a strange understanding between her, the guide and the driver. Had she taken a safari ride with them before too? But I brushed away my misgivings, at the prospect of finally seeing a tiger. After a frantic drive the massive elephant came into view. Our gypsy slowed down. Words were exchanged and soon, one by one, we stood on the bonnet frame of the gypsy and were finally whisked onto the elephant’s back with the help of a hanging ladder and a helping hand from the mahout. After swirling in midair for a few seconds when I finally made it to the top my first gasping question to the mahout was, ‘Are you Neelam?’
The, dark, young well-built man smiled and nodded self effacingly. As the elephant strode into the uneven jungle I had the strange feeling of being astride a moving two-storied house. Dodging tall trees from which Ashtham plucked branches I managed to ask Neelam if he had indeed faced a tiger attack. He smiled and said that it was some six years around 2012 when he was barely 28. He was walking to the camp to get the elephant. With a friend was following close behind him, he noticed male pugmarks. He followed the trail and in front of him, 20 meters ahead, stood a tiger. Their eyes met and suddenly the tiger leaped and was upon him. But young Neelam held his nerve. He also held up the stick in both hands as a shield.
‘But both the tiger’s paws landed on my shoulders and I was badly wounded. But, fortunately, he did not bite me and just ran away. Without the stick the impact of his paw would have fallen on my neck and I would not survive,’ Neelam said. The tiger ran away and Neelam, with the help of his petrified friend managed to bandage his bleeding wound with the help of a gamchha, a thin towel. The veins were cut and he bled profusely. His hospitalization lasted 15 days before he was discharged. To prove that he was not fibbing Neelam unbuttoned his shirt to show the blackened marks of his wounds, now his trophies.
What about the story about the guard and Ashtham, was it made up? I put the question to Neelam.
‘Oh, that one…,’ Neelam smiled. ‘It was about four years back in 2014. We went searching for the injured tiger and tracked it down. For 20 minutes we waited for the senior officers to arrive when, suddenly, the tiger attacked Ashtham this elephant. It spun round and round. I didn’t realize when I fell on the ground and injured myself. If it was not this fellow I would have been surely been dead. He stepped upon the tiger killing it instantly,’ he said. Binod Pakhale, one of the forest guards accompanying him, suffered serious injury to his ribs, and died soon.
There were more questions to be asked but with the land rising and falling and crossing of streams it was not easy keeping up a conversation with Neelam. We were more preoccupied balancing ourselves on the elephant’s back. That afternoon despite the vantage of Ashtham’s sturdy back we could see no tiger. But I was glad having met Neelam the heroic survivor of two tiger attacks and the handsome Ashtham.
Later that afternoon, outside the park, as we sampled Tala’s famed milk sweets, gulabjamun with rabri, the shopkeeper was amused to learn of our failed bid to spot a tiger. ‘Arre, only yesterday this woman from the village, Ram Devi, who was going to relieve herself in the late afternoon came back screaming,’ he said. Then, pointing in the direction right behind the shop he said, ‘There was not only a tiger, a little ahead there was a leopard as well.’
Returning to Umaria, I kept looking out of the bus, hoping to catch a stray tiger in the passing buffer zone. And I wondered about the irony of our crappy luck. The woman who went crapping got to see the tiger, while the woman who had come from across seven seas got to see just that, tiger crap.
‘Tigers are their own masters, not obliged to make an appearance for visitors like us,’ the lady from California had said as she had pressed a few crumpled green notes into Ramavtar’s reluctant palms. ‘It’s for the children. Buy them sweets,’ she had said.
ENDS
*Author, ‘The Sergeant’s Son’
