Streaks of warm light paint the canvas on the eastern sky as I start off from my humble abode in Mavanhalla (the Nilgiris). An old British bungalow built in 1910 that has seen better days, it has been a comfortable dwelling. However, with the ever-changing attitude of Government machinery, I know that this is perhaps the last time, I will get to stay here. I look back wistfully, thinking of all the lucky people who have stayed here, in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the creature comforts that modern living provides. Yes, often even electricity is a privilege here.
Although its riskier, I steer myself to a jungle path, giving up the safety of the tarred road. My destination is not too far away, and I’m quite confident that at this time of the year, I will not run into elephants. I walk gingerly, my senses heightened by the risk I’m taking. In the distance, I can hear the cat-like cries of the peafowl, and the morning air is filled with the twittering of small birds.
Ahead, I can see a waterhole that’s almost dry in this weather. I pause and pay attention to any tell-tale signs of animal activity, but I should know better. Humans have a poor sense of hearing, and more often than not, I will not hear animals, unless they wish to advertise themselves. I walk ever so slowly, relying on my eyesight, hoping to observe any movement in the bushes, but the jungle appears idle.
I reach the waterhole, and drop to my knees, scouring for animal tracks, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a slight movement in the bushes on the opposite side. I freeze, not wanting to give myself away. Everything stands still, but then suddenly, a head pops out of the foliage. A sambar doe! Her eyes are fearful, but she is filled with curiosity and is desperately trying to identify me. I stay motionless; I don’t even blink. She steps out and stares at me, ready to run. Clearly, I’m not something she is used to, and she just can’t fight the urge to get a better look.
Soon, her fawn appears by her side, oblivious to the unfolding tableau. I wait for the doe to look away, to shift my aching knees to a more comfortable position. Seconds go by. I can’t believe my luck, as two more does join her, and soon I’m under three pairs of watchful eyes, straining to comprehend what kind of creature I am! I exhale ever so slowly, but they’ve had enough! With a loud snort, they vanish into the undergrowth, melting into a tapestry of dappled sunlight.
This and a hundred other memories are carefully tucked away in my memory, to be savoured later. I walk back with a smile, feeling truly blessed.
The author is an avid wild life enthusiast and first-time author. His book The Last White Hunter is available in stores now
