You cannot see the tiger in the wild with fresh eyes. By the time you spot one, myths and jungle lore, tall claims and pessimistic accounts might have all spun a rich and intricate web around you. As a result, you can look at the animal only through lens coloured by age-old fears and fantasies of a hundred other people who have written and spoken about their tiger experience.
“I have been working here for 20 years, but have never seen one,” said a forest guard in Parambikulam in sheer despair. “For a whole year, a wildlife photographer stayed on a machaan and waited. And for the whole year, the tiger, which used to frequent the river bank nearby, stayed away,” a tribal guide from another forest recalled. Meanwhile, a driver said: “Even the other day, a tiger crossed this road much to the amazement of schoolchildren who were in my van.” Despite all the efforts you take, in the jungle, it is always the tiger that calls the shots.
Five years ago, I was spending the night in a forest camp at Sairandhri, Silent Valley. Forest guards had woken me up from my sleep and led me to the edge of a hill. I picked the faint outlines of more guards standing, looking away, peering down at the thick black of the valleys and the faintly-outlined mountains in the distance. Suddenly, a deep roar rose from the valley, piercing the night. It was answered by a series of deep growls from the woods below. When silence reigned again, a guard near me took a deep breath. “The tiger has caught its prey. We heard the cat scaring it off another animal from its prey!”
A tiger spotted at Parambikulam tiger reserve
Three months later, while writing a book, I was on the lookout for a tiger. “They say only you can take me to a tiger,” I told Sreeni, the legendary tiger tracker of Parambikulam wildlife sanctuary. “The question is whether the wild wants you to meet a tiger,” Sreeni replied. When he saw my crestfallen expression, he added: “We will try.” Sreeni came to the Parambikulam wildlife sanctuary from his home at Topslip, Tamil Nadu, many decades ago. Though he started his career as a fire watcher, authorities soon sensed his potential as a forest guide. Sreeni said he didn’t wash his clothes for weeks after his first encounter with a tiger family.
Before our trail began Sreeni had a few words for me to remember: “Listen to everything. When you hear a sound, stop. Think about the possibilities. Stop every ten feet after that. You can hear squirrels and deer sending signals about the presence of predators. The moment I hear a sambar making a specific noise, I know a tiger or a leopard is on the move. I wait to see if it is followed up with another cry. If I hear it again, I know it is a tiger. And if I find a particular place in the wild that is eerily silent, devoid of other animals, I know there is a predator on the prowl in the vicinity.”
The 12-kilometre walk along the mostly dry river began with Sreeni leading the trail and Athan, my tribal guide, bringing up the rear. When the heat gets intense, a tiger chooses a cool riverside for a nap. That was the logic of taking our trail to the river.
The trail wound and wended through stocky walls of bamboo that rose from either side of our trail, their elegant fronds making an arch over our heads. Absolute silence had to be maintained at all costs.
Sreeni walked in the front, slowly, with wary eyes darting left and right, peering into the thick foliage for teasing out a movement or a pattern. The moment he felt something unusual, he raised his hand, asking us to pause. We met gaurs, langurs, deer, snakes, elephants and even elusive bears on the way, but the tiger stayed away.
“We will see him only if he wants us to,” Athan whispered during a much-needed break beneath a punishing sun.
At one point, I caught up with Sreeni as he was crouching on a sandbank. He turned to catch my eyes. “Look. Fresh pug marks! He was here a moment ago.” My heart fell. “So is it all over? Has the tiger gone?” My whisper was tinged with despair. Sreeni nodded. “I think so. We were a minute late.” Then he stood up and said, “Anyway we have come this far. Let us complete this trail.”
Manu Remakant at Parambikulam tiger reserve
Sreeni took the lead once again. He rounded a bend in the river and disappeared. Suddenly, he rushed back, alarm written all over his face but still without making any noise. On his face, I could read - Tiger!
“He is over there, beyond that bend!” he said.
“If he spots me, he may run away. So you are going first,” he added.
Sreeni, who has seen enough tigers in his life, magnanimously wanted to make way for me. I complied. It took me ages to get to the river bend and stretch my neck to survey the shaded bank beyond. I thoroughly scanned the riverbank and saw nothing unusual. Did I overlook something? My eyes riveted back to a spot of dull orange I had dismissed as a heap of fallen leaves. My heart stopped.
I stood there frozen. Even from that distance they could see me shaking with excitement. Sreeni sat down on his haunches with a tired smile and gestured me to move on, but with caution.
Bent double, I inched towards the tiger, taking whole minutes for each step I made. The tiger was sleeping with its head away from me, towards the other side.
While I finally sat there on the sand bank and began to click, the tiger woke up, slowly raised its head and turned towards me. The tiger held me in its intense glare. I continued to shoot.
Strangely I felt no fear or excitement. I was in a daze. I knew any sudden movements might be dangerous. A minute later, the tiger bared its teeth and growled. It was then that it spotted Sreeni and Athan standing far behind. It jumped to its feet and bolted into a thicket, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
I sat there for a while. I could still see the shimmering image of the tiger before me, still holding me in its intense glare.
I gathered myself up, plodded back through the trail, sloshing water with abandon, and hugged both the men. I had seen the tiger in the wild!
The writer is an academic and author
