Stotra Chakrabarti’s heart was in his mouth when a wild lion plonked companionably next to him. The dusty ground between his kneeling profile and the cat spanned a mere two metres, close enough to smell the beast’s rank breath. A moment earlier, it had been lying somewhere else while the researcher watched another lion tucking into a nilgai kill some distance away.
“I became a statue,” Chakrabarti recalls. “I didn’t even bat an eyelid.” Every time he moved a muscle in a slow motion effort to get away, the cat opened its eyes. It didn’t help to know the predator was famished and waiting its turn at the carcass. “That was the longest half hour of my life.”
Asian lions are easy-going since they have a long history of living alongside people. But they are not always so tolerant. Males amorously consorting with females become irritable. A courting pair mates 50 to 60 times a day for an average of three days. They seldom drink or eat. They may not live on love and fresh air, but get by on their surcharged hormones. High on testosterone, lions see even a moving bush as a rival, says Chakrabarti.
Survival strategies
He watched 134 mating events, and the males rushed at him every time. Although his basic instincts of self-preservation urged him to run, he held his ground instead, shouting and thrashing his bamboo staff to thwart the attacks. “If you show your back to a lion, your chances of surviving go to zero,” he says.
The researcher survived without a mark, but those under real threat from the lusty males are the cubs. Lions kill young they didn’t sire to force the mothers to bear their offspring. To avoid this tragedy, lionesses outwit the males.
A pride’s territory may overlap with three or four male coalitions of two to four lions each. Lionesses mate with each one and confuse them all. Different males tolerate the same litter, thinking they are the fathers.
“The females control the whole show,” says Chakrabarti. “It’s not the Lion King here, rather the Lion Queen that reigns.” This strategy of promiscuity works on familiar males but not with newcomers.
The two lionesses
Chakrabarti and his assistants perched on their vehicle, watching two lionesses with three-month-old cubs feasting on a buffalo kill in a drying swamp.
There wasn’t a tree or bush in sight. When he spied two unfamiliar males approaching, he feared for the cubs.
The quick-thinking older lioness, which he had named Jodha, dashed towards the humans with the cubs on her heels. The suddenness of the situation caught the researcher, who was sitting on the bonnet of the vehicle, off-guard. Jodha braked beside the 4WD and sprinted back to join the other lioness, alone. A bewildered Chakrabarti swivelled around. Where had the cubs gone? They had crawled to safety under the vehicle.
As the two lionesses chased after the strangers, the researcher wanted to follow. But how was he to move with the cubs ensconced between the wheels? Besides, his assistants refused to cooperate. “She has given us a responsibility,” one argued. “We can’t let her down.”
Chakrabarti had no choice but to wait until the lionesses returned two hours later. The mother hummed, a signal for the cubs to come out of cover. As the family walked away, Jodha glanced back at the men as if to say ‘Thank you’, the researcher recalls.
If the lionesses’ devotion to their families melted Chakrabarti’s heart, he’s still coming to terms with the lions’ disdain.
“A dhole’s or wolf’s gaze pierces you,” he says. “A tiger’s glance sends chills down your spine. But lions destroy your ego with one look. We were just persistent nagging flies that followed them everywhere.”
It’s impossible to tell if the hungry lion that’s sprawled next to Chakrabarti thought it was keeping a fly company.
The writer is not a conservationista but many creatures share her home for reasons she is yet to discover.
