January 2005
Absolute darkness and biting cold engulfed the little tribal hamlet of Kisli, 3.5 kilometers within the core area of Kanha National Park. Ideally, only the songs of the nocturnal denizens of the forest should have prevailed. Within a radius of 300 meters, we were the only human forms, behaving as badly as any urban breed would: Talking and laughing noisily, smoking up – oh yes, dope was ferried to the forest - sipping Old Monk rum and Coke. There were no lights in the veranda of our dormitory, which, along with the Bagheera log huts, was the only structure for 'tourists' inside the core area of the park. The privately owned resorts had to jostle with each other in the buffer zone outside the Khatia gate.
A lone tube light fastened to a sal
tree illuminated the glade in front of the dormitory. Outside the
perimeter of this light lay the jungle foliage and all its hidden
inhabitants. A herd of deer grazed in this clearing only half an hour
ago. We'd seen their eyes like little flashlights. Despite the darkness,
langurs kept scampering over the RCC roof, making sounds that constantly startled us.
Three hundred meters away was the tourism board-run cafeteria, inside which the caretaker slept peacefully. The few mud-walled houses around the cafeteria housed forest guards and mahouts. There was not a sound from there; no clattering of utensils, no conversations, not a single bawling infant, and we did see a few toddlers loitering about during the day. Unmindful of the fact that we were flouting jungle rules – the city-bred arrogance still intact – we persisted with our boisterous banter, until the jungle decided to admonish us in its own style.
A
sudden, shrill cry from the bushes beyond the glade silenced us.
Untrained eyes futilely scanned the darkness. The screams rent the
night again, and the cold air suddenly turned sharper as it bit into our
bones. Alarmed barks of chital, or spotted deer, followed, joined in by
the langur’s alarm calls. Then, something cried out aloud and skittered
through the bush where, despite the light, we could see nothing. It was
a desperate, menacing wail, as if something was being strangulated.
Three or four deer bounded out into the glade and froze when they saw
us. As soon as they had appeared, they turned around and bounded back
into the darkness. Even before our foggy heads could register what was
happening, the drama died down just as suddenly as it had begun.
Fretfully, we shone torch lights in that direction. In the glare of the light beam, we saw several pairs of eyes staring back at us, looking as dumbfounded as we were. “Red dogs?” someone said, but then we realized they were only chital. ‘Tiger?’ wondered another, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Second after second, the cold seeped deeper into our bones. Soon, the deer were quiet and only a monkey or two cackled, as if they were singing dirges. We were so glued to the spots we stood on, in the veranda, that it took me some effort to run into the dormitory to fetch my handycam. By then, the drama was over. The jungle, once again, was as tranquil as it had been until then.
The
next morning, forest guards told us that a leopard had made a kill in
the Kisli range of Kanha National park. Its territory included the area
around the dormitory, and they suspected that the leopard had dragged
its prey not far from where we were put up, in the dormitory. Astounded,
all we did was nod, without telling him that we at least heard the
whole episode. That we had missed the leopard by a whisker!
Absolute darkness and biting cold engulfed the little tribal hamlet of Kisli, 3.5 kilometers within the core area of Kanha National Park. Ideally, only the songs of the nocturnal denizens of the forest should have prevailed. Within a radius of 300 meters, we were the only human forms, behaving as badly as any urban breed would: Talking and laughing noisily, smoking up – oh yes, dope was ferried to the forest - sipping Old Monk rum and Coke. There were no lights in the veranda of our dormitory, which, along with the Bagheera log huts, was the only structure for 'tourists' inside the core area of the park. The privately owned resorts had to jostle with each other in the buffer zone outside the Khatia gate.
- The MP tourism department-run dormitory in the core area of Kanha National Park
Three hundred meters away was the tourism board-run cafeteria, inside which the caretaker slept peacefully. The few mud-walled houses around the cafeteria housed forest guards and mahouts. There was not a sound from there; no clattering of utensils, no conversations, not a single bawling infant, and we did see a few toddlers loitering about during the day. Unmindful of the fact that we were flouting jungle rules – the city-bred arrogance still intact – we persisted with our boisterous banter, until the jungle decided to admonish us in its own style.
- The veranda of the dormitory
Fretfully, we shone torch lights in that direction. In the glare of the light beam, we saw several pairs of eyes staring back at us, looking as dumbfounded as we were. “Red dogs?” someone said, but then we realized they were only chital. ‘Tiger?’ wondered another, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Second after second, the cold seeped deeper into our bones. Soon, the deer were quiet and only a monkey or two cackled, as if they were singing dirges. We were so glued to the spots we stood on, in the veranda, that it took me some effort to run into the dormitory to fetch my handycam. By then, the drama was over. The jungle, once again, was as tranquil as it had been until then.
- Large groups of langurs are frequent visitors to the dormitory.
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