The MP Tourism Kisli Canteen sits on the edge of a meadow, which is now known - rather for about a decade now - as the Indri route. Not far from the canteen is a lake that the "new" forest road skirts and goes deeper south. Kisli itself is a safari zone now. I think they have brought the elephants back to the kraal over here, behind the canteen. On my last trip way back in 2009, there were no elephants here. The forest officials had moved the beasts to the Kanha headquarters deep within the core area of the park.
Without further digression, the canteen. It has a little oval patio where we love to sit after dinner. Once the dishes are washed and the canteen is cleaned, the caretaker spends time chatting with us, telling us tales of wonderful sightings in recent times, inquires whether dinner was good (It always is; has always been good!), and whether we'd like to carry plain butter and jam sandwiches on the safari the next morning.
"I'll bring tea for you," he assures us. "At 4 AM."
He switches off the light in the patio and leaves, while we continue to sit in the cold, under the dark night sky studded with stars. We don't talk; we don't want to spoil that moment, that tranquillity with our chatter. However, is the night really silent and still?
In the urban parlance, maybe. But the forest is anything but quiet at night. Lean back on the backrest of the chair and look up to the starlit sky. Thousands of them, no hyperbole here. Kanha National Park, like any other forest, is one of the few places left where you can see a carpet of stars blanketing the world.
At the same time, your ears 'open up'. It picks up the nearest and the most distant chirrup of crickets and other night creatures. The hoot of the owl. The constant chatter of the night jar. The occassional trumpet of a peacock in the meadow north the dormitory and the forest officer's bungalow. The calls of the chital. Even the lapwing sometimes.
You slip into a state of trance. Eyes closed, shivering in the cold despite your multiple layers of clothing, breathing in the fresh jungle air, and listening to the sounds of the jungle. Then, from somewhere - in my head at least - I hear the opening notes of a song from a movie that I love: Yeh Tara, Woh Tara...
It is actually the instrumental piece after the first stanza that rings in my head. At once, I transform into a philosopher, a poet, even a singer - a much better one than I normally am, for I can't sing to save my life.
Kanha National park, more precisely the Kisli core area where I have always camped while in Kanha, can do that to you. For a long while none of us speak or dare to disrupt the tranquility of the moment. But sooner or later, our ears - which are now trained to distinguish between regular calls and alarm calls of most forest creatures - pick up the alarm calls of a chital. We sit up straight and crane our necks, squinting at the darkness around us. Did the call come from somewhere close by? We scan the pitch-black meadows and see shining eyes looking back at us.
"Just chital," we say to each other. Now that we are 'Veterans of the forest', we know there's no need to panic. If the alarm calls stop after a while, we speculate what could have alarmed the deer. Must have been a jackal or dholes, red dogs, maybe. A leopard? The langurs were quiet and unfazed, so might not be one of the big cats. But if there are many alarm calls of the chital, if it turns into a noisy chorus, then it has to be a tiger or a leopard on the prowl. If the night air fills up with alarm calls, we stand up and prepare to hurry to the dormitory, which is about 200-300 metres from the canteen. Our next task is to determine where the calls are coming from? If they are close by, better sit over here instead of risking the walk through the darkness to the dormitory. If the cries are far away, well, enjoy the opera! Where else will you get to hear this?
On my first trip to Kanha National Park, I was sitting on the veranda floor with two Costa Rican chaps, Jorge and Ricardo. The three of us were the only ones in the dormitory, and we had just finished dinner and were sitting outside to drink in the sounds and the chill of the forest. Suddenly, we heard several dholes calling out from not too far away. Even the caretaker stepped out and listened with a smile.
Video: What do Dholes or Red Dogs sound like at night? This is NOT my video; it belongs to a Youtubber, Tejaswi Naik. All credit and thanks to him for posting his experience online.
"Wow, so many dholes!" he said. "You are lucky, sirji. Lately, our guides haven't spotted large groups of dholes. There was a time when the sighting of a pack of 30 - 40 dholes was common. Over the years, their numbers and sightings have decreased. Now, if you are lucky, you'll get to see little groups of 2-4 dholes. 10, if you are extremely lucky. But that."
He was now pointing towards the hills that we saw in the north, hemming the meadows. "That certainly sounds like a large pack."
"What are they, coyotes?"
"Not coyotes. These are dholes, red dogs."
"Red dogs? Like stray dogs?"
"No, these are wild dogs. The Indian version of the African wild dogs. They resemble jackals but they are different."
Red dog sightings had become rare in Kanha. I have seen a few on various trips - not on the first one though - but never more than four to six of them at a time. If we could have driven into the forest that night, we would have surely seen a large gang of dholes traipsing about in the meadows.
On one of the trips, my father joined us - Govind, Anupam, and me. This was my only late spring/early summer safari trip. It was the first week of April and we were sitting outside the canteen, without many layers of clothing. I was wearing shorts for the first time in Kanha. One of the safari jeeps, a green Gypsy, refuelled at the petrol bunk next to the canteen. For a long while, it stood there, the driver chatting with someone at the petrol bunk. We could only see the glow of their cigarette ends in the darkness and the red rear lights of the Gypsy.
A while later, the Gypsy left, veering onto the road that led to the Khatia Gate outside the park. The jeep stopped again on the road and my father lurched forward. He was gaping at the jeep, rather at the road lit up by the headlights.
"Elephants!" he exclaimed, pointing at the muddy brown shapes crossing the road in front of the jeep. Until then, he didn't know that those elephants were tame.
"They send the elephants out at night," Anupam and I explained. "They graze in the forest all night. Then, just before dawn, the mahout goes looking for them. The chains fastened on the ankles of the elephants leave a trail, which makes it easy to trace them. Then, the mahout looks for signs of tigers around. If they find a tiger that they know is going to stay in the spot for a long while, they relay a message to the headquarters at Kanha. In turn, the officials at headquarters issue tokens for the 'tiger show' and tourists are brought to the spot so that they can get a glimpse of the tiger.
'Tiger shows' are often criticised by wildlife enthusiasts because it is not the most natural form of wildlife sighting. The enthusiasts complain that tigers are often cornered by these elephants so that they remain at the spot for a longer while than they desire. But this is the best alternative for 'tiger sighting' for tourists like us. On most safaris, you end up going around in circles without a sighting. By organising this 'tiger show', tourists can get at least one glimpse of the king (or queen) of the forest. Most of these 'shows' take place when the tiger is located at a distance from the road. Spotting these tigers who are far away from the forest road is impossible without these elephants. From the safari jeep, you climb onto the back of the elephant and are then taken into the woods where the tiger is spotted. I think Kanha and Bandhavgarh are the only parks where they have this arrangement, though I might be wrong.
Video: One of the four videotapes of our trip to Kanha in January 2005.
That is the thing with tigers and leopards. These fine felines are highly reclusive, and seeing them in the wild is a privilege. The Kisli area, for example, is largely leopard territory. For them, the fringes of the core area of the park is safe haven. The chances of crossing paths with a tiger or, worse, getting into a conflict over territory are much lesser. In January 2005 when the whole lot of us - Arvind, Anupam, Astik, Govind, Kaushal, Madhav, and I - were put up at the dormitory, we often stood in the veranda after dark, constantly chattering and playing the fool with each other. One evening, the conversation veered towards Quantum Physics - of which I know nothing - and Theories of Relativity and shit like that. All the result of much alcohol and dope, though I wasn't a drinker in those days. Yes, I was a non-drinker once, would you believe that!
I was recording the silly conversations on the handycam when, all of a sudden, Arvind says, "Dude, do you get this feeling that you're being watched?"
"Hey yes, I was just thinking the same thing!" Kaushal said. A sudden silence descended on the group. We were looking over our shoulders, squinting at the woods around us, scanning the barely visible outline of the tall grass around the dormitory, looking for a stalking leopard or tiger. We saw nothing, but we certainly felt it. We knew we were being watched.
"Come on, let's go indoors," we said and shut and bolted the door behind us.
 |
| In the evening just before sunset |
 |
| Ankur and Anupam on our last trip to Kanha, Nov 2009 |
 |
| The hermetic trance I find myself in whenever I am in Kanha. Gosh, I was fat! |
Without further digression, the canteen. It has a little oval patio where we love to sit after dinner. Once the dishes are washed and the canteen is cleaned, the caretaker spends time chatting with us, telling us tales of wonderful sightings in recent times, inquires whether dinner was good (It always is; has always been good!), and whether we'd like to carry plain butter and jam sandwiches on the safari the next morning.
"I'll bring tea for you," he assures us. "At 4 AM."
He switches off the light in the patio and leaves, while we continue to sit in the cold, under the dark night sky studded with stars. We don't talk; we don't want to spoil that moment, that tranquillity with our chatter. However, is the night really silent and still?
 |
| As the sun went down, the petrol bunk and the tiny, walk-in-wardrobe-sized post office |
 |
| Colours of the sky at dusk |
In the urban parlance, maybe. But the forest is anything but quiet at night. Lean back on the backrest of the chair and look up to the starlit sky. Thousands of them, no hyperbole here. Kanha National Park, like any other forest, is one of the few places left where you can see a carpet of stars blanketing the world.
At the same time, your ears 'open up'. It picks up the nearest and the most distant chirrup of crickets and other night creatures. The hoot of the owl. The constant chatter of the night jar. The occassional trumpet of a peacock in the meadow north the dormitory and the forest officer's bungalow. The calls of the chital. Even the lapwing sometimes.
You slip into a state of trance. Eyes closed, shivering in the cold despite your multiple layers of clothing, breathing in the fresh jungle air, and listening to the sounds of the jungle. Then, from somewhere - in my head at least - I hear the opening notes of a song from a movie that I love: Yeh Tara, Woh Tara...
It is actually the instrumental piece after the first stanza that rings in my head. At once, I transform into a philosopher, a poet, even a singer - a much better one than I normally am, for I can't sing to save my life.
 |
| Sunset at Bamhani Dadar in Mukki zone |
 |
| The vast meadow of Bamhani Dadar at dusk |
Kanha National park, more precisely the Kisli core area where I have always camped while in Kanha, can do that to you. For a long while none of us speak or dare to disrupt the tranquility of the moment. But sooner or later, our ears - which are now trained to distinguish between regular calls and alarm calls of most forest creatures - pick up the alarm calls of a chital. We sit up straight and crane our necks, squinting at the darkness around us. Did the call come from somewhere close by? We scan the pitch-black meadows and see shining eyes looking back at us.
"Just chital," we say to each other. Now that we are 'Veterans of the forest', we know there's no need to panic. If the alarm calls stop after a while, we speculate what could have alarmed the deer. Must have been a jackal or dholes, red dogs, maybe. A leopard? The langurs were quiet and unfazed, so might not be one of the big cats. But if there are many alarm calls of the chital, if it turns into a noisy chorus, then it has to be a tiger or a leopard on the prowl. If the night air fills up with alarm calls, we stand up and prepare to hurry to the dormitory, which is about 200-300 metres from the canteen. Our next task is to determine where the calls are coming from? If they are close by, better sit over here instead of risking the walk through the darkness to the dormitory. If the cries are far away, well, enjoy the opera! Where else will you get to hear this?
On my first trip to Kanha National Park, I was sitting on the veranda floor with two Costa Rican chaps, Jorge and Ricardo. The three of us were the only ones in the dormitory, and we had just finished dinner and were sitting outside to drink in the sounds and the chill of the forest. Suddenly, we heard several dholes calling out from not too far away. Even the caretaker stepped out and listened with a smile.
Video: What do Dholes or Red Dogs sound like at night? This is NOT my video; it belongs to a Youtubber, Tejaswi Naik. All credit and thanks to him for posting his experience online.
"Wow, so many dholes!" he said. "You are lucky, sirji. Lately, our guides haven't spotted large groups of dholes. There was a time when the sighting of a pack of 30 - 40 dholes was common. Over the years, their numbers and sightings have decreased. Now, if you are lucky, you'll get to see little groups of 2-4 dholes. 10, if you are extremely lucky. But that."
He was now pointing towards the hills that we saw in the north, hemming the meadows. "That certainly sounds like a large pack."
"What are they, coyotes?"
"Not coyotes. These are dholes, red dogs."
"Red dogs? Like stray dogs?"
"No, these are wild dogs. The Indian version of the African wild dogs. They resemble jackals but they are different."
Red dog sightings had become rare in Kanha. I have seen a few on various trips - not on the first one though - but never more than four to six of them at a time. If we could have driven into the forest that night, we would have surely seen a large gang of dholes traipsing about in the meadows.
On one of the trips, my father joined us - Govind, Anupam, and me. This was my only late spring/early summer safari trip. It was the first week of April and we were sitting outside the canteen, without many layers of clothing. I was wearing shorts for the first time in Kanha. One of the safari jeeps, a green Gypsy, refuelled at the petrol bunk next to the canteen. For a long while, it stood there, the driver chatting with someone at the petrol bunk. We could only see the glow of their cigarette ends in the darkness and the red rear lights of the Gypsy.
A while later, the Gypsy left, veering onto the road that led to the Khatia Gate outside the park. The jeep stopped again on the road and my father lurched forward. He was gaping at the jeep, rather at the road lit up by the headlights.
"Elephants!" he exclaimed, pointing at the muddy brown shapes crossing the road in front of the jeep. Until then, he didn't know that those elephants were tame.
"They send the elephants out at night," Anupam and I explained. "They graze in the forest all night. Then, just before dawn, the mahout goes looking for them. The chains fastened on the ankles of the elephants leave a trail, which makes it easy to trace them. Then, the mahout looks for signs of tigers around. If they find a tiger that they know is going to stay in the spot for a long while, they relay a message to the headquarters at Kanha. In turn, the officials at headquarters issue tokens for the 'tiger show' and tourists are brought to the spot so that they can get a glimpse of the tiger.
'Tiger shows' are often criticised by wildlife enthusiasts because it is not the most natural form of wildlife sighting. The enthusiasts complain that tigers are often cornered by these elephants so that they remain at the spot for a longer while than they desire. But this is the best alternative for 'tiger sighting' for tourists like us. On most safaris, you end up going around in circles without a sighting. By organising this 'tiger show', tourists can get at least one glimpse of the king (or queen) of the forest. Most of these 'shows' take place when the tiger is located at a distance from the road. Spotting these tigers who are far away from the forest road is impossible without these elephants. From the safari jeep, you climb onto the back of the elephant and are then taken into the woods where the tiger is spotted. I think Kanha and Bandhavgarh are the only parks where they have this arrangement, though I might be wrong.
Video: One of the four videotapes of our trip to Kanha in January 2005.
That is the thing with tigers and leopards. These fine felines are highly reclusive, and seeing them in the wild is a privilege. The Kisli area, for example, is largely leopard territory. For them, the fringes of the core area of the park is safe haven. The chances of crossing paths with a tiger or, worse, getting into a conflict over territory are much lesser. In January 2005 when the whole lot of us - Arvind, Anupam, Astik, Govind, Kaushal, Madhav, and I - were put up at the dormitory, we often stood in the veranda after dark, constantly chattering and playing the fool with each other. One evening, the conversation veered towards Quantum Physics - of which I know nothing - and Theories of Relativity and shit like that. All the result of much alcohol and dope, though I wasn't a drinker in those days. Yes, I was a non-drinker once, would you believe that!
I was recording the silly conversations on the handycam when, all of a sudden, Arvind says, "Dude, do you get this feeling that you're being watched?"
 |
| The lone light bulb in the veranda at the dormitory |
"Hey yes, I was just thinking the same thing!" Kaushal said. A sudden silence descended on the group. We were looking over our shoulders, squinting at the woods around us, scanning the barely visible outline of the tall grass around the dormitory, looking for a stalking leopard or tiger. We saw nothing, but we certainly felt it. We knew we were being watched.
"Come on, let's go indoors," we said and shut and bolted the door behind us.
No comments:
Post a Comment