Into Bijrani
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| At Bijrani - ready for the wild |
Afternoon sun was beating down on us as our gypsy glided into the wilderness, yet the touch of it felt cool on our skin. The dense foliage gave way to open grassland after twenty minutes into the safari. Until now no animal had crossed the road or any bird had flown by. The silence of the forest was only scattered by the screeching of our vehicle tyres on the graveled path and the monotonous rehearsed words of Mr. Jagdish Negi ji (our guide) who had made himself quite comfortable on the front seat. Wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks, deep set eyes with furry brows overcasting them hinted of him spending a considerable time of his life in these forests. His knowledge of its flora and fauna was sizeable. His potbelly bounced whenever the vehicle took a bump over the rocks. He would then involuntarily rearrange himself in the crumped space of the rugged seat and continue with his narration.
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| The Spotted deer stag |
His dozy voice crawled through, "Sir, you will find Spotted deer, sambar deer, barking deer in this zone commonly... if lucky you can spot Elephants around the grassland and along the river. At the terminal point of the safari we will stop at the watch tower from which you can have a wonderful view of the river and grassland."
"And Tigers?", I poked in.
Instead of answering, he momentarily glanced to the right, into the bushes and announced raising a finger in that direction, "Chittal". And there were the first animals of the day, a pair of Spotted deer (Axis axis) grazing just few feet away. One of them raised his head while our vehicle passed by. It was stag with a magnificent set of antlers which could seduce the most ravishing doe. He stood proud, head raised, snout high, commanding posture... the subtle grass in his mouth was the only dent of a perfect picture. Now, who says only tigers can be majestic!
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| Bijrani Forest Guest House |
There were already many gypsies lined up at the Bijrani rest house when we drove in. The campus houses a forest guest house constructed back in 1928 like a British "dak bunglow', few staff quarters lining the edges and an elephant camp that shelters two forest department elephants and a calf. Electric fencing though secures the yard, yet I feared wild animals could still sneak in during the dark hours. A part of me wondered what it would feel like staying here at night - the sounds of the jungle, darkness veiling animals who lurked just few yards away and a sense of diminution as a human would acknowledge in the vastness of the Indian wild. A fantasy I still harbor in my bosom. After a quick snack we were back on the dirt road.
October, the winter was just rolling in as one could feel the chill of the mountain gale. Sailing through the wind came the call of a Brown fish owl (Bubo zeylonensis) - "too-whoo -hoo". Perched somewhere in the high canopy beneath the hillock on the right, he seemed to greet us. Or perhaps it was to intimidate its prey. A sound I believe can give you nightmares when heard in the darkness of a night. Yet, somehow to me it was like a chime resonating from the heart of Corbett's wilderness. Squinting my eyes I scanned the canopy with my binoculars to have a glimpse of it. After several minutes of intense search, my eyes stared to ache and I gave up. Its large speckled brown body seemed to have consolidated with the dark brown bark of the trees. Camouflage, that's the way of nature. I remember elders in our village's saying, "Animals are the children of the forest whom she holds dear to her bosom, shielding them from any preying eyes.". I believe it now.
Grunting at my failure to spot the owl I urged Negi ji to drive on. His consoling words provided some relief though at heart I wished I could see it- "Don't be disheartened Sir. You might spot some Griffon vultures (Gyps himalyayensis) near the riverbed. They are even larger than the Fish owl."
Meeting the Elephants
The river bed was quite dry with a petite stream dancing down among the rocks. Tall elephant grass also called Napier grass (Pennisetum purpureum) fanned out long to the farthest corner our eyes could see. A sense of claustrophobia set in as our vehicle infiltrated through them on the way to the river bed. While we were trying to cope with the surrounding walls of green, a sudden burst of musky-earthly smell took us by surprise. And we heard them before we could see them, the gentle rumble of their deep throated declaration of their presence was evident to our ears. We stopped by. I climbed up on the back seat and up the railing to get a better view to which Mr. Negi did not protest. He had sank down in his seat with drowsy eyes, his belly rumbling in synchrony with the elephants' grumble. A little rustle in the grass some yards to our left and a minute bulge of the greyish hump was all that I could see. Amazing it is to note that how such a huge animal silently disappears among these foliage. Ahhh... Elephant grass. Their padded feet muffled any sound while they walked. Their gigantic frame moved like a shadow among the blades of tall grass. The Elephants (Elephas maximus indicus) seemed to be moving towards the river and that's where we headed to before they got there.
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| The elephant herd crossing the river |
We parked the gypsy right on the edge of the dirt road near the river front. With my camera ready, I was back on the top of the gypsy railings. And we didn't had to wait long. First it was the matriarch who made her appearance. Swinging gently like a leaf in the breeze and the trunk held loose she gracefully made her approach to the river. Two calves and seven cows( Female elephants) followed her lead. The silhouettes of the pachyderms streaked across the Teria landscape was a surreal sight. It felt like a photograph from distant past when these pachyderms' ancestors, Stegodont ganesha would have crossed these rivers in a similar demeanor. The young calves were a little brattish and often ventured away from the herd. A shrill trumpet from their mothers was enough to send them running back to the shelter of their mothers' underbelly. We watched this little herd till the last of them vanished into the tall grass on the opposite bank. This encounter is still sketched bright and clear in my heart - my first tryst with the gentle giants of the Indian jungles.
The Watchtower
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| The Watch tower and the grasslands |
The watchtower stood at the end of the trail, footed at the edge of the forest and overlooking the vast grassland. True to his words, Mr. Negi did manage to get us there before other gypsies arrived. From the elevated platform of watchtower the view was one to behold. The elephant grass glowed golden in the slanting rays of the sun, the pools of water glittered and the rocks on the river bed emerged like a disoriented pebbled path. The trees beyond the grassland formed a formidable wall of dark green, while amongst them hillocks popped up here and there. The horizon seemed multilayered with overlapping mountainous silhouettes. Each getting lighter at the farther end to finally merge with the sky beyond. Somewhere beyond them lied the mighty Himalayas, out of reach of our paltry vision. Someday I wished to visit them as well. Mr. Negi said, often tigers dragged their prey into these tall grass to have an uninterrupted meal. Lucky if we might be, we might sight one as two days back a tigress had made a sambar deer kill on the right bank some hundred yards from the watchtower. I was quite skeptical of a sighting though, for one my luck is not a strong attribute of mine and besides sighting a tiger in the grass where elephants disappear without a trace was next to impossible. Twenty minutes after ascending the tower we climbed down with no animal sighting at all - not even a deer.
Dance of the Barking Deer
The forest was far too silent for a late winter afternoon. On a typical day it would have been echoing with chirping of returning birds and calls of animals. Mr. Negi also raised his concern. "Bhai, sab gaye kahan?" - he muttered under his breath. We stopped by and put our ears to use for any call or any rustle among the leaves. Time ticked by and nothing changed, just silence aided by a clement breeze that came in from the river.
Finally Mr. Negi's patience also gave out, "Chalo bhai, nikalte hain waqt ho chala hay.". Not a moment had passed after the driver ignited the engine, two muntjacs (Munitacus muntjac) came rushing from the forest. Passing right in front of our gypsy vanished into the bushes on the left.
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| The Barking deer pair |
A moment later they rushed back, now form the rear of the vehicle and vanished to the right. It felt like flashes of reddish-brown zapping around our vehicle like lighting on a stormy sky. We waited, for we knew they would show again. After a brief period of time, crackling of the leaves near the undergrowth confirmed our prophecy. On this occasion the walk was more elegant, cautious and lacked the hurriedness. Appearing from the bushes was a doe(female). Close on her heels was a bulk(male) in his prime. He sniffed the rear of the doe, tongue protruding and head slightly raised, he seemed lost in a realm of delirious love. Struck by cupid, undoubtedly. The doe however took her own time to flaunt. With a raised tail which flashed a speck of white, she walked a few steps and stopped to lure the bulk to follow. With hormones taking over, the thick reddish fur of the bulk's winter coat flared with the sensuality. His antlers half covered with fur bent backwards resembling a feathery crown. The trademark canine of this unique deer peered through the upper lips shining like ivory. Attempts of seduction by the doe were promptly answered by the bulk. There seemed to be no hurry and both went on with their own pace. We stood audience.
"Yeh raha aapka bijayta.", announced Mr. Negi. Apparently he explained the ordeal - the previous chasing around we witnessed was a fight for the lady among two bulks. The victorious male had chased away his adversary and now was cherishing his well acclaimed prize. We silently watched the dance of the two wild lovers that has been a routine drama in this wilderness for time immemorable. Amidst this we failed to acknowledge the sun that was going down on the far west horizon. Soon it became too dark to see the reddish antelopes among the dense bushes. Leaving the barking deer in their attempt at a new generation we rode off into the golden dust.
The Last Souvenir
All safaris into the wild do not promise you a guaranteed sighting of the king of the jungle. Mostly it's like a drive into the forest with an unyielding venture. Yet, what you truly seek in the forest defines if that trip was worth it. I will not deny the fact that our prime reason for being in Corbett was tigers and tigers only, yet I also announce that memories that I will be taking away from this land are far more precious than I ever imagined. No Tigers in this Corbett's trip - that is what we had accepted. The sun had already bade its adieu for the day and the air was getting cold. The little light that lit the sky and the forest was mere ruminants of the fading sun. Our gypsy had just entered the river bed on the far end when the driver stopped. He bend over his driver's window and starred into the mud next to the vehicles. Curiously, we bent over the ledge to see what he was intensely looking at.
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| The Tiger's pugmark |
"Tiger" - he said.
And there on the wet mud lay the pugmark of a tiger staring back at us.
"I am here.", it promulgated.
"I will be back for ya." - I replied.
DISCLAIMER - The cover picture is courtesy of Mr. Rahul Rao. And three other pictures in the article also belong to different photographers, on which I do not lay claim. They rightfully belong to the respective owners.
