A safari in tiger country

Geetanjali Krishna encounters a sprightly leopard and a magnificent tigress out on a kill

The peacocks cry in unison as the sun dips lower on the horizon. We’re walking down the steps of the Ranthambore Fort, stopping to gaze upon the jungles and the lake below. The teenagers amongst us are taking selfies, while the adults, as is our wont on family vacations, are discussing dinner plans.

Just then, without any warning, a leopard crosses the road ahead of us. We stand in stupefied silence, watching it disappear into the undergrowth. “Did you take photographs?” asks my cousin. Unsurprisingly, none of us has. Just then, there is a slight rustle. Then, all of a sudden, the leopard leaps up to a seven-foot high branch and in the same motion, grabs a langur by its neck. The crack of its breaking neck echoes across the ramparts. With its prey dangling upside down from its mouth, the big cat noiselessly jumps off the tree and melts into the jungle. When we slowly get our collective breath back, we realise we still don’t have any photographs. But I suspect we’re going to dine off this story for a long time to come.  

For the sheer thrill of spotting big cats in the wild, Ranthambore is unparalleled. Once the scenic hunting ground of the royals of Jaipur, today it is spread across 392 sq km and is home to 55 tigers and nine cubs, and a growing population of leopards. 

I call on YK Sahu, field director of the park, to get an overview of the park. “The park’s most unique feature is that it’s very open, making animals easier to track,” he says. “Also, it has a fascinating blend of history and wildlife.” He tells me how, when the legendary Tiger Man Fateh Singh Rathore took over as wildlife warden of Ranthambore in 1971, there were no tigers left in the forest. In what was a first for Indian wildlife conservation, Rathore relocated 13 hamlets — nearly 10,000 families — to return the forest to some of its old glory.

 Today, the forest is thriving, as are its tigers.  “We’re witnessing the highest- ever tiger population in Ranthambore presently,” says Subhadeep Bhattacharjee, the young ecologist and field biologist of Ranthambore Tiger Conservation Foundation. “The park has reached capacity.” 

Bhattacharjee’s words give cause for optimism the next morning as we enter Zone 3, the picturesque area beneath the fort. Herds of sambar, spotted deer and wild boar graze by the lake, and as Sahu said, the open forest affords intimate viewing opportunities. Male deer lock horns over territory at the beginning of their mating season, while females graze unconcerned nearby. 

Soon, we approach a marshy lake and that’s when we see her. Arrowhead, the magnificent granddaughter of Ranthambore’s best-known tigress, Machli, has just killed a faun. She settles down on the water’s edge to eat, royally unconcerned about the growing number of Jeeps that have congregated around her by now. For the next half an hour, we watch her eat, enjoy a post-prandial swim and emerge from the water like a heroine from a James Bond movie, shaking off water from her gorgeous tawny coat.

That evening, folks at Tiger Den, the comfortable lodge we’re staying in, are agog with the news that a tigress strayed into a neighbouring resort. She’s being pushed out of her territory by her more powerful mother and sibling. 

Crowding in Ranthambore is prompting several tigers to migrate to other locations, a source of potential man-animal conflict. Earlier, Sahu and Bhattacharjee had told me that a Ranthambore tiger was found 150 km away in Kota and another in Datia in Madhya Pradesh. Clearly, the present imperative is to revive old animal corridors and develop protected areas adjoining the park. To do so, more villages will have to be relocated. Rathore died a couple of years ago, and I wonder if there’s anyone who will take on his mantle.

Later at the Sawai Madhopur railway station where every inch is covered in paintings of the flora and fauna of Ranthambore, I wonder if a day will dawn when the only place to see the denizens of Ranthambore will be here.  It’s a sobering thought, and I raise a silent cheer for the Tiger Man and all those who’ve followed him, who’ve helped resurrect this forest and its spectacular denizens.  

A spotted deer

Ruins in the jungle. Photo: Anusha Sharma