Vance

 

Wanderlust  3

Prologue  5

One  6

Two  23

Three  42

Four  78

Five  102

Six  122

Seven  139

Eight  152

Nine  163

Ten  186

Eleven  199

Twelve  214

Epilogue  232

Wanderlust

North, East, West and South

Now that’s how NEWS is made

The bigger delight on your plate

Is the wanderlust it creates.

I want to travel to hills beyond

And sail the open seas,

Beyond the shingle, seaweed shells

Where birds still roam free.

Trapped in cages with golden bars

Off archaic habits and duties,

Life will pass and we wouldn’t know

The fragrant world and her beauties

Sometimes you’ve no reason to stay,

know it’s a perfect reason to go,

It will give you courage to know

That is the perfect method to grow.

And if you can’t leave your roost

Then take recourse to books

It transports you to distant lands

And creates new friends, you never had

Just open a book and in you stride

Where nobody else can find you

You’ve left your chair, your house, your road,

Your town and the world behind you

Prologue

This could easily have been just another adventure story; however, it is far more than just that. This is a story of kindness, of loyalty and everlasting friendship that used very few words and yet communicated, from the heart. 

A simple tale of connection — A story that spanned over just one year but will haunt for a lifetime. 

It goes on. The cycle of births and deaths, young ones born and old withering away, in an unabated circle of life, but every once in a while comes along a moment, an act of kindness, a whim, an adventure, that not only challenges norms, enhances perceptions but gets you to connect with nature. 

Your Nature

One

Road To Freedom

The clock on the dashboard glowed 17:30; two flashing green dots a constant reminder of time, passing swiftly but surely. Seconds, turning into minutes, hours into days and weeks moving into years. On and on it marches on, in a relentless pursuit of the unknown, giving us little time to play catch-up, as years move towards sunset. 

The sunlight was starting to fade; at a distance, visible through a haze of rising dust was an orange glow sousing the sky, creating a dreamscape of ochre shades, between light and dark, growing even darker, as I drove directly into it. It was that time between day and night when the light had started to wane, but darkness still hadn't descended; dusk; corresponding to dawn, when drivers couldn't decide, whether they should or should not, switch on headlights. I decided to switch them on, with the purpose of doing something other than sitting behind the wheel. 

King—my Ford Endeavour and I, had been driving; swallowing up brightly lit hot afternoon roads steadily, for the last four hours and forty minutes, since our previous halt on the outskirts of Betul, a small village town, where king was pampered with fresh fuel and water scrub while I ate a hearty meal. It would be another two hours, at least, before we made a night halt at Nagpur. 

 

I would have easily missed the milestone, if not for a cow, crossing the highway in no hurry to reach anywhere. She swayed lazily, stopped, looked in the direction of the oncoming traffic and then moved some more. Each movement, a deliberate attempt, as if she meant to stall the rush of vehicles. Where was everyone headed, in such a hurry? It said, 'Nagpur 95 kilometres' in bold black letters. A green board, next to it, with large signs painted in white, a common adornment on highways, showed an arrow pointing right towards the' Pench Tiger Reserve.' Slightly ahead was another signboard with the words WEL COME TO EXPLORE — the space in between pronounced for good effect. 

A caricature of a tiger, standing on two hind legs waving with its right paw, was painted over it and from the signs of fading colour, under layers of dust, it was evident that it must have been installed a long time back. The words Pench Tiger Reserve, Maharashtra were painted at the bottom of the board. 

The cow was there for a good reason; my life was about to change, altogether. Only, at that moment, I could not see it. 

______

A long empty stretch of road is often all you need, and your life becomes apparent in front of you.

I was on the second month of a two-month notice period, post-resignation—a honeymoon period; if we still showed up at work regularly, the management was grateful. This was on the last leg of a business tour; handing over charge of the western region to incumbent Vice President—Harish Mehra. 

My final assignment was to introduce him to some of the organisation's primary business partners. When we were planning the itinerary, I had suggested making the 3200 kilometres round trip by road. Harish, the incumbent VP and Dev, the Admin. manager baulked aloud at the suggestion as if I had asked them to jump from a roof. Later, I could sense that Harish was warming to a sense of adventure. This worried me, as I was looking forward to the drive, with no one for company, much less him, an unknown quantity. Before he could firm up his mind, I decided for both of us. He would travel by air or train, depending on the city, while I would drive. In each city, we would meet up and conduct meetings together. That was that, and that was settled. He agreed to our arrangement willingly, to my relief, and as scheduled, I left Mumbai a day ahead of him. 

Now near the end of our trip, I wasn't particularly looking forward to rejoining Head office especially as I had resolved to leave the organisation, and had offered my unconditional resignation, as soon as I became aware that I was being used as a front, in a massive cover job of Ponzi schemes.

The cow was still halfway down the road, utterly unperturbed by the blaring horns from the vehicles. All at once, I felt weary and decided to break away for a while, from the commotion, the highway and the cacophony around. A few metres ahead, under a large banyan tree, I spotted a small structure with a thatched roof and mud walls. I couldn't have wished for better sight at that moment. A ubiquitous road-side tea stall is an unadulterated sight of joy to the tired and road weary. It conjures up images of rustling winds, stretching fields and miles of solitude with a hot cup in hand. I turned the car onto the 

dirt road running parallel to the highway, descended a few feet and came to a halt outside the stall. As soon as I alighted, happy to be able to stretch my leg and arch my back, a young boy ran up to me and asked for my order. "A cup of tea and biscuits, if he had some," I told him. He ran off before I could complete the whole sentence and without any acknowledgement that he had even heard me. Egged on by an older man, behind a waist-high counter, who I believed to be the owner and perhaps the boy's father, Hari, moved between tables, negotiating deftly with cups of tea and saucers in one hand and a cleaning cloth in the other. He reappeared within five minutes with a cup of tea covered by a stainless steel saucer that held four varieties of single biscuits. I chose to keep all four. Surprised, he smiled at me and ran away shouting another order to the person behind the counter. When I asked for the second cup of tea, only a few guests remained, so Hari brought the second cup leisurely, smiling to himself, possibly happy to find a free moment in his busy day. I offered a biscuit to him. He looked in the direction of the counter, perhaps instructed not to befriend travellers, and he declined it but was happy to answer a few questions. 

"What is Pench?" I asked him.

It's a national park sir, he replied, a matter of factly, as if he had answered the same question, several times in the past. "It's also a tiger reserve."

"The Royal Bengal," he said with a definite hint of pride, "if you hurry, you'll still make it for the last safari into the jungle. 

They come out for a drink during dusk and dawn, the rest of the day is too warm, he said with an air of authority over the subject."

"Sir," his eyes probing my face "are you interested in these things?" I could see a look of disbelief on his face, undoubtedly unaccustomed to city-dwellers showing much interest in wildlife. After all, unless you lived and worked close to a forest, such trips were uncommon and would be undertaken only under a guided tour. Only if he knew. My burning ambition is to be on an endless adventure. I wonder how people gather moss, in one place? This life will never come back again and damn the seekers of after-life.

"Yes, very interested," I replied, and he seemed pleased with the answer. "I better hurry along if I have to make it in time for the safari." He nodded vigorously. I paid him for tea, two bottles of water and a few packets of biscuits. 

His face lit up when I pressed a generous tip into his palms. He called after me, "All the best sir." 

I waved back and climbed into the car with a spring in my stride. Something told me that I would see him again and soon, even though our lives were separated by seventeen hours and seven hundred kilometres. Traffic had started moving briskly as the object of hindrance was idly grazing by the side of the road. I turned the car and headed in the direction of Pench. King negotiated the dirt road authoritatively as we climbed back on the highway. 

A few metres off the highway, beyond the opening stretch, the landscape changed completely. Darkness descended as if a light switch had been turned off. After the vast open grasslands dotting sides of the highway, this was a narrow and deeply shaded path, surrounded by tall teak trees mixed with species of Saja, Lendia, Salai, Aonla and Amaltas. The road was paved and relatively well-maintained but broad enough for only one vehicle to pass at a time. I hoped no one was travelling in my direction since besides the lights from headlamps, it was pitch dark and going off the side in an unfamiliar terrain could be fraught with danger. Bamboo, scattered amongst white Kulu trees, also called ghost trees, shivered conspicuously in the breeze, creating an eerie spectacle, as moving beans from headlamps lit them briefly. Mahua trees, used by locals to brew beer, were in abundance. The thought of frothing cold beer was unwinding and but only a momentarily welcome distraction. "Later, if time permitted," I said aloud to the darkness around. 

The clock on the dashboard was now showing 18:01. So much had happened in the last half-hour and yet time seemed to move slowly in these parts. The drive was endless, as it often occurs when the destination is unknown. Pitch darkness also made time stand still. After a few more turns and excruciatingly long moments of apprehension the road widened, the surrounding flora thinned out, and an open area came into view. The last remnants of daylight faintly outlined the massive gates of the Forest Reserve. Although the actual gates were not too large, the structure supporting them rose thirty feet into the air, made up of three tall pillars that supported a horizontal beam across giving it an impression of a gate guarding a medieval castle. 

Printed in large red lettering across the horizontal beam were the words Project Tiger engraved both in English and Hindi. 

The gates were shut and secured with a log placed horizontally across them at the bottom. It was evident that it must have taken a posse of at least ten strong men or more to get that log into place. A small opening on the left of this structure was open for people on foot to pass. A guard halted people and verified papers before allowing people to cross the threshold into the park. 

I parked in an area marked "Private Vehicles" and rushed towards the guard in the faint glow of a tiny light, fixed above the guard's gate, illuminating the path. I made hurried enquiries and was directed towards an office inside. 

Two

Forest Range Officer

FROs, as they are commonly called, are gazetted, officers. They are responsible for the forests, environment and matters related to wildlife within a state or a Union Territory of India. 

The sign on the office door read, Amolkar Jadhav, Forest Reserve Officer. 

He was of medium height with a thick crop of dark hair neatly trimmed and styled, combed left with a such a distinct parting that it gave an impression that he spent some time in front of the mirror getting it right, every time. His eyes sparkled, and he had a robust colour on his face, the reward of a healthy lifestyle and surroundings. He was in his early forties but could easily pass for mid-thirties if he wore something casual and tousled his hair. 

The immaculately ironed Khakhi uniform and Khakhi hat, a prescribed uniform surely, gave him an older authoritarian look. On seeing me enter, he rose and extended his hand. His face lit up like a young boy when he smiled. I offered my hand in return and shook his outstretched palm. 

"Shubeer Bose," I announced. He shook it warmly and offered me a chair. Without making any small talk, as time was of real essence here, I asked him directly, 

"Has the last safari left?" 

On my way to his office, I had spotted a sign that said the last safari left at 6 pm. I was hoping I had made it on time or it was delayed per IFT—Indian Flexible Time, but couldn't be sure unless confirmed by him. 

"Have I missed them? I asked again. Is there some way I can catch-up with them?" Without giving him a chance to respond, I replied to my question. "Maybe, I can. It's been only ten minutes; they couldn't have gone far."

I knew what his response would be, guessing from the lack of activity outside; I had missed the action for the evening, including the last tour. 

"Which vehicle do you drive?" he asked, catching me completely by surprise.

"A four-wheel drive, Ford Endeavour" I replied, eagerly.

"Come back at 4:30 am tomorrow. You can drive your car into the forest. Our safari jeeps will accompany you, one ahead and one behind," he clarified. "The first safari leaves exactly at 4:40 am every day unless we have to wait for a few late visitors. 

Even then, it is never more than five minutes late. You need to make a permit for your vehicle and yourself before you can take the trip. If you wish, we can complete the formalities now. It will save a few minutes in the morning. Unfortunately, the last safari left minutes ago." 

I had my answer, finally. I thought about his offer for a while. He stared at me, waiting for an answer, before averting his eyes to the open files on his desk. He only looked up again only when I said, 

"Yes, I think I will come back tomorrow morning." 

He opened a drawer, drew out a piece of paper, and plucked a pen from the holder. "Let me see an ID, please." I offered him my taxpayer card. He took it and looked at it quizzically before reading aloud 

"S-H-U-B-E-E-R? Don't Bengalis spell it without the H?"

"Yes, we do mister Jadhav," I said, smiling. "Bengalis often confound others with anglicised names but native pronunciations. They will spell Mitter, pronounce Mitro or spell Prakash but mean, Prokash. I decided early in my life that I had to keep it simple. If it is meant to be Shubeer, it needed to spell like that too. But here is the thing. Bengali names, unlike some in this world, is not a mere play of phonetics but a depiction of a celestial phenomenon." 

He seemed very pleased with the explanation because he exclaimed loudly, "Wonderful, it's nice to meet clear-headed people. Years of cohabiting with animals have taught me a few things, the most profound among them being, animals don't possess any guile. They act and behave exactly how they think and how nature intended them to be." 

"Please allow me to fill this up, and you'll be done soon." Saying that he sat down, stretched out the form in front of him and began. I returned his smile evenly and couldn't help being enamoured by his simple rustic charm.

As I was about to turn around and leave, he pulled his spectacles down over his nose and looked at me over them. 

"Have a look at the souvenir shop, behind this office, he said, pointing to the wall behind him. It has quite a few interesting articles and books." 

I located a sign "Souvenirs" with an arrow pointing right, outside his office. I had to walk around the building as the shop was directly behind his office, separated by a common wall. 

From the store, I bought a torch, a hat and a leather handbag. The last one, only because it had the words' Jungle Book' printed on the flap. 

The attendant explained that this place was the venue of one of Rudyard Kipling's famous novel—a sanctuary named after Mowgli, was indeed a part of the forest. From his show of enthusiasm, at the end of a working day, it was apparent that he was offering this explanation to the first visitor that day. 

The walk back to the car was almost in darkness. The guard had switched off the lamp, the only one in the whole area, above his cabin, possibly saving electricity; to be switched on closer to the time the safari returned. The glow from the phone torch was enough to find my way back to the car. Once inside, I first ensured that all windows were still rolled up and then fired the ignition. King and I slowly made our way back towards the highway and then continue further on to Nagpur. At one spot in the middle of nowhere, I abruptly stopped the vehicle. I was overcome by the desire to feel the looming presence of darkness and solitude. The moment I turned off the ignition and lights, audible darkness descended on me. Sound and sight of nothing are staggeringly disquieting. 

How can dark be dark? I knew now. My own hands were not visible. I could not muster sufficient courage to step out, just sat there, for few seconds, even one minute would have been like an eternity, before firing the ignition and fervently hoping that it sparked instantly. Fortunately, it did, and we were on our way. 

The real adventure was only just beginning. 

______

Two hours later, I was sitting in the middle of a busy street, horns blaring, lights glaring, far from peace and solitude of nature, at a garden cafe on the ground floor, on the lawns of hotel Star Residency, enjoying an early dinner. The open-air restaurant was conveniently located as I did not wish to venture further into the crowded city. The place was scattered with people from all parts of the country. Every table was occupied, and everyone was talking at the same time. A cold breeze blew from the West, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The winter chill was yet to set in. Combination of hot dinner and cool breeze made the evening very pleasurable, and I soon found myself inebriated on weariness. I had to get some early sleep if I planned to drive back to Pench by 2:30 am, although I knew sleep would be as elusive as a lid on an oil jar. The harder I tried, the more it would slip out of my grip. 

At 9 pm; still an early evening in Mumbai, I pulled the heavy drapes to cut off light from the street, changed into sleepwear trying to trick my mind and climbed into bed. I tried deep-breathing first, focus on each breath as it entered and exited my body, then switched to slow blinking hoping eyelids tired and closed automatically. After what seemed like the five-hundredth blink, I gave up. Unable to bear the torture, and believe me it is, of a sleepless, restless mind, 

I sat upright, got out of bed, showered, packed and headed to the all-night coffee shop on the ground floor. At 2:15 am, I was checked out and ready to leave, to the complete surprise of the front office manager on duty. 

"Is something wrong, Sir?" Is the room uncomfortable?" He asked, looking very concerned

Before I could respond, he added "Should I change it for you?"

"No, no, I am fine, and the room was very comfortable. I could not sleep as I have to be at Pench by 4 am. Everything was just fine." 

He turned towards his colleague, seated next to him and passed some instructions. Then he sat down on his chair and began completing the paperwork. There were no other guests at the counter at this ungainly hour, the last check-in of an international airline crew had ended an hour back, he informed me. The colleague obliged almost instantly and pushed his chair back. He strode out of the cubicle and went out through a door at the back. While the manager was handing me the credit card and receipt back, a bearer came from the end of a passage and presented me with a flask and three paper cups. 

"This is for the way. Hope you enjoy the coffee and your trip." 

The manager insisted on seeing me off personally and even offered to carry my bag. We shook hands warmly, and I could see him in the rearview mirror, still waiting by the door, waving, as the car drew out of the porch and out of the gate. 

The clock on the dashboard showed 02:30.

Three

Our first meeting

The road back to Pench seemed much shorter, as it happens so often once the route becomes familiar. It was exactly 04:00 when I parked outside Turiya gate. I had made a mental map of the path previous evening, and followed the light to the office. Sitting behind the desk was the same officer I had met yesterday, looking sharp and agile, despite the early hour.

"When do you sleep?" I asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 

The tone made its mark because he stood up, smiled warmly and said, "Ahh, mister Bose, welcome, welcome again," he walked around his desk with his hand extended.

"You are early. Couldn't sleep, I would say." 

"Good morning, officer, you couldn't either, I see."

"On the contrary Sir," he replied cheerfully, "out here, life moves at a very different pace. We lock 

up after the last safari returns, which is normally around seven thirty, have dinner almost immediately and are sound asleep by nine, latest nine-thirty. Animal activity is highest during the early hours of the day and we have to follow their timeline rather than our own." He laughed at his own remark and I joined in. 

"There is fresh coffee in the pot, please help yourself if you like some."

I poured myself a large cup, held it close to my nose and inhaled deeply. The smell of freshly roasted beans does to a body what sunlight does to the world. Fills it vigorously and vibrantly. Though I really cannot distinguish one coffee from another I was certain this was no instant mix, the flavour indicated it had been freshly roasted and ground. Full bodied and yet light and very smooth to taste. 

"I'll wait outside and enjoy the quiet of a forest morning," I said. 

He seemed to understand the sentiment as he nodded repeatedly and smiled. 

I stepped out of his office and wondered, if we were getting blinded by excessive lights in a city. The faint glow through the glass on his office door was adequate to see my way around the verandah clearly. The boundary was marked by a broad wooden railing running through the length of it. I placed the cup on the railing and stared into the void. As my eyes adjusted slowly, I spotted a group of people approaching. Three of them turned out to be officials while the rest of group made up of guests for the morning safari. One of the officials, introduced himself as Manish Mathur and shook my hand. 

"If you are ready, please get into your vehicle and meet us near that shed," he said, pointing towards a cabin, adjacent to the main gate. "However, before we leave, please listen carefully to these instructions." He summoned everyone closer and asked us to fan out in a semi-circle.

 

"Under no circumstances will you step out of your vehicle. Your vehicle," he looked at me directly, "has to remain between our vehicles at all times, maintain speed limits strictly and do not sound the horn. Is that clear?" 

His tone was crisp, leaving no room for negotiation or explanations. I nodded and gulped the remnants of my coffee. Then for the benefit of everyone, he added "And one more thing, recently we received some bad news. A man-eater is on the prowl in this area. Already, a few stray villagers have become prey. Despite putting up large warning signs and speaking to the heads of the villages individually, the villagers find chinks in the fence and get in, to collect fire woods and flowers. What is more disturbing is that poachers have also been spotted in this area, trying to stake a claim to the man-eater hunt and as is wont with them, they are behaving quite indiscriminately. What began as combing operation to flush out a man-eater, has descended into greed and remorseless killing, while the man-eater has eluded everyone so far. Presence of poachers, agitate the animals endlessly, so we have to be abundantly cautious. Forest officers in Maharashtra are authorised to shoot poachers down." He paused, looked around at each one of us, making sure that we understood every word. Only when he saw heads nodding did he continue, "

As you can imagine, they may return fire or create blockades in our path. Yesterday we received reports that a female tiger was shot dead in the Chindwara area of the park. Rangers reported that she was an adult female with six cubs and all of them have fled from the kill site and scattered around the jungle. They will be hungry, terrified and may become prey to other animals leading to further carnage. Unfortunately, it wasn't the man-eater. This is the jungle. It belongs to them. It is their home. Everyone else is a guest, and much like us, they also do not tolerate pesky guests. Please be attentive at all times and above all show respect to their home. Is that clear?"

We nodded obediently, like a group of students surrounding a school principal. There was nothing to be said, except comply, so we nodded in acknowledgement and looked at each other.

______

Four guests and three officials climbed onboard two jeeps while I got into mine. When the convoy was ready, my vehicle between the other two, we began our journey into the jungle.

The portion of road visible ahead, illuminated by headlights, seemed spacious enough for two cars to pass at the same time. The dirt track consisting of four lanes, one set each for vehicles coming from both directions, was separated throughout by a grassy patch running through their centres, created by vehicles traversing repeatedly over them. Volumes of dust flew from the tyres but as we were travelling at a very slow pace it wasn't bothersome enough to hinder driving. It had become noticeably cooler no sooner than we had travelled hundred metres into the jungle. A fresh sweet smell, coming off Mahua trees, wafted through the open window and filled the car. I turned up my collar and raised the window slightly, as a precautionary measure, somehow it seemed the best thing to do, in this cold dark morning in the middle of a forest, rather than against the cold breeze. Using air-conditioning would have been an insult. 

We drove in perfect formation, maintaining distance and speed, for nearly quarter of an hour. Up ahead I could see a wide glade, where trees fell away, revealing a speckled sky. The last of the morning's stars were glinting like silver pinpricks, luminous and bright. 

A gold moon hung quietly in the distance, casting a honeyed sheen over the trees. Abruptly, the morning air was disrupted by a melodious tone, emerging from a knot of trees. A solitary songbird was inviting her choir. As if on cue, it was soon joined by other beaked companions, creating a symphony of song. The sap sweet fragrance of the forest washed over me. The forest glade looked freeze frame perfect in the subdued light of full dawn. If there is heaven on earth anywhere, this place would certainly have made the shortlist. 

The plan was to travel to a particular spot and change mode of transport. Mahouts with their elephants would be waiting for our arrival. 

______

The vehicle ahead slowed down perceptibly and we had to follow suit. After a few metres we came to a complete standstill over a narrow bridge. I could clearly see the boundary of the bridge; a raised block of bricks and cement, barely a feet above the ground. The patchy brownish paintwork still showed the original white colour at some spots giving an impression that a fresh coat had been applied recently, but haphazardly. The reason for stoppage, wasn't revealed immediately, though I could see some activity in front of the vehicle ahead of me. One of the officials had descended and immediately raised his hand to stop anyone else from following suit. He swerved his head in all directions, perhaps for presence of wildlife, before signalling once again, to all of us. It was safe to alight. I was out of the car, even before the others had time to react and instantly ran towards him. He held up a hand and stopped me in my tracks. He pointed ahead and put a finger to his lips. 

At the mouth of the bridge, blocking it, was a massive porcupine. It sat, or stood, I wasn't sure what, in the middle of the path. This was the second instance an animal had blocked my path but unlike the highway where impatient drivers blew horns unabashedly, here, attracting attention, was out of question, considered even dangerous and incongruent. We just had to wait and as quietly as possible. The officer turned around to face the vehicles and swept his hand across his throat giving us an indication to cut the engines. The headlights still remained on.

"Please don't make sudden movements," he looked at me and said, "there may be creatures lurking anywhere in the thickets. Constantly be aware of everything around you."

One by one the others alighted too and joined us. One of them, held up an expensive looking camera, hanging from his neck and clicked merrily. Two officers stood flanking the back.

"That is an Indian crested porcupine," the officer explained. "Viewed closely it looks like a large rodent, and weighs about 15 kilograms. Their bodies—from the nose to the base of the tail measures between 70–90 cm, with the tail adding an additional 8–10 cm. Very little is known about their lifespan but the oldest known captive individual was a female that lived to be 27.1 years. It is covered in multiple layers of modified hair called quills, either brown or black, with alternating white and black bands. Whenever the creature feels threatened it raises its quills." 

We could see quills standing erect on its back. 

"They are made of keratin," he continued, explaining further, "and are relatively flexible. The smaller quills at the base of tail are hollow. They are used to stab a potential threat and create rattling sounds when threatened. Contrary to popular belief, these crested porcupines, like other porcupines, cannot shoot their quills. The quills only serve as a protective shield against large predators. Many tigers have been known to be stabbed in the mouth, trying to hunt a porcupine. When it senses there is no direct threat from us, it will begin moving. Until then, we have to just wait."

"So they are not dangerous then?" A soft voice from somewhere at the back called out. She was the only female guest in our group.

The officer turned around, as did most of us, and looked in her direction. "If you mean dangerous as in aggressive, then no, they are not. They only attack if threatened. However porcupine quills aren't just a painful deterrent, they are deadly daggers that porcupines aren't afraid to use to kill." 

She had perhaps intended to have a closer look but did not seem excited anymore.

No one could be sure how long the hold-up would last. People decided to wait it out inside their vehicles and walked back and climbed in. I ambled towards the edge and peered down. A lush carpet of green blades of grass, scattered leaves, twigs and the thick undergrowth was all around. Morning dew was just beginning to glisten on edges. Everything was still. I could hear my breaths as I sucked in the fresh morning air deeply, greedily, holding it inside me for a while, giving it time, so that it could clean my lungs before releasing it through my mouth forcefully, so that every toxic city fume was expunged. In this luxurious lap of nature, where peace and quiet was a vivid experience, one could not imagine, lurking in the undergrowth, were dangerous predators, who could sense your presence without giving away their own vantage points. Human beings are perhaps the most vulnerable amidst nature and that's why they have had to resort to firearms to protect themselves. 

From a corner of my eye, I detected a slight movement in the grass. A yellowish shadow noiselessly moved, but before I could comprehend something, it was all still again. I strained my neck and moved closer to the edge, but there was nothing except shrubs. I was about to turn away when I saw it again; an apparition, barely visible, through the thick undergrowth. My first instinct was fear, at the thought of a giant snake making its way up, stealthily. Whatever it was, it was undoubtedly ascending the slope towards the road, towards the other side of the bridge. If this was another large animal, we could be waiting on that bridge, blocked on both ends, for quite a while. In an instant, it disappeared just as quickly as it had first appeared. I kept my eyes peeled to the spot where I had last seen the movement. For some time, there was nothing. Then a tiny motion again but higher up. A golden yellow figure. Was light playing tricks on my eyes? I was sure I had seen it move. Now the movement was steady. It was nearly level with the road. I turned around and saw two officers still staring ahead, lost in conversations. I walked further away from them, towards the other side of the bridge, drawn by curiosity despite fear, towards the creature moving up. I still can't explain what prompted me to do that, but I was drawn into it subconsciously.

There is something about the forest and her stealthy ways that both scares and attracts at the same time. I continued walking, past my car and then past the last jeep. The lady, an officer and a gentleman were deep in conversation, poring over a map or a manuscript of some kind. None of them noticed me, as I walked past. By the time I reached the other end, the creature was level with the road. I turned around once to ensure no one was looking in my direction me. The officers standing right in front were in deep conversation, and the people in the jeep were oblivious to anyone else. 

What I saw made me tremble and instantly explained it had been difficult to spot earlier. I became aware that I was taking quick small breaths. My hands felt clammy and inched closer to it. 

At the end of the bridge, was a small tiger cub, no bigger than a domestic cat. It looked frail, its sunken eyes dazed and confused. Later I learnt that really small tiger cubs are born blind. Maybe this one had just begun to gain sight. When it raised its head slowly and looked at me, the small amber eyes glowed softly, absolutely no terror in them. This was a far cry from the horror associated with their species. The smouldering, chatoyant eyes, were hungry and lost. Perhaps this one hadn't fully gained sight yet. When it blinked, I could not hold myself back and took a step closer. She tilted her head to a side and blinked again. I was transfixed by the tenderness in that look. As I locked my eyes with those eyes, I forgot to blink, as if the vision in front of me would disappear if I did that.

Had the cub been separated from its mother? Was it the same mother that was killed by poachers?

I was divided between two strong but equally opposite emotions. Bring it to the officer's attention and complete my civic duty and keep this little creature out of harm's way, or take it with me and nurture it. Why would such a thought come to me? Is still lost to me, but at that instant, in the middle of beautiful forest morning, if ever head and heart had differences, the head had no chance. Only raw emotions could rule. I had to make a decision and fast. The reactions from family and friends and the 

various legalities involved, including the challenge of nurturing a tiger, did not occur to me at that moment. I was consumed by desire. 

I stepped closer, a part of me hoping the cub backs away, disappear and I could rid myself of a dilemma, but it did not move, instead tilted its head as far back it could to look up at my face. I was overcome by an overpowering sense of compassion, for an otherwise powerful animal. 

It is often hardest to see vulnerability in strong people. I wanted to embrace it at once. I glanced over my shoulder to assess the situation. I was a few feet away from my vehicle. The windows were partly open. It would be easy to slip something through without creating a sound and fortunately everyone was occupied with something. I still had to walk past the last jeep, but that could be easily managed if I hid it in the fold of my jacket. If the cub did not make a fuss I could carry it to the car unnoticed. 

I dragged my feet closer and nudged it gently on its belly. It neither retracted or reacted, just sat there staring into my face. In one sweeping movement, I bent down, lifted the cub and stuffed my hand inside the jacket. 

It felt soft, light and furry and its underbelly, below my fingers rumbled. I felt the bony rib cage and strengthened my grip in the fear of dropping it. It made no attempts to wriggle out of my grasp. Through the open driver side window I placed it on the foot mat on the passenger side. Only after I had set it down securely, I walked around the car to the driver side and open the door. I climbed on board and rolled the window all the way up on the passenger side. 

The first part had gone down smoothly. There was another challenge to overcome, however, and it would present itself very soon. We were required to leave our vehicles and climb on elephant backs at a pre-decided point. I had to come up with an excuse to get out of it. Oddly, the ride on the elephants was to go deeper into the forest in quest of tiger spotting. I had spotted and had one of them with me in the car. 

I retrieved a towel from my bag and placed it over the head of the cub. It did not seem to mind the bit of warmth. I wanted this trip to end soon so that I could get him something to eat and drink. 

Meanwhile, the porcupine had decided to move out of our way, and we were on our way again. After a few minutes drive, the vehicles came to a halt once again. I alighted immediately, the instant we got the signal and stood outside the car. I waited till the guests from the jeep behind were level with me and matched their strides to walk over to the party in front. 

We were asked to form a semi-circle once again, as one of the officers seemed ready to issue new instructions. 

"The elephants will take us deep into the jungle. You've to constantly watch out for back-swings of branches overhead because it can dislodge you from that height. You may even spot a leopard or a snake on a branch. Elephants clear the path with their trunks so sit back firmly in the saddle and watch out. "And oh," he added, "don't make any sudden movements. If you spot an animal in one of those trees just inform the Mahout and leave it to him. He knows how to steer you out of trouble. Normally they wouldn't attack when people are in a group but it is difficult to predict their behaviour always. I could see people in the group exchange glances. 

I made up an excuse of an indigent stomach and told them about my inability to join them on elephant back. The official agreed but very grudgingly only after I assured him that I would stay inside my vehicle for the whole time till they returned. To my question he replied, "About an hour." 

I had no intention to explore a forest on my own anyway, so even before the elephants left, I was inside my vehicle. 

I waited there till elephants were out of sight and then gently lifted the cub in my arms. In my earlier anxiety, I had failed to notice cakes of mud insect infestation on his body. The floor mat was streaming with small creatures scurrying around. I stroked his back to get rid of dirt and tiny bugs. Fortunately, it ended up on the towel covering him. He seemed to enjoy the touch because, after the first few strokes, he flipped over on his back. I wrapped the towel around him firmly and used it to scrub him. Obstinate particles of dirt refused to dislodge from him, and I didn't want to pluck them, lest I hurt him forcibly. Luckily there was water in the car. I retrieved three bottles of water and stuck them under my forearm, then I picked him up, got down and carried him to the bonnet of the car. He looked scared when I set him down but soon found a secure foothold. The warmth from the engine seemed to please him. I raised a finger and held it up, hoping he understands that meant he had to stay put. He held my gaze for a while, then averted his eyes. I looked around for some vessel or a pout so that I could channel the water. I found what could work, but I had to leave him standing on the bonnet while I fetched it. It was a chance I had to take. I withdrew my hand gradually. He stood there, unmoved. I took a step back and then another. He hadn't moved but cocked his head following my antics closely. If I was quick, I could fetch it and be back, in a few steps. I made a play for it. Momentarily I was blindsided as I had to bend down to pick it up. He stepped forward and craned his neck, but before he lost his toehold, I was back upright, a large leaf held triumphantly in one hand. 

First I washed it thoroughly, then curled it into a bowl, in the hollow of my palm. It had to large enough to hold water and yet shallow so that he could drink. I poured some water into it and extended my arm towards him. He sniffed the cup but thirst overtook his anxiety rapidly. He lapped up the water within seconds. I poured him some more, and he finished it again. When I repeated it for the third time, he lapped some and left the rest. I held his back firmly and slowly poured water over his body running my hands down from head to tail. The engine hissed as water fell on it, momentarily startling both of us. I emptied the whole bottle and then another. He shook and swayed his head and body and seemed to want more. That was my first lesson in nurturing him. Tigers love water and I could see he was enjoying it. 

The dark brown stripes on his back, and even present on his skin, ran from side to side over his golden coat, shining brilliantly in the sun. Under the top coat of coarser hair, was another layer of soft under-fur. I ran my hands over them gently and he responded by turning his head towards me tenderly. His eyes looked like two bright orbs of gold. On the back of each of his ears was a distinct round, white spot. When viewed from behind, they looked like false eyes. When tigers are threatened they twist their ears, revealing these white spots. This makes them appear more aggressive. He seemed to be content for the time being but still looked weak and hungry but I could fix that only on my return to the hotel. 

Before the others could come back, we were safely inside the car, hoping to leave as soon as possible. 

Four

The empty road ahead

Sometimes that’s all you need, an empty road, stretching miles ahead of you. Apart from an occasional truck tearing down the other side, it was clear. The morning sun shone brightly on passing meadows; everything looked clean and bright. Early morning enthusiasts; cyclists, walkers, waddlers and toddlers from the passing villages, hadn’t begun their day yet. He slept soundly on top of the passenger seat; I had to make sure every once in a while that he was breathing and wouldn’t slip off. The rolling motion of the car and the hum of air-conditioner seemed to be working for him. The blanket was still under him, curled like a cushion. It had another use; to cover him hurriedly, in case there was a security blockade or a hold up on the way.

I had taken a wild step, literally; now it was time to understand its implications. It would be a few days, a week at most before forest officials discovered the dead mother and noticed her cubs were missing. 

My best bet would give up the search for cubs soon. After all, it was like finding a needle in a haystack. What I couldn’t know for sure was whether they had a mechanism to monitor the number of animals or their young ones. The more significant challenge, however, was to obtain an authorisation; a license for the possession of wild animals, because post first few days it would be impossible to conceal him at home. Even though I live on the outskirts of Mumbai, far away from a madding city, in a sprawling villa overlooking a valley, service and administrative staff were in and out, of the place through the day. 

I wondered if he would enjoy the pool and walk around flower beds of lilies, chrysanthemums, marigold and sunflower or hide behind the thick outgrowth of bougainvillaea, that made the villa pretty and acted as privacy shield around the pool from prying eyes. Or would he learn to climb on the two short mango trees in the garden?

From the town centre in Mumbai to my place is on an average a two hours drive. 

The nearest railway station is twenty-five kilometres away, and though there are options of local transports available, their access and availability, primarily on account of dirt roads and their inability to find return fares back to the station, severely hindered access. As a result, the place was secluded and intensely private, barring the local village folk and service staff. My family visits about once a month, preferring the pace of city life to the quiet of the wilderness. It had seemed wise to invest in a second home at that time, away from the city bustle, hoping we’d get away every once in a while. The way things had panned out, beside a young couple, living a few villas apart, and myself, there were no permanent residents in the complex. Everyone else, like my family, visits once a month and some even once a year. There were the construction workers and administrative staff to contend with, but by and large, they did not care nor interfere. 

If I played my cards right and maintained the right demeanour, it works in a feudal society like India. Everyone would readily presume, I was a legitimate owner of a tiger and had the necessary permissions to possess it. 

 

In India, the private possession of endangered cats, including tigers, is prohibited under the Wildlife (Protection) Act, unless the person has a certificate of ownership for a wild animal he or she possessed at the commencement of the wildlife protection law, in 1972.

We reached a small town called Loni at around 7:30 am. I drove past the deserted city centre, not wishing to take chances even though the shops were yet to open for business and pulled over and parked, a few metres ahead of a roadside stall. I had ensured the place was not too busy and the car was parked at a safe distance from where I could keep a watch for prying village boys. 

A woman possibly in her early thirties was standing behind a glass counter, the three shelves inside, stacked with a variety of small things. I was sure to find something for both of us to eat and drink. She smiled when she saw me approach. As I got nearer, I could see she was unusually attractive and exceptionally well turned out, in spite of the hour. Her hair was pulled back tightly over her head and neatly parted down the middle. 

On the middle of her forehead was a red flower drawn meticulously by hand—a tiny red centre with petals around it. Her hair was tied in a long neat plait which was pulled over her shoulder and had come to rest just below her breasts. A printed sari and her hoop earrings completed the look. 

“How are you?” she asked, in Marathi.

“Ok,” I replied and thereby exhausting my entire repertoire of the language. I switched to Hindi.

“I want to buy bottles of milk and a few packets of biscuits.” 

She pondered on the strange request because she looked at me and frowned. Most travellers would have asked for pancakes, biscuits and tea. 

“How will you carry it?” She looked down at my empty hands and said, “Do you have a container?”

“No, could you give it to me in bottles?” 

There was a question in her eyes, but when she opened her mouth to speak, it sounded more like a statement of fact. “First-time father.” It took me some time to understand what she had said due to the lack of fluency in the language. She shook her head as if disappointed at how I could you’ve become a father?

“25 for the containers and 140 for milk. Ok?” She asked

“I will take three containers filled with milk, please,” I replied and smiled at her. 

She held up her hand and pointed to a wooden bench, indicating that I sit and wait. Then she turned to leave but not without a flourish. The braid that was resting between her breasts all this time was held and flung up in the air. It circled close to my head and landed on her back. She turned walked away, swaying her hips and dragging her feet. After a few minutes, she placed three containers containing milk between us and pointed to the packet of biscuits stacked on a shelf behind her. I nodded. 

If it hadn’t been for the small hungry one waiting in the car, I would have spent more time with her. In that brief interaction, she had undoubtedly grabbed my attention. It’s strange how we meet so many people, but only a select few stays with you lifelong. 

“That will be 250 rupees,” she said. I pulled out three crisp notes of Rs. 100 and handed it to her. She opened a drawer and fished around till she found an old 50 rupee note. She pushed the drawer with her thighs but stopped midway and reopened it again. She found five crisp notes of Rs. 10 and seemed pleased as she counted them, caressing each note like a rose petal. Good money drives bad money out of circulation. Finally, she handed them to me and smiled coquettishly. I held her gaze a little longer than necessary and returned her smile. Midway to the car, I realised I needed something else and turned back. She was looking at me.

“I also need a clean cloth,” I said, as I reached the counter again. 

“What kind of cloth?” she asked incredulously

“Clean handkerchiefs will do.”

“What is it for?” She persisted. I lied and told her that I had sprained my leg and needed something to tie on it. She bent over the counter and looked down. From the two on display, she chose one and pushed it towards me. I felt them between my fingers. They were soft and smooth to touch. For what I had in mind they were perfect because the flinty ones would contaminate the milk. I also bought two large bottles of water, thanked her and left. 

He did not stir even when I opened the door and placed everything on the back seat. Once I had driven a little more than a kilometre, I pulled over under the shade of an old banyan tree. It was time to put my plan into action. I climbed out with a piece of cloth and a bottle of water. I drank some and then washed and wrung the fabric thoroughly. Then I crushed and twisted the empty bottle repeatedly till it gave way at the centre and I could tear them in shape two small containers. The cap side one was of little use, so I discarded it and poured some milk into the other one. I soaked the cloth until it was dripping and fetched him. He opened his eyes slowly and submitted meekly to me, as I carried him nestled in the crook of my arm. 

I picked one end of the milk-dripping cloth and held it close to his mouth. He sniffed at first but did not open his mouth. I gently caressed the back of his ears with my thumb. He parted his lips slightly, and a few drops fell into his mouth. Almost instantly, he closed his mouth over the cloth and started sucking. I repeated the process a few times but didn’t need to caress his neck again. I poured some more milk into the bowl and continued to feed him till he didn’t want anymore. 

I placed him back on his little cushion, closed the door behind me and came out once more as I needed to relieve myself. At a short distance, a herd of buffaloes were cooling themselves in a pond. I stood there long after I had finished, watching them, blissfully unaware of anything around, enjoying the sounds of nature. Long before it came into view, the approaching sound of a large vehicle reached my ears. It tore the silence momentarily, as it careened past, then the sound began receding as if being pulled along by its maker. It was all quiet once again. The sky was overcast, and a light wind rustled the leaves and grass around. 

Tall trees lined the highway on both sides, and a swampy smell rose from the ground as the sun began to warm up the air.

‘Vance! Yes, that was it. Vance — belonging to marshy lands’. 

That’s what I would name him. My little friend would be called Vance. I climbed back into the car and spoke aloud, “Vance.” I repeated it again and then once again. He opened his eyes with an effort and looked up at me. He wasn’t just staring blankly, but looking and registering my face. Cubs are born blind and gained sight only around the third week. He had kind eyes of warm amber tones, and he was staring. I looked into his eyes and repeated Vance, slowly, deliberately, opening my mouth wider and directing the words at him. “Vance, that’s what you will be known as.” His ears stretched back. He opened his mouth and made a sound, a high-pitched screech, more like a wheezing cough. Like a loud call of a crow; rather than the guttural, fearsome roar of a wildcat. It did not put him off, and he continued to try, but only repeated the screeches. It was too adorable, and I started smiling to myself. That was his first roar. 

Around 2 pm and we reached the town of Akola. I remembered that I had not eaten anything since last night and as much as I would have preferred to have a sit-down meal in comfortable surroundings, I knew that was not possible with him in the car. He was awake and repeatedly screeching. If by chance he rose on his hind legs and peeped out, it would be the beginning of the end, because there was no shortage of curious people on this planet. 

From a roadside stall, I bought two large chocolate bars, a packet of fried peanuts and a few packets of biscuits. I refilled the containers with warm milk and set off again. When I was at the shop, Vance had climbed on top of the seat, but luckily no one had spotted him. After that, we drove non-stop until later in the evening when I stopped to buy apples, buns and few potato chops. As it turned out, it was a very timely stop as darkness descended fast after that, and it wouldn’t have been easy to stop in the middle of nowhere and feed him. 

We made a stop at Jalna, where I had a meal packet prepared for me. It was past 10 pm, and the town wore a deserted look. 

Taking advantage of secluded streets, I fed Vance first. His little whiskers immediately reacted to the now familiar smell. He sucked it clean within seconds. After two bottles of milk, he turned his face away. I washed and rinsed the cloth and placed it back in a plastic bag. Then I picked the quilt from the floor and gave it a hard shrug outside the car before laying it down on the floor mat again and set him down. I caressed his forehead gently, and he closed his eyes. I hoped he would sleep for the rest of the night. 

_______

At 2:30 in the morning, we were outside the gated complex. 

Visitors to the complex, unfailingly commented on the approach road that led to the gates, for its lack of lights, condition of its upkeep and the fear of encountering stray animals, though nothing untoward had ever happened. It was just a secluded dirt road that rose off the highway, meandered through thick undergrowth on both sides till it broadened and cleared up just before the gates. Jurisdictional and territorial pride, between one builder and the rival one opposite, made sure that the road 

was never developed, both choosing to repair and maintain the patch immediately outside their own respective complexes. 

The locals living around had gotten accustomed to it, rarely venturing out post sunset. There was no place to go to anyway, beside the market place, miles away and that was a planned trip always. Despite the early hour, the drive seemed like a walk in the park today, far from the ominous reputation it had gathered. A visit to the heart of a forest can easily put things in the right perspective. 

Bala, the guard on duty, who’d accepted the job perhaps because it allowed him to sleep through his duty, emerged from a small room beyond the gates, shielding his eyes against the light, until he was able to recognise the vehicle. He raised his hand in greeting and pulled open one of the shutters. 

Everything around was as quiet as the dead. None of the leaves rustled, not a soul stirred, even the incessantly noisy crickets seemed to be asleep. “Good night Bala,” I called out and drove on, leaving him to retire to his room and go back to sleep. 

Five

Necessary Arrangements

Chapter III of the Wildlife Protection Act, 1972 pertains to the hunting of animals; or instead to the prohibition of hunting of wild animals. However, paragraph 11 and 12, mentions a few conditions under which a permit maybe be granted, by a Chief Wildlife Warden if the reasons were for education, scientific research (scientific management) and collection of specimens. A sub-clause, further explaining the term scientific management interested me specifically because it gave me a glimmer of hope. It said

(i) translocation of any wild animal to an alternative suitable habitat; or

(ii) population management of wildlife, without killing or poisoning or destroying any wild animals

It could be a matter of interpretation. All I had to do was find the right warden. 

______

Feeding Vance was an arduous task and needed both knowledge and patience, both of which was evidently in short supply at this time. I didn’t know how long he had been starving or if milk, the only thing I had fed him so far, was enough to nourish him. And of course, it could not be left to anyone else. Shanta, the house help, showed surprising composure when she saw him for the first time. I had expected her to gape and perhaps withdraw in fear, but her expressions moved from a state of surprise to pure awe. She gaped at his face and mine, alternatively, moving from face to face. 

“Where did you get him, sahib?” 

“I bought him from an animal shelter. I didn’t like the way they treated their inmates, so I offered to raise him.” I lied easily.

“You couldn’t find a dog.” She asked incredulously, with such amazing candour that smile appeared on my face, involuntarily. What she said was, of course, most people would opt for a domestic animal.

 

She stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“No, this place had only wild animals. He was the youngest. I felt pity and brought him.”

She frowned, giving the impression that she was pondering over something. Then she asked gravely, “Are you allowed to take them away from there?”

“Yes,” I offered feebly, “at the right price, it is possible.”

“How long will you keep him?” 

I hadn’t thought about that at all. In all fairness, there had been no time. But her question was pertinent. How long? I made up another story and told her that I had to look after him till he was strong enough to be released in the forest. Those were the terms of sale. She seemed to accept the explanation because she didn’t pursue the matter any further, but I knew it would be the talk of the town before the hour was over. I was, however, delighted to see her affinity towards him. She got over her initial hesitation soon and went around her chores even as Vance sat in a corner and watched her moved around. 

But I could not allow her to feed Vance. For the first part, I did not want to take chances with a cub, but more importantly, it gave me a sense of fulfilment to do it myself. After an hour of internet research, I was able to not only find the correct list of items needed but also the discreet way in which one could go about procuring them. The solution lay in scattering the purchases, and beside the specialised nipples, the rest could be found or combined from the local market. I placed an order for 20 extended pointed nipples, called N-30 Veterinarian Nipples and was promised delivery within 24 hours. I resolved to drive to the market later that day and get the rest. 

In the consignment of nipples that arrived, most had no holes in them, and obtaining the right hole size was so vital that I had to throw away more nipples than I could use. Also, since Vance had begun teething, I could only use hard rubber nipples. The objective was to make the hole just large enough so that when the bottle is turned upside down, it dripped out exactly as per requirement, neither too much nor too little. I also bought two feeding bottles, for use alternately, washing bleach and a bottle brush and finally, the milk formula. 

The next part turned out to be much harder than I had anticipated. 

I experimented with various sharp objects to burn holes into the nipple until I finally got it right. 

Heat a burner and then hold the metal prong to the flame or coil until it glows orange. Poke the glowing prong through the nipple and let it cool before trying it out. If the milk flows too quickly, the cub will choke, and if it flows too slowly, the cub will tire before he can finish his meal. 

I boiled the bottle and nipple before filling it at each meal. As soon as he finished his meal I dumped and rinsed the bottle in a pail of bleach water, soaked it until the next feeding, at which time, I again washed it with soap and a bottle brush, before boiling. I had to always test it on myself—a few drops on the wrist, before offering it to him. Sometimes they are so hungry that they slurp down half a bottle of boiling liquid and scald the insides of their stomachs. I learnt that the correct proportion of water mixed with milk was significant since during the first few feedings it helped to eliminate the mother’s milk from the intestines and gave the Cubs a chance to stabilise before the introduction of new fluid. As long as his stool was yellow and of at least toothpaste consistency, and it showed no sign of blood, mucous, or traces of green, I knew I was on the right track. 

It is important not to upset the bacterial balance in the intestines.

I had also come to like a particular position while feeding him, sit on a chair, my hand resting on a table, but Vance preferred to have it while on my lap and forced me to sit on the floor. He lay on his belly; all four feet planted squarely on my lap. I used my left hand to tilt his head up and used the right side for the bottle. One trick that worked great with Vance was to slide the left hand up and over the eyes, and wrap the thumb around the face as if to muzzle him. The lack of outside stimulus helped him to concentrate on sucking. 

Gently stroking the side of the mouth, stimulates a sucking response.

______

Shanta made sure everyone knew about Vance before that day was out. She went around telling people that I had Vansh (a generation—in Hindi). People laughed realising soon after the true nature of her revelations. People didn’t know what to believe and started arriving in hordes at the door. I had to take the site supervisor in confidence if this tide was to be stemmed. For one, he was utterly corruptible and two, and more importantly, he enjoyed the implicit trust of his fellow workers. Till such time I was able to acquire the necessary permission; he was a strong ally to have on my side. I couldn’t afford unwanted publicity, and he would have been able to ensure that. 

“Morning, Santosh, how are you?” I said, greeting him warmly, extending a hand. He picked his pace when he saw me and hurriedly offered a limp hand in return. He was dressed in regulation short-sleeves white shirt—I had never seen anything else on him. It opened up substantially, at two places, one on top of his ample belly, revealing a stained undershirt and once again just above the black trousers, held together miraculously under his huge girth and over his spindly legs.

“Very well, Sir. How are you?” 

He replied warmly. In the next instant, his demeanour changed completely, and his tone became hushed. He bent towards me and said

“Siiiir, is it true, what people are saying? You have got a tiger cub in this house?”

“Yes,” I replied without ceremony, “and that’s the reason why I have called you here.”

“Tell me, Sir, how can I help? Can I see him?”

“Yes, sure, but before that, I need something from you.” 

Santosh kept staring, waiting for me to explain. 

“Do you know any officials in the forests department?”

“Of course, Sir?” 

I wasn’t surprised at his response; he was predisposed to exaggeration. Even if he didn’t know anyone, he wouldn’t admit it. 

“My uncle works in the forest department. If you want to meet, 

I can ask him to come over today itself. But what is it about? What should I tell him if he asks?”

“I will explain the details to him. Just tell him it is regarding renewing a permit.” 

Santosh agreed and promised to come back with his uncle later that evening. Before he left, however, he wanted to see Vance as did the gathered crowd. I fetched him from the bedroom and held him in my arm. They gawked and began speaking, all at once, excitedly amongst each other. One of them proclaimed “it’s a Royal Bengal Tiger.” Few of them nodded, and heads moved with pride. Vance did not mind the attention, as long as he was in my lap and just watched the proceedings quietly. 

The conversation with Santosh had two distinct effects. Firstly, it convinced him that I was already an owner of a valid permit, and secondly, he would convey the news to his uncle in the right perspective. 

In India, the private possession of endangered cats, including cheetahs, clouded leopards, fishing cats, golden cats, Indian lions, leopards, panthers, marbled cats, snow leopards, and tigers, is prohibited unless the person has a certificate of ownership for a wild animal he or she possessed at the commencement of the wildlife protection law, which was enacted in 1972

I was feeding Vance, sitting cross-legged on the floor when Shankar Gore arrived in the evening along with Santosh and one of his accomplices. He held up a hand as I tried to rise from the floor to greet him and indicated that I should first finish the task on hand. Santosh made quick introductions and left along with his companion, saying he was expected someplace else. Shankar Gore was an old man, his weather-beaten and sun-dried skin making him look older but resilient. He had a steady countenance reminiscent of hard work and clean air. He sat upright opposite me and casually glanced at Vance. I placed Vance down, once he was done with feeding, and fortunately, he stayed there, while I offered Gore a drink. 

Over a glass of sweet lime juice, he narrated his story. He had retired as a Sanitation officer in the forest department twenty years ago. Before that he had spent a short stint as a member of the domestic staff at the home of a ‘conservator of forest,’ a high ranking position in the forest department, and that had allowed him access to various senior officials some of whom, either retired or with sons and relatives in the department, we’re still in touch with him. Without much ado, he asked, “When did you get the permit?”

“No, not me, Sir, my grandfather,” I said politely. “He had a permit. It was transferred to my father and in turn to me.”

“Ok, so it’s expired, and you want to renew it.”

“Something like that.” 

He didn’t register the catch because he said, “May I see it?”

“That’s why I need your help. I have lost it, you see. Since neither my father nor his before him, ever possessed a wildcat; the permit, remained utilised. It was given as a token of appreciation by the Rai Bahadur of Cooch Behar, Suryanarayan Singh to my grandfather after a successful tour of the Jim Corbett Park. 

At that time, they wanted to adopt a lost tiger cub, which my grandfather was to raise. They found it, abandoned and hurt, on one of their hunting trips. My grandfather fell sick soon after that and was unable to take care of it. Even as a child, I have seen the License, framed and hanging on a wall, at my grandfather’s home in Calcutta, but never imagined I would need it one day.”

The titles and the elaborate story had the desired effect on Shankar Gore because it convinced him that I had misplaced the document because he seemed sincerely concerned. He sat silently as if thinking hard about my present predicament. 

“How did you get a hold of it?” He asked, pointing at Vance.

I gave him the same story I had used earlier that day with Shanta. He was more astute, of course, and said, “You paid for it?” I nodded, in acknowledgement of a mistake. 

“This will not be easy. Old records are not computerised and finding something like this, so far back and that too from another State will be extremely difficult.” 

I was anticipating he would say that and that would make it easier to clinch it. I bent closer and said.

“If you can help, I’ll be grateful.”

“Ok, let me see what I can do.” That was the first indication. “This won’t be easy. You know how things work here.” That was the second indication. “Give me a day; I’ll let you know how it can be done. It will have to be back-dated.” That was the third indication. “Some money will be required.” A final sign that the deal was done and dusted. 

“Of course, anything you say,” I said, in reply trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. 

On the third day, he gave me an indication of money. On the eighth day, I had a Licence, registered to my grandfather, transferred to my father and duly transferred to me through succession. 

Six

Doctor visit

Vance’s first visit to his veterinarian, Doctor Venumedurry, proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated. He walked into the clinic eagerly, since it was still all a part of an outing and waited patiently in my arms for our turn. There were two other owners present, both with large dogs, ahead of us in line. Surprisingly the dogs were not agitated by Vance’s presence, perhaps not sensing a threat from a little cub, and remained seated peacefully at the feet of their respective owners. The commotion started when a third visitor entered with a furious cat. Receptionists have one of the most challenging jobs in a vet clinic as they are the first line of people interacting with clients who are usually very emotional about their pets. The cat owner, a lady in her mid-forties, was trying to shush the cat, making it only worse. In the process, she became ruffled herself and began complaining, almost accosting the hapless young woman on duty, about something incorrect in the dosage on a previous prescription. 

She threatened, “I’ll take that doctor and his pretty stooge” to court. The young woman tried her best to appease but lost her calm when the pet owner threatened next, “I’ll get Mincy to bite you, then you’ll know,” referring to her cat. That was the end of it; the mood in the room changed swiftly as both women bared their fangs. It soon percolated infectiously to the animals in the place and before we knew it was a cacophony of guttural meowing sounds, screeching, hissing, yowling and growling, and that only meant a fight was brewing and something terrible was about to happen. If this was not curtailed immediately someone was going to get hurt very badly. 

Hearing the commotion, a gentleman emerged from one of the rooms and immediately gave marching orders to the woman with the cat. “Leave, or I’ll have security escort you out. I have had enough of this nonsense. You’ve disregarded the prescription and created this situation yourself. Radha, referring to the receptionist and I have spoken to you several times and told you not to tamper with the dosages but you’ve disregarded every instruction and now come here to make a spectacle. I’m still happy to help, but before that, you will apologise and own up to your own mistake. Otherwise, you’re free to complain to whichever authority you want.” 

The woman glared at him but backed off. She picked the basket with Mincy in it and sunk into a chair. The man turned to us and said, “I’m sorry about this. I’m Doctor Venumedurry. I’ll attend to all of you soon. The woman picked a magazine from the rack and buried her head into it. Surprisingly, Mincy had stopped hissing. 

When it was Vance’s turn, the doctor extended his hand, trying to take him, but he screeched and clung to me harder. The doctor did not persist, instead told me to reschedule the appointment and come back. He explained, “You’ve to carry a few items of his everyday use with you when you come next time. Often the job requires creative thinking and problem-solving.”

“Incidentally, where did you get him from? He’s a fine specimen. He’s healthy and strong. Do you work for the forest department?”

I should have been prepared for this enquiry even though he wasn’t trying to pry, just making conversation. I had to stop treating it so casually. It wasn’t commonplace after all to nurture a tiger cub, and one wrong statement could open floodgates of enquiry. If he reported this to anyone, I would have a few tall tales to concoct. 

His second question thankfully provided an answer. 

“I work for the research division of the forest department, and presently we are conducting a study on the Royal Bengal Tigers. His mother was killed by poachers sometime back, so we are taking turns to nurture it till it’s old enough to be released into the wild. 

He seemed pleased with the explanation but was in a talkative mood. He went on to explain, “Sometimes we’re treating owners as much as patients; talking to owners who are very attached to their animals requires a lot of tact, as does laying out treatment options to those ill-equipped to afford them. It can be a challenge persuading owners to do what’s right for their animals. 

Some people don’t listen,” he lamented. “They would rather pay for a fancy cellphone than to get their cat neutered.”

Though his words sounded strange at that point, on the drive back, it dawned on me that the doctor wanted those things to make Vance comfortable around him. We drove back the following day with his feeding bottle and the blanket he used, like a cushion, to sleep on. 

The doctor promptly took the blanket from me and to my surprise, rubbed it over his hands and clothes. He handed it back to me and extended his arms to towards Vance. Vance displayed a feeble protest but allowed the doctor to carry him into a back room and asked me to follow. The room inside was freezing; the temperature reduced deliberately to make animals comfortable. It was clinically white, white paint plastered on all sides with very items of furniture, a handle of equipment stacked neatly on the wall on the far side and walls padded with soft foam and cloth. 

“When kids get excited they tend to run amok around the place. 

They are just like small children. If they are scared, no one knows how they will react. The job is not all purrs and wagging tails. Any dog will bite you if you put them in a position where they are frightened, even with normally gentle dogs, vets and staff use caution at work. Even cats can be dangerous, particularly because it is difficult to read their body language. Cat bites can be nasty, a bad one, to the hand, could end a medical career.” And that’s to say nothing of large animals like horses, tigers, monkeys, and infections like rabies or plague. If a monkey spits in your eye, it can be really bad news. Some carry a strain of monkey herpes that is lethal to humans. In addition, we encounter all kinds of things that are both hazardous to health and gross—like maggots and open wounds.” He explained all this while still holding Vance in his arm. My lesson in animal rearing had now begun in the right earnest.

He pushed a metal weighing scale towards the centre of the room with his foot and gently placed Vance on it. Since Vance did not resist being put down, the doctor was able to register his weight quickly. The next part was more tricky as his rectum, ears and mouth had to be pried open for inspection. Vance chuffed and huffed and refused to cooperate but the doctor was assuredly accustomed to such behaviour, so despite the screechy protestations he completed his examination and handed him back to me. He took off his gloves, rolled them into a ball and threw, like an expert marksman, into a bin in a corner. He washed his hands after that and patted my back. 

“He’s in fine shape. You’re doing well with him. Would you have access to horse colostrum?” His tone suggested it was something to which I would have ready access. 

I said, “No, doctor.” 

“Well, in that case, the formula for the first four weeks is one ounce of Esbilac with two ounces of water and two ccs of Nutri-Cal. I will write out a prescription. Please follow it carefully,” clearly alluding to the recent interaction at the reception. “Feed this formula 4-8 times a day. At the end of the period also begin feeding small amounts of ground turkey after his bottle at each meal to start teaching him to eat solid food. I will give you a chart with the weekly plan. Follow it methodically as the dose and ingredients change slightly over the weeks, like adding a pinch of calcium to the ground turkey, or increasing the amount of calcium. The ground turkey is to be added at the same time as the baby food and should be liquefied in the blender for 5 minutes so that it blends completely. It is important to mix this meat thoroughly” he stressed. “When the formula sits for a while, the ground turkey tends to clump together and make strings. It is more important than ever to stir or shake the formula container to mix correctly. This will help prevent ground turkey strings from clogging up the nipples when the cubs are trying to drink. At this time, the cubs have to be given a pound of meat per day in addition to their formula. Lastly, we will add Pet vitamins in the cubs’ meat in the amount of 1 Pet Tab per cub per day.”

I told him that I had been feeding him goat milk so far, to which the doctor seemed pleased and commented with pleasant sarcasm,“nowadays doctor internet solves most problems.” I thanked the doctor and turned to leave. 

“Ah, one more thing doctor, may I take him into the swimming pool. Is it safe, and will he enjoy it?”

He didn’t answer instantly, then in a very paternal gesture, he walked up to Vance and asked: “do you want to swim?" 

“Do it mister Bose, but gently. Like a human baby, you’ve to introduce a new activity, gently. Get them familiarised with the surroundings first and be with them constantly. Once you see, they have found their rhythm; you can let them be alone.”

Seven

Like a fish in water

Winter in these parts is mild—mellow sunshine and a constant pleasant breeze, no real chill, unlike higher climes, where temperatures dropped to single digits and sub-zero on few days. The temperature around these parts is a pleasant 18-20 degrees and under shade even lower. 

It had been a month since his arrival, and we had settled into our morning routine. The moment I woke up and placed my feet on the floor, he was roused from his sleep as well and stuck his head out from under the bed. I had tried setting him comfortably in the corner of the room, hoping he could get accustomed to a specific spot, keeping him from harm, in case I stepped on him inadvertently during the night, but every time I put him there and returned to the bed he pulled the cushion-blanket he slept on and dragged it below the bed. After three attempts, I stopped. 

He preferred being nearer and under the bed. When I mentioned this to Venumedurry, he didn’t seem surprised,

“They all have their fetishes,” he said, “maybe it’s just darker in there; that’s all.” 

When I stood up and stretched, he did too. Then he followed me into the bathroom and insisted on climbing on top of the pot while I brushed and shaved. Little ones often teach you to be more mindful, of your habits and surrounding, than you realise. I had begun cleaning and closing the pot cover after every use. He waited for me to finish brushing and shaving patiently. He cocked his head to a side and stared into the mirror, till I was done. He even knew how long the routine took. The instant I finished and reached for the towel, it was his cue. He jumped from the pot to a spot on top of the wash basin where he had found a foothold and pulled himself up. His paws were surprisingly strong. Then he lowered himself into the wash basin, curled up like a ball and closed his eyes. He remained there meditatively for the next fifteen minutes. I tried lifting him the first time, but he made his displeasure known to me clearly and refused to budge. 

I switched off the lights and closed the door behind, but it didn’t have any effect on him. He sat there every day for fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes, while I fixed his meal and my coffee, and came out only when he knew I would be near the pool with his bowl of food ready. 

We sat there enjoying the morning sun and breeze, and I wished that moment was captured, and time could stand still forever. 

I decided to introduce him into the pool, but that would have meant getting into it myself. It wasn’t exactly an inviting thought in this weather. The water became freezing overnight. But it had to be done. The doctor hadn’t objected to it only cautioned to progress gradually. Every time I thought of myself in the water, a steaming cup of coffee, brewed and sipped leisurely by the pool, seemed more comforting. And yet, it had to be done. I knew by now that tigers loved water. It could be one of the reasons why he chose to sit inside the wash basin every day. 

Vance had roamed close to the pool on several occasions and even jumped back in fright, when he caught his reflection in the water, but never been inside. I was at the end of my second cup of coffee when I turned to him and asked, “You wanna swim? I know you like water. It’s time, I think. You’re going to swim today.” I said, deciding for him and disappeared inside to change. Vance turned his head and followed my movements but did not move since he was still eating. He knew I couldn’t go too far. By the time I reappeared he was done, waiting patiently for me to re-emerge.

 “Come on; I’ll show how it’s done. Follow me.”

The water was so cold to touch that a shiver ran down my body and I almost deserted the idea. The breeze had picked up as well, making it worse. I dipped my feet again and then resolved to jump in, hook line and sinker, and get it over with, all at once. I carried him further away from the pool and placed him on the bedroom threshold lest he fell inside once he saw what I intended to do. I left him standing there, ran the few steps and dived in. The cold water hit me like a rock and began climbing on me. I felt it travel the entire length. From the tip of my fingers to my chest, then stomach and back until it moved to the calves and feet and I was completely numb. 

At the very next instant, I came up gasping for breath, holding my chest. As I shook my head to dislodge the water from my ears and begin some circulation back in my body, he did the same. He was standing at the edge looking down at the spot from where I had dived. I waited for a few seconds for my body to acclimatise before carrying him into the pool. He didn’t resist when I held him firmly at the stomach and took him on my arm. 

At first, he seemed slightly frightened. I held him firmer and lowered him into the water gently, allowing water to touch his belly. He seemed to enjoy it. He pawed at the water gingerly. Then he squirmed suddenly and slipped, going down into the water with a small splash. To my surprise, he did not struggle. He stuck his head out immediately, and the water glistened on his snout and bristles. I held his front paws and began pulling him as I walked across the pool. He enjoyed the glide and swayed his bottom in the water. As the water got deeper, I tried holding him up, but he squirmed out and got into the water on his own. He dipped his snout and came out with large round eyes holding full of joy and adventure. It looked like he had quickly got the hang of it! 

He kicked and moved his hind legs and began paddling with ease. I started swimming to the deeper end, and he followed without any hesitation. At one place I went underwater. When I looked up, I could see his little legs paddling furiously. He was holding his position exactly above me in the water. When I came up, he was a few feet away, moving fast towards me. I swam further away from him, and he followed. 

What followed after that was extraordinary. He followed me around the pool with speed and agility that I was not capable of upholding. Whenever I went underwater and came up on the other side of the pool, he was already there, waiting and looking at me, intently, out guessing and ready for my next manoeuvre. I took a long breath and went under, resolute in holding my breath for a minute or longer. When I looked up at the surface, he was hovering precisely over my head and matching his pace with mine. I tried to swim away, but he swam on the surface and reached the spot as soon as I came up. He was a natural. I could no longer keep up or match his agility, and he wasn’t even a year old. I stood with my hands held up, in surrender, at the shallow end. He had won, and he knew it. He swam to me and nudged me on the stomach. 

“You win; I can’t swim any longer.” 

He nudged me a couple of times more on the stomach and began making circles around me. “I can’t,” I complained. “I’m done; I’m going out.” 

He stopped circling and came to a stop in front of me. 

“Have you had enough; can we go out now?” In response, he thrashed furiously and swam to the deeper end of the pool. I stepped out and dried myself, but he was in no mood to stop. Every time he came close to the perimeter, I tried to pick him off the pool. He swam away repeatedly and stayed away from me. He kept looking at me from the water holding his head steady, as I changed into dry clothes, then followed my movement back to the kitchen. 

“I know what will bring you out,” I said. From the kitchen, the pool was easily visible, so I was able to keep an eye on him while I prepared his meal. He was waiting patiently at one corner of the pool, looking in my direction. When I came out with a steaming bowl of goat milk mixed with the freshly ground turkey, he wanted to be lifted.

Eight

Man-eater

A month later, a series of articles began appearing in the newspapers regarding a man-eating tigress, T2 and her cubs. It grabbed my attention almost instantly, and I made it a point to follow the story as it unfolded over the next few days. 

‘The Nagpur division bench of the high court had issued an order to the state government to take adequate measures to track and kill T2, but so far none of their efforts had borne fruit. The first victim was an older woman, discovered facedown in a cotton field with huge claw marks dug into her back. The next was an older male farmer, his left leg completely torn off. The killings had begun sowing panic in the hills around Pandharkawada, a town in central India. In mid-August, the mauled body of Suresh Raut, a cattle herder, was found near a rural highway. 

He was victim number 4. 

The man-eater was on the move, and if it was the same one I had heard about at Pench, it had travelled almost 200 kms from where it was first spotted.’ 

Tigers are solitary creatures and are known to roam large tracts of lands in search of prey and mates, but unlike leopards and lions, man-eating tigers rarely enter human habitations to find prey unless they have been forced by injury or old age. 

‘The majority of victims were reportedly in the tiger’s territory when the attacks took place. Data gathered so far showed DNA tests, camera traps and numerous pug marks and it pinned at least eight human killings on this single, 5-year-old tigress that seemed to have developed a taste for human flesh and evade capture several times. Young men in the nearby villages had begun carrying torches and bamboo sticks and go on patrols regularly. They had roughed up forest guards, furious that the authorities couldn’t stop the killings. Residents of Vihirgaon, a small village on T2’s path had resorted to roadblocks, which fortunately did not turn violent after a fruitless hunt for the tiger believed to have killed three from their village.’ 

‘Experts believe it’s extremely unusual for a single tiger to have attacked so many people. India’s critically endangered tiger population is soaring, a success for conservation policies, but the animals are being crowded out in a competition with humans for territory.’

‘Forest Rangers were now gearing up for a complex military-style operation to deploy sharpshooters with tranquilliser guns on the backs of half a dozen elephants to surround the tiger, capture her and send her to a zoo. But the elephants had yet to arrive, held up in the middle of intense bureaucratic infighting among India’s overlapping government agencies that cover wildlife because, between all of them, they still couldn’t find enough resources. As the death count continued to rise, several politicians were demanding that the Rangers shoot the tiger. A wildlife activist seeking to block any such order had taken the matter to India’s Supreme Court, which was scheduled to hear the case soon. Meanwhile, two citizen groups in Mumbai held processions and roared their way to the secretariat demanding a stop to T2s killing. The government promised to deploy sniffer dogs and tranquilliser guns in response to their protests, but nothing had yielded the desired results.’

 “I don’t want to kill this beautiful animal,” said a top forestry official in the Pandharkawada area, which lies near the borders of Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh states. “But there’s a lot of political pressure and a lot of public pressure.” 

‘Forest rangers in the Maharashtra reserve exchanged information about tiger sightings. India’s population of endangered tigers is growing, but so are towns and other settlements in the areas where they live.’ 

‘Rangers have been posted on rickety wooden stands built into jungle trees, to keep their eyes peeled for the tiger. But they don’t even have binoculars. A crafty man-eating tiger on the loose may sound like something out of a tale. But it’s a real and growing problem in today’s India. The country’s effort to protect tigers, in a way, is a victim of its own growth story. This growth is causing increased conflict. They are spilling out of their dedicated reserves, roaming along smooth new asphalt highways and skulking through crowded farmland on a search for territory, mates and prey like antelopes, wild pigs, stray cattle and sometimes people. All across India, islands of forest are shrinking, and the thin green tendrils on the map — tiger corridors — are being cut by more roads and more farms.’ 

Tigers are intensely territorial: A male tiger, once it gets big enough, might kill its mother over turf. Each tiger needs miles of thick forests; depending on the availability of prey. In the past decade, India has created nearly two dozen more tiger reserves, bringing the total to 50. But many of them are surrounded by human development on all sides.

“Our tiger situation is not a success story, it’s a mess,” reported a newspaper, quoting one of India’s renowned tiger experts. “We have a whole bunch of islands, and the corridors in between are wiped out or degraded. Many tiger reserves are non-starters, with less than five tigers or none at all. And we’re too arrogant to learn from anywhere else.”

The rangers call her T2. They have been keeping track of her since she was a cub; when she was 

young, they say, her mother was electrocuted on a crude electric fence, set up by farmers, to keep wild pigs out of their crops. T2 has never lived in a dedicated tiger reserve like almost thirty per cent of India’s tiger population. Instead, they inhabit forested areas that are somewhat protected — people are not supposed to build villages inside them. Mahadeo Baburao, a farmer, built a shrine for a tiger that died when it touched an electric fence he had put around his rice fields to keep wild animals away.’ 

T2’s first victims were farmers weeding their fields at the forest’s edge. Everything is so packed together that even the people living there aren’t sure where the agricultural land ends and the protected forests begin. She gnawed off one woman’s legs cleanly at the knees, almost like a chain saw. She chewed into one man’s back, leaving his spinal column exposed. The Rangers took swabs of tiger saliva from the wounds and sent them to labs for DNA analysis. Over several months, as the results came in, they began to piece together what they were facing. Finally, in January, forestry officials applied for what is called a shoot order. But an animal-rights activist from Mumbai who objected to killing T2 helped to block it. Then T2 gave birth to two fuzzy tiger cubs, which meant any action taken against her could jeopardise them, too.’

“She’s very wild,” said Mrs Puran, a forestry official. “And she’s very clever.”

‘Rangers equipped themselves with nets and tranquilliser guns and fanned out into the jungles, full of pungent lantana bushes, old gnarled teak trees and clouds of dragonflies hovering in the thick, humid air. Four times, they tried to capture T2. Each time, she either hid in the tangle of lantana bushes or raced away. The villagers who live in T2’s area, which covers about 60 square miles, haven’t been helpful either. Furious that the Rangers won’t simply shoot the tiger, they have blocked access to the jungle. Some others devised disturbing plans of their own.’ 

The story that moved me the most was one of compensation because it showed the pitiable state of our poor farmers and the abject poverty in which they existed. The authorities paid compensation to the victim’s family, every time a tiger killed someone, sometimes as high as Rs. 10 lakhs. It was part of the government’s program to assuage grieving relatives, so they didn’t try to take revenge against endangered tigers. During one such capture operation, an older man, who was described as one who could barely walk, positioned himself right next to a cage that the Rangers had baited with fresh buffalo meat. When he was severely reprimanded, he admitted the truth. “If I die, you will give my family the money.” 

As the forestry officials wrestle over what to do, wildlife activists keep returning to court to block shoot orders. The activists say the tiger is only defending her cubs, and that the victims ventured into her territory. The Supreme Court may hear the case within days. Meanwhile, the elephants, which rangers say are better for such an operation than any four-wheel-drive truck, are expected to arrive any day. 

“Just kill it,” said Rasika, the daughter of a herder who had been mauled by T2 near the highway. “There’s nothing beautiful about this animal. It ate my father, and we need to kill it before it kills someone else.” 

Nine

Getaway

When he was four months old, Vance and I, paid another visit to Pench. I had been toying with the idea of taking Vance on a pet-friendly vacation before he became too big and went through the process of shortlisting places; villas and farmhouses in Dapoli, Lonavala and Karjat that allowed pet-friendly stays. When they designed the advertisement, none of them had a pet like this in mind. When I discussed the plan with the doctor, he didn’t seem particularly excited with the idea, perhaps wondering why I made such a bizarre suggestion. After all, I was part of a forest research team, and Vance was part of a project. What could I possibly achieve by a weekend getaway? I realised my folly soon after I had posed the question. 

“Take him back to the forest instead,” he said, “that’s familiar terrain for him.” Fortunately, his voice held neither apprehension nor disbelief.

What I intended to say in response was, “it’s a long drive to Pench,” but what I said instead was, 

“You’re right doctor ’ that’s where I need to take him. A few days in the jungle will help him. The sooner he gets used to it, the better.”

Soon after our return from the clinic, I began making preparations for the trip. It took me three days and several trips to the local market until I got it right. There had to be enough supplies for the journey back and forth, and a couple of days stay. Staying at a hotel was out of the question. It had to be a rest house or private home stay on the fringes of the forest. I also made a smaller package for the road, such that supplies would last one straight drive of approximately seventeen hours. I had an owner permit and read up on a host of laws pertaining to the prevention of cruelty to animals, yet I couldn’t take cover under any of those statutes if challenged by either an official or even a curious bystander. Firstly, none of them of the laws listed a tiger directly and secondly a misinterpretation of words could lead to a terrible outcome. One fuel-stop had to be made but could be easily handled as there were quite a few secluded fuel stations on the way, often operated by one or two people and the halt by itself, wouldn’t be too long. None of this would have been a challenge if Vance, like most tigers, would sleep 18 or 20 hours. In the wild, tigers do that to conserve energies for their next kill. Vance, however, used to a human sleep cycle by now; 7 hours at most, unless I slept longer. 

It was just past 5:45 pm when we reached the gates of the forest reserve, in time for the last safari. Vance was asleep at that time. He had kept me company most of the way, sometimes standing on his hind legs and looking outside of the window as miles after miles of fields rolled by or jumping through the gaps in the seats first to the three-seater at the back then further to the last set of two seats at the rear end. He played his little games from there, crouching behind the seat and re-emerging only when I called his name. All that jumping around, the hum of the air-conditioner and the last feed a few hours ago had knocked him off. In the previous feed had also added some sleeping powder 

which Venumedurry had prescribed happily when he learnt that Vance had some trouble sleeping at night and had said that a teaspoon once in few days “will be fine.”

_______

Jadhav was in office and was happy to see me again because he rose from his chair immediately and extended an open palm to me. 

“Couldn’t stay away from the jungle, mister Bose? It’s magical, isn’t it? That’s what keeps me here too. I wouldn’t last in a city, even for a day.” 

I shook his hand warmly and just nodded in agreement, but didn’t reply immediately. I wanted to be sure that he had not suspected me for anything. Then I reasoned that if he had, he would have alerted the authorities months ago since he had my address on the taxpayer card. Guilt has a strange way to bare its fangs when you least expect it. 

“Yes, the memories are still very fresh, and I had to get back sooner than later.” 

“Did you find that tiger yet? I remember last time there was talk about a man-eater in these parts, and that’s how the poachers got in.” He shook his head and replied dejectedly, 

“No, mister Bose,” insisting on addressing me formally every time he spoke, “this is a vast area, and honestly, if they don’t want to be found, it is nearly impossible. We laid traps with goats and cows, set up platforms with hunters on them, have used drones and elephants but couldn’t snare the animal. We are planning to advance the last safari by an hour so that jeeps are back before daylight is completely gone. All this activity in the jungle has disturbed the peace around here. As you can imagine, tiger sightings have become even rarer.” 

All this time, while I spoke to the FRO, Vance slept in the car, hidden from view, under a rug, though he could shrug it off at will, and in the veil of twilight. It was one thing to fool the innocent village people back home, but here, amidst professionals, I would be exposed instantly. Although I had brought him all this way, I wasn’t sure what I had hoped to achieve. If I let him go into the wild, he may not come back at all. I wasn’t even sure he was ready, much less in a half-drugged condition. I wasn’t prepared either. This was not the way I wanted to part with him. How was I planning to bring him out of the car and leave him in the forest unnoticed? Beside dollops of good fortune and excellent timing, there was nothing to bank upon.

Unlike the previous occasion this time there was only one other jeep with a few English tourists ahead of us. We drove down the familiar dirt tracks and stopped at a few places for a few minutes, where people from the car ahead, eagerly clicked sightings of deer, wild monkeys and a peacock but never long enough for me to consider letting Vance out unnoticed. After we had stopped for the second time, my mind was made up — I was going back with Vance. I would use this trip to explore the area, especially rest houses adjoining the forest because this activity had to be planned and it would be easier to allow Vance to escape at the right time of day or night without evoking any suspicion from one of those places. 

Once we were back at the office, I made my enquires. There were quite a few scattered around, explained one of the officers, but the nearest one, closest to the forest, “Even shares a fence,” he said, was barely a kilometre away. When I probed further, he replied,

“Normally the rest houses in this area are empty, mainly because they are not too comfortable, and often dangerous, as the fence separating them from the forest need repairs most places. No wants to open a door and find an animal sitting outside their room.” He laughed at his joke. “Very few visitors stay overnight as a result. Are you planning to stay tonight?”

“No, not this time, but I will have a look and come back to stay another time.” 

“Ok sure, he said, “Come with me; I’ll show you how you can get there.” He began walking to the door, and I followed him.

“As you approach the main gate,” he said, pointing in that direction, “you’ll see a path on your left, going into the forest; you can’t miss it, there’s only one. A little over a kilometre down that road is the rest house. There is a caretaker who will show you the rooms and help you out.” 

I spotted the unmarked dirt road quickly and was surprised I had missed it last time. The sky was changing shades rapidly, and by the time I arrived at the mouth of the road, it had moved from azure to deep midnight blue. I made the turn into an unknown. Everything around was a veil of the darkness beside the road immediately in front of the vehicle illuminated by the powerful headlights, that seemed to have gained more power in the wilderness. The officer’s words “barely a kilometre,” gave me immense courage, and I pressed on. 

It seemed to emerge out of the ground, suddenly looming ahead of me, unexpectedly, throwing me off balance for a moment. I was utterly taken by surprise because the path hadn’t changed, no gates were marking an entrance nor were there a signboard pointing to it, and yet there it was, in its entire monstrosity. A massive structure, out of a horror film set. A tiny faint glow emanated from a corner of the building but was enough to outline the frame of the structure because everything else was dark. Vance lifted his head sleepily and looked towards me. I ran a finger gently down his forehead to the snout, and he was off again. I parked the car, leaving the ignition and air-conditioning running, alighted and switched on the flashlight on my phone. I made my way towards the source of light, hoping to would find the caretaker. Even if Vance woke up, screeched or pawed at the glass panes, I wasn’t particularly worried because the night air was a cacophony of various sounds, besides there was no one around and it was pitch dark around the car.

The caretaker had heard the vehicle approach because he came out on a porch with a torch shining in my direction. I could now see a few steps rising from the ground to the spot he was standing, therefore, picked up the pace and headed towards him. Barely visible, behind him, were five doors adjacent to each other lined up, along a verandah. Outside two of them, cane chairs were placed against the wall, with a centre table between each pair. As I got closer, I could see the building had six rooms. One of them had been converted into a make-shift office, from where I believed he had emerged. 

“Shubeer,” I said. 

“Shambhu,” he replied and abruptly turned around. 

He didn’t exchange any pleasantries, and as I was soon going to discover; he rarely spoke barring, what was necessary. He led me into the first room at the end of the verandah, which was his make-shift office. 

The room, originally designed to be a guest room had a wooden desk at the centre and one chair behind it. Two canes chairs were placed in the front for visitors. The room was covered with broad wood panels nailed indiscreetly on the walls as if someone had abandoned the architectural plan midway and space was covered up by a local carpenter. Hanging from a very high ceiling, on two long iron chains in the centre of the room, was a fan, that made considerable effort to make each turn. At the current speed, only vivid imagination could make the air move in that room. Fortunately, the fan didn’t matter as the room was quite pleasant, from the cross draft between the door and the two large windows at the back of the room. 

Shambhu was a bent old man who looked as if he had spent the best years of his life chewing or smoking tobacco. His crooked teeth and gums, visible only as gaping holes where once his teeth had been, were stained so heavily in a rare combination of yellow-black that he and his establishment seemed oddly compatible with each other. He lowered himself on a chair so slowly, with support of the table and a large staff he kept by his side, that I wondered if he could get up ever again. He pulled out a bunch of keys from a drawer, got up again with considerable effort and began walking back to the door. 

We made a painfully slow procession to the first room. I followed silently, almost feeling guilty for subjecting him to this. I realised why no one stayed at the rest house. If there was an emergency, and this place was tantalisingly close to having one at any time, Shambhu would be the first person who needed help. After the first two rooms, I told him to stop as they were furnished and laid out in more or less the same manner, and I had a fair idea of how the others would be. Every room was set up with a writing desk, a chair and a large double-bed placed in the centre of the room. In one corner was a cupboard and directly adjacent to it was a door leading to the bathroom. A mosquito net was folded on top of each bed, the loose ends on all four sides turned up to the top. 

If an animal didn’t get you first, the dust mites would undoubtedly do because I had to keep my nose and mouth covered in most places when he disturbed any piece of furniture or furnishing in the room. 

“When was the last time anyone opened these room?”

He pondered over the question carefully and replied, “I have been here only for a year.” 

I gave up the idea of asking any question, instead began a closer inspection of the rooms because this place was ideal for what I had in mind. 

The walls were covered with the same wooden panels I had seen in the office earlier. None of the windows could be opened at this time, especially in the darkness; however, the double windows looked strong. The outer ones had wire mesh around them, secured by wooden frames, with latches to open and close, while the inner ones had glass held together between metal frames. That was a comforting thought as it would help to keep bugs and snakes away. 

It was adjacent to the forest and rarely had other guests. It was easy to distract the caretaker and smuggle Vance in. Finding the right time was not a problem because there was plenty of it. At a suitable time, he could be easily let out from the window. 

Before I left, I enquired about the lean season and the possibility of finding a room at short notice. He replied with a bored expression. 

“No one comes to live here Sahib, you will find a room anytime, but winters are best as we have no power cuts during that season.” That was the longest sentence Shambhu would speak as long as I knew him. The very idea of spending nights without electricity and Shambhu for the company wasn’t stimulating, but the setting was perfect. 

A tiny bulb sputtered and died. “There, you see, power cut.”

He followed me closely until we reached the landing on top of the steps. He stood there and told me to follow the beam to the car. I bid him a quick goodbye, promising to return soon and left. 

Ten

Red Rubber Ball

I had grown exceedingly fond of Vance. Days spent in each other’s company, having each other to figure our lives, our days, our thoughts, was like magic; bonded and inseparable. He made adorable chuffing sounds—mouth closed and blowing through his nostrils in breathy snorts, whenever he saw me or wanted to draw my attention to something. 

The sound is often used between two cats greeting each other, during courting, or by a mother comforting her cubs. It is also common to see captive tigers exchange chuffs with their human keepers.

I had known for some time, that a day would come when I would need to part ways with him, but every time I thought about it, I pushed it to the back burner. It stayed there for a while, simmering until I switched off the flame completely. 

It was one of those things you postpone indefinitely, and every time, it notches up the burden a little more. But he had to go, into his natural habitat, into the world of predating and mating. That was the right thing to do. The only unselfish thing to do. 

The question was when and how? 

How would he adapt? 

Would he be able to hunt for food? 

How would he stay out of harm’s way? 

How could I leave him in an unknown territory, where he wouldn’t know how to hunt for food or protect himself? 

And yet that was where he belonged. I only had to set a date and my mind to it. I spent afternoons poring over books, research papers and internet articles that suggested ways to leave domesticated animals into the wild—gradually and over repeated visits,’ was the underlying message in most of them. Few things, however, are learnt only through experiences. I could take Vance to the jungle repeatedly, let him out alone for a while, but I couldn’t teach him to seek food or shelter. I had brought him along on a whim, without any thought to these sort of things at that time, because I had fallen in love with a little lost cub. It would break my heart to part with him, and only a powerful impulse like the last one could undo what I had done months back. Postponing the decision was easier at this point.

His favourite spot in the house, where I was sure to find him, if not anywhere else, was inside the wash basin bowl, in my bathroom. On many occasions, I found him asleep there, though his head had begun to hang nowadays as he had grown bigger. His prize possession, a red rubber ball, was tucked under his chin. It was the size of a child’s football, and I had picked it up at a toy stall selling rubber products, at the local market. He had spotted it when I put it inside the bag. I still couldn’t explain how he got it inside the basin, four feet from the floor, especially since he had to make an acrobatic effort himself to get there.

Visits to the local market invariably began with a flurry of excitement which subsided only after we left. The shopkeepers knew Vance 

accompanied me to the market and I would only park the car at a spot from where he was visible, so they hurriedly cleared space got rid of parked bicycles and two-wheelers in front of their shops and posted an employee outside till my car was parked in place. His job was to prevent others from occupying the space and keeping curious passersby at a safe distance from the vehicle because the instant I got off, Vance immediately stood on his hind legs and leaned against the window, looking out and chuffing, following every movement and making a drooling mess on the glass pane.

The ball was a part of him. When we got home from the market, I had opened the bag and dropped it to the floor, allowing it to bounce and roll on its own. He viewed it cautiously while it bounced, his round pupils, rising and dropping with its trajectory, but before it could come to a complete stop, he approached it and smacked it hard. I learnt something about him that day. He was cautious but unafraid, possibly one of the best of the characteristic of the family Panthera Tigris who unlike dogs and cats, are fearless. 

There is usually a dominant cub in each litter, which is most commonly a male, and they have the highest chance of survival. Vance was a survivor. If he knew his siblings, he would have been the one to dictate when they ate played and rested.

It flew and landed in the pool. He raced towards it and jumped in trying hard to get a grip, but it bobbed on the surface and moved further away. After a few failed attempts, he devised a strategy and began circling it, without creating ripples. When it came to a near standstill, he pushed it with his snout to a corner slowly and held it there in place. He was smart and not easily daunted. He chased after it all day sometimes until he was able to secure a stronghold. It was his possession, and he wouldn’t part with it even for a minute. 

Whenever I pulled out a shopping bag, he knew it was time for a ride to the market. He butted the ball with his head and rolled it towards me. If I ignored it, he kept rolling it at my feet. 

“I’ll leave you behind if you continue this.” It was like water over a duck’s back. He knew I 

couldn’t leave him and he wouldn’t leave the ball behind. So it went wherever he went. Once I refused to carry the ball as it was another object to handle besides the heavy bags, him—heavier than the pockets and the keys. He sat in the middle blocking the door with the ball securely held beneath his paws, his large head resting over it. He wouldn’t budge, no matter what the incentive. He knew I wouldn’t be able to close the door. 

Every time he got his way. 

The only other friend he shared the ball with, was ‘Kudos,’ my neighbour’s two-year-old golden retriever. He was handsome, broad-faced with kind eyes and a thick bushy tail. His forepaws and flanks were powerfully built, and he carried his head with a sense of pride. What he lacked in terms of stature and poise, he made up with confidence and demeanour. He was older than Vance by two years. On a few occasions, I had seen them sitting opposite each other, a few feet away, looking at each other, admiringly, a picture of contentment. They both squinted and closed their eyes in the gentlest of manners. The way they held their heads and 

spread out on the floor, it looked like a royal court was in session. The ball lay in the centre, without either of them making a play for it. Kudos wasn’t particularly fond of swimming so when Vance was in the pool, with the ball naturally, he ran around the periphery of the pool yelping and wagging his tail as Vance went from one end to the other. 

Kudos and Vance would often sit beside each other and stare endlessly at the television screen, occasionally tilting their heads at the same time. National Geographic and Animal Planet excited them the most, and sometimes three of us spent hours watching them. They got up to inspect the screen from close, each time an animal appeared. One afternoon, they sat on either side of my rocking chair, enjoying a lazy afternoon, their chins resting on their front paws. A guttural growl came from the screen. A fully grown tiger was hunting a deer, and the camera was chasing it closely. It captured every movement as the Chital side-stepped and bucked as did its close pursuer. The tension was palpable since the chital was barely hanging on to his life with a large tiger tantalisingly close on its heels. The camera work was extraordinary, and we were 

drawn into it. I failed to notice that Vance’s ears were erect and were pressing against the back of his head. It was an intense chase, the music building up along with the speed and aggression of the animals. After some time, Vance unable to control himself any longer stood up and began shaking his head about. Then unexpectedly he began circling the chair. He went around twice without bothering Kudos, but when he made the third circle, he nudged him with his snout on the stomach prodding him to join in and play along. Kudos wasn’t particularly excited and continued to enjoy his lazy stupor. Vance went around one more time and nudged him again, this time bit harder because Kudos growled and reacted sharply. He swung his paw at Vance but missed. Vance turned back in response and connected squarely on his jaw. Kudos yelped in pain and went rolling. He was bigger and heavier, but the impact was enough to dislodge him and throw him a few feet away curled like a ball. Vance stopped circling and stared in surprise and looking in Kudos’ direction. He squinted and closed his eyes, like an apology, his head bowed low and chuffed to show affection. But Kudos had fear written large on his face. He drew back further. Vance kept chuffing and staring, but the  nearer he tried to reach, the further Kudos retreated. The scene on the screen was gruesome as the tiger ripped open the chital’s neck. I grabbed the television remote and switched it off. The moment passed, and everything was back to normal soon. 

That day onwards, Kudos treated Vance with different deference. 

Other strays, dogs and cats, drawn by smell, came inside the compound occasionally but kept a safe distance the moment they saw Vance. He was only a few months old, but he was taller, broader and bigger than most of them, and none of them could match the intensity of his smouldering eyes. 

He never chased or threatened them because he didn’t need to. They all knew who the king was. 

Eleven

It’s time

Tigers usually stay with their mothers till they are about two and a half years old, but from their eighteenth month, they are relatively prepared to face wildlife independently. 

When Vance tuned one-year-old, I was determined to take him into the wild and leave him there. It was time for him to stake a claim to his territory. In another six months, he would be a fully grown tiger, and it wasn’t possible to rear him in domestic surroundings. Already chuffing had been replaced by a full-throated roar that could be heard in nearby villages miles away. It disturbed the natural order of things with the farming cows and buffaloes and created terror amongst the canines. 

Female tigers have specific territories, but males tend to leave their territory and traverse the areas of various females as they hunt and look for mates. 

It was time to prepare him for adult life. In the tropical dry deciduous forest of Pench National Park although there were large animals such as sloth bears and hyenas but none except tigers could match Vance for size or power. With some luck, he may not encounter another tiger for a few months.  

I could no longer hide him or control him in an enclosed space, despite rearing him, as I had no way to tell what excited him suddenly. I stopped taking him out for drives. He knew no other behaviour than what came naturally to him. 

That is perhaps the most significant distinction between humans and animals. They act as they feel. They do not pretend and have no guile. 

We were jailed home birds. If I left him for a few minutes, even a walk to the clubhouse, evinced such a response that I found people shaking at the terrifying roar he let out to announce his displeasure to me. It was loud enough to rattle glass panes. But the moment he saw me, he squinted and closed his eyes in submission. He was only upset about being left alone. He sulked for a while and then got up on his hind legs to embrace me. I knew he meant no harm, but 

when his large head loomed in front of my face, I almost every time hypnotised me. I realised why people froze when they encountered a tiger in the wild. Every part of his body was raw power. He was so heavy that I had to brace myself against a wall to stand my ground. 

The Bengal Tiger, Panthera Tigris Tigris, has typical colouring and patterns—light orange or yellow fur with bold brown or black stripes, set apart by being unusually large, second only to the Siberian Tiger. No two tigers have the same markings on their coats. They are as individual as fingerprints are for humans. 

Vance was now three metres in length, measured from snout to tail and weighed two hundred and forty kilograms. On average, tigers are 1.5 to 2.9 m long and weigh 75 to 325 kilograms when fully grown. The largest tigers, the Siberian, also called Amur, are 3.3 meters long and weighs 300 kgs. 

Vance had transformed from a wide-eyed little cub into a fierce looking tiger.

It took about ten days to make adequate preparations. I invited Venumedurry home for a final examination, since taking Vance to the clinic was next to impossible after the uproar his visit created when he was nine months old. The turmoil the scared dogs, cats and their petrified owners created that day could have raised the dead. People called the Police control room and tried to restrain us within the clinic saying it was illegal to own a tiger, despite my valid claims of ownership. Venumedurry also tried to explain that I was a forest officer, but by then panic had set in. Vance was calm throughout the exchanges and patiently watched and wondered what the commotion was all about. 

Tigers roar mainly to communicate with far-off tigers, rarely at other animals because their overpowering presence is enough to fill them with dread. 

It all began when a person lifted a stick menacingly in the middle of the melee. Vance bared his fangs at him and roared. People and passage cleared like the parting of the Red Sea when Moses arrived at its shores. There was pin-drop silence, and everyone had backed off in 

awe. They stood on both sides of the passage pinned to the wall. Venumedurry urged me to make the most of that opportunity and leave. 

“So what do you think, doctor?”

“He’s in fine fettle mister Bose. He’s had his vaccinations and been under expert care all this time. His diet and supervision makes him a unique specimen of his kind. He’s intelligent and will be more powerful than other tigers double his age. He’ll have no problems in the wild.”

“I’m worried that he doesn’t know how to hunt.”

“You’ve grown fond of him,” he decoded. The way he spoke and smiled made me feel appreciated rather than questioned. 

“It’s quite natural; you’ve nurtured him since he was a little cub. But this will make you feel better,” I wondered what he meant and searched his face for clues. He held up a hand and said, “I’ll explain. Tigers can stay without food for 

almost a fortnight and without water for over three days. In that much time, I am sure he will get used to jungle life and figure out his life.”

“Also,” he added, “Tigers are a protected species now. In a forest reserve, there are rules against illegal hunting; he’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, doctor; there is just one more thing. “It’s a long drive to Pench, and he’s a big boy now. Could you prescribe something, so that he can sleep through the entire distance?” 

Venumedurry thought about before he replied, “I’ll give you two vials and few syringes. Each vial contains a dose strong enough to knock out a wild beast for 12-14 hours. Inject one, on the thigh once you’re in the car. That should take care of most of the journey.” 

I thanked and paid him for his visit and offered to keep him updated on Vance. He seemed pleased to hear that, patted Vance on his forehead and left. 

______

We left at seven the following morning. If I drove for sixteen hours without a break, I could 

reach Pench under cover of darkness and yet be in time for early night and rest. I had called ahead and booked myself into the rest house for a fortnight, opting for the last room at the end of the corridor, furthest from the office. Every place opened up to the forest at the back, but the corner room afforded more privacy. I was relieved to hear that no one was staying there at that time. It would be Shambhu, Vance and the forest for company over the next two weeks. 

Before taking the turn towards Pench, I drove to the tea stall. Hari was still rushing around but stopped when he saw me and smiled, a look of recognition coming over him. 

“Hullo, Sir? He said excitedly, “Going to the jungle again?”

I nodded and then went on, “same order?”

I nodded once more, and he ran off. There were no customers at this time, so Hari sat next to me and told me tales about how the place had been infested with visitors over the last few months.

“They came in big cars, got big guns, brought elephant and two small aeroplanes.

“Aeroplanes?”

“Yessir”

“Oh” I replied, realising that what he had seen were possibly drones, but didn’t correct him.

“They come to kill man-eater but not find her? Too clever.”

“How do you know it’s a she?” I asked.

“Come, Sir,” he said, “only girls are that smart.” 

I left him another generous tip. He stood up, arched his back saluted. 

At Turiya gate, I produced a print out of the email confirmation from the Forest office, before I was allowed to enter through the gates. I did not revisit Jadhav, instead headed towards the rest house directly. Once I parked the car under the shadow of a large tree, I hopped out to meet Shambhu, who stood with his hands folded at the top of the stairs to receive me. The verandah was better lit than the previous occasion, he was clearly expecting me, and fortunately, there was no power failure at that time. I greeted him and allowed him to lead me to the office. Once the formalities were completed, he accompanied me to the room and pointed out the light switches and window latches. 

“Dinner, Sir?” 

“No, Thank you, just some water and glass, please.” He pointed to a table near the bed, indicating that he had already taken care of it. 

“Do you stay here at nights?” 

He nodded and explained that he had a bedroll in the office. 

“If you need anything, please come to the office and call out to me. There are no intercoms.” 

At the door, I waited till he walked to the end of the verandah and disappeared into his office. 

After 15 minutes, I came out again. The whole building, including the office, was dark. Shambhu had retired for the night. I pushed open the door as widely as it could go and jammed a wooden edge at the bottom to hold it  in place. It allowed light from the room to illuminate the passage outside. I went back to the car, retrieved my bags and roused Vance. He was still under the effect of drugs but woke up and followed me out quietly. If someone saw the scene, they would think a traveller was closely followed, by a tiger, and he was completely unaware that the animal was almost on his heels. 

Tigers are known stalks their quarry using ambush mode, during which it moves silently and stealthily despite its build and bulk through the long grass and thick vegetation, thanks to soft pads that make absolutely no noise when on the move. The big cat is invisible to the unsuspecting target, including humans, even in broad daylight, and even for an animal equipped with the most acute sense of hearing. They have also been known to match the breathing patterns of their prey.

Vance followed silently as we climbed the steps, walked across the verandah and reached the room. Somehow the dark foreboding forest did not seem daunting anymore with him for company. 

Twelve

Into the Wild

Next morning we woke early to an amber brown, ancient forest. A woody incense from the composting and rotting of centuries of branches lying on the forest’s floor rose up in waves. Forest mornings are mystical and can hold you in a spell as coils of vapour-mist moves through huge trees following the path of fighting sunlight as it climbs slowly over large trees. The foliage was lush and so thick that from the window the briars looked impenetrable. Shuffling noises came from somewhere nearby, but whatever was responsible for making it was camouflaged under the thick bed of leaves. They scurried and scuttled, visible briefly as they crossed a winding trail in front of us. Rodents, badgers or something of the same family was finishing up their early morning foraging or heading for a group breakfast somewhere. As I continued staring in amazement, unable to take my eyes off, thick stream of golden light chased the shadows like a giant wave crashing to the shore and taking in everything in its way. Butterflies pirouetted in the air, their little wings ripples of silk shining in the golden light. 

Almond-brown trees stood serenely, awash with a tender glow. The fluty calls of mynahs split the silence as the forest became flooded with light. 

I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to hold on to the scene unfolding in front of me. I was interrupted by a knock on the door, and that brought me back to the task at hand. I led Vance into the bathroom and closed the door behind. If he didn’t roar, the moment would pass without any trouble; otherwise, it would have to be a series of lies and pretences about hearing roars through the night. I would also need to convince him that maybe a tiger had strayed close to the rest house. I could only hope Shambhu believed it, because the other alternative, a tiger being in my room was too bizarre to comprehend. 

“Breakfast, Sir,” he announced, “would you like to eat it inside the room or prefer to sit in the balcony?”

“Inside the room, please” He nodded and turned  to leave. “I’ll come back in ten minutes.”

“May I have two large bottles of warm milk?”

“Just milk, Sir, nothing else.” 

“No, I want to have two bottles of milk and breakfast, please.” 

Shambhu frowned. It struck me that he may not have an adequate quantity of milk, after all, how much could one guest consume?

 

“Is there a problem; do you have milk?”

“Yessir, yes sir, don’t worry, I will bring more for tomorrow.” 

I realised that I was about to exhaust a week’s supply of milk in one day. I had to put the plan into action soon because the repeated request of two litres of milk for breakfast every day was quickly going to raise some questions. The quantity of canned turkey, chicken and beef, which I had carried with me, also wouldn’t last  more than the first few days. I could drive down to the local market and buy fresh meat, but that would have meant leaving Vance alone at the rest house.

Shambhu returned after ten minutes pushing a trolley laden with food. He said he had to leave for the main office and if I was comfortable, he could go right away. I told him to carry on, offering to return the trolley to the office myself. He nodded gratefully and left. I watched him descend the stairs and disappear around a bend in the path. I estimated it would take him about two hours on foot to go to the office and come back. Maybe he was driven back when he carried supplies in which case. It could be an hour. I had to make my first move. 

The glass panes were jammed in place and had to be pried open, from the corners, with considerable force and rattling, to get them free from the layers of dust and debris entrenched in the channels. I laboured for a few minutes till I was able to open one of them wide enough for Vance and me to pass through. A hard push at the nets on the outside windows was enough to fling them open. I climbed over, stood on the window sill and jumped. Vance followed me,  leaping and clearing the window with ease. The next part wasn’t going to be easy. 

I had no clue what the jungle had in store. Vance seemed like he was on a heightened sense of alertness. He scanned the area, moving his head from side to side and smelling the air. He wasn’t familiar with the smell of a forest. Maybe he could feel other animals around. 

There was a small opening in the wire fence that separated the rest house grounds with the forest, large enough for a dog to pass through. I squeezed through it somehow scraping my elbow in the process. Tiny droplets of blood appeared, but it wasn’t too bad. Vance stuck his head in the gap after me but withdrew. For an instant, he stood looking at me on the other side of the fence. Then he took a step back, pressed down on his hind legs and leapt in the air. He soared almost six feet above the ground, landing squarely on all fours, a few feet ahead of me. Immediately he picked up a scent and began walking faster, going away from me. I tried to keep up and chased after him. As we emerged from behind a tree, I stopped and stared, unable to make a move. Directly ahead, looking in our direction was a Chital, large and bulky with a bright reddish-brown coat with scattered white spots. I had never seen an animal like this at such proximity. Near its belly, the spots merged to form a horizontal stripe. A dark line ran along the spine from shoulder to tail bordered by a row of spots. At the base of the upper throat was a pattern resembling a white ‘bib.’ It had large antlers that branched out into three tines consisting of a brow tine and a terminal fork. Somehow my eyes rested on his thick neck, and I wondered if Vance was thinking about it too. The three of us looked in each other’s direction without any movement. The antler seemed to be mesmerised with fear as it continued staring into Vance’s eyes. The spell was broken when Vance turned his face and began walking in the opposite direction. The chital stamped its forelegs, emitted a shrill bark; and began to run, fleeing from danger, the tail raised displaying a white underside. I wondered how Vance would have reacted if the breakfast wasn’t sitting heavy in his stomach. 

It was time to get back since we had been out for over an hour. I called for him and turned back. He responded immediately and came scampering but ran ahead of me despite trying to hold him back. I lost him after a few seconds 

unable to keep pace with him. For once, I thought he had found something that held his interest and gone in pursuit of it. I looked around but couldn’t spot him anywhere. I began to walk faster because without him by my side every hiss and rattle was making me jump. 

The rest house came into view soon after. I picked up the pace but didn’t run. Animals are known to pursue if they see someone running. I stopped and turned around only once I was at the fence. Fortunately, there was nothing in pursuit. I couldn’t see him anywhere on the grounds. I squeezed through the tiny gap, making sure not to hurt myself again, and while I was still in the middle of it, I could hear a rushing noise approaching me from behind. At the next moment, a shadow flew over me and landed right in front. Vance doubled back and came near me. 

All this time, he had been tracking me, and I had no clue. He was learning fast. 

It was the same routine over the next two days. We had breakfast, went into the jungle through the back window, spent some time there and returned the same way. I could neither dodge him nor lose him, even if I tried. It was the other way around instead. He was far better at that than I could ever imagine. He expeditiously disappeared behind trees and bushes and suddenly re-appeared in front of me. If not for the unique stripes on his body — like fingerprints, they are different from each tiger, I could have suffered a heart attack at sight. He didn’t seem too perturbed, by the screeches of the common langurs, who jumped and screamed in gay abandon the moment they spotted him. You could almost hear their call moving from branch to branch as it efficiently relaying it. The monkeys had another distinct effect. They warned animals in the vicinity, that tiger was lurking in the vicinity. As a result, I could walk about freely without running across another animal. 

What astounded me was the level of intelligence that existed in the jungle. Over the last two days, Langurs had appeared out of nowhere and ensured that the whole forest was aware of a tiger’s presence.

Shambhu was almost disappointed when on the fourth morning, I didn’t ask for the bottles of  milk. I was sure by now he would have discussed my predilection with others at the main office, and they would have surmised that I was preparing for a wrestling tournament somewhere because no human could eat a breakfast consisting of three eggs, two bananas, a loaf of bread and two litres of milk every day. 

When he frowned and searched my face, I told him “I wasn’t feeling too well.” He didn’t look surprised.

“Yessir, the stomach needs some rest, sometimes.”

Vance followed me into the jungle like every other day. The path had become familiar by now. We usually walked to a spot between two Palash Trees, also known as ‘flame of the forest.’ I chose the tree on the left and walked around it, and he walked around the right one. It was our little code to say time to turn around rejoining the path back to the rest house. 

These medium-sized flowering trees were used in olden days for making colours for the Holi festival. Pench is home to all kinds of resident and migratory birds. Birds, like colours, are considered the essence of life. The spectacular 

vibrant colours living in the jungles of Pench is a sight to behold. Watching these little creatures and their habitat, in the wild, was a delight. Indian Pitta, also called Navranga—nine colours are seen widely in Pench. What I had missed in the previous visit, I saw this time and up close and personal. It was a bird watchers delight. Kites and eagles were common as were Kingfishers and Doves. I realised much later that Pench national park is considered a paradise for birding during winters. 

Vance was very curious about birds and looked around furtively every time he heard wings flapping. When we reached the Palash trees, Vance looked up at me expecting the same routine; however, when he saw I wasn’t breaking my stride, he continued following me. About a hundred metres further down, we came across Mahua trees. They were naturally arranged in a neat semi-circle as if the distance between each had been carefully measured and monitored at the time of seeding.

Coming from somewhere nearby was the sound of splashing water. Vance ran ahead, excitedly. He often behaved more like a pet dog rather than the king he was soon going to be. By the time I arrived at the spot, no later than two minutes, Vance was already on the far side of a mid-size pond at least thirty metres away. The only thing visible above the water was the back of his head. I watched him not sure how to proceed. He was too far out and this and wouldn’t come out of the water easily. 

All of a sudden, the jungle air was rented with hoots, screams, howls, coos, rumbles, barks, pants, grunts, and much more. There was a sense of affright around. The noise was abruptly cut off as if a plug had been pulled from the wall. Fruit from an overhanging tree dropped into the water below, making a loud splash. The sound echoed in the silent air reverberating against the massive trunks of trees. Suddenly, there was palpable tension in the air. The air was so brittle that it could snap. Something was amiss because I could feel a presence around. Vance had turned around and staring directly at me, moving at lightning speed, not dropping his gaze even to blink. He was making a beeline towards me, but now he was no longer staring at me but a spot behind me. It was something else, and it was behind me. I stood rooted to my place, unable to make sense of anything around and fought the desperate urge to turn around. Vance was now a few metres away approaching rapidly, his eyes ablaze, the usual kind eyes now a smouldering shade of melted gold. He lunged directly at me, forcing me to bend down instinctively. He sailed over and crashed against something heavily and hard. Overwhelmingly deep roars came to a violent climax. Two large bodies crashed and crushed each other. They fell, rolled, sprung up and attacked again. They rose on hind legs and tried to dislodge the other. I turned around to look and was numb with fear. Vance was standing between a large tiger, almost as big as him holding him in place and pushing back with terrifying might and me. He was protecting me ferociously and yet had never encountered such a situation in his life. The other tiger swayed its head menacingly and swung hard at Vance. Vance roared as the paw landed on his jaw and his grip fell, allowing the other tiger to inch closer towards me. Vance recovered from the blow and bit the other tiger deep into its thigh and pulled it back. The jungle air reverberated with roars of two ferocious creatures.

While the other tiger was recovering from the bite, Vance covered the ground and again came to stand between that tiger and me. The tiger lunger and but Vance was too fast for it. He matched every blow for blow till he had the darker cat pinned to the floor. Vance swung his free paw hard and raked the animal across the chest with claws, causing the sound of tearing fur to ring out through the air. The two incredible beasts went toe-to-toe in that fight, but Vance showed no signs of fatigue or fear. He attacked repeatedly and raked his claws across the other tigers face. After 20 seconds the pair lie motionless on the floor, breathing heavily to recover for the next vicious round of fighting. Vance recovered first and ripped open the injured thigh to the bone and then bit hard into the exposed neck and killed it. He dragged the carcass by its tail into a thick bush and left it there, in the process severing it from the body.

When it was over, he walked over to me, tired but triumphant. My gentle giant had saved my life. 

He walked back with me. We went down the familiar path, around the Palash trees and down the narrow path with short shrubs on both sides, the rolling meadow of a grassy plateau and across the short plants of Fungi, Mushroom, Algae and Lichen. I bent down and slid through the hole in the fence, expecting him to leap over and wait for me on the other side. But when I emerged, on the other hand, he was still standing on the jungle side. I began walking towards the room and turned around to see if he was following. He was still standing on the same spot across the fence. I climbed the window and turned around to look. This time he was no longer there. He was gone. 

That night I slept with all the windows open. I was devoid of any fear. I knew he wouldn’t come back to meet me, but he was there, somewhere in the shadows, watching and protecting me. 

I left Pench and a waving Shambhu the next morning with a heavy heart. He had come to the car to see me off and stood there waving till he couldn’t see the car anymore. We had grown fond of each other over the last few days. Like me and like every another animal on this planet, we were alone but deeply content. 

Epilogue

“T2 Killed,” appeared in the daily newspaper two days later. 

“In a worst case of infighting between felines, an adult tiger was killed and partially decapitated in Pench forest. The tiger’s mauled body was recovered on Thursday midnight from the forest area. The killer tiger was so ferocious that it dragged the carcass deep into the forest and ripped open one thigh. The viscera of the dead animal has been sent to the Indian Veterinary Research Institute (IVRI), and post-mortem report is awaited.”

No one would ever know, but that day Vance killed T2, protecting a friend.