I am caught in a traffic jam, amidst about 15 jeeps with passengers in varied stages of impatience. Some mumble, a few curse, others talk languidly about the cricket team’s remarkable victory, while a bored kid yells to anyone who will listen that he wants TV. A few climb up the seat, and onto the hood, one proves his athletic prowess jumping from Gypsy to Gypsy. More jeeps rush in, skidding to a halt, adding to the cacophony. One manages to crawl ahead for a better view…bumping into another in the process, triggering a fresh bout of fury, passengers cuss—dragging in their mother’s and sisters’ good name in the process.
Welcome to Corbett National Park, where all ye have gathered for the love of tiger.
The tiger, actually a young tigress, is on one side of the road, crouched under some bushes. Not unlike some harassed star, genuinely frustrated by the attention of not-so-well-meaning fans. Or should we call them stalkers?
She wants to cross over to the other side. She moves, allowing the gawking public a brief glimpse of tawny gold, but her steps are stalled by the frenzy her sudden visibility creates and she slinks back. Quietly.
And waits.
A few more jeeps come in, more chaos, more noise.
Plus a constant commentary-fever pitched, like the kind you heard in the World Cup as Sachin neared his century.
Give the tiger space to cross, a sensible voice suggests.
Yes, yes, then we can see her, shouts another.
Clamour and confusion ensue as the vehicles rearrange themselves leaving a gap for the tiger to pass by.
We wait...and there is actually a blessed silence for a few minutes.
Except for the langur whose constant cry of alarm at the presence of a predator below had been silenced by the din of his superior cousins.
Then as calm prevails…I sense something...its inexplicable, like a presence, a powerful force.
The langur’s call takes on a frenetic note, and on a branch above my head, a peacock hauls itself through the air, screaming blue murder.
Aaah. The tigress is on the move.
So is somebody else.
A new entrant, bulldozing through the avalanche of gypsies, demanding right of way.
It’s a ‘lal-batti’ gaadi, the kind that carries ‘important’ people or should I say, people full of importance?
Someone forgot to tell them that the tiger (and the elephant, and the deer, and the mongoose and the jungle fowl..) has the right of way here.
Or maybe they did, but the important people were deaf. And dumb.
As they trumpeted their way through, the tigress retreated again.
Emitting a soft growl, then a moan...
She just wanted to cross the road. In her forest.
Perhaps there was water on the other side and she wanted a drink in this hot May day, perhaps she was hungry and this mass of humanity was coming in her way of going on the hunt.
Perhaps she had cubs on the other side. Young cubs, waiting for their mum, vulnerable without their mum.
Perhaps it was none of the above, and all she craved was simply free movement in her domain—‘core critical tiger habitat’ deemed to be inviolate , by humans.
I will not make you go through the details of her third—failed—attempt. Her dash across the road, interrupted, by a Gypsy jostling, bulldozing somehow, anyhow, through the jam.
Mercifully, there wasn’t a hit.
But the Queen of the jungle had had enough. Now truly irate and outraged, she growled. It wasn’t a full-throated roar. Yet, so immensely powerful, so ominous..it chilled me to the bone.
Around us, however, congratulations were in order. They had seen the tigress.
The star in action. It would make a wonderful story, embellished by the hour, to tell back home, over a drink, how they had escaped from the jaws of death when attacked by the Mighty Tiger.
The trip was paisa vassool.
The tigress was still waiting, to cross the road.
I retreated…wanting to bury myself somewhere. Wishing I could jump the species line. Consider the behaviour of the civilised Homo sapien. And that of the 'beast'.
Did anyone of them realise that the tiger could have harmed—grievously, fatally had she wished to. She didn’t.
The tigress is gentlewoman.
How many of us would have stood by—patiently—for hours when our way is blocked by a traffic jam, or a ‘VIP’ passing or whatever?
It’s against the law-the Wildlife Protection Act. Section 27 (4) specifies that no person shall tease or molest any wild animal..”
The law apart..., is it beyond us to have the grace to grant the tigress her dignity? And space and freedom in her sanctuary?
The above incident occurred during my recent visit to the park, but it is a common happenstance across most --and the popular--tiger reserves.
PS: This is not an 'anti-tourism' article, I can anticipate the howls of protest on that score. I would appreciate if we don’t take up that debate, not on this platform.
I would like to thank A Ponnambalam for the use of his picture, and Shekar Dattari for helping me get it! this pic, i understand, is from Kanha
Rohan Chakravarty, for the cartoon.
