Where the Tiger Roams

The tiger has become part of our collective unconscious and in the process has diminished the other citizens of the forest by his sheer magnificence. In Ranthambore National Park, in eastern Rajasthan, he looms larger than life. He now even has an email id – prior to one’s arrival, one has to book a seat in a canter or a jeep to see him. This is meant to reduce pressure on the fragile ecosystem of the park by limiting the number of visitors to manageable numbers.

Indeed the tiger has been overtaken by its own legend, so much so that in Ranthambore, catching a glimpse of the feline is a magnificent obsession with driver-guides and tourists alike. The jungle resonates with his presence and whispers of “tiger, tiger” ripple through the forest like a jungle tom tom; even the hillsides seem to undulate with his tawny stripes. Forest guides examine the spoor, the pug marks, old and new, listen intently for alarm calls and ooh and aah in ecstasy if they hit bull’s eye. In the process, the wondrous beauty of the forest is at times forgotten.

The dry deciduous forest of Ranthambore is one of the finest in the country, humming and thrumming with wildlife even though tiger figures may rise and fall like the hemlines of Mumbai’s fashion world. Be that as it may, we could not be impervious to all the hype surrounding the magnificent beast as our jeep bounced into the entrance of the park where 400-yearold banyan trees stooped in welcome. The sandstone contours of the thousand-year-old Ramthambore Fort, perched on a dry rocky outcrop in the forest, were etched against a cloudless blue sky. (An interesting sidelight: The Indian Post delivers all invitations to weddings and house-warming parties sent out to Lord Ganesh from all over the country at the temple here as it is considered to be the favourite abode of one of Hinduism’s favourite deities.)

Today fragments of domed chattris and pavilions stud this park of yellow grasslands daubed with the blue of lakes and the rust colour of the local chilmi shrub, which spatters the canvas like splotches of dried blood. The Aravalli and Vindhya ranges that hem the sanctuary shimmer in shades of purple and mauve; the hues of the dhok tree that mantle the slopes.