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The Roar Within

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In the heart of rural India, nestled on the edge of a dense jungle, lay a small village. The forest stood like a living giant, both feared and revered by the villagers. Among them was a young boy named Deenu, just twelve years old, with curious eyes and a happy spirit. His world shattered one evening when his mother never returned from gathering firewood in the forest close to the village. A search party later found traces of a tiger’s presence—and her scarf, lying near some lantana bushes at the edge of the jungle. The grief that followed was heavy. Deenu stopped speaking. He sat beneath the Jamun tree, where his mother once sang songs of her tribe, staring into the forest as if trying to summon her back to life. The villagers whispered about the tiger with anger. Some spoke of revenge; others demanded that the forest be cut down. But Deenu remained silent, his heart filled with sorrow and anger. One morning, a new figure arrived in the village—a tall, weather-worn man in green. His n...
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Temple of mothers

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  Beneath the soft, golden light of dawn, the grasslands stretched wide like a golden ocean. Nestled amidst the tall grasses, hidden from prying eyes, a female hyena lay still—her ears twitching at every whisper of the wind.  She was a fierce matriarch, a skilled hunter, and above all, a vigilant mother. Her den, dug deep into the hillside, cradling two pups.  As she suckled them, a distant temple bell rang in the distance. This centuries-old temple crowning the landscape, was renowned for its architectural beauty and revered as a sanctuary of mothers due to the presence of female deities that adorned every stone and wall.   Villagers believed the goddesses watched over every beast and blade of grass, their stone eyes ever vigilant.  One morning, however, something felt different. As the pups played and the mother hyena groomed herself, she caught the scent of something unfamiliar. A smoky odour was accompanied by the sounds of vehicles. Her muscles coile...
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Under the Night sky

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  Long ago, in the heart of Central India, where the jungle whispered secrets that only the souls of the forest could understand, stood a majestic Sal tree. Towering and wise, the Sal had rooted itself in the earth for over a hundred years. Its gnarled branches stretched out like arms that had witnessed countless monsoons, scorching summers, and mist-laden winters.   One twilight, as the orange sun dipped low behind the hills, a regal tiger padded silently into the clearing beneath the Sal tree. A great beast with stripes like molten gold, the tiger was old. Alone after many years of companionship with his own kind, he sought solace in his final years among the trees.   The Sal tree, sensing the tiger’s need for solitude, rustled its leaves softly in welcome. The tiger settled, easing his weary muscles against the cool earth and roots, and for the first time in many moons, he felt truly rested and comforted. As night deepened and stars blinked into the velvet sky, a sof...
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Tigresses in the wild

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Visiting the Indian forests for the past 10 years, one comes across interesting demands and language with regard to tigers. Apart from the usual ‘ akeli gadi’ and ‘road hi road’ another interesting demand by the guests directed towards the un- suspecting driver or guide is, “Female toh bahut dekh li, lekhin “bhaiya male dekhna hai” (we want to see a male tiger.) As if the pilgrimage without seeing a man of the feline world is incomplete.  For me however, it has always been the lady folk of the feline world who have held special interest. It is probably because of their ability to seem unfazed, undeterred in the face of constant adversity or just the fact that well, they are women. My first ever tigress was in 2010 (I first time I visited Bandhavgarh) by the name of Mahaman female. True to her family name of being shy and elusive, I just about caught a glimpse of her ochre coat in the fading evening light, speeding up a hill, her powerful stride crushing the leaves underfoot an...
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A tiger for every season

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Tigers, as a friend had once put it, have found a way to silently pad their way into a million hearts. She may be right, for how else can you explain, why people bundle up in layers and layers of fabric in the coldest of seasons, putting themselves through an early morning routine in wretchedly icy cold conditions 'companioned' often sadistically by cold winds to get a glimpse of the stripes? or, why else would people travel in 45 degrees of pure hellish heat routinely getting scorched by the sun to yet again watch this magnificent cat in it's realm? It has to be a certain degree of charisma with a spoonful of mystery and of course a tumbler full of beauty and sheer majesty that shimmers down to the tail, whiskers,  a shade of ochre and stripes with rippling muscles that is the tiger. Tigers are beautiful yes but during my time spent in the forests I have come to realise that the way they look seems to change with the change of season. This, however is not a s...
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Maximus the explorer

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In the deep, dark, sultry forests of Southern India, the weather had changed, the usually still forest, started swaying to a steady breeze and the forest floor was hit with tiny drops of rain. Unusual weather thought the herd, but then it was a special night, for the herd’s favourite female was due to give birth.  By the time he was born, the forest was drenched with rain, with the trees looking happy and green and everything in the forest seemed to be either singing or calling or croaking with the prospect of a lovely new day.  That’s when the sun too decided to make an appearance to bathe the freshly washed curtain of green. And as the sun hit a dense clump of bamboo, that’s when she saw him for the first time, but what caught her eye, was not the tiny trunk or the perfectly formed round ears or th...
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How the summer compliments a forest

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Bandhavgarh is a riot of colours and calls right now. True to it's nature, the summer has turned the grasslands yellow, the Mahua has turned a delicious red, the sun and dust play havoc, while the Sal appears as green as a tree would after a heavy downpour. The leaves which the Sal has shed, hit the Earth noiselessly, a beautiful brown, trod upon by the magnificent chital, with the male calling out incessantly announcing a summer worth mating. The langurs observe interestedly  sitting in a sheet of cotton offered by the Silk Cotton Tree, the white of which blends in with the silver appearance of the langur.The Brainfever bird, whose call is symbolic of summer flies calling hysterically from the safety of the 'mahul' and perches on the liana which looks gnarled with the heat. With the call of the Peacock and deer echoing through the forest and the changing colours of the trees, water seems to be the only constant till we chance upon it now covered in a haze of green, p...
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