Call of the Wild - Chapter One

It was back in the summer of 2012, pretty much before than the formal inception of Wanderlust as a gang. But, the spirits were nonetheless free and friends. It was considerably our first venture into the woods. For the four of us - Gour, Dadu, Prads and Me.

My birthday was just around the corner and Dadu was visiting us in B'lore from Calcutta. The brisk plan for the weekend getaway into the forests near the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border was flashed green just over a couple of phone calls and a Swiss Cottage deep inside the Mudumalai forest was booked.

Just to add a pinch of clarity about the geography and slight brevity to the narrative, Bandipur National Park is located in the southern state of Karnataka - slightly barren in terms of flora - was once a private hunting reserve for the Maharaja of  Mysore.  The same forest, as it extends toward the state of Tamil Nadu on the northwestern side of the Nilgiri Hills is known by the name of Mudumalai National Park. Mudumalai is comparatively thicker a forest than Bandipur.



We started earlier than the sunrise and had reached close to the forests by late morning. Our stay was booked in Mudumalai, hence, the plan was to deny a stopover at Bandipur for whatever might have been the lure, as we would come back there the next morning.

We were already basking in the spirit of adventure and the nature’s charm at its utmost degree of mystique serenity was taking over our senses. The engulfing lush foliage, the murmur of the leaves in the sweet tease of the flowing breeze, the burble of Moyer river that runs parallel and the rippling sound of the small makeshift waterfalls touching down the road at regular intervals, all, were aptly juxtaposed with the frequent glimpses of prancing deer herds and the fluttering wings of the world's most colorful butterflies. Needless to say, it was just perfect for the cozy lap of mother-nature. Indeed, a gifted break from the humdrums of our banal city-lives.

We were slowly moving deep into the forest, quietly reminded by the road markers that animals have the right of way. Slightly ahead, we spotted a tusker on a stroll, on its silent rampage eating up every tree-branch or twig on its way. It was huge. The massive size of the animal tickled both, awe and fear, in all the four of us. But, we couldn't have been doing away with such an opportunity to capture the moment of wild amidst the wilderness, given the kind of lens-freaks we are.

We ran close, froze quite a few moods of the tusker on our cameras and realized its mahout was nearby. The elephant was not a wild, wild one. We were told, in that forest, it was probably the biggest 'yanai', that's what they call elephants in Tamil. It was a trained one. It helps find home to other wild elephants, when they get lost from their herds at times.




For three of us, our first close encounter inside the forest was sheer blissful. Prads had almost started analyzing the elephantine gestures in his head with drawings inside his mind to presumably design his next animated character. For me and Gour, we were happy with the clicks. But, Dadu didn't say a single word and looked a bit alarmed. Almost evidently, he was a bit tensed and was trying to hide that behind his dark shades. With the friendly leg-pulling and the fun, we wheeled in deeper inside the forest.

By midday, we've had reached our deep jungle home and it was decided we'll gear up for a sunset jungle trek after resting for lunch for some time.  Our cottage was a cozy hearth, much like a big tent, camped just by the bank of a jungle brook. The swampy surrounding of the cottage must have helped invite ‘slytherin’ visitors but Prads was smart to have brought along carbolic acid to keep the reptilian friends at bay. So, there was less to worry.  Meanwhile, we were hungry and the lunch served at the cottage tasted scrumptious.


As we were gearing up with our lenses, water bottles and backpacks, Dadu said, "I think I'm not coming with you guys.  I'm damn sleepy..." And, we were like, REALLY! Well shielded with his excuses of past night's drinks and travel fatigue, he managed to convince us and didn't come for the trek up the jungle slope, into the frontiers, apparently where the predators dwelled. The rest of us, we were enthused a little too much for the experience that was in store -- to walk the lands of the tigers. We were excited and hopeful to spot one of the carnivores from close but we literally had no clue or idea what to do next if one actually gets up-close-and-personal.

Around 3:30 in the afternoon we started with our guide in a small group of eight-nine odd heads. And frankly, it will be kind of a futile effort to try narrating the exact intricacies of the journey’s experience. The songs of the wild winglets, the unfamiliar hoots and chirps of the unknown aves were for a constant company. The thin forest trails were deceiving enough to have led to nowhere inside the forest territory and we were repeatedly told to stick together. The captivating smell of the jungle flowers and the zest to capture the colors of nature through our lenses were persuading us to override the warning again and again. 

The first amusing thing that greeted us inside the forest was a squeaking ball of fur hanging from a high branch. It was a giant Malabar squirrel. I could have never imagined a squirrel as big as that one, if we had not seen it. 

As usual, engrossed with the cameras, Gour and I, were left behind and was lost, yet completely oblivious of that fact.  Meanwhile, we had found something extraordinary. It was a huge tree that appeared like a giant African baobab with its trunk resembling a face, a human face. Had we not been lost, we would probably not have seen something like that. I thought it was something like that comes in fantasy stories of some demigods being cursed into a life on earth as a tree, serving its punishment. But again, thoughts are thoughts and an imaginative flight means no practical limits. When we realized we're lost, it was late. We were already an-hour-long-walk deep inside the forest and it would have been stupid to try figuring out the way back ourselves. We chose to wait thinking our fellows might spot the missing two and our guide might trace us back where we have been left stranded. We were lucky; they did come back for us.

My nitpicking nose for a journalist was not helping me entirely believe on all that our guide was saying. He was a middle-aged Tamil man, who has spent most of his life in and around the Nilgiri forests and working as a guide. He had is fair share of stories inside his bag about those close encounters with tigers and wild boars. He said, "Stay close. There's something nearby." The way he said it in a scampering low voice, we could understand, it was probably something serious. It looked like he had smelt something. We marked his words and followed suit. However, the slightly unwarranted skepticism in me was raising eyebrows on how much his words can actually be believed. Come on! He has been doing it for a living, so probably he can be given a leeway to beef up a suspense scene just to add kicks to the journey. But then, at that particular part of the forest it was actually a belt of dense long grass -- a righteous habitat for tigers. It was getting dark and the sun had sunk behind the hills.

We moved in further with nothing yet in sight. Then all of a sudden, there was a quick loud rustle of dry leaves at a distance and a chain of howls screaming thru' the silence of the forest. "It's a pack of wild dogs," the guide said. "Must have been feasting on the leftovers of a tiger's kill. That’s what they do."  For a moment, I won’t deny, it had sent a shiver down my spine.

He drew our attention to something, couple of yards away. It was a fresh carcass. It sounds like an oxymoron, I know, but it was the flesh-ripped skeleton of an antelope, lying on a big patch of darkened blood stain.

It was quite obvious, that big an antelope can only be a tiger's hunt. Yes, we were standing at a place where perhaps, couple of hours ago, the big cat was having its supper. A few pug marks here and there confirmed our assumption. Thankfully, the heavens timed it right that we did not comprise the carnivore's meal.

It was already beyond sunset. We were asked to pace up as it would not be safe to ramble inside the forest after dark. In order to save us some time and tire, we chose a short-cut route that called for a river crossing. It was a typical hilly stream, not much deep but filled with strong under-currents. With broken branches and hands for support we crossed the running waters. 

It was another 45 minutes of walk to get back to the mainland and we were told from there the route will be pretty much straight. However, the path didn't seem as straight as we thought it would be. Minutes later, our guide, who was walking in front at a visible distance shouted back to us to hold and stop. We couldn't decipher what has happened at first, then we realized the way ahead takes a downward slope and our guide came back to us running and said "this road is not safe as there's a mad elephant tearing and knocking down the forest belt ahead." He was worried we cannot take this route, but going back again all the way in the former path would definitely get us trapped within the forest in the darkness. It was a precarious situation. We didn't know what to do.

"Is there no way possible that we can stealthily walk past the mad elephant?" asked Gour. "It's on the run so can we not avoid its path and run past it too?" It made sense. Or, at least, that was the only option that we had. I thought to myself, this might gift us that one moment of fame, to frame a wild insane mammoth on its riot. I'm sure; the same was going in Gour's mind.  We were forbidden to make the slightest of noise and we trod ahead.

Elephants have always fascinated me. But, I never had delved deeper into their lives. It was the first time, I learnt that sometimes elephants are so attached to their partners that they go mad or even might die if one passes away or gets lost. Same was the story for our mighty friend here. It was a bull elephant that had lost its partner couple of days back and was found to have turned frantic. Our guide had heard about it in the morning from the forest rangers and now, fortunately or unfortunately, it was there, blocking our path. As we tried making our way, we could see the animal at a distance, slightly lower in a slope, going crazily berserk and banging its head against almost every tree and taking them down. I'm not sure why, was it sorrow, was it pity, but it was for one single time I actually didn’t care to take a snapshot. The camera kept hanging round my neck and all I did was to see the big creature running amok in sorrow. Our guide said, "it has been two days. By now it should have calmed down but it hasn't. If this continues, this one too will die soon." It felt weird.  On this deep jungle trot, in a land far away from my home, how could something be so sensitively emphatic that I feel bad for a creature, way bigger than me and way beyond my breed?

And then, someone in our group, a dumb college kid, used his flash to take a photo of the animal on rampage. It happened as was expected. The blinding light of the camera flash had attracted the elephant's attention and it charged on us. We had nothing to do but to run for our lives, literally. Some stumbled, some almost fell, but everybody ran their fastest. Luckily for us, the mammoth was too preoccupied on its own to continue the chase and we were left panting and alive. It was another first of its kind in our kitty.


Famished and tired, we completed our eventful jungle trek. We reached back to our cottage discussing what all Dadu had missed and that he should have come along with us. Guess what, we could hear him snoring from outside the cottage door. Despite all the weary, we broke into a raucous laughter. And then, there was more to come…

Pics Courtesy - Koustav Samanta, Gourav Bakshi, Pradipto Sengupta
[Disclaimer: This piece is written for mie biker-gang, Wanderlust on Nov. 27, 2013]