Ten Days in Tadoba - Part 2

Ten Days in Tadoba

Part 2: Maya!

Tigress, Goddess, Superstar

Maya is Tadoba’s superstar. She could not be more Bollywood if she had a team of dancers prancing and singing behind her wherever she went. When the jeeps are lined up along the forest road and people are hanging out to snap her with their phones, she walks calmly by just a few metres away; quiet, confident and aloof. When she feels like it, she will lie down and allow people to admire her dangerous beauty. When she cares to, she will bring out her cubs and show them off to her adoring public. To some people, Maya is a rock star. To others, Maya is a goddess.

Maya escapes the afternoon heat. 

There was excitement at Tiger Trails Jungle Lodge when we returned after our third tigerless day in a row. A Forest Guard had told Lohu, who had told Bonay who told me, that Maya had killed a sambar  (a large deer - see Part 4 in a couple of weeks) at last light and she was camped out with it and her cubs at one of her favourite water holes. A good sighting was virtually guaranteed for tomorrow. 

The following morning I was up and jumping before the Lodge staff. They peered blearily out of the Lodge doors at a quarter to five o’clock to see me walking about with all my kit in a pile. Panic spread quickly. Having a guest who did not need a wake-up call and who appeared before anyone was around was unusual to say the least, and hot water, masala chai, coffee and biscuits started to appear. 

Lohu was to drive for a German family that morning, so I was given a rather inexperienced young man who quickly worked up through the gears as we left the Lodge. After a short wait at the Park gate we were allowed in with a Tourist Guide on board and took off. And I do mean took off. This young man was obviously destined for the air force as a fighter pilot, or dreamed so. As we turned onto the black-top road in the Park he managed to get up to 80kph. It was impossible to keep hold of my camera gear and I was in danger of being thrown out of the vehicle whenever we hit one of the frequent bumps or pot holes. We were leaving a boiling wake of dust twenty feet high as I suggested (shouted) that we should SLOW THE ****! DOWN and get there in one piece. He took the eloquent Anglo-Saxon hint, but we did get to the waterhole quite early and set up in a prime spot amongst about ten other jeeps.

Then Maya walked out of the long grass with her three cubs just as another 30 jeeps arrived with an escort of lumbering buses and minivans full of waving, chattering gesticulating people and excited Guides all bedecked in incongruous camouflage gear. The whole horrid circus came to a shuddering halt, several bumpers bumped and a thick wall of dust rolled over us and across the water towards the three tigers. They stopped, blinked the dust out of their eyes and continued walking down to the water’s edge. After the dust had cleared I could see the three large cubs playing together while their lovely mother approached the water and gently reversed in, lowering her back end in gradually as if entering a very hot bath. Each cub approached their mother in turn, paying obeisance and receiving her welcome in what looked like a ceremony orchestrated for the adoring crowd. One of the cubs carried a sambar leg around like a trophy. The tigers were a long way off, so I took a few snaps then just enjoyed renewing my acquaintance with the most wonderful predator on the planet through my binoculars.

Maya lies down in the cool water, having reversed gently in.

Cub No1 comes forward to pay homage to their mother, rubbing heads and snuggling, before making way for Cub No2.

Cub No2 is greeted by their mother, rubbing foreheads together before going to lie down and make way for Cub No3.

Cub No3 is more playful, batting their mother on the head before going to lie down with the siblings

Next to my jeep was a group in a similar vehicle. Three men and two women crowded in to the back. The oldest of the women, who I took to be wife to one and mother and mother-in-law to the other two respectively, was talking excitedly to her family in Hindi. Then I realised that she had switched to English.

“Oh Maya, Maya, Maya. You are so beautiful. Oh wonderful Memsahib Maya, you are a wonderful mother. You love your children so much, don’t you?” She crooned. Why she spoke to the tiger in English; I have no idea.

On the other side of us a man was taking pictures. He was using a mobile phone with the tiny lens pressed up to one eye piece of his binoculars. That struck me as optimistic, but not as stupid as some of the cammo-clad men who had entry-level DSLR cameras on the back of 600mm and 900mm lenses and were using them hand-held as if they were machine guns. They reminded me of nothing so much as the images of Middle Eastern gun-toting militia men in the back of pick-up trucks that you see on the TV news. I don't suppose their images were any better than the man with the Samsung: holding a super-long lens still even on a tripod or bean bag takes practice.

I loved the huge enthusiasm that the crowd showed. An Indian crowd is not just a collection of people, it is a thing in and of itself. This crowd was there to worship Maya and they joined together in doing so. Even the National Park Tourist Guides and Drivers, for whom tiger sightings are everyday, talked about her and referred to her as a superstar. As soon as she appeared they were telling stories about her and preening like proud parents at the first public performance of an especially talented off-spring.

A long shot of two playful cubs.

We had to leave Maya at 09.45am to fly back to the gate for 10 and then back to the Lodge for the middle of the day. We were allowed back in to the Park at 3pm and went straight back up to the waterhole where we got pole position in the shade of a small tree. The jeep was ramped up at about 30 degrees facing up a small slope that I could look over if I stood up on the back bench seat. But to do so meant I was in full sun. Which is where I was when I saw the tiger.

It had been an hour or more since we had arrived and everyone around me was chatting amongst themselves, sitting in the shade and idly wafting the flies away. The flies didn’t like me, so I was not bothered by them. (I think they were Nationalist RSS flies with the big shorts and long memories when it comes to Brits). I was watching my front, expecting to see a tiger when, like a remote controlled toy, Maya swam into sight on the surface of the waterhole. No one else had seen her and she had swum out from a small island that shielded her from the view of most of the onlookers.

“Oh look,” I said in my best laconic-Englishman-abroad voice, “there’s a tiger swimming in the lake.” Trying to sound as if I was only pointing it out as a matter of the slightest interest.

There was a moment of silence in my jeep and the jeeps to either side. Even the local Gond Marathi-speakers all knew the English word “tiger”. Then everyone was shouting, “Maya! Maya! Maya!” and scrabbling to their feet, wobbling the vehicle and getting in the bloody way.

Maya, surrounded by rambunctious cubs, who used her as a bridge, lilo and floatation aid.

As Maya swum to shore, she was followed by her three cubs swimming in line like huge, stripy ducklings. They all clambered out and went into the long grass. In the morning, they had chewed the legs off the sambar carcase. Now they pulled the front legs, spine and ribcage out of the grass and into view, chewing at it and licking the meat off the bones with rough tongues.

Maya, with a deliciously chewy bit of deer, happy to share with her cubs.

Two of the cubs peer over the bank of the lake, making all the deer on the other side panic. Hugely satisfying!

One of the cubs, practicing stalking.

The celebrity family, lying in the evening sunlight.

Some people left at that point – amazingly from my point of view – so I asked our driver to get us into some of the vacant places which had a slightly better angle. It was a terrific sight. I gloried in it right up until the German family told me about the dholes.

That changed everything.

The next instalment of Ten Days in Tadoba will be out soon!

Ten Days in Tadoba Part 1

Ten Days in Tadoba

Part 1: Tadoba Andhari – the experience and the place.

As I waited outside the gates of Tadoba Andhari National Park on the first day of my visit, I could feel the excitement mounting. I leant back in the seat of the jeep, one arm draped nonchalantly across the seatback, trying to look like I do this every day and I’m just not that impressed. I couldn’t keep the silly grin off my face though, so I don’t suppose I fooled anyone except myself. The sights and smells of a jungle dawn made my blood fizz like champagne. The rapidly brightening sky promised the kind of light that British photographers rarely see. The sun was still below the horizon and the grey light washed the colours from leaves and the dusty dry paddy fields I could see in the distance. The dry earthy smells mixed with the aromas of wood smoke, the human tang of sweat and excrement. The Park is named after the god Taru or Tadoba who was killed in a fight with a tiger and the Andhari River which flows through the Park. In an attempt to stop myself gabbling too many silly questions, which I am apt to do when I am really thrilled about something, I read the big brown sign beside the gate. 

"The Survival of Man depends upon the Survival of Wildlife"

Which would, I considered, be a controversial thing for a UK government body to pronounce, but enthusiasm and absolute certainty in even the most unlikely assertions are two things that I love about Indian culture, so perhaps it was no surprise to find the Maharashtra State Forest Service making such a bold statement.

The Khutwanda Gate: much more exciting than it looks. 

Lohu, my driver, was chatting with the Forest Guards and Tourist Guides. Very important paperwork was being completed (India floats on a sea of forms-to-be-filled-in. They promise much, permit little and none of them seem to make any difference to how people actually behave). Suddenly it was done and the wide gates were being swung open. A Tourist Guide tumbled into the passenger seat and Bonay, my naturalist, sat up straight as Lohu started the engine and we took off into the Park.

The journey in the Park can be unexpectedly exciting. You expect to be excited by the idea of seeing amazing wildlife and the constant anticipation of a tiger round every bend, but what really excites you is the anticipation of not making it round the next bend as the jeep hurtles through the jungle and you thump up and down on the seat, clutching your camera and trying to hang onto the safety handles at the same time. Indian driving takes no account of passenger comfort; each grunt of pain, each sharp exhalation as air is driven from the passenger’s lungs is taken as a sign by the driver that he is doing a great job.

The Park has a good infrastructure of forest roads, with bamboo cleared away at the sides to aid viewing, and some long straight sections on which you can attain terrifying speeds

Indian safari is very different to the African original. In Africa, one motors gently around a very wide open, grassy landscape viewing game animals that are relatively easy to see. Indian National Parks tend to be forested, so driving around looking for things would be fruitless. What you need to do is go to the last place a tiger was seen, or go to a waterhole, and wait. Of course, everyone knows the same thing and is heading for the same place, so you need to get there early to bag a good place. Hence the unseemly haste as the gates open all around the tourist zone and the jeeps roar up the tracks. There is a 20kmh speed limit in the Park. When I pointed this out to the Drivers and Guides, they looked at me blankly. I told them that there were signs that charmingly informed Drivers to keep to the 20kmh limit to appreciate the bird song. They did not believe there was any such sign and we bowled along cheerfully at 40 or even 60kmh.

The Sign That Never Was

My first two days at Tadoba were tigerless and the whole experience became rather wearing as we went in relentless pursuit of a tigress called Maya and her three cubs. This involved patrolling two waterholes and the jungle in between. At popular waterholes, there will be between 20 and 40 jeeps, two buses, a couple of minivans and a saloon car or two. The routes between waterholes tend to be one-way systems. This means that your chances of survival are much higher as there is no on-coming traffic. Indian drivers do make way for each other, but only at the last moment: a habit that can increase the heart-rate exponentially. Having arrived at the first waterhole, all the Drivers and Guides start sharing intelligence gleaned from the Forest Guards who have been in the jungle over-night. This is done in Marathi, not Hindi. So my naturalist Bonay, who is from Rajasthan, could not understand a word of it and I had to ask for a translation. He then decided whether to tell me or not. I could always tell if it was something he didn’t want to repeat as my enquiry would be met with a good deal of sideways nodding: the head wobble that indicates that your Indian interlocutor is choosing his words carefully.

Eventually, I would enquire, “So. What are they saying?”

Bonay looks at me glumly, “No one is seeing tiger. No one is hearing tiger”. Head wobble. Pulls hopeless face.

I ask, “So what’s the plan then? Where else can we try?”

Sad Face. Head wobble followed by serious head-shake. “No. No. No. Not moving. This is the best place.”

“But if the tiger is not here, why do we stay?” I reply, searching for the logic in the plan.

Disgruntled face. “This is Maya’s Place!” Which seemed to be justification enough and an end to the discussion.

Gathered at the edge of one of the open areas, we wait to hear the 'Jungle Folk' reveal a tiger's presence.

So we continued to wait for alarm calls. Waiting for langur monkey, sambar or chital to see the tiger move and warn the jungle, and us, that Maya was up and going somewhere. The trouble with that was the fact that not all alarm calls are reliable. Chital will alarm call whenever they get a bit worried; which is a lot of the time as they are easily scared. Sambar are much more reliable and langurs will retreat to the trees and bark repeatedly for as long as they can see the tiger, leopard, dhole or snake that is causing the upset.

While we waited, I amused myself by watching my fellow tourists and the photographers especially. Indian visitors to National Parks follow certain fashions and most of these revolve around camouflage clothes. At one waterhole, I counted 16 different patterns of camouflaged clothing. As it is hot, there is not the same opportunity for clothing as there is in Europe. No need for a thermal gilet or four season top coat when the temperature is in the forties Celsius. So the cammo patterns are worn on scarves that keep the dust out of your mouth, caps, hats, gloves, t-shirts and trousers. I tried to add in the different patterns on all the camera gear, but I lost count: cammo tape on tripods, cammo covers on lenses and camera bodies, cammo style bean bags to rest on and cammo camera bags. This would all completely understandable for wildlife photographers if we were not sitting in a huge jeep-jam full of gesticulating and shouting Drivers, Guides and tourists with two huge busloads of locals who are all talking on their phones. The last thing that anyone is doing is making any attempt at concealment. The cammo is being worn on the body and the kit of the photographers as an adornment. It is meant to be seen. So it is now the very antithesis of camouflage.

Lohu, in grey shirt, ready to drop back into the driver's seat at a moment's notice.

Once you have settled in, an alarm call sounds. The Guides and Drivers immediately call for silence while talking loudly about where the call originates and what it means. If it is decided that it is best to get to the next waterhole, then engines are started and all the Suzuki Mahindra jeeps rev up, drowning out the chatter. I had to hang on tight and sit down fast as the call for movement comes swiftly and the clutch is let in with a bang regardless of my state of readiness, position or opinion. It’s like the start of the 1970s cartoon The Wacky Races. “And they’re off!” always went through my mind as the jeeps disentangled themselves from each other and headed off round the race track to the next waterhole. 

When there is certainty about where the next sighting will occur, most of the jeeps in the Park are in one place.

Huge frustration at the Moharli Gate, as drivers and guests realise that they bought licences to the wrong side of the fence. They could see that we were where they wanted to be.

The worst thing for a driver is to get caught between the two waterholes when a tiger walks out at one or the other place. That means that whatever he tries to do, his client will be the last to arrive and be unsighted. Unhappy client equates to low or no tip. Hence the race for pole position as the client is thrown side to side and up and down, clinging on for dear life to the seat in front and the camera on the lap. Keeping the camera wrapped up at this point is crucial as fine red dust rises in a cloud as soon as a jeep moves an inch, let alone racing the quarter mile. You arrive at the next waterhole in a cloud of red dust that rolls across the water’s surface like smoke from a battery of cannon. The late arrivals shudder to a halt behind you, releasing their own wall of dust that covers you and your precious camera is a thin coating of red grime. All the guides stand up as soon as their jeeps come to a halt, they turn this way and that, rocking the jeeps, calling out to one another and pointing at … nothing.

The Guides are pointing, big lenses swing round like a naval battery,  it's a .... (deep sigh) peacock.

So I waited patiently (well, maybe not so patiently all the time) for three days, getting a few nice shots of things that were not tigers and worrying that my coccyx was doing the job of the jeep’s suspension. I tried to relax, take it easy and not worry.

Then a tiger appeared and all hell let loose.

The next instalment of Ten Days in Tadoba will be out soon!