The Jungle Book getaway
KANHA NATIONAL PARK IS THE REASON WE HAVE THE JUNGLE BOOK, A TIMELESS STORY THAT HAS CAPTIVATED SIX AND 60-YEAR OLDS ALIKE
The jeep rattled down the path in the silence of the woods. Many would call this an ungodly hour but I would say it’s the hour when the jungle wakes up through the early morning curtain of mist spread across its expanse; the dewdrops strewn over the grass blades glisten as the sky glows in shades of red like a newlywed bride.
JUNGLE BOOK
I was in Kanha National Park in Madhya Pradesh, one of the largest wildlife parks in India. Spread across a core area of 920 km, the park is the reason why we have the Jungle
Book, a timeless story that has captivated six and 60-year olds alike. The thought of sighting a tiger had lured me to the jungle in the heart of India and we moved ahead through the forest in eerie silence, occasionally broken by the calls of a monkey, or by a herd of deer prancing across the grassland. The veil of darkness was slowly lifting as the birds chirped in the sun-dappled forest. We spotted the Indian gaur grazing behind a thicket. Rippling muscles and legs that looked like they had worn white socks, the mighty animal is said to weigh 2,200 pounds. In the distance a serpent eagle sat on a branch eyeing its territory. Kanha is home to the endemic Barasinga, which is a sub-species of the swamp deer found in the Himalayan terrain of North India. The Barasingas have adapted themselves to the hard ground conditions in Kanha and at the same time prefer swamps, water and grasslands.
SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE
As we advanced through the wilderness, I noticed a well in the middle of nowhere surrounded by themada grass. I was surprised to find a well, in a jungle, of all places. Who would have thought of digging one in the wild confines of Kanha? Our guide in the jeep saw my perplexed expression and responded that there were around 40 villages in the core area of the jungle, of which about 27 had been relocated. These were the tribal lot who were living since times of yore in the jungle and they had even indulged in farming in the forest. No wonder, then, that they had dug wells for irrigation and personal use. So Kanha wasn’t home just to the wild animals, but also for humans.
The jungle had many untold and riveting stories for an explorer. While we managed to spot most other residents, there was no trace of Sher Khan, the majestic tiger. It probably wasn’t the right time to get beguiled by the prospect of the feline, and so I hoped for the best and looked forward to the safari lined up for the following morning.
WARM WELCOME
When the safari came to an end, I returned to the resort and sat by the placid waters of Banjar, a tributary of Narmada, mulling over the day’s happenings. The tribes of Kanha had caught my train of thought. That night I visited a restau- rant for dinner, and was surprised to find the Baiga tribesmen and women waiting to welcome the guests. They once resided in the jungle, and today after relocation, worked as labourers, and collected honey.
Men were dressed in flowing robes while women were clad in kneelength saris, sporting colourful head gears and neckpieces. They danced around a bonfire to the beats of traditional percussion instruments like the mandar, timki and
thiski, a paired sonorous wooden clapping instrument. Some women were dancing with babies tied around their shoulder on their back. That was one mesmerising performance that chilly night.
SHER KHAN IS BACK
Early next morning, I got into a canter safari and took to the jungle. The enthusiastic guide was on the lookout for signals which would indicate the cat was around. We looked for monkeys and deer giving distress calls, when suddenly there was commotion in the otherwise tranquil setting. We changed our course and got into a long dirt path and listened to the sound of the forest. Very soon, we sighted the fresh pugmarks of a tiger that had possibly taken the same route some time back. A short distance ahead were the imprints of the tiger sprawled in its glory on the ground, but the feline wasn’t in sight. We stopped and were all ears for any movement in the bushes but luck didn’t seem to favour us. After what seemed an eternity, we returned to our camp to narrate stories of the ghost we called Sher Khan.