The jackal ran into the track just ahead of our jeep as we turned in through the Gate into the Dhikala Range of Bandhavgarh National Park. Manhoos! exclaimed our driver Mahadev as he spat out disdainfully spraying the shrubbery beside the road with his maroon betel leaf saliva. “Sighting a jackal is unlucky and we may not see many animals,” he clarified. I nodded at him and cursed myself for having forgotten to take a picture in the overall excitement.

We had taken the road from Jabalpur, MP to Bandhavgarh and had reached only a couple of hours earlier. The trips to the park had been pre – planned and the open Gypsy turned up before we could finish our hasty lunch. It had two cushioned seats for us at the back while the rear seat was actually welded into the rear frame. My younger daughter, Nisha took one look at the open Gypsy and promptly climbed onto the first seat with her mom – Sona, while my elder daughter, Jaishnavi smiled a half – sneer and slipped into the rear seat beside me. Both of them were visiting a national park for the first time; I felt a little scared but comforted myself with the thought that animals follow the natural code of conduct far more rigidly than their human counterparts and my daughters needed to understand that.

The afternoon was chilly although the sun was out. Our fingers grew stiff shortly since we clung and gripped desperately as the Gypsy lurched over constantly undulating game tracks, cratered or even washed away inside small ravines from the previous monsoon at many places. There was a cold breeze too though gentle but, the experience was exhilarating as we started seeing Spotted deer, Sambhar, Hornbills, Mongoose and Barking deer and of course various birds out in or over grassy areas of the park; gradually, as familiarity grew and no predator jumped out from any bush or grove we crossed; Nishi, Jai and Sona relaxed and started looking more interested but they looked apprehensive every time we moved into the trees and light decreased.

We were inside the park till sunset; the abrupt switchover from day to night unique to deep forests as if someone drew a black paint brush across the sky, mesmerized all of us. A little later; we were at an elevated grassland from where we saw some of the hills surrounding the park lit up with the coruscating colours of the setting sun. For a few moments we all were quiet, basking in the glory and splendour of the spectacle of myriad hues. We all returned happy and content and only Mahadev looked unhappy as he dropped us back at the resort.

Next day, our trip to the park was scheduled for early morning. It was very cold and dark as we dressed. The resort team gave us a couple of thick army blankets to drape in the vehicle and as we fumbled with them, our driver, a very young man called Pawan claimed confidently that he was going to show us a tiger that day. He must have noticed the surprise on my face because he added, “They are my friends, Sir”. “Fine”, I said with a smile as we clambered onto our seats in the Gypsy and started. The morning was chilly and cold with overnight dew still dripping from the trees; the bushes looked thoroughly soaked; birds were still not out except for a few calls now and then; the sun had not yet risen above the tall treeline and the light around us was like on a rainy morning.

Shortly after entering the park, Pawan veered off to the left whispering to me that he did not want to follow any other vehicle. I was concerned momentarily; in almost all Indian wildlife parks and reserves, vehicles follow one another and I knew that the sight of vehicles ahead of us or behind, had been a source of some comfort probably to my daughters. I dismissed the worry in a hurry because quite abruptly Pawan tore along like a maniac on the rough track and we all had to endure a painful experience of the dust and cold wind cutting into our eyes and face as we held on. The blankets were a great blessing though and we huddled under them as much as we could. The complete silence was suddenly shattered by the alarm call of a Sambhar and we were all tensed; there was silence again for a minute or so and then the call came again floating on the air. We had reached a crossing by then where the track forked to the left and the right. After some whispered consultation, we turned to the left because after a small copse of trees it crossed a large meadow and we hoped to be able to see more clearly.

Right after we turned there was a patch of dry grass from the shoulder of the track on our left for about 10 metres after which the trees started; as we crossed the patch of grass, the Gypsy stopped suddenly with Pawan’s excited whisper, “Tiger”, and about 10 – 12 feet from us, we saw Jim Corbett’s gentleman, a large male tiger crouching on the dry grass. For a few moments, the daylight seemed to dim and there was a buzz in my ears as I looked at the mesmerizing majesty of the king of the jungle. I looked at Jaish who tried to look nonchalant while photographing the tiger; I could see Nisha’s nose only because she had drawn back the rest of her body completely into the blanket behind her mother. Meanwhile Pawan had whispered that he was known as T4 according to the Park nomenclature and so we christened him as “Four”. He was absolutely calm and allowed us to take pictures without twitching a whisker although his remarkable eyes watched every small movement we made. After a few minutes he just jumped back behind the trees in a flash. A little later we also left, jubilant in sighting our national animal from such close quarters.

Later in the evening, we dined in the forest lodge and packed for our return next evening. We appeared to have become temporary celebrities because no visitor had seen a tiger for the previous three weeks in Bandhavgarh and people crowded around to see photographs that we had shot. I chatted with Pawan and his friends for a while; they told me of the problem of conservancy because of the conflict between the tigers and people of the villages near the forest. Apparently, some tigers loved to leave the park and pick a bull or cow from the villages sometimes. I also heard about a photographer from abroad who had tried to photograph the ‘kill’ of a tiger and was killed by the tiger resting nearby. Fortunately, the animal was not a maneater and it lived reportedly. I gave him some money before bidding farewell for helping us see a tiger.

Next day, while driving back to civilization I wondered about the future of tigers in India – the sincere conservation efforts notwithstanding, the constant encroachment of forests for agriculture and industry and the brutal persistence of poachers and villagers in killing tigers and other animals. I recalled the words of Jim Corbett as the visage and magnificence of Four appeared again and again in front of my sleep laden eyes “A tiger is a large – hearted gentleman with boundless courage …when he is exterminated …as exterminated he will be unless public opinion rallies to his support – India will be the poorer by having lost the finest of her fauna.” The prediction is still very valid and so is the fear!