'In Tadoba many of them have names -- Sonam, Shivaji, Maya and Tara.'
'Their territories are precisely demarcated on the map, and it is to the waterhole that we all troupe, to stay put till the lord or her ladyship deign to put in an appearance.'
Subir Roy on a visit to the the Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve.
It has long been said that there's no point going all the way up to Shimla to run into the same people on the mall as you would in Delhi's Connaught Place.
About the same fate has befallen the glamorous best-known tiger reserves of middle India like Ranthambore, Bandhavgarh, Kanha and Pench.
The rush of visitors is unbearable to many visitors themselves, not to speak of the wild animals.
In comparison, the Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve in Maharashtra's tribal Chandrapur district is self-effacing in a way only the self-confident can be.
In terms of the key benchmark of tiger count, Tadoba holds its own among all the star reserves. Which is why we decided to set right a shortcoming on our part and enjoy the relative breathing space still available there and sight all the game we could.
The forest in Tadoba is part solid teak, part endless clumps of bamboos turned yellow with age, and in good measure tall grass turned yellow in the post monsoon sun -- ideal cover for the big cat with its yellow-brown coat and light stripes of distinction.
Tadoba reserve is set in a tribal country, for whose social protection strict prohibition is in place.
I commit my lawbreaking within the confines of my resort room, but suffering public indignity is written in my stars.
On the way back at the airport, the baggage scanner spots a couple of three-fourths empty bottles in the suitcase which I am made to dump in the dustbin in full view of a hundred other passengers checking in.
The strict no-no to liquor and the equally firm no to television in the resort room probably explain why the nature-loving tourist is still able to hold his own against the onslaught of the typical tourist.
The several safaris over the couple of days we are there form a journey into an exquisitely, beautiful land and also the mind.
The huge and utterly placid Indian Gaur stares soulfully at us passers-by undisturbed, unlike the spotted deer and her young.
The sound of the oncoming car sends the mother off into the roadside vegetation, leaving behind her little progeny which gets even more flustered and does an incredible leap through the air, several feet off the ground. We rue our luck that the cameras are not ready to catch this.
Through all this it is the birds which revel in the most uninhibited showmanship.
As the dawn breaks, it is the gurgle of the dove that forms the backdrop. Thereafter it is a constant effort to capture the flashing colours of the kingfisher and the Indian roller. And in between, occasionally emerges the hugely colourful jungle fowl, complete with a red bow on the head, its male badge of showmanship.
But all this is secondary. The entire focus of all the visitors is to spot the king among the beasts, the tiger.
In Tadoba many of them have names -- Sonam, Shivaji, Maya and Tara. Our friendly wildlife-buff manager fills us in on the lore of this jungle's royal family, now into its third generation.
Their territories or fiefdoms are precisely demarcated on the map, and it is to the waterhole that we all troop, to stay put till the lord or her ladyship deign to put in a flash appearance.
At the waterhole or the intersection of road and lane in the vicinity of which pug marks have been seen (it rained the previous day) open Safari, Canter and plain old bus, all loaded full, wait with infinite patience for the darshan. Why anybody in his senses should deign to come out before such a crowd is not given a thought.
At the audiovisual presentation in the resort in the evening, every record of big-game sighting is made up of two components -- the beast in all its glory and banks of vehicles overflowing with voyeuristic visitors in pursuit. The animal's privacy is the least of the casualties.
If this be the scene at Tadoba, what passes at the thoroughly commercialised Rathambore can be imagined.
As if this were not enough, on the way to the forest reserve gate we see several new resorts coming up.
What will remain of what is still left of the calm of the forest once these fill up is anybody's guess.
How much damage will be caused by the exhaust fumes from all the vehicles that will then crisscross even the forest core area is also anybody's guess.
The least that needs doing is to permit only electric vehicles inside the reserve.
The saving grace is the resort, with its orchid and hibiscus in bloom and the neat, stylish tents with their pointed tops. But even in this little corner of elegance and harmony with nature there is a jarring note. The air cooler I can understand, but does there have to be air conditioners?
It is just as well that you don't try to think through all the issues.
What do you make of the fact that all the resorts there burnt their solid waste, entirely according to rule!
A day will come when all the wild animals would have run away from the visitors. Then the main visual attraction will be the elegantly designed resorts with their mock jungle surroundings.
