A vehicle honked outside in seemingly the death of the night, the sound tearing through the silence of pre dawn slumber, its headlights making hardly a dent in the staunch of the deep darkness. The sapiens all clambered sluggishly onto the open gypsy, settling onto weathered leather seats, all dressed appropriate to the temperate climates of central India, in loose cotton clothing. The gypsy zipped across the now deserted national highway, and through narrow shortcuts on cemented village roads, dodging sleeping cattle and canines along the way, moving with a sense of purpose induced urgency. The early March early morning chill in the air further fanned by the decent speeds of the open carrier, caught the passengers un-aware, as they huddled in closer in anticipation of warmth, collectively hoping for an ember and a steaming hot cup of tea - the morning beverage of choice in the region. About 40 minutes later, the gypsy pulled off the highway onto a side road and settled between 2 other identical gypsies save the print of the owning company on the sides of their exteriors.
This early morning endeavor was to see tigers, in Panna Tiger reserve, on the shores of the river Betwa, where the majestic cats still roam free. At this early hour, even the stray indie dogs, a mother and her pups were reluctant to wake up even at the behest of the humans looking to pet them, still clawing at the last few winks of sleep; Close by, an enterpreneuring still groggy man stoked a little coal fire in his humble shack on the side of the road to make tea, for the steady stream of incoming tourists, guides and forest officials.
Across the road, in the ticket office, right next to the now shut souvenir shop, visibly tired night duty forest reserve officers sat on rickety plastic meshed wooden chairs behind a long wooden counter, a vertical glass panel with space at the bottom for documentation (and cash) separating them from the vying tourists looking for last minute offline tickets and guides looking for approvals to accompany these tourists. Chaos, shouting and appeasing ensued in this zoo of sapiens as people climbed over one another in order to get their tickets, given their limited availability, as some passed on a few wads of cash slyly from the edges of the counter and into the welcoming palms of the forest officers, allegedly for pre-booked VIP slots. A whole circus of humans fought, pled, hoping to see the handful royalty of the jungle, their sense of urgency intensifying as the time closed into the 15 minutes past six mark, the opening time of the reserve.
Meanwhile, deep in the wilderness of the reserve, in a secluded opening covered on all sides by dense bushery, young cubs no more than a few months old, princess' and princes, slept huddled up tight against the morning cold, shivering slightly in their sleep, much like the canine indie pups outside the reserve, their eyelids shut tight, their minds still replaying the mock hunting lesson from a few hours ago. Their mother was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity.
The humans, now having finally secured tickets, excursed into the reserve through massive open wooden doors (Panna Tiger reserve etched in bold on them with a suitable emblem of a tiger) by the gypsy load, all hoping for a glimpse of the striped cats; their lenses, natural and artificial both at the ready. The gypsies zipped leaving the mortar road into the increasingly dense jungle, as the guides explained at intervals, pointing at them, the different fauna found in the reserve.
At the same time, deep inside the reserve, an unexpected visitor, shook off the cold water off his majestic coat, as he got onto this shore of the Betwa, after a swift swim across, his heavy frame leaving deep paw prints on the clay. This was Goluram, a tiger who normally stayed across the reserve, but had vyed into the territory of the Queen, probably to quell competition, from the next generation, through elemination. His rather bulky, balloon like frame was the inspiration for his name which roughly translated to roundy.
In the gypsy of our sapiens - now all well fed and woken up after a cup of sweet milk tea accompanied with buttered sweet cherry buns - their was anticipation, as the guide, and the driver, Kaluram, both dressed appropriately in dark green jungle camouflage, noticed alarm on the contours and in the behavior of the barasinghas as the latter stood transfixed with their beautiful horns pointing to the blue skies, alluding to some impending or recent royal movement in the vicinity, the ears moving almost a 180 degrees seeking any immediate danger. Taking the cue, the guide scrambled onto his mobile to call another to query about any sighting, as he stood upright on the custom side wooden platform of the moving gypsy. Conversing excitedly in Khari boli, a dialect local to the region, getting a signal of the possibility of Goluram having crossed over to find the cubs, the guide beckoned Kaluram to reverse and move to the pond area, where the young royals were nestled.
The gypsy moved fast on the muddy bumpy much trodden jungle path, ignoring the nilgays and the deer along the way, the humans marveling at the suspension of the vehicle as they sat comfortably even in this uneven terrain, while the guide fabled excitedly about Goluram, his fondness of food and his enemity with the queen. It was funny, how the rest of nature, flora and fauna, were now somehow not all that interesting for the sapiens, only craving for a sight of royalty.
Inside the forest reserve, even though the area was cordened off from the rest of the world, there was a sense of freedom, away from all of the expectations and anxieties that manifested outside, here the inhabitants lived a life more primitive, their tendencies primal, the going ons arguably more dangerous perhaps, but simple. Here, the rules were straightforward and the goal singular - existence. Even the humans who lived on the edges of the core area lived simply, frugally and close to nature. Even though tigers were the kings of this jungle, Nature still ruled the roost, as it always does, a thought which is often veiled in the minds of the more cosmopolitan sapiens behind society enforced notions of 'real' development and progress, who consider themselves supreme.
Contrarily to what was alleged, Goluram had no intentions of harming the youngsters, in fact he was rather fond of them; it had been a while since he had ventured this side, scared of the protective yet unwarranted temper of his sister, the Queen. She had taken over after the recent passing of their ageing mother - who's series of litter over recent years had reintroduced tigers to this area - before she was brought here by the efforts of the Government, the tigers in the region had been driven into extinction by rampant deforestation and unregulated hunting in the area. Given Goluram's mischevious self and his affinity for some good meat, he couldn't but help himself for an innocent quick trip to the greener side, as he wobbled joyously in around between the dry grass on a relaxed morning stroll, accepting nods and attention from the local langurs and visiting Siberian cranes. He didn't particularly enjoy the hoarde of sapiens who ventured in the early mornings and the late afternoons on their curious loud, sun reflecting rides with revolving black rubber legs, and so he generally preferred the other side of the river, which unknown to him was out of bounds for the sapiens, on the orders of the Human Government.
The gypsy stood silently, the engine idling, on the edge of the pond, green water flowing from the deep foliage on the right end, towards the shallow end near the river, a cemented bridge, over the pond, segregating it into two. The temperature here was a few degrees cooler owing to massive dark green ferns and tall thick trees, which made it apt for the citizens of the jungle to hydrate, and for them to assimilate in the harsh summers of the region. The humans waited with bated breath, the suspense thick enough to cut through with a knife, hoping against hope, in the welcome shade. Any sound caused all occupants to look in the originating direction in unison, all conversation now happened in whispers, for it ironically seemed any disturbance would scare off the ruler(s) of the reserve. The guide, to impress the passengers and to justify the current vantage point, showed them a recent photo of the Queen walking on the bridge, with her little cubs, exuding infantile cuteness, following orderly in tow.
Other gypsies too moved purposefully like ants on the jungle roads searching relentlessly, each guide with his or her own strategy to find the elusive, universally rare cat. Despair was slowly but surely setting in, an hour into the escapade, as the sun climbed swiftly in the blue skies, with the hopes of any cats still roaming around in the heat of the day waning, their nap time approaching fast. By now, sure enough, unknown to the humans, Goluram, true to his laziness, hoping to catch a wink had settled in a shaded damp area in the deep foliage, a couple hundred yards from the pond. Some distance away, secure in the limits approved by their Mom, the youngsters happily wrestled away their post slumber energy, oblivious of the enormous search operation underway just a few hundred metres away from them.
A huge and cry from an entourage of brown Indian monkeys alerted a luckily well located guide of royal presence nearby, and with some focused inspection he sighted finally, in the open Savannah, the queen, a 100 feet away from the jungle road, slowly emerging from behind a thinly trunked tree. The young mother had just finished a recce of her land, and she now wanted to head back to her little ones; she'd seen, heard and smelt signs of Goluram, her brother, having come over for a visit, but she knew there was no danger from the jovial fellow, so there was no sense of urgency. She knew he would be snoring away somewhere by now, aware of his love of slumber.
The news of the sighting spread like wildfire, electronically through the phones of the sapiens, and naturally through the calls of the birds and the primates. The gypsies, from all across the jungle, made a dash for a viewing as they all raced to the coordinates of the queen, overtaking, racing against one another for the best shot, as the professional photographers adjusted their fragile gear nimbly in the shaking vehicles. The deer stood in attention, frozen in reverence, paying homage to the queen as she passed, walking slowly, purposefully, her movement majestic, deliberate. She ignored the commoners, as was appropriate for someone of her stature, including the hairless primates, who clambered for her attention on the sidelines. She found it amusing to see them almost everyday, always engulfed in chaos, and restless for a sight of her, hoardes of them, of differing colours, all on curious rides, something pointing at her, clicking away.
Some of them she saw almost daily, others only once, and so wondered of their migration patterns. They were a nuisance no doubt, for her young kids especially, but nevertheless she enjoyed the attention, as she continued on her chosen path back to her offspring.
Kaluram and the guide brandished a tobacco stained happy smile due to a job well done, as the sapiens gawked, in complete awe of this majestic animal, 'beautiful' being the common word emanating across the haphazardly crawling entourage of gypsies in tandem with the movement of the queen. Fingers tapped on the glass of the mobile screens, and on the buttons of the DSLRs, to capture this royal encounter.
She walked looking ahead and at times inspecting her sorroundings, through the brown shrubbery, flanked by red on the branches of the 'fire of the jungle' in the background, the stripes of black in her thick coat against the yellowish brown almost lending her a camoflage with the arid terrain, her movement unfazed, paving her own path, not worried about the seemingly intimidating human presence, even venturing rather close to one of the vehicles. And that's why they called her Manchali, the one who went where she wished, for she was the queen of the jungle, and this was her territory, her pride. The name also an ode to her until recent springy carefree adolescence, which had diminished only slightly now with the additional responsibility of the next generation.
After 20 minutes of this royal prosession, after having walked about a kilometre or so in the presence of the commoners, the queen entered through thick foliage into the inner sanctum of her home, her kingdom, just on the edges of the watering hole, just as the gypsies turned back to leave. Our humans, now almost near the gates of the reserve heading back into the concrete jungle outside, were now content in their souls for they had seen the Queen, and waited to share the details of this blessed encounter with their extended social circle and looked forward to buying a souvenir for the fridge to mark the same at the now open shop outside, while just beyond the pond Manchali animatedly, with enough dramatics and gesturing, told her excited, but now slightly yawny, cubs another episode of the near stampede of the funny hairless primates.