But before we could get into any sort of detailed analysis of the Middle East, a commotion broke out on the road. Jeeps and Gypsies were scrambling along the shoulder, and our mahout gestured excitedly. There, just below a small temple in a gully running perpendicular to the road, a flash of orange broke through the deodar forest – tiger!
It was a good sized cat of about 200 pounds and indeterminate sex, pacing along the roadside, impatient but surprisingly calm given the traffic jam that closed off its exit from the streambed. No fewer than six cars crept along, angling for position, while our elephant made her slow way towards the tiger. Immediately the young girl riding my side of the elephant began whining that she didn’t want to move any closer, and the mother took up her cries and began berating the mahout in Hindi that he better not lead us into the underbrush as the tiger turned tail and disappeared into the woods. Fortunately, this fellow knew his job. For my part, I offered that there was “no way” the tiger posed a threat, though I was likewise cursing what seemed a conspiracy to keep me from taking a long view of the cat. Just as I was preparing to jump down from the elephant’s back in pursuit of the tiger, another group of safari-goers atop an elephant also arrived and blazed their way along the tiger’s trail. That seemed to assuage the concerns of both mother and daughter as we joined in tracking the beautiful animal into the jungle.
We never got close enough really to disturb her – I decided somewhere along the way that the tiger was female, though that may just be a projection due to her feline wiles. But we did get some excellent views, and through the binoculars I felt as though I might reach across the 25-30 yards distant and touch the tawny fur. To be lucky enough to see such a creature in the wild, even with the somewhat objectionable company felt like a blessing indeed, especially when I returned to camp to discover that not everyone had shared my good fortune to spot the cat, much less observe her for some time. Rather than push our luck, though, the elephant driver pulled an off-road u-turn and carried us safely back to camp.
Remarkably, after a few minutes rest, my driver Mr. Aqueel burst into the dormitory. “Come quickly,” he said. “What another tiger?” I exclaimed. “No, tiger attack,” he answered. Huh? Then, out in the open it came clear to me: The nearly tame sambar deer, about the size of a yearling elk or Rocky Mountain mulie, that had been haunting camp bore the remarkable wounds from its encounter with the cat. A deep gouge ran down her left shoulder, and her left forehoof had been stripped to tendon and bone. Clearly, the deer was not long for this world. The tourists gathered around, apparently astonished that such wild violence had intruded on camp, despite the fact that part of the thrill of seeing tiger is to encounter a major carnivore on its own terms. The consensus amongst Mr. Aqueel and the camp guides was that the tiger would return to finish the job before the day’s end, and that indeed the hunter was the same creature that we had seen just minutes before basking in the undergrowth, looking to escape human notice.
I spent another 24 hours in the park, but that was the only tiger I saw. Hopes to see a leopard remained in vain, and soon I was on my way back to the homestead in Dharchula.