A Pench-Ant for the Wilds

In the fabled land of the jungle book, IndranIl datta goes in search of the elusive tiger.

- IndranIl Datta

“Humans are more of a menace in these parts, the fence was erected to curb instances of unwanted trespassing,” Sagar replied warily to my pressing query about an unsightly, metallic fence that had caught my eye. An aesthetic blot on the landscape, it looked woefully out of place. A naturalist by profession, Sagar seemed to understand my guarded inquiry, and satisfied by the clarification, I resumed my determined quest for an eager glimpse of the local fauna. I was, after all, in Kipling’s fabled country, in the land of the dry deciduous forests of the central Indian heartland, hoping to encounter some of Seoni’s four legged denizens on foot. Oddly enough, Kipling had never set foot in Pench. On the other hand, I’d opted for a first-hand experience, red in tooth and claw.

The jungle became animated just as a jackal advertised its presence with a set of paw-prints, and a nocturnal Asian palm civet followed suit, with a telling fecal trail. A sudden rustle aroused us; it had come from the dry, bush-laden watercourse running below us. We frantically scanned the foliage for movement. We were tiptoeing along the well-beaten trail when Apoorva, the photographer, caught sight of the jackal, which slinked away into the undergrowth before the rest of us could get so much as a fleeting glimpse. To stave off my disappointment, I indulged in a spot of bird watching to familiarise myself with the avian inhabitants of the area. A few of them were also migratory travellers. The flamboyant Indian pitta, and the sneaky jacobin cuckoo were among them.