Winter travel special: How a Corbett safari ended in an encounter with a wild elephant overdosed on testosterone

Part of our programme included spending an afternoon on a machaan that overlooked a waterhole in the forest. Our riding elephants dropped us off and we were probably given strict instructions to remain put until, later in the evening, when the elephants would come to pick us up. So we sat on the machaan and stared at the tea-brown waterhole, hoping, of course, that a tiger or leopard would come down for a drink. No such luck, but yes, a pair of silvery-white paradise flycatchers swooped low up and down the waterhole, their plumage snow white, 18-inch tails streaming behind them, crested heads a glossy blue black like that of well-oiled businessmen.  I don’t remember if any deer — chital or sambar — came down to drink, but yes, after a while, a movement caught my eye.

From one corner of the forest, a juvenile rhesus macaque poked its head out and looked around warily. Then, taking infinitesimal care it emerged into the clearing one cautious step after another. If it had been a juvenile macaque born and brought up in Delhi it would have probably charged out, clambered up our machaan and relieved us of our drinking water and snacks. But not this fellow. He took all of 10-to-15 minutes to reach the water and then after every sip would look around, almost panic-stricken. At last he was done and scampered back into the safety of the forest. This I thought uncharitably was taking ‘abundant caution’ to a whole new level — these forest monkeys were such wimps!

Eventually, the sun dipped behind the forested ridge, casting the waterhole and its surroundings into a deep twilit shade. It was getting darker by the minute — and there was no sign of our elephant pickups. So, we decided to trek back to Dhikala. It would take probably 20 minutes to half-an-hour, part of it through the darkening purple-shadowed forest and the rest through the chaurs. We set off in single file along the forest path, keeping as silent as we could. I must have been in the middle or towards the end of the ‘queue’ when I was suddenly confronted by all the pioneering leaders rushing pell-mell back urgently whispering ‘Pagal haathi! Pagal haathi!’ Some distance ahead in a gloaming I saw the bulk of an elephant — I can’t vouch if its head was aggressively cocked and trunk rolled up (but like to believe it was!), appraising us prior to charging. Incontinently we fled, back to our machaan and clambered up it.

But really, that machaan would not have provided us with much protection. If it were so inclined, that elephant could have reduced it to matchwood in no time at all, and stomped us all to pulp! One spank from its trunk would have sent any of us flying clear across the waterhole! All we could do was to sit as quiet as mice, whispering, and I quickly realised that the juvenile rhesus had a very good reason for being so ‘abundantly cautious’. Of course his biggest fear was from leopards and tigers, but he kept on Red Alert all the time. We had not.

Then we heard, what was obviously the approach of some large animal, moving through the foliage — had the mad makhna — decided to investigate us further? To our immense relief it turned out to be our two pickup elephants from Dhikala. I can’t recall if they had driven the makhna away, or he had moved off on hearing them, but we were safe and very, relieved on our way back. Of course, we must have been gung-ho about the whole incident later on — this was a story to dine out on after all! But it did teach us one thing. On no account, set off alone on foot in places like Corbett. Sensibly they do not even allow you to step off your vehicle while on ‘safari’—yet there are blustering city morons who try and get selfies with tigers. Sure, you might get that selfie but one with your face removed!