The forest, I had been told a long time ago, is like an open book, read only by those who know its language. As our jeep takes a sharp bend inside the Corbett National Park in Uttarakhand, it’s the smell that overwhelms us—the heady scent of the leaf-cooled earth. It had taken us eight hours of driving to get from Delhi to Corbett, but now it finally seems worth the effort. After the unrelenting dusty flatness of the plains, the billowing curves of the land appear refreshing, almost therapeutic. As the dappled rays of the afternoon sun penetrate the green canopy, we are startled out of our reverie by our genial guide. “You’ll lose connectivity a kilometre from here. Make your last calls back home while you can,” he tells us.The oldest national park in India, Corbett was established in 1936 as Hailey National Park. Even as tiger census reports have the world cringing over the gradual depletion of the Royal Bengal tigers, many count Corbett as the rare success story, with about 160 of the majestic beasts still supposedly found there. That apart, there’s a staggering 488 different kinds of flora that one comes across. The core reserve forest area is divided into four zones. Our jeep inches towards the Durga Devi gate. Beyond this, our guide tells us, it’s going to be a bumpy ride down to the Ramganga river. Only, he forgets to mention how steep it would be. Our jeep lunges into what seems to be impenetrable wilderness; only miraculously taking us forward, lurching over rocky terrain. Every turn seems pregnant with possibilities, as we scan the forest for any tell-tale signs of the striped beauty.We finally reach the river bank, beyond which the jeep won’t take us. The sight is breathtaking. Beyond the clear gurgling stream, a stretch of burnt grass forest awaits us. Here apparently, a tigress and her three cubs had been sighted just a couple of days ago. Pied wagtails skim the surface of the water for tidbits, an occasional kingfisher dives in for lunch, and beneath the clear water surface you could even sight an occasional mahasheer fish.In the distance looms the hilly terrain where we would camp for the night—at the Hideaway River Lodge almost at one end of the core area. Suddenly, our guard nudges us excitedly. Across the river bank, from the grass forest a sole tusker emerges. It stands on the bank for a moment before proceeding to an elaborate sand-bath. “He has been thrown out of the herd. He has been creating trouble in the nearby Kumaoni villages,” whispers our guide. We inch our way back to the jeep, even as the elephant wades across the river, over to where our jeep stands. “Don’t make a sound and hold on tight. We might need to backtrack,” comes a hushed warning. For what seemed like eternity, but was actually just over a minute, the elephant stands there, watching us, before it decides to sidle in to the forest. The forest department elephants arrive at this juncture and we are herded off, up the slope to the luxury tents that would be our home for the night. There’s no electricity, but the tents are comfortable and the Kumaoni meal served to us is wholesome and appetising. The next morning, we wake up at the crack of dawn for the elephant safari. Again, we miss the tiger, even though we come across a day-old kill. A couple of deer and a handsome family of sambars greet us during our early morning trek. The rest of the day is spent camping by the river, watching the breathtaking variety of birds. As the afternoon wears off into dusk, we make our way back to civilization—to the world of cellphones and networks. No, I didn’t see the tiger. Somewhere, in that pristine setting, away from human penetration, knowing that the last of these precious beasts might be there, made us feel smaller for what we might be destroying. When your cellphone network dips to the last bar and the only ring you hear is that of a Pied Cuckoo, you know you have reached Corbett National Park, home to the Royal Bengal Tiger.
