The cubs
One of my most beloved forests in our country, Kanha Tiger Reserve, beckoned me once again. This time, I ventured into its embrace in mid-June, when the occasional rain shower brought a welcome respite from the blistering summer heat. The forest was in a state of transformation, the vibrant green of new life slowly replacing the brown hues of the dry season.
Kanha Tiger Reserve, a sprawling expanse of wilderness established in 1955, is nestled in Madhya Pradesh, about 160 km southeast of Jabalpur. The reserve covers roughly 950 sq km and is divided into Kanha-Kisli, Mukki, and Sarhi zones, each offering its own unique charm.
One damp, cold morning, as we waited for the Mukki zone forest gate to creak open, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. Whispers of tiger sightings from the previous day were scarce, and the forest seemed to hold its secrets close. Undeterred, we decided to take a less-explored path, guided by instinct and a thirst for adventure.
The forest was shrouded in an enigmatic silence, its usual sounds muffled by the damp air. The winding road offered only glimpses of the sky through the thick canopy, and we moved slowly, our senses heightened. A sudden movement, a flash of fur – the forest whispered a clue, a hint of a story yet untold.
Just as we thought this might be a tiger-less day, a small shape darted across the road, followed by two more. It was a tigress with her three cubs! We held our breath as they paused, the mother's golden eyes piercing the morning mist. Then, with a flick of her tail, she vanished into the undergrowth, her cubs scrambling to keep up.
The thrill of the chase sent shivers down our spines as we followed, the jeep's engine barely disturbing the stillness. The tigress and her cubs were masters of camouflage, their stripes melting into the shadows. We drove on, scanning the forest for a break in the trees, hoping for another glimpse.
A sudden stop, a strained silence. Could we hear them? Another jeep pulled up, the driver whispering that the tigers had crossed the road. We searched, eyes peeled, but the forest remained stubbornly quiet.
Undeterred, we knew they were close. A hunch led us further up the road. There, a glimmer of hope: a water hole, just off the left side. Tigers need to drink, and these cubs, so small and shy, might venture out if we stayed hidden. We parked a safe distance away, our patience the only sound in the air.
The wait was agonising, but our patience was rewarded. The tigress emerged, a silent shadow slipping across the road towards the water hole. We crept forward, our jeep barely disturbing the stillness. A young cub, venturing out, caught sight of us and darted back to its mother's side. The waiting game began anew.
The tigress, sensing her cubs' fear, emerged cautiously. She settled at the water's edge, her soft calls coaxing her hidden cubs. They remained shy, their mother's presence not enough to overcome their apprehension. As she waited, she drank deeply, her thirst momentarily overshadowing her concern.
Then, with a determined air, she disappeared into the undergrowth, only to reappear moments later, her cubs trailing behind her. Our hearts pounded – this was the moment we'd been hoping for.
The cubs, emboldened by their mother's reassurance, approached the water, their tiny paws leaving ripples on the surface. They drank their fill, then began to playfully explore the area around their mother. This was when I captured the photo, freezing this precious moment in time.
After a few minutes, the tigress led her cubs back into the forest, their stripes disappearing into the dappled sunlight. We watched them go, grateful for the privilege of witnessing this intimate family scene. The forest, once silent and mysterious, now held a story – a story of courage, resilience, and the enduring bond between a mother and her cubs.
