An Indian Safari

 A brisk breeze whisked across our cheeks as we walked under the arch of trees behind a turbaned man with a full, thick waxed mustache, who was leading us to our gypsy (jeep) to go on safari. We shivered as the gypsy hit full speed down the motorway, passing camels, cows, pigs, and dogs at a great clip. The Banyan Tree roots stretched far across the sandy floor of the forest of Ranthambhore National Tiger Reserve, Zone 1. Bright green leaves were covered by a thick layer of light brown sand; the landscape was unique - on one side, a mix of colors similar to the savannas of Africa, on the other, more of a dusty forest. Our gypsy barreled through the rocky terrain at breakneck speeds, its inhabitants bouncing and holding on tightly, for there were no seat belts. We did not linger over deer, birds, antelope, or monkeys. We were on a roller coaster ride, flying through the air, in search of tigers. Three or four gypsies stopped, drivers and guides quickly discussed and made decisions, and then the cars would turn and speed away to a new area. Occasionally, traffic stopped as the gypsies waited for the big diesel safari busses known as canters, full of tourists with cameras, to mosey by.

We rode at a clip for an hour and a half, going this way and that, until suddenly, we came upon another gypsy at a ravine. All was silent. A mama tiger lounged at the edge of the water bed, looking up a hill where her two sons (about seven months old) were resting. She was not twenty feet from our jeep! Click, click, click, click, click, click. The snap of multiple camera shutters did not phase her, nor did the roar of the car engine as we moved to get a better view. We waited on baited breath for her cubs to come and join her and stood in awe as we watched them play and snuggle. Then, it was time for a lesson. Tigers are independent creatures and live solo, except for the short period when a mother must teach her cubs how to survive. She called the boys to follow and she wound through the trees by the gypsies, lifting her tail to let out a huge puff of spray on particular stumps, showing her sons how to mark their territory. The cubs were a bit shy of the convoy, but the mama did not care, and walked in between the gypsies when she desired. However, she always had her eyes on her cubs, knowing at all times where they were. “Tigers are the best mamas,” our guide explained, “I’ve never seen a better mother than a tigress to her cubs.” 

For over an hour, we followed the family through the reserve, watching this primal lesson of survival and feeling blessed to have had a glimpse. Our fellow riders had been on four safaris and had yet to sight a tiger - what an incredible, incredible journey. 

Our afternoon safari was not as lucky. We bounced around and sat in silence, awaiting the huge father tiger who had been spotted in Zone 10 that morning, enjoying his kill. The honk of enormous antelope and the chirping of birds announced his presence in the area, but we were not able to see this grandfather of the forest. We took a long ride home to our hotel, almost colliding with cattle and tractors, full of the fruits of labor. Tired and hungry, we washed the dirt from our faces and sat down to supper, where we marveled over our experiences.