My memory of this beautiful reserve is quite personal, with some sweet and hilarious experiences from our wildlife management training days at Sariska Tiger Reserve. In the winter of 1985, we were in Sariska for a week, staying at Tiger Den, a hotel on the periphery of the reserve. During the tour, we were to learn the field techniques for managing wildlife. Our trainers were Dr. Alan Rodgers, a veteran wildlife scientist, and S.K. Sood of the Forest Service. Dr. Rodgers was a hard taskmaster, and S.K. Sood was a stern, yet very caring instructor. Both had a systematic approach to training their wards. This included briefing before the task, field exercises, and then debriefing after the exercises were over. A discussion followed the debriefing session to find out what we did well and what we had missed in the exercise, and then we analysed the causes for those mistakes.
In our field exercises, we were sent after buffalo and blue bulls with elaborate formats to record what they grazed or browsed in the jungle, how much time they spent masticating, resting, fighting, urinating, defecating, and getting alarmed. We were deployed in groups on imaginary transects to teach us drive counts of animals. To learn the behaviour of birds and animals and their interactions with each other, we were dispatched to the forest to spend a night in a hide, beside a small artificial waterhole in the Kalighati valley.
We practiced on tranquilizing guns to capture wild pigs that had turned scavengers and raided the garbage dump behind the hotel. We immobilized them with drug-filled dart guns and blowpipes. The wild pigs’ scavenging in the garbage dump behind the hotel was unbecoming and unworthy of a wild pig that usually thrives on healthful tubers and grubs in the wild. It was also a lesson in why one should manage tourism properly and must not allow the dumping of waste behind tourist hotels, as it could alter the behaviour of wild animals permanently, making them beggars and exposing them to diseases and hunting. All those tasks were new and tiring but exciting to me. And I tried to enjoy them to the extent that I twice exposed myself to grave danger and caused furrows to appear on the usually unruffled Dr. Rodgers’ forehead—but those are stories for another time.
Rajasthan gets very cold at night and in the early morning. Yet, when we were given a task to spend a night inside a small hide in the jungle, no one was worried, for we had adequate winter clothing with us. One of our mates, Deepak, was a flamboyant young man and liked to show off his knowledge and skill, especially in judo and karate. Deepak always carried his SLR camera into the jungle, but we soon found that an SLR is not desirable equipment to use from a hide. To record the calls of animals and birds, we had another tool with us—a tape recorder.
After an early lunch, we boarded a jeep that dropped us about half a kilometre from the Kalighati hide. We had seen the hide before during a field exercise, so we had no difficulty in locating it. In the morning briefing, Dr. Rodgers had instructed us to approach the hide silently and stealthily and to quietly settle down there. Soon we were inside. The hide was big enough to accommodate six to seven people, but the height did not allow a tall trainee like me to stand upright. That, however, was not a big issue. We piled up our sleeping bags against the wall on the left, where there were no windows. The front and the right walls had several small windows, big enough to allow a camera lens to fit through. The small waterhole was clearly visible from the peeping holes in the front wall. The hide was partially camouflaged by a leafy, small-sized tree growing beside the wall on the left.
The waterhole was an oval, shallow dugout lined with gravel. It was brimming at the edges when we reached Kalighati. Apparently, it was filled by the tractor tanker operator in the mornings. We all settled inside the hide. To make ourselves comfortable, we squatted on the floor, our eyes glued to the windows and a notebook and pen by our side to record the species of animals and birds visiting the waterhole—their number, sex, age class, time of visit, time spent, their activities, and their interactions with other members of their species. If there were different species together at the waterhole, we were to record their interactions with each other as well.
For several minutes, we sat there watching birds at the waterhole. Treepies, robins, bulbuls, and peafowl frequented the waterhole. Then a herd of nilgai arrived. Some spread their front legs to stoop down and drink, while others bent their legs. Their ears were moving constantly. This was to pick up the sound of any approaching danger. Our photographer friend Deepak was waiting for such a moment to capture. He pressed the shutter and, lo and behold, a stampede ensued at the waterhole. The nilgai herd bolted and ran at full speed in different directions. We were all surprised, and then we figured out what had caused the panic—it was the sound of the SLR’s shutter that had sent an alarm signal to the antelope. The birds at the waterhole had also vanished, but soon they returned to drink.
After that, till evening, several groups of chital and sambar came to the waterhole. We noticed that while they were there, each one of them was always alert and cautious. Deepak’s attempts to shoot them with his camera invariably met with the same consequence—chaos at the waterhole, with animals and birds scattering away in an instant. An interesting event was the visit of a covey of grey partridges. I had never seen such a sight before. Their walk to the pool was like that of a marching troop. The small ones were at the front, and the larger ones followed, supervised by a leader at the back. When the troop approached the waterhole, they formed a semicircle and began drinking, while the leader stood guard. The leader remained alert, watching every movement around. Once the others had finished, they stood guard while the leader drank. After that, they lined up again and walked away into the scrub jungle.
By now, it was late evening. We braced ourselves for the arrival of the big boss—the tiger—or its equally majestic rival, the leopard. For some time, there was no visitor at the waterhole, but soon a pair of golden jackals arrived and began drinking. They were not in a hurry. They rested and drank again. While they were doing so, we noticed some movement in the short grass about 30 meters away. We were all eyes and ears, bracing ourselves for action. Soon, binoculars were out, and we began scanning the grassland. It was not what we expected. It was a big wild boar crouching low to the ground. Having seen the jackals, it was trying to avoid a confrontation. It waited patiently without making a sound for about ten minutes. When the jackals finally left, the boar cautiously approached the waterhole, quenched its thirst, and moved away.
Darkness soon descended. The moon had not yet risen, and we could not see anything. We had to stay awake, listening for animal calls. The crickets’ song filled the silence, and occasional screeches from owls reminded us of our task. Slowly, the jungle lit up with hazy moonlight as fog settled into the valley. We were alert again.
Suddenly, the alarm call of a sambar echoed in the valley. We were thrilled, imagining a royal feline nearby. But nothing appeared at the waterhole. As we began to feel drowsy, we were suddenly jolted awake by a sawing sound from close quarters, as if it were coming from the roof. For a brief moment, we froze. Someone whispered that there was a leopard on the roof. Our excitement peaked, and no one dared to switch on a torch. A few seconds later, the sound stopped. Someone suggested that the leopard must have caught the scent of humans and left. Disappointed, we tried to sleep.
But just as we drifted off, the sawing sound began again. This time, someone switched on the torch.
There, lying peacefully, was our “leopard”—Deepak—fast asleep and snoring loudly.
The next morning, we played the recording of the “leopard” to Dr. Rodgers. He refused to believe it was a leopard’s call. Eventually, I revealed the truth, and we all burst into laughter. Deepak received a standing ovation for his unintentional performance. However, Dr. Rodgers was not amused. In his view, Deepak’s loud snoring might have scared away animals from visiting the waterhole, depriving us of valuable learning.