Reader, I shot one. What a fantastic experience. A motley crew of 19, mostly Indian, in the back of an open truck with seats, bounced down the track in the Ranthambore Tiger Park at around 6 in the morning. My new friend, Sureeta, in the next seat, struck up a conversation. She was from Ahmedabad; had a bungalow near The Hotel President; and badly wanted to see a tiger.
‘Fingers crossed’, I said, and held up crossed fingers.
‘Fingers crossed?’ it amused her.
‘For luck’
‘Ok’, she crossed hers also, ‘for luck’
The track was rough, narrow, and in parts rather steep; and with a rather disconcerting steep drop to one side on more than one occasion. The park is overlooked by the walls of the massive Ranthambore Fort which runs along the top of the cliff above us. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting; something more ‘kiplingesque’ I suppose. More jungly with remnants of long-lost civilizations. Instead the park was a cross between scrub and savannah. Lots of bare ground dotted with leafless trees and shrubs, some enormous Banyans, and some tall straw-coloured grass. True, there were some ruins here and there, with trees growing through and round the stones, There was plenty of wildlife for us to see; deer, birds, displaying peacocks, and monkeys. Were these the Bandar-log of the stories, I wondered.
And there she was. Lying in the shade, some distance from the track, and apparently unperturbed by our two jeeps and a truck. She allowed us a good 30 or 40 minutes, looking at us a couple of times, then rose suddenly with a strange warning call, which set the peacocks and monkeys screeching, and stalked off. We didn’t see another tiger – too much to ask really – just a few crocodiles, lyre birds and a rich bright blue kingfisher.
Sureeta said, ‘We did that. You. Me. With our crossing fingers’ Of course we did.
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