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Tall, half-bare teak trees form the main vegetation. With every passing wind, dry, brown leaves drop down to collect at the base.

FOR the first time ever one walked, felt and breathed a forest. Sanjay Rithe, Paul and myself landed at Semadoh in the Melghat Tiger Sanctuary around 5 in the evening to catch a safari ride into the core area — Gugamal National Park. It never came off as the van had run out of diesel. We decided to stay overnight at the ill-maintained wooden, forest lodge to be on the early morning safari ride. The evening was still early and Sanjay suggested a walk down the dry Sipna river.

Except for the screams of parakeets, none of us could identify the bird calls as they made it to their homes. The Reserve is a catchment area for five major rivers — Khandu, Khapra, Sipna, Gadga and Dolar. Today they are dry. We scrambled down the bank to the river bed tightly packed with rocks and had a tough time walking over them. "During the rains, Sipna overflows its banks and goes underground during the summer months. Even in May, there are some pools where the animals collect," informed Sanjay as we trudged in single file.

Tall, half-bare teak trees form the main vegetation; with every passing wind, dry, brown leaves drop down to collect at the base. Quite often, one can see a dry, brown leaf, the size of a thali, fall off a high branch to rest on the leaf of a lower branch before swaying down to the floor. One counted at least 14 to 15 karaya trees (Sterculia urens) apart from a few bamboo clusters. We measured ourselves standing beside the tall teaks and when a sliced moon rose looked up into a teaky, leafy sky. "With rains, the teak comes alive with leaves all over," said Sanjay. We made our way down a dusty forest track covered with common lantana hoping to meet a sloth bear or sambhar, but that was not to be. An hour's walk brought us to some nowhere point and we decided to turn back in the quiet darkness. If Sanjay was not around, Paul and myself would have been stranded, not having night vision.

The forest lodges and open air tents were empty. A 40-watt bulb blinked perilously in our room. An old man, in a thatched hut, came up with hot chappatis, dal and bhaji and we sat in the forest for dinner with a wood fire nearby. In many ways, the run down forest lodges keep away the tourists. We decided to go for the safari ride at 7 in the morning and Sanjay prefaced it with an early morning walk. One got up at 5 in the morning and looked out to stare into a black wall. At around 5.30, one stepped out on the veranda, to a twice-repeated booming "Oooom...." We stood still. At 6, as the first strands of sunlight chipped away the gloom, we went on a morning stroll. The dry, teak leaves crack sharply as one steps on them, alerting every animal and bird; and there is no way a cityman can avoid walking noisily. For about 90 minutes we made it down dust paths with Sanjay urging us with the hope of sighting some animal. On the way back, we sighted some 15 jungle babblers pecking at worms on the forest floor. The Hindi name for them is "sat bhai" as they move around chirpily in groups of six and seven and did not fly off as we watched them from a distance of about five feet. Sipping tea, we noted a tree pie with its pretty black-tipped grey tail. For over two hours the safari ride in a loud Standard vehicle took us into Gugamal National Park. We spotted pug marks but never a tiger or for that matter any animal with the exception of a peacock.

On the way to Harisal and on to Chaurakund, we stepped down at the spot where a pregnant tigress was electrocuted on January 30. The shock had ripped open the stomach of the animal to throw out four still-born cubs. At Chaurakund, one met Phaltu, a young forest guard, employed on a daily wage basis. Like many, he had not been paid for months.

With the sad tale put down in the notebook, we drove down the Harisal-Akot State highway curling round the seven hill ranges which make the Satpura range holding Melghat in its folds. The dryness and hot sun make for shades of brown than green with the common langurs keeping a wary eye for trespassers. At Amaravati, Sanjay cleared away a couple of plastic bottles picked up from the forest. In one of the last letters Jim Corbett wrote to E.P. Gee, the naturalist warned, "wild life has few friends and many enemies".

P. Devarajan

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