At Corbett park, once more

We have recently returned from a reviving break at the Corbett National Park. This natural sanctuary and wildlife park is one of the earliest of its kind, and a favourite retreat for us Kumaonis. One of the major reasons for this is that it is named after a person who was worshipped all over the Terai and Kumaon as ‘Carpet Saa’b’. Jim Corbett, to give him his proper name, was born and brought up in India and was passionately fond of forests and animals. Initially a game hunter who hunted tigers and leopards for sport (like several others of that time), later, he became a fierce protector of the tiger and its cousins (called bagh all over this area) and lived happily amongst leopards and panthers. His sister Maggie and faithful dog, Robin, followed him wherever he went and his jungle tales make for fascinating reading no matter how many times you may have read them.

Corbett’s home in Nainital, Guerney House, was close to where we lived in Ayarpata, a thickly-wooded part of Nainital where many old zamindar and taluqdar families had cottages and homes to escape the heat and sultry monsoons of the plains. The Terai was also where many refugee families from West Punjab were allotted farms to compensate for the lands they had left behind. In the 1950s and 1960s, the Terai was a marshy, unhealthy tract full of tigers, snakes and killer malarial mosquitoes. This is why many chose to send their families and children to the cooler hills just hours away and study at the public schools Nainital was famous for.

This long introduction is because when I went to the lovely resort we stayed in this time, I was delighted to meet the person who runs it as he turned out to be the grandson of someone we knew as the Raja of Pilibhit. I remember Pilibhit House, where his grandparents lived in (now run as a posh hotel), and one of his aunts was in school with me. There is something about the Kumaon hills that compels you to come back over and over again. Each time I go, I get the feeling of returning to my mother’s womb. In fact, I can name the exact spot where this happens. Chatting with the owner of this delightful Riverview Retreat, I felt I had met a soulmate because he spends most of his time here while running his huge chain of hotels and resorts.

The Corbett Park is strictly guarded and only the old Forest Department dak bungalow (named Dhikala) is inside the park. Naturally, you need serious sarkari connections to be able to stay there, so a number of resorts have sprung up all the way from Ramnagar to the forest limit of the Corbett National Park. Spread over 2,800 sq km and divided into six zones, you have to be very lucky to spot a tiger. On the first day of our morning safari, I’m afraid, all the tiger had left for curious visitors was a lump of shit to let us know what he thought of idiots like us. Sadly, elephant safaris are not allowed any longer, so we were stuffed into an open jeep that made such a racket that only monkeys and langoors stayed on to see what fools announce their entry so noisily. However, on our next safari, in another zone, we finally managed a tiger sighting and all the noisy chatter from other jeeps with cranky kids and chattering adults came to a halt. The magnificent king of the jungle is the lord of all he surveys and we could only gape at the confidence of his royal gait as he walked across the savannah grass.

Believe me, a visit to a natural wildlife park is what all parents of young children must make. Quite apart from the serenity and silence of the forest is the feeling that Man is the lowest form of life on earth. Watching a tiger in a zoo will never show you the magnificent camouflage the savannah grass and stripes provide this regal animal. It takes the trained eye of a guide to spot pugmarks and observe the claw marks on a tree trunk to calculate when a tiger last passed that route. The alarm system set in motion by the parakeets, the barking deer and the chattering monkeys warns the deer that they are being stalked. I am sad that our schoolchildren are rarely taken on expeditions to familiarise them with the flora and fauna of the country. Discovery Channel or Animal Planet can never replace the thrill of actually being able to hear, see and experience the beauty of the Indian jungle.

A museum has been created by the Forest Department where, apart from the stuffed animals, simulated sounds of rain and thunder are played in a dark room for visitors to demonstrate how frightening the sound of thunder and the crack of lightning can be when you are in a forest at night. The stygian darkness of a stormy night or the eerie feeling that you are being watched can send shivers down the spine.

Credit for raising awareness in our natural world must be given to the British, who were intrepid walkers and left a valuable legacy of records. Today, our Forest Department officers ensure that this legacy is preserved.

— The writer is a social commentator