Getting there & around: Various
airlines offer direct flights to
Delhi from Heathrow or Gatwick,
including Air India. It’s then a two-
hour hop to Jabalpur, the gateway
to Madhya Pradesh’s parks.
Average flight time: 14h
It’s possible to traverse the
state by train, but a driver may
be easier. Prices are around
£500 a week, and cars can
be organised through the
Transport Department of the
Madhya Pradesh State Tourism
Development Corporation. E:
[email protected]When to go: October-February
is dry, with temperatures around
25C (dropping to as low as 5C at
night). By April, temperatures can
get to 40C; this is the best time
to see wildlife, as animals gather
around waterholes to keep cool.
Parks close during the monsoon,
typically from July-September.Places to stay:
Kings Lodge, Bandhavgarh
Blending into the surrounds, this
beautifully designed lodge is all
dark wood and earthen tones.
Lantern-lit pathways lead to the
18 cottages, where walls are hung
with Gond artworks. From £121 a
night. kingslodge.inCourtyard House, Kanha
For those after luxury on a smaller
budget, this is an excellent option.
The hotel has a homestay feel,
albeit one with a pool, fire pit and
sun-drenched courtyard. There
are only four rooms, meaning
getting to know the other guests
is a given. From £121 a night.
courtyardhousekanha.comForsyth Lodge, Satpura
All eight rooms at this lodge are
beautiful and enormous, with
several featuring an upper level
allowing guests to sleep under
the stars. The nightly-changing
menu is delicious, inventive and
locally sourced. Nighttime and
walking safaris are offered, plus
there’s the option of a three-day
camping trip through the Satpura
Mountains led by Vineith, the head
naturalist. From £205 a night.
forsythlodge.comFor more information on lodges
visit mptourism.comLight reflecting off their antlers glows halo- Essentials
like, and groups of grey langurs sit like fat
old men around their feet, bellies out, legs
splayed, basking in the sun.
“Where you find monkeys, you
find deer,” Uday tells me. “They’re the
scouts of the wilderness, and the tigers’
mortal enemy.”
I watch as a large male closes his eyes
and gives his crotch a good itch. It doesn’t
scream lookout, but before I can comment,
Uday pulls the car to a skidding stop and
examines an ebony tree. Deep slashes run
like open wounds up its trunk — the work
of a tiger marking its territory.
“The dominant male in this area is very
protective,” he says, stroking the scarred
tree. “Last year, he killed two trespassing
cats and ate their bodies.”
Suppressing a shiver, I listen as Uday
recounts a comical tale of trundling after
his father through Kanha’s bush as a boy,
plastic binoculars hanging from his neck,
a book on birds clutched in his hands.
Images of tiger hunting tiger linger in
my imagination, but I remind myself
it’s something to be thankful for. These
territory disputes come about as a result
of rising population numbers — this is
survival of the fittest.Wild and wondrous
The cry echoes sharp and urgent through
the canopy. It bounces off the oak trees
and reverberates through the underbrush,
setting hairs on the back of my neck
tingling and goosebumps running up
my arms.
“Tiger,” Vineith hisses. “Up ahead. The
langurs have sounded the alarm.”
Until now, the tiger has stalked my
travels from the shadows, existing
tantalisingly in paw prints, claw marks and
local’s tales, but when I see one for myself,
stories evaporate and all I can do is stare,
transfixed by the flames that seem to ripple
up his flank, the eyes that promise infinite
patience and the muscular limbs so versed
in the art of stealth and surprise.
We’re in Satpura National Park, where
Vineith works as a naturalist, and the
magnificent nine-month-old male is less
than 50 metres away. He sits perfectly still
in the long grass, watching us as we watch
him. Then, an eternity later, or 10 minutes,
or somewhere inbetween, he yawns an
enormous, exaggerated yawn. “You’re
boring me,” he seems to say, and, stretching
luxuriously, turns and slinks out of sight.
India’s wildlife is extraordinary and
diverse, but it’s the Bengal tiger that truly
defines this country, ever-present in its
art, architecture and religious symbolism.
However, for the Gond tribe, living in
villages on the fringes of Madhya Pradesh’s
forests, it’s also an animal that has a hugeimpact on day-to-day life. The hope of
glimpsing a tiger draws travellers to India
from across the globe and, as the tourism
industry grows, many Gonds now work as
guards or guides — like Ramavtaar — or
in safari lodges close to the parks. For
centuries, they’ve coexisted harmoniously
with the jungle, harbouring an innate
knowledge of the plants and animals with
which they share this space. “It’s their
forest,” Vineith says simply.
This is the final stop on my tour of India’s
wild, wondrous heartland, and as we leave
the park, it becomes apparent that Vineith’s
love of the wilderness is matched only by
his desire to become a racing driver. The
jeep launches over bumps and flies across
potholes, passing the Gond’s squat blue-
and-white houses in spiralling plumes of
dust and sand.
I’m invited for lunch in one of these
homes the following day, the smoky
aubergine chulha, creamy daal, catfish
curry and warm, fresh-baked bati (dough
balls) all spiced with centuries of tradition.
Beyond the garden, a small boy laughs as he
rolls a tyre down a dusty path, women raise
water from a stone well and farmers sit on
stilted platforms to protect their crop from
boar, bears and deer, their cattle from big
cats on the prowl.
For Madhya Pradesh’s Gond tribe, the
wild isn’t something viewed from the
comfort and safety of a safari truck. It’s a
reality, a force to respect and to reckon with.
When I head into the jungle for the last time,
it’s on foot and, suddenly, the trees seem
taller, the air closer and the possibility of
coming face-to-face with a tiger is spine-
tinglingly real.
“A young male is just establishing
his territory here,” Vineith says cheerfully.
“He uses that grassland over there to stalk.
Oh, and try to stick to the track — we have
a good population of saw-scaled snakes
here. They’re deadly, and one of the fastest
striking reptiles in the world.”
Thankfully, no matter how much I scan
the forest floor, I see only gnarled roots and
dead leaves, and fungus growing in strange,
supernatural shapes. We pause to examine
a pile of fresh dung: “Spotted deer,” says
Vineith. “See how it’s cylindrical? Sambar
deer poo is round — tastes sweeter, too.”
Laughing a deep, chin-wobbling laugh, he
strides on, the jungle swallowing him up in
an instant. I linger behind, lost in wonder
at this intricate ecosystem, my fingers
brushing past coarse teak leaves and the
silky smooth bark of a ghost tree. I peer at
some speargrass swaying innocently in the
afternoon breeze. Perhaps a tiger walked
there this morning; perhaps he’s napping
in there now; or perhaps he’s watching
my every step, coveting my scarf, and
IMAGES: GETTY; ALAMY contemplating his next move.
PARTNER CONTENT FOR MADHYA PRADESH TOURISMTo find out more, visit mptourism.com