Chasing tigers in Sunderbans

Ever since I was a child, I have heard stories of man-eating tigers from our housekeeper Lakshmi who grew up in the Sunderbans. It has been decades and yet those stories hadn’t changed. Once in a while, I would get an update from her, about how a tiger attacked a village or how village kids went missing in the forests. As I grew older and the travel bug caught up on me, I decided to give my stories a reality check. So I coaxed Lakshmi one day and planned a trip to her homeland. It was after the festival season, a few years ago, and was the perfect time to explore this delta region. We booked a cab from Kolkata to Sunderbans and headed to see the land of the wild.

Reaching the Sunderbans

It was a 3 hour drive through Sonarpur and Canning. In case you are travelling in a large group, get the best tempo traveller on hire in Kolkata. We finally reached the village of Gadkhali. Beyond this point, one has to take a ferry to reach any of the nearby villages. We had to reach Maipit, where my housekeeper’s family lived. Her cousin Babu was a fisherman who owned a boat and was supposed to be my guide for the next two days. As soon as we landed at Gadkhali, he appeared with his small dinghy to give us a ride.

The deltas of the Sunderbans are like the frayed ends of India’s geographical fabric. The small ferryboat weaved through the Matla and Thakurani rivers and their silted river islands. Cutting through the noisy tourist boats and morning ferries, we reached the island village of Maipit. Far from the busy towns of the mainland and tourist lodges, Maipit was the quintessential village of Bengal. After a simple village-style lunch, we went for a walk around the village and around the edges of the river. Barely a mile outside the village, in a narrow forested trail, we found pug marks on the soil. It was fresh, probably from the night before, making it clear that one of the predators have been on the prowl.

Next day, we went out on our boat ride. Babu had already warned me that the ride could get intimidating at certain places.

A ride through the mangroves

Although September is a dry season, the villages here often experience a sudden afternoon storm, along with the daily tidal changes. This makes boating a risky affair at such times. The three of us started sailing at snail speed down the narrow canal where their house sat. The mangrove laden canal was way narrower than the water bodies I had crossed in the morning. The tides here changed so often that I could feel the rise and fall of the water volume while sailing. When the tides were high, the waves lapped at the banks, almost drenching the mangroves.

We meandered through narrow, shallow creeks and reached an area where there were very few houses, and that too, at a distance. At some places, the low-hanging trees made us duck.

The surroundings rushed a feeling of fear and exhilaration in me. I was thrilled and yet, there was the anticipation of the unknown. In a few arms distance, on one side of the river banks, I saw a half-broken boat turned over and torn clothes of probably a man. My boatman stoically stated that a few days ago a fisherman was missing from the nearby village and was found the next morning at the place that I just saw. This made my heart skip a beat. The creek seemed to taper down and the forests on each side felt closer to the boat.

A glimpse of the predator

Babu suddenly stopped the boat and asked me to follow him. This was a wider and clearer path used by villagers to collect firewood or go hunting. We reached a sandy ridge-like area, from where we could see on the other side of the delta. Quietly, he pointed out to a window between two trees, towards a water body. I grabbed my binoculars and focused on his line of view. Far away, I could see the golden yellow silhouette of the big cat. A little more focus made its flaming stripes prominent. It seemed to be resting in the water, perhaps preparing itself before the night attack. I realised that could be the closest I would ever get to a Royal Bengal. But that was good enough.

It was not safe to hang out in the woods for long and it was getting dark. The soft caressing sounds of the waves gave way to the stillness of the sunset. I tried to focus on the sounds that flew from the dark corners of the forests, where the predators were treading surreptitiously, lying in wait. Soon, it was dark and I kept my peeled to watch out for any sudden movement in the trees. I thought I heard a roar and felt the leaves rustle and a pair of green eyes. Or were they just fireflies?

The Bishnoi Village

By Marie McCarthy

This is another installment from my e-book, Travels in India, the tales of my first trip to India in 2011. In this segment, I’m in Jodphur, taking a day trip to buy a dhurry and search for the tradititional Bishnoi villages.

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I had seen photos of the Bishnoi traditional villages near Salawas and wanted to have a look. Prem had never been there and got directions from the hotel. As it turned out, it would have been better to have gone on one of the two or four-hour Bishnoi village jeep tours that the hotel could have arranged. I didn’t see anything like what I’d seen on the internet, but I had an interesting day all the same.

I wanted to visit Salawas because I’d read on the internet that Salawas is known for weaving dhurries. I wanted to see them being made and of course to buy one or two. Salawas was close to the Bishnoi villages and only about 25 kilometers from Jodhpur.

There were no road signs for either the Bishnoi villages or Salawas, but it was easy to tell when we were drawing close. Signs popped up offering dhurries for sale. The first one I saw had three attractive dhurries hanging outside, and I asked Prem to stop. As we were getting out of the car, the owner, who had been sitting across the street, dashed over to greet us. He was smallish and thin with a unibrow and a big smile.

The Rani Sati Temple and Arrival in Mandawa

by Marie McCarthy

The main attraction at Jhunjhunu is the beautiful Rani Sati Temple. The center of the main building is five stories with three-storied wings on each sides, all colonnaded. The building is painted pale green. The temple is behind another gateway within the complex and looks like a mansion. Typical of so many places in India, there was a garbage dump next to the parking area, just across the road from the temple, where bony holy cows and skinny dogs nosed through the refuse, looking for something edible.

Rani Sati Temple in Jhunjhunu

On the Way to Jhujhunu

On the Way to Jhujhunu by Marie McCarthy

In March of 2011, I made my first trip to India. I was not a backpacking, college aged woman. Rather, I was in my last decade of work before retirement. Adventure is not just for the young. Sometimes you’re better able to appreciate things when you have a few more years of life experience under your belt.

As I nearly always travel alone, I had engaged the services of an Indian based travel agency, which had an itinerary of Rajasthan which covered all the places I wanted to visit plus a few I hadn’t heard of. I was traveling in a private car with a driver, which I thought would be prudent for my first visit. I could stop or change the itinerary as I wished, and my driver would not only keep me out of trouble, but he would be my personal ambassador. I could ask him anything and everything I wanted to know about life in India, the people and the culture.

Having been invited by Shalu to share some of my travel stories here on ShaluSharma.com, here is the first one, an excerpt from my recently published book.

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