In May 2004, the official Census decreed that 16 tigers roamed in Sariska Tiger Reserve. There was no reason to disbelieve this, a friend who visited witnessed a tiger treeing a leopard, and another came back thrilled that his jeep had been chased by a tiger offended at his peace being disturbed.
But as the New Year dawned, alarm bells were ringing in Sariska; no tiger had been sighted since the monsoons ended. In less than a year, sixteen tigers had presumably been wiped off this forest, marked for their protection. The administration was in a state of panic, instructions were issued from Project Tiger for a careful, thorough search for the missing. About 280 forest guards and trackers went on a live tiger hunt, combing the forest for any signs of the cats. Local officials tried to keep the tiger alive on paper, citing vague reports of a sighting, of fresh scat being found. But in their eyes and in the sterile forest, I read the truth-the king was dead.
On the first day, I went on an extensive jeep safari and my first impressions seemed encouraging. The forest is rich with prey-- there were cheetal, sambhar, nilgai and peafowl enough to keep the tiger happy, if he was there. We drove to Pandu Pol, eyes peeled for the tiger that roamed these parts.
He claimed a vast territory, patrolling almost the entire reserve and the guards took to calling him Field Director Sahib. Expectedly, his forays led the 'FD' into many a battle, leaving him with many scars and just an eye. He earned himself a new sobriquet, Rana Sangha, the one-eyed battle-weary royal. Not only was it more appropriate, the guards probably did not want to risk equating an injured warrior with their boss! Now Rana Sangha aka FD is missing in action, not seen in the past 18 months.
So is Boxer, the young male of Kalighati. Boxer was known to be an aggressive tiger and stories abound of his mock-charging straying jeeps. Boxer has lost his fight with man; now he is just another statistic in the missing list of tigers. Through the day, I hear of other tigers and their tales, all with the same postscript, Missing, presumed dead.
Next day, on February 4, I joined the search party. I am tagging along with a senior park official, whose name I must not take since I am there unofficially. Also with us is an experienced tiger-tracker. We start at Ghan ka Tiraha, stumble upon the remains of a kill, but the killer is a hyena. We have to climb 1,500 feet to reach Gham plateau. Enroute is Chhanpipda where a tigress brought up her three cubs. No trace of the family since 2002.
Our progress is slow because we keep a careful eye on any possible sign of the tiger: pugmarks, hair, scat, scratch or remnants of a kill. Deep incisions in the ground seem cat-like but they are caused by the sambhar. A tuft of hair, orange highlighted by black and roots of white has me in a feverish excitement but to no avail. 'Cheetal', concludes the tracker, I gather that desperation makes our imagination work overtime.
We reach the plateau. One possible explanation offered by forest officials for the tiger's absence is that it may still be residing up in the hills. In Sariska, during monsoons when water is plenty, big cats prefer to live in the higher reaches, where disturbance from tourists and pilgrims is minimal, but as winter sets in and the water dries up, they return to the valleys below, and thus are easily sighted. That theory falls flat. The waterholes are bone dry and prey base almost negligible aside from a tiny herd of sambhar. Why would any tiger choose to stay here when a virtual feast awaits him in the gorges below? We have walked for five hours, covering the core area of the park, and have not come across a single clue of the tiger.
Instead, what are visible are the confident pugmarks of a pair of leopards. I can almost hear our hearts sink, collectively. This, if nothing else, is the almost definitive signal of the absence of tigers. Tigers will kill the leopard at the first given opportunity as they are potentially dangerous to cubs and in competition for prey. No leopard would dare tread fearlessly in the tiger's domain. I am informed that sightings of Panthera pardus are on the increase.
The awful truth sinks in, there are no tigers in Sariska. You could contradict the statement, for I devoted but a morning to the exercise covering only a part of the park. But the hopeless news brought in by regular trackers coupled with my barren trail convinced me that the king of beasts had ceased to be.
What could be the plausible explanation of the tiger being wiped off the Sariska map? Poaching is the obvious, if terrifying, answer. A forester tells me that locals and hunting tribes are known to poach sambhar, cheetal and wild boar by using steel traps, though other animals like the tiger could easily walk into the trap. There are also unconfirmed reports of irate local farmers poisoning the tiger, after the predator had eaten their cattle. Undoubtedly the local administration has given ineffective protection. Just as I leave the reserve, reports of a big wildlife product seizure in Delhi come in, among the haul is two tiger skins, tiger paws and teeth.
As I write this, there is no official verdict on the fate of the tiger in this reserve. Perhaps a carefully worded report will bring to life a tiger or two in Sariska, but you won't see me dance for joy, even if true. Such a dismal figure is equal to naught, being genetically unviable.
