The Martlet

Jungle canopy grows thick around us as we drive off from the south Indian village of Masinagudi.

Facing backwards in the jeep while finishing a breakfast chapatti and coffee, I critique the worsening condition of the dirt road. Washed out and riddled with potholes, the ride gets violent; coffee spilling on me every bump and turn. Suddenly, the jeep engine halts and we come to a skidding stop.

Our guide Jamal, trying to unhook his seatbelt from around his giant Motorola, turns to us and says, “from here we go walking into jungle.”

Quickly guzzling what coffee I’m not wearing, I crawl out of the jeep. Its 6 a.m. I’m dehydrated, still inebriated from the night before and about to embark on a wild life trek through Bandipur National Park. Trying to remind myself it’s a good idea at the time, I clutch my camera and press on.

Safari on a budget

A day earlier, my good friend Jon and I stood aimless at the Mysore bus terminal, rifling through the guidebook for the next “big experience.”

Looking stupefied in the bustle with money-belts bulging and bright MEC backpacks, Jamal hones in on us, offering a jungle safari too cheap to refuse. Without a second thought, we hop in the back of his jeep and head for Masinagudi. That night, we take in the local drinking customs with Jamal and his uncle. Surprisingly, their customs don’t differ much from our own; slugging whiskey shots and comparing facial hair (the Indians reigned on all fronts).

Twelve hours later, I’m prying myself out of the jeep for a cold nature-walk instead of a 4X4 safari. The “too cheap to refuse safari offer” is starting to make a little more sense now. Jon, not in any better condition than myself (mentally or physically), offers little solace. Thankfully, the wet morning chill sharpens our senses. As we hike into the jungle, I notice Jamal keeping close with his uncle, asking questions about this plant and that animal.

It’s soon apparent Jamal has no concept of where he is, or what he’s doing outside of making safari sales presentations to aimless travellers at bus stations. His mysterious non-communicative uncle is the one in charge of our curious nature-walk.

Simultaneously, Jon and I both realize we’ve been duped. Standing in the middle of nowhere and freezing, we’re being led by a man who has our money and doesn’t understand a word we say. It’s not worth complaining. Why bother? It’s not the first time we’ve been fleeced and certainly won’t be the last.

Unexpected guests

In times like these, it’s always best to surrender to the experience, laugh and embrace it. So we do. To blow off some steam, I make a dig on Jamal’s ridiculous brick-sized Motorola phone from the ‘80s. Jamal just laughs.

“Yes, yes, I know, its very old, but it works well, ha!” he says.

Jon and I laugh back; we’re all friends here.

“Shhh!” Jamal’s uncle whispers to hush our laughter, followed immediately by a trumpeting call of a nearby elephant. I’m reminded of our vulnerability.

It dawns on me that more animals are watching us than we can see ourselves, elephants included. Despite Jamal’s confidence-winning sales presentation, I sense we’re slightly under-qualified to be “sneaking up” on wild elephants (I’m no expert here, but, I know as a rule-of-thumb, elephants never forget and they have a habit of charging anything that gets too close). Naturally, the uncle suggests we move in for a closer look.

Watching from uphill behind a tree line, we see a family of three in a thicket below. Two adults and a calf. For such large animals, they’re surprisingly quiet. Lightly treading on the ground, they rustle the thicket of bush no more than a deer; you could pass right by without ever noticing them.

Despite the serene majesty of the moment, Jamal’s anxious disposition dominates my attention. Clearly nervous, he whispers with a shaky hoarse voice.

“We cannot get any closer, we are far too close,” he breathes. “Please stay quiet. Very, very, quiet please.”

Worth a thousand words

Moments pass as we take in the sight and grow comfortable with the presence of the giant wild animals. But with respect to their habitat, and to Jamal’s immediate relief, it’s time to move on. The elephants are aware of us and have been tolerant so far. It’s best not to push our luck.

“We need to be leaving,” says Jamal, and his uncle is already on his way.

“Okay,” I say. “Jon, lets get out of here. Jon?”

We’ve all been so wrapped up in the elephants that nobody has taken notice of anybody else for quite some time.

Glancing behind the tree-line I search with my eyes, then look into the open field downhill. Still nothing. Then, right at the crest of the thicket, I spot Jon. He can’t be more than 10 metres away from them (a few brisk elephant strides).

Jamal, noticing Jon as well, looks at me as fear wells up in his bloodshot eyes.

“You must get your friend,” he urges. “He is much too close.”

I watch in terror as Jon cranks a disposable camera at point-blank range; every audible click agitating the elephants further. The calf is frightened and the parents grow skittish. Jon, as if poised inconspicuously, is on a suicide photo op.

Not realizing the imminent danger, he sees me sneaking my way down to his location. With a semi-causal wave and smile he signals me over. The gesture almost causes me physical nausea. Rife with anxiety, I can barely think. I draw near to Jon’s position and try to let Jamal’s bewildered expression fade from my mind’s eye.

Shit, I say to myself, this is some real deep shit we’re in. Stay calm, get Jon, and back away nice and easy.

I feel like screaming but opt for a whisper-yell.

“Jon! Lets go man. We’re way too close!” It’s like talking to a wall. Jon just looks at me, wonderstruck with our place in nature; man and beast.

“Kev! You gotta see this!” he says.

I can see it. I see the bulletproof hide, the tree-trunk-thick legs, a scared elephant calf tucked under a protective mother and the massive white ivory tusks of an elephant bull. It’s “amazing” no doubt, but “foreboding” seems a more accurate a word considering our invasive position.

Motorola magic

Clearly, my attempts have no effect on his proximity to death, and I begin pleading.

“Please man, let’s go. Shit, we have to get out of here, they could...”

Something comes up from the bushes behind me. It’s Jamal. (If I had any fluids left in me I would have shit and pissed myself right then and there). Seeing my failing negotiation, he tries to motivate us. The elephants are growing more irritated since Jamal’s not-so-subtle arrival.

Jon starts to get it; we need to be leaving. But before Jamal can open his mouth, the brick sized phone that we so casually joked about starts going off like a fire alarm. It certainly does “work well.” Ha.

For a fraction of a second I think it’s a joke. What are the chances this is actually happening right now?

It’s no joke. Jamal is already paces in front of us. The bull lets out an ear-piercing cry, blasting air from its trunk. He’s charging.

Full-grown tree branches snap in two, cracking as loud as thunder. The ground shakes with heavy steps directed at us.

We’re off like a shot. Jon is a trained sprinter. I need to run faster, still. There is no time for thinking. Adrenaline-fueled instinct sets in as we feel the ground tremble from stomping behind us: run, run, run.

A dried-up riverbed approaches a few metres in front of us, banking steep on both sides. We bound down the bank, across the riverbed and up the other side. For the first time, I glance behind us, hoping the bull doesn’t negotiate the river bank as quickly. I’m right. It’s pure luck we came across the trench. The bull heads back into the thicket, back to the calf and mother.

Lessons from an elephant

Jon and I count our blessings and trek back to meet Jamal and his uncle at the top of the hill.

His uncle tells Jamal, who tells us, this particular elephant, which he calls “The Tusker,” is responsible for multiple raids on village grain silos and the consequent deaths of villagers trying to protect their food supply.

While listening, I’m glaring at my trusty travel companion Jon, realizing I have three things in common with our new acquaintance “The Tusker.” A) I want to kill Jon, B) I will never forget and C) I could really use some food after all this excitement.