Hide and Seek: On the Scent of a Leopard in Tiger Country

For a national park, Bandipur comes across as a little strange. The Mysore–Ooty highway cuts right through this protected area. Warnings of fines for parking on the highway are up at the park’s entrance. “No entry” read signposts wherever narrow tracks veer into the forest. On these dirt tracks, where only visitors with permits are allowed, dust rises as jeeps follow pugmarks. The sound of trucks hauling cargo gives way to beautiful birdsong.

My first safari into the Bandipur forest begins with sightings of spotted deer and fresh elephant dung. All good signs. It indicates plenty of prey for tigers and leopards, and the possibility that elephants are nearby.

Indeed, after a while of being driven on bumpy roads, we reach a watering hole where a family of four elephants is taking a dip. Because the herd has a little one, the matriarch shuffles everyone out of our sight despite the safe distance and waterbody between us. With her trunk raised, she stares back at us, grunts, and then ambles away.

As the elephants leave, a paradise flycatcher takes their place on the water. The bird plunges and flies straight back to its perch, plunges and back again, its long tail swirling like a ribbon. Only flycatcher males have these fancy tails. And as if that wasn’t impressive enough, males come in two colours — white and brown. The one in front of us is brown, the colour that females also don.

We move on from the watering hole. Meandering through the jungle we see more signs of wildlife and stumble upon fresh tiger pugmarks — going in the opposite direction. So, we turn around and head for the nearest watering hole, the same spot where we’d rudely interrupted the elephant family.

We sit tight, hoping a tiger shows up. The forest is eerily quiet, the air still.

A single alarm call in the distance breaks the silence, catching the attention of our guide. We listen intently. Another alarm call. Familiar with the source, the guide immediately drives us back to where our journey started — the highway.

Just 200 metres off this busy road, we see a loosely scattered herd of spotted deer. One of them is sounding the alarm and the rest, especially the fawns, are getting antsy.

“Leopard,” our naturalist soon announces in a voice filled with urgency and excitement. “Where, where?” we ask, rising from our seats for a better view. The naturalist points to the right. I see it but it’s well-hidden, with just the head peeking through the grass. 

The tension in the herd of does and their fawns is now even more palpable. Their tails and ears are upright, and they are facing the leopard. The leopard perhaps knowing that it has been seen by the deer and its cover is blown, sneaks off into a thicket completely out of our view.

Meanwhile, a crowd starts to gather out on the road. Other safari jeeps join us. Curious passers-by stop to ask what’s happening. People in cars and bikes, and some who live around the forest and forest guards on foot. The mention of a leopard has everyone amazed; there’s a glint in their eyes.

We wait, cameras at the ready, selfishly hoping the leopard emerges and pounces on a deer.

The naturalists speculate that the leopard, which is a female named Mesikere, might cross the road. On the other side, a male leopard was just spotted by tourists on a different safari jeep. But, according to our guide, Mesikere has two young cubs to protect and feed, so I doubt she will cross the road to meet the male.

The deer sense something in the dense thicket where Mesikere has disappeared. They start to line up and march towards the thicket like brave soldiers facing an enemy. The adults in front are barking. The youngest fawns hide at the back. And then at one point, some of the deer spring back. We expect an attack. But the leopard’s a no-show.

After waiting some more, we go further down the highway looking for any movement in the grass. A quick detour into the forest doesn’t result in any sightings and we’re back on the highway again.

We pass Mesikere’s hiding spot — there’s still no sign of her. Spotted deer are now busy grazing, taking frequent breaks to look up. One of them is keeping a constant watch, alarm-calling from time to time.

Eventually, the herd leaves. The alarm-caller is the last to go. And with that, we leave too — this time in the opposite direction.

It dawns on me that I’ve caught the ‘big cat’ bug. As we swerve onto a dirt track, I find myself thinking about the leopard and imagine it hunkered down on a hill where we can see a peacock perched against the setting sun. When I express this out loud, the guide remarks that one leopard usually rests in the trees nearby. We drive further along and find more peacocks, some parakeets and a hoopoe. Then, it is time to leave.

Just as we hit the highway one final time on our way out of the national park and pause to check up on Mesikere, she emerges from the undergrowth. She looks around and stealthily follows the spotted deer’s trail.

Our patience and persistence pay off. Maybe the leopard’s did, too.

I didn’t expect to see a leopard in Bandipur — known largely for sightings of the other big cat, the tiger. Much less right by a busy road, so close to people. But there it was.

This closeness to people and roads has its dangers, though. Speeding vehicles can accidentally kill animals. Besides, this highway is only one of two that zip through the national park. Thankfully, mitigation measures such as a ban on the use of the highways at night have drastically reduced the number of roadkill, making it safer for Mesikere to cross the road if she wishes to.