Exotic Tigers?

Although it would push our daily budget a bit, Nick and I opted to go on a 3 day/2 night package-adventure deal to the Sunderban Tiger Reserve outside Calcutta. After our experience with painful haggling in Darjeeling (where the travel agent ended up looking so sad I thought he might burst into tears) and Jaldhapara Wildlife Sanctuary (where I heard the word "impossible" so many times I thought my head would explode), the operation for Sunderban Tiger Camp is refreshingly well run and clearly defined. The website is nicely done (http://www.sunderbantigercamp.com/), with firm prices at different tiers, explanations of what you get for the price, and the benefit of an all-inclusive deal.

Getting to the meeting point was probably the hardest part of our trip: our taxi driver tried to insist on dropping us off at Purna Cinema, but finally he understood that we needed to get to Priya Cinema. The "P" aside, these words really sound nothing alike. Shrug.

We boarded for a long bus trip south of Calcutta, where we were headed to the world's largest mangrove forest and river delta, spanning two countries (split between India and Bangladesh). Mangrove flora and fauna is often specific to the territory given the unique natural aspects of a water-logged saline swamp. The mangrove tree itself is an odd looking plant, with exposed root structures reaching outward and deep into the mud. The plant growth can be extremely thick in places and barren in others, and because the mangrove forest is composed of dozens of muddy islands, reaching the area is difficult. The plants, animals and people who live here have to survive in an area dominated by tides and brackish water. As a result it is eerily isolated.

On board our bus we met a group of three Americans, John, Lisa and Janine, who were in Calcutta for a friend's wedding. After some discussion we learned that John and Lisa live in Crown Heights (next door to Lefferts Garden, where we live in Brooklyn), and Janine also used to live in Brooklyn. It's a small world. It got even smaller when (later in our trip) we discovered that John works at Cornell's Sackler Institute for a woman named BJ, the very same that our good friend Sarah Getz worked for up until this fall. John was pretty sure he remembered Sarah, though their overlap had probably been only a month or two.

Our three hour bus ride passed with relative ease (nevermind the occasional unexplained idle and argument with some people in the road and plenty of swerves and short stops), and we were transferred to large two-tier river boats for the next segment of our journey into the swamp. We drifted by dozens of tiny villages on the water's edge, where locals would stop to stare at us from the road or sometimes wave. Some people rode bikes or hearded livestock, and others were in the water on small canoe-like fishing boats. The scenery seemed idyllic with plenty of cool breeze off the water and a lack of need for lots of vehicles. The villages had a few autorickshaws but they didn't really need cars or trucks: there are no roads connecting the mangrove islands. Mostly we saw pole-propelled boats.

We arrived at the camp, which was high luxury for us. Our "tent" was a permanent canvas structure with high ceilings, a brick bathroom, real beds, electricity, and an owl-motif theme (apparantly someone had forgotten we were at tiger camp). Here we met Aki, a wonderfully amiable and chatty Japanese man who would share our accommodation. He told us with a giggle about how cranky his wife felt about being left behind with the kids: She told me on the phone last night, 'Imagine! How much fun we are having back here. In Tokyo!' Aki impressively speaks fluent Japanese, English and Hindi and has come to India nearly every year for well over a decade.

After a delicious and long awaited lunch at the dining hall, an open-air pagoda set among beautiful gardens, we were off on our first boat ride into the mangrove swamps. The brackish water lapped on muddy shores, where the thick plant growth suddenly stopped. Many bright blue kingfishers darted from tree to tree and we caught sight of a tall and elegant white egret.

That night, we attended a local dance performance within the camp and were sucked into an ecstatic Bengali family's private festivities after dinner. Hearing music and laughter, we stopped in curiously and the women absolutely insisted I dance with them and share a "light" drink of vodka with Sprite. The men drummed on anything they could find: a chair, a cup, and sung with passion. These Bengalis were unrestrained and having a great time, and it was hard not to get caught up in their joy.

Over the next two days we took several more boat excursions deep into the mangroves. I wondered why we were on such large and noisy boats (normally eschewed for scaring animals away) until I found out more about the elusive Sunderban tiger. They have a reputation for being man-eaters, and with good reason. The Royal Bengal tigers who live in the area have developed a taste for humans and the local villagers risk their lives when venturing into the Sunderban swamps to make a living by fishing or collecting honey.

The tiger is an integral part of life here. It is worshipped and feared in the form of Dakshin Roy by Hindus and Muslims alike. The locals also revere Bon Bibi, the forest goddess who offers them protection. The villagers hope never to see a tiger, while us tourists were there hoping for just the opposite. I also wondered what they thought of us, eagerly seeking out the thing which they most wanted to avoid.

Researchers have long questioned why the tigers in the Sunderban like the taste of humans, while tigers elsewhere have no interest and attacks are extremely rare. Other reserves allow elephant rides in tiger territory, and tourists routinely find themselves just meters away from wild tigers. One theory about the Sunderban population takes into account the harsher terrain - perhaps being forced to drink salty water has made the population mad or more aggressive. Or maybe tigers have developed a different preference over generations and are passing habits down to their young.

One thing occurred to me that I did not hear explained by common theory: in this area, humans are the largest and easiest snack around. The deer and wild boar in the Sunderban are very small, and there is no other large game readily available. Being cut off on tiny islands means that finding food is more difficult, so when a group of people wander into tiger territory an attack makes sense, from a biological perspective.

One small portion of the reserve is completely cut off for all people except ranger staff, including local villagers. They are allowed to fish and collect honey, at their own risk, in other portions of the reserve, but not here. At one point a group of locals illegally snuck into the closed area by boat hoping for a jackpot of natural resources. They were promptly attacked by a hungry tiger, who single-handedly killed three of them - an unheard of incident. The tiger was probably desperate for its favorite food. Something else occurred to me: people, at least in the Sunderban, are easy prey. Perhaps armed humans are equally dangerous, but tigers can easily attack from out of nowhere as the mangrove growth is dense and comes up to the water's edge.

Elsewhere in India, tiger attacks were once common during early colonial days. But humans brought thier weapons and their thirst for exotic skins and nearly devestated the entire tiger and wild cat population in the subcontinent. Hundreds of skins were collected and the Brits were eager to practice their wild game hunting when faced with the dangerous and exotic tiger. It was a tragic era, but perhaps tigers learned to avoid humans over time, with the result that most tiger populations will not attack people under normal circumstances.

But in the Sunderban it's a different world and one that humans have not mastered. When venturing into the mangrove swamp a person is suddenly small and vulnerable - an experience we are not at all used to. It's a wild and untamed area, and while a glimpse of a tiger would have been exciting, it's fine by me that they remained hidden. This is perhaps the only territory left on the planet that they can truly own: and let them - we have the rest.