Plan for the night
In the dark, the leopardess appeared as a fleeing shadow, and the spectacle continued…
By Rizwan Mehboob
It was getting late in the evening as crimson rays of setting sun filtered through tapering tops of fir trees along Thandiani range in Abbotabad. A pair of white horses was lazily nibbling grass in a square-shaped glade, bordered by thick coniferous jungle on three sides. The southwestern side was covered with dense growth of raspberry and granda bushes over a few acres before ending in a sheer drop of a few hundred feet.
In those days, the tourist activity in Thandiani was almost confined to day hours as the few shops and eating places were closed before sunset. Belonging in all likelihood to local shopkeepers and offered to tourists for scary rides, the horses instinctively knew there was no danger from wild animals provided they stayed clear of the thicket on the northern side. Little did they realise that a similar instinct was forcing another jungle inhabitant – lurking stealthily in nearby bushes – to make an exception from its millennium-old principle of attacking the prey only after darkness.
An exceptionally greener patch of grass, hardly 20 feet from the bushes, must have allured the unfortunate horse towards the raspberry thicket. With every muscle tense and tail twitching from side to side, the leopardess – as I later knew from elongated pugmarks – braced herself for the final assault, which would have satisfied her days-old hunger. The poor horse knew about the fatal charge too late when the leopardess was right on top of it, burying her canine teeth ever deeper in his neck.
Despite a frantic struggle by the victim, the leopardess did not let go of her initial hold until a few minutes later when the horse hit the ground, dead for good. In the meantime, the other horse frantically raced towards thick fir and deodar jungle, disturbing a troop of langurs who continued calling for a long time. It was the noise made by langurs which was overheard by the local shopkeepers (inside their shops) who went out towards the grassy glade next morning to find the partly eaten body of the horse.
It was mere coincidence that I, along with an old forester friend, happened to visit Thandiani the very next day. The primary objective of our visit was to collect samples of a unique plant found in those moist temperate forests, namely Voila Serpens. The shoot and tip of this beautiful plant exhibits great resemblance with the expanded head of the cobra snake. Late August is the best month to find this plant at 7,000 to 8,000 feet height and no place fits the bill better than Thandiani.
Leaving Abbotabad after late breakfast, we reached Thandiani a little before noon and were greeted by the local Range Forest Officer. As we were being served tea and gogees (a local recipe of great dietary value in Hazara, made of wheat flour, gur and desi ghee), one of the forest guards informed us about the killing of the horse by the leopard. In no time, we reached the spot of overnight tragedy and were greeted by an agitated throng of local shopkeepers. The depredation meted out by the wild animal to the poor owner of the slain horse was being cursed upon.
As the local forest officer tried to calm the shopkeepers with promises of driving away the leopard, I took hasty steps to reach the dead horse, which had not been touched by the shopkeepers. The area had received good rains in recent days and the ground was consequently ideal for showing pugmarks and other signs of struggle to help reconstructing the events. What surprised me was the fact that after killing the horse, the leopardess desisted from devouring the kill and for some reason, had left the kill possibly during midnight. It was then that some of the jackals had located the kill and had enjoyed great snacks of premier meat.
By the time, the disturbed shopkeepers were convinced to vacate the locality and the odd visitors left the area, sunset was hardly two hours away. As we scampered around to look for a safe position in that wilderness, the only choice therefore was to sit on ground behind one of the huge boulders strewn in that grassy glade and hope to picture the leopardess without provoking an assault.
The boulder, which we finally selected, was the size of a big table and fell directly opposite to the bushy thicket from where leopardess had emerged last evening. Knowing that leopardess would scan every bit of ground before reaching the kill, our ability to sit motionless would make or break our plans for the night.
On the advice of local Forest Officer, we agreed to keep a shotgun for causing a diversion just in case the leopardess took matters out of our hands. By the time, we made ourselves reasonably comfortable behind the big boulder – my friend holding the shotgun and camera in my lap – the sun was already touching the rim of distant Agror Tanawal Mountains in the southwestern direction.
Although, I had spent many nights in the hilly jungles of Punjab and KP, it was the first time that I was sitting for night vigil over fresh kill, waiting for what could be a very hungry leopardess. What continued to disturb me was the fact that the leopardess had left her hardly-earned kill without taking a meal. The only and very uncomfortable explanation that I could think of was her nursing young cubs that could be brought to the kill tonight.
The area was suddenly covered in thick fog, putting us in total darkness earlier than we had expected. Such fogs are common at these heights and can take any length of time to clear. It must have taken 30 to 40 minutes before the fog started lifting and we were able to see distant trees as blurred objects. The time of arrival of leopardess was approaching nearly as fast as the darkness that engulfed the open glade from all sides. Another few anxious minutes passed and suddenly we heard the ringing sound of a mountain fox, heralding the arrival of the queen of forests.
However, it was not until we actually heard the bone cracking sounds coming from the direction of the kill that we knew of her presence. That the leopardess and her cubs had managed to cover 20 yards separating the bushes from the kill completely unheard was evidence of their skill in negotiating the difficult hilly terrain in a masterful manner.
The close proximity of big cats tends to unsettle even the strongest nerves who happen to be around for shooting or photography. It was therefore natural for our nerves and senses to go berserk on hearing the feeding leopards in that ominously dark night at such close quarters. Having already failed in picturing the leopardess before darkness, our only concern in life at that juncture was to somehow leave the company of feeding carnivores as early as possible. Frightened to death as we already were at that point, the sudden spectacle of two rounded lights in the direction of thick jungle was virtually the proverbial last straw on the camel’s back. What we saw were two lights, moving side-by-side and some 50 yards from our hideout. Superstition and fear of unknown being an integral part of jungle life, we initially thought that our senses had been befooled by fear.
However, we abandoned this thought after realising that the leopardess had also noticed the lights and had ceased activity. Trembling with fear, we followed the lights that were palpably moving towards us. Terrified and awe-stricken, we were at the point of breaking into hysterical shouting when the leopardess started growling in a terrifying manner. No sooner the leopardess went into shattering demonstration, the reality of strange lights dawned on us. The lights were strong torches, fitted to hunting guns being carried by what later turned to be two avid hunters. Having always desisted from firing at the precarious wild animals, we immediately realised that any delay in showing ourselves could end in shooting of the valiant leopardess and possibly of the vulnerable cubs.
Expression of mutual surprise was over in a few moments as the two small parties with divergent objectives met and went through heated arguments over shooting the leopards. I must salute the two hunters who very sportingly agreed to refrain from shooting the leopardess. While engrossed in these arguments, we had forgotten the third party to that surprise meeting atop Thandiani, the leopardess, who had by then fully taken stock of the situation.
A normal leopard would have immediately disappeared at the first sight of humans but the valiant leopardess had an important task – of removing her cubs from the kill and the means she employed to achieve the objective were horrifying. By this time, four of us were huddled in front of the big boulder and the leopardess started taking quick strides around the boulder, emitting earth-shattering growls. In that dark night, she appeared as a fleeing shadow, melting every now and then in thick jungle, only to emerge even more ferociously. During the next three to four minutes, the spectacle continued as our bodies made countless contacts with ground, expecting every now and then the furious leopardess to land amongst us.
Gradually, the fury of leopardess appeared to recede and after another four to five minutes, even the occasional growls ceased. In all probability, her terrifying demonstration must have helped the family in securing a safe exit from the kill. Knowing fully well that by exposing herself she was risking her own life, the show of courage and maternal care from leopardess was absolutely touching. Feeling a little embarrassed at the chain of events since evening (especially on how the brave leopardess reduced us into a band of cowards), we eventually started leaving that jungle amphitheatre and headed towards the forester quarter around the ridge. Passing near the kill, we turned our lights on and were delighted to see the small pugmarks of two cubs alongside their mother, leaving in the direction of sheer drop.
The disappointment of missing the photo-op was more than compensated by the happiness in playing our part to help a brave leopard family enjoy their freedom in those jungles for many years to come.