Bandhavgarh National Park

The jeep engine cuts out, and the forest rushes in. A cool, damp smell of earth rises from the track. Somewhere ahead, a spotted deer gives a sharp, high bark — then another. Langurs shift in the branches overhead. Your guide raises one hand and goes very still. In Bandhavgarh, silence is a tool. The forest tells you what is moving through it, if you learn to listen.

You are in the Umaria district of Madhya Pradesh, in central India. This is a country of low hills, sandstone ridges and broad valleys. Dense stands of sal trees cover much of the ground. Sal is a tall hardwood with large, leathery leaves. Between the forest blocks lie open grassy meadows and patches of bamboo. Streams cut through the valleys, and in the dry months the animals gather close to the water.

Look up toward the highest ground, and you may see a long flat-topped hill with steep cliffs. That hill gives the park its name. Bandhavgarh is often translated as the fort of the brother. Legend has it that the god Rama, hero of the Hindu epic the Ramayana, gave this fort to his brother Lakshmana. That is folklore, not documented history. But the hill really does carry the ruins of an old fort, and people have lived and worshipped here for a very long time.

The oldest written traces are not on the fort walls. They are in the caves. The sandstone around the hill holds dozens of small caves cut by human hands. Some carry inscriptions in Brahmi, an ancient script used across India more than two thousand years ago. Historians link many of these inscriptions to the early centuries of the Common Era. So before this was a tiger forest, it was a place of shelter, travel and prayer.

One of the most surprising sights sits near the base of the fort hill. It is a large carved figure of the god Vishnu, lying on his back. Locals call it Shesh Shaiya, meaning the bed of the serpent Shesha. In Hindu belief, Vishnu rests on this great serpent between the ages of the world. A spring rises near the statue, and the water collects in a pool. Many people consider this spring the source of a local stream.

For much of the twentieth century, this forest belonged to the rulers of Rewa, a princely state in this region. The Maharajas used it as a private hunting reserve. Tiger hunting was a royal sport, and the old records count many animals shot here. That private ownership had a strange side effect. Ordinary people were kept out, and the forest stayed largely intact while other jungles were cleared for farms and timber.

Here is a story many visitors never hear. The famous white tigers in zoos around the world trace their line to this region. In 1951, a white tiger cub was captured in the forests of Rewa. He was named Mohan. The Maharaja kept him and bred him, and many captive white tigers descend from that one animal. White tigers are not a separate species. They are Bengal tigers with a rare colour variation.

In 1968, the forest became a national park. Later, it joined Project Tiger, India's long-running national programme to protect tigers and their habitat. Over the following decades, the protected area grew larger. Bandhavgarh became known for something unusual. In some parts of the park, tigers live in quite high numbers compared with many other reserves. That is why so many people come here with one hope in mind.

It is worth remembering that tigers are only part of the picture. The forest also holds leopards, sloth bears, wild dogs called dholes, jackals and wild boar. Sambar deer, the largest deer in India, move quietly through the thick cover. Spotted deer graze the meadows in herds. Gaur, a massive wild cattle with pale lower legs, were brought back here in the early 2010s after they had disappeared from the park.

The birds deserve your attention too. Watch for the flash of a peacock crossing the track. Listen for the loud call of the jungle fowl, the wild ancestor of the farm chicken. Hornbills, kingfishers, eagles and vultures all live here. On a slow morning, when no tiger appears, the birds alone can fill hours. A good guide will name them for you by sound before you even see them.

Much of tiger tracking here is detective work. Guides read the dust on the tracks for fresh paw prints, called pug marks. They look for scratch marks high on tree trunks. Above all, they listen for alarm calls. A spotted deer barking, or a langur coughing harshly from a treetop, often means a predator is nearby. When the guide stops the jeep and waits, the wait itself is part of the experience.

The park is divided into separate safari zones, and each one has its own character. Some take in the meadows below the fort hill. Others cover rolling forest and quieter valleys. The landscape changes with the seasons as well. Winter mornings are cold and misty, and the light comes in low and gold through the sal trunks. By the hot months, the grass turns pale and the water holes become the centre of life.

Life here is shared. Villages sit around the edges of the park, and people farm right up to the forest boundary. Cattle, crops and wild animals sometimes meet, and that brings real challenges. Many of the guides and drivers grew up in these villages. Ask them about the forest. Their knowledge often comes from family memory, passed down long before the first tourist jeep arrived.

Before the engine starts again, take one more moment. Notice the cool air, the dry leaves on the track, the shape of the fort hill against the sky. Somewhere close, an animal may be watching you, even if you never see it. As you drive out through the gate, keep listening. The forest is still speaking in its own way — a deer's bark, a bird's call, and then silence.