The Snowdon Panther
Rachael Bates
�
Copyright 2018 by Rachael Bates
Runner-Up--2018 Animal Nonfiction
|
Photo courtesy of Pixabay. |
Not
many people grow up with a pet bison. We called ours Burt. The locals
were always telling us about bison aggression towards humans, but
Burt, enormous-hairy-Burt, seemed content to watch us from the forest
behind the backyard fence. He visited us a few times a week and we
grew rather fond of him, learning to recognize him by a chunk of
flesh missing from one of his ears. On occasion he snuck into my
mother�s vegetable garden and created havoc with his hooves, or
tore up our lawn with his eager grazing. Other than that, he was a
welcome addition to our bevy of animals, which included horses and
ponies, dogs and cats, chickens, and the occasional baby bird. In all
my time living in Ooty, a town perched high in the mountains of South
India, Burt was perhaps the largest bison I ever saw.
On
weekends my sister and I rode our horses out into the woods on long
trail rides that lasted most of the day. More often than not we would
glimpse a herd of bison tromping through the forest. Sometimes we
would come face to face with lone males on narrow trails who would
lower their black-tipped horns and shake their heads threateningly.
Over time we learned how gentle the humungous beasts were, and rather
than hightailing it away from them whenever we encountered a herd, we
would coax and cluck them out of our way. Nonetheless, I never fully
lost my fear-tinged respect for them.
Once,
when I was out walking alone with my right arm in a cast (bicycle
accident), the romantic notion of befriending a bison popped into my
head. I approached a half-grown bison out of curiosity and was duly
chased into a clump of trees. I had to find a large stick and make an
aggressive pretense to scare the over-friendly chap away. While the
American bison is shaggy, the Indian bison or �gaur� has
a smooth coat. Some are over six foot at the shoulder and can weigh
close to a thousand kilograms. Though immense and muscle-bound, they
are also lithe and quick. I have seen them dash up almost vertical
hillsides and hop over fences with the grace of a deer.
When
my family moved to India from America, I was three years old. Even
though we were cloistered in a tiny house in Mumbai during our early
years, animals quickly became an integral part of my childhood. I
dreamed of having horses, but they would come later when we moved to
the mountains. Instead, I caught frogs in the backyard and kept pet
snails in a wagon. I tried to keep ants in jars but they always
escaped till I received a proper ant farm as a birthday gift. Moving
from one of the biggest cities in the world to the forested hills of
Ooty opened a new world to me. Though this story began with a bison,
I want to tell the tale of the most beautiful, wild and dangerous
creature I ever saw. A panther.
After
moving far from the broiling city of Mumbai, my parents purchased a
few acres in the middle of nowhere. The land crests a hill that looks
out over a valley. When we first set eyes on the place, all the trees
had been clear-cut, leaving the earth bald and hostile. Though we
tried to convince him otherwise, my father insisted on calling our
new home �Stumpfields.� Once the trees grew up again and
we molded the land into garden and field, the irony of the name
nudged its way into our affections. When the sky swelled with cloud
and sunset, bathing the valley below in shadow and light, Stumpfields
became the most beautiful place on earth. Rock faces armored
mountainsides, glistening in the rain, while green tea plantations
stretched vibrant as far as the eye could see. Hamlets and villages
dotted the valley, lending themselves to a rural snapshot of India
that few foreigners conjure when they bring to mind the billion and
counting population.
Backed
against a national forest, we were surrounded by wildlife. While Burt
and other bison were frequent visitors, other animals came too. Wild
boar broadcast their presence whenever we stumbled into deep ruts on
the pathway where they dug for roots and tubers. Deer picked their
way through the shola and wattle trees and jungle fowl strutted their
colorful plumes with the confidence of their illustrious relative,
the peacock.
Once,
when the dogs were acting strange, we flashed our torches into the
woods and saw the reflective eyes of a large cat staring back at us.
We reckoned it was a panther. There was something very disconcerting
about its unblinking watchfulness. The eyes reminded us of a terrible
episode a few years before. In the middle of the night, we were woken
by blood-curdling howl. Our hulking German shepherd dog named Bear
was sleeping on the porch outside my parents� bedroom. I was
ill with a stomach bug that night, and my parents had tucked me into
bed with them. I remember waking up to a feeling of impact, the house
seemed to tremor with the violence of the panther�s attack.
Before we could do anything about it, dog and panther were gone. All
we found the next day were drops of blood and tufts of fur in the
woods.
After
that night, we always made sure to lock the dogs away in a small room
every evening. Despite our precautions, we continued to lose dogs to
panthers. Sometimes, the victim would simply be roaming around not
far from the house for a late afternoon jaunt. It was not difficult
to discover what befell them when they did not return.
Even
though we knew panthers were dangerous, few were reported to be
man-eaters, and my family and I always hoped to see one in broad
daylight. My mother saw one slinking through the forest when she and
I became lost in some dusky neck of the woods once. Now and then,
people who came to visit us recounted seeing leopards on their
journey into the mountains, even though they had only been in India
for a few days. Reports such as these made my sister and me green
with envy. We rode through every forest around us with a frequency
that we felt deserved at least one panther sighting. Ride after ride
we would glimpse rare Malabar squirrels high up in the treetops,
russet and shy as they navigated their eucalyptus realms, but we did
not see a panther. One unassuming day, our luck changed.
My
sister and I set out one Saturday morning on a ride that meandered
its way deep into a forest and lead us up one of Ooty�s highest
mountains. Old logging roads created ideal riding paths through the
woods, they were wide and unpaved and forgotten. Few people venture
into the forest in Ooty, leaving the flora and fauna to flourish.
When we reached Snowdon peak, we tethered the horses near long wild
grass so they could graze as we ate our picnic lunch. The dogs went
trotting off into the forest, noses to the ground. My sister and I
tucked into our sandwiches, basking in our sun-dappled glade.
| All
of a sudden, a great crashing of trees and frenzied flurry of
movement drew our eyes to a small trail that led into a thicket of
undergrowth. Less than twenty feet from where sat, we saw our two
Labradors burst from the trees. A panther was chasing them. The
moment the leopard came into view it locked eyes with us and stopped
dead in its tracks before hurling itself back into the woods. A
split-second longer and the pursuer would have sunk its teeth and
claws into the haunches of our dog. In the moment before the creature
sprang away from us, I took in the black rimmed green of its eyes, so
intelligent and startled. I saw every muscle in its crouched body
ripple under the tawny, charcoal spotted fur. Bright eyes, bright
coat, bright white of whiskers. I can still see the entire scene in
my mind as if it happened yesterday. |
Photo by Faizal Sulthan on Unsplash |
Giddy
with adrenaline and excitement we jabbered away to each other after
making sure the dogs were unharmed. A quarter of an hour slid by as
we let the wonder of the event sink in. We were so thrilled that we
forgot to be afraid. As soon as I suggested that we have some tea
from the thermos, my sister looked around with concern as it dawned
on her that the panther might return. I was dismissive of her fears,
telling her that it was far more frightened of us than we were of it.
With a little reluctance, I agreed to save the rest of our picnic for
later and head for home. Once on the horses� backs again we
kept an eye on the dogs, calling them to heel every so often. We were
still buzzing with what we had just witnessed. My sister rode a few
steps ahead of me, looking back over her shoulder as we carried on
talking. We had been walking for about ten minutes when without
warning, my sister�s face blanched with disbelief. I turned in
my saddle to see what she saw. A stone�s throw away, the
panther stood half hidden by a bend in the road, watching us.
Instinct
kicked in
and we spurred our horses forward, yelling in terror, and galloped
down the road. We laughed with hysteria born of fear as we fled and
shouted encouragement to our dogs to keep up. We ran and we ran. As
far as I know, we were not followed. I still wonder if it was with
mere curiosity that the leopard tracked us, but the possibility of
sinister intentions gave us the most meaningful gallop of our lives.
Though
born in the US, I grew up in India, and my
non-fiction pieces often describe my experiences in that strange and
beautiful land. Currently, I am studying at Berea College in Kentucky,
writing my way towards a degree in English Literature and Creative
Writing.
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