Tiger Hunt in Cooch Behar

The Present Maharaja of Rewa, a small state in India, has just shot his 90th tiger, including a white one; his father has killed 800, including two white ones.

You need not be a maharaja to shoot tigers. Today, the cost is so low it is within reach of nearly everybody. Recently, an American diplomat stationed in New Delhi bagged one for a mere $250. This modest sum covered roundtrip air fare from New Delhi to Nagpur in central India, services of two Khansamas (cooks), a week's rent for a cozy bungalow, good American food, bait, beaters, stalkers, ammunition and even taxidermy. Things are cheap in India because the workingmen are accustomed to living on peanuts, unsalted.

European royalty, American business magnates and international playboys, however, prefer to go to Cooch Behar, a small state in the hills of West Bengal, where for about $2000 per person, they spend 12 days as the guests of the resident maharaja. Here a visitor hunts in the Assam jungles in a typical Kiplingesque atmosphere: cavalcade of caparisoned elephants, bejewelled princes, cognac galore, ceiling punkahs (hand-operated fans), variegated chandeliers, Turkish pillows, red carpets, brocade curtains, liveried attendants who respond to a clap-clap of hands or a whisper of "Kois-Hais" ("Anybody there?") and other trappings of a royal life. The State guarantees at least one tiger or your money back.

Here's how it's done. About 30 trained tuskers form a broad ring around the gully or ravine where the tiger is thought to be lurking, and as they advance, narrowing down the ring, they use their trunks like human arms, mowing down the big-leaved trees and branches covering the line of fire or obstructing the movement of the hunter's howdah (a temporary seat strapped on the elephant). The operation is controlled by mahouts who sit cross-legged astride the great necks of their charges, urging them on with a sharp ankush hook behind the ears.

The boom, the clangor, the squeals and occasionally the drop of a tree on his noggin stir the tiger from a full-paunched sleep and he swirls out of the grass, exploding in a mighty bellow and charging madly around the ring. The mahouts, armed with sticks and stones, pelt him from cover to cover, and meanwhile, the hunter takes aim.

However, sometimes the tiger breaks through the ring. But in such cases, unfortunately for himself, he usually hides in the nearby cover, mistaking invisibility for invincibility. Another ring is hastily formed and a sharp bullet between the eyes of the exhausted tiger makes a good cat out of him.

But hunting from elephants is going out of vogue. It is hard to get the requisite number. Besides, it is a highly dangerous game. For elephants are rather temperamental beasts, and sometimes, in the face of a ferocious attack, take to mad flight, tumbling the riders down in a heap to the mercy of the tiger. Indeed, I once saw a veteran bull of many a battle get so scared by a wild pig impudently racing under his belly that he sidled back from the ring and bolted, trumpeting his huge trunk up in an S and battering the howdah and its occupants to bits.

The safest way to hunt tigers is from a machan (a temporary platform erected in a tree), and these romps will be organized for you by Messrs. Allwyn Cooper Ltd., Nagpur, or Messrs. Shikars and Tours of New Delhi. They charge about $1000 for a 10-day hunt and also guarantee at least one tiger to show up within shooting distance (under 40 yards) or your money back. With average luck, most hunters bag three tigers during that time.

However, you may enjoy "doing" your own tiger much more than letting a commercial firm present it to you on a silver platter. A friend of mine who had gone on a hunt with one of these firms confided that he had the feeling of having bought a tiger skin from a fashionable department store. Everything was so well-arranged, so well-timed. A tiger was brought before him at a distance of 20 yards. And as soon as he fired, he heard the sound of another bullet accidentally let go by one of the crack shikaris of the firm. It really was hard to tell whose shot killed the tiger.

To do a tiger by yourself, your first step should be to consult the district forest officer in any of the tiger-infested areas. They are government servants and duty-bound to help you ungrudgingly. And if you employ a little Dale Carnegie charm, they will arrange practically everything for you: your accommodations, food, etc., and also introduce you to the local villagers who are often quite willing to help get rid of a potential man-eater and cattle-lifter.

It is hard to locate a tiger because of his natural camouflage. His yellow striped coat and his habit of hiding himself in nullahs, gullies and tall grass make him look like a heap of rubble, twigs and dry leaves. But his position can be cased by finding his natural kill or his pug marks.

It is possible to find a kill by following blowflies or carrion birds like wheeling vultures. They can be spotted many miles away with powerful glasses. And it is always easy to tell if the kill fell to a tiger. If the animal has been dragged (the surrounding damage to vegetation or marks on the ground will reveal it), it probably fell to a leopard, for tigers never drag their kill, unless it happens to be an extra-heavy carcass. The tiger always eats from the hind quarters; other animals from the stomach or fore quarters. The fang holes and the claw marks also give an indication, for the tiger's are much larger than any other animal's.

If the kill cannot be found, pug marks are of great help: a tiger establishes for himself a definite domain in the jungle, making a regular round of his little territory. He retraces his steps roughly once every 10 days and many hunters, knowing this, put bait (a living animal) on the path where his old or new tracks are found. The tiger, after killing the animal, carries it about half-a-mile to a secluded spot. And after having his bellyful, he hides it some place near-at-hand to return the next evening. Sometimes, he conceals his kill by a mound of leaves and twigs. This is usually an indication that the tiger has moved on a distance and may take some time in returning to the kill.

Some persons tether the bait with a strong rope to the tree so that the tiger cannot carry it away. But it is unwise, for a tiger is a crafty beast and, suspecting a trick, may never return. It is always better to stake the bait with a long, slender rope.

Domestic cattle such as a small buffalo or a cow is the best temptation; though the tiger's mainstay is venison, he dearly loves his cattle. He finds it easy to kill and the booty can sustain him for one week. It is hard for him to hunt big game. The sambar stag is much too agile and can climb slopes and hop from cliff to cliff in a jiffy; the wild bison may worst him in a tough fight; the deer is hardly more than a morsel and the wild pig not even an appetizer.

The bait, once killed, should always be left undisturbed, for tigers seem to have an uncanny sixth sense: if the kill is moved as much as one foot, he may refuse to touch it any more.

After the discovery of the kill, the next step is to fix your machan in some strategically-placed tree. If all goes well, you bag your first tiger by eight o'clock that night.

The height of the machan will vary in direct proportion to the strength of your nerves. For real fun, however, it should be six to 10 feet off the ground. It is easier to have a broadside or a neck shot from that height. But it might be a risky business: often, at the first shot, the tiger reels, stands on his hind legs, stares at you with his yellow eyes blazing, rushes in a series of bounds, springs in the air double his height, roars a blood-curdling yowl through six-inch teeth, puts his flailing forepaws on your wobbly seat and puffs his fetid breath at your face. You may become too nervous and the hunter himself is soon the hunted; but life offers no greater thrill than giving a close shot in the brain of a raging monster at point-blank range.

However, for the nervous, the machan can be built as high as a mountain top, for the tiger, though belonging to the cat family, cannot climb a tree or steep ascent. But the only shot you can have from that height is one at the spine, and an inexactitude of even a few inches can mar your chances of a rug in your den back home.

Once you are on the machan, you must observe some simple rules. Make no movement or sound. Do not smoke. Do not breathe hard. Don't get upset if both your feet go to sleep. Sit absolutely still even if it means loss of half-a-pint of blood to the jungle mosquitoes. Use extreme caution in raising your rifle when the tiger appears; though the unsuspecting beast does not go looking up in trees, the slightest breeze or rustle is likely to alert him. Sitting still for hours is a hard business; however, use of insect repellents on hands and face can be a lot of help.

If a tiger fails to arrive voluntarily, he can be forced out of his hiding place and channeled toward you. The local natives, in expectation of a small tip, form themselves in the rough shape of a triangle with your machan as the apex and plow through the jungle, banging on drums and metal pans, yelping and whacking the boles of trees with ax handles. The rising crescendo impels the quarry in your direction. As soon as he comes within range, the beaters immediately climb trees and remain there till definite news of the cat is received.

Occasionally, a beat may not flush a tiger, but it is never disappointing. Instead, you may get some other Indian jungle variety: sambar, deer, blue bull, leopard and, occasionally, bison. However, when planning the beat, care should be taken to flank all the three sides of the triangle, for tigers are expert swimmers and cannot be balked by rivers or streams.

It is imperative to pop a final slug into the tiger before descending the machan, even if it means further damaging the prized skin. In the past, people who have presumed the beast to be dead with just one shot have been surprised on coming down either to see the tiger vanish away or, worse still, spring on them with dishonorable intent.

A couple of years ago, while an American tourist (Mr. Robert C. Ruark) was hunting in the jungles of central India, he aimed a shot, heard a terrific growl, and some 15 minutes later, flipped the light on the dead tiger just in time to see his vanishing tail. Obviously, his bullet had glanced off a bone or had gone through the flesh without meeting any resistance. The shock had only paralyzed the tiger for a few minutes. The American went on his spoor for two days, but the tiger had quit bleeding inside half-a-mile. He never picked up his trail again.

The search for a wounded tiger can become a murderous occupation, as one Delhi sportsman recently learned. It was nighttime and he pushed one bullet into the hide of an old tom, who promptly disappeared in a nearby clump of grass. Next day, the hunter started searching the grass, but soon the place was resounding with the cries of the man and the roar of the tiger. His friends were afraid to shoot because both man and beast seemed to be in a deadly tangle. But at last one took a chance: the tiger was killed and the man was found alive, minus a leg.

This is all for the tiger shoot. However, it may be even greater fun to trap these animals. Once a trapper friend of mine was invited by the Indian railway authorities to deal with a tiger operating around Byree, a small wayside station near Nagpur. The railway (continued on page 72)Tiger Hunt(continued from page 62) way authorities had a real reason to be upset: this cat had a habit of feasting on the signalmen, thus interrupting all traffic. He had already carried off five of them in as many weeks and the rest had scurried panic-stricken back to their villages. My friend built a strong wooden case with a heavy gateway which thudded down by pressing a release some 100 feet away. Train service was canceled for the day and the cage, containing a live cow calf, was put near the signal. The marauder was soon brought to bay and was found to have been seriously bruised in the leg by a wanton shot, enough to turn him into a man-eater.

Ordinarily, a tiger never attacks human beings unless provoked or molested. He resorts to man-eating by accident, for convenience rather than the taste of human flesh.

I once was walking on a narrow jungle path in the Almorah district of Uttar Pradesh. Suddenly I saw about 200 yards away a rippling glory of black and gold. His stride resembled a ponderous river flowing in bright sunlight. I was unarmed, so a prolonged admiration of his charms or an argument about who had the right of way were out of the question. A hasty retreat might have meant a sudden leap, so I quietly crept into the adjoining bushes. The tiger glided by without so much as a glance at me.

On the other hand, there have been instances which show that tigers like to toy with human beings. Sometime back I heard a story which sounds incredible, but is true.

A young newly-married couple was walking through the jungle. Suddenly, the man saw a rare species of bird to which he gave chase for some distance. On his return, he found the girl gone. He looked around and saw the pug marks of a tiger, and also pieces of the girl's clothing on a thorny bush. He decided to track the tiger. It was a long chase through rocks and ravines to a jagged-mouthed crevice. He peeked through the opening and there was the tiger playing with the girl like a house tabby with a doll, cavorting and having a high old time. The girl, though still unharmed, was unconscious with fear, and her black hair had turned silvery gray. The man killed the tiger, but the girl lost her mind forever.

A tiger turns man-eater only when the jungle is depleted of fauna, or when he is too old or maimed by an unhealed wound to hunt up his own prey. Poor man, accustomed to the easy ways of an artificial civilization, has hardly any speed, sense of smell, vision or hearing, much less the physical (concluded overleaf) strength to withstand a beast with such enormous power. At any rate, a human being is hardly more than brunch to this majestic glutton who can gobble up to 200 pounds of meat at a couple of sittings.

An incident which nearly always turns a tiger into a man-eater is an encounter with a porcupine. A tiger is no gourmet; when hungry, he does not hesitate to eat a skunk, a mouse, a mustang or a carrion full of maggots, and he dearly loves his porcupine meat. In stalking this delicacy, he flips the slow-moving rodent from behind, receives a full complement of quills for his trouble. Sometimes, as many as 70 quills, each from one inch to 12 inches long, get into his flesh. The tiger does not pull the quills from his flesh, but bites off the portions that stick out. This bruises him badly and he spends the rest of his life in great pain.

It is the hardest thing to kill a maneater. He does not return to bait, and since he knows no fear of man, he can hardly be frightened by beaters. Some of these brutes kill as many as 150 people before getting the final shot.

The tiger is perhaps the most fiendishly beautiful animal in Creation. He is an embodiment of symmetry and grace, of untamed fury, primeval savagery and superlative strength. But his strongest point is not beauty, or physical strength, but his gray matter: he is one of the brainiest beings in the animal kingdom. Though he has sharp eyesight and fantastic hearing powers, his sense of smell is so weak that he cannot sniff out a skunk in a rose garden. His foot-pads and skin are soft, like those of human beings, forcing him to choose well-beaten paths to avoid scratches from jungle rocks and bushes. His paws are so broad that they cause him to crunch leaves noisily or loosen stones that go hurtling down slopes, alerting the game. The other jungle animals keep an eternal vigil on him; wherever he goes, pheasants call, eagles circle and scream, monkeys chatter, barbets tonk and peacocks give their nasal call, creating a bedlam.

The tiger survives because of his shrewdness. He sneaks up on his target as stealthily as possible. Hidden, crawling at a snail's pace, he skirts round his prey, studying every suitable angle for a leap. If the path is impeded by a dry leaf he cannot avoid stepping on, he crushes it gradually to powder. He may spend hours in these preliminaries but seldom, if ever has an animal once eyed by the tiger escaped for long. It is a tribute to his cunning that he is one of the most feared beasts in the entire world, second only to a man with a gun.

Above: manned by mahouts, a line of tuskers flays the jungle grass to flush out an Indian tiger.

Right: a sharp slug spells finis.

This veteran bull lifts the carcass so that ropes for hoisting can be placed beneath it.

Strapped on board a lumbering pachyderm, the dead cat is moved to the skinner's camp, first stop in becoming a rug.