It’s not a lot what you may see that sends shivers down the backbone. It’s the issues that you just can not see. Because, on the market, in the inky shadows of the forest, amongst the tortured roots of the mangroves and in the darkish, stagnant waters, eyes are watching, and tooth are ready.
Covering a terrific swathe of the Bangladesh-India border, the Sundarbans is the largest mangrove forest on Earth. And the most feared. Because residing on this forest is a inhabitants of Bengal tigers which have a well-founded fame for looking down and consuming people foolhardy sufficient to enter their lair. The danger of assault by a tiger is so nice that when native folks enter the forest to assemble firewood, fish or seek for wild honey, they often put on guards round their necks as safety, or masks on the again of their heads with a view to confuse the tigers.
If the denizens of this primeval forest are so unwelcoming, then you definitely would possibly surprise what it was that drew me to the Bangladeshi aspect of the Sundarbans in the first place? The reply to that’s that I hoped to catch a glimpse of the very cat who spreads such concern. Of course, sitting on the deck of a luxurious wood vacationer boat with binoculars in a single hand, a freshly squeezed fruit juice in the different and a wildlife guide mentioning a rainbow of birds with such unique sounding names as the mangrove pitta, the adjutant stork and the masked finfoot, the danger issue is hardly the similar for me as it’s for native folks.
Cutting the engines, the captain lets the boat drift to a halt on the muddy riverbank. Disembarking, the information factors out the unusual half-fish, half-newt mudskippers, in addition to groups of fiddler crabs all waving an elongated pincer in the air like they’re at a crab live performance. Tripping over mangrove roots, we depart the riverbank and enterprise on foot deeper into the forest. The bushes wind round each other, daylight struggles to pierce the cover, mud clings to our legs and the thorny branches of the mangroves tear at our arms. It rapidly turns into clear that there’s nothing welcoming about this forest.
The information stops by a very giant mangrove tree. “Look,” he whispers, “a tiger has been here.” He factors worryingly excessive up into the bough of the tree. “This was a big tiger. It’s used this tree as a scratching post.” I ask him how outdated the scratch marks are. “Tigers often use the same tree. Most of these marks are old, but look here. These ones are much more recent.” Wondering if the tiger is watching us as we communicate, I peer off into the gloom of the forest and the information laughs,