This article appeared
in Volume 21: No. 2 of the Orient
Express magazine.
Cats Cradled
From the concrete jungle of Las Vegas to India's Ranthambhore National
Park, HRH Princess Michael of Kent enjoys her encounters with tigers.
My passion for tigers dates from my childhood, when I discovered
The Jungle Book. Kipling’s Shere Khan was my secret best friend
and for his sake I haunted my nearest zoo, imagining a bond with
these magnificent beasts. Circuses were my next passion but, despite
the thrill, I was saddened by the sight of these animals jumping
through hoops.
Memories of my younger days came flooding back some 11 years ago
at the launch of the Eastern & Oriental Express train, when two
tigers were brought to the station in Singapore. We passengers were
suitably impressed and kept our distance as they roamed the platform
with their keepers. Then, last year, I continued my feline literary
adventures by reading with great pleasure The Life of Pi, the story
of an Indian boy cast adrift from a shipwreck with a tiger from his
father’s zoo. But my closest encounter with a live tiger was
in Las Vegas when I met the famous Siegfried and Roy, magicians extraordinaire,
who breed white lions and tigers for their stage act, their personal
pleasure and the preservation of the animals. The evening I visited
the duo in their own quarters and met two four-month-old white tiger
cubs was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. They lay
across my lap and I bottle-fed them, their blue eyes fixed on mine.
Once the bottle was empty they had no more interest in me, but for
those few moments, I caught a glimpse of heaven. Devotees of the
duo—of which I am one—will know that Roy Horn is now
in hospital having suffered a stroke on stage during an act with
one of his tigers. He is currently making progress, and I join the
millions of fans who wish him a fast recovery so he can once again
be with his beloved big cats.
Tigers were also the highlight of our recent New Year visit to Ranthambhore
in India, the former hunting ground of the Rajasthani maharajas.
We chose to stay in tented camps established long ago by friends
of friends. Arriving in the warmth of the early afternoon our accommodation
looked charming, but by evening we discovered that there was no heating
and just one layer of canvas between us and the sky—and the
tigers! The temperature fell to -4ºC. Despite two hot-water
bottles, I have never been so cold in my life.
We were roused at dawn—the only part of my wildlife experiences
that I have never enjoyed is that early-morning call. But once outside,
it is sheer pleasure to watch the world awakening. From our vantage
point high on the jeep we saw impressions in the dew where animals
had lain, curled in sleep. The wind was biting but excitement kept
us warm. We watched the sunrise and drove around the reserve all
morning: we saw playful monkeys, deer, birds but no tigers. Then
our guide spotted something far rarer in those parts—a caracal,
with long, pointed and tufted ears alert at our approach, but with
no sign of alarm. But where were the tigers? Worse still, the other
half of our party had seen a magnificent tiger. That afternoon we
drove out again, and at the end of the day, we saw him at last—a
large male. He moved completely silently and his camouflage was so
perfect in the sun and shadows of the trees that at first we did
not spot him. His gait was gliding, his footfall imperceptible and
his lack of interest wounding. We followed him for about 10 minutes
until he melted into the long, yellow-brown grass around the lake.
On the drive home we had nothing to say, our minds full of images
of that most perfect creature, its massive power so controlled and
contained.
The following day we were fortunate to drive down a rarely-used
track and there, by the water’s edge, we came upon two tigers,
a young male and a female, known to be a mating pair. I put down
my camera and just stared in admiration. How, I wondered, could anyone
poach these magnificent beasts, or kill them as casually as had the
hunters of an earlier age. Seeing tigers in their natural habitat
has been one of my life’s greatest safari experiences. I wish
it for everyone before tigers and their kin all disappear, as they
surely will unless conservationists, such as wildlife artist David
Shepherd, can prevent it.
My husband is the Patron of his foundation, which has built both
a school and a hospital at Ranthambhore. I have been asked to contribute
a drawing of a tiger to a fund-raising picture auction in aid of
the David Shepherd Foundation and have produced a rather amateurish
effort. I hope it will raise a good sum. We owe it to our children
and theirs to save this most magnificent of God’s creatures.
--
The David Shepherd Foundation can be contacted at tel: +44 1483
272 323; www.davidshepherd.org.
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