Night at the Machaan - Tadoba Andheri

On the evening of 2nd November 2017, under the soft glow of a waxing moon, we made our way to a machaan—a watchtower structure nestled on the banks of the Irai Reservoir in Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve, Maharashtra. At approximately 230 meters above sea level, this region falls in the Central Deccan Plateau biogeographic zone, known for its dry deciduous forests and teeming biodiversity.

Accompanied by three classmates and a veteran forest guard from the Maharashtra Forest Department, we ascended the 20-meter-high machaan, a concrete structure with a fenced ground floor for safety and a stairway leading to a panoramic view of the landscape. It was to be our shelter for the night. Below us, the reservoir shimmered silver under the moonlight, a perennial lifeline for the wildlife of Tadoba.

As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we began to “see” with our other senses. The stillness of the forest was interrupted only by the sharp, nagging calls of lapwings—harsh yet oddly comforting, like an old neighbor who complains too often to be ignored. A sudden splash in the water silenced them briefly. We wondered—had a crocodile made its move? But soon the birds resumed their noisy chorus, undeterred. Dinner was a quiet affair of chapatis under the open sky, where even the sound of chewing felt too loud, almost disrespectful to the silence.

Afterward, we returned to our purpose—to observe and feel the forest. A brown fish owl called from a distant snag, its voice echoing eerily across the reservoir. The night was unusual. It didn’t descend into darkness but instead revealed hues and sounds often masked by daylight. We sat alert, patient.

Then, the rustle of heavy footsteps. A slow, deliberate movement. Growling. Sniffing. A sloth bear emerged from the thickets and paused near the water before disappearing into the Ipomoea bushes—leaving behind a momentary thrill.

Stories followed, whispered under the stars. Our forest guard, a man who had spent decades on foot in these lands, had a presence of his own—silent, rooted, always alert. He paused mid-story and signaled us to be still. From the forest came the low, resonant growls of a tiger, close enough to stir both excitement and fear. Four, perhaps five growls. We held our breath. But the tiger never revealed itself.

As the forest quieted, sleep crept in. It was a cold night, softened by shared blankets and the comforting presence of each other. I gave my extra blanket to Laxmi, who had insisted on taking the corner spot—only to be greeted by the chill wind and a steady loss of her perfume to the night air. I dozed off amid snores—some confirmed, some denied.

Dawn broke with the call of a racket-tailed drongo, followed by the chatter of white-breasted waterhens, purple herons, and the graceful silhouettes of great egrets and cormorants taking flight against the orange horizon. It was a scene that stilled us, a silent reward for a long night.

By 7:00 a.m., the first safari vehicles began to arrive. We gathered our things, quietly preparing to leave. I sat in mild disappointment—no tiger sighting, despite the signs. Laxmi, as always, found solace in snacks. Abhishek pointed toward the trail. I barely registered his words, still lost in thought—until his excited repetition broke through:
“Tiger dekh yaar, wo hai!”

Only when the forest guard whispered, “Waagh aala” did I rise. And there she was—a tigress, her eyes locked onto ours, calm yet curious. She moved with effortless grace through the dew-covered grassland, each step majestic. The morning sun danced on her coat, turning the grass beneath her into a silken carpet. It was not a sight we saw—it was something we experienced. A moment forever etched into memory.

She disappeared into the Ipomoea without a sound, leaving us stunned. The disappointment vanished. In its place was awe. Laughter returned. We all wanted to claim credit for summoning the tiger. But we knew better—we had simply abided by the forest’s rhythm. We were at the right place, at the right moment, following the unwritten rules of the wild.