Taman Negara

I am familiar with the forests of Western Ghats, India’s mountain range running like a spine from central India to the tip of the peninsula. In November 2024, I discovered Taman Negara, the Malaysian rainforest – Western Ghats on steroids.

When I was 26, I had travelled to Thekkady, a wildlife resort in Kerala. A lonely official wearing khaki sat staring with a ledger at a table in a tent pitched on the bank of the river. Curious, I approached the man and struck up conversation with him. He was a forest protection official, granting permits for entering the forest.

“On foot?”

I was incredulous at the thought that the forest department would allow ordinary people like me to walk inside the forest teeming with wild animals.

“Yes on foot, with a guide,” he responded.

Reading the fear on my face, he added helpfully,

“There’s a group of twenty Americans who have signed up for the tour tomorrow. Do you want to join?”

That clinched the deal. Safety in numbers. I signed a bond for two Indian Rupees, absolving the forest department of any liability if I were unfortunate enough to become a tiger’s lunch or an elephant’s football. The official supplied some statistics – apparently in the last ten years only two persons were attacked by wildlife. Very reassuring, statistically speaking, I thought.

The next morning, trying not to dwell on the nightmares that woke me , I headed for the tent by the river. Did I come to the wrong tent? It was nearly 6 am and the tour was to start at six. The only person loitering outside the tent was a young man wearing a lungi (sarong) at half mast and plastic sandals. He smiled and introduced himself,

“Hello, I am Babu, your forest guide.”

“Where is the rest of the group?” I asked.

“Oh! The Americans have cancelled. It’s just you and me.”

There goes the safety in numbers concept. Maybe it was the foolish recklessness of youth, or an exaggerated sense of invincibility – also an artefact of youth, I did not cancel.

We walked into the depth of the forest. Although it was a bright and sultry day, the forest was cool and dark. The thick canopy of the rainforest blocked the sun. A carpet of dead leaves covered the forest floor. It was like walking on a mattress. The guide, not very talkative by nature, made little conversation with me and I enjoyed the solitude. My fear of being attacked by wildlife dissolved gradually. I must have started whistling – I was so relaxed. Then all of a sudden, he turned to me and said,

“If a wild elephant should chase you, try and run downhill. Elephants gain speed when they run uphill.”

I experienced the primordial fear of the prey when I heard his words. I stopped whistling and looked around expecting a tusker to come charging at me from any direction. It was flat land, no downhill slopes. I began to hear the eerie cries of monkeys, resounding birdsong, the constant hum of cicadas. I was listening to the forest rather to my own whistling. The guide continued in his silent walk and I, shaken out of my complacence, followed.

The experience in Teman Negara was quite different. You are restricted to a path cordoned off on either side. It is certainly good for the forest not to allow tourists to go traipsing around. But the sense of danger and adventure was lost. It was a sterile experience. The rope walkways, all part of the tourist trail, take you up to levels above the trees until you’re looking down at the canopy of ancient trees. All very exciting but in a packaged kind of way.

For me, personally, there was nothing new. So, I didn’t take photographs of big ants carrying big leaves or marvel at the incessant chirping of the cicadas or gasp in wonder at gushing streams. I just felt at home and relished the exercise.

We visited a tribal village and it was all very authentic. The chief demonstrated the technique of blowing little arrows through a blow pipe and starting a fire with twigs. I am not a big fan of viewing people in a showcase, as if they are exhibits in an anthropological museum. However, it did serve a purpose, perhaps to give the tourists a glimpse into something exotic, all in the space of one day.