When A Leopard Comes Visiting…

After breakfast, upon checking my WhatsApp messages, I found an advisory from Pramod, my neighbour:

“Please don’t go to Eco Park for a few days.”

He had forwarded the following photograph:

(A leopard reportedly sighted recently at Ecological Park, Bhopal)

We have been going to the City Forest for our daily morning walk for the last three months or so. While Sanjukta walks on the gravelled path preferred by ladies and senior citizens, I prefer the forlorn, uneven track running past the little pond, where I stop for a while to quietly click a few photographs of the water birds—Egrets, Stilts, Waterhens, Kingfishers and an occasional Little Cormorant.

We reach the Park around 6.00 AM, a little before sunrise, and spend about an hour there.

A month ago, we had spotted a Golden Jackal, rather close to the unmetalled road leading to Amrawat Khurd and Khajuri villages.

Link for my previous blog on the Golden Jackal:

https://www.pkdash.in/2026/08/a-fable-and-journal-home-schooling-by.html

This morning, it was my lucky day again. I spotted another Jackal, not far from the entry gate, sprinting away into the undergrowth. Maybe it had gone scavenging for food in the garbage dumps of Katara Hills colony.

Before sharing the photograph of the leopard with Sanjukta—why scare her, and give her another excuse to cancel the morning walk?—I thought it prudent to check the authenticity of the message.

“Has a leopard been sighted recently at Eco Park?” I messaged Lokpriya Bharati, DFO.

“Staff has been alerted,” was his brief, cryptic reply.

I sought guidance from Suhas Kumar, former PCCF & Chief Wildlife Warden, MP:

“Good morning. My neighbour has shared this photo and has advised me not to go to Eco Park, Laharpur for a few days. Do you think the advisory should be taken seriously?”

He replied by forwarding a message he had posted in his colony group:

“उम्मीद है इस बेचारे को अन्यथा परेशान नहीं किया जायेगा। लहारपुर ईकोपार्क का जंगल रायसेन के जंगल से जुड़ा है। कई वर्षों से तेंदुए वहाँ से ईकोपार्क आते जाते रहते हैं। किसी का कोई नुकसान नहीं करते। यदि इन्हें तंग किया जाता है तभी ये अग्रेसिव होते हैं। इन्हें शांति से जीने दिया जाये। इनके पुश्तैनी घरों पर इंसानों ने कब्जा जमा लिया है और आगे भी इनके घर उजाड़े जाते रहेंगे।

Darne ki koi jaroorat nahi hai. Ye yahan aate jaate rahte hain. Inki upsthiti ke bare me main 2017 se janta hoon. Panic failane kaam log na karen, yahi prarthna hai. Yadi log ise tang karenge, pathhar aadi fenkenge ya pas jaane ki koshish karenge to yah self-defence me attack kar sakta hai.

Agar ise yahan se van vibhag ne hata bhi diya to dusre tenduey aate rahenge.

I have written to APCCF, Wildlife to ensure that the leopard is not harassed or captured.”

I found myself in complete agreement with him, and thanked him for writing to the APCCF.

I remembered the python which Late Mr. S. D. Pateria had rescued in front of our home in 2015. It had taken less than fifteen minutes for a flash mob to gather and indulge in a bizarre selfie festival, some of them poking the reptile until it hissed and opened its jaws, protesting the harassment.

(The rescued python from Laharpur recuperating at Van Vihar, Bhopal)

Link for my previous blog on the python:

https://www.pkdash.in/2022/11/a-puzzled-python.html

More recently, following a complaint by residents of Nishatpura, the Forest Department had trapped five Golden Jackals. The next day’s newspaper carried a brief report congratulating the prompt action for capturing the wild animals that were reportedly terrorising the residents.

The report made me wonder: how had a few jackals terrorised the residents? Had there been any attack? Had poultry or pet dogs been lifted? Or was their mere presence enough to turn them into “terrorising wild animals”?

Isn’t Nishatpura in outer Bhopal and very close to a dense forest?

Who is terrorising and persecuting whom—the humans or the wild animals?

Eco Park is a small, truncated part of a much larger forest landscape of Raisen district, fragmented when the eastern bypass from 11 Miles Point towards Indore Road was built a few years ago to carry heavy traffic. The resident animals of the forest have lost part of their traditional movement corridors and feeding range, and now have to negotiate an increasingly fragmented landscape.

How far may an Indian leopard travel in search of food? Average daily range could be ten to thirty kilometres. A young leopard, in particular, may travel longer distances in search of a new territory.

So perhaps the sight of a leopard at Eco Park should not really surprise us.

Tigers, too, have been spotted and photographed near Kolar and Kerwa dams—on metalled roads carrying considerable traffic.

Wild animals do not recognise our roads, administrative boundaries or city limits.

Perhaps, then, the more pertinent question is not why a leopard has entered Eco Park.

It is: who has entered whose territory?

***

Dainik Bhaskar - 29/09/26

Comments

Kalyan Chakravarty, Senior Colleague

Human being is the biggest predator on earth . The lesson is to enlarge and redensify the forest habitat , not just to offer warnings not to disturb, taken as a moral homily , from the soft hearted romantics.

Subhash Khuntia, 

Batchmate and Dear Friend

Read your beautifully written blogs on the leopard, jackals and the python. On the outskirts of Bangalore, there are regular. sightings of leopards. You and Suhas Kumar, whom I know well, are spot on that we are encroaching on their habitat. In the villages of Odisha during our childhood days, jackals and other wildlife like foxes, rabbits, snakes cohabited the area, and nobody thought of eliminating them. Sometimes the jackals and foxes would grab a chicken or a duck, but that was taken as a part of life. 

When I was DC, South Canara, one part of the sprawling bungalow had a basement which was left unused, and the house was in a 30 acre forested terrain overlooking the sea. Jackals used to stay in the basement and would howl synchronously in the evenings. Once we noticed that a piece of our one year old daughter’s clothes  left to dry in the yard was missing. We were surprised, but then we discovered one day that a kite flying above swooped down and picked up a piece of cloth in its beak, perhaps to use it to fortify a nest. 

We of course know  about the rhesus macaque monkeys that frequent the trees around North Block in Delhi and enter the building in the evenings to reclaim their lost habitat of Central Ridge forest. Thanks, Prasanna for making us relive those memories.

M.M. Upadhyay, Batchmate and Dear Friend

Dear Prasanna,

Thanks for sharing this information.

Since the last few years, Bhopal citizens are aware of the presence of several tigers, with about ten in the forests skirting the city. These tigers have occasionally strayed into the city, but have not harmed any human being in the past more than a decade.

I'm sure this solitary panther will not be harming any of the encroaching residents.

C.P. Singh, 

Batchmate and Dear Friend

Thanks for sharing.

You have highlighted an important aspect of very common"' animal - human conflict" that is seen all over - especially in recently extended human settlements - usually by encroaching upon " once upon natural forest areas" by us ' civilised societies'.My own personal experiences( of Erode with a sizable natural forest areas of Sathyamangalam- Chamarajanagar ( Karnataka )Anthiyoor- burgur forest ranges and Coimbatore with 3 very dense  forest ranges- sanctuaries and national parks all surrounded by human settlements/ tea/ coffee estates  telling me the need for greater sensitisation of the human populations living in and around. They( humans living  in adjacent village areas)also have their own problems -- in those areas wild animals do come in human settlement areas often destroying their crops particularly banana, sugarcane etc at times also damaging/ attacking domestic animals /humans.  In TN detailed drill/ training/ orientation courses have been prepared and are part of the regular drill for people of peripheral villages. I am sure in MP also with so many parks/ wildlife sanctuaries / forest areas, it must have been worked out.  

Thanx for sensitising us. 

H.S. Pati, Batchmate and Dear Friend

Lucky for you, you share a natural habitat with the wild animals very close to your home. I am sure both of you can continue to enjoy the Eco Park without getting in each other’s way. 

During our last trip to Connecticut in the USA, me and Nita went out in the morning for our usual walk. We were walking along a regular two lane road which of course had very little traffic and lots of trees all around. On one side of the road there was a ravine which emitted the sweet melody of running water. On the other side of the road the jungle deepened as the slope steepened towards the top of a hillock. The place was absolutely beautiful and we were left undisturbed. But then suddenly almost after nowhere, there emerged a huge black bear almost as big as a buffalo and it came climbing out of the slope of the ravine and walked right onto the middle of the road blocking our path. Distance between us was hardly 50 metres and it was in no mood to scurry away. It stood there and looked at us. We stood there with our feet rooted. We stared back at that huge monster. After about a minute, it quietly turned and headed towards the jungle. We waited almost for 5 minutes hoping a vehicle will pass by. But nothing came and we resumed our walk heading home.

It was a thrilling experience. But the out come of it all was that our walk along that beautiful road was stopped forthwith. We had to go to the man made park for our regular mundane exercise.

Expert opinion was that had the bear been accompanied by a cub, which is quite common, then the mother would have felt threatened and would have attacked.

Sunita Tripathi, IAS (Retd)

In 2024, a leopard was spotted in Swarn Jayanti Park and the adjacent residential area. Forest department put a cage for a week , but there was no capture; and the park was opened assuming that the leopard had left !

(My Note: SJ Park is in the middle of a residential area near Shahpura lake.)

 

A Strange Bird

Of late, I'm teaching myself to identify birds from their calls. Cornell Lab has Merlin, a useful app to identify birds from photographs and calls.

भोपाल की प्रमुख पक्षी प्रजातियाँ: फील्ड गाइड (Bhopal ki pramukh pakshi prajatiyan: Field Guide)—written by Dr. Sangeeta Rajgir and Mohd. Khalique of ‘Bhopal Birds’, and published by M.P. State Biodiversity Board, is also very informative and handy.

(On the Cover: Doodhraj (Indian Paradise Flycatcher), 

State Bird of Madhya Pradesh) aka Sultana Bulbul for Bhopalis.

I'm quite familiar with the song of Blue Rock Pigeons, who have chosen, from among the many houses in our colony, our modest house for their residence. As rent, they insist on serving streaming music, as though they were the Spotify of the Avians, offering us their Free Service. Sometimes, around midnight, I wake up to their coos, purrs, and grunts.

But why blame the innocent birds? The male, I imagine, is in the mood and exclaiming, 'What a wonderful night this is, with the salubrious breeze dripping with amour! Don't you agree?'

'Of course,' concurs the female, 'all is well with the world, and we are such a happy, blessed couple.'

Entering the Eco Park for my morning walk, I turn right and walk along the narrow jogging track marking the eastern boundary. I'm readily treated to a minor symphony: the excited warbling of Ashy Prinia, Jungle Prinia, and Red-vented Bulbuls, who perch in the bamboo grove, dart out to grab flying insects, and thereafter break into a brief celebratory song. From a discreet distance, hidden in a leafy tree, the Greater Coucal plays his booming bass.

A little ahead, I hear the shrill call of the Gray Francolin from the bushes. Sometimes, I spot a bunch of them feeding on the ground, but they take off in a short, swift flight to the nearby trees or to the bushes away from the walking strip.

The Laughing Doves hum gutar-goon between feeding sessions. They are unafraid of human presence. No one tries to trap or hurt them, and some human friends serve daily breakfast: millets, broken wheat or rice, roasted gram, peanuts, and even biscuits.

Black Drongos screech intermittently. They are agile fliers, find enough insects to feed themselves, and look down on the lesser birds, especially the Laughing Doves, for their dependence on humans for food even when nature is bountiful.

At the small pond dug by the park authorities, a lone White-throated Kingfisher perches on his favourite boulder on the little mound in the middle. He whistles when not waiting for prey, and when in the mood.

The deciduous forest in the hilly, rugged landscape offers a stage with backdrops that change with the seasons, and the birds are happy to perform their varied music from dawn to dusk. Sometimes, the same bird has such a range of calls that even an ornithologist might struggle to decipher them.

Why do the humans who frequent the park play loud music on their phones in speaker mode, engage in acrimonious debates on local and national issues, and miss the amazing avian orchestra playing all the time in the background?

The other day, a little before the end of my morning walk, on a forlorn track, I spotted a young walker, maybe in his teens, who wasn't really walking but pacing agitatedly up and down a stretch of about ten feet.

I had no intention of snooping, but his loud declamation easily reached me:

मोहब्बत तो लाजवाब की थी हमने, मगर साथ चलने वाली धोखा दे गई।

Mohabbat toh lajawab ki thi humne, magar saath chalne wali dhokha de gayee.

He repeated it several times, each recitation fading a little as I walked on towards the exit.

Who was he? A jilted lover expressing his anguish in an idiom borrowed from a film or a cheap anthology on LOVE? Or was he a budding poet? Many, unlucky in love, embrace poetry. Was he recording a Reel with nature in the background to be sent to the unfaithful beloved, or practising for an upcoming audition?

Back at home, I sang the shayari to my spouse.

"Your composition?" she asked. Maybe she wished to say, 'So trite,' but refrained.

"By the way, who was the lucky girl?" she continued.

I smarted at the unkind jab, but took it in my stride.

"No, not mine. Overheard at the park."

"Oh, nowadays it's fashionable to be in love and hop from affair to affair. During our years at a co-ed college, rarely would a girl speak to a classmate except to borrow a book or a notebook."

"Wasn't that often a charade for furtively exchanging love-notes?" I ventured.

"I never borrowed a notebook!"

Even after breakfast, I kept thinking about the jilted lover, especially about the quality of his shayari, assuming it was his own composition. The mohabbat was lazawab, self-certified by the poet-lover; why, then, did the love fail? Did the girl cheat, or simply dump him?

Should the strange bird have borrowed, I wondered, from a very different bard, Mirza Ghalib:

हम को उन से वफ़ा की है उम्मीद
जो नहीं जानते वफ़ा क्या है

Hum ko un se wafa ki hai umeed / jo nahin jaante wafa kya hai

***

 

Ganesha Sculptures from Madhya Pradesh

Udayagiri, Vidisha

The oldest rock-cut sculpture of Ganesha, dated 401 CE, is at Cave No. 6 of the Udayagiri Caves near Vidisha, Madhya Pradesh. The carving shows a seated Ganesha—with a heavy-set body, an elephant head leaning to the left, simple naturalistic ears and trunk without complex ornaments—characteristic of early Gupta craftsmanship.

(Source: Gemini: Rare Book Society of India)

Bhumara, Satna

A red sandstone Ganesha sculpture from an ancient, ruined Shiva temple in Bhumara, Satna, M.P., dated late 5th century CE (Gupta Period) is in Indian Museum, Kolkata. The sculpture features early classical proportions, broad ears, a single tusk, and a snake sacred thread (yajnopavita) running across his torso.

(Wikimedia Commons)

Sunari, Vidisha

At Sunari village of Basoda Tahsil, Vidisha, there is a five-feet tall red sandstone sculpture of Ganesha of the Parmar (10^th -11^th century AD) period.

(Source: The Architectural Splendour of Udaypur by INTACH, Bhopal)

Celebrating Ganesha: The British Museum

 For an excellent online exhibit, here is a link:

Celebrating Ganesha is a Spotlight tour by the British Museum.

The exhibition toured across the UK from June 2015 for two years to several museums and galleries:

https://artsandculture.google.com/story/jwWxaGE_2ddqIg

Links for my previous blogs:

Ganesha in India and Beyond: https://www.pkdash.in/2023/09/ganesha-in-india-and-beyond.html

Om Ganeshaya Namah: https://www.pkdash.in/2023/09/om-ganeshaya-namah.html

 

May Vighnaharta remove all hurdles. May Ganesha bless us with Buddhi (intellect), Riddhi (prosperity), and Siddhi (fulfilment).

Hearty Greetings on Ganesha Chaturthi, 2026.

 

Madhurashtakam: Musical and Meditative

Madhurashtakam, composed by Vallabhacharya, the early 16th-century Vaishnava saint-philosopher and poet, is one of the most beloved Krishna stotras. Eminent singers—from M. S. Subbulakshmi and Pandit Jasraj to Madhvi Madhukar Jha and others—have rendered it in their own distinctive styles.

On Janmashtami, I listened to the song, and thereafter, read the poem more mindfully than ever before. I was struck by the extraordinary beauty and sweetness of the prayer.

It is simple, musical, and memorable. The poet builds the entire stotra around one word: madhura—sweet, pleasant, charming, and delightful. Derived from madhu, meaning honey or nectar, madhura carries meanings far beyond taste: aesthetic, emotional, and spiritual.

And what does the poet find sweet, charming, and attractive? Everything relating to Madhuradhipati, the Lord of Madhurya— Sweetness, Beauty, Charm, Benediction and Grace. The lips, smile, eyes, speech, movement, flute, feet, garments, and companions… every aspect of Krishna becomes madhura. The gopas, Yamuna, gopis, and cattle are all blessed by the sweet presence of Krishna.

The repetition of madhura is itself enchanting. Each verse meditates upon aspects of Madhuradhipati, creating a rhythm that draws the devotee deeper into love.

There may even be a hidden numerical play. Across its eight stanzas, madhura and its derivatives are chanted 64 times. Krishna is traditionally associated with 16 kalās, the attributes of His complete divine manifestation (Purnavatar), and 64 kalās, the arts and skills He mastered during His student life under Sage Sandipani.

This stotra is usually accompanied by music, but even when merely chanted, it creates its own sonorous cadence. Set in the rhythmic 16-beat Pajjhatika meter, each line feels like a sequence of dance steps in sync with the poetic structure.

Vallabhacharya was versatile in Sanskrit, capable of composing dense, ornate hymns in the classical tradition. Yet in this hymn, he chose not to let erudition stand in the way of a devotee’s direct meditation upon the Divine. The poem, by design, is unpretentious. There is no complex vocabulary or artificial ornament—a lover’s adoration for the beloved needs no artifice.

Madhurashtakam is a prayer with a difference. The singer is no supplicant, seeking no boon, not even moksha. She is simply enamoured with Madhuradhipati—the epitome of all that is sweet, graceful, and enchanting in the universe. The prayer is an unadulterated celebration of divine charm.

Remarkably, it does not name Krishna. Not once.

There is no "Krishna," no "Vishnu," nor any of the thousand formal names of the Supreme Lord. Yet, as the devotee sings along, she discovers precisely for whom the prayer is meant.

Her beloved Madhuradhipati.

Krishna.

***

Stories the Dead Tell

 

Stories are not always spoken. Sometimes, they lie silently in the middle of the road, in a forlorn track, or beside a stream.

Three dead creatures I encountered recently near Laharpur, Bhopal, told me three very different stories—not merely about themselves, but about how little we know about the wild creatures that live around us.

Near Ecological Park, Laharpur

Returning from our morning walk at Eco Park, I thought I saw a dead snake in the middle of the road not far from the park gate. The sky was overcast, visibility a little poor, and a fine spray of raindrops had made the windscreen hazy. Maybe, no snake, but a stick, I thought; but after dropping my spouse at home, I returned to the site.

My hunch was right. A snake, crushed by a passing vehicle. I took a few pics on my phone.

What snake is this? I asked a man­—possibly a migrant worker from a nearby village.

“Do-muha saanp,” he said.

The Red Sand Boa (Eryx johnii) is popularly called do-muha or “two-mouthed snake” because its short, blunt tail resembles a second head. In fact, upon sensing danger, the snake offers its blunt tail to confuse the predator. Harmless and non-venomous, it has nevertheless been persecuted and illegally trafficked because of persistent myths about its supposed powers.

I uploaded the pic and asked Gemini, “Identify the snake, and age.”

“Rough-scaled Sand Boa (Eryx conicus / Gongylophis conicus), also commonly referred to as the Russell's Boa. A juvenile, likely under a year old.”

A road-killed Sand Boa near the entrance to Laharpur Ecological Park, Bhopal

Interestingly, the non-venomous Sand Boa resembles the highly venomous Russell’s Viper in its colour and markings— maybe a mimicry, offering the harmless snake some protection from predators. No wonder it has sometimes been called “Russell’s Boa”—a name that can itself cause confusion.

How did it get killed?

Possibly, its burrow was flooded, and the reptile was crossing the busy city road, an alien jungle, in search of a safe shelter. Sand Boa crawls very slowly, more so on smooth, asphalted surface.  

The snake knew how to survive in nature; it had no way of knowing that mechanical predators kill without warning.

I showed the pic, and asked Rajesh and Lakshmi, both from rural areas of Madhya Pradesh.

“Dingad,” they said. “Very venomous. A mere puff kills. The victim's body swells. It bursts open.”

In rural regions of Madhya Pradesh, the term "Dingad" (or Dhingad / Dhingra) typically refers to the Common Krait (Bungarus caeruleus).

“Google says it is non-venomous,” I told them.

“Google ko kya pata hai?” they sneered.

I wasn't sure which of the three of us knew.

Inside Eco Park

A few days ago, I took a forlorn track for my morning walk. A motorable earthen road, but not much in use. The generous droppings of cattle which grazed here, and the abundant rains had encouraged thick growth of weeds and grasses in the fields and the track.

The track ran from west to east demarcating the park’s southern end. No morning walkers on this track; so, numerous birds sang merrily undisturbed by human cacophony. Terrestrial birds, much shyer, hastily ducked inside the thick bushes.

A foul odour brought my attention from the trees to the ground. A dead animal in an advanced degree of decomposition. From a little distance, I took a pic on my phone, moved away a few feet from the unbearable stench, and asked Gemini, ‘Which snake?’

‘Not a snake. It’s a Bengal Monitor Lizard. Zoom the pic to see the paws and nails.’

I did. Of course, it’s a Bengal Monitor Lizard. In Hindi, it’s called gooh (गोह), in Sambalpuri gue, and in Odia, godhi.

A dead Bengal Monitor Lizard on a remote track inside Laharpur Ecological Park.

During occasional trips into the forests from our village, the older boys easily spotted gue burrows. Once it enters the hole, no one can pull it out, so strong is its grip on earth, they said. I had no occasion to pull at the protruding tail of a gue inside its hole, so I never got to test the claim. But folklore stories maintain that in ancient and middle times, monitor lizards were trained to climb fort walls, reach the top, and grab the rampart. A rope fastened to its body helped a soldier to scale the impregnable fort.

“Who might have killed it - a predator, a human, or a passing vehicle?” I asked a wildlife expert.

“A few months ago, I had seen a dead monitor lizard in Eco Park. Could be a fatal disease;” he replied, “so, I had suggested a pathological analysis. But the concerned officer possibly forgot my request.”

I sent the photograph to a senior forest official; and later in the afternoon, a park official called me. I had clicked a Google Map location of the corpse which I shared with him. You may consider a pathological examination, I suggested.

I haven’t heard from him.

Beside Laharpur stream

I spotted it during our post-dinner stroll. The streetlight in front of our home had died a few weeks ago; the Nagar Nigam Call Centre had assured that the problem would be fixed in 72 hours at most, and I’m still waiting for that.   

From a little distance, I saw on the road a little shiny creature in a half curl. Surely, a snake. Is it dead or alive? I wasn’t sure. I took a pic from a safe distance. Rajesh, our domestic help, took a little stick, and went near.

“Don’t. It could be poisonous,” I said.

He didn’t pay heed, and poked the tail. No movement. It was dead. Zoomed the pic. Yes, a road-kill. Its intestines had spilled out at two points.

The mysterious road-kill beside Laharpur stream—identified variously as an earthworm, an arboreal snake and several species of snake.

“Is this a venomous snake,” I requested ChatGPT.

“Not a snake, it’s an earthworm,” declared C, and offered several paras to support its finding.

“No, it’s a snake,” I snubbed C.

“The pic is hazy. Please upload a better pic, including the head,” demanded C, a little offended maybe.

The head had been crushed. Anyway, I uploaded a clearer pic.

“Arboreal snake,” said C.

Checked with a snake expert, a human, who thinks it could be a Wolf-snake, or a Checkered Keelback, or even a Brahminy blind snake.

I’d take a clearer pic tomorrow morning. I made a mental note.  

By morning, the corpse had disappeared.

Who had carried it away? A rat, a street dog, a cat, or perhaps a jackal?

The dead, it seems, do not remain dead for long in nature. One creature's death becomes another creature's meal. Even a road-kill has a second life.

Perhaps that is another story the dead tell us, if we pause long enough to listen.

Bhopal Ecology Journal

This reflection is part of my ongoing Bhopal Ecology Journal, where I record everyday encounters with the wild lives around Bhopal. Each entry is a reminder that nature speaks in many voices—sometimes through the living, sometimes through the dead. I hope you’ll join me in future instalments as these stories continue to unfold.

***