Mussoorie Diary

Tigers may be on the way out, but leopards are still very much with us, as I know from my own sightings and the experiences of others. Last summer, driving up from Dehradun around midnight, I saw a mother and her three cubs reclining on the parapet of the Mussoorie road, enjoying a cool breeze like any other visitor to the hill station. Normally, leopards won’t bother humans, but they are fond of dogs—not in the way we are fond of dogs, but as the main course for breakfast or dinner. Mr Solomon was walking his pet retriever outside his Landour villa when a leopard sprang out from the bushes, seized the dog (along with its lead), and vanished down the hillside before the astonished owner could react.

Rajiv Handa had a similar experience, but was able to save his dog. Late evening, Rajiv was in his living room, enjoying a book, when he heard a scuffle outside his front door. On opening the door, he found his mastiff struggling with a huge leopard. Rajiv is a keen golfer. He didn’t have a gold club with him, but he picked up a heavy walking stick and, flourishing it with a golfer’s swing, struck the leopard a telling blow. The leopard dropped the dog and made off.

Rajiv brought the dog inside (its injuries weren’t too bad), locked up, and returned to his book. There is nothing like a good book to calm the nerves. An hour later it was time for bed, so he put the lights out and went to the window to make sure it was shut. He looked through the glass, and there was the leopard, sitting on a flower-bed and waiting patiently for the dog to be let out again!

A Biting Sarcasm

Generally I give the big cats a wide berth, believing firmly in the Ogden Nash adage, “If you see a panther, don’t anther!” But I have a curious connection with the man-eater of Dogadda, a leopard that went on the rampage a few years ago, killing and devouring some 40 to 50 humans in a remote area of Garhwal. It was finally shot, and the carcass duly photographed. A local schoolmaster wrote an account of the man-eater’s career, publishing his little book in both Hindi and English. It is now a collector’s item, for which I am grateful. Grateful that it is not around.

The book was published privately and the printer’s devil went to town on the text. The author had asked me for an introduction and being a sucker for forewords and introductions, I had obliged. He had then asked me for my photograph, which I provided. Unfortunately, the printers got the captions mixed up, so that when the book appeared my picture carried the caption: “The dreaded man-eater of Dogadda after it was shot.” And the picture of the dead leopard carried this line: “Well-known writer Ruskin Bond at work in Mussoorie.” Well-wishers wanted to know if I always worked in a supine position with my jaws hanging open, while one critic warned me that if I wrote another introduction I deserved to be shot.

Urston Checks in

Visitors to the hill station should not feel alarmed by these stray incidents involving leopards. The leopard is a shy creature, and nothing would persuade one to appear on the Mall, where it would be hemmed in by cars, ponies, cycle-rickshaws, prams, and humankind in general—a frightening prospect for any creature from the wild.

But many years ago, a bear did find its way into a prominent hotel, interrupting a beauty contest and causing some consternation among the guests and participants. It was chased away, and ran uphill, disappearing in the direction of the convent. But that’s a nun’s story.

Uncle Ken’s School

On the lower slopes of Mussoorie is the little hamlet of Jharipani, nestling among oak and rhododendron. Here, in 1888, the British opened the first Railway School, in the extensive and beautiful Oak Grove estate. Its unique buildings and infrastructure recently earned a nomination for World Heritage status—the only school in India to be given this honour. Oak Grove is still a flourishing school for children of railway employees. Among its earliest scholars were my mother and her sisters, for grandfather Clerke was a railway carriage-maker. My eccentric uncle Ken, who appeared in many of my stories, also studied here, but dropped out after Class viii, much to the relief of all concerned.

Machan Stories

To return to the subject of leopards, a dear friend, Vishal Ohri, who looked after the State Bank branch at Jharipani some twelve years ago, was a wildlife enthusiast who kept me up one night in order to catch a glimpse of a leopard behind his house. At the crack of dawn, torches blazing, we surprised the leopard—it turned out to be a local villager cleaning up after an early morning dash because he had the runs. The local was most upset by this violation of his privacy. To mollify him, Vishal promptly sanctioned a loan for a public toilet in the area.