Sunderban is beautiful. Driving down all the way from dusty Kolkata, the first glimpse of this emerald land filled me with unbridled excitement. Pictures of mud-caked crocodiles, prancing cheetals and of course the great Royal Bengal Tiger flashed through my mind, not to mention the travelogues ‘alice-in wonderland’ descriptions of fish climbing trees, roots growing skywards, plants standing on stilts and waters of the creek flowing simultaneously in both directions. I just couldn’t wait to see it all.

The mid-November weather was perfect, with whiffs of white clouds floating placidly through the deep azure skies. Sunderban, a tidal swamp forest is a cluster of 54 tiny islands covering about 10,000 kms of land and water – nearly half of it being under water. These islands are entwined in an intricate network of innumerable tributaries and distributaries of Ganga, Bhramaputra and Meghna. However, only about 40 percent of this falls in West Bengal, while the rest is in Bangladesh. Tidal waves, we were told, was a regular phenomenon here – nature’s way of building and breaking channel paths. No wonder the landscape is constantly changing, like an artist who shapes and moulds refusing to be satisfied with the results.

Dawn broke our fitful sleep. Feeling a little silly about the night’s fears we geared up for the day. Every routine activity had to be conducted within the cramped confines of the boat – with a tiny makeshift toilet enclosure at the back. Ready and alive I even swam beside our boat, despite Sanjeev and Hannan’s continuous warnings about crocodiles infesting these depths.

Today was a great day. At one point the mangrove thickets parted to show a daintily perched fishing cat blissfully cleaning his paws. Then an ungainly and temperamental wild boar rushed out of the jungle grunting in alarm. We immediately tensed, cruised to a standstill, hoping to sight a creek bagh shadowing the beast. False alarm!  On we continued our riverine journey to spot herds of spotted deer often in association with the rhesus macaque, many reptilian creatures, like the monitor and salvator lizards basking in the sun, mongoose and more – but no tiger!

We even saw estuarine crocodiles thrashing about in the creek, and sampled many of the 90 species of fish found here. Hannan propositioned a detour to Bhagavatput  breeding farm to observe little crocodile hatchling squealing their existence – but we turned it down hoping to sight the tiger instead.

Midway into our third day and a lot of braver we devoured plenty of fish and crabs like the locals. Hannan suggested we alight from our river craft and venture into tangled root land. Sanjeev was apprehensive but I was game. As I stepped on to land after three days in the water, my legs wobbled a bit. Sinking deep into the slippery mud bank I hobbled behind Hannan. Red crabs scurried away, while the fiddler crabs poked their cherry red claws out of their mud burrows, with the peculiar air-breathing mud skipper fish climbing the stilt root of the mangroves on their flipper like fins staring in pop-eyed amazement at us. Nearing a grove of trees I saw a few Asian openbill stork, some white ibis, a brown – winged kingfisher to just name a few. Suddenly Hannan took a dramatic turn, pulled me and made a wild dash for the boat. A tawny stripped coat moved in the greenery. I longed to see more, but good sense prevailed and we were back to pavilion safe and sound although terribly muddy.  Sanjeev admonished me in his typical boss-like manner, yet the thread of concern somewhat softened it.

Day four passed by uneventfully and we had just one day to go before it all ended.  Hannan’s aide, a pan chewing crinkled old fellow, was a quiet little soul. He rarely spoke and somehow managed to remain unnoticed even in the confines of our boat. Most of the times we ignored him. That evening, more out of lack of occupation I chatted him up. His monosyllabic answers were getting to me when several low deep-throated ‘aaoomph’ rumbled through the air.

Birds flapped away, the jungle burst into a cacophony of calls and our creek bagh emerged into full view. What a beauty – with the finest markings I have ever seen. He haughtily tossed his large head at us, half threatening - half bemused, stared at the boat for a full minute and sauntered back into the tangled depths. Hannan was more excited than us, he clapped his hands and jumped with such glee that it was a wonder that we did not capsize, while his aide gave us a rare betel reddened grin. Our day was made!

Day five - we made our way back to civilization. So many habitations, so many people call this forbidden empire their home. Despite cyclones, erosion and ferocious animals 30 odd islands here are well inhabited. Eking out a living from the forested environment is a precarious livelihood and many have lost their lives venturing into the deep jungle.  I read an estimate once, which said that over 35 thousand people annually entered these mangrove forests to collect honey, timber or fish. As Sanjeev and I discussed their livelihoods I wondered who to feel sorry for, the endangered animals and their habitats or the poor communities of Sunderbans. Sitting in our cool offices, and cushioned seats, carrying a fat pay packet home every month, it was difficult to vizualise a life so fraught with danger – yet surviving these five days with such frugal facilities I realized that I wanted to make a difference. And as I pen down my thoughts it is not Hannan’s happy face that comes to my mind, but his aide’s one betel reddened grin – I just want his wizened face to remain that way forever.