Following my bucolic bent, we were going up a forested rise on elephant back in the wake of a dozen gaur. There were three of us on the young tusker, a keen-eyed Kuruba behind me, and the mahout (also a Kuruba) in front. I was wondering if it was worth while taking photographs of the placid, slow-moving gaur in that tree cover when the man behind touched my arm lightly. He had been warned not to talk or point and as I leaned back he whispered in my ear, “There is a leopard or a tiger lying in the grass to the left — I can see only its ears.”

The pressure of his hand on mine passed on by me to the mahout stopped the elephant in front of a clump of trees through which nothing could be seen. I signed to the mahout to proceed slowly beyond, very slowly, and we came to a comparatively clear space where the dying grass was not too high and there were few trees — this was late in March when the grass was withering and drooping and was a dull, pale, greyish green or a duller greyish brown and much trampled by the passage of wild elephants. We moved on a little farther and then feeling a touch on my arm again I had the elephant halted. The man behind me pointed with protruded lips, ahead of the elephant.

Through lowered lids I took a long, searching look at the ground and saw nothing — the mahout, too, could see nothing for he shook his head in a barely perceptible gesture. I leaned backwards and asked,”Where?” soundlessly and the Kuruba again pointed with his lips and, when he saw where I was looking, whispered, “Nearer, much nearer There&’s a brightness in the grass — that is the leopard.”

Nearer I could see only dull, tangled grass, grey-green and grey-brown, and then I saw the leopard. He was lying flat on the ground and could not be seen as a leopard — but in that confused, chequered pattern of interlaced, drooping grass, there was a gleam of tawny, black-rosetted coat here and there, literally a brightness, a vividness in that drab streakiness that was unmistakable. Then as the elephant shifted a little, I saw an unwinking eye glaring at me out of the grass. What astonished me was that seeing us approach from far away he had still stayed put, even when I had taken the pains to offer him an honourable line of retreat.

Gradually I lowered my head to my reflex camera, but from its lower level it could not see the leopard&’s eye. All the same, I took a quiet picture and wound the film on to the next frame. It was then that the leopard charged. I felt then and, after much thought and discussion, still feel that this was no feint or demonstration — and I have witnessed a leopard&’s demonstration.

He came in a surging rush through the grass and stopped in front of the elephant, sitting with head and neck raised high on his front legs, spitting and snarling at us. Our mount gave a startled grunt and then stood firm and putting both hands on the mahout’s shoulders I whispered urgently into his ear, “Stay still — don’t be afraid. And he whispered back that he wasn’t frightened. A roused leopard can be utterly reckless, and eight-foot up on the pad we were not beyond his reach — I felt, too apprehensively perhaps, that any sudden movement or sound might provoke a desperate attack. There was, of course, no question of a picture for almost immediately the leopard snaked back into the grass and lay hidden, and in the moment of clear view I had over his shoulder, the mahout blocked the camera.

I had the elephant moved backwards, and as soon as we backed a step the leopard came surging up out of the grass at us again — the moment we stopped, he retreated into cover. I had the elephant moved off sideways and this provoked a third but less determined charge, but by then we were sufficiently far from him to move away.

All this, of course, took only seconds. I don’t think any of us felt any fear, but the leopard&’s behaviour astonished and puzzled me. During the second and third charges I tried for blind grabshots, pushing the camera out at the stretch of my arm sideways to get it clear of the mahout; the first picture was a large blur, which is the elephant’s ear, and the second shows the leopard’s hunched back, but the head was completely blocked by foreground grass. Such an opportunity for a close-up of an angry leopard cannot be expected to recur but in the circumstances no one could have got a picture except by a fluke.

I had a clear enough view of the hissing, spitting fury. He was a big male and seemed in his prime, with a gleaming beautifully marked coat. We stopped again when we were clear of the patch of grass in which he lay and waited a long time but he would not expose himself again and we went away. Later that day, returning to that spot to search for a rangefinder I had dropped, the explanation for that leopard’s behaviour came to me and I insisted on making sure that he was still not there before allowing anyone to dismount from the elephant. I think it very likely that that leopard was badly injured, probably in a hind leg. Of course, I cannot be positive for none of us saw any sign of injury, but the fact that he never stood up or raised his hind quarters or tail seemed significant. True that a leopard is often low-to-ground in his rush but still I thought it significant that he kept his tail and hindquarters low in the obscuring grass all the time. Both my companions thought my explanation the right one when we discussed it later.

This incident took place in a sanctuary near a boundary beyond which there are guns awaiting the wild animals. Altogether a remarkable experience providing much scope for regret at my inability to exploit a unique photographic opportunity and for pointing out the danger of much shooting immediately outside a sanctuary — the wounded animals naturally retreat into the sanctuary where they might turn really dangerous, but what I remember from it all is the sheer truth and poetry of my illiterate companion&’s indication of the leopard to me — “There is a brightness in the grass — that is the leopard.”

this was published on 2 june 1963 in the sunday statesman