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I'm swaddled in a mess of blankets to fight the pre-dawn chill as I bump down the dusty dirt roads of India's Kanha National Park in an open-air safari jeep.
You can go to Africa for cheetahs or lions, but for Bengal tigers, your best bet is the wildlife reserves at the heart of the Indian subcontinent in the so-called ``Tiger State'' of Madhya Pradesh. Somewhere up ahead are nearly 100 of these regal cats, who prowl 930sq km of pristine Indian wilderness. Even so, there are no guarantees I'll see one.
Straddling the Maikal Hills of the Satpura Range, Kanha is a vast landscape of sal tree forests and wide-open savannas that's a four-hour drive from the nearest airport in the diminutive regional capital of Raipur.
On morning and afternoon safaris the day before, we followed fresh tiger tracks in the park's talc-soft dirt to dead ends. The spotter in my safari jeep flicked his binoculars left and right, though his ears were doing the real work. He heeded the warning calls of langur monkeys (who scan the perimeter from treetops) and spotted deer (who smell tigers from a mile away) - all to no avail.
We've seen some discrete peacocks ambling through the woods, a pair of jackals racing down a meadow and a rare barasingha swamp deer hiding in the brush. We've photographed a menagerie of colourful kingfishers and watched termites build sandcastle-like mounds out of the burnt-orange earth. I know deep down this ought to make me happy, that all animals should carry equal clout. But the tiger is such a rare beast; it would be cruel not to get at least one glance at its striped orange robe.
Kanha was one of the original nine reserves set up under that programme (there are now 50), and I've come here to witness a rare good-news story in global conservation. Preliminary results of India's latest tiger census suggest that the nation's tiger population will rise from 2226 in 2014 to more than 3000 this year.
A fresh round of deer calls sends us racing to a forested ridge like the paparazzi we are with cameras at the ready. I take a big gulp of the crisp morning air, which has the tang of a fresh-cut lemon, and wait in silence for something - anything - to happen.
A few restless minutes go by. Just as I'm starting to feel deflated, the tigress appears atop the ridge, flaunting a kind of self-assurance that only apex predators possess. Her muscles tighten with each step as she surveys the land, her coat shining under the low spotlight of the morning sun. She is, by all accounts, Indian royalty.
Back at the Kanha Earth Lodge, a well-camouflaged safari camp in the park's buffer zone, we toast to a successful day with a potent toddy made by the local Baiga tribe from the flowers of the sacred mahua tree. It tastes sour, but our spirits our high. We've prowled the lands that inspired Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book, and we've faced our very own Shere Khan.
Electric with the thrill of a first tiger sighting, we set off on a four-hour drive to Bandhavgarh National Park, another tiger-rich reserve with forested hills. Bandhavgarh was, until 1968, the hunting grounds of a former Indian prince, who plucked the last white tiger from the wild here in the 1950s. While these genetic aberrations may be gone, their standard orange-and-black brethren are thriving. I keep my binoculars peeled for sightings of them - as well as leopards, sloth bears and the rest of the Jungle Book crew. I'm treated instead to birds, monkeys and deer.
Back at my hotel, the suitably named King's Lodge, members of the local Gond tribe dance beside an evening bonfire. They gyrate to songs about nature, animals and working the land - all to a mildly hypnotic beat.
Mark Johanson is a freelance writer.