Forest guard’s quick action saves colleague from tiger in Corbett

A forest guard rescued his colleague from a tiger attack in Jim Corbett wildlife sanctuary by striking the animal with a stick. The incident highlights the risks faced by forest staff, their limited equipment and the challenges of accessing medical care.

Ramnagar: “Galat jagah pakad liya chacha,” 28-year-old Pitambar told his colleague moments after a tiger pinned him to the ground deep inside Jim Corbett wildlife sanctuary. The words captured the terror of an encounter he survived.

Pitambar, a daily wager, was part of a four-member team on routine patrol duty on July 20. While two of them were walking a little ahead, Ramnath, who was somewhere in between, suddenly realised that Pitambar was missing.

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As he turned around, Ramnath saw the big cat sitting on top of Pitambar.

With little time to react, he did something few would dare to attempt: he struck the tiger three times with the wooden stick in his hand.

The tiger, seemingly caught off guard, released Pitambar and moved into the bushes.

“Give me your hand,” he told Pitambar, helping him get back on his feet and away from the spot. All Pitambar could mutter to Ramnath, also a daily wager, at that moment was that the tiger had bitten him at the wrong place, meaning his neck.

The bite was not deep, and Pitambar survived due to timely help. He suffered bite injuries and was given first aid by the forest staff before being taken to Ramnagar and then to Kashipur for treatment.

Not all forest guards are as lucky as Pitambar.

Dharampal Negi, a forester who has worked for 37 years, told PTI that when they go out patrolling, everyone tells themselves that four are going inside, but only three might return.

Most of the dead are easily forgotten, and in some cases, their bodies have also not been recovered.

When the country’s oldest national park decided to erect a memorial in honour of forest guards who died in animal attacks, it took 18 months to compile a list of 33 people.

Now, no space is left on the plaque for another name, and the staff at a museum at the Dhangarhi gate of the forest hope that another or a bigger plaque will never be required.

Around 700 forest guards, most of them daily wagers, patrol the park, spread across nearly 1,300 square kilometres, including over 500 sq km of core area, in groups of four and in shifts. Patrols from posts built at different locations are conducted on foot, and only one member of each group carries a gun. The others have only wooden sticks.

Residents of the town feel that they and the hundreds of tourists who come here every day for safaris owe their safety to the forest guards.

Miteshwar Anand, Assistant Commissioner (GST), said the forest guards put their lives at risk not just to thwart poachers and tree fellers but also to ensure that animals remain safe.

Their work also requires them to recognise signs of wildlife distress. If an elephant is limping or a tiger appears injured, they inform veterinary and rescue teams, he added.

The general manager of a top resort on the outskirts of the reserve said that a tiger might occasionally enter human habitation, but the guards ensure that people remain safe.

“The fact is that we have come into their territory; they have not come into ours,” he said.

Negi, who was also invited to speak at the country’s first-ever literature festival in a national park, held here earlier this month, said what stood out was not just the danger of the encounter but also Ramnath’s presence of mind in those few seconds.

Ramnath and Pitambar share a bond that goes beyond the demands of their work in the forest. Pitambar calls Ramnath uncle, and Ramnath treats him like a son.

The incident took place around 300-400 metres from a forest outpost located nearly 18 km inside the forest.

“There was no time to call for help or assess the situation. Ramnath acted with the only weapon immediately available to him, the stick in his hand,” Negi, a forester by designation, said.

Ramnath’s decision to strike the tiger may have been crucial to the rescue, but had he screamed or shouted, the tiger could have turned towards him.

After Pitambar was rescued, the tiger continued to roar and move around the area, appearing agitated. More staff members were sent in to ensure safety, and bushes along the route were cleared. Camera traps were installed later to monitor the animal’s movements, as it had apparently tasted human blood.

The tiger remained in the area for three to four days, but no further incident was reported. The authorities finally declared that the tiger was not yet a man-eater.

For the forest staff, the episode was also a reminder of the risks involved in a job that requires them to enter the habitat of wild animals on foot, often far from immediate medical assistance.

“The nearest hospital in Ramnagar is around 18 km away, while patients requiring further treatment are often referred to Kashipur or Haldwani,” Negi said.

For an injured worker, reaching medical care can take time. In Pitambar’s case, he first had to be brought on foot to the outpost, from where a vehicle was arranged to take him for treatment. The process took around 30-40 minutes, despite staff members rushing to help him.

Corbett has hundreds of employees working across different categories, including forest guards, foresters, rangers and daily-wage workers. Their duties extend beyond monitoring wildlife to preventing poaching, detecting unauthorised entry, tracking animal movements and responding to forest fires.

“The main objective of patrolling is to prevent poaching,” Negi said, explaining that even a fresh set of footprints in soft forest soil can alert them to the presence of an intruder.

The dangers are not limited to tiger encounters. Forest staff also face venomous snakes and rapidly spreading fires.

“After spending eight hours working in the forest, we get exhausted and lie down wherever we can. We cannot always be alert every moment. In many ways, we rely on God’s protection,” Negi said.