It was late in the afternoon. The sky was being fast suffused by a melancholy grey. The soft autumn breeze was heavy with the fragrance of night jasmine in bloom in the backyard. The garden road just outside our gate was quiet and lonely except for an occasional cyclist or odd peddler returning home from the garden bazaar with his modest wares. I decided to take a stroll along the lonely road with lush green tea bushes on either side.

Ever since regular killings and abductions had shattered the peace and tranquillity of this idyllic countryside, I had decided to restrict even my usual evening walks. I had not left those days far behind when I would wake up in the middle of the night with a start and sit up on bed listening to the rumbling noise of motorbikes just outside the gate. I would wait with a pounding heart till the bike finally drove away. However, after a long time I was ready once again to stroll down the lonely path.

I took the dog out of his kennel and hooked the chain securely on his collar and he started dragging me towards the gate. Outside on the road we took the usual direction towards the Planter’s Club. The tea bushes on either side of the path were as if impregnated with “two and a bud” itching to be plucked by some nimble fingers. The shade trees — derris robusta, albizzia lebbek (siris) and such other genera in varied shades of green — were fluttering in the breeze and birds of unfamiliar species were chirping in a delightful note as they got ready to retreat for the night. It would indeed have been an ornithologist’s delight. It was a propitious ambience except for the potholes on the path, some of which would, during heavy rains, make puddles large enough to sink a canoe!

Johnny — that was the name of my dog — pulled me along enthusiastically and I followed him with careful steps, trampling on the dry leaves and trudged along avoiding the potholes, humming Nat King Cole under my breath — “The falling leaves...drift by the window... autumn leaves....”

We walked past the cemetery, walled and desolate, with a number of tea planters lying in eternal rest inside. The northwestern part of the cemetery wall had been broken by local vandals and some of the marble headstones had been removed, and with weed overgrowing in some parts, it had the look of Gray’s famous “country churchyard”. Someone had left the gate of the cemetery wide open. I stopped to close the gate and was back on the road again.

However, hardly had I traversed a few yards along the rugged pathway when my dog started behaving strangely. A cross between a Labrador and a Pointer, Johnny was otherwise aggressive in nature. It would howl at anything unfamiliar entering our compound. But today he stopped in the middle of the road, slunk his tail between the hind legs and started squeaking. The more I tried to pull him forward, the more he recoiled and looked at me pleadingly. Finally, I decided to cut short my walk and as I was about to turn around, it happened... like a flash of lightning it passed in front of my eyes.

I had been hearing about it for the past few days from the bungalow staff, but had dismissed it as a cock-and-bull story. The old mali, Asharam, who first narrated it to me, was a habitual boozer. The others were no less. There was no match for them when it came to exaggerating. I did not believe them because the garden was almost part of the town and a number of cars plied on this particular road every evening taking golfers and other clubgoers to the nearby club. Of late, roaring motorbikes and scooters were also not infrequent.

But now that I saw it with my own eyes, I could not but believe. It was a beautiful spotted cat with muscles rippling under its skin all over the body as it jumped across the road in front of me from one patch of tea to enter into another. It was a fully-grown leopard (panthera pardus). This must be one of the pair I had heard of being on the prowl in the area along with two cubs.

Leopards are no strangers in tea gardens and every year there are reports of them mangling tea workers or scaring away pluckers in various gardens. But it was my personal encounter with it and that, too, at such close vicinity of human habitation that made all the difference. It was, however, hardly surprising because on account of mindless destruction of forests, wild animals bereft of their natural habitat have been forced to come to towns and villages. Despite leopards being enlisted as an endangered species under the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972, they are being killed every year as and when they stray into human habitation.

However, the appearance of the leopard and presumably his family cast a magic spell in the area. The garden roads became lonelier even during daytime and would be completely deserted after dusk. The night chowkidars of the garden withdrew into the safety of fenced compound and for a change, rather than sleeping like logs through the night, as was their wont, they would huddle together around a fire. No longer could we hear the shrill whistles, jeering laughter and loud singing of the village urchins breaking the still of the night as they returned home from their nocturnal ventures through the tea garden.

Early one morning someone brought the news of a cow having been killed, followed by similar reports of a calf or a goat having been killed every other day. Panic spread to the labour lines nearby and it became difficult for the garden manager to get workers to pluck the division. Even if there was a small challan, they would pluck together at the same spot and nobody could hold them back after the second weighment around midday. The divisional forest officer, wildlife, was notified and a party went round doing a recce of the area, but that was about all.

Attendance at the Planter’s Club thinned considerably and those who turned up at all in the evenings would roll up their glasses while passing through the garden. The garden manager himself spotted the cat once during the day, basking at a lonely spot with its kill in front of it. This further enhanced the panic. As I stepped into the club that evening, the place was agog with lively conversations on the leopard.

The latest story doing its round was that the animal had been spotted in the neighbouring village trying to hide the body of a child under a haystack. I naturally got interested, but could not get to the source of the story. Obviously it was all hearsay, but it was sufficient to spread panic which was writ large in the ashen faces of the ladies.

I felt pity for the beautiful creature and its family, if it had any, who having been forced out of its natural habitat had stepped into the domain of human beings. Now not only had its privacy been disturbed, it also ran the risk of being seriously harmed.

About a week later, I woke up to the sound of a number of footsteps on the road outside and a cacophony of voices at various pitches. I peered through the window curtains. It was a crisp morning with a light breeze tenderly touching the branches of trees. The leaves had just woken up and had washed themselves with dewdrops, which were still hanging on the tips of leaves and blades of grass. Birds of various descriptions were hopping from one branch to another. The atmosphere was serene except for the noise of the crowd outside on the road.

I listened intently for sometime and then leapt out of bed and went to the gate. I saw a motley crowd jostling along the road with a great deal of excitement. Nobody had time to answer my question. I heard someone mumble something about a tiger as he shuffled along.

I was not aware of any trap being laid by the wildlife department. But I took my daughters along and rushed to the spot. The leopard had at last been trapped near the clone nursery close to the main outlet drain of the garden. There he lay in his trap near a thicket of argemone mexicana and other brambly bushes.

The majestic animal was sitting on the ground helpless and defeated and yet unshaken like an aristocrat who had lost all his money, but none of his pride. A few imps were busy pricking the fallen hero with twigs as they always bully a person who has fallen on bad times.

I only hoped that the beautiful animal would be out of harm’s way and released in deep jungle, if any such jungle still existed, that is. But the thought of its separation from its family made me feel very sad.