"They think we built these dirt roads for them," said Yadvendra Singh, my guide to India’s Ranthambhore National Park and Tiger Preserve.  The Park was once the hunting preserve of the Maharajas of Jaipur. It is now a Project Tiger Preserve, India’s effort to bring the Bengal Tiger back from the brink of extinction. I was staying at the nearby Oberoi Resort, Vanyavilas, so all I did was grab my camera and jump in the jeep—they made all the arrangements.

March, mid-way through the dry season is a good time for sighting tigers. The park felt like fall. The many Dhak trees had no leaves and were ready to burst into a flaming-orange and vermilion-red bloom. Herds of the Bambi-like chital and their larger deer cousins the sambars—both favorite tiger food—traversed steep hills and gentle valleys. Marsh crocodiles sunned themselves by lotus-filled lakes. Banyan trees housed langur monkey day-care centers. Slews of monkey kids raced around their monkey moms who fed babies at their breasts. A raggedy-black sloth bear poked around a cave. He’s the culprit, I learned, of the parks occasional palm-less wild date palms. Those not nibbled, stand statuesque above the forest.

The chatter of the seven sisters’ birds—they do babble—are combined with the shrieks of rose-ringed parakeets whose lime-green tails flashed across the sky. India’s national bird, the peacock, was never far from eye or ear. We even spotted a spotted owl.

The tigers sometimes nap on the remains of a one-thousand-year-old fort, Yadvendra explained, or use the park’s temples and palaces as day shelters. We scrutinized each crumbling ruin. No tigers. Darkness was forcing us back to Vanyavilas. I was pondering a tiger-less tiger story, but Yadvendra had not given up. On a hunch, he asked the driver to detour by a favorite tiger watering-hole.

"Take picture, take picture," Yadvendra hissed, so excited he almost grabbed the camera from my hands. A good thing too, the tigress and her cubs had me mesmerized. Rich caramel-color, striped with ebony, they had inquisitive-looking white splashes around their amber eyes. She was all power and grace. Her cubs, about a year old were nearly as tall and gangly.

The tigress is a dedicated mother. She will feed her cubs for another year and teach them tiger ways. It takes training to be at the top of the food chain. Even at 18 months, the cubs won’t be able to make their own kills, and few of their first independent hunts will be successful. At a year old, the tigress’ cubs "help" her hunt—causing much confusion chasing prey.

The tiger trio ambled along in front of the jeep, glancing back to keep us under surveillance. Their striped camouflage worked so well, they disappeared almost the instant they stepped into the woods on the other side of the road. Yadvendra and I were ebullient as we drove back to Vanyavilas. I raced around like a monkey kid. Nobody from guests to dishwashers escaped squinting at the tigers on the viewer of my digital camera.

***

Seeing three tigers in one Ranthambhore afternoon shows what nature can do if humans give her a chance. It’s also a tribute to Fateh Singh Rathore. Fateh has spent his last 40 years with the tigers, as the park’s first superintendent and now the director of the foundation, Tiger Watch.

Fateh cuts a jaunty figure—white mustache sharp against walnut-colored skin with eyes beaming out from underneath his Stetson. A silk, tiger-striped ascot perfects his safari shirt. A regular at Vanyavilas, I was fortunate to hear him talk tiger.

"In 1976, when I first visited Ranthambhore," Fateh said "the tiger was completely nocturnal, hunting only at night…gasping for life." In 1985 a colleague wrote, "several weeks can go by without as much as a glimpse of this elusive predator." Yet, by the early ‘90s, the Ranthambhore tigers had reversed their schedules becoming creatures of the day. More tigers are now spotted in Ranthambhore than any other place in the world.

Fateh explained how Rajiv Gandhi (then prime minister of India and husband of the recently-elected Congress Party leader, Sonia Gandhi) stopped the killings and designated Ranthambhore a national park. "Even if Rajiv isn’t very popular, I loved him because he saved the tigers," Fateh said.

As the first superintendent, Fateh visited many countries to study conservation efforts. He realized the 1000 villagers living in the park would have to move and took the difficult task on himself. "At first I just went out to them. Sitting, not above them on a chair, but on the ground as we talked. Then I brought my wife and she became their honorary sister. In a traditional religious ceremony the family tied a string around her wrist." He suggested to this family they relocate first. The park paid expenses and relocation fees. They did well in their new location. "Other villagers saw that and said we should move them too, and we did."

Eyes glowing, words and hands flying, Fateh described how the tigers returned. First the grasses grew, then the trees. Smaller animals started coming back. Then, slowly, the tigers returned. Fateh made it clear: the bottom of the food chain must be plentiful for the top of it—the tiger—to thrive.

It was the third generation of tigers after the villagers left that became active in the daytime. They were, Fateh realized, the first generation raised by parents who were neither hunted nor bothered by man. They became easier to see—and to poach.

"From 1992 started our years of horror," Fateh said. "At least 15 tigers were killed by poachers. We had been unable to believe that the superb tigers of Ranthambhore could be killed by man. Our complacency was unforgivable." In his gentle way, Fateh did not mention he was not the Park’s superintendent at that time. Every bit of the tiger, the skin, the meat and even the penis are age-old Asian folk remedies, Fateh explained. Tiger bone is a recognized in traditional Chinese medicine as an anti-inflammatory and muscle strengthener. All are profiteered on the black market for thousands of dollars.

Disease also became a problem, killing off both the tiger, but more importantly, its prey. "From a high of 52, the tigers dropped to perhaps twenty, but are now back to maybe 38 by my own sightings," Fateh commented. Illegal grazing and wood collection by the 170,000 people who live near the park—many with no other options—are also a problem. There are now forest areas around the park’s boundary for the people, but they are not enough. It could go the other way: if the bottom of the food chain does not thrive—the tiger does not survive.

Fateh says, "When I die, I hope to be buried in the park, so I can speak to the tigers."

I hope there tigers will always be there to speak to Fateh.