Travelogue
HN Singh
The writer is a Lions International Faculty, Member SPHEEHA, Naturalist, HAM Radio Licensee, trekker & mountaineer
Some journeys pass like fleeting chapters, while others are etched upon memory and soul. For me, Dudhwa National Park, in the Terai belt of Uttar Pradesh, belongs to the latter category. It is not just a forest I visited, but a landscape that has shaped me, a wilderness I carry within. My tryst with Dudhwa began in 1984 and deepened through repeat pilgrimages in 1998, 2012, 2016 & 2024. Each visit revealed a different face of the forest, yet it always left me with the same sense of awe. Dudhwa is not simply about animals and trees. It is about the spirit of the Terai, of the wild things that still roam free here and above all, of an extraordinary man who fought for its survival: Kunwar “Billy” Arjan Singh.
First journey into the Terai - 1984
The road into Dudhwa in 1984 had a drama of its own. The Terai, where the Shivalik foothills dissolve into the Gangetic plains, wore a green coat heavy with monsoon. Moisture clung to the air. Sal trees rose like a cathedral’s pillars and elephant grass towered higher than our jeep, turning the track into a tunnel of living green. But what made this first visit unforgettable was not just the forest. It was meeting Billy Arjan Singh at his rustic farmhouse, Tiger Haven. He received me with the simplicity of a man who had nothing to prove. His eyes were piercing, yet softened when he spoke of his beloved animals. Tara, the tigress he had reared and released, lived on in his words, a symbol of his audacity to attempt what few dared. He told me of Prince, the leopard, of his battles with bureaucracy and of his conviction that “if the forest dies, we die with it.” In that moment, I realized that Dudhwa’s and Billy’s stories were inseparable.
A mosaic of life
Spread over 490 square kilometres, Dudhwa National Park forms the core of the larger Dudhwa Tiger Reserve (DTR), which was established in 1987 with the merger of Dudhwa National Park and the Kishanpur Wildlife Sanctuary. Later, Katarniaghat was also included. Today, the DTR spans more than 818 square kilometres and with its buffers in North Kheri, South Kheri and Shahjahanpur, it forms one of India’s most important links in the Terai Arc Landscape (TAL).
The forest itself is a living mosaic of Sal forest, grassland and wetland, a rare blend that supports both floodplain species and great predators. Here, tiger, elephant and rhinoceros still share the same habitat, something seen in very few landscapes of the world. What strikes a visitor first is abundance. Dudhwa remains one of the last strongholds of the Barasingha, the swamp deer, which Billy himself helped save from extinction. Once reduced to less than 4,000, their population now exceeds 6,000. To watch a herd at dawn, antlers catching the first rays of the sun as they cross a marsh is to witness an echo of primeval India.
The forest hums with deer, chital, sambar, hog deer and barking deer, each contributing to the prey base of tigers and leopards. A tiger sighting here is never casual but earned. A flash of stripes in tall grass, a growl reverberating through silence or pugmarks fresh on sand: these are the signs by which Dudhwa announces its sovereign.
But this is not only a tiger’s kingdom. Dudhwa is also home to more than 40 Indian one-horned rhinos, reintroduced in the 1980s. To see one grazing in the reeds, prehistoric, immense, indifferent to human eyes, is a reminder of how fragile yet resilient nature can be. And then there are the birds. Over 400 species have been recorded here: Sarus cranes, the world’s tallest flying birds, hornbills and barbets as well as kingfishers like living jewels. On winter mornings, wetlands become a theatre for migratory flocks of geese and ducks, wings flashing in synchrony. Vultures, white rumped and red headed, now critically endangered, still linger, sobering symbols of survival against odds.
The safari zones of Dudhwa
Part of Dudhwa’s charm lies in its diversity, which is revealed across its different safari zones:
Dudhwa Zone: The heart of the park, where rhinos graze and barasingha herds thrive. This is the classic Dudhwa experience — Sal forests, elephant grass and the possibility of tigers.
Kishanpur Wildlife Sanctuary: About 30 km away, Kishanpur is famed for open grasslands and tiger sightings. Spread over 204 sq. km along the Sharda river, it is also home to blackbucks, swamp deer and rich birdlife.
Katarniaghat Wildlife Sanctuary: A different world altogether. Riverine forests where gharials bask, Gangetic dolphins surface and boat rides offer a change from jeep safaris. Tigers too roam these forests, but it is the river that defines Katarniaghat.
Sonaripur: Another safari zone within the broader Dudhwa complex, offering quiet grasslands and Sal forests.
Chuka (Pilibhit Tiger Reserve): Though not part of Dudhwa itself, Chuka is closely connected within the Terai Arc. It reflects the shared continuity of habitat across state-protected areas. Together, these zones make Dudhwa more than just a park — they make it a living landscape of forests, grasslands, and rivers.
Returning to Dudhwa - 1998
Fourteen years after my first visit, I returned in 1998. The forest was more structured in its management, but no less wild. Safari jeeps were better organized and the boundaries of the tiger reserve more defined. What I remember most are the mornings: mist lifting off the grasslands, chital herds ghosting through the haze, barbets and drongos filling the air with calls, and then, sudden silence. Our guide whispered: “Bagh”. Somewhere nearby, unseen, a tiger watched us. I never saw it that day, but its presence was enough. In Dudhwa, sometimes the tiger reveals itself by not revealing itself.
2012 - A forest in transition
By 2012, something had shifted. Conservation awareness had spread to the surrounding villages. Locals spoke with pride about “their” forest and eco-tourism was cautiously taking root. This, to me, was Billy’s legacy, flowering beyond the core forest, an understanding that Dudhwa’s survival was linked to human stewardship. That year, I saw sarus cranes silhouetted against a flaming sunset, their courtship dance unfolding like an ancient ritual. I also felt the subtler beauty of the Terai wetlands shimmering, grasslands swaying like a green ocean, sal forests solemn as temples. Unlike central India’s rugged reserves, Dudhwa’s charm is gentler, asking you not to chase but to wait and to listen.
2024 - Nostalgia and legacy
My last visit, in 2024, carried nostalgia. Billy had passed away in 2010, yet his presence lingered everywhere, in the thriving barasingha, in rhinos grazing undisturbed, in the stories of forest guards who remembered him. Tiger Haven, his farmhouse, stood as a monument to his crusade. Wildlife seemed more vibrant than ever. Tigers were more frequently sighted; rhinos were well established and painted storks wheeled across wetlands. Yet, I also felt an ache — for Billy, for the untamed abundance India once had, and for the threats that still loom: Poaching, habitat loss and human expansion.
The guardian of Dudhwa – Billy Arjan Singh
No account of Dudhwa is complete without Billy. Born at Gorakhpur in 1917 into privilege, he began as a hunter. But one day, after shooting a leopard, remorse transformed him forever. He became a protector, not a predator. It was through his efforts that Dudhwa was declared a National Park in 1977 and a Tiger Reserve in 1988. He reared leopards and tigers — Prince, Harriet, Juliette, Tara — and boldly released them into the wild. He lobbied Indira Gandhi for Project Tiger and saved the swamp deer from extinction. Awards came too - Padma Bhushan, Padma Shri, WWF Gold Medal, J.Paul Getty Award, but for him, the only reward was the thriving forest outside his door. Until his last day in 2010, he lived at Tiger Haven, beside the animals and landscapes he had given his life to protect.
What Dudhwa means to me
Looking back on my journeys from 1984 to 2024, I realize Dudhwa is more than a park. It is a mirror of what India once was: endless forests, abundant tigers, skies filled with birds. It is also a lesson in what can be saved when passion meets persistence. Dudhwa has taught me patience that the forest reveals itself slowly. It has taught me humility that we are only guests here. And it has taught me hope that revival is possible, even in our age of vanishing wilderness.
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