Tiger Temple in Thailand

[Smruti]

Dear all,

Here's a different kind. Enjoy reading, and perhaps going there....

Smruti


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"TOUCHING TIGER""
Mita Ghose faces her fears at Thailand’s ‘Tiger Temple’

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Size matters. Especially if it involves an uncaged tiger’s head,
within touching distance, ready to swivel in your direction without
warning. I’m in the Tiger Canyon, my senses so heightened by the
milieu and the moment that the world beyond its parameters is an
inconsequential haze.

Certain things register. My Thai escort’s extreme caution, for one, as
she orchestrates my tryst with the carnivores. Another is her grip on
my wrist. Positioning me behind her chosen cat, she silently indicates
the precise spot on its body deemed safe for me to stroke, then pulls
back to record the moment on camera. Within seconds, her fingers have
handcuffed me again. I’m inches from the felines without us ever
coming face to face. A tête-à-tête here would acquire a whole new
dimension. Neither the number of tigers nor the eerie, rough-textured
feel of their coats overwhelms me as much as the idea of a pulse
throbbing beneath those bold and beautiful stripes, of a fanged roar
poised on a hairline trigger.

It’s not a scenario I’ve psyched myself up for. The images playing in
my head have involved vignettes from a television documentary
featuring monks playing with full-grown felines and shots of toddlers
hugging the carnivores as though they were purring tabbies called
Matilda, Cleo, Tom or Sylvester. Such fairytale folly is inevitable
when an utterly compelling story accompanies the location: the tiger
sanctuary at the Wat Pa Luangta Bua Yanasampanno, a remote forest
monastery northwest of Bangkok.

Run by Theravada Buddhist monks in Kanchanaburi Province’s Saiyok
District near Thailand’s border with Myanmar, the ‘Tiger Temple’ began
when its abbot consented to adopt an ailing female tiger cub brought
to him by local villagers. Phra Acharn Phusit Chan Khantitharo thus
set a trend, eventually turning the monastery into a refuge for
distressed cubs. Domesticated from infancy, the cats were unfit to be
released into the wild. Given their rising population and the cost of
their upkeep, the temple authorities had little choice but to throw
the grounds open to the public in 2000.

With that move and some global publicity, an obscure little corner of
a foreign field was dramatically transformed into one of Thailand’s
premier tourist attractions. By November 2008, the entrance fee had
soared to 500 baht, approximately Rs 700. Judging by the number of
visitors a day, peaking to almost 900 in season, cost, apparently, was
no deterrent if the thrills offered—including the opportunity of being
photographed cuddling a grown tiger for an additional fee of 1,000 baht
—were spectacular enough. Concerns about personal safety were put to
rest by the abbot’s alleged reassurance that the cats, raised in the
monastery’s peaceful environs, were used to human company.

As I arrive at the sanctuary, the thrill of anticipation overrides fear
—even after staff at the ticket counter nonchalantly have me sign a
piece of paper to absolve the temple authorities of all liability in
the eventuality of a ‘mishap’.

Up the dusty trail flanked by wooded areas where bison graze, peacocks
call and wild boar and deer seek refuge from the midday heat lies my
imagined Garden of Eden: the Tiger Canyon where the carnivores play.

Reality, though, is a roped-off area encircled by a wall of sheer
rock, with a tentative waterfall whispering into a pool at the far
end. Up close, the tigers’ famous recreational ground seems stripped
of mystique. Until a sight makes me freeze: a magnificent gold and
black striped coat. I count more than half a dozen as their owners
laze around in attitudes suggestive of postprandial somnolence. Ears
twitch. One uninhibited yawn chases another. The feline stars of
Kanchanaburi’s world-famous temple-sanctuary are ‘on’. Where Beauty is
the Beast, the moment is pure magic.

From the local handlers in bright yellow tees hovering protectively
around the cats, my gaze wanders to a bespectacled figure seated by a
rock within the enclosure. With a shock, I recognise the shepherd
minding his unusual flock: the monastery’s media-savvy abbot who
refers to the animals as “...my son, my daughter, my father...”

His devotion to them is understandable. Diagnosed with leukaemia three
decades back, the monk had reportedly been given just two more years
to live. Today, he looks robust, enjoying what he believes is a divine
reprieve for chalking up merit through his work with the tigers. His
benevolent smile betrays no hint of the burdens he bears. The target
of wildlife activists and some of the temple’s former volunteers, he
stands accused of several misdeeds, including illegal trafficking in
tigers with a dealer in Laos and sanctioning various forms of ill
treatment to keep the animals in line for their daily show. Unaware of
these allegations at the time of my visit, I have nothing but
admiration for the monastery’s ambitious project-in-progress—the Tiger
Island, a 12-acre moat—encircled reserve under construction that
promises to allow the cats to roam free and is meant to serve as a
holding area for newborn cubs. The increasing need for funds—and tiger
shows—seems self-explanatory.

Besides, my immediate priority at the sanctuary is to get past the
stern-looking young volunteer standing sentinel at the canyon’s
entrance. “One at a time,” the redhead warns, flicking me a glance as
the queue of tourists moves ahead. Matter-of-factly, she proceeds to
strip me of my hat, scarf, sunshades, waist pouch and camera, making
it clear that she knows her wards well enough to heed their particular
aversions, however cute may be the names they answer to: not Matilda,
Cleo, Tom or Sylvester certainly, but Herfa, Techo, Weiha and Payu,
among others, chosen for that afternoon’s show from a total of 34.
Then I’m in.

Back in the real world, I discover how short my tryst with the tigers
has actually been. And the felines’ working day isn’t over yet. Even
as I join other tourists on the benches outside, a young brunette is
being ushered into the enclosure by her assigned handler. A privileged
visitor, apparently, entitled as much to some exclusive shots with the
tigers for the additional fee as to the abbot’s active participation
in the drama.

Snatches of the waiver I had signed at the ticket counter suddenly
flit through my mind, eerily echoed by the message on a sign posted
outside the enclosure: “...must exercise caution... carelessness may
result in personal injury... I agree not to hold the temple
responsible....”

I swat the memory away, missing the first Kodak moment. With the
escort standing by, camera ready to capture the second one, the monk
helps the woman position herself before cajoling the designated tiger
into placing its huge head in her lap. The visitor giggles nervously.
The tiger yawns. The shutter clicks. The show must go on.


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The Wat Pa Luangta Bua Yanasampannois monastery is about 200km
northwest of Bangkok