It’s not yet light enough to see far ahead. The mist clings to the lake like tendrils of cloud, linking water and air, wetness and emptiness. It’s cold — the coldness of purity, not harsh enough to penetrate deep. The silence of the hour before dawn is mildly disturbed by the prow of the boat slicing through the water, leaving a wake that undulates gently to the far bank, interrupted every few metres by bare tree stumps that reach for the sky, seeking to be free, ethereal pointers to another time, another eon, another yearning...

What lies beneath the lake? Fishes, crocodiles, water snakes, monsters? What goes through the mind of the tiger deep in the forest beyond, as he stares down at the invaders in his lair, his black-and-orange coat still damp against the rock he is crouching on? What manner of man or beast inhabits this wildness, forever wet, forever rich, forever ripe?

As day breaks over the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary, a herd of elephants sets out to the edge of the lake, now no longer alarmed by the distant whirr of the motorboat laden with humans. The elephants romp in the water, spouting spray onto their leathery backs, the females forming a protective ring around the young tusker.

This must be how the earth looked like once — wild, free, uncaged, raw, pregnant with memories, like elephants. Elephants have memories, yes, and so will you when you leave Periyar, Thekkady, Kumily...