Deep in the jungle of Buxa Tiger Reserve, I woke up to a morning overshadowed by dark clouds. Heavy drops of remnant rain from the tree canopy were furiously pounding on the tin rooftop of the homestay we had found accommodation in, like synchronized beating of war drums. The hornbills had woken up, along with the rhesus macaques, eager to start their day, jumping between branches and adding to the aerial bombing of water bullets. Looking ahead towards the riverbed, the dark sky was slowly opening a portal amidst the clouds, tinged with orange by the peeking rays of the morning sun. The heavy showers had momentarily mellowed down to a drizzle, and we could see the firewood smoke rising from a shack in the distance. Cameras in hand and looking down to the last of the water drops hanging onto the blades of grass, gathering volume to make the final tumble, we were equally skeptical of the day ahead. Hesitant but prepared, we headed out.
Halfway to the shack, we heard a call – “to-kayy”, “to-kayyy”, with momentary pauses in between. We froze in position. Our day immediately brightened up. Everyone instinctively turned to each other, then in the direction of the call, eyes wide in excitement. Completely unexpected, yet each one of us knew what it meant. “To-kayy” – we tracked it to a hollow of a huge Simul tree, just a few meters away. Named after its call, the tokay gecko is a nocturnal lizard, and throughout the day, it seeks dark hiding spots such as these. We waited in anticipation, fingers half-pressed on the shutter button and our gaze glued through the eyepiece. The tokay emerged briefly.
