Where tigers roam and gods watch: A pilgrimage through the wild heart of Bandhavgarh

As dawn breaks over the Sal forests of Bandhavgarh, a thin mist rolls through the undergrowth, blurring the line between the sacred and the wild. Thousands of pilgrims walk in quiet reverence, their footsteps muffled by fallen leaves, their eyes cast upwards towards the forested cliffs that house a 10th-century temple dedicated to Lord Ram. Their path winds through tiger territory, a pilgrimage as old as the legends that define this land. And yet, in every leaf, shadow, and sound, there is a quiet question: Will the forest let them pass?

A temple amid tigers

Located atop a remote hill deep inside Bandhavgarh National Park, the Ram Temple is no ordinary shrine. It is accessible to the public only twice a year — during Janmashtami in August and the Kabir Panth Sammelan in December. To reach it, devotees must traverse the core zone of the tiger reserve, a protected landscape, home to one of the highest densities of Royal Bengal tigers in India.

In the tiger territory of Bandhavgarh, people walk with a prayer in their hearts. 

“Every step here is a prayer,” says Hanspal Namdev, a local pilgrim and staff member at King’s Lodge Bandhavgarh, who has walked this path for over 25 years. “But you are always aware, you are walking in the tiger’s kingdom. This is not like visiting a temple in the city.” The narrow path snakes past ancient trees and sudden clearings. Whispers ripple through the line of walkers whenever a deer bolts or langurs hoot. All move forward, hearts pounding not just with devotion, but with the primal awareness that this jungle is alive.

Also read | From Bodh Gaya to Sri Lanka, Buddhism's greatest export success story

Indeed, the land commands humility. Large signs at the forest entrance read: "Pravesh nagar kije sab kaja hriday rakhi Kaushalpur Raja”, a line invoking Lord Ram, reminding visitors to carry faith in their hearts as they step into his forest.

The forest protectors

For the forest department, these pilgrimages are an exercise in meticulous balance. “It is our job to ensure that neither the devotees nor the wildlife are harmed,” says Narendra Prajapati, a forest guard who has overseen pilgrim movements for several years. “We post guards every few hundred metres along the trail. Medical support teams are on standby. And no food or plastic is allowed past the gates.”

A Kabir doha etched at the entrance of the temple 

Despite the danger, no major incident has ever been reported. Forest officials attribute this to careful planning, years of experience, and perhaps a little divine protection. “This is Lord Ram’s land,” says Prajapati with a smile. “The tigers here are as much a part of the story as the deity himself.”

The priest on the hill

High above the forest floor, nestled among ancient rocks and shaded by flame-of-the-forest trees, the Ram Temple watches over the land. The temple priest, appointed by the royal family of Rewa, lives here alone in week-long shifts, bringing food and supplies up the hill with the help of forest staff. “I have been performing the daily ritual of lighting oil lamps and chanting age-old verses for decades,” says Sri Sanjay Gautam, the priest. His voice softens as he describes the solitude of the temple. “At night, the forest becomes a different world. Calls of jackals and the occasional roar of a tiger are also heard. But I never feel afraid. This is a sacred place, and the animals know it too.”

Also read | The vanishing murals of Lepakshi

The modest stone structure, weathered by time and stained by centuries of devotion, stands quietly among ancient ruins: crumbling mandap pillars, vine-clad shrines, and a forest path leading to the majestic 35-foot-long Vishnu statue, eternally reclined beneath the shelter of a serpent’s hood.

Myths etched in stone

Shesh Shaiya is more than just an archaeological wonder; it is a confluence of mythology, ecology, and art. The site depicts the Hindu trinity Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, amid roots and moss, flanked by natural springs that nourish the forest.

Conservation efforts in Bandhavgarh are guided by a philosophy that respects tradition as an integral part of the landscape.

Local naturalist with Pugdandee Safaris, Mandar Khollam explains the legends with reverence. “According to the Ramayana, this land was gifted by Lord Ram to his brother Lakshman. The name ‘Bandhavgarh’ itself means ‘Brother’s Fort’. Every stone here has a story—from Geeta Mandap, where Lord Ram is said to have spoken the Bhagavad Gita, to Ram Talaiya, a reservoir created by his arrow.”

Khollam notes that this ancient kingdom once served as a cultural crossroads. From the Vakataka dynasty to the Kalchuris and the Baghelas, rulers built forts, temples, and trade routes through this region. In the 16th century, King Ramchandra Deo of Bandhavgarh famously gifted Tansen to Emperor Akbar, intertwining Bandhavgarh’s legacy with that of the Mughal court.

Yet, when the royal lineage moved to Rewa, the forests reclaimed their hold. What remains is a land where the past breathes softly through lichen-covered ruins and wild orchids bloom beside carved idols.

A sacred balance

The Bandhavgarh model is a success story where faith and forest coexist, just like most national parks in India. The annual pilgrimage is permitted in recognition of its deep cultural and spiritual significance to the local communities. However, it is conducted under carefully controlled conditions - devotee numbers are capped, vehicle access is restricted beyond a certain point, and both human and wildlife activity are closely monitored throughout the event.

Conservation efforts here are guided by a philosophy that respects tradition as an integral part of the landscape. Rather than creating barriers between people and the forest they hold sacred, forest officials aim to harmonise preservation with belief. The approach appears to work, not just for the pilgrims, but for the wildlife as well.

As the sun rises higher, the pilgrims reach the summit, breathless but smiling. The priest emerges from the shrine, incense curling in the wind. Down below, in the jungle’s shaded depths, a tiger may lift its head for a moment, curious about the distant echo. Then it melts back into the forest, silent and sovereign. In Bandhavgarh, gods and predators share the same ground. And between them walk the faithful, humble, awed, and always watched.