I went to Pench thinking of tigers, like most of us do. It is the first image that comes to mind, and I carried that same excitement. But somewhere along the trail, my attention began shifting to everything else that makes this forest what it is.

The very first thing that struck me was the dragonflies and butterflies. They were everywhere, in colours I didn’t even know existed, constantly moving, constantly catching light. One dragonfly even sat on my hand and stayed there, and in that small moment, I realised I was already looking at Pench differently.

On the first day, Nitesh took me around Sakata village. It is a tiny village, maybe a hundred people, and because it was Diwali, everyone was busy painting walls or smoothing dung on them to decorate the house. Their celebrations felt rooted in something earthly and old. I learnt that the tribal communities here pray to Naag Devta and Baagh Devta, small mud idols kept close to their homes. The devotion is simple and sincere, without any grand structures. It made me pay attention to how quietly culture holds identity here.

That evening, our group came together. Families, kids, a few solo trekkers. Everyone is figuring each other out. I remember sitting in the kitchen later, talking about Diwali, how each of us celebrates it differently. It felt warm, like the beginning of something familiar.

The trek began the next morning. We walked through paddy fields and then entered deep shade. The first creature I stopped and stared at was a large orb weaver spider. I learnt how the female is so much larger than the male, and that he disappears after mating. The forest has its own stories of survival and balance, most of which we never notice unless someone points them out.

We continued under the canopy, spotting funnel webs, small birds, and butterflies floating like confetti. The jungle was dense, green, layered. Then we entered the Bodha Nala river walk. Knee-deep water, rocks hidden beneath the surface, a slow but strong current. I slipped within the first five minutes and fell in completely. My clothes, my bag, everything drenched. It was tiring and long after that, but when we finally reached Naygaon, all I could register was how beautiful that place was. The view stretched out endlessly, a pied kingfisher dove straight into the water, and at night we saw fireflies blinking in the dark. It felt like the forest was showing one small wonder at a time.

It was Diwali evening, and I had felt a bit of homesickness, but the celebration we had together and the Shahi Tukda made by our kitchen team dissolved that feeling. Home sometimes finds you, even in the middle of a forest.

The next day at Bawanthadi, the river opened up wide, with trees leaning over the water, forming a natural canopy. Everyone entered the water slowly and then didn’t want to come out. There was laughter, splashing, floating, silence, everything together. It felt like the river had softened all of us. The guides taught us about Mahua, Arjun, Saja, and citron leaves being used as a natural repellent. Knowledge shared simply and without rush.

We reached Nalyer that evening. The campsite felt like a reward. Tents by the river, proper washrooms, a dining area that looked like a small festival by itself. Dinner was local, thoughtful, and made with care. That night, we sat together for a long time, talking about our cities, our lives, and somewhere in that conversation, we all realised we had begun to feel like a group that belonged to the same journey.

The final day took us through bamboo forests and then up a sudden climb. Short but steep. The kind that reminds you that a trek still has the power to surprise you. At the top, we wrote postcards to ourselves, something to open ten years later. Then we slowly walked out of the forest and into the safari jeep. We didn’t see a tiger. Maybe a deer slipping into the trees. And somehow, it didn’t feel like something was missing.

Because the forest had already given enough.

I came to Pench thinking of tigers. I returned thinking of dragonflies landing on skin, villages preparing for Diwali, kitchens smelling of Shahi Tukda, fireflies blinking in warm darkness, laughter inside rivers, postcards written to future selves, and the knowledge that nature offers itself in layers if we are willing to slow down and look.

Pench Tiger Trail is about everything that allows the tiger to exist.

And once you experience that, you don’t look at forests the same way again.