I grew up in nights that were never meant to be silent.
At the fall of darkness, when the last light thinned into memory, the land would stir—and then it would begin. A single howl at first, long and wavering, rising like a question into the sky. And then, as if the night itself had found its voice, others would answer. From near and far, from unseen hollows and distant ridgelines, they would gather—not in body, but in sound.
The chorus I had grown up with
the wild that had once surrounded me,
the child who had listened without knowing he was witnessing something fleeting
—All of it lived, briefly, in that single, watchful eyes
I long to hear them again, together…
But what I found,…
was something quieter
but perhaps, more profound—
Pray that it is not the last note of a fading song,
Let it be a presence with the face, multiplying the memory of whole.
The Golden jackal(Canis aureus naria), Coorg, Karnataka, Feb 2026. © Dr. Bishan Monappa
Sounds of the wild…. captivating, enchanting and uplifting in the silent night
I spent my summer vacations at an estate in Nittur, bordering Nagarhole National Park.
As evening fell, we cousins would huddle together in the large kitchen, watching our mothers cook while listening to the howls of jackals.
It is an experience one can never forget. Haunting, pleasantly haunting. It was as if the forest was singing.
I hope and pray that the forests are still home to the jackals, that they continue to sing, and that they will do so for generations to come.