Loud knocking startled me from my sleep. Sterile white light streamed into my cosy box as I cracked open the panel that separated me from the other travellers. “We’re here!” the young bus attendant muttered. Across the aisle a scruffy man clambered down from his bunk. We were the last ones on board. I gathered my things and emerged from my overnight cocoon; ready to flit about the city of Jaipur. It was the fourth day of Navratri, a nine day celebration of the divine feminine. This ancient, extravagant festival decorates the city with colour and joy. This was the day of the Goddess Kushmanda; she sits atop a tiger, flashing a smile said to have created the Cosmos. I was here to find her. I hopped off the coach. Trash lined the dimly lit sidewalk, a sharp odour hung in the pre-dawn air, a gaunt tout beckoned me to his greasy frying pan, half-a-dozen tuk-tuk drivers asked a dozen questions. I could barely hear them over the obnoxious bus horns. A hundred steps later I realised I was going the wrong way. In a huff I turned back, waving off the irreverent drivers, quickening my stride. I ducked into the hotel’s narrow entryway. The chequered floor led to a slanted counter; behind it a man whose long fringe couldn’t hide his bemusement. I greeted him and displayed my booking. His brow furrowed deeper as he tapped his keyboard. He pointed to a gaudy velvet couch. I slumped into it and waited, staring at myself in the mirror-lined wall. Eventually another guest served as translator, “They don’t allow foreigners during festivals.” “But I’ve paid?” He shrugged, took his key, and disappeared up the staircase. After a fourth hotel rejection it was clear the Jewel of Rajasthan didn’t want me. Dejected, I decided to leave. Kushmanda remained elusive. The train station was manic. Limbs spilled out of the general class windows. A bribe-mongering Black Beret guarded the air-conditioned carriage. Eventually, the luggage compartment stowaways invited me in, then latched the door. Five dishevelled locals and one sullen foreigner sat on the floor, backs against the wall. We travelled in silence. Two hours later I stepped onto a quiet platform, the air was stifling. Under scrutiny from every eye on the street I wandered towards the bank and waited. The manager kindly offered me a seat inside, away from the commotion my presence had stirred. The fragrant masala tea soothed my nerves; the rattling fan cooled my clammy skin. When my lift arrived, three boisterous men were already seated. “It’s Sanjay’s bachelor party.” one said. “We haven’t left the room in three days.” slurred another. “I’m Sanjay.” the third exclaimed, thrusting his hand towards me. “This is our first jungle safari.” he laughed. I knew we had little chance of seeing much more than some common antelope, but as we entered Kushmanda’s garden I felt a distinct glint of hope. It was dark beneath the canopy. The shrill cicada symphony blended with the whine of the engine. Gray Langurs peered curiously from their perches, their black faces barely visible in the gloom. Bulky Sambar Deer browsed cautiously along a trickling stream. In a clearing a Chital flaunted elaborate antlers, his spotted coat dissolving into the dappled shadows. The rasping cackle of a Treepie cut the air, only its long tail visible amongst the foliage. “That bird is called Tiger’s Toothpick.” our guide informed us. I wondered what misfortune it must have suffered to earn such a nickname. Sanjay snapped me out of my daze, “My fiancée works in conservation and she’s never seen a tiger.” That’s reassuring, I thought; battling to stay alert. Suddenly our guide’s demeanour changed; his grip firmer on the steering wheel, his foot heavier on the pedal. We were late for the gate. The jeep swayed as we raced along the winding track. Around a bend we slammed to a halt. More deer, I thought. But there, deep in the undergrowth something stirred; a flash of ochre, then, the flick of a tail. She emerged boldly into the riverbed, stately and measured. The tigress tasted the air, looked directly at us, turned, and disappeared. Kushmanda must be near.