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The clock on my camera screen struck 2.37 am. I squinted hard to focus on the pitch-black swamp forest through the zigzag fence a few hundred steps ahead of me. The quiet place was in utter darkness to avoid causing any disturbance to the wildlife. I knelt on the cobbled floor of the balcony of a single-storey travelers’ lodge and secured my camera on the tripod. The last shot photo of the evening popped up on the screen: a billboard that displayed, ‘Recent tiger sighting 5.5 years ago’. I swiped over the screen and customized the camera settings to shoot the starry night sky for the next 5:00 minutes. The recording commenced, 0:01, 0:02, ... I was in the marshy abode of mangroves, the Sundarbans Biosphere Reserve, known for the famous hunter, the Royal Bengal Tiger. The lodge was built as a small fenced settlement inside the forested land, Sajnakhali, which was only accessible by waterways. 0:30, 0:31, ... There was warmth in late February. The silence was eternal. Suddenly, I sensed myself being watched as if someone noticing my movements in detail and tracing my breathing rate. I ignored it assuming that my tired brain attempted to deceive me in the dark. I diverted my attention to the recording progress, crouched against the adjacent wall, gazed through the rails of the balcony and imbibed the tranquility. The rooms had shut doors and the travelers inside must be in the middle of their dreams discarding the serendipity of spotting a Royal Bengal Tiger. It is like finding a needle in a haystack. I was ruminating over the eventful day passed. When our small ferry traversed across the green waters of a river showcasing nature in the wild, we sighted estuarine crocodiles basking in glory, a bald eagle hunting fish, a herd of deer camouflaging behind shrubs, innumerable birds in action, and so on. The imagery vanished when I intercepted footsteps approaching me while the minutes read 1:41, 1:42, ... “Rest before we head back to the city in a few hours.” The whisper from my concerned parent broke my peace with the stars. “Three more minutes, Dad.” I insisted, pointing him to the camera screen while my eyes felt drained of focusing on the dark. He shut the door behind me, and I heard him snore, back to sleep in no time. 2:52, 2:53, ... The mangroves were showing off their shapes with brisk moves as gentle winds grazed past them. I stood up across the balcony to identify the constellations of stars. 4:53. Silence broke. An abrupt rush of terror galvanized me. A thunderous sound of pebbles crunching and smashing across the wired fence emerged. I felt goosebumps in my bare arms. I breathed faster with apprehension that my body would be shredded to pieces in the sharp claws of a ravenous tiger within a fraction of the next minute. I grabbed my camera setup, sneaked into my windowless room behind me and peeped through the tiny keyhole. The noise faded, winds blew gentler and the stars remained as calm as before. It was impossible to focus through the dark into the forest. I appeased myself anticipating that there is hardly any possibility of spotting a tiger near a human settlement. The low battery signal on the camera caught my attention. Having noticed the recording concluded on time, I dozed off in my cocoon with a tad bit consolation. After breakfast, it was time to bid farewell to the 3-day long adventure-packed trip. At 9.30 am, I stepped onto the return ferry and gave a last glance on the lodge standing in the middle of the forest. I could not get my eyes off from the entrance billboard. My hands felt numb and the fingers stiff. I felt ice-cold. My eyebrows raised and my heart pumped faster as I skimmed the inscription, ‘Recent tiger sighting 3 am approx.’