Leopards, Lava Hills, and Crystal Dreams

Millions of years ago, the Aravalis in the Mewar region witnessed fiery volcanic eruptions that carved out the rugged, granite-studded landscape we now know as the Lava Hills. Today, these ancient formations are home to something just as fierce and magnificent — the largest population of leopards in India. Unlike national parks with gates and boundaries, this is a place of coexistence. No fences separate humans from the big cats. Here, life is shared by the leopards, the villagers, the cattle, and the devoted Devasis in their signature red turbans and white kurta-pyjamas, who fiercely protect these creatures from poachers and vengeance. It's wild, yet balanced — a harmony hard to find elsewhere.

After years of scanning the forests of Pench, Tadoba, Kanha, Ranthambore, Gir, and the Sunderbans for this elusive cat — managing only a glorious glimpse in Gir and a few suspicious silhouettes elsewhere — it was time to meet them on their terms. Jawai, just a three-hour drive from Udaipur, promised that chance.

The first safari began under a harsh sun that eventually mellowed as we entered the forest around 4 p.m. Our search started with Jia, a 16-year-old leopard, and her cub. We scanned her cave, her favorite watering hole, and then made our way deeper into the granite wilderness. The forest was still, hushed — a Nilgai here and there, but no signs of the big cats. We climbed to the top of a Lava Hill that overlooked Chote Khan’s cave — or Chote Kaan, as he’s locally known for his tiny ears, a name that got a royal upgrade over time. These same granite hills are also home to many sloth bears, though none came to greet us that evening.

Just as the sun began to dip, Jia was spotted. We raced through the undulating terrain, and there she was, resting comfortably under a rock that looked hilariously like a burger cut in half. She sat there like royalty, occasionally shifting, shaking her paw, letting us know she saw us, too. Her cub lingered at a distance, eyes fixed on his mother, hesitant to emerge into the open. The light was fading fast, and our lens couldn’t do justice to the moment — but our eyes and hearts captured every second. We left them there as night crept in, minds replaying every movement, every flick of her tail.

The next morning, we were back before sunrise, and we returned to the Lava formations, still hoping to spot Chote Kaan or perhaps one of the sloth bears. Nature, however, remained in her moody phase. The sun rose, casting golden light over the hills, but the wild refused to play along. We moved towards the dam, where rumors of leopard movement had stirred excitement. It didn’t bear fruit, but the birds turned up in full attendance — Bar-headed Geese, Plovers, Sparrow Larks, and dozens of others made sure we had plenty to admire.

Top row (left to right)- Little egret, Common sandpiper, Common sandpiper; Middle row (left to right)- Pied bushchat, Painted stork; Bottom row (Left to right)- Hoopoe, Green Sandpiper, Pied Kingfisher

After breakfast, we took a detour through a village. We went to the now-dry backwaters, through sleepy hamlets and past ancient temples said to have been laid down by the Pandavas themselves. One Shiva temple in particular stood out — only its dome visible above ground, the rest swallowed over time by the earth. There was a weight to that moment, like standing on forgotten legends.

By late afternoon, we were back on the trail. This time, the backwaters we visited had water — glistening, reflective, alive. And soon, we were tracking Mariyal, a lean leopardess known for her petite frame. We positioned ourselves directly opposite her den, camera pointed, hearts quietly thudding in anticipation.

And she emerged. Not Mariyal, as it turned out, but a glorious leopardess, full-bodied and elegant, with the kind of presence that silences a crowd. She walked slowly, deliberately, from one cave to another, occasionally pausing, entirely aware of the eyes on her. There were other jeeps around — some equipped with high-end gear, others relying on their phones, but in that moment, everyone was equal in awe. We followed her gaze, her path, until she disappeared into the golden evening. We tried our luck with Neelam, another local leopard, but she didn’t show. That was okay. Our hearts were already full.

Jawai stood apart from every other national park we’d visited. Here, there were no manicured trails or designated routes. This was the wild, unfiltered. The 4x4 was our savior, taking us over rocky slopes that tilted us at 45 degrees and made us feel like we were on a rollercoaster. It was raw, real, and relentlessly beautiful. The terrain was not just a backdrop — it was a character in our journey.

Our final stop was Shilpgram, a rural arts and crafts complex on the outskirts of Udaipur, rich with handmade treasures and cultural heritage. Among its many artisans is Waqar, a master crystal artist who holds a world record for crafting intricate Lord Ganeshas entirely out of crystal. His work stands as a symbol of creative unity — a Muslim artisan crafting Hindu deities with deep reverence and finesse. His latest masterpiece, a crystal horse honoring Chetak, the legendary steed of Maharana Pratap, drew immediate attention with its detail and symbolism. Waqar’s legacy is now being carried forward by his 19-year-old son, who has already made a name for himself with a 10 mm crystal Ganesha — a feat of both precision and devotion. Visiting their stall felt less like shopping and more like stepping into a story of interwoven faiths, craftsmanship, and timeless artistry — a reminder of the cultural richness that Shilpgram quietly holds.

First row (top to bottom)- Metal and brass artistry, terracotta artistry; Second column (top to bottom)- Terracotta artistry, glass and crystal work, glass and crystal work with the artist

We wandered through more stalls, met more artisans, and left Shilpgram with full hearts. But it was hard not to feel a pang — why is this space, so rich with culture and talent, not better maintained or promoted? If Delhi Haat and Chokhi Dhani can draw crowds, why can’t this vibrant village of creators be celebrated more?

As we sat at Udaipur airport, waiting to board our flight back to Mumbai, we carried more than souvenirs. We brought back leopard footprints in our minds, stories from villages tucked into granite hills, crystal gods crafted by unexpected hands, and a renewed sense of wonder for all that thrives when nature and people live not apart, but together.