19/06/2025
The first tigress I ever saw in the wild was the legendary Machli—I must’ve been no older than four. Nearly a decade later, when I picked up the camera at 13, the first tigress I photographed was her granddaughter, Arrowhead. And today, it’s hard to explain just how deeply her passing has affected me.
When you spend as much time as I have with certain individuals in the wild, their stories stop being just observations—they become personal. Arrowhead wasn’t just another tiger. She was a fighter, a mother, a queen in her own right. Her life was marked by struggle, especially in her final years. Gravely ill, she still gave everything she had to raise her last litter of three. And while the department did their part to support her, the truth is, her will alone made their survival possible.
Machli earned the title of the “Crocodile Killer,” but in many ways, Arrowhead embodied that spirit even more—crocs formed a significant part of her diet in her final years. She didn’t just inherit a legacy; she carved one of her own.
Arrowhead took her last breath on the very same day her last cub was relocated to a new reserve. It felt poetic—almost like she had waited for that final chapter to close before she let go. Her bloodline now runs through three different reserves across Rajasthan, ensuring her spirit lives on far beyond the borders of Ranthambhore.
To me, she was the most beautiful tigress I’ve ever seen. Her memory is etched into the landscape of Ranthambhore—and into my heart.
Rest well, Queen. The lakes won’t be the same without you.
The second image is from the last time I saw Arrowhead, just a few weeks ago. The third is from 2016—the first tiger photograph I ever took.
