The sound from the bushes was unmistakable. A low rasping, growling, coughing noise. I’d heard it several times in Africa and each time it brought a chill to my spine. It was a leopard, hidden in dense undergrowth 30 feet away and sounding aggrieved. I looked to Raj, the guide, who I’d regaled with my African exploits the previous night around the campfire and he avoided my eye.

The others on this jungle walk seemed blissfully unaware. Four girls chattered away while Mr and Mrs Hungry-Hippo and their daughter from the US waddled, sweated and grumbled along.

Raj looked at the “Hungry-Hippos” and stuttered “wild pig in bushes, come on or we’ll be late for lunch”. That was all the motivation needed and the fat family led the charge away from the unseen and unknown Leopard. Around the campfire, Raj confided that there was a Leopard in the bushes, but he’d lied because if the others had known they would have hung around hoping to catch a glimpse and it would have charged because we were in its territory.

The favourite method of killing after a charge is to leap onto the shoulders from the front, attack the face with it’s teeth and scrabble with the back legs to disembowel. I was glad Raj lied, although I would have willingly fed my fellow jungle-walkers to the Leopard just to keep them from yapping and scaring the wildlife away.

The Chitwan National Park is in the flat Terai region which borders northern India. The park has several luxury camps which lease an area for their guests. The rest of the park is open for budget travellers, some of whom stay outside the park and are taken on game walks or elephant rides. I stayed in Temple Tiger where each tent has a thatched roof and a small, cane bathroom behind it.

From the tree house bar, I saw Indian Rhinos huffing and puffing through the valley the camp was next to. At night a guard optimistically armed with a big stick escorted you back to your tent because rhino and even tigers wandered through the camp. If you left laundry outside the tent in the morning, it was left washed and ironed on your bed that evening. In short, it was a little touch of paradise.

The feeling of entering paradise was enhanced by the river which forms the northern border of Chitwan. A boat ferries you across and into the park where, if you’re lucky, you’ll ride an elephant back to the camp. Being rowed across the river is a great way to collect your thoughts and prepare for the special world you are about to enter.

Chitwan is famous for its tiger and Indian elephant population. The best way to look for them is by elephant back. A number of elephants spread out and attempt to herd rhinos and tigers into natural clearings in the same way as the old fashioned Shikars — or hunting expeditions. The only difference was that instead of being blasted by shotguns, the animals we trapped were blasted with Kodak.

Riding an elephant is uncomfortable at the best of times, but I made the mistake of hitching a ride with one that was scared of rhinos. We cornered one in deep undergrowth after a mad cross-country ride down improbable gradients. As the Mahout called for the other elephants to herd the rhino, “Jumbo the Brave” faced off against it, squealing and trumpeting in fear as the rhino raised its top lip threateningly and displayed the front teeth it uses a weapon.

My particular elephant had been chased once by a rhino and bitten on its large, saggy behind, so this display was too much. It grabbed a branch from a nearby tree and thrashed the undergrowth in front to try and scare the rhino away. The mahout dug his ankush fiercely into the elephant’s head to try to control it but it was too late — Jumbo turned and fled through the jungle. Although we sat in a rudimentary howdah on the elephant’s back it was difficult to hang on, especially as we were in the trees and were being lashed by foliage before the elephant was brought under control. It stood there, flanks heaving in barely controlled terror as we screamed with laughter borne from barely controlled relief.

I saw a lot of rhinos in Chitwan, but they were mainly in thick cover. This part of the park is covered in enormous reeds, sometimes so tall I could hardly see over them — and this, even on an elephant. Every winter the locals who live around the area, and who once roamed over it before it became a park, are allowed to collect these rushes for roofing their huts. The park is in chaos for a couple of weeks as locals are chased by rhinos and risk being eaten by tigers — a number of local villagers are eaten every year.

After a day “hunting” we managed to corner one old and craggy specimen of rhinohood. It was the oldest known rhino in Chitwan — reputed to be 55-years-old. The reason it has survived poachers for so long was that it’s horn was eaten by bats many years ago and never grew back — a nice story but not very good for photos.

The day ended with watching Jumbo take a bath and then being taught the Mahout’s way to mount elephants. A command is given and the elephant bends its head forward. You grasp a handful of each ear and put your foot in the middle of its trunk. Another command and it raises its head up and you surf your way up. The professionals do a deft twirl at the top and end up sitting behind the ears, facing forward. However hard I tried I never managed this and always ended up humiliatingly looking the wrong way.

Heading back to the outside world and India was tough. I felt like I was leaving an unspoilt world and heading back to the chaos of everyday life. As I looked back from the boat at the elephants who had ferried us to the river, I felt a wave of peace wash over me. As long as there are places like this then life can never be too stressful.