Ranthambore is like an unread book every morning, and every morning you are opening a new book in Ranthambore. The roar of a tiger somewhere in the trees makes the spotted deer shiver with caution. Langurs are talking at the tops of trees, and sending messages of alarm in sunshine byways; peacocks are fluttering fans of brilliant plumes like the preachers of an impending tempest. On the edge of the water, crocodiles are lying still as marble. The footprints of generations have been preserved in rocks and ruins, and in the forest, you can hear the different tales of survival, mystery, and silent splendor that you would love to listen to and ponder.