MADHYA PRADESH, India -- For three days we'd been tracking tiger in India, and by the end of our last game drive in Bandhavgarh National Park we despaired of ever seeing the elusive cat. Then, as we slowly crossed a low, stone bridge over a stream, a big tiger nonchalantly ambled across the dirt road in front of us. He stopped to look at us, then sauntered on.

No one made a sound, just a collective intake of breath.

Our guide, Kartikeya, wheeled our safari vehicle around, and raced to a nearby water hole. There the tiger was on the opposite shore, lolling at the water's edge under a shrub, his orange and black stripes reflected in the still water. The bucolic scene was spellbinding. Eventually, he stood up, strolled along the bank and disappeared behind a bamboo thicket. It wasn't a close sighting, but no one was complaining.

This is what we had come to India to see: tiger. Only tiger. Safari hands who have checked off the Big Five in Africa -- lion, elephant, buffalo, leopard and rhino -- quickly learn it's a major challenge to find India's Big One: the Bengal tiger.

What's more, in Africa, seeing the Big Five is a goal; In India, seeing the Big One is the only goal.

Your best chance is in the central Indian province of Madhya Pradesh, home to one-fifth of India's estimated 3,600 tigers, almost half of them in tiger reserves. This is why CC Africa, a leading eco-sensitive safari operator in Africa, teamed up with Taj Hotels Resorts and Palaces to launch a multi-camp tiger circuit that combines safari know-how with the best of Indian hospitality.

There are other high-end camps in India, but these are the first in tiger-rich Madhya Pradesh, the first to have their own intensively trained naturalist-guides, and the first to offer a varied safari experience that doesn't depend on a tiger sighting if there isn't one -- yes, be prepared for that -- with extravagant comfort, unparalleled bird life and unusual, playful dining.

Our first stop was Mahua Kothi, at Bandhavgarh National Park, where 12 kutiyas, or mud-walled cottages, in a sun-filtered, bamboo jungle are grouped around a central lodge like an Indian village. Each villa has its own courtyard with shaded seating. You come home from a game drive to find your "butler" has drawn a bubble bath, and while you are at dinner, has lit your courtyard candles and turned on your electric bed warmer.

We had curries, kebabs, pilafs and soups poolside and under a spreading mahua tree, a chowki dinner on the lodge rooftop under the stars, and a breakfast by a walled, organic garden, the muffins, pancakes, and pressed rice laid out on a bullock cart. One night, a barbecue in the boma with firepits and dancers featured spit-roasted lamb and whole chickens cooked in a mud pit.

Bandhavgarh strictly enforces the no off-road tracking prohibition. To make sure, a park ranger always rode with us.

With the passion and knowledge of a great guide, Kartikeya pointed out the varied forest residents, from sambar deer to Indian wild dog and jungle cat. He explained how tigers mark their territories by spraying urine and clawing trees sometimes 10 or 12 feet high up the trunk.

Once he braked and, cupping his hands to his ears, alerted us to an urgent, low sound.

"It's the monkey alarm call. The langurs are announcing the presence of a predator -- a tiger or leopard. I'm still looking for my first leopard," he added shyly.

He always braked for birds, too. There are 250 species just in this park -- 1,253 in all India -- flashing their gorgeous plumage.

But we're after tiger. While Kartikeya was pointing out tiger tracks and tiger poo, mahouts on their elephants were out looking for tiger in the bush. If they find any, they alert the guides by two-way radio, who then speed to the tiger area where guests ride elephants into the bush for a sighting. This is the only way to go off-road tracking.

Kartikeya never got a call.

We moved on to Pench National Park, a dry, deciduous forest of mostly teak trees and meandering jungle streams, and Baghvan, the second of CC Africa-Taj camps. Here 12 suites sit along a dry river bed surrounded by forest. Stairs lead up to an impossibly romantic covered rooftop terrace with a large, mosquito-netted bed, overhead fan, and, yes, hookah pipes.

At Pench the game is similar to Bandhavgarh. And we're still desperately seeking tiger.

On our last day there we got the mahout call.

We drove over to meet two elephants. Their mahouts had leaned a ladder against the side of each elephant, and we climbed up to wooden platforms on top, our legs dangling by the elephant's side. Mohan Bahadur, the 12-foot tall male I was on, lumbered into the bush, swaying from side to side as I clung to the iron bar across my lap.

And there she was, four or five feet away, eyes closed, resting under a tree, the sunlight dappling her orange and black stripes. After several minutes, she got up, and ignoring us as we followed, wandered away and lay down under another tree. The whole encounter was perhaps 20 awestruck minutes, silent but for the clicking of cameras.

We knew how lucky we were.