Tigers for Dinner: Tall Tales by Jim Corbett's Khansama

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by Ruskin Bond


  morning, and then he’d go out and shoot a tiger!’

  ‘Did you ever shoot a tiger?’ I asked, accepting a

  glass from Mehmoud and adding a chunk of ice to

  the milkshake.

  ‘I shot a leopard once,’ said Mehmoud. ‘I wasn’t

  supposed to touch the guns, but one morning, after

  his milkshake, Carpet-sahib said I could accompany

  him into the jungle, provided I brought along a large

  thermos full of mango milkshake. It was a hot, humid

  morning and Carpet-sahib was soon feeling thirsty.

  ‘“Hold my rifle, Mehmoud, while I have a drink,”

  he said, and he handed me his gun and took the

  thermos. While he was quenching his thirst, a

  kakar—a barking deer—appeared in the open, just

  fifteen to twenty feet in front of us. “Shall I shoot it,

  sir?” I asked. I’d seen him shooting many times, and I

  knew how the rifle worked. “Go ahead, old chap,” he

  said. “Let’s have some venison for dinner.”

  ‘So I put the rifle to my shoulder, took aim, and

  fired. It was the first time I’d fired a gun, and the butt

  sprang back and hit me in the shoulder, while the

  bullet itself whizzed over the deer and into the tree

  beneath which it was standing.

  ‘Away went the kakar, while

  I held my shoulder in agony. I’d

  missed it by several feet. But then there was a

  terrible groan from the branches of the tree, and

  a huge leopard came crashing through the foliage,

  falling with a thud at our feet. It was quite dead, baba.

  ‘I’d missed the kakar and shot a leopard. It must have

  been watching the deer, waiting to pounce on it, when it

  was struck by my bullet.

  ‘“Good shot!” cried Carpet-sahib. “Well aimed,

  Mehmoud, I didn’t see the leopard.”

  ‘“Nor did I, sir,” I said.

  ‘“But you shot it all the same,” said

  Carpet-sahib.

  ‘Away went the kakar, while

  I held my shoulder in agony. I’d

  missed it by several feet. But then there was a

  terrible groan from the branches of the tree, and

  a huge leopard came crashing through the foliage,

  falling with a thud at our feet. It was quite dead, baba.

  ‘I’d missed the kakar and shot a leopard. It must have

  been watching the deer, waiting to pounce on it, when it

  was struck by my bullet.

  ‘“Good shot!” cried Carpet-sahib. “Well aimed,

  Mehmoud, I didn’t see the leopard.”

  ‘“Nor did I, sir,” I said.

  ‘“But you shot it all the same,” said

  Carpet-sahib.

  ‘And since I did not want the skin, he rewarded

  me with five hundred rupees. The leopard was stuffed

  and kept in his verandah, to scare away the monkeys.

  Of course he told everyone what a good shot I was,

  although it was the last time he asked me to hold

  his gun.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘you shot the leopard, and you

  saved the life of the pretty deer. And your mango

  milkshake is the best in the world.’

  ‘Thank you, baba,’ said Mehmoud, refilling my

  glass. ‘This is a good year for mangoes.’

  And it was a good year for mango milkshakes. As

  I discovered.

  ‘And since I did not want the skin, he rewarded

  me with five hundred rupees. The leopard was stuffed

  and kept in his verandah, to scare away the monkeys.

  Of course he told everyone what a good shot I was,

  although it was the last time he asked me to hold

  his gun.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘you shot the leopard, and you

  saved the life of the pretty deer. And your mango

  milkshake is the best in the world.’

  ‘Thank you, baba,’ said Mehmoud, refilling my

  glass. ‘This is a good year for mangoes.’

  And it was a good year for mango milkshakes. As

  I discovered.

  .4.

  Wrestling a King

  Cobra

  Later that summer, I was sent to a boarding

  school in the hills, and it was several

  months before I saw Mehmoud again. In

  those days, boarding school food was awful—dull,

  tasteless, monotonous—and I missed Mehmoud’s

  koftas and curries and cutlets. Variety is the spice of

  life. I missed his stories, too. But I regaled the other

  boys in the dormitory with Mehmoud’s tales of man-

  eating tigers and other denizens of the jungle, and

  Later that summer, I was sent to a boarding

  school in the hills, and it was several

  months before I saw Mehmoud again. In

  those days, boarding school food was awful—dull,

  tasteless, monotonous—and I missed Mehmoud’s

  koftas and curries and cutlets. Variety is the spice of

  life. I missed his stories, too. But I regaled the other

  boys in the dormitory with Mehmoud’s tales of man-

  eating tigers and other denizens of the jungle, and

  everyone was envious of the fact that the great Jim

  Corbett’s khansama was now my cook, and, in some

  ways, my personal storyteller, for not many had been

  privileged to hear his stories.

  When the winter holidays came around, I was

  relieved to find that Mehmoud was still in our employ.

  He celebrated my homecoming by making an extra-

  large Christmas cake. A plum cake, he called it, and

  it was full of good things like raisins, dates, cherries,

  figs, and, of course, plums.

  The Christmas cake stood in the middle of our

  dining table, but it was in the kitchen that I conducted

  most of my conversation with Mehmoud.

  ‘What was your most frightening experience?’ I

  asked him. ‘Your encounter with the tiger, or with

  the crocodile?’

  ‘Oh, they were nothing compared to my fight

  with the king cobra.’

  ‘A king cobra!’ I gasped. ‘That must have been

  really scary.’

  ‘Truly it was, baba. We were spending Christmas

  in the jungle—Carpet-sahib, his sister, and some

  He celebrated my homecoming by making an extra-

  large Christmas cake. A plum cake, he called it, and

  it was full of good things like raisins, dates, cherries,

  figs, and, of course, plums.

  The Christmas cake stood in the middle of our

  dining table, but it was in the kitchen that I conducted

  most of my conversation with Mehmoud.

  ‘What was your most frightening experience?’ I

  asked him. ‘Your encounter with the tiger, or with

  the crocodile?’

  ‘Oh, they were nothing compared to my fight

  with the king cobra.’

  ‘A king cobra!’ I gasped. ‘That must have been

  really scary.’

  ‘Truly it was, baba. We were spending Christmas

  in the jungle—Carpet-sahib, his sister, and some

  friend of theirs, and of course I was there with a

  couple of helpers to make sure that no one went

  hungry.

  ‘Winters can be very cold in the Terai region,

  and at night we had to use blankets and razais. It

  was wind
y too, and we kept the tent flaps closed. I

  thought nothing could get into my tent, but I was

  wrong. I am a good sleeper, hard to wake—as your

  good parents well know—but in the middle of the

  night I woke up with a horrible sensation. Winding

  slowly across my face was the cold, scaly body of a

  large snake!

  ‘And it wasn’t only on my face that I felt the slimy

  creature. It was moving across my legs, up my right

  side and over my right upper arm. Was it one snake,

  or several, I wondered.

  friend of theirs, and of course I was there with a

  couple of helpers to make sure that no one went

  hungry.

  ‘Winters can be very cold in the Terai region,

  and at night we had to use blankets and razais. It

  was windy too, and we kept the tent flaps closed. I

  thought nothing could get into my tent, but I was

  wrong. I am a good sleeper, hard to wake—as your

  good parents well know—but in the middle of the

  night I woke up with a horrible sensation. Winding

  slowly across my face was the cold, scaly body of a

  large snake!

  ‘And it wasn’t only on my face that I felt the slimy

  creature. It was moving across my legs, up my right

  side and over my right upper arm. Was it one snake,

  or several, I wondered.

  ‘Baba, there can be nothing more

  terrifying than waking up in the

  middle of the night to find a huge

  snake coiled around your body!

  ‘I lay still as death. I could see nothing

  of my terrible bedfellow. I did not dare to

  move a finger or even turn my head, as

  part of the snake’s body still rested

  against my throat.

  ‘Baba, there can be nothing more

  terrifying than waking up in the

  middle of the night to find a huge

  snake coiled around your body!

  ‘I lay still as death. I could see nothing

  of my terrible bedfellow. I did not dare to

  move a finger or even turn my head, as

  part of the snake’s body still rested

  against my throat.

  ‘My mouth was parched and dry. So

  I sent a silent appeal to the Almighty,

  seeking his help.

  ‘I think the snake was anxious to get

  out of my bed and out of the tent into

  which it had strayed, but had found itself

  trapped in the bedsheets and blanket.

  It passed on from my throat, moved

  down my waist, and crawled across my

  stomach. I could make out the snake’s

  head—broad and blunt—only a few feet

  away from my face. Suddenly, it was still.

  Then it poked its black forked tongue in

  and out, while its body stiffened as it

  prepared to strike.

  ‘I was covered in perspiration, and

  ‘My mouth was parched and dry. So

  I sent a silent appeal to the Almighty,

  seeking his help.

  ‘I think the snake was anxious to get

  out of my bed and out of the tent into

  which it had strayed, but had found itself

  trapped in the bedsheets and blanket.

  It passed on from my throat, moved

  down my waist, and crawled across my

  stomach. I could make out the snake’s

  head—broad and blunt—only a few feet

  away from my face. Suddenly, it was still.

  Then it poked its black forked tongue in

  and out, while its body stiffened as it

  prepared to strike.

  ‘I was covered in perspiration, and

  I could hear my heart thudding. The snake must have

  heard it, too. Suddenly, it reared its head a foot in the

  air, and remained poised there, its cruel black eyes

  glistening in the moonlight. The slightest movement

  of hand or head, and those deadly fangs would be

  buried in my quivering flesh!

  ‘I shut my eyes and waited in fear for the great

  snake to strike. But now it seemed to lose interest in

  my face, and once again it slithered down between

  my legs. A horrible sensation, baba! I was shivering

  all over. But then slowly I began to realize that the

  snake was not interested in me; it was interested

  only in getting out of my bed and out of the tent. I

  wanted to help it on its way. But if I made a sudden

  move, or leapt out of my bed, it would sink its fangs

  into me, of that I was certain.

  I could hear my heart thudding. The snake must have

  heard it, too. Suddenly, it reared its head a foot in the

  air, and remained poised there, its cruel black eyes

  glistening in the moonlight. The slightest movement

  of hand or head, and those deadly fangs would be

  buried in my quivering flesh!

  ‘I shut my eyes and waited in fear for the great

  snake to strike. But now it seemed to lose interest in

  my face, and once again it slithered down between

  my legs. A horrible sensation, baba! I was shivering

  all over. But then slowly I began to realize that the

  snake was not interested in me; it was interested

  only in getting out of my bed and out of the tent. I

  wanted to help it on its way. But if I made a sudden

  move, or leapt out of my bed, it would sink its fangs

  into me, of that I was certain.

  ‘I remained still, trying to control my shivering.

  The snake was trying every corner of the bed, looking

  for an outlet. I felt its head against the palm of my

  hand. I could wait no longer. I grabbed the snake by

  its head, digging my finger into its under-jaw, and

  leapt to my feet, standing upright with that huge

  king cobra coiled around my waist. It writhed and

  tugged, trying its utmost to free its head and strike

  me dead. But I did not lose my hold on its head.

  I kept twisting its neck until it released its own hold

  on me and slithered out of the tent.

  ‘That snake must have measured over seven feet

  in length, baba. Carpet-sahib could not believe I had

  fought it with my bare hands.’

  ‘You have strong hands, Mehmoud,’ I said, staring

  at his huge hands. I could well believe that he had

  ‘I remained still, trying to control my shivering.

  The snake was trying every corner of the bed, looking

  for an outlet. I felt its head against the palm of my

  hand. I could wait no longer. I grabbed the snake by

  its head, digging my finger into its under-jaw, and

  leapt to my feet, standing upright with that huge

  king cobra coiled around my waist. It writhed and

  tugged, trying its utmost to free its head and strike

  me dead. But I did not lose my hold on its head.

  I kept twisting its neck until it released its own hold

  on me and slithered out of the tent.

  ‘That snake must have measured over seven feet

  in length, baba. Carpet-sahib could not believe I had

  fought it with my bare hands.’

  ‘You have strong hands, Mehmoud,’ I said, staring

  at his huge hands. I could well believe that he had

  wrestled a king cobra, and other creatures

  besides.

 
; ‘Well, I need strong hands for chopping

  meat and making mutton cutlets for you, baba,

  not to speak of that Christmas cake, which was

  heavy going. Don’t eat too much of it, baba, it’s

  full of richness!’

  But I failed to take Mehmoud’s advice, ate

  too much cake, and spent most of Christmas

  Day in bed with a tummy-ache.

  wrestled a king cobra, and other creatures

  besides.

  ‘Well, I need strong hands for chopping

  meat and making mutton cutlets for you, baba,

  not to speak of that Christmas cake, which was

  heavy going. Don’t eat too much of it, baba, it’s

  full of richness!’

  But I failed to take Mehmoud’s advice, ate

  too much cake, and spent most of Christmas

  Day in bed with a tummy-ache.

  .5.

  The Face Beneath

  the Pillow

  ‘Camping in the jungle was full of danger,’

  I remarked. ‘You must have felt much

  safer working in the house.’

  ‘Well, cooking was certainly easier,’ said Mehmoud.

  ‘But I don’t know if it was much safer. The animals

  couldn’t get in, true, but there were ghosts and evil

  spirits lurking in some rooms. I changed my room,

  but there was always someone—something—after

  me. I don’t know if I should tell you this, baba.

  You have your own small room and you may start

  imagining things…’

  ‘Camping in the jungle was full of danger,’

  I remarked. ‘You must have felt much

  safer working in the house.’

  ‘Well, cooking was certainly easier,’ said Mehmoud.

  ‘But I don’t know if it was much safer. The animals

  couldn’t get in, true, but there were ghosts and evil

  spirits lurking in some rooms. I changed my room,

  but there was always someone—something—after

 

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