by Ruskin Bond
‘“Even at night?”
‘“At night men come in jeeps, with searchlights. They kill the deer for meat, and sell the skins of tigers and panthers.”
‘“I didn’t know a tiger’s skin was worth anything.”
‘“It’s worth more than our skins,” said Ramu knowingly. “It will fetch six hundred rupees. Who would pay that much for one of us?”
‘“Our fathers would.”
‘“True—if they had the money.”
‘“If my father sold his fields, he would get more than six hundred rupees.”
‘“True—but if he sold his fields, none of you would have anything to eat. A man needs land as much as a tiger needs a jungle.”
‘“Yes,” said Shyamu. “And that reminds me—my mother asked me to take some roots home.”
‘“I will help you.”
‘They walked deeper into the jheel until the water was up to their waists, and began pulling up waterlilies by the roots. The flower is beautiful Raki, but the villagers value the root more. When it is cooked, it makes a delicious and nourishing dish. The plant multiples rapidly and is always in good supply. In the year when famine hit the village, it was only the root of the water lily that saved many from starvation.
‘When Shyamu and Ramu had finished gathering roots, they emerged from the water and passed the time wrestling with each other, slipping about in the soft mud which soon covered them from head to toe.
‘To get rid of the mud, they dived into the water again and swam across to their buffaloes. Then, jumping on to their backs and digging their heels into the thick hides, the boys raced them across the jheel, shouting and hollering so much that all the birds flew away in fright, and the monkeys set up a shrill chattering of their own in the dhak trees.
‘In March, the Flame of the Forest, or dhak trees, are ablaze with bright scarlet and orange flowers.
‘It was evening, and the twilight was fading fast, when the buffalo herd finally wandered its way homeward, to be greeted outside the village by the barking of dogs, the gurgle of hookah-pipes, and the homely smell of cow-dung smoke.’
‘Yes, but what happened to the tiger? Did it get anything to eat that day? It must be difficult for animals that hunt their prey to find an easy catch every day, isn’t it?’ asked Rakesh wonderingly.
‘Well, the tiger made a kill that night—a chital. He made his approach against the wind so that the unsuspecting spotted deer did not see him until it was too late. A blow on the deer’s haunches from the tiger’s paw brought it down, and then the great beast fastened his fangs on the deer’s throat. It was all over in a few minutes. The tiger was too quick and strong, and the deer did not struggle much.
‘It was a violent end for so gentle a creature. But you must not imagine that in the jungle the deer live in permanent fear of death. It is only man, with his imagination and his fear of the hereafter, who is afraid of dying. In the jungle it is different. Sudden death appears at intervals. Wild creatures do not have to think about it, and so the sudden killing of one of their number by some predator of the forest is only a fleeting incident soon forgotten by the survivors.
‘The tiger feasted well, growling with pleasure as he ate his way up the body, leaving the entrails. When he had had his night’s fill he left the carcass for the vultures and jackals. The cunning old tiger never returned to the same carcass, even if there was still plenty left to eat. In the past, when he had gone back to a kill he had often found a man sitting in a tree waiting up for him with a rifle.
‘His belly filled, the tiger sauntered over to the edge of the forest and looked out across the sandy wasteland and the deep, singing river, at the twinkling lights of Rishikesh on the opposite bank, and raised his head and roared his defiance at mankind.
‘He was a lonesome bachelor. It was five or six years since he had a mate. She had been shot by the trophy-hunters, and her two cubs had been trapped by men who do trade in wild animals. One went to a circus, where he had to learn tricks to amuse men and respond to the crack of a whip; the other, more fortunate, went first to a zoo in Delhi and was later transferred to a zoo in America.’
‘Poor old tiger—all alone in this jungle. I wonder if life in American zoos is any better for a tiger, though. A zoo is a zoo after all, isn’t it? You don’t have the freedom to do as you please . . .’ Rakesh’s sympathy for the tigers was endearing.
‘Yes Raki—a zoo isn’t much fun for the animals staying in it. But at least they are safe from hunters and poachers. And that is what animals in the forests always have to fear. It is not easy for them in either case. Sometimes, when the old tiger was very lonely, he gave a great roar, which could be heard throughout the forest. The villagers thought he was roaring in anger, but the jungle knew that he was really roaring out of loneliness. When the sound of his roar had died away, he paused, standing still, waiting for an answering roar; but it never came. It was taken up instead by the shrill scream of a barbet high up in a sal tree.
‘It was dawn now, dew-fresh and cool, and jungle-dwellers were on the move . . .
‘The black beady little eyes of a jungle rat were fixed on a small brown hen who was pecking around in the undergrowth near her nest He had a large family to feed, this rat, and he knew that in the hen’s nest was a clutch of delicious fawn-coloured eggs. He waited patiently for nearly an hour before he had the satisfaction of seeing the hen leave her nest and go off in search of food.
‘As soon as she had gone, the rat lost no time in making his raid. Slipping quietly out of his hole, he slithered along among the leaves; but, clever as he was, he did not realize that his own movements were being watched.
‘A pair of grey mongooses scouted about in the dry grass. They too were hungry, and eggs usually figured large on their menu. Now, lying still on an outcrop of rock, they watched the rat sneaking along, occasionally sniffing at the air and finally vanishing behind a boulder. When he reappeared, he was struggling to roll an egg uphill towards his hole.
‘The rat was in difficulty, pushing the egg sometimes with his paws, sometimes with his nose. The ground was rough, and the egg wouldn’t move straight. Deciding that he must have help, he scuttled off to call his spouse. Even now the mongooses did not descend on the tantalizing egg. They waited until the rat returned with his wife, and then watched as the male rat took the egg firmly between his forepaws and rolled over on to his back. The female rat then grabbed her mate’s tail and began to drag him along.
‘Totally absorbed in the struggle with the egg, the rat did not hear the approach of the mongooses. When these two large furry visitors suddenly bobbed up from behind a stone, the rats squealed with fright, abandoned the egg, and fled for their lives.
‘The mongooses wasted no time in breaking open the egg and making a meal of it. But just as, a few minutes ago, the rat had not noticed their approach, so now they did not notice the village boy, carrying a small bright axe and a net bag in his hands, creeping along.
‘Ramu too was searching for eggs, and when he saw the mongooses busy with one, he stood still to watch them, his eyes roving in search of the nest. He was hoping the mongoose would lead him to the nest; but, when they had finished their meal and made off into the undergrowth, Ramu had to do his own searching. He failed to find the nest, and moved further into the forest. The rat’s hopes were just reviving when, to his disgust, the mother hen returned.
‘Ramu now made his way to a mahua tree.
‘The flowers of the mahua can be eaten by animals as well as by men. Bears are particularly fond of them and will eat large quantities of flowers which gradually start fermenting in their stomachs with the result that the animals get quite drunk. Ramu had often seen a couple of bears stumbling home to their cave, bumping into each other or into the trunks of trees. They are short-sighted to begin with, and when drunk can hardly see at all. But their sense of smell and hearing are so good that in the end they find their way home.
‘Ramu decided he would gather some mahua flower
s, and climbed up the tree, which is leafless when it blossoms. He began breaking the white flowers and throwing them to the ground. He had been on the tree for about five minutes when he heard the whining grumble of a bear, and presently a young sloth bear ambled into the clearing beneath the tree.
‘He was a small bear, little more than a cub, and Ramu was not frightened; but, because he thought the mother might be in the vicinity, he decided to take no chances, and sat very still, waiting to see what the bear would do. He hoped it wouldn’t choose the mahua tree for a meal.
‘At first the young bear put his nose to the ground and sniffed his way along until he came to a large anthill. Here he began huffing and puffing, blowing rapidly in and out of his nostrils, causing the dust from the anthill to fly in all directions. But he was a disappointed bear, because the anthill had been deserted long ago. And so, grumbling, he made his way across to a tall wild-plum tree, and shinning rapidly up the smooth trunk, was soon perched on its topmost branches. It was only then that he saw Ramu.
‘The bear at once scrambled several feet higher up the tree, and laid himself out flat on a branch. It wasn’t a very thick branch and left a large expanse of bear showing on either side. The bear tucked his head away behind another branch, and so long as he could not see Ramu, seemed quite satisfied that he was well hidden, though he couldn’t help grumbling with anxiety, for a bear, like most animals, is afraid of man.
‘Bears, however, are also very curious—and curiosity has often led them into trouble. Slowly, inch by inch, the young bear’s black snout appeared over the edge of the branch; but immediately the eyes came into view and met Ramu’s, he drew back with a jerk and the head was once more hidden. The bear did this two or three times, and Ramu, highly amused, waited until it wasn’t looking, then moved some way down the tree. When the bear looked up again and saw that the boy was missing, he was so pleased with himself that he stretched right across to the next branch, to get a plum. Ramu chose this moment to burst into loud laughter. The startled bear tumbled out of the tree, dropped through the branches for a distance of some fifteen feet, and landed with a thud in a heap of dry leaves.
‘And then several things happened at almost the same time.
‘The mother bear came charging into the clearing. Spotting Ramu in the tree, she reared up on her hind legs, grunting fiercely. It was Ramu’s turn to be startled. There are few animals more dangerous than a rampaging mother bear, and the boy knew that one blow from her clawed forepaws could rip his skull open.
‘But before the bear could approach the tree, there was a tremendous roar, and the old tiger bounded into the clearing. He had been asleep in the bushes not far away—he liked a good sleep after a heavy meal—and the noise in the clearing had woken him.
‘He was in a bad mood, and his loud “A—Oonh!” made his displeasure quite clear. The bears turned and ran from the clearing, the youngster squealing with fright.
‘The tiger then came into the centre of the clearing, looked up at the trembling boy, and roared again.
‘Ramu nearly fell out of the tree.
‘“Good day to you, Uncle,” he stammered, showing his teeth in a nervous grin.
‘Perhaps this was too much for the tiger. With a low growl, he turned his back on the mahua tree and padded off into the jungle, his tail twitching in disgust.’
‘Raki,’ called Prem from the dining room, ‘it’s time for dinner. Finish that first and then you can go on with your storytelling session.’
‘You heard what your father wants. Let’s eat and then continue with the story, all right?’ I said to Rakesh. ‘Fine,’ he said and jumped off my lap to run into the dining room.
That night, when Rakesh told everyone at home about the tiger and how it had saved Ramu from a female bear, it started a round of tiger stories—about how some of them could be gentlemen, others rogues. Sooner or later the conversation came round to man-eaters, and Prem told two stories which he swore were true, although his listeners only half believed him.
The first story concerned the belief that a man-eating tiger is guided towards his next victim by the spirit of a human being previously killed and eaten by the tiger. Prem said that his grandfather actually knew three hunters who sat up in a machan over a human kill, and when the tiger came, the corpse sat up and pointed with his right hand at the men in the tree. The tiger then went away. But the hunters knew he would return, and one man was brave enough to get down from the tree and tie the right arm of the corpse to its side. Later, when the tiger returned, the corpse sat up and this time pointed out the men with his left hand. The enraged tiger sprang into the tree and killed his enemies in the machan.
‘And then there was a bania,’ said Prem, beginning another story, ‘who lived in a village in the jungle. He wanted to visit a neighbouring village to collect some money that was owed to him, but as the road lay through heavy forest in which lived a terrible man-eating tiger, he did not know what to do. Finally, he went to a sadhu who gave him two powders. By eating the first powder he could turn into a huge tiger, capable of dealing with any other tiger in the jungle, and by eating the second he would become a bania again.
‘Armed with his two powders, and accompanied by his pretty young wife, the bania set out on his journey. They had not gone far into the forest when they came upon the man-eater sitting in the middle of the road. Before swallowing the first powder, the bania told his wife to stay where she was, so that when he returned after killing the tiger, she could at once give him the second powder and enable him to resume his original form.
‘Well, the bania’s plan worked, but only up to a point. He swallowed the first powder and immediately became a magnificent tiger. With a great roar, he bounded towards the man-eater, and after a brief, furious fight, killed his opponent. Then, with his jaws still dripping blood, he returned to his wife.
‘The poor girl was terrified and spilt the second powder on the ground. The bania was so angry that he pounced on his wife and killed and ate her. And afterwards this terrible tiger was so enraged at not being able to become a human again that he killed and ate hundreds of people all over the country.’
‘The only people he spared,’ added Prem, with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘were those who owed him money. A bania never gives up a loan as lost, and the tiger still hoped that one day he might become a human again and be able to collect his dues.’
Dinner over, Rakesh once again settled himself on my lap and asked me to continue the story.
‘Let’s do one thing,’ I said. ‘The rest of the story is too long to complete tonight. So, I will narrate to you a bit of it now, and go on with the remaining part tomorrow. By tomorrow evening you should be able to give a fitting ending to my story, fine?’
‘All right,’ said Rakesh. He looked a bit sleepy already, but wouldn’t admit it.
‘Okay then. Next morning, when Ramu came back from the well which was used to irrigate his father’s fields, he found a crowd of curious children surrounding a jeep and three strangers who carried guns. Each of the strangers had a gun, and they were accompanied by two bearers and a vast amount of provisions.
‘They had heard that there was a tiger in the area, and they wanted to shoot it.
‘One of the hunters, who looked even more strange than the others, had come all the way from America to shoot a tiger, and he vowed that he would not leave the country without a tiger’s skin in his baggage. One of his companions had said that he could buy a tiger’s skin in Delhi, but the hunter said he preferred to get his own trophies.
‘These men had money to spend, and as most of the villagers needed money badly they were only too willing to go into the forest to construct a machan for the hunters. The platform, big enough to take the three men, was put up in the branches of a tall tun, or mahogany, tree.
‘It was the only night the hunters used the machan. At the end of March, though the days are warm, the nights are still cold. The hunters had neglected to bring blankets, and by midnight their tee
th were chattering. Ramu, having tied up a buffalo calf for them at the foot of the tree, made as if to go home but instead circled the area, hanging up bits and pieces of old clothing on small trees and bushes. He thought he owed that much to the tiger. He knew the wily old king of the jungle would keep well away from the bait if he saw the bits of clothing—for where there were men’s clothes, there would be men.
‘The vigil lasted well into the night but the tiger did not come near the tun tree. Perhaps he wasn’t hungry; perhaps he got Ramu’s message. In any case, the men in the tree soon gave themselves away.
‘The cold was really too much for them. A flask of rum was produced, and passed round, and it was not long before there was more purpose to finishing the rum than to finishing off a tiger. Silent at first, the men soon began talking in whispers; and to jungle creatures a human whisper is as telling as a trumpet call.
‘Soon the men were quite merry, talking in loud voices. And when the first morning light crept over the forest, and Ramu and his friends came back to fetch the great hunters, they found them fast asleep in the machan.
‘The hunters looked surly and embarrassed as they trudged back to the village.
‘“No game left in these parts,” said the American. ‘“Wrong time of the year for tiger,” said the second man.
‘“Don’t know what the country’s coming to,” said the third.
‘And complaining about the weather, the poor quality of cartridges, the quantity of rum they had drunk, and the perversity of tigers, they drove away in disgust.
‘That’s all for now Raki. You are yawning away, so go to sleep.’
‘Don’t forget your promise to tell me the rest,’ said Rakesh as he walked drowsily to his room.
Early next morning as I was having my bed-tea, Rakesh came into my room, threw himself on my bed and asked me, ‘Can you begin with the second part of your story now? Last night I dreamt of an old but mighty tiger, and have been eager to find out what happened to our tiger, so tell me!’