by Ruskin Bond
TIGER MY FRIEND
TIGER MY FRIEND
Ruskin Bond
Copyright © Ruskin Bond
Published 2010 by
Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd.
7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj,
New Delhi 110 002
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Illustrated by Valerie Littlewood
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter One
On the left bank of the river Ganges, where it flows out from the Himalayan foothills, is a long stretch of heavy forest. There are villages on the fringe of the forest, inhabited by farmers and herdsmen. Big-game hunters came to the area for many years, and as a result the animals had been getting fewer. The trees, too, had been disappearing slowly; and as the animals lost their food and shelter, they moved further into the foothills.
There was a time when this forest had provided a home for some thirty to forty tigers, but men in search of skins and trophies had shot them all, and now there remained only one old tiger in the jungle. The hunters had tried to get him, too, but he was a wise and crafty tiger, who knew the ways of man, and so far he had survived all attempts on his life.
Although the tiger had passed the prime of his life, he had lost none of his majesty. His muscles rippled beneath the golden yellow of his coat, and he walked through the long grass with the confidence of one who knew that he was still a king, although his subjects were fewer. His great head pushed through the foliage, and it was only his tail, swinging high, that sometimes showed above the sea of grass.
He was heading for water, the water of a large marsh, where he sometimes went to drink or cool off. The marsh was usually deserted except when the buffaloes from a nearby village were brought there to bathe or wallow in the muddy water.
The tiger waited in the shelter of a rock, his ears pricked for any unfamiliar sound. He knew that it was here that hunters sometimes waited for him with guns.
He walked into the water, in amongst the water-lilies, and drank slowly. He was seldom in a hurry when he ate or drank.
He raised his head and listened, one paw suspended in the air.
A strange sound had come to him on the breeze, and he was wary of strange sounds. So he moved swiftly into the shelter of the tall grass that bordered the marsh, and climbed a hillock until he reached his favourite rock. This rock was big enough to hide him and to give him shade.
The sound he had heard was only a flute, sounding thin and reedy in the forest. It belonged to Nandu, a slim brown boy who rode a buffalo. Nandu played vigorously on the flute. Chottu, a slightly smaller boy, riding another buffalo, brought up the rear of the herd.
There were eight buffaloes in the herd, which belonged to the families of Nandu and Chottu, who were cousins. Their fathers sold buffalo-milk and butter in villages further down the river.
The tiger had often seen them at the marsh, and he was not bothered by their presence. He knew the village folk would leave him alone as long as he did not attack their buffaloes. And as long as there were deer in the jungle, he would not be interested in other prey.
He decided to move on and find a cool shady place in the heart of the jungle, where he could rest during the hot afternoon and be free of the flies and mosquitoes that swarmed around the marsh. At night he would hunt.
With a lazy grunt that was half a roar, "A-oonh!" – he got off his haunches and sauntered off into the jungle.
The gentlest of tigers' roars can be heard a mile away, and the boys, who were barely fifty yards distant, looked up immediately.
"There he goes!" said Nandu, taking the flute from his lips and pointing with it towards the hillock. "Did you see him?"
"I saw his tail, just before he disappeared. He's a big tiger!"
"Don't call him tiger. Call him Uncle."
"Why?" asked Chottu.
"Because it's unlucky to call a tiger a tiger. My father told me so. But if you meet a tiger, and call him Uncle, he will leave you alone."
"I see," said Chottu. "You have to make him a relative. I'll try and remember that."
The buffaloes were now well into the marsh, and some of them were lying down in the mud. Buffaloes love soft wet mud and will wallow in it for hours. Mandu and Chottu were not so fond of the mud, so they went swimming in deeper water. Later, they rested in the shade of an old silk-cotton tree.
It was evening, and the twilight fading fast, when the buffalo herd finally made 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.
Chapter Two
At dawn next day Chottu was in the jungle on his own, gathering Mahua flowers.
The flowers of the Mahua tree can be eaten by animals as well as by humans. Chottu's mother made them into a jam, of which he was particularly fond. Bears like them, too, and will eat them straight off the tree.
Chottu climbed a large Mahua tree – leafless when in bloom – and began breaking the white flowers and throwing them to the ground. He had been in the tree for about five minutes when he heard the sound made by a bear – a sort of whining grumble – and presently a young bear ambled into the clearing beneath the tree.
It was a small bear, little more than a cub, and Chottu was not frightened. But he knew the mother bear might be close by, so 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 same tree for a breakfast of Mahua flowers.
At first the young bear put his nose to the ground and sniffed his way along until he came to a large ant-hill. Here he began huffing and puffing, blowing rapidly in and out of his nose, making the dust from the ant-hill fly in all directions. Bears love eating ants! But he was a disappointed bear, because the ant-hill had been deserted long ago. And so, grumbling, he made his way across to a wild plum tree. Shinning rapidly up the smooth trunk, he was soon perched in the upper branches. It was only then that he saw Chottu.
The bear at once scrambled several feet higher up the tree – the wild plum grows quite tall – 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. He tucked his head away behind another branch and, so long as he could not see the boy, seemed quite satisfied that he was well hidden, though he couldn't help grumbling with anxiety. Like most animals, he could smell humans, and he was afraid of them.
Bears, however, are also very curious. And slowly, inch by inch, the young bear's black snout appeared over the edge of the branch. Immediately he saw Chottu, he drew back with a jerk and his head was once more hidden.
The bear did this two or three times, and Chottu, now greatly 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 at a plum. Chottu chose this moment to burst into 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.
&nbs
p; The mother bear came charging into the clearing. Spotting Chottu in the tree, she reared up on her hind legs, grunting fiercely.
It was Chottu'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 finish him.
But before the bear reached the tree, there was a tremendous roar, and the tiger bounded into the clearing. He had been asleep in the bushes not far away, having feasted well on a spotted deer the previous night. He liked a good sleep after a heavy meal, and now the noise in the clearing had woken him, putting him in a very bad mood.
The tiger's roar made his displeasure quite clear. Both bears turned and ran from the clearing, the younger one squealing with fright.
The tiger then came into the centre of the clearing, looked up at the trembling boy, and roared again.
Chottu 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.
Chapter Three
The following evening, when Nandu and Chottu came home with the buffalo herd, they found a crowd of curious villagers surrounding a jeep in which sat three strangers with guns. They were hunters, and they were accompanied by servants and a large store of provisions.
They had heard that there was a tiger in the area, and they wanted to shoot it.
These men had money to spend; and, as most of the villagers were poor, they were prepared to go into the forest to make a tree-platform for the hunters. The platform, big enough to take the three men, was put up in the branches of a tall mahogany tree.
Nandu was told by his father to tie a goat at the foot of the tree. While these preparations were being made, Chottu slipped off and circled the area, with a plan of his own in mind. He had no wish to see the tiger killed – he felt he owed it a favour for saving him from the bear – and he had decided to give it some sort of warning. So he tied up bits and pieces of old clothing on small trees and bushes. He knew the wily old king of the jungle would keep well away from the area if he saw the bits of clothing – for where there were men's clothes, there would be men.
The vigil kept by the hunters lasted all through the night, but the tiger did not come near the tree. Perhaps he'd got Chottu's warning; or perhaps he wasn't hungry.
It was a cold night, and it wasn't long before the hunters opened their flasks of rum. Soon they were whispering among themselves; then they were chattering so loudly that no wild animal would have come anywhere near them. By morning they were fast asleep.
They looked grumpy and shamefaced as they trudged back to the village.
"Wrong time of the year for tiger," said the first hunter.
"Nothing left in these parts," said the second.
"I think I've caught a cold," said the third. And they drove away in disgust.
It was not until the beginning of the summer that something happened to alter the hunting habits of the tiger and bring him into conflict with the villagers.
There had been no rain for almost two months, and the tall jungle grass had become a sea of billowy dry yellow. Some city-dwellers, camping near the forest, had been careless while cooking and had started a forest fire. Slowly it spread into the interior, from where the acrid fumes smoked the tiger out towards the edge of the jungle. As night came on, the flames grew more vivid, the smell stronger. The tiger turned and made for the marsh, where he knew he would be safe provided he swam across to the little island in the centre.
Next morning he was on the island, which was untouched by the fire. But his surroundings had changed. The slopes of the hills were black with burnt grass, and most of the tall bamboo had disappeared. The deer and the wild pig, finding that their natural cover had gone, moved further east.
When the fire had died down and the smoke had cleared, the tiger prowled through the forest again but found no game. He drank at the marsh and settled down in a shady spot to sleep the day away.
The tiger spent four days looking for game. By that time he was so hungry that he even resorted to rooting among the dead leaves and burnt out stumps of trees, searching for worms and beetles. This was a sad comedown for the king of the jungle. But even now he hesitated to leave the area in search of new hunting grounds, for he had a deep fear and suspicion of the unknown forests further east – forests that were fast being swept away by human habitation. He could have gone north, into the high mountains, but they did not provide him with the long grass he needed for cover.
At break of day he came to the marsh. The water was now shallow and muddy, and a green scum had spread over the top. He drank, and then lay down across his favourite rock, hoping for a deer; but none came. He was about to get up and lope away when he heard an animal approach.
The tiger at once slipped off his rock and flattened himself on the ground, his tawny stripes merging with the dry grass.
A buffalo emerged from the jungle and came to the water.
The buffalo was alone.
He was a big male, and his long curved horns lay right back across his shoulders. He moved leisurely towards the water, completely unaware of the tiger's presence.
The tiger hesitated before making his charge.
It was a long time – many years – since he had killed a buffalo, and he knew instinctively that the villagers would be angry. But the pangs of hunger overcame his caution. There was no morning breeze, everything was still, and the smell of the tiger did not reach the buffalo. A monkey chattered on a nearby tree, but his warning went unheeded.
Crawling stealthily on his stomach, the tiger skirted the edge of the marsh and approached the buffalo from behind. The buffalo was standing in shallow water, drinking, when the tiger charged from the side and sank his teeth into his victim's thigh.
The buffalo staggered, but turned to fight. He snorted and lowered his horns at the tiger. But the big cat was too fast for the brave buffalo. He bit into the other leg and the buffalo crashed to the ground. Then the tiger moved in for the kill.
After resting, he began to eat. Although he had been starving for days, he could not finish the huge carcase. And so he quenched his thirst at the marsh and dragged the remains of the buffalo into the bushes, to conceal it from jackals and vultures; then he went off to find a place to sleep.
He would return to the kill when he was hungry.
Chapter Four
The herdsmen were naturally very upset when they discovered that a buffalo was missing. And next day, when Nandu and Chottu came running home to say that they had found the half-eaten carcase near the marsh, the men of the village grew angry. They knew that once the tiger realized how easy it was to kill their animals, he would make a habit of doing so.
Kundan Singh, Nandu's father, who owned the buffalo, said he would go after the tiger himself.
"It's too late now," said his wife. "You should never have let the buffalo roam on its own."
"He had been on his own before. This is the first time the tiger has attacked one of our animals."
"He must have been hungry," said Chottu.
"Well, we are hungry too," said Kundan Singh. "Our best buffalo – the only male in the herd. It will cost me at least two thousand rupees to buy another."
"The tiger will kill again," said Chottu's father. "Many years ago there was a tiger who did the same thing. He became a cattle-killer."
"Should we send for the hunters?"
"No, they are clumsy fools. We will have to shoot him ourselves. Tonight he will return to the carcase for another meal. You have a gun?"
Kundan Singh smiled proudly and, going to a cupboard, brought out a double-barrelled gun. It looked ancient!
"My father bought it from an Englishman," he said.
"How long ago was that?"
"About the time I was born."
"And have you ever used it?" as
ked Chottu's father, looking at the old gun with distrust.
"A few years ago I let it off at some bandits. Don't you remember? When I fired, they did not stop running until they had crossed the river."
"Yes, but did you hit anyone?"
"I would have, if someone's goat hadn't got in the way."
"We had roast meat that night," said Nandu.
Accompanied by Chottu's father and several others, Kundan set out for the marsh, where, without shifting the buffalo's carcase – for they knew the tiger would not come near them if he suspected a trap – they made another tree-platform in the branches of a tall tree some thirty feet from the kill.
Late that evening, Kundan Singh and Chottu's father settled down for the night on their rough platform.
Several hours passed and nothing but a jackal was seen by the watchers. And then, just as the moon came up over the distant hills, the two men were startled by a low "A–oonh", followed by a suppressed, rumbling growl.
Kundan tightened his grip on the old gun. There was complete silence for a minute or two, then the sound of stealthy footfalls on the dead leaves beneath the tree.
A moment later the tiger walked out into the moonlight and stood over his kill.
At first Kundan could do nothing. He was completely taken aback by the size of the tiger. Chottu's father had to nudge him, and then Kundan quickly put the gun to his shoulder, aimed at the tiger's head, and pressed the trigger.
The gun went off with a flash and two loud bangs, as Kundan fired both barrels. There was a tremendous roar. The tiger rushed at the tree and tried to leap into the branches. Fortunately, the platform had been built at a good height, and the tiger was unable to reach it.
He roared again and then bounded off into the forest.
"What a tiger!" exclaimed Kundan, half in fear and half in admiration.