When the Tiger Was King Read online

  When The Tiger Was King

  Selection Copyright © Ruskin Bond 2010

  Published 2010 by

  Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd.

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  Contents

  Editor's Foreword

  Tiger Facts

  Tiger Talk

  When Grandfather Tickled a Tiger • Ruskin Bond

  Gond Tiger Fable of Singbaba

  The Tiger in the Tunnel • Ruskin Bond

  The Life of a Tiger • S. Eardley-Wilmot

  Man-Eater • Frank Buck with Edward Anthony

  The Man-Eater of Botta Singarum • Henry Astbury

  The Langra Tigress • Hugh Astbury

  Sandy Beresford's Tigerhunt • Charles A. Kincaid

  The Tiger of Chao-Ch'êng

  Where's the Tiger? • Surendra Mohanty

  Editor's Foreword

  efore the tiger vanishes forever from the land which was once synonymous with tigers, let us at least celebrate its former majesty with stories that pay tribute to its fierce splendour and terrible beauty.

  'How can there be an India without tigers?' asked ten year old Gautam the other day, and I confess that I did not have an answer. In the past, great leaders were compared to tigers and their kind – Tippu Sultan, the tiger of Mysore; Ranjit Singh, the lion of the Punjab; Subhas Chandra Bose, the 'sponging tiger' of Bengal. Such comparisons may not be possible in future, if tigers are only to be found in zoos.

  Twenty years from now a child might look at a picture of the goddess Durga riding her favourite steed, and ask his (or her) mother, 'But what is that strange creature the Devi rides? Oh, a tiger! And were there tigers in India once?'

  Indeed, there were once many thousands of tigers throughout the land, as these stories will testify. Now only a few remain. The tiger is a creature of wide open spaces and extensive forests, and in an age when space is at a premium and the forests are disappearing, the tiger is at a disadvantage.

  Although man and tiger were often in conflict, the tiger has always played an important part in the folklore of Asia, and I have included a couple of charming folktales along with more realistic face. Younger readers might like to read my story, Tiger my Friend , also published by Rupa.

  Ruskin Bond

  1 August 2010

  Tiger Facts

  he tiger is the largest living member of the cat family. Like all the other cats, it is a carnivore (a meat-eater). You can find tigers scattered over Asia – India in the west, Siberia in the north, Sumatra in the east.

  The tiger's back is tawny yellow with blackish stripes, and its belly is white. The stripes look like the shadows of branches or tall grasses, so they provide excellent camouflage when the animal is stalking its prey.

  Male tigers grow to about 2.5 metres long and weigh up to 227 kilograms. Females are smaller and fiercer than males. When they give birth, they usually have at least two cubs, and not more than six.

  The cubs are born fully striped and about the size of a house cat. When they are five months old, their mother kills small game for them – mouse deer, jungle fowl, pig, peacock. . . . The cubs play with their food and learn to eat meat. When they are a year old, the tigress no longer kills for them; she cripples the prey and teaches her cubs how to stalk and kill it for themselves. At eighteen months, the young tigers start making their own kills, and learn how to hunt silently, using foliage as cover.

  Some tigers can jump 5.5 metres straight up, and leap 4 metres across a gorge.

  Tigers are feared for their speed, strength, ferocity and cunning. They appear suddenly, and hunt swiftly. A tiger can kill a large animal such as a water buffalo by leaping on its back and tearing it with claws and teeth. Thousands of people have been killed by tigers over the years, but scientists say that they do not naturally hunt humans, except in self-defence or by mistake. For example, tigers seldom attack people riding on elephants or in jeeps or walking upright on forest roads. But when people bend over to cut grass or sugar cane, or collect firewood, to a tiger's eye they look like deer. Then a tiger will attack, thinking that it has found its prey.

  As tigers attack from behind, fishermen in boats on jungle rivers are in danger. They wear face masks on the back of their heads for protection!

  Tiger Talk

  igers live in language as well as in the jungles of Asia. A tigerish person is cruel, bloodthirsty, fierce and relentless.

  A tiger for punishment is a person who works, plays or fights with great energy and enthusiasm, and won't give in.

  A paper tiger is a person who appears to be strong, but in fact has no power at all.

  The word 'tiger' describes many different flora and fauna – some striped and some spotted. Why aren't the spotted ones named after the leopard? The tiger was described in a Bestiary (book of beasts) in the thirteenth century as 'a beast with colourful spots'. Perhaps that is why some spotted flora and fauna have tiger names.

  Tiger-eye is a plant with large purple, yellow or white spotted flowers.

  Tiger-grass is a palm of western India and Iran.

  Tiger-lily has bell-like orange flowers marked with black or purplish spots.

  The tiger-moth is a large scarlet and brown moth spotted and streaked with white.

  Tiger-beetle, tiger-bird, tiger-bittern and tiger shark are other flora and fauna you might have heard of.

  Even wood, stone or water can be named after a tiger. Tiger-wood, streaked black and brown, is used for making furniture. Tiger-eye is a yellowish-brown quartz with a dark 'eye'. It is often cut into gemstones, polished and set into jewellery such as rings and pendants. It is said that the River Tigris was named after the tiger because it is the swiftest of all rivers.

  When Grandfather Tickled a Tiger

  imothy, our tiger cub, was found by my grandfather on a hunting expedition in the Terai jungles, in northern India. Because my grandfather lived nearby and knew the jungles well, he was persuaded to accompany the hunting party.

  When grandfather strolled down a forest path some distance from the main party, he discovered a lost tiger cub, only eighteen inches long, hidden among the roots of a banyan tree. After the expedition ended he took the tiger home to Dehra, where grandmother named him Timothy.

  Timothy's favourite place in the house was the living room. He would snuggle down comfortably on the sofa, reclining there with serene dignity and snarling only when anyone tried to take his place. One of his chief amusements was to stalk whoever was playing with him and so, when I went to live with my grandparents, I became one of the tiger's pets. With a crafty look in his eyes and his body in a deep crouch, he would creep closer and closer to me, suddenly making a dash for my feet. Then, rolling on his back and kicking with delight, he would pretend to bite my ankles.

  By this time he was the siz
e of a full-grown golden retriever. When I took him for walks in Dehra, people on the road would give us a wide berth. At night he slept in the quarters of our cook, Mahmoud. 'One of these days,' grandmother declared, 'we are going to find Timothy sitting on Mahmoud's bed and there was no sign of Mahmoud!'

  When Timothy was about six months old, his stalking became more serious and he had to be chained up more often. Even the household started to mistrust him and, when he began to trail Mahmoud around the house with what looked like villainous intent, grandfather decided it was time to take Timothy to a zoo.

  The nearest zoo was at Lucknow, some two hundred miles away. Grandfather reserved a first-class compartment on the train for himself and Timothy, then they set forth. The Lucknow zoo authorities were only too pleased to receive a well-fed and fairly civilised tiger.

  Grandfather had no chance to see how Timothy was getting on in his new home until about six months later, when he and grandmother visited relatives in Lucknow. Grandfather went to the zoo and directly to Timothy's cage. The tiger was there, crouched in a corner, full-grown, his magnificent striped coat gleaming with health.

  'Hello, Timothy,' said grandfather.

  Climbing the railing, he put his arms through the bars of the cage. Timothy approached, and allowed grandfather to put both arms about his head. Grandfather stroked the tiger's forehead and tickled his ears. Each time Timothy growled, grandfather gave him a smack across the mouth, which had been his sway of keeping the tiger quiet when he lived with us.

  Timothy licked grandfather's hands and showed nervousness, springing away when a leopard in the next cage snarled at him. Grandfather shooed the leopard off and Timothy returned to licking his hands. Every now and then the leopard would rush at the bars, and Timothy would again slink into a corner.

  A number of people had gathered to watch the reunion, when a keeper pushed his way through the crowd and asked grandfather what he was doing. 'I'm talking to Timothy,' said grandfather. 'Weren't you here when I gave him to the zoo six months ago?'

  'I haven't been here very long,' said the surprised keeper. 'Please continue your conversation. I have never been able to touch that tiger myself. I find him very bad-tempered.'

  Grandfather had been stroking and slapping Timothy for about five minutes when he noticed another keeper observing him with some alarm. Grandfather recognised him as the keeper who had been there when he had delivered Timothy to the zoo. 'You remember me,' grandfather said. 'Why don't you transfer Timothy to a different cage, away from this stupid leopard?'

  'But—sir,' stammered the keeper. 'It is not your tiger.'

  'I realise that he is no longer mine,' said grandfather testily. 'But at least consider my suggestion.'

  'I remember your tiger very well,' said the keeper, 'he died two months ago.'

  'Died!' exclaimed grandfather.

  'Yes sir, of pneumonia. This tiger was trapped in the hills only last month, and he is very dangerous!'

  The tiger was still licking grandfather's arm and apparently enjoying it more all the time. Grandfather withdrew his hands from the cage in a motion that seemed to take an age. With his face near the tiger's he mumbled, 'Goodnight, Timothy.' Then, giving the keeper a scornful look, grandfather walked briskly out of the zoo.

  Ruskin Bond

  Gond Tiger Fable of Singbaba

  It is interesting to note that the leading idea of Rudyard Kipling's fascinating 'Jungle Book' of which the scene is laid in Seoni appears to be taken from the translation of a Gond fable given in Sterndale's 'Seoni', though of course stories of children being brought up by she-wolves have been reported from various parts of India.

  In view of the interest attaching to the fable it may be reproduced in full here.

  THE SONG OF SANDSUMJEE

  andsumjee married six wives but had no heir. So he married a seventh and departed on a journey. During his absence, after his relatives had sacrificed to god, the seventh wife bore a son, Singbaba. The 'small wife was sleeping, the other six were there.' They took the babe and threw it into the buffalo's stable, placing a puppy by her side, and said, 'Lo! a puppy is born.'

  But the buffaloes took care of Singbaba and poured milk into his mouth.

  When the six wives went to look for him, they found Singbaba playing.

  Thence they took him and threw him to the cows, but the cows said, 'Let no one hurt him,' and poured milk into his mouth. When the six wives went to look again whether he was alive or dead, lo! Singbaba was playing.

  Thence they took him and threw him into a well, but on the third day when they went to enquire, they found Singbaba still playing. So they took him and threw him on the tiger's path, and they heard his cries as they left him. But the tigress felt compassion, and said, 'It is my child'. So saying she took him to her den, and having weaned her cubs fed Singbaba with milk, and he grew up with the cubs. To her one day Singbaba said, 'I am naked; I want clothes.' The tigress went and sat by the market road till muslin and cloth makers came along; on seeing her run at them they dropped their bundles and fled, which she took up and brought to Singbaba, who clothed himself and kissed her feet.

  Another day he said, 'Give me a bow.' She again went and waited till a sepoy armed with a bow passed by. She roared and rushed at him, on which he dropped the bow and fled, and she picked it up and brought it to Singbaba who shot birds with it for his little tiger brothers.

  In the meantime Sandsumjee returned home and said: 'Is anyone inspired? Has god entered into anyone? If so, let him arise.'

  Then Singbaba received inspiration, and went with his big and little brothers. In the midst of the assembly was a Brahman whom Singbaba asked to get up; but he refused, whereupon the big brother (tiger) got angry and ate him up. All asked Singbaba: 'Who are you?'

  'Ask the buffaloes,' he replied, telling his little brother to go and call his mother. She came, and the three species were assembled before the people. 'Question them,' said Singbaba. So they asked, 'Who is he?' First the buffaloes answered, 'Sandsumjee's son', and they described his history.

  Then the cows told how he stayed with them for two days and then was thrown into the well; from thence they knew not where he went.

  'Ask my mother,' said Singbaba.

  The tigress told how she weaned her cubs and nourished him, on which all embraced her feet and established her as a godess, giving her the six wicked wives. So Singbaba became illustrious, and the tigress was worshipped.

  Sandsumjee Babana'id saka and ,

  Of Sandsumjee Baba this song is,

  Bhirri bans bhirrita saka and.

  Of Bhirri bamboo jungle Bhirri this song is.

  From Central Provinces District Gazetteers, Seoni District,

  edited by R.V. Russel , I.C.S., 1907

  The Tiger in the Tunnel

  embu, the boy, opened his eyes in the dark and wondered if his father was ready to leave the hut on his nightly errand.

  There was no moon that night, and the deathly stillness of the surrounding jungle was broken only occasionally by the shrill cry of a cicada. Sometimes from far-off came the hollow hammering of a woodpecker, carried along on the faint breeze or the grunt of a wild boar could be heard as he dug up a favourite root. But these sounds were rare, and the silence of the forest always returned to swallow them up.

  Baldeo, the watchman, was awake. He stretched himself, slowly unwinding the heavy shawl that covered him like a shroud. It was close to midnight and the chill air made him shiver. The station, a small shack backed by heavy jungle, was a station only by the name; for trains only stopped there, if at all, for a few seconds before entering the deep cutting that led to the tunnel. Most trains merely slowed down before taking the sharp curve before the cutting.

  Baldeo was responsible for signalling whether or not the tunnel was clear of obstruction, and his hand-worked signal stood before the entrance. At night it was his duty to see that the lamp was burning, and that the overland mail passed through safely.

  'Shall I come too,
father?' asked Tembu sleepily, still lying huddled in a corner of the hut.

  'No, it is cold tonight. Do not get up.'

  Tembu, who was twelve, did not always sleep with his father at the station, for he had to help in the home too, where his mother and small sister were usually alone. They lived in a small tribal village on the outskirts of the forest, about three miles from the station. Their small rice fields did not provide them with more than a bare living, and Baldeo considered himself lucky to have got the job of Khalasi at this small wayside signal-stop.

  Still drowsy, Baldeo groped for his lamp in the darkness, then fumbled about in search of matches. When he had produced a light, he left the hut, closed the door behind him, and set off along the permanent way. Tembu had fallen asleep again.

  Baldeo wondered whether the lamp on the signal-post was still alight. Gathering his shawl closer about him, he stumbled on, sometimes along the rails, sometimes along the ballast. He longed to get back to his warm corner in the hut.

  The eeriness of the place was increased by the neighbouring hills which overhung the main line threateningly. On entering the cutting with its sheer rock walls towering high above the rails, Baldeo could not help thinking about the wild animals he might encounter. He had heard many tales of the famous tunnel tiger, a man-eater, who was supposed to frequent this spot; but he hardly believed these stories for, since his arrival at this place a month ago, he had not seen or even heard a tiger.

  There had, of course, been panthers, and only a few days back the villagers had killed one with their spears and axes. Baldeo had occasionally heard the roaring of a panther calling to its mate, but they had not come near the tunnel or shed.

  Baldeo walked confidently for, being a tribal himself, he was used to the jungle and its ways. Like his forefathers, he carried a small axe, fragile to look at, but deadly when in use. With it, in three or four swift strokes, he could cut down a tree as neatly as if it had been sawn; and he prided himself on his skill in wielding it against wild animals. He had killed a young boar with it once, and the family had feasted on the flesh for three days. The axe-head of pure steel, thin but ringing true like a bell, had been made by his father over a charcoal fire. This axe was part of himself, and wherever he went, be it to the local market seven miles away, or to a tribal dance, the axe was always in his hand. Occasionally, an official who had come to the station had offered him good money for the weapon; but Baldeo had no intention of parting with it.