Tigers for Dinner: Tall Tales by Jim Corbett's Khansama
TIGERS FOR DINNER
Ruskin Bond has been writing for over sixty years, and
now has over 120 titles in print—novels, collections
of stories, poetry, essays, anthologies, and books for
children. His first novel, The Room on the Roof, received
the prestigious John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in 1957. He
has also received the Padma Shri, and two awards from
the Sahitya Akademi—one for his short stories and
another for his writings for children. In 2012, the Delhi
government gave him its Lifetime Achievement Award.
Born in 1934, Ruskin Bond grew up in Jamnagar,
Shimla, New Delhi and Dehradun. Apart from three years
in the UK, he has spent all his life in India, and now lives
in Mussoorie with his adopted family.
A shy person, Ruskin says he likes being a writer
because, ‘When I’m writing there’s nobody watching me.
Today, it’s hard to find a profession where you’re not
being watched!’
Ruskin Bond has been writing for over sixty years, and
now has over 120 titles in print—novels, collections
of stories, poetry, essays, anthologies, and books for
children. His first novel, The Room on the Roof, received
the prestigious John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in 1957. He
has also received the Padma Shri, and two awards from
the Sahitya Akademi—one for his short stories and
another for his writings for children. In 2012, the Delhi
government gave him its Lifetime Achievement Award.
Born in 1934, Ruskin Bond grew up in Jamnagar,
Shimla, New Delhi and Dehradun. Apart from three years
in the UK, he has spent all his life in India, and now lives
in Mussoorie with his adopted family.
A shy person, Ruskin says he likes being a writer
because, ‘When I’m writing there’s nobody watching me.
Today, it’s hard to find a profession where you’re not
being watched!’
Sunaina Coelho works in Mumbai as a freelance
designer, creating animation for television and the
Internet and illustrating for books and magazines. She
studied animation film design at the National Institute of
Design, Ahmedabad. She likes to draw, read, cook (and
eat!), play with her cat, and whenever possible, travel
and see new places.
Published in
RED TURTLE by Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 2013
7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj
New Delhi 110002
Text copyright © Ruskin Bond 2013
Illustration copyright © Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-81-291-2114-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Typeset in Myriad Pro 16/30
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published.
Published in
RED TURTLE by Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 2013
7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj
New Delhi 110002
Text copyright © Ruskin Bond 2013
Illustration copyright © Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-81-291-2114-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Typeset in Myriad Pro 16/30
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published.
For my grandchildren, the adventurous five—
Siddharth, Shrishti, Gautam, Atish and Vaishnavi.
Have fun, stay happy!
* Contents *
Introduction
1∗Jungle Cook
2∗Exciting Encounters
3∗‘Good Shot, Mehmoud!’
4∗Wrestling a King Cobra
5∗The Face Beneath the Pillow
6∗The Tiger’s Claw
7∗Mehmoud Retires
8∗Mehmoud’s Sayings
* Introduction *
Did Mehmoud really exist, and did he really have
these adventures? These are questions I am often
asked.
When I was a small boy we did have a cook called
Mehmoud, and among his testimonials was one from
the great Jim Corbett, praising Mehmoud’s culinary
skills. We had no reason to doubt it was not genuine.
As to the tales themselves, well—like all
good storytellers, Mehmoud was given to a little
exaggeration, so we must allow him some poetic
licence. As his loyal fan, I swallowed everything he
told me.
Did Mehmoud really exist, and did he really have
these adventures? These are questions I am often
asked.
When I was a small boy we did have a cook called
Mehmoud, and among his testimonials was one from
the great Jim Corbett, praising Mehmoud’s culinary
skills. We had no reason to doubt it was not genuine.
As to the tales themselves, well—like all
good storytellers, Mehmoud was given to a little
exaggeration, so we must allow him some poetic
licence. As his loyal fan, I swallowed everything he
told me.
One of his specialities was Turtle Soup; but out
of respect for Red Turtle, the publisher of this book,
I am suppressing the recipe.
Ruskin Bond
.1.
Jungle Cook
My favourite stories as a child?
Well, it would be hard to beat the
tales—short or tall—that I heard from
Mehmoud, who was our khansama, or
cook, when I
was five or six years old.
My parents didn’t tell me many stories. Mum
was busy with her parties, and Dad with his stamp
collection; that is, when he wasn’t in his office. I had
the house and the grounds to myself, but there was
My favourite stories as a child?
Well, it would be hard to beat the
tales—short or tall—that I heard from
Mehmoud, who was our khansama, or cook, when I
was five or six years old.
My parents didn’t tell me many stories. Mum
was busy with her parties, and Dad with his stamp
collection; that is, when he wasn’t in his office. I had
the house and the grounds to myself, but there was
no one to talk to, expect the flowers. The cosmos
were good listeners. They nodded politely when I
spoke to them. The roses looked away; they were
very snobbish. The marigolds were friendly enough,
provided I didn’t pick them.
So I would wander into the kitchen, to see what
Mehmoud was making for lunch. And to taste the
no one to talk to, expect the flowers. The cosmos
were good listeners. They nodded politely when I
spoke to them. The roses looked away; they were
very snobbish. The marigolds were friendly enough,
provided I didn’t pick them.
So I would wander into the kitchen, to see what
Mehmoud was making for lunch. And to taste the
kofta curry or the pulao rice, just to make sure the
taste was right. Since then, I’ve been a curry taster
all my life.
Mehmoud was a good cook and in many ways, my
best friend (there being no children on the premises);
but he was also a great storyteller.
kofta curry or the pulao rice, just to make sure the
taste was right. Since then, I’ve been a curry taster
all my life.
Mehmoud was a good cook and in many ways, my
best friend (there being no children on the premises);
but he was also a great storyteller.
You see, before coming to us he’d worked for Jim
Corbett, the great shikari, who’d shot a great number
of man-eating tigers, apart from other dangerous
denizens of the jungle.
‘Did you see him shoot a tiger?’ I asked.
‘Oh, many times,’ said Mehmoud. ‘A tiger a week—
that was nothing to Carpet-sahib!’
‘Did the tigers come to the house, or did you go
looking for them?’
‘Carpet-sahib went after them. Most of the time
we were in the camps, and I had to do my cooking
in the open. Not an easy job, being a jungle cook.
Usually the salt was missing, and everyone would
complain.’
‘My mother says you put too much salt in the
food.’
You see, before coming to us he’d worked for Jim
Corbett, the great shikari, who’d shot a great number
of man-eating tigers, apart from other dangerous
denizens of the jungle.
‘Did you see him shoot a tiger?’ I asked.
‘Oh, many times,’ said Mehmoud. ‘A tiger a week—
that was nothing to Carpet-sahib!’
‘Did the tigers come to the house, or did you go
looking for them?’
‘Carpet-sahib went after them. Most of the time
we were in the camps, and I had to do my cooking
in the open. Not an easy job, being a jungle cook.
Usually the salt was missing, and everyone would
complain.’
‘My mother says you put too much salt in the
food.’
‘That’s so I don’t forget it. Better a salty dish than
a tasteless one. Don’t you agree, baba?’
‘And too many chillies,’ I added.
‘A chilli a day keeps the doctor away. That’s
what my grandfather used to say, and he was an
Unani—a doctor of natural medicine from the old
Persian system. A little masala, a little turmeric—and
you won’t need a medic! My grandfather was a wise
man, he taught me to read and write in Urdu, but I
never went to school—had to earn a living from a
very young age. So I learnt to cook—it’s not a bad
way of making a living.’
‘You’re not a bad cook.’
‘So tell your parents to increase my salary.’
‘Then be careful with the salt.’
‘You’re a salty boy. And saucy. Try one of these
koftas. I knew you’d come, so I made an extra kofta.’
‘Thank you, Mehmoud. But tell me about Corbett.
And tigers. Did you see a tiger?’
‘Of course I did. There were tigers all over the
what my grandfather used to say, and he was an
Unani—a doctor of natural medicine from the old
Persian system. A little masala, a little turmeric—and
you won’t need a medic! My grandfather was a wise
man, he taught me to read and write in Urdu, but I
never went to school—had to earn a living from a
very young age. So I learnt to cook—it’s not a bad
way of making a living.’
‘You’re not a bad cook.’
‘So tell your parents to increase my salary.’
‘Then be careful with the salt.’
‘You’re a salty boy. And saucy. Try one of these
koftas. I knew you’d come, so I made an extra kofta.’
‘Thank you, Mehmoud. But tell me about Corbett.
And tigers. Did you see a tiger?’
‘Of course I did. There were tigers all over the
place. Bang, bang, bang! Carpet-sahib kept firing,
and the tigers kept falling. Man-eaters, cattle-eaters,
child-eaters. One of them took my masalchi when
we were in camp. Took him from the tent we were
sharing. Dragged him out by his feet and carried him
away while he screamed. That tiger was too fast for
Carpet-sahib. By the time the camp aroused, both
tiger and masalchi had vanished. We found his bones
in the morning.’
‘What’s a masalchi?’ I asked.
‘The boy who helped me. He helped me prepare
the meat and vegetables, and washed all the dishes
afterwards. He was a big loss. For two weeks I had
to manage everything on my own. We couldn’t get
another masalchi. No applications. And I had to sleep
alone for the rest of the time we were in camp.
place. Bang, bang, bang! Carpet-sahib kept firing,
and the tigers kept falling. Man-eaters, cattle-eaters,
child-eaters. One of them took my masalchi when
we were in camp. Took him from the tent we were
sharing. Dragged him out by his feet and carried him
away while he screamed. That tiger was too fast for
Carpet-sahib. By the time the camp aroused, both
tiger and masalchi had vanished. We found his bones
in the morning.’
‘What’s a masalchi?’ I asked.
‘The boy who helped me. He helped me prepare
the meat and vegetables, and washed all the dishes
afterwards. He was a big loss. For two weeks I had
to manage everything on my own. We couldn’t get
another masalchi. No applications. And I had to sleep
alone for the rest of the tim
e we were in camp.
Carpet-sahib told me to keep a fire burning outside
my tent. Tigers stay away from fire. They don’t like
getting burnt.’
‘And did it stay away?’
‘No, the brute came again. Stuck its head in at the
tent opening, looking for another juicy masalchi. But
I was ready for it. I had just been frying some eggs,
and my frying pan was as hot as hell-fire, and with
it I struck the tiger on its nose!’
‘You’re a brave man, Mehmoud. What did the
tiger do?’
‘It didn’t like it. You see, tigers have very sensitive
noses. That’s why they have such a strong sense of
smell. Their noses lead them to their prey. But a burnt
nose can be very painful, especially for a tiger. And I’d
singed its whiskers too. Tigers don’t like losing their
whiskers, just like army generals!’
‘So what happened?’
‘It let out a roar, leapt into the air, fell backwards
into the fire, let out another roar, and fled into the
jungle. For an hour or more we could hear it roaring
with agony.’
‘You were very brave, Mehmoud. What did
everyone say when you told them what you had
done?’
‘You’re a brave man, Mehmoud. What did the
tiger do?’
‘It didn’t like it. You see, tigers have very sensitive
noses. That’s why they have such a strong sense of
smell. Their noses lead them to their prey. But a burnt
nose can be very painful, especially for a tiger. And I’d