When the Tiger Was King Read online

  The cutting curved sharply, and in the darkness the black entrance to the tunnel loomed up menacingly. The signal-light was out. Baldeo set to work to haul the lamp down by its chain. If the oil had finished, he would have to return to the hut for more. The mail train was due in five minutes.

  Once more he fumbled for his matches. Then suddenly he stood still and listened. The frightened cry of a barking deer, followed by a crashing sound in the undergrowth, made Baldeo hurry. There was still a little oil in the lamp, and after an instant's hesitation he lit the lamp again and hoisted it back into position. Having done this, he walked quickly down the tunnel, swinging his own lamp, so that the shadows leapt up and down the soot-stained walls, and having made sure that the line was clear, he returned to the entrance and sat down to wait for the mail train.

  The train was late. Sitting huddled up, almost dozing, he soon forgot his surroundings and began to nod.

  Back in the hut, the trembling of the ground indicated the approach of the train, and a low, distant rumble awoke the boy, who sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  'Father, it's time to light the lamp,' he mumbled, and then, realising that his father had been gone some time, he lay down again; but he was wide awake now, waiting for the train to pass, waiting for his father's returning footsteps.

  A low grunt resounded from the top of the cutting. In a second Baldeo was awake, all his senses alert. Only a tiger could emit such a sound.

  There was no shelter for Baldeo, but he grasped his axe firmly and tensed his body, trying to make out the direction from which the animal was approaching. For some time there was only silence, even the usual jungle noises seemed to have ceased altogether. Then a thump and the rattle of small stones announced that the tiger had sprung into the cutting.

  Baldeo, listening as he had never listened before, wondered if it was making for the tunnel or the opposite direction – the direction of the hut, in which Tembu would be lying unprotected. He did not have to wonder for long. Before a minute had passed, he made out the huge body of the tiger trotting steadily towards him. Its eyes shone a brilliant green in the light from the signal lamp. Flight was useless, for in the dark the tiger would be more sure-footed than Baldeo and would soon be upon him from behind. Baldeo stood with his back to the signal-post, motionless, staring at the great brute moving rapidly towards him. The tiger, used to the ways of men, for it had been preying on them for years, came on fearlessly, and with a quick run and a snarl, struck out with its right paw, expecting to bowl over this puny man who dared stand in the way.

  Baldeo, however, was ready. With a marvellously agile leap he avoided the paw and brought his axe down on the animal's shoulder. The tiger gave a roar and attempted to close in. Again, Baldeo drove his axe with true aim; but, to his horror, the beast swerved, and the axe caught the tiger on the shoulder, almost severing the leg. To make matters worse, the axe remained stuck in the bone, and Baldeo was left without a weapon.

  The tiger, roaring with pain, now sprang upon Baldeo, bringing him down and then tearing his broken body. It was all over in a few minutes. Baldeo was conscious only of a sealing pain down his back, and then there was blackness and the night closed in on him for ever.

  The tiger drew off and sat down licking his wounded leg, roaring every now and then with agony. He did not notice the faint rumble that shook the earth, followed by the distant puffing of an engine steadily climbing. The overland mail was approaching. Through the trees beyond the cutting, as the train advanced, the glow of the furnace could be seen; and showers of sparks fell like Diwali lights over the forest.

  As the train entered the cutting, the engine whistled once, loud and piercingly. The tiger raised his head, then slowly got to his feet. He found himself trapped like the man. Flight along the cutting was impossible. He entered the tunnel, running as fast as his wounded leg would carry him. And then, with a roar and a shower of sparks, the train entered the yawning tunnel. The noise in the confined space was deafening; but, when the train came out into the open, on the other side, silence returned once more to the forest and the tunnel.

  At the next station, the driver slowed down and stopped his train to water the engine. He got down to stretch his legs and decided to examine the headlamps. He received the surprise of his life; for just above the cowcatcher lay the major portion of the tiger, cut in half by the engine.

  There was considerable excitement and conjecture at the station, but back at the cutting there was no sound except for the sobs of the boy as he sat beside the body of his father. He sat there a long time, unafraid of the darkness, guarding the body from jackals and hyenas, until the first faint light of dawn brought with it the arrival of the relief-watchman.

  Tembu, his sister and his mother were plunged in grief for two whole days; but life had to go on, and a living had to be made, and all the responsibility now fell on Tembu. Three nights later, he was at the cutting, lighting the signal-lamp for the overland mail.

  He sat down in the darkness waiting for the train, and sang softly to himself. There was nothing to be afraid of – his father had killed the tiger, the forest gods were pleased; and besides, he had the axe with him, his father's axe, and he knew how to use it.

  Ruskin Bond

  The Life of a Tiger

  s time went on the solitude which at first had been so marked a feature in the tiger's domain was broken by the ever-increasing number of human beings who found occupation or amusement therein. Formerly, only herds of cattle and their attendants roamed the forest, paying no attention to the jungle-folk, and were hardly noticed by them; later on came those who felled timber and cut bamboos, their camps were numerous all over the area; and last of all came the hunting parties of varying size, from the solitary sportsman who wandered afoot amongst the wild animals, to the large company, well organised to slay, who boasted of the number of their victims, and were proud of their stud of elephants and of their army of trackers and huntsmen. Not only peace but safety had departed, for though the graziers might not tell of the tiger's whereabouts, there were others, cartmen, sawyers and carpenters, who for the sake of a small reward, indeed often as a remedy for their own fears, would report all that they saw or heard to those who were able to make use of the information.

  The tiger, now well experienced and cautious, gifted moreover with a most intimate acquaintance with the forest, yet found difficulty in evading all of these human beings, and their repeated invasions so seriously reduced the head of game in his hunting grounds, and forced the remainder to be so constantly on the alert that he lived in a perpetual state of anxiety, and was often put to great trouble before he could obtain a meal. Even when he had succeeded in capturing his prey, he feared to return to the kill lest during his absence some ambush should have been laid; so that, unless he could drag his victim close to some water supply, he derived but one day's food from even the largest animal. For tigers must drink after a heavy meal of flesh, and particularly in the hot weather when hunting parties were abroad, he suffered torments if forced to remain thirsty for many hours.

  He dreaded the approach of human beings and the loud reports of the weapons they carried; and so while eager to slink away if this were possible, yet, if by chance his retreat was cut off, his natural courage asserted itself, and was indeed fortified by his hatred of his persecutors. He had seen others fall victims to the dangers he had so far escaped; the stag with mortal wound rushing blindly through the forest only to fall dead when breasting the stony slopes; or the panther lying harmless after hours of agony; he had followed the trail of others, doomed to a lingering death but for his swift interference; and the increasing difficulties of his existence rendered him more cautious and also more morose. For to live always in fear of death results in a change of habits and characteristics, and induces a strain of unaccustomed cruelty. He had been driven by gangs of beaters, and had learned that the less risk lay in escaping through the advancing line; for, though there might be guns there, yet, in the confusion of hi
s onslaught, these had hitherto been ineffective; while the very caution necessary to steal away through the hidden sportsmen in front afforded to these an easy shot from their posts of vantage. He had been fired at from 'machans,' and now was reluctant to take the risk of appropriating the baits of young buffaloes which he frequently came across; and, whereas formerly he expected no danger to lurk in the trees above him, now the need for circumspection was doubled by the possibility of a hunter being hidden in any leafy tree.

  The tiger lay one night on the borders of a jungle clearing where the unfertile soil was covered with a growth of thorny bushes, which assumed strange shapes in the transparent gloom of the night. He had come for miles through the darker forest, moving slowly with the greatest circumspection; at each footstep the soft-padded paws seemed to feel the earth before any weight was allowed to bear on them; mechanically in their descent they pushed softly aside any dry leaf or twig which might, by their crackling, give notice of movement in the jungle, and now, tired from the constant nervous strain, he was resting before resuming his solitary way. A movement in the fantastic outlines of the bushes caught his attention, and he shrank still further into the friendly earth, all his fears at once aroused. A family of sloth-bears were feeding on the wild berries, embracing the bushes with shaggy arms, tearing off the fruit, intermingled with leaves and twigs, in the rough manner common to these beasts.

  The tiger was glad even of this companionship, for it suffered him to relax his attention, for bears have the keenest power of scent, relying on this rather than on hearing or sight, so that timely warning of any intruder would be given.

  The bears roamed round the little clearing, leaving no bush till despoiled of the fruit it bore, then commenced digging for roots and snuffing at the anthills to discover whether or not these were in occupation. The male bear soon found one to his liking, and commenced digging with his powerful claws to force an entry to the main passage, while the mother and her cubs sat around regarding the proceedings, though they could not possibly expect any share in the spoils. By dint of hard labour the bear had dug some three feet below the surface of the soil, and now inserting his muzzle in the tunnel drew deep inhalations which dragged with them crowds of unwilling insects into the moist mouth which was ready to receive them. The bear presented a ludicrous sight with his head buried in the earth and his hindquarters raised high towards the sky, and the noise of his breathing sounded loud through the still forest. After a time he commenced again to dig till he reached the nest, with its paper-like combs full of helpless maggots, and this he devoured in great mouthfuls. Then, while enjoying this selfish meal, he suddenly caught the scent of the tiger in the night air, and as quickly turned to fly. In his clumsy way he stumbled against the she-bear, and she, with the prompt retaliation of her tribe, at once struck and bit at her mate. Immediately the forest re-echoed with loud discordant cries, and the whole family disappeared into the forest, biting and scratching, in the belief that some enemy was amongst them seeking their lives.

  The tiger wandered onwards through the jungle. He was now a different animal to what he had been in the days of his youth, when food was plentiful and danger not incessant. Now, for no fault of his own, he was proscribed; a price was set on his head, he was fired at on sight, and the very scarcity of food was used as a means to lure him to destruction. He was forced to satisfy his hunger by means he had formerly despised. He would lie by the drinking pools in the hot weather and ambush the jungle tribes while they were quenching an intolerable thirst; he would follow the females encumbered by the care of their young and profit by their maternal instincts to slay them; and would drive less powerful animals off their 'kills' and appropriate the spoil. Domestic cattle he killed without mercy, so that he was known and dreaded throughout the countryside; he was always fierce and morose because he was at war with mankind, who had robbed him of his hunting grounds and with them of his means of living and of his contentment.

  It was in these unhappy circumstances that his second courtship began, but on this occasion he forced a fight on his rival; for in the first place he was more savage than of old, and in the second it could not be tolerated that another should hunt in a forest where food was already but too scarce. Thus, ill-temper and fear of dispossession urged him more than passion and in result there was a combat unique in its ferocity. There was no interruption from human beings, as these had mostly left the forest at the commencement of the malarial season, and the few foresters who remained were careful not to approach the spot whence the sound of the struggle proceeded.

  The opponents were well matched, for what the stranger yielded in weight he gained in agility, and any deficiency in experience was outweighed by his impetuosity. The two rushed furiously at each other, meeting with a shock that seemed to compel them to stand upright, and in that position each tried to grip the other's throat and was repulsed by the powerful claws which scratched deep into the flesh. They retreated breathless, again and again to renew the attack after lengthening intervals; meanwhile the earth was trodden down and became slippery with moisture, though scored by the sharp claws of the hind-feet of the combatants. It was after many rounds had been fought, without marked advantage to either side, though both had received painful wounds, that the tiger slipped as he was repelling a specially violent onslaught by the stranger, and, over-borne, was hurled on to his back. In an instant the other rushed into end the fray with teeth buried in the chest or throat of his foe; and here he made the mistake which cost him his life. He should have waited for the defenceless moment when the other was attempting to rise, instead of attacking him when in a position assumed by all the cat-tribe in moments of difficulty. And so it was that, before a grip could be secured, the stranger's head and neck were seized in a vice and at the same time his belly was ripped open by the hind-claws of his prostrate foe. His only wish was to be free of this deadly embrace, and at last he was allowed to stagger away mortally wounded. The crushing blow which followed seemed to drive the life out of him, and he had no feeling for the fangs which penetrated heart and lungs. The tiger lay long by his defeated rival; he was marked with scars which lasted to his dying day, he was sore with bruises and bites, and weak in everything but ill-temper and ferocity. It might have been better for him if he had ended his life at this time, if he had assumed no fresh domestic responsibilities, for the future was to bring even more bitterness than the past.

  From The Life of a Tiger by S. Eardley-Wilmot , C.I.E., 1911

  Man-Eater

  Frank Buck spent a great many years collecting live wild animals for zoos, circuses, and dealers. He was famous for his early 'Bring 'em Back Alive' documentary films. In the following story he tells of the capture of a huge tiger at Johore, for an American zoo.

  n 1926, I was again in Singapore putting the finishing touches to a splendid collection. My compound was fairly bursting with fine specimens. I had brought back from Siam a fine assortment of argus pheasants, fireback pheasants, and many small cage birds. Out of Borneo I had come with a goodly gang of man-like orang-utans and other apes. From Sumatra I had emerged with some fat pythons and a nice group of porcupines, binturongs, and civet cats. Celebes had yielded an imposing array of parrots, cockatoos, lories (brush-tongued parrots of a gorgeous colourings) – one of the biggest shipments of these birds I had ever made. My trip to Burmah was represented by a couple of black leopards (more familiarly known as panthers), several gibbons, and a sizeable army of small rhesus monkeys. In addition, I had a number of other specimens picked up along the line.

  I was to sail for San Francisco in a couple of weeks. This meant I would have to make a thorough inspection of my crates and cages to make sure they were all in shape to stand the rigours of a thirty-five or forty-day trip across the Pacific.

  With Hin Mong, the Chinese carpenter who had served me for years, I made the rounds of the various boxes, and he made the notes of new cages and crates that were needed.

  His cleverness knows no bounds. Working with a hom
e­made saw, crude chisel made out of a scrap of iron shaped and sharpened on a grind-stone, and a few other primitive tools, he does carpentry that is as finished as if it came out of an up-to-date shop equipped with the finest of tools. Some of it, in fact, is finer than any carpenter work I have ever seen done anywhere. With a couple of chow-boys (apprentices) to assist him, Hin Mong would pitch into any task to which I assigned him and when it was done it was a piece of work to be proud of.

  The owner of the house in Katong where I usually lived when in Singapore had sold it, making it necessary for me to move out, although I still maintained my compound there. After the sale of the house I invariably stayed at the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. I had just returned to my room there after an early morning session with Hin Mong, in the course of which we made a final inspection of the crates and cages, when I was informed that the Sultan of Johore was on the telephone and wished to speak to me at once. Whenever the Sultan telephoned, the information that he was on the wire was passed on to me with much ceremony, sometimes my good friend Aratoon, one of the owners of the hotel, announcing the news in person.