(IN) Rani da tigress

[Guest guest]

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/The-wise-tigress-and-a-silly-fool-with-a-gun/\

articleshow/4872526.cms

 

The wise tigress and a silly fool with a gun

TNN 9 August 2009, 01:24am IST

 

They call me Rani which I think is a silly name since I have no royal blood in

me but I cannot do anything about it. Men have their own odd ways and ever since

they came to live on earth with us we have had to go along with them to survive.

Sometimes we lash out, like my old uncle Sher Khan who turned maneater in his

old age. His teeth always gave him trouble after that and his skin began to

smell really awful. But he was a rare case. For thousands of years we have

hunted our four- legged prey in the grassy meadows and never looked at man as

our next meal.

 

He was frightened of us even when he lived in a cave and hunted with sharp-edged

stones. They say he drew pictures of my ancestors on his cave walls so that he

could trap their spirits to enable him to hunt them easily in real life. He

loved our skin even then and wore our teeth around his neck. Silly fool.

 

Later when he grew a little wiser, he started worshipping us and wrote many

songs about our great strength and cunning. He stamped our heads on seals and

even carved our figures in clay. Later when he built temples he made us stand

like guards at the gate and then we all felt so proud when the Goddess Durga

chose one of us as her `vahan'. Even to this day, you can see her fierce and

beautiful form riding a tiger as she slays the buffalo-demon. Though sometimes I

see our cousin the Lion with her and then I feel quite upset. We have always

been the rulers of the forest and every animal fears us, except the elephant.

 

Men have written many clever stories about our valour in the Jataka and

Panchatantra tales though some of them mock us and make the tiny mouse braver

than the mighty tiger. I never let that bother me and always teach my cubs that

men have a weird sense of humour and fun. They are the only people on this earth

that kill other animals not for food but for their amusement.

 

At first we hunted quite openly since man was not running on wheels and hunting

with a gun but later we had to learn to stay hidden in the shadows of the tall

grass. Our fur with its cleverly designed black uneven stripes merged in the

landscape and we could not be seen even when man came quite close to us. We

could smell him but had to stay very still because he now had many clever

gadgets with which he could track us down and shoot us. Why he hates us so much

I have never understood.

 

It was not always so. There was a great ruler called Asoka many centuries ago

and he wrote on stone that we should not be harmed. People obeyed his rules and

left us alone to live happily in our forests. The forests those days were rich

and dense, filled with food for not only us but every other living creature. The

tribal people who lived here sang many wonderful songs about us and painted our

forms on their mud huts.

 

" Men were born innocent but got more and more clever for their own good, " my

great-great grand mother used to say every time she saw one of our clan shot

dead. She remembered her grandfather being hunted by an emperor who came on an

elephant all decked up with golden headgear and a huge velvet umbrella. There

were a hundred men with him carrying spears and what a great noise they made

with their bugles and drums. They tied a poor deer to a tree and waited. My

ancestor was warned not to go near the deer but he was hungry and could not

resist. They said that he was not the only one they killed that day. The

emperor's elephants carried home more than a hundred dead tigers as they marched

through the forest. The palace floor was soon lined with my ancestors' skins.

Later they made many beautiful paintings of this great hunt; though they say my

late ancestor looks very handsome as he fought to death, I do not want to see

these paintings.

 

When my cubs ask me why do men like our skin so much I really have no answer. I

would never drape a dead man's hide in my den. It would give me nightmares.

 

Man continued to kill us but now he did not paint our handsome figures. He just

came in large groups and shot us all down from a `machan'. His skin was white in

colour and he wore a strange-looking hat. Now for the first time even the female

of the species began to shoot us and then posed for a photograph with her feet

on our dead body. Did she not have cubs of her own?

 

Gradually the songs about us became less and less as we grew fewer in number. I

think we would have all died out like our cousin the Cheetah who once hunted not

very far from us. But then a miracle happened. Man decided we should live. He

now considered us important not only for the forest but his own survival.

 

Hah! That is a poor joke. But I told you man has a strange mind. Imagine hunting

us down for hundreds of years and then suddenly turning around and saying. " We

must stop all this killing. Not good. Not good for us at all. " But do not think

for a moment I am complaining. This is, indeed, a miracle. The gods of the

forest have smiled on us once again after so many centuries. The paintings on

caves, the songs , the rules written on stone to protect us may have all

vanished but now we have some sort of protection once again. Man has made rules

that we should not be hunted. It does not work all the time since man's greed

for our skin and bones has not changed but I do believe my cubs have a fair

chance to live.

 

I lie here in the forest waiting for the men to shoot me. No, they are not going

to kill me. They just want to take a photograph of me and my cubs. I do not like

them coming too near my cubs and give a low growl, baring my teeth. How it

thrills them! I told you they had a weird sense of fun. So I stretch, give them

a big yawn, showing all my teeth ,even the broken one at the back, and send them

home happy.