Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

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СКАЧАТЬ caught sight of a telltale swirl in the water that spoke of a large crocodile nosing his way. Haji had no real enemies in nature, unless of course one counted the Uprights, who could be dangerous when roused; but he knew well enough that the only other beast likely to try and attack him would be a crocodile. Stupid and brutish creatures, they tended to go for anything that moved and in their natural element, water, they were unbeatable. Haji, perhaps wisely, decided to curtail his bathing session and move on to new pastures. But he waded out with dignity, refusing to hurry himself, even though the crocodile’s snout was no more than a few feet away from him when he finally clambered back onto dry land. He half turned, directed a threatening roar at the pair of beady eyes surveying him from the surface of the water, and the crocodile, thinking better of his own motives, dropped from sight and looked elsewhere for a meal. Haji growled and shook himself to remove the water from his fur. Then he went on his way, moving along beside the river for some distance. He could see the brilliant blue flash of kingfishers as they skimmed down to touch the surface of the water and occasionally, there would be the curious wriggling wake of a long sea snake that had journeyed in from the coast.

      After a while, Haji moved right, along another track into deeper jungle. He was astonished to find the powerful scent of a male tiger, sprayed on the bushes and trees. He came to a halt, sniffing and grimacing. It was rare for one male tiger to invade another one’s territory. It was true, certainly, that young tigers who did not possess their own home ranges sometimes crossed an established run, but such creatures were merely transients. They killed game on their travels but were rarely opposed by the resident animal, for they were only en route to another place. They certainly didn’t go around marking out territory in such a brazen way, and Haji was very angry that his authority should be challenged in this manner. He paced up and down for a moment, growling to himself, not sure how to resolve the matter. After some moments of indecision, he simply lifted his tail and blanketed the area with his own scent, so that if the intruder should return this way he would be left in no doubt about Haji’s feelings over the outrage. This accomplished, Haji moved to the centre of the track and made two distinct scrape marks in the dirt with his hind feet, a further indication that the territory was his. He made as though to move off again, but returned after a few steps, still not satisfied with his efforts. He squatted down near the bushes and defecated, leaving a large pile of steaming dung as a calling card. There could be no mistaking a move like that.

      Content at last that he had made his intentions clear, he moved on again, stopping to spray at regular intervals. The scent of the other cat kept recurring along the track for some considerable distance until Haji reached a place where the intruder had veered off towards the river, leaving two scrape marks to indicate his change of direction. Haji growled, sniffed at the ground and gave out one last obliterating spray as a parting gesture. Then he moved along his way, trotting briskly, his head down. His aim was to make a wide rambling circle within the confines of his territory and arrive back for a second feed on his kill, around dusk. The rather vague intentions he had were soon channelled into more positive notions, when a mile or two along the track, he came across another scent. This one, however, did not antagonize him, for it belonged to Timah, one of the two resident tigresses that shared Haji’s range. Haji had not yet mated with Timah for she was only just coming to maturity and would be expecting her first ‘heat’ any time now. The older tigress, Seti, was already heavily pregnant after a brief encounter with Haji some four months back and could expect to drop her litter in a day or so.

      As is the accustomed way with tigers, Haji lived a solitary existence, as did his two mates. They would only meet up to copulate and then after a few hours together would go their separate ways. It was true that sometimes, when chance brought them within range of each other, they would meet up briefly and possibly even share a kill. Such was Haji’s intention now. Timah’s scent was still fresh and he was soon able to locate her, by a series of calls which she promptly answered. A short while later, he found her waiting on the track ahead of him and hurried forward to join her. They made the familiar coughing greeting to each other that tigers invariably used and they rubbed against each other, flank to flank, purring contentedly like overgrown domestic tabbies. Timah was a particularly handsome creature. Some three years old, in the first flush of maturity, she was considerably smaller than Haji and shorter in total length by over a foot; but her fine dark coat was smooth and glossy and her green eyes glittered with quick intelligence. In old age, Haji’s coat had grown tattered and pale, and there were many grey hairs about his face and throat. But for all that, Timah was still his mate. In many ways, Haji preferred Timah to good dependable old Seti, who had borne him four litters over the years. Raising cubs was an arduous business for any tigress, for she was obliged to keep them with her for two years until they were deemed adept enough to look after themselves. Then, they either left of their own accord or were physically driven away, so they might search for territories of their own. More often than not, there would not be one available and they would have to content themselves with being transients for a year or so, until a resident cat died or moved away, leaving a range free. The cruel laws of nature usually maintained the balance and it was rare to have a waiting list. But there were instances of a maturing cat fighting an old male for possession of his territory, and it was such a circumstance that Haji feared.

      But all that was quickly put out of his mind by the playful, mischievous Timah. In some ways still a cub at heart, she had obviously decided that she wanted to romp and she began to leap around Haji, pawing at him in a display of mock-fighting and then, when he reciprocated, gambolling off into the bushes for a game of hide-and-seek. Dour old Haji felt this to be a little beneath his dignity and after going along with it for a short while, be brought matters to a head by gripping Timah firmly by the nape of the neck and biting her just a little bit harder than qualified as mere play. She quietened down considerably after that and contented herself with trotting obediently along behind him, especially when he intimated to her that a splendid meal was waiting at the end of the journey.

      They set off, with keen appetites and high expectations, into the dappled green depths of the jungle.

      It was late afternoon and Harry was seated at the little table on the verandah, drinking Darjeeling tea and enjoying the last few peaceful hours before dusk. Behind him, Pawn worked tirelessly, flitting about the various rooms of the house like a restless fly. It was once again Mess night, and she was anxious to have everything spick and span for the Tuan before he left.

      The stillness of the day was abruptly shattered by the bronchial wheezing of a battered old Ford saloon as it came clattering into view around the corner. The car had an overall background colour of dark grey, but was liberally splattered with patches of other colours where rusty abrasions had been plastered over with metal filler. All in all, it was surprising that Doctor Kalim’s car had not fallen apart long ago. It showered flakes of rust onto the drive as it eased in through the open gateway and came to a shuddering, sorrowful halt. Harry raised his eyes heavenwards, for he had half expected this visit. Nonetheless, he called through into the house.

      ‘Pawn! Bring out an extra cup and saucer, please!’

      Doctor Kalim emerged from his car and, as always, Harry was struck by the incongruity of it all. Kalim was a neat and dapper little Muslim, who always insisted on wearing an immaculate white shirt, his English university tie and a sombre black suit, which must have been hellishly uncomfortable in such heat. The whole effect was topped by a wide-brimmed black fedora, which added another six inches to his unimposing stature. He leaned into the back of the car, retrieved his leather briefcase, and came striding purposefully up the driveway, peering at Harry through a pair of pebble-lensed spectacles.

      He stepped onto the verandah just as Pawn emerged from the house carrying the spare crockery.

      ‘Doctor Kalim!’ announced Harry graciously. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Won’t you sit down and take a cup of tea?’

      Kalim gave a stiff little bow of assent.

      ‘Thank you, Mr Sullivan, I’d love some.’ He sat himself in the spare chair, removed his hat, and placed СКАЧАТЬ