Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘I’ve only had four days to chase after our tiger, a week would have been better, but at the rate at which the creature is killing villagers, I don’t feel inclined to wait any longer than necessary. Two or three are being killed each day or having narrow escapes. It was difficult to get any of the local people to accompany me, armed though I was with the latest Lee-Enfield. They’re scared stiff and hiding for most of the day.’

‘Why so many casualties?’ Joe asked. ‘I know nothing of tigers, of course, but isn’t that a high strike rate?’

Colin looked down at the table and said thoughtfully, ‘A tiger needs a given amount of flesh per day to sustain life. . Thirty pounds or so. His normal kill: chital, sambur, pig, buffalo, he can sit over for two or three days. To be blunt — there’s not a great deal of flesh on some of these villagers.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Joe hastily, feeling rather foolish.

Colin sensed his embarrassment and added, ‘Claude asked the same question.’

‘Claude? Will he be of the party? Funny, I hadn’t expected him to be the slightest bit interested in tiger hunting.’

‘He isn’t. His interest lies in looking over my shoulder to make certain I’ve taken all precautions to ensure the safety of his protégé — Bahadur. As you can imagine — Claude is very involved with the lad’s continued good health! He came along with me for two of the days. Sensible chap, gets things done. We managed to buy up a few goats and stake them out. The tiger took the bait and we were able to follow the blood trail and the spoor. I think, in the end, Claude was quite intrigued by the process!’

‘Is that when tigers hunt? In the daytime?’ asked Joe.

‘Yes, daylight hours. Leopards attack at night.’

‘What sort of area are we looking at?’ said Edgar, examining a sketch Colin passed to them.

‘Well, you know that tigers are territorial?’ Joe sensed that Colin was setting out the problem in terms that he, a newcomer to the jangal, could understand. ‘Each one establishes supremacy in a particular area, kills within it and defends it from other tigers. This one has three villages on its shopping list. Here, look.’ He drew a line around the outer edge of his map and pointed out the three settlements inside the line. ‘Oh, by the way, not tiger . It’s a tigress. I’ve heard accounts from some of the people who’ve sighted it and I’ve seen its tracks. It’s a big female. Possibly as much as ten feet over curves. If she’s got cubs hidden away somewhere she will be very bad-tempered.’

‘But why does a tiger take to eating people?’ Joe asked. ‘They don’t do that naturally, do they?’

‘No, the tiger’s a gent. He’ll go out of his way — but not far out of his way (he’s proud, too) — to avoid humans. But sometimes the rules of nature break down. As in this case. The tracks I found near Dilakot show she’s been wounded in some way. The front right paw is turned in, practically unusable. Whatever happened to our beast, it produced a creature unable any longer to run at and attack its usual prey. Not got the speed and strength any more. To survive, she turns to easier, slower-moving creatures unable to defend themselves. We think she started out as a cattle-lifter then, as her debility increased, she took to killing men, women and children.

‘There have been no reports of hunters wounding and leaving a tiger to its own devices in the forest which is the sequence that usually creates a man-eater so we must assume that she got her wound in a fight, or a trap. Oh, there is a complicating factor: about a fortnight ago, a village woman threw a sickle at it — it had just killed her daughter — and she’s sure she hit it in the eye. So what we have is a half blind, limping tigress. Sounds a piece of cake, doesn’t it? But it’s these wounds that are making her desperate and cunning and making her seek out ever easier targets.’ He paused. ‘Five children were killed last week. The villagers are terrified. But more than terrified, they are grief-stricken and angry. The men have agreed to turn out and act as beaters when the royal hunt at last arrives with all its pomp and circumstance to help them.’

Joe caught a note of disapproval in his voice. ‘Aren’t they doing the right thing, Colin?’

‘Let’s say I’d do it another way! I’d go in quietly with Edgar — wouldn’t even take you, Joe! — and a handful of picked bearers, take our time and finish the job cleanly. The most efficient way to get a tiger is to simply locate his kill — not difficult if you’ve provided the goat or the young buffalo yourself — follow the drag and sit over it until he comes back for the rest the next day. It doesn’t always go according to plan — tigers are clever and their senses are about ten times more acute than ours. You start out in the forest with the assumption that they are tracking you and they are much more skilful at it.’

‘Sounds terrifying!’ said Joe, unable to restrain a shudder.

‘It can be. And I’ll tell you the most frightening thing — when you’ve gone alone into the forest after a man-eater, your senses are telling you he’s close and you’re following his tracks. . you wind around between rocks and suddenly you realize you’ve been led in a circle because there, in front of you, are your own prints. And — superimposed on the top of your prints are the tiger’s own. He’s behind you.’

‘I think I’d prefer the maharaja’s way,’ said Joe. ‘A hundred elephants and a division of heavily armed sportsmen.’

Colin grimaced. ‘It goes against the grain to attempt what should be a surgical operation with all the panoply of a staged royal hunt. They’ve prepared the elephants and sent them off into the forest already. All the gear and supplies went with them. Your gun case is even now being lovingly put into your tent, Joe! Along with the Fortnum amp; Mason’s hamper. We’re to go out by motor car or horse — take your pick — and meet up with the elephants a mile or two from what I think must be the tiger’s hiding place.’

‘We’re to camp there?’ Joe asked. ‘Out in the jungle?’

Colin laughed. ‘Edgar, didn’t you tell me this chap had survived four years on the front? After a damp dug-out in the Flanders mud, Joe, I think you’ll find you have nothing to complain of! Your own tent, cooks and stewards on hand and no one shooting at you. They’re well used to putting on shows like this. The Viceroy himself sometimes spends a week here in March between his stints in Delhi and Simla.’

He began to draw on the map. ‘Now, look, this here’s a sort of funnel, wide end to the west.’

‘A nullah?’ offered Joe.

‘Right. It’s a narrow valley within striking distance of all three villages. There’s a stream from a spring in the hillside running down the middle and it widens out as you go. . to about a hundred and fifty yards. Steep banks to north and south. It’s about a mile from beginning to end and thickly screened by tall grasses on either side. Elephant grass — reaching twelve feet in some places. This tiger has chosen well. Beyond the grass there are trees. A fringe of large trees. Now at this narrow eastern end, twenty yards across, no more, there’s a sort of rocky ledge with an overhang right by a water-hole and that’s where I’m guessing the tiger has its den. Tigers don’t relish the heat — they like to cool off with a good wallow, like anyone else. And water’s essential to them — I’ve known tigers drag their kill for miles to take a drink before settling down to eat. I began to follow the tracks of this one up the valley but had to leave off because the light was going but I’ll bet my boots that’s where she is. It’s within earshot of the villages. She can hear when the buffalo are being led out, she can hear the women chattering to each other in the fields, she can hear the children shouting.’