Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘Colin, I don’t think elephants crashing about in this small area are going to be much of a help,’ Edgar said.

‘No, they’re not. I thought we’d join them in camp, admire their decorations, go for a ride to impress Joe, take a few photographs of him lording it in the howdah for his mates back home. Then we’ll tether them and go in on foot.’

He pointed to the trees he’d drawn along the sides of the valley. ‘I’ve had some machans fixed in the trees. That’s a wooden shooting platform, Joe. Well above tiger-leaping height and giving good cover. Beaters will be here. . here. . and here. . covering both sides of the valley and the narrow end. They’ll start well away from the guns and will close in slowly, making a hideous racket!’

He gave each of them a meaning look and went on, ‘I’m sure you both appreciate that this outing has its political aspect and we have to accommodate that, so the placing of the participants is somewhat sensitive. I’ve put Bahadur in the first tree over here nearest to the den so that the new heir can have the first shot when the tigress, disturbed by the noise, starts to escape down the nullah. I’ve put Shubhada on the same machan. She’s a good shot and very cool-headed. He won’t feel he’s being patronized and protected if he’s sharing with a woman but she will be quietly looking out for his safety, you can be sure.’

‘Is that entirely safe?’ Edgar asked.

Colin grunted. ‘Nothing’s ever guaranteed in a tiger hunt but I was firmly told by Udai no less that it would be a very good idea if Bahadur were to come back from the outing with his first tiger skin. And bagging this particular one will go down very well with the people of course. Be an auspicious start to the reign and all that. Ajit Singh was not best pleased either and insisted on sharing the platform with the heir but he’s been overruled. I suspect by Bahadur himself. Anyway, I’ve put Ajit on the machan opposite. . here. It’s about a hundred yards away across the nullah.’

‘And who’s this here on the tree to the left of Bahadur?’ Edgar asked.

‘That’s Claude — I have checked all this out with the Resident, by the way. He’s a good shot, they say, but not experienced with tiger. And opposite Claude — and you’ll notice the machans are all a little splayed so no one is shooting directly at anyone else (don’t want any nasty accidents) — I’ve put you, Edgar.’

‘So this last one at the end of the nullah on the south side is my tree?’ said Joe.

‘Yes,’ said Colin, pencilling in a J. ‘Look on yourself as backstop. If the five other guns fail you’ll have to uphold the honour of the Met. But I’m not expecting it to get past Bahadur. Just to the left of his machan, you see. .’ He drew in a dotted line running from the stream bed to the south side of the nullah. ‘. . is a game track. It joins the bank where a landslide has fetched down enough rubble to make a neat little exit out of the valley. I’m betting our tiger will try to sneak out of the valley by the nearest path the moment the balloon goes up. Either way, Bahadur will get a good shot at it.’

‘And where will you be, Colin? We seem to have run out of trees.’

‘Oh, here, there and everywhere. I’ll be on foot, coordinating the beaters. Plugging any gaps. . nervously checking she doesn’t surprise us all by doubling back and breaking through the cordon, with dire results. . that sort of thing.’

He smiled encouragingly at Joe whose concern was beginning to show. ‘I’m not going to say “Don’t worry” — that would always be the last piece of advice I’d give! Worry like hell! A desperate and clever tiger on the loose, six guns pointing God knows where and half a village out, armed with sticks and old swords. . I can tell you, Joe, it’s a nightmare! All I can say is — I’ve never yet had a fatality or an accident, however slight, on one of my shoots. That’s as far as I can go with a guarantee, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Joe, instinctively trusting the old hunter and liking his honesty. ‘And, who knows? I might surprise you all! There might be a head labelled “Sandiland’s Tiger” in the trophy room or wherever they keep them before the week’s out.’

‘There’s a whole wall of them in the silah-khana. Show him the armoury, Edgar, on your way back through the palace. Might encourage him. Now, a nightcap before you go? I’m planning an early start tomorrow morning, by the way. In the cars, wheels turning by seven o’clock. I expect the ruler will be very relieved to see the back of us for a few days. It’s been difficult for him, this last bit. And the thing he needs least at the moment is a contingent of Europeans cluttering up the palace.’

‘Send them off into the moffussil!’ said Edgar. ‘And the fewer who return, the better!’

‘Something like that,’ said Colin uncertainly.

It had been a good evening, Joe thought. He had said little, content to be entertained by the two old friends who yarned the hours away retelling well-known stories for Joe’s benefit, but at last he set off back along the dark lakeside path, Edgar steering his way by the light of an enormous amber moon and the small, twinkling lights of the houses along the water’s edge. Joe paused, holding his breath to see the magical white lamplit outline of Shubhada’s pavilion reflected in the still water. Forest creatures were about and he heard their furtive movements, their occasional throaty warnings. He stood, entranced, listening to the unexpected song of a night bird, a liquid golden stream of sound from the branches overhead.

‘Himalayan song-thrush,’ said Edgar, prosaically. ‘Always the first to say good morning and the last to say goodnight. Now come on, Joe, step out! If you want to take a look at the armoury before you turn in.’

Edgar threw open the door of the armoury and switched on the lights with the confidence of one who had the undisputed entrée and, with a wide gesture, invited Joe to inspect the room’s contents. It seemed to him to be half trophy room, half museum of Rajput militaria from a bygone age. He commented firstly on the rows of tiger and leopard heads since this seemed to be expected of him. Rank upon rank and, apart from a small marker identifying the hunter and the date of the kill, indistinguishable one from the other, they glowered down at him. All snarled defiantly, all had bright glass eyes which reflected back the light bulbs from their black pupils, following him around the room in a disconcerting way.

The centre of the room was occupied by the stuffed body of a superb tiger, its coat, in spite of its experiences at the hands of the hunter and the taxidermist, deep and thick, shining with an illusion of health. Joe could not hold himself back from running a hand along the sleek pelt, wondering at the massive size of the animal.

‘Winter coat, that’s why it’s so thick,’ said Edgar. ‘Udai shot it himself a couple of years ago. His last tiger. Big one — ten foot six, nose to tail.’

‘I can see why Colin prefers to go hunting with a camera,’ said Joe to annoy Edgar. ‘It’s against nature to turn a gun on such a fine creature for no good reason.’

Edgar looked at him, disbelieving. ‘Hunting’s a good reason,’ he commented briefly. ‘Come and look at the weaponry. Imagine having to face one of these without the advantage of a big-game rifle and a hundred yards between you. Up close, staring it in the eye, thirty stone of powerful muscle launching itself at you, feeling its breath on your face and nothing more than one of these in your hand!’ He pointed out the rows of lances lined up along a wall. To Joe they looked fearsome enough. And the displays of vicious curved talwars, longswords and pig-sticking spears made him shudder.