A Tiger for Malgudi (17 page)

‘Don’t let him out, sir,’said the voice.‘When you open the door, please warn us first ...’

‘Surely, if you are afraid, but let me tell you, you need not fear; he has only the appearance of a tiger, but he is not one - inside he is no different from you and me.’I felt restless and wanted to do something or at least get away from the whole situation, back to my familiar life, back to the jungle, to the bed of long grass — I sighed for the feel of the grass on my belly - to the cool of the stream beside the cave and the shade of the cave with its rugged sandy floor ... I was sick of human beings; they were everywhere, every inch of the earth seemed to be swarming with humanity; ever since the unfortunate day I stepped into that village in the forest to the present moment I was being hemmed in. How grand it’d be to be back in the world of bamboo shade and monkeys and jackals! Even the supercilious leopard and the owl I would not mind; compared to human company, they were pleasant, minding their own business, in spite of occasional moods to taunt and gossip.

I rose. Master became alert.‘What do you want to do now? You want to go away, I suppose! I understand. But there is no going back to your old life, even if I open the door and let you out. You can’t go far. You will hurt others or you will surely be hurt. A change is coming, you will have to start a new life, a different one ... Now lie down in peace, I will take you out. Let us go out together, it’ll be safer. But first I must get the headmaster down from his perch. He has been there too long. Now you lie still, move away to the corner over there while I help him.’

I understood and slowly moved off to the side he indicated. Whatever its disadvantage, circus life had accustomed me to understand commands. This room was not too spacious to talk of far side and near side, but I obeyed him. I moved to the other wall and crouched there humbly. I wanted to show that I had no aggressive intentions. Now my Master ordered,‘Turn your face to the wall and do not stir in the least. If the headmaster thinks you are lifeless, so much the better. The situation is delicate, and you must do nothing to worsen it. God knows how long he has been cooped up there ...’

He called him loudly but there was no answer. Then he went up to the door, opened it slightly and announced,‘I want a ladder and a person to climb to the loft, wake up the headmaster, and help him to come down. Is there anyone among you willing to fetch the ladder and go up?’A subdued discussion arose and a couple of men came forward to ask,‘What about the tiger? Where is he?’

‘You have all improved to the extent of not referring to him as “brute” or “beast” but I’m sorry to note that you still have no confidence in him or me. Let me assure you that this tiger will harm no one.’This had no effect on anyone. There was no response. He said,‘All right, I’ll manage ...’He shut the door again, pulled the table into position, and put up a chair on it, then another chair and a stool, and went up step by step and reached the loft, saying to himself,‘How the headmaster reached here will remain a mystery ...’He grasped the edge of the loft and heaved himself up.

Presently I heard him waking the headmaster and coaxing him to climb down. I could not see his actual coming down as I had to lie facing the wall; I could only hear movements and words. My Master exerted all his power to persuade him to step down. I sensed what was happening and though curious to watch, did not turn round, as I did not want to disobey my Master. The first thing the headmaster did on coming down was to cry,‘Oh, it’s still here!’ and I heard some scurrying of feet, and my Master saying,‘Don’t look at him, but step down; he will not attack.’The headmaster groaned and whimpered and was possibly trying to go back to the loft, at which my Master must have toppled the pile of chairs and pulled him down. I heard a thud and guessed that the poor man had landed on firm ground. I could hear him moaning,‘It is still there, how can I?’My Master kept advising,‘What if it is still there? Don’t look in its direction, turn away your head, come with me ...’He led the headmaster as he kept protesting, a sorry spectacle, in disarray, still in the coat and turban which he had worn in the morning. My Master propelled him to the door and pushed him out saying to those outside,‘Here he is, take care of him. Not a scratch, only shock ...’and shut the door again as a medley of comments, questions, and exclamations poured into the room.

Now he addressed me.‘Now turn round, get up, and do whatever you like.’I stretched myself, yawned, and rose to my feet. That was all I could do. I felt grateful, but I could not make out his form clearly. There was a haze in which he seemed to exist, a haze that persisted all through our association. At no time could I be certain of his outline or features - except what I could gather from his talk. He said,‘Let us go out now. You must realize that human beings for all their bluster are timid creatures, and are likely to get into a panic when they see you. But don’t look at them. This is one of the rules of yoga to steady one’s mind, to look down one’s nose and at nothing beyond. That’s one way not to be distracted and to maintain one’s peace of mind. I would ask you to keep your head bowed and cast your eyes down and make no sort of sound, whatever may be the reaction of the people we pass. We are bound to meet crowds during our passage through the town. People are likely to get excited at the sight of us, but you must notice nothing.’

This was a necessary instruction since our emergence from the room created a sensation and a stampede, in spite of the warning cry my Master had given:‘Now I am coming out with the tiger. Those who are afraid, keep away, but I assure you again that Raja will not attack anyone. He will walk past you, and you will be quite safe as if a cat passed by. Believe me. Otherwise keep out of the way. I’ll give you a little time to decide.’When he opened the door, he said, ‘Keep close to me.’As he stepped out of the room, I was at his heels, saw no one, but only heard suppressed, excited comments and whispers from different corners. The veranda was empty, not a soul in sight, with the exception of Alphonse lying on the top step. Without a word my Master walked on briskly. We had to brush past Alphonse. The breeze of our movement seemed to have blown on his face, and he immediately sat up, rubbed his eyes to see clearly, blinked, shook his head and muttered,‘Crazy dream!’and laid himself down and apparently went back to sleep. But he sat up again to watch us go. We had gone past him a little way when he cried,‘Hey, you bearded one, you again! Won’t leave me alone even in a dream! Ah! What is this?’

‘Tiger,’answered my Master.

‘Is it the same or another one?’asked Alphonse.

‘Same and another,’answered my Master cryptically.

‘How? Oh, yes, of course,’he muttered, puzzled.

‘You may touch the tiger if you like.’

‘No, no! Go away.’He waved us off angrily and resumed his sleep.

 
At first, when the Master emerged from the school gate with the tiger, the crowds in the street stood petrified. Cycles, automobiles, lorries and bullock-carts hurriedly withdrew to the side; even street dogs slunk away under culverts after whining feebly. As advised by the Master, the tiger never lifted its eyes but followed his steps. The Master passed down quickly, reached the Market Gate, turned to his right, proceeded northward on the highway, and vanished at dusk towards the mountains.

Gradually lorries and bullock-carts began to move, cyclists resumed their wobbly courses, and crowds reappeared on Market Road; at street corners people stood about in clusters regaling each other with sensational accounts of the day’s events, while mischievous urchins continued to run up and down Market Road screaming,‘Tiger! Tiger! It’s here again!’

At Anand Bhavan, which had already had a visitation, the main door was closed, but guests were admitted through a back door, the proprietor whispering as they entered,‘Finish your business soon and be off ... remember, no talk of tiger any more ... have had enough ...’

At the Boardless, however, it was different. The din in the hall was deafening, but Mr Varma, the proprietor, who, from the eminence of his cash desk, always enjoyed listening to his clients’ voices, felt especially gratified today with the medley of comments, questions, and arguments falling on his ears while his fingers ceaselessly counted cash.

‘That hermit must have come from the Himalayas. I have heard that there are many extraordinary souls residing in the ice caves, capable of travelling any distance at will, and able to control anything by their yogic powers.’

‘How could the yogi have known that there was a tiger in the headmaster’s room, and why should he have wanted to protect it?’

‘Probably they were family friends!’They laughed at the joke.

‘t may be no laughing matter. I was at the school and could overhear his conversation with the tiger as if it were his younger brother.’

‘Don’t be too sure. Suppose that tiger makes a meal of his brother and turns round for more. We must be watchful - where are the police? Why can’t they come out of their hiding and patrol the streets?’

‘I tried to see the headmaster in Vinayak Street; after all he had kept longer company with the tiger than anyone else. But he was incoherent and still nervous lest the tiger should spring out of the next room. He had to be carried home in Gaffur’s taxi, you know.’

‘he question remains, who is this tiger-tamer - the terrible animal trots behind him, while the circus-wallah for all his expert control could not save himself in the end.’

‘Whenever we questioned “Who are you?” he quipped and dodged, you know,’said a pedagogue.

Jayaraj, who framed pictures sitting in a cubicle at the Market Arch, observed the goings-on in the town from his position of vantage, and had spent a lifetime commenting and gossiping while his hands were busy nailing picture frames. He was now explaining to a company at the centre table, ‘At first I didn’t close my shop. I was not going to be frightened into thinking that the tiger would come to eat me or the glass sheets in my shop. But when I saw the crowd flooding past, I too caught the frenzy, and went there rather late but just in time to see that man come out of the school with his pet. The crowd pressed me against the gate post, I could not back away farther when the tiger almost brushed past my legs and I shivered, wedged as I was between the animal and the wall. When he noticed my fright that man just said, “Don’t fear” and passed on, but in that instant I recognized him - the shape of those eyes, the voice, and those features were familiar, and through all that shrunken frame and sunburnt, hairy face, I could see who he was. After all I had started life as a photographer, and when one has looked at faces through a lens, one can never forget a face.

‘At one time I used to see him cycling up the Market Road every morning to his college. He lived in Ellamman Street in one of those solid houses built by an earlier generation. I can’t remember that man’s name now, Govind, Gopal, or Gund? I don’t know. He was arrested during the Independence Movement for climbing the Collector’s office roof and tearing down the Union Jack, and then again for inscribing on the walls, with brush and tar, “Quit India”, aimed at the British. I was told that he drove his mother mad by his ways. She would cry her heart out every time he was sent to prison. He didn’t pass his B.A. - too busy, mixed up as he was in every kind of demonstration in those days. When things quietened down after Independence, he came to me one day to have his passport photo taken, but never collected it, though he had paid for it in advance. His photo must still be there somewhere in those piles of stuff unclaimed by my customers for reasons best known to them. I must put them all to the fire some day before all that junk drives me out of my own shop ...

‘Later on, I used to see him occasionally coming to the market with his family, driving a motor car. At this stage, he was completely changed, looked like a fop with his tie and suit and polished shoes. One day I had the hardihood to hail him and to say that he should take away his passport photograph, since he had paid for it. I’m not the sort to keep other people’s property. He halted his steps but before I could pick up his stuff and pack it, he muttered “I will come again” and hurried out. He was perhaps a busy man, as he was said to be holding a big job in a foreign insurance firm which had its office in New Extension.

’I never thought of him again until I heard one day that he had vanished, abandoning his wife and children. The police came seeking his photograph but I didn’t give it. If that man chose to disappear, that was his business, why should I be involved?’

‘Any reason why he went away?’

‘I know as much as you do. Why ask me? Enough ... talk of something else ... Let us forget him and his tiger. Something uncanny about him ... unsafe to talk about such men, who may be saints or sorcerers. Who knows what will happen? Remember the ancient saying, “Don’t probe too far into the origin of a river or a saint! You will never reach the end.” ‘With that Jayaraj abruptly got up, paid for his coffee, and went away.

‘Extraordinary how that animal could not be shot at all,’mused someone after Jayaraj left.‘Alphonse, who had hunted tigers all his life, fell into a stupor when he lifted his gun today.’

‘Oh! Oh! Stupor indeed,’someone said, laughing.

Late in the evening Alphonse woke up on the school steps, looked around, and muttered,‘Not a soul in sight. Where is everybody gone? They have bluffed me.’He got up, went over to his motor cycle, and kicked the starter viciously. Entering the Market Junction, he noticed people standing in knots and slowed down to shout,‘Why don’t you keep out of the way?’

‘The tiger is gone,’someone ventured to inform him over the roar of his motor cycle. He replied,‘Oh, shut up, all that nonsense about the tiger! It is over a year since I saw one. Those bastards have April-Fooled us. They would not even let me peep through the keyhole to see for myself. I will deal with them yet.’

‘But it seems you did see the tiger from the rooftop?’ventured his listener.