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    The tiger’s tail takes me back to Shillong of the 60s. Once, I was returning from Guwahati to Shillong in my father’s sky-blue Chevrolet Bel-Air car. Father had returned to Gauhati from Delhi via Kolkata, and the car had gone from Shillong to pick him up from Guwahati airport. (Shillong airport was not operational till mid 70s). I was very young and had tagged along with our friendly chauffeur, Bahadur, to receive Father. Father was a member of the Assam Cabinet. This was before Meghalaya was carved out of the state of Assam; until then, Shillong happened to be the capital of Assam. The sky-blue Chevrolet was cruising along quietly on the winding, hilly road. In those days, the drive from Guwahati to Shillong took about three hours, on account of the single road with a half-hour stop at the picturesque Nongpoh circuit house (midway) surrounded by tall pine trees and lush green hills. Nongpoh was famous for delicious mutton chops.

    We were close to Barapani, on the Shillong-Guwahati Road, aka the GS Road. Father was taking a well-deserved rest on the back seat after a hectic tour, and I was in the front seat with Bahadur. I was talking in undertones with him, and he too was replying in the same manner, as we didn’t want to disturb Father. Since Bahadur was well versed with Shillong and the vicinity, I was trying to find out if there was any wildlife around, even when I had seen plenty of wolves and foxes frequenting the iconic Brightwell Bungalow, our home in Barik Point, Shillong.

    Suddenly, Bahadur pointed at something unusual as well as bizarre on the roadside, a little before the Umiam Dam Project coming up in Barapani near Shillong. A group of about eight tribals were carrying a tiger with its legs bound on a sturdy pole, and the body lashed with strong and thick creepers. They were resting there while the tiger was lying by their side. Bahadur and I promptly got out of the car and approached the party. I started circling the tiger, not knowing how to approach it. Bahadur offered that I wanted to feel the tiger, especially its ears, whiskers, paws, body or the tail. I realised that even a fallen tiger looked so ferocious. I gradually gathered some guts and touched its tail. The tail wasn’t soft and silky as generally made out. I was anxious that the tiger might get up and pounce on me. But sadly, it was lying dead.  I ran my fingers on the tail from one end to the other and finally lifted it with both my hands. It was an amazing experience. Bahadur explained, the tiger uses its tail for balancing, counterbalancing and signalling while chasing targets. Soon we were back in the car. The car was filled with the scent of tiger.

    Father enquired if the tiger was dead. We felt the question was strange, as a tiger alive would have threatened and jeopardised our lives, as no one possessed a gun. We then came to know about the extent of the father’s knowledge about the local flora and fauna. He informed us that different tribes used dissimilar poisons to traumatise and kill the prey. The availability of poisons varied with locales, and in the present case, the poison appeared strong enough to kill the tiger immediately and not just make him unconscious. The Khasi Hills had several little-known Asiatic poisons but very powerful ones. Some strong poisons were extracted from flowers that bloomed once in two years or maybe three. This, however, cannot be authenticated now, but the local wisdom still believes in it. The tiger had probably been killed by a poisonous arrow (Teer) and chased after being hit. Tiger meat is still a delicacy and is used as an aphrodisiac in many parts of Asia.    The hapless tiger with its upturned body was a grotesque sight. They lifted the pole along with the tiger and vanished into thin air, taking a shortcut through some glade, shouting ‘Khublei.’ (‘Thank you’ or ‘God bless you’ in Khasi language). This method of hunting was primitive, though much followed by the old veterans of the village. It was economical as guns and bullets were unnecessary, and was mostly manpower oriented.

    This one-off episode, just twenty minutes of screen time, wrapped around my soul like the tail of a tiger. It struck me not with a roar, but with a whisper so powerful that it echoed through the quiet chambers of my heart. It was a scene that stuck in my mind for life. A mix of danger and beauty.

    Since then, whenever I visit Shillong, I stop at the location near the dam to remember the animal that had found space in my heart, and I don’t know why. How could an animal carcass find space in my heart, I could never figure out? I have seen umpteen tigers since then, some in zoos and some in sanctuaries, but that sleeping beauty of my childhood days was different, and the feel of the tiger’s tail was indelible. It lives in me even now as I watch the world in silence. The memory doesn’t fade. It has only grown sharper with time and refuses to forget me. That is why I scripted this story with freshness, as if it had happened only yesterday. Childhood memories always stay alive.

Written by Kamlesh Tripathi

Author, Poet, & Columnist

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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