“‘Please, Father, think of me as tiger tamer and never as tiger killer. How could my good actions bring ill upon me? I beg you not to impose any command that I change my way of life.’”
Chandi and I were all attention, understanding the past dilemma. In India a child does not lightly disobey his parents’ wishes.
“In stoic silence Father listened to my explanation. He followed it with a disclosure which he uttered gravely.
“‘Son, you compel me to relate an ominous prediction from the lips of a saint. He approached me yesterday as I sat on the veranda in my daily meditation.
“’”Dear friend, I come with a message for your belligerent son. Let him cease his savage activities. Otherwise, his next tiger-encounter shall result in his severe wounds, followed by six months of deathly sickness. He shall then forsake his former ways and become a monk.“’
“This tale did not impress me. I considered that Father had been the credulous victim of a deluded fanatic.”
The Tiger Swami made this confession with an impatient gesture, as though at some stupidity. Grimly silent for a long time, he seemed oblivious of our presence. When he took up the dangling thread of his narrative, it was suddenly, with subdued voice.
“Not long after Father’s warning, I visited the capital city of Cooch Behar. The picturesque territory was new to me, and I expected a restful change. As usual everywhere, a curious crowd followed me on the streets. I would catch bits of whispered comment:
“‘This is the man who fights wild tigers.’
“‘Has he legs, or tree-trunks?’