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‘The Tiger Hunt’ I woke up on the margin of the morning, that liminal space between the night before and the day to come. The morning was suffused in the rose light of the perfect, still and scented dawn. Today was the day. Stomach churning, eyes leaden, awash with nausea and yet… I’d never felt more alive. They say the day a boy kills his first tiger is the day he becomes a man. Full. Warm. Blood. Breath. Stretch. Paw. Fresh meat. “The buffalo! The buffalo!” one of the beaters came screeching in a frenzy into the clearing. One of the buffalos which had been laid as bait for the tiger had been killed! Tiger tracks had been discerned in the dirt and we were hot on their trail. Hot. The morning air hung pendulously, thick and heavy. Sweat trickled down my neck and my legs stuck to the saddle. This was to be a morning of firsts; my first-time riding solo on an elephant, my first tiger hunt, my first kill (hopefully). The Mahout, the elephant wrangler, fussed over my giant steed like a mother on their child’s first day of school. The relationship between a Mahout and an elephant is incredibly close – elephants live as long as we do and a Mahout may care for just one creature in their lifetime. My elephant had been carefully selected, according to an array of sacred and silly superstitions. The number of hairs in her tail was just right. The colour and position of her toenails was just so. The roughness of her skin was just perfect. “Chaliye!” called someone up ahead. The hunt began. Scent. Strange. Man. Sprint. The sun rose, turmeric yellow through vibrant purple hues like the mangosteen I had seen in the market. I was cast in the pomegranate crimson flecks dotted amongst the canopy of gold. Gifts of divine magic. Looking around the widespreading mango trees, I caught a glimpse of the game beginning to come, beautiful grey jungle fowl, their long colourful tails undulating to the rhythmical pulsations of their wings. Shades of elephant greys glimmered and blurred in the heat haze between golden grasses. Seemingly tired, heavy footsteps silently plodded, throwing up puffs of dry sand. Needles of white ivory contrasted against the greys as they huddled and grouped together, each
