HOW TO SAVE THE 1411 TIGERS IN INDIA?

My niece Pammie said,” Just 1411 are left”

I said,” yes and no”.

She asked, “What do you mean by saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’? I said that only 1411 tigers are left in India. That is what everybody else is saying.”

The conversation went on like this:

“You are repeating parrot-like what M.S. Dhoni, Baichung Bhutia and a few film actors say on TV. Yes, I have heard it, but No, the number 1411 is highly inflated like the Indian economy. The correct figure may be around 411.

“Don’t say so. You want to make me cry.”

“I don’t. The number 1411 rings a bell. Yes, when I was very young and had fever – which was quite often – my mother used to apply a muslin cloth soaked in a bowlful of water and eau-de-cologne on my forehead. The brand of eau-de-cologne was 4711 – Four Seven Eleven – and it came from France. 4711 was the number of a house on Champs Elysee in Paris where this was manufactured. That was during Napoleon’s time. It came in lovely crystal bottles.”

“Your mother must have kept oodles of the stuff, considering that you always had a feverish brain.”

I disregarded her snide, sarcastic and provocative statement and continued,” What do you feel about the saving of the Tiger?”

“I feel that I should do something about it. Shall I go on an indefinite fast?”

“Who cares about your fasting or feasting? Are you like the politicians who have many goons to set buses on fire and destroy public property?”

“I am not a politician and I will never be one.”

“I like that. If you are really interested in saving the Tiger, I will tell you what to do. Have you got a gun licence? I know someone who can get you a gun licence. How much cash have you?”

“About one thousand. But what has that got to do with this situation? I am not going to shoot a tiger.”

“On second thought a gun licence is not required. But you must get a powerful repeating rifle, an AK-47 will be ideal. You know what goes phut, phut, phut, like what Ajmal Kasab did in Victoria Terminus during 26/11. I think I can get one for you if I go to Kashmir or the North-east.”

Pammie reached for the Telephone Directory. I said that ‘Getit B2C Yellow Pages’ would be better to find a gun dealer.

“I am trying to find the nearest mental hospital. I think you have gone off the rocker.”

I said,” I am perfectly sane and don’t call a loony doctor to examine me.”

She said,” You are talking loony stuff”

I continued, “And the next thing you must do is to get hold of a forest guide who will take you to a sanctuary without letting anyone to know about it. Deep inside the sanctuary where the tigers congregate you must build a ‘machan’.

“What is a machan?”

“It is a kind of a wooden platform built on a tree out of reach of the tiger. You can tie a lamb or buffalo calf to the nearest tree. Its bleating will bring the tiger to your presence.”

Pammie reached for the T.D. again and I took it away from her.

“Listen and don’t jump to conclusion. While waiting for the tiger to arrive, you can listen to your iPod, but keep the volume low. The tigers have sharp hearing. In the old days there were no such devices and the maharaja spent the time up on the machan drinking Champagne and eating the exotic dishes prepared by his personal staff. And when the unfortunate tiger attracted by the lamb or buffalo calf’s bleating came he let go with his magnum rifle and lo, the poor tiger was dead. The Maharaja of Vizianagaram shot 1000 tigers in one season in that way.”

“Oh, my god! 1000 tigers! Is he still alive? I would like to put 1000 bullets into him!”

“Now dead as a dodo. But one bullet would have been enough. Now as you told you are up in the machan and the tiger is coming. What will you do?”

“I cannot shoot a tiger. I would like to come down and stroke his head. So cute!”

“But the tiger may misinterpret your intention and it may become a woman-eater. But the tiger will not be the only one that will be coming. Behind it the poacher will come. You shoot him. That is all. The tiger will run away and can live another day. A dead poacher is worth a dozen tigers alive.”

“One shot will be enough?”

“The poacher will not come alone. A politician or two and a few corrupt officials may be waiting in the background. Hearing the shot and hearing no cry from the poacher which would have told them that the tiger got him first, they will come along to verify the size of the dead tiger and the amount it will fetch them in the Chinese market. And you shoot them too. Dead people tell no tales.”

With a single leap like that of a tigress retrieving her cub from the jaws of a hyena, Pammie snatched the Telephone Directory from my hand, ran out, closed and bolted the door. I could hear her calling, “Hello, is it the mental hospital? There is a mentally disturbed person here. Please send someone immediately. The address is ……”

I wanted to make my exit like the tiger when he heard the shot, but I was trapped inside. Luckily I found an open window and though it was at a considerable height above the ground below – and I suffer from Acrophobia – I managed to get down, shakily though, and stalking among the flower plants like a tiger went outside and into civilised society.