Threatened Habitats- Sreelekha Chatterjee

Avinash opened his tiffin box at 1 o’clock just like he did every day to dive into the food that he brought from home. Two dry, thin chapattis, along with a green chilli, looked at him mockingly from inside the tiffin box. He suppressed a smile that brushed past his lips, slowly turning into derisive laughter, and forcefully stopped it by thinking about something unpleasant. Being a keeper at the North Bengal Zoo in Jalpaiguri, he earned a meager sum of Rs 2,000 that wasn’t enough to feed his big family—parents, wife, two kids, and two unmarried sisters. He tried hard to make both ends meet, but all his efforts were in vain. The family expenses would run into a few thousand, and his salary would inevitably get exhausted within the first fifteen days of the month. After that, he’d be left with no other option but to borrow money from the local moneylender. He wondered why all these thoughts haunted him even more during lunchtime.

He’d put a small piece of chapatti into his mouth and was about to take a bite of the green chilli when an official of the zoo came running up to him. Before he could say anything, the siren blew loudly, almost startling him.

“There’s an emergency. Come quickly.” The official managed to utter these words excitedly while breathing rapidly. He paused for a moment to sneak a terrified glance at Avinash’s blank, flushed face and then left hurriedly.   

The gravity of the emergency was left unclassified by the official, leaving Avinash flabbergasted. The suddenness of the incident caught him unawares, filling him with panic. A small piece of chapatti blocked his throat, choking him in an awkward manner—he could neither breathe nor say anything. He could feel his heart beating rapidly as though a thousand horses were galloping inside him. What could have happened? He drank some water from the bottle to gulp down the stuck food.

He got up and distractedly ran toward the main office, unsure where exactly he was supposed to go. He met another official on his way who informed him that something had happened near Surya’s cage. He was overwhelmed with a fatherly affection when he heard about Surya, the five-year-old, male Royal Bengal Tiger. Was Surya alright? He wished that nothing had happened to it and all that was going on was only a false alarm.    

As he approached Surya’s cage, he heard a tumult of shouting and screaming going on near it. He noticed a crowd of people beaming with enthusiasm, peering over one another’s shoulders with nervous, bewildered eyes. They were making all sorts of noises by clapping and tramping their feet that seemed to be extremely irritating and in a way, humiliating to him.

“What’s the matter?” He asked a group of officials who were standing in consternation at one side of the cage, secluded from the score of onlookers, with eyes burdened with worries.

“A man has jumped into Surya’s den.” An official said, wringing his hands.

“What?” His jaw dropped, and he felt giddy as if he’d been severely hit by a strong blow. By then, his eyes shifted to the place where a tiny creature resembling that of a man was kneeling down, cowering with terror. His dusky face was covered by the shadow of the nearby tree, his white shirt almost drenched in sweat, his legs clad in dark grey trousers clamped together, and his elbows on his knees guarding his torso, as he kept gazing intently into the shining eyes of a gigantic tiger standing next to him as though mesmerized by its glittering eyes. The dark brownish-black stripes on the tiger’s yellowish-orange, 9-foot-long body were prominent even from a distance, giving it a majestic appearance. 

Avinash trundled down the stand-off barrier occupied by a group of spectators to get a better glimpse of them. A moat of dust whirled inside the enclosure near both of them, followed by a crunching sound of friction between dry leaves, small pieces of pebbles, and the gusty wind. The shimmering veins of sunlight played hide-and-seek with undulating shadows, revealing and concealing the two living entities that had turned into objects of entertainment for the watchers. The eyes of the royal creature seemed to glow intensely with a strange radiance, creating a hypnotic effect on the unknown visitor who looked fixedly at it, frozen with a strange infirmity. Avinash stood spellbound, profoundly distressed, muttering imprecations to himself. He could visualize the scene where the man had fallen into the tiger’s enclosure, and it had bounded up to him, driven by an instinctive curiosity about the sudden intrusion into its habitat, which was known amongst these big cats. The vision was scary yet comical in a strange way, he knew not why. 

“Why did the man jump inside?” Avinash asked no one in particular, pointing his outstretched finger angrily at the lad in the enclosure.

“A madman! What else could be the reason?” An elderly man belonging to the group of watchers said.

“He’s a publicity seeker.” Someone opined, with seeming irrelevance.

“I know him. His name is Varun. He’s a tourist, from Kolkata.” Another voice was heard, but nobody bothered to find out more about him. After all, the encounter of man versus tiger that they were witnessing was far more interesting than his personal details. Some even started recording the incident on their mobiles and video cameras. 

*

Varun kept on staring resignedly at the tiger, somewhat dazed by his own action and evidently disappointed, trapped in his own fate that awaited him. Perhaps he saw his death in the eyes of the tiger—pale, torturous, and vicious.

The image of his entire life flashed before his eyes, the anagram of events was thoroughly disturbing—the innocence of his childhood, the confusion of his adolescent days, and the turmoil of his youth. He was 25 and could have lived for another 40–45 years at least. But he himself chose his ending, and that too a frightful one.

He was in love with Seema, whom he’d met at the university in Kolkata. The caste difference came in the way of their marriage, as her parents refused to give in to their daughter’s wish, continued to hold on to their orthodox beliefs, and were reluctant to accept their relationship. Seema had tried to convince her parents several times in spite of the fact that women in her family were denied the opportunity to express their opinions on family matters. Varun had not dared to visit their house, as Seema’s brothers were known for their hooliganism and had political connections. They had once beaten him up, hurting him so badly that he limped forever after that incident. The past memories rose one after the other, leaving him sad, discomfited, filled with an inexhaustible gloom, and emptying him of all hope and aspirations. 

He wished he could prove his love for Seema in some way. When he was small, he’d read Leigh Hunt’s famous poem “The Glove and the Lions,” which had influenced his understanding of love—the sacrifice and devotion that were expected from lovers. It narrated the tale of a man who had leaped amidst ferocious lions to retrieve a glove that his beloved had dropped into their pit. The man, being enamoured by the lady and dictated by the codes of chivalry, had to fetch it back for her. On the other hand, the lady, driven by sheer arrogance and vainglorious thinking, had ordered him to undertake such a fearsome and risky task that could have taken his life in the course of the act, which ultimately resulted in the termination of their romanticism by her lover. But that part seemed immaterial to Varun, as it was he who had chosen to demonstrate his feelings, and his lady love, Seema, hadn’t forced him to do so. In his case, it was the insensitive society—blinded by rules and norms along with vanity and power of control over an individual’s choice and preferences—that replaced the lady in the poem, demanding proof of his worthiness as a suitor and scrutinizing his love for Seema at every instance. He was willing to exhibit his love by doing anything—a gesture of his sincerity toward her—even if it appeared to be silly, a lunatic exhibition of his affection for her. Lovers were never wise people in the eyes of the society, and he wished to be a true lover in that sense. 

That morning, he’d decided to prove his love for Seema to the whole world, including her family. He’d imagined that their faces would brighten with admiration when they’d see the entire episode on TV or read about how he’d dared to enter a tiger’s den just to show his commitment toward Seema. 

*

Avinash was supposed to feel a kind of helplessness that he had never felt in his life. But he didn’t. He was taking a sadistic pleasure in the whole thing. He was only a keeper at the zoo and had no authority to save anyone. He was not to be blamed for the untoward incident. It was certainly the young fellow’s misadventure that was about to take his life.

As far as Avinash knew, a tiger felt intimidated when anybody—be it a human being or another animal—looked into its eyes. Surya appeared to be calm, good-natured, and there had been no precedent of the tiger attacking any of the zoo officials in a fit of rage, but chances of Varun’s survival seemed bleak, especially in such a circumstance where he’d aroused the tiger’s curiosity. 

At one moment, Avinash felt as if he saw Varun writhing with fear on the ground like a snake and Surya roaring, pawing the ground impatiently, flashing its sharp canine teeth while slimy saliva kept dripping from the edges of its red mouth, building a perfect mood for its attack. Its greedy eyes had a strange glare and restlessness as though eagerly waiting to satisfy its bloodlust. The next moment, he felt as if both the tiger and the man were maintaining a hostile silence, a noiseless calm, not showing any visible movement, except for staring at each other. 

The crowd kept hooting at the tiger, and for a while, it turned to look at them. Avinash found a cold indifference in the tiger’s eyes, a strange similarity with that of the moneylender who bothered him every now and then, demanding the loan which he’d given him and taking undue favors in lieu of that. Once he’d caught him eyeing one of his younger sisters. But who wasn’t indifferent to others’ troubles, apathetic about other’s sufferings? Another politician-cum-hooligan, who was also his neighbor, would extort money after every fortnight from everyone in his locality, which he’d declare as something that went for the well-being of society but seemed to be more favorable toward his own welfare. Avinash had expressed his inability to contribute, but the politician wouldn’t listen. He threatened that if he didn’t receive this money, he’d kidnap his sisters. Avinash had to sell off some of the utensils of his house to feed his undue claims to ward off the trouble for a while. But for how long? He so wished that the politician was there in front of the tiger instead of this seemingly harmless man.

*

“Why aren’t you shooting the tiger? How can you see a man die like this?” Somebody from the crowd howled at the zoo officials.

Avinash suddenly quivered with fear, seeing the crowd getting restless and mouthing abuses at the zoo officials, and perhaps preparing to pounce on them, much before the tiger attacked the human in its enclosure. It was almost certain and quite evident that the public wouldn’t spare Avinash and his colleagues under any circumstances once Varun got killed by the tiger. 

There was a low-pitched, rhythmic sound coming from somewhere nearby that seemed to be getting louder with every passing minute, adding to Avinash’s discomfort and anxiety. He listened carefully and reacted with a start to find his own heart pounding like an old wall clock that would halt abruptly at any moment. He clutched the left side of his chest with his right palm as if to manually stop the heart from racing. A feeling of suffocation prevailed as he grew faint with nausea, asphyxiated by the building tension about the consequences that awaited the zoo officials for not being able to save the life of a visitor intruding on a tiger’s territory. This wasn’t the time to feel weak, he thought, as he drank water and controlled the sinking sensation that had overpowered him.

“You guys need to act with greater alacrity.” A man standing next to Avinash said, his voice sounded heavy with concern. 

“At least shoot a tranquilizer, and save the man. After all, the onus is on the zoo authorities to ensure that the man is not harmed by the animal.” Another person shouted agitatedly.

“We’ve informed our Head. He’s on his way. Don’t worry. We’re trying our best.” Avinash’s colleague said reassuringly.

Avinash knew that by the time their senior officer would make it, it would be too late. The animal wouldn’t wait for their chief to come in and then show its natural ability to kill a human being. Death never waited for anyone; it always came in unexpectedly, imperceptibly, at its scheduled time—neither early nor late. 

He wondered how indifferent and cruel human beings were. The number of tigers was dwindling fast, and the main reason for that was poaching by humans for their skin, fur, and other body parts, which were used for traditional medicine, folk remedies, and decorative pieces, driving them to the verge of extinction. The humans were responsible for diminishing their numbers, but couldn’t see one of them being killed by a tiger and were demanding the death of the innocent creature, who was already leading a secluded life in captivity, being deprived of its natural habitat. 

Avinash thought that in the present context, Surya felt equally threatened and shocked as much as Varun—both vulnerable to the ferocity of one another to be exhibited in different forms, and both clinging on to the hope of survival. Everywhere it was the same story of tyranny of the powerful and the oppression of the weak, be it man versus man, or man versus animal.

A few minutes went by, and the crowd suddenly became agitated and started pelting stones at Surya to divert its attention from Varun, who groaned in pain and fury as he tried to get to his feet, reddening with embarrassment and caught by a sudden awareness of the fact that he’d made a spectacle of himself and was being watched, abused for his folly. The tiger let out a whimper, which couldn’t tell anything about its mood. Though it wasn’t hungry, it was certainly agitated, but all the more frightened. 

Avinash recalled a series of incidents associated with tigers. He’d heard stories about marauding tigers attacking human beings in villages, mostly during early mornings or late evenings, while fishing, collecting fuel wood, and other raw materials from the adjacent jungles. They’d turned into man-eaters in self-defence, and the reason could be attributed to the selfish desires of humans who’d encroached and destroyed the tigers’ natural habitat by cutting down the trees, polluting the air and water, and hunting their prey. 

Another incident happened in a zoo where a madman had jumped into a tiger’s enclosure in a bid to garland it. At first, the tiger tried to put him away by gently pushing him. But when the man approached the tiger for the second time, it lost its patience and slapped him, which was fatal enough to break his cheek and skull, thus ending his life. He’d heard about many such instances that happened in India and abroad, but he never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d witness one himself.   

Almost 20 minutes had passed, but there wasn’t any major development. Avinash felt as if he’d been standing there for ages, waiting with bated breath for the inevitable to happen. The tiger kept staring at the man and intermittently glanced at the crowd. It seemed as if it was looking for someone. Was it Avinash he was searching for? He was someone who’d been associated with the tiger for a long time, ever since it was born in the zoo, feeding it every day from a distance, yet connected with it in some way, bound by an inarticulate emotion of compassion, an unsaid promise of peaceful co-existence. 

The tiger shifted its attention from Varun and settled on the ground, its lowered chin almost touching its chest. It remained that way for a while as if deliberating over something. Did the tiger lose interest in Varun? Or was it a signal of a storm that was coming through? Avinash kept wondering. If the tiger killed Varun, then none of the zoo officials would reach home on their feet that day, and there was no way he could escape his fate. The human beings were far more vindictive and malicious than the tiger that was bewildered at the entry of an uninvited man, smitten by a disturbing apprehension, and confused about its course of action—all because it was not bestowed with intelligence, the power of comprehension, the ability to decide between right and wrong. Beads of sweat accumulated on his forehead, as he felt his heart in his mouth, overpowered by a dull, oppressive dread of what would happen next. 

The excited voices of the crowd, followed by a ripple of applause, broke into his thoughts. 

“It’s going away. It’s going away.” They said.

He looked toward the side of the enclosure where Varun was standing with a frightened but somewhat relaxed expression. The tiger was sauntering away casually toward its den, arousing a mixture of surprise and delight amongst the score of thrilled spectators. 

Avinash watched in disbelief the silent retreat of death in the nerve-racking game of life and extinction. A battle of man versus animal was at last over, at least for that day.  

Originally published by Indian Short Fiction magazine, 2014

Sreelekha Chatterjee is an award-winning short story writer, poet, and editor from New Delhi, India. Widely published in more than eighty journals, magazines, and anthologies globally across thirteen countries, her stories have appeared in Kitaab, Ink Pantry, Mad Swirl, The Piker Press, Borderless, York Literary Review, House of Arcanum, Usawa Literary Review, Literary Cocktail Magazine, Underbelly Press, and elsewhere. She lives in New Delhi, India.

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