‘C
ome on kids, we’re going hunting!’
‘Yay!’
‘Papa, may Hasti and I stay behind? We’re tired. You can take Zafraan and Phasti.’
‘Actually, I’d like to finish my book,’ Zafraan said. ‘This guy Kenneth Anderson is such a scream!’
‘Move it! Hasti and Masti, this is going to be your hunt. You fail, we all starve tonight.’
‘Papa, don’t be so mean.’
‘This is emotional blackmail!’
‘Move your little butts before I smack them!’
‘Okay, okay, only kidding,’ Hasti giggled, enjoying her father’s irritation. ‘Chill, man!’
‘Babies, there are some juicy tender chital on the other side of the lake. They look really inexperienced and stupid.’ Naradmunni ran up and down excitedly wagging his tail. ‘Should be easy for you girls!’
‘Thanks, Munni!
’
‘Papa, when can we hunt porcupine again?’ Phasti asked. ‘They were absolutely delicious!’ Her sisters made a face.
‘Look who’s showing off again!’
‘Little Prissy Missy wants porcupine!’
‘By and by, baby—those fellows I killed must have friends nearby. We’ll get them at some point.’
‘Great, Papa. Yes, one of them ran away!’
They entered the grassy meadow, crouching low and blending perfectly with the golden grass. ‘Okay Phasti, you direct them!’
‘Sure, Papa. Right, Masti and Hasti, it’s going to be separate targets for you. See that one near that crooked tree—he’s yours, Masti. Hasti, you take that fellow near the water. He’s going to drink soon…’
‘But he’s got horns!’
‘Of course he has. He’s a stag.’
Zafraan shook his head. ‘This is not going to work…’
‘Shut up, Zafraan. Okay, now you two, crawl as close to them as you can without being seen. You’ll have to be on red alert. Hasti, if you spring first, Masti’s kill will bolt, so she must be ready for that. The same holds true the other way round. It’s rather like what Mamma taught us, remember? One, two, three, four…ten!’
‘Very clever!’
‘Stop fussing and go!’
Rana Shaan-Bahadur just lay down and watched.
Zafraan sat beside him, his usual snooty expression on his face. Naradmunni came trotting up.
‘Huzoor, that dhimchak chick from NG has followed us. I think she wants to photograph the hunt.’
‘Stop calling her a dhimchak chick—that’s disrespectful. Let her take her pictures. I just hope the girls don’t make fools of themselves. If they do, we’ll have to eat her and her camera!’
‘They’ll be fine, huzoor.’
‘Hah, I’m going to enjoy this!’
Hasti and Masti set forth after the targets chosen for them. Keeping low in the golden grass, they stalked their prey, checking the wind direction every now and then. To their immense surprise, both of them suddenly found that they were actually enjoying themselves. Suddenly all of little Phasti’s constant haranguing began making perfect sense. Hasti crept up towards the edge of the lake. She had worked out her strategy. The stag was standing foolishly at the end of a spit of mud, looking about and lowering his head for a drink every now and then. The breeze was blowing directly from him to her. But behind him, in the grass, she could see Masti, using the cover of the crooked tree to approach her target. She, too, was downwind of her target but she was directly upwind of Hasti’s stag. The moment he smelt her he would bolt and Hasti had anticipated in which direction he would take off. Belly to the ground, she wriggled her way out
onto an adjoining spit of mud and ducked behind the feathery reeds, watching and waiting.
The young stag was either supremely stupid or nasally challenged. Perhaps he never smelt Masti at all (even Hasti could smell her now) or didn’t link her smell to danger. At any rate he only bolted when Masti sprang and brought down her kill. He turned and fled, straight towards Hasti, crouched in the reeds. The young tigress sprang and the stag stood no chance. He floundered in the water and went down.
Some distance away, Zafraan watched his sisters bring down the kills.
‘Dear God, they’ve both scored hits. We’re never going to hear the end of this!’
Little Phasti was dancing around in excitement. ‘You did it, you did it, you did it, I love you, I love you, I love you!’
‘Well done, girls!’ Shaan-Bahadur licked his two thrilled elder daughters. ‘That was poetry in motion!’
‘And the dhimchack chick, sorry the girl with the silky tresses, photographed it all,’ Naradmunni sang gleefully. ‘You’re all going to be famous again!’
Back at the village, Khoon-Pyaasa had taken his chance. He’d seen the tigers leave and then Ayesha follow. The village was empty. From the opposite side he entered
and soon climbed up onto the roof of the headman’s house. He lay flat half concealed by a chimney, looking directly down into the courtyard. Right in front of him, across the street was the temple with its little balcony where the girl usually set up her camera. He would hardly have to move to shoot both the tigers and girl. It was the perfect spot for an assassin… All he had to do was to wait.
It was a long wait, for out in the meadow, Shaan-Bahadur and his family feasted long and heavily on the double-kill. They could now relax for several days. Hasti and Masti of course, couldn’t stop glowing. They finished most of the kill and dragged the remains under the cover of trees after Naradmunni had had his fill. From the sky, the Diclo-Fenac squadron planed down and were driven away by the infuriated tigers when they landed. Dum-kutta and the Gigglers too had caught wind of the kill, but had kept their distance, knowing how dangerous these fierce little tigers could be. It didn’t really matter, in a matter of hours or so they would be dining on the fierce little tigers themselves…
The moon had risen, butter gold and large as a sovereign by the time the tiger family returned to the village. Her face glowing, Ayesha followed at a discreet distance and made her way up to the temple balcony. The full moon would provide enough light for some really unique night-time shots. Stiff and chilled, Khoon-Pyaasa
waited and dozed on the rooftop. Then at last awoke… clutching his gun.
A terrible smile lit up his face. The courtyard below was bathed in silver moonlight. The great tiger was lying in the courtyard like some giant guard dog. The cubs were probably in the rooms. The jackal was curled up in the main doorway. And just across the street, he could see the moonlight glint off the big telephoto lenses of the photographer as she too kept vigil.
Khoon-Pyaasa swallowed and tightened his grip on his gun.
The tiger would be the first…