Crouching behind the thick bushes, the tiger watched them, still as the huge rocks around the clearing. The frail moon rendered utter darkness to the surrounding jungle save for the glimmer of tiny lamps coming from the military camp in the distance. But the tiger’s glowing amber eyes could clearly see its target – men in red coats walking around the camp while some sat leisurely beside the fire. The wind carried their rancid smell up to it. With feline stealth and its flame and coal fur blending with the shadows, the tiger advanced to the campsite. Stopping a few paces from the campsite, it took stock of the situation. A couple of red coats stood at the periphery of the clearing talking to each other – the tiger locked its target. Then with a coiled energy that rippled through its massive body, it pounced on them. Digging its carnivorous incisors, it finished one in seconds, then leaping on the other two it slashed their torsos. The screams from these men had alarmed the others who ran for their weapons, the tiger, however, was much swift. Within seconds and without a warning, it charged at the others, ripping their soft bellies with its claws, crushing their bones, and mauling many to immediate death. Some of the soldiers got hold of their guns and started firing in its direction, at which it finally stopped and ran out of the clearing. Its ears caught the screams from the men mingled with gunfire echoing from behind but the sounds soon diminished into nothing as the creature sprinted through the dark wilderness with a fluid grace. The tiger did what he had come to do and felt gratified.
****
Reaching the foot of the low hills that surrounded the jungle, the tiger sprang upward clawing at the jutting rocks as it ascended with grace, finally reaching the mouth of the cave. Setting its colossal body down beside the cave wall, the beast rested. Despite the warm night, the cave was cool with an occasional draft of summer wind blowing in. To have finished so many red coats filled it with pleasure, as did its own ferociousness, and it wanted to relish in this feeling, if only this foulness in its mouth didn’t spoil the moment. What it loathed about these nocturnal attacks was the vile, almost bitter aftertaste of human blood that lingered on his tongue for days. The beastly cat brushed its tongue against the rock to get rid of this nasty feeling but to no avail. And then somehow in the depths of its mind, a distant memory stirred – a flicker of recognition amidst the vast expanse of instinct and wilderness – a pleasant sensory experience that its tongue was aware of… a gentle feeling in the mouth… sweetness, and with it, a sudden spark of realization pierced through the veil of oblivion. Consciousness enveloped the tiger’s mind, dispelling the fog that clouded its mind, ushering in faint echoes of another life. Where the mind goes, the body follows, and so – as it had happened countless times before – began the transformation. The fur was always the first to disappear, the flaming red coat and the black stripes disappeared into a stretch of dust-colored skin, followed by the tail that gradually retracted like the thread of a pull-string toy. He felt the bones reshaping deep inside his muscles, that in turn thinned down and reshaped. He looked down at his thick paws as they cleaved into lean fingers with shapely nails appearing where there had been sharp claws. The last to change was always the head, and as darkness began to mask his vision and he felt the sudden drop in his once-sharp hearing, he realized that the rebirth was now complete. Gradually rising from the spot, he experienced the familiar wave of dizziness that followed the transformation. He took a few measured steps to regain familiarity with standing on two legs. Once he regained his balance, he walked out of the cave and climbed down from the hillside. Some distance from the base of the hill, he found his horse waiting faithfully in the clump of trees where he’d left it. Retrieving his robes from the saddle bag, he dressed and then reached for his favorite object sitting at the bottom of the bag. The gold tiger-head hilt of his dagger gleamed through the blackness of the night. Setting the dagger in his belt, he mounted his horse and galloped towards the city of Mysore.
****
By the time he reached the gates of the fort, the moonless night had already given way to the rising sun casting a rosy hue across the sky. Heading to the stables, he found the young stable boy dozing in a corner. As the boy caught the sound of the hooves, he shook up from his sleep and was startled to see the man in front of him. “Sultan” the boy exclaimed abruptly and lowered his head. Sultan handed him the reins of his horse and walked away without saying a word. Through the private tunnel leading from the courtyard, Sultan entered his bedchamber. A dense aroma of henna and incense hung in the air and a tiny oil lamp flickered in the corner at the far end of the enormous room. Despite the absence of his enhanced tiger vision, he possessed an innate sense of her presence, knowing precisely where to find her. Approaching the bed, he crawled in and felt Rukaya’s warmth beside him. She turned and placed her arm across his chest, her bangles tinkled softly. “You’ve been going away at nights too often now Sultan,” Rukaya whispered. He sensed the rebuke in her voice. “I’m aware of it, however I cannot help myself. The news of the Firangi’s advances around our lands fills me up with such consuming rage that I can scarcely wait for sunset to go out and hunt them,” Sultan replied with a hint of the night’s aggression returning. Rukaya, knowing better than to provoke him, softened her manner, “Sutan, my beloved, I’m just asking you to try and contain your beast. Your family and your people need you as a leader and as the man that you are.” she stressed on ‘man’ to drive her point home. Sultan, though vexed, knew that Rukaya was right. This war could only be won through strong leadership and authority. The il had been a menace all through his father’s reign and now his own, and needed to be expelled from his lands once and for all. Being a beast, though powerful and ferocious, would hardly help it. He knew the importance of tempering his rage, lest it carry him to a point of no return. Rukaya discerned her husband’s state of mind from his labored breaths, so she interrupted his thoughts, “My beloved, I always wondered how it might feel when you…”, she paused and then went on gingerly, “when you change.” Sultan broke off from his musings, “I can’t really explain it” he replied, amused at the question, “I feel the change happening in every part of my body but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even sting or pinch. I think the closest thing to that feeling would be like…” he raked his mind for a sensation that she might be able to relate to, “… like having goosebumps” he smiled. “Goosebumps!” Rukaya exclaimed with surprise and they both laughed. And for these few moments, his apprehensions vanished, only to return later.
****
From the somber faces of his courtiers and ministers, Sultan knew that the report was a particularly depressing one. He gestured to his general to speak. “My Sultan, I feel extremely distressed to share this with you…” he paused to weigh how the sovereign would take this news. Whichever way of breaking the news the general thought might soften its blow, he feared Sultan’s reaction. So he gathered up courage and continued, “our two erstwhile hostile neighbors have joined forces with the Firangi against Mysore.” Hearing this, Sultan got off his enormous throne and started pacing around it. For a brief moment, he found himself appreciating the stunning beauty of this piece. Crafted entirely from gold and set upon gleaming black marble, this octagonal piece was a royal splendor. Its edges were adorned with precious stones of many colors and intricately etched with calligraphy in elegant, floral motifs. Yet, the pinnacle of magnificence lay in its centerpiece – a majestic tiger’s head sculpted from pure gold and fitted with rubies the size of plums for its eyes. The tiger snarled at the onlooker baring his vicious teeth that were polished to a shine. Placed at the throne’s anterior, the tiger-head served as an unmistakable symbol of the sovereign’s might. This is me, he thought, I am the mighty tiger. They’re foolish to think that they can rally up against the tiger and defeat him. I will crush their skulls under my claws… a blind rage started to swell in him. Suddenly, a familiar sensation stirred within him. Glancing down, he saw hair the color of burnished copper, sprouting from the back of his hands. Several months had passed since the assault on the enemy campsite, and he had suppressed the tiger all this time. However, he could feel its growing restlessness now, a stirring in him. Turning away from the courtiers, Sultan stormed out of the audience hall. Out in the palace gardens, he walked across the stone pavement trying to contain the beast, yet his thoughts relentlessly circled back to the news his general had shared. For years he had been paying heavy sums to the neighboring states in order to maintain peace with them but now the traitors had chosen the side of the Firangi, the sly outlander who was trying to take control of not only his land but all the lands from north to south. His anger fueled the beast, he felt his muscles tightening as he felt the tiger’s presence surge within him. He was about to run to the stables to grab his horse and disappear into the jungle when, all of a sudden, he heard a tiny giggle close by. Looking around he saw his youngest son playing near the fountains. The boy was having a sword fight with a young servant. The two knocked their wooden swords and laughed when the other fell. The sight instantly brought a sense of calm over him. He felt his muscles relaxing as his mind drifted to his own childhood. It was around this boy’s age when he had first started having the unexplainable bouts of rage and with each occurrence, he felt his body tearing from inside. He had been an excellent student, a kind master to his servants, and an exemplary son. But with the waves of rage, things had gone the other way. He had started to disrespect his teachers, he would rebuke his servants severely for the slightest mistakes and often raise his voice to his mother. It distressed him to hurt the people around but the spells were too strong and felt like a jinn had clasped him in its enormous fist and squeezed his soul. It was not until his father came back after years of being away on military campaign that he was finally able to receive an explanation for his long-standing troubles. Hearing of his rages, his father called him to his chamber one day and shared with him a closely guarded family secret that would leave a mark on his life forever. “Son, did you notice how from the tapestries to furniture, from our flags to even the guns and cannons, everything is woven, etched, drawn, or shaped as a tiger? Well, that’s because we ‘are’ the tiger”, his father had said with his war-hardened face beaming with pride. Sultan was told that in every generation, one son was born with a tiger in him and among all his brothers, he was the one to inherit it. He recalled the last thing his father had told him that evening before he left his chamber, “Whether you let the tiger be your quality or your curse, that’d be up to you.” That was indeed up to him, and so was the safety of his family and his people. He realized then that he needed to fight two battles, one with the enemy, and one with his inner beast.
****
Sultan’s army had fought bravely at the border of his lands for months, keeping the combined forces of the Firangi and the neighboring states at bay. Their success was also attributed to the Mysorean rockets, an ingenious weapon that was first invented in his father’s time and was still more effective than any other ammunition. One hit of the rocket could send dozens of red coats flying like clay dolls. Though the fight was still going on, there was a glimmer of hope that he might be able to win this war. However, as a legion of red coats appeared near Mysore one day, the soldiers were called back to defend the fortress. Sultan’s fortress was impenetrable, protected by imposing walls and bordered by a wide river in the north and west. Incapable of breaking in, the Firangi’s army had eventually laid a siege to the fort. Standing at the high tower, Sultan could see thousands of red coat soldiers in the grounds beyond like a river of fire. The past few months had proven exceptionally difficult for him, particularly in his ongoing battle to contain the beast. Yet, somehow, he managed to retain his humanness, even though it sapped him of all of his energy, leaving him completely spent by the end of each day. One morning, thirty six days into the siege of the fortress, as Sultan was discussing his war plans with his general, a soldier came running with news that a shot from the enemy forces had struck a magazine of rockets within the fortress causing it to explode. Sultan ran out in the courtyard and saw a towering cloud of black smoke rising from the armory. He sent his general to go and inspect the damages. After a while the general came running back, his face black with soot looking particularly distressed. Sultan demanded him to report on the incident. “The fire at the armory has been contained, your highness, but there’s something else…”, he hesitated, “… something you would not like to hear.” Sultan’s eyes tensed. The general continued, “Your chief minister has sold his filthy soul to the enemy. According to my spies, he has divulged crucial information about the fortress’s weakest point. It is only a matter of time before the enemy forces would breach the fort’s defenses.” The raging beast clawed at him from the inside, he could hear its growls in his head. Instructing his general to take his family to a safe place before the inevitable happened, he grabbed his sword and ran to the fort’s gate. But as he reached, a cannonball dropped inside the courtyard, completely destroying the gate and the surrounding wall. The enemy forces, the red coats he had been tearing apart for so long, had at last breached his fort. Sultan’s soldiers fought till their last breath but the devils blew over them like a red storm. He fought on relentlessly until a sudden blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.
****
Sultan opened his eyes. Through a blurry vision, he slowly discerned the surroundings as one of the servant quarters within his fortress. Two mats lay against the wall, with a clay water jug nestled in the corner. Soft morning light filtered through a small window, casting a gentle glow across the room. He dashed to the door, attempting to push it open, only to discover it was locked. He then rushed to the window, where he saw the vast courtyard strewn with the lifeless forms of his men and the wreckage of what had once been the impenetrable walls of his fortress. Atop the rubble stood the general of the red coats, a man with pale skin, white hair and a flaming crimson coat adorned with gilded embellishments. Surrounding him were numerous others, including his own turncoat chief minister. The sight of his most detested enemy inside his bastille, his sanctuary, rose a tempest of madness and rage from deep within him that took over all of his senses. Riding the wave of fury, the tiger surged and took over. In the dead of night, the door to the quarters swung open with a jarring noise. A group of red coats stood in the doorway holding torches. Their general had asked for the defeated ruler to be brought to him. As one of them ventured into the room, waving the torch to locate Sultan, a sudden flash of claw tore across his face, causing him to fall back. With a gut-wrenching growl, the tiger bounded forth, attacking the others at the door, who fled in terror for their lives. The tiger sprinted through the labyrinth of corridors in the lower part of the fort, eventually reaching the end of the private tunnel from where it could see out in the courtyard. There were many red coats but their general was nowhere in sight. So it retreated in the shadows. Leaping through open windows and through familiar passages, the tiger moved like a phantom, completely undetected, till it reached the upper balcony of the throne room. There he found the general of red coats sitting right under the balcony. As the tiger was preparing to pounce on him, a soldier entered the room, with him were Rukaya and her young son. The tiger paused, observing the faces it found curiously familiar. Rukaya was sobbing inconsolably, her son clinging to her robes. The general interrogated Rukaya about Sultan’s whereabouts, but she could only shake her head amidst her tears. Enraged, the general screamed at them, causing Rukaya to collapse to her knees, trembling and sobbing. The tiger could vaguely understand the situation – the human in him struggled to come up and protect his kin. The beast, however, refused to withdraw. There was just one thought consuming its mind – to finish the red coats and their general. A part of the other self still occupied the tiger’s mind, sending recalls of this woman and her young child. A lingering trace of humanity softened the tiger’s resolve. Clutching its head in its paws, the tiger hesitated. However, in a sudden moment, the general got up from his place and ordered the young boy to be taken away from his mother. Rukaya’s screams and pleas shook the hall. The tiger felt the human struggling, gasping for air, but the voice inside was fading, until it vanished altogether. The tiger leapt from the balcony to pounce on the general but with much luck the man escaped. Amidst the chaos, red coat soldiers scrambled for their weapons and aimed at the beast. Dodging gunfire, it jumped over the row of soldiers, out into the courtyard and bolting through the breached wall, vanishing into the night.
****
Legend tells of a ferocious tiger, a maneater, haunting the forests surrounding the city of Mysore long after the fall of its ruler. Curiously, it never took domestic animals, nor did it ever threaten the city’s people. The tiger’s only prey seemed to be the soldiers of the foreign people who had seized control of Mysore, identified through their ominous red coats. The ruler of Mysore – dead or alive – was never found.