The Tale of the White Tiger

- Six-year-old Nita and five-year-old Jaya followed their grandmother along the lush rows of multicolored orchids, white jasmine, and trailing magenta bougainvillea. The plants overflowed the glass-enclosed botanical garden at the back of the Bhargava estate. Grandmother Bhargava stroked the flowers, removing spent blossoms as though these plants were children in need of a gentle touch. She poured fertilizer judiciously around ailing plants and moved some closer to the light. She taught Nita and Jaya to love the plants as well. Jaya loved her grandmother’s fine-featured face and ivory skin. Her long slender fingers seemed carved of alabaster. Everything about Grandmother Bhargava showed white and clean down to her white sari and silver hair. She could blend with the feathery white clouds on a summer’s day or a bank of jasmine in full flower. Sometimes the three would walk in the forest with bags and soil to harvest unusual species. Jaya cherished a blue and lavender orchid with a yellow throat. She found it clinging to a tree. Its long, delicate roots flourished in midair. The orchid now grew anchored by three roots to a tree branch in the middle of the garden. “It loves air,” Grandmother Bhargava explained. “The roots gather nourishment from the garden mist. Jaya, it is an epiphyte. The terrestrial orchids we find on the forest floor feed on the soil. The soil wears orchids in necklaces and broaches as a woman wears jewels. The flowers attract insects to clean and nurture all plants. Like a lady, no forest should be without orchids”. “Mummy,” Jaya asked, calling her grandmother by her favorite name, “How do you know so much about plants? You must know everything.” “No, Jaya, I know little. To know everything, one must study at the university. It takes years to learn the needs and character of each plant... What I do know, I learned from your great grandmother. She was wise and strong.” “Could I go to the university when I am older,” Jaya pursued, “I want to learn how orchids live on air.” “Jaya, girls can’t go to the university,” Nita protested. “Girls must marry, obey their husbands, and have children. It is a duty. There’s no other way.” “I will find a way, Nita. I do not want to marry and have children. I want to learn about the forest and its plants. I love flowers. I want them in my heart. Mummy, I want to learn.” “Jaya, to be such a solitary woman in India, you would need the soul of a white tiger,” Grandmother Bhargava replied. “How can I become so strong?” Jaya asked. “Jaya, you can’t have the soul of a tiger,” Nita laughed. “If you did, no man would want you in his house.” Grandmother Bhargava smiled as she sat down to rest on a garden bench. She waved a branch of jasmine under Nita’s nose.      “Nita, there is a story my mother told me to help me understand life and the lessons I would learn. ‘The Tale of the White Tiger” teaches what it is to know the soul of a man as well as that of a tiger.” “Mummy, would you tell us that story?” Jaya asked. Circling Nita and Jaya with her arms, Grandmother Bhargava began crooning in a low mysterious voice.  “Once long ago in a place where tigers are the rule rather than the exception lived a boy by the name of Maja Tigre. His name meant ‘The Great One of the Tiger’. Tigre and his mother lived in Pondicherry, a French community along the Indian coast. Tigre was half-French hence his name and wandering father. Tigre’s mother wanted to see her son grow up strong, but she died a few months after his birth. Tigre’s father along with his charm disappeared shortly after his wife’s death. An orphan, Tigre played in the streets with friends as poor as himself. Tigre was always hungry. One night among many nights, Tigre went to bed without eating. He dreamed a dream so strange that he awoke in the middle of it. He shuddered at the sight of white tigers in the streets, in the garden, and the river swimming toward him. He could not go back to sleep. He looked out the window to see a white tiger l*****g its toes. “Greetings, Tigre,” the tiger rumbled. “I am not a tiger. I do not have to be a beast if I do not wish to be one. I can be anything. I can be you if I like. I can jump inside your soul.” “Why do you bother my dreams, tiger? Have I done something to offend you?” “No, I’m simply bored. I want to try being you.” “That’s impossible unless you eat me.” “No, I can be anything I want to be if the time and place are right. Besides, I’m not hungry.” “Do you have a name tiger?” “I have many names. Tonight, you may call me Shiva for the god who wears the tiger skin. Now come close, I will teach you a lesson. I promise not to eat you. We will simply trade places.” Closer and closer came Shiva. The stripes on Tigre’s kilt blended with the stripes on the tiger’s back. The kilt wrapped and settled on Shiva’s hindquarters. The two broke apart. Tigre licked his new glistening coat and flexed his rolling muscles. Shiva smiled back with eyes now brown. He adjusted his kilt around a newly slim waist. Shiva circled Tigre. “Now you must dance in the moonlight. It is the Night of the White Tiger.” Tigre felt his heart rip open as a great claw scored its center. A passionate fierceness gripped his body. He swayed, leaped, and pawed the air. He knew no master. He felt no hunger. Shiva watched Tigre dance. He laughed. “Tigre, you may stay a white tiger, and you will never be hungry again.  Why would you want to be a boy?”  Tigre examined his velvet paws and rubbed his full stomach. “Shiva, being powerful and full is not enough. If you never change, how can you learn anything? White tigers only dance and tease people.” “Tigre, change brings infirmity and ugliness. Boys grow old quickly” “Shiva, men father children to help them when they are old.” “Tigre, who needs children if there is no hunger, sickness, or age. How wonderful to always be the same.” “Shiva, I need to have children, to grow old, and see them prosper. I want to see them become better than I am. I want to be a boy who becomes a man. I want to earn my food when I am hungry. I want to walk the forest with my wife and children and be free to love them. I will not be like my father who deserted his family.” “As do I, Tigre. You have learned part of my lesson. There is more to learn. For now, dance in the moonlight.” Shiva walked into the shadows gracefully meshing with the night. As Shiva walked away, Tigre saw himself locked in an eternal black striped cage. He could dance forever behind these bars. He wondered what other lesson he must learn to be free. Then he saw a young girl standing in Shiva’s place. She wore a blue sari bordered in gold. Her huge golden-brown eyes reflected the sari’s gold border. She started talking as though Tigre could understand her. “You are a wonderful dancer,” she said. “What is the name of that dance? Can you teach me the steps?” Tigre narrowed his eyes. His heart made ready to pounce. “Child, what is your name. This dance is the eternal dance of life and death. To teach you, I must know your name.” “My name is Jaya. It means ‘victory’ in Hindi. How are you called white tiger?” “You may call me, Tigre, Jaya. You can only dance as I do if you become a white tiger. Everything in life takes sacrifice.” “Tell me the sacrifice, Tigre.” “It’s no sacrifice. You just trade me places. Jaya, you will be the most beautiful white tiger in existence. You must dance in my place, and you will learn the wonderful dance of life and death. Will you agree to be me?” “Yes.” “Then hand me the edge of your sari.” Jaya lifted the long, draped sari from her left shoulder. She watched Tigre wrap it around his middle. The golden border fused with his ebony stripes. His fingered paws precisely measured five pleats across his belly. In a whirl of moonlight, a slender golden girl with dark hair to her hips took Tigre’s place. The tiger rested its paw on the girl’s shoulder. Stunned, the girl asked, “What is your name tiger?” “I told you before we switched. I am Jaya. Who are you?” “I don’t know. Everything seems wrong. I have forgotten my name. Give me a moment.” “That’s unfortunate. I do not have a moment to spare. Thank you for the sacrifice. I have been waiting so long to dance in the moonlight. Human beings are sad creatures. They only dance when they want to, not because they must. Sometimes the dance of life and death seems wasted on men. They refuse to learn the eternal rhythms of paradise. They always hunger for more, not less.” Looking at her blue sari, the bewildered girl remembered her name and burst into tears. “I was Tigre,” she cried, free, adventurous, hungry, and male. Now I am a girl. I have only to do what others say. I have lost my freedom.” “Have you?” asked the tiger. “I think you have more to learn.” Grandmother Bhargava stopped speaking. The story ended. Nita’s head lay on her grandmother’s shoulder. She was fast asleep. “Mummy, why did you stop?” Jaya asked. “I still don’t understand what lesson you are teaching.” “Jaya, I gave the tiger your name because I want you to dance the dance of life and death and find the way to paradise. Loving the forest with its beauties and mysteries is a wonderful part of life. Going to the university and learning about the forest will develop courage and perseverance. But remember, Tigre learned that loving a wife, having children to protect, and earning a living are also beautiful and satisfying. As a woman, Tigre may learn the other side of life’s lessons. Someday I hope you will meet a white tiger as I did.  On the Night of the White Tiger at Maha Hrishna Temple, it is said spirit tigers dance in the moonlight. They follow their steps over and over, tracing the array of life’s rhythms. Jaya, you may understand that there is good in every part of life if you have the will to find it.” “Mummy, when is the Night of the White Tiger?” Jaya asked. Grandmother Bhargava took an antique temple calendar from the satchel at her waist. Flipping it over, she pointed to a list of festivals. “The Night of the White Tiger is celebrated once every twenty years. We have six more years before the tigers dance again. Maybe we can go if I stay lucky. Jaya, you may have my calendar to consider. Now it is time for dinner. Nita, wake up. Jaya, your mother will be waiting for us.”          A few months later, Grandmother Bhargava died in her sleep. At the funeral pyre, Jaya watched the clouds of pale gray smoke billow about a tiny figure wrapped in white. The wind carried the smoke upward. For a moment Jaya imagined that she saw a shining white tiger leap through the smoke and land on a cloud bank. She blinked. The tiger was gone. Years passed. Almost twelve, Nita learned to grind spices for curries and to stew lentil soup. A precocious eleven, Jaya scavenged the forest for rare orchids and ferns. One entire wall of the garden displayed her treasures. She found a book in her grandmother’s library on propagation. Specimens of her favorite blue and lavender orchid covered a whole shelf above the bougainvillea vines. A secret stash of gold birthday coins lined the bottom drawer of her dresser and bolstered her determination to attend the university. Skand, Jaya’s older brother already studied law. Jaya felt Skand would help her as he always had. Rajana Bhargava, Jaya’s mother, knew about the growing mound of coins but said nothing. Rajana did not want to confront her strong-willed daughter or anger Pritam, her equally determined husband. Instead, Rajana concentrated on Nita’s marriage arrangements and kept a close eye on the kitchen finances. Pritam did not say anything, but Rajana knew money was tight. She only hoped Pritam would not accept Anand Gupta’s offer. Anand belonged to the ancient warrior caste which was one level below the Bhargava’s Brahman status. Most Indians insisted there was no caste system. More Indians knew there was a caste system. Warriors and priests would never be equals in the eyes of Indian families seeking husbands for their daughters. Anand’s wealth did not make up for his fierce, brutal nature. Rajana wondered how Anand would treat a twelve-year-old bride who ranked a caste above him. She pictured an inexperienced young girl attempting to please this demanding soldier. Nita would not know what to do. Rajana prayed at the temple for a miracle. Unfortunately, Pritam felt his bank account sinking below his high Brahman name. He ignored Rajana’s pleas for clemency. Rajana reminded Pritam, “Bhargava’s marry Bhargava’s to keep our blood pure. I am afraid you are too quick and too greedy. Wait one month. Nita will be more than twelve. Our cousin Ashok returns from England in June. She can wait and so can you. The money will be there.” As usual, Pritam ignored Rajana, taking Anand’s bride price ruby with both hands. A seven-hour ritual timed by the stars bound Nita to Anand forever unless she dishonored herself. Draped in a red jeweled sari, her center part coated vermilion, Nita left home in a curtained litter carried by six of Anand’s men. Three months later Nita limped home paces behind her angry husband. Anand demanded back his ruby or his wife’s forced compliance or another bride. Nita’s faded vermilion part matched the dried scars on her back and arms. She collapsed at Pritam’s feet and kissed them. Jaya crouched behind the step. She expected Pritam to turn away from Nita, leaving her in a pile at the front door for the waiting street dogs. For once Pritam stopped to listen. He bent down and stroked Nita’s tangled hair. “Father,” Nita pleaded, “He hurt me. I tried, but he hurt me so much that I couldn’t walk “ Pritam immediately went into the house and returned with the fist-sized ruby. He dropped it on the ground at Anand’s feet and spat on it. Anand grabbed the ruby. “Stay proud, Pritam,” Anand hissed. “Nothing can restore your daughter now.” As he stalked off, Anand spotted Jaya hiding by the steps. He snickered and clutched the ruby so tightly it drew blood on his palm. Anand squeezed harder. A trail of red drops followed him into the street. Shivering, Jaya counted the drops. There were so many from one small wound. Anand turned to leer at her. Pritam gathered Nita into his arms and carried her upstairs. He shut her in a back bedroom so no one could see her shame. Then he locked himself in his study to juggle his accounts. Where could he find more money he puzzled? The estate cost a small fortune in maintenance each year. We are running out of years Pritam thought. Rajana brought yellow vegetable curries, bright green dahl lentils, orange samosa pastries, and sweets wrapped in silver paper. She bathed Nita’s beaten body with myrrh water and rubbed her thighs with lavender ointment. Sometimes Nita nibbled on the sweets and wept. She sat night after night staring at the speechless moon. At times she could not even say her name. Anand had knocked out her front teeth. Her tongue found no place to make the ‘N’ of Nita. One night as Nita stared at the moon, Jaya ran for the freedom of the forest. Her ringed toes skipped and jingled from shadow to shadow. The acrid scent of spreading camphor trees and the drowsy sandalwood giants filled the air. The healing tree oils stayed on the breeze to quiet Jaya’s soul. She had overheard Pritam discussing Anand with Rajana in the study. She could not hear exactly what he said, but Rajana’s voice broke with tears. Would Pritam sell her to Anand as he had Nita? He would not be so foolish again, would he? Knowing her father and money, Jaya knew he might exchange his second daughter for Anand’s ruby. Jaya learned too many lessons for one day. She studied the temple calendar Mummy had given her years ago. This is the Night of the White Tiger Jaya thought. Without hesitation, she clutched Mummy’s shawl about her shoulders and ran desperately seeking the courage to face life. Long ago, Rajana wrapped the shawl around Jaya after her grandmother’s funeral saying, “Its beauty will soothe your pain.” Mummy had taken months to embroider the white wool shawl. A white silk tiger’s body stretched fringe to fringe. Beaded onyx stripes half met down the center. Blue lapis lazuli eyes focused on one paw as a pink coral tongue cleaned a single silver claw. The shawl slithered alive around Jaya’s shoulders half hiding her brown ebony eyes and gold cheeks. A bag of gold coins strapped to her waist weighed down her pace. I will give the gold at the temple and pray for a miracle Jaya thought to herself. I will pray not to be sold to Anand. The way eased. The pungent forest floor rocked back and forth with howled barks and laughs welcoming the setting sun wheeling to sleep below the sky. A frightened peacock shocked from sleep cried like a baby. Tree frogs creaked. Monkeys chattered. The forest welcomed Jaya’s hurried feet. A path opened to her sandals offering home ground.  A footfall, a branch cracked felled Jaya to the ground. She crouched, waiting for a blow to knock her senseless. Anand’s face burned in her mind. “Jaya, what are you doing running around in Mummy’s shawl alone at night? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” “Skand, you frightened me. Why are you following me? You do not always have to be my older brother. I’m just taking a walk.” “You’re going to Maha Hrishna Temple, aren’t you? What is that bulge under your sari? Jaya, what are you doing out here?” “I’m afraid Father will sell me to Anand, Skand. I heard him talking to Mother. Skand, Mummy said she met a white tiger who gave her the courage to investigate men’s hearts and not be afraid. It is the Night of the White Tiger at Mata Hrishna Temple. I am going to meet a white tiger, and you can’t stop me.” Skand smiled. He looked resigned, not angry. Solemnly taking Jaya’s hand he said, “Let us go to Mata Hrishna, Jaya. It’s getting late.” Far away the moon pushed through the clouds. The clouds fell into shapes of light and dark, shapes of great white tigers. Maha Hrisha Temple stood in a sea of tall grass where tigers might lurk. To see the entire temple, watchful worshipers wove their way through a maze of coarse sedge blades praying for safety all the way. There was only one approach. Jaya slipped away from Skand and walked toward the deep grass path. Her sari blended with the blades. The clouds dipped and separated as the moon watched above. The grass seemed to grow taller and taller. Skand could no longer see her. He waited as the wind picked up. The grass shifted, undulating with the wind. A whimper followed a great roar. Horrified, Skand screamed. Then he watched the parting grass bend back. Jaya prowled out. She looked the same yet different. Her face glowed with courage. She held her body upright. Her smile offered endless puzzles. The bulky bag of gold coins spilled from her waist as she reached for Skand’s hand. ‘What happened, Jaya? I heard a tiger roar.” “Skand the biggest tiger I have ever seen sat waiting for me as I neared the temple. I thought I was dead. I stood my ground hoping he would not attack. Then there was a flash of moonlight between me and the tiger. The tiger roared and jumped forward. Then it whined and rolled over under the temple porch. It was afraid of something. Then I heard Mummy’s voice, so soft, so strong, lifting me by my hair like a tiger cub. She dropped me at the edge of the sedge path. In my heart I heard her say, Jaya, you are victorious. Your soul is beginning to understand the balance of life and death. You have the strength of the white tiger. Believe in yourself, and you can be anything you want to be. Your spirit is triumphant.” “Jaya, I am glad you learned how strong you are even if it meant a night trip to confront a real tiger. Let us go home. Nita’s making lentil soup for the first time since she came back from Anand’s. She says you like her lentil soup. I’m hungry, aren’t you? And come help me pick up these coins. You want to go to the university, don’t you? You’ll need this money.” “Yes, Skand, but what about Father?” “Mother begged him down to the garden to see your orchids. One of her friends came with them. He told Father that he could make money off those flowers. Some of them are quite rare you know. Some of them are even endangered species. Jaya, you have been keeping them alive. Even Nita wants to help you. She remembers part of what Mummy taught you both. We could charge admission to the garden and sell plants to collectors abroad. We might even expand the greenhouse. A whole lot has happened while you were waltzing around the forest running away from Anand.” “Skand.” “Yes, Jaya.” “I’d like some of Nita’s lentil soup. Let us go home.”