But the kitten had a difficult time getting away from her home in Nizamuddin West. The Bigfeet had brought her catnip mice and her favourite feathery toys from the market, and they wanted to play. Mara wrestled with her instincts, which were urging her to comply, and her conscience, which was suggesting she should go back to the zoo, pronto. Her instincts won, and the kitten spent a guiltily happy hour playing Kill-The-Fearsome-Feather with her Bigfeet. Then it was time to eat, and she was so tired after the morning at the zoo, and an afternoon of rough-and-tumble, that she went to sleep in a small, untidy heap on a pile of cushions. Her naps were always deeper, and longer, after she had spent time at the zoo—sendings were fun but tiring, and her Bigfeet sometimes murmured among themselves about the kitten’s extraordinary ability to sleep through all the friendly clamour and bustle of the neighbourhood.
Mara meant to go back the next day, but the Bigfeet had an unexpected visitor, and between trying to steal the new Bigfoot’s shaving brush and socks and finding time for Beraal’s lessons, a week went by before the kitten could get to the zoo.
When she did, she popped up near Tantara, who was rocking moodily on a high branch. “Sorry, my Bigfeet kept me really busy,” the kitten said. “Where’s Rudra?”
“With his new friend,” said Tantara, wrapping her tail around herself and rocking harder. There was a rough patch on her tail that Mara hadn’t seen before, an abrasion with an ugly scab like knotted wood.
Down on the ground, the two tiger cubs were exploring a brand-new sandpit.
“Shall we join them?” said Mara.
“Oh, I’m not welcome,” said Tantara. “Her royal highness doesn’t think tigers should consort with common langurs, and after the last play session with Rudra—never mind that. You go join them if you want to.”
The kitten shimmered in confusion. “But I thought he spat at her when she came into the enclosure?”
Tantara looked sad. “Not for long. Rani smelled the scent of the cub on that piece of cloth, and when they let her out an hour later, she went over and made friends. Rudra followed, and he spat at the cub the first four times she tried to talk to him. So she went off on her own with Rani, and soon enough, he began to follow them around. Now they’re the best of friends, as you can see.”
“So maybe we can all play together—one more cub means that we can play different games, can’t we?” said Mara.
The langur groomed her long paws, looking down at the kitten, who was hovering in mid-air just under a branch.
“Mara,” she said gently, “I know we’ve had a lot of fun together, but something that cub said some days back made me think hard. One of the reasons why I come over here so often is that I don’t have other langur friends. There were no other langur babies when I was born in the zoo, and the orangutans and chimps are just—different, that’s all. I can’t talk to the other monkeys; they can’t help their instincts, the macaques run away from our kind. Rudra’s like me. He was brought here when he was really little, and though there were always the leopards and the lynxes, there were no other tiger cubs. And I sometimes wonder whether you shouldn’t be making friends with cats back home, wherever your home is.”
“But we’re friends,” said Mara. “What’s wrong with being friends?”
The langur shook her head sadly. “Nothing’s wrong with being friends, Mara,” she said. “It’s just that it’s—well, as young Tawny said, who ever heard of a tiger being friends with a langur and a kitten?” Mara looked from the langur’s lonely figure in the branches back to the two tiger cubs. “But she doesn’t understand, Tantara, she only just got here. I’m going to go over and introduce myself. I’m sure it’ll be fine once I’ve explained the situation.”
“Mara—,” Tantara began, but the kitten had already left. The langur watched her thoughtfully. And near the tiger cave, Ozzy watched, too. The tiger’s grave eyes met the langur’s golden ones, and both silently acknowledged a mutual sadness.
“—we never did that in the jungle, of course, but I suppose you have different rules here,” the golden-and-black tiger cub was saying. “Hey, Rudra! Sorry I couldn’t come over earlier. What are you playing? Can Tantara and me join in?” Mara brought herself down to hover closer to Rudra’s face.
The new cub let out a surprised growl. “What on earth is that?” she demanded.
To Mara’s astonishment, Rudra seemed embarrassed. “This is a friend—well, a visitor. Mara comes by from time to time to see me, though she lives quite far away. Mara, this is Mulligatawny, but she prefers to be called Tawny.”
“Hello,” Mara began to say, but the tiger cub interrupted, her tail lashing slowly to-and-fro.
“You poor, poor fellow,” she said sweetly to Rudra. “I can see how difficult it’s been for you, having no friends.”
“But he does have friends,” said Mara indignantly, bobbing into Tawny’s space so that the tiger cub had to acknowledge her presence. “Tantara and I are here every day. We’d love to get to know you, too, of course.”
She stopped when the lovely tiger cub’s whiskers began to tremble with laughter. “She’s a scream, Rudra!” said Tawny. “No wonder you allowed her to entertain you.” The tiger turned to face the kitten. “It must have been so tiring for you, Mara, coming all the way from—wherever. You don’t have to do that any more now that I’m here. But you’re welcome to drop in once in a while.”
The kitten’s hackles rose. “Rudra, you’re not going to let her talk to us that way, are you?” she demanded.
Tawny stretched, and Mara saw how beautifully her muscles rippled, taut under her striped skin. “Us?” she said. “Kitten, I don’t know what world you live in, but me, I live in the real world and it truly is a jungle out there. There’s no room in the jungle for a cat who—” swiftly, she unsheathed her claws and swatted lazily at Mara, her paws passing right through the image of the kitten—“doesn’t even actually exist in this cage. And as for a tiger making friends with a langur, oh please. Ask Miss Golden-Eyes there whether she enjoyed their last little wrestling match. Go find your own kind, kitten. No hard feelings, but it’s like calls to like in this world.”
Mara’s tail and whiskers had gone all the way down. The orange kitten stared from one cub to the other. When she looked back at the tree, Tantara made a wry, I-told-you-so gesture with her expressive paws.
“So that’s it?” she said slowly. “Rudra, you don’t want to be friends with us because Tantara’s a different species, and because I’m not really here? That’s what you feel?”
“Yes,” said Tawny. “That’s what he feels.”
The white tiger cub was standing there, looking from Mara to Tawny, his tail switching uncertainly. He turned to his mother, but Rani was impassive, and didn’t come forward. Ozzy’s great head was turned away. The two adult tigers sat motionless and silent by the watering hole.
“Tawny,” said Rudra, “would you go away for a moment, please, and leave me alone with my friends?”
Tawny’s green eyes narrowed and then flashed with anger. “If you insist,” she said, padding away with her bristly chin up and her back held very, very stiffly. She settled herself under a tree, with her back to Rudra and his friends.
“Come down here,” said Rudra to Mara. The kitten hovered stubbornly above his head. “Please? The three of us need to talk.”
The cub padded over to Tantara’s tree, and after some hesitation, the langur came down to the lower branches.
“I’m sorry about the way Tawny spoke,” the cub said. “She isn’t used to our kind of friendships—she’s grown up in the jungles, and there the rules are different.”
Mara’s tail began to rise every so slightly. “So we can still be friends?”
Tantara and Rudra exchanged glances. “You know, Mara,” said the langur, “perhaps this is a good time for all of us to step back a bit, take some time out. I’ve been thinking that I never hang out with the lemurs, even though they’ve often tried to make friends. And Rudra and Tawny need
time to get to know each other.”
The kitten couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why can’t all four of us be friends? We never cared before about being different species, did we?”
Rudra sighed. “It didn’t matter before, Mara, because in a way we were all cubs, or kittens, or younglings—we were just babies playing together. But Tantara’s right, and while Tawny may be harsh, both of them are saying the same thing. We need some time to find our own friends.”
Mara flicked her ears stubbornly. “I don’t see why the differences matter,” she said.
The tiger cub caught his mother’s gaze, and for a long time, he and Rani seemed to be engaged in a quiet, private exchange.
“All right,” he said. “I hate doing this, but maybe you should see this for yourself.”
And with that, he opened his mouth and roared.
It was not a small haloom this time. His voice had broken, and this was a full-throated, slow growl that deepened into the menacing roar of an adult tiger. Rudra’s fur rippled and as he roared, his chest expanded. Mara mewed and mewed in instinctive fear at the metamorphosis of her friend. Tantara had shinnied back up, all the way to the top of the branches, and she gibbered and chattered, sending out deep warning cries.
It was only by a whisker that Mara managed to hold on to her control, and it took all of her efforts not to break down and broadcast her terror across the general cat link. But Beraal’s lessons held, and when the kitten finally opened her eyes, Rudra had stopped roaring and was watching her with compassion.
“I’m growing up, Mara,” he said quietly. “For the last month, it’s been harder playing games with the two of you and keeping it gentle. It’s the hunting instinct. I can’t help it. I—no, you should ask Tantara to tell you the rest.”
Tantara, who had slid back down the branches, rejoining them but staying several lengths away from Rudra, felt a pang go through her at the sight of Mara’s miserable face. “Mara,” she said gently. “Look at my face. Look at my tail.” The Sender’s whiskers went taut as she saw the claw marks on the langur’s face, understood the meaning of the healing scar on her tail; familiar scars, left by a paw so much like her own.
“You mustn’t blame Rudra,” Tantara went on. “We were playing a game of chase-and-catch the other day, while Tawny was napping. It was an accident, at first. His claw scratched at my tail—just a scratch, nothing more. But we both smelled the blood. He’s not a cub any more, Mara. He’s a young tiger, a hunter. He couldn’t stop himself from attacking me.”
“If Rani hadn’t bounded up and stopped me, I don’t know what would have happened,” Rudra said. His voice was low and sad, but when he raised his head, he held Mara’s gaze with steady eyes. “Tawny doesn’t understand the friendship the three of us had, but she’s my kind,” he said. “I can play-wrestle with her without worrying that she’ll be hurt, or worse. But Tantara can’t join in any more.”
“It’s true, Mara,” said Tantara. “I could never play with Tawny at all, or even come as close to her as I can even now to Rudra, because her hunter’s instincts are fully developed. And just as he needs to be around his own kind right now, at least when he’s growing up and learning to be an adult, so do I. Our scents are changing, Mara. Our blood is changing.”
Mara’s face had become very small. “Does this mean I can’t visit, ever again?”
“But of course you can visit, Mara,” said another, richer voice. Ozzy had padded silently over to the group. The great tiger had been listening to the exchange for a while and he felt sorry for the kitten.
“You’d be welcome any time, and you’re not at risk, because you’re not really here,” he continued. “None of us can harm you, not even Tawny.”
Mara sent Ozzy a warm hug through her whiskers, grateful beyond words to the big cat.
“Tawny thinks I’m a freak,” said the kitten.
“You know, Mara,” said Ozzy, “you’re not a freak. I’ve seen some freaks in my time—a tiger cub with two heads, a pair of deer joined at the hip—and you’re not part of that company. But you are a very unusual kitten. And you may not realize this now, but as time passes, you may not want to come back so often, though I hope you will always visit us. Think of it, though. If Tantara’s making friends with the gibbons and Rudra has a tiger friend, shouldn’t you be making a few kitten friends yourself? What about that Southpaw chap you’ve mentioned—doesn’t he drop in?”
Southpaw did drop in, intermittently, and Mara enjoyed playing with him. But Southpaw was always urging her to come outside and that was something Mara didn’t want to do—not yet at any rate. She preferred being safely at the zoo, visiting her friends but not having to actually step out of the comfort of her Bigfeet house. As she took a deep breath to say just this, something in Ozzy’s wise, concerned eyes took the words from her whiskers.
The langur and the cub watched the kitten as she shimmered uneasily in and out of view. Then Mara got a grip on herself and her outlines solidified.
“Thank you for explaining, Ozzy,” she said. “I’ll come back often to visit all of you.”
She gave Rudra a wordless head-rub, and twined her tail briefly with Tantara’s long, grey one. “See you,” said the kitten awkwardly.
“See you, Mara,” said Rudra. “Take care of yourself, and come back, don’t forget us when you’ve made new friends.”
The kitten left before they could see how sadly her whiskers were drooping. Rani guessed just how lonely and sad Mara felt, and the tigress’s heart went out to the kitten. “I hope she grows really close to someone of her own kind soon, Ozzy,” she said to her mate later that night.
“She will, Rani,” said Ozzy reassuringly. “If that kitten can make friends with tigers, she can make friends with the whole world. Just give her time.”
BACK HOME, SITTING MISERABLY on the steps, Mara made a pathetic heap in the twilight. Beraal watched the small, sad figure, linking via whisker for a while and listening to the kitten’s sorrows. When Mara had finished, Beraal was beside her.
“If you please,” said Mara, “no lessons today?”
“No, Mara,” Beraal said. “No lessons today.” She touched her whiskers to the kitten, and she washed Mara’s ears until the kitten felt comforted.
As night fell, Beraal said to Mara, “They’re right, you know, the tigers and your friend the langur. You need to come out of the house, Mara. Southpaw and I would be glad to take you around, introduce you to the other cats—we could spend some time getting used to the park, if you like.”
Mara withdrew her whiskers. “I like it inside,” she said. “The outside is scary unless I’m sending and travelling by link. I don’t want to come out of the house, Beraal.” And nothing the black-and-white cat could say would change the kitten’s mind.
Beraal gave up finally, and after making sure that Mara was all right, she went off to do some mousing down at the dargah. She would have asked Miao for advice, but the Siamese had stationed herself at the Shuttered House these past few days. Before she had taken up her watch, she had said to Beraal, her fur radiating menace: “That place has been on my mind and my whiskers ever since Southpaw brought back news of Datura and the ferals. The air in that house is changing, and if their Bigfoot is sick, we may have to prepare for dark days.”
Beraal had not entirely understood—to her, as to the rest of the Nizamuddin cats, the Shuttered House was a sinister, brooding place in the heart of their colony, but one to be avoided and padded around. Miao had watched the queen’s puzzlement, and said only, “I’ll need to spend a few days near the Shuttered House, to scent the ferals better. And if they are indeed going to come out, then we may need allies. Help Katar look after the clan, Beraal, I’ll be back soon.”
AFTER BERAAL LEFT, the kitten stayed out on the stairs longer than usual, watching the mynah birds squabble and the squirrels play games of tag. The cheels circled overhead in companionable pairs. The grey musk shrews took turns digging up their mounds of earth, far down below
at the bottom of the neem tree. It seemed to Mara that every creature in Nizamuddin had friends and companions, except for her.
Southpaw’s visits were unpredictable, and she thought miserably about how sometimes when her Bigfeet were out and she was alone, she would wander around the empty house, her tail down and dragging on the floor. If she couldn’t visit the tigers as often as she used to, there would be a lot of empty hours for Mara to fill.
The Bigfeet found her crying softly to herself on the stairs, and when they picked her up, she was grateful for the cuddle. They fed her a rich meat stew and cooed to her, and let her sleep on their bed, and gradually, the kitten began to feel better. But the sore, empty space in her heart didn’t go away, and Mara was often aware of it over the next few days, even when she and Beraal were busy with their lessons, even as she played cheerful games with the Bigfeet.
When the clouds began to gather a few days later and the skies rumbled with thunder, Mara sat by the window and watched the first monsoon of her young life come down, the grey of the outside mirroring the way the little kitten felt inside. The high winds brought in tantalizing whispers of the rain-spattered trees and bushes, the rooftop universe of the wildings. But Mara didn’t think she would ever be at home in that vast, wide world where the skies yawned endlessly and the whiskers of the other cats bristled when they talked of the Sender.
“Yes, Katar,” said Southpaw. “No, Katar.” This felt lamentably familiar to him, and his bottom was still hurting from where it had been soundly smacked by the tom.
The tomcat glared at the kitten. “First you go bouncing into the Shuttered House, then you sneak into a Bigfoot house, and now the Cobra’s Tree! What in the name of my whiskers and paws were you—” Miao emerged silently in their midst. It was as though she had materialized from out of the roots of the ancient flame tree, where Katar had taken Southpaw. She sat with her paws neatly folded, as if she’d been there all along. Her steady gaze rested on Southpaw for what felt, to the striped kitten, like an eternity. Then she moved forward. Southpaw felt the creamy fur on her face, soft and silky, brush his own fur with extreme gentleness; the Siamese’s whiskers rose, quivered, and wrapped around his smaller, more bristly whiskers. He didn’t dare move. They stayed like that for a few moments, his frightened brown eyes locking with her faraway but sharp blue ones, and then she sighed and moved back, stretching prettily.
The Wildings Page 13
