The Strangler Vine by M.J. Carter

Author:M.J. Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

The thought of going on a raja’s shikar—and a tiger hunt at that—overthrew all thoughts of Jubbulpore and even of Mountstuart. I reread his description of stalking the beasts in Lays of the Rajputana Hills, and cleaned my sword and rifle again, putting from me the thought that I might not be up to firing it. Sameer was quite as excited as me. For my Hindoostanee lesson that afternoon Mir Aziz made me translate his boasts: “We shall stalk the tiger and bring it down! We shall outdo the Rao’s heavy-footed hunters!” Tigers, Mir Aziz said, were more common in Doora than anywhere else in India, and they were hunted as much as pests as royal game. But in the lush greenery after the monsoon they would be hard to catch sight of. Blake, however, had lost some of the almost-cheerfulness I had detected in him at his reintroduction to Mrs. Parkes. Mir Aziz thought he might be disappointed about the shikar. “You may be seeing the tigers, Avery Sahib, but more than likely, no Rao.”

We rode the six miles to the Rao’s lakeside residence at Vishnagarh that night so as to be ready for the early start the next morning. The lake shone and undulated like silk. Next to it a city of embroidered tents had risen up—or rather three distinct communities of tents: one for native courtiers, one for European visitors and the smallest for tradesmen and hangers-on. A little to the left of the tents and separated by an avenue of trees, the Rao’s palace was a rambling complex of white domes and pediments and curving balustrades. Beyond it was thick jangal.

Mir Aziz repaired to speak to the chief huntsman. He reported that a part of the jangal had been separated from the rest with stakes and fences, and within it there were said to be several tigers, perhaps up to five, including a parent and cub which had been preying on local livestock. His other news confirmed what he had predicted. While the Rao and his chosen few would be hunting on elephants, we Europeans would be watching and shooting from machans—platforms constructed in the trees. The tigers would be lured to the machans by buffalo carcasses that had been left nearby the day before, and driven toward them by a line of beaters. Sameer and I were disheartened. We had imagined ourselves stalking the creatures on foot or on horseback, not trapped on some platform.

Before the sun rose, a large crowd of villagers had gathered outside the Rao’s palace. Some held torches, some carried drums and several bore elderly firearms that looked as if they had not been fired in a century. The Rao arrived on horseback with a party of sardars. On the far side of the multitude there was a large canvas screen kept aloft by long bamboo posts tied to it at intervals, behind which I guessed some of the Rao’s zenana sheltered. A shikari led us to a spot just next to the Resident’s party of himself, the major general and four other gentlemen.

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