(Tiger Saga #1) Tiger's Curse Read online

  A deep sink, shaped like a skinny rectangle, had a pump on each side of the copper faucet. One was full of creamy soap and the other with a sweet lavender lotion.

  I finished up in the bathroom, almost hating to leave it, and headed back to my comfy seat. Mr. Kadam had returned, and Nilima, the flight attendant, brought us a delightful-smelling lunch. She had arranged a table between us and set it for two. What made our table unique were the slight depressions designed to hold all of our dinnerware. Our plates sat in short, round grooves specially made to fit them. There was a little thumbnail on one side so that the attendant could lift them in and out easily. Our glasses rested in slightly deeper grooves, and there was even a small vase full of short-stemmed yellow roses set in its own hollowed out space.

  Nilima lifted the warmer covers off our plates to set free the delicious aroma of fish.

  She said, “Today’s lunch is crusted hazelnut halibut with buttered asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, and a lemon tart for dessert. What would you like to drink?”

  “Water with some lemon,” I responded.

  “I’ll have the same,” said Mr. Kadam.

  We enjoyed our lunch together. Mr. Kadam asked me many questions about Oregon. He seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for learning new facts and asked me about everything from sports, which I know almost nothing about, to politics, which I know absolutely nothing about, to the flora and fauna of the state, which I know a lot about.

  We talked about what high school was like, my experiences at the circus, and about my hometown: the salmon runs, the Christmas tree farms, the farmer’s markets, and the blackberry bushes that were so common, people actually considered them weeds. He was easy to talk with, a great listener, and I felt comfortable with him. The thought crossed my mind that he would make a wonderful grandpa. I never got a chance to know either of mine. They died before I was born, as did my other grandma.

  After we finished our lunch, Nilima returned to clear our plates, and I watched how she removed the table. As she pushed a little button, a small, quiet motor sounded. The legless rectangular table tilted up until it was flush to the wall and then slid into the paneling. As the table settled, she let go of the button and instructed us to buckle up because we’d be arriving in New York soon.

  The descent was as smooth as the takeoff, so I made it a point after we landed to meet the pilot and tell him that he was exceptionally gifted. Mr. Kadam had to translate for me because the pilot didn’t speak English other than basic flight words. As we refueled for the journey to Mumbai, I visited with Ren.

  After making sure he had enough to eat and drink, I sat down on the floor next to his cage. He sauntered over and collapsed down on the floor right next to me. His back was stretched along the length of the cage with his striped fur sticking out through the bars tickling my legs, and his face next to my hand.

  I laughed at him, leaned over to stroke the fur on his back, and recounted some of the tiger myths that Mr. Kadam had shared with me. His tail kept flicking back and forth, in and out of the cage bars.

  Time flew by quickly, and the plane was soon ready to take off again. Mr. Kadam was already strapping in. I quickly patted Ren’s back and returned to my chair as well.

  We took off, and Mr. Kadam warned me that this would be a long flight, about sixteen hours, and also that we would lose a day on the calendar. After we reached the proper cruising altitude, he suggested that I might like to watch a movie. Nilima handed me a list of all the movies they had available, and I picked the longest one on the list: Gone with the Wind.

  She moved to the bar area, pushed a button on the wall, and a large white screen quietly slid out from the side of the bar. My chair turned around easily to face the screen and it even reclined with a footrest, so I made myself comfortable and passed the time with Scarlett and Rhett.

  When I finally got to, “After all, tomorrow is another day,” I stood up and stretched. I looked out the window to see it was black outside. It only felt like 5:00 p.m., but I guessed it was probably 9:00 p.m. in our current time zone.

  Nilima bustled over and returned the movie screen to its resting place, and then she began setting up the table again.

  “Thank you so much for these delicious meals and thank you for the wonderful service,” I told her appreciatively.

  “Yes, thank you, Nilima.” Mr. Kadam winked at her, and she inclined her head slightly and left.

  I shared an amiable dinner once again with Mr. Kadam. This time we talked about his country. He told me all kinds of interesting things and described fascinating places in India. I wondered if I would have time to see or do any of those things. He spoke of ancient Indian warlords, mighty fortresses, Asian invaders, and horrible battles. When he talked, I felt like I was there seeing and experiencing it for myself.

  For dinner, Nilima served us stuffed chicken Marsala with grilled zucchini and a salad. I felt a little better eating more vegetables, but then she brought out chocolate lava cakes for dessert.

  I sighed. “Why does everything so bad for you always taste so dreamy?”

  Mr. Kadam laughed. “Would you feel better if we shared one?”

  “Sure,” I grinned, cut my lava cake in half, and scooped his portion onto a clean plate Nilima had brought out.

  I licked the hot fudge sauce off my spoon. Life, well . . . at least today anyway, was good. Very good. I could learn to live like this.

  For the next couple of hours we talked about our favorite books. He liked the classics like I did, and we had a great time revisiting memorable characters: Hamlet, Captain Ahab, Dr. Frankenstein, Robinson Crusoe, Jean Valjean, Iago, Hester Prynne, and Mr. Darcy. He also introduced me to a couple of Indian characters that sounded interesting like Arjuna, Shakuntala, and Gengi from Japanese literature.

  Stifling a yawn, I went back to check on Ren again. I reached through the bars to pet his head and scratched him behind the ear.

  Mr. Kadam watched me and said, “Miss Kelsey, are you not afraid of this tiger? You don’t believe that he will hurt you?”

  “I think he can hurt me, but I know he won’t hurt me. It’s hard to explain, but I feel safe with him, almost like he’s more of a friend than a wild animal.”

  Mr. Kadam didn’t seem alarmed, only curious. He spoke softly to Nilima for a moment.

  She approached me, inquiring, “Are you ready to sleep for a while, Miss?”

  I nodded, and she showed me where my bag had been stowed. I picked it up and set off for the bathroom. I wasn’t gone for very long, but she’d been very busy.

  There was now a curtain dividing the area, and she’d set up a pullout couch that became a snug bed with satin sheets and thick, soft pillows. A recessed light with a button was set into the wall right next to the bed. The plane was darkened, and she told me that Mr. Kadam would be on the other side of the curtain if I needed anything.

  I quickly checked the tiger’s cage. He watched me drowsily through slit eyes with his head on his paws.

  “Goodnight, Ren. See you in India tomorrow.”

  Too tired to read, I climbed under the soft, silky covers, turned off the light, and let the drone of the engines lull me to sleep.

  The smell of bacon woke me up. I peeked around the corner and saw Mr. Kadam seated, reading the paper with a glass of apple juice on the table in front of him. He looked at me over the paper. I saw that his hair was slightly wet and that he was already dressed for the day.

  “Best attend your morning ablutions, Miss Kelsey. We will be arriving soon.”

  I grabbed my bag and headed for the luxurious bathroom. I took a quick shower, soaping through my hair with the fragrant rose-scented shampoo. When finished, I wrapped my hair with a thick towel and pulled on the cashmere robe. I sighed deeply and let myself bask in the soft fabric for a moment while I decided what to wear. I chose a red blouse with jeans and brushed my hair back into a ponytail, tying it with a red ribbon. Hurrying back to Mr. Kadam, I sunk down in the leather chair while Nilima brought me a
hot plate of bacon, eggs, and toast.

  I ate the eggs, nibbled on the toast, and drank some orange juice, but decided to save my bacon for Ren. As Nilima stowed the bed and the table from breakfast, I wandered over to the cage with my treat. Trying to tempt him, I held out a piece through the cage. He came over, very gently bit the edge, pulled it out of my hand, and then swallowed it down in one gulp.

  I laughed. “Gee, Ren, you’ve got to chew it. Wait, do tigers chew? Well, at least eat it slower. You probably never get a treat like this.” I held out the other three pieces one by one. He gulped them all down and then shot his tongue through the bars to lick my fingers.

  I laughed quietly and went to the bar to wash my hands. Then I cleaned up all my belongings and stowed my bag in the overhead compartment. I’d just finished when Mr. Kadam approached. He pointed out the window and said, “Miss Kelsey, welcome to India.”

  6

  mumbai

  i gazed out the window as we flew over the ocean and into the city. I guess I hadn’t really expected a modern city, and I was amazed by the hundreds of tall, white, uniform buildings spread out before me. As we circled the large, half-moon-shaped airport, the plane’s wheels drop in preparation for our landing.

  The sleek aircraft bounced twice and settled down to hug the runway. I whirled in my chair to see how Ren was doing. He was standing up expectantly but, other than that, he seemed alright. I felt a rush of exuberant energy as we taxied across the runway and came to a stop on the outskirts of the airstrip.

  “Miss Kelsey, are you ready to disembark?” Mr. Kadam asked.

  “Yes. Just let me grab my bag.”

  I slung it over my shoulder, stepped out of the plane, and skipped quickly down the steps to the ground. Deeply inhaling the wet, sultry air, I was surprised to see a gray sky. It was warm and humid but tolerable.

  “Mr. Kadam, isn’t it usually hot and sunny in India?”

  “This is the monsoon season. It’s almost never cold here, but we do get rain in July and August and, on occasion, a cyclone.”

  I handed him my bag and strolled over to watch some workers attempt to load Ren. This was a much different operation than it had been in the United States. Two men attached long chains to his collar while another man affixed a ramp onto the back of a truck. They got the tiger out of the plane okay, but then the man closest to Ren pulled on the chain too tightly. The tiger reacted fast. He roared angrily and halfheartedly swiped his paw at the man.

  I knew it was dangerous for me to approach, but something pushed me forward. Thinking only of Ren’s comfort, I walked over to the frightened man, took the chain from him, and motioned for him to back away. He seemed grateful to be relieved of the responsibility. I spoke soothing words to the tiger, patted his back, and encouraged him to walk with me to the truck.

  He responded immediately and walked beside me as docile as a lamb, dragging the heavy chains behind him on the ground. At the ramp, he stopped and rubbed his body against my leg. Then he jumped up into the truck, quickly turned around to face me, and licked my arm.

  I stroked his shoulder affectionately and murmured to him softly, calming him while my hand moved gently over his collar and detached the heavy chains. Ren looked over at the men who were still standing frozen in the same place with stunned expressions, snuffed out his displeasure at them, and growled softly. While I was giving him water, he rubbed his head along my arm and kept his eyes trained on the workers as if he was my guard dog. The men began talking very fast to one another in Hindi.

  I closed the cage and locked it while Mr. Kadam walked over to the men and spoke quietly. He did not seem surprised by what had happened. Whatever he said had reassured the men because they began moving around the area again, making sure to give the tiger a wide berth. They swiftly rounded up equipment and moved the plane into a nearby hangar.

  After Ren was secured in the truck, Mr. Kadam introduced me to the driver, who seemed nice but very young, even younger than me. Showing me where my bag was stowed, Mr. Kadam pointed out another bag that he had purchased for me. It was a large black backpack with several compartments. He unzipped a few to show me some of the items he had placed inside. The back zipper pocket contained a sizeable amount of Indian currency. Another pocket held travel documents for Ren and me. Snooping, I opened another zipper and found a compass and a lighter. The main part of the bag was stocked with energy bars, maps, and bottles of water.

  “Um, Mr. Kadam, why did you include a compass and a lighter in the bag, not to mention some of these other items?”

  He smiled and shrugged, zipping up the compartments and placing the bag on the front seat. “You never know what things might come in handy along the journey. I just wanted to make sure that you are fully prepared, Miss Kelsey. You also have a Hindi/English dictionary. I have given the driver instructions, but he doesn’t speak much English. I must take my leave of you now.” He smiled and squeezed my shoulder.

  I suddenly felt vulnerable. Continuing the journey without Mr. Kadam left me anxious. It felt like the first day of high school all over again—if high school was one of the biggest countries in the world and everyone spoke a different language. Well, I’m on my own now. Time to act like a grown-up. I tried to reassure myself, but fear of the unknown was chomping away inside me and chewing a hole through my stomach.

  I asked pleadingly, “Are you sure you can’t change your plans and travel with us?”

  “Alas, I cannot attend you on your journey.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Miss Kelsey. You are more than able to care for the tiger, and I have meticulously arranged every detail of your trip. Nothing will go wrong.”

  I gave him a weak smile, and he took my hand, enfolded it in both of his for a moment, and said, “Trust me, Miss Kelsey. All will be well with you.” With a twinkle in his eye and a wink, he left.

  I looked at Ren. “Well, kid, I guess it’s just you and me.”

  Impatient to start and finish the trip, the driver called back through the cab of the truck, “We go?”

  “Yes, we go,” I responded with a sigh.

  When I climbed in, the driver stepped on the gas and never, ever took his foot off the pedal. He raced out of the airport and in less than two minutes was winding quickly through traffic at frightening speeds. I clutched my door and the dash in front of me. He wasn’t the only insane driver though. Everybody on the road seemed to think 130 kilometers per hour, or, according to my travel guide, 80 mph in a crowded city, with hundreds of pedestrians, was not quite fast enough. Hoards of people dressed in bright, vibrant colors moved in every direction past my window.

  Vehicles of every description filled the streets—buses, compact cars, and some kind of tiny, boxy car with no doors and three wheels sped by. The boxy ones must have been the local taxis because there were hundreds of them. There were also countless motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians. I even saw animals pulling carts full of people and produce.

  I guessed that we were supposed to be driving on the left side of the road, but there seemed to be no distinct pattern or even white stripes to mark the lanes. There were very few lights, signs, or signals. Cars just turned left or right whenever there was an opening and sometimes even when there wasn’t. Once, a car drove right at us on a collision course and then turned away at the last possible second. The driver kept laughing at me every time I gasped in fear.

  I gradually became desensitized enough to start to take in the sights that were speeding by, and, with interest, I saw countless multicolored markets and vendors selling an eclectic variety of wares. Merchants sold string-puppets, jewelry, rugs, souvenirs, spices, nuts, and all manner of fruits and vegetables out of small buildings or street carts.

  Everyone seemed to be selling something. Billboards showed advertisements for tarot cards, palm reading, exotic tattooing, piercing, and henna body-painting shops. The entire city was a hurried, wild, vibrant, and touristy panorama with people of all descriptions and classes. It looked like there was not
one square inch of the city that was unoccupied.

  After a harrowing drive through the busy city, we finally made it to the highway. At last, I was able to relax my grip a bit—not because the driver was moving slower, in fact, he had sped up—but because the traffic had dropped off considerably. I tried to follow where we were going on a map, but the lack of road signs made it difficult. One thing I did notice though was that the driver missed an important turn onto another freeway that would lead us up to the tiger reserve.

  “That way; go left!” I pointed.

  He shrugged and waved his hand at me dismissing my suggestions. I grabbed my dictionary and tried frantically to look up the word left or wrong way. I finally found the words , which meant wrong road or incorrect path. He gestured to the road ahead with his index finger and said, “Fast drive road.” I gave up and let him do what he wanted. It was his country after all. I figured he knew more about the roads than I did.

  After driving for about three hours, we stopped at a tiny town called Ramkola. Calling it a town would be overemphasizing the size of the place because it boasted only a market, a gas station, and five houses. It bordered a jungle, which was where I finally found a sign.

  YAWAL WILDLIFE SANCTUARY

  PAKSIZAALAA YAWAL

  4 KM

  The driver got out of the truck and started to fill the tank with gas. He pointed to the market across the street and said, “Eat. Good food.”

  I grabbed the backpack and went to the rear of the truck to check on Ren. He was sprawled out on the floor of the cage. He opened his eyes and yawned when I approached but stayed in his inert position.

  I walked to the market and opened the peeling squeaky door. A little bell rang announcing my presence.

  An Indian woman dressed in a traditional sari emerged from a back room and smiled at me. “Namaste. You like food? Eat something?”

  “Oh! You speak English? Yes, I would love some lunch.”