Tiger Story

Benoy P.J.

(A story written around 2002 and published in the May june issue of Indian Literature in 2004)

He felt the weight of the tiger pressing him to the floor, felt the soft woolen of its skin and the steel underneath. It smacked his face with its wet , rough tongue and before he could cry out, or do anything about it, closed his mouth with its fat paw which had some- how become soft and gentle, all its claws  withdrawn. He was confused as to what to make out of it, the smell was excruciating and yet familiar, as if it was there with him before he had come to smell anything else. He thought as to whether it would not be a good idea to give the tiger a little bath, rubbing its body with oil, washing then with soap and warm water and finally brushing him nicely with utmost devotion. But then that could only be a fabulous dream, for, as of now, he was pinned to the floor. He had sensed it stalking him and when if finally jumped on to his top, he had known it coming for a long long time, though he couldn’t really figure out as to how to handle it any better for all that.

“I am not going to kill you, not going to eat you, nor even feast on your blood as vampires do – for I am also a vampire, as you must have made out by now.” It suddenly said, in a voice that had the same quality about it that he had perceived in the body that was on him now, charming as well as dangerous. He felt a secret ebullience, the smell of an unwashed body, the pressure of a manly paw on his chest and flesh thrusting against his groins. He even imagined his little toy standing up against young girlish thighs, but then the tiger smacked his face again and the strong smell grew nauseating.

“I told you about what I am not going to do, now I will tell you what I will. You can’t do much about it, in fact you can do nothing because I have my thing between your girlish thighs and I am going to rape you, and believe me, you are going to enjoy it, enjoy it tremendously, I mean. You know you cannot get away, that is the way you have been trained, with your thing red and rubbing against girlish thighs, which is much the same as what we have here, only, we have the position reversed, because it is I who have you between my paws, with my predatorial instincts sharp and awake, pressing down on you, my mouth that needs a tooth brush or a mouth freshener, a clean-up job, as you have been trained to imagine.”

The weight of the tiger crushed him, it smelled of cold sweat and urine, there were mosquitoes all around and somewhere at the end of his field of vision, he could see the stripes ascending into the sky along the curve of its tail. It was growing hotter and hotter, he could have liked to wriggle out, if only for a moment, just to take a deep breath, even call out something. As to what precisely he could do, he did not know, would have kept on guessing; only it did not seem to matter anymore.

“You can do without doing.” It said, as if in jest. The sun in its eyes glared out at him. It turned its head up and growled. “I will strip you off your stripes,” it continued, thrusting the sticky tongue into his ears. For a moment he wondered as to whether he had any, whether he was not all rosy-rosy, whether he had the claws, sharp yellow teeth and the fierce look of a tiger. He felt a deep resentment, “No”, he wanted to say, I am not a violent beast, that is for sure, you can’t put that on me, being a vegetarian I have never preyed on you, never carried it too far-I was gentle, carried my stripes with grace, was never excessive, as you very well know.”

The tiger withdrew its paw from his mouth, patted him gently on the cheek, brushed his hair back a little, kissed him tenderly on the mouth and whispered, as if it had read his thoughts, “Me know nothing’ of that sort, lad. Me know nothing.’”

“There;” he thought, “you are being unfair to me now, and me I have always been fair to you.”

“Now you sure talk in’…….You always been fair, fair is what you are” came the reply. “Though fairness is not necessarily fair-if I may remind you.”

 “You stripes devour the country, and me lads are left all bones –fair cnough. You even sell us creams to make fair…you always ‘been fair in no mean measure, no doubt.” The tiger shifted its weight a little, brought the paw back to his mouth, and continued: “ ‘Dreams won’t take you anywhere, work!’ You tell me all the time. “Me I keep dreamin’.”

He wanted to smoke a cigarette badly, pity the tiger is no fun, talking stuff like that. “One has to move ahead, that is what one ought to do-shouldn’t get stuck up anywhere. “With stripes like that you should be in the army, you know….’papa used to say. No need  to slog away like  an ass when you are a tiger yourself. Things are pretty good around here, except for this temporary inconvenience.” This time it was as if he had spoken.

The beast made a soft purring sound, turned its head and said: “Don’t thin’ that you gonna get away that fast, smart chap. Me gonna make life a bit difficult for you. Goin’ to take away a few things, that is.”

“Like?”

“Your scared threads, my boy, all those that make you hang above us in this tiny world. Your pompous education, “universal’ accent, star and stripes, your upward turned nose, superior airs and ultimates so-phiistrication-every thing that makes you into a tiger, that is. “Graceful’, that is what you thought of your bearing, ain’t it? Allow the demon to take away thy lord’s graces.”

“Ancestor God!!” he said in a meek voice, “The one who was there at the beginning ! Protector of primal instincts and energies !! Pardon my excesses.”

“Fuck off, you filthy rascal! I knew that you would come around to that. As if I would have taken pride in siring your kind! Made us carry your shit for generations-was that because you loved us so? Now don’t tell me to carry it in my head. Turning us into submissive because all the time, invoking the law of the genre to return the mouse to its pristine moorings-I know you would love to do it. But the game is up. You with your scared stripes are not the only tiger around any more.”

The beast let out a growl and thrust its tongue up his throat, making him gasp for breath and extracted something from him that it cracked between its powerful teeth and spat. He could see his tongue, bloody and mutilated, fall out from its mouth. The tiger turned, its eyes a glowing green, and the paw dug into his mouth. His back ached, his thing stood up aching with desire. The glasses fell off, his hands groped in the darkness, the tiger had somehow merged with the sky, and under its huge torso he felt that there was no air and no room, an enormous weight crushed him against the floor.

The room was empty except for him and the tiger, which may have come in through the window, half by invitation and half by itself. Yet there was no room, ne bed, no window-only a grim weight that crushed him down, a vast space that pressed down on them, the snarl on the tiger’s face, its vibrant eyes, its claws, sharp teeth and rough, wet tongue.