The Sultan's Tigers (14 page)

“I work here, yes. Live here also.”

“Really? Where do you sleep?”

“In the temple.”

“You have a room? A bedroom?”

“Yes. I share with other priests. All in one room.”

“Wow. That sounds intense. India is a very spiritual country.”

“No, no, India is like every other country. We have spiritual people, we have not-spiritual people. It is the same in your country, I am so sure.”

“I don't think so. It's quite different where I'm from.”

“It is different here,” Ram said, waving his hand at the walls of the temple, the candles, the fruit, the statues. “But the same here.” He pressed his hand to his chest.

Really? Was that true? I couldn't imagine any connection between this place and the religion that I knew, the religion of the vicar at Grandpa's funeral, the music crackling out of the speakers, the rain beating down on the old gravestones. But I didn't say so. I nodded and said he was probably right, we're all the same deep down.

“That is precisely correct!” Ram beamed. “We are all the same deep down!”

I don't know if he wanted to practice his English or was just naturally chatty, but Ram was eager to talk, and I was happy to carry on the conversation, because it gave me a good opportunity to learn about the temple. He told me everything that I wanted to know. The temple had been here for about a hundred years. Before that, a small shrine had sat on the top of the hill, a place where the local farmers and villagers would come to make offerings to their god, the one who lived in this hole. The gates were never locked, he told me, but were constantly guarded. There were always men on the door, checking who came in and out, and at least one priest stayed in this inner sanctum at all times, making sure the flames kept burning and the bowls of offerings were full. There were thieves here, he said, who would sneak into this room and steal the bananas, the melons, the coconut milk.

“That's terrible,” I said. “What kind of people would come in here and steal the food?”

“Not people,” replied Ram. “Monkeys.”

“Oh, yes. I saw them by the pool. Can they get in here?”

“They want to. They smell the fruit. That is why we must have guards.”

A monkey! That would be perfect. I could train it to sneak into that hole while no one was looking and steal the tiger.

No, that wouldn't work. Training a monkey would take months.

If anyone was going to grab the tiger, it would have to be me.

I was the monkey.

Ram was called away
to perform some priestly duties, so we shook hands and each said it had been a pleasure to meet the other. He was probably just being polite, but for me, it really had been a pleasure. I liked him a lot. I even felt a little bad about grilling him for information. I began to wish I could have been here as a normal traveler, a tourist, the person that I was pretending to be, just a kid from Connecticut who had come to India on vacation.

Oh, well. Ram didn't even know the tiger existed, so he wouldn't miss it.

Ram didn't come back, but a second priest arrived a minute later carrying a shiny metal cup, which he handed to me with a smile.

The metal felt cold against my fingers. The cup was filled with a white frothy liquid. Tiny green seeds floated on the surface.

I looked at Suresh. “What is this?”

“One drink,” he replied.

“But what's in it? I don't want to drink it if I don't know what it is.”

“Yes, no problem. You must drink.”

I took a cautious sniff.

It smelled sweet.

They're priests. Of course they wouldn't poison me.

Hoping I was right, I took a tentative sip. The white liquid was thick, cool, milky, and delicious. It tasted even better than the mango lassi I'd had in the restaurant.

I offered the cup to Suresh. “You want some?”

“No. Special for you.”

“What's so special about me?”

“You are visitor. Please to drink.”

I drained the cup in three or four long gulps, handed it back to the priest, and thanked him. He took the cup away with a smile, sat cross-legged on the floor, and chatted to the other worshipers. I suppose he must have been telling them about me, too, relaying what Ram had said, because they were soon turning and smiling and nodding at me, some of them making namastes, and I did the same back again, all the time feeling like a fraud. I wished they weren't so friendly. They were just making me feel bad about stealing their tiger.

But how was I going to steal it?

I scanned the room one last time, looking at the bowls of fruit, the stubby candles dripping wax, the bare-chested priests, the cross-legged pilgrims, and I looked at the hole, thinking of the tiger that must be down there, regretting that I hadn't had an opportunity to steal it yet, and an unexpected idea snuck into my mind.

One of the pilgrims must have thought I was smiling at him, because he grinned at me, then brought his hands together and did a namaste.

I did one back. I was getting pretty good at them by now. I could have stayed here all day doing namastes for everyone. But a plan had formed in my mind, and now it was time to make it happen. I turned to Suresh and said, “I'm worried about my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

“You know. The guy in the restaurant. Remember him?”

“Ah. Yes. I think he is your father.”

“No, he's my uncle. Anyway, I'm worried about him. He's probably going to be worried about me, too.”

“You want to go back?”

“Actually, I wonder if you could do me a favor. Will you go back? Will you go and find him and tell him where I am?”

Suresh was confused. “You want me to talk to your uncle?”

“Yes. Go back to the restaurant. Tell him I'm here. I'll come down soon. I just want to look around a bit more. I've never been to an Indian temple before. I'd like to spend another few minutes here. I'll be down soon.”

“No problem. I will tell him.”

“That's great. Thanks very much.”

Suresh probably thought I was crazy—if I was so worried about my uncle, why didn't I go down to the restaurant and talk to him myself?—but he didn't ask any more questions, just left me alone and headed out of the temple. I gave him five minutes, checking the times on my phone, then walked after him, stealing a candle on my way out.

I walked through the temple,
holding the candle in one hand and shielding its flame with the other. A few spots of warm wax dripped into my palm. They didn't hurt.

Earlier, while I was following Suresh around the temple, I'd noticed a pile of timber stacked against a wall just outside the courtyard with the pool. Now I went back there.

I looked around, checking that no one was watching me.

The temple was a big place, filled with different buildings and courtyards. I didn't want to set fire to the whole place. I just wanted to make a little distraction, a plume of smoke and some scarlet flames, a small blaze to draw the guards away from the inner sanctum and give me a chance to sneak inside unseen.

This is probably a good moment to say, yes, I know I should have been feeling bad about what I was going to do. I should have been feeling guilty and ashamed. I don't exactly know why I wasn't. I guess it was simply because I was just too excited about grabbing the tiger. I didn't spend much time worrying about Suresh or Ram or any of the other people who loved this temple and spent their time here. Does that make me selfish? Yes. Am I embarrassed about it? I guess so. Did I worry about it? Not really. All my mind was taken up with what I was doing: preparing to commit arson without being caught.

I have some experience with arson. Once I set a shed on fire. That was a mistake, actually, but the experience taught me a few good tips about fires. All you need is a spark and some dry wood.

I placed the candle on the floor and arranged a few spindly twigs over the flame. They caught quickly. The wood must have been very dry. I coaxed it for a few moments till the fire was blazing merrily, then stood up and walked slowly and coolly away, as if I didn't have a care in the world.

I went into the next courtyard and sat down by the pool. Three old men were standing knee-deep in the water. Several more were squatting on the ground, sharing out a meal of rice and vegetable curry, served from little plastic bowls, eaten without cutlery. It smelled great.

My gran lives in an old folks' home packed with old folks who have nothing to do except watch TV or complain to the nurses.

Sitting by a pool and eating curry—this seemed like a much better way to be old.

I looked up at the trees but couldn't see the monkeys. They must have gone hunting somewhere else in the temple. Unless they were hiding in the leaves, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

I heard shouting from another part of the temple.

Here we go.

The shouts grew louder and more intense. The old men at the pool clustered together, talking in screechy voices and gesticulating nervously. My nostrils tickled. That was from the smoke. The wood must have been burning well.

A man ran through the doorway and yelled some instructions. The old men gathered their belongings and headed for the exit. One of them turned and called out to me.

I waved at him. Like a dumb tourist.

That wasn't enough for the old man, who tottered across the cobbles and grabbed my sleeve.

“Come, come!” He sounded desperate.

I allowed myself to be pulled to my feet.

“You must be gone,” he told me.

I didn't argue. I just followed him out of the courtyard. The corridors were full of people. The crowds bumped me apart from my savior, and I slipped unnoticed through a doorway and into the shadowy heart of the temple.

The elephant looked at me with baleful eyes. He was shifting from side to side, scuffing his huge feet on the flagstones. Could he smell the smoke? Or sense the panic? I wanted to reassure him.
Don't worry,
I would have said.
It's just a small fire on the other side of the temple. It won't come anywhere near here. You'll be fine.
Suddenly I felt a jolt of panic myself. What if I was wrong? What if the flames spread? What if they lashed through the temple, leaping from timber to timber, igniting bales of straw and dry walls, and burned the whole place to the ground? What if . . . ?

Stop it. Stop worrying so much. It's only a small fire. This is a wooden building in a hot country, they must have fires all the time. They'll know exactly what to do. They'll put it out in a second. I'd better get the tiger before they do, or the whole thing will have been a waste of time.

When I reached the inner sanctum, I found two priests arguing over a pile of documents. They stared at me, surprised. I must have looked just as surprised as them. There was no point trying to explain myself, so I simply doubled back and walked out again, then found a hiding place in the next room, sheltering behind a pillar.

I didn't have to wait very long. The men soon came out, their arms laden with papers they obviously wanted to save from the fire. I was watching them from behind the pillar, but neither of them even glanced in my direction.

This was my chance.

I ran into the inner sanctum.

It was empty. No priests. No pilgrims. No one but me. They'd probably be back in a moment to collect more scrolls or statues or whatever other valuables they had been protecting from the fire. What would they do if they caught me? Would they realize I'd started the fire? Would they arrest me? Or kill me? No time to worry about that now.
Just grab the tiger
, I told myself.
Worry about other things later.

I shifted the candles and offerings to one side, then pulled the planks from the hole. I looked down. I couldn't see the bottom. I picked up a handful of fruit and dropped it into the hole. I counted. One. Two. Three. Four.
Splat!
How far was that? Far enough to hurt. I didn't want to plummet down there myself. I looked for handholds, footholds, anything at all to hold. Ah, yes. Look. A rock jutted out there. And another. I turned over onto my belly and slid my legs into the hole. My feet kicked, searching, and found a resting place. I lowered myself down. Peered into the shadow. Found another foothold. Then another.

I heard a voice above me.

Voices.

Getting louder. Coming closer.

I shimmied down the face of the rock. I don't know whether it was a well or just a hole in the ground, but it was deep enough to take my height and more. The darkness swallowed me up. My head was below the surface. I had disappeared.

I could distinguish two of the voices. Two men. They sounded hassled. They were moving fast. If they had glanced down the hole, they would have seen me immediately.

Did they notice the planks? Did they see that things had been moved?

If they did, they didn't care. They just grabbed whatever they had come to collect, then jogged away. I heard their footsteps receding.

While I was waiting for them to leave, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and now I could see what was around me. I could see holes and bits of rock and a bundle of something, covered in dirt and dust.

Was that it?

I touched it gingerly.

My fingers brushed away what remained of some cloth. Over the years, the centuries, my ancestor's shirt had decayed into dust. It hardly existed anymore. But it had done its job, protecting the treasure. Here it was. A small tiger, the size of a grapefruit.

The metal felt cold. I don't know why I hadn't been expecting that.

The tiger was surprisingly heavy. I thought it was made of gold, but was gold really so heavy? What if it was actually made of solid stone? That wouldn't be worth much. Hey, that would be ironic: if I'd come all the way here and set fire to a temple just to steal a tiger that wasn't worth anything at all.