There should be one in every house.
A storyteller.
There was one in mine.
My grandmother.

Many a lazy afternoon
Passed when we listened to her tales.
And, that sowed the seeds, too
Of seeing the extraordinary in the mundane.

Like the one with the tigress.
This happened a long, long time ago.
She lived in her village with her parents,
Where the womenfolk would gather firewood.

One day, they crossed the Son river
And were searching for firewood in the forest.
In the breeze, the leaves of the trees quivered
As they tied bundles to carry on their heads.

My grandmother was the first to finish her task,
And seeing that the others were still at it,
She sat down in the shade of a mahua tree to rest
Where the lullaby of the trees lulled her into sleep.

Meanwhile, the other women left the forest.
They thought she was in the line behind them.
They reached the village and went to their houses,
And that’s when her parents realized she was missing.

Her mother inquired with the other women,
But they were unable to say where she could’ve gone.
And, that was when the village folks panicked.
Soon, a search and rescue mission was on.

It was late in the evening, almost twilight.
The villagers combed the forest with sticks and lanterns.
And, that’s when she woke up rubbing her sleepy eyes
As she heard her mother’s voice calling out to her.

Discovering herself alone in the dark forest,
She started crying and shouted for her mother.
Soon, they were able to locate her
Much to the relief of her mother and the villagers.

Then, they took her back to the village,
And that was the end of her adventure.
But that wasn’t all, for the spot where she slept
Was on the trail the tigress took on her way to the river.