As far as I could tell, the rasmalai were balls of goat cheese dipped in a sweet cream sauce, and the baigan bhartha was an eggplant dish with peas, onions, and tomatoes. It was all very good, but a bit too much. When I was finished, the woman brought me a milkshake made with mangoes, yogurt, and goat’s milk.
I thanked her, sipped my milkshake, and let my eyes drift to the scene outside. There wasn’t much of a view: just the gas station and two men standing by the truck talking. One was a very handsome young man dressed in white. He faced the store and spoke with another man who had his back toward me. The second man was older and looked like Mr. Kadam. They seemed to be having an argument. The longer I watched them, the stronger my conviction became that it was Mr. Kadam, but he was arguing hotly with the younger man, and I couldn’t picture Mr. Kadam ever becoming angry like that.
Huh, that’s weird, I thought and tried to catch a few words through the open window. The older man said nahi mahodaya often, and the younger man kept saying avashyak or something like that. I thumbed through my Hindi dictionary and found nahi mahodaya easily. It meant no way or no, sir. Avashyak was harder because I had to figure out how to spell it, but I eventually found it. That word meant necessary or essential, something that must be or has to happen.
I walked to the window to get a better look. Just then, the young man in white looked up and saw me staring at them from the window. He immediately ceased his conversation and stepped out of my line of vision, around the side of the truck. Embarrassed to be caught, but irresistibly curious, I made my way through the maze of shelves to the door. I needed to know if the older man really was Mr. Kadam or not.
Grabbing the loose door handle, I twisted it and pushed it open. It squeaked on rusty hinges. I walked across the dirt road and over to the truck, but still, I didn’t see anyone. Circling the truck, I stopped at the back and saw that Ren was alert and watching me from his cage. But the two men and the driver had disappeared. I peeked into the cab. No one was there.
Confused, but remembering I hadn’t paid my bill, I crossed the street and went back into the store. The young girl had already cleared away my dishes. I pulled some bills from the backpack and asked, ‘How much?’
‘One hundred rupees.’
Mr. Kadam had told me to figure out money by dividing the total by forty. I quickly calculated she was asking for two dollars and fifty cents. I smiled to myself as I thought about my math-loving dad and his quick division drills when I was little. I gave her two hundred rupees instead, and she beamed happily.
Thanking her, I told her the food was delicious. I picked up my backpack, opened the squeaky door, and stepped outside.
The truck was gone.
7
The Jungle
How could the truck be gone?
I ran out to the gas pump and looked both ways down the dirt road. Nothing. No dust cloud. No people. Nothing.
Maybe the driver forgot about me? Maybe he needed to get something and is coming back? Maybe the truck was stolen and the driver is still around here somewhere? I knew none of these were likely scenarios, but they made me feel hopeful – if only for a minute.
I walked around to the other side of the gas pump and found my black bag lying in the dust. I rushed over to it, picked it up, and checked inside. Everything seemed to be in order.
Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me and whirled around to see Ren sitting by the side of the road. His tail twitched back and forth while he watched me. He looked like a giant abandoned puppy wagging his tail hoping someone would claim him and take him home.
I muttered, ‘Oh, no! This is just great! “Nothing will go wrong,” Mr. Kadam said. Ha! The driver must have stolen the truck and let you out. What am I going to do now?’
Tired, scared, and alone, my mom’s words of advice came flooding back: ‘bad things sometimes happen to good people’; ‘the key to happiness is to try to make the best of, and be thankful for, the hand we’re dealt,’ and her all-time favorite, ‘when life gives you lemons, make lemon meringue pie.’ Mom had tried and practically given up having kids – and then I came along. She always said that you never know what’s going to be right around the corner.
So, I focused on the positives. First, I still had all my clothes. Second, I had my traveling papers and a bag full of money. That was the good news. The bad news, of course, was that my ride was gone and a tiger was on the loose! I decided the first order of business was to secure Ren. I went back to the store and bought some jerky snacks and a long length of rope.
With my newly acquired fluorescent-yellow rope, I walked outside and tried to get my tiger to cooperate. He’d moved off several paces and was now heading for the jungle. I ran after him.
The sensible thing would have been to go back to the store, borrow a phone, and call Mr. Kadam. He could send some people, professional-type people, to catch him. But I was far from thinking sensibly at this point. I was afraid for Ren. I had absolutely no fear of him for myself, but what if others panicked and used weapons to sub-due him? I also worried that even if he escaped, he couldn’t survive in the jungle. He wasn’t used to hunting on his own. I knew it was utterly foolish, but I chose to follow my tiger.
I begged, ‘Ren, come back! We need to get some help! This isn’t your reserve. Come on, I’ll give you a nice treat!’ I waved the jerky snack in the air, but he kept moving. I was weighed down with Mr. Kadam’s backpack and my bag. I could keep up with him but the extra weight was too much for me to overtake him.
He wasn’t moving very quickly, but he always managed to keep several paces ahead of me. Suddenly, he loped off and darted into the jungle. My backpack bobbed heavily up and down as I chased after him. After about fifteen minutes of pursuit, sweat was trickling down my face, my clothes were stuck to my body, and my feet were dragging like heavy stones.
As my pace slowed, I entreated again, ‘Ren, please come back. We need to go back to the town. It’s going to be dark soon.’
He ignored me and began winding through the trees. He’d stop to turn and look at me every so often.
Whenever I thought I’d finally catch him, he’d accelerate and leap ahead a few feet, causing me to chase after him again. I felt like he was playing a game with me. He was always just out of reach. After follow-ing Ren for another fifteen minutes and still not catching him, I decided to take a break from my pursuit. I knew I’d traveled far from town, and the light was dimming. I was totally lost.
Ren must have realized that I wasn’t following him anymore because he finally slowed, turned around, and ambled guiltily back over to me. I glared at him.
‘Figures. The minute I stop, you come back. I hope you’re happy with yourself.’
Tying the rope to his collar, I turned around in a circle and carefully studied each direction to try to get my bearings.
We had traveled deep into the jungle, looped in and out of trees, and twisted and turned numerous times. I realized, with great despair, that I’d lost all sense of direction. It was twilight, and the dark canopy of trees overhead blocked out the little sun we had left. A choking fear settled inside me, and I felt a wave of icy, nibbling cold slither slowly down my spine. It shot wintry streams down my arms and legs and poked out my skin in spiky goose bumps.
I twisted the rope around my hands nervously and grumbled at the tiger. ‘Thanks a lot, Mister! Where am I? What am I doing? I’m who-knows-where in India, in the jungle, at night, with a tiger on a rope!’
Ren sat down quietly beside me.