Tiger’s Destiny (12 page)
The plane turned and Ren pointed out of one of the windows. “There.”
The morning sun glinted in my eyes, blinding me for a moment, but then the plane banked to the right and I saw the sparkle of the river and a dirt runway below us. I knew the river eventually led to our old camp near Ren’s waterfall, but I couldn’t remember seeing the runway before.
“Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Kishan answered. “I know this jungle like the back of my hand and there was never a clearing there, let alone a space long enough to land a plane.”
“Hold on, everybody,” Murphy warned. “It’s going to get a little bumpy.”
He circled the jungle one more time and began his descent. The belly of the plane brushed across some tree tops as we dipped lower. When the wheels touched down, the old aircraft rumbled and bounced as if it were going to come apart, but Murphy landed us safely, and we all disembarked.
Mr. Kadam had left instructions for Ren and Kishan to dig his burial plot in the garden. They somberly carried Mr. Kadam’s shrouded body down the hill while Murphy, Nilima, and I found a shady spot to wait.
“This is the darndest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Murphy commented. “Why in the world would he want to be buried in the middle of nowhere? I just don’t understand it.”
I patted Murphy’s arm in sympathy but said nothing as I tried to coax Nilima to drink some juice. It was hot. Even in December, the jungle was hotter than most summer days in Oregon. We’d gone from a Himalayan winter to a tropical zone in less than twenty-four hours.
Murphy continued to talk. He seemed almost able to carry the entire conversation by himself, which was a good thing as Nilima was practically mute.
“Did you know I first met Kadam in China during World War Two? I was in the navy then, part of the Flying Tigers. We went over before America joined the war as a part of the AVG—American Volunteer Group. During the war, Kadam helped us through some tough spots. He sometimes served as an interpreter for our commander, Old Man Chennault. Kadam owned the company that supplied our aircraft, the Curtiss P-40s, and he had visited several times to ask the pilots questions so he could improve the aircraft design. Our normal translator was absent one day, and Kadam stepped in. After that, he made it a point to stop by headquarters whenever he was visiting.
“He always teased me about being a hellion, mostly because I was in the Hell’s Angels squadron, but also because I was a very green eighteen-year-old intoxicated with flying. We had that in common. I’ve never seen a man more taken with aviation.”
“You
have
known him a long time,” I whispered.
“Yes, I have. We formed a fast friendship. After the war, I returned to the States. Imagine my shock when he found me a few decades later. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him. Said he was recruiting pilots for a new airline company, Flying Tiger Airlines. I didn’t even hesitate. In all that time, that man never aged a day. I always asked him what his secret was, but he never told me.”
I looked up at Murphy, startled and unsure where the conversation was headed, but the kind pilot just laughed and rambled on.
“Oh, I learned long ago not to ask Kadam too many questions. He was a man with secrets, but a more honorable one I never met. I thought my old bones would be laid to rest long before his.”
The more Murphy talked, the more I reminisced about my own experiences with Mr. Kadam. Murphy’s endless chatter seemed to even perk up Nilima a tiny bit, and before we knew it, Ren and Kishan had returned to collect us.
Kishan took my hand and helped me up. He whispered, “The dirt was soft and practically shoveled itself. It was very strange.”
Ren and Kishan carried Mr. Kadam’s coffin, and we walked in a slow procession to the grave site. The first thing I noticed was the old hut. I could see that it must have been beautiful a long time ago. It was connected to another building by a worn walkway that was raised off the jungle floor atop thick tree trunks. Though there were holes in the roofs where birds nested, I could see they had once been carefully shingled.
The small garden was surrounded by mango trees. Monkeys above us chattered noisily. Though dormant for the winter, I saw shriveled melon plants and even found a cluster of overgrown, rotting pumpkins.
The path curved, and I swallowed thickly as we stopped at an open grave. Ren and Kishan had removed the shroud and placed Mr. Kadam’s body in a simple wooden casket. He looked distinguished and peaceful in his suit and with one jolt I realized it was the same suit he’d been wearing the first time we met at the circus. No longer able to look at him, I took a step to the side and brushed my fingers across large headstones. Vines had crawled over the stone markers. The ground was thick with ferns, and the canopy of tall trees shaded the old grave site. It was a peaceful, quiet place. In the shade, the air was cool and a breeze caused the leaves to quiver overhead.
“This is my father’s. Kadam must have put these here recently. The old grave markers rotted into dust centuries ago,” Kishan said, crouching down to trace the Sanskrit writing.
“What does it say?” I whispered as I admired its carved lotus flower.
“It says ‘Rajaram, beloved husband and father, forgotten king of the Mujulaain Empire. He ruled with wisdom, vigilance, bravery, and compassion.’”
“Just like your seal.”
“Yes. The marker is actually a replica if you look closely.”
Kneeling at his mother’s grave, Ren read, “‘Deschen, dearly loved wife and mother.’”
The boys quietly paid respects to their mother while I thought about my own parents. Looking back at the hut on the hill, I wondered if the spirits of Deschen and Rajaram had watched over their old home and their sons all these years. Knowing Mr. Kadam would be laid to rest here in this beautiful place was somehow comforting. He belonged here.
“This is a lovely spot,” I commented under my breath.
“It is,” Kishan answered. “But we did find something odd when we were digging.”
“
Tiger
bones,” Ren added softly.
Tiger bones? I’ll need to remember to ask Mr. Ka . . . oh.
For the tiniest moment, I had forgotten. My eyes welled up. I sucked in a deep breath, knowing it was time.
Ren touched my cheek. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
Ren took the lead and asked Murphy if he’d like to say anything. Murphy shook his head and wiped his nose with a handkerchief, blowing noisily.
“He . . . he already knew how I felt about him,” he said.
Nilima waved the offer off as well, lifting her haunted eyes to us and shaking her head mutely.
It was Kishan who took a step forward and said, “Yours was the death of a warrior. You laid down your life for your king, your country, and your family. Today we honor you as you take your place among our ancestors. We are endowed richly, having been taught by you in all things. You have been our advisor, our example, our most trusted soldier, and our father. I honor your deeds. I honor your loyalty. I honor your generosity of spirit. It has been our privilege to fight by your side and to live in your presence. May your weary soul attain rest from earthly toil and find peace. We are not left desolate without you for you will abide evermore in our minds and in our hearts.”
Kishan stepped back, and Ren squeezed my hand. It was my turn. I wiped tears from my face and began with a poem:
HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
She must weep or she will die.
Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee
Like summer tempest came her tears
Sweet my child, I live for thee.
Nilima wept softly at Kishan’s side while I continued, “It’s hard for me to express my feelings, much like the girl in the poem. Mr. Kadam, you were my surrogate parent, and I felt as connected to you as I did to my own.” I choked, and my voice cracked. I whispered, “I don’t know how I’m going to make it without you. I miss you so much already. I’ll do my best to help your princes, and I will always try to honor you. I love you.”
Kishan put his arm across my shoulders, and I stepped into his embrace, wrapping my arm around his waist. Ren stepped forward and spoke last.
“Kishan has given a warrior’s eulogy and to it I would add my own. I honor you also my friend and father. You were steadfast in affliction and unwavering in support. You deserve a hero’s memorial. Humbly, we offer our admiration, our respect, and our love.”
Ren read a poem he’d brought with him.
THE DESERTED HOUSE
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide.
Careless tenants they!
All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
Close the door; the shutters close;
Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.
Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.
Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;
But in a city glorious—
A great and distant city—have bought
A mansion incorruptible.
Would he could have stayed with us!
“We are diminished in your death, my friend, and can only pray that we can live on in such a way that would make you proud. I hope that you have found your mansion incorruptible, for if anyone deserves such a place, it is you.”
Trembling, I watched as Ren and Kishan approached the casket to lower the lid. On a sudden impulse, I asked the Scarf to make me a white silk rose. The threads wound together in my hand and when it was finished, I placed it carefully inside. Then the lid was closed, shutting away the beloved face of Mr. Kadam forever.
W
alking away from the grave site, I felt melancholy and heavy. I shaded my eyes so I could look up at the roof of the old hut. Palms, ferns, and thick gnarled trees were clumped in such a way that I could imagine they had once been meticulously landscaped. Old wooden steps with rustic branch railings led up to the jungle house, and a deck made of bamboo poles encircled the structure.
While Nilima and Murphy headed back to the plane, I dusted the bottom step and sat down to wait for Ren and Kishan, soothing my heart by vowing to return to this place after we broke the curse. I got lost in my thoughts until I heard the crunch of footsteps as Ren and Kishan turned the corner.
Trying to get all our minds momentarily off our loss, I asked the Necklace for tall, cool glasses of water, which we sipped quietly. Then I told them about the strange dream I had on the plane.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Ren said. “Maybe your connection to Lokesh has become more powerful since he took the fourth piece of the amulet.”
“Or maybe Mr. Kadam is sending these dreams to her,” Kishan offered. “Like the time she dreamt of him after we rescued her.”
“I’d prefer to think it’s the latter,” I said.
Ren crouched before me and touched my cheek. “So do I.”
“We’ll figure out what it means, Kells,” Kishan said. Flicking his head toward the house overhead where he and his family had taken refuge after the curse, he asked, “Would you like a tour?” He took my hand and guided me up the old steps. “We built these to last. Still, they could use some fixing up.”
I ran my hand along the knobby wood railing. “It’s in really good condition for how old it is.”
The house was made of smooth wooden boards. The structure was simple in design. A braided bamboo rug covered the floor and next to it were a carved table and chairs. A set of shelves with a large basin was set into the other corner. Hollowed out gourd bowls were stacked neatly on a shelf, and I could see the remnants of a towel left on the wooden counter.
Blowing spiderwebs and dust off of a misshapen tool, I discovered a hairbrush with a carved ivory handle. “I’d like to keep it, if you don’t mind.”
Kishan smiled gently and said softly, “I don’t mind,
bilauta
.”
“Did you and Ren sleep here?”
He shook his head. “Because we were tigers all the time back then, we slept in the jungle or near the steps, keeping watch at night. Sometimes we slept in Kadam’s house across the way. If there was a bad storm, Mother insisted we stay inside with them, but most of the time we tried to give our parents some privacy.” He took my hand and headed to the door.