One Tiger's Sorrow

He returned then, to his old den. Where it used to be. It was no longer occupied. He lived there alone. No one from his family was there. None of his denmates, his brothers or sisters. No cubs and no mothers. He whimpered, ears drooped. He slept inside, hoping to drink in a bit of the scent of his past. No one was there. Not even the faintest scent of the life he lived, when he was born, by his mother. He looked outside to the stars. The glittered. Not even the stars seemed to send him any messages. He thought it was because he wasn't a tiger anymore. The stars had shunned him. Blankly, he kept gazing at it. No one was there now. For a Tiger who was not a tiger. No one.

They did it all. Long ago, this forest was vast. Families of tigers made their boundaries. They fought for territory. They raised their children. Taught them how to fight. But in the end, it was not bitterness or anger at each other that caused them to fight. It was simply to survive. One family took the plains. Another, the sandlands. His, the forest. Another one had existed, south of his forest, by the riverlands. Then they came. The ones by the river were slain or brought down to heed them as their masters. The yellowskinned ones. The small ones, the ones with pointed ears -- it didn't matter, they were all the same. They brought their large cavernous monsters, wreaking havoc in its wake. They cut down the trees. They built nests over it -- whatever they did, it lead to the eventual end of the lives of tigers and their lifestyle, maintained since ancient times. The stars too, became silent. It was over. The territorial bounds became smaller. They ended up having to fight harder, even deaths became more common. Cubs were killed too. Soon, it slowed down. Food was harder to come by. Some died of hunger. Some got taken away. Some died fighting.

He was hunting then. Searching for anything to eat. Then they came. Grabbed him. Brought him somewhere. Tied his body down. Something was thrust into his underside. Then the pain came. Then nothing but the vision of the forest burnt down remained. When littered bones of tigers and other animals lay strewn about. The plains barren, the rivers dried, the forest charred and the rocky sandlands crumbled.


The Tiger awoke with a roar, yet his heart said it all. He was frightened. He was sad. He was angry. Every feeling seemed to flood into him then -- no one understood how he felt. No one but him. Something swelled inside him, making him shiver and feel pain on his chest, as if it told him that he was no longer there. He was alone. He was full of guilt. Of humiliation. To become the thing that killed his life -- nothing in these lands seemed to accept him, and even they don't. They laugh at him, taunting him. Only he did, because he too was neither one nor the other. But he was gone. He left him.

A sorrowful Tiger.

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