Once upon a
time, a young wife named Rama Devi was at her wit's end. Her husband had always
been a tender and loving soulmate before he had left for the wars but, ever
since he returned home, he was cross, angry, and unpredictable. She was almost
afraid to live with her own husband. Only in glancing moments did she catch a
shadow of the husband she used to know and love.
When one
ailment or another bothered people in her village, they would often rush for a
cure to a hermit who lived deep in the mountains. Not Rama Devi. She always
prided herself that she could heal her own troubles. But this time was
different. She was desperate.
As Rama Devi
approached the hermit's hut, she saw the door was open. The old man said
without turning around: "I hear you. What's your problem?"
She explained
the situation. His back still to her, he said, "Ah yes, it's often that
way when soldiers return from the war. What do you expect me to do about
it?"
"Make me
a potion!" cried the young wife. "Or an amulet, a drink, whatever it
takes to get my husband back the way he used to be."
The old man
turned around. "Young woman, your request doesn't exactly fall into the
same category as a broken bone or ear infection."
"I
know", said she.
"It will
take three days before I can even look into it. Come back then."
Three days
later, Rama Devi returned to the hermit's hut. "Rama Devi", he
greeted her with a smile, "I have good news. There is a potion that will
restore your husband to the way he used to be, but you should know that it
requires an unusual ingredient. You must bring me a whisker from a live
tiger."
"What?"
she gasped. "Such a thing is impossible!"
"I
cannot make the potion without it!" he shouted, startling her. He turned
his back. "There is nothing more to say. As you can see, I'm very
busy."
That night Rama
Devi tossed and turned. How could she get a whisker from a live tiger?
The next day
before dawn, she crept out of the house with a bowl of rice covered with meat
sauce. She went to a cave on the mountainside where a tiger was known to live.
She clicked her tongue very softly as she crept up, her heart pounding, and
carefully set the bowl on the grass. Then, trying to make as little noise as
she could, she backed away.
The next day
before dawn, she took another bowl of rice covered with meat sauce to the cave.
She approached the same spot, clicking softly with her tongue. She saw that the
bowl was empty, replaced the empty one with a fresh one, and again left,
clicking softly and trying not to break twigs or rustle leaves, or do anything
else to startle and unsettle the wild beast.
So it went,
day after day, for several months. She never saw the tiger (thank goodness for
that! she thought) though she knew from footprints on the ground that the tiger
- and not a smaller mountain creature - had been eating her food. Then one day
as she approached, she noticed the tiger's head poking out of its cave.
Glancing downward, she stepped very carefully to the same spot and with as
little noise as she could, set down the fresh bowl and, her heart pounding, picked
up the one that was empty.
After a few
weeks, she noticed the tiger would come out of its cave as it heard her
footsteps, though it stayed a distance away (again, thank goodness! she
thought, though she knew that someday, in order to get the whisker, she'd have
to come closer to it).
Another month
went by. Then the tiger would wait by the empty food bowl as it heard her
approaching. As she picked up the old bowl and replaced it with a fresh one,
she could smell its scent, as it could surely smell hers.
"Actually",
she thought, remembering its almost playful look as she set down a fresh bowl,
"it is a rather friendly creature, when you get to know it." The next
time she visited, she glanced up at the tiger briefly and noticed what a lovely
downturn of reddish fur it had from over one of its eyebrows to the next. Not a
week later, the tiger allowed her to gently rub its head, and it purred and
stretched like a house cat.
Then she knew
the time had come. The next morning, very early, she brought with her a small
knife. After she set down the fresh bowl and the tiger allowed her to pet its
head, she said in a low voice: "Oh, my tiger, may I please have just one
of your whiskers?" While petting the tiger with one hand, she held one
whisker at its base and, with the other hand, in one quick stroke, she carved
the whisker off. She stood up, speaking softly her thanks, and left, for the
last time.
The next
morning seemed endless. At last her husband left for the rice fields. She ran
to the hermit's hut, clutching the precious whisker in her fist. Bursting in,
she cried to the hermit: "I have it! I have the tiger's whisker!"
"You
don't say?" he said, turning around. "From a live tiger?"
"Yes!"
she said.
"Tell
me", said the hermit, interested. "How did you do it?"
Rama Devi
told the hermit how, for the last six months, she had earned the trust of the
creature and it had finally permitted her to cut off one of its whiskers. With
pride she handed him the whisker. The hermit examined it, satisfied himself
that it was indeed a whisker from a live tiger, then flicked it into the fire
where it sizzled and burned in an instant.
"Rama",
the hermit said softly, "you no longer need the whisker. Tell me, is a man
more vicious than a tiger? If a dangerous wild beast will respond to your
gradual and patient care, do you think a man will respond any less
willingly?"
Rama Devi
stood speechless. Then she turned and stepped down the trail, turning over in
her mind images of the tiger and of her husband, back and forth. She knew what
she could do.