Black tiger white tiger, p.1
Black Tiger / White Tiger, page 1
Black Tiger / White Tiger
Black Tiger
Greta van der Rol
Published by Greta van der Rol, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BLACK TIGER / WHITE TIGER
First edition. January 10, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Greta van der Rol.
ISBN: 978-1386757702
Written by Greta van der Rol.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Black Tiger
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
From the author
White Tiger
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
From the Author
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Further Reading: A Dryden Collection
About the Author
Black Tiger
HE HAUNTS THE JUNGLE – and her dreams
When Dr. Sally Carter travels to India to regroup from a broken heart the last thing she wants is to fall in love. But Raja Asoka (Ash) Bhosle is entirely too attractive to ignore, even though she knows it can only end in tears. Hers.
Ash guards his forest and the precious creatures within it, protecting the rare tigers from mindless slaughter, and a secret that lives in legend. From the moment he sets eyes on the Australian doctor, he wants her, even over the objections of his mother and the unsuitability of her cultural heritage.
While Ash fights tiger poachers, Sally struggles against cultural prejudice. Can the Legend of the Black Tiger be the bond that brings them closer together, or will it be an impossible belief that rips them apart. The closer Sally comes to understanding what the legend means, the more frequent the nightmares become. Is she losing her sanity, or is there more to Sally than she herself knows? The answers lie buried in her past.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to wild tigers and to the people fighting to prevent their extinction.
Tengai Tiger Park is not a real place. Its description is based on an amalgam of a few such parks in India. Although the legend of the were-tiger is part of Indian tradition, as far as I know there is no such thing as a black tiger. But I don't know everything.
Chapter 1
"Lord, I feel like a coat hanger," Sally muttered as the camera and lens case edged a little further down on her shoulder. Nothing to do about it; she had her hands full with her carry-on luggage and the drag-behind suitcase. She followed the other passengers out of Customs to the exit, the sign above the door written in Hindi and English, and walked through the automatic doors into the arrival hall. She looked past the eager locals obviously waiting for loved ones and searched the little signs held almost furtively by people meeting unknowns. That was her; unknown, alone in India. Her heart beat too fast. Nerves, that was all.
The words 'Tengai Tiger Park' leapt out at her from a sign held by a fellow in a neat khaki uniform but the employment agency had told her she'd be met by somebody and this fellow looked like he was collecting a tour party. She'd come back to him if there wasn't any other option. She glanced further along, letting her eye rest only on signs in English. Ah. 'Dr Sally Carter' hand-printed on cardboard. Wow. The fellow holding the sign was a bit of all right. He topped her five feet eight by a good six inches, wide shoulders and short, black hair. Not a kid, either. He looked about thirty-five; a little older than her. Settle, Sally. He's a man. You're over them, remember?
"I'm Sally Carter." She dragged her luggage over to the man and thrust out a hand. She might as well start as she intended to continue, a new doctor, sure, but a friendly one.
The man smiled, took her hand while he shoved the folded sign in the back of his jeans. "I'm delighted to meet you, Doctor Carter. I'm Ash." He had a lovely deep voice with barely a hint of that sing-song Indian accent.
Her fingers tingled at his touch, like a surge of current that had her heart fluttering. "Sally."
"Sally," he repeated. He glanced down at his hand as if he'd felt something, too, then reached around her for the handle of the suitcase and took the carry-on from her. "Let me take these from you. If you'll come this way, it's a long drive."
She admired a tight ass in faded jeans as she pulled the camera and the long lens back up on her shoulder. She could look, couldn't she? Besides, he'd be a driver or something, probably married with children. She hurried to catch up to him, her footfalls echoing on the tiles.
"Did you fly direct from Australia?" he asked.
"Yes. Singapore Airlines from Melbourne to Mumbai via Singapore, a two-hour wait, then here. About sixteen hours, all up."
He maneuvered around a chattering family dawdling toward the terminal's exit. "You'll be tired, then."
"Not too bad. I got some sleep. Nice of the raja to fly me business class."
The exit doors sighed open. Outside, a cool breeze tingled on her bare arms. She should've taken her jacket out of her bag. Thirty-five in Melbourne to... what?... low teens here? Too late now. She hitched her camera gear up again and followed him to a dusty land cruiser.
"Get in", he said, setting her bags in the back. "You can put your camera gear on the back seat if you wish."
He swung into the driver's seat and turned on the engine while she dragged her leather jacket out of her bag.
"Photography is a hobby?" he asked as he negotiated the traffic to the highway.
"Yes. I'm dying to get my first look at a real, live, in the wild, Royal Bengal Tiger. Oh, man, I'll fill an album with shots."
"You like tigers?"
"Yes. Ever since I was a little girl. I had pictures of tigers all around the walls of my room and that was the first exhibit I'd visit at the zoo."
He smiled, watching the traffic, not her. "Wild tigers are magnificent. Nothing like the zoo-bred animals."
"No. I hate seeing the big cats in cages. It's sad that it has to be that way to keep them from becoming extinct."
He shot her a look. He had those dark, liquid eyes of all Indians but his had a glint, a flash of... something. She gazed at his profile. He was trying hard to be friendly but she didn't think it was natural for him. A bit like her, really, a loner.
"Um. You speak English very well."
He grinned, showing even white teeth. "English is a national language in India. We all learn it. Tell me, do you like cricket?"
"Oh, well, in Australia you can't avoid it. Bit like here, I suppose."
He nodded.
"Yes, I do like cricket," she went on. "But not the slap and giggle twenty-twenty stuff. I like test cricket where it's like a game of chess. You know? Tactics and strategy."
"So true." He flashed her an approving glance. "Where you need patience and guile, not just explosive flamboyance, although it's good to have that, too."
He turned right, off the road from the airport onto a modern, busy expressway. The old roads were still there, though, off to the sides where the locals rode bicycles between fields and rows of houses in various states of repair. She'd been warned about the vast class distinctions in India but it didn't look like she'd get to see much of it on this drive.
Feeling a bit like a teenager, she looked sideways at Ash, studying him. He had his eyes on the road; he wouldn't notice her scrutiny. Straight nose, fullish lips. This was one good looking man. He seemed very confident, very relaxed, his strong, well-manicured hands light on the steering wheel, his skin the color of maple. He glanced over at her and smiled. Oh, Lord. As the flush burned up her face, she rubbed her eye to hide her face, her head bowed. When she looked up again, he'd turned away.
Might as well watch the scenery. Beyond the confines of a typical modern expressway, successions of small villages appeared between tended fields. Not unlike farmland in Australia, really.
After they'd been driving for an hour Ash turned off the highway down an unmade road between the fields. She stretched back in the seat, easing her shoulders and her back. Ash glanced at her, a slight smile curving his lips. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the door, the vehicle in cruise control. What a hunk. Her mouth positively watered. Slightly curly black hair that reached to his col lar, eye lashes a model would kill for.
Off limits. He'd probably end up being a patient and a married one, at that. Still, no wedding ring. But maybe they didn't wear wedding rings in India.
A village appeared suddenly around the next corner. This was more like the places she'd expected: dilapidated buildings lining a dirt road, peeling paint, rusting iron, dust. What was this? A crowd of people filled the street ahead, outside one of the shanties, their voices loud and harsh. Raised fists shook.
Ash braked and let the car roll to a halt.
A man faced the crowd, next to him a woman with her arms around a child who had its head buried in her skirts. The man gestured, open handed, arguing. Someone lunged forward and shoved him, hard enough to have him stagger backwards. The sound of the crowd deepened to a bay.
Sally's whole body tensed. This looked ugly. "What's going on?"
The man being shoved caught sight of the cruiser and pushed toward it, his arm held out, shouting as he came.
"Stay here." Ash was already half-way out the door. He slammed it behind him.
Fear trickling down her spine, Sally craned her head as he strode into the mob to meet the fellow, who clutched at Ash's arm, then stepped back.
She slipped out of the vehicle. If anybody was hurt, she might be needed.
Ash's arrival seemed to have at least stopped the onslaught. The voices faded to a rumbling mutter, then silence. The leader of the crowd made an indignant speech with much finger-pointing at the accused, accompanied by nodding of heads and a susurrus of whispers. Sally edged forward, wishing she could understand the conversation. Ash said a few words, calm, in control. The defendant flung his arms out, made an impassioned plea. She could imagine the 'it wasn't me, I didn't do it'. Derisive cries were flung back but Ash raised a hand and they subsided.
She breathed deep, allowing her heart rate to slow. She wouldn't be needed. Ash walked away, back through the crowd to the car. Even before he'd passed, the men let out an exultant shout, surging at the defendant, pushing him into his house. The child cried, the sound piercing over the deeper voices.
Shit. Sally strode forward and was jerked to a halt by the hand on her arm.
"You cannot interfere." Ash's voice was deep and calm.
She spun to face him. "What are you saying? There's a child there. Whatever he's done, the child isn't to blame."
"They will not harm the child."
"How can you say that?" The men had forged into the house. Bags and bundles were flung outside, raising dust as they fell in the road. She struggled against his grip. "Let me go. This is wrong."
"This is not your concern. The man has broken village law and the family has been evicted." His gaze was blank, impenetrable.
When Sally looked back, the woman had staggered out into the street, the child wrapped in her arms. She gazed around her, her face a picture of resignation, then collected up her scattered belongings as best she could while comforting the child.
"Why? What have they done?" Sally demanded.
"The villagers say he killed a tiger," Ash said.
"So? Isn't there a court of law? Shouldn't he be given a trial?"
"He has had a trial. Before the village council. And now he has appealed to me."
He had to be joking. "You? What are you? The local judge?"
He licked his lips. "I am the raja. I'm not a judge but they come to me for advice."
Sally's jaw dropped. He was the raja? A part of her realized it made sense. The man had run up to Ash, shouting words which she thought included 'raja'. If that was the case... She leaned toward him. "Stop this, then. Stop it from happening. It's wrong."
He glowered down at her. "This is India, Doctor Carter. Not Melbourne. You will please restrict yourself to what you understand."
This was wrong, like a lynching in the Wild West. Shrugging his hand off her arm she whirled to stand toe to toe with him. "No, I don't understand. Why don't you explain?"
Black eyes stared into hers. She stared back, unflinching, while the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. He exuded menace, as if he held a dangerous beast in check.
Somebody else answered her, his tone almost timorous. "The family has been marked. By the Black Tiger."
She tore her gaze from Ash to a short man, better dressed than many of the others.
"There is a legend," Ash said. "The Tengai forest is protected, guarded by a black tiger. It wreaks vengeance on those who cause damage, especially to the tigers. This house has been marked. The Black Tiger has made its judgment."
Oh, what rubbish. Anger bubbling, she glared at him. "So you're throwing these people out because of some superstition?"
Ash folded his arms, legs apart. By now many villagers had surrounded the family. The man had mounted a scooter, his wife and child behind, the people and the machine all festooned with bundles. "The village has evicted them." The other man nodded, his head bobbing up and down. "Mister Murti is the head of the village council," Ash added.
"But you're the raja." She pointed a finger at him. "You can stop them."
"No. It is their village. I cannot tell them who they must have as neighbors."
In the street, the over-loaded scooter gathered speed before a jeering, fist-waving crowd. It was too late now, but even so. This wasn't justice.
"Where's the evidence? Who is accusing him?"
Ash exchanged a glance with Murti, muttered a few words. Murti beckoned, a wave of his hand. Surrounded by curious villagers, Sally followed him to the front of the shanty, then with mounting curiosity as he walked slowly along the house-front, his head tilted down. He stopped and pointed at a spot just in front of him. "There."
Huge pug marks were imprinted in the dirt. Her heart jolted. No ordinary cat or dog could have made these. Three or four of the prints were fairly clear; others had been scuffed or blurred by other traffic.
"A tiger's been here? But... how is that possible? Couldn't they track it?" she asked.
"You cannot track Black Tiger." Murti's expression was deadly serious, his eyes reflecting awe and fear.
"The trail ends and there is no trace of it coming here, or leaving," Ash said. "They followed it in both directions. The beast appears to have circled the house and then..." he opened out his hands, "... disappeared."
Blood roared in Sally's ears. "That's not possible."
"You can see, here." Murti thrust out a hand, gesturing at the tracks. Around him, others nodded, murmured comments in their language. "The villagers are saying their dogs were barking in the night, then fell silent," Murti added. "They were afraid. No one dared look."
"But... but that can't be true. It's just superstition."
"Perhaps. But superstition is important in India." Ash waved a hand. "Enough of this. Come. I'll take you home."
Sally took one last, lingering look at the print in the dust. "Yeah. Okay."
Ash jerked his head. Back to the car. He strode off, the watchers parting before him.
Get a grip. That's what you got in backward, superstitious communities. Or even in advanced, Western societies. Your mother and your brother would've believed this in a heartbeat. A miracle, the work of God.
She followed in Ash's wake and jumped into the vehicle. But he—the raja—he wasn't backward. He probably had a university education and judging by that accent, an English university. She still felt stupid at not having realized he was something more than a driver.
What had she gotten herself into? Dirt and ignorance and superstition. It had seemed such a good idea a month ago; escape Australia for a year, do some good with the skills she had, forget about David, then go home and start again. Now, what she'd give for a cappuccino in one of the cafés back home in Lygon Street.
Chapter 2
Ash glanced at Sally. She sat tight-lipped in the passenger seat, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the seat. Not happy. He could understand her point of view but the poacher had been lucky he hadn't suffered a worse fate.
"Huh. You should have killed him." His alter ego's words rumbled in his head.
"And have them looking for a man-eater? We've had this conversation." He could hardly explain to her how he knew the man was a poacher. The fool couldn't resist taking a trophy, one claw taken from the body of the tigress. He'd followed the scent and left the tracks around the house himself, knowing the villagers would end the matter without the need for bloodshed.
