May 1886, India
Margaret stood in an area of the forest where the underbrush had lost its fight for sunlight with the canopy above. The wounds on her arms and legs had stopped bleeding, but the throbbing persisted. Her husband had left her over an hour ago, and the tears still trickled down her cheeks. More than anything, she wanted to be home in her safe, comfortable garden. Fate, it turns out, had other plans. She continued in the direction her husband instructed, letting the bewitched twig hovering above her palm guide her. She stepped through the forest, over the body of her slain enemy, while making sure to avoid looking at its grotesque face. The ground pitched downward toward a small stream. Once she reached the stream the tip of the twig turned, pointing uphill. Every hour or so she would stop, drink from the stream, and rest. As time passed her injuries became less painful. As the last vestiges of daylight fell below the trees, the twig settled into her palm, a sign that it was time to stop for the day. She removed the bundle from her back and began to make camp.
In the morning Margaret awoke with a start and sat bolt upright. Not two horse-lengths away lay two massive tigresses. Neither of them flinched. The larger of the two yawned lazily, slowly got to her feet, and sauntered out of sight. The second followed a moment later. Margaret’s hands trembled as she packed up her bedroll. The small twig, which lay motionless on a nearby stone overnight, was now hovering again, pointing toward a new heading away from the stream.
Margaret followed this, heading through the forest until about midday. She crossed several streams along the way. Her feet throbbed from the numerous blisters she’d acquired since the horses were left behind. The twig directed her into the center of a clearing. When she reached the middle, it began to spin quite vigorously. Stuart had told her that when the twig spun that meant a food source was nearby. She was grateful for she hadn’t eaten since they separated.
The clearing was covered in tall, amber grass. A perfect place for a hungry tiger to be waiting for its prey, she thought. She hoped the twig wasn’t telling her she was the food source. She scanned the edges of the clearing for any sign of something edible. When nothing obvious presented itself, she decided to continue in the direction the twig had been pointing when she entered the clearing. As she moved, it continued to spin. In fact, she was so captivated by the spinning twig that she didn’t notice the small man who was now standing directly in front of her. A moment before she would have collided with him she lifted her head and let out a yelp of surprise.
He was a head shorter than she and dark skinned-a native. Dressed in only a dirty cream-colored tunic and carrying a rocktipped spear he beckoned her to follow and then stepped into the forest. After a moment’s hesitation she opened her palm to reveal the twig she had clenched in fright. It pointed in the same direction the man had walked. She followed.
Despite his size, the man traveled quickly. Margaret had to run in brief spurts to keep pace. They quickly reached a massive “boulder that looked so out of place that Margaret thought it could have fallen from the sky. They circumnavigated the boulder, climbing up the steep steps built into the hillside and down a narrow path until they came to a small village of thatchedroofed huts. Other similarly small natives were moving busily around the village. The huts surrounded a fire pit over which lay a skewered animal of some sort. The smell immediately stimulated Margaret’s salivary glands, prompting her to wipe her chin.
Without warning the man let out a cry and raised his spear into the air. All the villagers turned and echoed the cry. Several women hurried over and escorted Margaret to the log benches that circled the fire and relieved her of her bedroll. They quickly pulled the boots from her feet and draped them with damp cloths soaked in a putrid-smelling liquid.
A feast ensued. After Margaret ate more than she thought possible, the men of the village performed a hunting-party dance. One of the men wore a tiger pelt while the others chased him around the fire in a ceremonial tribute. Margaret felt her eyelids growing heavy as the celebration continued past sunset. A woman wearing an elaborate costume stood up and made an announcement. Villagers slowly began to retreat to their respective shelters. Margaret was led into a hut where a nest of leaves draped in cloth had been prepared for her. The young woman who escorted her inside carried a small stick that smoked from one end. She instructed Margaret to lay on the cloth with a simple hand gesture while she set the smoking stick on a smooth stone and wafted its odiferous emanation in her direction. As the smoke reached her nostrils, Margaret fell off to sleep.
Just before sunrise she again awoke with a start. The early morning light was enough for her to make out the hindquarters of a massive tiger exiting her hut. She stood, slid on the sandals she found beside her bedroll, and followed the beast outside. Not far away the larger tigress lay beside the smoldering fire pit. Once again the tigress yawned lazily, stood, and walked into the forest. After a moment, the other followed.
A sense of urgency overtook Margaret, and she quickly moved to follow them, leaving her belongings behind. Neither tigress, whom were now walking side-by-side, made any move to evade her. They continued at their same lazy pace, allowing Margaret to keep up with ease. After several moments they stopped. Margaret realized she was once again on the far side of the large boulder. The larger of the two tigresses stood and stretched her paws above her head on the boulder then scraped her claws down the stone with a skin-crawling screech. The tigress turned its back to the stone and sat on its haunches. The second moved beside her and also sat. Both looked toward Margaret. A low rumble reported from within the boulder. The leaves on the ground vibrated as the noise grew. Neither of the massive cats appeared to be disturbed as they continued to stare at Margaret. As suddenly as it began, the rumbling ceased.
Margaret rubbed her eyes in disbelief. In the seamless stone face of the boulder stood an open entry between the two cats. She knew she must go inside.