Bhutan -- Description and travel; British -- India; India -- Description and travel
The man-eater is, fortunately, rare; for, having once learned how easy a
prey human beings prove, he is apt to devote himself too exclusively to
them; and the total of his victims soon mounts up into the hundreds. The
man-eater is made, not born. Sometimes it is an old beast no longer
agile enough to surprise the animals of the forest or even bring down a
stray cow, but still supple enough to spring upon some unwary
wood-cutter or villager. Natives believe that human flesh disagrees with
a tiger's digestion, and point in proof to the mangy state of most
man-eaters' hides. But the reason of this is that the animal is
generally old or sick. Sometimes, however, the tiger who takes to the
slaughter of human beings is a young and vigorous beast. He has probably
some time or other been disturbed over a kill or foiled in an attempt to
carry off cattle by some rashly courageous individual, and in anger or
the desperation of hunger has slain the intruder. Finding that after all
man is not a formidable enemy and quite palatable, he continues to prey
on him and in time almost devastates a whole district. He becomes a
public character and attracts more attention than he likes. Government
gazettes honour him with a notice proclaiming him. A price is set on his
head. White men come from all sides to hunt him down; and the
unfortunate animal knows no peace until a lucky bullet lays him low.
Scared natives regard him as an evil spirit and set up altars to him.
And yet it is extraordinary how indifferent the inhabitants of a
district ravaged by a man-eater become to his presence. I have seen a
postman jog-trotting along night after night on a road on which two men
had been killed and eaten by a tiger the week before. The man's
ridiculous little spear and bells would have been no protection against
the Striped Death springing on him out of the darkness; but he had his
living to make. His orders were to carry the mail-bag along that stretch
of road every night; so with true Oriental fatalism he jogged on,
seemingly indifferent to the chances of an unlucky meeting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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