Feathers and Scales

In the early morning at Bhimpur village,
a peacock sits resplendent and glittering
in the red sun on a dry stone wall.
His emerald feathers sleep in his tail.
He snaps his head sideways
at a shape in the gloom under
the wall of a silent mud hut.

The cobra twists
over pots and baskets after
the scent of careless rats.
The cobra did not think
that she might be slithering
towards the shadow
of a far from ornamental bird.

The snake was unaware that she might meet
the god of war's chariot drawer
next to a stone hut,
for on the back of the cobra's hood
is the mark of her own divinity.
Perhaps the vicious bird missed it.
A sharp flicker in the peacock's blazing eyes,
a flutter of royal blue feathers
and the reptile murderer strikes
too soon for the cobra to sprout her hood.

Claws, which yesterday danced for a mate
tear at scales.
For all the peacock's cold savagery,
the cobra's scales serve it well.
The snake darts back to the hole.
The surprised bird takes off
as his enemy disappears underground,
and the ringing cry of the incensed bird
echoes through the sleeping forest.

(This poem is set in a small village in Kanha National Park, and features a phrase which caused chaos when it was first read by my peers. See if you can guess which phrase it is.)

Guardian of the Sacred Forest

I am master of this realm,
the grass is my royal guard,
the sal trees are my sentinels,
my stripes are my regalia,
with tooth and claw.
Langurs and peacocks I loathe,
but chital are always my servants
from dawn to dusk.
They serve all the great hunters.
So do the sambar, the boar
and the Barasingha.
This is my domain,
my forest,
my kingdom.
So long as I remain
its guardian ghost
all creatures large and small
shall heed my morning call.

The Tiger Poet

(This poem was written at Siginawa Jungle Lodge at Kanha National Park in India. The name Singinawa means "Protector of the Sacred Forest".)