For children: When fate brings a young girl and a cub together, they become each other’s family

She was a nomad, a gypsy. Not just by birth, but by temperament, even. She could never stay in one place, not even sit anywhere for very long – not still, anyway. Until, of course, the stillness took over her – and there was no predicting when that would happen.

The stillness would creep up on her at the most unexpected moments, binding her with a force that was too strong to fight – even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. At least, not most of the time. Whenever this happened, she went into a stillness that was absolute. It could happen anywhere. In the midst of chaos and clamour, with life and noise swirling around her, she would sink into her depths of silent stillness. Unmoving, stiller than a block of wood till you had to check if she was breathing even.

Not that anyone in her clan was bothered by it. They took it in their stride; the way that they did most things. In fact, they quite forgot all about her. So, life continued to ebb and flow all around the child as she sat. No flicker of the eye, not a sigh escaping her then. When she came out of it, she would be refreshed and smiling. Although, really, she was always smiling. There was very little that made young Junglee frown or cry.

She and her people had no home to call their own. They were nomads, but they never felt that they were homeless. Far from it. In fact, they felt at home wherever they happened to be at that moment. So, quite literally, the whole world was their home. At the very least, the forest surely was. Here they were completely at home, and they felt that the forest was as much at home with them.

Her family group was huge. Loads of elders, young adults and a boiling mass of children. All living off the forest, sleeping under the stars and following the wind wherever it took them. Maybe there was a plan to how they travelled, but the children knew nothing about any plan. Their lives flowed much like the rivers and streams they often walked along.

There were a lot of children. Unlike in the city, where people have real brothers and sisters and then their cousins and other relatives, who are regarded as extended family, here, the children were one steaming mass of little brown dusty humans. They belonged to everyone and to no one in particular. From the time that they were born, babies were cradled, and, yes, even nursed by many. Your mother could be an aunt or even a sister. Your father could be an uncle or a brother.

Yes, of course, she did have a biological mother and a father – they were the main ones. Then there were others whom she also called mother and father, even though they weren’t really. Just as she thought of all the other children as her siblings. The children were everything to each other – schoolmates, friends, neighbours, cousins, and most of all, brothers and sisters. Babies were strapped to adult bodies with cloth slings, which kept them feeling safe.

Sometimes, the children fought. The fights were physical, animalistic almost. Rarely did a child, or, often, even an adult, come out of a fight unscathed by scratches, bites and bits of torn hair. These fights could be over a special piece of meat that had been cooked just right or over a shiny piece of stone that someone found. But for the most part, they were happy. Laughing, running wild and swimming in the rivers that they came across. Unlike in the city, the elders did not worry about where the children went. They trusted their children, and, more importantly, they trusted the forest. After all, it was home.

Junglee. That’s what she was called. Not because it was a bad thing. In her world, junglee meant “one who lives in the jungle”. And she, of course, did live in the jungle. She loved her name and lived up to its true meaning – “wild”. She wore her hair atop her head, a wildfire of ferocious curls licked red by the sun. Her big, big eyes were ever-changing. Sometimes, they were like the stars, twinkling; sometimes they were like the moon, cool and calm; and at other times, they were like the sun, fiery and angry. She moved like a river, skimming over rocks and bushes, bubbling like a mountain brook that does not know how to feel tired.

Even the older boys in her group could not keep up with her. There were some who would start out faster than her. But she would pound the dirt steadily. Soon, they would be gasping, looking around to find her snapping at their heels, like a jackal or a wild dog. She would have a huge, easy grin on her face, her white teeth shining brightly against her dark, dusty face. She would give a cheeky wave as she passed them by. The big boys would sink to their tired knees as Junglee would run on into the coolness of dense forests. And she would run. On and on with ease. Loving every step. It gave her a sense of freedom, of power, of ecstasy.

She would be in no hurry to get back to her family, for Junglee considered the forest her family too. She was unafraid of the creatures who inhabited it. Respected them, yes, and took no undue risks with them, but she was unafraid. She knew how to fend for herself, too. She could find water where there was apparently none and identify the plants that would feed her, even those ones that would cure her if she had a headache or a stomach cramp or even a cut from a thorny bush that yielded its berries reluctantly.

Her family didn’t worry too much about her either, for they knew that she would be fine as long as she was in the forest.

Junglee could interpret most things of the forest. She knew when the breeze was turning into a pre-storm wind. The drongos’ chatter told her that they were just chatting, and their hysterical shrieks told her that a tiger was out on a hunt. The smell of soil told her whether she was nearer to water or farther away. She knew those signs; she could interpret those noises and smells and sights. She knew when it was a nightjar plonking its way through the dark. The rustling of bandicoots meant there was an owl on its silent wings. She could tell the sound of a tiger on the prowl – the dhank of the sambar would warn her, and the cough of the hoolock gibbon would tell her that the hunter was close enough, and she should get out of the way.

She also knew that tigers were not always on the prowl. That they were peaceable creatures who would lift a lazy head and look at her as she watched them, before yawning and going back to their long, endless naps. Junglee could never understand how they slept so much. To her, sleeping was one of the most useless ways to spend time. She always slept deeply but awoke with the first rays of the sun. Unless she had run or swum a lot that day. Then sleep would take her deeper and for longer than she cared.

One of the sounds she loved the most was the soft “ooh, ooh, ooh” of the tigress calling lovingly to her little cubs. She wished her mother would call her like that. But her mother had a big, rough, man-like voice. “JUNGLEEEEEEEEE, AIYEEEEEEE!” she would bellow, and the startled quail would fly off in their panicked titur-titur way.

All this was in the forest. But there were times when they went into the city. It was only on those few occasions that her family group had to keep an eye out for her because here, she did not know her way around. Still, her curiosity would get the better of her, and she would wander off. Not that she really felt at home in the city or even in a small town. The noises of the city were more frightening than those of a dark forest night.

Excerpted with permission from A Girl, A Tiger, and a Very Strange Story, Paro Anand, illustrated by Priya Kurian, Puffin.