the day broke, humid and overcast, with the wind warmand the sky a dense blanket of grey clouds that looked likebunched-up, dirty cotton sheets. the sea had not changed. itheaved the lifeboat up and down in a regular motion.

the zebra was still alive. i couldn't believe it. it had atwo-foot-wide hole in its body, a fistula like a freshly eruptedvolcano, spewed half-eaten organs glistening in the light orgiving off a dull, dry shine, yet, in its strictly essential parts, itcontinued to pump with life, if weakly. movement was confinedto a tremor in the rear leg and an occasional blinking of theeyes. i was horrified. i had no idea a living being could sustainso much injury and go on living.

the hyena was tense. it was not settling down to its nightof rest despite the daylight. perhaps it was a result of taking inso much food; its stomach was grossly dilated. orange juicewas in a dangerous mood too. she was fidgeting and showingher teeth.

i stayed where i was, curled up near the prow. i was weakin body and in soul. i was afraid i would fall into the water ifi tried to balance on the oar.

the zebra was dead by noon. it was glassy-eyed and hadbecome perfectly indifferent to the hyena's occasional assaults.

violence broke out in the afternoon. tension had risen to anunbearable level. the hyena was yipping. orange juice wasgrunting and making loud lip-smacking noises. all of a suddentheir complaining fused and shot up to top volume. the hyenajumped over the remains of the zebra and made for orangejuice.

i believe i have made clear the menace of a hyena. it wascertainly so clear in my mind that i gave up on orange juice'slife before she even had a chance to defend it. iunderestimated her. i underestimated her grit.

she thumped the beast on the head. it was somethingshocking. it made my heart melt with love and admiration andfear. did i mention she was a former pet, callously discardedby her indonesian owners? her story was like that of everyinappropriate pet. it goes something like this: the pet is boughtwhen it is small and cute. it gives much amusement to itsowners. then it grows in size and in appetite. it reveals itselfincapable of being house-trained. its increasing strength makesit harder to handle. one day the maid pulls the sheet from itsnest because she has decided to wash it, or the son jokinglypinches a morsel of food from its hands – over some suchseemingly small matter, the pet flashes its teeth in anger andthe family is frightened. the very next day the pet finds itselfbouncing at the back of the family jeep in the company of itshuman brothers and sisters. a jungle is entered. everyone inthe vehicle finds it a strange and formidable place. a clearing iscome to. it is briefly explored. all of a sudden the jeep roarsto life and its wheels kick up dirt and the pet sees all the onesit has known and loved looking at it from the back window asthe jeep speeds away. it has been left behind. the pet doesnot understand. it is as unprepared for this jungle as itshuman siblings are. it waits around for their return, trying toquell the panic rising in it. they do not return. the sun sets.

quickly it becomes depressed and gives up on life. it dies ofhunger and exposure in the next few days. or is attacked bydogs.

orange juice could have been one of these forlorn pets.

instead she ended up at the pondicherry zoo. she remainedgentle and unaggressive her whole life. i have memories fromwhen i was a child of her never-ending arms surrounding me,her fingers, each as long as my whole hand, picking at myhair. she was a young female practising her maternal skills. asshe matured into her full wild self, i observed her at adistance. i thought i knew her so well that i could predict herevery move. i thought i knew not only her habits but also herlimits. this display of ferocity, of savage courage, made merealize that i was wrong. all my life i had known only a partof her.

she thumped the beast on the head. and what a thump itwas. the beast's head hit the bench it had just reached,making such a sharp noise, besides splaying its front legs flatout, that i thought surely either the bench or its jaw or bothmust break. the hyena was up again in an instant, every hairon its body as erect as the hairs on my head, but its hostilitywasn't quite so kinetic now. it withdrew. i exulted. orangejuice's stirring defence brought a glow to my heart.

it didn't last long.

an adult female orang-utan cannot defeat an adult malespotted hyena. that is the plain empirical truth. let it becomeknown among zoologists. had orange juice been a male, hadshe loomed as large on the scales as she did in my heart, itmight have been another matter. but portly and overfed thoughshe was from living in the comfort of a zoo,even so she tipped the scales at barely 110 pounds. femaleorang-utans are half the size of males. but it is not simply aquestion of weight and brute strength. orange juice was farfrom defenceless. what it comes down to is attitude andknowledge. what does a fruit eater know about killing? wherewould it learn where to bite, how hard, for how long? anorang-utan may be taller, may have very strong and agile armsand long canines, but if it does not know how to use these asweapons, they are of little use. the hyena, with only its jaws,will overcome the ape because it knows what it wants and howto get it.

the hyena came back. it jumped on the bench and caughtorange juice at the wrist before she could strike. orange juicehit the hyena on the head with her other arm, but the blowonly made the beast snarl viciously. she made to bite, but thehyena moved faster. alas, orange juice's defence lackedprecision and coherence. her fear was something useless thatonly hampered her. the hyena let go of her wrist and expertlygot to her throat.

dumb with pain and horror, i watched as orange juicethumped the hyena ineffectually and pulled at its hair while herthroat was being squeezed by its jaws. to the end shereminded me of us: her eyes expressed fear in such ahumanlike way, as did her strained whimpers. she made anattempt to climb onto the tarpaulin. the hyena violently shookher. she fell off the bench to the bottom of the lifeboat, thehyena with her. i heard noises but no longer saw anything.

i was next. that much was clear to me. with some difficultyi stood up. i could hardly see through the tears in my eyes. iwas no longer crying because of my family or because of myimpending death. i was far too numb to consider either. i wascrying because i was exceedingly tired and it was time to getrest.

i advanced over the tarpaulin. though tautly stretched at theend of the boat, it sagged a little in the middle; it made forthree or four toilsome, bouncy steps. and i had to reach overthe net and the rolled-up tarpaulin. and these efforts in alifeboat that was constantly rolling. in the condition i was in, itfelt like a great trek. when i laid my foot on the middle crossbench, its hardness had an invigorating effect on me, as if ihad just stepped on solid ground. i planted both my feet onthe bench and enjoyed my firm stand. i was feeling dizzy, butsince the capital moment of my life was coming up thisdizziness only added to my sense of frightened sublimity. iraised my hands to the level of my chest – the weapons ihad against the hyena. it looked up at me. its mouth was red.

orange juice lay next to it, against the dead zebra. her armswere spread wide open and her short legs were folded togetherand slightly turned to one side. she looked like a simian christon the cross. except for her head. she was beheaded. theneck wound was still bleeding. it was a sight horrible to theeyes and killing to the spirit. just before throwing myself uponthe hyena, to collect myself before the final struggle, i lookeddown.

between my feet, under the bench, i beheld richard parker'shead. it was gigantic. it looked the size of the planet jupiter tomy dazed senses. his paws were like volumes ofencyclopaedia britannica.

i made my way back to the bow and collapsed.

i spent the night in a state of delirium. i kept thinking i hadslept and was awaking after dreaming of a tiger.