_life_of_pi_full_text_pdf

Yann Martel: Life of Pi
birds-pheasants, peacocks, macaws-lost feathers to people greedy for their beauty. We caught a man with a
knife climbing into the pen for mouse deer; he said he was going to punish evil Ravana (who in the Ramayana
took the form of a deer when he kidnapped Sita, Rama's consort). Another man was nabbed in the process of
stealing a cobra. He was a snake charmer whose own snake had died. Both were saved: the cobra from a life of
servitude and bad music, and the man from a possible death bite. We had to deal on occasion with stone
throwers, who found the animals too placid and wanted a reaction. And we had the lady whose sari was caught
by a lion. She spun like a yo-yo, choosing mortal embarrassment over mortal end. The thing was, it wasn't
even an accident. She had leaned over, thrust her hand in the cage and waved the end of her sari in the lion's
face, with what intent we never figured out. She was not injured; there were many fascinated men who came
to her assistance. Her flustered explanation to Father was, "Whoever heard of a lion eating a cotton sari? I
thought lions were carnivores." Our worst troublemakers were the visitors who gave food to the animals.
Despite our vigilance, Dr. Atal, the zoo veterinarian, could tell by the number of animals with digestive
disturbances which had been the busy days at the zoo. He called "tidbit-itis" the cases of enteritis or gastritis
due to too many carbohydrates, especially sugar. Sometimes we wished people had stuck to sweets. People
have a notion that animals can eat anything without the least consequence to their health. Not so. One of our
sloth bears became seriously ill with severe hemorrhagic enteritis after being given fish that had gone putrid
by a man who was convinced he was doing a good deed.
Just beyond the ticket booth Father had painted on a wall in bright red letters the question: DO YOU KNOW
WHICH IS THE MOST DANGEROUS ANIMAL IN THE ZOO? An arrow pointed to a small curtain. There
were so many eager, curious hands that pulled at the curtain that we had to replace it regularly. Behind it was a
mirror.
But I learned at my expense that Father believed there was another animal even more dangerous than us, and
one that was extremely common, too, found on every continent, in every habitat: the redoubtable species
Animalus anthropomorphicus, the animal as seen through human eyes. We've all met one, perhaps even
owned one. It is an animal that is "cute", "friendly", "loving", "devoted", "merry", "understanding". These
animals lie in ambush in every toy store and children's zoo. Countless stories are told of them. They are the
pendants of those "vicious", "bloodthirsty", "depraved" animals that inflame the ire of the maniacs I have just
mentioned, who vent their spite on them with walking sticks and umbrellas. In both cases we look at an animal
and see a mirror. The obsession with putting ourselves at the centre of everything is the bane not only of
theologians but also of zoologists.
I learned the lesson that an animal is an animal, essentially and practically removed from us, twice: once with
Father and once with Richard Parker.
It was on a Sunday morning. I was quietly playing on my own. Father called out.
"Children, come here."
Something was wrong. His tone of voice set off a small alarm bell in my head. I quickly reviewed my
conscience. It was clear. Ravi must be in trouble again. I wondered what he had done this time. I walked into
the living room. Mother was there. That was unusual. The disciplining of children, like the tending of animals,
was generally left to Father. Ravi walked in last, guilt written all over his criminal face.
"Ravi, Piscine, I have a very important lesson for you today."
"Oh really, is this necessary?" interrupted Mother. Her face was flushed.
I swallowed. If Mother, normally so unruffled, so calm, was worried, even upset, it meant we were in serious
trouble. I exchanged glances with Ravi.
Page 18