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so fragile. So powerless. So small.... Small. ... That is the word that sticks in my mind.
She was so small.
Inexplicably, my eyes filled up with tears. I trembled uncontrollably in fear. Feeling physically sick with the bitter taste of vomit, raw reflux in my throat. It resembled an asthma attack, and drowning at the same time. Scared, choking and utterly alone.
It felt like an eternity.
I was terrified.
I never did squeeze the trigger. I just made strange, audible, sobbing, gurgling uncontrollable noises.
Trembling, I lowered the rifle to my knees.
I remember the shikari, who did not say a word, clicking on the spotlight and moving the beam in ever-widening arcs, trying to catch a glimpse of the reflections of panther eyes in the dark, to give him a chance to take the shot.
But to no avail. The panther had heard me crying and had fled.
My inability to perform my designated role was complete.
As was my disgrace.
The respected shikari did not say another word. Silently, he took the heavy rifle from my sweaty grasp and turned away from me. His adrenaline and his disgust in me was clear.
We both knew there would be no panther killing that night.
And for me, on no other night either.
The seeds which germinated, and from which my vegan roots grew, were planted in that jungle half a century ago.
On the long and uncomfortable journey home the next morning nothing was said.