The Tiger and Ulta's Mother

The Tiger and Ulta's Mother

At the edge of a great forest stood an old tree with branches wide enough to shade a small clearing. A young tiger liked to play beneath its roots, while high in its crown a pair of cranes had built their nest. A young crane was growing there. His parents brought food to the nest, and whenever a tasty scrap was left over, he dropped it down to the tiger cub. At first the two only watched each other. “You are all stripes,” said the crane one day. “And you are all feathers,” said the tiger. “I knew that already.” “So did I.” They laughed, and that was how their friendship began. The tiger showed the crane the paths through the tall grass. The crane told the tiger what the forest looked like from the sky. One knew where the coolest shade lay in summer; the other knew where clear rainwater gathered after a storm. Then a sad time came. The tiger’s mother could no longer be with him, and the young tiger felt very alone. “My family cannot take the place of yours,” the crane told him. “But you do not have to be alone.” From then on, the friends spent even more time together. One season they decided to plant turmeric. “We shall have a garden of our own,” said the tiger. “You loosen the soil,” said the crane, “and I will set the roots in place.” So they worked side by side. The tiger scratched the earth soft with his paws; the crane placed the rhizomes carefully; together they covered them with soil. When green shoots rose above the bed, they agreed to divide the harvest in advance. “You choose first,” said the crane. The tiger looked at the lush leaves. “I will take what grows above the ground. There is so much of it, and it is so green.” “Then I will take what grows below,” said the crane. In time the harvest was ready. The tiger received a great heap of leaves. The crane dug up bright, fragrant turmeric roots. The tiger stared at the crane’s pile and frowned. “Yours looks more interesting.” “Perhaps,” said the crane. “But you chose the leaves.” “Give me half the roots, and I will give you half the leaves.” “No. We agreed before the plants grew.” The tiger grew angry. “I dug the earth! Nothing would have grown without me.” “And I brought the roots and planted them,” the crane answered. They spoke more and more loudly. The tiger stepped closer; the frightened crane beat his wings to retreat, and the edge of one wing brushed the tiger near the eyes. The tiger recoiled. His eyes stung and filled with tears. “I can hardly see!” “I did not mean to hurt you,” cried the crane. “I was only backing away.” But the tiger was too upset to listen. “Go away!” he said. The crane flew off, and the tiger sat beside the turmeric bed with the world blurred around him. When his anger cooled, he realized that he was alone—and that he needed help. Before long, a man came along the forest path. “Good sir,” said the tiger, “do not be afraid. I will not harm you. Do you know anyone who understands how to care for the sick?” The man stopped, astonished to hear a tiger speak so calmly. “In our village lives Ulta’s mother. She knows herbs and gentle remedies. Perhaps she can advise you.” The tiger thanked him and went slowly toward the village. He did not enter anyone’s yard without permission. Instead, he waited beyond the fence until he heard a woman call, “Ulta, it is time for supper!” Then the tiger spoke carefully. “Ulta’s mother, please do not be frightened. I need advice.” The woman looked through the gate and, of course, was startled. “A tiger outside my home is not an everyday visitor,” she said. “I understand,” the tiger answered. “I quarrelled with a friend, and now my eyes hurt. I do not ask you to let me in. I only ask what I should do.” Ulta’s mother brought clean water and a soft cloth. “First, rinse your eyes and do not rub them with your paws,” she said. “Rest in the shade. If they grow worse, do not wander alone.” The tiger did exactly as she told him. He lay beneath a tree, rinsed his eyes, and rested for a long while. By evening the mist before his eyes had begun to clear, and by the next morning he could see well again. He returned to Ulta’s mother. “You helped me when you could simply have shut your gate,” he said. “I want to thank you.” “Do not bring me anything that belongs to someone else,” she replied at once. “If you wish to thank me, do something useful and honest.” The tiger thought about those words. After that, as he walked the forest paths, he warned villagers where rain had washed out the road. He chased wild boars away from young crops and did not frighten people for the pleasure of it. One day he found a basket of forest fruit left beside a path. Before touching it, he asked everyone nearby whether it had been lost. Its owner soon came looking, and the tiger returned it. Then he understood why Ulta’s mother had spoken of honest thanks. Later he came to her again. “Ulta’s mother,” he said, “I am lonely. I would like to meet another tiger, someone I might live near. Do you know where I should look?” The woman smiled. “That is simpler. Near the far river I have often seen the tracks of a tigress. But you will have to introduce yourself. I cannot arrange a friendship for two grown tigers.” “That is fair,” he said. The next day he went to the river. For a long time no one came. He was nearly ready to leave when the reeds rustled and a tigress stepped onto the bank. They both stood still. “Good evening,” the tiger said at last. “Good evening,” said the tigress. “Why are you sitting by my favorite water?” “I was hoping to meet someone I could talk to.” “A strange way to make an acquaintance.” “It feels strange to me too.” The tigress laughed. They talked until the light faded. They discovered that both loved the cool shade by the river, disliked boastfulness, and could listen to the night forest for hours. The next day they met again, and then again. In time, they chose to stay together. The tiger wished to thank Ulta’s mother once more. “Only this time,” said the tigress, “we will frighten no one and take nothing without permission.” “I have learned that lesson,” he said. They stopped at a respectful distance from the village and called out, “Ulta’s mother! It is me—and I am not alone.” The woman came to the gate and saw two tigers. “Well, these are remarkable visitors,” she said. “What brings you here?” “To say thank you.” They brought only things that could be given without harm: a few peacock feathers found after molting, fragrant herbs, and a smooth river stone that gleamed in the sun. Ulta’s mother accepted the little gift. “In our tradition, at the Karam festival people gather, thank one another, and share small offerings,” she said. “But gratitude must never turn into a debt. I helped you because you needed help. Now live peacefully and do good where you can.” The tigers bowed and returned to the forest. But the tiger often thought of the crane. One morning he went back to the old turmeric bed and saw long legs among the green leaves. The crane had come too. For a moment they said nothing. “I did not mean to strike you with my wing,” said the crane. “And I should not have pressed you over the harvest,” said the tiger. “We had made an agreement, and I grew angry because I did not like my own choice.” “So what shall we do with the turmeric?” The tiger looked at the leaves, then at the roots, and smiled. “This year, we will first learn what each part is for. Then we will divide it.” The crane laughed so loudly that dry leaves fluttered down from the tree. From that day, the friends did not make agreements by guessing. If they did not know something, they asked. If they were angry, they paused. If they made a mistake, they did not hunt for someone to blame before they had found the truth. And sometimes the tiger told young animals, “I once believed strength meant everyone stepping aside for you. Now I know it is much harder to ask for help calmly, give thanks honestly, and return to a friend after a quarrel.” Whenever Ulta’s mother heard that story from the villagers, she only smiled. For sometimes the best medicine in a tale is not a magical herb. It is wise advice, a little time, and the willingness to listen to one another at last.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨