Page 34 of Tiger's Destiny
Despite the king’s misgivings, the two were married, and the king told the new bride of the oracle’s prediction. On the fourth night of their marriage, the new bride set out every piece of gold, silver, and jewelry the couple had. Both she and the prince kept vigil all night long and waited for the serpent. She lit lamps, told her husband stories, and sang to him to keep him awake.
Late that night, the god of death, Yama, arrived in the guise of a cobra, but his eyes were dazzled by the lights and the wealth heaped on the floor. He swayed to the lilting songs and at dawn, unable to fulfill the prophecy, he slithered away.
I tell you this story for two reasons. First, I want you to remember that even though your feet have been set on a path that is not of your choosing you still have the freedom to decide your own destiny. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. This story is an excellent example of twisting fate to your benefit.
I would also have you know that I chose my fate and I could not have wished for a better death or have more hope for a beneficial outcome. Do not mourn me, but consider instead the blessings of a life well lived.
There is a saying, “When a father gives to his son, both laugh. When a son gives to his father, both cry.” You have given me much, my sons. I am proud of you. I have often wept at the thought of leaving you, but I know that you will be able to go on without me. Take good care of my Miss Kelsey.
I will leave you with a sonnet. Perhaps the reading of it will soothe us all.
SONNET 30
William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanisht sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
I will think on thee often, my dear friends. Until we meet again.
—Anik Kadam
As if in silent tribute, Ren and Kishan switched back to tigers. My hand dropped heavily to my lap, and I stared silently out the kitchen window. Nilima wept softly.
“Why didn’t he tell me? I could have shared this burden with him,” she declared emotionally.
“He didn’t want that for you,” I replied and rubbed her back. “He didn’t want that for any of us.”
Scooping up the papers, I read through Mr. Kadam’s translation of the fourth prophecy.
Flames of the skies,
Sunset and Sunrise,
