The leopard in the tunnel

Next evening at dusk, as flying foxes (big fruit bats) swooped out of the trees, Suraj went to the watchman's hut. The breeze carried "the scent of mango blossoms, the promise of rain".

Sunder Singh had a kettle boiling: "There is nothing like a glass of hot tea while waiting for a train." They drank it, listening to the tailorbird and the noisy chatter of the seven sisters (jungle babblers, birds that go about in groups of six to eight).

As it got dark, Sunder Singh lit his lamp and went to inspect the tunnel. Suraj sat alone, and "in the dark, the trees seemed to move closer to him": a barking deer, a fox's cry, the funny tonk-tonk of a nightjar, and strange sounds, "as though the trees were coming to life, stretching their limbs in the dark".

Inside the tunnel, Sunder Singh was trimming his lamp (adjusting its wick). He knew the night sounds, but "something else, a padded footfall, a rustle of dry leaves" made him stand still and peer into the dark. He came back humming. Ten minutes to the night mail.

Then they both heard it: "a rhythmic sawing sound, as if someone was cutting through a branch." "It's the leopard. I think it's in the tunnel." "The train will soon be here!" "Yes. If we don't drive it out, it will be run over and killed. I can't let that happen."

"Won't it attack us?" "Not this leopard. It knows me well. It likes goats and stray dogs, but it won't harm us. Still, I'll take my axe. You stay here." "No, I'm coming with you." "All right, stay close. And remember, there is nothing to fear."

Twenty paces in, the lamp found it, crouching between the rails five metres away. Not very big, but lithe (slim and graceful) and sinewy (lean and muscular). It bared its teeth, snarling, went down on its belly, tail twitching.

Suraj tried to shout but his throat was dry. Then they shouted together, and in the echoing tunnel the leopard, "uncertain as to how many terrifying humans were there", turned and disappeared into the darkness. Two voices sounded like many!