It was a cold December night, and the town lay in quiet slumber, its streets bathed in the dim yellow glow of flickering streetlights. A man, swaying under the influence of one too many drinks, trudged along the cobblestone paths that led to his modest home at the far end of the neighbourhood. His name was Ravi, known to the locals as the town drunk, yet endearing to many for his harmless antics and occasional pearls of wisdom delivered in his inebriated state.
Ravi’s nightly routine usually involved a stop at the corner eatery, a bustling place by day but eerily quiet at this hour. Tonight was no exception. He pushed open the creaky wooden door, the faint aroma of lingering spices teasing his senses. The waiter, a young man who had seen Ravi’s late-night escapades too many times, greeted him with a resigned smile.
“Do you have chicken tandoori?” Ravi asked, his voice slurred but hopeful.
“No, sir,” replied the waiter.
Ravi frowned and tried again, “Chicken kebab, then?”
The waiter shook his head. “Everything is finished, sir. Only raw chicken is left—for tomorrow’s cooking.”
Ravi leaned on the counter, his balance wavering. “Give me fifty rupees’ worth of raw chicken. My wife will cook it for me.”
The waiter, accustomed to Ravi’s whims, packed the chicken in an old newspaper and handed it over. Clutching the packet like a prized possession, Ravi stumbled out into the chilly night, humming a tune only he could recognize.
As he approached a narrow alley, Ravi noticed a shadow moving in the dim light. A large dog stood before him, its eyes gleaming like polished marbles. It was not barking, not growling, just staring at him with an almost human-like calmness.
“You’re a good dog,” Ravi murmured, a drunken smile spreading across his face. “Other dogs bark at me, chase me away. But you... you’re different.”
He crouched down, patting the animal’s head affectionately. “Wait here, my friend. I have something for you.”
Ravi placed the packet of chicken before the creature. “Eat, my calm and noble dog. You deserve it.”
The animal sniffed the offering, then tore into it with quiet enthusiasm. Ravi watched with a sense of satisfaction, as though he had just performed a great act of charity. He patted its back one last time and continued his journey home, feeling oddly accomplished.
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Back at home, Ravi’s wife, Meena, was pacing the room, her face a mask of worry. Dinner had been ready for hours, but Ravi was nowhere to be seen. She had grown used to his late-night escapades, yet tonight felt different. The air seemed heavier, filled with an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
When the door finally creaked open, Meena rushed to greet him. “Ravi! Where have you been? I was so worried!”
Ravi, oblivious to her concern, plopped into a chair and grinned. “Why worry, my dear? I’m always late. Tonight is no different.”
Meena sighed, exasperated. “You don’t understand. There’s a leopard roaming around the neighbourhood! Everyone is terrified. Chhotu is at the Kalu’s house watching CCTV footage of it.”
Ravi chuckled, his drunken mind unable to grasp the gravity of her words. “A leopard? In this town? You must be joking, Meena.”
Meena handed him his plate of food, muttering under her breath about his reckless ways. Just as Ravi took his first bite, Meena’s phone buzzed. It was a message from their son, Chhotu, accompanied by a video. The caption read: “The Real Hero of Our Neighborhood!”
Curious, Meena clicked on the video. What she saw made her drop the phone in shock.
The screen showed Ravi, her beloved but perpetually drunk husband, petting a leopard. Not a dog, but a full-grown leopard with spots glistening under the streetlight. The same leopard that had turned their peaceful neighbourhood into a zone of terror. To make matters worse, Ravi was feeding it raw chicken, stroking its back as if it were a docile pet.
“Ravi!” Meena shrieked, her voice a mix of horror and disbelief. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Ravi looked up, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “What’s the matter now? Can’t a man eat in peace?”
Meena shoved the phone in his face. “Look at this! That wasn’t a dog you fed—it was a leopard!”
Ravi squinted at the screen, his face slowly registering the truth. For a moment, he was silent. Then, to Meena’s utter astonishment, he burst out laughing.
“Well, that explains why it didn’t bark,” he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
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The next morning, the neighbourhood was abuzz with stories of Ravi’s bravery. People gathered outside his house, some to congratulate him, others to marvel at his sheer recklessness. Children looked up to him as a hero, while their parents whispered about how alcohol could sometimes embolden fools.
Ravi, still nursing a mild hangover, basked in the newfound attention. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he told anyone who would listen. “The leopard and I had an understanding. It was hungry, and I had chicken. Simple as that.”
Meena, meanwhile, shook her head in exasperation. “If only he showed this kind of courage in real life,” she muttered, her heart still racing at the memory of the video.
Later that evening, the local wildlife department arrived to capture the leopard, which had retreated to a nearby forest. As they tranquillized the beast and carried it away, one of the officers remarked, “It’s a miracle no one was harmed. Leopards are unpredictable.”
Ravi, watching from a safe distance, raised his glass of tea and said, “Not all leopards are bad. Some are just misunderstood.”
The crowd erupted in laughter, and Ravi, despite himself, felt a swell of pride. For once, his drunken escapade had made him a legend, and though Meena would never let him live it down, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of satisfaction.
After all, how many men could say they had patted a leopard and lived to tell the tale?
