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It was the eve of Sir Hogby's birthday, an ignorant and avaricious man situated high in the upper class. Surrounded by fellow admirers, servants, slaves and his personal military force which prized his every move, Sir Hogby awaited his gifts, which he expected to be bountiful, judging by the menacing size of his entourage.

The prosperous lord sat nonchalantly on a jeweled chair, splayed out like the finest meat at a butcher's shop; after all, this disgrace of a man was rather accustomed to the voracious ways of his acquaintance tonight on his dinner plate: the pig.

Finally, the hour of his holiness' birthday (for this was how he wished to be called) landed upon the unexpecting huddle of people which was summed up with a hearty cry from Sir Hogby. ''Tis time, my underlings!' He raised the crimson wine in his hand to his mouth and tentatively took a sip. 'Show me the goods.' Gesturing to the covered box he ordered with an air of amusement that immediately vanished after the 'thing' was revealed: 'remove the cover.'

And it was done. Sir Hogby's heart thrashed violently, overcome by the wicked emotion of sadness. It was an unusual reaction; for a man with such an interest in hunting this was most odd. This is what made him one of the most respected lords in all of England (and the most prosperous): Sir Hogby lacked any empathy at all.

'Take it away!' He glanced round the room with passionate ire tainted by grief. 'Which of you is responsible for this monstrosity?' There was no response from the spectators of his tantrum, only the heavy silence that emanated from the exotic gift that lay jailed and discontented in its cage. A faint roar rumbled from inside the heavy metal bars and he reluctantly met the fierce beast's eyes.

Its streaks of orange and black were like a bonfire on the darkest of nights; its eyes were of a resplendent green, mesmerising and wild. The lord flinched when a pang of inexplicable guilt and regret swept over him. The beast was irrefutably the most splendorous creature Sir Hogby had ever laid eyes on, and yet he was repulsed by its very existence.

A tropical rain started to tumble down from the sky outside the rustic shelter. It was in fact premium accommodation but in this area of the world Sir Hogby fathomed that this nauseating tavern was their best effort, not that this put his mind at ease - he planned to educate them further on how to treat their British masters, but then again, he supposed that these vermin lacked any education to be corrected.

Across the hovel stood an unkempt man, indiscreetly studying the incongruous scene. The lord, who stood across from him lifted his head, sensing he was being watched.

Sir Hogby's large entourage had dispersed in respect of his newly found emotions, recognizing the fact he needed to be alone. Needless to say, some of the audience were somewhat baffled and taken aback by his wrathful display; some even fled for reasons affirmed by the cowards among them such as undiluted fear.

This peculiar man was the only person - other than Sir Hogby - left in the room. He carried himself like a gentleman and yet his status banned him from maintaining that reputation as his skin tone was the opposite of the lord's and his 'fellow countrymen'.

The creature spoke, for this was how Sir Hogby viewed him. 'I captured the beast, master.' The lord's countenance passed into an incredulous smirk. 'You admit to this?' There was a short pause and then the slave confirmed his guess. 'Yes, your holiness.' His voice boasted of disrespect. Sir Hogby mused over how to punish him. 'You have a brave heart, my friend.'

The lord sidled up to him, reaching out his hand but then thinking better of it. It would be disgusting and improper to offer any acknowledgement to an untouchable. 'It is unfortunate that you walk among your people, look as your people do and behave in the primitive ways they do.'

Sir Hogby waited for the man, who was considerably smaller than him, to cower down. 'But then again... Maybe it just proves your ignorance and stupidity!' It was then that Sir Hogby whipped the man and utter carnage spread through the tavern, including the deafening roar of his 'gift'.

'I suggest you don't do that again, brother.'
Sir Hogby twirled round to face the tiger. After a brief pause for thought, he made the assumption that he was either mad, or a certain slave had intoxicated him. 'You.' A single, threatening word intended to portray his utter revulsion. 'You which bring hither the tower of my insanity.'

The lord beheld the fantastical scene in which he was participating. 'You!' Sir Hogby exclaimed again. 'What is your name?' The slave started chanting with a tone of desperation: 'Vihaan Malashund... Vihaan Malashund... Vihaan Malashund...'
Sir Hogby, in the meantime, because his patience was short lived shouted hot temperedly. 'Is that all you can say you imbicile?' Behind Sir Hogby the magnificent tiger heaved with restraint. Sir Hogby, so engrossed had he been with interrogating Vihaan had failed to realise that the beast had escaped its quarters. Slowly, the lord wittered on, completely oblivious to the beast which now rested one paw on his fate.

'Vihaan Malashund you have been stripped of what dignity you have left. I charge you with attempted murder and with the invocation of false visions upon your master. You may be referred to here by as Samaaj Ka Apamaan.'
A sorrowful tear streaked Samaaj Ka Apamaan's grim countenance. Samaaj Ka Apamaan was to bear this shameful name for all eternity. Samaaj Ka Apamaan: society's disgrace. He managed to spit out a few words disdainfully. 'If I have committed so many crimes then I suppose you shall have to kill me.' Sir Hogby edged closer with a leering smile. 'Stop!' Samaaj cried fearfully. 'Sir Hogby' he began, but was immediately interrupted. 'Your holiness!' He interjected promptly, outraged. Samaaj began once more. 'Your holiness...' at this point he was on his knees and blubbering. 'If you have any mercy whatsoever you will spare my life.' The slave slumped to the floor, respectability long past forgotten.
Sir Hogby imparted a few minutes' silence allowing the slave to recover slightly, (for this was all the mercy he would ever show) then whispered harshly under his breath: 'the few scraps of intellect I expected from you proved merely a feign trickery of what substance you have drugged me with. Samaaj Ka Apamaan, if you were truly clever, you would know that I am a man without mercy.' He hurriedly cut off his speech, swiveled round and flung the slave to the tiger. The lord had known all along what dangerous circumstances he was under, using his cruel cunning to escape imminent death. The tiger leapt onto Samaaj Ka Apamaan, teeth glitteringly sharp in the low light given from the few hundred candles in the space.

The room looked as though it was trapped in an oceanic spell, the magnificent colours like of that in an oil painting. The bleak horizon glimmered with the colours of dawn, the faint trickle of sunlight as red as rubies splayed in the awakening sky – rubies as red as the blood India now shed under the mercenary rule of the much-despised Britain.
Sir Hogby viewed the grotesque scene before him with mild disinterest. An image appeared in his mind's eye of the Roman colosseums – the cheering crowds as man after man fell at the hands of an array of deadly beasts. Involuntarily he began shouting: 'kill him, kill him!' A riling craving for blood rose to his eyes, his primitive instincts taking hold. Again, he shouted. 'Kill him!'
Animalistic rage and the rush of adrenaline caused his voice to pull apart, dragging out a maddening roar that matched that of the tiger's. The room was silent as he released one final breath, returning to his contemptable, sadistic self; but the voice continued in his head: kill him, kill him, kill him... it cried.
The tiger and the slave moved like puppets, dangling on the strings of their destiny controlled by a powerful force. Around the room lights flickered, a few unnecessarily blowing out. Sir Hogby saw from the corner of his eye that another spectator had come to watch. Good, his mind reasoned. Let them see that they must fear me.
Smugly, Sir Hogby sat back and watched, but as he observed the newcomer he saw that he too smiled. The lord's own smile, however, faded – there was something off about him, something perilous... more perilous perhaps, than him. The stranger moved closer. 'It's marvelous. You really do put on a good show Antony Hogby.'

Startled that this odd man somehow knew of him, Sir Hogby said nothing. No one ever called him by his first name; no one had the nerve to get closer than just work related formality. The fight slowed, Samaaj Ka Apamaan's death drawing near. 'Care to celebrate, Antony?' The lord remained uncommunicative and said nothing. A flicker of embers sparked at the stranger's fingers and Sir Hogby began to descend from the high place in which he stood. An incongruous noise floated from the depths of the earth, like the fast beating of drums. 'Dance.' The stranger commanded him, and he did. Sir Hogby danced until the last step, when he was too tired to carry on, and fell into the slave's place where the tiger dived savagely onto him.
'We meet again, brother.' The beast pinned him down. Sir Hogby's head span; the distant laughter of the stranger floated down and away, but the slave's consistently vile sniggering did not. 'Why do you call me brother?' Sir Hogby questioned, confused and fatigued from the long time spent arduously dancing. 'Because I am.'
Sir Hogby jolted. It couldn't be.
'You can't be!' He shouted ignorantly. 'You're supposed to be dead.' Sir Hogby growled. He was past logical thought by this point, frantic and ireful. 'You're supposed to be gone.' Sir Hogby vigorously shook his head. 'I killed you.' The man pointed a finger at the humongous tiger. 'You. Are. Dead.' His panic-stricken face displayed how volatile he truly was. 'Be gone! Be gone I said!'
'And I will. I can return safely to the depths of death and solitude once you have learnt.'
'Learnt what?' Sir Hogby asked, his voice whining from the stress.

'How to be good.'
Sir Hogby laughed madly. 'How...' More laughter sprung darkly from his very core. 'How can someone as evil as you possibly teach anyone how to be good?' The lord spluttered skeptically.
'I didn't say I was good. I gained my riches in the same way you gained yours: lies and my vindictive ways.' The tiger took one paw off the man so he could rise. 'But I plan for your life to be better.'
Sir Hogby struggled, wanting to take the spotlight off himself. 'Why don't you get back to your meal and leave me alone?' The slave burst out laughing once more. Sir Hogby's brother answered. 'I was never meant to kill him, only to fool you. My fellow acquaintance did the rest. My acquaintance from the depths.'
'That was the...? The...' He was cut off by a massive paw that plucked him from consciousness.
The next morning Sir Hogby found himself in his confined, peaceful room. The gold stacked up beside his bed glistened in the morning sunlight, calming Sir Hogby's restless mind. After receiving a gourmet breakfast, Sir Hogby hunted down his brother, the beast. The large fiery mound lay behind bars. Maybe he had indeed been drugged and none of this was his honest life, but all in vain. The tiger stirred.
'Hello, brother.'
Sir Hogby bared his petty teeth in a growl.
'Try: nice to see you.' The tiger's figure moved inconceivably at what he viewed as good humour.

'What do you want?' Sir Hogby asked, irritated. The tiger's fiery silhouette in the bright morning sky rose to its full, daunting, predatory height. 'You will become virtuous, brother, whether you like it or not, and if you do not, your darkest secrets shall be revealed.' Sir Hogby pranced round the cage. 'And what if I kill you first?'
'Then the consequences will be higher than ever.' Sir Hogby smirked at that. 'Last time there were none.' The tiger sighed and for a moment the world stopped to witness the scene before going back to their usual lives - free from this absurd adventure. 'Then go ahead you ignoramus! Go ahead and may the worst of hell greet you when you too die. I'll be there, and it'll be worse than any hell you can imagine.'
Sir Hogby threw the dagger then, and the beautiful beast slumped. A celebratory simper drew tight on his face. It was supposed to be the day of the rug making anyway. The tiger was to die, by his hand or another. That night Sir Hogby was not restless. He did not care that he could see the stars or that the heat was piercing, all that was on his mind was his undeniable victory.
Morning came again; the servants came and went from Sir Hogby's room, but this time he was not present. They supposed that their master had gone to bathe early, although they could not care less for their forbidding enslaver.
Sir Hogby was in fact trapped, roaring in place of his brother. Roaring as the arrows were fired at him continuously. Roaring as he accepted that this was his punishment.