Kookie, our wild raccoon buddy, comes by for a visit. “You’re reading a book about your country’s wild-life again," he says. I am impressed: “How did you know THAT?” I ask. It’s not even a physical book, but the electronic version, that I got for review. It’s called In the Jungles of the Night , by Stephen Alter. It’s a novel based on India’s well-beloved Jim Corbett, the hunter and author of such famous classics as The Man-Eaters of Kumaon and Jungle Lore .

Kookie twitches his whiskers in a casual way, saying, “It’s that new book smell. Rather like a chocolate chip cookie, you know?” Then he gives a naughty wink, because of course, new books smell nothing like chocolate chip cookies but there just happens to be a plate of fresh-baked ones in the kitchen right now.

“So you ARE reading a book about wild-life?” Kookie asks, as he munches on his treat. “Yes,” I say, “but I can’t talk about it. I got it for review.” Kookie wants to know why that matters. “Well,” I say, “I consider it bad luck to discuss an article until it’s been published!” Kookie falls over with laughter. He can’t believe that I’m so superstitious. “You humans are hilarious! How can talking about something make a difference to the future?” He falls apart once more, emitting the musical chirps that are his form of laughter. Then all of a sudden he sobers up. “Wait. Did you say the book’s about a hunter?” Now he bares his teeth and snarls, “You like HUNTERS?!”

I tell him that Jim Corbett was a very special human being. “He loved animals. He grew up in the hills and forests of North India, where he learnt to understand the language of the jungle, to respect the wilderness and to appreciate the creatures whose lives he sometimes took.” I try to explain about tigers and leopards who sometimes became man-eaters. “It may be hard for you to believe, Kookie, but there was a time when humans were terrified of wild animals and were often killed by them.” Of course he’s aware that even in his part of the world, there are occasional grizzly attacks that result in deaths. But the notion of whole villages being at the mercy of a single rampaging tiger is quite hard for him to swallow.

He’s not sure he believes me but asks to know more about this hunter. I tell him that Corbett was unusual in that he had tremendous respect for his feline adversaries. He admired them and believed they only sought out human prey when they were too old or disabled by a wound to catch deer or boar. “Hmmm,” says Kookie. “So these tigers, they’re really big, huh? And they used to eat humans?” In his world, it is unthinkable for wild animals to consider humans as the main course on the menu. I can see that he’s rather impressed. “Your country must be a nice place for us to live,” he says, meaning for wild animals. I smile sadly as I shake my head. “Yes, it was, during Jim Corbett’s time,” I say. "But not any more.

Manjula Padmanabhan , author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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