Martel, Yann. Life of Pi. Harcourt, 2001.
In the spring of 1996, my second book, Life of Pi, came out in Canada. I arrived in the town of Pondicherry, a tiny self-governing Union Territory south of Madrad, on the coast of Tamil Nadu, India. Francis Adirubasamy (Mamaji) said, “I have a story that will make you believe in God.” Once upon a time, there was a zoo in the Pondicherry Botanical Garden. In Toronto, the author met Piscine Molitor Patel (Pi).
The older Pi lives in Scarborough, Toronto, Canada. He is a small, slim man. Dark hair, dark eyes. Can’t be older than forty. Right now, the Pondicherry Zoo doesn’t exist any more. Its pits are filled in, the cages torn down. I explore it now in the only place left for it, my memory. He told his story. He’s married. Mrs. Patel is an Indian but has a more typically Canadian accent. He’s shy. He shows family photos. He has one elder son (Nikhil) and a younger daughter (Usha). The little daughter is four years old. Pi said, after one year of high school, I attended the University of Toronto and took a double-major Bachelor’s degree. My majors were religious studies and zoology. I was a very good student. I love Canada. It is a great country much too cold for good sense, inhabited by compassionate, intelligent people with bad hairdos. Anyway, I have nothing to go home to in Pondicherry. Richard Parker has stayed with me. I’ve never forgotten him. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once.
Pondicherry entered the Union of India on November 1, 1954. A portion of the grounds of the Pondicherry Botanical Garden was a brand new zoo. To me, it was paradise on earth. I have nothing but the fondest memories of growing up in a zoo. In zoos, as in nature, the best times to visit are sunrise and sunset. That is when most animals come to life. Animals are territorial. That is the key to their minds. Only a familiar territory will allow them to fulfill the two relentless imperatives of the wild: the avoidance of enemies and the getting of food and water.
The mid-1970s were troubled times in India. People move in the hope of a better life. Our family sold the zoo, lock, stock and barrel. We left Madras on June 21st, 1977, on the Panamanian-registered Japanese cargo ship Tsimtsum. I was only sixteen. I wildly waved goodbye to India.
The ship sank. Things bubbled at the surface and then vanished. Everything was screaming: the sea, the wind, my heart. From the lifeboat I saw something in the water. I cried Richard Parker. He had seen me. He looked panic-stricken. He started swimming my way. Mother, Father, Ravi, birds, beasts and reptiles, they all have drowned. Every single thing I value in life has been destroyed. My heart was chilled to ice. Bengal tiger (Richard Parker) was in my lifeboat. We sailed from Madras across the Bay of Bengal, down through the Strait of Malacca, around Singapore and up to Manila. We left Manila and entered the Pacific. The ship was sinking. It was a miracle I didn’t hurt myself. Richard Parker was at the bottom of the lifeboat. He was a fierce, 450-pound carnivore. The zebra had badly broken a rear leg. Suddenly, a head appeared beyond the end of the tarpaulin. It was the bear-like, balding-looking head of a spotted hyena. It was a male. Borneo orangutan (Orange Juice) was floated by a net of bananas. She fell into the lifeboat proper. The hyena had attacked the zebra. The zebra’s broken leg was missing. The hyena had bitten it off and dragged it to the stern. The zebra was being eaten alive by the hyena from the inside. The zebra was dead by noon. The hyena jumped over the remains of the zebra. An adult female orangutan cannot defeat an adult male spotted hyena. The hyena jumped on the bench and caught Orange Juice at the wrist before she could strike. She fell off the bench to the bottom of the lifeboat. She was beheaded by the hyena. Richard Parker was still on board. I had to have water. I ate a quarter of the large chocolate bar. I slept all morning. I awoke to the reality of Richard Parker. Every hair on me was standing up, shrieking with fear. I stayed on the raft. I hatched several plans to get rid of Richard Parker so that the lifeboat might be mine.
It was a fine day. I decided to try my hand at fishing, for the first time in my life. I was now a killer. I was sixteen years old and I had blood on my hands. It’s a terrible burden to carry. I survived 227 days. My story started on a calendar day—July 2nd, 1977—and ended on a calendar February 14th, 1978. I survived because I forgot even the very notion of time. I drifted. Winds and currents decided where I went. I travelled down the road of life. I fished with a variety of hooks at a variety of depths for a variety of fish. The hours were long, the fish were small, and Richard Parker was forever hungry. With time and experience, I became a better hunter. In order to protect myself from Richard Parker, I trained him. Richard Parker did not really want to attack me.
Faith in God is an opening up, a letting go, a deep trust, a free act of love—but sometimes it was hard to love. Sometimes my heart was sinking so fast with anger, desolation and weariness. Despair was a heavy blackness that let on light in or out. I thank God it always passed. The blackness would stir and eventually go away, and God would remain, a shining point of light in my heart. I would go on loving.
When we reached land, I was so weak. The boat hissed to a halt against the sand. I let myself down the side. I looked ahead to see how far I had to go. The glance gave me one of my last images of Richard Parker, for at that precise moment he jumped over me. He passed directly in front of me on his way to the right. He didn’t look at me. He only looked fixedly into the jungle. Then Richard Parker moved forward and disappeared forever from my life. I was truly alone, orphaned not only of my family, but now of Richard Parker.


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