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There is a very thin line， they say， between the sublime1 and the ridiculous. I never really thought about it， until one day， my education as an Army wife on an Indian military base took me down a path that made me wonder.
It was a crisp winter morning in the foothills of the Vindhyas， just right to laze in the sun and bury my nose in a novel.2
Suddenly and rudely， I was jerked3 back to reality.
“Memsahib！” （“Madam！”） It was a strange wail4. I put my book down. “Memsahib！” It was coming from the kitchen.
I hurried in to investigate and found Ramu， our military orderly5.
“I found him， memsahib！ And I’ve got him！” he cried. He pointed grimly to a drawer that was vibrating alarmingly.6
A human intruder could not fit in a drawer. A snake wouldn’t rattle7 around like that， I concluded. Ah！ It must be that rat！ Good for you， soldier， I thought. But now what？
He grinned. “You guard the door，” he said to me. “I’ll bag it.”He was whirling a sack over his head like a club.8
How about we just close the door and I wait outside？ I thought. But I didn’t want to dampen his obvious enthusiasm， so I stood bravely， hoping that I could hold my own against a fleeing rat.9
But I hadn’t taken into account Ramu’s years of practice： In one swift move the rat was out of the drawer and into the sack. I scrambled to find some string and handed it to Ramu to tie the burlap sack closed—or so I thought.10
But no. Instead， Ramu coiled the string into a neat lasso， and suddenly—before I could speak （or shriek） —he had grabbed the rat by its torso through the bag.11
Expertly， he maneuvered the rat until its whiskers popped out of the top of the sack.12 Then he neatly flipped the lasso around the rat’s neck， the way you’d put a leash on a dog.13
Something must have shown on my face. “I cannot kill the rat， memsahib，” Ramu apologized softly. “I’ll take it to the other side of the canal and leave it.” His declaration brooked no argument； clearly， he did not think it was necessary to harm the pesky creature.14
Before I could respond， he had eased the rat out of the sack， and—to my astonishment—began walking it out of the kitchen.
“Wait！” I screamed. “It’s just going to come back.”
On the lawn， with leashed rat in tow15， Ramu paused and turned back to me.“Then we’ll catch it again， memsahib，” he assured me.
It was a crisp winter morning in the foothills of the Vindhyas， just right to laze in the sun and bury my nose in a novel.2
Suddenly and rudely， I was jerked3 back to reality.
“Memsahib！” （“Madam！”） It was a strange wail4. I put my book down. “Memsahib！” It was coming from the kitchen.
I hurried in to investigate and found Ramu， our military orderly5.
“I found him， memsahib！ And I’ve got him！” he cried. He pointed grimly to a drawer that was vibrating alarmingly.6
A human intruder could not fit in a drawer. A snake wouldn’t rattle7 around like that， I concluded. Ah！ It must be that rat！ Good for you， soldier， I thought. But now what？
He grinned. “You guard the door，” he said to me. “I’ll bag it.”He was whirling a sack over his head like a club.8
How about we just close the door and I wait outside？ I thought. But I didn’t want to dampen his obvious enthusiasm， so I stood bravely， hoping that I could hold my own against a fleeing rat.9
But I hadn’t taken into account Ramu’s years of practice： In one swift move the rat was out of the drawer and into the sack. I scrambled to find some string and handed it to Ramu to tie the burlap sack closed—or so I thought.10
But no. Instead， Ramu coiled the string into a neat lasso， and suddenly—before I could speak （or shriek） —he had grabbed the rat by its torso through the bag.11
Expertly， he maneuvered the rat until its whiskers popped out of the top of the sack.12 Then he neatly flipped the lasso around the rat’s neck， the way you’d put a leash on a dog.13
Something must have shown on my face. “I cannot kill the rat， memsahib，” Ramu apologized softly. “I’ll take it to the other side of the canal and leave it.” His declaration brooked no argument； clearly， he did not think it was necessary to harm the pesky creature.14
Before I could respond， he had eased the rat out of the sack， and—to my astonishment—began walking it out of the kitchen.
“Wait！” I screamed. “It’s just going to come back.”
On the lawn， with leashed rat in tow15， Ramu paused and turned back to me.“Then we’ll catch it again， memsahib，” he assured me.