Twenty four-year-old Jayant Mandal ambled along his sugarcane farm in Pilibhit바카라s Mandaria village, whistling and fiddling with his phone. It was late afternoon, the April sun shone over the picturesque village and all seemed in order바카라men at work, ducks walking along in a profile, hens in their pens, buffaloes anchored to pegs. The village is nestled along a forest, and Jayant바카라s farm sits at its edge. His mud-caked, red-Âslippered feet strode the uneven, raised edge of the farm with practised ease. Then, a hint of a flash at the corner of his eye, a fleeting sense of danger. Jayant hadn바카라t looked up from his phone yet. Why, the serenity of an approaching dusk would stifle any premonitory glimmer. But as Jayant looked up, he saw a full-grown tiger walking towards him. 바카라Itna bada munh tha uska,바카라 he stretches his arms almost three feet to describe the feline바카라s face, 바카라And he was smacking his mouth with his tongue.바카라