Pi’s panic eases when Richard Parker watches him with a calm, familiar “zoo” gaze—fed on the hyena and satisfied with rainwater. The tiger makes a soft snorting sound that Pi recognizes as prusten, a friendly signal rather than a threat.

With immediate danger lowered, Pi thinks clearly and concludes he must tame Richard Parker. Pi realizes their fate is linked—“him and me”—and that time will likely favor the tiger’s toughness unless Pi establishes control and routines.

Pi admits a deeper truth: part of him is glad Richard Parker is there, because the tiger’s presence forces Pi to focus on survival instead of drowning in grief and despair. Pi acknowledges that without Richard Parker, Pi would not have lived to tell the story.

Pi surveys the lifeboat and sea as tools for training: the open horizon as an inescapable ring, the sea as a source of treats, and a whistle from a life jacket as a “whip.” Pi’s fear is replaced by resolve, and Pi theatrically launches into a “floating circus” performance to assert dominance.

When Pi blasts the whistle, Richard Parker cringes, snarls, roars, and claws the air, but does not jump overboard—Pi notes the tiger’s fear of the sea is a reliable advantage for now. Richard Parker backs down to the bottom of the boat, and Pi ends the first session exhausted but triumphant, naming a new priority: Plan Number Seven: Keep Him Alive.