It was June. The shadow of the giant fluffy cloud traversed over the hills darkening the valleys and gorges below. Presently the sun appeared lazily from behind the tree tops as I climbed on the spur, my favorite place to bask the late morning sun. The panoramic expanse of the valley opened before me. The trees were green and dotted with medley of lucid flowers. The spur itself was alive with the buzzing bees that flew from one tiny flower to the next. At the foot of the hill, some distance down, I could see the winding course of the sparkling stream flowing as if in meditation, without the usual chatter and rumble. I knew it was too far for its chatter to reach my young ears. Beyond the river was a cluster of human habitation shrouded under the trails of bluish smokes.
Father buck had told me of the rich fields of potatoes and maize which was fenced by strings of spiked barbed wires all around the field. He warned me of the furious and snarling Grey hounds farmers kept and about the hunters who laid traps in the forest to catch us for their evening meals. Father told me how his father got trapped in the loop one night while sneaking through the fence and was torn to death by the grey hounds under the moonlight in front of his eyes.
I had never been to the valley in the three years of my life. The knowledge of the rich things to eat in the valley fields increased my juvenile temptation. On one occasion I asked father if I could go down to see the crop fields. He rubbed his warm muzzle on my face and told me how he and others forayed into the valley, drank cool water of the stream, visited the fields by darkness and retired before dawn. He was reluctant to send me fearing the same fate of some of his friends who either got shot by arrows, trapped in the noose or killed. He sighed in nostalgic reconciliation and said how men had cut down much of the trees on the hillside to till the grasslands into dusty fields to plant crops and the helpless family had to migrate higher and deeper into the mountains away from the hunters who loitered the thinning forest throughout the four seasons. ‘We lived by the stream when I was younger than you. It was warmer there.’ Father buck whispered despondently. At their new home up in the mountains it was cold in winter and the snowed seasonally. Many young animals died from the long winter cold. Father buck had seen two tiger cubs dead in its lair the last winter after the tigress was killed by hunter’s venomous arrow.
Dark clouds once again shrouded the forenoon sun. We, father and I returned to our lair beyond the ridge some miles away. Mother Doe was sleeping peacefully after she had a heavy meal that morning from below the ridge where much of the succulent leaves flourished in the marshy shade. I barked at her with my sharp voice to wake her and told her how beautiful the valley looked this time. I wanted her to take me to the valley that night for my first visitation.
That evening just before the crimson skyline on the valley darkened, the three of us, my brave father, mother and me, the amateur with the heart of a angry tiger sauntered downhill. We kept our eyes wide and open peeking into the darkening night and the ears upright to catch any animus rustle from the woods. Father led the way through the thick bushes narrow gorges keeping away from the human train all the while. We reached the valley safely. I had my first full body dip in the water of the river as we wallowed in silence. It was almost midnight as we walked towards the field. The starry sky dotted the sky grandiosely. There was no better way to celebrate the first night than that curious night.
When we reached the fence father broke the bamboo fence from one corner of the field with his strong antlers. We entered discreetly into the potato field. The smell of the potato leaves watered my mouth. I followed father to dig up potatoes using my sharp hooves. I munched on the potatoes relishing every crunch I heard as my teeth drove through the fat potatoes. I ate a lot and by dawn I could barely breathe as we clambered uphill briskly. It was a successful expedition. Thereafter we made quite a lot of nightly visits. Some nights I went alone much to the annoyance and fear of my parents. They were however happy that I had learnt to feed myself safely.
In the evenings, just as the crescent moon began to rise from behind the rocky cliff, I would climb upon the spur and gaze at the starry sky until my neck became stiff and painful. Father told me those are the souls of our good ancestors striding upon a silver throne among the celestial beings. The owls and bats flew in circles above the trees hooting and shrieking incessantly as if jealous of my ‘striding ancestors.’ The colourful beams of lights from the human lair looked like stars upon the valley. I would bark sonorously into the moonlight sky straining my neck as high as it could stretch and listen to the sweet echo reverberating from the hills around me followed by the annoying bark of the hounds from the valley below. I would walk back to the lair and lay down to sleep under the dried leaves and twigs I had gathered for my bed and blankets.
Months wore on gradually, yet peacefully with the season changing from green to yellow. Trees began to become skeletal scarecrows and the rill below the ridge began to parch. In the mornings, cold breeze blew into our lair whistling through the leafless shrubs. It was almost a fortnight since I last had whatever remained in the field after the village farmers’ had harvested their crop.. I longed to visit the valley again which I knew was warmer. Father cautioned me of the hunters and their ferocious hounds who lurked in the woods more frequently in winters and of the woodcutter who laid traps to catch partridges, rabbits, fowls and even deer for winter foods.
In January, one winter, it snowed for four days and nights. It was the second time I saw a snowfall in the six years of my life. I was overjoyed to see my glossy coat covered with snowflakes unlike the summer rain that drenched me and made me sneeze through the night. Mother Doe and I ran to the spur and watched the mountains and valleys blanketed with snow. We laughed when we turned back to see our hoof-prints in the snow. We knew that neither the hunters nor the hounds would be able to climb up the hill through the thick layer of snow. The snow would hide our scent as the top layed melted in the first rays of the sun. Mother told her story upon the spur. She said how the hills were changing and becoming barren every year. She told me of a certain flower that she loved to see during the winter after the snows melted. When mother was young she had played in the snow, hopping and galloping all over a certain knoll in the snow every winter. She told me that it did not snow every winter anymore. In the last six years it snowed twice. The winter was bitterly cold in the past and in the few years time winter had become shorter and warmer. Even as she narrated her little tale I could see lonesome tears in her eyes of some hidden sorrows.
In the midst of February, mother gave birth to my sister, a fawn. She had lucid eyes, puckered brow and soft furry body. I licked her muzzle to welcome into our race and the forest world. The tip of her ears bore a clump of white fur that made her more charming to look at. I stayed at the lair when father buck went in search of food. Frequently he returned with some frozen wild fruits in his jaws. I spent my days teasing my sister fawn, pulled at her hind legs as she fed herself from mother’s breast until she got irritated and chased me into the woods. Sometimes I bit her ears without hurting her. She stared at me imploringly and make a gurgling bark of annoyance. When she was healthy enough, about a month old, we went to the spur where I showed the valley and the stream. I showed her the crows’ nest on an oak tree and a squirrels’ hole on the trunk of the same tree. She was callow and cute. Those were the happiest days of my life.
One afternoon we were chasing a young grass snake down the hillside when we heard the ferocious bark of the hunter’s hounds from other side of the stream that ran down in the valley. We sprinted uphill as fast as our legs could carry for couples of minutes by our calculation of time until we reached at the foot of a huge bluff. Sister fawn was panting and wet with perspiration. There was fear in the limpid eyes, fear of getting killed. I brushed her face with my short antlers to comfort her. The waterfall dropped some hundred meters into the chasm where sunrays could barely touch. There were ice spikes hanging like menacing weapons, sharper than my antler, glinting in the crimson shadow of the evening. The place was a great discovery for us. It became our favorite hiding place and we went every winter to watch the ice spikes melting at noon. We played hide and seek around the waterfall.
Soon spring came. The forest and the hills became a beautiful home. It was warmer. The sweet fragrance filled the lair every morning with the flowers blooming in twos and threes on the trees. The forest came alive with twittering and singing birds. The cuckoo particularly cooed us awake in the morning. The restless squirrels began to take their place upon the branches of the trees. One day a herd of monkeys came chattering noisily from the west and settled themselves on the giant oak tree. On the spur we saw countless anthills sprouting out of the ground. The ants seem to live harmoniously, working tirelessly throughout the day in and out of the anthill.
A few days later sister fawn and I were playing outside the lair when we saw a herd of wild boars migrating down from the mountains nearby. Even the snakes came out of their dark holes to bask in the warm summer sun. A small herd of deer came into our territory and I was happy to see them. Sister and I ran after them for a mile so two enjoying the mass ride.
In August I took my sister to the valley and into the potato field. She returned home happy and satisfied with the first nights’ foray. From then on, we forayed into the valley whenever we yearned for something new to eat. Our parents were happy that we had learnt well the tricks of the trade. One such unfortunate night we went to the valley with mother Doe and entered the paddy field. We spread around to prevent being noticed. Just before dawn we heard a ‘BANG’ of the so called gun. The hounds barked and wildly. As I jumped the fence I saw sister fawn creeping underneath the fence. We ran at a lightning speed into the hills without waiting for mother. That night we waited impatiently for mother’s return from the valley. Father feared that she must have been killed by the ‘Bang’. He told us that it never missed its target. The gun had been the most fearsome weapon for them.
At daybreak mother came, much to our relief, limping and groaning with pain. There was a deep wound on her left leg where the bullet had grazed through the skin. I could smell the strange stench of gun powder which was nauseating and dull. Father licked the wound tenderly removing any trace of poison. For the next two weeks mother did not walk further from the lair. In a few days’ time the wound healed, sooner than I presumed. Two months passed before we could regain from the fear of the gun to go even to the spur.
Mother was still in bed fast asleep when I awoke. I stretched my limbs and inhaled a pallid whiff of air which smelled of smoke. I looked at the father’s bed which was empty. He had left for the jungle before dawn. I woke sister up from her slumber without waking mother. We went to the spur and from there towards the valley following an old trail. The sun was half way up the horizon and it was becoming warmer and warmer. As we walked down the sky became hazy with smoke and the smell of burning foliage and grass filled the air making it difficult for us to breath. A giant plume of smoke rose from the foot of the hill. Father once told me farmers in the valleys cut down trees for cultivating crops and burns them in early summer to make the field fertile, or for making houses and roads. I told sister that there was nothing to worry. It just indicated that farmers were busy at work. We saw the smoke become darker and thicker as we reached the end of the tree line. Suddenly we heard the crackling sound of the blazing grasses and twigs. Air became hotter and hotter. We stopped and listened somewhat panicked. The next minute tongues of flames rose up into the sky from below the tree-line. There was commotion all around us. The fire was rampaged our beautiful home. The birds fluttered away into the mountains and monkeys leaped from tree to tree shirking cacophonously. Out of the thicket father materialized and we followed him sprinting towards our lair. The flame was just some hundred meters away behind us. From a nearby thicket dozen fowls came sprawling before us. I leaped over them just as father and sister did. At one moment herd of boars and foxes darted into the hills alongside us unconcerned of who was following whom. Everybody had their tails flailing like a victory banner as they ran for their dear life. Amidst the chaos I did not realize that I had reached our lair until I bumped heavily against father who waited wide eyed at the door of our home. We waited for sister in vain. I thought that she must have been either trampled by others on the run or burnt to death by the ravaging fire. I consoled myself that she must have ran aimlessly into another direction or fallen into some crevice and is alive waiting to return home. Once again that night we waited for her anticipating seeing her limp out of the bushes. It was the longest I ever spent in the lair awake. When I looked at mother I saw bold tears in her hopeful eyes. She was agape and speechless.
A week after the fire catastrophe when the last of the smoke had ceased, father and I went in search of sister fawn. The hot cinders still burnt at some places. The whole face of the hill had become black and covered with ash. There was not a plant standing with leaves and the trees stood like pylons and scaffolding in the valley below. I could sense faint smell of roasted flesh and burnt fur. At the foot of the oak tree stump, near the spur, we saw a mother monkey and her baby burnt to death. A squirrel had his fur singed but alive. We were not astonished to see dozen fowls lying in the ashes, featherless and cold. At the place where foxes and boars had come running on that fateful day we found my sister fawn lying in the ashes. I was happy to see her but she was burnt and dead. I cried as did father. My tears fell on her corpse and I prayed that she come alive. We could do nothing. I regretted for taking her that morning down the hill. We lingered there in lamentation expecting any signs of life in her body but it was a hopeless wait. Father dug up a shallow pit near a rock and we buried her to prevent the farmers from feeding on my sister’s flesh and bones.
It was noon. We were hungry and thirsty. We were covered with ashes all over. We went to the stream to quench our thirst. We were peacefully lapping in the stream when I heard a swishing sound. The next instant I felt an excruciating pain on my left croup. I recoiled and ran. The hunters’ dogs appeared from the other side of the stream barking menacingly. I saw father fleeing ahead of me towards the hill. I clambered up the rugged side of the cliff face for couple of minutes before I crumbled down behind a bounder. I could not move my left limb. It was senseless and heavy. The arrow had broken off somewhere on the way but the barb of the poisoned arrow remained lodged in my croup’s muscle. The numb pain seared across by heart. I licked the blood from around the jagged remains if the arrow. I began to feel drowsy and utterly debilitated. My breathing was labored and rapid. Tears blurred my vision. It was tears of distress and fear of dying. I knew I was going to die. The poison would soon reach my heart and cease my breath.
I could hear the barking hounds. Instinctively I raised my head to see the hunter coming towards me with a dagger held firmly in his dark big hand. I began to tremble. His intemperate smile as he squatted beside me sent cold shiver through my nerves. I knew he could stab me with that sharp glinting metal through the heart and cut me to pieces. I hated him. I condemned him for being ruthless and uncompassionate. He had destroyed my home and now he was going to kill me for no wicked act of mine. I tried to tell him that I had eaten his potatoes for no selfish obsession but my throat was parched and could hardly groan. I stared despondently in his dark eyes; somehow I was earnestly begging him to forgive me to save from dying. I knew my hiss and gurgle meant nothing to him. As I groveled down on the gravel trying to make the final attempt to flee I saw the hunters’ face fade like a morning star. A shroud of death fell over me thereafter.
When I opened my eyes after what seemed like an eternity I saw the hunter putting his dagger on the ground. I thought he would strangle me with his bare hands but instead he wound one hand around my neck and with the other mopped my wet eyes off its tears of fear. I could barely think of anything thereafter. Mumbling some incomprehensible words he caressed my wound gently and with a sudden jerk pulled out the barb from my croup. I released a shrill cry of agony kicking out my limbs to take the pain. I lost consciousness again.
In the morning, I was bewildered to find myself crouched in the corner of a roofed hut which was the hunters’ house. I longed to see my parent by my side.An iron chain was fastened around my neck and the other end hooked from the ceiling beam. My arch enemy, the hunter was at the other end heating something over a woodless oven. The fire was strangely bluish-yellow. I was surprised he had not killed me. Instead he had cleaned my wound and some sort of oil was applied over it. There was some fresh lettuce leaves on the floor in front of me. I nibbled some hungrily even as the hunter gazed at me with his greedy heartless grin. When the sun shone through the door he tied me to a peg outside the hut for the day. His hungry hounds snarled at me from a distance.
For countless number of days I was his prisoner. He brought all sorts of delicious vegetables every day. I knew he would slaughter me when I was healthy and fat. Men, women and children came to watch me eat and play. Although my left limb was infirm the wound was healing well. In the next two months I was able to walk and run in circles around the peg. I tried several times to push and pull the peg out but to no avail. The rope was woven from bamboo fibers and it was too strong for my teeth to cut through or the break with my juvenile strength.
The grasses began to grow; trees bore its leaves and the buds started to sprout into flowers with the changing seasons. I wondered if my parents worried for me after all these days. I wistfully waited for my release. On several occasions I attempted few times to escape without success. Whenever I heard a deer bark from the forest I barked back as loudly as possible calling for help which never came.
One full moon morning just before dawn I lay down to sleep under the shed built for me with some old sacks and tin. I had almost dozed off when the silhouette figure of my guardian coming towards me brought to my senses. It was a very odd time for him to visit me. He was carrying a double barrel gun, slinging from a leather strap. I remembered the hateful sound it made and the nauseating odour it gave on my mother’s leg. The sight of it made me send shiver down my spine. ‘This is my last night’ I said to myself, not knowing what to do. He had nursed and fed me enough for months. I waited helplessly for him to shoot me with a resounding ‘Bang’,but he did not. Instead he dragged me to the forest and I followed him helplessly like his humble hound through the potatoes field. I hated potatoes at that moment.
When we reached near the stream, which I crossed several nights with my parents and sister, he sat down to rest. He was breathing heavily as if unable to decide how I should be killed. He yanked me close to him and rubbed my back tenderly with his hands. I trembled. He held my muzzle in his hands and kissed me for a long time. ‘Is he trying to smother me?’ I wondered. If he did not shoot me he would strangle me to a slow and painful death to avenge his stolen potatoes. He kissed me on the brow and then loosened the chain that bound me to captivity for five months from my freedom. I did not run for my life neither could I for fear of being shot in the back. I stood rooted near my killer. I stared at him in perplexity rather than trepidation. Once again he held my head in his gruff hands and wiped his sweat on my fur as if readying to do what he wanted to do. He hugged me for the last time and shoved me away from him into the shallow stream. I wallowed through the stream as fast as possible. As I clambered through the thickets I saw him pick up his gun. Three reverberation echo of the gunshot ‘Bang’ filled the quiet morning. I panicked and sprinted into the woods wondering all the while whether I was shot in the back. I realized that I was alive and running for my life at last.
As I climbed uphill I glanced back at the hunter who was already walking through the field in penitence or in pride of my freedom. I barked at the hunter two times to say a word of valediction and gratitude but he did not even turn to wave me goodbye.
Before the day broke I reached our lair only to find my parents gone. I sniffed around to locate their trail without success. I cried feeling lonely. I knew then that they had gone to other hills to live in peace. For the first time in eight years I slept alone on the cool bed hoping they would return one day to find me. As I closed my eyes I saw the hunter smiling at me from the lairs’ door.
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Father buck had told me of the rich fields of potatoes and maize which was fenced by strings of spiked barbed wires all around the field. He warned me of the furious and snarling Grey hounds farmers kept and about the hunters who laid traps in the forest to catch us for their evening meals. Father told me how his father got trapped in the loop one night while sneaking through the fence and was torn to death by the grey hounds under the moonlight in front of his eyes.
I had never been to the valley in the three years of my life. The knowledge of the rich things to eat in the valley fields increased my juvenile temptation. On one occasion I asked father if I could go down to see the crop fields. He rubbed his warm muzzle on my face and told me how he and others forayed into the valley, drank cool water of the stream, visited the fields by darkness and retired before dawn. He was reluctant to send me fearing the same fate of some of his friends who either got shot by arrows, trapped in the noose or killed. He sighed in nostalgic reconciliation and said how men had cut down much of the trees on the hillside to till the grasslands into dusty fields to plant crops and the helpless family had to migrate higher and deeper into the mountains away from the hunters who loitered the thinning forest throughout the four seasons. ‘We lived by the stream when I was younger than you. It was warmer there.’ Father buck whispered despondently. At their new home up in the mountains it was cold in winter and the snowed seasonally. Many young animals died from the long winter cold. Father buck had seen two tiger cubs dead in its lair the last winter after the tigress was killed by hunter’s venomous arrow.
Dark clouds once again shrouded the forenoon sun. We, father and I returned to our lair beyond the ridge some miles away. Mother Doe was sleeping peacefully after she had a heavy meal that morning from below the ridge where much of the succulent leaves flourished in the marshy shade. I barked at her with my sharp voice to wake her and told her how beautiful the valley looked this time. I wanted her to take me to the valley that night for my first visitation.
That evening just before the crimson skyline on the valley darkened, the three of us, my brave father, mother and me, the amateur with the heart of a angry tiger sauntered downhill. We kept our eyes wide and open peeking into the darkening night and the ears upright to catch any animus rustle from the woods. Father led the way through the thick bushes narrow gorges keeping away from the human train all the while. We reached the valley safely. I had my first full body dip in the water of the river as we wallowed in silence. It was almost midnight as we walked towards the field. The starry sky dotted the sky grandiosely. There was no better way to celebrate the first night than that curious night.
When we reached the fence father broke the bamboo fence from one corner of the field with his strong antlers. We entered discreetly into the potato field. The smell of the potato leaves watered my mouth. I followed father to dig up potatoes using my sharp hooves. I munched on the potatoes relishing every crunch I heard as my teeth drove through the fat potatoes. I ate a lot and by dawn I could barely breathe as we clambered uphill briskly. It was a successful expedition. Thereafter we made quite a lot of nightly visits. Some nights I went alone much to the annoyance and fear of my parents. They were however happy that I had learnt to feed myself safely.
In the evenings, just as the crescent moon began to rise from behind the rocky cliff, I would climb upon the spur and gaze at the starry sky until my neck became stiff and painful. Father told me those are the souls of our good ancestors striding upon a silver throne among the celestial beings. The owls and bats flew in circles above the trees hooting and shrieking incessantly as if jealous of my ‘striding ancestors.’ The colourful beams of lights from the human lair looked like stars upon the valley. I would bark sonorously into the moonlight sky straining my neck as high as it could stretch and listen to the sweet echo reverberating from the hills around me followed by the annoying bark of the hounds from the valley below. I would walk back to the lair and lay down to sleep under the dried leaves and twigs I had gathered for my bed and blankets.
Months wore on gradually, yet peacefully with the season changing from green to yellow. Trees began to become skeletal scarecrows and the rill below the ridge began to parch. In the mornings, cold breeze blew into our lair whistling through the leafless shrubs. It was almost a fortnight since I last had whatever remained in the field after the village farmers’ had harvested their crop.. I longed to visit the valley again which I knew was warmer. Father cautioned me of the hunters and their ferocious hounds who lurked in the woods more frequently in winters and of the woodcutter who laid traps to catch partridges, rabbits, fowls and even deer for winter foods.
In January, one winter, it snowed for four days and nights. It was the second time I saw a snowfall in the six years of my life. I was overjoyed to see my glossy coat covered with snowflakes unlike the summer rain that drenched me and made me sneeze through the night. Mother Doe and I ran to the spur and watched the mountains and valleys blanketed with snow. We laughed when we turned back to see our hoof-prints in the snow. We knew that neither the hunters nor the hounds would be able to climb up the hill through the thick layer of snow. The snow would hide our scent as the top layed melted in the first rays of the sun. Mother told her story upon the spur. She said how the hills were changing and becoming barren every year. She told me of a certain flower that she loved to see during the winter after the snows melted. When mother was young she had played in the snow, hopping and galloping all over a certain knoll in the snow every winter. She told me that it did not snow every winter anymore. In the last six years it snowed twice. The winter was bitterly cold in the past and in the few years time winter had become shorter and warmer. Even as she narrated her little tale I could see lonesome tears in her eyes of some hidden sorrows.
In the midst of February, mother gave birth to my sister, a fawn. She had lucid eyes, puckered brow and soft furry body. I licked her muzzle to welcome into our race and the forest world. The tip of her ears bore a clump of white fur that made her more charming to look at. I stayed at the lair when father buck went in search of food. Frequently he returned with some frozen wild fruits in his jaws. I spent my days teasing my sister fawn, pulled at her hind legs as she fed herself from mother’s breast until she got irritated and chased me into the woods. Sometimes I bit her ears without hurting her. She stared at me imploringly and make a gurgling bark of annoyance. When she was healthy enough, about a month old, we went to the spur where I showed the valley and the stream. I showed her the crows’ nest on an oak tree and a squirrels’ hole on the trunk of the same tree. She was callow and cute. Those were the happiest days of my life.
One afternoon we were chasing a young grass snake down the hillside when we heard the ferocious bark of the hunter’s hounds from other side of the stream that ran down in the valley. We sprinted uphill as fast as our legs could carry for couples of minutes by our calculation of time until we reached at the foot of a huge bluff. Sister fawn was panting and wet with perspiration. There was fear in the limpid eyes, fear of getting killed. I brushed her face with my short antlers to comfort her. The waterfall dropped some hundred meters into the chasm where sunrays could barely touch. There were ice spikes hanging like menacing weapons, sharper than my antler, glinting in the crimson shadow of the evening. The place was a great discovery for us. It became our favorite hiding place and we went every winter to watch the ice spikes melting at noon. We played hide and seek around the waterfall.
Soon spring came. The forest and the hills became a beautiful home. It was warmer. The sweet fragrance filled the lair every morning with the flowers blooming in twos and threes on the trees. The forest came alive with twittering and singing birds. The cuckoo particularly cooed us awake in the morning. The restless squirrels began to take their place upon the branches of the trees. One day a herd of monkeys came chattering noisily from the west and settled themselves on the giant oak tree. On the spur we saw countless anthills sprouting out of the ground. The ants seem to live harmoniously, working tirelessly throughout the day in and out of the anthill.
A few days later sister fawn and I were playing outside the lair when we saw a herd of wild boars migrating down from the mountains nearby. Even the snakes came out of their dark holes to bask in the warm summer sun. A small herd of deer came into our territory and I was happy to see them. Sister and I ran after them for a mile so two enjoying the mass ride.
In August I took my sister to the valley and into the potato field. She returned home happy and satisfied with the first nights’ foray. From then on, we forayed into the valley whenever we yearned for something new to eat. Our parents were happy that we had learnt well the tricks of the trade. One such unfortunate night we went to the valley with mother Doe and entered the paddy field. We spread around to prevent being noticed. Just before dawn we heard a ‘BANG’ of the so called gun. The hounds barked and wildly. As I jumped the fence I saw sister fawn creeping underneath the fence. We ran at a lightning speed into the hills without waiting for mother. That night we waited impatiently for mother’s return from the valley. Father feared that she must have been killed by the ‘Bang’. He told us that it never missed its target. The gun had been the most fearsome weapon for them.
At daybreak mother came, much to our relief, limping and groaning with pain. There was a deep wound on her left leg where the bullet had grazed through the skin. I could smell the strange stench of gun powder which was nauseating and dull. Father licked the wound tenderly removing any trace of poison. For the next two weeks mother did not walk further from the lair. In a few days’ time the wound healed, sooner than I presumed. Two months passed before we could regain from the fear of the gun to go even to the spur.
Mother was still in bed fast asleep when I awoke. I stretched my limbs and inhaled a pallid whiff of air which smelled of smoke. I looked at the father’s bed which was empty. He had left for the jungle before dawn. I woke sister up from her slumber without waking mother. We went to the spur and from there towards the valley following an old trail. The sun was half way up the horizon and it was becoming warmer and warmer. As we walked down the sky became hazy with smoke and the smell of burning foliage and grass filled the air making it difficult for us to breath. A giant plume of smoke rose from the foot of the hill. Father once told me farmers in the valleys cut down trees for cultivating crops and burns them in early summer to make the field fertile, or for making houses and roads. I told sister that there was nothing to worry. It just indicated that farmers were busy at work. We saw the smoke become darker and thicker as we reached the end of the tree line. Suddenly we heard the crackling sound of the blazing grasses and twigs. Air became hotter and hotter. We stopped and listened somewhat panicked. The next minute tongues of flames rose up into the sky from below the tree-line. There was commotion all around us. The fire was rampaged our beautiful home. The birds fluttered away into the mountains and monkeys leaped from tree to tree shirking cacophonously. Out of the thicket father materialized and we followed him sprinting towards our lair. The flame was just some hundred meters away behind us. From a nearby thicket dozen fowls came sprawling before us. I leaped over them just as father and sister did. At one moment herd of boars and foxes darted into the hills alongside us unconcerned of who was following whom. Everybody had their tails flailing like a victory banner as they ran for their dear life. Amidst the chaos I did not realize that I had reached our lair until I bumped heavily against father who waited wide eyed at the door of our home. We waited for sister in vain. I thought that she must have been either trampled by others on the run or burnt to death by the ravaging fire. I consoled myself that she must have ran aimlessly into another direction or fallen into some crevice and is alive waiting to return home. Once again that night we waited for her anticipating seeing her limp out of the bushes. It was the longest I ever spent in the lair awake. When I looked at mother I saw bold tears in her hopeful eyes. She was agape and speechless.
A week after the fire catastrophe when the last of the smoke had ceased, father and I went in search of sister fawn. The hot cinders still burnt at some places. The whole face of the hill had become black and covered with ash. There was not a plant standing with leaves and the trees stood like pylons and scaffolding in the valley below. I could sense faint smell of roasted flesh and burnt fur. At the foot of the oak tree stump, near the spur, we saw a mother monkey and her baby burnt to death. A squirrel had his fur singed but alive. We were not astonished to see dozen fowls lying in the ashes, featherless and cold. At the place where foxes and boars had come running on that fateful day we found my sister fawn lying in the ashes. I was happy to see her but she was burnt and dead. I cried as did father. My tears fell on her corpse and I prayed that she come alive. We could do nothing. I regretted for taking her that morning down the hill. We lingered there in lamentation expecting any signs of life in her body but it was a hopeless wait. Father dug up a shallow pit near a rock and we buried her to prevent the farmers from feeding on my sister’s flesh and bones.
It was noon. We were hungry and thirsty. We were covered with ashes all over. We went to the stream to quench our thirst. We were peacefully lapping in the stream when I heard a swishing sound. The next instant I felt an excruciating pain on my left croup. I recoiled and ran. The hunters’ dogs appeared from the other side of the stream barking menacingly. I saw father fleeing ahead of me towards the hill. I clambered up the rugged side of the cliff face for couple of minutes before I crumbled down behind a bounder. I could not move my left limb. It was senseless and heavy. The arrow had broken off somewhere on the way but the barb of the poisoned arrow remained lodged in my croup’s muscle. The numb pain seared across by heart. I licked the blood from around the jagged remains if the arrow. I began to feel drowsy and utterly debilitated. My breathing was labored and rapid. Tears blurred my vision. It was tears of distress and fear of dying. I knew I was going to die. The poison would soon reach my heart and cease my breath.
I could hear the barking hounds. Instinctively I raised my head to see the hunter coming towards me with a dagger held firmly in his dark big hand. I began to tremble. His intemperate smile as he squatted beside me sent cold shiver through my nerves. I knew he could stab me with that sharp glinting metal through the heart and cut me to pieces. I hated him. I condemned him for being ruthless and uncompassionate. He had destroyed my home and now he was going to kill me for no wicked act of mine. I tried to tell him that I had eaten his potatoes for no selfish obsession but my throat was parched and could hardly groan. I stared despondently in his dark eyes; somehow I was earnestly begging him to forgive me to save from dying. I knew my hiss and gurgle meant nothing to him. As I groveled down on the gravel trying to make the final attempt to flee I saw the hunters’ face fade like a morning star. A shroud of death fell over me thereafter.
When I opened my eyes after what seemed like an eternity I saw the hunter putting his dagger on the ground. I thought he would strangle me with his bare hands but instead he wound one hand around my neck and with the other mopped my wet eyes off its tears of fear. I could barely think of anything thereafter. Mumbling some incomprehensible words he caressed my wound gently and with a sudden jerk pulled out the barb from my croup. I released a shrill cry of agony kicking out my limbs to take the pain. I lost consciousness again.
In the morning, I was bewildered to find myself crouched in the corner of a roofed hut which was the hunters’ house. I longed to see my parent by my side.An iron chain was fastened around my neck and the other end hooked from the ceiling beam. My arch enemy, the hunter was at the other end heating something over a woodless oven. The fire was strangely bluish-yellow. I was surprised he had not killed me. Instead he had cleaned my wound and some sort of oil was applied over it. There was some fresh lettuce leaves on the floor in front of me. I nibbled some hungrily even as the hunter gazed at me with his greedy heartless grin. When the sun shone through the door he tied me to a peg outside the hut for the day. His hungry hounds snarled at me from a distance.
For countless number of days I was his prisoner. He brought all sorts of delicious vegetables every day. I knew he would slaughter me when I was healthy and fat. Men, women and children came to watch me eat and play. Although my left limb was infirm the wound was healing well. In the next two months I was able to walk and run in circles around the peg. I tried several times to push and pull the peg out but to no avail. The rope was woven from bamboo fibers and it was too strong for my teeth to cut through or the break with my juvenile strength.
The grasses began to grow; trees bore its leaves and the buds started to sprout into flowers with the changing seasons. I wondered if my parents worried for me after all these days. I wistfully waited for my release. On several occasions I attempted few times to escape without success. Whenever I heard a deer bark from the forest I barked back as loudly as possible calling for help which never came.
One full moon morning just before dawn I lay down to sleep under the shed built for me with some old sacks and tin. I had almost dozed off when the silhouette figure of my guardian coming towards me brought to my senses. It was a very odd time for him to visit me. He was carrying a double barrel gun, slinging from a leather strap. I remembered the hateful sound it made and the nauseating odour it gave on my mother’s leg. The sight of it made me send shiver down my spine. ‘This is my last night’ I said to myself, not knowing what to do. He had nursed and fed me enough for months. I waited helplessly for him to shoot me with a resounding ‘Bang’,but he did not. Instead he dragged me to the forest and I followed him helplessly like his humble hound through the potatoes field. I hated potatoes at that moment.
When we reached near the stream, which I crossed several nights with my parents and sister, he sat down to rest. He was breathing heavily as if unable to decide how I should be killed. He yanked me close to him and rubbed my back tenderly with his hands. I trembled. He held my muzzle in his hands and kissed me for a long time. ‘Is he trying to smother me?’ I wondered. If he did not shoot me he would strangle me to a slow and painful death to avenge his stolen potatoes. He kissed me on the brow and then loosened the chain that bound me to captivity for five months from my freedom. I did not run for my life neither could I for fear of being shot in the back. I stood rooted near my killer. I stared at him in perplexity rather than trepidation. Once again he held my head in his gruff hands and wiped his sweat on my fur as if readying to do what he wanted to do. He hugged me for the last time and shoved me away from him into the shallow stream. I wallowed through the stream as fast as possible. As I clambered through the thickets I saw him pick up his gun. Three reverberation echo of the gunshot ‘Bang’ filled the quiet morning. I panicked and sprinted into the woods wondering all the while whether I was shot in the back. I realized that I was alive and running for my life at last.
As I climbed uphill I glanced back at the hunter who was already walking through the field in penitence or in pride of my freedom. I barked at the hunter two times to say a word of valediction and gratitude but he did not even turn to wave me goodbye.
Before the day broke I reached our lair only to find my parents gone. I sniffed around to locate their trail without success. I cried feeling lonely. I knew then that they had gone to other hills to live in peace. For the first time in eight years I slept alone on the cool bed hoping they would return one day to find me. As I closed my eyes I saw the hunter smiling at me from the lairs’ door.
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