by Bear Grylls
Despite the oppressive morning heat, Mak shivered. The thought of getting close to one of those killers made him anxious.
‘A little adventure is good for the soul,’ Mak’s father added in a tone that meant any further argument was futile.
Diya and several of the villagers prepared a picnic for them, carefully packed in woven baskets. Anil organized his equipment, which included, to Mak’s great relief, a tranquillizer rifle, and the four of them boarded the long speedboat. The same elderly Indian captain who had ferried them from the helicopter helped them aboard, then took his place at the outboard motor on the stern. All too soon the engine was roaring and the boat shot away from the outpost.
Mak saw Diya wave and waved back – before feeling silly and stopping. She had probably been waving to her father. However, he watched her until they rounded a bend, and the girl, and the village, was lost from view.
For the first hour the river was broad, and the sweeping lazy bends lulled Mak again, except this time he forced himself to stay awake. As he did so the sounds of the jungle became sharper.
He saw several circling birds of prey, which Anil identified as kites. They often circled fresh kills, but Anil pointed out that they also hung around the village scavenging scraps, so it didn’t necessarily mean there was a tiger around.
Then the river began to narrow, white caps flitted across the water’s surface, and their captain began to swerve the boat around large grey boulders poking from the centre of the river. Now so close to the bank, everybody was forced to duck as spindly tree limbs swept overhead.
Mak noticed colourful kingfishers darting into the water from the boughs, and the occasional movement of slumbering lizards on branches – but just as he was at last becoming interested in his new surroundings, the encounters were over as they relentlessly pushed forward, as if on some urgent schedule he was not privy to.
Mak had almost lost track of time when their captain began to yell in Hindi and guided their boat towards the sandy bank. He felt the boat rock as the keel gently nudged land. Anil was first out, leaping on to the bank with undisguised excitement, his kitbag flapping around his back.
‘Come on! Come on!’ he called.
Mak’s father was next, keeping the boat steady for his wife and son to join him. Mak had been expecting to jump on to dry land, so was surprised when his feet splashed into cool river and his trainers immediately began sucking water up like a sponge, until his toes squeaked together. Trainers and jeans were not exactly the best jungle gear, he knew that much.
He hopped up on to a boulder, but the slick soles of his trainers caused him to slip and he fell face first into the sand.
‘Careful!’ said Anil.
‘I’m fine,’ wheezed Mak as he pushed himself up – realizing that Anil was less concerned for his safety, than for a row of markings he had seen on the bank. Mak could see what they were studying – paw prints clear as day in the sand. Anil was already taking photos with his phone as Mak’s parents gathered around.
‘See?’ said Anil, pointing to a large oval indentation with four smaller ones at the top. ‘These are from a big cat. This is the pad. These . . .’ He pointed to deeper ruts at the tip of each pad.
‘Claws,’ stated Mak. He felt a shiver. The footprint was double the size of his hand.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Anil. ‘A beautiful animal. Big, too.’
‘A tiger?’ Anil’s mother asked, casting her eyes at the trees surrounding them.
‘A panther. But a big specimen. I wonder if this is one we tagged before. There was a mean boy, almost six feet long, who we tagged a couple of months ago. That wasn’t too far from here.’
He pulled his laptop out, the screen immediately opening on to a map of the area. Anil tutted in exasperation. ‘No signal. Our boy could be in the trees watching us and we’d never know.’
Mak leaped to his feet and stared fearfully around him. ‘Maybe we should get back on the boat then?’ Standing there with wet feet and damp jeans, he hoped he didn’t look too appetizing to a hungry panther. Diya’s stories of man-eating tigers and stupid boys lost in the jungle were still at the forefront of his mind.
That only happens to other people, Mak reminded himself.
Anil nodded. ‘Yes, we should.’ He scanned the trees. ‘If it is our boy, then he may have returned to find a mate.’ He beamed with excitement. ‘Which means there may be females further up river! Let us investigate!’
In the face of danger, why don’t people turn and run like they’re supposed to? Mak thought. As they clambered back on the boat, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the trees, expecting the shadows to come alive at any moment in a flash of teeth and claws.
It was at least another hour before their captain turned the boat on to a tributary and the river seemed to widen again. They may have moved up at least three more branching waterways, but Mak had since lost count and only hoped their captain knew where they were.
The curtain of trees around them now expanded into tower blocks of green that all but hid the sun. As they meandered along the river Mak glanced behind and noticed to his surprise that the sky had turned an inky black. Anil sat at the prow, peering ahead. Mak’s parents were behind him, towards the back, lying arm in arm and smiling as they spoke quietly to each other, taking in the scenery. Nobody appeared to have seen the clouds. He thought of pointing them out to the adults but feared his father would just accuse him of complaining and Anil would probably try and steer them straight into the darkness just through sheer bloody-mindedness in his desire to tag another big cat.
Mak blinked, thinking his eyes were misting over as the river around him suddenly became draped in fog. One moment it had been clear; the next, mist had rolled in from the trees in what seemed like a split-second. It smothered the light and suffocated the sounds of the jungle around them. Their captain barked a warning in Hindi as he killed the engine.
The absolute silence was oppressive.
And then the rain appeared. At first nothing more than a fine spray; then a deluge so severe that what little visibility there was, was halved, and Mak lost all sight of land. With it the chlorophyll scent of the jungle blossomed to almost overwhelming proportions.
There was barely time to process any of this as the water began to swell around them with such force it turned the prow of the boat in a full semicircle. Anil and the captain shouted over one another as the old man yanked the engine’s ripcord again and again. Each time the engine spluttered but failed to catch.
Mak then became aware of a heavy bass rumble, as if the world around them was getting ready to roar.
‘Dad . . . ?’
The remainder of the sentence faded away as Mak saw the mist rapidly billow, as if exhaled by the monster that was heading towards them.
Then Mak saw a terrifying brown swell rise up in front of them, higher than Mak was tall. Within the frothing stew Mak could see the remains of trees – entire swathes of forest torn up in a mighty tidal bore that now formed an impenetrable wall heading towards them.
The artificial rev of the boat’s propeller screamed as the engine finally caught. Mak felt a surge of adrenaline – perhaps they could outrace the wave.
His optimism was shattered seconds later as the boat was lifted clear of the water. Floating debris smashed into the hull, plucking Anil off his perch. Mak could see nothing further as brown water stung his eyes and was forced up his nose and down his screaming throat with such savagery that he was convinced he’d drown. Branches whipped past him – something struck his temple – and then he was underwater, forcing his eyes open to orient himself.
All he could see was a wall of bubbles, tinged with blood from his temple. The dark shadow of a tree rushed past him like a freight train – then the overturned hull of the boat rose before him like a shark.
Mak instinctively lashed out with his feet and legs to move away from the boat – a reaction that saved his life as the still-revolving propeller passed so close the water vortex i
n its trail felt like a physical slap to the face.
With his chest cramping, lungs still filled with water, Mak kicked for what he hoped was the surface.
Then his head emerged from the torrent and he belched out water, before sucking in air. Mak reached for a huge branch that rushed before him and snagged a limb. It was just enough to keep him afloat and offer him a view above the writhing river’s surface. He saw his parents clinging to a log further downstream and looking frantically about them.
But it was over in a moment. The branch he was holding rolled around – and a sturdy spur emerged from the water and cracked Mak firmly on the head.
Everything became dark and the sounds of thundering water faded to a whisper.
And then there was nothing.
It felt as if something was playing percussion on his brain, creating a dull rhythmic headache that seemed to attack every side of Mak’s skull at the same time.
It hurt to open his eyes, so he tried to focus on the sounds around him. Everything seemed unnaturally still, but perhaps that was just the effects of his headache. He licked his lips, which felt as dry as sandpaper; in fact his whole mouth was parched, and a nagging inner voice warned him that he was desperately thirsty.
Mak sat upright. He could feel rain on his face. He forced his eyes open and then lifted his head to capture what raindrops he could in his open mouth, but it wasn’t enough to conquer his thirst.
The ground squelched underfoot and he noticed that he had not only lost one trainer but a sock too. He wriggled his toes in the muddy pool of water, then bent down and cupped his hands to fill them. He raised the water to his mouth, but hesitated to actually drink it – it was pitch black.
And something was moving in it!
With a shriek Mak dropped the water, watching it splash at his feet . . . which was when he noticed the black slugs attached to one of them. In disgust he raised it to knock them off – and saw they were not slugs, but leeches the size of his thumb. As he stared in shock at them he could see that they were swelling in size as they filled with his blood.
‘URGH!’ he yelled, although the sound was little more than a wheeze in his dry throat. Fighting his natural revulsion to anything slimy, Mak grabbed a leech between his thumb and forefinger. It took him several attempts to rally the courage to actually pluck the parasite off, but he did it at last, in one swift movement, pretending he was pulling off a particularly stubborn plaster.
That sent Mak off into further fits of screaming. It hadn’t hurt – like all good surgeons, the leech had administered a dose of anaesthetic to numb its victim. However, Mak’s action had torn the leech in half – leaving its wriggling severed head still attached to his foot, while he held the sac-like body in his fingers, as it oozed his own blood across his palm.
‘OH, COME ON!’ he hoarsely yelled to the trees as he chucked the body away, frantically wiping his fingers on his jeans. There were two more leeches gorging themselves on his foot, but unsure how to detach them properly, Mak forced himself to try and just ignore them. Water – that was the priority.
He looked around, hoping to see the river, but the waters that had dumped him here had long since receded, leaving only a trail of mud and broken branches. From his headache he judged he had been unconscious for several hours. It had been late afternoon when the storm hit, so Mak reasoned the sunlight now spearing through the tree canopy and grey clouds more likely indicated that it was a brand-new day.
He had spent the night alone in the jungle.
Mak’s thoughts turned to his parents, a wave of concern making his body shiver. It was quickly damped down by a more primeval instinct: survival. With no obvious water to drink, his attention was drawn to the plants on the jungle floor. Forced to battle for light and moisture from the trees towering above, the lower foliage had broad leaves that captured rainwater, streaming it to their funnel-like tips, where it dripped to the root below.
Mak headed to the nearest bush – and tripped several times, splashing into the muddy water on his hands and knees. His bare foot hurt every time he stood on a sharp twig, while his wet trainer slipped off everything it touched.
He crawled to the nearest plant and angled the leaf to channel the water into his mouth. It tasted delicious. Back home, Mak had always been baffled by different brands of water on offer in the supermarket, never considering it tasted of much. But out here, deprived of the precious liquid, each drop tasted like nectar. But he needed more.
Mak noticed that the inner part of the plant, where the leaves met the stem, held a pool of water. He tore a few outer leaves away so he could access it. The tiny pool provided more than a mouthful of water, and with each gulp he felt the ache in his head easing. He pulled a few more leaves away and drank deeply. And immediately felt something in his mouth that shouldn’t be there.
Reflexively he spat it out – and saw a small frog. It must have been living in the pool. Mak felt a ripple of nausea – he’d almost swallowed it! The frog seemed none the worse for wear and hopped off across the leaf, vanishing into the denser foliage behind them.
Mak tried to ignore the strands of frogspawn he noticed clinging to the stem and just hoped he hadn’t eaten any of it. With that same thought his stomach rumbled.
‘Right,’ he said to himself, finally finding his voice. He’d never been one to talk to himself, yet out here the sound of something familiar helped calm his nerves. No doubt people were looking for him, so he needed to make sure he stayed alive. And somehow let them know where he was.
Like his parents. Were they alive too, or . . . ?
Mak shuddered and forced the thought from his mind. He recalled the last thing he’d seen before losing consciousness: his parents clinging to a log above the water. They had looked, if not safe, then at least secure.
‘HELLO?’ he shouted. ‘ANYBODY THERE?’
His voice fell flat, absorbed by the dense greenery around him. Mak strained to listen for any faint answer.
There was nothing.
‘ANYBODY OUT THERE?’
Mak listened, and once more the world failed to respond. Mak felt a sickness rise in his throat. Was he really alone? No. That was impossible in this day and age, he assured himself. He’d been swept away by the river . . . yet there was no river here. It was reasonable that a monsoon storm had swelled the river and dumped him here. It happened back home, and he remembered enough from his geography lessons to know that monsoon rains could last for months and be incredibly fierce.
The mud and debris dumped by the river made a clear tidemark against the jungle’s greenery, so all he had to do was follow it back to the river. Simple.
Mak had imagined the jungle floor to be solid, laced with pathways exactly as he’d seen in films, but the undergrowth here had different ideas. At times he was up to his waist in tangles of branches or stalks of grass that had edges as sharp as blades. Other times it was mud so deep that it sucked him in up to his knees before he panicked and hauled himself out with the assistance of a tree limb.
After . . . ten minutes? – Mak couldn’t quite tell since his watch and phone had gone with his lone trainer – he had covered only a couple of hundred metres. When he looked back it was almost impossible to tell one bit of the jungle from another.
‘This is stupid,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Where’s the river gone?’
A quick check of his feet revealed that the leeches had dropped off, but his foot was covered in a network of scratches from the twigs. Mak decided that was still preferable to walking with one loose trainer that slipped off everything he stood on, so he removed the offending footwear and sock, which he rinsed out – and almost threw up at the rank smell coming from the water oozing from his sock. Who knew feet could smell so bad?
He tossed them both away before continuing. Then stopped and returned to retrieve them. He had no idea why, but some instinct told him they might be useful.
Now barefoot, Mak was surprised that he made quicker progress across the uneven ground.
It wasn’t pleasant, but he was certain he wouldn’t have to get used to it.
When he could see the sun poking from gaps in the rain clouds, it was almost directly overhead. Midday. While the rain continued in a steady patter, the heat and humidity rose so dramatically Mak didn’t know if his clothes were wet from the rain or from sweat.
He had been sure that he was following the detritus of the swollen river, but now he looked again he reasoned that it could well be how the jungle looked all the time.
One thing was clear, there was still no river.
Mak clambered up a tall fallen tree that had tilted forty-five degrees, the tip hanging dramatically above the forest floor. With his arms extended for balance, he struggled up the slope. The top didn’t come close to peering over the tree canopy, and added very little to his overall view, yet he felt safer off the forest floor.
‘MUM? DAD?’ He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, focusing on the vaguest response. ‘ANYBODY! CAN YOU HEAR ME?’
Then it came – a distant rustle in the trees. He twisted his head this way and that until he pinpointed the direction. There was definitely movement!
‘ANIL?’ Mak half slid down the trunk, falling off at the bottom. A bushy plant cushioned his fall and he began running towards the source of the noise.
‘I’M HERE! I CAN HEAR YOU!’ He waved his arms. ‘COME AND GET ME!’ He regretted not learning basic Hindi phrases – particularly ‘Please help me!’
The trees ahead shuddered – and Mak stopped in his tracks. Whatever had moved them seemed big . . . and nobody was shouting back in any language. There was a snort – and a deep exhalation of breath from something definitely not human-sized. Mak tried to remember what was out here – not gorillas, not orangutans . . . but elephants, panthers, bears, tigers . . .
