Spirit of the Jungle

by Bear Grylls

  Was it possible?

  There was certainly something large ahead, near to where the kites were circling.

  He quickened his pace, shoving broad leaves aside as they brushed his face. Then the trees thinned out, and Mak couldn’t believe what he had stumbled across . . .

  The light was fading as Mak stared at the city in the jungle.

  Turrets stretched above the treetops like stone fingers poised to protect the huge city complex from the jungle beyond.

  A huge sweeping wall, held together by ornate columns, stretched four storeys high. It would have been the most incredible sight for any weary traveller.

  What Mak had first thought to be people standing in alcoves turned out to be statues; ornate gods and deities that were now faded monuments ravaged by the jungle. Whatever vivid colours they had once been adorned with were now covered over by dirt and guano.

  Vines smothered the wall and the buildings, searching for gaps between the stone in which they could insert new roots. Trees had grown from under the floor, pushing stones aside in a slow-motion eruption that spanned decades.

  The flicker of hope Mak had experienced in the pit of his stomach was instantly extinguished. Nobody was living here.

  But that didn’t help him shake the sense that he was still being watched . . .

  One section of wall had collapsed in an enormous V-formation as the ground beneath had slowly eroded, and it now offered Mak the easiest route into the abandoned city. He hopped from one fallen stone block to another until he passed the walls and stepped on to a stone plaza the size of football field.

  Here the forest had had a tougher time trying to reclaim the city; instead creepers snaked across the floor, smothering the buildings.

  Every footstep Mak took echoed eerily between the dozens of buildings scattered across the plaza. Perhaps they had once been temples or palaces, but time had rendered them empty husks. His foot caught a loose stone, which skittered across the floor, alarming him and making him wince with pain from his old injury.

  Mak silently berated himself: why was he so nervous?

  He had survived the perils of the jungle, so what was it about an empty city that was so spooky?

  Perhaps it was the way that such a familiar human environment was now deeply bathed in the jungle’s shadow; the vines rippling across the floor like dark crevasses, combined with deathly silence, as not a whisper from the jungle beyond penetrated the walls.

  The persistent feeling of being spied upon grew with every step, and Mak began to wonder if this was the kind of place the poachers would call their home.

  ‘Is anybody here?’ His voice echoed. ‘I’m lost and need help.’

  He walked further across the plaza, holding up the two coils of wire he had taken from the snares.

  ‘I found these out there. Thought they might belong to you. I think animals triggered them, but they must have got away.’ He decided that telling poachers he had been dismantling their traps would not win him any favours.

  Still no answer came.

  Ahead lay a large square pit with steps descending from each side. The base was covered in moss and glistened from the recent rains.

  As Mak approached, he saw it had once been a large swimming pool that should have been full after the monsoon rains, but the water had drained away through a huge crack in the floor.

  It may not have been filled with water, but it was filled with something else.

  Snakes.

  Hundreds of them.

  Mak froze.

  Slithering black bodies, some several feet long, criss-crossed one another as they sought out the warm rays of the fading sun. Others crawled up the steps and on to the plaza. Like some hellish optical illusion, Mak suddenly saw that some of what he had taken for vines lacing the plaza were in fact snakes basking in the sun.

  He took a wary step back the way he had come – but froze as a snake reared up behind him, hissing as a hood of skin extended behind its head. Mak had seen enough pictures to know what a cobra looked like, and this one looked very angry indeed.

  The distant memory of watching a snake charmer on television came to mind, and, with few other options, Mak thought it was worth a go. He considered himself an OK singer, although his sister had always insisted he was tone deaf; still, he began yodelling a tune he felt was distinctively Indian and which he hoped would lull the snake.

  It didn’t.

  If anything the snake grew increasingly irritated, and its hood vibrated in an unmistakably threatening manner. Mak immediately shut up.

  ‘No sense of taste,’ he muttered under his breath.

  Despite the peril, Mak didn’t feel anxious. The snake had had every opportunity to strike him but hadn’t, which indicated that it wasn’t looking for a fight. He replayed the last few moments through his head. When he hadn’t realized the snakes were there, he had walked carefree through them, and not a single one had attacked. It was only when he’d become tense and tried to step back that things had started to go wrong.

  Step back . . .

  Of course, he had lumbered closer to the snake and startled it. Even standing, facing it off, could be considered a threat. His eyes darted around and he saw the other snakes were moving sluggishly, more interested in seeking the warmth of the sun than attacking a foe larger than them.

  Mak took a long and careful step backwards. The cobra hissed more loudly – its head darting forward a couple of inches as if to say, ‘Yeah, you go!’ Mak took another long step back and the cobra lowered to the ground, its interest in him waning.

  Mak laughed out loud. ‘Cool! OK, I can handle these snakes!’

  A sudden hiss close to his ankle told him he had stepped too close to another.

  Not wishing to offend the serpents any further, Mak scrambled on his hands and knees up a flight of steep crumbling stone until he was on top of an enormous step that expanded to another elevated – and snake-free – square, surrounded by further decaying temples and turnip-shaped burial stupas.

  Huge trees had grown through some of the buildings, and in some cases on top of them. Root structures the size of a truck extended out, forming elaborate veils across building entrances.

  At the centre of the square was an enormous hole.

  Mak warily approached, but this was not another swimming pool. It was circular, and the sides were sheer as it plunged into darkness.

  From the depths, Mak could hear the sounds of a mighty torrent, possibly an underground river, which he thought must have made an ideal source of water for the population who once lived here.

  Surrounded by plentiful food and water, Mak wondered just what had driven the inhabitants away from such an impressive city. Surely not the snakes?

  He shivered, even though sweat clung to his skin, and the sun beat down on his brow. Everything around him still possessed an eerie quality, and with it the feeling that he was being watched rose again.

  A voice he was beginning to recognize as belonging to his inner primal instinct suggested that he should leave before nightfall. That would mean quickly navigating his way through the cobras in the fading light, then finding somewhere safe to bed down in the jungle beyond. Another voice, this one belonging to his more practical side, pointed out that it was unlikely that the snakes would slither all the way up here at night, and it was doubtful he would find a more secure place than the ruins to spend the night. The place was abandoned, not haunted, he told himself. Besides, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

  He only hoped that he was right.

  With numerous buildings to choose from, Mak’s selection of sleeping places boiled down to which one had the most open space around it, but was still close to a tree. Even though he had almost killed himself falling from a tree, their very presence made Mak feel as if he had guardians watching over him.

  He found the ideal building: a small dome-like structure that had a pair of mighty roots protruding either side, the tree itself having grown up from within, breaking through the rooft
op. Peeking inside the gloomy interior revealed there were few places for something monstrous to hide. Its position on a raised platform appeared to be snake-proof and offered a clear view across the square.

  The only downside was the five-storey temple opposite, which had a Swiss-cheese design of archways leading inside, at each of which stood a human-shaped statue. Once, they would have been painted and detailed; now they were pale stone mannequins whose lack of features were somehow more disturbing.

  As the sun lowered behind the trees, turning the sky a glorious crimson, there arose a giant whoosh of bats, as millions of them took to the skies in silent clouds, mirroring the cobras’ slithering formations, except these soared through the sky.

  Mak had never seen so many bats before and expected them to be chittering like noisy mice. Instead they were silent except for the leathery rustle of wings. Droves of bats erupted in coordinated bursts that looked like smoke signals being sent to the heavens.

  It was almost dark by the time the bats had completed their nightly departure, and Mak was rewarded with the heavens coming alive with stars. With no trees blocking his view, and zero light pollution, the stars appeared to touch the tops of the buildings. Every now and again shooting stars, which in the city he had assumed to be rare things, zipped overhead like tiny fireworks – blazing for several seconds before burning up in the atmosphere.

  The sounds of the jungle, which had been muted by the city walls during the daytime, breached them at night, and Mak felt his eyes drooping to the sounds of courting frogs.

  There was somebody there.

  Mak didn’t know what had woken him but he was certain somebody had been standing on the edge of the platform looking in his direction. By the time he had sat upright, the figure had vanished, if it had ever been there.

  A plump full moon hung high overhead, bathing the city in a cold light.

  While in the jungle Mak had only glimpsed slivers of moon, and very little of its light had ever made it through the dense canopy; here it was like a dazzling streetlight. It cast shadows on the stone figures across from him, tricking him into thinking they were moving in the corner of his eye. However, every time he stopped and stared he saw nothing but a stationary statue.

  ‘Get a grip of yourself.’ His voice echoed from the buildings and was comforting to hear. It was even more comforting not getting a response.

  Mak settled down again, pushing himself against the giant root that curved perfectly along his body. No sooner had he began to relax when he heard a noise: a stone dropping, bouncing from the steps before skittering into the square. In the dead of night the sound was amplified unnaturally loud.

  Mak’s heart was in his throat. There was no breeze so what could have caused it? The list of possibilities raced through his mind – rats, foraging squirrels, birds, bats – all seemed reasonable options.

  Or ghosts?

  Mak bolted upright again – and this time he was certain what he saw was no trick of the light. Somebody was crouching on the corner step of the temple opposite. It was too far away to make out any detail, but they hadn’t been there moments before.

  In the moonlight, Mak could see the figure’s head turn and stare in his direction.

  But more chillingly was the way the moonlight fell on to its pure white body.

  Jumping to his feet took Mak only a second – but in that time the shape had vanished. He clenched his fists, unsure just how he was supposed to fight a spirit.

  His second instinct was to hide in the shadows offered by the nearby tree. He crouched down, making himself a less obvious target, and, with the solid mass behind him, felt safe that no phantom could stalk up behind him.

  Mak’s stomach knotted with fear as he peered over his cover. A pale blur was rapidly ascending the temple, moving in long zigzag motions from ledge to ledge. Then the white figure was atop the temple and bathed in full-moon light. Mak could now make out the shape of a hunched figure, resting its weight on both long arms that were ramrod straight in front of it. Mak stared as intently as he could in the low light, adjusting his position to get a better look.

  The phantom’s body was covered in fur. Pure white fur. Mak didn’t move as the creature gave a series of short throaty barks.

  Mak breathed a sigh of relief under his breath. ‘You stupid monkey.’ The spectre was a macaque monkey, a particularly large specimen, cloaked in shaggy white fur. Mak judged it to be as big as he was.

  He was pretty certain that it wasn’t a ghost-monkey either.

  There was little point in hiding if the monkey knew where he was, so Mak began to stand – but stopped mid-crouch when he saw movement in the shadowy alcoves. More macaques appeared, of more regular sizes, and their numbers swelled out of the temple in stealthy silence.

  Most kept to the balconies below, the more alpha specimens joining their Pale King on the roof – but all of them were looking towards Mak.

  In the moonlight, Mak could see heads bob and sway as the monkeys peered at him. Then a combined series of low grunts and whines rose from the assembled throng. It was not an endearing noise, and Mak felt the harsh cough-like sounds were challenges.

  He slowly realized he had stumbled into their territory. An intruder.

  The entire situation felt like an army massing its ranks, but Mak couldn’t work out why the monkeys were not simply attacking. That’s when he noticed the primates on the lower temple steps were bent forward, noses peering off the edge and bottoms wagging in the air as they inspected the square – most of which was covered by the temple’s shadow.

  One macaque flinched as a shadow – cast by a fellow troop member further up the temple – moved. The lower monkey gave a warning howl.

  Snakes. They were afraid of the snakes, and even in a braying army the lead soldiers would have second thoughts about charging across a plaza of deadly cobras. This gave Mak a head start. He knew that he had to leave the ruined city – and fast.

  Scurrying on his hands and knees, almost as quickly as the monkeys, Mak kept low and vaulted over the wide tree root, away from the temple. Behind the stupa, the area was black with shadow, but Mak couldn’t risk slowing down for fear of snakes.

  He felt pools of cool mud splash across his feet and hoped the cobras would prefer a drier place to sleep as the nightly temperatures dropped.

  Ahead was an oblong-shaped building with one crumbling side that provided makeshift steps to the roof. Mak hopped from each fallen stone to the next, using his hands to haul himself up the larger ones.

  He was panting for breath by the time he reached the summit and looked around.

  The city walls seemed distant and from this vantage point still intact all the way around, save for the gap through which he’d entered. The only problem was that the exit lay beyond the monkey temple, meaning he would have to circumnavigate them.

  He had been listening for signs of pursuit and prayed the silence meant the monkeys had forgotten about him. His hope was shattered when there arose behind him such a clamour of whoops and screams echoing across the stone city that his blood turned cold.

  He could just see the top floors of the temple and the rush of movement as dozens of macaques poured down. In the moonlight it gave the illusion that the temple was melting.

  Their Pale King sat on his haunches looking directly at Mak and hooting feverishly. Mak realized his error – by standing on the rooftop he had become a clear target, and now the mob was in pursuit.

  Taking the fallen stones two at a time, Mak bounded down the opposite side of the building. Landing on the smooth plaza floor, he sprinted towards the darkness afforded by another clutch of smaller buildings.

  He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the wave of gibbering macaques surge over the ruins like ants, their previous trepidation about the snakes now replaced by a bloodthirsty desire to hunt the intruder. Mak had no illusions that being caught would mean an instant death sentence, torn apart by the brutes.

  He could see that they were massing towa
rds the oblong building as he arced around the plaza, and was grateful that he was managing to put some distance between them, while slowly doubling back towards the break in the wall. His plan might just work . . .

  A repeated screeching noise made him glance over his shoulder again. A macaque had spotted Mak and it was now hopping madly, screaming at its companions. It took only a moment before the hundred-strong army took heed and began to cartwheel towards him.

  Mak lost sight of them as he slipped through a narrow gap between some buildings that had been constructed behind the larger temples, perhaps once offering accommodation for those who worked there.

  Here the ground was slick and muddy; sheltered from the direct rays of the sun, it had not yet had time to dry out, if indeed it ever would. Mak guessed that there was no way he could outrun his pursuers, especially not in a straight line once he emerged in the plaza. He would have to out-think them.

  His first impulse was to hide, but he had been in the jungle long enough now to know that any animal’s keen sense of smell would instantly detect him. He needed to blend in . . .

  No sooner had the thought struck him than Mak threw himself into the thick oozing mud. He rolled this way and that to ensure he was covered. He was thankful he couldn’t see in the darkness, but there was a distinct smell of poop amongst the mud. The mud slid over his ears, mouth and nose – the stench was repulsive.

  Satisfied he was completely covered, Mak stood – his bare feet slipping in the filth – and darted inside a gap in the nearest wall – just as the macaques surged over the buildings behind him.

  Mak pressed himself against a stone column and held his breath – in part so they couldn’t hear his panting, but mostly because he didn’t want to inhale the smell of the mud.

  Outside, the monkeys thundered past, but their pace slowed. No longer able to hear or see their quarry, they suspected he had hidden.