by Bear Grylls
At first Mak put it down to the wolf’s anxiety in case the monkeys had decided to pursue them, but the further they moved from the temple the more her odd behaviour increased.
It was as light was fading at the end of another quiet day that Mak saw something that quickened his pulse. They had reached a shallow river, and the pups had sprawled themselves out on a large rock to bathe in the sun. Mak knelt at the water’s edge to drink when he noticed dozens of overlapping tracks in the mud. They were the marks of big heavy beasts, the cloven prints made him think of cows. While he was wondering if it was possible to have wild cows, he noticed another set of tracks.
Human footprints.
They were unmistakable.
Big heavy boots with angular soles that had left clean marks in the ground. As best he could tell, there were two people accompanying the herd, but the crisscrossing marks were too confusing for him to be certain. It was clear the people had been walking to the side of the animals, perhaps guiding them. He lost sight of the prints as they disappeared down a narrow hunting track that weaved deeper into the jungle.
It was too late to go careering blind and alone down any hunting paths, so Mak lay with the wolves in the safety offered by a shallow cave in the riverbank and fell into a fitful sleep.
It had been the first time his dreams had been good.
The next morning, Mak didn’t feel hungry when breakfast was served. This morning it was a grey langur monkey, and the sight of the wolves tearing into a small human-shaped body was too much for Mak. It was as if a switch had been thrown in his head, and he was suddenly tired of foraging, of eating raw meat and sleeping in caves. The wilderness had been the ultimate adventure, but now his heart wanted to return home.
For most of the day, Mak led the way down the hunting track as it curved through gentle valleys and around sharp rocky towers. As the sun reached its highest midday point, they stopped to rest, and Mak discovered not only more traces of the cattle prints, but also those of a panther.
He traced his finger around the fresh paw prints. They were the same size as his old friend’s, but Mak didn’t waste time looking around. Judging by their condition, they could have been left just hours ago.
Towards the end of the day the wolves grew anxious. A hazy mist lent a lazy quality to the light, and Mak could smell the unmistakable scent of woodsmoke. His pulse quickened – he could sense that people were close by.
He took several more steps before stopping. The wolves were no longer following him. They had travelled as far as they dared, deliberately leading him to his own people. Mak walked back to his wolf friends and dropped to his knees. He scratched Yip between the ears, the little pup giving a gurgle of satisfaction. Then he rubbed Itch’s tummy until the pup batted him away with its rear paws, indicating there was too much of a good thing.
‘You look after each other,’ he told them. ‘No more jumping into wells and chasing angry macaques.’
Then he turned to Mother Wolf, who was sitting on her back paws, head held regally high as she studied Mak. He slowly extended his hand and ran it along her soft, grey flanks.
‘And you. I owe you everything.’
His voice cracked and he felt warm tears in his eyes. Something deep inside told him this was likely to be the last time he would see her again. He wished the wolf could talk; and that he could tell her how much he had come to love her.
Mother Wolf’s coarse tongue ran across his face, licking away his tears. Then she turned and disappeared down the trail.
Her pups diligently followed. Mak watched, waiting for them to turn around one last time. They didn’t.
With a hurting heart, Mak resumed his course down the pathway. The scent of woodsmoke grew stronger and, as the sunlight dwindled, Mak saw lights through the trees ahead.
It really was time.
He had reached civilization.
Four huts made from wood and corrugated-iron roofs were the first signs of civilization Mak had seen in a long while. There was nobody around, but a flickering light came from one of the huts.
Further off he could see a wood-and-wire enclosure that housed about thirty buffalo. Not cows, Mak corrected himself. The docile creatures sported powerful-looking curved horns, but they seemed content eating a stack of greenery that had been piled into their pen.
A small cooking fire sat a little away from the huts, and it was from this that grey smoke drifted from under a cast-iron cooking pot. Excited, Mak started forward, but stopped when he saw what lay through the open door of one of the darker huts.
Rows of animal furs hung drying in the darkness. Mak could see shades from light brown to black, but was unable to identify the animals they had once belonged to.
His stomach turned when he saw the beautiful black hide of a panther, and he fervently hoped it didn’t belong to the graceful animal he had saved. He had longed to find fellow humans, but to be welcomed by poachers was not something he had ever anticipated.
Sudden shouting in Hindi made him start. He turned to see a heavy-set Indian man stepping out of the illuminated hut. Mak’s eyes immediately strayed to the rifle the man held under his arm, poised to scare off any intruders, but the barrel dipped when the man caught sight of Mak’s face. The man’s eyes went wide.
Mak’s mouth was dry. ‘H-hello.’ He licked his lips and spoke louder. ‘Do you speak English?’
A tall, thin white man followed his companion from the hut and his eyes grew as big as saucers when he saw Mak. The men exchanged glances before the white man spoke with an Indian accent.
‘I speak English, boy.’ His eyes suspiciously scanned the forest behind Mak. ‘Why are you out here?’
‘I got lost,’ said Mak, still trying to find his voice. ‘A boating accident. I was thrown into the river. I lost my parents and . . . I don’t know if they are alive. I need to contact them. To go home.’ Everything was coming out in a rush now.
The two men exchanged another look. The one who spoke gazed into the jungle again. ‘You are alone? All the way out here?’
Mak nodded. ‘I’ve been scavenging food. Walking every day, trying to get out.’ The white man translated for his companion, whose mouth hung in an ‘O’ of astonishment. ‘Please, can you help me? I just want to go home.’
Eventually the man nodded and beckoned Mak into the hut. ‘Come inside and eat.’ As Mak walked past he saw both men’s noses wrinkle in disgust. ‘And get yourself cleaned up,’ he added.
In the warm yellow light of a kerosene lantern, Mak had stared into the mirror for what seemed like an eternity. The face looking back at him was completely unfamiliar. It was encrusted with grime. His cheeks looked lean, but he could see perfect muscle definition on his arms and chest, and couldn’t resist a few superhero poses to flex his muscles.
The white man introduced himself as Gideon, and his companion as Sunil. He insisted that Mak bathe himself behind the huts, using water from a nearby stream warmed over the fire. It took several buckets to remove even a single layer of dirt, but Mak felt better for it.
With no change of clothes, Mak looked forlornly at his own before putting them back on. His once-blue jeans were ripped to the knees and completely frayed. Taking a knife hanging from a hook in the nearest furshed, he cut off the frayed ends to make a pair of shorts. As for his underwear . . . well, that went straight on to the fire in a gust of foul-smelling sparks. His t-shirt was so black and sweat-stained that no trace of the original colour remained.
Back inside the hut, Sunil ladled a bowl of steaming hot broth into a bowl. Mak burned his mouth as he guzzled it down. He’d forgotten the delight of cooked food and couldn’t hold back a deep belch as he offered his bowl for seconds.
The men studied him with interest, waiting until he had finished his second helping of broth before offering a cup of warm tea to wash it down. Then they asked him to tell his story.
Mak talked for what seemed like hours, recounting his adventures, although he carefully left out any reference to dismantl
ing the poachers’ traps or the encounter with the panther. Even when it came to discussing the wolves, he was careful to edit any mention of the pups, fearing for their safety.
As he settled into the story he looked around, staring for long moments as if trying to recall details. What he was in fact doing was taking in the room around him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the men; they seemed friendly enough – but they were undoubtedly hunting endangered animals, and Mak was only too aware that they had not yet contacted anybody to say they had found a missing child. He had spied a radio in the corner, partially covered by a waterproof canvas sheet, but no one had put in a call to announce Mak’s reappearance.
That made him wary.
Against another wall was a wooden chest containing several rifles and boxes of ammunition. Sunil closed the lid after Mak’s gaze lingered on it a moment too long. Mak tried not to react and continued his tale – the highlights of which Gideon translated into Hindi for Sunil’s benefit. Mak paused, then looked Gideon straight in the eye . . .
‘Can you use the radio to contact the authorities and tell them I am alive?’
He saw Gideon’s eyes flick to the radio. Mak had a feeling the man was going to deny that they possessed a radio, but now he knew Mak had seen it. After a moment’s thought, Gideon shrugged.
‘Of course. As soon as it is light.’ He smiled when Mak frowned. ‘It’s solar powered, so . . .’ He gestured to the mosquito net that served as a window. Outside it was inky black.
Mak nodded, but he didn’t quite believe the man. He pressed for further information. ‘How far are we from the nearest town?’
Gideon gave another shrug. ‘Oh, quite far. It took us several days to get here.’
‘So what are you doing so far out here?’
Gideon fixed him with a piercing look, his words coming in clipped tones. ‘We are cattle drivers. Moving those buffalo through from village to village.’ He didn’t blink, as if daring Mak to challenge him.
Mak wondered if they had yet discovered the snares he had dismantled. If so, it wouldn’t take a genius to work out he had been the one sabotaging them. For an awkward beat Mak thought Gideon could read the guilt on his face, yet the man didn’t level any accusations. Mak forced a smile. ‘Must be dangerous work out here.’
‘Oh, it is. One must always be prepared. The wild cannot be trusted. And accidents happen all the time.’
It was a blatant threat, but Mak nodded in agreement. ‘Which is why I can’t wait to get back home and leave both you kind men to continue your important work.’
Gideon’s lip curled in a partial sneer, but whatever he was about to say never made it to his lips. A low beep suddenly sounded from beneath the canvas radio cover. Sunil swept it aside, revealing not just the radio – which Mak couldn’t help but notice had its green power light on – but another, smaller, older device with an oscillating green screen, which was making all the noise.
Sunil spoke rapidly, darting to the weapons chest and pulling out a rifle, no longer concerned if Mak saw what was inside. He spoke rapidly in Hindi, and Gideon jumped to his feet, snatching his rifle from where he had propped it behind the door.
‘What’s happening?’ said Mak in confusion.
‘An intruder has broken the tripwire.’
Mak’s mind raced. An intruder? Could it be another poacher or perhaps the law clamping down on this illegal poaching ring?
‘Who?’
‘Big cat after the buffalo.’ Gideon and Sunil ran through the door. ‘Stay here!’
Mak got as far as standing when Gideon slammed the door closed. He heard metal bolts being drawn on the outside and he dashed for the door.
It wouldn’t open – he had been locked inside.
Mak crossed to the window to peer out. He could just make out the forms of the two men hurrying towards the buffalo enclosure, and heard the restless grunts from the beasts as something in the night disturbed them.
Why had they locked him inside? Certainly not for his own safety. Then his eyes fell on the radio and the tantalizing green power light. They had locked him in the same room as the radio.
Mak rushed around the table and examined the radio. It was old and sturdy with a grey LCD screen for selecting the station. A microphone was clipped to the side, attached to the set by a coiling plastic cable that had long ago lost its elasticity.
With a trembling hand he flicked the power switch and the screen came alive with a basic digital display, and with it the speaker made a single electronic thud as it powered up.
Mak’s hand went for the microphone, his fingers touching the green plastic just as he heard the buffalo bellow outside. Then he heard Sunil shouting in Hindi, followed by the clear crack of a rifle report. The gunfire was immediately answered by a terrifying yowling.
It was a panther.
A second gunshot rang out, followed by more shouting and the increasingly anxious murmur of the penned buffalo. Mak hurried to the window and tore the mosquito net aside. He clambered on the table, almost kicking over the kerosene lamp as he did so. He caught it by the handle just in time, then clambered through the window, dropping to a crouch in the darkness outside.
After the light from inside the cabin, Mak’s night vision was shot. He closed his eyes, but could still see the pale afterglow spots of the lamp. He waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust, as the soundscape around him changed. Gideon and Sunil lapsed into silence, and he couldn’t hear the panther, although from the noise of the increasingly anxious buffalo he guessed the big cat was not only alive, but still somewhere close by.
Mak did not believe for a moment that the men were protecting the buffalo; it was more likely the poor animals had been corralled out here to be used as bait to lure big cats in.
He opened his eyes. His night vision had grown more acute during his time in the jungle, and he was aided by the full moon that was partially obscured by a lone cloud.
Mak could see the poachers on the other side of the pen, hunched low as they peered over the cattle, guns jammed against their shoulders waiting to shoot a likely target.
Crawling forward, Mak gained a better view around the buffalo pen. He searched the darkness for any sign of the panther. Nothing moved.
Then he saw something that filled him with a burst of hope, quickly followed by dread. A single flashing green LED in the darkness. The last time he had seen that sight was on the collar of a panther. His panther. Either the men couldn’t see it from where they were, or the light was too dim for them to notice.
Behind the panther was a raised incline of rocks, with more trees on top. Due to the position of the enclosure, it meant the panther was trapped – either he could go through the buffalo, or scramble up the embankment, both of which would make him an easy target.
Mak had to do something. He considered for a moment a return to the weapons chest, but thought it more likely he’d shoot his own foot off than save anybody. Attacking these men would be foolish, but his magic practice had taught him something much more powerful – the art of distraction. A shiny coin wouldn’t work with poachers, so it would have to be something much more elaborate.
Moving rapidly on his hands and knees, Mak made his way to the wooden gate that hemmed the buffalo in. It was fastened with a simple loop of rope over a peg. He removed the loop and opened the gate a few inches. One buffalo was looking straight at him, but it didn’t take the cue to leave. Clearly, opening the gate would not have the dramatic effect he needed.
The campfire was still burning, the low flame almost nothing more than a glowing charred stick. The empty iron pot still hung on a forked wooden branch above it.
Mak made his way to it, unhooked the pot and checked it was dry inside. Then he took a fistful of dried grass and kindling that had been stacked next to the fire and dropped it inside. He angled the pot to scoop up the embers and gently blew into the pot to stoke the flame. The kindling caught.
Keeping to the shadows, Mak scuttled closer to the enclosure. Th
e pot was heavy, so gripping the thin handle firmly, he circled his arm, revolving the pot in a sweeping revolution – once, twice . . .
On the third swing he had built up enough momentum to release it. With satisfaction he watched the pot soar over the pen, rebound from a tree and fall into the stack of greenery the poachers had been using to feed the cattle.
Neither man had seen the pot sail overhead, but they heard the crash as it landed. Mak saw both guns swivel in the direction of the noise. At the same moment the dry grass caught fire as the blazing embers spilt over them.
Sunil impulsively pulled the trigger, shooting into the trees.
The combination of the sudden flames and the rifle’s loud report startled the buffalo and, with a bugling cry, they surged forward. The gate swung open before catching on a rock, but that didn’t stop the weight of the cattle as they ploughed into it. Wood splintered and suddenly the buffalo were running free.
Mak grinned silently – before realizing that the herd was heading straight for him. He jumped to his feet – startling the buffalo directly in front of him. They veered to the side to avoid the unexpected obstacles and several of them careered into the shack with such force they tore through the flimsy wall.
The animals wheeled away from the collapsing cabin as the kerosene lanterns inside dropped and shattered – immediately igniting the building.
Now highlighted by the burning cabin, Mak was visible. Sunil pointed a finger at him and shouted aggressively. Then the man raised his rifle and fired. It clicked on an empty barrel – his last shot having been a hasty one into the trees.
As the Indian rapidly reloaded, Mak raced away from the burning shack – just as the ammunition in the weapons supply detonated with a colossal bang. The chest itself rushed skyward like a flaming rocket, before landing in the cabin where the furs were drying. More flames immediately took hold.
