by Bear Grylls
The explosion hurled Mak to the ground, and he lay sprawled face first in the dirt. The noise frightened the buffalo running towards the cabin. As one, the fleeing creatures wheeled around and – by the time Sunil had finished reloading and looked up – they were bearing down on him.
Mak could only hear the scream as the man was crushed beneath the hoofs, and when the buffalo finally disappeared into the darkness, there was no sign of Sunil or Gideon.
Mak slowly stood up as the remaining two cabins caught fire. Flames licked high into the air, sending up streams of embers. He looked forlornly at the cabin containing the radio. His only opportunity to call for help was burning merrily in the flames.
He was so lost in thought, that he didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late. Gideon limped from the darkness, dragging his broken leg behind him and using his rifle as a crutch. One side of his body and face was covered in dirt, and he was bleeding from where the stampede had trampled him.
‘You little muckraker!’ he snarled. ‘Look what you’ve done!’
Mak scowled at the man. He had no sympathy for Gideon’s injuries and was in no mood to be treated like some naughty schoolkid. Mak was mad with rage.
‘You got what you deserved,’ said Mak through gritted teeth.
‘Oh yeah?’ Gideon dropped to his knees, grimacing in pain as he did so. ‘Now you’re going to get it too!’
In one deft motion he raised his gun and started to squeeze the trigger.
Mak hadn’t been looking at Gideon. At the very last second a blur of movement to the side caught his attention. It was the panther.
The sleek killer was racing towards them at full sprint. The flames, the stampede and gunshots had meant the creature had been hidden from sight – until now. Only now did it choose to spring into attack mode.
It leaped from the ground, jaws wide and razor-sharp talons extended. The light of the fires seemed to make its beautiful coat shimmer, revealing the fresh scar across its neck, sustained by Gideon’s poaching snare.
The panther struck Gideon at full pelt a fraction before he pulled the trigger. At sixty kilometres per hour, the impact of a thirty-kilo cat was enough to break almost every bone in Gideon’s body. They tumbled away into the darkness with a roar from the panther and a futile scream from the man, who quickly fell silent as tooth and claw did their work.
Mak was still standing, shaking, as the panther emerged from the darkness and padded towards him, licking his lips. The noble creature stopped just an arm’s length away.
Mak felt a sense of awe at the creature’s power and grace. He could see its nose twitching as it took in his scent.
Then, to Mak’s astonishment, the cat sat down with its head laid on its front paws as it had done on the log all that time ago. It began to purr, a bass-heavy rumbling noise that reminded Mak of a pneumatic drill. Its big eyes looked imploringly at him then it purposefully rubbed its neck, scraping the radio collar on the ground.
Mak knew what was expected of him. ‘I hear you. Just like last time, right?’
Taking one long breath, Mak gently reached for the radio collar, just as he had done with the snare. He made no sudden moves, frightened that the slightest jolt could be misinterpreted as an attack.
The collar was firmly attached and no amount of pulling seemed to dislodge it, and Mak dared not try harder. The cat murmured impatiently.
‘I’m trying . . . stay with me.’
His fingers ran along the box that contained the GPS tracker itself. This meant edging closer to the cat, and Mak was all too aware that his tender throat was so close to the panther’s mouth that he could feel its every breath.
He experimentally squeezed the tracker and felt something move. Further experimentation found there was a pair of clips on opposite sides of the tracker that when he pressed together and clicked, made the collar slip off.
Even before the collar hit the ground the panther was on its feet, startling Mak so much he fell unceremoniously backwards. The animal bounded across the clearing and away into the darkness. Mak fancied he saw a pair of eyes reflected briefly in the flames, lazily blinking in thanks, before they too vanished.
Mak felt numb. He had saved the magnificent animal, but without the radio that had been burned he had no means of calling for help. He was certain that the poachers would never have contacted the outside world.
Then he picked up the GPS collar and examined it. He had hoped it contained a transmitter, something he could push and call for help, but of course it did not. Why would anybody build such a function into something designed solely for tracking movement?
It was useless for Mak’s purposes.
He had no options left. Gideon had been evasive when Mak had asked in which direction the nearest town was. He watched the fires send up plumes of black smoke and shook his head; even such obvious smoke signals were useless without anybody in range to see them.
Smoke signals.
Mak looked at the tracker in his hand. This was a digital smoke signal of sorts, if only somebody was looking. He craned his head to the clear sky – nothing but stars, the moon and the lone cloud that had almost disappeared.
Of course! Stars. And satellites.
Mak dashed over to the pen and twisted a piece of the broken gate off its smashed frame. Then he drew a message in the dirt using the largest letters he had the space to create.
Then, holding the tracker aloft, Mak ran as fast as he could, his feet tracing the letters first one way, then back the other. He ran long into the night, retracing the path over and over again until his legs and arms ached and the blazing cabins had collapsed into nothing but smouldering embers.
Only then did he curl up in the dust and fall fast asleep.
He prayed someone, somewhere, was doing their job and watching the tracker device’s movements.
Mak’s first thought was that another monsoon was about to strike – or worse, a cyclone. He had jolted awake to the sound of continuous thunder and gale-force winds. Now he shielded his eyes as he looked around in panic . . . then tilted his head upwards.
A helicopter was hovering overhead, an enormous red-and-white beast with the word ‘RESCUE’ emblazoned on one side.
The downdraught was kicking up a tornado of dust and debris from the fire, forcing Mak to shield his eyes. He moved to the edge of the clearing, keeping close to the trees.
The aircraft slowly descended and the side door rolled open. A man dressed in a red flight suit and wearing a helmet beckoned Mak to approach. Mak’s legs felt like jelly as he did so. No sooner did he reach the door than the man’s powerful arms scooped him up and hauled him inside.
He heard the man’s repeated assurances that he was safe, and that everything would be fine. Mak wasn’t really listening. He was staring at his mother and father sitting in the jump-seats opposite, tears streaming down their faces. Even as the helicopter began to rise, they unfastened their harnesses – ignoring the pilot’s pleas to stay seated – and rushed to embrace Mak.
With the roar of the engines, Mak couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need to. He was crying; everybody was crying.
It was all that they could do.
Mak stood on the jetty of Anil’s village, watching as a boat arrived with its precious cargo: a barrel of aviation fuel. It turned out that Mak had been lost so deep in the jungle that the rescue chopper was flying on fumes when they had found him. They had been forced to land at Kangri, even though a special clearing needed to be created just for the purpose, and they had had to wait for it to be refuelled.
For Mak, Kangri was a welcome break before the big step back to the city. Anil, Diya and the villagers had watched in astonishment as Mak had disembarked the aircraft with his parents.
His father had squeezed him until they had both almost passed out, assuring him that he would never doubt his son ever again. That they loved him more than words could ever say.
After a two-hour bath – in which the water turned bla
ck and was refreshed four times – and a change of clothes, Mak finally heard the story of how his parents and Anil had survived the tidal bore and managed to upright the boat once they had found it wedged in a snarl of roots.
The poor captain hadn’t been so lucky and they feared Mak had met the same fate.
Search parties had combed the area for two solid weeks, but the wave had been the biggest ever recorded. Despite the ever-increasing size of the search grid, they had seen or found no sign of a survivor.
For two more weeks his parents hadn’t given up hope, and his father had used every single GeoTek resource to search for him, but eventually they’d had to stop.
Neither of them had given up hope, but it had been almost two months since he disappeared.
It had been a complete shock to Anil to see one signal moving so erratically while he was studying the GPS tracking data on his laptop. When he’d zoomed in on the map, he’d had to call Diya over to confirm he wasn’t going crazy.
The tracker was moving rapidly, repeatedly spelling out the message SOS.
It could only mean one thing: someone was communicating with them, and that person was in need of help . . .
Anil hadn’t wasted any time in contacting the authorities, leading to Mak’s eventual rescue.
Safely back in the village, Mak watched the team unload the fuel barrel on to a cart and roll it towards the parked helicopter. Diya joined him, and tried to act casual and not gawp at him in awe, as she had done every moment since his return.
‘Looks as if you’ll be leaving soon,’ she said, as casually as she could. ‘I bet you’re looking forward to never seeing this place again.’
Mak cast his eyes over the river and the trees bristling with life. The thought of returning home to London, to the concrete safety of his home and a regular pattern to his days, filled him with . . . dread.
He knew it was silly to miss the danger, but between the moments of jeopardy there had been truly magical times with friends he would never meet again.
‘I’m really going to miss this place,’ he replied.
If Diya was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead she nodded. ‘The jungle does that to you, doesn’t it?’
Mak smiled at her. ‘It does.’
He noticed the village elder was shambling over. Mak still didn’t know how old the man was, but he walked with purpose on his matchstick-thin legs. When he reached Mak he took the boy’s hands in his own and spoke, pausing to allow Diya to translate.
‘He says the spirit of the jungle has embraced you as its child. It is a gift bestowed on only a few, to those with the heart to survive, not just the strength.’
The old man’s bony finger tapped Mak’s chest to emphasize the point. ‘It seldom happens,’ Diya continued. ‘And when it does, those anointed by the spirit live on in legend.’
Mak smiled. ‘Like Mowgli?’
The old man chuckled, his face transforming into the jolliest smile Mak could ever remember witnessing. Even Diya was surprised by his reaction.
‘Yes, even Mowgli,’ she translated. ‘Mowgli was my grandfather.’
She stopped and stared at the old man.
‘Your grandfather?’ she asked him, as if confused.
‘Yes, my grandfather.’
‘So he was real?’
The old man nodded and talked with growing enthusiasm. Diya was spellbound and Mak had to nudge her arm to get her attention.
‘What’s he saying?’
Diya blinked in surprise, remembering her role. ‘Sorry. He was saying that of course he was real – and that the trees, the river, the animals themselves combine to form the guardian spirit of Mowgli. Perhaps those very animals you encountered were part of the same spirit that made Mowgli who he was.’
Mak didn’t know what to say. The thought that he was part of a special legacy made him tingle with quiet pride.
Diya continued. ‘His grandfather was known as Mowgli – “Little Frog”. He now gives you the name Lupli.’ She giggled when she saw Mak frown inquisitively.
‘It means “Little Wolf”.’
‘Lupli.’ Mak liked the sound of it. He nodded. He tapped his chest and said it louder. ‘Lupli!’
The old man nodded and gave him a toothy smile. Still chuckling, the elder made his way back to the village, pausing only to stop and shout something back at Mak. Whatever it was sent him into further giggles.
‘What did he say?’
Diya leaned on the jetty rail and looked across the river thoughtfully before she answered.
‘He said the jungle hasn’t finished with you yet.’
Mak followed her gaze and smiled. His adventure had taught him always to trust his inner voice and never to give up hope. And if the jungle had said that it wasn’t finished with him, well, then Little Wolf wasn’t finished with it.
And someday he would return.
THE END
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FOR MORE TIPS ON
HOW TO SURVIVE
IN THE JUNGLE
WATER
When he is first stranded in the jungle, Mak has to make finding water a priority. He quickly discovers that drinking from a stagnant pool is dangerous and has to search around for other sources of water.
• Collecting rainwater is the quickest and safest way to get hold of drinking water. If you have one, tie a piece of tarpaulin between two trees and wait for the rain to fall. As it collects, you can filter it into a container to use later.
• Large jungle leaves often collect rainwater, which will be fresh to drink. They can also act as funnels to channel water into any containers you’re able to find.
• You should always try to purify any water you collect, by boiling it over a fire or using purifying tablets if you have them.
SHELTER
Shelter is a big priority when you’re trying to survive in the jungle. It’ll keep you dry, and the best shelters will help to camouflage you from predators.
• Caves are the best kind of natural shelter if you need to get out of the rain quickly, though watch out for bats and other wild animals who may not want to share their home with you!
• Make a simple lean-to by finding a fallen-down tree with a height of about a metre. Find as many long, straight branches as you can and lay them close together, propped against your tree trunk. Once you have a basic shape, you can cover your tent structure with moss, bark and branches thick with leaves.
FOOD
Mak is quickly so desperate for food that he’s happy to eat whatever Mother Wolf brings home for her pups. There is plenty of other nutritious food that can be found in the wild, but it’s important to be very wary of poisons.
• Bananas, plantains and coconuts grow abundantly in the jungle and are also a good source of water. Most parts of a palm tree are also edible, but they taste much better cooked.
• Fishing is a lovely way to have a fresh, cooked meal when outdoors, but fish can be very hard to catch. Making a spear using a long pole with a pointed end is one way to try to catch them, often best done at night.
• Termites are full of protein and taste a bit like nutmeg. If you find a termite mound, get chewing, as a few dozen of these will help keep your energy levels up!
FIRE
Mak finds it very difficult to light a fire in the jungle, but he knows it’s essential for survival: for providing warmth, cooking food, boiling water, and even sending up smoke signals if you need to be rescued.
• Choose a spot in a clear, sheltered space, a long way from any hanging branches, and dig a shallow hole in the ground.
• You will need kindling – small, dry twigs – and some leaves as tinder to get you started. Build a pyramid of twigs over your dry leaves, making sure to leave some space for the air to circulate.
• Light your fire – this is the difficult bit. If your matches have been washed away in a rainstorm, you can hold a piece of glass with convex sides (like the bottom of a bottle) up to the light. The heat of the sun’s ra
ys will be concentrated through the glass and should provide enough energy to get very fine, dry tinder going.
• As the smaller twigs burn, gradually add thicker pieces of wood, being careful to make sure it doesn’t burn too quickly.
MAKING A RAFT
Mak’s journey along the Wainganga River is treacherous, but ultimately saves his life, as it leads him back to civilization. The raft he makes is a crucial part of his journey.
• The jungle is full of materials you might need to make your raft – bamboo or logs for the base, vines for lashing it together and branches for oars.
• The easiest craft to make is a log raft: find two very sturdy branches, as straight and thick as possible.
• Lash the logs together with long lengths of vine, leaving about sixty centimetres of vine between them. Your logs will now stay tied together, but there will be a space for you to sit in – a makeshift armchair!
• Use a long, straight branch as an oar to paddle yourself downstream.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bear Grylls has become known around the world as one of the most recognized faces of survival and outdoor adventure. Trained from an early age in martial arts, and taught to climb and sail by his father, Bear went on to spend three years as a soldier in the British Special Forces, serving with 21 SAS, before becoming one of the youngest-ever climbers of Mount Everest.
Since then he has gone on to host more extreme adventure TV shows across more global networks than anyone else in the world, including The Island with Bear Grylls for Channel 4, Bear Grylls’ Survival School for ITV, Man vs. Wild for Discovery Channel, Running Wild for NBC and Survivor Games for Chinese TV.
He is also a family man, a number-one bestselling author, with over twenty books to his name, including his autobiography, Mud, Sweat and Tears, and the popular Mission Survival series for children. He also writes and performs the live-action stadium show Endeavour. Bear is an honorary Colonel to the Royal Marine Commandos and the youngest-ever Chief Scout, an inspiration to forty million Scouts worldwide.
