The Bison
Photo: Karan Madhok
Short story by Vedant Srinivas: ‘The guards meanwhile had crept through the bushes on both sides and brought back big brambles. I looked at the pile, then at them and guessed what they were planning. But I was too terrified to ask.’
We set out at 8 a.m. after a quick breakfast, determined to cover at least three locations. The sun had not yet begun its ascent and the clear blue sky azured the landscape. As the jeep raced along the road, my companions traded repartees and slapped each other’s heads. I looked out at the fuzzy wilderness and occasionally smiled at their jokes. The wind hit us through the open windshield and rattled our cheeks.
On the way, we picked up the two guards. They smiled at me and I smiled back. It was my sixth day here. After a while, we veered off onto a dirt path and the jokes quickly gave way to solemn silence. Soon, thick undergrowth surrounded us on all sides, undergrowth that screeched and whistled against the fabric of the jeep. We reached an open meadow and the GPS showed a distance of five hundred metres.
A spotted deer flew past us in six perfectly coordinated jumps, with its hind hooves landing in the exact spot where its front hooves had been. By the time we reached the first location, it was already 10, and the sun had taken over from the clouds.
One forest guard beckoned me towards him and pointed at the ground, at the fresh pugmarks.
“Tiger,” he said and smiled proudly.
I nodded in agreement.
They filled the data sheet and tied the camera traps around trees on opposite sides of the path. One of the guards, an old man with a wizened face, got down on his knees and prowled across on all fours. The cameras, upon sensing movement, blinked red. Shrill laughter abounded in the silence of the forest. Kapil bestowed upon him the epithet of Vaisaana Puli. Old tiger.
We rushed to the next location. The GPS showed a distance of eight kilometers.
As we made our way into the deep interiors the undergrowth grew more and more thorny. The brambles reached inside the jeep through the sides and vanished a second later, leaving the faint traces of a whistling sound behind. Finally, it became so thick that the jeep refused to move forward.
We got out, scratched our heads awhile, and finally decided to hike the distance. With wires and camera traps lugged over our shoulders, we crawled through the mesh, thorns biting into our clothes and skin. After going downhill for a while, the path started climbing upwards. Our location was at the top of the mountain.
The trumpeting of elephants reverberated in the air as we huffed and puffed up the steep mountain, skirting seemingly-ubiquitous elephant dung. Suddenly, a bison jumped across the path and raced in the other direction, a hundred metres from where we stood, transfixed.
A few seconds of dead silence ensued. Then the guards laughed nervously. Kapil and Krishna exchanged inscrutable looks. I slowly moved to the back of the line.
As we were about to reach the second location, the GPS pointed out that the third one was just two kilometres away. It was 2:30 p.m. Time was running out. Kapil decided to branch off with a guard to deploy a camera at the third location. Krishna agreed that he, the guard, and I should set off for the nearer location. We deployed the camera and lunched under the calming shade of a tree.
Now all we could do was wait. We waited where we were supposed to for almost two hours, our ears and eyes attuned to the noises of the forest.
The sun beat down fiercely and I took little walks under the forest canopy, which never stopped susurrating and reminded me of waves crashing into each other. An occasional trumpet or screech reached us from afar and made me start nervously. They finally came back at around five, two silhouettes bobbling down the mountain trail. We hurriedly made our way down the mountain as birds chirruped and animals gave what seemed like warning signs.
We climbed down the mountain, and had almost reached the bottom, when Kapil suddenly stopped up ahead. He put a finger to his lips and urged us to come and look, one by one. Finally, my turn came and I crept up to take a look.
“Bison. Grazing,” Kapil said, his face lit up with wonder.
It was as big and majestic as an elephant and blocking our only path back to the jeep. I remember feeling a bit light-headed; all the little details about oneself that are always at the back of one’s mind seemed, at that moment, to evade me.
The guards shouted and stomped their feet to frighten the animal. It didn’t work. Now visibly nervous, they decided to wait for a few minutes and let the bison wander away on its own.
It was already 6 p.m. and night had started to creep in.
The bison, unaware of our presence, continued its slow grazing. Occasionally, it shook its head and shifted its weight. The seconds slowly ticked by, but the bison refused to budge.
The guards walked up to Kapil. Krishna joined them. A few minutes of anxious whispering ensued. Then, Krishna nudged in my direction. Kapil walked towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. His face assumed a reassuring expression. I smiled and nodded.
The guards meanwhile had crept through the bushes on both sides and brought back big brambles. I looked at the pile, then at them and guessed what they were planning. But I was too terrified to ask.
I felt the earth shake and heard the loud grunt of a beast. I turned in the opposite direction and ran. My mind stopped working, repeating the same message. Run, run, run.
I raced down the elevated path to the bottom, from where I could only see their upper torsos and their faces. I stood there and waited, trying to catch my breath.
The four of them—Kapil, Krishna, and the two guards—picked up the brambles. For about five seconds, they stood there with those things in their hands, a silent battle raging in their minds. Then, with sudden, loud war cries, they flung the brambles at the animal, mock-charging aggressively towards it. They would occasionally step back, pick up stones and sticks from the ground, and again, with loud bellows, try to frighten it.
I could hardly believe my eyes. I looked at their red faces, faces clouded with fear and excitement. My heart was beating violently. I wished we were back in the safety of our room, and yet, couldn’t help feeling aroused.
All of a sudden, with a fearful cry, Kapil turned in my direction, stumbled, fell, got up and raced down the path towards where I was crouched, followed by Krishna and the two guards. I felt the earth shake and heard the loud grunt of a beast. I turned in the opposite direction and ran. Time froze; everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
My mind stopped working, repeating the same message. Run, run, run. The dull thud of hooves pounding against the earth was now the only sound I could hear.
I ran for about a hundred meters, and stopped abruptly when I heard Kapil call my name. I turned and saw him talking and laughing with Krishna. The two guards stood huddled together a few feet from them. The bison was nowhere to be seen.
Slowly, I walked up to them.
“Lucky,” Kapil said. The bison had apparently wandered away of its own accord. I nodded and let out a nervous laugh.
We made our way through the undergrowth and reached the place where our jeep was parked. Night had set and the forest was slowly coming alive. My companions resumed their playful bickering, as the jeep raced through the forest and reached the main road. I contended myself with looking out at the comforting darkness. Dozens of stars twinkled and danced in the sky and the cool night air rushed past the open windshield.
I did not feel like talking about it.
We reached our quarters at nine. Krishna and Kapil prepared a quick dinner, jostling and chiing each other with enthusiastic fervor. They seemed to have completely recovered.
I ate sparingly, bade them goodnight, and comfortably ensconced myself in my sleeping bag. I took a deep breath and realized that I was shivering.
On the ceiling of my room, in the darkness, an insect struggled, caught in a cobweb.
I unlocked my Iphone and set an alarm for 7.
***
Vedant Srinivas graduated from Hindu College, Delhi with a distinction in Philosophy and went on to study Filmmaking in Prague. His writing has appeared (or is forthcoming) in journals like Fipresci-India, Offscreen, MUBI, Chalachitra Sameeksha, and Quarterly Review of Film and Video.
