In Time, Out of Place

by You Jin

  On another occasion, a tour guide carrying a wooden rod had come across a savage one-horned rhino in the jungle. When it turned to charge him, he tried to use the rod to block the attack, but he tripped, fell and was trampled.

  Ishan himself had once had an unpleasant encounter: “I remember one September when the grass in the jungle had already grown to about ten inches in height. There was a European couple with me who was really interested in bird-watching. They asked me to lead them deep into the jungle where they could have a look. I saw how interested they were, so I risked my life to lead them. When we came to a grassy clearing, I suddenly felt something moving. Something was terribly wrong, but before I knew it, I was gored by a rhino and thrown violently into the air. The lucky thing was that I landed in a muddy pool. When I struggled to climb out of the mud, that European woman was sitting numbly on the ground, scared half to death and unable to move. And as for the man, he’d already run for his life! You know, after that, we sent out a huge search party, and spent countless hours in the jungle looking before we found the man. He was petrified with fear!”

  The couple were together, like birds in the same jungle, but when danger arose, they scattered to fend for themselves.

  Standing Still in the Face of Danger

  We followed Ishan in the jungle, walking, halting, then walking again, until we came to a clearing, where we stopped. The sky was bright and the birds were singing. Ishan looked up, using binoculars to search for birds, then handed the binoculars to us and explained the features of each of the birds in the trees. Just as the conversation grew really lively, Ishan suddenly fell silent and stuck out his thick arm, blocking us. He said, “Don’t move.” In a flash, I saw a brown coloured snake crawl from a spot nearby into the forest.

  Goosebumps appeared all over me, but Ishan said casually, “It’s not poisonous, don’t worry. Once, I brought seven tourists birdwatching. We looked out for birds whilst we walked, and suddenly one of the tourists called out in fright, “Snake!” I looked down and, god! A huge cobra was crawling not far from my feet. If I had accidentally stepped on it, I would’ve been dead.”

  “Then what did you do?” I asked.

  “I stood stock still and let the snake slither away,” he said calmly. “Usually, snakes do not attack unprovoked. As long as you don’t disturb them, there’s no problem. Some people say that when you meet a snake you should throw rocks to scare it, but actually, that’s a big mistake. If you anger a snake, it can shoot up from its tail quicker than lightning and attack without leaving a chance for escape. The scariest thing is that snakes are hard to shake off. If they don’t get what they want, they won’t give up. So, once you tangle with a snake, it’s hard to get away.”

  Thinking back to the South African animal reserve, although we had come across lions and faced danger, we were in a car at the time, and the guide carried a gun for emergencies. The basic safety concerns were covered. But now, the situation was very different. We stood there empty-handed in grass that almost covered us completely. All we could rely on was a pair of legs that would turn soft and tremble in the face of danger. What if…what if we met a tiger, then what would we do? From what I knew, in Chitwan Nature Park, there were still eighty tigers roaming freely.

  Seeing my anxious expression, Ishan could not help but laugh. He said, “Generally, there are three different arrangements for birdwatching. If it is a big group of tourists, we usually just bring them to the areas outside the jungle, and casually walk around and look. If it is like you, just a couple of people, I will arrange to go into the forest for a better look. But this is still not the heart of the jungle, so there are very slim chances that we would see a tiger. In fact, I’ve lived in the jungle for more than eight years, and I’ve only seen one.”

  Well, yes, he’d only seen one. But that time it had almost killed him.

  “That time, there were two tourists, European bird researchers. I was given instructions to take them deep into the jungle to look for rare types of birds. When we had spotted a really extraordinary type of bird in a tree, we all got very excited. Both of them were busily taking photos, and I took out the binoculars for a look. I looked and looked, and suddenly, as if from nowhere, smelled the stinging scent of blood. When I turned to look, I saw a stout tiger, walking slowly toward us, then lying down beneath a big tree about a metre from us. I could hardly control the fear in my voice. “Tiger!” The two tourists were scared out of their wits. One stood behind me, gripping my clothes tightly and shaking like an old tree hollowed out by termites. The other lost all his senses and ran for his life. It took everything I had to keep calm, quietly pulling out my knife and staring at the tiger. If it attacked, I would have to fight it alone. Then, I discovered that its eyes were really solemn, but lacked ferocity. I guessed that it had just eaten a deer, and was now bloated and a little drunk on the blood, and too lethargic to move. We stared quietly at each other for about ten minutes, then it stood up and slowly walked away. Luckily we had not met a hungry tiger, or the sight of the three of us panicking and running would have angered it. We certainly would have lost our lives.” Saying this, Ishan added, his expression serious, “You always have to remember that when you meet a lion or tiger, you must remain completely still, keeping cool in the face of danger. The minute you run, it’s over.”

  Ishan went on to say that the biggest danger to humans is the old, weak or sick tiger that can no longer catch its prey, and even more when it is a mother with her young, who would turn extremely violent. But as for the other ordinary tigers, they would not attack humans, unless provoked.

  Since he worked in a job that meant he often faced death, did that mean Ishan was no longer afraid? He said simply, “Of course I’m afraid. It’s natural. But my training teaches me to use this sort of fear and turn it into the ability to react. I mean, every day when I go into the jungle, there are plenty of dangerous situations, and I can’t get scared and panic. What is most certain is that there is always danger, and I have to master my fear.”

  As we were talking, a few peacocks went by. One raised its beautiful colours, and walked gracefully. We looked on in admiration.

  Ishan smiled and said, “Fearful dangers lurk in the jungle where wild animals roam, but it also holds in store intoxicating beauty. Every year in February and March, it is the peacock’s mating season, and you often see them with their tail feathers open and their beauty on display. In spring, the tender grass starts to sprout and the whole land seems to be carpeted. The greenery pops up little by little from the soil, it gives you a feeling of the return of spring and a renewal of the earth. And in the jungle, we planted many cotton trees. When they bloom, the whole tree is covered with red flowers. The red mingled with the green is so beautiful it looks like a fairyland.”

  Suddenly Seeing the World Before Us

  That night, Ishan took us to ride trained elephants into the jungle. We never imagined that these clumsy-looking creatures could walk so smoothly, and effortlessly over the rugged mountain paths, or through soft, wet, muddy and weedy paths. Sometimes the mountain path was too steep, the dirt path too narrow, or the forest trails too full of holes, and I was really afraid it would not be able to cross that stretch of road, or that it would not keep its footing, but without blinking its eyes, it crossed over with ease. On many occasions, we came to areas where the undergrowth was thick and there was no trail to follow, but it used its trunk to push and its huge legs to trample, and a new path appeared before us.

  In the morning when we went bird-watching, there was no way to tell what might be hiding in the tall grass, perhaps even right by your side. Lifting one foot after the other, with fear gripping our hearts and a chill running down our spines, we thought we could hear the sound of our own hearts beating. But now, riding high up on the back of the elephant, with everything spread out below us, it was like a whole different world before our eyes. We had no worries or fears, and could naturally enjoy the pleasure of exploring the jungle.

  There w
ere lots of rhinos in the jungle. It was hot, and some of the rhinos could not stand the extreme heat, so they came to cool down by soaking quietly in the pools. Some, covered in mud, just stood stock still in the tall grass like clay statues and, frankly, the stories Ishan had told us about these “evil creatures and their evil ways” now seemed very far away from the beasts we saw. They did not look at all dangerous.

  We spied spotted sika deer in the tall grass, their markings lovely to see. At the mud pit, we saw many wild hogs playing, and were shocked to see the alert ferocity in their eyes. In the trees, we saw many lively monkeys and squirrels scampering about, and we were delighted to feel their zest for life.

  There were also the surprisingly numerous huge honeycombs hanging from just one tree like fruits. Even the bees loved community living. Ishan explained that we should not overlook these small bees. If they were provoked, they would attack in droves. They were very vengeful and would carry on to the death, and could be deadly for humans. Their formidable adversary was the bear, which lived to eat honey. There were long and deep claw marks all over the tree trunk. Ishan told us the marks were the bear’s “masterpiece”. If it saw a honeycomb hanging from a tree, it would climb the tree without a second thought, stick its paw deep inside the comb, grabbing and scraping and making a great mess of the comb. Due to its thick fur, even if the bees attacked in a swarm, it would not be the least bit hurt.

  A Tranquil River Devouring Life

  The next day, Ishan accompanied us in a raft on the river, and we got a taste of a completely different sort of fun. It was summer, and the metre-deep water was very clear. You could plainly see the stones on the riverbed. The boatman poled lightly, and the raft floated along in the floral-scented breeze that wafted over the water. In the distance were the irregular rolling hills. There were birdcalls from both banks. It was the off-season for tourists, so the narrow river seemed vast with so few of us about, giving it a lonely feel. It was hard to believe that such a tranquil river had a record of devouring human life.

  When Ishan recalled the incident, it was clear that he still had some lingering fear. He said, “This happened three years ago in October. The monsoon season had just passed and the water level in the river was high, five or six metres deep. In normal circumstance, rafting is the safest activity, but that time there were seven Italians who brought a lot of cumbersome camera and video equipment in their raft. I warned them, but they wouldn’t listen. I really did not imagine that we would come across such deadly rapids. It was like a tornado dancing wildly on water. With one turn, we were whirled around and the whole raft overturned. The seven people could all swim well, but everything happened too suddenly and quickly, and they weren’t prepared. Of course they panicked and the two women clung on to my clothes tightly from behind. The three of us were sinking together, so I had to force them off before I could get back above the water. Later, I dived back into the water and saved them one by one. Of the other four, three swam to the bank on their own. One sank to the bottom of the river and drowned.”

  You might cheat the mountain, but you won’t cheat the water. This dark experience was the worst nightmare of Ishan’s life.

  At the end of the river, an ox cart Ishan had arranged was waiting for us. We rode in it, enjoying yet another new sort of experience. The oxen led us down the muddy, manure-lined path back to our little thatched hut in the jungle. We passed through a primitive village, where we saw a group of naked children playing, happy and carefree. Indigenous adults with their bodies covered in markings stood outside their huts, tossing golden corn on the ground. The satisfaction of a bumper crop showed on their faces in the form of a quiet smile. Young girls carried bundles of wood they had just cut from the mountain. They chatted as they walked, their pearly white teeth and the lines of sweat on their forehead shining even brighter than the sun as it set.

  Ishan raised his head out of the oxcart and called out cheekily in the local language, “Hey, you must be tired, since you have such strong bodies but only cut so little wood!”

  The faces of the young girls became flushed, and they pretended to be angry. The bolder ones called out in protest, “You come and carry it, then you’ll know how heavy it is!”

  We laughed as the oxcart carried slowly on, rolling right over the sound of laughter, and rolling through the ages, leaving behind a trail stained with wind, rain, dirt, and also joy and sorrow.

  His White Soles

  THE DAY WE reached Pagsanjan, the weather was not good. I had read and heard a lot about Pagsanjan. Many people believe that failing to visit Pagsanjan when in the Philippines was to fail to benefit from the journey, but others believe that this renowned location is not worth the trip at all. That morning, filled with anticipation, I made my way to Pagsanjan, about a hundred kilometres outside of Manila.

  My first impression was that it was quiet, and rather serene. After several irritatingly noisy and busy days in Manila, Pagsanjan in contrast was an almost otherworldly oasis of comforting tranquillity.

  Pagsanjan is at the mouth of a peaceful river where many small boats come to moor. Each vessel is operated by two boatmen whose skin has been darkened by long exposure to the sun. We sat aboard our boat in a light drizzle. Besides the two boatmen, one in the bow and one in the stern, there were only two or three other people.

  Rowing our boat were two brothers. The elder, Nelson, had naturally curly hair and was not the least bit handsome. In his white tank top, now yellowed with age, his body looked like it had clearly withstood many years of rough treatment by the elements. His muscular shoulders rippled as he rowed, moving left, then right, as if he were earning his keep with each stroke. The younger brother, Robert, had a drooping moustache that perked up when he smiled, making you share in his joy. Even if the sky were to fall, he would still wear that happy expression.

  “Is your boat safe?” I asked, only half-joking.

  “My grandfather and father both made their living on the boat. It’s been passed down through the generations. How could it not be safe?” Robert answered jovially. “I mean, before we did this sort of work, we took the boat in and out many times, testing it for a month. Only when we found it seaworthy did we start ferrying passengers.”

  When we started our twenty-minute journey, the water was calm. Although it was raining, it was not windy, nor were there waves. Both banks of the river were forested, the trees reaching to the clouds and forming natural wooded walls. I reclined against the side of the boat, quietly listening to the lapping of the water against the hull and the lovely tune of the birds singing overhead. With my cityworn senses, I had not imagined that the sounds of nature would be so beautiful. Unfortunately, we did not enjoy the silence for long. Nelson turned his prematurely aged face toward us and warned, “We are coming to the rapids. You’ll want to sit properly.”

  I sat up. It happened more quickly than I could tell. In a flash, the little boat entered the rushing current. The water was very low, and we scraped over numerous oddly shaped stones, some of their sharp points breaking the surface of the clear water. Nelson and Robert quickly hopped out of the boat and, one in front and the other in back, dragged us through the swiftly moving waters. The waters swirled, and the stones blocked our way, but those two, they leapt from sharp rock to round stone, left and right, pushing and pulling to help us move freely through the water. I sat in the boat, and I clearly noticed that the soles of Nelson’s feet had been washed white by many years of exposure to the water—a pure, bloodless white. When he exerted himself to push the boat, the thin vessel snaked its way along in his hands. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly felt I could stand it no longer. It really dampened my mood. When we cleared the rapids, I asked, “How much longer?”

  “We have another thirteen rapids, then you’ll see the waterfall,” the younger brother said.

  “Thirteen rapids?” I was startled. A bit tongue-tied, I asked, “You…you aren’t tired?”

  “No choice. It’s how we make our living. To tell th
e truth, we can only make one trip a day. It’s really too tough to do more.”

  “How is your salary calculated?”

  “It’s a daily rate. If we work, we get paid. If we don’t work, no pay,” Robert explained bluntly. “Each trip, we earn fourteen pesos.” (About sixty Singapore cents.)

  Is fourteen pesos enough to feed a family? I thought, but only asked, “Are you married?”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you have kids?”

  “Two.”

  I looked at him, surprised. He had an enviable youthful appearance, and yet he already had two children.

  Seeing my surprise, he laughed and said, “People here marry early. I married at eighteen, three years ago.” As he spoke, he pointed to the front of the boat. “My brother married even earlier. He’s only thirty, but he already has seven kids.”

  Such poverty, but they had so many children. Their pay was very little, but it was enough to sustain them.

  “Do you have other work besides operating the boat?”

  “When we’re not working, we go to the sea nearby to fish. The fish we catch and the vegetables we grow are mostly for feeding the family.”

  The rapids were again very hard to cross. I just had to ask, “Your job is so difficult. Have you thought of changing your line of work later?”

  Nelson spoke very little, but at this he sighed heavily and replied, “Well, we aren’t very educated, so any job we have will be physically difficult, and the pay about as low. I just want my children to study, and not to be a boatman like me.”

  His voice, filled with determination and a deep love for his children, trailed off.

  The rain started to fall more heavily, pattering on the surface of the river. Nelson and Robert did not seem concerned about the storm, but just put their backs into their work as if it were the most natural thing to do, focusing all their strength on the task at hand. They continued to row right and left, expending all their energies on getting us through the rapids so we could press ahead. As the rain and wind continued to whip around me, I suddenly thought, In the future, will Nelson’s seven—or perhaps even more—children have enough money for their school fees, even if he breaks his back working for them? It was hard to say. Didn’t their grandfather and father also wish that their future generations would not need to earn their living on the boat? And yet, it went on from generation to generation—who knew how many generations had earned their daily bread this way? They hoped and planned for the brightest of futures for their sons and daughters, but such hopes for one’s children were often frustrated. This was why so many of the people on the river remained amongst the world’s poorest.