Spirit of the Jungle

by Bear Grylls

  Now, after flying north-east for almost two hours, the pilot’s crackling voice came over the headset. ‘We’re entering Madhya Pradesh. The entire state forms the heart of India.’

  Below them, the unmistakable signs of the jungle began to appear. Mak felt his pulse quicken. While he had no desire to be down there among the bugs and beasts, the sight of dense jungle as far as he could see touched a primeval nerve and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He wondered if this was something everybody felt when confronted with raw nature; an inherited memory from the days when people roamed the lands as hunter-gatherers, relying on their wit and skill to stay alive.

  He glanced at his parents. His mother looked interested, but his father wore a grin more at home on a child.

  Mak looked back down at the jungle. It was majestic and savage . . . but from up here it all looked a little unreal, like giant stems of broccoli.

  After kilometres of endless jungle, the chopper eventually came to rest on a small concrete landing pad built on the banks of a wide brown river.

  They had to wait for the rotor-blades to spool down before the pilot eventually climbed out and opened the door for them. Mak was thankful for the opportunity to stand and stretch his legs, but the intense heat struck him hard, and for a minute he felt unable to breathe. The humidity was much more intense than the city and sweat stains formed on his T-shirt under his armpits and on his chest almost instantaneously. How could anything live in this heat?

  Mak looked around the landing pad, expecting to see a welcoming party, but there was nobody. The jungle almost surrounded them, a vast wall of trees that sucked up the sunlight and offered only shadows in return. He took a few faltering steps towards the treeline, hearing the blood pound in his ears like ominous drums while the exotic sounds of birds and creatures he could not identify howled and shrieked around him.

  Don’t venture forth . . . they seemed to warn. Stay away . . .

  The boughs of the trees stretched skyward and each step Mak took forced him to crane his head. A wave of dizziness suddenly swept over him and he faltered – saved by his mother’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You must keep hydrated,’ she said, pushing a water bottle into his hand. ‘You need to keep drinking out here or the heat will find a way to get you.’

  Mak gratefully took the bottle, twisted the cap off and drank almost the whole lot in just a few gulps.

  ‘So where are we staying?’

  ‘At the outpost,’ his father said.

  ‘You mean not here?’

  His dad hauled their cases from the chopper and nodded towards the river. ‘We still have a way to go yet.’

  From the air the river had looked just like any other. From the ground it was a wide stretch of sluggish brown water. Occasional dark shapes broke the surface, but Mak couldn’t be sure if they were broken tree limbs or crocodiles lurking in wait.

  ‘The Wainganga River,’ his father continued as they walked towards it. ‘We’re heading upstream to the company’s outpost. That’s where we’ll spend a couple of nights.’ He saw the look on Mak’s face. ‘It’s OK, Makur. It’s an adventure.’

  An adventure was the one thing that worried Mak. The thought of it made him shiver – and that wasn’t easy in this heat.

  A rickety wooden jetty stretched into the water and a long metal speedboat was moored to the side. An old Indian man dressed in a traditional lungi and sporting a wide grin welcomed Mak’s father. He helped him lift the luggage aboard and gestured that they should hurry.

  Mak froze. He’d never been on a boat before, not counting a rowing boat in the park. As he drew nearer, the scuffmarks along the hull didn’t fill him with confidence. He climbed aboard with a few tentative steps and their guide tugged at the rusting motor. It started on the third attempt, and black smoke coughed out as they sped away from the bank.

  The sudden rush of air was a welcome relief from the intense humidity. Mak noticed both his parents closing their eyes and tilting their heads to enjoy the cooler air. Occasional flocks of colourful parrots soared low over the river, trilling in alarm as the grumbling boat engine startled them.

  Mak began to relax as they navigated the river’s sweeping curves. Trees crowded the banks, spindly branches stretching out into the water as if attempting to pluck the boat from the river. Mak draped his fingers over the edge, trailing them in the cool water. His eyes began to close.

  The guide’s harsh shout made him jump. He looked around, expecting danger, but saw nothing. The old man was pointing at Mak’s hand.

  ‘Keep your fingers out of the water,’ his dad translated. ‘Crocodiles. He says that to them you are just food.’

  Alarmed, Mak snatched his hand out of the water. He saw his father was about to add his own rebuke to the guide’s, but Mak looked away, not wanting to hear it. His dad always had to have the last word and Mak was tired.

  Lying back in the boat, he stared upward, looking for the patches of sky through the canopy, watching flocks of vivid green parakeets fly past, urgently chittering to one another. Slowly, he found himself relaxing. And, as they continued to weave their way along the twisty-turny river, he was eventually lulled into a peaceful sleep.

  The vibration of the engine lowering was enough to wake Mak from his slumber. He looked around, unsure how long he had been asleep. They were turning another bend and slowing as they approached a jetty surrounded by dozens of huts, and filled with curious villagers watching them. The air was heavy with wood smoke and unfamiliar food odours, and Mak’s stomach began to rumble.

  A heavyset man greeted them with a warm smile. ‘Mr Patel, welcome to Kangri!’ he said to Mak’s father, and gestured around. ‘This is the main outpost of GeoTek. I am Anil Shukla, chief scientist here, but please call me Anil.’ Anil reached for Mak’s hand and helped him out of the boat. The man was deceptively strong, and Mak was effortlessly lifted on to the jetty. He caught a shy smile from a girl of about his own age, who carried his bag for him.

  Anil then looked sideways at Mak. ‘So you are young Makur. Your father has told me all about you.’ His dad nodded and, several steps ahead of them, the girl giggled. Mak felt his cheeks blush. ‘This is my daughter, Diya.’

  Mak mumbled a ‘hello.’

  Aside from a satellite dish on a pole, there was very little visible in the way of any technology anywhere. A cockerel strutted among a dozen chickens, and a lazy cat opened one eye to peer at him from its position on the steps up to the jetty.

  Eventually they reached a small hut, and Anil cleared his throat.

  ‘So here you are, young Mak. Anything you want to ask?’

  Mak paused. ‘Do you really live out here in the middle of nowhere?’ Mak looked nervously at Anil, and almost instantly regretted having asked anything so direct.

  ‘Middle of nowhere?’ Anil laughed as he climbed the steps of the hut. It was raised slightly off the ground and made from wood and corrugated iron. ‘We are right in the heart of the action here!’

  To Mak’s relief he had the hut all to himself; his parents were going to be in the hut next door.

  Diya opened the door and gestured inside. ‘This is your accommodation.’

  Mak stepped inside. He hadn’t been expecting the luxury of the New Delhi hotel, but . . . there was just a basic mattress, a kerosene lantern that looked as if it belonged in a museum, and a huge spider on the window. Mak shrieked in alarm – it was as big as his hand. Diya burst into laughter, which just made Mak feel even more uncomfortable, and his mother hushed him from outside, anxious not to embarrass their hosts.

  Mak had never felt further from home – or safety.

  Night fell rapidly and with it the haunting sounds of the jungle rose, sounding like a million chattering insects. The noise did little to reassure Mak and he swore the temperature had increased. They were sitting on a raised roofless platform with Anil and Diya as the villagers clustered around, serving them rice and curry dishes straight from a firepit outside.


  The village elder, who Mak thought looked like he was made more of bone than skin, welcomed them to his home. The entire conversation was conducted in Hindi, but Diya quietly translated everything for Mak’s sake, her English surprisingly good considering her father had schooled her.

  The speech finished with a rousing chorus of agreement from the assembled villagers. When Diya didn’t translate, Mak looked questioningly at her.

  ‘He said he hopes the jungle spirits will welcome you too.’

  ‘Spirits?’ said Mak, his head snapping up to peer into the darkness pressing around them. ‘Like ghosts?’

  Diya gave a little laugh, although Mak thought it was more out of politeness. ‘People here believe a universal spirit inhabits the jungle. Protecting it. Man and spirit work together to create balance and order.’

  Mak didn’t comment. He wasn’t a superstitious person, unlike his sister who regularly saluted magpies and turned in the other direction if a black cat so much as looked at her, but still he didn’t find Diya’s explanation particularly comforting.

  Diya noticed Mak’s constant glances towards the dark jungle every time something squeaked in the gloom and whispered, ‘Don’t worry. They are only frogs.’

  Mak felt a moment of ease. ‘Sounds like there are thousands of them.’

  ‘Oh yes. That’s because there are so many insects to eat,’ she said with a smile. Mak sensed she was teasing him, so ignored her and turned his attention back to Anil who was now showing a small watch-like device to his parents.

  ‘This will lead a revolution in GPS tracking. We’ve only made ten of them so far.’

  Mak’s father took the device and attached it to a long rubber strap. Anil indicated around the strap. ‘This is made from a special polymer, woven with solar cells to charge the battery during the day. David’s design is unique.’ Anil’s eyes lit up; he had clearly thought the world of Mak’s uncle. ‘It captures more light than a regular solar panel ten times the size. Imagine how we could use this to power remote villages. It’s remarkable.’ He calmed down and angled the tracker so they could see the device itself, about the size of a smart watch and embedded into the strap. Only a green LED showed the power was on. ‘The case is waterproof, impact proof – even scratch resistant from a tiger! Inside is a very smart processor. It detects movement and orientation and can send a GPS signal in real time, meaning we can track, live, its progress from anywhere on the planet.’ He looked at Mak’s father and dipped his head in respect. ‘As I said, your brother was a genius. He will be deeply missed.’

  ‘Who would use this?’ Mak asked, turning over the device in his hands. He knew his phone and the car’s satnav used GPS to show their location, but was unsure what the point of it was in the middle of the jungle.

  ‘We do,’ said Anil, happy to have such an attentive audience. ‘We attach these GPS collars on to big cats so we can monitor their movements. They are very shy, solitary creatures, yet we can still build a picture of their hunting and breeding patterns and see how we can help them survive by maintaining green corridors if they stray too close to civilization; or we can try to get the government to set aside more tracts of land as preservation reserves. Your uncle was a proud conservationist and was always happy to support ecological projects such as ours. We test the trackers out here in the wild before the technology is used across the globe.’

  ‘Which will continue with me,’ Mak’s father assured him.

  Anil dipped his head in thanks. ‘We have already had great success with six panthers tagged and three tigers. This is our last spare collar.’

  Most of the conversation had drifted over Mak’s head, but the moment he heard mention of tigers, he sat up. ‘Tigers? There are tigers out there?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Anil. ‘The next village along reported a man-eater last year.’

  ‘M-man-eater?’ Mak stammered.

  ‘They have to eat,’ said Diya. ‘They’re powerful animals and wonderful swimmers. Then again –’ she looked thoughtful – ‘panthers are pretty powerful too. They could lift a buffalo to the top of the highest tree to devour it.’

  Mak stared at the flames in the firepit, each charred twig and dancing flame seeming to take on the form of a wild predator ready to tear into him. Then he became aware that everybody was laughing at him. A broad grin covered Anil’s face as he pointed at Mak. Mak burned with embarrassment, even more so when he noticed his parents were laughing too.

  ‘Oh very funny. Thanks for winding me up.’

  Diya wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, we were not teasing you. Every word was true. It was just the look on your face. You looked like a frog jumping on a person who is already afraid!’

  Mak smiled tightly back at everyone, secretly trying to make sense of the old Indian proverb.

  Determined not to be the object of any more jokes, Mak went and sat by himself in the doorway of his hut, watching and listening as the conversation turned to business and how Anil received the GPS data from a network of satellites and was able to live-track the tagged creatures on his laptop. Anil then opened a Toughbook laptop and showed them maps marked with coloured lines depicting the progress of various tagged animals. Two were even on the move as they watched. Anil explained they were panthers, no doubt hunting in the darkness.

  Mak let the conversation drift over him as he sent a rupee coin dancing across his knuckles. He had begun using it in the hotel, as the larger coin was easier to spin through his fingers than the one he had brought from home, and he liked the way its polish caught the light in pleasing flashes. The rhythmic movement from his index finger, down, then up again, calmed his nerves, and he felt his bunched shoulder muscles begin to relax. It was some minutes before he noticed Diya had moved to sit closer to him, legs dangling over the edge of the raised platform, eyes sparkling in the firelight as she watched the coin move back and forth.

  For a moment Mak thought she looked very pretty – a musing that was quickly followed by awkward embarrassment.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ said Diya, her eyes still on the rupee.

  ‘It’s silly really,’ Mak admitted. ‘Helps me calm down when . . .’ He drifted off, unwilling to finish his train of thought.

  ‘When people are teasing you,’ Diya finished. ‘Sorry. It was rude of us.’

  ‘I’m used to it.’ Mak stopped flipping the coin and clutched it in his hand. He smiled at her gently.

  ‘You know, you shouldn’t be afraid of what is out there,’ she nodded towards the darkness.

  ‘What? When there are bugs, man-eating tigers and goodness knows what else just waiting to kill me?’

  ‘People see what they expect to see. To some the jungle is terrifying, and to others it is life. The truth is that the jungle is a beautiful place, full of wonder and colour. Of course it can be very dangerous, but I have been to the city and thought that just as dangerous.’

  ‘There are no tigers in the city.’

  ‘No, but animals only kill out of necessity, not pleasure. As my father says, man is the only one to do that.’

  Mak sat silent.

  ‘The village elder used to tell me tales of somebody who was once lost in the jungle when he was just a boy.’

  ‘Let me guess, he was eaten.’

  Diya chuckled. ‘No. The boy went missing for several years. They all thought he was dead until, one day, he just walked out of the jungle. They called him little frog, mowgli in the local dialect.’ She paused. ‘The boy claimed he was raised by wild wolves and shown the beauty of the jungle by a bear and a panther who watched over him, protecting him from a terrible tiger.’

  It was Mak’s turn to chuckle. ‘He sounds like somebody who was going a little crazy. Perhaps he’d eaten something he shouldn’t have!’

  Diya shrugged amiably and peered at the dark trees as monkeys suddenly screeched in alarm before lapsing back into silence. ‘Perhaps. But all tales have some truth in them, don’t they? He survived out there by accepting the jungle and not fi
ghting it.’ She met Mak’s gaze and smiled sweetly. ‘Only when he had seemingly lost his life did he really find it.’

  Mak blinked in surprise. He’d never thought about it like that. Living his life in a protective bubble had seemed like the safest thing to do to live a long life. But what if life really was about living fully? Like the real world was somehow waiting just beyond his comfort zone, ready to be experienced?

  He reined those thoughts back in. No. Diya had painted a world of enticing possibilities, but Mak knew that beyond his bubble lay spiders, insects and man-eating tigers.

  Who in their right mind would want that?

  The crowing of a cockerel woke Mak up long before the alarm on his phone was scheduled to ring. He’d found the thin mattress on the bamboo floor surprisingly comfortable, and the mosquito net draped from the ceiling had kept dozens of insects, and a small frog, at bay during the night. As he stretched and yawned he felt surprisingly refreshed for the first time since they’d arrived in the subcontinent.

  Over a breakfast of bright yellow potato sagu and puri, which left an aftertaste in Mak’s mouth he couldn’t get rid of, his father made an announcement.

  ‘We’re going to take a boat ride upriver.’

  Mak wasn’t sure he could stand another day on a boat. ‘Why?’

  ‘To explore, of course,’ said his father with an uncharacteristic soft smile. ‘How often do you get to come to a paradise like this? We can afford to take a little time away from business and treat it as a fun family holiday.’

  ‘But maybe it could be more fun to stay here and explore around the camp?’ Mak asked hopefully.

  Anil, who had been sitting in silence for most of the breakfast, spoke up. ‘It will do you good to see what’s out there. Plus I had received reports of some big cats sighted up along the bank. If we could get a tag on one of them that would be special . . .’