by Bear Grylls
No sooner had he thought of that, then he remembered the injury sustained by the panther. Eating a kill that Mother Wolf had hunted was one thing – but performing the execution himself? Mak didn’t think he had the stomach for that. He would have to go hungry for yet another day.
Without the rains, each night was more comfortable than the last. Mak experimentally howled at night, hoping to hear a reply, but after three nights of silence he decided the wolves had taken their own safe path.
Aside from waking one night screaming as a scorpion explored his chest, Mak was beginning to feel easier on his own; more relaxed than he had felt since arriving in India.
It was this complacency that almost got him killed.
It was several days after he had encountered the panther that Mak woke to find fresh tracks circling the deep tree roots he had nestled down in. It was definitely a big cat, and although he couldn’t be sure it was the same animal, he recalled Anil talking about how solitary they were, so he assumed it must be the same beast.
Was it following him?
Mak promised himself he would be more vigilant and his eyes strayed to the trees as he walked. In doing so he didn’t spot the snare hidden in the leaves until his foot snagged it. It was so well camouflaged that he probably wouldn’t have noticed it even if he had looked straight at it.
With a whooshing sound, the pulled snare dislodged the mechanism attaching it to a tree limb that had been forcibly bent toward the ground. The wood flexed back into shape – pulling the cable and yanking Mak high into the air, suspended by his ankle.
The motion had been so sudden that he didn’t even know what had happened. One second he was walking, then the next he was suspended upside down by one leg, gently revolving in a circle.
His ankle throbbed agonizingly as he flailed in the air. The cable had torn through his jeans, and his weight was making the wire dig into his flesh.
Mak screamed, then looked at his leg as he hung upside down.
He could see that he was bleeding, and his leg was numb.
‘HELP!’
He called out several more times, hoping that the poachers were still close by, but it was soon apparent that their snares were designed to slowly kill their helpless victims, who would then be collected days or even weeks later. He’d seen documentaries about this: the trappers would hope to catch rare animals for their pelts, not for food. Their deaths were always slow and painful.
Mak had no desire to be counted as their next victim and didn’t consider himself helpless. He had something most other animals didn’t: fingers.
Crunching his stomach, he managed to bend his body enough for him to catch the dangling cable in one hand. He was impressed – back home he would have counted a sit-up as an achievement. His father had always accused him of being lazy, yet out here the jungle had toughened him up.
He wondered if he would recognize himself in the mirror . . .
Putting such vain thoughts aside, Mak strained against the dangling cable to ease his weight from the snare and used his other hand to slip his foot from the loop. Then, suspended by the cable with both hands, he looked down and dropped.
The pain from his injured foot as it struck the ground felt like an electric shock jolting through his body, and Mak had tears in his eyes as he rolled on the jungle floor in agony. His breathing came in sharp stabbing fits and he had to force himself not to hyperventilate.
Eventually he calmed down and the sharp pain turned into a continuous throb.
He reasoned that it was better to feel something than nothing. He stood, gingerly testing his weight on his injured leg. It hurt, but he could stand enough to limp to a copse of bamboo.
Putting his strength into tearing up a stem, Mak was able to form a crutch. It was enough to take the weight off his leg, but it made progress difficult.
One moment was all it had taken for calamity to ensue. He was angry; the poachers were one element of civilization he had no wish to encounter again.
The rest of the day was miserable. The heat prickled Mak’s skin, and swarms of midges formed living clouds he was forced to stumble through, often inhaling lungfuls of the insects.
It was towards the end of the day, as he felt increasingly sorry for himself, that Mak saw something in the trees ahead.
He stopped, puzzled.
It appeared to be a dead creature slumped over a low branch. His first thought was that he was witnessing the handiwork of poachers. He warily drew closer before he realized it was a large spotted deer, a chital, sporting backswept antlers. From the razor-like scratches along its flank it looked like a panther kill.
With every sense alert, Mak limped closer. The last thing he wanted to do was step on the tail of a sleeping panther. Now he was under the carcass and there was still no sign of the hunter. He was so close he could see that half the body had been eaten, and a mass of black flies had begun to congregate on the exposed flesh.
Unable to climb the tree due to his leg, Mak used the bamboo stick to poke the body down. It took several attempts before it slowly slid from the branch, before crashing to his feet in a swarm of flies.
Mak knelt at the body and began to pull at the tender morsels inside, the ones the flies had not yet reached and which he knew tasted best. It had felt like a lifetime since he’d last shared meat with the wolves, and the change of diet was welcome. He could almost convince himself that his entire body felt recharged, although the feeling was soon swamped by an intense wave of sleepiness.
And so another day came to an end, and Mak, finding refuge against a fallen log, fell asleep wondering if perhaps the panther had actually left the food as a thank you for saving its life.
Voices!
Mak’s eyes flicked open; he was instantly alert. Reflexes kicked in and he rolled into a crouch, prepared to react. His leg ached, but it took his weight. That was a bonus – but what had woken him?
There it was again – distant murmuring, as if people were arguing. Mak cupped his hands behind his ears and slowly turned his head until the sound came into sharper relief.
Mak bolted through the undergrowth, ignoring the pain from his leg in his desperation.
‘Hey! Over here!’ he yelled as the talking rose in volume.
He stumbled down a hill, gaining momentum as he burst through grass twice as tall as he was – and into an open clearing.
There were no people arguing. Instead, there was an enormous sloth-bear, with a thick shaggy coat. Standing on its hind legs as it stretched – and three times taller than Mak – it was giving a constant gruff growl as it reached for the overhanging branches.
The most dangerous thing anybody can do is startle a hungry bear – and that’s exactly what Mak had just done.
The huge sloth-bear dropped back on to its four legs and extended its jaws so wide, Mak could have fitted his head inside them. It bellowed, the foul-smelling saliva splattering over Mak’s face, forcing him to step backwards. He tripped over a branch and fell heavily on his backside.
The bear shook its head, its black shaggy fur fluffing up to make it appear larger. Pushing its white muzzle towards the boy, it sniffed heavily before roaring once more. It raised a paw the size of a plate, tipped with claws bigger than the panther’s, and brought it down towards the boy.
Mak rolled aside as the paw shredded the bush he had been leaning against. With nowhere to go, he sprang for the tree, his feet and hands finding supports that allowed him to rapidly climb to the nearest branch.
‘You crazy bear! Leave me alone!’
He peered down at the creature, which was now snuffling at the base of the tree. It peered at him, head tilted to the side as its ears twitched. Mak instinctively growled back, making a noise he had never heard before. It sounded angry and loud – Mak was impressed with himself.
The bear reared, massive paws gripping around the trunk. Mak hoped that the bear wouldn’t be able to reach him up there and settled back to wait for the animal to lose interest.
In
stead, it raised a back paw and experimentally hoisted itself up. To Mak’s horror the sloth-bear began to ascend, not with a lumbering slow pace, but with the speed of a skilled climber. In moments it had reached Mak’s limb, and a paw lashed out – scraping the bark between his legs.
Mak jumped for the branch above, catching it with both hands, and hauled his legs clear just as the bear’s jaws snapped beneath him. Hanging upside down on the branch, Mak twisted his body until he was right-side up, then pushed higher into the thicker branches.
Still the sloth-bear pursued him, but the thicker branches that Mak’s slender frame could weave through, proved an effective barrier between him and the bear.
Panting hard, Mak plucked a fruit from the branch nearest his head and threw it at the bear.
‘Take that!’
Mak swiped at a fat fly as it buzzed past his face. Then another . . . and another. With the gradual realization straight out of a nightmare, Mak saw that they were not flies – but bees.
He turned to see he had backed up against a hive the size of his own body. Its dimpled surface was a seething mass of bees, as they emerged to protect their home.
Bees now crawled all over him. His hands, his face, tickling his ears. He clamped his mouth shut to stop them from crawling in, but felt them around his nose. There were now so many on him, he could feel their collective weight. Still he hadn’t been stung, and he had a vague recollection that not all bees had stingers. However, being suffocated by them was not exactly a fun alternative.
The hive shifted position with a drawn-out tearing noise. When Mak had leaned his weight against it, the delicate fist-sized section that attached it to the tree trunk had partially torn away. Now unable to hold its own weight, the hive was slowly detaching . . .
Mak flinched as the hive dropped, bouncing from the branch he was sitting on before tumbling away past the bear below. As one, the bees swarming Mak dive-bombed in pursuit, following their home in a pulsing, black living cloud.
The hive cracked in three sections as it struck the ground, issuing a golden trickle of honey across the grass. The bear hooted in delight, sliding effortlessly down the trunk in order to shove its muzzle into the sticky mess. Protected by thick fur, the bear had no issue with the bees that angrily swarmed as it ate their home.
Mak watched, impressed, as the bear made short work of the glistening combs. Defeated, the bees dispersed – following their fleeing queen, until the drone that had filled Mak’s ears subsided into nothing more than the soft crunching of the sloth-bear devouring the remaining honeycomb. The bear’s huge tongue was lapping up every morsel of the golden syrup, and the scent of sweet honey reached Mak’s nostrils. His mouth began to water.
Appetite sated, the bear glanced up at Mak and gave two grunts of acknowledgement as it licked its lips, before shambling off across the clearing, disappearing into the forest.
‘You’re most welcome,’ Mak called after it.
Feeling foolish and suddenly alone, Mak clambered down the tree and examined the broken hive. There were a few traces of honey the greedy bear had missed, so he scooped them with his finger and savoured the taste in his mouth. His tongue exploded with delight, and his head swam with the sudden sugar rush.
‘That’s amazing honey,’ he declared to several colourful butterflies that had landed on the hive to soak up any sugary residue.
The large clearing gave Mak the opportunity to check his position against the sun. As far as he could tell, he needed to follow the trail of destruction left by the bear. Mak reluctantly followed, making a mental note to keep vigilant for any sign that the animal might decide to turn on him again.
He reckoned that the small scoops of honey were the best breakfast he’d had in his life and felt a spring in his step as he hopped between the giant ursine paw prints in the ground. He even began to whistle a jaunty tune, which is something he would never have dreamed of doing at home.
The following days unfolded in much the same way. Mak limped after the sloth-bear as closely as he dared. The animal looked old, and Mak nicknamed him Shambler due to his long unkempt fur that swung like a pendulum from its flanks.
Every so often Shambler would stop and glance over his shoulder at Mak. Satisfied there was no threat from this little moving object, the bear would continue on, tolerating its tailgate follower.
Mak was pleasantly surprised to discover the grumpy sloth-bear was in fact a very useful teacher. Shambler spent a couple of hours scratching his flanks against a rough tree, while plucking long oval fruit from a tree and devouring them whole. Once the bear moved on, Mak tried the fruit. The green skin was bitter, so he spat that out, but the soft yellow flesh inside was delightful. He didn’t recognize the fruit, but the taste was undoubtedly papaya.
A termite nest was next on the menu, Shambler’s broad paws scooping into it with ease, making room for his deft tongue, which lapped up dozens of insects at a time. Mak was less inclined to follow this course, but dutifully put his hand on the nest and allowed the small insects to cover his hand.
Steeling himself, Mak sucked several termites from his finger. The sensation of them running around his mouth was awful, so he immediately used his tongue to crush them against the roof of his mouth. He was rewarded with a citrus flavour that had a hint of a rather tasty spice. It was formic acid from the ant, and Mak liked it a lot.
Mak decided it was worthwhile polishing off the remaining termites on his hand with two broad licks of the tongue, before following Shambler for dessert.
Dessert came in the form of another beehive, this one wedged into the Y of a tree. The bear had already scrambled up and was crunching through the papery shell, oblivious to the angry bees all around, as Mak arrived at the crime scene.
A fist-sized chunk of comb fell to the ground and Mak darted to scoop it up, before retreating to a safe distance and scrambling up a boulder to eat. This batch of honey tasted better than the last, and all too soon it had been eaten. While Mak missed the company of the wolves, he had to admit life with Shambler came with an improved menu.
Another day passed. Termites were replaced with grubs clawed from the ground; papaya with a football-sized jackfruit. Mak used the snare wire to saw through the tough spiky skin, revealing the orange delight beneath.
With his eyes closed, Mak could smell a welcome combination of pineapple and banana, and the new taste made him smile. Half a jackfruit was more than enough to fill him for most of the day.
The unlikely duo headed in a south-westerly direction each day, and each night they slept apart but close enough for Mak to hear the great bear’s bouts of snoring.
Mak was amazed that the bear was continuing to lollop in the same direction that he was wanting to travel himself. He wondered if the jungle was somehow beginning to reward him for his courage.
One day Shambler led him to a river.
Mak was cautious around water ever since the crocodile incident; however, this broad river, with its stony shore, was a watering place for a herd of deer. They eyed Shambler and Mak warily, heads bobbing up from the water in turn, but the newcomers were judged not to be a threat.
The bear splashed through the shallow river, while Mak stooped to drink. His eyes automatically scanned the prints at the water’s edge, and he felt a thrill to see familiar panther tracks. He scanned the trees and could have sworn he felt eyes upon him . . . but concluded it was probably his imagination playing tricks.
It was a lazy afternoon, when Mak began to question exactly where the bear was heading. The jungle was changing around them in ways Mak couldn’t quite put his finger on. The chatter of parrots in the treetops increased in volume, as did the occasional howls of monkeys who were no more than flitting shadows in the distance.
Emerging in a wide clearing filled with vivid blue flowers, Mak got to see the playful side of the crotchety bear. Shambler ran through the clearing, intentionally startling thousands of butterflies that took to the air in a bloom of colour. Both Mak and Shambler watched t
he kaleidoscopic swirl with delight, before the butterflies settled back on the flowers. At no time did the bear attempt to swat or eat them, and Mak felt a deep respect for the wise old animal.
So it was with a heavy heart that Mak stumbled across another poacher’s snare. He would have walked right past it, as Shambler had done, if the unnaturally straight line of wire stretching to the tree branches above hadn’t caught his attention.
Mak felt a surge of anger at the thought of his gentle companion being caught in the trap, and unleashed his rage as he dismantled the snare and threw the mechanism to the ground.
It was later that same day that, in a break between the trees to the side, Mak saw kites circling in the sky. Anil had told him that the birds often circled dead prey or easy food from the village. The birds’ presence could mean a village. He paused – or maybe even a poaching camp. Either would mean a way home.
Mak was surprised to see that Shambler had stopped ahead of him, turned, and was watching him – as if sensing Mak’s indecision about whether to follow the bear, or head towards the kites.
Even the slimmest chance to go home had to be pursued. The time had come for him to part ways with his teacher. Shambler hadn’t been exactly sociable or affectionate; however, as Mak raised his hand to the bear, he felt sad.
The sloth-bear had been a firm companion in his own way.
With a final gruff grunt, Shambler turned away and disappeared into the jungle – and just like that, Mak was alone once more – yet he still had the same strange feeling of being watched.
Mak took in every shadow and lurking place the jungle had to offer, but saw nothing. The birds were still chattering louder than ever, rather than falling silent as they did when a predator was around. He shook off the feeling and headed towards the kites.
As he drew nearer, the trees seemed to thin out a little, and Mak began to wonder if he had finally reached the edge of the jungle.