It was pouring like the world was coming to an end. The professor huddled up trying to get every loose piece of clothing he was wearing back into the cover of the stones. His guide and the coolie sat further away under another stone jutting out of a solid column. They were hardly bothered by the winds and the stings of the biting rain. It had been sunny in the morning but the weather here changed quicker than the whims of a mistress. The professor sighed and then he prayed for a higher power to help him. Here he was in the midst of a paradise long forgotten. Only it was not his paradise, it belonged to the earth and for over centuries no man had set foot here.
They had discovered the ruins through a lost boy whose mother had been killed by a tiger. The boy had run away during the attack. When the search party from his village found him, he was almost dead from hunger, sobbing from fright and exhaustion clutching a broken idol in the ruins. It had been his last hope and it had pulled him through the horror. The doctor who treated the boy, of course told the story to his friends. To him it was the triumph of the spirit of a boy but to a friend of his it was the chance of a lifetime.
The professor was called so in part due to his demeanor, but mostly because he had never wanted to be a teacher. He was of average height, quite lanky and the glasses looked like a part of him. His unkempt hair too did not look out of place along with his weather-beaten suits. Life has a way of knowing our deepest desires and dangling them just out of reach. Or maybe life finds something just out of reach and plants the desire for it in us. The professor was stuck teaching a bunch of kids history when he truly wanted to show the world his view of the past. As a mockery of his fate, the nickname stuck and nobody really remembered his true name. The professor heard from his only friend about the ruins the boy was found. To him this was his chance at resurrection.
Nobody had ever heard of those ruins in these parts.It would be one of the greatest archeological finds in his lifetime. The professor knew the history of the region. An ancient clan before the time of the Mughals had a stronghold further north. The grand fort was beyond the forest, however another hideout in the forest was something nobody would have anticipated. The rulers then valued their knowledge over everything else. This must be a safe-house where they hid if they were overrun. It must have been here that they must have made their final stand as they were wiped out. The possibilities of what they would find here made the professor shiver with excitement as he let himself grin without realizing it.
"Sahib" the coolie shouted. The professor was rudely awakened from his thoughts. He wiped his grin away maintained his composure, brought a touch of irritation to his voice and barked out "What is it?"
"I can barely hear you in this rain"
"Sahib, Bubul has been bitten by a snake, we need to get him back to the village immediately."
"Oh my God. What was it?"
"It looked like a magamaruwa" the coolie screamed "If I can get him back to the village doctor sahib has his medicines"
"But in this rain"
"You do not worry sahib, I will carry him back. You stay right here, I will come back for you."
An hour later, the rain still had not had mercy on the professor. He thought about getting inside the ruins but the earlier incident with the snake had scared him. The torches offered little light and he was apprehensive about what else the darkness could hold. The professor cursed his luck. He had wanted to be the first one to announce to the world about the existence of the ruins. He wanted to see them with his own eyes before he said anything. When something you desire so strongly just falls into your hands, the first reaction is always disbelief. Everybody accepts bad luck without a question but any bit of good luck always casts the darkest shadows of doubt.
As evening fell, the heavens finally dried up. The coolie was not back yet. The professor certainly did not want to spend the night there. He did not know the way back of course. The bags would remain there. Everything that could be ruined must already be ruined. The rest would stay as it was. He saw the general direction they had come in. There were no trails but he hoped that if he kept walking in that direction, he would be back to the village. As the sun went behind the hills he knew that he did not have much time left. There was no point in waiting for the men to return.
As he started walking, he tried to look for signs that he was right or at least that he was on the right path. As he saw signs of neither, his thoughts went back to the snake. Every root, every branch looked like one. He tried to think of other things. That is when he remembered about the lost boy's mother being killed by the tiger. He tried to reason with himself that the tiger would not be around and all he had to worry about were the snakes, but then if we could control our thoughts we would all be happy. The sound of the rain had drowned the chatter of the forest, but now the professor wished for the rain again. The deafening sound of the crickets was unpleasant to say the least, the rustle of leaves and twigs under his feet unnerving, but worst of all was the incessant hooting of a distant owl. To the professor, that signaled the falling darkness and his own helplessness at dusk.
Switching on his flashlight he shook his head as he admonished himself at being scared during the daytime. "The night" he told himself, "does not really matter. I see the same with the flashlight as I saw in the day. The forest really is thick." He walked into a clearing, the grass was knee high but he could at-least see the trees a few feet away in the flashlight instead of hitting a branch he had missed with the torch. He decided to stop. It would probably be much safer to continue the journey at dawn. He could spend the night on a tree. If he managed to climb up high enough and stay there until dawn, he would be safe. As he climbed steadily, he decided he would not sleep. A fall from that height would certainly break his bones if it did not kill him.
As the forest went silent again, the professor thought of all the creatures out in the darkness. We all choose our own monsters to fight. The monster must be something we know, something we can beat, not too easily for there would be no satisfaction but it must not tax us till the last drop blood either. Dreams are achieved only after we defeat the monster. It would never be out of a nightmare. Nightmares are all the times we fail, fail to live our dreams, fail to fight for our dreams or when we have no dreams. The creatures from our nightmares cannot be beaten by most of us. Fortunate are those who battle their nightmares for they either die conquering heaven or they attain their zenith and fade away. The rest of us either do not have the opportunity or do not have the stupidity to believe that all monsters can be defeated. Isn't that what all stories teach us? That good always win in the end. The only problem is no one knows where the end to each one's story is, and sometimes who the evil is. Monsters somehow never fight fair. We only chose them because we believed we would win. They fight when we have already stumbled. The forest was the professor's monster.
A howl startled the professor from his slumber. He almost fell off but managed to hold on. It was not from very far off. He wondered what the sound had been but he was too scared to turn his torch on. The silence was now deafening. He wished for the crickets, or the wind or even the owl to start but they were all silent. The moonlight showed him shadows and shapes. They may have been deer or tigers but to him they were the devil himself.
The dawn came after ages. The beams of sunlight through the dense canopy were the most beautiful thing he saw. They were the gates of paradise. From the branch of the tree he had clung to, he could see above all trees. He could see a column of smoke rising in the distance. He could see his way back. He almost fell down as he ran down. He dragged himself as fast as he could towards the smoke. Everytime he fell, he would pick himself up and run faster. The sun crept above him, it must have been noon when he finally reached. As the villagers helped him and poured water down his throat, a woman came rushing.
"Where are Bubul and Jawar?"
"Did they not return?" he asked. "They had left yesterday."
"No, they did not come back. We thought you were together."
The professor suddenly remembered the howl he had hear in the night. It had not been a howl but rather a scream. He could now remember clearly, it was the muffled voice of a man. They must still be there. Probably injured, but they were certainly there somewhere near the clearing.
The professor stuttered as he replied "I do not know, I did not see any sign of them since yesterday."
They had discovered the ruins through a lost boy whose mother had been killed by a tiger. The boy had run away during the attack. When the search party from his village found him, he was almost dead from hunger, sobbing from fright and exhaustion clutching a broken idol in the ruins. It had been his last hope and it had pulled him through the horror. The doctor who treated the boy, of course told the story to his friends. To him it was the triumph of the spirit of a boy but to a friend of his it was the chance of a lifetime.
The professor was called so in part due to his demeanor, but mostly because he had never wanted to be a teacher. He was of average height, quite lanky and the glasses looked like a part of him. His unkempt hair too did not look out of place along with his weather-beaten suits. Life has a way of knowing our deepest desires and dangling them just out of reach. Or maybe life finds something just out of reach and plants the desire for it in us. The professor was stuck teaching a bunch of kids history when he truly wanted to show the world his view of the past. As a mockery of his fate, the nickname stuck and nobody really remembered his true name. The professor heard from his only friend about the ruins the boy was found. To him this was his chance at resurrection.
Nobody had ever heard of those ruins in these parts.It would be one of the greatest archeological finds in his lifetime. The professor knew the history of the region. An ancient clan before the time of the Mughals had a stronghold further north. The grand fort was beyond the forest, however another hideout in the forest was something nobody would have anticipated. The rulers then valued their knowledge over everything else. This must be a safe-house where they hid if they were overrun. It must have been here that they must have made their final stand as they were wiped out. The possibilities of what they would find here made the professor shiver with excitement as he let himself grin without realizing it.
"Sahib" the coolie shouted. The professor was rudely awakened from his thoughts. He wiped his grin away maintained his composure, brought a touch of irritation to his voice and barked out "What is it?"
"I can barely hear you in this rain"
"Sahib, Bubul has been bitten by a snake, we need to get him back to the village immediately."
"Oh my God. What was it?"
"It looked like a magamaruwa" the coolie screamed "If I can get him back to the village doctor sahib has his medicines"
"But in this rain"
"You do not worry sahib, I will carry him back. You stay right here, I will come back for you."
An hour later, the rain still had not had mercy on the professor. He thought about getting inside the ruins but the earlier incident with the snake had scared him. The torches offered little light and he was apprehensive about what else the darkness could hold. The professor cursed his luck. He had wanted to be the first one to announce to the world about the existence of the ruins. He wanted to see them with his own eyes before he said anything. When something you desire so strongly just falls into your hands, the first reaction is always disbelief. Everybody accepts bad luck without a question but any bit of good luck always casts the darkest shadows of doubt.
As evening fell, the heavens finally dried up. The coolie was not back yet. The professor certainly did not want to spend the night there. He did not know the way back of course. The bags would remain there. Everything that could be ruined must already be ruined. The rest would stay as it was. He saw the general direction they had come in. There were no trails but he hoped that if he kept walking in that direction, he would be back to the village. As the sun went behind the hills he knew that he did not have much time left. There was no point in waiting for the men to return.
As he started walking, he tried to look for signs that he was right or at least that he was on the right path. As he saw signs of neither, his thoughts went back to the snake. Every root, every branch looked like one. He tried to think of other things. That is when he remembered about the lost boy's mother being killed by the tiger. He tried to reason with himself that the tiger would not be around and all he had to worry about were the snakes, but then if we could control our thoughts we would all be happy. The sound of the rain had drowned the chatter of the forest, but now the professor wished for the rain again. The deafening sound of the crickets was unpleasant to say the least, the rustle of leaves and twigs under his feet unnerving, but worst of all was the incessant hooting of a distant owl. To the professor, that signaled the falling darkness and his own helplessness at dusk.
Switching on his flashlight he shook his head as he admonished himself at being scared during the daytime. "The night" he told himself, "does not really matter. I see the same with the flashlight as I saw in the day. The forest really is thick." He walked into a clearing, the grass was knee high but he could at-least see the trees a few feet away in the flashlight instead of hitting a branch he had missed with the torch. He decided to stop. It would probably be much safer to continue the journey at dawn. He could spend the night on a tree. If he managed to climb up high enough and stay there until dawn, he would be safe. As he climbed steadily, he decided he would not sleep. A fall from that height would certainly break his bones if it did not kill him.
As the forest went silent again, the professor thought of all the creatures out in the darkness. We all choose our own monsters to fight. The monster must be something we know, something we can beat, not too easily for there would be no satisfaction but it must not tax us till the last drop blood either. Dreams are achieved only after we defeat the monster. It would never be out of a nightmare. Nightmares are all the times we fail, fail to live our dreams, fail to fight for our dreams or when we have no dreams. The creatures from our nightmares cannot be beaten by most of us. Fortunate are those who battle their nightmares for they either die conquering heaven or they attain their zenith and fade away. The rest of us either do not have the opportunity or do not have the stupidity to believe that all monsters can be defeated. Isn't that what all stories teach us? That good always win in the end. The only problem is no one knows where the end to each one's story is, and sometimes who the evil is. Monsters somehow never fight fair. We only chose them because we believed we would win. They fight when we have already stumbled. The forest was the professor's monster.
A howl startled the professor from his slumber. He almost fell off but managed to hold on. It was not from very far off. He wondered what the sound had been but he was too scared to turn his torch on. The silence was now deafening. He wished for the crickets, or the wind or even the owl to start but they were all silent. The moonlight showed him shadows and shapes. They may have been deer or tigers but to him they were the devil himself.
The dawn came after ages. The beams of sunlight through the dense canopy were the most beautiful thing he saw. They were the gates of paradise. From the branch of the tree he had clung to, he could see above all trees. He could see a column of smoke rising in the distance. He could see his way back. He almost fell down as he ran down. He dragged himself as fast as he could towards the smoke. Everytime he fell, he would pick himself up and run faster. The sun crept above him, it must have been noon when he finally reached. As the villagers helped him and poured water down his throat, a woman came rushing.
"Where are Bubul and Jawar?"
"Did they not return?" he asked. "They had left yesterday."
"No, they did not come back. We thought you were together."
The professor suddenly remembered the howl he had hear in the night. It had not been a howl but rather a scream. He could now remember clearly, it was the muffled voice of a man. They must still be there. Probably injured, but they were certainly there somewhere near the clearing.
The professor stuttered as he replied "I do not know, I did not see any sign of them since yesterday."
