THE
HUNT
It’s a real story from my past. 1981 to be precise. I
was sitting idle at home. An idle mind is a devil’s workshop. So the devil of a
thought for a hunt entered my mind. I was used to air guns, but instead decided
to go for a hunt in the jungle taking along a double barreled shot gun. We
started gathering weapons for the hunt as considered fit by each one. One team
mate brought a rusted knife, somebody else a rusted ‘Gupti’ (Stiletto). I searched our loft for a sword but found it to
be a wooden one, only to be dropped back. Only our leader was having a double
barreled shot gun.
We started walking towards the jungle in the evening
carrying the shot gun and the ‘gupti’.
After an arduous trek of 2 hours, we reached the hunting area. Thirsty wild
animals were known to come there to slake their thirst. Mere thought of them
sent shivers up my spine. After much hesitating I asked the leader as to
whether they are shot before or after drinking water? He replied it depends on
time and situation. Meaning that if the animal is bent drinking water and is
not alert then we allow it to drink water, but if it is alert in the beginning
then we shoot it at the earliest. After listening to this I had second thoughts
about coming for this hunt.
As night descended on the jungle, big mosquitoes
started hunting the hunters. Habitual to biting wild animals, their bites were
worst than their domestic cousins. I was full of regret for not bringing Odomos
(mosquito repellent cream). Angry and cursing me I tried to defend by slaps but
our leader advised against slaps as it may alert our prey. Trying to cover
ourselves to the maximum with our clothes, we waited patiently for our prey.
Soon it was cold. Darkness was so thick that our hands were barely visible to
us. Soon mosquitoes started biting through our clothes. Next day saw everyone with
swollen limbs.
My mind was churning out thoughts by
the dozen. To kill something just for fun is a sin which I was going to commit
now. For this I was suffering in advance by those mosquito bites. If I was
going to kill one animal today then I gotta save another one sometime soon. My
mind was full of creepy and crawlies in jungle as such we were sitting atop a
tree. But knowing well that snakes can climb a tree, whenever a leaf was touching
me, it was sending shivers up my spine. I was certain that tonight will be the
last night of my life! Then it suddenly occurred to me that if I will survive
this ordeal tonight then I will never again go for a hunt. Even to this day, I
am firm with that decision. Now I was getting visions of a dead female Stag and
its starving calves. Among the many childhood stories, one regarding the
wounded sparrow and its struggle to reach home to its offspring’s with the last
grain, to her nest, reading which I had cried a lot! Remembering that in my
mind, I prayed to God not to let us have our prey.
But it was not to be. At day break at
around 4.30, one stag wafted in. I felt like screaming to alert it. But knowing
me and anticipating this, our leader fired a shot. A split second earlier he
beamed his torch on the stag. Eyes dazzled by the beam, the stag froze for a
moment when our leader fired. Was it a bravery to sit aloft a tree, safe and
the dazzling another being with the beam of a torch and then shooting it cold
bloodedly? Was it really bravery? The weapon roared and its echo resounded in
the jungle making avian to fly and then silence. Immediately 4-5 torches were
beamed on the stag. The moment the shot hit it, the stag was thrown like a rag
doll being kicked. But its injured struggle was certainly not for my eyes. It
tried to get up on uncertain limbs, only to fall down a bit farther. Its hooves
were digging up earth, a strange moaning sound coming up his throat. The
scenario of 4-5 dazzling torches focused on it is itched in my mind for the
last 35 years. Hearing shouts and the sounds of jumping from the tree and
footfalls by my team mates, I also got down and went near the stag as I
gathered my senses. Approaching it, I smelled the peculiar strange smell of
blood, reminding me of similar smells near many rail accidents. The stag was
wounded in the abdomen, a coin sized jagged hole, oozing blood with each heart
beat, and spreading on dry leaves on the ground, ultimately seeping in the
soil. Each 10-15 seconds the stag was shivering weakly. It was highly impossible
to look into its innocent eyes filled with terror.
After getting shot, it struggled for a few moments and was now helplessly
awaiting certain death. As we started reaching it, it tried to gather senses
and elope, but wasn’t able to do so in that
condition. Not even able to get up, it was now counting last few breaths of its
fast seeping life. With terror struck eyes, it was trying to look at us
surrounding it. I felt like caressing its head. But for the fear of team mates
laughing at me, I desisted. The terror slowly receded from its eyes, becoming
blank. I took it for its death.
I felt guilty like a sinner. Gathering
twigs, we soon lit a fire. Others shuffled to answer nature’s call, eventually
coming back to the warmth of the fire. Stories of another day and another hunt
came out. Each one out-bragging the other. I never knew my team mates to be so
egoistic. One of them bragged about exhausted bullets, wounded antelope and ultimately
killing it with a stone. One bragged about holding a wounded rabbit by its hind
legs, whirling it about and banging it on a stone to kill it. One recalled a
jungle pig, stuck in the marsh, just its nose tip visible, for two days. When
he came to know it, he rushed to the spot and had killed it with stones. Some
other one bragged about poisoning a jungle pig. Everyone considered it to be
bravery. I felt like rushing back home.
Our leader signaled and 2-3 mates started going
somewhere. My enquiry about them brought around a peel of laughter at my lack
of knowledge. Even kids younger than me laughed. Someone ‘enlightened’ me that
there are other people out there specializing in skinning dead animals, taking
out horns, teeth, nails etc. This ‘lowly’
work was not done by the ‘hunters’. So mates are out to call them. I almost
blurted out that these people are far better than you, as they are doing it for
a living unlike you! But all of them were my friends, so I kept to myself.
Those people reached us, even before our mates reached
them as they had heard the gun shot. It was daylight now. Almost 6 O’clock. My
mates were laughing, smoking, taking booze. Being a teetotaler made me a butt
of their jokes. Time and again my gaze was slipping towards the stag.
And I got the
shock of my life.
It moved! The
stag moved!! It was still alive!!!
A fly buzzing on its blood jumped and landed on its
eye. It closed it! My heart jerked
and I shouted to our leader, “Look. It is alive!
Please shoot and kill it. Don’t keep it like that.” He replied that he knows
it. “F***ing bastard isn’t dead yet. No problem. Eventually it will die after
some time.” One shotgun cartridge was costing about Rs. 36/- then, equivalent
to two bottles of beer, which will always be preferred. I was not having Rs.
36/- on me then, and no one in this jungle to borrow from. Otherwise I would
have thrown the money on his face asking him to kill it NOW!
The
stag was shot around 4.30 in the morning. Even before it drank water & now
it was almost 6 O’clock. Meaning for around 1 and a half hour, the poor sod was
lying thirsty near the stream, only a few inches away from water! With a bullet
wound, bitten by flies, jungle ants and may be praying to God for an early
death!
My so called bravado vanished with this mere thought.
And sitting atop a boulder I started crying like a kid. My mates laughed at me,
calling me names like ‘nautanki’
(actor), ‘chhakka’ (eunuch) and so
many more. But I kept quiet. How can I retort back? I myself had started this
hunt. Even juniors taunted me. Everyone was envious of me for being a Karate
Black Belt holder. And now they saw my sentimental side. I kept to myself even
thought each and everyone taunted me. Now to do a mercy killing to the stag was
out of question. The only thing I can do for the stag was to prey for its early
death.
And prey I did! Actually I did two prayers. First was
for an early death to the stag and second one was for me to refrain from hunts
in the future. To this day, I don’t know about my 1st prayer, but as
for the 2nd, since then I have never gone out for any hunt. In the
movies I had seen people getting shot and die immediately. But in reality if
the shot is not aimed at head or heart, then the death is slow and painful. I
was unaware of this till then. I had seen people dying immediately after
getting shot in the movies. How aloof are our movies from the reality!
After some time another group of
hunters came and started a quarrel with our leader. Their only complaint was
that they were somewhere nearby on hunt and because of our shooting, they won’t
be getting any prey, as wild animals having been alerted by our shot. The
jungle animals will desist their thirst now. If there are many hunting grounds
in the area, the first one firing will get its prey. And remaining groups will
have to return empty handed. Usually hunters in a given area decide among
themselves about day and timings, and do not encroach on each other. I was unaware
of this but our leader was in the know of such things. And still broke the
covenant, and was now plain lying to the other group of having sent the message
with so and so. The matter was resolved ultimately after agreeing to give them
their share of the hunt. A ‘mandawali’
(compromise) was met between 2 hunting parties. The other leader gazed at the
stag and kicked some rubble on it. The stag weekly closed its eyes and the
other leader shouted, “What the hell! Are you devils or beasts to keep a
wounded stag still alive?” He aimed his gun at that stag, but our leader
pointed out the price of a bullet and its equivalent in terms of beer bottles.
He seems to have convinced and so kept his gun aside; but brought a suitable
boulder. I watched this curiously. He picked the boulder, lifted it above his
head and banged it on the stag’s head. The boulder was uneven and so landed
unevenly, but less than fatally on the head of stag and must have cracked its
skull with the sound like breaking of a plastic doll. The stag was now jerking
with rickety moves. It was an unbearable sight, even some of my team mates
turned away. He picked the boulder up once again and with precise aim, crashed
it on the stag’s skull, relieving it of all its pains.
My sigh was shared by many. My neck and limbs relaxed
now making me realize that they were taught to far as I had dug my nails in my
palms, being distraught, were aching for many days to come. Till today I do not
recall how I came back home afterwards. But I do recall pushing my face in the
pillows and crying to my hearts content.
That
day something changed deeply inside me.
I was dashing and vivacious. I was bent on making
impressions wherever I went. A bit of a show off I was like a teenager. All
this changed. My choice of movies changed from crime, thriller to subtle family
dramas. During my stressful rail journeys I was used to use my karate skills. I
never did dug up a quarrel with anybody, but never did I let go when challenged.
But now I started avoiding those hassles. Many a times apologizing even for no
fault on my side. Making amends with ease with my fellow travelers, despite
having capabilities to do otherwise.
I changed a lot and my world changed with me. Disco was a craze those days, but I changed
my preferences to light classical music. Instead of trying to be a smart Alec
in the group, I immersed myself in reading on many good subjects. In any group
discussion on any subject under the Sun, I can firmly but politely hold my
grounds. This politeness brought me rich dividends, realizing that previously
people greeted me with certain wariness, but now they praise me for being
polite and a non-drinker, non-smoker and just a teetotaler. Whenever I see
infants, puppies, cows and birds in the eyes, the innocence in them reminds me
of that wounded stag, spreading a dark shadow of sadness over my mind.
That day an innocent stag was killed for fun by 10-15
of us. But the real prey was all the evil lurking in my mind. One innocent stag
left this cruel, evil, selfish, hate filled world but took along with it ego,
cruelty and evils residing in my mind, changing me thoroughly. We hunted it and
it hunted my evils. I will remain grateful to that stag forever!
Now almost 35 years after that, I am
sitting here in Kuwait, composing this on my computer with my wet, misty eyes,
remembering the wounded stag and its agony. But some of these tears are of
gratefulness towards the stag for bringing out this change in me. Change for a
better me!
It is an old belief
That on some solemn shore
Beyond the sphere of grief
Dear friends shall meet once more
***************
ADDRESS : MILIND
M. CHAUBAL,
ROOM-5, HOUSE-86,
AT & P.O. UMBARPADA (SAPHALA),
TAL. & DIST. : PALGHAR.
INDIA : 401 102.
