Notion Press

Old No. 38, New No. 6

McNichols Road, Chetpet

Chennai - 600 031

First Published by Notion Press 2019

Copyright © Nathan Pratyksh Khanna 2019

All Rights Reserved.

eISBN 978-1-64678-994-8

This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available.

CHAPTER 1

THE PRELUDE

I am a free man and I know I will live forever. It is likely that my mortal body gives up, but I will always be remembered in the hymns of mountaineers. I will not die an unpretentious man. My tales will be unprecedented and my tales will be heard by every mountain denizen, who envisions living up there somewhere!

– Jim Ozy

Jim is my inspiration and this is the manuscript of his valor! A life worth living is a life with chances taken.

It was mid-winter and I left home for a long-awaited sabbatical, thinking about Jim. A farmer by nature, Jim was a lean but strong man. One thing that differentiated Jim from others was his heart. When I heard his stories for the first time, my first take was, “Rubbish!” I was a fool… Not because I had discredited his stories, but because the storyteller didn’t know much of the truth. Jim was way bigger than the inconsiderable stories doing their rounds in his hamlet, Annie-Serpent Stretch. I know you may be wondering what a bizarre name this is. Even I was a bit confused when I heard this name. So, I asked one of the native old folks, “Is this some kind of a joke? Why would someone name a hamlet after a reptile, whose name can give you the chills?” I was informed politely, “Well, it was previously known as ‘Kull’. We have a lot of snakes and vermin on this land. Hence, we name the land in such a way that people can recognize the terrain and take precautionary measures.”

Wow! That’s it? I thought. I was expecting a tale of a dragon slayer. Gosh, these people! They reminded me of the old order of Amish Yoders. Perhaps from a conjugal relationship? Or maybe not.

The people of this hamlet belonged to the lineage of Balnors, from the western island of Balnoria. The early Balnors had been explorers and navigators during the 17th century, which had seen a number of invasions. Balnoria had been responsible for a majority of these invasions. They had also been great artists and architects. Annie-Serpent Stretch fell between the cities of Summer Cap and Marieland. It was a resting place for explorers and navigators-turned-dictators.

Annie was the youngest daughter of Rudgar Stokiston, the third-in-command of the Balnor United Force. Annie was a kind woman and she loved the stretch. She used to spend most of her leisure time in the stretch, so much that her name was even attached to the hamlet’s name.

Let us call Annie-Serpent Stretch ‘Annie’ for the sake of brevity. Even in the 20th century, it was difficult to reach Annie. In fact, it was a major challenge, what with so much dirt and dust all around the riverbank where the actual journey to the destination began. People called it the Stream Bridge.

As I walked along the road next to the river, I saw a small structure that looked more like a yurt than a house. This was over a mile upward from the river base, which was located at approximately 2000 feet above sea level, where I started. Next to the yurt, there was a very old-styled stone tap with some engraving, which resembled a mythological figure. I wanted to drink some water. As I bowed down and scooped up my hands to gather some water, I heard the sound of feet approaching me. A hoarse voice told me, “You can use this mug. The fierce water current won’t let you satisfy your thirst comfortably.” His voice was very hoarse; it was as if the man had crushed his vocal chords by screaming on a regular basis. This was a real possibility if his yurt was standing at 3000-3500 feet above sea level. From his woolen attire, it seemed to me that he was a herder. So, if he was calling out to his cattle every day, it could have taken a toll on his voice over the long run.

I took the mug the man offered, collected water in it, and quenched my thirst. The water was so delicious. I couldn’t remember the last time I had used the word ‘delicious’ to describe water. Perhaps I had done so several years ago, but I couldn’t recall exactly when. Maybe it was the water of the Leopard Swale waterfall.

I felt my body getting rejuvenated immediately, leaving a powerful impact in my mind. I started thinking about the history of the place and wondered what the river was like before. I turned toward the man, who appeared to be in his forties, and said, “Sir, your name is…?”

“Geronimo,” he responded. “I am a herder,” he said, even before I could ask him.

So, what I had assumed was indeed right. I told him, “You live in this beautiful land, far away from the roads and towns filled with a profusion of new inventions. You are so blessed!”

He didn’t respond to this. Instead he asked me, “You are here for? You want to set up a locomotive? Are you looking for some sort of natural grass?”

I told him, “I am here to know who Jim was. Jim of Kul, I mean.”

He told me, “If you have rested enough and have had sufficient water, you reserve all the rights to depart now.”

This was very strange, coming from a man who had initially shown interest in a visitor to a secluded hill. He stood right in front of me and stared at me. Maybe he wanted to make sure that I left the place, before he departed. His eyes seemed to be filled with some sort of rage.

I asked him, “Did I offend you?”

He pointed toward a wide, unending road, leading from his yurt to Annie. I didn’t want to provoke him. So, I thanked him and left.

Annie was over six miles from the man’s yurt, standing 16,000 feet above sea level. It was a long walk that I had to conquer. A stagecoach could have taken me to Annie through another route in 6-7 hours. But I chose to walk instead.

It was evening when I started my walk. There wasn’t much to see around me. As I walked ahead, I felt extremely exhausted. Possibly because I belonged to the plains of Grand Steppe and also because of the lack of sufficient oxygen uphill. The weather was pleasant thankfully. To my surprise, there was no one on this road. The sand of the road seemed strange; it was somewhat gray in color with strange metallic granules. The sun had almost set, but the road was still bright. But I knew that it would get dark soon. The hills became darker faster than the plains; this is what I understood.

After walking two miles or so, I saw two similar-looking houses. One appeared as if it was burnt. There was a woman outside the other house, collecting beans. I approached her and asked her, “How far is Annie, Ms…?” She immediately looked away from me, went inside the house and locked her door. I felt very uncomfortable and my heart started pumping really hard.

It was not that I was suspicious of her. I didn’t wonder if she was a witch, because one of the twin houses was burnt. But I was nervous because it was past evening and I had no clue if the road was safe to carry on my journey. However, I didn’t want to approach the woman again as I was not sure if she was dangerous to my wellbeing. Maybe she was a psycho or someone who preferred to be incognito.

As I stood there, I suddenly remembered the sharp turn a few hundred meters before. It was not only sharp but also wide. One could see what lay beneath and above that point, in the evergreen temperate rainforest. Enclosed in my bag was a small iron skillet, some dried animal fat, a few potatoes, a bush machete, bacon, matches and some beans, other than a few clothes and some writing equipment. I was prepared for the night. It wouldn’t be a pleasant one, but I planned to camp there. I lit some of the dry wood I had collected, placed my skillet in the fire and added two cubes of fat and two potatoes into it. I crushed the fat and potatoes and added some salt and a secret camping seasoning of oriental peppers to the mix. There was nothing better in life than spices! Then suddenly, I heard the chirping of birds. I hadn’t heard any birds chirping in the tall trees earlier.

I decided to investigate the reason behind the sudden chirping. After a minute of investigation, I noticed the marks of hooves behind a bush. I picked up a stone and shouted, “Shush!” It turned out to be a yak behind the bush. I was glad that my meal had not attracted the damn predators. I thought, Well, a mountain yak could be an interesting companion. Who knows! I started melting some more fat to fry the potatoes. Suddenly, there was a strange cry for a split second. And then the yak was gone. I stood up and thought, “This is strange.” I waited there in the same position for over two hours—frozen and lifeless. There was no sign of any activity. I had a feeling that there could be a predator lurking around, but every time I looked back, there was nothing to see. I had heard that when you camp in an open territory, you must border it with your urine in order to avoid predators. So, I did that with shaky legs. I felt a bit secure though I was freezing in the cold.

I pictured myself as dinner for an unseen evil. I had never seen anything darker than that night I was experiencing. It was so dark! Perhaps it looked darker than it actually was, due to the dense cover of the tall trees. I had traveled to many towns and hills, yet this was one of the strangest places I had been to. I had seen pine trees in hill stations but the pine trees in this forest were kind of strange. They were really tall with lots of moss attached to their bark. They had wet, oval, dark green leaves. As I had a good glimpse of the trees, it seemed to me that they looked nothing less than the scary mythological man-eater hound. As I continued defrosting my body, I heard a loud noise, “Slashhhhhh!”, right next to my ear. I felt as if someone had sliced off my ear.

I looked back terrified to confront something unexpected. There I saw Geronimo, wearing a bandana made of fur, carrying an apa-type sword in one hand and some kind of fruit on the other. I also saw a rare tropical leech, which looked like a blood viper. It was quick as a mamba and could suck blood from an arm in minutes. Then I looked down and saw a red and black earthworm-like creature, at least 8 feet long. Was it the blood viper? I was not sure. “Follow me,” said Geronimo. His voice was hoarser than earlier as it was nearly dawn. But his hoarse voice sounded sweeter than the strange cry I had heard earlier. As I walked with Geronimo, I could not stop thinking of that cry, which had not lasted even a second. It had been briefer than the snap of fingers.

Even though that cry had been short-lived, it was sufficient to make me think of something unnatural. Then a thought entered my mind. What happened to the yak? Had a predator abducted the yak? How big was the predator, who could pick up a living animal of 450 kilos? Or had the yak just disappeared into thin air?

I asked Geronimo, “Were you herding the whole night?” In my mind, I was wondering if Geronimo was a wolf man. He did not respond. Then I asked, “Do you have yaks in your herd?” To this, he nodded in the affirmative and said nothing else. I asked, “Are we going back to your home, Geronimo?” “Yurt, yes!” he said. This was the first time I had heard him say something during our second encounter. I walked tirelessly.

After some time, we reached Geronimo’s yurt. I drank water from the stone tap again and then entered his yurt. Geronimo asked me if I was hungry. I nodded my head to say ‘no’. He said, “Very well then! Take this woolen sheet and try to get some sleep.” It was deep blue outside, the color you see before dawn.

I slept well and woke up after a few hours. Then I came out of the yurt. Right outside the entrance of the yurt, I saw a giant bull. I was shocked. “Do not worry. He will do no harm. Just don’t look into his eyes!” came a voice from near the stone tap. It was Geronimo. I fearfully left the place and settled away at a safe distance. What happened to the yak? I began my day with this thought. Even though it wasn’t very cold, the morning coolness made me feel lackadaisical. To my surprise, Geronimo seemed like a new man. He was smiling. It made me wonder what had happened. In a loud hoarse voice, he asked, “Tea? Breakfast?” “A secluded space to comfort my bowels. Hot water for ablution and, yes, breakfast would be nice,” I replied. Geronimo handed me a copper flagon and pointed to a place near the river banks.

The morning was beautiful, but I had not expected a milky stream. I had to attend to the call of nature in a sandy patch nearby. Then I made an immediate return.

Geronimo had kept a wooden bucket of hot water bucket ready for me to use, along with a few twigs, which I later realized had high content of tannin. After the much-required douse, I was directed inside the yurt. Well, this was the first time I looked at the yurt properly. It looked like a beautiful crown made of rare wood, wool, animal skin and feathers. It must have been a hell lot of work. It looked so strong, as if it could withstand any kind of storm, rain, snow or hail. Soon Geronimo entered the yurt with some sort of a smoking pipe and a tray in his hands. As he lowered to serve me and himself, I was surprised to see all that he had prepared. There was dry cheese, a thick round slice of bread, a bowl of milk (I was not sure if it was yak milk or sheep milk), some sun-dried yak meat, and a bowl of lamb ribs soup. I did not remember when I had last enjoyed such reception and conviviality in the morning.

After my meal, I did not want to walk. I just wanted to rest the entire day and listen to what the river had to say. Unfortunately, this was not my destination and Geronimo could not tolerate my extended stay. So, I packed my bag. I was ready to leave when Geronimo called me and said, “Why are you here? Who are you meeting?” I replied, “I am here to hear the tales of Jim of Kul.” He immediately responded, “Return to where you have come from! Jim was not just a hero, there was more to it. He did not die, he lives!” I asked him with shock, “Wha… What are you saying? Have you heard of him and why are you saying he lives, when everyone knows he has been missing for many years now?” He responded, “You know only the lies! Nonetheless, it is your right to know the truth. You may leave!” Saying so, he left for his usual habit of herding.