Untitled chapter
One Day in Hunting
MY GRANDFATHER ALWAYS SAYS “hunting is an art... A great hunter is a great artist. It needs patience, accuracy, talent. I knew all these were null in my grandfather’s character. But he always says “when I was small I was the best bird hunter in my whole village”. He loved hunting from the core of his heart. He also used to say that “bird hunting is the toughest of all kind of hunting”. So one day I begged him to spend one day in hunting and to show his skills. After lunch he started polishing his wooden rifle to hunt harpy eagles. At 4 ‘o’ clock we set out. He took his old half broken motor bike. I sat behind him on the back seat. After minimum 50 tries the motorbike at last started with a shrill groan. When we were going on the rough road motorcycle was groaning, roaring, and releasing a huge quantity of smoke. I glanced at the sky, the Sun was giving its last orange light to the earth and telling us by swinging its invisible fire hand. One corner of the sky a red wound was created. The birds were returning to their nests and to their families. Suddenly grandfather pushed the brakes hard and I walloped on the ground hard. I snarled “ouch!!!”. When I looked back I realized we had reached our destination, a big nameless forest. When we entered I saw the place was gloomy and claustrophobic. It was almost dusk and the last fringe orange light was not so strong and it will fade within 15 minutes. Grandfather said “we had to found the eagles fast otherwise pitch darkness will swallow everything”. The thin pine and oak trees were loomed out like monsters. The wind was malodorous carrying the foul smell of something rotten. The forest ferny floor was soft and covered with dry leaves. Occasionally the cicadas were making shrill noises. Grandfather instructed me to apply the mosquito repellent cream. After sometime we entered a place, probably the middle of the enormous forest. The land was raised a little, with a big tree trunk fallen across it. The density was less but the gloominess increased. Suddenly grandfather grabbed my neck and pushed it down. We laid on the ground like soldiers preparing for attack. In front of us the tree trunk was there hiding us completely. The visibility was almost negligible because of the darkness. My grandfather showed me two harpy eagles enjoying their evening siesta in a branch in front of us. It seems that they were cradling from the darkness. The ground was brown and smells monotonous. Our preys were not aware of us. Major grandpa putted his gun over the trunk and told me “ I will kill both of them”. Then suddenly two loud noises came out from his gun with sparkling smolders of fire. The whole jungle got awake. The monkeys started chattering shrilly making awful piercing sounds signaling the danger. In that time the darkness had swallowed everything.
”Come on”, grandpa screamed and started running towards our preys. I snapped “why they were not screaming with pain”. He replied” because I had shot them in their most vital part, the head”. We blew our torches. On reaching there we saw nothing, no dead bodies of harpy eagles except a rotten stick, dry leaves, and the droppings of some animals! I burst into laugh but grandpa’s face got shadowed with grin and sadness.
