The Pursuit.

By Kunal Verma

Sigh!

It was a night in the dark and the rain falling heavy was a fight for me to look up the sky, and there I was pacing my steps through the greenery of wildness into deep mystery.

I never knew what brought me here but ever since I’ve heard that voice soaked in honeydew I am unable to retrace my space where I initiated this safari. I am here and I’m heading ahead. That sound means my life to me and I wish to dissolve it within my flesh and blood. The moment I put my feet to work, all amid the lightning and thunderstorm I could see are mud and trees. I am sinking deep into the mud with my every move and the trees that I see around pulls out the ragamuffin of the jungle within me and revives me all over. A strike of the Indra’s thunder and all the beauty that this thrilling forest beholds is revealed.

I am a fervent rover and mostly choose deadly jungles to expedite. It was a delight for me to be observing raindrops whilst scratching my way through thorny bushes; thin streaks of water lining down the dams of gigantic banana leaves; the vines from which Mowgli or Tarzan hung, reluctantly offering back itself to pythons and anacondas with authority. All of it, was a feast of a scenic to my eyes.

I was walking ahead and absorbing all the spookiness of this jungle with passion but … as that heavenly melody rang my bells, I was fervently taken away.

Galloping and trotting, sway and stray, I wrap myself brown and wet searching for her. The sound was that of a flute but disguised in a voice something more unearthly, celestial & feminine.

With the vicious screeches of the reptiles, squeaking of its preys, howling of wolves and hooting of owls I get evenly excited instead of being fearful and tensed and when I heard my anonymous companion singing her way through the forest, I became moreover delightedly intrigued.

A few clicks away, through the woods, I saw vaguely emerging gigantic flames, erupting high to my sight, as though an abstractive emerging artwork. It felt like a natural instinctive need to reach that fire and warmth to mellow down my ice cold body.I hunched down in a slow flexible motion before I sprinted with full strength.

Pacing heavy footsteps I was rushing, up-high-hill and swiftly dodging whatever came my way, puffing out the coldest of breath. Usually I speed faster than horses, but rather my feet felt tied to an unseen bolas at the moment. I was unable to speed up no matter how fast my feet ran. Despite odd immobility, I was pacing.

But, a delusion pulled me back. A silhouette of a person – ponytailed hair, was competing my pace, alongside a distance of about twenty trees far. What unusual and unreal it was was the echo, the humming pitch – the sound I was hearing was actually resonating from the same silhouette.This symphony of horrendous wild and intense sunshine was an anonymity that creates fear and my heartbeat was pushing me to the grave. I was sweating but was cold. I was sure of her not running away from but preying towards something. For her movement was not that of a submissive scared fearer, neither the dagger hanging to her waist made any such Statement.

I chose to reach the unknown. I rushed towards the unidentified figure but in contrast to her path and mine, I was obscured by the nature of woods and wild-leaves. Whereas the path she paved was openly spaced between trees. I was losing distance with her. I hurt myself here and there but coped up to maintain pace. With hindrance in gain I pulled out my pocket knife. With each and every step thorns and branches were massively swallowing me.

Knifing through bushes and sledging my way through branches and vines; with another bright strike of lightning I incidentally gave a cut to whatever jumped to my face out of nowhere. I did not see it coming but my reflex posed my knife as a defensive yet deadly manoeuver. The enchanted-silhouette tilted her head back but kept moving on. My heart did skip a beat or two but I closed nearby maintaining safe distance to explore what I have hit down to the ground. It was nothing but just a black mamba, however the blood piercing through the cut, was not red. Trooping myself slowly forward I swoon myself towards heavenly white light gleaming out of that cut. I opened my eyes, caught my breath and rose myself up from the cozy winter sunny morning on the terrace of Goan realms. Sighing in both relief and pain I freed myself from the phantom and grieved a bit over the scenario’s unrealism.

But…

When my mother tenses over my intense sleep over the night and questions her neurologist counsellor cum friend about my complete pulse drop as that of a morgue in the night, I await to surrender myself to the spell-casting night that follows.

By Kunal Verma