– Satyakam Ray
Love is manifested more if it senses an untimely irreversible separation by fortuitous means or deliberate manner. This philosophy applies not only to humans but also to animals, as observed in the wild.
In his youth, my father used to go on hunting trips to escape the mundane. His first-hand experience is the essential crux of the narration. He has witnessed love and respect among the victims of his hunting trips. It was a poignant love story between the wounded male deer and its female counterpart.
Let’s begin the heart-angst-filled jungle story in its primitive form.
Binjhagiri, near Bhubaneswar, was surrounded by unspoiled, dense greenery and wild inhabitants. The tale is set in 1970, when my father was still a roaming brat, full of wild enthusiasm. His aunt used to live in Binjhagiri. On vacations, my father visited the place to take secret shikar trips in the jungle.
Ravi, his shikar mate, helped with the household’s daily chores. At midnight, Ravi used to come prepared for the jungle expedition with high-ankle boots, a double-barreled gun, and an axe. Aunty used to reprimand Papa for going on the night jungle adventure, as it was full of danger. On Ravi’s signal, my father used to escape from the suspicious aunt to join the night thrill!
On one of his night expeditions, Ravi and Papa explored further down the usual jungle path than planned. They were looking for a deer, or “sambar,” to hunt, as the villagers considered its meat quite tasty. But that day, they had no luck. Not a single animal worthy of the bullet was visible by then.
The jungle was eerily silent at midnight. All they could see in the cloudy night sky were the dense foliage of trees and occasional elephant footmarks. The duo discreetly searched for their hunting prey near the bushes. Something was hissing at them. Frightened by the intruder’s approach, Papa asked the hunter what it was. The hunter replied in a hushed tone – it was a kind of indigenous snake in the jungle. To counter those snakes, the duo had worn high-ankle boots to protect themselves from their bites. The search continued a bit further with no success, so they decided to call it quits.
When they returned to the village without a hunting trophy, a herd of deer crossed their path. The group was very close to the village-jungle borderline. Upon spotting the hunters, the group hurried back at top speed. In a desperate attempt to give his friend a parting hunting gift, the hunter fired a bullet at the last escaping deer. The aim needed to be better. The deer survived the first attack and ran at full speed, and so did the hunter duo.
After searching for half a kilometer, they found the wounded deer near a shrub. It was affected by the bullet wound and was unable to run. The hunter was ready to take the second fatal shot at a close distance when he heard shrubs crackling. Another deer was approaching, unfazed by the hunters, to aid the wounded deer. It was a female deer looking for her wounded male partner.
Dreadful, fatal excursion sometimes brings out the inner poetic love. According to Papa, the remarkable scene was epic to experience, a bit weird. The female deer showed bravery and a demeanor towards the hunter duo rather than a caring look. She carried on caring for her partner with no fear of bullets and stood her ground there with no intention of running back. The wounded male dear was shrieking, almost crying in pain. The female deer also joined the chorus with a sad, bellowing howl as if both were communicating to exchange the grief of imminent fatality.
Any nursing of the wounded deer would have invited a glaring, brutal attack from the menacing-looking female partner. After this unusual encounter, the hunter duo found themselves in a moral dilemma and decided not to take any further shots. They left the place without assisting the deer, not wanting to worsen the situation.
The hunters returned to their village without having hunted. But with a saddened heart, an eye-opening life experience forced them to avoid hunting trips. To date, they have no idea what happened to that wounded deer. Did it make it or succumb to the bullet wounds?
Sometimes, the heartwarming love the female deer shows before my father’s eyes is evident. His voice reflects this love. It trails off at the end of the narration.
The Witty Stride 