“There is no such thing as
ghosts. Superstition, supernatural, occult is simply fiction. They may just be
names for things that science has not been able to explain.”
Grandfather’s words are
still as fresh in my mind as they were decades ago when I was a young boy who
used to stay up late into the night every weekend as he enthralled me with his
tales of hunting.
Back then there was a lot
of illiteracy in India and belief in the supernatural, ghosts, etc. was very
common. Grandfather, being a doctor was a man of science and did his best to
instill in me logical thinking based on facts.
“Take for example cases of
‘goddess possession’ in housewives”, he would explain. “Often these women are
neglected by husbands and abused by the in-laws. Once her bodies become a
medium for the goddess, she gets a lot of care attention and respect by her
family.”
“That is all fine”, said
uncle. “But then how do you explain the case of the indestructible porcupine.”
During his hunts, uncle had been deep into remote forests and had seen old
tribals, ruined lost cities and enough mysteries to make a television series on
discovery channel.
“What porcupine
grandfather?” I asked perking up at the thought of another exciting story.
****
It was a cold winter night.
‘The gang’ was on its way to its weekend hunting retreat. It was a new area,
not hunted often. They stopped in a remote village enquiring about the route.
“Do not go there sir”, said
a wizened old man. “You can’t hunt there; that area is protected”.
“What nonsense”, said
grandfather. “That is not a protected area. It’s outside the national park”.
“No hukam (sire). It’s
protected by the spirits. No one can hunt there. The animals are protected as
there is a ‘devsthan’ there (place of god-referring to a shrine).”
“Thanks for the warning old
man and now the directions, if you please”, said grandfather, bemused.
The old man gave them
directions reluctantly but warned them not to invite the wrath of the jungle
spirits by going there.
This probably ignited the
spirit for adventure in ‘the gang’. They probably took it as a challenge. The
poor driver, however believed in the legend and meekly tried to protest but it
was discounted with an air of dismissal. Since when were drivers allowed to
voice their opinions?
The forest was primeval
deciduous forest which had no roads not even dirt roads. There were only old
game paths which one had to navigate; off-roading at its best. Encountering
game paths without previous car tracks is usually a good sign; it signifies an
area not frequented by hunters meaning less hunting pressure and hence better
hunting.
‘909’ was going slowly
along the narrow windy game track. The forest was alive with the sounds of the
jungle promising a great hunt ahead. Suddenly the driver brought the jeep to a
halt.
“What’s the matter?”
enquired everyone.
“There’s a porcupine crossing the path ahead”.
Those of you who are familiar with the scuttling
gait of a porcupine, will know that it should take but a moment for it to cross
a dirt path in jungle.
Or should it?
No sooner than it reached the edge of the dirt
track, it turned around and started walking back across the track, not looking
at the headlights of the jeep.
It did it again and again walking across the track,
like a guard outside a protected building; what was it protecting?
“It’s a sentry”, murmured the driver, “protecting
the forest that lies beyond. We can not cross.”
As if it understanding the driver, the porcupine
seemed to have changed its gait to a march.
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
“Toot the horn”, said someone. The driver was in no
condition to protest.
But a blaring horn, which even causes a tiger to
flee, had no effect on the ‘sentry’.
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
“Sentry my foot”; said a ‘gang member’. “I think
its time we rewarded our tracker.”- Tribal forest dwellers are often employed
as trackers and consider porcupine meat a delicacy.
Saying this, he raised his shotgun to his shoulder
and BANG.
The ‘sentry’ went on with his ‘duty’.
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
“Ha-ha. You missed. Twenty yards, slow moving
target and he still misses. The rest of the gang were laughing at their friend’s
terrible shooting.
“I’ll show you how its done”, said another member
but with the same result.
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
“Maybe the porcupine’s quills are dispersing the
shot”, someone rationalised.
“We’ll see about that”, said grandfather taking his
rifle out of the case. This mighty weapon had accounted for a few big cats,
bears and crocs.
However:
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
The porcupine not only kept at its ‘duty’ but also
seemed to be unfazed by the sound of gunfire.
It became a matter of personal pride and every
hunter wanted to be the one to halt the porcupine in its tracks.
Around 35-40 shots were fired that night by six
different people who had more than a century’s worth of shooting experience
between them. The various weapons used were adequate for everything from a
sparrow to an elephant.
But none of them could even touch the porcupine.
Left-right-left.
Left-right-left.
***
There were seven witnesses to this incident
including the driver but none of them could say why no one thought of running
over the porcupine with the jeep.
Was it a respect for this unusual adversary or the
message that maybe they weren’t meant to go hunting that day, no one can tell
but they decided to call it a day and return home.
I mean, if one can’t hit a porcupine at 20 yards
with 40 odd shots, what chance would one have at game.
The gang went on to have more adventures; the
weapons and the ammunition, checked on return, were working fine.
“I don’t know what happened that day”, concluded
grandfather. “But I refuse to believe in supernatural”.
Having read works of many hunters about hunting in
India, including those written by foreigners, it is not uncommon to come across
the stories of protected forests and animals. The most famous of these was the
case of ‘temple tiger’ by the world famous hunter and author Jim Corbett.
Despite his best attempts, he was unable to bag the ‘protected’ tiger.
But that was a tiger. The gang, to their
ever-lasting embarrassment, was bested by a mere porcupine.
