“The next
murder-scene scenario is as follows”, said my professor of forensic medicine.
“There is a
dead body, a murder weapon is a handgun but there is just an exit hole but no
entry hole. Who can explain this phenomenon?”
I was
actually not sitting on the last bench for a change. The forensic medicine
class was my favourite in whole of med school.
Especially the lectures on gunshot injuries and wounds.
“Hey
shooter” said SKY, my best friend, I bet you know the answer.
But I wasn’t
there. I had travelled a thousand miles and three decades to the shikarcamp of
grandfather, and the rest of the gang.
XXX
The camp is
breaking up and is accompanied by the hustle and bustle of loading the jeep
with pots, pans, food, meat, hunted game, etc. It is getting dark and the
citizens of the forest have made sure the departing shikaris (hunters) are bid
a fitting goodbye. There is a cacophony of whistles, cackles, shrieks, barks,
gobbles, hoots, chirps, roars, and every sound imaginable. Dusk comes earlier
in the jungle and maybe it reflects the mood of the hunters as they leave the
forest and return to the urban dwellings called home and town.
Hope is a
sportsman’s best ally. It’s what keeps men going that extra mile. One last
pheasant drive before sunset. One more minute at the pond flighting ducks. One
more mile looking for that elusive tusker. One more hill to climb for that royal stag. It’s
the hope for bagging that game which makes this sport so addictive,
exhilarating and unpredictable.
Maybe it was
this hope that made grandfather keep his rifle in his hand; hope that they
might ambush some game on the way home. Maybe it was a sixth sense, developed
after years of hunting that only hunters know. Maybe it was a co-incidence or
just luck. Whatever it was the fact is that grandfather was sitting in the back
of ‘909’, our jeep, holding on to his rifle, just in case.
Finding ones
way out of forest around dusk can get a bit tricky especially in the absence of
roads and signs. After a good half an hour, grandfather felt as if that area of
the forest seemed familiar. They were going around in circles!
They got
down investigating and the tracks on the dirt road confirmed that they had come
where they had started from. But wait, there was something else, pugmarks of
leopard over the tire treads! A leopard was following the jeep tracks!
Grandfather
got into the back of the jeep; on the lookout. It had now gotten really dark
and no one can hear a leopard approach. So one had to rely on the sentries of
the forest the birds etc announcing the leopard’s movements. But at this time,
the whole forest was a wildlife orchestra with Mother Nature herself the
conductor.
All senses
alert, my grandfather ordered the driver to start the jeep and make a move. Was
it his imagination or was it some noise over and above the noise of the engine.
He leaned forwards to take a better look and...
BANG!!
Was it the
engine backfiring, everyone wondered, the jeep having started just a few
seconds back? But my grandfather brought their attention to the dead leopard
lying in the dirt track just behind the jeep.
He later
explained that leaning out; he saw the leopard, mouth open ready to spring upon
him. I won’t say it was a man-eater tracking them; maybe it was just curious.
But as they say, curiosity kills the (big) cat.
“What a
tale” said his friend A.U. “you expect us to believe that your reflexes were
faster than a leopard.”
“That’s
right”, said his brother P.P. “it was inches away from you and you still were
fast enough to shoot it before it could attack you.
“But I did”,
said grandfather. “You all heard the shot and here’s the empty case to prove
it.”
“But you
missed. Fired in the air” said A.U. “the poor thing died of a heart attack
hearing the noise”.
“With all
due respect to Saki, this is not Mrs. Packletide’s tiger”, said grandfather.
This is a healthy male in the prime of his youth.
“Well, there
should be an entry and exit wound”, everyone agreed.
But look as
they might, no one could locate an entry or exit wound or bullet holes. But my
grandfather was convinced that he had not missed. He decided to check the
insides of the leopard to prove his point.
And guess
what? He was right; the leopard had been hit but where were the bullet holes?
You see when
granddad started to raise his gun, the leopard, opened its mouth not knowing
what a rifle is, saw it as the part of the shooters body or an appendage being
thrust towards it and did what any beast would do. He tried to grab the muzzle
of the rifle in its mouth. At the same moment, my grandfather squeezed the
trigger.
When any
animal opens, its mouth it automatically comes in a straight line with.........
XXX
“Roll number
55, daydreaming again?” said the professor snapping me back to reality.
“I have been
explaining about various scenarios possible regarding entry and exit wounds
while you were sleeping. Since you don’t need to hear it from me, perhaps you
shall be so kind to explain to the class.”
“Certainly
sir. You see class; it’s even possible for a dead body not to have any entry or
exit wounds. That is when a bullet enters through one natural orifice and exits
through another. For e.g. in through the mouth and out of the backside.”
The laughter
was deafening.
The look on
the professors face was as if he had been slapped in the face.
The leopard
skin still adorns a wall in our family house and is the most intact trophy, free
from all blemishes and holes.
