Towards to the middle of the night I woke up to some weird noise just below where I was sleeping. There was a sound of breaking twigs, then quiet and minutes later a rustle in the leaves. For a brief moment I allowed my mind to sink and suddenly I was fully alert.” Bears’ I thought. I was almost hyperventilating from the thought of being a bear’s mid night snack. I remember my father and tried to wake him up. I found him sitting upright and listening to the rustling sound. He looked transfixed and frozen.


“Father, did you find the knife”, I asked. He said no and told me to look for it for he had to keep his gaze in that direction should a bear suddenly appeared. I fumbled through the bag and came across the aluminum spatula which I handed to him. He felt the weapon with his hand and then looked at me. “Do you expect me to fight a bear with this” and in saying so, he hit the spatula on my head. The “twank” sound on my head had somehow got magnified by many folds and reached down to whatever it was and the next thing we heard was the sound of the creature bolting out of the place. We both had a hearty laugh and me a big swelling on my head.

Early morning while my father worked on the breakfast, I went around examining the spot from where the nightly creature made the sounds. I found a number of wild boar foot prints. I reported this to my father. Having eaten, we repacked our bags and took to the path. Unlike the previous day’s walk, it was alongside a river. The clear crisp morning mist floated over the water giving it a mysterious feel. We walked through thick pine woods and came across some majestic and spectacular rhododendrons trees in full bloom with crimson flowers. Occasionally my father waited for me to catch up and otherwise he would busy himself whistling song tunes to himself while walking. I trotted behind him like a small goat pretending to be some engine and making different noises myself. We were both in different worlds.

The path was strewn with wandering roots and at one time I tripped on such a root and catapulted spectacularly into a small puddle. Looking like a wild boar myself, I ran to inform my father of my misfortune.

Just before noon, we chanced upon a small hamlet. The people were all working in the surrendering fields. As we passed by, some viewed us with suspicion while some shouted across asking us to stay for tea. Almost every house had a huge mastiff chained to some posts. Mastiffs as big as bears growled and barked at us. I felt the marrows in my shin twitch. We did not stop for tea for we know from experience that people in that region offered only verbal tea and never real tea.

By midday, we stopped near a stream. While my father engaged himself in the preparations of lunch, I sauntered around admiring the different flowers that grew in the small clearing. To name a few, there were purple iris, baby’s breath, birds of paradise and lots and lots of daisies. I checked to see my father bent over the fire. Knowing that there was no one around, I talked to the flowers and even smiled at them at some point. After all I am still a kid and kids do talk to flowers.