Missing the Woods for the Trees

They were sipping at a coffee shop near their office. Maya had taken a latte and her friend, a cappuccino. 

He looked quite trim and she asked, "What do you do to keep yourself fit?"

"I work out at home at least an hour each evening and a couple of hours on weekends. In addition, I try to walk at least 5 kilometres every morning," he said.

"The footpaths in Bangalore are terrible, and the roads are dusty and full of potholes." she said, adding, "You walk on a treadmill, perhaps, to keep away from all that and vehicle pollution?"

"No," he said, "There's a little wood about half a kilometre from my house, which is ideal for walking. I love spending time there."

"Wood?", she asked, "You are really lucky to have the lung space so near! I would love to see it."

"Why don't you join me this Sunday morning?", he asked.

She smiled to herself. That was a beginning she liked, she thought.

"That would be wonderful," she said.

"Wear some comfortable walking shoes. It's just a mud trail, and pretty easy," he said, adding, "And remember to wear long pants to avoid thorns. I will pick you up from this coffee shop."

**

On Sunday morning, she turned up at the coffee shop duly outfitted for the walk. He picked her up and drove her to the edge of the wood and parked in a spot where his vehicle would be clearly visible to other road users, so that they could avoid it.

The wood was the property of the Forest Department and had a fence around it. They entered through a gate, which had a board specifying the timings the forest was open to the public. There was also a board with the "Do's and Don'ts" – advising them what they were supposed to or prohibited from doing there. They, however, had a discussion on whether the board should have read "Dos and Don'ts" or "Do's and Don't's". The discussion was inconclusive.

The walk itself was fascinating. They could hear the creaking of the bamboo trees as they bent in the wind and grazed against a neighbouring tree. They could hear the calls of various birds. They even managed to spot and identify a few, though they did have a small dispute on the identity of a particular species. Anyway disputes are part of the deal on the path to friendship. One should not let them break a friendship.

After covering around a couple of kilometres, they looped back by another route back to where the car was parked. He drove her back to the coffee shop.

As they parted, she said, "Let's do it again next Sunday."

He replied, "Sure. My pleasure," as he drove off.

**

She did not call him during the whole week, so he called her on Saturday, to check whether the plan for Sunday was still on.

She responded in a frigid tone, "I tried to look up that wood on Google Earth. I also looked up the map and find that area is full of large houses. I find that there is no mention of that wood anywhere on the web. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?"

He was terribly confused. He asked, "What do you mean?," adding, "I took you out there last Sunday. Maybe you looked in the wrong place. I can take you there again tomorrow as we had planned. You can check it out for yourself."

"Okay," she agreed, "May be you can pick me up tomorrow morning at the coffee shop."

"Certainly," he confirmed.

**

As he was driving to the wood, after picking her up,  he said, "You must have made a mistake and looked it up in the wrong place on Google Earth. Let me show it to you after we reach." 

"Are you insinuating that I cannot locate things correctly online?," she asked, with a confrontational attitude.

He backed off from the confrontation. Anyway disputes are part of the deal on the path to friendship. One should not let them break a friendship, he thought.

As he parked his car at the same spot as the previous week, he said, "Here we are! Look, you can see the wood we saw last week."

"Where?," she asked, "I don't see any wood here. I only see a palatial bungalow beyond the gates!"

To his horror, the wood had disappeared from before his eyes and all he could see was a big house with a circular garden in front of it.

Confused, he blurted, "Oh, yes! I see the house. Where has the wood gone?"

Then, he confided, "Sorry! I confess! There was no wood at all. I just hypnotized you into believing that there was a wood and we had walked in it. I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Oh my god! And I had believed every bit of it. That wasn't a very nice thing to do, but I will forgive you this one time, considering your motive," she said.

She smiled and murmured to herself. "Gotcha!". It was exactly what she wanted – a person who would do every bidding, satisfy every whim and follow every instruction she gave.  Every word he had uttered from the time they had first met, including the previous sentence, was at her behest. A companion, whom she could mesmerise and control to such an extant that he believed he had hypnotized her and had her in his control! She had him exactly where she wanted him. After all, she was Maya1..

Author's note: I have not named the gentleman in order to protect his identity, as some of you may know him. Any name will work here, for most men often revel in the thought that they are in control and free to make their choices, when, in reality, they are not.

1 Maya means illusion or magic.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

A Cat and Mouse Tale

Shardul was worried. He had a home territory of nearly a hundred square kilometers, which was rather large considering the density of tigers in the state. Other tigers in the state, by comparison, had just around sixty square kilometers of territory and were always on the verge or losing some of it to another younger and stronger male. He regularly undertook systematic tours in the form of a rough oval of sorts to inspect his part of the forest. and intended to guard every inch of his kingdom.  He was worried; for he had come across something that is most alarming to a male tiger – the scent of another male!

He nosed around the forest till he identified the direction in which the spoor was stronger and started out on a quick run. His strong muscles rippled under his skin as he ran.  The scent was a couple of days old and he would have to travel some distance before he caught up. He periodically paused to confirm that he was moving in the right direction and also to estimate the freshness of the smell. He also made out that the intruder was not alone and was accompanied by a female. Now that's interesting, thought Shardul. It was time he started a family himself, he mused.

As the scent grew stronger, he paused and set off at a slower pace. He stopped at every vantage point and looked around if he could spot the couple visually. A couple of stops later, he could see them resting at the side of a small pool of water. The male was slightly older than him and well built. And the female was quite comely, he observed. He saw that there were a couple of cubs too gamboling among the grass on the side of the pool. They got into the shallow water sometimes under the watchful eyes of their mother, who ensured that they did not venture deeper. Tigers are good swimmers but these cubs were too young to have built a good technique.

Shardul sat downwind from the family he was observing. The infiltrating male would have to be finished off. There was no way two adult tigers could share territory. He examined the female carefully. He thought that she seemed to be ideal to be his mate. The fate of the cubs could be examined later, he decided.

He chalked out his plan of action. He decided to slink through the grass which would camouflage his orange and black fur. Where the grass ended a few feet from the water, he would break into a run and go for the male's jugular. Hopefully, the element of surprise would be on his side.

He got up and started to slowly walk towards the pond. Careful placement of his foot pads ensured that no sound betrayed his movement. As he neared them, his pace was even more slower. He lifted one tentative foot at a time and cautiously put it down, softly and gently. As he was about twenty feet from the edge of the grass, the wind changed direction. He could see the male smell his presence. The male perked up his ears and turned round to face his, rising up and emitting a growl to meet his challenge. Shardul had lost the advantage of surprise.

Stealth was no longer Shardul's strategy of choice. It was too late to back out. Turning around would mean exposing his back to the intruder. That could end up badly for him if the intruder chose to give chase and attack. He decided to press on and broke into a run. At the right speed and distance he launched himself at the intruder, who too took a leap towards Shardul.

Their strengths were well matched and they grappled each other for several minutes. Each inflicted fang and nail injuries on the other, but without any decisive result. As they rolled together towards the water, the intruder dropped his guard for a moment as he looked towards his family. Shardul mercilessly bit the intruder's neck as it was turned away, and got a firm hold on it. His fangs punctured the intruder's windpipe. The intruder collapsed. Shardul was on the alert till he confirmed that the intruder was not a threat anymore.

He then got off the carcass and walked into the pool for a quick wash before he sat at the banks and licked his wounds. He found that the intruder had got close to cutting his flank open. It was time for rest and recuperation. He would have to be very careful for the next few days, and keep his wounds clean and infection-free. He would probably have to settle down at the pond for some time, he thought.

He looked over at the tigress. He had no eyes for the cubs. Now that he could see her at close quarters, he realised that she was a magnificent looking specimen. Quite majestic and a queen in her own right, he told himself. He loved the way she was catwalking. He would call her 'Sundari' – the beautiful lady. And now the spoils of war was his, he reasoned. But such a statement would be politically and factually incorrect. She was no chattel to be claimed by him, if she was unwilling. And, then she certainly was not a part of the winner's swag - she was the strategic objective of the whole fight. She had not intervened in the fight, which gave him some consolation that there was scope for friendship and more.

He looked at his own reflection in the water and admired his looks. A handsome and strong tiger looked back at him, even if he said it himself, he thought. But that did not seem to have impressed Sundari. He looked at where she was pacing around her cubs protectively. Couldn't she see that he would make a great step-father to those cubs and look after them as his own? But, in the first place, he needed to take steps to become a step-father, She did not seem interested in approaching him, the victor in the latest fight to death.

Shardul too did not approach her, because that's when he discovered that, in reality, he was not a tiger or a big cat. He was not even a small cat, he felt, but a mouse when it came to dealing with the other gender. He simply did not have the guts to approach her.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

A Bird in Hand

Inspector Murthy was on his morning walk in the woods near his residence. It was early morning and he could hear the wind blowing between the trees. He was a regular walker in that area and was fairly well known to other walkers. He was nearly sixty and on the verge of retirement. He was not as fit as he used to be and usually took a break half-way through his walk in the quadrangle near the office of the Forest Department. He spent some time there everyday doing some stretches.  He always carried a couple of fistfuls of grain with him for feeding the birds in the quadrangle, like some other walkers did.

As he approached the quadrangle, one of the regulars coming up the path wished him a good morning and said, "Sir, we have something peculiar today. There's a parrot among the birds feeding on the grain. It seems to be talking about a murder again and again."

His interest piqued, the Inspector quickened his pace. There were plenty of birds in the forests and he had often heard the call of wild parrots. He had seen them land in the quadrangle once in a while to sip a little water from a large concrete bowl kept there. But he had never heard one speak – at least in these woods.

He was usually comfortable with all sorts of animals and birds and they too seemed to easily take to him. He pulled out some grain and extended his palm to the parrot sitting on the rim of the water bowl. It picked up a seed and spoke in KannaDa, "My name is Totapuri." The Inspector was impressed to note that it had introduced itself first.

It was definitely not a wild parrot, he surmised. He did not know if parrots merely parroted lines they had heard or responded to questions or phrases spoken by humans with set answers. He was not sure if they were capable of carrying on a conversation in English or other language. He thought that there was no harm in trying the latter, but was unable to get any meaningful conversation going. It just seemed to be repeating random phrases. But in between random phrases in KannaDa, it kept repeating one phrase more often than the others, as if it was showing off the latest addition to its repertoire – "Listen to me, Kumar! Don't kill me! .... Aaah, you've stabbed me!".

As it kept pecking at the grain between bouts of speech, he got up and started his return walk, still holding some grain in his open hand. It came and sat on his shoulder as he walked, occasionally getting off to have a grain and continuing its chatter. It appeared that it was  used to human company and had taken fancy to him.

He took it home and put it in one of the spare toilets for the time being. He did not believe in imprisoning birds, but  keeping in view it's refrain, had a premonition that it just might turn out to be a witness to a murder. Of course, it was always possible that the line was from a television serial. But for the present, he did not have a murder case on his hands. He decided he would buy a cage to house it till he found its owner or otherwise decided to let it fly free.

1. Totapuri is actually a type of mango, named as such due to its resemblance to a parrot's beak. Someone with a sense of humour seemed to have reversed the idea.

**

As Murthy was driving to work, the jeep radio came alive. The operator was paging him, saying, "Inspector Murthy, sir, a body has been discovered in house number 303 in Thunga Layout near your residence. Please go there directly. Other personnel are already on the way and will come directly to the spot."

He was not too far from the residential layout which was mentioned. Therefore, he took a deviation to go there. As he drove to the address,  Murthy remembered his early firing practice with the vintage SMLE, or point 303 as it was commonly called based on its bore. The other jeep carrying his assistant and junior staff was already there. The sub-Inspector informed him that the forensic team and an ambulance had already been informed.

Inspector Murthy was told that the maid had found the body when she had let herself in at around 9 in the morning. He went straight to the room the body was lying in. The victim was lying on her back and it was clear that the she been stabbed with a knife that still lay embedded just below her rib cage.

He made some preliminary inquiries with the maid. The house neither had any security staff nor CCTV coverage. In the meantime, the forensic team arrived and went about their task, looking for fingerprints and other evidence. The body was sent for post-mortem.

For him, the most interesting part of his investigation was the finding of an empty birdcage that fallen on its side, in the same room as the corpse. He was fairly certain that he was in possession of the bird in question.

2. Small Magazine Lee Enfield, still in service in many police stations in India.

**

As the investigation proceeded, it was clear that getting evidence was going to be difficult. The victim, Ms. Kumar, was working in a bank nearby, while her husband Ajit Kumar was a marketing manager, who was out on official tour. The forensic team did not find any other finger-prints other than the residents and the maid. No prints were found on the knife either. The time of death was fixed between 7 and 8 am.

Inspector Murthy had deduced that the parrot he had was a witness to the crime, but could not think of any way to interrogate the bird. He had suspected Ajit Kumar, but was unable to pin it on him due to lack of evidence, as Ajit had claimed to have left for Mysore at 7 am. The inspector got confirmation that he had indeed checked in into a hotel in Mysore at 12 am. The time taken for travel was a bit too long, but not impossible given the traffic scenario in the city and on the Bangalore-Mysore highway.

**

It was time to expand the scope of investigation. As a routine, Inspector Murthy visited the bank that Ms. Kumar worked in, and asked to meet her the manager of the branch. The Deputy Manager informed him that the Manager, Mr Sukumar was not well and had not come to the office for the last couple of days. He managed to obtain the Manager's residential address from the Deputy Manager.

As the Inspector drove to the Manager's house, he mused that there was a second Kumar in the reckoning now. But his preliminary interrogation of Sukumar did not yield any valuable leads. Sukumar had claimed to be walking in the very same forest that the Inspector at the time of the crime. To make things worse, the Inspector recalled seeing him in the forest around 7:45 am, just before he had reached the quadrangle.

**

The Inspector would have twirled his moustache when thinking deeply, but was seriously impeded by the fact that he was clean shaven. He couldn't chew at his pipe, since he did not have one. Instead, he chewed at the tip of his pen. It did not take a forensic expert to say that it was a well-chewed pen.

He had two suspects both with the name Kumar and who had incomplete alibis. Both could have committed the crime in a narrow window of opportunity. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it over to his deputy, saying, "Get this typed and pasted on the pillar near the eastern gate of the forest."

He then called both the Kumars, one by one, and asked them some questions. When they enquired about his progress in the case, he informed them casually, "We are looking for the parrot that was missing from the cage in the victim's room. Perhaps, it can lead us to the killer. We have put up a reward notice offering Rs.10,000/- at the gate of the forest."

**

Around 3 pm that day, a motorcycle reached the gate and the helmeted rider got off. The gate was at the end of a dead end road. A labourer was digging near the kerb. The biker, who seemed to be in a hurry left the motorcycle key in the ignition. Without removing his helmet, he went to the gate and read the poster, which said;

Missing

Pet Parrot 

Reward of Rs.10,000

Finder may please contact mobile number xxxxx xxxxx

The biker tore off the poster and put it in his bag. As he returned to the bike, he found that his bike key was missing. The labourer stood nearby with the key in his hand. The biker got irritated and began abusing the labourer, asking, "Why have you taken my bike key?"

In turn, the labourer questioned him, "Why did you remove the poster?"

Enraged, the biker said, "Who are you to ask me? Return the key peacefully or else I will make you return it."

"I will not," was the terse response.

As the biker was trying to get physical with the labourer, a hand fell on the biker's shoulder. Turning around he saw a police inspector standing behind him. He immediately complained, "Sir, this chap has taken my bike key."

"I know. I saw." said Inspector Murthy, adding, "He is a policeman in mufti."

He continued, "I have been watching you from the opposite house and have your actions recorded on camera. What's you name?"

"Anil Kumar, sir," replied the now chastened biker.

Another Kumar, mused the Inspector, ... The more the merrier! Now why would he have murdered the lady?

He asked, "Why did you remove the poster?"

"Sir, I am just a simple office boy. I just removed it on instructions of my boss, Mr Sukumar," he confessed.

On further questioning, he revealed that his boss had been making passes at Ms. Kumar even in the office.

Sukumar was arrested on the suspicion of murder and confronted with the evidence of Anil Kumar. He finally admitted having made advances towards Ms Kumar (though his job description and delegated power did mention 'making advances', this was probably not what his employer had in mind) and visiting her on the fateful morning and killing her with the kitchen knife when she resisted. During their tussle, the bird cage had fallen and its latch had opened. The bird had flown out screaming Ms Kumar's last words. After committing the murder, he had proceeded for a walk in the forest.

***

Epilogue: The Inspector retired soon thereafter and penned the episode in his diary as the Case of the Three Kumars. The parrot continues to live with him, though not in a cage. It often accompanies him on his walk. It occasionally alarms a visitor by screaming and repeating, "Listen to me, Kumar! Don't kill me! .... Aaah, you've stabbed me!". 

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

A Day Amidst the Canidae

Like any other day, I got up at 5. After spending an hour on household chores, I laced up my walking shoes at 6 and went for my first 'short' walk of the day. I went around the block twice. It took, like every other day, around 20 minutes and I covered around 2 kilometres. This was just my usual 'warm up' walk in preparation for the 'long' walk. I usually walk alone, for I am a lone wolf and do not prefer to be burdened with conversation during my walks.

The 'long' walk usually lasts a minimum of one hour and sometimes two or more hours. The daily one-hour walk is in a small wood near my house and does not involve much gradient. The two-hour walk, once a month, is more of a trek at a nearby forest. It involves walking up some mild as well as steep slopes and also scrambling up some rocks. It is much more strenuous, especially in the hot summer months. Considerable sweating is involved in this trek, necessitating carrying some drinking water to replenish the loss of fluid.

I prepared myself for the trek. I packed my backpack with a few essentials. A bottle of fresh drinking water, a roll of crepe bandage, a pain relieving spray, and a collapsible alpine stick. I had to take these along as I am prone to missing my footing and twisting my ankle on gravelly and uneven surfaces. If I twisted my ankle, I would need to follow the RICE routine for recuperation, but though rest and ice would have to wait till I got home, I could apply compression immediately with the crepe bandage. Exercise, of course, would have to wait, though getting back to my car would expose me to some of it. The stick would help me hobble along. And my pack also contained a trophy Swiss Army knife which had never been used for any real purpose.

**

It is an unfortunate truth that our people dump garbage. No, I am not talking of the trekkers in the forest. They are quite eco-conscious and carry their garbage to designated bins placed at the gate of the forest. Some even carry garbage all the way home. I refer to the house-holders living on the periphery of the forest. Many a time they senselessly dump their garbage at the edge of the forest. This includes not only plastic and glass but also contains food scraps, which attract the local mongrels.  

There are a few packs of dogs in the forest and each pack has demarcated its 'home' territory. They guard this territory fiercely from other packs which may sometimes make adventurous forays into their territory.  But this does not deter them from raiding other packs' territories. It is generally a free for all, as the alpha male of a pack leads the raiding party from the front, armed only with sharp fangs and nails. 

Sometimes two packs confront each other and make threatening growling noises at each other and try to out-stare the opponents. This may or may not develop into a melee. Sometimes, one or both packs call off the staring match and slink away with their tails tucked between their legs. I don't blame them. It's a dog-eat-dog world, anyway.

As these dogs usually hang out near garbage dumps, they do not bother trekkers unless one walks into the dump. But,  as the house-holders were becoming more aware and had started using the city's garbage clearance services, the dumps were running short of edible scraps. This dearth had caused the affected packs to foray out of their territory and venture into other parts of the forest looking for small creatures to fill their bellies.

The dogs had, of late, probably got tired of the same items being on the menu regularly. An enterprising pack had decided to try something new. Recently, there had been reports of some trekkers being attacked and bitten by these dogs. Groups of trekkers had approached the forest authorities with a request to round up packs that had become feral. They had advised the forest department to seek the assistance of the city municipal corporation's dog squad for necessary help. But nothing had happened as the animal rights lobby had approached the court for a stay and got one.

**

Court orders, however, do not apply to animals, and little did these dogs know or care about such matters. Lack of food in the belly can lead a creature to desperation, and today they had decided to taste a trekker. As I turned a bend in the path into a clearing in a secluded part of the forest, I saw several dogs lounging about fifteen metres ahead of me..As I slowed down, they got up and gave a low howl. That was an indication to another part of the pack which had hung out among the trees. On hearing the signal, they trooped into the clearing a few metres behind me. It was clear to me that I was their target today. 

No human being can face a pack of a dozen dogs, especially if they have not eaten for a few days. The whole of me was desirable, of course; but if not feasible, at least a few large chunks of my arms and legs would be welcome, I supposed. I tried using my stick to shoo away the dogs as they closed in upon me. I made threatening noises, which I hoped would dissuade them. But the rough circle around me in the clearing  got progressively smaller and smaller as they kept just outside the swinging arc of my stick. 

The leader of the pack, an alpha male, was getting restless. As I was turning with the stick to shoo a couple of dogs which had got uncomfortably close to me, my back was momentarily facing the leader and he pounced upon me.

My tough and thick jeans afforded me some protection as he tried to take a bite. He did bite through the denim, but just managed to graze my calf before he fell back.  Something came over me in that moment of desperation. 

I turned round and grabbed the dog in my bare arms. My talons drove into his sides as I lifted him up and sank my fangs into him. The other dogs cowered and backed off. They had seen the change that I had gone through. They had heard the lupine howl that I had let out when bitten and seen my face turn into a snout and my bare hands develop thick fur. I broke off a chunk of the dog's side and wolfed it down. I am sure they must have seen the ferociousness in my eyes as they backed off from the clearing. They knew they had to elect a new leader.

I was left with the carcass of a rather well fed dog on my hands. It was obvious that the leader always got a lion's share of the takings, for his other pack-mates were definitely scrawny by comparison. Well, now that I had a few kilos of a freshly slain dog, it was a shame to let it go waste. 

As my body returned back to its human form, I took out my Swiss Army knife and tried to hack off a few pieces of meat. I was very unsuccessful in this enterprise. So, I used my teeth, though not as sharp as a wolf's, to good effect and cut off a few choice pieces of the meat and wrapped it in the paper bag which was holding my trail food. The left over carcass would be eaten by some scavenger.

**

I will use the  pieces in my bag to prepare some Boshintang, which will no doubt delight my date for the night, So-young, a young lady from Seoul. I sincerely hope to click with her. She has admitted that she admires men who are lone wolves and chart their way distinct from the pack. We plan to have dinner on the terrace and it can get a bit cold in the night. A light woolen sweater seems to be in order. I am sure she will like this wolf in sheep's clothing. On the contrary, she might feed me most of the soup, as I understand Koreans believe it makes a guy more virile ...

***

Post script: I forgot to mention what I heard just before I returned to my human form in the forest.

A father and son were coming down the path and the kid saw me first and exclaimed, "Wolf!". The father asked, "Where?", for I had regained my human shape by then.


Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

A Fork in the Forest Path

He clearly remembered the place and time he had come across the blue bottle which gave him the power to 'manage' things. Not a genie in a blue bottle. The blue bottle was a Portuguese man o' war. As you might have expected, it was in the erstwhile Portuguese colony of Goa, a part of Estado da India. It was not a warship as one might be mislead to believe. It was a marine creature;  Physalia physalis or the Portuguese man-of-war otherwise known as the blue bottle. It was as mesmerizing as it was dangerous. A bright blue coloured creature with a sting that was over 10 metres long. It had got stranded on the Velsao beach when the tide had receded. He found it lying in the sand when he was taking his evening walk.

He knew that it was venomous and knew touching it was out of question. He did not want to be stung and nurse the extreme inconvenience for days. But he thought it would be a nice addition to the aquarium in his living room. He was not sure of the effect it would have on the other residents of the fish tank - a couple of angel fish and a small family of sword-tails. He went to the shack on the beach which was the only source of food and drink to the few tourists who visited Velsao. Velsao beach is one of those seaside wonders, as opposed to 'popular' crowded beaches like Calangute, where lifeguards outnumber the number of bathers.The proprietrix was an old friend of the family and he requested her for a container.

She gave him an empty bottle of Skyy Vodka left behind by a customer. Incidentally, it was a blue bottle. But he refused. He explained that he wanted a container with a wider mouth, like a can, but without sharp edges. She fished around and got him an appropriate tin. He took it and thanked her for it. Then he went back to the beautiful creature. He looked around for an appropriate instrument to handle the creature and found a twig of flotsam that had washed ashore. He had to take care that his skin did not come in contact with it. He gingerly pushed the stick under the polyp, when he heard a voice. "Wait, what do you plan to do with me? Are you planning to put me in a fish-tank?"

He jumped back in surprise. A talking marine creature, that too seemingly aware of his thoughts, was not an everyday occurrence. He mumbled, "How did you know that?", not feeling a bit silly on talking to it. After all it seemed capable of reading his mind. But he did feel violated.

"That is non-consequential," it replied. It seemed to have a good vocabulary too. It continued, "That's not what I want you to do." A bit rich, he felt. It was now instructing him. "I want you to throw me back into the sea. I don't want to spend my life in a fish tank," it added. It was now bossing over him, he felt. He thought he could reason it out. He asked, "You will look nice in my fish tank. Why should I throw you back? What's in it for me?"

"Well, I would like to continue living in the sea, not in a fish tank. Let's make a deal," it offered. "Tell me more," he insisted. "What would you say, if I could bestow the power of managing things to happen in the way you desire them to happen?"

"That sounds fabulous, if possible. How do I trust you?", he asked.

"Try it out for yourself," it countered. "Tell me what you desire."

"Well, I was contemplating on having king-fish for dinner, but was not able to go the fish market," he said. "Can you get me a king-fish right now?"

"Certainly. But I will only grant you the power to make things happen. You will have to do some little thing to actualise it."

"Tell me how," he asked.

"Any wish that you make when you are scratching your chin will come true," it said.

"Any wish?," he questioned.

"Except one thing. But I can't tell you about the exception. You will know it when it fails to happen. Every other thing will happen as you wish," it explained. "Try it out now."

"I want a king-fish now," he said, scratching his chin. A true-blue Goan. Fish, the first thing that came to mind.

All of a sudden, a live squirming king-fish materialised on the sand.

"You can go home and cook it after you throw me back. If you don't throw me back, it will disappear," he was warned.

It teased him, "If you had thought it out a bit you could have done better and asked for a dish of king-fish balchão accompanied by a plate of boiled rice. It would have saved you cooking. Think well before you make a wish. Now throw me back into the sea!"

He threw the creature back into the sea and picked up the fish. He took it home. That evening, he sat on the balcão, the balcony of his house, and kept the fish in a earthen dish on the table. He wished for fish balchão, while scratching his chin. The king fish remained unchanged. Disappointed, he picked up the fish and walked into the kitchen, hoping to prepare the dish himself.

As he passed the dining table, he noticed a casserole lying on it. He opened it and the strong smell of fish balchão wafted into his nostrils. He was delighted. He tasted it. It was delicious, but it was made from shark, not king-fish. He decided he had to be more clear when enunciating his wishes.

He decided he had to think through what he did in case he did not want to attract attention. He realised that though since he had no magic lamp, no one could rob him of it. At least, he was safe on that front. But life would become unbearable and he would lose his privacy,  if he became famous. So, he decided to use the power for simple things. Though he could have got along without doing a job, he decided to continue working.

**

He was working as a techie in a small software firm in Goa and as many techies in India do, he decided to move to Bangalore. Writing any code was child's play for him. Though he was quite proficient technically, debugging was a mere matter of scratching his chin. He, however, refrained from letting his chin write the whole code, for he was not sure where it would lead him. He liked to be in control, but did not mind a little help in sorting out issues.

He also liked to play pranks and his chin helped immensely in that field. He had 'magic fingers', as his friends called his abilities. An elevator stuck between floors required just a touch of a button to get it going. A vehicle that would not start required just his hand at the ignition. Anything was possible as long as it was accompanied by the scratching of the chin. It got him a lot of popularity. Very few knew that the malfunctions they had encountered had happened at his bidding too.

He never materialised anything in public view as it would give the game away. But he was not hesitant to add a few currency notes away from prying eyes in the safety of his pocket. He was a little hesitant to do this initially, as he was not sure if the money was real or fake. He checked it out with a banker and found that it was not counterfeit. But he was not sure if a duplicate note bearing the same number existed elsewhere. He was not sure too if the money was disappearing from some other person's holdings, and that bothered him a little. On the other hand, demonetisation had not bothered him at all. It was no skin off his chin.

And then he saw her at an offsite arranged by his office. She was Chinese and was sitting at an adjacent table. He observed her keenly and found her charming. He wished to talk to her and to know her better. They had a couple of chats during the day and he was very impressed with every aspect of her. He wished to take the acquaintance to another level. So he engineered her transfer to his team. He also got her allotted a place where he could constantly keep an eye (actually both) on her.   He was not worried about distraction from work as work would be completed whether he worked or not. He could actually have transfixed a CCTV camera on her and got the feed to his monitor, without lifting a finger. Okay, I admit I was leading with my chin on this one;  he actually did need to lift a finger to scratch the chin.

Over the next few weeks he had the opportunity to squeeze in a few chinwags with her.The more he interacted with her, the more infatuated he became. He wanted to propose to her but in a more romantic environment, and not in the office. He planned his next move. He organised a trek for his team on a weekend.  He hoped that it would give him the required opportunity. Or else he would see that one arose.

The trek was at the Turahalli reserved forest off Kanakapura Road. It was a small forest, extending to just under six hundred acres. At one time it was mentioned on a board that the public were prohibited in the park. But that sign no longer existed. On any given morning, a few dozen trekkers could be found in the forest. There were no wild animals in the park, though it was rumoured that security cameras set up at a nearby real-estate development had captured images of a leopard or two. Now only an assortment of birds and minor animals were found there.

It was not a very tough trek but involved a bit of scrambling over rocks for those interested in doing so. Belying her petite build, she was quite nimble and climbed quite fast.  The sun was blazing when they were the first two persons to summit. She was a bit exhausted and said, "I wish I had brought an umbrella. There's no shade here."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out an umbrella for her. She was surprised and said, that bag looks too small to have had an umbrella in it. Are you some kind of magician?"

He smiled and answered, "Sort of... Ask for anything and you shall have it". 

"I would love to have a suanmeitang," she said, adding, "I don't think it is easily available in  Bangalore."

He reached into his backpack again and produced a chilled bottle of it.  She was awestruck and her eyes widened in amazement.  She was absolutely sure that it had not been in the bag when she had checked it.

He decided it was the right time to pitch his proposal. He said, "I can get you anything you want! I will ensure that all your needs are fulfilled."

"Will you marry me?", he awkwardly finished and nervously scratched his chin, wishing for a positive response from her.

"I can't do that," she replied, "I am in love with Jimmy Ching and we are getting married next month."

His world came crashing down around him as he realised that the only exception to his chin's abilities was the consent of a woman. That had to come from her and could not be the subject of any magical power. He felt he had lost everything in the world. All that he had till now and could have in future meant nothing without her presence in his life.

As they came to a fork in the path, she took one path and he turned into the other. He decided to make one last wish ...

Click here if you think he took the right path


Click here if you think he took the left path

**

The Right Path

A few steps from the fork, he scratched his chin and made his final wish.

All of a sudden, there was some sound in the shrubbery nearby. "Was it the rustling of a Russel's viper?", he wondered. Then, a menacing growl was heard as the predator lunged at its prey.

**

The other trekkers discovered that they were one person short when they regrouped for leaving the forest, so they doubled back. An hour later they found a badly mauled corpse on the path. Looking around they saw tiger-like pug marks on the muddy patch in the path. They were sure there were no tigers in that forest. Suspecting murder and the pug marks to be a prank by the assailant to throw investigators off track, they called the police.

The post-mortem revealed that death had occurred due to stabbing by large fangs. The Forest Department categorically said that there were no tigers in that forest, nor were there any reports of any tigers missing. They took a cast of the pug marks. The Chief Conservator of Forests made it clear that the size of the fang injuries and the size of the pug marks was much larger than any known tiger. An amateur wildlife enthusiast managed to get a cast of the pug marks and suspected that it was similar to the pug marks of the Smilodon populator found earlier in Argentine. But the sabre-toothed tiger, as it is better known has been extinct for long.

Had he taken his revenge on her for rejecting his proposal? Or, was it something else altogether. Let us take a couple of steps back on the path ...

He had continued walking after separating from her at the fork. He felt he was being followed by someone. Had she come back, he wondered? He looked back. She was not to be seen on the path.Just after he had crossed a patch of soft mud, his stalker burst out from the shrubbery and launched itself on him. He was defenseless against it. He had not even tried.

Did our protagonist make a wish to be killed in an attack by a sabre-toothed tiger? Was it the right thing to do? After all, he had taken the right path... Or, had he?

Click here if you want to know what would have happened if he had taken the left path

***

The Left Path

A few steps from the fork, he scratched his chin and made his final wish.

And instantaneously, the clock wound back and he was back on Velsao beach trying to push the flotsam twig under the marine creature, when he heard a voice. "Wait, what do you plan to do with me? Are you planning to put me in a fish-tank?"

He pretended not to hear it and maneuvered the creature into the container. He took it home and put it into his fish-tank. It lived in the tank till it died of natural causes. It continued to attempt to talk to him, but he ignored it. He did not want its bountiful help. For, he had the left the future behind. After all, he had taken the left path... Or, had he?

Click here if you want to know what would have happened if he had taken the right path

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.