BESERK! Page 12

  I gently close her eyes. She’s dead. My Shilpa is dead! It then registers to me. I have killed her.

  “Why did she make me do it?” I scream loudly “Why? Why? Why?”

  I rush to the vodka, finish it off and begin to cry like a baby.

  I am suddenly aware of the police siren, somewhere, down the road. They have come for me. I have lost count of time. It’s nearly evening.

  For the last time I go to Shilpa. She is sleeping like a baby except for that ugly hole in her forehead. I bend down; kiss her on her forehead above the ugly hole. Then on both her cheeks, they now feel cool and smooth. Her lips are still curved in that sardonic smile, yet I kiss them. They feel dead.

  I feel desperately lonely and depressed. The siren sounds louder now. There are at my door. “Goodbye, Shilpa.” I whisper lovingly.

  Keeping my eyes on her lifeless body, I put the pistol into my mouth. I can still imagine her in that rain soaked salwar-kameez…Rain water streaming down her thick plaited hair….those huge earrings suspended like chandeliers…

  They is a ring on my door. They have come. “Goodbye my doll,” I whisper once more, “I hope you are mine in the next life.” I push the gun further till the muzzle touches the roof of my mouth.

  The ringing gets incessant. Someone calls my name and orders me to open the door. They can go to hell! I am going after my doll! I pull the trigger...

  The End

  5. The Behemoth

  Chapter 1: The Behemoth

  CONGO AFRICA

  The African continent is one huge stretch of desert and open grassland. Yet it is known as the ‘Dark Continent’ for a single reason. Somewhere along its centre runs a dark green, damp and cold band of equatorial rainforest. This bisecting, snaking jungle barely covers twelve percent of the total continent. Till recent times it has remained untouched by civilization. Major sectors of impregnable rainforest is unexplored, its primordial nature has remained undisturbed for million years.

  Deep in this primeval jungle flows the river Congo, now Zaire. Its tributaries snake deep in the unknown dark land. Nature here occasionally decides to show its Mr. Hyde’s side in this dark, damp and silent arena.

  River Ybankazi, one of the several tributaries of the Congo, cuts a brown broad swathe in the green cover of the forest. For a good part of its river bank a pod of hippotamuses stayed away. Their behavior greatly agitated.

  Hippos are the uncrowned kings of the equatorial rainforest. They fear no beast on land or in water. Their jaws are capable of severing a crocodile in half with a single bite.

  In spite of the growing heat the bull hippo stayed away from the cool river, his harem following suit. The bull had caught scent of a familiar but disturbing smell in the river. Even the crocodiles habitually hunting at this time had crawled out on the sand banks far from the edge, evidently not to bask in the sun.

  The mother and calf had strayed away from the pod during the night. It had been a hard struggle, against the wild dogs and hyenas. Now, the growing day’s heat wasn’t doing her any good. The bull’s stand-off with the river seemed ignorant on her. All she needed was to douse her skin in the cool river water. She waddled towards the river, her calf in tow.

  The river water engulfed them soothingly. At the far end of the river, beneath the murky water an incredibly long shadow drifted towards the mother and calf.

  The sudden swirl of strong undercurrents never realized on them, till late. An unnatural huge maw seemed to open on the river surface and the thirty pound calf disappeared into it.

  Enraged, the mother turned her gaping jaws and lethal teeth to face the perpetrator. Not to be flustered, the perpetrator retaliated with an awesome six foot jaw, lined with innumerable seven inch teeth. Bellowing almost reptilian like.

  The mother realized the danger and turned away with surprising agility for her size. The predator quickly got its jaws on her. A loud crunch sounded as it bit through blubber and muscle to reach the bone.

  The mother’s cry was hideous yet pitiful. It echoed through the rainforest. She struggled vainly to get to the bank not realizing she had been nearly severed from girth to the hind legs. It held on to its prey, till the victim’s strength weakened.

  The prey fell to the ground and the predator drew itself partly from the water to drag the remains. Scooping it up effortlessly with its jaws it disappeared under the blood stained water.

  The bull and his harem, who had watched the bloody struggle, stood cowering like a deer herd after a lion’s attack.

  Chapter 2: The Behemoth

  A small patch of rainforest land had been cleared to accommodate the crocodile farm in Nkobele. It had been small and illegal until a few years ago. But now it was licensed and lawfully recognized by the Zairian authorities.

  The Belfours ran the farm. Louis Belfour was the head of the farm, maimed in his right leg by a croc attack. He ran it through his two sons, Gerald and Joef along with the neighboring Bkangalasi tribesmen.

  Gerald, the elder of the two was the infield expert; it meant practicing as a vet, keeping accounts etc. Joef, the younger one, was of the rugged type an outfield expert. This meant raiding crocodile’s nests, skinning and capturing the reptiles if necessary.

  Today the farm was in a state of uproar. Louis and Gerald were all around the farm issuing orders, getting their workers moving. Joef was out in the jungle trapping crocs. This time they had to get it right. A team of researchers and scientists from NIBS (Nature Intensive Biotic Study) were having a stopover at the farm on their way to Cameroon to study the unique Goliath frog.

  This inspection was important to the Belfour’s farm for NIBS funded many a wildlife projects. In the past the institute had funded the Belfour’s a couple of times, generously. So if they managed to satisfy NIBS today, a fund would be granted.

  The NIBS was a billion dollar wildlife magazine. This institute researched and studied various life forms on the planet, from the microscopic virus to the gargantuan whale and from the tiniest fungus to the gigantic red wood tree. All these findings were compiled in a monthly magazine accompanied with glossy photographs.

  The magazine had been an instant hit with the public. Within a span of three years it received a million of subscribers from several continents. For the last fifteen years it had been on the world’s top 10 magazine’s list.

  To comply with the reader’s insatiable appetite more and new information of organisms needed to be found. So every fortnight teams of researchers were deployed to the remotest places on the earth to study various forms of life. Each team was equipped with the state-of-the-art-technology in form of communication, on spot field research instruments, survival equipment etc. Such was their sophisticated paraphernalia that it would make any third world country’s military system envious.

  Gerald knew at least half a dozen teams scouring the globe. One team was in the Canadian Highlands checking for the Peary caribou, another in Guatemala trailing the Tamandua anteater. Another team of deep-ocean divers under the Cayman wall (Caribbean) researching the green-banded goby fish. Yet another team pursued the emu through the great Australian. Desert... the list was endless. These thoughts excited him, if only he could get them to fund him for an individual project... but now his objective was to get a grant for the croc farm.

  He gathered his thoughts and brought his mind to the work at hand. All around him was the sprawling jungle, it was turning evening and getting cold. White swirling mist had begun to descend from the highlands.

  x x x

  The motorized dugout silently skimmed across the sluggish river. Joef Belfour studied intently the muddy river surface with a flashlight through the heavy mist and nocturnal torrential downpour. He handed the flashlight back to Bubu, his helper, while he sat poised scanning the river surface. It had been hours past midnight and yet they had not sighted a single croc. They never realized the absence of hippotamuses too. They could not fathom it. For years this part of the Ybankazi would be abundant with young c
rocs several foot long. It also did not dawn to them that they had ventured far out in the river, deep in unexplored rainforest.

  Joef felt cold and his muscles stiff. The downpour had infiltrated his clothes drenching him to the skin. But at least this kept away the swarm of mosquitoes large as houseflies. He stretched, extracted a flask from his supplies and guzzled a bit from it. The rum warmed him. He tossed it to Bubu and began to contemplate on ordering a return.

  A good distance away the river surface broke not by rain but by a tip of a crocodilian tail that grew visible.

  “There....there...” Joef shouted over the sound of the rain. The bright band of light cut through the heavy curtain of rain, illuminating the tail.

  It began to move towards the dugout. Joef adjudged the distance; it would be long moments before the reptile would be within reach. He causally readied himself grasping the rudimentary crocodile trap of a stick with a noose at the end.

  A moment later Joef knew he had erred. The river surface rose into a miniature swell flooding the dugout. From it thrust out the most enormous jaw, Joef had ever seen. It was unexpected. No croc or animal could move so fast, unless its snout was below the dugout!

  It is a hell of a long animal was all the hunter could think at the moment.

  The hull of the dugout splintered between the mighty jaws like a bone in a hyena’s jaws. It was mistaking the dugout for a prey. Fear soared in the men, they leaped into the river. Their movements attracted the beast; it moved towards its prey, Joef.

  Never had Joef been so terrified in his life, he screamed. The scream killed his chance of survival, the brute zeroed down on its prey. With hardly any effort its jaws clamped on Joef’s torso decapitating the head which shot forward as if expelled by a weak cannon. Gulping the torso swiftly, it chased the dainty morsel—the decapitated head.

  Bubu crossed the river with powerful strokes, blindly heading for the banks. He hurriedly climbed out and turned to watch. All he saw was an enormous dark reptilian shape chew the dugout to smithereens. He turned and ran into the sanctity of the dark jungle; behind him he heard the powerful bellow of rage. A crocodilian bellow. But he knew the animal was no crocodile. It was a creature from hell.

  x x x

  Bubu returned to camp the next evening, he had trekked all the way upstream. Yet he showed no signs of fatigue or exhaustion, only concern, bordering on fear. Nobody believed him. It was difficult to believe Joef was killed in a croc attack. He had on innumerable occasions warded away the largest reptile with a mere branch. But Bubu was wildly adamant; Joef was killed by a huge croc!

  Bubu’s wife mended the walls of the hut with phrynium leaves as Gerald and Louis mused over the information. He looked terribly shaken up as he sat in a corner, still clothed in his soiled khaki shirt and pant. Nothing could upset these tribesmen. These Bkangalasi were mortals who spent every single day facing dangers. A routine few were confronting the great mountain gorilla, side-stepping the jaws of a crocodile or a snake, evading the charge of the hippo and surviving the vile creatures the rainforest could spew. The only thing that spooked them were myths like huge reptiles, mountain-size gorillas etc.

  Gerald looked once more at Bubu huddled in the corner, a dark form of despair. The sight depressed him; quickly he emerged from the hut. He strongly believed in his brother’s survival technique. Was a monster really out there or simply an overgrown croc? Had it killed his brother? What if Joef was lying wounded in the forest? Such doubts assailed him.

  There was only one way to find out. Lead a rescue team as soon as possible. But before he could do so he needed to inform the neighboring tribal village about his missing brother, maybe they had news.

  Joef was a hit with everyone. There was always a likelihood he was yahooing around with the numerous mountain tribes. Gerald had to be certain before embarking on the rescue mission.

  To get the news across village to village it had to be done the jungle way; primitive telegraphy or talking drums. These drums were made from hollowed tree trunks with a slit at one end. With these instruments, drummers could imitate the rhythms and intonations of the local speech.

  In return for this favor, he would have to send a pair of young crocs to the village headman. The headman simply loved tender croc flesh.

  Lost in his thoughts, he idly walked towards the river. It was his favorite evening spot. He enjoyed watching the Bkangalasi fishermen collect their catch of fish for the day. Their style of fishing was unique. Their equipment consisted of simple scaffolding like structure. This they erected right in the center of the river. Cone shaped fish traps would be suspended from these scaffold partly immersed in the river. Fishes swimming along the currents would be caught in these traps.

  Before sunset the fishermen would nimbly scramble down the narrow scaffold to collect their catch, oblivious of the raging river a few feet below. Their activities always reminded Gerald of the industrious jungle ants.

  He broke away from the sight, returning to Joef’s absence. A rescue team had to be organized, fast. It would soon be sunset; they would have to leave at least by sunrise. This would give him enough time to meet Mr. Jodliker from the NIBS.

  It was time to inform his father, the experienced man would be able to supply some vital advice.

  Chapter 3: The Behemoth

  The family of gorillas was aware of its presence in the river below. But they felt safe up on the twenty-foot foliage that nearly tunneled over the river. Nevertheless, the seven-foot male kept a wary eye on the gigantic predator below.

  Down in the murky river it moved its huge dark and sinuous body, stationing itself just below the gorilla’s nest. It immersed its mighty body keeping its six-foot head above the river surface.

  Instinctively, the male gorilla knew it waited for a slip and fall from one of those boisterous and troublesome youngsters. As long as they remained in the nest on the tree they were safe. But such was not the case.

  A youngster squabbling with another slipped from the nest. But was quick to grab a handhold and hung there.

  Like a torpedo the creature shot head first out of the water and into the air. Bridging a gap of over twelve-foot, it grabbed the young gorilla in its jaws. The mighty jaws clamped down with a pressure of several hundred pounds per inch, snapping the spinal cord and killing it, all in one action.

  Gripping its prey it splashed back into the river like a metric tonne log.

  The twilight jungle instantly broke out with the cacophony of gorilla cries, spreading like shockwaves through the jungle.

  x x x

  Later after midnight the troop from NIBS arrived. The rains too arrived in curtains. Mr. Jodliker turned out to be a Miss Cathy Jodliker and insisted on being called ‘CJ’.

  Her skin was dark chocolate brown, somewhere along her bloodline it was evident she was Polynesian. She was five-foot something, muscular built, high cheek bones, slant eyes and thick sensuous lips.

  Dressed in simple khaki trousers, shirt and knee-high boots she looked very safari-like. She was all leader and business type and handled her colleagues in a similar manner.

  Even after many hours of flight from the States, she neglected her jetlag to summon... nearly subpoena Gerald to her tent. She sat behind a specially erected desk in the light of an electric lamp.

  The first thing Gerald noticed, she was without make-up. She was beautiful, in a way she seemed to blend with the surroundings in the jungle. Was it because of the color of her skin? Yet he realized any man who assumed her beauty was her weakness was foolish.

  “So Mr. Belfour,” she started, starched and ironed. “I believe your brother is lost... in an accident.”

  “So`n...” He started in Portuguese. “Yes,” he quickly skipped to English. “The Bkanglashi, the one called Bubu, believes it’s an overgrown croc.”

  She studied him closely. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  His intelligence was at test. “Croc or no croc, I am organizing a rescue team t
omorrow at dawn...” He was not going to commit himself on the existence of the monster.

  “You mean today...” She cut in.

  Smart assed bitch! He swore. It was past midnight, ‘today’ had started!

  Before he could reply, she continued. “Mr Belfour, I will be in Nkobele for not more than a week. Get here before that.” It was not a mere statement but an order. A veiled warning.

  “Yes...” He nearly added ma’ am but bit his tongue. Such a curt bitch did not deserve any courtesy.

  x x x

  The dawn smelt humid with the passing whiff of decomposing vegetation. Mist was heavy in the air and shrouded the surroundings like jungle vines. The sun was yet to come up but the tribesmen were busy mending nets of plant fiber. From the roofs wisps of smoke spewed out as manioc boiled or fish dried.

  The rescue team comprised of Gerald, Bubu and a couple of other Bkangalashi tribesmen. They started down the river that Joef had used in a motorized dugout.

  Sleeked shaped pirogues able to accommodate nine to twelve individuals flowed past them. The tribesmen cheerfully waved greetings to each other. Some would go to their scaffolds to set traps or would go deeper in the jungle to hunt the mboloko—antelope, a favorite source of meat.

  Little after sunrise the dugout reached the spot where the river widened and deepened; the branch of the river which Joef had started his croc hunting. All Gerald had to do was watch the banks for ‘croc trails.’

  Crocodiles have this particular habit of coming out of the river to bask in the sun. In doing so, they favor a particular spot on the bank. In this process they bulldoze through vegetation leaving a tell-tale trail behind. The size of a croc could be gauged by the trail left behind.

  So all Gerald had to do was to look for a fairly large ‘croc trail’, only then he would decide on his brother’s chance of survival. At various trails he stopped to measure but Bubu insisted they were way away from the occurrence.

  By late morning the sun burned with its usual vengeance, steam rose within the jungles. The heat was sweltering within minutes. The motorized dugout raced with uninterruptible speed towards the spot of Joef’s attack.