Rét Chhipkali

The jungle turned to charcoal as the evening drew in. They tried to keep up with the sun but it would soon be time to stop the day’s journey and set up camp for the night.

"Ranjit, do not run so far ahead of us. You must be careful in here." Rajah yelled to his son.

"Yes father," he said bending over to pick something up, "look, I found some berries on the ground, maybe we can eat them."

Ranjit was the younger of Rajah’s two boys and at twelve years old was very much the explorer. His brown eyes grew bigger with every step forward, slashing at branches with his stick.

"Yes well bring them to me and I will have a look at them, but don’t you eat them yet. Why don’t you come and help your brother build a fire."

Ranjit almost dropped the tiny bundle of fruit. He ran back to his father and brother so fast that his pugri almost flew off his head. It was a sure sign of growing up being asked to start a fire.

"Make sure you get a good bed of coals and I will prepare some food," Rajah told his boys, "we have another long day of walking tomorrow so after dinner we must sleep and rise early."

After a simple meal of curried lentils with rice and the berries Ranjit found, all pots were scrubbed and placed back in their sacks. Rajah unrolled a few wool blankets and stretched them out in front of the fire.

The ashes rose and floated skyward like blackened butterflies, flitting around aimlessly for a moment then drifting off into the darkness. Haneef hacked more branches with his kukri - dulling its blade even more - and tossed them on the burning pile. He was the elder of the two boys, tall and thin and with hair a shade lighter than pitch, his mother had always worried he would be bullied by the other children in their village. She had been right. His father had given him the knife upon turning fifteen this past winter and when Ranjit turns fifteen in a few more years, his father will give him one as well.

Inside the woods it quickly turned to night under the canopy of trees and while his two sons poked at the burning logs, Rajah was pondering his family’s future. It had been one year since his wife passed away and he inherited the role of both father and mother, but only two month’s since he decided to pack up his sons and leave their lives in Berhampore behind to strive for a better life in a larger city like Calcutta. But such a move on foot would prove demanding on all of them. Ranjit being the young one had the most difficulty leaving his home and his memories.

"Babu?" Ranjit spoke.

Rajah did not respond.

"Father?" again the child asked.

Rajah shook his mind awake, "Yes Ranjit, what is it?"

"Father, could you tell us a story tonight?" Ranjit asked with a smile.

"You would like a story would you?" he smirked, "And you Haneef, would you care for a story too?"

"Yes, only not the tale of Sabu and Bhalu the bear. That is for children and we are not children any more."

"No you are not," Rajah reflected but for a moment, "you are both growing up so fast. But Ranjit is still young enough to enjoy the story of Sabu, yes." His father winked to him.

"That one is my favorite." Ranjit said.

"I will tell it to you only if you promise to sleep right after."

"I promise father."

"As for you Haneef, for putting up with another telling of Sabu I have a different story for you after your brother goes to bed. But this is not just a story, it is an East Indian fable."

"What’s a fable babu?" Haneef asked.

"Well, a fable is like a myth. A story that may be true but at the same time may not. No one knows quite for sure." Rajah watched the smoke rise far above them, "It is a tale my babu, your grandfather, told me when I was close to your age so it would be fitting I pass it on to you."

"I want to hear the story too." Ranjit whined.

"I’m sorry Ranjit but this one is suited more for your brother than you right now. But one day I will tell it to you, don’t you worry." Rajah said giving the boy one of the sacks to use for a pillow.

The sound of insects clung to the rim of their camp surrounding them with chirps and trills. Haneef sat on an old rotted stump just close enough to the fire to make him visible; the orange glow glinted off his kukri. He looked up through the treetops to see the stars but his eyes could not penetrate the forest. Ranjit was cross-legged on the earthen floor close to the fire and seated across from his brother, he watched as little bugs flew into the flames and wondered why they would do such a stupid thing.

Rajah began the story about an infant boy named Sabu who had been lost to his parents in the jungle yet found and raised by wolves. He told how the boy grew up and befriended a bear and panther and about a ruined city controlled by a dominion of apes. It wasn’t long until Ranjit was fast asleep under his blanket beside the fire.

"Your brother is asleep and even before his favorite part, I must be telling it better, yes?" Rajah praised himself.

"Or worse." Haneef quipped.

"Tell me, do you still wish to hear the fable?"

"Is this that made up story of Shesha the King of Serpents?" Haneef asked his father.

"No it is not of Shesha, Asura or even Kali. It is not a story of ancient times but of the recent past. Nor is it of Hindu evil spirits or demons but of simply, a child. Let me tell you, there are many dangers here in the jungles of India. Tigers have been known to kill a man for pleasure and snakes that are so big they can swallow a man my size in one gulp. It is what you cannot see or hear that should concern you, and you cannot see or hear Rét Chhipkali, until it is to late."

"Who is Rét Chhipkali?" Haneef asked.

"It was about thirty years ago nearing the turn of the century and the world was close to entering the nineteen hundreds. Hope had filled the hearts of many that this

new time would bring a better life for all, yet times had stayed very difficult for most. Work was impossible to come by and people found themselves doing anything to survive, a lot of crime and such.

"A young girl just sixteen years old unfortunately had been forced to prostitute herself. This is not something she would have wanted to do but rather made to, and it was because of her prostituting that her life took a drastic change for the worse. It seemed that she had become pregnant. This was of course a disgrace not just to her but also her family. Being so young she was terrified that someone would find out. She may be beaten or banished from her home and village. She hid the oncoming child as best she could, but one day it would be impossible to hide and she knew this, so she left."

"Where did she go father?" Haneef questioned his father.

"Into these woods. It was said that for forty-three days she lived in this very jungle until the child was born. She ate bugs and toadstools, caught little salamanders and pulled pine needles off the trees; she even drank from mud puddles after a rainfall. Until one day the child was born. Birds fled from the treetops upon hearing her shrieks of labor. I don’t know if the child was a boy or girl, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. What did matter was she could not stay in the jungle much longer; animals would soon pick up the scent of fresh blood. She prayed and cried looking for an answer. It was soon after the birth she decided what to do. She would wrap the child in tattered clothing she’d ripped from her own, then kiss it on the forehead and toss it in the center of a bog of quicksand. She stood and watched through tears as the child was slowly pulled under."

"She killed him?" Haneef asked leaving his stump to move closer to the fire.

"I’m afraid so. She spent the next while praying for her child’s soul and her own. In time though she went back to her village and family where she told a story of being taken and beaten for weeks by her captures, then only to escape them. Her family would comfort her and love her, a much better feeling than banishment, yes?"

"Then what is this Rét Chhipkali you are telling me of?" Haneef again asked.

"Well, because the child was so new from birth its lungs were still full of liquid and was able to breathe the wetness within the bog sand."

"Breathe sand? I don’t believe that can happen." Haneef said.

"Believe or not, that choice is yours. But know this," Rajah’s face dead-panned, his eyes squinted, "if the legend is true then there was a child discarded many years ago and left for dead, yet somehow it survived. It lives under the jungle floor, this jungle

floor in a pit of wet earth. It moves through dirt and rock with ease, its skin becoming hard and callused like a lizard. Its eyes colorless, white like stones polished by water and time, only hints of yellow where pupils should have been. Years of nocturnal roaming had rendered them almost useless. Hands thick and gray like that of an elephant, its fingernails adamantine and sharp for scraping skin from the bone."

"Whose bones father?" Haneef asked, his eyes now as dry as his throat.

"From whatever it could catch," Rajah looked over to Ranjit to see the boy still sleeping, "frogs, snakes and guinea fowl, possibly bigger things too like boar or goat, maybe small children. It is so fast it can snatch a fly in flight and have it eaten before the insect has a chance to die. Dark matted hair covers its head. Long hair filled with dirt and dead bugs, it was said to look like sticks and twigs giving it natural camouflage."

"What do you mean camouflage Babu?" Haneef didn’t know that word.

"It means you can’t see it when it’s right in front of you. It looks and smells just like the jungle floor, in fact it is the jungle floor."

Haneef looked at his father, confusion filled his face.

"This is the most dangerous trait of Rét Chhipkali. You can’t see it but it can see you. Let me tell you how it eats." Rajah started.

"I don’t think I want to know how it eats." Haneef said checking the darkness behind him.

"It leaves its mud filled home, but not for long." Rajah began again, "Fresh air for you and me is something it cannot breathe - like a machali out of water - it will trap and kill something it can use as bait, something small like a mouse or bird maybe fruit off surrounding bushes, yes.

"It will lay the bait on the edge of the bog to lure a victim, hiding itself along the crust of the quicksand like a lily pad on a frog pond, and there it will wait. It will wait for hours; motionless like a crocodile, it will become part of its environment, invisible to all that approach." Rajah picked up another branch and tossed it into the fire, pausing for effect.

"What happens after it lays the bait father?" Haneef’s curiosity was visibly piqued. This was definitely not a story for his little brother. Ranjit would be crying by now or at the very least sitting on his father’s lap.

"Well, once something comes by and finds the offering, it will wait for a moment longer then lunge at the prey." Rajah out stretched his arms and grabbed for his son. Haneef fell back off the stump and screamed like a child.

Laughter filled the air so loud Rajah had to check to see if they awoke Ranjit. He was still curled up in his blanket very much asleep.

"Babu that was mean." Haneef was embarrassed, especially after stating he was no longer a child.

"I’m sorry Haneef, but your grandfather did the same to me, only I jumped higher and screamed louder," Rajah wiped the tears from his cheeks, "come now, we must sleep."

Haneef could not believe his father did that to him, "You know I will get you for that." he warned.

"Yes I know, come let’s sleep." The two slipped under their warmed blankets and slept uninterrupted until morning.

Dampness had come early and dew covered everything, at least on the ground. Ranjit rubbed his eyes awake; he saw his father and brother still asleep. The air was cool and made him shiver. He took a stick from the pile of burnt wood and stirred the cinders looking for coals. Little puffs of smoke rose from last night’s remnants and soon thereafter a small flame. He threw on leaves that littered the ground near him but that would not be enough to keep it going, so he went on a hunt for anything that might burn.

The smoke from the smoldering leaves lurched along the ground and into the sleeping faces of Rajah and Haneef. Inhaling it burned their throats and they awoke coughing. Rajah threw his blanket off and sat up, "What’s – cough – going on here?" He tried looking around but his eyes filled with the smoke, "Haneef, Ranjit are you alright?" Rajah couldn’t see a thing.

"Yes father, I am okay." Haneef said.

"Ranjit are you okay?" Rajah rubbed his eyes, "Ranjit?"

He got up and went to where his son was sleeping, but he was not there.

"Ranjit!" he yelled trying to see, "Come Haneef let’s go find your brother, he’s wandered off again."

Father and son went into the woods calling for Ranjit for what seemed to Rajah like hours. "How many times have I told you both not to leave my sight?"

"Many times father." Haneef replied.

"Well then why don’t you listen?" Rajah was furious.

"I am here beside you aren’t I?" Haneef snapped back.

"Yes . . . yes you are, I am sorry." Rajah apologized, "Look, through those trees."

The two exited the thick brush and entered the clearing. Ranjit was squatted down ahead of them poking at the ground with a stick.

"Ranjit! What are you doing leaving camp on your own? Haven’t I told you how dangerous it is in here?" Rajah scolded his son.

"I know father. I just came looking for wood to put in the fire," he turned his attention back to the ground, "look what I have found. A dead bird."

Rajah froze.

"Ranjit," Rajah said softly, " come here right now."

"But Babu, you should see . . ."

"Ranjit! Right now."

Ranjit dropped the stick, stood up and stepped toward his father. Rajah saw leaves drift across the ground at his son’s feet, but there was no breeze. Rock debris and twigs pitched upward from the earth, like a body exhumed. The jungle floor moved, it seemed to be alive. Terror filled Rajah’s mind as he quickly realized that the dead bird was the bait.

Stephen J. Canham has studied writing at Conestoga College in Kitchener / Waterloo and is currently midway through a two-year correspondence course on Freelance Writing with ICS.

Email: Stephen J. Canham

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