Bookkeeper | Manu Yadav

Home was all she could think about, and food, as she trudged on through the pouring rain with her infant stuck to her chest, hungry and drenched. For a moment, Bukipa forgot that she had deposed their decade-old leader just hours ago, left him humping in the forest, on an oak near the northern boundary by a river he couldn’t cross for over a month while she took charge of their troop of twenty langurs and led them back up the long, wet road, slippery ledges and rooftops to the school on the hill.

Beyond the last of the colonial buildings, and across a forested valley atop a hill with a lake called Gamboo was their home and had been for decades, until Thug po, their former leader, lost his mind and marched them down to the forest.

Within the first week of his misadventure, a leopard ambushed a juvenile at sundown and vanished into the brushwood. His mother, who was right beside him, froze in shock and it took her almost a minute to rally the troop. Accustomed to the tame dogs and cats of Gamboo, the rest of the langurs didn’t understand the danger. When they finally did, they erupted in a ceaseless wail, howling at the unseen leopard, at Thug po, and at the dark hell that suddenly descended upon them.

The mother of the slain juvenile went into denial, she ignored the troop and searched for her missing boy, until a week ago, a python crushed and swallowed her right before the eyes of the shrieking troop.

Grief crippled the survivors. All twenty bunched together and stared blankly at the fruit and flowers around them, since even their fearsome leader went nowhere near the death traps. On the contrary, the mighty one, as his name meant in Tibetan, perched on a branch above them with his present favourite by his side, a senior female called Eagle-eye aka E², a champion spotter of snacks and an unashamed glutton who devoured the birds she killed but only after she snatched their fruit which she offered to Thug po. The troop however, survived on ants and grubs.

Their new way of life impacted mothers with young severely and their dull, frayed coats were testament to this. Of the five mothers, Bukipa was the newest and fiercely protective of her infant, and that being so, the calculated precision of her coup was anything but spontaneous. Perhaps it was because the little one clinging to her chest was not Thug po’s.

A breeze swept through, turning the downpour into drizzle as the world lit up and fell unnervingly silent. Bukipa suddenly realised that the rumbling she heard all along wasn’t the troop behind her but the sound of wind and rain, just endless columns of green, grey and black.

Her strength vaporised and her grip slackened, and before she knew it, she was falling, staring at the earth she was going to hit. Just as she was bracing for impact, her infant clung tightly to her chest and grasped her fur with his tiny fingers when she suddenly found herself catching the ridge with her toes while her hands clasped the rail as she swung in and collided into a wooden post.

Blood trickled down her ebony face and she crouched over her shivering infant as the drizzle turned lethal in the breeze. Both mother and infant were close to a fever. On the verge of collapse, Bukipa pulled herself together and hooted to the troop for help but nobody responded. She called again, this time louder and with her infant pitching in with a shrill coo. Still nothing.

Below, a group of schoolchildren ran down the exposed staircase towards a terraced garden peppered with oaks and lined with chrysanthemums. They stopped to peek over the oakwood fence, giggling and chattering among themselves when a hoarse grunt from nearby sent them scampering away.

Bukipa hurried down to inspect the sound and found five deserters nestled against the fence, looking back demurely. Before she could reprimand them, one looked up at the trees pointing out their colleagues bunched like fruit among leafy branches. The sight flared Bukipa. She rattled the fence and barked at the cowards who simply stared into the distance and wished her away. Their sheer timidity inspired a piercing screech from the pit of her stomach and everyone took note, even the rain ceased.

Sunlight ripped through grey clouds and lit up her starved frame as she prowled along the fence like the big, spotted cat in the forest, towering over those huddled below. She stooped, then lunged, and was pleased to see them scatter—all but one defiant soul dared to stand her ground.

It was Loner, her mother, grimacing as her good, left eye sparked with venom since the right was sacrificed ages ago defending her insolent daughter from the chief. At nine, Loner was the eldest female and her achievements included raising Bukipa and her younger brother, Guru; a substantial feat, considering neither of them were related to Thug po but his predecessor, whose other offspring had not survived the brutal takeover of their troop.

Understandably, Loner no longer had the heart for strife and certainly did not support Bukipa’s coup and although she wished to return home she would not leave Thug po behind, not because she liked him, she disliked him like everyone else, but for the tradition of a patriarch leading an otherwise female troop and their young. And now her daughter’s cockiness provoked her.

With a low grunt, Loner leapt onto the fence, her old joints creaking with the effort, and began a slow, lumbering chase. Neither mother nor daughter wished to waste energy or let it be, so they walked briskly, their long tails curling over their backs, Bukipa just ahead of Loner, both posturing with hisses and grunts. They were slow but loud and while their assertions failed to impact the pack they roused the entire school.

The children were enthralled. Having named everyone except Thug po, who earned his name from the Tibetan settlers around Lake Gamboo, they were emotionally invested in the troop, their stories and their antics. While most anecdotes were true, those concerning Loner’s brooding ways were preposterous, she was made out to be psychic. Nevertheless, stories about her daughter were faithful.

Bukipa was notorious for stealing books which she returned for treats she deemed worthy. While her cousin Trickby towards whom both the mother and daughter unwittingly scuttled was not a trickster but a sticky situation in herself. Known only to their human audience, Trickby was perched high up in the chestnut tree at the top end of the walkway, which flanked the library.

A shriek, abrupt and unmistakably infantile, found Trickby running further up the trunk and it startled Loner and Bukipa since Trickby’s own offspring were adolescent. They watched helplessly as Trickby peered down from behind foliage to examine the height before letting the infant fall.

What followed was unclear; piercing cries of the infant, of langurs and children overlapped with rustling branches after which there was a moment of silence, short but unbearable, ending in a resounding shower of claps and whistles. The langurs were as startled as any onlooker, Loner was halfway up the tree clasping a stunned infant while Bukipa chased Trickby up the library roof fearing the worst for her own since it was not Trickby’s first attempt to do away with upcoming competition.

Meanwhile, Loner examined the wounded infant whom she deemed worthy of preservation although his shrieks tested her patience. She clucked to summon the troop who responded at once and hurried towards her but steered clear of her and the shrieking infant because he belonged to Eagle-eye, Thug po’s paramour. They shot up the tree to the library roof where Trickby, who had since been subdued, now marched behind Bukipa. Moments later they were all headed home without the chief.

Loner was livid and screeched over the infant to shut him up before chasing the slackers up the trunk until she had to stop and queue behind her uncommitted colleagues to hurl herself on the library roof. Her tail was hoisted so high that it hurt.

Above, the juveniles trampolined on the old chestnut and landed like rocks on the library’s vast, corrugated mansard. Although it looked like moss, it was hard like a slap. Nothing like what Trickby had coming for her, now that Loner was on the roof.

The veteran strode toward the gathering along the ridge, where elders stood minding their unhinged young. At the centre of the commotion was a large, rectangular chimney, sealed shut at the top which the juveniles saw as an unclaimed tower, a symbol of conquest waiting to be scaled. But Trickby was nowhere in sight. She wasn’t among the elders below nor was she with the juveniles clamouring at the top of the chimney or among the smaller crowds perched on the dormers on either side. Instead Trickby’s adolescent daughter Nasaline, a formidable soprano, appeared from behind, eager as always to help. Raised by the entire pack, she was now the mother of them all. Loner quickly handed her the infant and fled to a secluded dormer to recharge.

Seconds later, Trickby’s second born, Tinka approached her. He was a well-behaved lad and sat at an arm’s length, facing away from her. She noticed that he was spying on his playmates frolicking on the chimney, specifically their long serpentine tails, bouncing, beckoning and taunting. Having lost his own in the wretched forest, tails was all he could see.

A wild dog bit his splendid appendage clean leaving a short stump which was unfortunate but not the worst of it. His loss cost him balance and expression and made him brood like his great aunt, Loner, who perhaps contemplated everyone’s eyes.

In his youthful brashness, Tinka decided on yanking the tails off one and all and his mission commenced with his smallest cousin, Backflip II whose vigilant mother caught his ear and flung him away. Yelping, he pushed through the gathering, imploring the elders, none of whom bothered.

Sheer disappointment propelled Tinka to take on Guru, Loner’s second born, when three warriors sprang up, hissing fiercely as they surrounded him. The trio of orphans had long morphed into sociopaths and came to be known as the Ninja since they were a single entity with twelve agile limbs and three fanged mouths. They drove Tinka up the roof and chased him along the ridge, contemplating their course of action when a piercing distress call brought the pack to a standstill.

The caller, Nasaline was hunched on the chimney and stared at the oaks lining the far end of the roofed walkway. There, on the right, a light silhouette bobbed among darker branches, and seconds later a short whoop preceded a whistle, a shrill, human sound, as Thug po emerged on the roof. His tail stood tall, curved gently over his back, meaning he was in no hurry and waited to be announced.

A sharp chorus of “Beep beep, here comes the chief, Thug po sharif, the king of thieves!” rang through the school as Thug po ascended the walkway. A round of admonishments quietened the chanting but added to his swagger. The art block in St. Jude’s was full of homages to him from painting and sculpture to poetry and song.

Bukipa stood no chance against him and his tufted head but she whooped nonetheless and cautioned all to flee to Gamboo. But everyone was glued to the ridge, their eyes transfixed on their histrionic chief parading below with his companion, Eagle-eye aka E².

Thug po circled her and the second she raised her tail, he mounted her in full view of the congress at whom he looked searchingly. A tiny figure appeared behind the crowd and he drooped; Bukipa killed him; his instinct drove him up the right branch except when it came to her, her beauty, her treachery and their far from glorious past.

Many moons ago, they had warred for and against each other. Together they had fled great battles, plundered humans as well as their own kin. When he groomed her with care, she let him on, sometimes. When he smashed his adversaries, one of them his own brother, she chose his side. But when it came to Gamboo, where one ate potatoes forever, she was immovable. And now, at ten, when his reign had lasted nearly twice that of any langur in history, Thug po felt stagnated, and craved independence.

With two fingers pressed on his folded tongue he whistled again and again, enjoying the echoes against the library wall paralyse the pack. Now everyone except Bukipa was still. She gave a rallying call to the langurs and fled, eliciting an innate flight response from the troop who followed her to the opposite side of the pebbled quadrangle behind the library.

Thug po crouched and sprang on the chestnut, and seconds later, metal clattered and a throbbing took over. A loud whistle pierced their ears, startling them with its proximity, at which one of them turned to look and sparked a chain reaction until they all stopped.

They let the chief approach, waiting dutifully with growing unease, having witnessed him undo his own brother who once led the troop and held sway on human crowds who fought for him but to no avail, and who now lived with humans on a barren hilltop; no one wanted that.

Thug po huffed disdainfully as he circled the pack and looked each detractor in the eye, snorting as he smelled fear racking their frames and forcing their heads down, and from the corners of their eyes they watched him walk to the back of the gathering and confront the rebel leader.

Bukipa hurried towards Loner who was alone on a dormer and took a seat beside her. Mother and daughter peered into the quadrangle with a brooding figure of a human in stone in its centre, not unlike Thug po’s mind, empty except a foolish, impossible whim.

It took them all a while to realise that this was a stalemate, for the chief would not act unless provoked, not against Loner and certainly not Bukipa who was in no position to incite him, so he strolled down the middle of the gathering and lay down as eager groomers flocked to him.

The sun warmed the heavy, humid air as the troop spread out, maintaining their oneness even as they became restive and chatty, and soon grooming began. It was easier to spot ticks in damp fur, even so to forget revolt. Thug po stretched his clammy limbs while a sea of ambitious females snuggled up to him vying for a piece of him. Everyone but Trickby was welcomed and remarkably, Tinka made an effort.

He was after Nasaline’s tail. Having safely returned the infant to E², Nasaline turned to politics and was at the chief’s back mimicking the actions of her elders. With each passing second her act grew more believable and Tinka inched closer to her, oblivious of his own vulnerability. All of a sudden Guru leapt out of nowhere and pushed him on Thug po and in a moment of panic Tinka wrenched the emperor’s tail. At once aware of his impudence he screamed for his life and shot straight to Bukipa.

The trespass left everyone gasping and all elders were on high alert. Under langur law, such mischiefs were punishable by death, yet Thug po appeared civil, albeit eerily so. He allowed for tempers to calm and for normalcy to resume and once everyone was settled, the inevitable struck.

Thug po pounced on Tinka who dived down the roof, slipped and vanished, leaving the pack to gulp. Everyone was shocked silent until a cry from his mother, Trickby elicited an uproar of vocalisations from the troop. The din stirred the human world below and the school guards were summoned. For a brief moment, they too, much like the pack, stood frozen, enthralled by the scene above.

Tinka emerged from the edge of the roof and found the whole troop staring back, some grunting, others barking. Although relieved, the elders, including his terrified mother jeered with hisses. He fled to the library to wait out the storm and for one whole minute, the stratagem worked, but his smugness proved unbearable for Thug po. The chief took to his feet and chased him down the library roof, both hollering, although Thug po easily drowned the juvenile’s squawk with his throaty bellow.

Trickby ran after them, fearing for her son. On the ridge of the library roof she screeched for help but the pack shuffled and shrugged,unmoved. They watched until all three, Thug po, Tinka and Trickby disappeared from view and heard branches crash and shrieks echo, and whistles which they possibly imagined. Minutes passed. Then, a heavy thud reverberated across the roofed walkway, the noise resonating eerily with the pack. The troop stirred but remained hesitant. They instinctively moved toward the library roof, drawn by the sound, but their advance stopped at the ridge. There they waited for someone to intervene; Loner would not budge while E² busily fed her infant and Bukipa was not even looking.

The school bell rang. Jubilant cheers from children startled langur juveniles who lunged forward but checked themselves in time. Ultimately Loner took the plunge and went galloping down the roofed walkway. Nasaline followed and soon the remainder of the pack bounded down towards the far end, from where they had come.

Everyone except Bukipa and her infant went. She hugged her baby tight as the sun sank beneath the horizon, her eyes fixed on the speck of light on the mass of barren, grey basalt in the northwestern corner of the town, at the glimmer that was the Biyaban check-post; infinitely high and miles aloof. After all, the little creature on her breast was half him, Gnyen po, Tibetan for flexible one. It could just as easily have meant, beaten one.

Almost two years had passed since his expulsion and her own demotion from a co-leader to a hapless follower, two years since he was chased down the lakeside, through the forest and up the barren hill to the police chowk where he now worked as a lowly guard, two years since throngs of human photographers tried to save the original whistling langur, the one who had decorated their social feeds and gave them valuable likes and hits of dopamine. Perhaps she could rally those humans once again, perhaps it could all be as it once was.

A whistle rang and shook her, she looked up at the police chowk although of course it was Thug po, flaunting a stolen sound.

#

The Tara River marked the forest reserve’s northern boundary, forging a straight course downhill for nearly three kilometres until granite and shale walls twisted it in at least two places, narrowing it to half its width at three hundred metres, where humans had built bridges. One was a stone and cement construction just metres away from Thug po and his troop’s day-perch and the other, a sturdier, cement and concrete structure, which was farther downriver. The troop had resisted crossing either, not least because of the silted, gushing water, raging with every obstacle it encountered, or even the growing swelter making it difficult to survive under thin cover on its north bank, but that a crowd was gathering on the south side. And it grew everyday.

Many aquifers, which formed during earthquakes filled once the river flooded, and most animals depended on this underwater network feeding the swamps and lakes for survival. As a result, herbivores like deer and water buffalo migrated to the south bank and with them their predators, which made it impossible for the troop to venture there—despite the tantalising fruity smells blowing downwind.

Being snow-fed, the soaring heat did not affect the Tara and some were grateful for this; the berry shrubs on its floodplains, for one, and Thug po and his pack, who were partial to them. With deep red lips, and pink stains dotting their silver manes, the pack returned to the oaks near the stone bridge to their day-perch since there was little else they could reliably eat. Either the fruit were up in trees overgrown with creepers hiding new dangers, or they were near rock outcrops where a leopard was spotted.

So far, the troop had been through a week without incident since everyone including Bukipa kept busy surviving and found no time for mutiny. This was despite her ears ringing with Gnyen po’s calls —faint but urgent—which she dismissed as hallucinations since nobody else seemed to hear them. As for the others, they too adapted to their new life; Loner was forced to stay close to her compatriots which made her physically sick while Trickby grew less murderous and realised there was strength in numbers, as did E² who found sense in sharing, given the lurking danger. The youngsters made the most of their adventure, and for an hour with a football that Tinka found by the river and lost to it.

It belonged to the forest guards who were presently making their way downriver and towards them, sending flocks of deer southward and disturbing a herd of buffalo lain on the bank. The cavalcade of three jeeps perked everybody up, especially the troop.

These vehicles appeared at least once every day and their favoured spot was the stone bridge. However, the humans who emerged from them were coldly intimidating, they did not care for langurs in the slightest, remarkable for a troop who were local stars and took human affection for granted. Unperturbed, the pack went down everyday to the bridge to make their acquaintance inspite of Thug po’s strong disapproval, and every day they found the humans blowing clouds of smoke from their vehicles and from their mouths, and appeared to have nothing to eat, much to Thug po’s relief. They chatted, peed in the river and returned to their door-less vehicles where they jabbered some more. Once, they drank through the evening and ate meat.

Presently, Thug po was determined to prevent any interaction between the two parties. He grunted and headed up the northern slope expecting his troop to follow but was summarily ignored, again. Instead the langurs gazed at the predictable organisation of the three jeeps; men from the two vehicles parked on the south bank gathered around the one on the bridge where they leaned in talking but soon fell silent. Minutes later they flung stones into the river, one of which fell on the bridge. It was a mango seed.

Finally they had food which interested langurs, food which reminded some of the glory days in Gamboo. While everyone was interested, Bukipa was keen.

After a minute of consideration, she climbed down and made for the bridge with E² and Nasaline close behind. The rest of the pack watched them while eager youngsters queued on a branch despite their chief’s unflinching glare. The pack inched downward a few steps at a time and were soon on the ground.

Thug po lost it. He sped down the trunk, dived into the back of the jeep and out the front, unscathed and empty-handed. The humans, although astonished were amused while langur elders gawked at their chief and youngsters shrieked with glee. Nobody knew what the fit of rage was supposed to accomplish and neither did Thug po. Yet he did not stop there.

From the wooden rail of the bridge he leapt on the bonnet eliciting shouts from the foresters which encouraged him to amp it up. He sneered and growled at the men as he bounded to the unguarded side of the jeep and slipped in the front. This time he emerged with a shiny device, no bigger than his palm at which the foresters began to shout excitedly and one blew the horn.

Now everybody was impressed albeit for different reasons. The pack descended to the bridge and surrounded the jeep hoping for snacks but the men began yelling as they shut shop and exited. As soon as the jeeps set off upriver, Thug po resumed command of his nerves and of a disappointed, groaning troop.

Everyone eyed the shiny, little contraption dangling from the thread, wound securely on his wrist. He appeared to know what it was but he did not, although he knew about the loop, having once stolen a pocket radio which had a similar attachment at one end. When he let it slip from his grip, it dangled teasingly as it glinted in the afternoon sun.

Thug po proceeded up the oak nearest the bridge and his troop followed without a moment of dither. Everyone but Bukipa climbed back to their perch. From the wood rail she peered into the grassland, following the jeeps as they disappeared behind swathes of lantana giving way to a rocky terrain dotted with tall, naked peaks.

After about ten minutes of watching her antics, Thug po whooped but instead of paying heed, Bukipa went to the riverbank, scanned her surroundings for danger, found a small pool on the bank and lowered her head to drink. Nasaline promptly climbed down and spotted for her. Both drank, taking turns, wary of the wild since they were not one with it.

Among a scattering of dry twigs, a skink, a small, brown lizard about four inches long, caught Nasaline’s eye. Three black horizontal lines on the mud-coloured skink rendered him indistinguishable from his surroundings, well, nearly. Crouched over his bent knees, the lizard eyed a green beetle when a branch snapped overhead as a lapwing swooped down grabbing the lizard in its talons. The bird disappeared behind foliage and moments later, a tiny reptilian eye fell on Bukipa’s infant which she flicked off his ear. She, on the other hand, was consumed with a wake of red-headed vultures feeding on the remains of a water buffalo while somewhere unseen a Himalayan blue-tail sang as if with a touch of irony.

And there she heard it again, her Gnyen po’s alarm call, softly echoing, and the way Nasaline glanced at her, she knew it was not her imagination.

A sudden, terrified shriek sent the drinkers back up the oak. It was Guru and the Ninja who had spotted a rock python coiled on a branch several metres below, sizing them up, flicking his forked tongue and moving his head from side to side. No sooner did the snake begin his ascent than Thug po fled upriver and led the troop to safety. While everybody was relieved, they were less chatty.

Thug po dangled the shiny contraption from his wrist hoping to regain their admiration when out of the blue, good old E² spotted an apricot tree. The godsend stood on the south bank, behind a grove of bamboo. The unexplored south beckoned like never before and the pack hurried behind E² to explore the new territory without waiting for Thug po’s command. Hunger prompted him to follow quietly.

The troop found a throng of green parakeets perched on the upper reaches of the apricot tree, too stuffed to take off, and they themselves fared no better. Greedy youngsters guzzled with such intensity that they nearly choked while the elders called upon ancient wisdom and emptied their bowels before gorging on the red-green lush ignoring their toothless infants begging for a taste who settled for watching brown seeds rain down on the blood red floor.

The banquet lasted for over an hour after which the troop was still reluctant to leave the tree. While they rested, a pack of spotted deer came to scavenge the litter, a rare sighting for most and brand new to some, and left them all enchanted, each in their own way.

Tinka aimed his excrement on them while Guru and the Ninja went down and said hello. They discovered that although the graceful ruminants were friendly they would not oblige them with a ride, nor did they like their ears plucked or fur caressed. Thug po was about to reprimand the quartet when the weather obliged.

Cold drops of water rapped their heads and smacked the branches as the sun disappeared and the sky darkened. Thunder cracked deep in the jungle, lighting up the gorge in the centre. For the rest of the day the troop was forced to stay in the apricot tree they so loved and admire the wonders of the south bank.

Thug po clenched the steely contraption tight in his fist as if he knew it was not waterproof. It was, although, it did nothing. The black button on the side seemed ornamental but bling pleased him and so he kept it.

In the evening when the weather cleared, the pack returned to the oaks on the northern side and settled downriver on a single tree not far from their day perch. Nasaline’s incessant clucks saw to it that the pack moved higher up the tree. She was not paranoid, far from it.

Unseen to them and uphill, a leopard lay beside an outcrop, following their movement. At sundown he slithered downhill but the darkened sky and the rumbling Tara rendered the langurs untraceable, and he wandered off track.

While everyone was dimly aware of the predator looking for them, Thug po was busy working the device. Somehow the black button slipped upward and the device expelled a powerful white beam straight into his eye, blinding him as it slipped from his grasp and fell dangling from his wrist.

Now everyone was awed and they all wanted the torch. It lit up the forest in whichever direction it was turned. The disturbance made babies coo and by the time they quietened the leopard was under their perch.

Over the next few minutes a breeze blew and rustled leaves and together with the sound of the river and the surrounding darkness, conspired with the predator. Nearby an owl hooped and the leopard snarled.

Warning calls rang through the canopy. Birds joined the din and from somewhere upstream, deer called and spread the word until the whole neighbourhood became a blast of calls.

The leopard focused on the langurs, circling their perch from below, looking ponderously at the tall, steep tree when a light shot straight into his eyes. Unflustered, he disappeared in the undergrowth and began to sharpen his claws against their perch. Despite an inquisitive torchlight panning in every direction, the pack lost sight of him. They could no longer see or hear but could feel the scraping on the trunk.

After a minute or so the tremors ceased and the calls of birds and animals receded. A howling wind rose from the chilly waters as dead branches cracked and fell. Every sound however soft, was terrifying.

The owl hooped again as the leopard rasped and shot up the tree. Chaos took hold of the langurs as they fled their perches when a youngster fell on the riverbank. Immediately the leopard veered back down behind the langur who confusedly took to the river and disappeared.

Just as the Tara gobbled one of the Ninja, the other two jumped behind to help; one fell directly into the claws of the mad, swiping cat and the other died defending her.

The survivors hooted ferociously from above, they jumped and shook branches, snorted and howled but it made no difference to the cat who now fed below, unaffected by the bright beam of light shining upon him. Once satisfied, he returned to the dark when a shadow leapt at Thug po, yanked the torch from his hand and threw it away. It was Loner.

Over the next hour the howls of monkeys, birds and deer disintegrated into cold silence as wild choirs of cicadas and crickets rose with the river. Ultimately, trauma weighed the pack down and they slept.

Guru howled for much longer, unable to accept his loss. Bukipa and Loner stayed up all night, and while Loner nodded off from time to time Bukipa appeared to look for answers.

Perhaps if she could somehow conjure up any of the thousands of tricks from the books she stole from children to console her little brother, or find light in this bleak world to offer solace; a word, a sound that might ease the anxiety and inspire them all to press on for another day.

And there it was, a low k-k-ka-kak-kak, resounding as it grew louder and clearer, and this time they all heard it, the call from Gnyen po. It was an alarm, he was warning them of something and they knew not what, but instead of looking for signs of danger, they felt his support.

But it was too dark and too late and they knew they must wait for daybreak. On the following day the sun forgot to shine and they woke up to what looked and felt like a humid, gloomy evening.

#

A horde of macaques proceeded unchallenged to the Gamboo settlement around the lakeside. Their leader, a large gold creature, gave an open-mouthed glare to his pack. The hostile expression reinforced his dominance and he did this from time to time despite the lack of any perceivable threat. From the bare branches of a dried chestnut he surveyed the market and gazed at the people. They called him Sdig pa, meaning scorpion.

Even so, the townsfolk appeared to celebrate the beginning of his reign. Huge, diamond shaped kites with long, whirring tails soared over pastel roofs, sprinkling the sky with every colour. Red, black and gold leapt out while blue, green, and yellow merged with the light. Only partially visible was a deity from the Bon pantheon rippling on their surface.

Goddess Yeshi Walmo hovered far above the rest. Sat on a red mule, she had three dark faces and six arms, each holding a symbolic object. In her lower left hand was a bowl of blood and her seat was a flayed human skin spread on the mule’s back. Below her was Tonpa Shenrab Miwoche, the teacher, blue-skinned and robed in white, seated modestly on a lotus and surrounded by tufts of clouds, exuding benevolence.

Sdig pa was moved, albeit by the spread and scent of fruit below. Together with his subjects he charted a heist, skirting the vegetable market on the high, psychedelic wall of the Chamma Ling monastery.

Covering its walls was a mural depicting the age-old strife between gods and demons, beginning from the left of the entrance where curvaceous deities, hid among fin-shaped clouds to keep an eye on demons, and at the back, which faced the market, they finally set them alight with their flaming hair. The demons were painted in black and white, as was humankind, and a long queue of animals outlined in pencil had long faded. Therefore the end of the story was a mystery.

Behind the walls shone the golden, conical roof of the shrine. Ominous chants of prayer and hundreds of butter lamps lit up the interior and the air itself was appetising. Perhaps it was the orderliness inside that impressed the macaques for they never once thought of ransacking the monastery despite the orchard in the front yard.

To them the mayhem outside was relatable. Vivid, restless crowds thronged shops displaying electronics, garments and accessories. The fruit stalls and eateries which interested them were a short way ahead, in the ground floors of homes.

Yet, Sdig pa was hesitant to proceed. The continued absence of langurs wrecked his nerves since the barking loon atop the impossible wall called constantly to his absent troop reminding Sdig pa of them.

Sdig pa perched himself on a tall oak overlooking the market and the surrounding wood from where he watched the movement below with great care. His generals, which included elder females and males, stayed with him and kept guard while the ranks disowned the elite to forage for treats.

They marched along roof edges eyeing rotund bags swaying by the sides of shoppers and juveniles quickly became uncontrollable. A group of them shot up bamboo poles leaving a trail of condiments and angry humans bellowing, pretending to throw things. A gunshot from a nearby television sent them scampering to their seniors.

The elders hid, and sometime later, slid down the bamboo scaffolding one after another, swung under the tarpaulin and resurfaced with strawberries, apricots and mangoes. Interestingly, not a human or dog objected to the loot. While juveniles were awestruck with their ancients, the elders themselves found something amiss.

A large kite bearing the likeness of Sangpo Bumtri, the creator deity fell to the ground and a group of juveniles immediately tore it to shreds. One of them made off with the tail and was chased up the wall of the monastery when a crow swerved mid-descent and flew away, cawing as the juvenile’s shriek rang through the air. Then a whistle blew and Thug po emerged, alone. He climbed down the wall and disappeared in the woods behind the market.

Meanwhile his troop surrounded the fleeing macaque generals who found themselves trapped. Branches crashed all around them as a chorus of hoots resounded and from gaps in foliage emerged dark, silver-maned faces grimacing, showing long, yellow incisors.

Thug po pounced on a general and flung him into an undergrowth where he fell screeching, as snapping jaws from the encircling thicket tore him apart. His writhing, limbless body became a feast for hungry crows and his screams, a warning for macaques.

Sdig pa took flight with his generals, abandoning the ranks who sought refuge in the monastery. Their actual strength might have deterred langurs but Sdig pa panicked and was headed to a dead end, a hundred metre high rock face called Biyaban and he took the top-ranks with him, twenty of their best. Still, there was hope since no one expected the langurs to pursue for long.

But the langurs were out for blood. Two generals who broke off from the crowd were torn to pieces and their cries echoed in the forest wreaking havoc on survivors who scampered behind Sdig pa. The macaque chief took to hooting and his hysterical calls appeared to be asking the whole forest for help. Younger generals grew skeptical of their leader a kilometre in and disbanded in sizeable groups. With the langurs far behind it was worth a shot.

An hour later just seven of them reached the foot of Biyaban. Since they knew that Gnyen po had negotiated his way atop it, there was hope, if only a sliver. Sdig pa scampered through the brushwood and hid between boulders. His loyal generals followed him into the dark recess, three of whom immediately fell to venomous snakes, of which there were hundreds. The panicked survivors ran back to the outlying undergrowth, and were battered with a cacophony of cries closing in on them.

From the top of Biyaban came a rallying call and scattered into rabid cries from below. The haunting refrain grew louder with each passing second until their hearts pounded in their ears. Bukipa and others encircled the boulders; having had the foresight to leave their infants in the care of older or juvenile females, they worked in tandem to herd macaques against the wall. Only the supremely courageous risked fleeing south and Sdig pa was not among them. And the three of them who did, were forced out of hiding.

They fled westward where the descent was gradual and cover, thick. Thug po charged at the fugitives, prudent with speed which he picked gradually. E² and Trickby followed at his heels, hooting constantly while Thug po’s cool whistle punctuated their war chant. They ran the macaques down and pushed them downhill until they splattered.

Somehow, one of them got lucky, if only for a moment. Seeing him, Nasaline and the other sentries stationed in the canopy cried unanimously which the infants stuck to their chest, mimicked. Their cries alerted their male counterparts deployed farther south.

Guru, Tinka and Backflip II broke cover and chased the runaway down to his last breath. Then, like Thug po, Guru leapt at his quarry, pushed him downhill and bounded away leaving winged predators to take care of the rest.

Their shrieks were terrifying. When macaques shouted for their lives, they sounded exactly like langurs. Since no one knew how to kill cleanly, not even Thug po, the wounded screamed until they stopped altogether.

Among the macaques who survived, three decided to act. Two of them were young males and the third, a mother with an infant. They might have fled south to the lakeside if it were not for Loner whom they found on a tree, away from the rest of her pack.

Unknown to them, they were on her blind side and grew more confident with each stride, their gold fur camouflaged with the mottled earth and against the sunlit trunk as they made for the foliage below her perch.

Loner grew irritable in the hot sun and was climbing down to the shade when a sudden, sharp push sent her plummeting down the tree and into a bush. Luckily for them she did not utter a sound and remained still as death. Yet somehow, Nasaline spotted the macaques and exploded like a mike on static. All the langurs immediately disengaged and came running to her. Thug po reached first.

He chased the macaques up the tree and singled out the mother whose companions abandoned her the moment they saw the approaching horde. With her infant stuck to her chest, she found herself cornered in the canopy, on the edge of a branch, shrieking for mercy.

Surrounded by langurs, the macaque mother lay down on the branch and surrendered. But Thug po was hungry. He snatched her infant and flung him to the earth. Meanwhile Guru, eager to prove himself, leapt at the falling infant when the mother came crashing down on him. They died together, the macaques and Guru.

The shock of his loss elicited a horrendous cry from Tinka while Loner lost her mind. She shrieked hoarsely despite her wounds and sped towards Biyaban and back repeatedly, running up to her kin and shaking each, as if she had warned them before, as if she were indeed psychic. The remainder felt small, only ten had survived from seventeen, and all seven dead were juveniles. For the kin of martyrs, it felt like defeat.

#

The Chamma Ling monastery fell silent. A macaque juvenile lay dead in the courtyard while his kin crowded the trees in the back, unaware. If they learnt of his demise there would be a riot so the Lama lost no time and relayed the news across the community. Shutters rained down as shoppers cleared the market. Doors and windows slammed shut in the by lanes and all public spaces were closed.

Before crows could inform the survivors, the Lama brought the corpse to his chambers where he washed the remains of the macaque in a basin. He then towelled and wrapped the body in a deep maroon shawl like the one he wore, and called upon priests to discuss further proceedings.

It was decided that the macaque be cremated according to Hindu rights. In the evening they called a pundit and conducted the ceremony in the front garden in view of macaques who were given time to mourn. The ritual worked wonders for the strained relationship between the communities.

#

Stars glimmered in a deep, lucid sky and a half moon shone bright on the Gamboo forest. For supper the langur troop revisited an old haunt on the outskirts; a cluster of samal trees with juicy blooms. The meal of fresh red flowers warmed their spirits and for dessert they huddled together.

While the dark hid their lost numbers, the cold numbed their pain as they quietly watched the market close and homes light up. Smells from kitchens hung heavy in the air, televisions blared and somewhere, dogs barked. The nightly rituals of humans kept the pack occupied even if their grief was impossible to quell.

Not for the chief. To him the gruesome battle was a point well made. After having proven the cons of living in Gamboo, Thug po wished to return to the forest immediately.

It did not take him long to learn that everyone including E² was disinclined, more so when he violently shook her perch. Ultimately and unwillingly he turned to Bukipa and it was then that he discovered that she was gone. Already battle worn, Thug po lost his mind and assaulted every troop member, looking for her.

The pack petitioned Loner who shrugged them off, having warned them earlier but at the time the pack had just lost Guru, and it wasn’t until they looked for Bukipa to calm the chief that they too noticed her absence. Now everyone vocalised their grief while their young cooed out of fear.

Thug po, on the other hand, shook off his despair, collected himself and made for the boulders in the North. This time the pack followed him without question.

The moonlit forest looked ordered like an orchard. Cicadas chanted, nightjars trilled and furry nocturnals scurried, and above them all rode a chorus of imploring calls which went unanswered. The forest felt unfamiliar, as if the pack had never been there and their energetic whoops lost their verve as soon as the gleaming rock face of Biyaban emerged in front. They somehow knew that Bukipa was dead but this could not be confirmed until morning.

Thug po thought differently and sized up the colossal boulder which shone white, radiating a throbbing chill, and although daunted he decided to conquer it. At once, Loner sided with him and her conviction brought everyone together and they set off as a team.

They ascended slowly, saving their energy to climb the narrow shelves. The unusual terrain and the dark further slowed the pack. Ultimately, the dim half-moon and the domineering facade took its toll and left the troop stranded on a precipice. They fell hopelessly quiet. Veterans like Loner and E² knew that if it rained, they would not last the night.

Thug po took note and bellowed. His wistful call roused a chorus of unending hoots which the northbound breeze flung on the sheer wall and their echoes scattered into a hundred. The more they vocalised, the better it felt. Soon clouds dissipated and moonlight shone, and sure enough, a way emerged.

Over the excited chorus came a high pitched reply and astonished them. Cautiously, Thug po addressed the caller.

It was a macaque.

Sdig pa was stuck somewhere in the middle of the wall. Having negotiated the crag skilfully in the sun he now needed help in the dark. Yet to the langurs his cry for help seemed to mock.

Thug po charged up the boulder with his troop following in earnest. Loner, E² and other elders vocalised one after another compelling Sdig pa to scamper up a rhododendron branch, triggering an avalanche of gravel and forcing the troop to halt at once.

There was more. About twenty metres above him was Bukipa making for the check post; a speck against gleaming rock. But it was a faint, beckoning call from higher up that spiralled Thug po heavenward.

The caller was not clearly visible but it was Gnyen po all right; the whimpering old fool was recognisable from anywhere in the world, his effete figure and cowering stance were beacons. Thereafter Thug po’s rage powered the troop but their advance was painfully slow.

Following the pack and noticed only by infants, was Sdig pa. They screeched to warn of the infiltrator but Tinka intervened to shut them up. The pack needed the numbers and one was good.

#

Gnyen po mounted Bukipa as if it were the last time he would be anything. Neither his body nor mind, or his dazed eyes helped when the moon was tangled in her tail and when she peered below, for a moment, a star twinkled in her eye. If this were the end then it was worth it.

Bukipa did not share Gnyen po’s romantic worldview and gripped the boundary wall, keeping one eye on the advancing troop and another on her infant wailing against the wall, begging to be reclaimed. She ignored the little one since behind her was a potential martyr who in the seconds that followed became a grunting disappointment.

At a mere whistle from below, Gnyen po withdrew and began to jump on the wall, screaming. His peculiar strategy silenced his enemies who stopped climbing, and made Bukipa wet herself. Acutely aware that another needless battle was about to begin, she climbed down to the courtyard and took her infant in her arms.

Behind her, footsteps hurried down the verandah, the gravel crunched as the ground palpitated, and a torchlight swayed; humans were here at last. Now fearless and excited, Bukipa climbed back on the wall to watch the proceedings.

One of the policemen aimed his torch at the maned faces. “Hurrrr! Hooooo!” he went.

“That wouldn’t scare children,” said the other, snatching the torch and taking note of the numbers which the dark and their fear, exaggerated, when the light slipped from his hand. A white beam swirled and the metal body crashed on a rock as Thug-po instantly lost the courage to continue. As did the troop who were reminded of the horrors in the jungle.

But the men didn’t wait to see the outcome and ran back from where they had come and shut the doors behind them, giggling like schoolchildren.

Gnyen po felt let down, having served the men for more than two years this was how he was thanked, to be left alone to brave an entire troop of langurs. But when he peeked over the wall, the troop was gone, the lot of them.

Bukipa ran down the boundary wall calling to the troop, worried senseless but nobody replied. So she spent the night with Gnyen po, who had already unlocked the door from inside. He gave her a tour of their new home, the verandah, the rooms inside where humans snored, the vast courtyard where their little one would grow up, and the kitchen where they feasted. She sat up all night, sometimes rocking in Gnyen po’s chair which he gracefully offered to her, sometimes at the windows, all seven of them, calling to the troop, until the sky lit up.

She knew she had to go; this was no way to bring up their child, in a decrepit, broken home at the mercy of meek humans. She stopped at the pine grove which stood just metres below the post, the sole remnant of a once forested hill in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake. Among the pines was a pyramidal fragment of the check post. Here she found the troop readying themselves for the climb down now that she was here. She turned around to look up at Gnyen po who walked up and down the boundary wall, cooing like an infant. Then he stopped and they both knew that was it.

Yet, it was not. Three years later when for one whole day Gnyen po did not call to her, she returned to the check post. It was the morning after Gnyen po had passed away. She smelled his face, his clefted chin and his lithe figure, before the men, all crying, threw mud in the pit by the boundary wall until he disappeared beneath the earth.

He had died proud knowing his son, Rinzen, meaning genius, since he used his whistle to summon dogs and humans alike, led the troop comprising thirty individuals in Gamboo. In the forest behind the monastery was Thug po, buried a year earlier and much before that, Loner.

Bukipa turned to leave, along with her close aides Nasaline, a promising matriarch, and Sdig pa the macaque general. Together they climbed down Biyaban, at home with life’s ebb and flow.

#