Joseph Lewis - Chimera

A light rain fell on the forest, the tiny droplets pattering softly on the leaves far overhead. The drips collected in the grooves of the leaves and the wrinkles in the bark, worming their way down until they grew too large and too heavy, and they fell again, plummeting to the soft earth to land with heavy plops in the muddy puddles. Asha paused beside a tree to look up at the bright slivers and patches of the sky between the branches where the sun was burning brightly beyond the clouds, its light obscured by the thunderheads rumbling overhead.

Wet forest sounds rose and fell all around her. The applause of the falling water, the shaking of the leaves and slender branches, the distant cracking and keening of trees tearing free from the muddy earth and toppling over into their unsuspecting brothers and sisters.

It had been raining for three days. Sometimes more, sometimes less. In the middle of the day with the sun high overhead, Asha felt the warmth creeping back into the soil and the air, and the hours of walking along the narrow dirt path were almost pleasant. Her long black hair clung to her neck and face and back, and cold trickles of water snaked down her skin under her clothes, but she didn’t mind. Not during the day.

The nights were worse. When the sky grew too dark or her feet grew too sore, she would climb a small tree, sit on a sturdy branch, and tie her waist to the trunk. If she was lucky, she would fall asleep quickly and awaken at dawn with only a slight pain in her back and neck. If she wasn’t so fortunate she would sit awake on the branch, listening to the rain and shivering. She sometimes wrapped herself in a heavy wool blanket kept dry by her well-oiled bag, hoping that it would keep her warm long enough to fall asleep before it too was completely soaked.

But there was more to hear than just the rain. Huge green vines constricted around the trees and swung through the empty air between them. Brilliant white and yellow flowers huddled in small groups, no doubt where the sun had fallen through the canopy before the rains came. Thick bushes squatted everywhere, and huge ferns reached out their soft fronds to touch her legs and arms as she passed. Her left ear heard none of these things, but her right ear caught the strains of thousands of roots and stalks drinking and growing. They sounded like ropes twisting and bansuri flutes playing long, low notes on the wind.

Within the flora rustled smaller and faster creatures. Ants streamed through the undergrowth, heedless of the water washing away their scent trails. Earthworms wriggled in the muddy puddles in the path. High overhead, a dozen different monkey voices hooted and screamed while the birds huddled in their nests, fluttering their feathers and flapping their wings to shake off the relentless rain. Bright green lizards and yellow frogs skittered over the rocks and up the trees, searching for grubs and flies. At first the rain had driven them all into their homes, but hunger had driven them out again and only a truly brutal torrent would keep them from their hunts now.

Asha trudged up the slippery track to a low rise and looked down on a creek winding across the forest floor, and a short distance farther down she saw the village beside the water.

“Finally.”

The village was smaller than she had expected, maybe three dozen houses all on stilts several feet above the ground. The stilts themselves were logs as thick as Asha’s arm was long, and at least one of the stilts supporting each house was not a log at all but a living tree still rooted to the earth and spreading its leafy branches above the roof. A fleet of battered canoes and rafts drifted on the swollen creek, each one tied to the supports of a different house. Farther back from the water and high above the muddy flood line stood a row of small huts on the grassy earth sheltered by several large stones looming up from the ground on three sides.

Upstream she found three fallen trees, one old and the other two so young that there was still mud clinging to their tangled roots. Asha crossed over the largest log and then followed the creek down to the village. There were no signs of life on the ground, not even footprints in the mud. But above her she saw flickering candlelight and thin traces of smoke rising from the stilt-houses.

She cleared her throat. “Hello!”

After a moment an old man emerged from the house on her left. “Hello to you.”

“I’m looking for someone named Kishan,” she said. “I was told he lives here.”

“He does, up there.” The old man pointed to the row of huts on the earthen ledge in the lee of the rocks above the creek. “Second one from the left.”

“Thanks.”

She climbed the slope and knocked on the doorframe of the second house. “Hello? Kishan?”

A woman pulled back the leaf curtain. “Kishan is my son. Who are you?”

“My name’s Asha. I’m an herbalist from up north. I was passing through a town a few days ago when I heard about a very unusual animal in this village. So I thought I would come see for myself.” She glanced over the woman’s shoulder at the hand-woven rugs, the crooked candles, and the rusted iron pot sitting on the red coals in the corner. “Is this the right village?”

“You came to see Jagdish!” A little boy leapt onto the woman’s back. He grinned as he kicked his feet in the air. “Come see!”

“Oh, that.” The mother nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear as the boy slid back down to the floor. “The squirrel. I suppose you can see it. Come inside.”

“Thanks.” Asha ducked inside the hut and knelt down on the rough rug. With the rain drumming on the roof, the sighing of the forest abruptly vanished and all she could hear was the pat-pat-pat of the heavy drops on the woven leaves above her head.

The boy Kishan sat in the corner with a ball of fur in his hands. “Here he is. Jagdish! I found him all alone in the forest and started feeding him myself. He’s the biggest, strongest, smartest squirrel in the world!”

Asha leaned forward to inspect the animal, and frowned. “This isn’t a squirrel, Kishan. It’s a baby mongoose. I’m surprised you’ve never seen them before. They’re pretty common.”

“Really? What’s a mongoose?” The boy wore a very serious face as he studied his pet.

Asha leaned back. “It’s what you’re holding. He’ll get bigger soon.”

“Bigger?” The mother shook her head. “Kishan, throw that thing out this minute.”

“Actually, a mongoose can be a very useful thing to have around.”

“I don’t care.” She coughed. “I want it out of my home.”

The boy pouted but did not argue. He stood and moved toward the door with Jagdish cradled in his arm.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take him off your hands,” Asha said.

The boy smiled and thrust the animal at her. “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?”

“Sure I will. After all, he’s used to being taken care of, isn’t he?” Asha peered into the mongoose’s eyes and poked at his teeth. “He’s very healthy. You did a good job raising him.”

Kishan plopped back into his seat in the corner, still smiling. “Do you know a lot about animals?”

“More than most,” Asha said. “I study them. Plants, too. I spend most of my time searching for things to make new medicines.”

“Have you ever seen an elephant?”

“Sure.”

“What about a tiger?”

“Lots.”

The boy chewed his lip. “What about a lotus demon?”

Before Asha could answer, the boy’s mother said, “Kishan!”