Book Title: Hunting In Shadows Of Raj
Author(s): Philip Wollen
Publisher: Philip Wollen

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Page 3
________________ radiantly coloured lizards,no larger than a rat, with extravagant frills, and bulging eyes. Naturally, amongst all the cacophony, the meanderings of a little boy was insignificant. I wasn't seen or missed. Nobody cared. The second trip was a "night shoot" in the jungle. This involved sitting high up a tree at night, in a machan (a bamboo platform constructed high up the tree canopy). The location was selected above a spot earlier identified by "pug marks" in the moist soil, indicating that a panther or tiger had recently visited that spot. The plan was for me to shoot "my first panther" when he came to devouratethered goat at the bottom of the tree. This murderous ritual waslike a rite of passage, a practice we may have inherited from the departed British Raj. In the early morning, I was placed in the back seat of the shikari's vehicle. We undertook the long and arduous journey from the city, then finally along interminable dirt tracks until we finally reached asmall but bustling village deep in the jungle.I was told that we had to stop to get the "bait". There, in that village, I witnessed the banal commercial transaction. A goat kidwas purchased, after some obligatory haggling, from the villagers. She was a frightened little kid with big eyes, smooth and shiny hair, and a smell of sadness that still clings to my nostrils half a century later. This poor, terrified animal-child wasroughly taken away from her bewildered and terrified mother. She huddled on my lap in the back seat. Her big black eyes, pleading with me, seemed to put her into shock. She became mute. This child shivered with fear, snuggled under my arm, and urinated warmly on me. The long, bumpy, noisy the journey into the jungle may have been exciting for the shikari.But to the pathetic victim in my arms, it must have been terror. Even today, half a century later, if I close my eyes, every physical and sad emotion bubbles in my heart. We finally reached our grim destination, a thick copse of trees surrounded by heavy scrub. The"machan", the bamboo platform, secured and lashed together

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