Jungle Moods

Ranjan drove with both hands locked on the wheel, eyes fixed on the narrow road ahead. The road had probably been built during the last election, three years ago, and like everything else, no one had maintained it since. Potholes gaped like craters, patches of half-done construction showed up every few metres. Every time the tires hit loose gravel, the car trembled.

Dev leaned forward from the back seat and tapped Ranjan’s shoulder. “Stop the car, man. Let’s take a smoke break.”

Ranjan did not turn. “Can’t stop here. It’s getting dark. One side is a drain, the other is jungle. You want to die for a cigarette?”

Dev sighed and opened his book again. Before he could read a line, Ajit groaned from the passenger seat. “What kind of trip is this? One monk meditating on the road, one philosopher lost in a novel, and me sitting in silence. This is not how I imagined our reunion.”

Dev smiled without replying.

“I lied to my wife for this,” Ajit went on. “And Dev bhai, only you could find a beach farmhouse that nobody has ever heard of.”

Ranjan laughed under his breath. “Unlike you, some of us prefer peace over pubs. Though right now, this feels more like the road to hell.”

Dev closed his book softly. “Hell? You like beaches where there are two seas, one full of water and one full of people. Vendors shouting, couples pretending no one can see them. You’ll see when we reach. This one breathes differently.”

Ajit rolled his eyes. Ranjan interrupted before the argument could start. “Fifteen more minutes. We’ll find out if this road ends in heaven or hell. By the way, Ajit, you did ask the caretaker to prepare some seafood, right?”

That caught Ajit’s attention. “Of course. Fresh shrimp, mutton delicacy, everything arranged. I don’t know about heaven, but dinner will be worth it.”

While the two of them discussed food and bonfire plans, Dev rolled down his window. The air smelled of salt and damp earth. He took a long breath and looked outside. The sun was lowering itself into the sea, slow and deliberate. Birds cut through the orange light like fleeting thoughts.

The evening was beautiful, yet there was something unsettling in its quiet. Beneath the sound of the wind and insects, it felt as if the land was holding its breath.

The farmhouse they were heading to was an odd choice. It sat beside a forgotten stretch of beach, built years ago by an NRI who had left for Dubai and rarely returned. Few tourists ever came this far. No shops, no neighbours, only the sound of wind in the trees and somewhere beyond, the sea. People who stayed here usually wanted to disappear for a few days.

Dev liked that idea. He believed silence had its own music. The chirp of crickets, the rustle of dry leaves, the distant crash of waves; they were not background sounds to him, they were part of the same living rhythm.

Ajit was the opposite. He needed noise to feel alive. Friends, breeze, and booze were his form of meditation, and tonight he wanted all three.

Ranjan lived for the drive itself. The grip of the steering, the growl of the engine, the way a narrow road tested his focus. That was his version of control.

Three men in one car, each looking for a different kind of silence.

The road dipped suddenly, the car jolted over a speed breaker. Ranjan tightened his grip and pointed ahead. “There,” he said. “Entrance gate.”

Ranjan parked the car inside the farmhouse. They pulled out their bags and walked toward the reception. For the last five kilometres, they had not seen a single human being. Finally, they spotted someone. A thin man in his mid-thirties stood behind the counter. His name tag read Sunil.

“You are Dev sir?” he asked, almost with relief. “I was waiting for you. You came late, sir. I was worried. This road after dark can be dangerous. Please give me your Aadhaar cards. I will scan them and return them to your rooms. You freshen up first.”

Ajit looked around the empty courtyard. “Seems like the other guests have not arrived yet. Anyway, party people start late.”

Sunil shook his head. “No, sir. You are the only booking tonight.”

The three of them looked at one another. Ajit shrugged. “Who cares? We are the party beasts. Three brothers, partying after years.”

Sunil smiled politely and pointed to the rooms.

Dev stretched his arms. “Wait, you guys go ahead. I have not smoked in hours. My lungs need food.”

Ajit laughed. “Lungs need food. Only you can say that, philosopher saab. Fine, let us feed our lungs together.”

Outside, the air was cool but not cold, the kind that made you doubt your choice between a T-shirt and a jacket. Dev lit his cigarette and passed one to Ajit.

“You remember,” Dev said, “Ranjan was the one who taught us to smoke. Now he has quit. My lungs curse him, but my doctor and insurance agent bless him every day. Still, he has to smoke tonight.”

Ranjan shook his head, smiling. “As if I forced you two. I was experimenting, and you both turned it into a lifestyle. Look at Dev, smoking is the only constant in his life. His jobs keep changing, his girlfriends keep changing. Found anyone to settle with yet?”

Ajit laughed. “Settle? He does not even believe in the word. But honestly, I envy him. No family tension, no household chores, ever-changing girlfriends. It is a dream life.”

Dev exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl away. “You do not get it. It is intellectual loneliness. My workplace feels mechanical. My relationships start with hope but fade quickly. I do not find resonance. I am not like Ranjan, born husband material.”

Ranjan grinned. “Maybe. But at least I am consistent.”

Ajit puffed once and said, “Do not forget I am husband material too. Happily married.”

Ranjan laughed. “The same husband who lied to his wife to party with friends?”

“That is love,” Ajit replied with mock pride. “I do not suffer from intellectual loneliness like Dev. Mine is spiritual loneliness. Which I fix by having spirits with friends. By the way, you did bring my brand, right?”

Ranjan paused. “Oh no. I forgot. Had to drop my wife at her parents’ place. We were getting late, it slipped my mind.”

Ajit’s face fell. “You forgot the whiskey? Seriously? Why are we even here, in this ghost house in the middle of nowhere? This trip is cursed.”

Ranjan raised his eyebrows. “You could have brought it yourself. Look at Dev, he remembered his cigarettes.”

Dev crushed the stub under his shoe. “Alright, alright. Do not start another fight. Let us just ask the caretaker. He will have something. Maybe not your premium stuff, Ajit, but at least something to make you happy.”

Still grumbling, they picked up their bags and walked back to the reception.

Sunil looked confused. “Sir, you did not like the rooms?”

Ranjan said, “Did not even see them yet. Tell me, what alcohol do you have here?”

Sunil hesitated. “Sir, we do not serve alcohol. No license. Guests bring their own.”

Both Ajit and Ranjan looked at Dev.

Sunil frowned. “There is one place about three or four kilometres from here, but sir, it is already seven. The jungle roads have their own moods at night. Better not to go out now.”

Ranjan smiled. “That is fine. Just share the location. We will manage.”

“You will not find it easily,” Sunil said. “Let me call one of the villagers. He can guide you.”

He stepped out to make a call while Ajit continued to complain under his breath. Dev looked restless too, disappointed that his quiet evening was slipping away. Ranjan, meanwhile, looked strangely thrilled. Another drive was enough to lift his mood.

A few minutes later, Sunil returned. “Sir, there is a tea stall about one kilometre from here. It might be closed by now, but I have asked a villager to wait there with his scooter. He will take you to the shop. Give him a hundred or two.”

Ajit clapped his hands. “Perfect. Let us go.”

Ranjan stretched his back, smiling. “This should be fun.”

Dev just nodded.

As they headed toward the parking area, Sunil called out one last time. “Sir, take a left from the gate and go straight for one kilometre. The man will be waiting with a blue scooter and wearing a yellow shirt. Be careful, sir.”

The drive began again, this time with only the headlights cutting through the dark. Ajit switched on the AC and settled in the co-pilot seat.

Dev said, “Come on, man, roll down the windows. Feel the night. Cool breeze, moonlight, clouds floating like ghosts.”

Ajit shivered. “It is cold, philosopher. Open the moon roof instead, with the glass on. You can look up and feel inspired, and we can stay warm.”

Dev laughed. “A couple of fifty-year-olds trapped in thirty-year-old bodies. Ranjan, open it.”

Ranjan pressed the button, and the glass slid back. Dev tilted his head, watching the sky. The moon hung in one corner, half hidden behind black clouds that moved like smoke. The light appeared, disappeared, and appeared again, like it was playing hide and seek with the night.

“It is so dark,” Ranjan muttered. “I have never seen darkness like this. I cannot see anything beyond the beam.”

Ajit said, “In my village we have streetlights now, but a decade back it used to be like this. Except we did not have these wild trees. We had banyans, huge ones with those hanging roots. My grandpa used to tell ghost stories about them. Unfulfilled spirits hanging around, refusing to leave this realm.”

Dev smiled.

“Those trees are sages, old and patient. Their roots keep them grounded, their silence holds the wisdom of everything they have seen. Maybe that is why they host spirits, to help them learn what they missed before moving on. If they could talk, I would love to listen.”

Ranjan glanced at him. “And that would finally cure your intellectual loneliness.”

Ajit chuckled. “Or maybe the spirits should join me to cure my spiritual loneliness.”

He was still laughing when he suddenly shouted, “Watch out.”

Ranjan slammed the brakes, eyes straining at the road. “What?”

“I saw something,” Ajit said, breathing fast. “An animal, maybe. Looked hurt.”

Ranjan frowned. “We are in a jungle. Animals cross roads. What is the big deal?”

“No, man,” Ajit insisted. “It did not move right. Looked strange.”

Dev turned to look behind. The road was empty. “Whatever it was, it is gone. We did not hit anything.” He checked his phone. “No signal. A kilometre, maybe more. Did we already pass it? It is getting late, guys. Shall we go back?”

Ajit laughed nervously. “The philosopher just wet his pants. Come on, bhai, I cannot handle any more deep thoughts without whiskey. They will bounce right off me.”

Ranjan slowed down. “Wait. There it is. The tea shop.”

A faint structure appeared in their lights, more shadow than shop. And beside it, a man on a yellow scooter, wearing a blue shirt.

Ranjan flashed the headlights twice. The man looked back, nodded once, and started moving.

“There is our guy,” Ajit said, slapping the dashboard. “Follow him, Ranjan. Let us get the bottle. We will finish it in the car itself. Dev bhai, you can start your philosophy once we get the bottle. Even the thought of whiskey is making me wiser already.”

Dev smiled. “Driver sahib is already high, just with the steering in his hands. He does not need alcohol.”

Ranjan grinned. “We will get two bottles. I do not trust Ajit. He will finish one before we are back. The Ghoda.”

Ajit puffed his chest. “Oh hello. People call me Ghoda because my face looks like one, not because I drink like one.”

Ranjan laughed. “I agree, you do have a horse face, and you drink instead of eating chana.”

Before Ajit could reply, Dev pointed ahead. “He is signaling right. Looks like he is taking a turn. Follow.”

Ranjan turned the car slowly. The tires dipped into a trench and bounced back hard.

“Man, what is wrong with you?” Ajit groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I just hit my head.”

Dev chuckled, looking out of the window. “We have already crossed two kilometres. I do not see a single light anywhere.”

Ranjan raced the car. The man on the scooter raised his speed too. Ranjan honked a couple of times.

Dev said, “Hey, it is jungle. Animals must be resting. You do not want to wake them up.”

Ajit said, “Or you are worried the banyan spirits will come teach you life lessons.”

Ranjan glanced back. “Or the last lesson of your life.”

He faced forward again. “Where is he. He disappeared.”

Ranjan slowed. A red tail light glowed to the left.

“He must have taken a turn.”

Dev said, “I did not see him turn.”

Ranjan braked, reversed a little, then took the left. The gravel road turned to mud. He flashed the headlamps. No reaction from the scooter.

Dev said, “He must be taking a shortcut.”

Ranjan muttered, “What the hell. This road is terrible. If the car breaks down, there is nowhere to go, and this guy is not even responding.”

The man looked back and suddenly raced his scooter again.

“Enough,” Ranjan said. “I am overtaking.”

He pushed the car forward and slipped past the scooter. He braked across the path. The scooter wobbled, the rider jumped off, and the scooter fell. A sack slid off and thudded onto the road.

Ajit jumped out of the car and shouted, “Hey bhai, are you okay. Where are you taking us.”

The man started screaming, “Do not come near me, sir. I have not done anything. Main bas courier aadmi hoon.” His voice shook, words tumbling out too fast to catch.

Ranjan switched off the engine but kept the headlights trained on him. “Relax, relax. We know you are the courier. Are you taking us to the shop or giving it here.”

The man trembled. “Sir, go back. Please go back. Maine gaon walon ko bula liya hai,” he said after catching his breath. “Once they come, you police people cannot do anything. They will kill you, sir. Go now.”

Ranjan and Ajit stepped back. Dev came forward slowly. “We are not police,” he said. “We came for the stuff. Just give it and we will leave. By the way, what is your name.”

“Why do you want my name,” the man snapped. “Sir, faltu baat nahin. Go back.” He pointed toward the trees where faint lights flickered. “They are coming.”

Ajit shouted, “Are you mad. Give our stuff and we will go.” He moved toward the sack.

The man lifted a stick. “Do not come near, samjhe.”

Ajit kept moving anyway. He slipped as he bent down, hand brushing the sack. His palm came up wet. Sticky. He stared at it under the headlights.

“What the fuck, it is blood,” he shouted. “Madarchod, he killed someone.”

Dev pulled Ajit back and said, “Okay, okay, bhai. We are leaving.”

Ranjan had already rushed to the driver’s seat. The man shouted, “Where are you going. My villagers are already here.” He gave a strange grin, half threat, half fear.

Dev looked up. Two scooters were approaching fast, their headlights slicing through the trees. “Ranjan, start the car,” he yelled, pulling Ajit, who was still shaking and pale.

The scooters stopped a few metres away. Three men climbed off, holding long knives and wooden sticks. One tall man, broad and bearded, walked toward them.

He looked at the fallen rider. “Bunshu, everything alright. Are they police.”

The man on the ground stammered, “Dada, I do not know. They say they are not, but I cannot believe them. They have been chasing me since the Juiba tea stall.”

Ranjan tried to speak. “We were not chasing you, we came—”

The tall man’s voice cut through. “Then what are you doing here so late in the jungle. You think I am stupid.”

Dev stepped forward quickly. “We came for alcohol. We are staying at the farmhouse. Sunil told us someone would meet us at the tea stall.”

The tall man burst out laughing, turning to the others. “Bunshu, look at these city clowns. Came here to party, got scared for nothing. Go, go. There is no alcohol here.”

Bunshu shook his head. “Dada, they saw me. They saw the sack, and the blood.”

Dev said, “Blood. We did not see anything.”

Bunshu pointed at Ajit. “He saw it. Look, it is on his shirt.”

The tall man’s grip tightened on his blade. Ajit’s voice cracked, “Dada, I have not seen anything. It is my blood, not anyone else’s.”

The tall man’s tone softened, but only slightly. “You city people think you are smart, huh.” He turned to the man on the ground. “They are not police. Just idiots looking for fun.” He looked back at the three friends. “You drink. Take some tadi. It will help you sleep.”

Ranjan shook his head. “No, no, we are fine. We do not need it.”

The tall man smiled thinly. “Then maybe you would prefer meat.”

Everyone went pale. Ajit gagged, doubled over, the sound loud in the quiet air.

The tall man went on, almost cheerful. “Deer meat is very tasty. Cook it with jungle spices, slow and hot. You city people must never have tasted something like that. And this one is fresh. Bunshu, when did you kill it.”

Bunshu stammered, “Dada, I did not kill it. Juiba did. Gave it to me at his shop. Maybe thirty minutes ago.”

Ajit, Dev, and Ranjan exchanged quick glances. Ajit asked, “Is that deer in the sack.”

Bunshu gave a dry laugh. “Do you think it is a cheetah.” The others joined in, their laughter rough and sudden.

Ajit forced a nervous smile. “We thought—”

Dev cut him short. “No, Dada, we do not need anything. We will leave now.”

The tall man’s face hardened. “You will take the tadi. Nothing here is free. Once you take it from us, you owe us. And people who owe us do not talk to the police.”

Ranjan said, “We will not tell anyone. Thank you, but we really do not need it.”

The man raised his voice. “I am the mukhia. No one says no to me.”

Bunshu handed them a used plastic water bottle filled with cloudy liquid. Dev took it, silent.

The mukhia nodded once. “It is late. You should leave.”

On the way back, no one spoke.

The forest was silent again, as if nothing had happened.

Ajit broke the quiet first. “That thing we saw earlier on the road,” he said softly, “maybe it was the same animal. Looked taller though.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice trembled.

Ranjan did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the road again, the same still focus as before, as if driving could erase the memory.

They reached the farmhouse. The gate creaked open, and Sunil came hurrying. “Sir, where were you. The man with the blue scooter and yellow shirt waited a long time and left. You should not be in the jungle this late.”

Ajit gave a weak smile. “It is a long story. The guy we followed took us for a ride.” He paused. “Wait, you said blue scooter, yellow shirt.”

Sunil nodded. “Yes, sir. He waited more than an hour.”

Ranjan laughed, a short, tired sound. “Oh man, this is beyond fiction. We followed the wrong guy, some shikari villager carrying a freshly killed deer into the forest.”

Sunil frowned. “Deer. They are not found around here, sir. And if anyone was hunting, they would do it deeper in the jungle. Why would they be on the road with it.”

Dev did not answer. He turned the bottle in his hand. In the trembling light, the liquid glowed faint red, and the voice of the mukhia echoed softly, “Once you take it from us, you owe us.”