She lay down her tools and invited Iora in. Her cottage was unkempt and had attacking weeds, hazardous cactuses, wood and stone weaponry, viper and cobra fangs, and other deadly objects scattered in the hall. The new addition, and the only endearing thing, was a baby chimp.

  “Uh…I hope you had a good trip,” said Iora awkwardly.

  “It’s alright, Iora. You can go ahead and ask me what you want to.”

  Iora barely paused after that. She ended her narration with, “Is it possible that it was not a dream?” She took a long breath.

  Hoatzin didn’t reply; she was lost in thought. Iora was used to seeing her this way.

  “Care to have some bat milk? I got it fresh from the jungle,” she finally asked Iora, breaking the silence.

  “No, thank you. After seeing…or imagining that bat-like fish, I’ve lost my appetite for bat milk. Please tell me what you think of my dream.”

  After a minute’s silence, Hoatzin murmured, “I once dreamt of a faraway land. I opened my eyes to see that I was born.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Never mind. Reality depends on dreams the same way as dreams depend on reality. You’ll find your answer at the meeting of the Five.”

  “Five what?”

  Hoatzin looked intently at her, or rather through her and said, “You can come in, Owlus.”

  Owlus opened the door, grinning. “How did you know I was outside? I was about to knock, you see.”

  “Let’s say I heard some strange sound,” said Hoatzin. “I suppose you’re here for Iora.”

  “Not for her. But yeah, she has been acting weird since she was bitten by that worm. I’ve been trying to figure out what she’s up to.” Owlus cast a sideways glance at Iora.

  “You’ve been following me around? Some people’s noses are long as bamboo shoots!”

  “We were discussing dreams, Owlus, if that interests you.” Hoatzin raised an eyebrow.

  “How dull! But well…what do you expect from Iora?” Owlus shrugged.

  Iora was about to retort when they heard a commotion and stepped out.

  Kookaburra and Toucan were fighting and so were their family birds—a hawk and an eagle. Kookaburra’s hawk couldn’t speak Jungly, but its cries were raucous.

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Hoatzin stood between them.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” said Kookaburra, who had been completely overpowered by Toucan and now stood puffing and scratching his beard. “This conman came to me yesterday. He told me that on his jungle trip he overheard two Amazons discussing an attack on Twitterland. They said the only way they could be defeated was if someone called Kookaburra meditated on a treetop. He pleaded me to do that, and I’ve been meditating since morning. Then he brings other Twitters and tells them that I’ve gone bonkers and won’t come down the tree. And everyone starts pulling me down!”

  Toucan laughed hysterically and Kookaburra sputtered with rage. Hoatzin got busy sorting this out when Cockatoo came looking for Iora.

  “Come home and finish your breakfast. You have to take your medicine after that. Don’t make your old grandpa run after you.”

  Looking at the scene, Iora knew Hoatzin wouldn’t be free anytime soon. She went along with Grandpa, her mind whirring with what Hoatzin had said. Cockatoo glanced at Kookaburra, shook his head, and left.

  The medicine made Iora drowsy, and she slept through the afternoon. By the time she woke up, the coffee time rain was over, and the sun was about to set. The pungent aftertaste of the medicine was still in her mouth. A hundred questions swirled in her mind, and she started towards Hoatzin’s cottage again. Though curious, she was not as worried as before. At least now Hoatzin was here to help.

  “Where do you think you are going?” asked Owlus’ family eagle sitting on a tree near Hoatzin’s cottage.

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “In case you came to meet Hoatzin…” The eagle scratched his feathers leisurely. “She already left for another jungle trip.”

  The Quest of the Five

  The next night, Iora sat all alone on the shore of the lake, throwing pebbles at the sleeping water lilies. She had not been able to figure out anything the whole day. The night air was sweet with the fragrance of evening orchids. The moon was a thin arc suspended in a cloudy sky. “Iora…” a soft voice made her turn around to see Beetle Agogwe approaching.

  “You’re back so soon!”

  “I was headed to trade with a tribe when one of the family birds visiting the forest told me you were bitten by a Rogue Thorn Worm. Now that is nasty. You’ve been getting into a lot of trouble lately. But by the time I come, your troubles are over.”

  “The trouble is far from over, Beetle,” Iora sighed. She told him all that had happened. “After speaking to Hoatzin, I am sure that it was more than a dream. If only I could talk to her. Why did she leave so suddenly? My father…I hope he’s not in danger.”

  “It’s strange indeed. It could have been one of the Ghost of Yellow Leaves near your well. They’re known to be the agents of dark magic and are viler than even the Head Hunter tribe. It’s said that they’re the dead who find their way to the underworld from their graves. They need the best people from each tribe sacrificed to keep living their undead lives.” Beetle shuddered at the thought.

  “I know. Madame Flameback told me that. What if they really need Father for a sacrifice? Grandpa and the others don’t understand. It was not a dream!” She thumped her fist on the ground.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll do something about it.”

  “I’ve decided to leave tomorrow night,” Iora said, firmly.

  “Leave for where? Heron has gone to the Wacky Wilderness. You can’t go there! You don’t have the training for it, and you are not even friends with any of the resident creatures.”

  “There’s no way I can get to Father on time. Grandpa says finding Father in the jungle is like catching scent in the wind. The safer bet is to find the meeting of Five, the one Hoatzin mentioned,” said Iora. “What can it be?”

  Beetle thought aloud, “Sounds familiar, meeting of five…five…five…Oh yes! I think she was talking about the meeting of the five rivers. They fall from the five hills into Silver Lake. Perhaps you’ll get your answers there. But then, that too is in the Wacky Wilderness…”

  “So I have no choice but to go there. Alone.”

  “That’s outrageous! Have you any idea how dangerous that place is? So many Twitters have lost their lives there that they call it Twitters’ Grave. It hides monstrous creatures. There are even a few innocent looking ones whose breath alone can kill you. Wandering spirits and forest ogres live in hidden caves. Their roars and cries can be heard in storms…Please wait for Hoatzin to return”

  “I can’t wait! Grandpa just refuses to listen, and I can’t sit doing nothing,” she said getting up. “Tomorrow, I leave. I hope no one has heard our conversation.” She looked around realising that the resounding chirps of cicadas made it difficult to hear anything else.

  Beetle tried in vain to persuade her and left reluctantly.

  Iora spent the next day packing her little bag of chameleon skin with some potions and useful herbs. Objects made of chameleon skin regained their brownish-pink colour when they were not touching a living being. The bag lay like a normal one on Iora’s bed. She went to bed early. Once all was still outside, she tiptoed out of the house, a chameleon camouflage coverlet covering her from head to toe.

  She left a message on a small bark parchment for Grandpa, saying that she had to go but would return soon. It was a dark cloudy night. Her coverlet made her invisible. She reached the closed passage to the jungle. Water fell from a crystal orchid onto a crystal bowl, like the one at the entrance outside. She lifted the bowl gently with both hands and brought it up to the crystal orchid.

  With a soft hum, the entrance opened, and the jungle stretched before her, much darker than Twitterland. She removed the chameleon coverlet and stepped into the forest. The nightwalkers were out foraging for food on their set highways. Voices of the jungle meshed into the fabric of the night—a little quivering sound near, a harsh yell from afar. Familiar with the surrounding jungle, Iora reached the bank of the Scar-faced River quickly, where she’d seen the non-jungle dwellers a few days back. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light that filtered in through the thick foliage above her.

  “Excuse me, can anyone tell me the way to Silver Lake?” she asked a sounder of wild boars in Jungly. The animals stopped looking for shoots on the ground and lifted their snouts. No one answered, only an alert and watchful look came into their tiny eyes. A baby wild boar came forward and started sniffing her.

  She was about to ask again when she was swept off her feet. She caught a glimpse of a dark figure jumping on the spot where she had just stood. It was a panther! The baby ran back to the herd. The panther growled on missing its prey of the tender boar as the other animals fled in fright.

  Iora realised she was high above the ground on a big, flat branch alongside a dwarf with long hair.

  “Beetle!”

  “Hoo! I am glad I didn’t come late this time for a change.” Beetle smiled and let go of the vine he’d swung on to lift her up. “What would I ever tell Heron if I let you go alone? The jungle is not as friendly as Twitterland. For herbivores, you are a hunter and for carnivores, prey. Many animals don’t speak or even understand Jungly. And, ah well, I do know a thing or two about the Wacky Wilderness.”

  “You’re a star, Beetle!”

  “Nah! It’s nothing. Let’s start for Silver Lake now. The easiest way is through the canopy. We’ll reach there by dawn.”

  Iora began climbing after the Agogwe towards the treetops meeting various animals in the layers of the giant rainforest trees.

  The day was about to break. It was quite bright near the treetops, unlike the gloomy world below, where the night mist had not yet lifted. An endless vista of a crumpled green mattress stretched in all directions and glistened in the fresh rays of the sun. Birds of prey swooped and soared, and many other birds darted and hovered to get a morsel of food. Animals—mainly monkeys—moved about chattering, and insects sampled the nectar of blossoming flowers. Beetle brought wood apples and dragon fruits for breakfast. After having their fill, they started their journey on the canopy. They travelled for three days, with only brief periods of rest, and finally reached the foothills of Silver Lake.

  “I’ve never come so far in the jungle before,” Iora told Beetle, breathless. She was pleased with herself.

  They came down to the forest floor, rested for some time, and ate fruits and edible flowers. Water gurgled nearby. Iora reached a rock near the river and kneeled to drink. She was stunned to see the waters curving and flowing uphill.

  “Wow! How?”

  “Don’t ask me, Iora. I’m not Hoatzin. We’ve entered the Wacky Wilderness and the forest will get more and more enchanting now.”

  After a long and tedious climb, they reached the top of the hill just before dusk.

  The river cascaded into a large lake below. There were four other hills from which four rivers surged down. The smell of water was everywhere, and the roar of the falls buzzed in the ears. The froth and mist were so thick that it seemed a thousand clouds had gathered there.

  “This is spectacular! I haven’t seen anything like this in my life.” Iora was thrilled.

  “I travel far and wide, but this is my favourite place.”

  “It may sound strange, Beetle…” Iora looked around suspiciously, “I feel I’m being watched constantly. Think I can even fell someone’s breath on my back.”

  “No one’s following us, Iora. Anyway, we have to trek down to reach the lake.”

  “The sound of the waterfall is like a lullaby…”

  “Yes, yes, you should have some food and then get a good night’s sleep. We’ll start tomorrow morning when we’re fresh again.”

  Beetle lit a small bonfire. After dinner, he climbed a tree and brought down large leaves with which he quickly made two semi-circular tents for the night.

  The next morning, they woke up refreshed and started downhill alongside the frothy waterfall. It took them less time to come down than it had taken to climb up. Beetle showed her various new insects, roots and plants on the way. All through this, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that someone was following them. She kept looking back over her shoulder. They reached the bottom of the hill in time for the coffee time rain. The lake seemed much bigger at close quarters. They sat down in a clearing, listening to the falling water.

  “Now what?” asked Iora.

  “This is the meeting of the Five. I don’t know how we can find your answers here. Let’s start looking for signs in the forest after we rest for a while.”

  As soon as they sat down, the water near the bank rippled and a mermaid emerged from the lake. Resembling a pale dead fish, her bones protruded out of her upper body and skin peeled in ringlets. She had short spiky hair and deep sockets with yellow eyes.

  “Welcome friends… he! he! he!” She laughed in a thin, shrill voice.

  Beetle and Iora rose slowly. They retreated when she approached them, hurling herself forward with her skeletal hands. Beetle glanced back to look for an escape and saw a huge, tilted tree whose thick roots covered a rock. Between the roots and the rock there was an opening. Just outside the opening lay small mud idols—all in the shape of snakes.

  With a terrifying rumble, the land beneath their feet began to shake. A chunk of land around the mermaid gave way. Her horrible shrieks were drowned in the roar.

  “Earthquake!” shouted Beetle and gestured frantically to Iora to get into the opening between the tree and the rock. They both jumped straight inside. It turned out to be a tiny entrance to a broad cave, which led underground. It was lit with lamps, and the faint sound of a flute came from somewhere down under with a whiff of wet earth.

  “Perhaps you’ll find the answers here,” said Beetle, half-happy, half-baffled and still shaking. They both went down the lit passage.

  The tremors of the earthquake became lesser and lesser, and finally everything became still. After walking down the tunnel for a while, they reached a vast flat land as lovely as the rainforest above. There were streams, transparent rocks carved in the shape of trees, and stone huts. Numerous effervescent liquids placed in jars lit up the underground city in rainbow colours. All kinds of snakes slithered and hung around. Thin but good-looking, yellow-skinned people moved about and smiled at each other perpetually, wearing clothes of discarded snakeskin. A boy played the flute below a snake idol.

  “Interesssssting …Who would you be?” hissed a large, yellow-striped snake just above their heads, its flickering tongue touching their hair. Beetle almost lost his voice.

  “I am Iora, and this is Beetle, but who are you and who are these people?” Iora asked with all the confidence she could muster.

  The snake hissed, coiling around Beetle, “You musssst have heard about the Ghossssts of Yellow Leavessss.”

  The Ghosts of Yellow Leaves

  Beetle nearly fainted and would have fallen to the ground had he not been in the snake’s coil. Iora stood stunned, staring into the snake’s eyes. The people close by stopped smiling and the boy put his flute down.

  “What are you doing here?” the snake hissed at Iora.

  She clenched her chameleon skin bag. “I have come to save my father from your clutches! I can’t fight you, so I offer myself as the sacrifice instead of my father.”

  “Well, in that case I’ll accept you as the ssssacrifice,” said the snake, easing its grip around Beetle and approaching Iora.

  “Sir, this is no joke,” said an elderly man coming forward.

  “Such a spoil ssssport you are, Vipero, denying an old snake an eassssy meal.” The snake slithered away from the group.

  Beetle stood rooted to the same spot.

  “What’s the matter, child? What are you talking about and what are you doing here?”

  “Are you really the Ghosts of Yellow Leaves?” Iora asked, adjusting her chameleon bag.

  “Yes, that’s what the jungle people call us. But we just call ourselves ‘The People’.”

  “Oh, well…I don’t know if you’re the same people I’ve heard about…” Iora looked around doubtfully.

  These smiling people were far from menacing and Iora thought she could tell them the truth. She hesitated for a moment and then sat on a quartz bench with Beetle by her side. All the people and snakes gathered around her as she narrated the series of happenings.

  After she finished, Vipero said, “We have nothing to do with what you’ve told us. But I am not surprised that we’ve been linked yet again with such a story.”

  “Who are you then?” asked Iora.

  “We’re very much alive and not ‘the buried dead’ as other jungle people like to believe. We used to live in the jungles like any other tribe. Until one morning after a moonless night, around fifty sun years back, a few young men of our tribe went to gather herbs around Silver Lake. They witnessed something awful—the twisted bodies of two of our fellow People. One of them was already dead and the other was breathing his last. It seemed the lake had frozen the night before and was now thawing. The trees around the lake had shriveled. The last words of the boy before he died were, ‘That young Twitter Cooo…’

  “Mysteriously, the day after this incident, rumours floated around the forest that we had invoked the dark forces. Everyone started suspecting our skin colour, which resembled dead yellow leaves. It became difficult for us to live in the jungle. Most of the creatures, plants and tribes turned against us. The Amazons started hunting us, Agogwes let venomous insects on our young, Head Hunters made at least one trophy every day out of our people’s heads…

 

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