The Fork

When faced with a fork, look for the twig.

We had missed the twig and were staring down a deep chasm. It didn’t help that we were not talking to each other. After the boisterous cultural evening put up by fellow campers, we had fought over which bottle to drink water from, back in our tent. Our sabre-rattling was loud enough for other campers to give me extra sweet smiles at breakfast.

Trekking was not something we had done before in our twenty years of marriage. It was supposed to be an exercise in bonding after our only child left for college. But as always, the most unexpected things flared up, and as usual, we ended up alone in each other’s company.

After breakfast, sixty of us were dropped off at the foot of the hill. The trek captain briefed us and handed us over to a local tribal boy who knew every creek on the hill. Only two parts of that talk remained in my head- Do not disturb the wildlife and meet you all at the top of the hill. He might have also said- when faced with a fork on the trail, choose the path on which a twig is placed by the pilot batch.

We started as a single file but the trekkers who were young or seasoned, or just had hearts lighter than us sped past us. The hardy shrubs brushed against our bodies at times as we slipped on the path covered by the scattered leaves dampened by the dew. I might have seen a twig or two on the other side of the fork that led us here but chose not to warn my silent partner. I wanted to watch his face burn with shame when he realised his oversight. I thought it would be a sweet revenge.

But now, I am not so sure.

We spy on each other. He is sweating despite the cool morning breeze. I tap the stick in my hand on the gravel and take in the expanse beyond the chasm. The green mounds of western ghats sparkle there, unaffected by two miserable people gazing at them. The sky is overcast, contrary to the weather forecast. We take out bottles from our heavy rookie backpacks and sip water. I choose to break the silence.

“Oops! I think we took a wrong turn.”

He glowers.

I take out an energy bar and chew on it without offering him any. I know it is a red flag for him. Even in hostile periods after showdowns, he is always a gentleman first, like offering me this stick he scavenged on the way up for my use as a hiking pole. But if I have travelled this far on the road to being the ultimate bitch, I might as well live it up.

The view is spectacular though. At any other time, I would have taken a few selfies to be posted on social media afterwards. The clouds seem to get darker by the second. I sense him struggling to accept the mistake in navigation and beat a retreat.

“Anyway, since we are here, we might as well spend some time and take in the views.” I swing my arms in exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Let’s head back. We might still be able to catch up with others,” he growls, without taking his eyes off the horizon.

That’s the man he has become. Doing the exact opposite of whatever I suggest, and being hopelessly vain. I am pretty sure we were the last ones in the disjointed line of trekkers and we have walked for at least half an hour on the wrong side of the fork. There is no way we can catch up with others.

“No, I think I am going to rest here for a while.” I dump my backpack onto the ground and slump on a protruding boulder.

His ears grow red. For a second, I fear he might just leave me and head back to the fork. Instead, he picks up a stone, tosses it, catches it, and repeats. Rolling it on his palm, he drawls,

“It might rain, you never know.”

I am beginning to enjoy this. He is not exactly begging me to follow him, but isn’t leaving me behind either. I lie down on the outgrowth of the boulder.

“That’s okay. It won’t be the worst thing to happen.”

I dare him to say something he would regret, again, so that I can prove how unreasonable he can be, once and for all. But he hurls the stone across the chasm and stays silent. Minutes crawl by. Then something else crawls up.

A rock python!

I grew up close to the forests, so spotting a snake once in a while was not new to me, though this one looks endless as it slithers close. A chill runs down my spine as its slit eyes stare into mine. Maybe I have willed it to come, as I have likened my existence to being worse than crushed by a python.

It moves closer. I freeze. My mind goes blank.

Suddenly, the stick in my hand is snatched away and wedged between me and the python’s path. The python changes its direction, speeds across, and disappears in the undergrowth by the side of the trail. I am in the arms of the man who chose to put himself between me and the python. It must have been terrifying for him as he had never lived anywhere but the city.

“You should have just let it get me.” I whimper.

His hands are cold and his heart is thumping.

“Yes, maybe I should have. But…we still have to get back to that fork.”

I hate that he still doesn't say how much he loves me or is sorry to have hurt me. But I am glad to be alive to fight on another day and prove my point. I pick up my backpack, leave the stick, and tread beside him.