Fiction: Why does a man go hiking on a mountain on the insistence of an enigmatic stranger

The trees have all started to look the same. The wildflowers I had admired so much at first sight – captivated by their bright yellow, stark against the green and brown – have appeared along my path more times than I can count on my fingers.

I stop, lean against a tree for support, panting, and shift the bag on my back. It’s heavy. Too heavy. My shoulders ache. My lower back is screaming.

And my legs …

I hate how much they hurt. How even one more step feels like a huge feat.

During our conversation on Instagram yesterday, she had laid out what felt like a treasure hunt for me.

Get off the bus and start walking downhill. The land will start to flatten, and soon you will come across a spring. It’s not that far. And once you cross it, walk north until you find a tea stall. Tell the owner your name and he will give you a package meant for you. Inside, you will find the next set of instructions.

Happy hiking!

It felt exciting when I read it. Like a quest. Like something out of a National Treasure movie – Nicholas Cage on a mission.

But now, standing here, out of breath and alone, I don’t feel like America’s star treasure hunter.

I scan the area ahead. Nothing. No people. No sign of the land becoming flat. No sound of water. No tea stall. Even the pathway I thought I was following is gone. Like it was never really there to begin with.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’m lost.

I sink onto a rock, wiping the sweat from my forehead, and slide the heavy backpack off my shoulders. Leaning back against the tree, I let out a long sigh, my back instantly thanking me.

I’m crazy. I really am. I set out on what seemed like an adventure that would help me forget everything that’s happened in my life and magically heal me, all because a girl – who I know nothing about – said so.

Could this be a prank?

Could she have given me the wrong directions just for a laugh? I can almost imagine her telling her friends: “Haha, that guy actually went where I told him. Can you believe it? What an idiot.”

No. She wouldn’t do that.

I was the one who reached out to her first. She talked to me when I had no one else. She was there for me when everyone had turned their backs. She even sent me photos from her own trek to keep me motivated, while helping me plan my own trip.

She’s been kind, supportive and honest. She wouldn’t do something like that.

And honestly, even if this somehow turns out to be a prank, it would still be the kindest one anyone’s ever pulled on me.

After everything that’s happened these last few months, I don’t think the world has much left to hurt me with – or surprise me.

The thought lingers for a moment before fading, replaced by a dry sting in my throat. I reach for my bottle and tilt it over my mouth. Barely a few drops fall. I try to hold on to them for as long as I can – two seconds maybe – before they vanish, like drops on a heated roof in summer, leaving my throat just as dry as before.

A wave of exhaustion washes over me, heavy and slow. My eyes start to blur, the world softening as if it’s being pulled gently out of focus. And I feel myself slipping …

Something is moving against my leg.

My eyes snap open. My brain screams one word: Snake! I launch myself up like someone has lit a fire under me – only to trip over my own bag and land on my elbow.

Pain. Dirt. A surge of panic and raw fear.

And then … a bark.

A bark?

I look up.

A reddish-brown dog. Small and fluffy. Looking at me with the biggest, most liquid eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s dried mud on his legs, and his tail is wagging like he’s just found a long-lost friend.

“Where did you come from?” I whisper, rising slowly.

He lets out a low, throaty “Bhow” like that’s supposed to explain everything.

And for some weird, unknown reason … it kind of does.

He comes closer and sniffs my boots. I reach out slowly to scratch behind his ears – and just like that, his face melts into a gorgeous smile.

“Oh, you are so cute,” I say, scratching under his neck. His closed eyes and wagging tail tell me he’s loving it – maybe a little too much.

When I stop, he barks at me – his expression suddenly switching, like he’s asking me a question. “Bhow. Bhow?”

“Yeah … I’m lost,” I tell him. “Are you too?”

“Bhow …” he responds.

“Mmm hmm …” I nod like I understand him.

He circles me twice and sniffs at my bag.

“Nothing to eat there, my guy. Unless … wait a second.”

I unzip the side pocket and pull out the sandwich I had packed last night – just holding it makes my stomach growl. I had kept it for later, in case I got hungry. And I really am.

I offer half to him. “Would you like this?”

He pants happily, tail wagging with excitement.

He devours it like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“Gosh, you really were hungry,” I say, running my hand over his head again.

I look at the half of the sandwich left in my hand. I really want to eat it, but the way he’s looking at it – those big eyes fixed on it – makes me realise he needs it more.

My stomach protests, but I give it to him anyway and he wolfs it down, crumbs flying, tail wagging, as if I just gave him the world.

When he’s done, he looks at me, places his paws on my chest and licks my cheek.

“Oh! Oh, gosh. Relax, it was just a sandwich.” I laugh, wiping my face.

He lets out another satisfied “Bhow,” then turns and starts walking away.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t leave me alone,” I call out, seeing the only friend I’ve made on this trip trying to disappear on me.

He stops, glances back, then barks again – this time looking at something in the distance.

“Do you … want me to follow you?” I ask.

Another “Bhow” and a little tail wag.

“All right then.” What do I have to lose?

I’ve barely gathered myself when he starts running – not trotting, but running.

“Wait for me,” I shout.

He doesn’t.

I take off after him, my heart pounding in my chest, my lungs already begging me to stop. But he keeps going – darting ahead with a strange urgency – then stopping, turning his head to check if I’m still behind him.

Each time I catch up, he takes off again.

Eventually, he slows down and comes to a sudden stop.

“Bhow!” he calls, tail wagging furiously, eyes locked on something ahead.

I’m still catching my breath by the time I reach him.

I follow his gaze. And there it is – the spring. Glistening with flashes of silver, blue and white, like it’s carrying pearls and diamonds in its current.

For a moment, we just stand there, silent, before slowly walking towards it. He’s brought me where I was trying to go.

He dips his head to drink, tongue lapping noisily. I kneel beside him, pausing as the still water catches my reflection.

The face staring back is familiar, but worn. Thick, dark hair I usually keep swept back has fallen over my forehead. My eyes look tired. Older than they should. Stubble covers my sunburnt skin, making me look like someone who’s been thinking too much and sleeping too little. No surprises there!

With my palm I gently swirl the water, breaking the image apart. Then I cup my hands and drink, letting the cold, clear water soothe my parched throat and something deeper inside me.

“I’m going to call you Dodo,” I say, filling my water bottle and looking at him.

He lets out a soft “Bhow” and wags his tail, like he approves.

Excerpted with permission from The Trail of a Songbird, Jayesh Bhaware, Westland.