The Lost Deer of Nepal

A proud monkey with soft white hair and a charcoal face, a gray langur, stood on a blue roof and watched the market below, listening to the hum of Nepalese merchants trading foods and goods droning throughout the village in Letang. It picked its small nail through a discarded orange peel, gnawing on the rind for flavor. The gray langur looked north and saw a man carrying a tan hiking backpack entering the village. He was holding a camera and capturing simple pictures of the common folk, the market, and the lush mountain landscape that surrounded him. The man saw the gray langur and pointed his camera at it. The monkey sprinted away, running across a rope that strung together Tibetan flags. The man was named Walter, an American. His eyes were brown along with his parted hair and handlebar mustache; a smug smirk was plastered on his face. He wore a pine green short sleeve shirt that he left unbuttoned; exposing his white, sleeveless undershirt and untrimmed chest hair. Around his neck was a gold chain, with the pendant tucked inside his undershirt. He walked confidently into the village, stepping over mud puddles in his khaki pants and high-ankled brown boots; he began to pass by the Nepalese traders, who quieted down to watch curiously as this stranger entered their home. Walter walked through the village and saw a weak man standing in a knee deep field of water, bending down to plant bright green rice samplings. He wore black shorts and a long, coffee brown vest that hung low as he bent down, dipping the ends of the cloth into the dirty water. He wore a Dhaka Topi, with red and brown hexagons patterned around the hat. Walter stood from afar, watching the old man work. Walter hung his camera strap around his neck, planted his boots, and puffed out his chest. “Hello, there!” Walter called out triumphantly. The old man stayed bent over looking over his shoulder, and waved kindly back. Walter took his forefinger and thumb and traced his mustache. “Excuse me!” Walter shouted again. The man once more looked over his shoulder while he continued to plant. “I’m Walter,” he smiled proudly. The old man nodded carefully and waved for Walter to stay. The man planted the last rice samplings in his hand then treaded through the dark water. The old man wiped his hands together aggressively to both dry and clean them, then he limply extended his hand to shake Walter’s. Walter saw the man’s hand was permanently stained chalky white from decades of labor, with gruff cuts and palm lines breaking the skin. Walter clasped the old man’s hand and shook it firmly, establishing his dominance. “Walter,” the Nepalese man attempted to pronounce. “Yes, good English,” Walter patronized. The old man couldn’t tell the difference and thanked him with a smile. “I was told to meet a farmer named Utkarsh.” The old man placed his hand on his chest. “I am Utkarsh.” “Excellent,” Walter smiled a wide politician’s smile. “Do you know why I’m here?” Utkarsh shook his headed politely. Walter looked down his nose at the old man. “I’m here for the Lost Deer.” Utkarsh’s face dropped in grief. “Why?” he begged. “Do not.” “I was told you could lead me to the forest where it hides,” Walter explained. “No, Walter,” Utkarsh refused, like a father to his son. “No. Too many go in and too many don’t come back.” Walter’s cheeks lifted in pride at the challenge. “I know.” Utkarsh looked south, towards his left, and then looked down in distraught. He put his hand on Walter’s elbow. “Come with me,” he said, leading him to his right. Utkarsh lead Walter into his home. Walter sat on a bench that ran against the side of the house, with three windows along the wall above him, shining a cold light from the overcast sky. Utkarsh brought a cup of coffee for Walter and then went towards a single chair in the middle of the room, spinning it around to face Walter. He sunk in the chair and sighed deeply, like a doctor preparing to deliver tragic news. “Ātmā Hiraṇa, the Lost Deer…” he started slowly, “is not a myth.” Walter lightly blew on the hot coffee to cool it. “I certainly hope not. I don’t want to have wasted my time coming here.” Utkarsh put up his hands to interrupt him. “Go back.” “Utkarsh, I know the rumors of this animal. I know what they say when you enter the forest.” “Then go, Walter. Leave and go back to your home.” “But have you seen it?” Walter leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Have you laid eyes on the Lost Deer?” “No. No one has and lived.” “That is precisely why I am here!”

“Friend,” Utkarsh said in a low voice, trying to plead patiently with the eager American. “Many travelers such as yourself come to see Ātmā Hiraṇa. No one that has seen it returns from the forest.” Utkarsh pressed his lips together in thought, his eyes sunk heavily as he looked down, concerned for Walter, who took a sip of his coffee, slurping it a little. “Do you know what Ātmā Hiraṇa is?” he asked cautiously.

Walter rested the porcelain mug on his knee, leaned back, and smirked knowingly. “A mythical beast,” he said deeply, as if boasting his own creation. “A capsule from the Garden of Eden.”

Utkarsh bowed his head in disdain, seeing the truth didn’t waver Walter. “Ātmā Hiraṇa is an angel.” Utkarsh looked in Walter’s eyes sternly. “Maybe be it is from the Garden of Eden. Maybe it is a spiritual animal.” He paused. “You are not God, Walter,” Utkarsh whispered ominously. “Ātmā Hiraṇa is not meant to be seen by fallen men. Travelers, like you, who try to see what was only meant to be seen by the eyes of heaven, do not return from Ātmā Hiraṇa Vana. His woods.” Utkarsh leaned forward in his chair and held his hands open earnestly. “Do not give in, Walter. Do not try to see Ātmā Hiraṇa.”

“Someone must have seen it,” Walter mentioned casually.

“People have seen it, but they do not return,” Utkarsh warned once more.

“Then how do we know it resembles a deer, Utkarsh?” Walter craned his head forward and grinned arrogantly. “How do we know if you see it, if you lay your eyes on the Lost Deer, then suddenly—” he puffed air into his hand like blowing out a candle, “Poof!—you vanish?”

Utkarsh glared at him, becoming angry with his persistence. “There are stories we tell to children, Walter. We have stories to keep children from doing right and wrong,” Utkarsh spoke gently, hoping a compassionate tone would get through to him. “How we know what it looks like does not matter as much as what will happen if you see it. The description of Ātmā Hiraṇa has been revealed to us by God, but it is not to be seen by man. Ātmā Hiraṇa, the Lost Deer, is the story to warn children to humble themselves before God.”

Walter leaned forward and extended his coffee cup to Utkarsh, who took it obediently as not to insult his guest. Walter grunted as he leaned back. “Utkarsh, are you well read?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “In Greek mythology, there was a man named Theseus. He was tasked to kill the Minotaur, which hid in depths of a labyrinth. Finding the Minotaur was one thing, but escaping...” Walter bent down and pulled his tan hiking backpack to his feet. He opened the first zipper on the front and pulled out a large spool of yarn. He held it in his hand and admired it like a secret. “One is only lost if they don’t know the way out,” Walter smirked condescendingly. “That is the story I know. Man defying the gods.”

Utkarsh wasn’t impressed. “You think you are the only one to try that?” he spoke gravely, pointing to the spool of yarn. “I learned English to tell travelers like you not to go. But no one listens.” He put his hand on his knee and pushed to help himself stand. Utkarsh walked the coffee mug to his kitchen. He rinsed it with water and turned it upside down on a cloth.

He plodded back into the the main room, “If you were well read, Walter,” Utkarsh began solemnly, “You would know the story of the Tower of Babel. And how God does not tolerate pride. Especially a pride that considers yourself equal to Him.” He grabbed an orange from a basket sitting in a table next to Walter and then walked out the front door.

Walter waited for him to return, but after a while, Walter was left alone. After another minute passed, he understood Utkarsh was waiting for him outside. Walter grabbed his backpack and thrust it upon his back.

Walter left the house and saw Utkarsh peeling the orange and holding out the natural slices for the gray langur, who reached up with its small charcoal hands and smacked its teeth happily on the snack. Utkarsh looked south; down the remaining stretch of dirt before them. “That is the forest,” Utkarsh said plainly.

Walter looked excitedly towards the woods. He saw a wooden sign in the distance. “I think I would’ve found that myself. Why was I told to find you?”

“I ask the people to send those that seek the Lost Deer to me first.”

“What for?”

“To try and stop them.” Utkarsh dropped the orange for the gray langur, who swiped it off the dirt and scurried away. Utkarsh dusted off his hands. “I pray you do not see Ātmā Hiraṇa, Walter,” he turned away without looking at him to head back to house.

Walter tugged on his backpack and traced his handlebar mustache with his forefinger and thumb, smiling intensely. Walter took a step forward into a muddy puddle, splashing under his boot, and trekked towards the wooden sign.

Before too long Walter was only a few paces in front of the sign. He turned back to look at Utkarsh, as if trying to prove something, but Utkarsh was gone. Walter faced the front and approached the sign. It read: “आत्मा हिरण वन”. Ātmā Hiraṇa Vana. Walter removed his spool of yarn from his backpack and tied it around the base of the sign four times, tightening it forcefully. He looked ahead into the depths of the forest, crossed the edge of the woods, and beyond the threshold.

Inside the forest was a lush world of vibrant green flora; ferns that sprouted from the ground, healthy moss dripping down the sides of trunk bark. The ambient sounds of critters and unseen mammals echoed throughout. Monkeys and birds squawked suddenly and sharply. Walter couldn’t identify any source from the sounds hidden within the trees. He loosely held the spool in his left hand, letting the yarn unravel behind him, while balancing his camera in his right, prepared for Ātmā Hiraṇa to reveal itself to him.

Walter followed a manmade path that seemed to be stomped into the earth from many travelers before him; many of which hadn’t returned from the forest, Walter reminded himself. But after only a few minutes of walking, the path had regrown into a grassy terrain. Sunlight began to cut through the tall trees; turning the forest golden and illuminating the small insects flying from branch to flower. Walter pressed the viewfinder on his camera to his eye, hoping to capture the breathtaking land he was in, but he thought he better save the battery for his divine encounter.

Walter trekked for fifty minutes, taking high steps to crush the ferns and branches beneath him. He looked carefully in every direction and stopped to listen for every sound, peering through the leaves and between tree trunks if an unusual sound came from the Lost Deer. He had taken his time traversing the forest, but his spool was near its end. It didn’t discourage him at all, however; he decided once he reached the end of his yarn he would simply return to the start and try another direction until he captured a picture of Ātmā Hiraṇa.

As Walter took a few steps he started to hear a constant rushing of water. He took high steps and large strides towards the sound of water. He could see a pool glistening between the trees.

Walter emerged forth and saw a spring pouring into a beautiful pool of water; naturally blue and shimmering from the light. Smooth stones kept the water in the shallow hole it had formed its body within. Gorgeous rhododendrons bloomed around the water and attracted a dozen butterflies, twinkling in the single ray of sunshine that landed on the highest point of the spring, where a flat rock overlooked the spring. On the overlook was a creature standing tall that defied mankind. It was mounted upon the rock too tall to measure, with bronze antlers the shot out of the skull, branching into a hundred points. The head was that of a boar, with ivory tusks the curled out of its mouth. The head stood on the body as stalwart as a rhinoceros, with plates of iron covering its body like armor, and a long, orange mane made of coarse wire ran from its long ears to its backside. Four stout legs as large as tree trunks extended its height threefold, with clumps of tough fur wrapped around its hooves. Its tail was that of a crocodile, with sharp bones that pierced out of the end like a pointed club. Altogether, the beast was formed directly by the mouth of God, vastly superior and more powerful than any creation known, striking overwhelming fear that succumbed Walter to the ground. The celestial monster turned its mighty head towards Walter and look into his soul. It grunted with such an awesome force that it rippled the entire spring water below, blowing the vegetation away, and sending shivers down Walter’s spine.

Walter was too afraid to remember to take a picture with his camera. He fearfully crawled backwards, trembling away from the spring until he felt far enough not to antagonize the beast and sprinted, chasing his own trail of yarn. After about a minute of running as fast as possible, Walter sat down in the dirt and leaned against a tree, tucked his legs against his chest, and shook recklessly. He laid eyes on Ātmā Hiraṇa, something a mortal man could not handle.

However, Walter’s pride resurged as he gripped his camera, preparing to re-experience the presence of the beast. He stood up and while keeping the spool of yarn in his hand, he held the camera and slowly crept towards the sound of rushing water. Walter looked past the trees, hiding behind a wide trunk, and looked back into the spring. He pressed the viewfinder against his eye and pointed it towards the rocky overlook. He suddenly brought the camera down. The beast was gone.

Ashamed and angry that he didn’t act when he encountered Ātmā Hiraṇa, Walter rubbed his head furiously. He started swearing between his teeth and yanked his hair, throwing a fit beside the pool. After he had worn himself out, he remembered he could still do something no one else had: return from the forest having seen The Lost Deer. Walter began giggling as he held the spool up to his face. His giggle grew louder until it was maniacal.

Walter spun the yarn as he followed his trail back through the woods. Faster and faster Walter wound the yarn back, sprinting wildly and laughing like a giddy boy. The yarn was close to full. He had almost made it.

Walter wound the spool when suddenly the end of the yarn spun back into the spool. The yarn was finished, but the sign was no where in sight. He tied it several times around the sign, it was impossible that it could have come undone. Walter marched forward, in the direction of the final thread. As he took several steps, he heard the sound of rushing water. Walter denied it.

He stepped forward and found the spring with the rocky overlook. Walter began to hyperventilate. By some illusion, he had circled his way back to the spring, following the yarn. By some divine intervention, he had become lost. The forest that belonged to the Lost Deer had dizzied Walter and became a labyrinth. He ran away, sprinting east. He sprinted for several minutes before the sound of rushing water filled his ears again. He screamed, breaking through the trees and re-entering the spring. Walter was becoming hysterical; sprinting in an intentional zig-zag, hoping to pass through some forbidden wall that trapped him in the heart of the forest. Walter saw a new light between the trees. Tears ran down his face as he chased the light. He passed through it.

Again, the familiar waters rushed and rushed. All paths lead back to the spring.

Walter walked to the pool of water and fell to his knees. He looked up. On the overlook was the beast, Ātmā Hiraṇa, waiting for him.