Ah, Laitmukrah you said, Swaati? Just around the bend from St. Mary?s college whose delicious kongs have been known to consent to taking romantic walks to Golf Links on a moonlit night? Woohoo! And how about ..er.. um.. hanging out in Badabazaar on Sunday afternoons. Picnics at Barapani, boating in Wards Lake, Jhalupaada booze etc. Many fond memories of Shillong, the Khasi and Garo hills and the region thereabouts. As an aside, with no intention of detracting from what you posted Swaati, I met (now deceased) some of the people who lived in Burma during the early part of the last century, and yet others who fought in that theatre of operations in WWI. As a child, I was often mesmerized by their stories of valour. And of daunting journeys through nearly impenetrable forests chock full of plants, animals and other wildlife that could be fatal for the unwary or plain unlucky. It was the 1930s, and there was one vast forest stretching eastwards from Dehradun along the Himalayan foothills all the way into Burma and further into northern Thailand and beyond. The story is of a group of travelers heading westwards in the Brahmaputra river valley on their way to Shillong. One fine day, they chanced upon some water buffalo. For those that don?t know it, this is a dangerous animal that is acknowledged to be both fearless and ill tempered. A nasty combination in an animal that easily weighs upwards of a 1000 lbs and possesses razor sharp horns known to measure, from tip to tip, upwards of 5 feet. In Africa, lions give it a wide berth, and in Asia, even mighty tigers keep a wary distance from it. Now it so happened that one bright spark among the travelers, possessed of a breech-loading gun, decided to take a crack at felling the mighty bovine. The upshot of it all was that the bull buffalo was merely injured, and with a mighty bellow charged at its tormentors. The lot scattered pell-mell and frantically scrambled up nearby trees to safety. Enraged, the animal rammed the trees and repeatedly gored their hiding place with great gusto. (The narrator said the gouges in the trees were at least 4-5 inches deep!) The terrified travelers clung to their leafy refuge and swore at the idiocy of the now ashen faced hunter-turned hunted. The wild buffalo, or arna we know it, never left those trees all day and night. Finally, overcome with thirst and hunger, the beast left. That fortunate lot shimmied down the trunks and beat a hasty retreat, and lived to tell the tale! Such were the times and lives in the days of yore. For one, I am grateful to be able to read the incredible narration posted by Swaati. Do carry on! Swaati, enchante ! Kalekrishna, cheers!