Saturday, October 11, 2014

The Mushroom Hunter



The thoughtful amongst you might think that this serene picture is one of a poet out for a walk in the woods in search of inspiration, at one with nature, in touch with his inner soul. But think again discerning readers, look again! This picture has a far more chilling undercurrent to it than what seems apparent on its warm, dappled surface; clutch your hearts and hold your breath, this here is a picture of a hunter, the most lethal of them all – A Mushroom Hunter.
Before I detect the slightest smirk on your faces allow me make my point. Hunters of wild beasts saunter around the jungle with large guns and upon sighting prey in the distance, merely lift their guns and pull a trigger, BANG, the prey staggers and dies, the hunter walks up to the bloody carcass, takes a selfie with her foot on the body, drags it over to the jeep and drives away. Yawn. Anybody can do that. It is The Mushroom Hunter who is far more dangerous. One moment he is merrily driving along peaceful country roads chatting about graphic novels and ground coffee and the next moment he screeches the car to a halt much to the surprise and consternation of his passengers, “Good heavens! Is something wrong? Why did he stop?” And that is the instant when you see a Mushroom Hunter in action. He darts across the road to an empty field, unsheaths his sharp, special mushroom dagger, swoops down with a yowl of delight on helpless, quivering little shaggymane mushrooms huddled together, swiftly chops off their heads and places them in his trophy basket. If that isn't chilling enough there’s more mind you! A mere walk in autumn woods is fraught with action. You might have had a meditative stroll in mind, that moment of getting in touch with your Shakti that your Guru so recommended, that you were so eager to experience, you are admiring the colors of the trillion, zillion autumn leaves on the forest floor, you are just about to attain nirvana through peace and happiness when the Mushroom Hunter screeches to a halt before you and plunges his dagger into gazillion leaves on the ground and comes up with a teeny weeny quivering mushroom which he is ecstatic about and which he holds aloft before your bewildered eyes. “See? See!” And then as you sit trembling in recovery at the dining table, these mushrooms are fried in butter and brought before you to be eaten. No blood and gore of animal killers mind you, just swift, lethal, ruthless decapitation and dinner. Takes nerve to be the guest of A Mushroom Hunter I tell you. Phew!

And yes, well, here is the photograph of one of them.

7 comments:

Aarthi said...

Hats off Priya...what a narration. Had me laughing out loud. Cool this mushroom hunter.

Julie said...

I hope I never meet one in a dark alley (or dark path)... Oups, I think there's one living in my house!

Priya Sebastian said...

I'm laughing with you Aarthi :-)

Priya Sebastian said...

Takes the guts of a mushroom hunter to live with another Julie!
:-D

Truthsayer said...

wonderful, my hubs is one too.
Wild mushrooms and morels are worth their weight in gold and bcos of thier short shelf life the best way to eat them is to hunt for them....once u eat that the store bought mushrooms will be blahh....

Nicolas said...

Priya, I have to congratulate you: you really did capture the essence of mushroom hunting. It is NOT for the faint of heart! However, I cannot stress enough how unfortunate it is that you have just uncovered to the world the existence of these secretive, tiny, beautiful, intricate... and delicious creatures (especially in butter!), and of their ruthless, yes, ruthless, hunters. Indeed, call me picky, but I really don't like being called a "picker". Would I have a knife in my pocket if I were a picker? No, as you so very well put it, decapitation and pan frying is my game, but not for mere sadistic purposes. No, no, may I remind you that what we are dealing with here are WILD mushrooms, not tiny, chummy, domesticated ones. And it's the jungle out there: you're either the hunter or the prey. In 20 years of hunting, I had some close calls, let me tell you... but that is another story. Back to the reason why I’m writing to you now: it is for the same reason that Gorbatchev called our noble endeavour the "silent hunting". Not, it's not because we are less noisy than other hunters. On the contrary, think about it: mushrooms have no ears, and no legs to run (just one foot). We can sing, we can dance, we can shout “Adriiiaaane” in the wind (as I have in numerous occasions): the little fellows won't be frightened, not one bit. They will stay right there, well hidden, undisturbed by our manly displays. No, the "silent hunt" means that there is an omerta regarding our profession. You don't pick and tell: whatever happens in the forest, stays in the forest! So, you've been warned: if you see a man walking silently towards you with a strange birth mark on the forehead, run for your life! Don't look back! To survive this, you will need to think like a mushroom, no, BE a mushroom and hide under autumn leaves if you can. This is your only chance. But if not, well, say hello to Gorby for me.

Priya Sebastian said...

Tabernac! It's a surprise Mushroom Hunter attack! Aaaaaah.....Aaaaaaaah......!

(Flees from the forest)