“Why were you running?” the other
police officer finally asks.
“Have you been in this place at night?”
Aslam waves a hand at the dark forest and
shudders. “There are spiders the size of your
hand. Snakes everywhere hanging from trees
waiting to fall inside your clothes. Huge
devil-monkeys swinging through the darkness
screaming like ghosts.”
The policemen shake their heads in
bewilderment.
“Don’t believe me, sirs? Well, I tell you—I
am never going back in there past sundown,
even for the sake of science.”
The walk home is silent except for Aslam,
who laughs now and then. At the intersection,
he merrily waves goodbye. “That was fun!” he
calls. “Let’s do it again sometime!”
I can’t look at Dadu. I don’t know whether
he is proud of me or disappointed.
When we reach home, Dadu puts my box
on the table. I bow my head. “Dadu,” I say,
“Ami dukkhito. I’m sorry I could not do what
you asked me.” I think back to the forest,how I found the darkest place I could to nes-
tle the pangolin and her baby, how Aslam and
I filled the box with sticks and leaves. To trick
Dadu. My heart feels as heavy as a monsoon
cloud inside of me.
I feel Dadu’s old, rough hands on my face.
“Ah, Rahim, you are tender-hearted. And
tonight, lucky as well. What can I say? When
I think of the danger you were in... .” His
eyes fill with tears. “I never liked the work. I
hope you know that. You must stay in school
so you will never be driven to do work you
are ashamed of.” He raises a finger before I
can argue. “I will make ends meet somehow.
Don’t you worry.”
“Someday I will make you proud,” I say.
“You already have.” His arms curve
around me, protective as a mother pangolin.
“A n d y ou a l w a y s w i l l .”
When I go to sleep that night, I think of
the monsoon coming soon. The forest will
glow like a king’s crown with orchids. And
deep in its green heart, a mother pangolin
and her baby will be safe.Author’s Note Pangolins, sometimes called scaly anteaters,
are one of the most illegally traff icked animals in the world. In
the past ten years, poaching pangolins for their scales—which
are thought to have medicinal, even magical powers—has
greatly increased, and pangolins are now relatively scarce in
Bangladesh. I can certainly understand why hunters in one of
the world’s poorest countries would be tempted to export
these animals (it is against the law), but it is terribly sad—akin
to the traff icking of rhino horn or elephant tusks in East Africa,
since in all cases, the animal is killed in the process.
This story is set near where I was born and spent the f irst
years of my life. Pangolins are incredibly fascinating animals,
but I have not seen a pangolin since I was a child.
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