a boy on the beach. A Shompen boy. One of the ancient tribes that lived in the darkest forest. They were barely more than cave-people.
They were ignorant in the ways of modern life. The Shompen still sacrificed animals, they stole from rubbish tips and they shot arrows at helicopters. . The boy had a swipe of ebony hair hanging over one eye.
The other was brown, wide and staring over my shoulder. ‘Mountain wave,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘Are you speaking to me?’ I asked. Shompens were not known for their social skills.
Generally, they stayed as far away from civilization as the island of Great Nicobar will allow, although in recent years ancient barriers were being worn down and there was even some trading between the Shompens and Nicobaric. But this was the first time in my life that a Shompen had addressed me. I tapped my chest. ‘Me?
Are you talking to me?’ The boy pointed out to sea. ‘First the earth shakes, then the mountain wave comes. We must go.’ The boy spoke Car with a heavy accent. The Shompen have their own ancient language, but no one outside their tribe can speak it.
No one can be bothered to Give evidences to show what kind of people Shompens were. Shompens are primarily hunter- gatherers and also practise a little bit of horticulture and pig rearing. try. `Go,’ he repeated, gesturing towards the forest.
‘Now.’ . My mother had always told me never to follow a Shompen anywhere, especially into the forest. And I did not intend to disobey her. Anyway, I wanted to watch the wave.
It was really something when a big wave broke on the shore, cutting long furrows into the sand. I turned my back on the boy. Our conversation was over.The giant wave made me catch my breath. Suddenly it was close and huge.
I hadn’t realised how big it must be. Higher than the trees surely. And fast too. It seemed as though the entire ocean was coming this way, not just the surface.‘What?’ I said, in surprise,