The Dangerous Forest

Far from the city stood a hill so thickly covered with wildflowers and fruit-bearing trees that if someone looked down at it from an airplane, they would see no soil or rocks at all. Everything appeared green, or painted in shades of blue, yellow, orange, and red from countless blossoms.

A narrow road passed beside the hill and led toward the city. It was not paved, nor was there much need for it to be, because very few people traveled that way. Twice a day, milkmen passed along the road on their rattling bicycles, and occasionally a shepherd could be seen guiding a small herd. Once or twice a week, government officials rode through on horseback. If a letter or telegram had to be delivered, the postman would appear on his old bicycle, spend half the day delivering a few letters to settlements beyond the hill, and then return to the city.

The villagers themselves rarely went to the city. They bought most of their necessities from a single shopkeeper who lived in his shop. He was a solitary man who did not travel often. Every ten or twelve days, he prepared his horse cart and set out for the city early in the morning. By evening he returned with supplies and had everything arranged before sunset. Once darkness fell, he locked the shop doors and did not open them again until morning, no matter what happened. After all, who would come at night?

At sunset, the villagers shut themselves inside their homes and emerged only with the next sunrise. There was a reason for this habit. Everyone had heard that many dangerous animals lived on the hill. It was said that a pair of leopards lived there, along with two terrifying families of bears. An old lion was rumored to have wandered in from somewhere, and other fearsome creatures were believed to dwell in the forest.

Very few people had actually seen these animals. In fact, none of the current villagers had. Anyone who might have seen them either had died long ago or moved away. Still, many claimed to have heard frightening sounds at night. Some said they had seen shadowy figures passing through the trees. These stories were told to children, generation after generation. By day the village was lively, but at night silence fell so deeply that even children dared not speak.

One day, a boy named Shakeel set out from the city to reach the settlement on the other side of the hill. He was the shopkeeper’s nephew and was traveling there to spend his holidays. His uncle had written clearly, warning him to arrive before nightfall, as traveling after dark was not considered safe.

Shakeel began his journey under bright sunlight. After some distance, he noticed an elderly man in a khaki uniform riding a bicycle with a leather bag hanging from his shoulder. Shakeel hurried to catch up and asked for directions. The man was a postman, kind and helpful. Since they were going the same way, he offered Shakeel a ride. They decided to take turns pedaling so neither would grow too tired.

As they traveled along the road beside the hill, a jeep suddenly descended from a slope. The postman, who was cycling at the time, lost control when the jeep appeared unexpectedly, and the bicycle struck it. Both riders fell. Shakeel landed on grass and escaped with minor scratches, but the postman lost consciousness. The bicycle was badly damaged. Although the jeep driver was not at fault, he acted responsibly and offered to take the postman to the city hospital. Shakeel declined the offer to join them, helped load the postman and bicycle into the jeep, and decided to continue on foot.

By then, much time had passed and the sun was sinking. Shakeel chose to leave the road and climb the hill by a narrow path, hoping to reach the shop before dark. He walked through twisting trees heavy with fruit, surrounded by birds, butterflies, rabbits, lizards, and brightly colored insects. He admired the beauty of the forest and tasted its fruits, unaware that he had lost his way.

The uncle realized the truth: fear had been born from imagination. Shadows, sounds, and ignorance had created monsters that never existed. Smiling, he said, “Everyone believed stories born of fear, but you traveled without it. That is a very good thing.”