Experiencing the unknown world from legends and folklore

The storm has just hit our campsite. The wind is howling in wildest rage, turning the world upside down with its merciless blows. The lightning hits close, its groundbreaking noise wakes me to reality. First thing I notice is the cold; it pierces through my bones like thousands of needles. It is freezing.

I open my eyes to the serene atmosphere inside our flimsy shelter. I notice a strange silhouette across the tent; our guide still awakes, sitting motionless like a statue. On the right side, my friends sleeping soundly like a child, unaware of the weather and sound.

“Ma-y sung kha” I greet our guide to break the silence. He gestures me to join his company. He is a Muso, a mountain man. I ask him to continue the story he has told us earlier in the morning. He begins the story after a long pause:

It was one humid afternoon in June; the storm had just passed by. The Muso hiked up here to hunt for fresh games. He was heading back to the village when he heard faintly hissing noises. It was almost inaudible, like whispers between the delicate leaves. He turned to meet a wanderer, who asked for the way to the next town. The Muso pointed east, told the wanderer to follow a stream. A moment later the Muso remembered that he also had a business in town; he could give the wanderer a ride on his old truck. However, when the Muso turned back around, he found no sign of other beings. In less than a minute, the wanderer had disappeared. The Muso tracked for the wanderer but found nothing, except a snake trail the size of a small timber. It was a very fresh one.

Thunders are roaring in the background. This is a story about the Naga, a great serpent deity from a Southeast Asian folklore. Ones with powerful sorcery can take human form at will. They live a solitude life in their realm, but it’s not unusual for them to cross path with mountain people.

The Muso finishes with a short prayer in his mother tongue. I look at the mountain man, bewildered by his adventurous life in the unknown world. His wrinkled face shines with faith and belief. He bows gracefully, touching his upper body and forehead to the ground. The prayer fades, and silence has taken the empty space between us once again.

As we sit facing each other in silence, I notice the slightest of sound despite the deafening rumbles of the storm. Far in the distance is a hiss; soft like dancing leaves, almost inaudible. I look up just in time to catch the Muso’s faintest smile.