University of Nandamuri - Mountain Forest, Tiger Forest and Tiger Forest

[1]

After untying the rope from the vertical leaf door at the entrance and exit, the woman entered the leaf hut.

The man in the tent was still stoking the fire in the fireplace, unaware that a companion had arrived.

When the woman coughed, the man looked up at her with red eyes from the smoke...

"Okay, just tie the door to the door and let it do what it wants."

The man said nothing and continued with the tedious task of blowing out the fire.

"No matter what, I'm still a friend."

The woman made a comment to herself, and as the man had ordered, she retied the rope from the leaf door and came to the fireplace.

On one side of the stove was a pile of firewood, cut from a twelve-season evergreen pine. The firewood had been cut into pieces and was in good condition. However, it was only the wood with many roots and was damp.

The woman looked at the oven. There was nothing in the oven. So she took some damp wood and put it in the oven.

The man, coughing heavily from the smoke that had entered his lungs, stood up and nodded in appreciation of the woman's work.

After the man stopped coughing...

“Sit down, let your skirts dry, I’ll make you some lunch.”

Without saying a word, the man placed the coffee pot in front of the stove lid, poured water from the bucket into the coffee pot, and then went outside the thatched hut to get water.

As soon as the man stepped outside the tent, the woman hurriedly picked up her handbag. When the man returned a short time later, he saw a dry skirt on the woman's body and a wet one being wrung out.

While the man rummaged through the food box for plates and cutlery, the woman tied a spare piece of rope to two poles of a bamboo pole and hung her wet skirt to dry.

The dishes are dirty.

While the man was washing the dishes, the woman turned her back on him and skillfully turned her long socks over to the dry ones. Then she placed her wet shoes on the wood pile behind the stove and put on her mohair shoes, which she usually wore indoors.

The fire in the fireplace was now well-lit, and the woman was content to let her underwear dry on her body.

During this time, neither man nor woman spoke.

The man was not only silent, but also very intent on doing what he had to do, so the woman thought he was pretending not to hear what she wanted to explain.

The man's behavior seems to assume that it is normal for every young woman in the world to appear out of the darkness and storm and seek his (man's) golden hospitality.

Women like this kind of perception in a way. However, women cannot understand why it is perceived this way. Therefore, it is uncomfortable for women. They think that what they feel with their heart is true, something that they cannot understand with their intellect.

The woman licked her lips with her tongue once or twice to speak. However, the man, who seemed to be clearly aware that he (the woman) was in the tent, remained silent.

The man opened the can of beef with a knife. Then he fried half a dozen pork loin chops. Then he put the frying pan back in its place. The coffee was boiling. When he reached into the food box, he found a large piece of cake. The cake was cold and damp.

The man looked at the large piece of cake with suspicion and glanced at the woman. Then he threw the damp cake outside the tent. He then poured out a bag of biscuits, the kind that sailors eat, onto the tablecloth inside the thatched hut.

The biscuits were not just crumbled but crumbled into crumbs. Because they were wet from the rain, the crumbs were soggy and mushy.

"This is all I have as a breadwinner. No matter what, I have to make the best of what I don't have."

The man said, "Wait a minute, kid."

Before the man could object, the woman poured the ship's biscuit pulp into the pan. The pan contained fried pork belly and oil.

The woman poured the ship's biscuit pulp over the pork belly and oil, then added two cups of water and stirred it gently.

The curry and biscuits in the pan puffed up and flattened after a few minutes in the oven. The woman sliced ​​the meat from the opened can of beef into thin slices and then placed them in the pan.

Then add a little salt and pepper and put it on the stove until it becomes oily. The steam comes out of the mixed curry on the plate. The smell is mouth-watering.

The man puts the dish the woman has cooked on a plate, places the plate on one knee, and looks at the dish.

"I have to say this is pretty good," he commented.

“What do you call this?” I asked. “Twelve fried eggs,” the woman replied curtly.

After that, no one spoke and they continued to eat in silence.

While they were still eating, the woman made coffee for the man. While she was doing this, the woman was watching the man intently.

"His face is not just unpleasant, it is determined and intelligent. Intelligent, but not in an overtly intelligent way. Well, intelligent only when it matters. Intelligent in a hidden way. .

"Well... maybe a college student," the woman continued to criticize, as if she had seen the eyes of college students who studied late into the night.

"Well...his eyes are the kind of eyes that come from studying late at night without sleep. The kind of beautiful eyes that brown, handsome men usually have."

The woman added twelve more fried potatoes to the man's plate. Here's a surprise.

“His eyes are not ordinary brown, but a reddish-brown, like a chestnut. In the daytime, when he is in good health, his eyes must have been a bright green. It could have been a greenish color, almost blue.”

The woman knows this very well. Because her best friend has such beautiful blue eyes.

"Well, his hair is reddish brown, shining golden in the candlelight. His hair is wavy, like a yawning baby, and his mustache is also yellowish brown. The curls that fall down to the sides of his ears blend with the yellowish brown of his mustache."

"Well...his whole face is clean and pure except for that mustache. He's very masculine."

At first, the woman felt guilty that the man's cheekbones were more prominent than necessary. However, the man's slender but muscular body, with its well-proportioned proportions,

When comparing a man's bulging chest and broad shoulders, women find that he is more attracted to the man's more rounded cheeks.

It's clear that the sunken cheeks are not due to malnutrition. The man's body is showing that he is not malnourished, right?

"He'll be about five feet, nine inches tall."

The woman is drawing conclusions based on the knowledge she has gained from her athletic experience.

"Well... I'm probably between 18 and 30, probably around 18 at most."

"There aren't many blankets."

The man stopped drinking his coffee and spoke briefly. After saying this, he drank the rest of his coffee. Then he placed the coffee cup on the food box.

"I don't think my Indians will be back until tomorrow morning. These guys have left only a few sacks and the necessary supplies in the tent, and they have packed everything up. But I have two very warm long coats. You can use them as blankets."

After saying this, the man turned away, as if not expecting a response from the woman, and began to unroll the blanket that was covered with a piece of blue chicken thigh fat.

After unpacking, the man pulled two long coats from the garment bag and threw them onto the bed.

"I think it's a versatile art."

The man asked. The way he asked it seemed as if he wasn't even interested in the question, just to keep the conversation going. In fact, it seemed as if the man already knew the answer that would come from such a question.

But for a woman, that question is like being punched in the face.

Before the woman could speak, the man continued.

"Last night, I had two goddesses of all-round arts sitting next to me. Tomorrow, I'll have three goddesses."

There were more bed bugs then than there are now. Isn't it unfortunate that those multi-talented artists lost their belongings without taking them with them? They often make the same excuse. Well, I haven't been able to find any of their lost belongings so far. It seems that all the women who say they lost their belongings are goddesses. So you're not a goddess either? I think you're a goddess, right?

A blush rose on the woman's face. This blush was more infuriating than the man's words. Because the woman had been trying to control her mind and now she couldn't control it.

“No, Kyat is not a versatile artist,” the woman replied calmly.

Without saying anything, the man threw some of the J-bags into the space on one side of the fireplace, arranging them to resemble a bed. Then, he pulled the remaining J-bags down into the space on the other side of the fireplace, creating a similar bed.

“But you must be some kind of artist.”