A Monkey Attack in Hampi

I was sitting on the porch of my guesthouse one evening, chatting with Chris, a British fellow I met there, and eating my second helping of mangoes for the day. Suddenly, a troupe of monkeys swept down from the roof. They made low cackling noises as they clamored about the porch. Within seconds, their beady little eyes were fixed firmly on my mangoes. As they began to circle, Chris ran to hide in his room and watch the coming scuffle through the safety of his barred window.













I, however, am devoted to my mangoes, and was not going to give them up without a fight. I grabbed the bowl and leapt back from the table. The monkeys followed me, closing in. I stood my ground and glared at them. They advanced. I whipped out my umbrella and began waving it belligerently. Their shrieking indicated that they weren’t about to back down.









Luckily, the hotel manager heard the commotion (and my cries for help) and raced up to the porch, shotgun in hand. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t loaded!) The sight of the barrel and the popping gun-like sounds the manager made with his mouth frightened my attackers. They scampered into a hasty retreat. He placed the gun in my lap and I finished my mangoes in peace.