by Arshdeep Singh
A journalist’s routine evening turned terrifying after his two-wheeler collided with a bear, leaving him injured and stranded, followed by a hospital journey and a leopard encounter.
I have been working in journalism for the past four years, constantly moving from one assignment to another, spending most of my days chasing stories and meeting deadlines. It was Friday, August 21, 2026, and like any other working day, I left home early in the morning for an assignment.
I spent most of the day covering the story. Usually, I return home around 8 or 9 in the evening, but that day, I finished my assignment earlier than expected and reached back around 5 pm.
On my way home, I stopped near a café where I regularly have tea. The café manager, Ronak, is not just a friend but someone I have known since childhood. He asked me to have a cup of tea with him.
I told him, “Not this time. I’ll come back around 8. We’ll have tea or coffee together then.”
I had no idea that those would be the last normal words of an ordinary evening.
After reaching home, I slept for almost two hours. I woke up, freshened up and left for the Gurudwara on my scooty at around 7:30 pm.
The road towards the Gurudwara was relatively quiet. I was initially driving with my vehicle’s low beam on. As the road stretched ahead and visibility became difficult, I switched to high beam.
And then, within seconds, everything changed.
Suddenly, a bear jumped out from an apple orchard and came directly towards me.
There was no time to react.
My right shoulder collided with the animal, while the handle of my scooty also struck it. The impact caused the scooty to skid, and I fell onto the road.
I knew immediately that it was a bear.
I was injured. My arm and leg were bleeding, and I fell into a drain twice while trying to recover myself. There was nobody around.
For a few moments, I could not understand what to do. My mind simply stopped working.
Then I heard a voice.
An elderly man was nearby. I told him that I had met with an accident involving a bear. He was shocked and immediately told me not to go back towards the scooty.
I tried to make a phone call, but I was struggling to think clearly.
Somehow, I managed to call Ronak—the same friend who had asked me to stop for tea earlier that evening.
The café was nearby, and he rushed towards me.
When he reached the spot, he saw the condition of my two wheeler. It was badly damaged. We somehow moved it to the roadside, and Ronak took me to the café.
His friends there helped me and tried to give me courage. They gave me turmeric milk and helped me sit down.
I asked my friend Angad to bring the scooty to the café. When he saw its condition, he was shocked.
But the night was not over yet.
While Ronak was taking me to the hospital, his car ran out of fuel. At that moment, two young muslim boys from the nearby area came forward to help. They travelled nearly five kilometres on a motorcycle, brought petrol and helped us get the car moving again.
Ronak then drove me towards the hospital.
At that point, I had only one thing on my mind.
“Ronak, just take me to the hospital as soon as possible.”
The doctors examined me. Fortunately, there was no fracture. But the impact had left my body badly shaken, and I was unable to walk properly because of the collision.
On our way back, another frightening sight awaited us.
Near the café, we saw a large leopard.
One evening. One bear collision. One damaged scooty. Injuries. A hospital visit. And then a leopard near the same place.
It was difficult to believe that all of this had happened within a matter of hours.
Every day, we hear reports from different parts of the Valley about people encountering or being attacked by wild animals. What happened to me made those reports feel completely different.
This is no longer just a wildlife story appearing in the news.
It is becoming a serious concern for people living and travelling in areas where human settlements and wildlife habitats are increasingly coming closer to each other.
Wild animals entering residential areas and crossing roads used by people is an alarming situation. At the same time, the issue also raises important questions about how we can protect both human lives and wildlife.
That night, I was fortunate.
I walked away without a fracture. But I also realised how quickly an ordinary journey can turn into a fight for survival.
I am deeply thankful to Ronak, Angad, the two young muslim boys who helped us with fuel, the elderly man who stopped me from going back towards the spot, and everyone at the café who stood by me when I was injured and frightened.
My friends finally dropped me home at around 10 pm.
Earlier that evening, Ronak had asked me to stay for a cup of tea.
I had told him, “I’ll come back around 8.”
I never imagined that a simple cup of tea would instead become a reminder of how unpredictable life can be and how, sometimes, the people around us become our greatest support when we need them most.
(The author is a journalist.)
