When the dark aura of a cold and misty night gasped its last breath before surrendering to the faint illuminations of the awakening sun, a tall and dark figure walked through the nodding wheat fields to reach a solitary palm gently swaying in the chilly breeze of an early winter morn. Barring only a white loin cloth and a traditional thin cotton towel wrapped around his head, he wore nothing else to fend against the elements. His lithe and leathery body did not seem to mind. After offering a silent prayer to the Monkey God, he ascended the living monolith.

Using two harnesses of jute ropes, one around his waist and the other around his ankles, he slithered upwards like a squirrel on a sprinting spree. Reaching the canopy, he leaned backwards, locking himself in mid-air. Then he unfastened five round earthen pots from around his waist and tied them…