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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce291d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65561 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65561) diff --git a/old/65561-0.txt b/old/65561-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff448d3..0000000 --- a/old/65561-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4533 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jungle Tales, by Bithia Mary Croker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Jungle Tales - -Author: Bithia Mary Croker - -Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65561] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS, SF2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES *** - - - - - -JUNGLE TALES - -OPINIONS OF THE PRESS - - -“Mrs. Croker has already achieved a secure foothold in that temple of -Anglo-Indian fiction whereof Mr. Rudyard Kipling is the high-priest. -Her tales have a freshness and piquancy that are all their own.... -So long as the author of ‘Diana Barrington’ can produce works of the -quality of ‘Village Tales and Jungle Tragedies,’ she will assuredly not -lack an audience.”--_Athenæum._ - -“These tales are really original and excellent work. Mrs. Croker knows -her India minutely, and proves her knowledge by a thousand delicate -touches.”--_Woman._ - -“Mrs. Croker writes of India as one knowing it well, and with deep -sympathy for the people among whom her time was spent, for the village -sorrows and tragedies she was able to share. And in a considerable -measure she succeeds in bringing home to readers at home the daily life -of the East.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“The stories are all written from a peculiar knowledge of the life -they describe, and with a lively eye directed to its picturesqueness. -They make an interesting and entertaining book, which will be heartily -enjoyed by every one who reads it.”--_Scotsman._ - -“The magician’s car of fiction next transports us to India, the -magician being that very competent and attractive writer Mrs. B. M. -Croker. Her ‘Village Tales’ are so good that they bracket her, in our -judgment, with Mrs. F. A. Steel in comprehension of native Indian life -and character.”--_Times._ - -“Mrs. Croker makes the tales interesting and attractive, and her ready -sympathy with the Indian people, whom we are gradually coming to know -through the interpretation of some of our very best writers, strikes -the reader afresh in this volume.”--_World._ - -“Mrs. Croker shows once more a pretty talent, and her volume is -replete with sentiment and romance. Her animal stories are really -touching.”--_Globe._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s volume is bright and readable. She has done good work -already in other fields; one expects a story of hers to be at any rate -pleasant reading. These Indian tales are no exception.”--_North British -Mail._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s stories show her grasp of Indian character, and her -realisation of the nameless charm which casts its glamour over the -East and its peoples.... ‘Two Little Travellers,’ the last story, is -exquisitely pathetic.”--_Star._ - -“The stories are among the best of their kind. The author knows equally -well how to write of Anglo-Indian or purely native life.”--_Morning -Post._ - -“Mrs. Croker, who knows India exceptionally well, and is a practised -writer, has handled this variety of subjects in a spirited and -entertaining style.”--_Literary World._ - -“A prettily got-up book containing seven Indian tales, well told, -with abundant evidence of a thorough knowledge of the country and its -people.... There is not a dull line in the book, and in its perusal the -desire for more keeps growing, even to the end of the last beautiful -tale of Indian life.”--_Asiatic Quarterly Review._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s seven little tales of native India are such very quick -and easy reading that many persons will probably overlook the skill -to which the result is due. The authoress evidently knows both what a -short story ought to be, and how to make one.”--_Graphic._ - -“Brilliant pictures of Indian life and manners. Mrs. Croker possesses -the pen of a ready writer united to the imagination of a true -artist.”--_Liberal._ - -“The tales are simple in themselves and plainly told, with an -unmistakable atmosphere of truth and reality about them.”--_Guardian._ - -“The quality of Mrs. Croker’s work is at this time sufficiently well -known, and it is enough to say that in her last volume are to be found -all those qualities which have secured for its predecessors a welcome -at the hands of the public.”--_Tablet._ - - - - -[Illustration: HER BLACK EYES BLAZED WITH EXCITEMENT.] - - - - - JUNGLE TALES - - BY B. M. CROKER - - - _Author of_ - - ‘_Pretty Miss Neville_,’ - ‘_Diana Barrington_,’ - ‘_The Spanish Necklace_,’ - ‘_In Old Madras_,’ - _etc._ - - - A NEW IMPRESSION WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY JOHN CHARLTON - - LONDON HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM 1913 - - - - - “Ah! what a warning for thoughtless man, - Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, - Show to his eye an image of the pangs - Which it hath witnessed!” - Wordsworth. - - - - - THESE TALES ARE INSCRIBED - TO - OLD FRIENDS - IN THE CENTRAL AND NORTH-WEST PROVINCES - IN MEMORY OF - MANY PLEASANT HOURS IN CAMP AND CANTONMENT. - B. M. C. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - A Free-Will Offering 1 - “The Missus.” A Dog Tragedy 37 - The Betrayal of Shere Bahadur 63 - “Proven or not Proven?” The True Story of Naim Sing, Rajpoot 96 - An Outcast of the People 124 - An Appeal to the Gods 146 - Two Little Travellers 166 - - - - - VILLAGE TALES - AND - JUNGLE TRAGEDIES. - - - - -A FREE-WILL OFFERING. - - -“Kismiss,” as the natives call it, is anything but a jovial and merry -season to me, and I heartily sympathize with those prudent souls who -flee from the station or cantonment, and bury themselves afar off -in the jungle, until the festive season has been succeeded by the -practical New Year! Christmas in India is an expensive anniversary to -a needy subaltern such as I am. Putting aside the necessary tips to -the mess-servants, the letter-corporal, and colour-sergeant, I have my -own retinue (about ten in number), who overwhelm me with wreaths and -flowers culled from my garden, and who expect, in return, solid rupees -of the realm. This is reasonable enough; but it passes the limits of -reason and patience when other peopled body-servants, peons, syces, -and all the barrack dhobies, and every “dog” boy in the station, lie -in ambush in order to thrust evil-smelling marigolds under my nose, -with expectant salaams! Last Christmas cost me nearly the price of a -pony--this Christmas, I resolved to fly betimes with my house-mate, -Jones of the D.P.W. We would put in for a week’s leave, and eat our -plum-pudding at least sixty miles from Kori. - -Alas! my thrifty little scheme was knocked on the head by a letter -from my cousin Algy Langley. He is the eldest son of an eldest son; -I am the younger son of a second son: and whereas I am a sub. in an -infantry regiment, grilling on the plains of India, and working for my -daily bread, Algy has run out for one cold weather, merely in search of -variety and amusement. - -“Why on earth should relations think it necessary to meet on one -particular day, in order to eat a tasteless bird and an indigestible -pudding?” - -I put this question to Jones, as we sat in our mutual verandah, opening -the midday dâk. - -“Just look at this; it’s a beastly nuisance!” and I handed him Algy’s -note, which said-- - - “Dear old Perky (my Christian name is Perkin),--This is to give notice - that I am coming to eat my Christmas dinner with you. I arrive on the - 21st, per mail train.--Yours, - “A. Langley.” - -“What is your cousin like?” inquired Jones. - -“Oh, a regular young London swell, who has never roughed it in his -life. I suppose I shall have to turn out of my room,” I grumbled; “and -I must borrow Robinson’s bamboo cart to meet him, for I believe he -would faint if I put him in a bullock tonga at first--he must arrive at -that by degrees!” - -“Is there no chance of our getting off to Karwassa? Wouldn’t he come -and have a try for the man-eater?” urged Jones. - -“Not he!” I rejoined emphatically; “he is a lady-killer--that is his -only kind of sport. I’m glad I have not put in for my leave; you and I -will go later--the tiger will wait.” - -“Yes, he has waited a good while,” retorted Jones, sarcastically; -“nearly three years, and about a dozen shikar parties have been got up -for his destruction, and still he keeps his skin! But, somehow, I have -a presentiment that _we_ shall get him.” - - * * * * * - -The next day Jones and I met Algy at the station. He had brought three -servants, a pile of luggage, and looked quite beautiful as he stepped -out on the platform, wearing a creaseless suit, Russia-leather boots, -gloves, and a white gauze veil to keep off the dust. His handkerchief -was suggestive of the most “up-to-date” delicate scent, as he passed -it languidly over his forehead, and gave directions to have his late -compartment cleared. - -As books, an ice-box, fruit, a fan, cushions, and a banjo, were handed -out one by one, I gathered, from Jones’s expressive glance, that he -granted that my cousin was a hopeless subject for the jungle. - -“Well, Perky,” he said, slapping me on the back, “I’ve got everything -now--what are you waiting for?” - -“Your lady’s-maid,” I promptly answered, as I nodded at the banjo, -pillows, and fan. - -“I like to be comfortable,” he confessed. “One may as well take one’s -ease as not; it has an excellent and soothing effect on the temper.” - -But I noticed that he caught sight of Jones’s grin, and coloured -deeply--whether with rage or shame, I could not guess. As I drove my -guest up to our lines, I secretly marvelled as to what had brought him -to our little Mofussil station, a two days’ railway journey through -the flattest, ugliest country. He had been staying at Government -House, Calcutta, at various splendid Residencies, and had had every -opportunity of seeing India from the most commanding and luxurious -point of view. Why had he sought _me_ out? - -Later on, as we sprawled in long chairs in my portico overlooking a -sun-baked compound,--with a view chiefly consisting of the back of my -neighbour’s stables, and Jones’s little brown bear, mowing and moping, -under a scraggy mango tree,--I put the inevitable question: - -“Well, Algy, what do you think of India?” - -“Not much,” he answered. “It is not a bit like what I have expected: -it is not as Eastern as Egypt. The scenery that I have seen consists -of bushes, boulders, and terra-cotta plains. I don’t care about ruins -and buildings; what I want to come at are the people and customs of the -land--so far, it’s all England, not India: England at the sea-side, -dressing, dancing, racing, flirting; clothes are thinner, manners are -easier; but it’s England--England--England!” - -I did what I could for him. I took him to a garden-party, to call on -the beauty of the station, to write his name in the general’s book, -to mess, to a soldier’s sing-song; and still he was discontented. He -had been faintly amused with our “pot” gardens and trotting bullocks; -nevertheless, he continued to grumble in this style-- - -“Your band plays the last new coster song, your ladies believe that -they wear the latest fashions, your men read the latest news not two -days old, your servants speak English and speak it fluently. Your -butler plays the fiddle, and he told me this morning that my banjo was -‘awfully nice.’ I desire that you will introduce me (if you can) to -India without European clothes--stripped and naked. I want to get below -the surface, below officialdom, and general orders, and precedence; -scrape the skin, and show me Hindostan.” - -“Show me something out of the common.” This was his querulous -parrot-cry. - -“Would you care to come out into the jungle sixty miles away,” I -ventured, “to a place that has no English attributes, and help to shoot -a notorious man-eating tiger? There is a reward of five hundred rupees -for his skin. For the last two years he has devastated the country.” - -“Like it!” cried Algy, suddenly, sitting erect, “why, it’s the very -thing. I’ll go like a shot. I am ready to start to-night. What’s the -name of the place?” - -“Karwassa. This man-eater has killed, they say, more than a hundred -people, and if we shoot him, we cover ourselves with glory; if we fail, -we are no worse than half the regiment, and most of the station.” - -Algy figuratively leapt at the idea; he was out of his chair, pacing -the verandah, long ere I had ceased to speak. - -“How soon could we start?” - -“As soon as I obtained leave,” I replied. - -“Oh, bother leave!” he retorted, impatiently. - -“Still, it is a necessary precaution,” I answered. “If I go without it -I shall be cashiered, and _that_ would be a bother.” - -“All right; put in for it at once. The sooner we are off the better,” -cried Algy. “Let us get the first shikari in the province, and if he -puts us fairly on the tiger, the five hundred rupees shall be his. I -pay all expenses.” - -“But Jones wants----” - -“Yes, Jones, by all means,” he interrupted; “you had better lay your -heads together without delay. He told me he was a born organizer, so -you might, perhaps, leave the transport and commissariat in his hands, -whilst you secure leave, and the keenest and best shikari. Money _no_ -object.” - -“You are keen enough, Algy,” I remarked; “but, of course, you have no -experience of big game. _Can_ you shoot?” - -“I can hit a stag, and I’ve accounted for crocodile, but I have never -seen a tiger in a wild state.” - -“Ah! and you’ll find a tiger is quite another pair of shoes,” I assured -him impressively. - -The day before Christmas we started in the highest spirits. Algy wore a -serviceable shikar suit, strong blue putties, and shooting-boots, and -looked as workmanlike as possible. Our destination, Karwassa, lay sixty -miles due north, and we travelled forty-five miles along the smooth -trunk road in a dogcart, with relays of horses, and arrived early in -the afternoon at Munser Dâk Bungalow--a neat white building, in a -neat little compound, that was almost swallowed up by the surrounding -jungle. Here we experienced our first breakdown. Jones prided himself -on doing everything on a “system”--but the system failed ignominiously. -Our luggage and servants were fifteen miles behind, and we could not -proceed that night, so we resigned ourselves into the hands of the -Dâk bungalow khansamah, who slew the usual Dâk bungalow dinner for -our behoof. There was a fair going on in the village, and we strolled -across to inspect it. A fair of the kind was no novelty to me; but -Algy was childishly delighted with all he witnessed, and stood gazing -in profound amazement at the stalls of Huka heads, pewter anklets, -bangles, and coarse, bright native cloths for turbans and sarees; the -money was chiefly copper pice and cowrie shells--the shell currency -was a complete revelation to our Londoner, as was a tangle-haired, -ash-bedaubed fakir, with his head thrust through a square iron frame, -so devised that rest was impossible. He could never lean back, never -lie down, never know ease. He had worn this instrument of torture for -twelve years, and was a most holy man--so Nuddoo, the shikari, informed -us. - -“But what is the good of it?” demanded Algy. “What the dickens does he -do it for?” - -“For a vow,” was the solemn reply. - -“I’d rather be dead than have to wear an iron gate round my neck,” -rejoined Algy. “But I suppose he thinks he is doing the right thing, -and probably he is a good sort.” - -And he gave the good sort five rupees. - -Next morning we started in real earnest, for the real jungle--each on -a separate little cart or chukrun, drawn by a pair of small trotting -bullocks; the driver rode on the pole, and behind him there was just -room for one person, if he curled himself up, and sat cross-legged. We -formed quite a long procession, as we passed down the village street, -and all the population came out to speed the sahibs, “who were going -to try and shoot the Karwassa man-eater.” Judging by their looks, they -were by no means sanguine of our success. - -Our road was a mere track, up and down the sides of shallow -water-courses, across the dry beds of great rivers, over low hills, -and through heavy jungle. The country grew wilder and wilder; here and -there we scared a jackal, here and there a herd of deer; villages were -very few and far between, and we had passed two that were absolutely -deserted: melancholy hamlets, with broken chatties, abandoned ploughs, -and grass-grown hearths--now the abode of wild dogs. We were gradually -approaching our destination, a cattle country, below a long range of -densely wooded hills; having halted at midday to rest our animals for a -few hours, we then set out again. But twenty miles is a long distance -for a little trotting bullock, especially if his head be turned from -home. The eager canter, or brisk trot, had now become a mere spasmodic -crawl; for the last mile Algy--the most keen and energetic of the -party--had been belabouring and shouting at his pair. What a sight for -his club friends, could they have beheld him, the elegant Algy, hoarse, -coatless, and breathless! In spite of his desperate exertions, his -cattle came to a full stop, and suddenly lay down--an example promptly -followed by others. “Darkness was coming,” urged Nuddoo, pointing to -the yellow sunset. “We were near an evil country, and it was about -_his_ usual time. Karwassa was two koss further, and we had best camp -and light fires, and spend the night where we had halted. The sahibs -could sleep under the carts, their servants were in waiting, also their -food--all would be well.” - -I must honestly confess that I thought this a most sensible -proposition; but Algy, who had suddenly developed an entirely new -character, would not listen to it. During his short sojourn in India, -he had picked up a wonderful amount of useful Hindostani words, -which he strung together recklessly, and by means of some of them, -accompanied by frantic gesticulation, he informed all present that -“_he_ was not going to sleep under a cart, but was resolved to spend -the night at Karwassa. He would walk there.” - -After a short, but stormy, altercation, my cousin carried his point, -and set out, accompanied (with great reluctance) by Jones, Nuddoo the -shikari, and myself. Algy took command of the party, and got over -the ground at an astonishing pace. The yellow light faded and faded, -and was succeeded by a grey deathly pallor that rapidly settled down -upon the whole face of nature. We marched two and two, along the -grass-grown, neglected roads, glancing askance at every bush, at every -big tuft of elephant grass (at least, I speak for myself). At last, -to my intense relief, the smoke and fires of a village came in view. -It proved to be Karwassa--Karwassa strongly entrenched behind its mud -walls and a bamboo palisade. After some parley we were admitted by the -chowkidar (or watchman), and presently surrounded by the villagers, a -poverty-stricken crew, with a depressed, hunted look. - -“Once more a party of sahibs come to shoot the man-eaters,” they -exclaimed. “Ah, many sahibs had come and come and gone, and naught -availed them against the Bagh. He was no Janwar--but an evil spirit.” - -“But two days ago,” said the Malgoozar, or head-man--a high-caste -Brahmin, with a high-bred face--“he had taken a boy from before his -mother’s eyes, as she tilled the patch of vegetables; the screams of -the child--he had heard them himself. Ah, ye-yo!” - -And he shook his enormous orange turban, and his handsome dignified -head, in a truly melancholy fashion. “Moreover, the tiger had taken the -woman’s husband--there was not a house in the village that had not lost -at least one inmate.” - -“Why did they not go away?” I asked. - -“Yea--truly, others had abandoned their houses and lands, and fled--but -to what avail? The thing was not a Janwar, but a devil.” - -A murmur of assent signified that the villagers had accepted their -scourge, with the apathetic fatalism of their race. We were presently -conducted to an empty hut, provided with broad string beds--and a -light. Our Christmas dinner was simple; it consisted of chuppatties -and well water, and our spirits were in keeping with our fare; the -surrounding misery had infected us. We were even indebted for our -present lodgings to the tiger--he had dined upon its former tenant -about a month previously. By all accounts he was old, and lame of one -hind leg, and had discovered that a human being is a far easier prey -than nimble cattle, or fleeting deer. He had studied the habits of his -victims, and would stalk the unwary, or the loiterer, like a great -cat. Alas! many were the tragedies; with success he had grown bolder, -and even broad noonday, and the interior of the village itself, now -afforded no protection from his horrible incursions. - -The next morning our carts arrived, and we unpacked (the salt, tea, -and corkscrew had been forgotten). Afterwards we set out to explore, -first the vegetable patches, then the meagre crops, and finally we were -shown the dry river bed, the tiger’s high-road to Karwassa. We tracked -him easily in the soft, fine, white sand; there were his three huge -paws, and a fainter impression of the fourth. Also, there were marks of -something dragged, and several dark brown splashes; it was here that he -had carried off the wife of one of our present guides, who had looked -on,--being powerless to save her. - -Needless to say, we were filled with a raging thirst for the blood of -this beast--Algy especially. He jawed, he bribed, he gesticulated, he -held long conferences with the villagers, with Nuddoo the shikari--an -active, leather-skinned man, with a cast in his left eye, who spoke -English fluently, and wore a tiger charm. Algy accommodated himself to -circumstances with astonishing facility. Most of the night we sat up -in a machan, or platform in a tree, over a fat young buffalo, hoping -to tempt the man-eater after dark. Subsequently Algy slept soundly on -his native charpoy, breakfasted on milk and chuppatties, and sallied -forth, gun on shoulder, to tramp miles over the surrounding country. -He was indefatigable, and easily wore _me_ out. As I frankly explained, -I could not burn the candle at both ends, and sit curled up in a -tree till two o’clock in the morning, and then walk down game that -self-same afternoon. He never seemed to tire, and he left the champagne -and whisky to us, and shot on milk or cold cocoa. His newly acquired -Spartan taste declined our imported dainties (tinned and otherwise), -and professed to prefer, in deference to our surroundings, a purely -vegetable diet. - -It was an odd fancy, which I made no effort to combat. Naturally there -was more truffled turkey and _pâté de foie gras_ and boar’s head for -_us_! Algy was a successful shot, and reaped the reward of his energy -in respectable bags of black buck, hares, sand grouse, chickhira, -bustard, peacock--no, though sorely tempted, he refrained from bagging -the bird specially sacred to his hosts. Days and nights went by, and -so far we were as unsuccessful as our forerunners. In spite of our -fat and enticing young buffalo, whom we sometimes sat over from sunset -until the pale wintry dawn glimmered along the horizon, we never caught -one glimpse of the object of our expedition. Algy was restless, Nuddoo -at his wits’ end, whilst Jones had given up the quest as a bad job! - -One evening we all gathered round the big fire in the village “chowk” -(for the nights were chilly), having a “bukh” with the elders, and, -being encompassed by a closely investing audience of the entire -population--including, of course, infants in arms--our principal topic -was the brute that had so successfully eluded us. - -“He will never be caught save by one bait,” remarked a venerable man, -wagging his long white beard. - -“And what is that, O my father?” I asked. - -“A man or a woman,” was the startling reply; “and those we cannot give.” - -“Yea, but we can!” cried a shrill voice. There was a sudden movement -in the crowd, and a tall female figure broke out of the throng, and -pushed her way into the open space and the full light of the fire. -She wore the usual dark red petticoat, short-sleeved jacket, and blue -cloth or veil over her head. This she suddenly tossed aside, and, as -she stood revealed before us, her hair was dishevelled, her black -eyes blazed with excitement; but she was magnificently handsome. -No flat-faced Gond this, but a Marathi of six-and-twenty years of -age--supremely beautiful. - -“Protectors of the poor,” she cried, flinging out her two modelled -arms, jingling with copper bangles, “here am _I_. I am willing, and -thou shalt give _me_. The shaitan has slain my man and my son. When the -elephant is gone, why keep the goad? This devil of tigers has eaten -more than one hundred of our people, and I gladly offer my life in -exchange for his. Cattle! no”--with scorn. “He seeks not our flocks; -he seeks _us_! Have we not learned that, above all, he prefers women -folk and young? Therefore, behold I give myself”--looking round with a -dramatic gesture of her hand--“to save all these.” - -“It is Sassi,” muttered the Malgoozar, “the widow of Gitan. Since seven -days her mind hath departed. She is mad.” - -“Nay, my father, but I am wise! Truly, it is the sahib’s shikari who is -foolish, and of but little wit. He knows not the ground. There is the -stream close to the forest and the crops. The sahibs shall sit above -in the old bher tree, with their guns. They shall tie me up below. -Lo, I will sing, yea, loudly, and perchance the tiger will come. He -is now seven days without food from our village. Surely he must be -an-hungered. I will sing, and bring him to the great lords’ feet--even -to his death and mine. Then will my folk be avenged, and my name -remembered--Sassi the Marathi, who gave her life for her people!” - -She paused, and every eye was fixed upon her as she stood amidst a -breathless silence, awaiting our answer, as immovable as a statue. - -“Truly, what talk is so foolish as the talk of a woman?” began the -Malgoozar, fretfully. “Small mouth, big speech----” - -“Nay, my father,” interrupted Nuddoo, eagerly, “but she speaks words -of wisdom, and ’tis I that am the fool. The lord sahib returns in two -days’ time--and we have done naught.” - -As he spoke, his best eye was fixed on Sassi with an expression of -ravenous greed not to be described. Apparently he saw the five hundred -rupees now within a measurable distance! - -“She can lure him, she shall stand on the stack of Bhoosa that pertains -to Ruckoo, the chowkidar; she will sing--the nights are still. The Bagh -will hear, he will come, and, ere he can approach, the sahibs will -shoot him. After all”--with a contemptuous shrug--“it is but a mad -woman and a widow.” - -“Nuddoo,” shouted Algy, “if I ever hear you air those sentiments again, -I’ll shoot you. We don’t want that sort of bait; and, if we did, I -would sooner tie _you_ up, than a woman and a widow.” - -Nuddoo’s eager protestations, and Algy’s expostulations, were loud and -long, and during them a stern-faced old hag placed her hand on Sassi’s -shoulder, drew her out of the crowd, and the episode was closed. - -Our expedition that night was, as usual, fruitless. We climbed into -our tree platform, the now accustomed buffalo dozed in his place -undisturbed. Evidently Algy’s mind dwelt on the recent scene at the -chowk, and he harangued me from time to time, in an excited whisper, on -the subject of Sassi’s heroism, her wonderful beauty, and Nuddoo’s base -suggestion. He was still whispering, when I fell asleep. And now it -had come to our last day but one. Jones looked upon further effort as -supreme folly. He wanted, for once, a night’s unbroken rest, and at six -o’clock we left him lying on his string bed, on the flat of his back, -smoking cigarettes and reading a two-shilling novel--a novel dealing -with smart folk in high life--a book that carried his thoughts far, far -from a miserable mud village in the C.P. and its living scourge. How I -envied Jones! I would thankfully have excused myself, but Algy was _my_ -cousin; he had taken command of the trip, and of me, ever since we had -quitted the great trunk road--and I was entirely under his orders. - -Nuddoo was not above accepting a hint; this time our machan was lashed -into a big pepul tree on the border of the forest, and the edge of a -stream that had its home in the hills. We were about two miles from -Karwassa as the crow flies, and, as we were rather early, we had -ample time to look about us; the scene was a typical landscape in -the Central Provinces. To our left lay the hills, covered with dense -woodlands, from whose gloomy depths emerged the now shallow river, -which trickled gently past us over its bed of dark blue rock and -gravel. Beyond the stream, and exactly facing us, lay a vast expanse of -grain--_jawarri_, _gram_, and vetches--as far as the eye could reach, -the monotonous stretch being broken, here and there, by a gigantic and -solitary jungle tree. To the right, and on our side of the bank, was -an exquisite sylvan glade, a suitable spot to which the forest fairies -might issue invitations to the neighbouring elves to “come and dance -in the moonbeams.” Between the great trees, the waving crops, and the -murmuring brook, I could almost have imagined myself in the midlands -of England--save for certain tracks in the sand beneath our tree. Its -enormous roots were twisted among rocks and boulders, and, where a spit -of gravel ran out into the clear water, were many footprints, which -showed where the bear, hyena, tiger, and jackal had come to slake their -thirst. I noticed that Nuddoo seemed restless and strange, and that his -explanations and answers were incoherent, not to say foolish. - -“This looks a likely enough place,” said Algy, with the confidence of -a man who had been after tiger for years. “But, I say, Nuddoo, where’s -the chap with the buffalo--where is our tie-up?” - -“Buffalo never started yet--plenty time--coming by-and-by, at -moonrise,” stammered Nuddoo; and, as I climbed into the machan, and he -took his place next me, with our rifles, it struck me that Nuddoo was -not sober. He smelt powerfully of raw whisky--our whisky--his lips were -cracked and dry, and his hand shook visibly. What had he been doing? - -“It will be an awful sell if there is no tie-up, and the tiger happens -to go by,” said Algy, irritably. - -“The gara will be here without fail, your honour’s worship. It will be -all right, I swear it by the head of my son. Moreover, we will get the -tiger--to-night he touches his last hour.” - -There was no question that Nuddoo, for the first time in my experience, -was very drunk indeed. Presently the full moon rose up and illuminated -the lonely landscape, the haunted jungle, the crops, the glade, and -turned the forest stream to molten silver. It was nine o’clock, and, -whilst Nuddoo slumbered, Algy and I held our breath, as we watched -a noble sambur stag come and drink below us. He was succeeded by an -old boar, next came a hyena; it was a popular resort; in short, every -animal appeared but the one we wanted--and _he_ was undoubtedly in the -neighbourhood, for the deer seemed uneasy. - -It was already after ten, and Algy was naturally impatient, and eagerly -looking out for our devoted “gara.” He and I were bending forward, -listening anxiously; the forest behind us seemed full of stealthy -noises, but we strained our ears in vain for the longed-for sound of -buffalo hoofs advancing from the front. Nuddoo still slept soundly, and -at last Algy, in great exasperation, leant over and shook him roughly. - -“Ay,” he muttered, in a sleepy grunt, “it is all right, sahib, the gara -will come without fail.” - -Even whilst he spoke, we heard, not fifty yards away, the voice of a -woman singing in the glade, and Nuddoo now started up erect, and began -to tremble violently. - -It was light as day, as we beheld Sassi advancing slowly in our -direction, singing in a loud clear voice an invocation to Mahadeo the -Destroyer! - -When she had approached within earshot she halted, and, raising her -statuesque face to her namesake the moon, chanted-- - - “O great lords in the pepul tree, whereto Nuddoo, the drunkard, - hath led you, - Behold, according to my promise, lo! I have come. - I sing to my gods, and perchance I will bring the tiger to your - honours’ feet.” - -For the space of three heart-beats, we remained motionless--paralyzed -with horror,--and then Nuddoo, who was gibbering with most mysterious -terror, gave me a sudden and an involuntary push. - -There, to the left, was _something_ coming rapidly through the crops! -The grain parted and waved wildly as it passed; in a moment a huge -striped animal, the size of a calf, had crossed the river with a -hurried limp. - -“Kubberdar! Bagh! Bagh!” roared Algy to the woman. To me, “You’ve got -him!” - -Undoubtedly it was _my_ shot, but I was excessively flurried--it was -new to me to have a human life hanging on my trigger; as he sprang -into the open glade I fired--and missed. I heard my cousin draw in -his breath hard; I saw the woman turn and face us. The tiger’s spring -and Algy’s shot seemed simultaneous; as the echo died away, there -was not another sound--the great brute lay dead across the corpse -of his victim. I was now shaking as much as Nuddoo; my bad aim had -had a frightful result. Before I could scramble down, Algy, with -inconceivable rashness, was already beside the bodies, where they lay -in the middle of the glade--the monster stretched above his voluntary -prey. - -The news spread to the village in some miraculous manner. Had the -birds of the air carried the great tidings? The entire community were -instantly roused by the intelligence. Man, woman, yea, and child, came -streaming forth, beating tom-toms and shouting themselves hoarse with -joy. They collected about the tiger--who was evidently of far more -account than the woman--they kicked him, cursed him, spat on him, and -secretly stole his whiskers for a charm against the evil eye. They -thrummed the tom-toms madly as they marched round and round Algy--the -hero of the hour. - -Nuddoo had now entirely forgotten his tremors, he was almost delirious -with excitement; the five hundred rupees were his, he could live on -them--and on his reputation as the slayer of the great Karwassa -man-eater--for the remainder of his existence. He talked till he -frothed at the corners of his mouth, he boasted here, he boasted -there. He declared that “_he_ had encouraged Sassi, and given her an -appointment as the gara, or tie-up. Yea, she had spoken truly--there -was no other means!” - -Released from his honours and the transports of the tom-toms, these -fatal words fell on Algy’s ears, and he went straight for Nuddoo. What -he said or did, I know not, but this I know, that from that moment I -never saw Nuddoo again until weeks later, when he came to me by stealth -in Kori, exceedingly humble and sober, and received, according to -Algy’s instructions, “five hundred rupees; but if he asks you for a -chit,” wrote Algy, “kick him out of the compound.” - -The tiger was big and heavy, he required twenty coolies to carry him -back to Karwassa--for his last visit. Sassi was borne on the frame of -our machan--ere she was placed there, an old hag covered the beautiful -dead face with her veil, and slipped off her sole ornaments, the copper -bangles, in a business-like fashion. - -“Give me one of those,” said Algy, who was standing by. “I will pay you -well. Were you her mother?” - -“Her grandmother,” replied the crone. “She was mad. Lo, now she is -gone, I shall surely starve!” and she began to whimper for the first -time. Truly, she knew this sahib was both rich and open-handed. - -Algy and I slept soundly for the remainder of that eventful night; -but it is my opinion that the villagers never went to rest at all. -The moment we set foot in the street the next morning, a vast crowd -surged round my cousin; every one of them carried a string of flowers -or--highest compliment--a gilded lime. Women brought their children, -from the youngest upwards, and Algy was soon the centre of the village -nursery. All these little people were solemnly requested “to look well -upon that honoured lord, and to remember when they were old, and to -tell it to their children, that their own eyes had rested on the great -sahib who had killed the shaitan of Karwassa.” - -Algy was loaded with honours and flowers; I must confess that he bore -them modestly, and he, on his side, paid high tribute to Sassi the -Marathi. He commanded that she should have a splendid funeral. The -most costly pyre that was ever seen in those parts was erected, the -memory of the oldest inhabitant was vainly racked to recall anything -approaching its magnificence. The village resources, and the resources -of three other hamlets, were strained to the utmost tension to provide -sandal-wood, oil, jewels, and dress. If Algy’s London “pals” could hear -of him spending fifty pounds on the burning of a native woman, how they -would laugh and chaff him! I hinted as much, and got a distinctly nasty -reply. He was quite right; roughing it _had_ a bad effect upon his -temper. At sundown the whole population assembled by the river bank to -witness the obsequies of Sassi the widow of Gitan; they marvelled much -(and so did I) to behold my cousin standing by, bare-headed, during the -entire ceremony. - -We set out on our return journey that same evening--travelling by -moonlight had no dangers now! Algy distributed immense largesse among -his friends, viz. the entire community (he also paid all our expenses -like a prince). He and the inhabitants of Karwassa parted with many -good wishes and mutual reluctance; indeed, a body of them formed a -running accompaniment to us for nearly a dozen miles. Our spoil, the -tiger’s skin, was a poor specimen. The stripes had a dull, faded -appearance; but it measured, without stretching, a good honest ten -feet from nose to tip of tail. Once we were out of the jungle, and -back in the land of bungalows, daily posts, and baker’s bread, Algy -relapsed from a keen and intrepid sportsman into an indolent, drawling -dandy. The day after our return to Kori, he took leave of me in these -remarkable words-- - -“Well, good-bye, Perky. You are not a bad sort, though you are not much -of a chap to shoot or rough it. However, I have to thank you for taking -me off the beaten track, and showing me something which I shall never -forget,--and that was entirely out of the common.” - - - - -“THE MISSUS.” - -A DOG TRAGEDY. - - -When the Royal British Skirmishers were quartered in Bombay, their -second in command was Major Bowen, a spare, grizzled, self-contained -little soldier, who lived alone in one of those thatched bungalows -that resemble so many monstrous mushrooms, bordering the racecourse. -“The Major,” as he was called _par excellence_, was best described by -negatives. He was not married. He was not a ladies’ man. Nor was he -a sportsman; nor handsome, young, rich, nor even clever--in short, -he was not remarkable for anything except, perhaps, his dog. No one -could dispute the fact that Major Bowen was the owner of an uncommon -animal. He and this dog had exchanged into “the Skirmishers” from -another regiment six years previously, and though the pair were at -first but coldly received, they adapted themselves so admirably to -their new surroundings that ere long they had gained the esteem and -goodwill of both rank and file; and, as time wore on, there actually -arose an ill-concealed jealousy of their old corps, and a disposition -to ignore the fact that they had not always been part and parcel of -the gallant Skirmishers. Although poor, and having but little besides -his pay, the Major was liberal--both just and generous; and if he was -mean or close-fisted with any one, that person’s name was Reginald -Bowen. He had an extremely lofty standard of honour and of the value of -his lightest word. He gave a good tone to the mess, and though he was -strict with the youngsters, they all liked him. Inflexible as he could -look on parade or in the orderly-room, elsewhere he received half the -confidences of the regiment; and many a subaltern had been extricated -from a scrape, thanks to the little Major’s assistance--monetary and -otherwise. He was a smart officer and a capital horseman, and here was -another source of his popularity. He lent his horses and ponies, with -ungrudging good faith, to those impecunious youths who boasted but -the one hard-worked barrack “tat;” and many a happy hour with hounds, -or on the polo-ground, was spent on the back of the Major’s cattle. -Major Bowen did not race or hunt, and rarely played polo; in fact, he -was not much interested in anything--although upwards of forty, he was -supremely indifferent to his dinner!--the one thing he really cared -about was his _dog_: a sharp, well-bred fox-terrier, with bright eyes -and lemon-coloured ears,--who, in spite of the fact that her original -name was “Minnie,” had been known as “the Missus” for the last five -years. This name was given to her in joke, and in acknowledgment of her -accomplishments; the agreeable manner in which she did the honours of -her master’s bungalow, and the extraordinary care she took of him, and -all his property. It was truly absurd to see this little creature--of -at most sixteen pounds’ weight--gravely lying, with crossed paws, in -front of the Major’s sixteen hands “waler,” whilst he was going round -barracks, or occupied in the orderly-room. Her pose of self-importance -distinctly said, “The horse and syce are in _my_ charge!” - -She went about the compound early every morning, and rigorously turned -out vagrants, suspicious-looking visitors to the servants’ quarters, -and all dogs and goats! She accompanied her master to mess, and fetched -him home, no matter how late the hour--and through the rains (and they -are no joke in Bombay) it was just the same; there was the chokedar, -with his mackintosh and lantern; and there was also, invariably, the -shivering, sleepy little Missus. It was of no avail to tie her up at -home; not only were her heartrending howls audible for a quarter of a -mile, but on one occasion she actually arrived under the dinner-table, -chain and all, to the discomfort of the Colonel’s legs, the great -scandal of the mess-sergeant, and her own everlasting disgrace! So -she was eventually suffered--like wilful woman--to have her way. -Her master’s friends were her friends, and took the Missus quite -seriously--but she drew the line at dogs. It must be admitted that her -manners to her own species were--not nice. She had an unladylike habit -of suddenly sitting down when she descried one afar off, and sniffing -the, so to speak, tainted air, that was nothing more nor less than a -deliberate insult to any animal with the commonest self-respect; many a -battle was fought, many a bite was given and received. The Missus was -undeniably accomplished; she fetched papers and slippers, gave the paw, -and in the new style--on a level with her head, walked briskly on her -hind legs, could strum on the piano, and sing, accompanying herself to -a clear, somewhat shrill, soprano. There was a little old pianette in -the Major’s sitting-room, on which she performed amid great applause. -It was _not_ true that the instrument had been purchased solely for her -use, or that she practised industriously for two hours a day. No--the -pianette had been handed over to her master by a young man (who had -subsequently gone to the dogs) as the only available payment of a sum -the Major had advanced for him. Battered old tin kettle as it was, that -despised piano had cost one hundred pounds! But no one dreamt of _this_ -when they laughed at its shortcomings. The Missus was passionately fond -of music, and escorted her owner to the band; but she escorted him -almost everywhere--to the club, round the barracks, the racecourse, -to church--here she was ignominiously secured in the syce’s “cupra,” -as she had a way of stealthily peeping in at the various open doors, -and endeavouring to focus her idol, which manœuvre--joined with her -occasional assistance in the chanting--proved a little trying to the -gravity of the congregation. Of course she went to the hills--where she -had an immense acquaintance; she had also been on active service on the -Black Mountain, and when one night a prowling Afridi crept on his hands -and knees into the Major’s tent, he found himself unexpectedly pinned -by a set of sharp teeth,--he carried the mark of that bite to his grave. - -Major Bowen was not the least ashamed of his affection for his dog. -She was his weak point--even the very Company’s dhobies approached him -through her favour. He was president of the mess, and in an excellent -manner had officiated for years in that difficult and thankless -office; a good man of business--prompt, clear-headed, methodical, and -conscientious. No scamping of accounts, no peculations overlooked, a -martinet to the servants, and possibly less loved than feared. But -this is a digression from the Missus. Her master was foolishly proud of -her good looks--very sensitive respecting her little foibles (which he -clumsily endeavoured to conceal), and actually touchy about her age! - -When the Missus had her first, and only, family, it was quite a great -local event. The Major’s establishment was turned completely upside -down; there was racing and chasing to procure two milch goats for -the use of the infants and their mother, and a most elegant wadded -basket was provided as a cradle. But, alas! the Missus proved a most -indifferent parent. She deserted her little encumbrances at the end -of one day, and followed her master to the Gymkana ground. He was -heartily ashamed of her, and positively used to remain indoors for the -sake of keeping up appearances. He could not go to the club, and have -the Missus waiting conspicuously outside with the pony, when all the -world knew that she had no business to be there, but had four young -and helpless belongings squealing for her at home! She accorded them -but little of her company, and appeared to think that her nursery cares -were entirely the affair of the two milch goats! One of her neglected -children pined, and dwindled, and eventually died, was placed in a -cigar-box, and buried in a neat little grave under a rose-bush in the -compound, whilst its unnatural mamma looked on from afar off, a totally -uninterested spectator! The three survivors were handsome puppies, and -the Major exhibited them with pride to numerous callers, and finally -bestowed them among his friends (entirely to please their mother, -whom they bored to death). They were gratefully accepted, not merely -on their own merits, but also as being a public testimonial of their -donor’s high opinion and esteem. - - * * * * * - -It was towards the end of the monsoon, when the compound was almost -afloat, and querulous frogs croaked in every corner of the verandahs, -that Major Bowen became seriously ill with low malarious fever. He had -been out ten years--“five years too long,” the doctor declared; “he -must go home at once, and never return to India.” This was bad news for -the regiment, and still worse for the invalid, who helped a widowed -sister with all he could spare from his colonial allowances. There -would not be much margin on English pay! - -He was dangerously ill in that lofty, bare, whitewashed bedroom in -Infantry Lines. He would not be the first to die there. No,--not by -many. His friends were devoted and anxious. The Missus was devoted and -distracted. She lay all day long at the foot of his cot, watching and -listening, and following his slightest movement with a pair of agonized -eyes. - -At length there was a change--and for the better. The patient was -promoted into a cane lounge in the sitting-room, to solids, and to -society--as represented by half the regiment. He looked round his -meagrely furnished little room with interested eyes. There was not -a speck of dust to be seen, everything was in its place, to the -letter-weight on the writing-table, and the old faded photos in their -shabby leather frames. Missus’s basket was pushed into a far corner. -She had not used it for weeks. He and Missus were going home, and would -soon say good-bye for ever to the steep-roofed thatched bungalow, -the creaking cane chairs, the red saloo purdahs, to the verandahs, -embowered in pale lilac “railway” creeper, to the neat little -garden--to the regiment--to Bombay. Their passages were taken. They -were off in the _Arcadia_ in three days. - - * * * * * - -That afternoon, the Major had all his kit and personal property paraded -in his sitting-room, in order that the packing of his belongings (he -was a very tidy man) should take place under his own eyes. The bearer -was in attendance, and with him his slave and scapegoat--the chokra. - -The bearer was a stolid, impassive-looking Mahomedan, with a square -black beard, and a somewhat sullen eye. - -“Abdul,” said his master, as his gaze travelled languidly from one -neatly folded pile of clothes to another--from guns in cases to -guns not in cases, to clocks, revolvers, watches, candlesticks--the -collection of ten years, parting gifts, bargains, and legacies--“you -have been my servant for six years, and have served me well. I have -twice raised your wages, and you have made a very good thing out of me, -I believe, and can, no doubt, retire and set up a ticca gharry, or a -shop. I am going away, and never coming back, and I want to give you -something of mine as a remembrance--something to remember me by, you -understand?” - -The bearer deliberately unfolded his arms, and salaamed in silence. - -“You may choose anything you like out of this room,” continued the -Major, with unexampled recklessness. - -Abdul’s eyes glittered curiously--it was as if a torch had suddenly -illumined two inky-black pools. - -“Sahib never making joke--sahib making really earnest?”--casting on -him a glance of almost desperate eagerness. The glance was lost on his -master, whose attention was fixed on a discarded gold-laced tunic and -mess-jacket. - -“Of course,” he said to himself, “Abdul will choose them,” for gold -lace is ever dear to a native heart, it sells so well in the bazaar, -and melts down to such advantage. - -“Making earnest!” repeated the invalid, irritably. “Do I ever do -otherwise? Look sharp, and take your choice.” - -“Salaam, sahib,” he answered, and turned quickly to where the Missus -was coiled up in a chair. “I take my choice of anything in this room. -Then I take--the--dog.” - -“The--_dog_!” repeated her owner, with a half-stupefied air. - -“Verily, I am fond of Missy. Missy fond of master. The dog and I will -remember the sahib together, when he is far away.” - -The sahib felt as if some one had suddenly plunged a knife in his -heart. In Abdul’s bold gaze, in Abdul’s petition, he, too late, -recalled the solemn (but despised) warning of a brother-officer: - -“That bearer of yours is a vindictive brute; you got his son turned out -of the mess, and serve him right, for a drunken, thieving hound! But -sleek as he looks, Abdul will have it in for you yet;” and this was -accomplished, when he said, “The dog and I, sahib, will remember you -together.” - -Major Bowen was still desperately weak, and he had just been dealt -a crushing blow; but the spirit that holds India was present in -that puny, wasted frame, and, with a superhuman effort, he boldly -confronted the two natives--the open-mouthed, gaping chokra, the -respectfully exultant bearer--and said, “Atcha” (that is to say, -“good”), “it is well;” and then he feebly waved to the pair to depart -from him, for he was tired. - -Truly it was anything but “good.” It seemed the worst calamity that -could have befallen him. He was alone, and face to face with a terrible -situation. He must either forfeit his word, or his dog,--which was it -to be? - -In all his life, to the best of his knowledge, he had never broken his -faith, and now to do it to a native!--that was absolutely out of the -question. But his dog--his friend--his companion--with whom he never -meant to part, as long as she lived (for _she_ had given her to him). -He sat erect, and looked over at the Missus, where she lay curled up; -her expressive eyes met his eagerly. - -Little, O Missus, do you guess the fatal promise that has just been -made, nor how largely it concerns _you_. Her master lay back with -a groan, and turned his face away from the light, a truly miserable -man! His faithful Missus!--to have to part with her to one of the -regiment would have been grief enough; but to a Mahomedan, with their -unconcealed scorn of dogs! He must have been mad when he made that rash -offer; but then, in justification, his common sense urged, “How was -he to suppose that Abdul would choose anything but a silver watch, a -gun, or the worth of fifty rupees?” Major Bowen was far from being an -imaginative man, but as he lay awake all night long, and listened to -the wild roof-cats stealing down the thatch, and heard them pattering -back at dawn, one mental picture stood out as distinctly as if he was -looking at it with his bodily sight, and it was actually before him. - -A low, squalid mud hut in a bazaar; a native string bed, and tied to -it by a cord--_the Missus_. “The Missus,” with thin ribs, a staring -coat, and misery depicted on her little face, the sport of the children -and the flies--starved, forlorn, heartbroken--dumbly wondering what had -happened to her master, and why he had so cruelly deserted her! Oh, -when was he coming to fetch her? Not knowing, she was at least spared -_this_--that he would never come. - -What an insane promise! As he recalled it, he clenched his hands in -intolerable agony. Why did he not _offer_ his watch--his rifle? he -would give Abdul a thousand rupees, gladly, to redeem the dog, but his -inner consciousness assured him that Abdul, thanks to him, was already -well-to-do, and that his revenge was worth more to him than money. This -would not be the case with most natives, but he knew, to his cost, that -Abdul’s was a stern, tenacious, relentless nature. At one moment, he -had decided to poison the Missus with his own hands--prussic acid was -speedy; at another, he had resolved to remain in India, doctors or no -doctors. - -“And sacrifice your life?” again breathed common sense. “Die for a -dog!” True, but the dog was not a dog to him. She was his comrade, -his sympathizer, his friend. Meanwhile, the object of all these -mental wrestlings and agonies slept the sleep of the just, innocent, -and ignorant; but in any case, it is a question if a dog’s anxieties -ever keep it awake. Her master never closed his eyes; he saw the dawn -glimmer through the bamboo chicks; he saw Abdul, the avenger, appear -with his early tea, and Abdul found him in high fever; perhaps Abdul -was not greatly surprised! - -Friends and brother-officers flocked in that day, and sat with the -Major, and they noted with concern that he looked worse than he had -done at any period of his illness. His naturally pinched face was -worn and haggard to a startling degree. Moreover, in spite of the -news of the high prices his horses had fetched, he was terribly -“down,” and why? A man going home, after ten years of India, is -generally intolerably cheerful. They did their best to enliven him, -these good-hearted comrades, and--unfailing topic of interest--they -discoursed volubly and incessantly of the Missus. - -“She is looking uncommonly fit,” said young Stradbrooke, the owner of -one of her neglected children. “She knows she is going to England. She -was quite grand with me just now! She hates boating like the devil! I -wonder how she will stand fourteen days at sea?” - -There was a perceptible silence after this question, and then the Major -said in a queer voice-- - -“She is--not--going.” - -“Not going?” An incredulous pause, and then some one exclaimed: “Come, -Major, you know you would just as soon leave your head behind.” - -“All the same--I am leaving her----” - -“And which of us is to have her?” cried the Adjutant. “Take notice, -all, that I speak first. You won’t pass over me, sir. Missus and I -were always very chummy, and I want her to look after my chargers and -servants, fetch my slippers, bring me home from mess--and to take care -of me and keep me straight.” - -“I have already given her away to----” the rest of the sentence seemed -to stick in the Major’s throat, and his face worked painfully. - -“Away to whom?” repeated young Stradbrooke. “Say it’s to _me_, sir. -I’ve one of the family already--and Missus likes me. I know her pet -biscuits, and there are heaps of rats in my stables--such whoppers!” - -“Given her--to the bearer--Abdul,” he answered, stoutly enough, though -there was still a little nervous quivering of the lower lip. - -If the ceiling had parted asunder and straightway tumbled down on -their heads, the Major’s audience would not have been half so much -dumfoundered. For a whole minute they sat agape, and then one burst -out-- - -“I say, Major, it’s a joke--you would not give her out of the regiment; -she is on the _strength_.” - -“She is promised,” replied the Major, in a sort of husky whisper. - -Every one knew that the Major’s promises were a serious matter, and -after this answer there ensued a long dismayed silence. The visitors -eventually turned the topic, and tried to talk of other matters--the -last gazette, the new regimental ribbon, of anything but of what every -mind was full, to wit, “the Missus.” - -The news respecting her bestowal created quite a sensation that evening -at the mess--far more than that occasioned by a newly announced -engagement, for there was an element of mystery about _this_ topic. Why -had the Missus been given away? - -“Bowen must be off his chump,” was the general verdict, “poor old chap, -to give the dog to that rascal Abdul, of all people!” (One curious -feature in Anglo-Indian life, is the low opinion people generally -entertain of their friends’ servants.) “The proper thing was, of -course, to buy the dog, and keep her in the regiment; and when the -Major came to his right senses, how glad he would be, dear old man!” - -The Adjutant waylaid Abdul in the road, and said, curtly-- - -“Is this true, about the dog?--that your sahib has given her to you?” - -Abdul salaamed. How convenient and non-committal is that gesture! - -“What will you take for her?” - -“I never selling master’s present,” rejoined the bearer, with superb -dignity. - -“What does a nigger want with a dog?” demanded the officer, scornfully. -“Well, then, swop her--_that_ won’t hurt your delicate sense of honour. -I’ll get you an old pariah out of the bazaar, and give you fifty rupees -to buy him a collar!” - -“I have refused to-day one thousand rupees for the Missy,” said Abdul, -with increased hauteur. - -“You lie, Abdul,” said the officer, sternly; “or else you have been -dealing with a stark, staring madman.” - -“I telling true, Captain Sahib. I swear by the beard of the Prophet.” - -“Who made the offer?” - -“Major Bone”--the natives always called him “Major Bone.” - -“Great Scott! Poor dear old chap” (to himself): “I had no idea he was -so badly touched. It is well he is going home, or it would be a case of -four orderlies and a padded room. So much for this beastly country!” -Then to Abdul, “Look here; don’t say a word about that offer, and come -over to my quarters, and I’ll give you some dibs--the sun has been too -much for your sahib--and mind you be kind to the Missus; if not, I’ll -come and shoot her, and thrash you within an inch of your life.” - -“Gentlemen Sahib never beating servants. Sahib touch me, I summon in -police-court, and I bring report to regimental commanding officer. -Also, I going my own country, Bareilly, and I never, never selling kind -master’s present.” - -“I know lots of Sahibs in a pultoon (_i.e._ regiment) at Bareilly, and -I shall get them to look out for you and the dog, Mr. Abdul. You treat -‘kind master’s present’ well, and it will be well with you,--if not, by -Jove, you will find that I have got a long arm. I am a man of my word, -so keep your mouth shut about the Major. To-night my bearer will give -you ten rupees.” And he walked on. - -“Bowen must be in a real bad way, when he gives his beloved dog to a -native, and next day wants to buy it back for a thousand rupees,” said -Captain Young to himself. “I thought he looked queer yesterday, but I -never guessed that he was as mad as twenty hatters.” - - * * * * * - -The hour of the Major’s departure arrived; he had entreated, as a -special favour, that no one would come to see him off. This request -was looked upon as more of his eccentricity, and not worthy of serious -consideration; he would get all right as soon as he was at sea, and -the officers who were not on duty hurried down to see the last of -their popular comrade. He drove up late, looking like death, his -face so withered, drawn, and grey, and got out of a gharry, promptly -followed by Abdul, carrying the Missus. The steam-launch lay puffing -and snorting at the steps--the other passengers were aboard--there was -not a moment to lose. The Major bade each and all a hurried farewell; -he took leave of the Missus last. She was still in Abdul’s arms, and -believed in her simple dog mind that her master was merely bound for -one of those detestable sails up the harbour. As she offered him an -eager paw, little did she guess that it was good-bye for ever, or that -she was gazing after him for the last time, as he feebly descended the -steps and took his place in the tender that was to convey him to the P. -and O. steamer. - -He watched the crowd of friends wildly waving handkerchiefs; but he -watched, above all, with a long, long gaze of inarticulate grief, a -dark turbaned figure, that stood conspicuously apart, with a small -white object in his arms: watched almost breathlessly, till it faded -away into one general blur. The Bengal civilian who sat next to Major -Bowen in the tender, stared at him in contemptuous astonishment. He -had been twenty-five years in the country (mitigating his exile with -as much furlough--sick, privilege, and otherwise--as he could possibly -obtain), and this was the first time he had seen a man quit the shores -of India--with _tears in his eyes_! - - - - -THE BETRAYAL OF SHERE BAHADUR. - - -I am merely the wife of a British subaltern, whereas my aunt Jane is -the consort of a commissioner. One must go to India, to realize the -enormous and unfathomable gulf which yawns between these two positions. - -Take, for instance, that important difference--the difference in pay. -On the first of each month, Aunt Jane’s lord and master receives -several thousand and odd rupees--a heavy load for two staggering peons -to carry from the treasury--whereas my husband’s poor little pittance, -of two hundred and fifty-six rupees and odd annas, our bearer swings in -a lean canvas bag, and in one hand, with an air of jaunty contempt! - -At dinner-parties and other grand functions, I see my aunt’s -round-shouldered back, and well-known yellow satin, leading the van, -with her hand on the host’s arm, whilst I humbly bring up the rear--one -of the last joints in the tail of precedence. - -Afterwards--after coffee, conversation, and music--not a woman in -the room may venture to stir, until my little fat relative has “made -the move” and waddled off to her carriage. Mr. Radcliffe, my uncle -by marriage, rules over a large district; he is a stout, puffy, -imposing-looking man, attended by much pomp and circumstance, and many -scarlet-clad chuprassis. His wife rules him--as well as the station; -manages every one’s affairs, acts as the censor of public morals, and -may be implicitly relied upon to utter the disagreeable things that -_ought_ to be said, but that no one but herself is willing to say. The -Radcliffes have no family, and therefore she has ample time to indulge -her fine powers of observation, organization, and conversation. When I -married, and was about to come to India, a year ago, my people remarked -on an average once a week-- - -“If you are going to Luckmee, you will be quite close to your aunt Jane -at Rajapore, and only think how delightful that will be for you!” but I -was by no means so confident of this supreme future joy. Rajapore is a -large mixed military and civil station; Luckmee is on the same line of -rail, a run of a couple of hours; a small and insignificant cantonment, -which looks up to Rajapore as its metropolis, and does all its shopping -there. No, I did not find it at all delightful, being within such easy -hail of Aunt Jane. She made unexpected descents--as a rule, early in -the morning--driving up from the station in a rickety “ticca gharry,” -to spend what she called “a good long day.” First of all, she went -over the bungalow precisely as if it was to let furnished, and she was -the incoming tenant; then she cross-examined me closely, read my home -letters, looked at my bazaar account, sniffed at my new frocks, snubbed -my friends, and departed by the last train in the highest spirits, -leaving me struggling with the idea that I was _still_ a rather -troublesome schoolgirl in short frocks and a pig-tail. Now and then -I returned the visit--by command--drove with Aunt Jane in her state -barouche, in which she sat supported by a pair of rather faded Berlin -wool cushions, great eyesores to my critical English taste, which -largely discounted the fine carriage, big bay walers, fat coachman (an -Indian Jehu of any pretension must be corpulent), the running syces, -and splendid silver-mounted chowries or yâk tails. - -I also was present at various heavy tiffins and dinners, in the -capacity of deputy assistant hostess and niece. I had come in now, to -wait upon Aunt Jane and “take leave,” as she was just off to England, -and had imperatively summoned me to report myself ere she started. I -found the great square white bungalow externally gay with _Bignonia -vinusta_, internally in the utmost confusion. The hall was littered -with straw and bits of newspapers, the drawing-room was full of -packing-cases, half the contents of the cellar were paraded on the -floor, and dozens of tins of “Europe” stores were also on review, all -being for sale. Aunt Jane was seated at a writing-table, revising lists -with a rapid pen. - -“You discover me,” she exclaimed, offering a plump cheek, “sitting like -Marius among the ruins of Carthage.” - -I was dumb. I had no idea until now that Marius was a stout little -elderly woman, wearing a shapeless grey wide-awake and blue spectacles. - -“I feel almost fit for the poggle khana (mad-house),” she continued. -“Just look here! Here is my list of furniture, come back from -making the round of the station, and all that has been taken is a -watering-pot, six finger-glasses, and a pie-dish!” (The truth was -that people were tired of my aunt’s lists.) “And here are dozens -of servants clamouring for chits--and a man waiting to buy the -cows. I wish to goodness some one would buy your uncle’s shikar -camel,”--reading aloud from list,--“‘young, strong, easy trot and walk, -with saddle, Rs. 200.’ Your uncle is going to chum with Mr. Jones. He -does not intend shooting this season--even _he_ finds it an expensive -pursuit,” this in a significant parenthesis. “I’ve not put away the -ornaments, nor sold off my stores, nor packed one of my own things.” - -I muttered some sympathetic remark, but I knew that Aunt Jane enjoyed -these “earthquakings” immensely. She was constantly uprooting her -establishment, and taking what she called “a run home.” - -“And you go on Monday?” I inquired. - -“Yes, child; though I don’t believe I shall ever be ready. Your mother, -of course, will want to know how you are? I must candidly tell her that -you are looking dreadfully pasty. Ah! I see you have got a parcel.” - -“Only a very little one,” I pleaded apologetically. - -“Well, well, I suppose I must _try_ and take it; and now what are your -plans?” - -“Tom has got two months’ leave, and Charlie is coming up from Madras; -we are going away on a trip into the real jungle.” - -“For what?” she asked tartly. - -“Well, to see something different from the routine of cantonment life, -something different from the band-stand and D.W.P. pattern church--to -see _real_ India.” - -“What folly! Real India, indeed!” she snorted; “as if you would _ever_ -see it! It makes me wild to hear of people talking, and worse still, -writing about India, as if one person could grasp even a small corner -of it. Here am I, twenty-five years in the country, speaking the -language fluently, and what do I know?” she paused dramatically. “The -bazaar prices, the names of the local trees and flowers, the rents of -the principal houses up at Simla.” (I have reason to believe that my -aunt did herself gross injustice; she knew the private affairs of half -the civilians in the provinces, and was on intimate terms with their -“family skeletons.”) “As to the character of the people! I cannot even -fathom my own ayah, and she is with me eleven years.” - -“I believe some people know a great deal about India,” I ventured to -protest. - -“Stuff!” she interrupted. “One person may know a little of one part -of the continent, but there are twenty Indias!--all different, with -different climates, customs, and people. What resemblance is there -between a Moplah on the west coast and a Leucha from Darjeeling, a -little stunted Andamanese and a Sikh; a Gond from the C.P. and a Pathan -from the frontier; a Bengali Baboo and a bold Rohilla?” (Aunt Jane -was now mounted on her hobby, and I had nothing to do but to look and -listen.) “Every one thinks his own little corner is India. You, as an -officer’s wife--the wife of a subaltern in a marching regiment”--(she -always insisted on the prefix “marching”)--“have better chances than a -civilian, for they live in one groove; you are shot about from Colombo -to Peshawar. However, much good it will do you, for you are naturally -dull, and have no talent for observation.” - -“No, not like _you_, Aunt Jane,” I ventured with mild sarcasm: was she -not going home? - -“And where are you bound for?” she pursued. - -“About a hundred miles out, due north.” - -“That is the Merween district, I know it well. We were in that division -years ago. Had you consulted _me_, before making your plans, your uncle -might have arranged about elephants for you. It’s too late now,” with a -somewhat triumphant air. - -“But we don’t want elephants,” I protested; “we have our ponies.” - -“Id----” correcting herself, “simpleton! I meant for shooting from. -The district is full of long grass. Tom will get no deer, nor indeed -any game on foot. You may have the shikar camel, if you like, for his -keep, and the Oontwallah’s pay--no?” as I shook my head emphatically. -“Well, I can give you one tip: take plenty of tinned stores; the -villages are scattered, and Brahmin. You won’t get an egg, much less -a fowl--at most a little ghee and flour; but I strongly advise you to -take your own poultry, and a couple of milch goats, also _plenty_ of -quinine and cholera mixture; parts of the country are very marshy and -unhealthy. I suppose you have tents? _We_ cannot lend you any.” - -“Yes, we have three, thank you.” - -“And so your brother Charles is going with you! Tell him that _I_ think -he had much better have stayed quietly with his regiment, and worked -for the higher standard--a boy only out two years. Of course _you_ are -paying his expenses?” - -I nodded. Tom was moderately well off; though we were not rich, we were -not exactly poor, and I always had a firm conviction that Aunt Jane -would have liked me _much_ better if I had been a pauper! As it was, -she considered me dangerously independent. - -“Of course you think you know your own business best!” removing her -spectacles as she spoke, “but mark my words, you will find this trip -a great deal more costly than you imagine. With us civilians it is -different, a sort of royal progress; but with you--well, well,” shaking -her head, “you must buy your own experience!” - -A week later we had set forth, Tom, Charlie, and myself. We took Aunt -Jane’s advice (it was all she had given us), and despatched our tents -and carts twenty-four hours’ ahead, so as to give them a good start. -We cantered out after them, a fifteen-mile ride, the following day. -It was my first experience of camp life, and perfectly delightful; -the tent under the trees felt so cool and fresh, in comparison with a -sun-baked bungalow. Our servants, who appeared quite at home, had built -a mud fireplace, and were cooking the dinner; the milch goats were -browsing, and the poultry picking about in the adaptable manner of an -Indian bazaar fowl. Our next halt was to be twenty miles farther on, at -an engineer’s bungalow, which was splendidly situated between a forest -swarming with game and a river teeming with fish. Here we intended -to remain for some time; we should be in the territory of the Rajah -of Betwa, and were bearers of a letter asking for his assistance, in -the way of procuring provisions in the villages. At midday we halted -for several hours in a mango tope, the home of thousands of monkeys, -and went forward again about four o’clock. Our road was bordered at -either side by a golden sea of gently waving crops, for we were in the -heart of a great wheat country. Presently we passed through the town -of Betwa, which chiefly consisted of a long dirty bazaar, an ancient -fort, and a high mud wall, enclosing the palace of the rajah. About a -mile beyond the outskirts, we beheld a cloud of yellow dust rapidly -approaching. - -“I’ll bet ten to one it’s the rajah,” said Tom, as he abruptly pulled -up his pony. - -I felt intensely excited. I had never seen a real live rajah in my -life; and I held myself in readiness for any amount of pomp and -splendour, from milk-white arabs with gold trappings, to a glass coach. -But what was this that I beheld, as we drew respectfully to one side? -I could scarcely believe my own eyes, as there thundered by a most -dilapidated waggonette, drawn by one huge bony horse and a pony, truly -sorry steeds; the harness was tied up with rope, and even rags! Seated -in front was a spare dark man, with a disagreeable expression, dressed -in a stuff coat, the colour of Reckitt’s blue, and a gold skull-cap. -He salaamed to us in a condescending manner, and was presumably the -rajah. A fat pock-marked driver held the reins; in the body of the -waggonette were six men (the suite), and their united weight gave the -vehicle a dangerous tilt backwards. The equipage was accompanied by -four ragamuffins, with long spears, riding miserable old screws with -bell-rope bridles. They kept up a steady tittuping canter, raising a -cloud of suffocating dust, in which they presently vanished. - -“I can’t believe that _that_ is a rajah, much less _our_ rajah,” I -remarked to my companions. - -“I can,” said Tom, emphatically. “He looks what he is--an unmitigated -scoundrel, and a miser. Did you notice how close his eyes were -together? He is a rich man, too; is lord of the soil as far as your -eyes can see. His grandfather owned a great deal more before the -Mutiny, but it was shorn from him, and he was thankful to be left with -an acre--or his life.” - -“Why?” asked Charlie and I in a breath. - -“He came out of that bad business very badly. When the inhabitants of -Luckmee were surprised, they sent their women and children to him for -protection, he being, as they supposed, their very good friend; but -he simply bundled them all out, and they were every one massacred. The -rajah then believed that the mutineers would carry everything before -them, but after the fall of Delhi he changed his tune, and sent on a -charger the head of the chief leader in these parts--his own nephew, -as it happened, but this is a detail--in order to make his peace. Of -course, he saved his skin, but he had a bad record, and his grandson is -a chip of the old block.” - -“Who told you all this?” I inquired. - -“The collector. He says this man grinds down the ryots shamelessly, and -does many a queer thing that ought to land him in a court of law. Here -is the forest, and here, thank goodness, is _the_ bungalow at last.” - -Our halting-place proved to be a thatched stone cottage, containing -three rooms, and bath-rooms; there was a deep verandah all round, -excellent servants’ quarters and stables--in short, it was the beau -idéal of a jungle residence. One verandah looked towards the forest, -with its cool, dark recesses, the other commanded the river, and beyond -it, faintly on the sky line, glimmered the snows. - -The bungalow was surrounded by about twenty acres of park-like pasture, -through which ran a public road leading to a fine bridge. We took in -these details as we lounged about in the moonlight after dinner, and -unanimously agreed that our present quarters were quite perfect in -every respect. - -The next day we fished--a nice, lazy, unexciting occupation. I -sauntered home early in the afternoon--not being a particularly -enthusiastic angler--and disposed myself in a comfortable deep straw -chair in the verandah, in order to enjoy a novel and what I considered -a well-earned cup of tea. As I reclined at my ease, devouring fiction -and cake, sandwich fashion, my attention was arrested by a sound of -loud crashing and smashing of branches in the usually death-like -stillness of the forest. I sat erect, gazing intently at the violent -storm among the leaves, expecting to see emerge a deer, a pig, or, at -the very worst, a peacock! But after staring steadily for some time, I -found that I was looking at the back of a remarkably tall elephant. - -The ayah, who was also watching, pointed and called out, “Hathi, mem -sahib, burra hathi,” as if I did not know an elephant when I saw one! - -Presently I descended the steps, strolled across the green, and pushed -aside the bushes. There I beheld a lean native, all ribs and turban, -busily engaged in baking his chupatties over a fire of sticks--a little -wizened man, with a sharp cruel face, and close behind him stood a -huge gaunt elephant, or rather the framework of one, for the animal -was shockingly thin. Its poor backbone was as sharp as a razor; its -skin hung in great wrinkles; its eye--an elephant’s eye is small and -ugly--this beast’s eye gave expression to its whole body, and had a -woful look of inarticulate misery, of almost desperate, human -appeal. - -The mahout stood up and salaamed, and forthwith he and I began to -converse--that is to say, we made frantic endeavours to understand one -another--the ayah, whose curiosity had dragged her forth, now and then -throwing in a missing word. - -“By my favour, it was the rajah’s state elephant; he had also three -others; he sent them into the forest to feed and to rest, when he did -not require them. This, Shere Bahadur (brave lion), was the great -processional elephant, and had a superb cloth-of-gold canopy that -covered him from head to tail.” - -(“Poor brute!” I said to myself, “otherwise he would be a terribly -distressing spectacle.”) - -“Why is he so thin?” I demanded anxiously. - -“Because he is old,” was the ready answer, “more than one hundred -years. He had been, so folk said, a war-elephant taken in battle. He -was worth thousands and thousands of rupees once. He knew no fear, and -no fatigue. Moreover, he was a great shikar elephant--many tigers had -he faced”--and here the mahout proudly showed me the traces of some -ancient scars--“even now the Sahib Log borrowed him as an honour.” - -“And what had he to eat?” I inquired. - -“More than he could swallow--twelve large chupatties twice a day--this -size”--holding his skinny arms wide apart--“also ghoor, and sugar-cane, -and spice.” - -I looked about. I saw no sign of anything but a few branches of neem -tree, and the preparations for the mahout’s own meagre meal. - -“Hazoor, he has had his khana--he has dined like a prince,” reiterated -the mahout. “Kuda ka Kussum,” that is to say, “so help me God.” - -Nevertheless I remained incredulous. I went over to the bungalow and -brought out a loaf, to the extreme consternation of our khansamah--we -being forty miles from the nearest bazaar bakery--this I broke in two -pieces, and presented it to Shere Bahadur, who seized it ravenously. Of -course it was a mere crumb, and the wrinkled eager trunk was piteously -held out for more; but more I dared not give, for I was in these days -entirely under the yoke of my domestics! I related my little adventure -during dinner--small episodes become great ones in the jungle, where -we had no news, no dâk. Afterwards we took our usual stroll in the -moonlight, and Charlie and I went to visit my new acquaintance. He was -alone. The mahout was away, probably smoking at a panchayet in the -nearest village. In a short time we were joined by Tom, who, as he came -up, exclaimed-- - -“By Jove, he _is_ thin! I’ve just been hearing all about the beast -from the shikarri; he knows him well. He was a magnificent fellow in -his day. The rajah has not the heart to feed him in his old age, and -turns him out to pick up a living, or starve--whichever he likes. -_He_ is not going to pay for his keep, and so the poor brute is dying -by inches. Every now and then, when there is a ‘tamasha,’ he is sent -for--for a rajah without elephants is like a society woman without -diamonds.” - -“And the twelve chupatties, and spices, and sugar?” I exclaimed. - -“All moonshine!” was the laconic reply. - -I thought a great deal of that miserable famishing animal. He preyed on -my mind, in the watches of the night: I could hear him through the open -window, moving restlessly among the bushes. I was sorely tempted to -rise and steal my own loaves, and give him every crumb in the larder! - -Next morning I boldly commanded four enormous cakes to be made, and -took them to him myself. He seemed to know me, and swallowed them down -with wolfish avidity. - -When we were fishing that same evening I noticed the elephant down -in the shallows of the river, standing knee-deep in the rushes; his -figure, in profile against the orange sunset, looked exactly like the -arch of a bridge, so wasted was he. - -In the course of a day or two we had firmly cemented our acquaintance. -Shere Bahadur came up to the verandah for sugar-cane and bread, and -salaamed to me ostentatiously whenever we met. - -“As we are feeding the beast, we may as well make use of him,” remarked -Tom, one morning. “The mahout declares that the rajah will let us have -him for his keep, and his own wages--six rupees a month. We can have a -howdah, and the elephant will be very useful when we get among the long -grass and the deer.” - -“Yes, do let us have him,” I gladly agreed. I could not endure to leave -him behind, to return to his ration of neem leaves and semi-starvation. -Tom therefore despatched a “chit” by the mahout to the rajah, and the -next day Shere Bahadur came shuffling back, carrying a howdah and his -owner’s sanction, also a paper which Tom was requested to sign. - -This document (written on the leaf of a copy-book, in English, with -immense flourishes) set forth--“That Tom would guarantee to hand Shere -Bahadur back, in good condition, at the end of two months, and that -if anything happened to the elephant, short of natural death, Tom was -responsible for the value of the animal, and the sum of two thousand -rupees.” - -“Well,” said Tom, “it is fair enough, though I doubt if the poor old -bag of bones is worth two hundred rupees. He will be well fed, and -returned in good case, and if he dies now on our hands, after living a -century, it will be a base piece of ingratitude for all your kindness; -however, there is life in the old boy yet. You and he are great chums. -He is a splendid shikar elephant, though a bit slow. I think it is a -capital bunderbast.” And he signed. - -The mahout (now our servant) was full of zeal and zest, and came and -laid his head on my feet, and assured me that “I was his father and his -mother, and that he was my slave.” - -I took care to see Shere Bahadur fed daily. He now really received a -dozen thick chupatties, and plenty of sugar-cane and ghoor, and his -expression lost its look of anguish and famine, though it was early -days to expect any improvement in his figure. When we marched, he -accompanied us, and I rode in the howdah and enjoyed it. He picked his -way so cleverly, and thrust branches aside from our path so carefully, -and seemed (though this may be a wild flight of imagination) to _like_ -to work for me. He was capital at going through jungle, or over rough -ground, but in marshy places the poor dear old gentleman seemed to have -great difficulty in getting along, and to have but little power in his -hind quarters. - -Six weeks of our leave had melted away, as it were--time had passed -but too rapidly. Shere Bahadur proved invaluable out shooting. Thanks -to him, Tom had got a fine tigress, and Charlie some splendid head of -deer. They looked so odd in the high elephant grass--no elephant to -be seen, but merely two men, as it were sailing along in a howdah. Our -last days were, alas! drawing near; our stores were becoming perilously -low. It was the end of March, the grass and leaves were dry as tinder -and brittle as glass, as the hot winds swept over them. Yes, it was -imperative to exchange these charming tents for the thick cat-haunted -thatch of our commonplace bungalow. We were all sunburnt, happy, and -somewhat shabby. I had contrived to see something of India, after all. -I knew the habits of some of the birds and beasts--the names of flowers -and trees. I had gazed at my own reflection in lonely forest pools, -that were half covered with water-lilies, and from whose sedgy margin -flocks of bright-plumaged water-fowl had flashed. - -I had met the peacock and his wives leisurely sauntering home after a -night of pillage in the grain fields. I had seen, in a sunny glade, a -wild dog playing with her puppies. I had watched the big rohu turning -lazily over in the river; the sly grey alligator lying log-like on the -bank; the blue-bull, or nilgai, dashing through the undergrowth. In -short, I had seen a good deal, though I _was_ dull. - -Twice a day I visited my dear friend Shere Bahadur. I had become quite -attached to him, and I firmly believe that he loved me devotedly. -One evening I arrived rather earlier than usual on my rounds, and -discovered the mahout in deep converse with another man, a stranger, -who brought his visit to an abrupt close, and said, as he hurried away, -“Teen Roze” (_i.e._ “three days”), to which the mahout responded, -“Bahout Atcha” (_i.e._ “good”). - -“It is my Bhai,” he explained. Every one seems to be every one else’s -brother, especially suspicious-looking acquaintances. “He has come a -long journey with a message from my father--my father plenty sick, -calling for me.” An every-day excuse for “taking leave,” only second -to the death of the delinquent’s grandmother. - -On the afternoon of the third day we found it too hot to go out early, -and were sitting in our dining-room tent fanning ourselves vigorously -and playing “spoof,” when we suddenly heard a great commotion--a sound -of shouting and running and trumpeting. A tiger, or a “must” elephant, -was my first idea. Yes, there it was! A cry of “The elephant! the -elephant!” It was an elephant--_my_ elephant. We hurried to where a -crowd of all our retainers had collected. A quarter of a mile away -there was a sudden dip in the ground, a half-dried-up pool of water, -covered with a glaze of dark blue scum, surrounded by an expanse of -black oozy mud, fringed with rushes and great water-reeds,--the sort of -place that was the sure haunt of malarious fever--and struggling in the -midst of the quagmire was Shere Bahadur. He had already sunk up to his -shoulders, whilst his mahout lay on the bank tearing his hair, beating -his head upon the ground, and shrieking at intervals, “My life is -departing! my life is departing!” Tom angrily ordered him to arise, and -get to his place on the animal’s back, and endeavour to guide him out -at the safest part; but it appeared to be all quagmire, and quivered -for yards at every movement of the elephant. The mahout gibbered, and -sobbed, but complied. He scrambled on to Shere Bahadur’s neck, and -yelled, gesticulated, urged, and goaded. No need; the poor brute was -aware of the danger--he was labouring now, not for other people’s -profit or pleasure, but for his own life. Every one ran for wood, -wine-cases, or branches, and flung them to the elephant; and it was -pitiful to see how eagerly he snatched at them, and placed them beneath -him, and endeavoured to build himself a foothold. After long and -truly desperate exertions, he got his forelegs right up on the sound -ground, ropes were thrown to him, but, alas! it was all of no avail; -the morass was a peculiarly bad one, and his powerless hind quarters -were unable to complete the effort and land him safely. No, the cruel -quagmire slowly, surely, and remorselessly sucked him down; and, after -a most determined effort on the part of the spectators, and a frenzied -but impotent struggle on his own, Tom turned to me and exclaimed-- - -“Poor old boy! it’s not a bit of good; he will have to go!” - -“Go where?” I cried. “He can be saved; he must be saved,” I added, -hysterically. - -“Impossible; he has not sufficient power to raise himself; the ground -is a sort of quicksand. If there was another elephant here, we might -manage to haul him out; but, as it is, it is a mere question of -time--he will be gone in half an hour.” - -I wept, implored, ran about like one demented, begging, bribing, -entreating the natives to help. And, I must confess, they all did -their very best, nobly led by Tom and Charlie. But their efforts were -fruitless. Shere Bahadur’s hour had come. He had escaped bullets, -grape-shot, and tiger, to be gradually swallowed down by that slimy -black quagmire, and--horrible thought--buried alive! At the end of -a quarter of an hour he had sunk up to his ears, and had ceased to -struggle. His trunk was still above the mud. His poor hidden sides!--we -could hear them going like the paddle-wheels of a steamer. It appeared -to me that his eye sought mine! - -Oh, I could endure the scene no longer. I left the crowd to see the -very end, rushed back to the tent, flung myself on my bed, covered -up my head, and wept myself nearly blind. It seemed hours and -hours--twenty-four hours--before Tom came in, and said, as solemnly as -if he were announcing the death of a friend, “It is all over.” - - * * * * * - -The detestable mahout over-acted his part; at first he simulated -frenzy, his grief far surpassed mine, he gibbered, wept, and beat -his breast, and rolled upon the ground at our feet in a paroxysm of -anguish, as he assured us that the rajah was a ruthless lord, and -that when he returned to Betwa without the Hathi he would certainly -be put to torture, and subsequently to death. And then Tom suddenly -bethought himself of the terms of the agreement. The elephant had _not_ -died a natural death. No, he had “gone down quick into the pit.” He -was dead, and Tom was bound to pay two thousand rupees (about £150). -He looked exceedingly glum, but there was no other alternative; yes, -he must pay--even if he could not contrive to look pleasant. He most -reluctantly sent the rajah a cheque for the amount on the Bank of -Bengal, and the mahout departed with somewhat suspicious alacrity, -leaving the howdah behind him. - -Afterwards, we became acquainted with two extraordinary facts. One was -that the rajah had carefully arranged for the death of the elephant, -even before we left our first camp; that the mahout’s so-called -brother was simply a special messenger, who had been despatched to -“hurry up” the tragedy. Discovery the second, that the mahout had been -seen by our shikarri and several other men deliberately goading and -urging the elephant into the quagmire. The wise animal had at first -steadily resisted, but putting implicit faith in his rider--who had -driven him for years--and being the most docile of his race, he had -ultimately yielded, and obediently waded in to his death. At first we -indignantly refused to credit these stories, and declared that they -were merely the ordinary malicious native slander; but subsequently a -slip of copy-book paper was discovered in the pocket of the howdah, -which, being interpreted by Tom, read as follows-- - -“Make no delay. Bad quagmire. Give fifty rupees.--Betwa.” - -And Shere Bahadur was betrayed for that sum. - -We received in due time an effusive letter from the Rajah of Betwa, -written, as usual, on the leaf of a copy-book, and inscribed with -numerous ornamental flourishes. He also enclosed a formal stamped -receipt, which is on my bill-file at the present moment, and is not the -least remarkable of the many curious documents there impaled. It says-- - -“Received from Mister Captain Thomas Hay, the sum of two thousand -government rupees, the value of one War elephant--lost!” - - - - -“PROVEN OR NOT PROVEN?” - -THE TRUE STORY OF NAIM SING, RAJPOOT. - - -Look around, and above, with your mind’s eye, and behold high hills -and deep narrow valleys--valleys overflowing with corn, and hills -speckled with flocks; no, these are not the Alps,--nor yet the Andes; -the sturdy brown people have the Tartar type of face, their stubborn, -shaggy ponies are of Thibetan breed. You stand on the borders of -Nepaul, and among the lower slopes of the great Himalayas--a remote -district, but tolerably populated and prosperous. There are many -snug, flat-roofed houses scattered up and down the niches in these -staircase-like heights, encompassed with cowsheds, melon gardens, -groves of walnut trees, and a few almost perpendicular acres of murga -(grain); their proprietors are well-to-do, their wants inconsiderable, -the possession of a pony, half a dozen goats, and a couple of milch -buffaloes, constitutes a man of means, who is as happy in his way as, -perhaps happier than, the English or Irish owner of a great landed -estate. Moreover, this pastoral life has its pleasures: there are -holy festivals, fairs, feasts, wrestling-matches,--and occasionally a -little gambling and cock-fighting. But even in these primitive mountain -regions, life is not _all_ Arcadian simplicity; there are black spots -on the sun of its existence, such as envy, hatred, malice, jealousy, -false-witness, and murder. - -Peaceful, even to sleepiness, as the district appears, serene and -immovable as the grand outline of its lofty white horizon, nevertheless -this remote corner of the world has been the scene of a renowned -trial--a trial which outrivalled many a notorious case in far-away -Europe for exciting violent disputes, disturbances, and bloodshed--a -trial which convulsed Kumaon, Kali Kumaon, and Gurwalh--whose effects, -as it were the ripples from a stone cast into still waters, are -experienced to the present hour in the shape of curses, collisions, and -feuds. At the root of the trouble was, as usual, a woman. - -Durali (which signifies ‘darling’) was the grandchild and only -surviving relative of Ahmed Dutt, a thriftless, shrivelled old -hill-man, who smoked serrus (or Indian hemp) until he brought himself -into a condition of imbecility, and suffered his worldly affairs to -go to ruin; his hungry cattle and goats strayed over his neighbours’ -lands, he cared not for crops, nor yet for wor-hos (boundary marks), -he cared for nought but his huka, and his warm padded quilt, and -abandoned the beautiful Durali, like the cattle, to her own devices. -Now, according to Durali, these devices were supremely innocent: she -spun wool, kept fowl, laboured somewhat fitfully in the fields, and -tended the jungle of dahlias and marigolds which threatened to swallow -up the little slab-roofed dwelling--that was all. So said Ahmed Dutt’s -granddaughter, but public opinion held a different view; it lifted -up its voice (in a shrill treble), and declared that Durali, being -by general consent the most beautiful woman in Kumaon, had wrung the -hearts of half the young--ay, and old--men in the province; that of a -truth her suitors were legion; but that she turned her back on all of -them--as she would have fools to believe--no! - -Her grandfather was indigent, as who could deny? Whence, then, the rich -silver necklet, the bangles, the great belt of uncut turquoise, blue -as the spring sky--whence the strong Bhootia pony? Had Ahmed Dutt been -otherwise than a smoke-sodden idiot and a dotard, he had, according -to custom, sold this valuable chattel a full year ago, and received -as her price three hundred rupees, yea, and young asses, perchance, -and buffaloes. As it was, Durali ruled him tyrannically, flouted all -humble pretenders for her hand, and at eighteen years of age was her -own mistress, fancy-free, poor, ambitious, and beautiful--miraculously -beautiful! since her wondrous loveliness stirred even the leathern -hearts of these hill-men; and she possessed a face, figure, craft, and -coquetry, amply warranted to set the whole of Kumaon in a blaze. Yea, -the saying that “to be her friend was unfortunate, to be her suitor -beckoned death,” deterred but few. It was undeniable that Farid Khan -had fallen over the khud, on the bad road to Pura; do not his bones -lie, to this day, unburied and bleaching, at the foot of that awful -precipice? _Who_ said that his rival, Jye Bhan, had pushed him in the -dark? Who could prove it? At any rate, he was no more. As was also -Kalio Thapa, carried away by a mighty flood in the Sardah river--how -it befell, who could say? And there was, moreover, Phulia, who had -certainly hanged himself because Durali had spurned him. - -Many were her adorers, and exceedingly bitter the hatred they bore to -one another. - -Durali was tall, erect, and Juno-like, with a skin like new wheat, -features of a bold Greek type, abundant jet-black hair, and a pair -of magnificent eyes. Other women declared that there was magic in -these--certainly they spoke with tongues, they commanded, exhorted, -entreated, dazzled, and bewitched. - -But Durali owed nothing to the fine feathers which enhance the -attractions of so many fine birds. She wore a dark-blue petticoat and -short cotton jacket, a few bangles and a copper charm--the ordinary -attire of an ordinary Pahari girl; dress could add but little to her -superb personality. - -The handsome granddaughter of Ahmed Dutt was well known by reputation -in the surrounding villages, her name was in every one’s mouth, her -fame had penetrated even as far as Almora itself. At the sacred feast -of the Dusserah, where crowds assemble to behold the yearly sacrifice, -there Durali appeared for the first time, and in gala costume, wearing -a short-sleeved red velveteen bodice, an enviable silver necklet, and -a flower behind each ear. The eyes of half the multitude were riveted -on the hill beauty--instead of the devoted buffalo, which had been tied -up for days, at the quarter guard of the Ghoorkas, and now innocently -awaited its impending fate. - -Yes, people actually thronged, and pressed, and pushed, and strove, -in order to obtain a good look at the famous Durali, for whom men had -contended, and fought--ay, and died. - - * * * * * - -There was a sudden lull in the loud hum of voluble Pahari tongues, -and all attention was concentrated on a renowned athlete, who stepped -forward with the huge Nepaulese sacrificial knife in his hand, and with -one swift dexterous blow severed the buffalo’s ponderous head from his -body. Immediately ensued a frenzied rush on the part of the spectators, -in order to dip a piece of cloth in the smoking blood. There was also -a determined, nay, a ferocious struggle between two young men, as to -which should have the privilege of plunging Durali’s handkerchief, on -her behalf, into the holy stream. This coveted office fell to Naim -Sing, who wrung the cloth from the feebler grasp of Johar, the son of -Turroo. This contest over a blood-stained rag was noted at the time. -It was an evil omen, and more than one old crone shook her grey head, -as she muttered, “Mark ye, my sisters, there will be yet more trouble -between the strivers--yea, bloodshed.” - -The victor was the son of Bhowan Sing, who lived in the village of -Beebadak, and cultivated a considerable amount of fertile land. He had -three sons--Umed Sing, Rattan Sing, and Naim Sing; the latter was the -Benjamin of the family, a handsome youth, with a lithe, symmetrical -figure, bold eloquent grey eyes, and crisp black locks, the champion -wrestler of his pergunnah (and of the district); possessed not merely -of an active and powerful body, but an active and powerful mind. His -appearance, his age, and his stronger character, were not the only -reasons that made him looked up to by his brethren and neighbours, -and a ruler in his father’s house; some two years previously, whilst -digging a well, he had discovered a pot of coins, and was now the owner -of twenty pairs of pearls, fifty gold mohurs, four ponies, and a herd -of milch buffaloes. Happy the woman whom Naim Sing would take to wife! - -Johar, the son of Turroo, was a sturdy, square-faced youth, honest and -cheerful, who had nought to cast into the balance against prowess, -ponies, and pearls, save one slender accomplishment, and his heart--he -played somewhat skilfully on a whistle, which was fashioned out of the -thigh-bone of a man, and profusely studded with great rough turquoises. -He was in much request at all the revellings within thirty miles--that -is to say, Johar with his whistle. - -Not long after the Dusserah, the venerable Ahmed Dutt smoked himself -peacefully out of this world, and was duly burnt, with every necessary -formality. His granddaughter being left forlorn, now took an old woman -to live with her in the little stone house under the edge of the Almora -road, as you go to Loher Ghât. Durali was in straitened circumstances; -the murga crop had failed, three of her lean kine were dead, but she -was befriended by Naim Sing, who evinced much sympathy for her desolate -condition; and it was a matter of whispered gossip that Johar was also -secretly performing acts of kindness--secretly, indeed, for none dared -to put themselves into competition with the formidable Naim Sing,--and -it was believed that he was the favoured suitor. - -At harvest-time, Naim Sing was compelled to be absent for ten days, -on an urgent mission to the foot of the hills. Immediately on his -return, he hastened to Durali’s hut, and found her absent. Wearied by a -rapid march of thirty miles, he cast himself down among the long rice -stalks at the foot of a choora tree, and there impatiently awaited the -reappearance of his divinity. As he lay half dozing in the heat, his -practised ear heard steps and voices, and looking through the rice -stalks he beheld a couple leisurely approaching. The man was playing on -a bone whistle, and the woman carried sheaves of wheat upon her stately -head. There was no difficulty in recognizing Durali and Johar. The -jealous watcher lay still, listening eagerly with quick-coming breath. -It appeared to him that the beguiling Durali by no means discouraged -her companion’s advances, which were couched in the usual flowery -terms of Oriental flattery. “Oh, woman, thou hast sheaves on thy head, -but they appear like clusters of pomegranates on thy shoulders. There -is none like thee. The light of thy beauty hath illumined my soul! -As for Naim Sing, he is a seller of dog’s flesh! an owl, the son of -an owl; he is vain as the sandpiper, who sleeps with his legs up, in -order to support the sky at night. Listen, O core of my heart! it hath -come to mine ears, that trade and barter have nought to do with his -hasty excursions to the plains--he hath a wife at Huldwani--hence his -journeys.” - -This was too much for the endurance of his enraged listener, who, -leaping furiously upon Johar, clove his head with his heavy tulwar -(sword). Johar staggered, blinded with blood, and defenceless, then, -turning, ran for his life; but his infuriated enemy, flinging the -shrieking girl to one side, swiftly pursued the wounded wretch to -where he had sought refuge in a cowshed, dashed in the frail door, -and there despatched him. Presently he returned, fierce-eyed, savage, -blood-stained, to confront the horror-stricken and trembling Durali. - -“Woman,” he cried hoarsely, “I have slain him--thine the sin. His -death be on thy head!” - -But she, with many tears and vows, vociferously protested her -innocence, and in a surprisingly short time appeased Naim Sing’s wrath. -Now that the rage of his jealousy and vengeance had been satisfied, he -began to realize the result of his passion; he had slain a man--not -the first who had met his death at his hands. He had once killed -an antagonist in a wrestling-match--that was a misadventure; this -was--well, the Sirkar would call it--murder. - -The shades of evening had not yet fallen, and until then he dared not -set about concealing the corpse. He found Durali a cunning adviser and -an unscrupulous accomplice. Men die hard, especially wiry hill-men, and -Johar had not passed away in silence; his expiring groans were heard by -Bucko, the old woman, and Naim Sing was therefore compelled to admit -her into the secret. - -When the moon rose, the three conspirators bound up the body and -carried it down to one of the fields, there they carefully uprooted -each stalk, each distinct plant, growing over the surface of what was -to form the future grave, which was next excavated, and Johar, the son -of Turroo, was dropped into the hole, his whistle flung contemptuously -after him, and both were presently covered up with earth--and wheat. - -The burying-party returned to the hut, where Naim Sing inflicted a -small wound on his leg with a cut of his tulwar, in order to support -the statement he proposed making to the authorities, that Johar had -attacked him with murderous intent, and, having failed in his effort, -fled. Next morning Naim Sing called on the Tehel-seldhar and made his -report, and the Tehel-seldhar despatched a tokdar (responsible official -for a cluster of villages) to take steps for the capture of Johar, the -son of Turroo. But Johar was not to be found, or even heard of, and -his own family became seriously alarmed, and suspected foul play. If -he had fled and departed on a long journey, wherefore had he left his -boots, clothes, and money behind? The connections of Naim Sing were -powerful, their pirohet, or family priest, his personal friend--rumour -and suspicion were strangled--but there were grave whispers round the -fires in the huts, all over the hills: what had befallen Johar, the son -of Turroo? - -However, a murder was a common event. Blood-feuds were acknowledged, -and soon the circumstance was allowed to fade into oblivion by all but -Rateeban, a lame man, Johar’s twin brother, who took a solemn oath -at Gutkoo temple to avenge him. He suspected Durali; he watched her -and her house by stealth. Why was one small corner of the wheat-field -uncut? He made her overtures of friendship, he flattered, he fawned; -by dint of judicious questions, and even more judicious information, -Rateeban gained his end. Oh, false love! Oh, treachery! Oh, woman! it -was the beautiful Durali who led Rateeban to his brother’s grave, -who showed him the blood splashes on the cowshed walls, who told him -the truth. Yes, jealousy is doubtless as cruel as the grave. Durali -had capitulated and given her long-beleaguered heart wholly to Naim -Sing--his eloquence, good looks, prowess,--ay, and presents,--had -carried the citadel, and lo! the dead man’s words were verified. Naim -Sing had already a wife at Huldwani, a bold dark woman of the plains, -to whom he was secretly wed by strictest and securest ceremonial. - -To the amazement and indignation of himself and his kinsmen, Naim Sing -was arrested and carried to Almora jail, there to await his trial; his -friends and connections (who were many and powerful) made a desperate -attempt to secure his release; bribes, and even threats, were used; but -what could avail against the evidence of the treacherous Durali?--and -the evidence of the dead body? Yes, Naim Sing, the champion wrestler, -the leading youth in his district, handsome, popular, rich, in the -full zenith of his days and vigour, was bound to be despatched to -the dark muggy shores of the Salween river, and end his existence -ingloriously in Moulmein jail. Never again would he take part in a -wrestling-match, or breast his native mountains and chase the ibex -and makor; his beloved hills, and his ancestral home, would know him -no more. Rateeban, Johar’s lame brother, would have preferred the -blood of his enemy, but was fain to be contented with his sentence, -“Transportation for life.” He exulted savagely in his revenge, and -actually accompanied the gang of wretched prisoners the whole march of -ninety miles to the railroad--on foot--in order that he might enjoy the -ecstasy of gloating over his foe in chains! Each day at sundown, when -the party halted, Rateeban came and stood opposite to Naim Sing, and, -leaning on his stick, mocked him. It was rumoured that Rateeban was -not the sole voluntary escort, but that a woman, veiled, and riding a -stout grey pony, stealthily followed the party afar off! It was Durali, -who, when it was too late, was distracted with penitence and anguish. -Her remorse was eating away her very heart--but to what avail now? - -Huldwani is a large, populous native town on the edge of the Terai, -a few miles from the foot of the hills, and here a frantic creature -awaited the prisoners, or rather the prisoner Naim Sing. She tore -her hair, she beat her head upon the ground, and Naim Sing was not -unmoved--no. Then she lifted up her hands and her voice, and cursed -with hideous screaming curses “that woman who had wrought this great -shame and wickedness--that other woman on the hills!” And the other -woman, having heard with her ears and seen with her eyes, turned back -and retraced those weary ninety miles, _now_ more in anger than in -sorrow,--for such is human nature. - -In less than twelve months, the news came to the hills that Naim Sing -had died in Moulmein prison, the death certificate said of atrophia, -but his father and brethren called it a broken heart. “He was ever too -wild a bird for a cage,” proclaimed his kinsmen and friends; and within -a short time he was as completely forgotten as Johar, whom he had -slain, and Durali, whom he had deceived, and who had disappeared. - - * * * * * - -After a lapse of twenty years, two men belonging to the village where -Rateeban lived, returned from a pilgrimage, and announced that at the -great fair at Hardwar, on the Ganges, they had seen _Naim Sing_--who -had saluted them as Brahmins. He had with him three horses, and a -woman--his wife--and looked in good health, and prosperous. Rateeban, -at first angrily incredulous, finally determined to investigate -this matter in person, and once more travelled the wearisome ninety -miles which lay between his home and the railway. Though every step -was painful, he heeded it not, such is the power of hate! With -inexhaustible patience, he followed clue after clue; he searched for -nearly three months, and was at last rewarded by success. Back up -to the hills, to a distant village in Gurwalh, among the spectators -at a great wrestling-match, he tracked and found Naim Sing!--Naim -Sing, surprisingly little changed. Where were the signs of convict -labour, the marks of irons, and of that life that burns into a man’s -soul? He looked somewhat older, his temples were bald, but his figure -was as upright, his foot as firm, his eye as keen as ever. Rateeban -swore to him, with fervour, as an escaped convict, and had him -instantly arrested. There was no doubt of his identity; there was the -self-inflicted scar on his leg, the bone in his arm which had been -broken by wrestling. The criminal was brought back to Almora, in order -to be arraigned for unlawful return from transportation, and tried -under section 226 of the Indian Penal Code. - -The tidings of the resurrection and return of Naim Sing was passed by -word of mouth from village to village. His father and brethren, his -friends and relations, and those of Johar and Rateeban, and, in short, -everybody’s friends, flocked into Almora to attend the trial. The case -was heard in the court-house, which stands within the old fort; and -not only was the court itself crammed to suffocation, but the crowds -overflowed the surrounding enclosure, even down the narrow stone steps, -and away into the streets. Thousands and thousands were assembled, -and as the days went on the interest quickened, and the case became a -matter of furious contention between two factions--for and against: -the party who declared the culprit was indeed the real, true, and only -Naim Sing, and the party who swore that he was _not_. Fierce feuds were -engendered, torrents of abuse and angry blows were exchanged,--blood -was freely shed. - -All Kumaon and Gurwalh had encompassed Almora like an invading army, -and Kumaon, Gurwalh, and the respectable Goorka station itself, were in -an uproar, and seething like a witches’ cauldron. - -The prisoner stood up boldly, as befitted the namesake of the lion, -and confronted his accusers with a haughty and impassive mien. But -surely--surely those keen grey eyes were the eyes of Naim Sing! - -“I am not the criminal,” he declared. “Who is this Naim Sing--this -murderer? and what hath he to do with me? Behold I am Krookia, and -my father is Rusool Sing, who lives in the village of Tolee; my star -is Jeshta and Ras, and my horoscope is with Gunga Josh, if he be yet -alive.” - -Moreover, he brought witnesses, and the certificate of Naim Sing’s -death in Moulmein jail. - -“The people of the pergunnah, which you aver that you belong to, do not -know you,” said the Crown prosecutor. “But Rateeban recognized you; how -can you explain that?” - -“There be two Rateebans,” was the glib answer, “and one is mine enemy.” - -“Strange that Rateeban, the enemy of Naim Sing, is your enemy also.” - -“I doubt not that the lame dog--may his race be exterminated!--hath -many foes. I know him not. He hath been the means of sending one man to -prison for life, and now, behold, he would despatch another. It is a -vicious ambition. As for the people of my village, lo! many years ago, -I found a treasure, and my neighbours quarrelled and beat and robbed -me. They have no desire to recall their own black deeds, nor my face. I -fled to the plains, where I have taken road contracts for the Sirkar, -and prospered.” - -“Naim Sing also found a treasure,” said the advocate. “Does the land in -these hills yield so many of these crops?” - -“By your honour’s favour, I cannot tell. I found one treasure, to my -cost. Money is a man-slayer.” - -Many witnesses recognized or repudiated the prisoner, and there was -hard swearing on both sides. - -At length a young Baboo from Allahabad was put forward--a keen, -intelligent, brisk-looking youth, wearing a velvet cap and patent -leather boots, embellished with mother-of-pearl buttons. - -“Twenty years ago I dwelt in Bareilly,” he said. “There were four of -us children, my mother, and my father, who was sick unto death. The -jail daroga, who was his kinsman, came to him privily one night, and -whispered long. I was awake, being an-hungered, and heard all that was -said. - -“‘Lo! Gunesheb, thou art my kinsman. Thou art poor and sick, thy days -are numbered; wouldst thou die a rich man?’ - -“‘Would I die in Paradise?’ said my father. - -“‘A gang of convicts pass here to-morrow, on their way to Calcutta -and Moulmein beyond the sea. Wilt thou take the place of one of them? -Thou art his size and height; thou hast not long to live, he has a -strong young life; and in return for thy miserable body he will give -four hundred rupees, ten pairs of pearls, one pair of gold bangles, and -three ponies.’ - -“My father went forth that same hour with the jail daroga, and returned -no more. Next day my mother wept sore; yea, even though she had gold -bangles on her arms, very solid, and pearls and silver in a cloth; -also there were three ponies, strong and fat, in our yard. Later, she -took us to see when the convicts passed along the road, and we rode -on the ponies beside them for two days. She told the warders she had -a brother, falsely accused, who was in the gang. He wore a square cap -pulled far over his eyes, and he coughed as he marched. As we left, -he embraced me tenderly, by favour of the warders. I knew he was my -father. Afterwards we went south, and returned to Bareilly no more.” - -Thus Gunesheb had bartered away his few remaining months of life for -the benefit of his family, and Naim Sing had spread a bold free wing, -and enjoyed his liberty for twenty years! He had the ceaseless craving -of a born hill-man to return to the mountains. The line of snows edging -the burnt-up plains had drawn him like a magnet. Slowly but surely, -becoming reckless with time and impunity, he had cast fear and caution -to the winds, as once more the smell of the pine-needles and of the -wood smoke crept into his blood! - -As he sat in the dock, the prisoner deliberately scanned every face -with an air of lofty indifference. He swore to the last that “he -was Krookia, the son of Rusool Sing,” but no respectable land-owner -identified him under that name. Moreover, the wife of Naim Sing had -been recognized at her native place wearing her rings and bangles, sure -and certain token that her husband was _alive_; and in the face of -overwhelming evidence, the culprit was sentenced for the second time on -the same spot to be transported beyond the seas for the term of his -natural life. - -Then Naim Sing arose, tall and erect, a dignified and impressive -figure, carrying his two-score years with grace, and made a most -powerful and thrilling appeal in his own defence--an appeal for an -innocent man, who was about to be banished for ever from his home -and country, because, forsooth, his features had the ill fortune to -resemble those of a dead murderer! - -During his speech, one could almost hear a leaf fall outside the court. -The previous quiet had now changed to what resembled a hush of awe. -The audience within and without--the windows and doors stood wide, and -exhibited an immense sea of human heads--hung with avidity on each -sonorous syllable. Not a gesture, not a glance was lost. So stirring -and impassioned was his eloquence, that every heart was shaken, and -many were moved to tears. But the condemned man pleaded his cause in -vain; in fact, his silver tongue afforded but yet another proof of his -identity. His fate was sealed. Fearing a public tumult, he was removed -secretly ere dawn, marched down the mountain sides for the last time, -despatched to the Andamans,--and there he died. - -So ended a trial that lasted many days, that was more discussed and -fought over than any law-suit of the period; a case which is fiercely -argued and hotly debated even to the present hour; a cause which has -divided scores of households and separated chief friends. For there are -some who declare that the real Naim Sing expired in Moulmein jail khana -nineteen years previously, and that the vengeance of Rateeban demanded -two lives for one; also that the heavily bribed son of Gunesheb had -borne black false witness, his father having died in his own house; and -that, of a truth, an innocent man was condemned to transportation and -death: but there be some who think otherwise. - - - - -AN OUTCAST OF THE PEOPLE. - - “Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown, - We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone.” - Sir A. Lyall. - - -Jasoda was seventeen years of age, and fair as a sunrise on the snows. -She dwelt in a district not far from the Goomptee river, among the -wheat and poppy fields that are scattered over Rohilcund. - -As a little girl, all had gone well with her; she was petted and -caressed; she played daily in the sun with other village children, -erecting palaces and temples with dust and blossoms; her hair was -carefully plaited and plastered with cocoanut oil; she wore a big -nose-ring, anklets, and bangles--not brass or pewter, but real silver -ones, for she was married to the heir of a rich thakur, a delicate, -puny boy of her own age. But one rains he died, and there was sore, -sore lamentation. Had Jasoda realized what his death signified to her, -she would have wailed ten times louder than any paid mourner; but -ignorance was surely bliss, and she was not _very_ sorry, for Sapona -had been greedy, fretful, and tyrannical. He had often struck her, -pinched her, and pulled her long plaits, or run screaming with tales -to his mother--a fat woman with a shrill tongue and a heavy arm--whom -Jasoda feared. - -But after Sapona had been carried away to the burning ghâut, all -seemed changed; every one appeared to hate Jasoda, yea, even her own -grandmother. Her ornaments were taken off, her head was shorn, her -cloth, though white, was coarse and old; there were no more games under -the tamarind trees, and no more sweets. Jasoda’s life was blighted -in the bud, for, at the tender age of six, she was that miserable -outcast, a Braminee widow. Poor pariah! she would stand aloof, with -wide-open wistful eyes (ostentatiously shunned by the other children -in the courtyard), and wonder what it all meant. She would piteously -inquire of her grandmother, as the crone sat spinning cotton, “What she -had done. Wherefore might she not eat with her, and why did Jooplee -push her, and strike her, if she approached her? and wherefore did -her mother-in-law, and other women, hold aside their clothes lest she -should touch them as she passed?” - -“The shadow of a widow is to be dreaded, and--it is the custom, it -is our religion,” muttered the old woman, as if speaking to herself. -No doubt the days of suttee were better; then the girl had one grand -hour, applauded by the world; she was holy and sanctified, and hers was -a glorious triumph as she walked in procession behind the tom-toms, -whilst thousands looked on with awe, and the devout pressed forward to -touch her garments. Was not a moment like that worth years of drudgery -and misery, blows and scorn? True, at the end of the march, there was -the funeral pyre under the peepul tree; but if there was oil among -the faggots, and the wood was not too green, and the priests plied -the suttee with sufficient bhang, it was nought! And her screams were -always drowned in the shouting and the tom-toms. She herself had seen -a suttee; yes, and the girl was forced into it. She had no spirit; she -wept, and shrieked, and struggled,--so people had whispered,--but her -relations drove her to the faggots, for the family of a suttee are held -in much esteem! Truly it were better for Jasoda, this child with the -beautiful face, to have died for the honour of her people than to live -to be their scapegoat and their slave! - -As years went on, and hot weather, monsoon, and cold season passed, -and crops were sown and cut, and there were births and marriages and -deaths, Jasoda grew up. She was now seventeen, and very fair to see. -Her mother-in-law hated her, as did also her brother; and, more than -all, her brother’s wife, and her sisters-in-law. In spite of their fine -silk sarees and gold ornaments, they were but little stars, whilst this -accursed girl was as the sun at noonday! - -Jasoda was the drudge of the family,--a large clan, dwelling, as -is customary, within the same enclosure. These courtyards, built -irregularly, somewhat resemble a child’s house of cards; narrow -footpaths between the mud walls compose the village streets. You may -steer your way among these beaten tracks, and beneath these sun-baked -entrenchments, and never see a single house; merely various postern -doors which enclose a space, possibly containing ten hovels, and as -many families. One of the largest courtyards in the village belonged -to Padooram, the brother of Jasoda; he was the richest man in the -whole pergunnah, owned land and cattle and plough bullocks, and had -no bunnia’s claims to disquiet his sleep. His wife, a fat, pock-marked -woman, boasted real gold bangles, and a jewelled nose-ring, and was -the envy of her sex. There was Jasoda’s father and mother-in-law, and -Monnee and Puthao, their married daughters; her younger brother; his -wife and family; also her old grandmother; and Jasoda was the servant -of them all. Truly they were hard masters and merciless mistresses. -She, their slave, arose at dawn. She drew water till her arms ached. -She ground meal, and cooked, and polished the brass cooking-vessels; -she carried the clothes of these households to the ghât, and washed -them; she minded the children, and milked the buffaloes, and herded -the cattle. More than this, when one of the plough bullocks was sick, -her brother placed the yoke on Jasoda’s shoulders, and drove her as -companion to the spotted ox, up and down the long furrows, and in the -sight of all people. To them it was as nought; no one cried shame, -or pitied her--she was only a _widow_. In the harvest season there -was much to do, from daylight till dusk, cutting cane and corn, and -carrying and stacking, and working at the sugar-press. Sometimes, -strong girl as she was, Jasoda wept from sheer weariness. Yet, for all -this toil, she barely got enough to keep her from semi-starvation. She -was flung the scraps that were left from meals, as well as the rags of -the family. Nor did she ever receive one kind word or look, not even -from her grandmother. However, she was amply compensated for this cruel -indifference from another source. Many were the kind words and looks -bestowed on her by the young men of the village; but Jasoda was proud. -Jooplee, her sister-in-law, famed for the most evil mind and wicked -tongue within many koss, even _she_ could find no cause of offence in -her drudge, save that she was the fairest maiden in all the taluka, and -this fault she punished with the zeal and vigour of an envious and ugly -woman! Jasoda was desperately unhappy. What had she done to men or -gods, to be treated thus cruelly? And there was nothing to look forward -to, even in twenty years’ time. Her present lot would only be altered -by death--and after death? There was no future existence for such as -_she_. Many a time she crept away, and poured out all her wrongs to -the squat stone idol daubed with red paint, whose temple was the shade -of the peepul tree. She asked him, “Why women were ever born into the -land?” and besought his help with tears and passionate pleadings. In -vain she cried, “Ram, ram,” and took him offerings of flowers, and -gashed her arm with a sickle, and shed her hot young blood before him. -He maintained his habitual placid pose, his vacant stare, his graven -grin, and gave no sign. No, at the end of six weary moons there was -still no answer to her prayers. Heart-sick, Jasoda now went and gazed -longingly at the river. She stole away to visit it whilst her relations -took their midday rest in the cane-fields. Alas! it was very low, and -fat muggers lay upon its grey mud banks, as lazy as so many logs of -wood, though their evil little eyes were active enough--watching for -floating corpses. No, no; a big rapid torrent in the rains, with a -strong flood, fed by the far-away snows, rushing boldly onward, bearing -great blocks of foam on its brown bosom,--into _that_ she could cast -herself, but not into one of these slow, slimy channels, creeping past -greasy banks, whereon ravenous alligators would battle for her body. - -As time advanced, the tyranny of the family became more oppressive, -and Jasoda threw patience to the winds--indeed, it had long been -threadbare. To be sent five or six koss in the burning June sun, to -gratify the momentary whim of Taramonnee, a child, or, rather, imp -of five, was beyond endurance, and represented the proverbial “last -straw.” The domestic martyr being hopeless and desperate, now turned -on her tormentors, as a leopardess at bay. Why should she be as an -ox, a beast of burthen, all her days? She gave shrill invective for -invective, accepted curses and blows with sullen indifference, and -refused to work beyond a certain portion. Yea, they might kill her, if -they so willed; it would be all the better; and she oscillated between -fits of hot passion and moods of cold obstinacy. Her aged grandmother -could not imagine what had happened to the household slave. She was -usually so long-suffering, so easily driven and abused. The hag and -the other women put their heads together and took counsel, whilst the -rebel sat aloof in a dark corner of her hut, like some wild animal in -its den, her fixed dark eyes staring out on the glaring white courtyard -with an expression of intense, hopeless despair. She hated every one. -She felt that she could almost kill them. Truly she had been born in an -evil hour and under an evil star, and she cursed both hour and planet. -There were Junia and Talloo, girls who had played with her: each had -a husband and babies and bangles; yea, and cows of their own. Why was -she beaten and half starved, and treated like a stray pariah dog? She -was handsomer than either. Isa, the son of Ganga, had told her that her -eyes were stars, her teeth as seed pearls, and her lips like the bud -of the pomegranate; yet these fat, ugly women slept at ease on their -charpoys, whilst she toiled in the cold grey dawn or in the scorching -noonday heat! - -Above all creatures who breathed, she detested Jooplee, her -sister-in-law, the mother of Taramonnee; and next to her, Taramonnee, -a shrill-voiced, malignant imp, who pinched and bit her secretly, and -who once--when she was tied up and beaten--danced before her, and made -mouths at her and mocked her, clapping her hands with fiendish ecstasy. - -For many months a great fire had been smouldering in Jasoda’s -heart, and woe be to the hand that stirred it! Once more it was the -cane-cutting season, and she was toiling hard all day, reaping and -carrying and stacking. She was very very weary, and whilst the carts -lumbered villagewards with the last load, she sat down under a peepul -tree to rest. It was the soft hour of sunset, the cattle were going -home, bats were flickering to and fro, the low evening smoke lay like -a pale blue veil over the land: smoke from fires where many hungry -people were baking the universal chupatti. Jasoda fell fast asleep, and -dreamt. Her dreams were pleasant, for she dreamt that she was dead. -Suddenly she was rudely awoke by an agonizing pain. No, it was not a -snake-bite; it was a pinch from the sharp strong fingers of Jooplee’s -daughter, who, gazing intently into her face, cried with malicious -glee-- - -“Ah, lazy one, arise and work! I shall tell of thee, and to-night thou -shalt be beaten. The neighbours refuse to believe that father beats -thee, because thou dost not scream. Mother said so. But thou shalt -scream to-night, so that thy cries can be heard as far as the bunnia’s -shop. Get up, pig!” And she pushed her with her foot. - -It needed but a touch like this to rouse the sleeping flame. Instantly -Jasoda sprang erect, rage in her heart and murder in her eye. At least -she would rid herself of this insect, and, snatching up a stone, she -dashed it at the child with all the force of a muscular arm, and -with the fury of years of repressed passion. The aim was true, and -Taramonnee fell. For a second her limbs twitched convulsively, and then -she lay still--oh, tragically still. - -“Rise!” screamed Jasoda. “Rise! and may thine eyes be darkened, thou -little devil!” - -But there was no movement; Taramonnee was evidently stunned. Jasoda -stooped and raised her, whilst a terrible fear crept over her. The -child’s head fell back, her hand dropped. Was it possible? Could she -be _dead_? Yes, she was dead, though she had not meant to kill her; -and, since she could not bring her to life, what was she to do? She -gazed with horror at this awful, motionless thing, whose life she -herself had taken, oh, how easily! She could no longer endure those -staring, glazing eyes, she must put them out of her sight. Raising -the limp body with a supreme effort, she carried it in her arms to a -dry well at some distance, and then averting her face, she threw it -down. It struck against the sides, with a dull muffled sound, and fell -to the bottom with a hideous crash that made her shudder. As Jasoda -went slowly homewards, she was conscious that she was now the same as -Moola, the son of Maldhu, who had cut his wife’s throat with a sickle; -or the city girl, who drowned her baby in the tank in the Mango tope. -She cooked the evening meal as usual, and heard Jooplee inquire for -Taramonnee, and send to seek her at a neighbour’s; presently she became -anxious, talked of snakes, hyenas, and devils, and even went herself -to each postern door, and called, “Taramonnee, Taramonnee;” but she -never once thought of inquiring about her from the sullen girl who was -washing the cooking-pots. The old grandmother said soothingly, “Surely -she hath gone with Almonee, who lives across the river.” But this did -not satisfy her anxious parent, and the neighbourhood was summoned, and -a great search made. It was full moon--a splendid harvest moon--and -bright as day. All night long Jasoda lay awake, watching the moonbeams -and listening to the melancholy howl of the jackals, and the heavy thud -of the ripe banka fruit as it fell in the courtyard. Should she run -away or stay? she asked herself. She debated the vital question long, -and finally resolved that she would abide and await her fate! She was -weary of life. Why prolong it? The river was low; best perish by the -rope, and thus end all. At least she would have rest and peace, and -perhaps a new and better life in another world. - -At daybreak, the body of Taramonnee was brought in and laid before her -mother, who tore her hair in a frenzy, and beat her head against the -wall. The hakim was summoned, and solemnly declared that the child had -not met her death by accident. No; behold, there was the blow on her -temple; of a surety, she had been murdered,--and by whom? Jooplee read -the answer in Jasoda’s eyes. - -“Yes, I struck her,” admitted the girl boldly. “She came to me by the -cane-field, and pinched me sorely when I was asleep. I am _glad_ she is -dead.” - -She repeated the same story to four police, who arrived at noon, -and bound her arms, and led her away to jail. She suffered it to be -believed that she had murdered the child in cold blood, and thrown -her down the well. Jasoda’s case was unusually simple; there was but -a brief trial. The culprit offered no defence, and had apparently no -friends. It was known that she had always hated Taramonnee and her -mother; she had found the former alone, had slain her,--and was glad. -Her own mouth destroyed her. The village was in a ferment. The court -was crowded; Jooplee and her people were ravening for revenge. As for -Jasoda’s kindred, they knew she must be hanged--which thing was worse -than suttee--disgrace instead of glory would cover them! When asked if -she had aught to say, Jasoda stood up before the judge, a beautiful -young creature, with the passionate dark eyes and the regular features -of her race, and the form of a Grecian nymph, and answered distinctly-- - -“No, my lord sahib, I care not for my life; and, if it is the will of -the sirkar, let them take it.” To herself she said, “Better this end -than the other; the river is low.” - -As Jasoda lay under sentence of death, her venerable grandmother -bestirred herself to save her. She was a shrivelled, hideous old hag, -with a ragged red chuddah over her head, and she sat at the gate of the -judge’s compound daily, and cried for the space of two hours without -ceasing. - -“Do hai! Do hai! Do hai!” _i.e._ “Mercy! mercy! mercy!” She then -adjourned to the cantonment magistrate’s abode, and shrieked the same -prayer outside his gates; and finally to the civil surgeon’s, who -was also the jail superintendent; and to him, for this reason, she -devoted one hour extra, and her voice never once failed. Thus much for -being the scold of the village! There was intense excitement in the -neighbourhood as the day of execution drew nigh, and lo! one evening, -when a great gallows was raised on the maidan, there were already -collected thousands of people, precisely as if it were some holy spot, -a scene of pilgrimage--all attracted by the same desire--to see a woman -hanged! - -It was indeed a grand tamasha. The crowds far surpassed in numbers -those who assembled at the yearly feast. The local inhabitants noted -with complacency the hundreds of total strangers who came for many -miles on foot, on ponies, or in ekkas. Old Sona ceased now to scream -and beat her breast. She felt like one of the actors in a tremendous -tragedy, and was the object of a certain amount of curiosity and -attention--a position that was entirely novel, and--alas! alas! that -it must be chronicled--secretly enjoyed. The sun rose on the fatal -day--the last sunrise Jasoda would ever see--the great prison gates -opened, and a body of police marched slowly forth. Then came Jasoda, -walking between two warders. There was a murmur among the throng. She -was surprisingly fair to behold, and for once in her life she wore a -dress like girls of her class. A wealthy and eccentric woman in the -city had sent it to her. Yes, she was as fair as the newly risen dawn. -She stood and steadily surveyed the immense expectant multitude. She -recognized the eyes of many people from her own village fixed upon her -with a mixture of interest and awe. She beheld her old grandmother, -and her brother, and Moonee, and Pathoo, and Jai Singh, the son of -Herk Singh, who had compared her to Parbutti herself and to the new -moon. It seemed to her that to be the centre of interest to so vast a -throng was almost as fine as a suttee! The last moment arrived, and the -superintendent asked her if she had anything to say, any bequests to -make. - -“Bequests!” and she almost laughed. “Truly I have nothing in the world -save a few rags. But thou mayest give my body to my grandmother; she -seems sorry. I have nothing to say. The child hurt me, and I struck -her. I meant not to kill her; nevertheless, she died; that is all. She -is dead, and I shall soon be dead also.” - -Jasoda’s fortitude did not fail her--no, not when her arms were -pinioned, her petticoats tied about her feet, the cap drawn over her -face. She never once quailed or trembled. - - * * * * * - -When the body had been cut down, and the crowd had dispersed, the -superintendent sent for the old grandmother, who came, dry-eyed and -fierce. - -“It is somewhat against rules,” he said, “but I am going to grant you -the girl’s only request: she said you were to have her body--take it -away, and burn it!” - -“I!” shrieked the harridan. “_I_ touch her after the dones (hangmen) -have laid their hands on her! _I_, a high-caste Braminee! Do with the -carrion as thou wilt!” and she spat on the ground and went her way. -Thus, after death, neglect and scorn pursued poor hot-tempered Jasoda, -even to the grave. - -Nevertheless, had she but known it, her wrongs were most amply avenged. -Who was there to do the work of the family--nay, of five families? -She who had been their slave for years was sorely missed. The lazy, -useless womenkind had now to cook and bake, draw water and feed cows, -and grumbled loudly and quarrelled savagely among themselves--yea, even -to blows--though the task of one was now portioned among so many. The -patient, graceful figure, toiling to and from the well, or laden with -wood or fodder, was no longer to be met, and was missed by more than -her own household. - -“She was the fairest girl in all the district,” said Gopal, the -bunnia’s son. “There was no joy in her life, she seemed glad to die. -Truly her execution was a grand tamasha, and brought many strangers -from afar.” - -This was her epitaph. - -Jasoda’s name is still green in the memory of the villagers of -Sharsheo; not that they acknowledge any special claim on her part -to beauty, virtue, or martyrdom, but simply because it is not easy -to forget that Jasoda, the daughter of Akin-alloo, and the widow of -Sapona, was hanged. - - - - -AN APPEAL TO THE GODS. - - “We be the gods of the East, - Older than all; - Masters of mourning and feast, - How shall we fall?” - - -Within forty miles of where the Himalayas rise from the plains, -and the sunrise unveils the blushing snows--and precisely half a -koss from the Kanāt river--lies the hamlet of Haru, surrounded by -a tangle of castor-oil plants, mango trees, and tamarinds, and -standing in the midst of a fertile tract of cane, corn, and poppy. The -scarlet-and-white poppies, the stiff, green cane, the waving yellow -wheat, also the village (which boasted nine hundred souls at the last -census), were the joint property of two wealthy zemindars. The northern -part of Haru--including the crops sown for the opium department--was -the inheritance of Durga Pershad, a tall, dark, gaunt man, with an -unpleasant and sinister expression. The wheat, cane, and southern -end of the town belonged to Golab Rai Sing, who bore but a scant -resemblance to his name--“the King of Roses;” he was, in fact, a stout, -smiling, pock-marked person, with a glib tongue, and a close fist. -These two zemindars hated one another as thoroughly as men in their -position were not only bound, but born to do. They had not merely been -bequeathed adjoining lands, and a whole village between them, but a -venerable blood feud, which had been conscientiously handed down from -generation to generation. - -In good old days--days within living memory--there had been desperate -outbreaks, dacoities, and murders, attended with the usual sequel: -hanging or imprisonment beyond the seas. Now, in more civilized times -(although the vital question of the well by the temple was yet in -abeyance, passed on from collector to collector), the rival factions -were content with pounding each other’s cattle, burning each other’s -fodder, and blackening each other’s characters. Both had a large -following of tenants, relations, parasites; and he who brought tidings -that evil had befallen the enemy was a truly welcome guest! When the -great men met, they simply scowled and passed on their way, and their -women-folk laid every sin to the charge of their neighbours that it is -possible for the depraved imagination of a practised native slanderer -to conceive. - -Golab Rai Sing was the richer of the two zemindars, though Durga -Pershad owned a larger extent of ground; but it was whispered that he -had lost much money in a law-suit, and that Muttra Dass (the soucar) -held a mortgage on his best crops; nevertheless, he carried his head -high, and his wife had real silver tyres to the wheels of her ekka! - -It was the first moon in the new year, and the collector’s camp was -pitched under the mango tope, between the village and the river; he -had but recently returned from two years’ furlough, and from the whirl -of politics and the turmoil of life at high pressure; also, he was new -to the district. - -As he stood meditating on the river bank at dawn, and saw the snows -rise on the horizon with the sun, watched the strings of cattle soberly -threading their way to pasture, heard the doves cooing in the woods, -and the rippling of the river through the water plants, he said to -himself, “Here at least is rest and peace.” Casting his eyes toward the -red-roofed houses, half concealed among bananas and cachar trees,--with -their exquisite purple flowers-- - -“I am not sure that these people have not six to four the best of -it,” he remarked aloud (no one but his dog received this startling -confidence), as he gazed enviously at a group of lean brown Brahmins -who were dipping piously in the Kanāt, and pouring water from their -brass lotahs; he thought of his own tailor’s and other bills, his -wife’s insane extravagance, her flirtations, his hard work, his years -of enforced exile. - -“Yes,” he continued, “_we_ know nothing about it. We wear ourselves -out running after phantoms. Here is contentment, assurance of future -happiness, and present peace.” - -But then, you see, he was a new man--a visionary--and was totally -ignorant of the internal condition of this picturesque and primitive -hamlet. - -The same day, as in duty bound, the two zemindars, each mounted on a -pony, and followed by a crowd of retainers, waited upon the collector -sahib, apparently on the most amicable terms. Just once a year they -were compelled to masquerade as friends, though when they had the -collector’s ear in private audience, their mutual complaints were both -numerous and bitter. They bore, as offerings, fruit and wreaths of -evil-smelling marigolds (that noxious flower so amazingly dear to the -native of India); also Golab Rai Sing carried with him one thing which -his rival lacked, and that was his son and only child, Soonder--_i.e._ -“the beautiful”--a lively boy of five years, who was gaily attired -in a rose-coloured satin coat, and wore a purple velvet cap and gold -bangles. He was a sharp and unquestionably spoiled urchin. He sat with -his father and friends, or with his mother and her associates, and -listening open-eared, like the proverbial little pitcher, heard many -things that were not good for his morals--heard perpetual ridicule and -abuse of the enemy of his house; therefore, when he encountered Durga -Pershad in fields or byways, he made hideous grimaces at him, squinted -significantly, and called him “dog,” “pig,” “robber”--behaviour that -naturally endeared him to Pershad, who yearned with irrepressible -craving to find him alone! Subsequently the heir of Golab Rai Sing -would return to his fond parents, boast of his performance, and receive -as reward and encouragement lumps of sticky cocoanut and deliciously -long, wormy native sweets. - -On the supreme occasion of the yearly reception, the child Soonder was -as prettily behaved and hypocritical as his elders. The collector’s -lady noticed him--and that publicly. She knew better than to say he -was a handsome boy (for, if she had no fear of the evil eye, it was -otherwise with her audience), but she gave him a picture paper, and -a battledore and shuttlecock, and his father swelled, beamed, and -literally shone with pride--for was not the presentation made in the -face of childless Durga Pershad, and all the elders of the people? -And greater glory was yet in store for this fortunate zemindar. The -collector, having looked over various papers, and heard witnesses (many -false), actually deigned to visit the well in person, and concluded -what he considered a shamefully procrastinated case, and finally made -over the Kooah well, and all its rights, to Golab Rai Sing and his -heirs for ever! - -That night Golab made a great feast to all his followers, and bitter -were the thoughts of his defeated rival, as he lay sleepless on his -string charpoy, listening to the devilish exultation implied by the -ceaseless tom-toms. - -As days went on, his thoughts became still more poignant; it seemed -to him that his friends were showing defection. Golab Rai had fine -crops, on which there was no lien; he had a son to light the torch of -his funeral pyre; he had the well. Of a truth, he had _too_ much! And -he, Pershad, had been flung in the dust, like a broken gurrah. Thus he -reflected as he sat brooding on the river-bank at sundown. The cattle -were strolling home through the marshes, the cranes were wheeling -overhead, close by a fierce, lean, black pariah gnawed some mysterious -and ghastly meal among the rushes, and on a sandbank lay three huge -alligators--motionless as logs of wood--crafty as foxes, voracious as -South Sea sharks. Durga Pershad glanced indifferently at the cattle, -at the cranes, but as his eyes fell on the alligators they kindled, -they blazed with a truly sinister flash--the alligators had offered him -an idea! - - * * * * * - -It was the feast of lights or lanterns, the festival of Lucksmi, wife -of Vishnu, and the goddess of festival. She, however, brought naught -but sore misfortune to the house of Golab Rai, for since sundown the -child was missing--was gone, without leaving a trace. Amongst the busy -excitement of preparing the illuminations and decorations, he had -vanished. His mother supposed he was with his father, and his father -believed him to be with his mother. Every house, byre, and nook--yea, -even the well, was searched in vain. Durga Pershad was humbly appealed -to, as he sat on his chabootra stolidly smoking his huka. - -“Why question me?” he replied. “How should I know aught of the brat? -What child’s talk is this?” - -A whole day--twenty-four long hours--elapsed, and suspicion pointed a -steady finger at Durga Pershad. Of late it was noticed that he and the -child had been friends--that he had given Soonder sweets--yea, and a -toy. One man averred that he saw a pair resembling them going towards -the river about sundown. The child was jumping for joy, and had a green -air-balloon in his hand. - -This, Durga Pershad swore, was a black lie; he had never left the -village; his kinsman could speak. - -“For how much?” scoffed the other side. “What fool will credit a man’s -relations?” - -Four days passed, and Golab Rai had aged by twenty years. His round, -fat face was drawn and shrivelled; he was bent like an aged man, and -tottered as he walked. - -As for his wife, she had almost lost her senses, though both she and -her husband clung wildly to hope, and he had lavished money unsparingly -in rewards and horse-flesh. As a last resource, the miserable mother -of Soonder came and cast her dishevelled person at the feet of Durga -Pershad--Durga Pershad, whom all her life she had mocked, reviled, and -figuratively spat upon. - -“Take all I possess!” she cried--“my jewels, my eyes, my very life; but -tell me what thou hast done with him? Doth he yet live? My life, all -thou wilt, for his!” - -As she spoke, a little cap was brought--a velvet cap, soaking with -water. It had been found by a fisherman three miles down the river. - -This was sufficient answer to the question, “Doth he yet live?” The -child was no more, his cap bore witness; and Gindia, his mother, -swooned as one that was dead. - -Yes, Soonder had been thrown to the alligators, without doubt; cast -into their jaws, like a kid or a dog. In their mind’s eye, the -villagers beheld the hideous scene, they heard the shriek, saw the -splash, and the ensuing scuffle. What death should Durga Pershad die? - -The whole place was in an uproar; excitement was at fever heat. The -police were sent for to Hassanpore, the nearest large station, and the -suspected zemindar was marched away, and lodged in the Jail Khana; even -his own people were dumb. - -Durga Pershad stoutly avowed his innocence by every oath under a -Hindoo heaven. He engaged, at enormous expense, an English pleader -from Lucknow. He paid much money elsewhere. There was no case. If one -man swore he met him with the child at sundown on the feast of lights, -there were five unshaken witnesses who had seen him at the same hour in -the village. - -Therefore Durga Pershad was acquitted; and, moreover, in the words of -the Sudder judge, “without a stain on his character!” - -Nevertheless, matters were not made equally agreeable for him at -home. His own partisans--save his tenants--held aloof with expressive -significance, and those who were wont to assemble on his chabootra of -an evening to smoke, argue, and bukh, were reduced by more than half. - -But he held his head as high as ever, whilst that of his enemy lay low, -even to the dust. Of what avail now to Golab Rai were his crops, his -rents, his great jars of “ghoor” (coarse sugar), even his well, when he -had no longer a child--a son and heir? - -The immediate effects of the tragedy gradually faded away; it had -ceased to be the sole daily topic, and it was again winter-time. One -chill, starlight evening, as Durga Pershad was riding home alone among -the cane-fields, he was suddenly set upon by a number of men, who had -lain in ambush in the crops. A cloth was thrown over his head, he -was dragged off his pony, and hustled into a doolie, which set off -immediately, and at great speed. There were many riding and running -beside it--the terrified prisoner heard the sound of steps and hoofs -and muttered voices. It seemed to him that he travelled for days; but, -in truth, he had only journeyed twenty hours, when he was suddenly -set down, the sliding door was pushed back, and he was hauled forth. -He found himself standing in a temple (an unknown temple), and by the -light of blazing torches he recognized at least one hundred familiar -faces, including those of Golab Rai and the priest of the village of -Haru. He was so cramped and dazed that at first he could only stagger -and blink; but as his hands were untied, he found his voice. - -“What foul deed is this?” he demanded hoarsely. “Where am I?” - -“Thou art within the most holy temple of Gola-Gokeranath,” answered -the priest, impressively. “We have appealed to man for justice--and in -vain. Therefore, we now approach the gods! Is it not so, my brothers?” - -The reply was a prolonged murmur of hoarse assent from the quiet, -fierce-eyed crowd. - -“Behold the image of Mahadeo, the destroyer!” continued the priest, -pointing to a conical stone in the middle of the temple, on which -the holy Ganges water dripped without ceasing. “Here is the mark of -Hanuman’s thumb, where he rested on his way to Ceylon to war against -the great giant Ravan.” - -A venerable Mahant, or high-priest of the Gosains, now advanced, and -said, in a voice tremulous with age-- - -“Lay thy hand upon this spot, O Durga Pershad, and swear as I shall -speak.” - -Durga Pershad held back instinctively, but the pressure of fifty arms -constrained him, and he yielded. - -“If I have had part or lot in the death of Soonder, the son of Golab -Rai Sing----” - -There was an expressive pause for a full moment, and no sound was -audible save the slow, monotonous dripping of the sacred stream. - -Durga Pershad shuddered, but repeated the sentence somewhat unsteadily. - -“--I call upon Mahadeo, the most holy, the destroyer, to smite me with -the black leprosy in the sight of all men, and that within three -moons. May I die in torture, and by piecemeal. May I be abhorrent -alike to men and gods, and after death, may I hang by my feet for one -thousand years above a fire of chaff.” - -Durga Pershad echoed this hideous sentence with recovered composure. -Truly, it was a vast relief to find that his end was not yet--his life -in no present danger. - -Here was a weird and ghostly scene! The dark, damp temple, at dead of -night, the crowd of stern, accusing countenances, lit up by flashes -of torchlight, the austere high-priest in his robe of office, and -the haggard culprit, the central figure, glaring defiance, with his -uplifted hand upon the cold wet stone! There seemed to the wretched -accused some accursed power in this holy image; the stone clung -tenaciously to his trembling flesh, and he was sensible of an awful, -death-like chill that penetrated to the very marrow of his bones. - - * * * * * - -In a few minutes the lights were extinguished, the wolfish-faced crowd -had melted away, and Durga Pershad found himself alone. He stumbled -out of the shrine, and by the cold, keen starlight descried the edge -of a large tank, which was surrounded by temples. He had never visited -the place of his own free will, but he recognized it from description -as undoubtedly the most holy Gola, where two hundred thousand pilgrims -flocked to worship once a year. - -At daybreak he made his way to the bazaar, and there sold a silver -chain,--for he had no money. It might be imagination, but he believed -that people looked upon him with suspicious eyes. Three days later, he -was at home once more. He told no one that he had been kidnapped--no, -not even his mother or his wife. - -By the end of a month, Durga Pershad had become an altered man. He -looked wofully lean and haggard, he scarcely ate, slept, or smoked, and -appeared dreadfully depressed. He now cared nought for taxes, rents, -or crops, and complained of a strange numbness in his limbs. Much to -the surprise of his household, he undertook a pilgrimage to Hurdwar, -the source of the Ganges (some one had suggested most holy Gola--some -one ignorant of Durga’s enforced expedition). He had barely returned -from Hurdwar when, as if possessed by a fever of piety, he set forth -for Badrinath, in the Himalayas. After that long and arduous journey, -he passed rapidly down to Benares. From thence, concluding an absence -of four months, he returned finally to Haru, and shut himself up within -his own courtyard and in his own house, refusing to see even his -nearest of kin. And now it began to be whispered about from ear to ear -that Durga Pershad, the son of Govindoo Pershad, was smitten with the -kôrh--or black leprosy. - -Yes, the grasp of that terrible disease was upon him. His features -altered, thickened, and took the fatal and unmistakable leonine look. -In a surprisingly short time he had lost the fingers of both hands. -To show himself abroad would simply be to proclaim his guilt, and the -judgment of Mahadeo--whose wrath he had invoked. For weeks and weeks he -successfully evaded his enemies, fortified within his own house, and -protected by his wife and mother, whose shrill tongues garrisoned it -effectually. - -When it became known that the hours of Durga Pershad were numbered, -a body of the elders, led by the village priest, came and sternly -demanded an entrance. They would take _no_ denial. After frantic -clamour and frenzied resistance, they gained admittance--admittance to -the very presence of the leper, who lay in a darkened room, huddled up -on a string bed. - -“Behold,” cried the priest in a sonorous voice, “the finger of Mahadeo, -and the punishment of the slayer of a child! Speak, ere your tongue rot -away, and declare unto us what befell the boy at thy hands, O Durga -Pershad, leper!” - -“Begone!” screamed his wife. “Depart, devil, born with the evil eye, -come to mock at the afflicted of the gods!” - -“When he hath spoken, we will go our ways,” answered a solemn voice; -“but otherwise, we remain until the end.” - -Durga Pershad raised himself laboriously on his charpoy; his head was -muffled up in a brown blanket, he was nearly blind, and cried aloud, in -a shrill, piercing falsetto-- - -“Yea, here is the answer--the god’s answer”--and he thrust out a -leprous arm--“I did it.” - -“How? Hasten to speak, O vile one!” - -“I long desired his life,” he panted. “He came with me to the -river-bank of his own accord, for I had promised him a rare spectacle. -My heart was hot within me--yea, as a red-hot horse-shoe. Even as he -clamoured for my promise, I flung him to the alligators. It was over in -a minute--but--I hear his scream now!” - -Then Durga Pershad covered his face, and lo! as he turned to the wall, -he died. - - - - -TWO LITTLE TRAVELLERS. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Gram had fallen to nine seers for the rupee, which affected the -sahibs who kept horses and polo ponies; and rice was down to eight -measures--this affected the villagers and ryots. The rains due at -Christmas had failed. There was talk of a great scarcity and a sore -famine in the land, especially among the sleek, crafty bunnias, who -bought up every ounce of grain in the district when it was cheap, -and at the first whisper of failing crops--often a rumour started by -themselves--locked it up relentlessly, in hopes of starvation prices, -refusing to sell save at exorbitant rates. - -What is a road coolie to do under these conditions?--a man whose daily -wage never exceeds one anna and a half, no matter how markets may -fluctuate. Three rupees’ worth of grain will keep him alive for twenty -days; but how is he to exist for the remainder of the month? How is he -to feed his children, to pay his tiny rental, and the village tax? - -This was a problem that Chūnnee pondered over, as he sat on a heap of -stones at the side of the road, with his empty basket at his feet, -and a look of despair upon his handsome, and usually good-humoured, -countenance. - -Alas! Chūnnee had been born under an evil star. Scorpio was his -constellation, and all the luck had ebbed from him, as surely as it had -flowed towards his half-brother Zālim Sing. - -Now, Zālim Sing was prosperous and well-to-do, the proprietor of a good -mud house, a patch of castor oil, and two biggahs of land, planted -in rape and linseed; he also owned a huge milch buffalo, a pair of -plough bullocks, and the only ekka within three koss. Yes, an ekka that -came to him with his wife, all lavishly decorated with brass knobs and -ornamental work, an ekka that had yellow curtains, and was drawn by -a bay tat (a bazaar pony), with six rows of blue beads round her ewe -neck. Zālim Sing was prouder of his turn-out than any parvenu’s wife -with her first equipage; and perhaps it was on the strength of this, -more than his store of linseed and his plot of land, that the village -elders hearkened to him with respect. He was a lean, shrewd-looking -man, with a cast in his eye and a halt in his gait. Nevertheless, he -had prospered, and the world had gone well with him, whereas it had -gone ill with his half-brother. - -But Chūnnee was not wise in his generation; he had bartered away his -share of the ancestral home for two cows, a grindstone, and some brass -cooking-pots. The cows had died the rains before last, the cooking-pots -were pawned to the local soucar; his crop of one mango tree had -failed, he had no capital except his sturdy frame, two horny hands, and -his coolie basket. - -In his hovel there were his children--Girunda, a boy aged ten, and -Gyannia, a girl of four. There was also a mat, an old charpoy, a -reaping-hook, a couple of earthen pots, and a white cat. This was all -that Chūnnee possessed in the wide world. It might have sufficed, had -he had wisdom like his brother; but, alas! he had no brains. There he -sat, on the kunker heap, that glaring February afternoon. The land was -still covered with cane crops; the barley was green, and in the ear; -dry leaves were whirling along the road; the banka tree was dropping -red flowers from its grey, leafless branches; the mango tree was in -blossom. Yes, the hot weather, the time of parching and scarcity, would -be on them soon. Suddenly he heard a rattling, and felt a cloud of -warm yellow dust. It was his brother’s ekka. Zālim Sing and a friend -tore past at a gallop, and scarcely noticed the coolie on the side of -the road, beyond a hoarse laugh of derision. Why had fortune been kind -to one brother and cruel to another? Why had his cows died?--his wife -been bitten by a “karite” as she cut vetches, and expired at sundown in -agonies? Ah, Junia was a loss--nigh as great as the cows. She cooked, -and minded the children; she earned one anna a day for reaping; she was -fortunate to die young; she had never lived to know hunger. Why had -some people stores and treasures, to whom they were of no use, whilst -others lacked a morsel to keep them from perishing? - -Chūnnee sat for half an hour with his arms loosely folded on his -breast, and pondered this question in his heart. Presently he arose, -and picked up his basket, and took the path towards his village, where -its brown mud walls and straw roofs stood out in strong relief against -a noble tope of mango trees; but these mangoes were the property of the -sirkar (government). Many an envious eye had been cast on them and -their fine yearly harvests. Despite bazaar rumours about scarcity, it -was surely what is called a bunnia’s famine; for this hungry, handsome -Rajpoot, with the form and sinews of some Greek god, made his way -homewards between marvellous crops at either side of the well-beaten -path. The self-same rich land was yielding gram, rape, linseed; whilst -barley towered high above all. Where else will the earth yield four -harvests with little manure or care? But not an inch of this fertile -soil called Chūnnee master! And what to him was all this fertility? -As he strode along, a fierce temptation kept pace with his steps, and -whispered eagerly in his ear-- - -“There is old Turroo, thy great-uncle; he is nigh ninety years of age, -and rich; his head was grey in the mutiny year. True, he favours Zālim -Sing. They say he hath even advanced him money for seeds, because he -is prosperous; and he will not look at thee, because thou art poor, -much less suffer thee to cross his threshold. They declare he hath -a treasure buried--some that he came upon in the mutiny year. What -avails it to him? He hath his huka and his opium, his warm bedding, and -brass cooking-pots. He only enjoys money when he looks at it--and thy -children are starving. They say that thousands of rupees are hidden -under his floor, and one hundred rupees would make thee a rich man. -Thou mightest till that plot of ground near the big baal tree, and buy -two plough bullocks for twenty-five rupees. Krisna would then lend -thee his plough. Set grain--not linseed, having no mill--grain at even -twelve seers next year, and thou wilt be a wealthy man; yea, and better -than Zālim Sing, who will no longer scoff at thee or cover thee with -dust. Thou wilt have no need to go out as coolie. Thou wilt have plenty -of flour, and dál, and fresh tobacco in thy huka. It is easy--as easy -as breathing. But to rob--to rob an old man?” inquired conscience. -“True; but thine own kinsman, who cannot carry his money to the -burning ghâut, it ought to be thine some day. Thou art his heir, though -he hates thee--men often hate their next-of-kin. His hoarding--it is of -no use to him--it will save thee and thine from death.” - -“But how--how can I take it?” inquired Chūnnee of the tempter. - -“Behold, the nights are dark, the moon doth not rise till morn; thou -hast thy krooplie still; dig through the mud wall. They say the box is -buried near the hearth; open it, and carry away what thou wilt in thy -cloth. The old man sleeps as though a corpse--he drinks opium. He has -no one in the house, no dog. It is so easy; truly, it is a marvel he -hath not been robbed before! Take it; be bold. Truly, it is half thine. -Thou canst keep a pony, too, and buy silver bangles for Gyannia.” - -“But how can I account for this sudden wealth? All the world knows that -I am but a beggar.” - -“Carry it forth and hide it, bury it in a hole far away; for doubtless -there will be a great search. Some weeks later, take a few rupees, and -go by rail to Lucknow; and come back, and say thy wife’s grandmother -hath died, and left thee one hundred rupees. The gold and jewels thou -wilt take in a roll of bedding to Lucknow, and sell. It will all be -easy; have no fear.” - -As these ideas were working in his brain, and he was the sport of two -conflicting feelings, Chūnnee was rapidly approaching his little hovel, -which lay on the outskirts of the village of Paroor. It was a small -hamlet of mud houses, huddled together most irregularly. There was no -main street, nor even an attempt at one; no chief entrance--merely half -a dozen footpaths running into the village from various directions. -There would be a high mud wall and doorway leading into an enclosure, -containing twenty small huts, and as many families, all connected; -here were also ponies, calves, fowl, the property of the clan, and -perchance a bullock-cart or a sugar-press. These enclosures were set -down indiscriminately, and joined together; the only village street, an -irregular path, that threaded its way between them. There were “sets” -even here, as in higher circles; inmates of one mud courtyard, who -owned a sugar-press, looked down on the inmates of those who had none. - -Most people looked down on Chūnnee, the coolie--even the women, -although he was a handsome, well-made fellow. What are looks, when a -man has not a pice, and owns nought save two crying children? Chūnnee -made his way past a crowd collected round a khooloo, or sugar-mill--a -rude, wooden affair, turned by two bullocks, fed with bits of raw cane, -which it squeezes into a receptacle in the ground, and subsequently -empties into another vat indoors, where the sugar is boiled, and -finally poured off into huge jars (similar to those which contained the -forty thieves), and sent to middlemen, who thereby reap much profit. -Paroor was in the midst of a sugar country, and boasted half a dozen -of these rude sugar-mills. - -Chūnnee passed through the scattered strips of cane, basket in -hand--there were no greetings for him--and, turning a corner, dived -between two mud walls into a small hut that stood by itself. A slim, -nearly naked lad ran out to meet him, with a look of expectation on his -intelligent face, but, alas! his father was empty-handed. On the mat -lay a little girl with curly hair and a fair but puny face. She was -fast asleep, holding in her arms a miserably thin bazaar kitten--or it -might be a full-grown cat stunted in size. - -“She was hungry; I fetched her some banka fruit from cows--now she is -asleep,” explained the boy. “There is a little barley--the last--I made -it,” and he pointed to a cake, a very small one, baking on some embers. - -“Father, what shall we do to-morrow?” he asked, as his father devoured -the only food he had seen that day. - -“There is still the reaping-hook.” - -“Gunesh offers two annas for it.” - -“And it cost a rupee and a half.” - -“I went to-day to old Turroo, to ask him for a few cowries, or a bit -of a chupatti for Gyannia--she was crying with hunger, and calling for -food.” - -“And what did he give thee?” - -“He smote me a blow on the back with his staff”--pointing to a weal on -his shoulder. “He said I was a devil’s spawn, good for nothing; like -thee--a beggar.” - -“I would not be as I am, but I have never had a chance--never one -chance.” And, ravenous as he was, Chūnnee the famished yielded half his -cake in answer to his son’s wistful and expectant eyes. - -When darkness had fallen on the village, the inhabitants went to bed -like the birds--it saved oil--though there were a few budmashes who sat -up all night and gambled; each visiting the other’s house in turn, and -providing light and drink. Yes, drink--drink, from the fatal mowra -tree. The fever of gambling seemed to be all over the land. Some -gambled away their money, clothes, tools, cattle, but this gang kept -their proceedings secret--yea, even from their nearest neighbours. -Chūnnee had never gambled. - -As, by degrees, the children were called in, and the houses shut, the -village grew dark and quiet. About twelve o’clock, Chūnnee rose, and -felt for his krooplie (a mattock with a short handle); then he opened -the door and looked forth; there was not a sound to be heard, save the -breathing of the children and the distant howling of a pack of jackals. -There were the clear cold stars in the sky, showing above the opposite -wall. Should he do it? Oh, if Heaven would but send him a sign! It -seemed to him that his devout wish was instantly fulfilled, for at that -moment Gyannia turned in her sleep, moaning her frequent and pitiful -cry when awake, “I am hungry.” - - -CHAPTER II. - -Chūnnee had now received his answer; he stole forth, and crept like a -shadow from wall to wall, down a series of narrow paths, till he came -to a house standing alone in an open space--a notable abode, for a tree -grew through the roof. There was no gate to the outer yard, no dog. The -door was closed--needless to try it; he must work his way through the -mud wall at the back, and crawl in. The baking of many seasons’ suns -had effectually hardened this impediment, and he strove for an hour, -listening for sounds with intense trepidation, whilst the sweat poured -down his face. At last he had scraped a sufficiently large aperture--he -was slender to leanness. He crept through, but his usual bad luck -pursued him; his head came violently against a brass chattie that fell -with a clang enough to waken the dead. It effectually aroused the old -man, who awoke and struck a match, and showed Chūnnee that he had come -too late! - -The light displayed a deep hole in the floor, an empty hole. The door -was ajar; the treasure was already stolen; and Chūnnee stood there, -krooplie in hand, with the cavity in the wall to speak for him--the -convicted thief! - -Old Turroo’s piercing shrieks of “murder” and “dacoity” assembled -a dozen people in less than three minutes. Yea, truly, he had -been robbed! A box lay outside empty, and Chūnnee the coolie, the -ne’er-do-well, had come to this! - -He was caught like a rat in a trap! There was the opening in the -wall, the muddy krooplie in his grasp; he stood plainly convicted. -The criminal hung his head--of what avail to speak, and aver his -innocence?--he was not innocent! Others had got the booty, he would -suffer for them. As he had been toiling and labouring they had been -within, and had carried off what he too had come to seek. - -Perhaps he was served rightly; but he never got a chance--no, not even -to rob. - -Meanwhile old Turroo literally rent his clothes, and tore his scanty -white beard, and howled, cursed, and gesticulated like a madman. Zālim -Sing stood foremost amongst sympathizers (for the venerable relative -still possessed a house, cattle, and lands), and said “that truly it -did not surprise him to find that the thief was his blood-brother.” - -Nevertheless, it did astonish most of the assembly, for Chūnnee, if -miserably poor, had ever been known to be scrupulously honest. They -were amazed, moreover, that he should _begin_ on such a large scale! -Chūnnee offered no resistance; he was led away, and shut up in a -cowhouse, whilst Zālim Sing’s brother-in-law, full of zeal, ran all the -way to Bugwa to fetch the police. - -The police arrived at daybreak--two men and an inspector, in their -blue tunics and red turbans--all looking excessively wise; but their -searching and cross-examining, discovered nothing beyond the empty box. -How had Chūnnee spirited away the treasures? Who was his accomplice? - -“Let him be beaten till he speaks,” implored the venerable creature -who had been ravished of his treasure. “Let the soles of his feet be -roasted until he opens his mouth. Where hath he hidden them?”--and he -shouted to the whole assembled village--“the two bags of rupees, the -golden bangles, the anklets, the strings of pearls--forty pair without -blemish? If he will only give me the pearls!”--and the old man lifted -up his voice and wept. - -A dirty, half-naked old man, how strange it seemed, to behold him -weeping for his pearls! Now, had it been a young and lovely woman, the -grief would have seemed natural. And who would have believed that old -Turroo had such treasures? Ay, he was a sly fox. - -“Give me my pearls, yea, and my gold mohurs. Thou mayst keep the rest, -and go free,” he declared magnanimously. - -But Chūnnee could not give what he had not got, and therefore held his -peace. His children screamed when they saw their father’s arms pinioned -with ropes, the iron things on his hands, and heard he was going away -to the Jail Khana--screamed from fear and hunger. - -Meanwhile old Turroo howled and raved like one possessed, and, pointing -to his grand-nephew, besought the police to put him to torture by fire, -then and there. In former days strange things were done under the -mantle of the law; but in these enlightened times no policeman dare -venture, even for a large bribe, to practise the question by torture. - -So Chūnnee was led away captive, followed as far as the high-road by -fully half the village; and for more than a mile along that dusty -track, two little weeping creatures pattered behind him. At length the -girl could go no further, and fell exhausted. Her father halted between -his guard, and said-- - -“Girunda, take care of thy sister. Go to thy uncle; he will feed thee -till I come back. Go now, ere nightfall.” - -And if he doth not receive them, what is to become of them? was a -thought that harassed him all the weary march. At a turn of the road he -turned and looked back, and saw the two small forlorn figures standing -in the straight, white highway, watching him to the last. - -Chūnnee was brought up before the magistrate that day. He had been -taken red-handed, and had not denied his guilt. He was silent with -respect to the treasure. It had been a most daring dacoity, but, as -it was his first offence, he would be only sentenced to two years’ -imprisonment in Shahjhanpur jail. - -“And his two children?” he ventured to ask. “Who would care for them? -How were they to live?” (There are no poor-houses in India.) - -“Oh, the neighbours, or your relations,” said the Sudder judge, knowing -how immensely generous, good, and charitable the very poorest are to -one another. “You have a brother, of course--he will take them.” - -Chūnnee was by no means so sanguine on this point. - -He was sent on foot to jail--a distance of sixty miles--and there put -in leg-irons, and a convict sacking-coat, with a square cap to cover -his shaven head. He was set to work to pick oakum. He worked steadily, -though with a face and air of dogged despair. But what was the good -of giving trouble? What was the good of anything? The jail fare was -not jail fare to him--it was better than he had at home; and now that -he had sufficient to eat, he grew strong. But how were his children -faring? Were they starving? Other convicts--robbers, gamblers, -dacoits--thought Chūnnee proud and sullen, he was so silent; or surely -he was in for some great crime? - -Luckily for him, the jail daroga liked him, and promoted him to -basket-making, and thence to the vegetable garden. His percentage on -his earnings he did not take out in money, or even in the Sunday smoke. -No; all went to the remission of his sentence. Truly, life was not so -bad, save for the hangings--every convict was forced to attend--and -these executions were not infrequent, for Shahjhanpur was in the centre -of a district notorious for murders. It was a veritable case of “Satan -finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.” - -When all the grain of this most fertile tract is harvested, and the -sugar-cane brakes have been cut and carried away on bullock-carts, when -the linseed is pressed, and the sugar sold, and the wheat threshed and -ground, it is the hot weather; no sowing or ploughing can be done. -People must wait for the first burst of the rains, to soften the -stone-like ground. And, oh, how sweet to the nostrils is the smell of -earth after the first wild downpour! - -Meanwhile, they have money in their hands--the fruit of their labour. -They have long, hot, idle days, and no occupation, so they rake up old -land-feuds, old blood-feuds, old jealousies, and the result is but too -frequently a man’s body found in a nullah, killed by a sickle or a -lathi (heavy stick), or a woman’s corpse drawn out of some abandoned -well. - -The jail gardens supplied all the vegetables to the station, and -the mem sahibs, when the vegetable “doli” came late, knew well the -reason--there had been a hanging. - -Chūnnee attended the first execution with apparently more trepidation -than the criminal himself, who walked to his fate with a jaunty air, -and on being asked if he had arranged all his affairs said-- - -“By your favour, yea;” and then, on second thoughts, added, with -amazing vivacity, “There is one small brass lotah which I forgot. I -desire that it be given to my sister-in-law.” And so, singing a song to -Nirvana, he ascended the gallows and calmly met his fate. - -Another young man’s demeanour was outrivalled by that of his own father -and the kinsfolk who had come to take leave of him. - -The execution was at half-past six, and the official in charge--a -tender-hearted gentleman--stood waiting till the farewells were over, -watch in hand. Time was up, but he would give this vigorous young -Brahmin yet a few more minutes of life. He was engaged in eager -conversation with his relatives, and it was commonly reported and -suspected that he had actually confessed to the crime, and sacrificed -himself in order to save a near kinsman. The official glanced at his -watch once more, and was astounded to catch the eye of the culprit’s -father, and hear him say, in a most matter-of-fact tone-- - -“Yea, truly, my son, time is up. Thou hadst better go at once, for, -remember, we have fifteen koss to carry thee to the Ganges to burn--and -we shall not get home till dark, and the moon is old!” - -The son, without a word, salaamed to this more than Roman parent, and -then turned to meet his fate without an instant’s hesitation. Chūnnee -had beheld many heroes of this type, but he had also seen others who -had not had it in them to encounter death with similar fortitude. He -had noted the wandering, terrified eye, the ashen lips drawn back from -the chattering teeth, the twitching knee-caps, as the man was led -forth to die like a dog; he had seen it, and the sight had made his -heart melt like wax within him, and his limbs shake as if he had been -stricken with palsy. It was his one horror, to be warned to attend an -execution. - -And then there was the ever-haunting fear about his two desolate, -helpless children--were they well or ill, alive or dead? He was -seventy-six miles from his own pergunnah--no one ever visited him with -tidings from home, no one came to see him, and brought him bazaar -news, and sweets, a tin pot to drink from, or even a bit of a wheaten -chupatti. No, he had no friends, either within the jail, or beyond its -walls. - - -CHAPTER III. - -Meanwhile the desolate little couple had toiled painfully back to -Paroor, and halted outside their uncle’s enclosure. They dared not -venture in, and they crouched timidly without the battered wooden -doorway, whilst Zālim Sing laid down the law, expounded his own -virtues, and denounced Chūnnee to more than half the village. He -had always been secretly jealous of his good-looking brother, who, -moreover, was the father of a son, whilst his wife had borne him, -instead of the much-desired heir, no fewer than seven daughters, of -whom four survived; and Zālim’s enemies said among themselves that -his sins must be many, or he would never have been punished with -seven girls! He talked freely, knowing there was no one to defend the -absent, and the starving pair heard that their father was a liar, -a dacoit, a budmash, a thief, and the most ungrateful kinsman to a -noble-hearted brother that ever drew the breath of life--one cannot -talk for ever; and as the listeners gradually dropped off, notice -was naturally attracted by the two wretched little beggars in the -lane--what was to become of them?--their home was empty, save for a -reaping-hook, a charpoy, and a cat. - -Zālim Sing pulled his beard, and scowled; his crooked eye rolled -fiercely, till a woman in the crowd exclaimed in a loud clear voice-- - -“Since thou sayest thou art a benevolent man, and the most generous of -kinsmen, why dost thou stare at the starving ones, instead of taking -them in?” - -Their dusty feet and hunger-stricken faces touched the crowd--as easily -swayed as the branch of a tree to this side and that, by whatever wind -may blow. - -There was a hoarse murmur, which the crafty Zālim quickly interpreted; -now was the time to pose as a noble benefactor--or never; and he drew -the two children over the threshold of the door, and shut himself in -with his detested encumbrances. - -He gave them some coarse food and water, and showed them a sort of shed -where they might sleep. “But thou mayst not enter my house,” he said, -“or play with my children; thy father is a wicked man, therefore ye are -pariahs, but I and my children are good.” - -The next day he went to his brother’s abode and sold the old charpoy, -reaping-hook, and house for the sum of seven rupees; but he could -neither sell nor kill the cat--she sat serenely aloft in a neem tree, -far out of his reach. Presently she discovered her old owners, or they -discovered her; they hid her secretly in their miserable shelter, and -begged a little milk in the village. Alas! she was their only friend. -Their cousins--four sallow, ugly children, two of whom had inherited -their parent’s violent squint, and all of whom were laden with anklets -and bangles, and a vast sense of their own importance--condescended -to come and patronize the two wicked beggars who lived in the old -goat-shed in a corner of the enclosure. They experienced an intense -and novel delight in patronizing, teasing, pinching, and threatening -these little pariahs, who were better fun, and afforded more scope -for amusement, than any of their usual games, and their sense of -their own superiority swelled to enormous proportions. They visited -the unfortunates at all hours; but the cat knew their voices, and -hid hastily among the thatch. Bazaar cats are wonderfully active and -cunning, they are also marvellous thieves, and the cat throve. - -Presently Zālim Sing’s wife discovered that Girunda was old enough to -be of use. She set him to do the work of two servants, or one pony. He -had to draw water and carry it home from the well, to grind corn, to -cut fodder, whilst his little sister cried herself to sleep alone, -for she dared not leave the cat, lest her ever-prying cousins should -discover it and throw it down the well. Certainly its appearance was -against it; it was lean and long and dirty-white, with a thin rat tail; -and a sharp-pointed face--a pure village type--hungry, and careless of -its appearance, a merciless mouser, but a faithful adherent. - -Poor Girunda now toiled early and late, he received nought but blows, -abuse, and the coarsest fare. Much of his utility was unknown to his -uncle--who was frequently from home--but who scowled every time that -his glance fell upon him. - -Affairs were not going quite as smoothly as hitherto with Zālim -Sing. The prices had risen in everything, save in his own particular -commodity, linseed. There was the prospect of an unusually hot, scarce -season, and his pony was sick. He vented all his ill humour on the two -oppressed children “within his gates”--a most excellent, comprehensive, -and Eastern expression--meaning within the mud or stone enclosure, -where the master is supreme, where he can shut out all the world save -his household, his oxen, and servants--shut it out by merely closing -to the street an iron-knobbed wooden door. Within Zālim’s gates his -nephew became a slave; he was made to tend the furnace in the wall, at -the other side of which boiled an enormous receptacle of linseed oil. -This duty was murderous in the glaring, breathless month of April; -it was worse than a fireman’s work in June in the Red Sea--and the -fireman is relieved at his post; no one ever relieved Girunda--the name -signified “thick bread;” but of any bread his share was small--and then -he fell sick. For two days he lay in his shed, burning with fever, his -uncle beat him repeatedly with a thick stick for his laziness--beat -him savagely too--but the boy made no moan, only his little sister -screamed, and the screams attracted the neighbours. - -“He is a lazy, idle, good-for-nothing pig!” explained the uncle to -an eager inquirer; “he will not work aught save his teeth. And she is -half-witted.” - -“True,” said the listener; “and it is only a charitable man like -thyself, O Zālim Sing, who would keep the beggar’s brats, and with a -dearth in the land, too; and wheat rising every week.” - -Then she went back to her spinning of coarse country cloth; Girunda lay -and buried his head in his hands, and Gyannia sobbed in a corner; but -his tormentor went into the house, to confer with his wife. - -“If the boy would not work, neither should he eat. Was _he_ himself to -mind the furnace?” he demanded angrily. - -“The boy is sickening,” said the woman. “I have seen it coming--it is -something bad--maybe the cholera, maybe the smallpox. It is surely some -heavy sickness.” - -“And he may die?” - -“Yea, having given it to us and ours. What shall we do?” - -“Behold, to-night, when the village is quiet, I will take the two of -them, and set them on the high-road. Thou canst bake some chupattis, -and I will give them four annas, and tell them to begone, to return -here no more, for if they do, of a surety I will kill them.” - -“They will believe thee!” said his wife with a laugh. - -“Yea. Why should they not beg, as others do? And soon the boy can work, -and earn an anna a day.” - -“Yea, he will soon be able to work,” agreed this treacherous woman. - -The children were surprised to be left in peace till sunset, and then -to receive some fried beans and a chupatti--most sumptuous fare for -them! But when it was dark, save for a dying moon, Zālim Sing entered -their hut, staff in hand, and awoke them roughly. - -“Arise quickly, and come with me; thou shalt no more remain under my -roof. I have fed thee for three moons, now thou mayst go forth and -feed thyselves. I will set thee on the road, and give thee food for -two days and a little money; get thee to some town, and appeal to the -charitable. Return here, and I will slay thee.” - -The children rose trembling; they had not much delay in dressing, -but Gyannia smuggled the cat under her bit of blue cloth (once her -mother’s), and without one word the wretched pair meekly followed their -uncle across the enclosure, past the oil-press, the sleeping bullocks, -out of the postern, and through the silent village, then away to the -high-road. Their kinsman walked along behind them in the powdery-white -dust, stick in hand, for nearly two miles. It was nigh dawn; already -the yellow light glimmered in the east; he must return; so he halted -abruptly, and gave the boy some chupattis rolled in plantain leaves, -and a four-anna piece (five-pence), and then said, “There lieth thy -road out into the world; get thee gone, and never let me behold thy -face again,” and turning, he walked rapidly homewards. - -The soft tap of his stick gradually died away, and then the children -were quite alone. They sat down, and began to whisper. It was not a -dream; their uncle had come to them in the middle of the night, and -brought them along the high-road in the dark, and given them food, and -told them to begone, and never let him see them again. - -After their first feeling of astonishment had abated, they devoured -a chupatti, sharing it with the cat; and then, as the dawn of light -showed red along the horizon, they rose and went forward. - -“If they had to walk, best make the journey now,” thought the boy, who -was wonderfully sensible for his years. - -“Brother, whither are we going?” asked Gyannia presently. - -“We have no one to go to but father,” he replied. “We will go to -him--to the Jail Khana.” - -But he did not tell her, nor would she have understood, that the -jail in which their father lay imprisoned was seventy miles away. -Hand-in-hand the two outcasts went slowly along the shadeless white -roads; several villagers on the way to their work met them, and halted -and stared at the party--a ragged little boy and girl, with a bazaar -cat running after them. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -That day Girunda and Gyannia walked five miles, resting in a nullah, -under tufts of high grass, in the heat of the sun from nine till -six--during which time the fierce hot winds roared over the land, and -swept the roasted leaves up and down the roads, and shook the branches -of the cork trees. How hot it was--every living thing seemed to have -secured some shelter, save these forlorn children. The air was like -a blast from a furnace, the very stones were scorching to the touch, -and in the shallows, where a great river had rushed in the rains, -there were now but a few shrunken pools in a stony bed; in these pools -wallowed blue buffaloes (their hideous noses scarcely above water), -enjoying a sort of tepid relief. - -That night the travellers halted in a village; a gwali’s (cowherd’s) -wife was surprised to see an exhausted-looking boy carrying on his -back a little girl, the little girl in her turn carrying a cat. She -invited them in, and gave them milk, and asked from whence they came. - -“Paroor,” replied Girunda. - -“Paroor? Lo! it is six koss away. Do thy people know?” She eyed him -with suspicion. - -“Yea; our uncle hath turned us out to beg.” - -“And where art thou going?” - -“To Shahjhanpur, where our father dwells.” - -“Shahjhanpur!” with a scream; “why, it is nigh thirty koss, and thou -canst not walk there.” - -“There is no other means.” - -“Hast thou any money?” - -Girunda untied a rag, and proudly displayed his precious four-anna bit. -He had never possessed such a sum in his life. - -“It may maintain thee for two or three days,” said the woman dubiously. - -“What work is thy father doing in Shahjhanpur?” - -“Some one said he was making matting,” rejoined the boy, simply. “He is -in jail.” - -“In jail! Oh, ye fathers!” - -“Yea; he went three months ago.” - -“And what hath he done?--murder--robbery?” - -“He hath done naught. They just took him.” - -“But surely he must have robbed or plundered?” - -“Nay; he was always very poor. He had nothing to leave us but a sickle -and this cat; but old Turroo Sing had all his money stolen.” - -“I see. And now it is buried somewhere,” she added significantly. “How -long will thy father be in jail?” - -“Two years.” - -“A great time! Well, thou art weary, and must need rest. Lie here on -this mat, and to-morrow I will give thee food to take thee on for a -day or two--money I have none--and God will do the rest.” - -The next morning the children fared well. That good Samaritan, the -gwali’s wife, secured them seats in a passing bullock-hackery, and thus -they accomplished a considerable distance. - -The following day they met no friends, and the heat was frightful--the -air like a flame. Nevertheless, Girunda tottered doggedly forward, with -his sister on his back, for five miles, with long, long rests; and at -sunset they were nearing a large native town--at any rate, it seemed -large to them. They were sent to the serai--a resting-place for native -wayfarers. There was a great entrance gate leading into a wide enclosed -space, with plenty of accommodation for camels, ekkas, and horses, -and little niches, or rooms, all around, for the travellers. This -was indeed a new life to Girunda--his sister was asleep. He went and -watched the hairy Punjaubi dealers watering and feeding their ponies; -the bearded camel-men giving fodder to their screaming, bubbling, -discontented animals; the “purda nashins,” women, hidden behind a -kind of screen in a corner, from whence came much shrill laughing and -chattering. Tired as he was, he was still more curious, and crept -forward and tried to peep, but was rewarded with a stinging blow and -a volume of abuse from a hideous old hag. “They were all ugly,” so he -assured a hawker, who laughed at his discomfiture. - -This serai, with its crowds of travellers, and groups of animals, and -imposing entrance, was truly a most novel and wonderful scene to this -ignorant village lad. - -A woman, woman-like, once more took pity on the party--the queer little -group of a boy and a girl and a cat, with no one belonging to them, and -not even possessing a bundle of clothes. In reply to their petition, “O -mother, will you help us?” she gave them a ride on her jingling ekka -for about eight miles. Girunda and Gyannia had never been in (to them) -such a splendid equipage before, and were extremely happy as the wiry -chesnut animal between the shafts, who tasted naught but bad grass -or roadside nibblings, kept up a steady canter mile after mile. But, -alas! the ekka’s owner was going in a different direction from theirs, -and at a certain bridge she set them down, and took leave of them, -turning away into a “cutcha” track. - -They were now in a different country, where the road ran quite straight -between lines of neem trees, and was bounded with burnt-up, rusty -grass. The landscape was desolate; there were no villages peeping out -of the clumps of trees, no houses by the roadside: but these are always -rare in India. - -They halted at sundown, and crept under the arches of a bridge over a -dry watercourse, and ate raw rice and drank water. It was plain that -they must pass the night where they were, and as they were very tired, -they were not long in falling asleep. Gyannia, infant-like, slept -soundly till dawn, but not so her brother. At midnight he was awoke by -a cold, damp nose being poked into his face; he started up trembling, -and a few minutes later he heard his visitor’s melancholy cry--it was -only a prowling jackal. As he sat and stared into the grey light, -his sharpened ears heard another sound that made his heart beat very -fast--the “haunk--haunk” of a hyena. The cat, too, sat up and listened. -If it came their way, he had no weapon; and stories of children -devoured by hyenas were a common topic among the crones of Paroor -village. He had several times seen a hyena skulking round, when he was -driving home the cow--a hideous, high-shouldered, shuffling brute; but -then his father had been near, and he was not afraid. Now, alas! his -father was miles away, and he was almost sick with terror. The cry came -nearer and nearer--oh, fearfully near--now it was directly overhead! -What intense relief! the brute was on the high-road right above them; -yes, and the “haunk--haunk” was dying gradually away in the distance; -but Girunda slept no more that night. Supposing it should come back? -The cat, too, appeared to have anxieties; she did not curl up, but sat -bolt erect beside him. She was a queer animal, attached to people and -not to a place, though the first day she had followed them in a devious -and uncertain manner, uttering low mews of expostulation, and even -sitting down in the middle of the road, and thus remonstrating from -afar, till they were almost out of sight, but subsequently joining them -like a whirlwind, with a long white tail. Lately she had been carried, -and had had “lifts” in the bullock-cart and ekka; so the cat was much -the freshest of the party, and seemed to have become reconciled to the -journey, though she evidently did not approve of sleeping out at night -in the neighbourhood of hyenas. - -It was the end of June, just before the rains broke; the sky was -like molten brass, the earth like stone. Who would travel in such a -time?--who but two homeless unfortunates, who must press forward or -else lie down and perish! Girunda staggered along, carrying his sister, -at the rate of three koss a day. The four annas were long exhausted, -and they now openly begged their bread! Some gave them a few handsful -of rice,--which they ate raw--some a few cowries, which they spent at -the little bunnia shops; they could barely keep body and soul together! -Yes, they were like the mendicants that had come to their own door in -the good times Girunda remembered, when his mother was alive--and the -cow. - -His mother--he could recollect her well. She had pretty white teeth, -and she laughed often; but one day she came back from the fields -between two women. She was weeping, and so were they, and they sent him -across the river to play; and when he returned, a boy in the village -ran shouting to meet him, and cried, “Thy mother is dead; a snake bit -her.” - -Sometimes Girunda thought he would die too; he was so hot, and so -tired, and his feet were so sore. If only he could reach his father -first! But how long the miles had become! How he strained his eyes to -catch sight of the next milestone! and what an enormous time it seemed -before it came into view! The road never varied--never turned to the -right hand or the left; sometimes, as he toiled on, his poor tired -brain imagined that it had taken the form of a great grey serpent, -and was coming towards him to swallow him up. They were now within -five miles of Shahjhanpur city--would he ever reach it? There were -fine trees lining the route; there were plenty of ekkas and ponies; -there was a loud-puffing fire-devil going yonder over a bridge (he -had heard of it), with a lot of black boxes behind it; and still he -was three miles from Shahjhanpur--now two. Oh, he could never arrive -there--never! - - -CHAPTER V. - -About half-past six o’clock the next morning a gang of convicts -were working on the road near the jail, carrying stones with much -chain-clanking, all obtrusively industrious for the moment, as the keen -black eye of the jail burkundaz was fixed upon them; but presently his -gaze was attracted by a little group that approached him: a policeman -escorting two ragged children. - -“What are these?” he inquired. - -“They were found last night near the police thana on the Futupore Road. -The boy had fainted on the wayside, and I kept them till dawn, when I -brought them in on a passing hackery. They come, they say, from Paroor, -a village seventy miles off. The boy has walked all the way, carrying -the girl on his back--so he says.” - -“Truly, but it is a fable! Of a surety, they are beggars from our own -city.” - -“We can easily prove them. They have come hither to seek their father, -who is in prison here; they aver that his name is Chūnnee Sing, of -Paroor.” - -The convicts lagged to listen, and one whispered to another, “It is the -tall man, who never smiles.” - -“Such a one is here for dacoity--two years’ sentence.” - -“Where is he?” inquired the burkundaz of one of the gang. - -“Working in the jail-garden gang, hazoor” (_i.e._ your highness). - -An order was given to fetch him at once. - -“They had a cat, too,” continued the policeman; “I left it at the -thana. What do these beggars with a cat?” - -Meanwhile a large crowd had collected round the children--the -curly-haired, pretty little girl, and the miserably emaciated boy, with -his lacerated feet tied up in rags--a number of market coolies and -officers’ servants; and the convicts dawdled near--as closely as they -dared. - -In a very short time the warder returned, preceded by a tall convict. -The children stared with wistful, questioning eyes; they did not -recognize Chūnnee, at first glance, in the close-fitting cap drawn -well over his ears, his loose dress, and chains; but after a pause of -breathless amazement he cried, “Array khoda! Girunda and Gyannia, my -children, how came you here?” - -They rushed to him at the sound of that familiar voice, and broke into -loud cries and sobs--sobs of joy and relief. - -“I walked,” panted the boy presently, “and carried her. Uncle thrust -us forth one night; he said he would kill us if we ever went back, so -we came to thee. We will abide with thee; we will never leave thee,” -sobbed the boy, clinging to his hands, whilst Chūnnee took the girl up -in his arms and fondled her. - -“We are so tired and hungry, father; may we not go to thy house and -rest?” and Gyannia dropped her head on his shoulder. - -The jail official was much perplexed--here was a most unusual case: two -children clamouring for admittance into an establishment which every -one else was averse to entering. - -What was he to do with them? Were they to be left at the gates, to be -sent back to Paroor? One thing was positively certain--they could not -be received inside the jail. - -A great multitude had now gathered to behold the convict’s boy, who -had walked seventy miles with his sister on his back. It takes but -little at any time to attract an Indian audience. The crowd was about -to be dispersed by the police, when the jail superintendent drove up -in his brougham for his morning inspection, and alighted, and asked in -amazement the reason of the tumult. - -In five minutes he was in possession of all the facts--the thread of -the story--much delayed by constant exclamations and additions from -excited women in the throng. - -“So these are thy children?” said the superintendent to Chūnnee. - -“Yes, my lord; and it was for the sake of these that I tried to commit -that theft.” - -“And thy brother hath turned them out?” - -“So they say; and it was like him.” - -“Why hath he done so?” - -“How can I tell thee, protector of the poor, save that he is a bad man? -His name of Zālim Sing fits him but too well; truly he is a tyrannical -lion. If the bountiful sirkar would only feed my children!” - -“You cannot, of course, have these children with you; but I will look -after them for you, at any rate, for the present. You shall see them -again to-morrow. Here, burkundaz; send these children down to my house -on an ekka, and let this crowd disperse.” - -As soon as the two objects of curiosity had been rattled off in charge -of a warder, the assembly melted away, each to his own avocation. - -The superintendent’s wife was a charitable, gentle lady, and accepted -the weary, half-starved wayfarers into her household. A servant--one of -their own caste--shared his “go-down” with them, and they were bathed, -fed, and their sores attended to. In a short time they looked totally -different--such is the effect of kindness. They went to visit their -father at stated periods, and when Girunda related his life of toil and -blows at his uncle’s hands, Chūnnee’s straight brows grew very black. - -The charitable lady who had given them a shelter did more than feed -and clothe them; they were included among her servants’ children, who -learnt from a munshi, and were taught at her expense. The munshi, with -his blue spectacles, sat in the midst of them, and every week there -were prizes of fruit, and twice a year of clothes. They were also -permitted to pick withered leaves in the lady’s lovely garden, and -Girunda was proud when he was allowed to carry a pot; and sometimes -their father worked there also, with a few other favoured convicts. -And oh, what a garden that was!--even to a _blasé_ European eye, an -exquisite spot; how much more to two ignorant native children, who have -never seen any flowers but marigolds? The steps from the house led down -into a great spreading lawn, green and smooth as velvet, and surrounded -by wide walks, bordered with bushes of magnificent roses. Beyond the -lawn, and leading straight out of it, lay an avenue of loquat trees, -which was lined with stands of maiden-hair ferns, orchids, arum lilies, -jheel plants--a truly fairy-like scene. There were long alleys overhung -with fruit trees and flowers; there were enormous bushes of yellow -roses--in one tree a pair of bulbuls had their nest--a large, square -plot covered with a dense crop of variegated sweet peas. There was, -moreover, a big vinery, a quantity of fruitful peach trees, a cote of -pigeons, with nearly two hundred in the branches of a mango tree, and -a house full of white rabbits with ruby eyes! Truly, when they were -permitted to enter this garden, Girunda said to his sister, “Behold, -this must be the place the preaching moola meant when he spoke of the -garden of Paradise!” - -The wheel of fortune turns, and strange events do occur at times, even -in a mud village, in an obscure locality. - -Old Turroo Sing had been wise in his generation; he had not grudged to -offer a considerable reward for news of, or the recovery of, his lost -treasure. For eight weary months no tidings reached him, and he had -almost prepared to await the coming of death, a broken-hearted man, -when, lo! one day six gay policemen--I allude to their red turbans, -yellow trousers, and blue tunics--were once more seen approaching the -village. The inspector had come to see Turroo, to confer with him -privately. When the door was closed fast, the inspector drew forth a -heavy gold bangle, and placed it in the old man’s withered, trembling -hands. - -“Is this yours?” he asked. - -“It is; it is; it is! Where are the rest?” clamoured Turroo. - -“Patience! This was offered for sale in Delhi, and was about to be -melted down. The man who sold it is in the village. He is Goora Dutt, -the brother-in-law of thy nephew, Zālim Sing.” - -“May every curse light on him!” screamed the venerable Turroo. - -“He was caught and convicted; he hath confessed. Thou wilt get nearly -all thy property back, my father; but thou wilt be liberal to the -police?” - -“As I live, I will give much buchseesh, I swear it on the cow’s tail!” - -“There is a gang of gamblers here in Paroor. We have known it long. -Goora Dutt is the chiefest among them. They were--for all things are -known to the police--without money; they were in debt, and their -creditors were hungry; therefore they agreed to rob thee, and they -did. They carried off thy money and jewels. Though Chūnnee Sing was -convicted and sentenced for the same, he never fingered a tolah of gold -nor one rupee.” - -“And where is it? where is it? Oh, speak!” - -“It is buried by a neem tree near Goora Dutt’s garden. They had no time -to carry it farther, and it is convenient to their houses. The rupees -are gone, but the gold and pearls and carbuncles are still mostly -there. They feared to sell them, for the size and number and marks were -known.” - -In half an hour’s time Turroo Sing’s treasure, which was buried in a -kerosene-oil tin (oh, to how many uses are those tins put!), was dug -up in the presence of the entire village, and shown to its owner, who -wept with joy as he tore open the parcel and counted his pearls--his -forty pairs without blemish. But there were some very glum faces in the -crowd--four families were implicated in the robbery--and when Zālim -Sing had come to overwhelm his grand-uncle with felicitations, that -fierce old person had spat at him--like an infuriated toddy cat. - -“Thou hadst a hand in it, oh, badmash, son of lies!” he screamed, -foaming at the mouth. “Thy brother-in-law, Goora Dutt, is thy shadow. -’Twas he fetched the police for Chūnnee, who hath languished in jail -for thy sins. Take this robber, and release Chūnnee Sing.” - - * * * * * - -Zālim Sing’s popularity had been on the wane for a considerable -time. He had assured his neighbours in his most plausible manner, -that Girunda and Gyannia had run away, ungrateful wretches that they -were--just like their father, the jail-bird. But the neighbours -believed a wholly different tale. A ryot, living in the nearest -village, had met Zālim, one dark night, driving a pair of children -before him. People began to whisper, and then to talk openly, of -screams heard from Zālim’s house; of the boy Girunda being seen -carrying loads as heavy as a pony’s--and now, after all these months, -public opinion set in, in full tide, in favour of Chūnnee. - -Zālim Sing had a presentiment that his good days were leaving him when -he saw his friend Goora Dutt and four other men led away between the -crops, with handcuffs on their wrists; and many a curious glance was -cast at Zālim himself. - -“How came his wife to wear a pearl nose-ring? How came he to possess -_four_ bullocks and a Waterbury watch and a pistol? Could any one give -an honest reason? Could his crops have sold at double the rates of -ours?” his neighbours asked one another. Truly, he was as great a thief -as any; but his accomplices had been staunch to him, and had held their -peace. - -Of course Chūnnee was released, much to his own surprise. His ragged -coat was restored to him one morning, with a “hookum,” to say that he -was free. His first duty was to return thanks to the benevolent lady -who had rescued his starving children. He laid his head at her feet, -and touched the hem of her gown; and there was a mist in his eyes as -he said, “Now I understand why God suffered me to be put in the Jail -Khana. It was that my children might know you. Eshwar, Eshwar will -bless you always.” - -“And where will you go, Chūnnee?” she inquired, ere he took leave. - -“Home,” he answered: a native returns to his ancestral village as a -Swiss turns to the mountains. “Back to Paroor and my house. It is true -that I have no friends; but I have no friends anywhere. I was born -there; also my father and grandfather. It is my country, and there will -I die.” - -“It is more to the purpose, how will you live, once you are there?” - -“I have good-conduct money. I shall hire a little bit of land, and dig -it, and buy seeds. Girunda is growing big, he can help me.” - -He was not to be deterred by offers of employment in the city. No, his -heart was set upon Paroor--only Paroor; and his kind patroness fitted -out the children with clothes and food, and they bade farewell to her, -and her enchanted garden, with many bitter tears. - -Most of the journey was made by rail, and in the delightful novelty of -the motion of a railway carriage they soon forgot their sorrows. The -last twenty miles had to be accomplished on foot. Girunda stepped out -manfully beside his father, who carried Gyannia. All _he_ had to carry -was the cat; and, moreover, he had now a pair of shoes and a stick. - -They reached Paroor at nightfall, and Chūnnee went straight to his own -hut. It was occupied by an old crone, who had bought it from Zālim Sing -for six rupees, and who felt herself a proprietress of some importance. -She thrust him out with a lighted brand, and Chūnnee and his family -passed the night under a stack of straw. - -The following morning he went and rapped boldly at his brother’s door, -and confronted him sternly. - -“So thou art back, badmash! I wonder thou hast come here!” cried Zālim, -with ill-simulated scorn. - -“How daredst thou sell my house?” rejoined the other. - -“I sold it to pay for thy children’s food.” - -“Speak not of the children you worked as slaves, and beat, and turned -out at night to perish. Restore the money and the house, O villain!” - -Hearing loud and angry voices, the inevitable crowd collected. There -was Chūnnee, looking quite well-to-do, and actually speaking in a -commanding tone to his once all-powerful brother! - -“Behold, he hath sold my poor hovel, and hath kept the money,” -explained Chūnnee, turning to the eager audience. “He hath beaten and -starved my children, and hath thrust them out to die. Why do ye suffer -such a sinner among you?” - -The crowd began to clamour and howl, and Zālim Sing withdrew and barred -his door; but the angry neighbours beat upon it till it shook on its -rusty hinges, and Zālim Sing was forced to shout, “Go! thou shalt have -thy house, O badmash.” And for the first time in all his life, Chūnnee -was beholden to the force of public opinion. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -Old Turroo had heard of Chūnnee’s arrival. Everything is known in -a short time in a small community, save such matters as robbery and -gambling, practised under the cover of darkness. - -He sent for his grand-nephew--much to that grand-nephew’s surprise--and -beckoning him in with a long, claw-like finger, commanded him to close -the door, and be seated on a charpoy. He then pushed his huka towards -him, and coughed, and said-- - -“Thou art back, and I have much to say unto thee. How dost thou mean to -live, and keep thy children, O Chūnnee Sing?” - -“I hope to hire that plot of land near Ram Lall’s garden, and till it -by hand, and sow it with cotton, jawarri, and dál. I have recovered my -house which Zālim Sing sold.” - -“Wouldst thou leave that dog-kennel, and come and abide here with me?” - -“Here--with thee!” he echoed incredulously; he could not believe his -ears. - -“Yea. Hearken to me, Chūnnee, the son of Duloo Sing. It is in my mind -to make thee mine heir. Thou hast suffered wrongfully for my treasure; -it shall be thine one day.” - -“I did not take the money or jewels, it is true, O Turroo Sing, but -it is true that I desired to steal them--not from love of lucre and -gold, or the vice of robbery, but for the sake of my children, who were -perishing. All that day the little ones tasted naught but cow’s food. -The boy asked thee for a few cowries, and thou gavest him blows; and -an evil spirit tempted me as I walked in the fields at even, and said -in mine ear, ‘Turroo is rich--yea, very rich. He hath a house and land -and cattle, and warm bedding, and brass cooking-pots, and a store -of grain laid up in his granary for many seasons. Moreover, he hath -a great treasure buried beneath his floor, which is of no profit to -him, save to handle and to count. Behold, some of this useless silver -will feed my children and me. I will dig through the wall, and steal, -under the cover of darkness. The man is old; he sleeps fast. I shall -take one hundred rupees, and be happy.’ But I failed, as thou knowest. -Nevertheless, I was guilty.” - -“Thou wert hungry, and thy children were crying for food; but Zālim -Sing had no such excuse--he is a shaitan, the son of a she ass. Thou -shalt take his place, and come after me; thou shalt live here now with -thy children. Surely a strong man, with a lathi, is better than an aged -chokedar and a dog! I may be robbed again; with thee I am safe; for -doubtless thou wilt guard thine own. Let the old hag remain in thine -hut, and bring thy children hither.” - -So, to the amazement of the village, Chūnnee, the pauper and the -prisoner, was elevated to the right hand of the richest man in Paroor, -and rose proportionately in every one’s estimation. He tilled the land, -and sold the crops, and cut the cane, whilst Girunda spent his time -between the fields and the village munshi--as befitted a boy who would -rise in the world, and perchance go to college! - -His grand-uncle was proud of him, and never tired of boasting of -Girunda’s seventy-mile march with his sister on his back. - -Gyannia now wears a gold nose-ring, silver bangles, and a chain--which -gauds comprise most of her toilette. She is a happy infant, and passes -her four sallow cousins in the narrowest lane, with her head in the air. - -Her cousins and their father have resorted to every description of -clever intrigue to get on terms with their lucky relatives, but in -vain. It is the dream of Zālim Sing’s life to bestow one of his -sallow daughters in marriage on Girunda, and thus keep the fortune in -the family; but it is not probable that the boy--who retains a lively -recollection of the ladies’ nips and blows and floutings--will ever -meet his wishes. Moreover, Turroo has already a bride in view. - -The cat prospers, though as lanky and grimy as of old; she must be a -cat of some breeding, or of Chinese extraction, for when, after all -her vicissitudes, she found herself once more in her native village, -she did not exhibit the least surprise--she merely stretched out her -long body, and strolled over and sharpened her claws in the bark of -a familiar tree. She has accepted the transformation from poverty to -wealth with complete equanimity, and sits washing her face outside -Turroo’s door, or surveys the village from the tree that grows through -his roof, as if she had never lived elsewhere; she has also implanted a -wholesome fear of her displeasure in the breast of Chondi the pariah. -But then she is a cat who has travelled and seen the world, and he is -but a common village cur! - -Who would recognize Chūnnee Sing now? He wears a handsome turban, and -coolies salaam to him, and address him as “ap.” He rides on a white -horse--yes, a horse, not a pony--with a long pink tail, and is the -leading man in those parts; for all he takes in hand appears to thrive. - -As he passes through the villages, coquettish glances from pretty dark -eyes are cast at him, and he is greeted with playful remarks. Chūnnee -is as much sought after now as he was formerly shunned. It is a matter -of common talk that a rich thakur would gladly give him his daughter to -wife; but Chūnnee appears satisfied with his present lot, and shows no -signs of changing his condition. - -Our story is ended, and we will now take leave of Chūnnee and his -charger, of Gyannia and her ferret-faced cat, of Girunda--who is -almost as precious to Turroo as the forty pairs of pearls again buried -beneath the floor--of the envious, adder-tongued family of Zālim -Sing--and cast a final glance on the sleepy patriarchal village, where -it lies among its waving crops on the hillside, within sight of a glint -of the sacred Ganges. - -THE END. - - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - - -Archaic spellings have been retained. - -A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently. - -Gadrinath was changed to Badrinath. Badrinath is a well known holy city -and no place by the name of Gadrinath could be located. - -The following word pairs were normalized to one spelling by -majority vote: - - “Chunnee” to “Chūnnee” - “copybook” to “copy-book” - “cocoa-nut” to “cocoanut” - “deathlike” to “death-like” - “hillman” to “hill-man” - “pockmarked” to “pock-marked” - “race-course” to “racecourse” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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M. Croker—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%;} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both;} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both;} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto;} - -/* TOC defined below */ -table.toc { - margin: auto; - width:auto; - max-width: 40em;} - -td.title { - padding-top: 1em; - text-align: left; - vertical-align: top; - padding-left: 1em; - text-indent: -1em; - font-variant: small-caps;} - -td.page { - text-align: right; - vertical-align: bottom; - padding-left: 2em;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto;} - -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%;} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry in browsers */ -.poetry {display: inline-block;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} -.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp48 {width: 48%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp48 {width: 100%;} - - </style> - </head> - -<body> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jungle Tales, by Bithia Mary Croker</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Title:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Jungle Tales</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> -<div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Author:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Bithia Mary Croker</div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65561]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em; white-space:nowrap;'>Produced by:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>MWS, SF2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES ***</div> -<div class="chapter x-ebookmaker-drop"> - <div class="figcenter" id="i_cover" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<h1>JUNGLE TALES</h1> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">OPINIONS OF THE PRESS</h2> -</div> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker has already achieved a secure foothold in that temple of Anglo-Indian -fiction whereof Mr. Rudyard Kipling is the high-priest. Her tales have -a freshness and piquancy that are all their own.... So long as the author of -‘Diana Barrington’ can produce works of the quality of ‘Village Tales and -Jungle Tragedies,’ she will assuredly not lack an audience.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<p>“These tales are really original and excellent work. Mrs. Croker knows her -India minutely, and proves her knowledge by a thousand delicate touches.”—<i>Woman.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker writes of India as one knowing it well, and with deep sympathy -for the people among whom her time was spent, for the village sorrows and -tragedies she was able to share. And in a considerable measure she succeeds in -bringing home to readers at home the daily life of the East.”—<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p> - -<p>“The stories are all written from a peculiar knowledge of the life they -describe, and with a lively eye directed to its picturesqueness. They make an -interesting and entertaining book, which will be heartily enjoyed by every one -who reads it.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<p>“The magician’s car of fiction next transports us to India, the magician -being that very competent and attractive writer Mrs. B. M. Croker. Her -‘Village Tales’ are so good that they bracket her, in our judgment, with Mrs. -F. A. Steel in comprehension of native Indian life and character.”—<i>Times.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker makes the tales interesting and attractive, and her ready -sympathy with the Indian people, whom we are gradually coming to know -through the interpretation of some of our very best writers, strikes the reader -afresh in this volume.”—<i>World.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker shows once more a pretty talent, and her volume is replete with -sentiment and romance. Her animal stories are really touching.”—<i>Globe.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker’s volume is bright and readable. She has done good work -already in other fields; one expects a story of hers to be at any rate pleasant -reading. These Indian tales are no exception.”—<i>North British Mail.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker’s stories show her grasp of Indian character, and her realisation -of the nameless charm which casts its glamour over the East and its peoples.... -‘Two Little Travellers,’ the last story, is exquisitely pathetic.”—<i>Star.</i></p> - -<p>“The stories are among the best of their kind. The author knows equally -well how to write of Anglo-Indian or purely native life.”—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker, who knows India exceptionally well, and is a practised writer, -has handled this variety of subjects in a spirited and entertaining style.”—<i>Literary -World.</i></p> - -<p>“A prettily got-up book containing seven Indian tales, well told, with -abundant evidence of a thorough knowledge of the country and its people.... -There is not a dull line in the book, and in its perusal the desire for more keeps -growing, even to the end of the last beautiful tale of Indian life.”—<i>Asiatic -Quarterly Review.</i></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Croker’s seven little tales of native India are such very quick and easy -reading that many persons will probably overlook the skill to which the result is -due. The authoress evidently knows both what a short story ought to be, and -how to make one.”—<i>Graphic.</i></p> - -<p>“Brilliant pictures of Indian life and manners. Mrs. Croker possesses the -pen of a ready writer united to the imagination of a true artist.”—<i>Liberal.</i></p> - -<p>“The tales are simple in themselves and plainly told, with an unmistakable -atmosphere of truth and reality about them.”—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - -<p>“The quality of Mrs. Croker’s work is at this time sufficiently well known, -and it is enough to say that in her last volume are to be found all those qualities -which have secured for its predecessors a welcome at the hands of the public.”—<i>Tablet.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="i_frontis" style="max-width: 25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">HER BLACK EYES BLAZED WITH EXCITEMENT.</div> - </div> - </div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center">JUNGLE -TALES</p> - -<p class="center">BY -B. M. CROKER</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Author of</i></p> - -<p class="center">‘<i>Pretty Miss Neville</i>,’<br /> -‘<i>Diana Barrington</i>,’<br /> -‘<i>The Spanish Necklace</i>,’<br /> -‘<i>In Old Madras</i>,’<br /> -<i>etc.</i></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="center">A NEW IMPRESSION<br /> -<small>WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY JOHN CHARLTON</small></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="center">LONDON<br /> -HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM<br /> -1913 -</p> - - </div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter" /> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Ah! what a warning for thoughtless man,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Could field or grove, could any spot of earth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Show to his eye an image of the pangs</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which it hath witnessed!”</div> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="center">THESE TALES ARE INSCRIBED<br /> -<small>TO</small><br /> -OLD FRIENDS<br /> -<small>IN THE CENTRAL AND NORTH-WEST PROVINCES<br /> -<small>IN MEMORY OF<br /> -MANY PLEASANT HOURS IN CAMP AND CANTONMENT.</small></small> -</p> - -<p class="right">B. M. C. -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<table class="toc" summary="Contents"> -<tr><td /> - <td class="page"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#OFFERING">A Free-Will Offering</a></td> - <td class="page">1</td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#MISSUS">“The Missus.” A Dog Tragedy</a></td> - <td class="page">37</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><span class="smcap"><a href="#BETRAYAL">The Betrayal of Shere Bahadur</a></span></td> - <td class="page">63</td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#PROVEN">“Proven or not Proven?” The True Story of Naim Sing, Rajpoot</a></td> - <td class="page">96</td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OUTCAST">An Outcast of the People</a></span></td> - <td class="page">124</td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><span class="smcap"><a href="#APPEAL">An Appeal to the Gods</a></span></td> - <td class="page">146</td> - </tr> -<tr><td class="title"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TRAVELLERS">Two Little Travellers</a></span></td> - <td class="page">166</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VILLAGE_TALES">VILLAGE TALES<br /> -<small>AND</small><br /> -JUNGLE TRAGEDIES.</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OFFERING">A FREE-WILL OFFERING.</h2> -</div> - -<p>“Kismiss,” as the natives call it, is anything -but a jovial and merry season to -me, and I heartily sympathize with those -prudent souls who flee from the station or -cantonment, and bury themselves afar off -in the jungle, until the festive season has -been succeeded by the practical New Year! -Christmas in India is an expensive anniversary -to a needy subaltern such as I am. -Putting aside the necessary tips to the -mess-servants, the letter-corporal, and -colour-sergeant, I have my own retinue -(about ten in number), who overwhelm me -with wreaths and flowers culled from my -garden, and who expect, in return, solid -rupees of the realm. This is reasonable -enough; but it passes the limits of reason -and patience when other peopled body-servants, -peons, syces, and all the barrack -dhobies, and every “dog” boy in the -station, lie in ambush in order to thrust -evil-smelling marigolds under my nose, -with expectant salaams! Last Christmas -cost me nearly the price of a pony—this -Christmas, I resolved to fly betimes with -my house-mate, Jones of the D.P.W. We -would put in for a week’s leave, and eat -our plum-pudding at least sixty miles from -Kori.</p> - -<p>Alas! my thrifty little scheme was knocked -on the head by a letter from my cousin -Algy Langley. He is the eldest son of an -eldest son; I am the younger son of a -second son: and whereas I am a sub. in an -infantry regiment, grilling on the plains -of India, and working for my daily bread, -Algy has run out for one cold weather, -merely in search of variety and amusement.</p> - -<p>“Why on earth should relations think it -necessary to meet on one particular day, -in order to eat a tasteless bird and an -indigestible pudding?”</p> - -<p>I put this question to Jones, as we sat in -our mutual verandah, opening the midday -dâk.</p> - -<p>“Just look at this; it’s a beastly -nuisance!” and I handed him Algy’s note, -which said—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear old Perky</span> (my Christian name -is Perkin),—This is to give notice that -I am coming to eat my Christmas dinner -with you. I arrive on the 21st, per mail -train.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right"> -“<span class="smcap">A. Langley</span>.”<br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p>“What is your cousin like?” inquired -Jones.</p> - -<p>“Oh, a regular young London swell, who -has never roughed it in his life. I suppose -I shall have to turn out of my room,” I -grumbled; “and I must borrow Robinson’s -bamboo cart to meet him, for I believe he -would faint if I put him in a bullock tonga -at first—he must arrive at that by degrees!”</p> - -<p>“Is there no chance of our getting off to -Karwassa? Wouldn’t he come and have a -try for the man-eater?” urged Jones.</p> - -<p>“Not he!” I rejoined emphatically; “he -is a lady-killer—that is his only kind of -sport. I’m glad I have not put in for my -leave; you and I will go later—the tiger -will wait.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he has waited a good while,” retorted -Jones, sarcastically; “nearly three -years, and about a dozen shikar parties -have been got up for his destruction, and -still he keeps his skin! But, somehow, I -have a presentiment that <i>we</i> shall get him.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next day Jones and I met Algy at -the station. He had brought three servants, -a pile of luggage, and looked quite beautiful -as he stepped out on the platform, wearing -a creaseless suit, Russia-leather boots, -gloves, and a white gauze veil to keep off -the dust. His handkerchief was suggestive -of the most “up-to-date” delicate scent, as -he passed it languidly over his forehead, -and gave directions to have his late compartment -cleared.</p> - -<p>As books, an ice-box, fruit, a fan, cushions, -and a banjo, were handed out one by one, -I gathered, from Jones’s expressive glance, -that he granted that my cousin was a -hopeless subject for the jungle.</p> - -<p>“Well, Perky,” he said, slapping me on -the back, “I’ve got everything now—what -are you waiting for?”</p> - -<p>“Your lady’s-maid,” I promptly answered, -as I nodded at the banjo, pillows, and fan.</p> - -<p>“I like to be comfortable,” he confessed. -“One may as well take one’s ease as not; -it has an excellent and soothing effect on -the temper.”</p> - -<p>But I noticed that he caught sight of -Jones’s grin, and coloured deeply—whether -with rage or shame, I could not guess. -As I drove my guest up to our lines, I -secretly marvelled as to what had brought -him to our little Mofussil station, a two -days’ railway journey through the flattest, -ugliest country. He had been staying at -Government House, Calcutta, at various -splendid Residencies, and had had every -opportunity of seeing India from the most -commanding and luxurious point of view. -Why had he sought <i>me</i> out?</p> - -<p>Later on, as we sprawled in long chairs -in my portico overlooking a sun-baked compound,—with -a view chiefly consisting of the -back of my neighbour’s stables, and Jones’s -little brown bear, mowing and moping, -under a scraggy mango tree,—I put the -inevitable question:</p> - -<p>“Well, Algy, what do you think of -India?”</p> - -<p>“Not much,” he answered. “It is not -a bit like what I have expected: it is not -as Eastern as Egypt. The scenery that I -have seen consists of bushes, boulders, and -terra-cotta plains. I don’t care about ruins -and buildings; what I want to come at -are the people and customs of the land—so -far, it’s all England, not India: England at -the sea-side, dressing, dancing, racing, flirting; -clothes are thinner, manners are easier; -but it’s England—England—England!”</p> - -<p>I did what I could for him. I took him -to a garden-party, to call on the beauty -of the station, to write his name in the -general’s book, to mess, to a soldier’s sing-song; -and still he was discontented. He -had been faintly amused with our “pot” -gardens and trotting bullocks; nevertheless, -he continued to grumble in this style—</p> - -<p>“Your band plays the last new coster -song, your ladies believe that they wear -the latest fashions, your men read the -latest news not two days old, your servants -speak English and speak it fluently. Your -butler plays the fiddle, and he told me this -morning that my banjo was ‘awfully nice.’ -I desire that you will introduce me (if you -can) to India without European clothes—stripped -and naked. I want to get below -the surface, below officialdom, and general -orders, and precedence; scrape the skin, -and show me Hindostan.”</p> - -<p>“Show me something out of the -common.” This was his querulous parrot-cry.</p> - -<p>“Would you care to come out into the -jungle sixty miles away,” I ventured, “to -a place that has no English attributes, and -help to shoot a notorious man-eating tiger? -There is a reward of five hundred rupees for -his skin. For the last two years he has -devastated the country.”</p> - -<p>“Like it!” cried Algy, suddenly, sitting -erect, “why, it’s the very thing. I’ll go -like a shot. I am ready to start to-night. -What’s the name of the place?”</p> - -<p>“Karwassa. This man-eater has killed, -they say, more than a hundred people, and -if we shoot him, we cover ourselves with -glory; if we fail, we are no worse than half -the regiment, and most of the station.”</p> - -<p>Algy figuratively leapt at the idea; he -was out of his chair, pacing the verandah, -long ere I had ceased to speak.</p> - -<p>“How soon could we start?”</p> - -<p>“As soon as I obtained leave,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Oh, bother leave!” he retorted, impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Still, it is a necessary precaution,” I -answered. “If I go without it I shall be -cashiered, and <i>that</i> would be a bother.”</p> - -<p>“All right; put in for it at once. The -sooner we are off the better,” cried Algy. -“Let us get the first shikari in the province, -and if he puts us fairly on the tiger, the -five hundred rupees shall be his. I pay all -expenses.”</p> - -<p>“But Jones wants——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Jones, by all means,” he interrupted; -“you had better lay your heads -together without delay. He told me he -was a born organizer, so you might, perhaps, -leave the transport and commissariat in -his hands, whilst you secure leave, and -the keenest and best shikari. Money <i>no</i> -object.”</p> - -<p>“You are keen enough, Algy,” I remarked; -“but, of course, you have no -experience of big game. <i>Can</i> you shoot?”</p> - -<p>“I can hit a stag, and I’ve accounted for -crocodile, but I have never seen a tiger in -a wild state.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! and you’ll find a tiger is quite -another pair of shoes,” I assured him impressively.</p> - -<p>The day before Christmas we started in -the highest spirits. Algy wore a serviceable -shikar suit, strong blue putties, and shooting-boots, -and looked as workmanlike as possible. -Our destination, Karwassa, lay sixty miles -due north, and we travelled forty-five miles -along the smooth trunk road in a dogcart, -with relays of horses, and arrived early in -the afternoon at Munser Dâk Bungalow—a -neat white building, in a neat little compound, -that was almost swallowed up by the -surrounding jungle. Here we experienced -our first breakdown. Jones prided himself -on doing everything on a “system”—but -the system failed ignominiously. Our -luggage and servants were fifteen miles -behind, and we could not proceed that -night, so we resigned ourselves into the -hands of the Dâk bungalow khansamah, -who slew the usual Dâk bungalow dinner -for our behoof. There was a fair going on -in the village, and we strolled across to -inspect it. A fair of the kind was no novelty -to me; but Algy was childishly delighted -with all he witnessed, and stood gazing in -profound amazement at the stalls of Huka -heads, pewter anklets, bangles, and coarse, -bright native cloths for turbans and sarees; -the money was chiefly copper pice and -cowrie shells—the shell currency was a -complete revelation to our Londoner, as -was a tangle-haired, ash-bedaubed fakir, -with his head thrust through a square iron -frame, so devised that rest was impossible. -He could never lean back, never lie down, -never know ease. He had worn this -instrument of torture for twelve years, and -was a most holy man—so Nuddoo, the -shikari, informed us.</p> - -<p>“But what is the good of it?” demanded -Algy. “What the dickens does he do it for?”</p> - -<p>“For a vow,” was the solemn reply.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather be dead than have to wear an -iron gate round my neck,” rejoined Algy. -“But I suppose he thinks he is doing the -right thing, and probably he is a good -sort.”</p> - -<p>And he gave the good sort five rupees.</p> - -<p>Next morning we started in real earnest, -for the real jungle—each on a separate -little cart or chukrun, drawn by a pair of -small trotting bullocks; the driver rode on -the pole, and behind him there was just room -for one person, if he curled himself up, and -sat cross-legged. We formed quite a long -procession, as we passed down the village -street, and all the population came out to -speed the sahibs, “who were going to try -and shoot the Karwassa man-eater.” Judging -by their looks, they were by no means -sanguine of our success.</p> - -<p>Our road was a mere track, up and down -the sides of shallow water-courses, across -the dry beds of great rivers, over low hills, -and through heavy jungle. The country -grew wilder and wilder; here and there we -scared a jackal, here and there a herd of -deer; villages were very few and far between, -and we had passed two that were -absolutely deserted: melancholy hamlets, -with broken chatties, abandoned ploughs, -and grass-grown hearths—now the abode of -wild dogs. We were gradually approaching -our destination, a cattle country, below a -long range of densely wooded hills; having -halted at midday to rest our animals for a few -hours, we then set out again. But twenty -miles is a long distance for a little trotting -bullock, especially if his head be turned from -home. The eager canter, or brisk trot, had -now become a mere spasmodic crawl; for -the last mile Algy—the most keen and -energetic of the party—had been belabouring -and shouting at his pair. What a sight -for his club friends, could they have beheld -him, the elegant Algy, hoarse, coatless, and -breathless! In spite of his desperate exertions, -his cattle came to a full stop, and -suddenly lay down—an example promptly -followed by others. “Darkness was coming,” -urged Nuddoo, pointing to the yellow -sunset. “We were near an evil country, -and it was about <i>his</i> usual time. Karwassa -was two koss further, and we had best camp -and light fires, and spend the night where -we had halted. The sahibs could sleep -under the carts, their servants were in -waiting, also their food—all would be well.”</p> - -<p>I must honestly confess that I thought -this a most sensible proposition; but Algy, -who had suddenly developed an entirely -new character, would not listen to it. -During his short sojourn in India, he had -picked up a wonderful amount of useful -Hindostani words, which he strung together -recklessly, and by means of some of them, -accompanied by frantic gesticulation, he -informed all present that “<i>he</i> was not -going to sleep under a cart, but was resolved -to spend the night at Karwassa. -He would walk there.”</p> - -<p>After a short, but stormy, altercation, my -cousin carried his point, and set out, accompanied -(with great reluctance) by Jones, -Nuddoo the shikari, and myself. Algy took -command of the party, and got over the -ground at an astonishing pace. The yellow -light faded and faded, and was succeeded -by a grey deathly pallor that rapidly settled -down upon the whole face of nature. We -marched two and two, along the grass-grown, -neglected roads, glancing askance at every -bush, at every big tuft of elephant grass (at -least, I speak for myself). At last, to my -intense relief, the smoke and fires of a -village came in view. It proved to be -Karwassa—Karwassa strongly entrenched -behind its mud walls and a bamboo palisade. -After some parley we were admitted -by the chowkidar (or watchman), and -presently surrounded by the villagers, a -poverty-stricken crew, with a depressed, -hunted look.</p> - -<p>“Once more a party of sahibs come to -shoot the man-eaters,” they exclaimed. -“Ah, many sahibs had come and come and -gone, and naught availed them against the -Bagh. He was no Janwar—but an evil -spirit.”</p> - -<p>“But two days ago,” said the Malgoozar, -or head-man—a high-caste Brahmin, with a -high-bred face—“he had taken a boy from -before his mother’s eyes, as she tilled the -patch of vegetables; the screams of the -child—he had heard them himself. Ah, -ye-yo!”</p> - -<p>And he shook his enormous orange -turban, and his handsome dignified head, -in a truly melancholy fashion. “Moreover, -the tiger had taken the woman’s husband—there -was not a house in the village that -had not lost at least one inmate.”</p> - -<p>“Why did they not go away?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Yea—truly, others had abandoned their -houses and lands, and fled—but to what -avail? The thing was not a Janwar, but -a devil.”</p> - -<p>A murmur of assent signified that the -villagers had accepted their scourge, with -the apathetic fatalism of their race. We -were presently conducted to an empty hut, -provided with broad string beds—and a -light. Our Christmas dinner was simple; -it consisted of chuppatties and well water, -and our spirits were in keeping with our -fare; the surrounding misery had infected -us. We were even indebted for our present -lodgings to the tiger—he had dined upon -its former tenant about a month previously. -By all accounts he was old, and lame of -one hind leg, and had discovered that a -human being is a far easier prey than -nimble cattle, or fleeting deer. He had -studied the habits of his victims, and -would stalk the unwary, or the loiterer, -like a great cat. Alas! many were the -tragedies; with success he had grown -bolder, and even broad noonday, and the -interior of the village itself, now afforded -no protection from his horrible incursions.</p> - -<p>The next morning our carts arrived, -and we unpacked (the salt, tea, and corkscrew -had been forgotten). Afterwards -we set out to explore, first the vegetable -patches, then the meagre crops, and finally -we were shown the dry river bed, the tiger’s -high-road to Karwassa. We tracked him -easily in the soft, fine, white sand; there -were his three huge paws, and a fainter -impression of the fourth. Also, there were -marks of something dragged, and several -dark brown splashes; it was here that he -had carried off the wife of one of our -present guides, who had looked on,—being -powerless to save her.</p> - -<p>Needless to say, we were filled with a -raging thirst for the blood of this beast—Algy -especially. He jawed, he bribed, he -gesticulated, he held long conferences with -the villagers, with Nuddoo the shikari—an -active, leather-skinned man, with a cast -in his left eye, who spoke English fluently, -and wore a tiger charm. Algy accommodated -himself to circumstances with -astonishing facility. Most of the night we -sat up in a machan, or platform in a tree, -over a fat young buffalo, hoping to tempt -the man-eater after dark. Subsequently -Algy slept soundly on his native charpoy, -breakfasted on milk and chuppatties, and -sallied forth, gun on shoulder, to tramp -miles over the surrounding country. He -was indefatigable, and easily wore <i>me</i> out. -As I frankly explained, I could not burn -the candle at both ends, and sit curled up -in a tree till two o’clock in the morning, -and then walk down game that self-same -afternoon. He never seemed to tire, and -he left the champagne and whisky to us, -and shot on milk or cold cocoa. His newly -acquired Spartan taste declined our imported -dainties (tinned and otherwise), and -professed to prefer, in deference to our -surroundings, a purely vegetable diet.</p> - -<p>It was an odd fancy, which I made no -effort to combat. Naturally there was -more truffled turkey and <i>pâté de foie gras</i> -and boar’s head for <i>us</i>! Algy was a successful -shot, and reaped the reward of his -energy in respectable bags of black buck, -hares, sand grouse, chickhira, bustard, peacock—no, -though sorely tempted, he refrained -from bagging the bird specially -sacred to his hosts. Days and nights went -by, and so far we were as unsuccessful as -our forerunners. In spite of our fat and -enticing young buffalo, whom we sometimes -sat over from sunset until the pale -wintry dawn glimmered along the horizon, -we never caught one glimpse of the object -of our expedition. Algy was restless, -Nuddoo at his wits’ end, whilst Jones -had given up the quest as a bad job!</p> - -<p>One evening we all gathered round the -big fire in the village “chowk” (for the -nights were chilly), having a “bukh” with -the elders, and, being encompassed by a -closely investing audience of the entire -population—including, of course, infants -in arms—our principal topic was the brute -that had so successfully eluded us.</p> - -<p>“He will never be caught save by one -bait,” remarked a venerable man, wagging -his long white beard.</p> - -<p>“And what is that, O my father?” I -asked.</p> - -<p>“A man or a woman,” was the startling -reply; “and those we cannot give.”</p> - -<p>“Yea, but we can!” cried a shrill voice. -There was a sudden movement in the -crowd, and a tall female figure broke out -of the throng, and pushed her way into -the open space and the full light of the -fire. She wore the usual dark red petticoat, -short-sleeved jacket, and blue cloth -or veil over her head. This she suddenly -tossed aside, and, as she stood revealed -before us, her hair was dishevelled, her -black eyes blazed with excitement; but -she was magnificently handsome. No flat-faced -Gond this, but a Marathi of six-and-twenty -years of age—supremely beautiful.</p> - -<p>“Protectors of the poor,” she cried, flinging -out her two modelled arms, jingling -with copper bangles, “here am <i>I</i>. I am -willing, and thou shalt give <i>me</i>. The -shaitan has slain my man and my son. -When the elephant is gone, why keep the -goad? This devil of tigers has eaten more -than one hundred of our people, and I -gladly offer my life in exchange for his. -Cattle! no”—with scorn. “He seeks not -our flocks; he seeks <i>us</i>! Have we not -learned that, above all, he prefers women -folk and young? Therefore, behold I give -myself”—looking round with a dramatic -gesture of her hand—“to save all these.”</p> - -<p>“It is Sassi,” muttered the Malgoozar, -“the widow of Gitan. Since seven days -her mind hath departed. She is mad.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, my father, but I am wise! Truly, -it is the sahib’s shikari who is foolish, and -of but little wit. He knows not the ground. -There is the stream close to the forest and -the crops. The sahibs shall sit above in -the old bher tree, with their guns. They -shall tie me up below. Lo, I will sing, -yea, loudly, and perchance the tiger will -come. He is now seven days without -food from our village. Surely he must be -an-hungered. I will sing, and bring him -to the great lords’ feet—even to his -death and mine. Then will my folk be -avenged, and my name remembered—Sassi -the Marathi, who gave her life for her -people!”</p> - -<p>She paused, and every eye was fixed -upon her as she stood amidst a breathless -silence, awaiting our answer, as immovable -as a statue.</p> - -<p>“Truly, what talk is so foolish as the -talk of a woman?” began the Malgoozar, -fretfully. “Small mouth, big speech——”</p> - -<p>“Nay, my father,” interrupted Nuddoo, -eagerly, “but she speaks words of wisdom, -and ’tis I that am the fool. The lord -sahib returns in two days’ time—and we -have done naught.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, his best eye was fixed on -Sassi with an expression of ravenous greed -not to be described. Apparently he saw -the five hundred rupees now within a -measurable distance!</p> - -<p>“She can lure him, she shall stand on -the stack of Bhoosa that pertains to -Ruckoo, the chowkidar; she will sing—the -nights are still. The Bagh will hear, -he will come, and, ere he can approach, -the sahibs will shoot him. After all”—with -a contemptuous shrug—“it is but a -mad woman and a widow.”</p> - -<p>“Nuddoo,” shouted Algy, “if I ever -hear you air those sentiments again, I’ll -shoot you. We don’t want that sort of -bait; and, if we did, I would sooner tie -<i>you</i> up, than a woman and a widow.”</p> - -<p>Nuddoo’s eager protestations, and Algy’s -expostulations, were loud and long, and -during them a stern-faced old hag placed -her hand on Sassi’s shoulder, drew her out -of the crowd, and the episode was closed.</p> - -<p>Our expedition that night was, as usual, -fruitless. We climbed into our tree platform, -the now accustomed buffalo dozed -in his place undisturbed. Evidently Algy’s -mind dwelt on the recent scene at the -chowk, and he harangued me from time -to time, in an excited whisper, on the subject -of Sassi’s heroism, her wonderful -beauty, and Nuddoo’s base suggestion. -He was still whispering, when I fell asleep. -And now it had come to our last day but -one. Jones looked upon further effort as -supreme folly. He wanted, for once, a -night’s unbroken rest, and at six o’clock -we left him lying on his string bed, on -the flat of his back, smoking cigarettes -and reading a two-shilling novel—a novel -dealing with smart folk in high life—a -book that carried his thoughts far, far -from a miserable mud village in the C.P. -and its living scourge. How I envied -Jones! I would thankfully have excused -myself, but Algy was <i>my</i> cousin; he had -taken command of the trip, and of me, -ever since we had quitted the great trunk -road—and I was entirely under his orders.</p> - -<p>Nuddoo was not above accepting a hint; -this time our machan was lashed into a -big pepul tree on the border of the forest, -and the edge of a stream that had its home -in the hills. We were about two miles -from Karwassa as the crow flies, and, as -we were rather early, we had ample time -to look about us; the scene was a typical -landscape in the Central Provinces. To our -left lay the hills, covered with dense woodlands, -from whose gloomy depths emerged -the now shallow river, which trickled gently -past us over its bed of dark blue rock and -gravel. Beyond the stream, and exactly -facing us, lay a vast expanse of grain—<i>jawarri</i>, -<i>gram</i>, and vetches—as far as the -eye could reach, the monotonous stretch -being broken, here and there, by a gigantic -and solitary jungle tree. To the right, and -on our side of the bank, was an exquisite -sylvan glade, a suitable spot to which the -forest fairies might issue invitations to -the neighbouring elves to “come and -dance in the moonbeams.” Between the -great trees, the waving crops, and the -murmuring brook, I could almost have -imagined myself in the midlands of England—save -for certain tracks in the sand -beneath our tree. Its enormous roots were -twisted among rocks and boulders, and, -where a spit of gravel ran out into the -clear water, were many footprints, which -showed where the bear, hyena, tiger, and -jackal had come to slake their thirst. I -noticed that Nuddoo seemed restless and -strange, and that his explanations and -answers were incoherent, not to say -foolish.</p> - -<p>“This looks a likely enough place,” said -Algy, with the confidence of a man who -had been after tiger for years. “But, I -say, Nuddoo, where’s the chap with the -buffalo—where is our tie-up?”</p> - -<p>“Buffalo never started yet—plenty -time—coming by-and-by, at moonrise,” -stammered Nuddoo; and, as I climbed into -the machan, and he took his place next -me, with our rifles, it struck me that -Nuddoo was not sober. He smelt powerfully -of raw whisky—our whisky—his lips -were cracked and dry, and his hand shook -visibly. What had he been doing?</p> - -<p>“It will be an awful sell if there is no -tie-up, and the tiger happens to go by,” -said Algy, irritably.</p> - -<p>“The gara will be here without fail, -your honour’s worship. It will be all right, -I swear it by the head of my son. Moreover, -we will get the tiger—to-night he -touches his last hour.”</p> - -<p>There was no question that Nuddoo, for -the first time in my experience, was very -drunk indeed. Presently the full moon -rose up and illuminated the lonely landscape, -the haunted jungle, the crops, the -glade, and turned the forest stream to -molten silver. It was nine o’clock, and, -whilst Nuddoo slumbered, Algy and I held -our breath, as we watched a noble sambur -stag come and drink below us. He was -succeeded by an old boar, next came a -hyena; it was a popular resort; in short, -every animal appeared but the one we -wanted—and <i>he</i> was undoubtedly in the -neighbourhood, for the deer seemed uneasy.</p> - -<p>It was already after ten, and Algy was -naturally impatient, and eagerly looking -out for our devoted “gara.” He and I -were bending forward, listening anxiously; -the forest behind us seemed full of stealthy -noises, but we strained our ears in vain -for the longed-for sound of buffalo hoofs -advancing from the front. Nuddoo still -slept soundly, and at last Algy, in great -exasperation, leant over and shook him -roughly.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” he muttered, in a sleepy grunt, -“it is all right, sahib, the gara will come -without fail.”</p> - -<p>Even whilst he spoke, we heard, not fifty -yards away, the voice of a woman -singing in the glade, and Nuddoo now -started up erect, and began to tremble -violently.</p> - -<p>It was light as day, as we beheld Sassi -advancing slowly in our direction, singing -in a loud clear voice an invocation to Mahadeo -the Destroyer!</p> - -<p>When she had approached within earshot -she halted, and, raising her statuesque face -to her namesake the moon, chanted—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“O great lords in the pepul tree, whereto Nuddoo, the drunkard, hath led you,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Behold, according to my promise, lo! I have come.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I sing to my gods, and perchance I will bring the tiger to your honours’ feet.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>For the space of three heart-beats, we remained -motionless—paralyzed with horror,—and -then Nuddoo, who was gibbering -with most mysterious terror, gave me a -sudden and an involuntary push.</p> - -<p>There, to the left, was <i>something</i> coming -rapidly through the crops! The grain -parted and waved wildly as it passed; in -a moment a huge striped animal, the size -of a calf, had crossed the river with a -hurried limp.</p> - -<p>“Kubberdar! Bagh! Bagh!” roared -Algy to the woman. To me, “You’ve got -him!”</p> - -<p>Undoubtedly it was <i>my</i> shot, but I was -excessively flurried—it was new to me to -have a human life hanging on my trigger; -as he sprang into the open glade I fired—and -missed. I heard my cousin draw in -his breath hard; I saw the woman turn -and face us. The tiger’s spring and Algy’s -shot seemed simultaneous; as the echo -died away, there was not another sound—the -great brute lay dead across the corpse -of his victim. I was now shaking as much -as Nuddoo; my bad aim had had a frightful -result. Before I could scramble down, -Algy, with inconceivable rashness, was -already beside the bodies, where they lay -in the middle of the glade—the monster -stretched above his voluntary prey.</p> - -<p>The news spread to the village in some -miraculous manner. Had the birds of the -air carried the great tidings? The entire -community were instantly roused by the -intelligence. Man, woman, yea, and child, -came streaming forth, beating tom-toms -and shouting themselves hoarse with joy. -They collected about the tiger—who was -evidently of far more account than the -woman—they kicked him, cursed him, spat -on him, and secretly stole his whiskers -for a charm against the evil eye. They -thrummed the tom-toms madly as they -marched round and round Algy—the hero -of the hour.</p> - -<p>Nuddoo had now entirely forgotten his -tremors, he was almost delirious with excitement; -the five hundred rupees were -his, he could live on them—and on his -reputation as the slayer of the great -Karwassa man-eater—for the remainder of -his existence. He talked till he frothed -at the corners of his mouth, he boasted -here, he boasted there. He declared that -“<i>he</i> had encouraged Sassi, and given her -an appointment as the gara, or tie-up. -Yea, she had spoken truly—there was no -other means!”</p> - -<p>Released from his honours and the transports -of the tom-toms, these fatal words -fell on Algy’s ears, and he went straight for -Nuddoo. What he said or did, I know -not, but this I know, that from that -moment I never saw Nuddoo again until -weeks later, when he came to me by stealth -in Kori, exceedingly humble and sober, and -received, according to Algy’s instructions, -“five hundred rupees; but if he asks -you for a chit,” wrote Algy, “kick him -out of the compound.”</p> - -<p>The tiger was big and heavy, he required -twenty coolies to carry him back to Karwassa—for -his last visit. Sassi was borne -on the frame of our machan—ere she -was placed there, an old hag covered the -beautiful dead face with her veil, and -slipped off her sole ornaments, the copper -bangles, in a business-like fashion.</p> - -<p>“Give me one of those,” said Algy, who -was standing by. “I will pay you well. -Were you her mother?”</p> - -<p>“Her grandmother,” replied the crone. -“She was mad. Lo, now she is gone, I -shall surely starve!” and she began to -whimper for the first time. Truly, she knew -this sahib was both rich and open-handed.</p> - -<p>Algy and I slept soundly for the remainder -of that eventful night; but it is -my opinion that the villagers never went -to rest at all. The moment we set foot -in the street the next morning, a vast -crowd surged round my cousin; every -one of them carried a string of flowers or—highest -compliment—a gilded lime. -Women brought their children, from the -youngest upwards, and Algy was soon the -centre of the village nursery. All these -little people were solemnly requested “to -look well upon that honoured lord, and -to remember when they were old, and to -tell it to their children, that their own -eyes had rested on the great sahib who -had killed the shaitan of Karwassa.”</p> - -<p>Algy was loaded with honours and -flowers; I must confess that he bore them -modestly, and he, on his side, paid high -tribute to Sassi the Marathi. He commanded -that she should have a splendid -funeral. The most costly pyre that was -ever seen in those parts was erected, the -memory of the oldest inhabitant was vainly -racked to recall anything approaching its -magnificence. The village resources, and -the resources of three other hamlets, were -strained to the utmost tension to provide -sandal-wood, oil, jewels, and dress. If -Algy’s London “pals” could hear of him -spending fifty pounds on the burning of a -native woman, how they would laugh and -chaff him! I hinted as much, and got a -distinctly nasty reply. He was quite right; -roughing it <i>had</i> a bad effect upon his -temper. At sundown the whole population -assembled by the river bank to witness -the obsequies of Sassi the widow of Gitan; -they marvelled much (and so did I) to -behold my cousin standing by, bare-headed, -during the entire ceremony.</p> - -<p>We set out on our return journey that -same evening—travelling by moonlight had -no dangers now! Algy distributed immense -largesse among his friends, viz. the -entire community (he also paid all our -expenses like a prince). He and the inhabitants -of Karwassa parted with many -good wishes and mutual reluctance; indeed, -a body of them formed a running -accompaniment to us for nearly a dozen -miles. Our spoil, the tiger’s skin, was a -poor specimen. The stripes had a dull, -faded appearance; but it measured, without -stretching, a good honest ten feet from -nose to tip of tail. Once we were out of -the jungle, and back in the land of bungalows, -daily posts, and baker’s bread, Algy -relapsed from a keen and intrepid sportsman -into an indolent, drawling dandy. -The day after our return to Kori, he took -leave of me in these remarkable words—</p> - -<p>“Well, good-bye, Perky. You are not -a bad sort, though you are not much of a -chap to shoot or rough it. However, I -have to thank you for taking me off the -beaten track, and showing me something -which I shall never forget,—and that was -entirely out of the common.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MISSUS">“THE MISSUS.”<br /> -<small>A DOG TRAGEDY.</small></h2> -</div> - -<p>When the Royal British Skirmishers were -quartered in Bombay, their second in -command was Major Bowen, a spare, -grizzled, self-contained little soldier, who -lived alone in one of those thatched -bungalows that resemble so many monstrous -mushrooms, bordering the racecourse. -“The Major,” as he was called <i>par -excellence</i>, was best described by negatives. -He was not married. He was not a ladies’ -man. Nor was he a sportsman; nor handsome, -young, rich, nor even clever—in -short, he was not remarkable for anything -except, perhaps, his dog. No one could -dispute the fact that Major Bowen was -the owner of an uncommon animal. He -and this dog had exchanged into “the -Skirmishers” from another regiment six -years previously, and though the pair were -at first but coldly received, they adapted -themselves so admirably to their new -surroundings that ere long they had gained -the esteem and goodwill of both rank and -file; and, as time wore on, there actually -arose an ill-concealed jealousy of their old -corps, and a disposition to ignore the fact -that they had not always been part and -parcel of the gallant Skirmishers. Although -poor, and having but little besides his -pay, the Major was liberal—both just and -generous; and if he was mean or close-fisted -with any one, that person’s name was -Reginald Bowen. He had an extremely -lofty standard of honour and of the value -of his lightest word. He gave a good tone -to the mess, and though he was strict -with the youngsters, they all liked him. -Inflexible as he could look on parade or -in the orderly-room, elsewhere he received -half the confidences of the regiment; and -many a subaltern had been extricated from -a scrape, thanks to the little Major’s -assistance—monetary and otherwise. He -was a smart officer and a capital horseman, -and here was another source of his -popularity. He lent his horses and ponies, -with ungrudging good faith, to those -impecunious youths who boasted but the -one hard-worked barrack “tat;” and many -a happy hour with hounds, or on the polo-ground, -was spent on the back of the -Major’s cattle. Major Bowen did not race -or hunt, and rarely played polo; in fact, -he was not much interested in anything—although -upwards of forty, he was supremely -indifferent to his dinner!—the one thing he -really cared about was his <i>dog</i>: a sharp, -well-bred fox-terrier, with bright eyes and -lemon-coloured ears,—who, in spite of the -fact that her original name was “Minnie,” -had been known as “the Missus” for the -last five years. This name was given -to her in joke, and in acknowledgment -of her accomplishments; the agreeable -manner in which she did the honours of her -master’s bungalow, and the extraordinary -care she took of him, and all his property. -It was truly absurd to see this little creature—of -at most sixteen pounds’ weight—gravely -lying, with crossed paws, in front -of the Major’s sixteen hands “waler,” -whilst he was going round barracks, or -occupied in the orderly-room. Her pose -of self-importance distinctly said, “The -horse and syce are in <i>my</i> charge!”</p> - -<p>She went about the compound early -every morning, and rigorously turned out -vagrants, suspicious-looking visitors to the -servants’ quarters, and all dogs and goats! -She accompanied her master to mess, and -fetched him home, no matter how late the -hour—and through the rains (and they are -no joke in Bombay) it was just the same; -there was the chokedar, with his mackintosh -and lantern; and there was also, invariably, -the shivering, sleepy little Missus. It was -of no avail to tie her up at home; not -only were her heartrending howls audible -for a quarter of a mile, but on one occasion -she actually arrived under the dinner-table, -chain and all, to the discomfort of the -Colonel’s legs, the great scandal of the -mess-sergeant, and her own everlasting -disgrace! So she was eventually suffered—like -wilful woman—to have her way. -Her master’s friends were her friends, -and took the Missus quite seriously—but -she drew the line at dogs. It must be -admitted that her manners to her own -species were—not nice. She had an unladylike -habit of suddenly sitting down -when she descried one afar off, and sniffing -the, so to speak, tainted air, that was -nothing more nor less than a deliberate -insult to any animal with the commonest -self-respect; many a battle was fought, -many a bite was given and received. The -Missus was undeniably accomplished; -she fetched papers and slippers, gave the -paw, and in the new style—on a level -with her head, walked briskly on her -hind legs, could strum on the piano, and -sing, accompanying herself to a clear, somewhat -shrill, soprano. There was a little -old pianette in the Major’s sitting-room, -on which she performed amid great applause. -It was <i>not</i> true that the instrument had -been purchased solely for her use, or that -she practised industriously for two hours -a day. No—the pianette had been handed -over to her master by a young man (who -had subsequently gone to the dogs) as the -only available payment of a sum the Major -had advanced for him. Battered old tin -kettle as it was, that despised piano had cost -one hundred pounds! But no one dreamt -of <i>this</i> when they laughed at its shortcomings. -The Missus was passionately fond -of music, and escorted her owner to the -band; but she escorted him almost everywhere—to -the club, round the barracks, -the racecourse, to church—here she was -ignominiously secured in the syce’s -“cupra,” as she had a way of stealthily -peeping in at the various open doors, and -endeavouring to focus her idol, which -manœuvre—joined with her occasional -assistance in the chanting—proved a little -trying to the gravity of the congregation. -Of course she went to the hills—where she -had an immense acquaintance; she had -also been on active service on the Black -Mountain, and when one night a prowling -Afridi crept on his hands and knees into -the Major’s tent, he found himself unexpectedly -pinned by a set of sharp teeth,—he -carried the mark of that bite to his -grave.</p> - -<p>Major Bowen was not the least ashamed -of his affection for his dog. She was his -weak point—even the very Company’s -dhobies approached him through her -favour. He was president of the mess, -and in an excellent manner had officiated -for years in that difficult and thankless -office; a good man of business—prompt, -clear-headed, methodical, and conscientious. -No scamping of accounts, no peculations -overlooked, a martinet to the -servants, and possibly less loved than -feared. But this is a digression from the -Missus. Her master was foolishly proud -of her good looks—very sensitive respecting -her little foibles (which he clumsily -endeavoured to conceal), and actually -touchy about her age!</p> - -<p>When the Missus had her first, and only, -family, it was quite a great local event. -The Major’s establishment was turned -completely upside down; there was racing -and chasing to procure two milch goats -for the use of the infants and their mother, -and a most elegant wadded basket was provided -as a cradle. But, alas! the Missus -proved a most indifferent parent. She -deserted her little encumbrances at the -end of one day, and followed her master -to the Gymkana ground. He was heartily -ashamed of her, and positively used to -remain indoors for the sake of keeping up -appearances. He could not go to the club, -and have the Missus waiting conspicuously -outside with the pony, when all the world -knew that she had no business to be there, -but had four young and helpless belongings -squealing for her at home! She accorded -them but little of her company, and -appeared to think that her nursery cares -were entirely the affair of the two milch -goats! One of her neglected children -pined, and dwindled, and eventually died, -was placed in a cigar-box, and buried in -a neat little grave under a rose-bush in -the compound, whilst its unnatural mamma -looked on from afar off, a totally uninterested -spectator! The three survivors -were handsome puppies, and the Major -exhibited them with pride to numerous -callers, and finally bestowed them among -his friends (entirely to please their mother, -whom they bored to death). They were -gratefully accepted, not merely on their -own merits, but also as being a public -testimonial of their donor’s high opinion -and esteem.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was towards the end of the monsoon, -when the compound was almost afloat, and -querulous frogs croaked in every corner of -the verandahs, that Major Bowen became -seriously ill with low malarious fever. He -had been out ten years—“five years too -long,” the doctor declared; “he must go -home at once, and never return to India.” -This was bad news for the regiment, and -still worse for the invalid, who helped a -widowed sister with all he could spare from -his colonial allowances. There would not -be much margin on English pay!</p> - -<p>He was dangerously ill in that lofty, -bare, whitewashed bedroom in Infantry -Lines. He would not be the first to die -there. No,—not by many. His friends were -devoted and anxious. The Missus was devoted -and distracted. She lay all day long -at the foot of his cot, watching and listening, -and following his slightest movement -with a pair of agonized eyes.</p> - -<p>At length there was a change—and for -the better. The patient was promoted into -a cane lounge in the sitting-room, to solids, -and to society—as represented by half the -regiment. He looked round his meagrely -furnished little room with interested eyes. -There was not a speck of dust to be seen, -everything was in its place, to the letter-weight -on the writing-table, and the old -faded photos in their shabby leather frames. -Missus’s basket was pushed into a far corner. -She had not used it for weeks. He and -Missus were going home, and would soon -say good-bye for ever to the steep-roofed -thatched bungalow, the creaking cane -chairs, the red saloo purdahs, to the -verandahs, embowered in pale lilac “railway” -creeper, to the neat little garden—to -the regiment—to Bombay. Their -passages were taken. They were off in -the <i>Arcadia</i> in three days.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That afternoon, the Major had all his -kit and personal property paraded in his -sitting-room, in order that the packing -of his belongings (he was a very tidy -man) should take place under his own -eyes. The bearer was in attendance, and -with him his slave and scapegoat—the -chokra.</p> - -<p>The bearer was a stolid, impassive-looking -Mahomedan, with a square black beard, -and a somewhat sullen eye.</p> - -<p>“Abdul,” said his master, as his gaze -travelled languidly from one neatly folded -pile of clothes to another—from guns in -cases to guns not in cases, to clocks, revolvers, -watches, candlesticks—the collection -of ten years, parting gifts, bargains, -and legacies—“you have been my servant -for six years, and have served me well. -I have twice raised your wages, and you -have made a very good thing out of me, -I believe, and can, no doubt, retire and -set up a ticca gharry, or a shop. I am -going away, and never coming back, and -I want to give you something of mine as -a remembrance—something to remember -me by, you understand?”</p> - -<p>The bearer deliberately unfolded his arms, -and salaamed in silence.</p> - -<p>“You may choose anything you like out -of this room,” continued the Major, with -unexampled recklessness.</p> - -<p>Abdul’s eyes glittered curiously—it was -as if a torch had suddenly illumined two -inky-black pools.</p> - -<p>“Sahib never making joke—sahib making -really earnest?”—casting on him a glance -of almost desperate eagerness. The glance -was lost on his master, whose attention -was fixed on a discarded gold-laced tunic -and mess-jacket.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he said to himself, “Abdul -will choose them,” for gold lace is ever -dear to a native heart, it sells so well -in the bazaar, and melts down to such -advantage.</p> - -<p>“Making earnest!” repeated the invalid, -irritably. “Do I ever do otherwise? Look -sharp, and take your choice.”</p> - -<p>“Salaam, sahib,” he answered, and -turned quickly to where the Missus was -coiled up in a chair. “I take my choice -of anything in this room. Then I take—the—dog.”</p> - -<p>“The—<i>dog</i>!” repeated her owner, with -a half-stupefied air.</p> - -<p>“Verily, I am fond of Missy. Missy -fond of master. The dog and I will remember -the sahib together, when he is -far away.”</p> - -<p>The sahib felt as if some one had suddenly -plunged a knife in his heart. In Abdul’s -bold gaze, in Abdul’s petition, he, too late, -recalled the solemn (but despised) warning -of a brother-officer:</p> - -<p>“That bearer of yours is a vindictive -brute; you got his son turned out of the -mess, and serve him right, for a drunken, -thieving hound! But sleek as he looks, -Abdul will have it in for you yet;” and -this was accomplished, when he said, -“The dog and I, sahib, will remember -you together.”</p> - -<p>Major Bowen was still desperately weak, -and he had just been dealt a crushing -blow; but the spirit that holds India -was present in that puny, wasted frame, -and, with a superhuman effort, he boldly -confronted the two natives—the open-mouthed, -gaping chokra, the respectfully -exultant bearer—and said, “Atcha” (that -is to say, “good”), “it is well;” and then -he feebly waved to the pair to depart from -him, for he was tired.</p> - -<p>Truly it was anything but “good.” It -seemed the worst calamity that could have -befallen him. He was alone, and face to -face with a terrible situation. He must -either forfeit his word, or his dog,—which -was it to be?</p> - -<p>In all his life, to the best of his knowledge, -he had never broken his faith, and -now to do it to a native!—that was absolutely -out of the question. But his dog—his -friend—his companion—with whom -he never meant to part, as long as she -lived (for <i>she</i> had given her to him). He -sat erect, and looked over at the Missus, -where she lay curled up; her expressive -eyes met his eagerly.</p> - -<p>Little, O Missus, do you guess the fatal -promise that has just been made, nor how -largely it concerns <i>you</i>. Her master lay -back with a groan, and turned his face -away from the light, a truly miserable -man! His faithful Missus!—to have to -part with her to one of the regiment -would have been grief enough; but to a -Mahomedan, with their unconcealed scorn -of dogs! He must have been mad when -he made that rash offer; but then, in -justification, his common sense urged, -“How was he to suppose that Abdul -would choose anything but a silver watch, a -gun, or the worth of fifty rupees?” Major -Bowen was far from being an imaginative -man, but as he lay awake all night long, -and listened to the wild roof-cats stealing -down the thatch, and heard them pattering -back at dawn, one mental picture stood -out as distinctly as if he was looking at -it with his bodily sight, and it was actually -before him.</p> - -<p>A low, squalid mud hut in a bazaar; -a native string bed, and tied to it by a -cord—<i>the Missus</i>. “The Missus,” with -thin ribs, a staring coat, and misery -depicted on her little face, the sport of the -children and the flies—starved, forlorn, -heartbroken—dumbly wondering what had -happened to her master, and why he had so -cruelly deserted her! Oh, when was he coming -to fetch her? Not knowing, she was at -least spared <i>this</i>—that he would never come.</p> - -<p>What an insane promise! As he recalled -it, he clenched his hands in intolerable -agony. Why did he not <i>offer</i> his watch—his -rifle? he would give Abdul a thousand -rupees, gladly, to redeem the dog, but -his inner consciousness assured him that -Abdul, thanks to him, was already well-to-do, -and that his revenge was worth -more to him than money. This would -not be the case with most natives, but -he knew, to his cost, that Abdul’s was a -stern, tenacious, relentless nature. At one -moment, he had decided to poison the -Missus with his own hands—prussic acid -was speedy; at another, he had resolved -to remain in India, doctors or no doctors.</p> - -<p>“And sacrifice your life?” again breathed -common sense. “Die for a dog!” True, -but the dog was not a dog to him. She -was his comrade, his sympathizer, his -friend. Meanwhile, the object of all these -mental wrestlings and agonies slept the -sleep of the just, innocent, and ignorant; -but in any case, it is a question if a dog’s -anxieties ever keep it awake. Her master -never closed his eyes; he saw the dawn -glimmer through the bamboo chicks; he -saw Abdul, the avenger, appear with his -early tea, and Abdul found him in high -fever; perhaps Abdul was not greatly -surprised!</p> - -<p>Friends and brother-officers flocked in -that day, and sat with the Major, and they -noted with concern that he looked worse -than he had done at any period of his -illness. His naturally pinched face was -worn and haggard to a startling degree. -Moreover, in spite of the news of the high -prices his horses had fetched, he was -terribly “down,” and why? A man going -home, after ten years of India, is generally -intolerably cheerful. They did their best to -enliven him, these good-hearted comrades, -and—unfailing topic of interest—they discoursed -volubly and incessantly of the -Missus.</p> - -<p>“She is looking uncommonly fit,” said -young Stradbrooke, the owner of one of -her neglected children. “She knows she -is going to England. She was quite grand -with me just now! She hates boating like -the devil! I wonder how she will stand -fourteen days at sea?”</p> - -<p>There was a perceptible silence after this -question, and then the Major said in a -queer voice—</p> - -<p>“She is—not—going.”</p> - -<p>“Not going?” An incredulous pause, -and then some one exclaimed: “Come, -Major, you know you would just as soon -leave your head behind.”</p> - -<p>“All the same—I am leaving her——”</p> - -<p>“And which of us is to have her?” cried -the Adjutant. “Take notice, all, that I -speak first. You won’t pass over me, sir. -Missus and I were always very chummy, -and I want her to look after my chargers -and servants, fetch my slippers, bring me -home from mess—and to take care of me -and keep me straight.”</p> - -<p>“I have already given her away to——” -the rest of the sentence seemed to stick -in the Major’s throat, and his face worked -painfully.</p> - -<p>“Away to whom?” repeated young -Stradbrooke. “Say it’s to <i>me</i>, sir. I’ve -one of the family already—and Missus -likes me. I know her pet biscuits, and -there are heaps of rats in my stables—such -whoppers!”</p> - -<p>“Given her—to the bearer—Abdul,” he -answered, stoutly enough, though there -was still a little nervous quivering of the -lower lip.</p> - -<p>If the ceiling had parted asunder and -straightway tumbled down on their heads, -the Major’s audience would not have been -half so much dumfoundered. For a whole -minute they sat agape, and then one burst -out—</p> - -<p>“I say, Major, it’s a joke—you would -not give her out of the regiment; she is -on the <i>strength</i>.”</p> - -<p>“She is promised,” replied the Major, -in a sort of husky whisper.</p> - -<p>Every one knew that the Major’s promises -were a serious matter, and after this answer -there ensued a long dismayed silence. The -visitors eventually turned the topic, and -tried to talk of other matters—the last -gazette, the new regimental ribbon, of -anything but of what every mind was full, -to wit, “the Missus.”</p> - -<p>The news respecting her bestowal -created quite a sensation that evening at -the mess—far more than that occasioned by -a newly announced engagement, for there -was an element of mystery about <i>this</i> -topic. Why had the Missus been given -away?</p> - -<p>“Bowen must be off his chump,” was -the general verdict, “poor old chap, to -give the dog to that rascal Abdul, of all -people!” (One curious feature in Anglo-Indian -life, is the low opinion people generally -entertain of their friends’ servants.) -“The proper thing was, of course, to buy -the dog, and keep her in the regiment; -and when the Major came to his right -senses, how glad he would be, dear old -man!”</p> - -<p>The Adjutant waylaid Abdul in the road, -and said, curtly—</p> - -<p>“Is this true, about the dog?—that your -sahib has given her to you?”</p> - -<p>Abdul salaamed. How convenient and -non-committal is that gesture!</p> - -<p>“What will you take for her?”</p> - -<p>“I never selling master’s present,” rejoined -the bearer, with superb dignity.</p> - -<p>“What does a nigger want with a dog?” -demanded the officer, scornfully. “Well, -then, swop her—<i>that</i> won’t hurt your delicate -sense of honour. I’ll get you an old -pariah out of the bazaar, and give you fifty -rupees to buy him a collar!”</p> - -<p>“I have refused to-day one thousand -rupees for the Missy,” said Abdul, with -increased hauteur.</p> - -<p>“You lie, Abdul,” said the officer, -sternly; “or else you have been dealing -with a stark, staring madman.”</p> - -<p>“I telling true, Captain Sahib. I swear -by the beard of the Prophet.”</p> - -<p>“Who made the offer?”</p> - -<p>“Major Bone”—the natives always called -him “Major Bone.”</p> - -<p>“Great Scott! Poor dear old chap” (to -himself): “I had no idea he was so badly -touched. It is well he is going home, -or it would be a case of four orderlies and -a padded room. So much for this beastly -country!” Then to Abdul, “Look here; -don’t say a word about that offer, and -come over to my quarters, and I’ll give -you some dibs—the sun has been too much -for your sahib—and mind you be kind to -the Missus; if not, I’ll come and shoot -her, and thrash you within an inch of -your life.”</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen Sahib never beating servants. -Sahib touch me, I summon in police-court, -and I bring report to regimental -commanding officer. Also, I going my -own country, Bareilly, and I never, never -selling kind master’s present.”</p> - -<p>“I know lots of Sahibs in a pultoon -(<i>i.e.</i> regiment) at Bareilly, and I shall get -them to look out for you and the dog, -Mr. Abdul. You treat ‘kind master’s -present’ well, and it will be well with you,—if -not, by Jove, you will find that I have -got a long arm. I am a man of my word, -so keep your mouth shut about the Major. -To-night my bearer will give you ten -rupees.” And he walked on.</p> - -<p>“Bowen must be in a real bad way, -when he gives his beloved dog to a native, -and next day wants to buy it back for a -thousand rupees,” said Captain Young to -himself. “I thought he looked queer -yesterday, but I never guessed that he was -as mad as twenty hatters.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The hour of the Major’s departure -arrived; he had entreated, as a special -favour, that no one would come to see -him off. This request was looked upon -as more of his eccentricity, and not worthy -of serious consideration; he would get all -right as soon as he was at sea, and the -officers who were not on duty hurried -down to see the last of their popular -comrade. He drove up late, looking like -death, his face so withered, drawn, and grey, -and got out of a gharry, promptly followed -by Abdul, carrying the Missus. The steam-launch -lay puffing and snorting at the steps—the -other passengers were aboard—there -was not a moment to lose. The Major bade -each and all a hurried farewell; he took -leave of the Missus last. She was still in -Abdul’s arms, and believed in her simple -dog mind that her master was merely bound -for one of those detestable sails up the -harbour. As she offered him an eager paw, -little did she guess that it was good-bye -for ever, or that she was gazing after him -for the last time, as he feebly descended the -steps and took his place in the tender that -was to convey him to the P. and O. steamer.</p> - -<p>He watched the crowd of friends wildly -waving handkerchiefs; but he watched, -above all, with a long, long gaze of inarticulate -grief, a dark turbaned figure, that -stood conspicuously apart, with a small -white object in his arms: watched almost -breathlessly, till it faded away into one -general blur. The Bengal civilian who sat -next to Major Bowen in the tender, stared -at him in contemptuous astonishment. He -had been twenty-five years in the country -(mitigating his exile with as much furlough—sick, -privilege, and otherwise—as he -could possibly obtain), and this was the first -time he had seen a man quit the shores -of India—with <i>tears in his eyes</i>!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BETRAYAL">THE BETRAYAL OF -SHERE BAHADUR.</h2> -</div> - -<p>I am merely the wife of a British subaltern, -whereas my aunt Jane is the consort of a -commissioner. One must go to India, to -realize the enormous and unfathomable gulf -which yawns between these two positions.</p> - -<p>Take, for instance, that important difference—the -difference in pay. On the -first of each month, Aunt Jane’s lord and -master receives several thousand and odd -rupees—a heavy load for two staggering -peons to carry from the treasury—whereas -my husband’s poor little pittance, of two -hundred and fifty-six rupees and odd annas, -our bearer swings in a lean canvas bag, -and in one hand, with an air of jaunty -contempt!</p> - -<p>At dinner-parties and other grand functions, -I see my aunt’s round-shouldered -back, and well-known yellow satin, leading -the van, with her hand on the host’s arm, -whilst I humbly bring up the rear—one -of the last joints in the tail of precedence.</p> - -<p>Afterwards—after coffee, conversation, -and music—not a woman in the room may -venture to stir, until my little fat relative -has “made the move” and waddled off to -her carriage. Mr. Radcliffe, my uncle by -marriage, rules over a large district; he is -a stout, puffy, imposing-looking man, attended -by much pomp and circumstance, -and many scarlet-clad chuprassis. His -wife rules him—as well as the station; -manages every one’s affairs, acts as the -censor of public morals, and may be implicitly -relied upon to utter the disagreeable -things that <i>ought</i> to be said, but that no -one but herself is willing to say. The -Radcliffes have no family, and therefore -she has ample time to indulge her fine -powers of observation, organization, and -conversation. When I married, and was -about to come to India, a year ago, my -people remarked on an average once a -week—</p> - -<p>“If you are going to Luckmee, you will -be quite close to your aunt Jane at Rajapore, -and only think how delightful that -will be for you!” but I was by no means so -confident of this supreme future joy. Rajapore -is a large mixed military and civil -station; Luckmee is on the same line of -rail, a run of a couple of hours; a small -and insignificant cantonment, which looks -up to Rajapore as its metropolis, and does -all its shopping there. No, I did not find -it at all delightful, being within such easy -hail of Aunt Jane. She made unexpected -descents—as a rule, early in the morning—driving -up from the station in a rickety -“ticca gharry,” to spend what she called -“a good long day.” First of all, she went -over the bungalow precisely as if it was to -let furnished, and she was the incoming -tenant; then she cross-examined me closely, -read my home letters, looked at my bazaar -account, sniffed at my new frocks, snubbed -my friends, and departed by the last train in -the highest spirits, leaving me struggling -with the idea that I was <i>still</i> a rather -troublesome schoolgirl in short frocks and -a pig-tail. Now and then I returned the -visit—by command—drove with Aunt Jane -in her state barouche, in which she sat -supported by a pair of rather faded Berlin -wool cushions, great eyesores to my critical -English taste, which largely discounted the -fine carriage, big bay walers, fat coachman -(an Indian Jehu of any pretension must be -corpulent), the running syces, and splendid -silver-mounted chowries or yâk tails.</p> - -<p>I also was present at various heavy tiffins -and dinners, in the capacity of deputy -assistant hostess and niece. I had come -in now, to wait upon Aunt Jane and “take -leave,” as she was just off to England, and -had imperatively summoned me to report -myself ere she started. I found the great -square white bungalow externally gay with -<i>Bignonia vinusta</i>, internally in the utmost -confusion. The hall was littered with straw -and bits of newspapers, the drawing-room -was full of packing-cases, half the contents -of the cellar were paraded on the floor, and -dozens of tins of “Europe” stores were also -on review, all being for sale. Aunt Jane -was seated at a writing-table, revising lists -with a rapid pen.</p> - -<p>“You discover me,” she exclaimed, offering -a plump cheek, “sitting like Marius -among the ruins of Carthage.”</p> - -<p>I was dumb. I had no idea until now -that Marius was a stout little elderly -woman, wearing a shapeless grey wide-awake -and blue spectacles.</p> - -<p>“I feel almost fit for the poggle khana -(mad-house),” she continued. “Just look -here! Here is my list of furniture, come -back from making the round of the station, -and all that has been taken is a watering-pot, -six finger-glasses, and a pie-dish!” -(The truth was that people were tired of -my aunt’s lists.) “And here are dozens of -servants clamouring for chits—and a man -waiting to buy the cows. I wish to goodness -some one would buy your uncle’s -shikar camel,”—reading aloud from list,—“‘young, -strong, easy trot and walk, with -saddle, Rs. 200.’ Your uncle is going to -chum with Mr. Jones. He does not intend -shooting this season—even <i>he</i> finds it an -expensive pursuit,” this in a significant -parenthesis. “I’ve not put away the ornaments, -nor sold off my stores, nor packed -one of my own things.”</p> - -<p>I muttered some sympathetic remark, -but I knew that Aunt Jane enjoyed these -“earthquakings” immensely. She was constantly -uprooting her establishment, and -taking what she called “a run home.”</p> - -<p>“And you go on Monday?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes, child; though I don’t believe I -shall ever be ready. Your mother, of -course, will want to know how you are? -I must candidly tell her that you are looking -dreadfully pasty. Ah! I see you have -got a parcel.”</p> - -<p>“Only a very little one,” I pleaded -apologetically.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, I suppose I must <i>try</i> and -take it; and now what are your plans?”</p> - -<p>“Tom has got two months’ leave, and -Charlie is coming up from Madras; we are -going away on a trip into the real jungle.”</p> - -<p>“For what?” she asked tartly.</p> - -<p>“Well, to see something different from -the routine of cantonment life, something -different from the band-stand and D.W.P. -pattern church—to see <i>real</i> India.”</p> - -<p>“What folly! Real India, indeed!” she -snorted; “as if you would <i>ever</i> see it! It -makes me wild to hear of people talking, and -worse still, writing about India, as if one -person could grasp even a small corner of -it. Here am I, twenty-five years in the -country, speaking the language fluently, -and what do I know?” she paused dramatically. -“The bazaar prices, the names of -the local trees and flowers, the rents of the -principal houses up at Simla.” (I have -reason to believe that my aunt did herself -gross injustice; she knew the private affairs -of half the civilians in the provinces, and -was on intimate terms with their “family -skeletons.”) “As to the character of the -people! I cannot even fathom my own -ayah, and she is with me eleven years.”</p> - -<p>“I believe some people know a great -deal about India,” I ventured to protest.</p> - -<p>“Stuff!” she interrupted. “One person -may know a little of one part of the continent, -but there are twenty Indias!—all -different, with different climates, customs, -and people. What resemblance is there -between a Moplah on the west coast and -a Leucha from Darjeeling, a little stunted -Andamanese and a Sikh; a Gond from the -C.P. and a Pathan from the frontier; a -Bengali Baboo and a bold Rohilla?” (Aunt -Jane was now mounted on her hobby, and -I had nothing to do but to look and listen.) -“Every one thinks his own little corner is -India. You, as an officer’s wife—the wife of -a subaltern in a marching regiment”—(she -always insisted on the prefix “marching”)—“have -better chances than a civilian, -for they live in one groove; you are shot -about from Colombo to Peshawar. However, -much good it will do you, for you are -naturally dull, and have no talent for -observation.”</p> - -<p>“No, not like <i>you</i>, Aunt Jane,” I -ventured with mild sarcasm: was she not -going home?</p> - -<p>“And where are you bound for?” she -pursued.</p> - -<p>“About a hundred miles out, due north.”</p> - -<p>“That is the Merween district, I know -it well. We were in that division years ago. -Had you consulted <i>me</i>, before making your -plans, your uncle might have arranged -about elephants for you. It’s too late -now,” with a somewhat triumphant air.</p> - -<p>“But we don’t want elephants,” I protested; -“we have our ponies.”</p> - -<p>“Id——” correcting herself, “simpleton! -I meant for shooting from. The -district is full of long grass. Tom will get -no deer, nor indeed any game on foot. You -may have the shikar camel, if you like, for -his keep, and the Oontwallah’s pay—no?” -as I shook my head emphatically. “Well, -I can give you one tip: take plenty of -tinned stores; the villages are scattered, -and Brahmin. You won’t get an egg, much -less a fowl—at most a little ghee and flour; -but I strongly advise you to take your own -poultry, and a couple of milch goats, also -<i>plenty</i> of quinine and cholera mixture; -parts of the country are very marshy and -unhealthy. I suppose you have tents? <i>We</i> -cannot lend you any.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we have three, thank you.”</p> - -<p>“And so your brother Charles is going -with you! Tell him that <i>I</i> think he had -much better have stayed quietly with his -regiment, and worked for the higher -standard—a boy only out two years. Of -course <i>you</i> are paying his expenses?”</p> - -<p>I nodded. Tom was moderately well -off; though we were not rich, we were not -exactly poor, and I always had a firm conviction -that Aunt Jane would have liked -me <i>much</i> better if I had been a pauper! -As it was, she considered me dangerously -independent.</p> - -<p>“Of course you think you know your -own business best!” removing her spectacles -as she spoke, “but mark my words, -you will find this trip a great deal more -costly than you imagine. With us civilians -it is different, a sort of royal progress; but -with you—well, well,” shaking her head, -“you must buy your own experience!”</p> - -<p>A week later we had set forth, Tom, -Charlie, and myself. We took Aunt Jane’s -advice (it was all she had given us), and -despatched our tents and carts twenty-four -hours’ ahead, so as to give them a good -start. We cantered out after them, a -fifteen-mile ride, the following day. It was -my first experience of camp life, and perfectly -delightful; the tent under the trees -felt so cool and fresh, in comparison with -a sun-baked bungalow. Our servants, who -appeared quite at home, had built a mud -fireplace, and were cooking the dinner; the -milch goats were browsing, and the poultry -picking about in the adaptable manner of -an Indian bazaar fowl. Our next halt was -to be twenty miles farther on, at an -engineer’s bungalow, which was splendidly -situated between a forest swarming with -game and a river teeming with fish. Here -we intended to remain for some time; we -should be in the territory of the Rajah of -Betwa, and were bearers of a letter asking -for his assistance, in the way of procuring -provisions in the villages. At midday we -halted for several hours in a mango tope, -the home of thousands of monkeys, and -went forward again about four o’clock. -Our road was bordered at either side by a -golden sea of gently waving crops, for we -were in the heart of a great wheat country. -Presently we passed through the town of -Betwa, which chiefly consisted of a long -dirty bazaar, an ancient fort, and a high -mud wall, enclosing the palace of the rajah. -About a mile beyond the outskirts, we beheld -a cloud of yellow dust rapidly approaching.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet ten to one it’s the rajah,” -said Tom, as he abruptly pulled up his -pony.</p> - -<p>I felt intensely excited. I had never seen -a real live rajah in my life; and I held -myself in readiness for any amount of pomp -and splendour, from milk-white arabs with -gold trappings, to a glass coach. But what -was this that I beheld, as we drew respectfully -to one side? I could scarcely believe -my own eyes, as there thundered by a most -dilapidated waggonette, drawn by one huge -bony horse and a pony, truly sorry steeds; -the harness was tied up with rope, and -even rags! Seated in front was a spare -dark man, with a disagreeable expression, -dressed in a stuff coat, the colour of -Reckitt’s blue, and a gold skull-cap. He -salaamed to us in a condescending manner, -and was presumably the rajah. A fat pock-marked -driver held the reins; in the body -of the waggonette were six men (the suite), -and their united weight gave the vehicle -a dangerous tilt backwards. The equipage -was accompanied by four ragamuffins, with -long spears, riding miserable old screws -with bell-rope bridles. They kept up a -steady tittuping canter, raising a cloud of -suffocating dust, in which they presently -vanished.</p> - -<p>“I can’t believe that <i>that</i> is a rajah, -much less <i>our</i> rajah,” I remarked to my -companions.</p> - -<p>“I can,” said Tom, emphatically. “He -looks what he is—an unmitigated scoundrel, -and a miser. Did you notice how close his -eyes were together? He is a rich man, -too; is lord of the soil as far as your eyes -can see. His grandfather owned a great -deal more before the Mutiny, but it was -shorn from him, and he was thankful to -be left with an acre—or his life.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Charlie and I in a -breath.</p> - -<p>“He came out of that bad business very -badly. When the inhabitants of Luckmee -were surprised, they sent their women and -children to him for protection, he being, as -they supposed, their very good friend; but -he simply bundled them all out, and they -were every one massacred. The rajah then -believed that the mutineers would carry -everything before them, but after the fall -of Delhi he changed his tune, and sent on a -charger the head of the chief leader in -these parts—his own nephew, as it happened, -but this is a detail—in order to -make his peace. Of course, he saved his -skin, but he had a bad record, and his -grandson is a chip of the old block.”</p> - -<p>“Who told you all this?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“The collector. He says this man -grinds down the ryots shamelessly, and -does many a queer thing that ought to -land him in a court of law. Here is the -forest, and here, thank goodness, is <i>the</i> -bungalow at last.”</p> - -<p>Our halting-place proved to be a thatched -stone cottage, containing three rooms, and -bath-rooms; there was a deep verandah all -round, excellent servants’ quarters and -stables—in short, it was the beau idéal of -a jungle residence. One verandah looked -towards the forest, with its cool, dark recesses, -the other commanded the river, and -beyond it, faintly on the sky line, glimmered -the snows.</p> - -<p>The bungalow was surrounded by about -twenty acres of park-like pasture, through -which ran a public road leading to a fine -bridge. We took in these details as we -lounged about in the moonlight after -dinner, and unanimously agreed that our -present quarters were quite perfect in every -respect.</p> - -<p>The next day we fished—a nice, lazy, -unexciting occupation. I sauntered home -early in the afternoon—not being a particularly -enthusiastic angler—and disposed -myself in a comfortable deep straw chair in -the verandah, in order to enjoy a novel and -what I considered a well-earned cup of tea. -As I reclined at my ease, devouring fiction -and cake, sandwich fashion, my attention -was arrested by a sound of loud crashing -and smashing of branches in the usually -death-like stillness of the forest. I sat -erect, gazing intently at the violent storm -among the leaves, expecting to see emerge -a deer, a pig, or, at the very worst, a peacock! -But after staring steadily for some -time, I found that I was looking at the -back of a remarkably tall elephant.</p> - -<p>The ayah, who was also watching, pointed -and called out, “Hathi, mem sahib, burra -hathi,” as if I did not know an elephant -when I saw one!</p> - -<p>Presently I descended the steps, strolled -across the green, and pushed aside the -bushes. There I beheld a lean native, all -ribs and turban, busily engaged in baking -his chupatties over a fire of sticks—a little -wizened man, with a sharp cruel face, and -close behind him stood a huge gaunt -elephant, or rather the framework of one, -for the animal was shockingly thin. Its -poor backbone was as sharp as a razor; its -skin hung in great wrinkles; its eye—an -elephant’s eye is small and ugly—this -beast’s eye gave expression to its whole -body, and had a woful look of inarticulate -misery, of almost desperate, human appeal.</p> - -<p>The mahout stood up and salaamed, and -forthwith he and I began to converse—that -is to say, we made frantic endeavours to -understand one another—the ayah, whose -curiosity had dragged her forth, now and -then throwing in a missing word.</p> - -<p>“By my favour, it was the rajah’s state -elephant; he had also three others; he -sent them into the forest to feed and to -rest, when he did not require them. This, -Shere Bahadur (brave lion), was the great -processional elephant, and had a superb -cloth-of-gold canopy that covered him from -head to tail.”</p> - -<p>(“Poor brute!” I said to myself, “otherwise -he would be a terribly distressing -spectacle.”)</p> - -<p>“Why is he so thin?” I demanded -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Because he is old,” was the ready -answer, “more than one hundred years. -He had been, so folk said, a war-elephant -taken in battle. He was worth thousands -and thousands of rupees once. He knew -no fear, and no fatigue. Moreover, he was -a great shikar elephant—many tigers had -he faced”—and here the mahout proudly -showed me the traces of some ancient -scars—“even now the Sahib Log borrowed -him as an honour.”</p> - -<p>“And what had he to eat?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“More than he could swallow—twelve -large chupatties twice a day—this size”—holding -his skinny arms wide apart—“also -ghoor, and sugar-cane, and spice.”</p> - -<p>I looked about. I saw no sign of anything -but a few branches of neem tree, and -the preparations for the mahout’s own -meagre meal.</p> - -<p>“Hazoor, he has had his khana—he has -dined like a prince,” reiterated the mahout. -“Kuda ka Kussum,” that is to say, “so -help me God.”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless I remained incredulous. I -went over to the bungalow and brought out -a loaf, to the extreme consternation of our -khansamah—we being forty miles from the -nearest bazaar bakery—this I broke in two -pieces, and presented it to Shere Bahadur, -who seized it ravenously. Of course it was -a mere crumb, and the wrinkled eager trunk -was piteously held out for more; but more -I dared not give, for I was in these days -entirely under the yoke of my domestics! -I related my little adventure during dinner—small -episodes become great ones in the -jungle, where we had no news, no dâk. -Afterwards we took our usual stroll in the -moonlight, and Charlie and I went to visit -my new acquaintance. He was alone. -The mahout was away, probably smoking -at a panchayet in the nearest village. In a -short time we were joined by Tom, who, as -he came up, exclaimed—</p> - -<p>“By Jove, he <i>is</i> thin! I’ve just been -hearing all about the beast from the -shikarri; he knows him well. He was a -magnificent fellow in his day. The rajah -has not the heart to feed him in his old -age, and turns him out to pick up a living, -or starve—whichever he likes. <i>He</i> is not -going to pay for his keep, and so the poor -brute is dying by inches. Every now and -then, when there is a ‘tamasha,’ he is sent -for—for a rajah without elephants is like a -society woman without diamonds.”</p> - -<p>“And the twelve chupatties, and spices, -and sugar?” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“All moonshine!” was the laconic reply.</p> - -<p>I thought a great deal of that miserable -famishing animal. He preyed on my mind, -in the watches of the night: I could hear -him through the open window, moving -restlessly among the bushes. I was sorely -tempted to rise and steal my own loaves, -and give him every crumb in the larder!</p> - -<p>Next morning I boldly commanded four -enormous cakes to be made, and took them -to him myself. He seemed to know me, and -swallowed them down with wolfish avidity.</p> - -<p>When we were fishing that same evening -I noticed the elephant down in the shallows -of the river, standing knee-deep in the -rushes; his figure, in profile against the -orange sunset, looked exactly like the arch -of a bridge, so wasted was he.</p> - -<p>In the course of a day or two we had -firmly cemented our acquaintance. Shere -Bahadur came up to the verandah for -sugar-cane and bread, and salaamed to me -ostentatiously whenever we met.</p> - -<p>“As we are feeding the beast, we may as -well make use of him,” remarked Tom, one -morning. “The mahout declares that the -rajah will let us have him for his keep, and -his own wages—six rupees a month. We -can have a howdah, and the elephant will -be very useful when we get among the long -grass and the deer.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, do let us have him,” I gladly -agreed. I could not endure to leave him -behind, to return to his ration of neem -leaves and semi-starvation. Tom therefore -despatched a “chit” by the mahout to -the rajah, and the next day Shere Bahadur -came shuffling back, carrying a howdah and -his owner’s sanction, also a paper which -Tom was requested to sign.</p> - -<p>This document (written on the leaf of -a copy-book, in English, with immense -flourishes) set forth—“That Tom would -guarantee to hand Shere Bahadur back, in -good condition, at the end of two months, -and that if anything happened to the -elephant, short of natural death, Tom was -responsible for the value of the animal, -and the sum of two thousand rupees.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Tom, “it is fair enough, -though I doubt if the poor old bag of bones -is worth two hundred rupees. He will be -well fed, and returned in good case, and if -he dies now on our hands, after living a -century, it will be a base piece of ingratitude -for all your kindness; however, there is life -in the old boy yet. You and he are great -chums. He is a splendid shikar elephant, -though a bit slow. I think it is a capital -bunderbast.” And he signed.</p> - -<p>The mahout (now our servant) was full of -zeal and zest, and came and laid his head -on my feet, and assured me that “I was his -father and his mother, and that he was my -slave.”</p> - -<p>I took care to see Shere Bahadur fed -daily. He now really received a dozen -thick chupatties, and plenty of sugar-cane -and ghoor, and his expression lost its look -of anguish and famine, though it was early -days to expect any improvement in his -figure. When we marched, he accompanied -us, and I rode in the howdah and enjoyed -it. He picked his way so cleverly, and -thrust branches aside from our path so -carefully, and seemed (though this may be -a wild flight of imagination) to <i>like</i> to work -for me. He was capital at going through -jungle, or over rough ground, but in marshy -places the poor dear old gentleman seemed -to have great difficulty in getting along, -and to have but little power in his hind -quarters.</p> - -<p>Six weeks of our leave had melted away, -as it were—time had passed but too rapidly. -Shere Bahadur proved invaluable out shooting. -Thanks to him, Tom had got a fine -tigress, and Charlie some splendid head of -deer. They looked so odd in the high -elephant grass—no elephant to be seen, but -merely two men, as it were sailing along -in a howdah. Our last days were, alas! -drawing near; our stores were becoming -perilously low. It was the end of March, -the grass and leaves were dry as tinder -and brittle as glass, as the hot winds -swept over them. Yes, it was imperative -to exchange these charming tents for the -thick cat-haunted thatch of our commonplace -bungalow. We were all sunburnt, -happy, and somewhat shabby. I had contrived -to see something of India, after all. -I knew the habits of some of the birds and -beasts—the names of flowers and trees. I -had gazed at my own reflection in lonely -forest pools, that were half covered with -water-lilies, and from whose sedgy margin -flocks of bright-plumaged water-fowl had -flashed.</p> - -<p>I had met the peacock and his wives -leisurely sauntering home after a night of -pillage in the grain fields. I had seen, in -a sunny glade, a wild dog playing with her -puppies. I had watched the big rohu turning -lazily over in the river; the sly grey -alligator lying log-like on the bank; the -blue-bull, or nilgai, dashing through the -undergrowth. In short, I had seen a good -deal, though I <i>was</i> dull.</p> - -<p>Twice a day I visited my dear friend -Shere Bahadur. I had become quite -attached to him, and I firmly believe that -he loved me devotedly. One evening I -arrived rather earlier than usual on my -rounds, and discovered the mahout in -deep converse with another man, a stranger, -who brought his visit to an abrupt close, -and said, as he hurried away, “Teen -Roze” (<i>i.e.</i> “three days”), to which the -mahout responded, “Bahout Atcha” (<i>i.e.</i> -“good”).</p> - -<p>“It is my Bhai,” he explained. Every -one seems to be every one else’s brother, -especially suspicious-looking acquaintances. -“He has come a long journey with a -message from my father—my father plenty -sick, calling for me.” An every-day excuse -for “taking leave,” only second to the -death of the delinquent’s grandmother.</p> - -<p>On the afternoon of the third day we -found it too hot to go out early, and were -sitting in our dining-room tent fanning -ourselves vigorously and playing “spoof,” -when we suddenly heard a great commotion—a -sound of shouting and running and -trumpeting. A tiger, or a “must” elephant, -was my first idea. Yes, there it was! A -cry of “The elephant! the elephant!” It -was an elephant—<i>my</i> elephant. We hurried -to where a crowd of all our retainers had -collected. A quarter of a mile away there -was a sudden dip in the ground, a half-dried-up -pool of water, covered with a -glaze of dark blue scum, surrounded by -an expanse of black oozy mud, fringed with -rushes and great water-reeds,—the sort of -place that was the sure haunt of malarious -fever—and struggling in the midst of the -quagmire was Shere Bahadur. He had -already sunk up to his shoulders, whilst -his mahout lay on the bank tearing his -hair, beating his head upon the ground, -and shrieking at intervals, “My life is -departing! my life is departing!” Tom -angrily ordered him to arise, and get to -his place on the animal’s back, and endeavour -to guide him out at the safest -part; but it appeared to be all quagmire, -and quivered for yards at every -movement of the elephant. The mahout -gibbered, and sobbed, but complied. He -scrambled on to Shere Bahadur’s neck, and -yelled, gesticulated, urged, and goaded. No -need; the poor brute was aware of the -danger—he was labouring now, not for other -people’s profit or pleasure, but for his own -life. Every one ran for wood, wine-cases, -or branches, and flung them to the -elephant; and it was pitiful to see how -eagerly he snatched at them, and placed -them beneath him, and endeavoured to -build himself a foothold. After long and -truly desperate exertions, he got his forelegs -right up on the sound ground, ropes -were thrown to him, but, alas! it was all -of no avail; the morass was a peculiarly -bad one, and his powerless hind quarters -were unable to complete the effort and -land him safely. No, the cruel quagmire -slowly, surely, and remorselessly sucked -him down; and, after a most determined -effort on the part of the spectators, and -a frenzied but impotent struggle on his -own, Tom turned to me and exclaimed—</p> - -<p>“Poor old boy! it’s not a bit of good; -he will have to go!”</p> - -<p>“Go where?” I cried. “He can be -saved; he must be saved,” I added, -hysterically.</p> - -<p>“Impossible; he has not sufficient power -to raise himself; the ground is a sort of -quicksand. If there was another elephant -here, we might manage to haul him out; -but, as it is, it is a mere question of time—he -will be gone in half an hour.”</p> - -<p>I wept, implored, ran about like one -demented, begging, bribing, entreating the -natives to help. And, I must confess, they -all did their very best, nobly led by Tom -and Charlie. But their efforts were fruitless. -Shere Bahadur’s hour had come. -He had escaped bullets, grape-shot, and -tiger, to be gradually swallowed down by -that slimy black quagmire, and—horrible -thought—buried alive! At the end of a -quarter of an hour he had sunk up to his -ears, and had ceased to struggle. His -trunk was still above the mud. His poor -hidden sides!—we could hear them going -like the paddle-wheels of a steamer. It -appeared to me that his eye sought mine!</p> - -<p>Oh, I could endure the scene no longer. -I left the crowd to see the very end, rushed -back to the tent, flung myself on my bed, -covered up my head, and wept myself nearly -blind. It seemed hours and hours—twenty-four -hours—before Tom came in, and said, -as solemnly as if he were announcing the -death of a friend, “It is all over.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The detestable mahout over-acted his -part; at first he simulated frenzy, his grief -far surpassed mine, he gibbered, wept, and -beat his breast, and rolled upon the ground -at our feet in a paroxysm of anguish, as -he assured us that the rajah was a ruthless -lord, and that when he returned to Betwa -without the Hathi he would certainly be -put to torture, and subsequently to death. -And then Tom suddenly bethought himself -of the terms of the agreement. The elephant -had <i>not</i> died a natural death. No, he had -“gone down quick into the pit.” He was -dead, and Tom was bound to pay two -thousand rupees (about £150). He looked -exceedingly glum, but there was no other -alternative; yes, he must pay—even if he -could not contrive to look pleasant. He -most reluctantly sent the rajah a cheque -for the amount on the Bank of Bengal, -and the mahout departed with somewhat -suspicious alacrity, leaving the howdah -behind him.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, we became acquainted with -two extraordinary facts. One was that the -rajah had carefully arranged for the death -of the elephant, even before we left our first -camp; that the mahout’s so-called brother -was simply a special messenger, who had -been despatched to “hurry up” the -tragedy. Discovery the second, that the -mahout had been seen by our shikarri and -several other men deliberately goading and -urging the elephant into the quagmire. -The wise animal had at first steadily resisted, -but putting implicit faith in his -rider—who had driven him for years—and -being the most docile of his race, he had -ultimately yielded, and obediently waded -in to his death. At first we indignantly -refused to credit these stories, and declared -that they were merely the ordinary malicious -native slander; but subsequently a -slip of copy-book paper was discovered in -the pocket of the howdah, which, being interpreted -by Tom, read as follows—</p> - -<p>“Make no delay. Bad quagmire. Give -fifty rupees.—<span class="smcap">Betwa.</span>”</p> - -<p>And Shere Bahadur was betrayed for -that sum.</p> - -<p>We received in due time an effusive -letter from the Rajah of Betwa, written, -as usual, on the leaf of a copy-book, and -inscribed with numerous ornamental flourishes. -He also enclosed a formal stamped -receipt, which is on my bill-file at the -present moment, and is not the least remarkable -of the many curious documents -there impaled. It says—</p> - -<p>“Received from Mister Captain Thomas -Hay, the sum of two thousand government -rupees, the value of one War elephant—lost!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PROVEN">“PROVEN OR NOT PROVEN?”<br /> -<small>THE TRUE STORY OF -NAIM SING, RAJPOOT.</small></h2> -</div> - -<p>Look around, and above, with your mind’s -eye, and behold high hills and deep narrow -valleys—valleys overflowing with corn, and -hills speckled with flocks; no, these are -not the Alps,—nor yet the Andes; the -sturdy brown people have the Tartar type -of face, their stubborn, shaggy ponies are -of Thibetan breed. You stand on the -borders of Nepaul, and among the lower -slopes of the great Himalayas—a remote -district, but tolerably populated and prosperous. -There are many snug, flat-roofed -houses scattered up and down the niches -in these staircase-like heights, encompassed -with cowsheds, melon gardens, -groves of walnut trees, and a few almost -perpendicular acres of murga (grain); their -proprietors are well-to-do, their wants inconsiderable, -the possession of a pony, half -a dozen goats, and a couple of milch -buffaloes, constitutes a man of means, who -is as happy in his way as, perhaps happier -than, the English or Irish owner of a great -landed estate. Moreover, this pastoral life -has its pleasures: there are holy festivals, -fairs, feasts, wrestling-matches,—and -occasionally a little gambling and cock-fighting. -But even in these primitive -mountain regions, life is not <i>all</i> Arcadian -simplicity; there are black spots on the sun -of its existence, such as envy, hatred, -malice, jealousy, false-witness, and murder.</p> - -<p>Peaceful, even to sleepiness, as the district -appears, serene and immovable as the -grand outline of its lofty white horizon, -nevertheless this remote corner of the -world has been the scene of a renowned -trial—a trial which outrivalled many a -notorious case in far-away Europe for -exciting violent disputes, disturbances, and -bloodshed—a trial which convulsed Kumaon, -Kali Kumaon, and Gurwalh—whose -effects, as it were the ripples from a stone -cast into still waters, are experienced to -the present hour in the shape of curses, -collisions, and feuds. At the root of the -trouble was, as usual, a woman.</p> - -<p>Durali (which signifies ‘darling’) was the -grandchild and only surviving relative of -Ahmed Dutt, a thriftless, shrivelled old -hill-man, who smoked serrus (or Indian -hemp) until he brought himself into a condition -of imbecility, and suffered his worldly -affairs to go to ruin; his hungry cattle and -goats strayed over his neighbours’ lands, -he cared not for crops, nor yet for wor-hos -(boundary marks), he cared for nought but -his huka, and his warm padded quilt, and -abandoned the beautiful Durali, like the -cattle, to her own devices. Now, according -to Durali, these devices were supremely -innocent: she spun wool, kept fowl, laboured -somewhat fitfully in the fields, and tended -the jungle of dahlias and marigolds which -threatened to swallow up the little slab-roofed -dwelling—that was all. So said -Ahmed Dutt’s granddaughter, but public -opinion held a different view; it lifted up -its voice (in a shrill treble), and declared -that Durali, being by general consent the -most beautiful woman in Kumaon, had -wrung the hearts of half the young—ay, -and old—men in the province; that of a -truth her suitors were legion; but that she -turned her back on all of them—as she -would have fools to believe—no!</p> - -<p>Her grandfather was indigent, as who -could deny? Whence, then, the rich silver -necklet, the bangles, the great belt of uncut -turquoise, blue as the spring sky—whence -the strong Bhootia pony? Had -Ahmed Dutt been otherwise than a smoke-sodden -idiot and a dotard, he had, according -to custom, sold this valuable chattel a -full year ago, and received as her price -three hundred rupees, yea, and young asses, -perchance, and buffaloes. As it was, Durali -ruled him tyrannically, flouted all humble -pretenders for her hand, and at eighteen -years of age was her own mistress, -fancy-free, poor, ambitious, and beautiful—miraculously -beautiful! since her wondrous -loveliness stirred even the leathern hearts -of these hill-men; and she possessed a -face, figure, craft, and coquetry, amply -warranted to set the whole of Kumaon in -a blaze. Yea, the saying that “to be her -friend was unfortunate, to be her suitor -beckoned death,” deterred but few. It -was undeniable that Farid Khan had -fallen over the khud, on the bad road to -Pura; do not his bones lie, to this day, -unburied and bleaching, at the foot of that -awful precipice? <i>Who</i> said that his rival, -Jye Bhan, had pushed him in the dark? -Who could prove it? At any rate, he was no -more. As was also Kalio Thapa, carried away -by a mighty flood in the Sardah river—how -it befell, who could say? And there was, -moreover, Phulia, who had certainly hanged -himself because Durali had spurned him.</p> - -<p>Many were her adorers, and exceedingly -bitter the hatred they bore to one another.</p> - -<p>Durali was tall, erect, and Juno-like, with -a skin like new wheat, features of a bold -Greek type, abundant jet-black hair, and a -pair of magnificent eyes. Other women -declared that there was magic in these—certainly -they spoke with tongues, they -commanded, exhorted, entreated, dazzled, -and bewitched.</p> - -<p>But Durali owed nothing to the fine -feathers which enhance the attractions of -so many fine birds. She wore a dark-blue -petticoat and short cotton jacket, a few -bangles and a copper charm—the ordinary -attire of an ordinary Pahari girl; dress could -add but little to her superb personality.</p> - -<p>The handsome granddaughter of Ahmed -Dutt was well known by reputation in the -surrounding villages, her name was in -every one’s mouth, her fame had penetrated -even as far as Almora itself. At the sacred -feast of the Dusserah, where crowds -assemble to behold the yearly sacrifice, -there Durali appeared for the first time, and -in gala costume, wearing a short-sleeved red -velveteen bodice, an enviable silver necklet, -and a flower behind each ear. The eyes -of half the multitude were riveted on the -hill beauty—instead of the devoted buffalo, -which had been tied up for days, at the -quarter guard of the Ghoorkas, and now -innocently awaited its impending fate.</p> - -<p>Yes, people actually thronged, and pressed, -and pushed, and strove, in order to obtain -a good look at the famous Durali, for whom -men had contended, and fought—ay, and -died.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was a sudden lull in the loud -hum of voluble Pahari tongues, and all -attention was concentrated on a renowned -athlete, who stepped forward with the huge -Nepaulese sacrificial knife in his hand, and -with one swift dexterous blow severed the -buffalo’s ponderous head from his body. -Immediately ensued a frenzied rush on the -part of the spectators, in order to dip a -piece of cloth in the smoking blood. There -was also a determined, nay, a ferocious -struggle between two young men, as to -which should have the privilege of plunging -Durali’s handkerchief, on her behalf, -into the holy stream. This coveted office -fell to Naim Sing, who wrung the cloth -from the feebler grasp of Johar, the son -of Turroo. This contest over a blood-stained -rag was noted at the time. It was -an evil omen, and more than one old crone -shook her grey head, as she muttered, -“Mark ye, my sisters, there will be yet -more trouble between the strivers—yea, -bloodshed.”</p> - -<p>The victor was the son of Bhowan -Sing, who lived in the village of Beebadak, -and cultivated a considerable amount of -fertile land. He had three sons—Umed -Sing, Rattan Sing, and Naim Sing; the -latter was the Benjamin of the family, a -handsome youth, with a lithe, symmetrical -figure, bold eloquent grey eyes, and crisp -black locks, the champion wrestler of his -pergunnah (and of the district); possessed -not merely of an active and powerful body, -but an active and powerful mind. His -appearance, his age, and his stronger -character, were not the only reasons that -made him looked up to by his brethren -and neighbours, and a ruler in his father’s -house; some two years previously, whilst -digging a well, he had discovered a pot -of coins, and was now the owner of twenty -pairs of pearls, fifty gold mohurs, four -ponies, and a herd of milch buffaloes. -Happy the woman whom Naim Sing would -take to wife!</p> - -<p>Johar, the son of Turroo, was a sturdy, -square-faced youth, honest and cheerful, -who had nought to cast into the balance -against prowess, ponies, and pearls, -save one slender accomplishment, and his -heart—he played somewhat skilfully on a -whistle, which was fashioned out of the -thigh-bone of a man, and profusely studded -with great rough turquoises. He was in -much request at all the revellings within -thirty miles—that is to say, Johar with -his whistle.</p> - -<p>Not long after the Dusserah, the venerable -Ahmed Dutt smoked himself peacefully -out of this world, and was duly burnt, with -every necessary formality. His granddaughter -being left forlorn, now took an -old woman to live with her in the little -stone house under the edge of the Almora -road, as you go to Loher Ghât. Durali -was in straitened circumstances; the -murga crop had failed, three of her lean -kine were dead, but she was befriended by -Naim Sing, who evinced much sympathy -for her desolate condition; and it was a -matter of whispered gossip that Johar was -also secretly performing acts of kindness—secretly, -indeed, for none dared to put -themselves into competition with the formidable -Naim Sing,—and it was believed -that he was the favoured suitor.</p> - -<p>At harvest-time, Naim Sing was compelled -to be absent for ten days, on an -urgent mission to the foot of the hills. -Immediately on his return, he hastened -to Durali’s hut, and found her absent. -Wearied by a rapid march of thirty miles, -he cast himself down among the long rice -stalks at the foot of a choora tree, and -there impatiently awaited the reappearance -of his divinity. As he lay half dozing in -the heat, his practised ear heard steps and -voices, and looking through the rice stalks -he beheld a couple leisurely approaching. -The man was playing on a bone whistle, -and the woman carried sheaves of wheat -upon her stately head. There was no -difficulty in recognizing Durali and Johar. -The jealous watcher lay still, listening -eagerly with quick-coming breath. It -appeared to him that the beguiling Durali -by no means discouraged her companion’s -advances, which were couched in the usual -flowery terms of Oriental flattery. “Oh, -woman, thou hast sheaves on thy head, but -they appear like clusters of pomegranates -on thy shoulders. There is none like thee. -The light of thy beauty hath illumined my -soul! As for Naim Sing, he is a seller of -dog’s flesh! an owl, the son of an owl; he -is vain as the sandpiper, who sleeps with -his legs up, in order to support the sky -at night. Listen, O core of my heart! -it hath come to mine ears, that trade and -barter have nought to do with his hasty -excursions to the plains—he hath a wife at -Huldwani—hence his journeys.”</p> - -<p>This was too much for the endurance -of his enraged listener, who, leaping -furiously upon Johar, clove his head -with his heavy tulwar (sword). Johar -staggered, blinded with blood, and defenceless, -then, turning, ran for his life; but -his infuriated enemy, flinging the shrieking -girl to one side, swiftly pursued the -wounded wretch to where he had sought -refuge in a cowshed, dashed in the frail -door, and there despatched him. Presently -he returned, fierce-eyed, savage, blood-stained, -to confront the horror-stricken -and trembling Durali.</p> - -<p>“Woman,” he cried hoarsely, “I have -slain him—thine the sin. His death be on -thy head!”</p> - -<p>But she, with many tears and vows, -vociferously protested her innocence, and -in a surprisingly short time appeased Naim -Sing’s wrath. Now that the rage of his -jealousy and vengeance had been satisfied, -he began to realize the result of his passion; -he had slain a man—not the first who had -met his death at his hands. He had once -killed an antagonist in a wrestling-match—that -was a misadventure; this was—well, -the Sirkar would call it—murder.</p> - -<p>The shades of evening had not yet fallen, -and until then he dared not set about concealing -the corpse. He found Durali a -cunning adviser and an unscrupulous accomplice. -Men die hard, especially wiry -hill-men, and Johar had not passed away -in silence; his expiring groans were heard -by Bucko, the old woman, and Naim Sing -was therefore compelled to admit her into -the secret.</p> - -<p>When the moon rose, the three conspirators -bound up the body and carried -it down to one of the fields, there they -carefully uprooted each stalk, each distinct -plant, growing over the surface of what -was to form the future grave, which was -next excavated, and Johar, the son of -Turroo, was dropped into the hole, his -whistle flung contemptuously after him, -and both were presently covered up with -earth—and wheat.</p> - -<p>The burying-party returned to the hut, -where Naim Sing inflicted a small wound -on his leg with a cut of his tulwar, in -order to support the statement he proposed -making to the authorities, that Johar had -attacked him with murderous intent, and, -having failed in his effort, fled. Next -morning Naim Sing called on the Tehel-seldhar -and made his report, and the Tehel-seldhar -despatched a tokdar (responsible -official for a cluster of villages) to take -steps for the capture of Johar, the son of -Turroo. But Johar was not to be found, -or even heard of, and his own family -became seriously alarmed, and suspected -foul play. If he had fled and departed on -a long journey, wherefore had he left his -boots, clothes, and money behind? The -connections of Naim Sing were powerful, -their pirohet, or family priest, his personal -friend—rumour and suspicion were strangled—but -there were grave whispers round the -fires in the huts, all over the hills: what -had befallen Johar, the son of Turroo?</p> - -<p>However, a murder was a common event. -Blood-feuds were acknowledged, and soon -the circumstance was allowed to fade into -oblivion by all but Rateeban, a lame man, -Johar’s twin brother, who took a solemn -oath at Gutkoo temple to avenge him. He -suspected Durali; he watched her and her -house by stealth. Why was one small -corner of the wheat-field uncut? He made -her overtures of friendship, he flattered, he -fawned; by dint of judicious questions, and -even more judicious information, Rateeban -gained his end. Oh, false love! Oh, -treachery! Oh, woman! it was the -beautiful Durali who led Rateeban to his -brother’s grave, who showed him the blood -splashes on the cowshed walls, who told -him the truth. Yes, jealousy is doubtless -as cruel as the grave. Durali had capitulated -and given her long-beleaguered heart -wholly to Naim Sing—his eloquence, good -looks, prowess,—ay, and presents,—had -carried the citadel, and lo! the dead man’s -words were verified. Naim Sing had already -a wife at Huldwani, a bold dark woman of -the plains, to whom he was secretly wed -by strictest and securest ceremonial.</p> - -<p>To the amazement and indignation of -himself and his kinsmen, Naim Sing was -arrested and carried to Almora jail, there -to await his trial; his friends and connections -(who were many and powerful) made -a desperate attempt to secure his release; -bribes, and even threats, were used; but -what could avail against the evidence of -the treacherous Durali?—and the evidence -of the dead body? Yes, Naim Sing, the -champion wrestler, the leading youth in -his district, handsome, popular, rich, in the -full zenith of his days and vigour, was bound -to be despatched to the dark muggy shores -of the Salween river, and end his existence -ingloriously in Moulmein jail. Never again -would he take part in a wrestling-match, or -breast his native mountains and chase the -ibex and makor; his beloved hills, and his -ancestral home, would know him no more. -Rateeban, Johar’s lame brother, would -have preferred the blood of his enemy, but -was fain to be contented with his sentence, -“Transportation for life.” He exulted -savagely in his revenge, and actually accompanied -the gang of wretched prisoners -the whole march of ninety miles to the -railroad—on foot—in order that he might -enjoy the ecstasy of gloating over his foe -in chains! Each day at sundown, when -the party halted, Rateeban came and stood -opposite to Naim Sing, and, leaning on his -stick, mocked him. It was rumoured that -Rateeban was not the sole voluntary escort, -but that a woman, veiled, and riding a -stout grey pony, stealthily followed the party -afar off! It was Durali, who, when it was -too late, was distracted with penitence and -anguish. Her remorse was eating away -her very heart—but to what avail now?</p> - -<p>Huldwani is a large, populous native -town on the edge of the Terai, a few miles -from the foot of the hills, and here a frantic -creature awaited the prisoners, or rather -the prisoner Naim Sing. She tore her -hair, she beat her head upon the ground, -and Naim Sing was not unmoved—no. -Then she lifted up her hands and her -voice, and cursed with hideous screaming -curses “that woman who had wrought this -great shame and wickedness—that other -woman on the hills!” And the other -woman, having heard with her ears and -seen with her eyes, turned back and retraced -those weary ninety miles, <i>now</i> more -in anger than in sorrow,—for such is -human nature.</p> - -<p>In less than twelve months, the news -came to the hills that Naim Sing had died -in Moulmein prison, the death certificate -said of atrophia, but his father and brethren -called it a broken heart. “He was ever -too wild a bird for a cage,” proclaimed his -kinsmen and friends; and within a short -time he was as completely forgotten as -Johar, whom he had slain, and Durali, -whom he had deceived, and who had -disappeared.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After a lapse of twenty years, two men -belonging to the village where Rateeban -lived, returned from a pilgrimage, and announced -that at the great fair at Hardwar, -on the Ganges, they had seen <i>Naim Sing</i>—who -had saluted them as Brahmins. He -had with him three horses, and a woman—his -wife—and looked in good health, and -prosperous. Rateeban, at first angrily incredulous, -finally determined to investigate -this matter in person, and once more -travelled the wearisome ninety miles which -lay between his home and the railway. -Though every step was painful, he heeded -it not, such is the power of hate! With -inexhaustible patience, he followed clue after -clue; he searched for nearly three months, -and was at last rewarded by success. Back up -to the hills, to a distant village in Gurwalh, -among the spectators at a great wrestling-match, -he tracked and found Naim Sing!—Naim -Sing, surprisingly little changed. -Where were the signs of convict labour, -the marks of irons, and of that life that -burns into a man’s soul? He looked -somewhat older, his temples were bald, -but his figure was as upright, his foot as -firm, his eye as keen as ever. Rateeban -swore to him, with fervour, as an escaped -convict, and had him instantly arrested. -There was no doubt of his identity; there -was the self-inflicted scar on his leg, the -bone in his arm which had been broken by -wrestling. The criminal was brought back -to Almora, in order to be arraigned for unlawful -return from transportation, and tried -under section 226 of the Indian Penal -Code.</p> - -<p>The tidings of the resurrection and return -of Naim Sing was passed by word of -mouth from village to village. His father -and brethren, his friends and relations, and -those of Johar and Rateeban, and, in short, -everybody’s friends, flocked into Almora to -attend the trial. The case was heard in -the court-house, which stands within the -old fort; and not only was the court itself -crammed to suffocation, but the crowds -overflowed the surrounding enclosure, even -down the narrow stone steps, and away into -the streets. Thousands and thousands -were assembled, and as the days went on -the interest quickened, and the case became -a matter of furious contention between two -factions—for and against: the party who -declared the culprit was indeed the real, -true, and only Naim Sing, and the party -who swore that he was <i>not</i>. Fierce feuds -were engendered, torrents of abuse and -angry blows were exchanged,—blood was -freely shed.</p> - -<p>All Kumaon and Gurwalh had encompassed -Almora like an invading army, and -Kumaon, Gurwalh, and the respectable -Goorka station itself, were in an uproar, -and seething like a witches’ cauldron.</p> - -<p>The prisoner stood up boldly, as befitted -the namesake of the lion, and confronted -his accusers with a haughty and impassive -mien. But surely—surely those keen grey -eyes were the eyes of Naim Sing!</p> - -<p>“I am not the criminal,” he declared. -“Who is this Naim Sing—this murderer? -and what hath he to do with me? Behold -I am Krookia, and my father is Rusool Sing, -who lives in the village of Tolee; my star -is Jeshta and Ras, and my horoscope is -with Gunga Josh, if he be yet alive.”</p> - -<p>Moreover, he brought witnesses, and the -certificate of Naim Sing’s death in Moulmein -jail.</p> - -<p>“The people of the pergunnah, which -you aver that you belong to, do not know -you,” said the Crown prosecutor. “But -Rateeban recognized you; how can you -explain that?”</p> - -<p>“There be two Rateebans,” was the glib -answer, “and one is mine enemy.”</p> - -<p>“Strange that Rateeban, the enemy of -Naim Sing, is your enemy also.”</p> - -<p>“I doubt not that the lame dog—may his -race be exterminated!—hath many foes. I -know him not. He hath been the means -of sending one man to prison for life, and -now, behold, he would despatch another. It -is a vicious ambition. As for the people of -my village, lo! many years ago, I found a -treasure, and my neighbours quarrelled and -beat and robbed me. They have no desire -to recall their own black deeds, nor my face. -I fled to the plains, where I have taken -road contracts for the Sirkar, and -prospered.”</p> - -<p>“Naim Sing also found a treasure,” said -the advocate. “Does the land in these -hills yield so many of these crops?”</p> - -<p>“By your honour’s favour, I cannot tell. -I found one treasure, to my cost. Money -is a man-slayer.”</p> - -<p>Many witnesses recognized or repudiated -the prisoner, and there was hard swearing -on both sides.</p> - -<p>At length a young Baboo from Allahabad -was put forward—a keen, intelligent, brisk-looking -youth, wearing a velvet cap and -patent leather boots, embellished with -mother-of-pearl buttons.</p> - -<p>“Twenty years ago I dwelt in Bareilly,” -he said. “There were four of us children, -my mother, and my father, who was sick -unto death. The jail daroga, who was his -kinsman, came to him privily one night, -and whispered long. I was awake, being -an-hungered, and heard all that was said.</p> - -<p>“‘Lo! Gunesheb, thou art my kinsman. -Thou art poor and sick, thy days are -numbered; wouldst thou die a rich -man?’</p> - -<p>“‘Would I die in Paradise?’ said my -father.</p> - -<p>“‘A gang of convicts pass here to-morrow, -on their way to Calcutta and Moulmein -beyond the sea. Wilt thou take the place -of one of them? Thou art his size and -height; thou hast not long to live, he -has a strong young life; and in return -for thy miserable body he will give four -hundred rupees, ten pairs of pearls, one -pair of gold bangles, and three ponies.’</p> - -<p>“My father went forth that same hour -with the jail daroga, and returned no -more. Next day my mother wept sore; -yea, even though she had gold bangles -on her arms, very solid, and pearls and -silver in a cloth; also there were three -ponies, strong and fat, in our yard. Later, -she took us to see when the convicts -passed along the road, and we rode on -the ponies beside them for two days. She -told the warders she had a brother, falsely -accused, who was in the gang. He wore -a square cap pulled far over his eyes, and -he coughed as he marched. As we left, -he embraced me tenderly, by favour of the -warders. I knew he was my father. -Afterwards we went south, and returned -to Bareilly no more.”</p> - -<p>Thus Gunesheb had bartered away his -few remaining months of life for the benefit -of his family, and Naim Sing had spread -a bold free wing, and enjoyed his liberty -for twenty years! He had the ceaseless -craving of a born hill-man to return to -the mountains. The line of snows edging -the burnt-up plains had drawn him like -a magnet. Slowly but surely, becoming -reckless with time and impunity, he had -cast fear and caution to the winds, as once -more the smell of the pine-needles and -of the wood smoke crept into his blood!</p> - -<p>As he sat in the dock, the prisoner -deliberately scanned every face with an -air of lofty indifference. He swore to the -last that “he was Krookia, the son of -Rusool Sing,” but no respectable land-owner -identified him under that name. -Moreover, the wife of Naim Sing had been -recognized at her native place wearing her -rings and bangles, sure and certain token -that her husband was <i>alive</i>; and in the -face of overwhelming evidence, the culprit -was sentenced for the second time on the -same spot to be transported beyond the -seas for the term of his natural life.</p> - -<p>Then Naim Sing arose, tall and erect, -a dignified and impressive figure, carrying -his two-score years with grace, and made -a most powerful and thrilling appeal in -his own defence—an appeal for an innocent -man, who was about to be banished for -ever from his home and country, because, -forsooth, his features had the ill fortune -to resemble those of a dead murderer!</p> - -<p>During his speech, one could almost hear -a leaf fall outside the court. The previous -quiet had now changed to what resembled -a hush of awe. The audience within and -without—the windows and doors stood -wide, and exhibited an immense sea of -human heads—hung with avidity on each -sonorous syllable. Not a gesture, not a -glance was lost. So stirring and impassioned -was his eloquence, that every heart -was shaken, and many were moved to -tears. But the condemned man pleaded -his cause in vain; in fact, his silver tongue -afforded but yet another proof of his -identity. His fate was sealed. Fearing a -public tumult, he was removed secretly -ere dawn, marched down the mountain -sides for the last time, despatched to the -Andamans,—and there he died.</p> - -<p>So ended a trial that lasted many days, -that was more discussed and fought over -than any law-suit of the period; a case -which is fiercely argued and hotly debated -even to the present hour; a cause which -has divided scores of households and separated -chief friends. For there are some -who declare that the real Naim Sing -expired in Moulmein jail khana nineteen -years previously, and that the vengeance -of Rateeban demanded two lives for one; -also that the heavily bribed son of Gunesheb -had borne black false witness, his father -having died in his own house; and that, of -a truth, an innocent man was condemned -to transportation and death: but there be -some who think otherwise.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUTCAST">AN OUTCAST OF THE PEOPLE.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone.”</div> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Sir A. Lyall.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Jasoda was seventeen years of age, and fair -as a sunrise on the snows. She dwelt in -a district not far from the Goomptee river, -among the wheat and poppy fields that are -scattered over Rohilcund.</p> - -<p>As a little girl, all had gone well with -her; she was petted and caressed; she -played daily in the sun with other village -children, erecting palaces and temples with -dust and blossoms; her hair was carefully -plaited and plastered with cocoanut oil; -she wore a big nose-ring, anklets, and -bangles—not brass or pewter, but real -silver ones, for she was married to the heir -of a rich thakur, a delicate, puny boy of -her own age. But one rains he died, and -there was sore, sore lamentation. Had -Jasoda realized what his death signified to -her, she would have wailed ten times louder -than any paid mourner; but ignorance was -surely bliss, and she was not <i>very</i> sorry, -for Sapona had been greedy, fretful, and -tyrannical. He had often struck her, -pinched her, and pulled her long plaits, or -run screaming with tales to his mother—a -fat woman with a shrill tongue and a heavy -arm—whom Jasoda feared.</p> - -<p>But after Sapona had been carried away -to the burning ghâut, all seemed changed; -every one appeared to hate Jasoda, yea, -even her own grandmother. Her ornaments -were taken off, her head was shorn, -her cloth, though white, was coarse and -old; there were no more games under the -tamarind trees, and no more sweets. -Jasoda’s life was blighted in the bud, for, -at the tender age of six, she was that -miserable outcast, a Braminee widow. Poor -pariah! she would stand aloof, with wide-open -wistful eyes (ostentatiously shunned -by the other children in the courtyard), -and wonder what it all meant. She would -piteously inquire of her grandmother, as -the crone sat spinning cotton, “What she -had done. Wherefore might she not eat -with her, and why did Jooplee push her, -and strike her, if she approached her? and -wherefore did her mother-in-law, and other -women, hold aside their clothes lest she -should touch them as she passed?”</p> - -<p>“The shadow of a widow is to be dreaded, -and—it is the custom, it is our religion,” -muttered the old woman, as if speaking -to herself. No doubt the days of suttee -were better; then the girl had one grand -hour, applauded by the world; she was holy -and sanctified, and hers was a glorious -triumph as she walked in procession behind -the tom-toms, whilst thousands looked on -with awe, and the devout pressed forward -to touch her garments. Was not a moment -like that worth years of drudgery and -misery, blows and scorn? True, at the -end of the march, there was the funeral -pyre under the peepul tree; but if there -was oil among the faggots, and the wood -was not too green, and the priests plied the -suttee with sufficient bhang, it was nought! -And her screams were always drowned in -the shouting and the tom-toms. She herself -had seen a suttee; yes, and the girl -was forced into it. She had no spirit; she -wept, and shrieked, and struggled,—so -people had whispered,—but her relations -drove her to the faggots, for the family of -a suttee are held in much esteem! Truly -it were better for Jasoda, this child with -the beautiful face, to have died for the -honour of her people than to live to be -their scapegoat and their slave!</p> - -<p>As years went on, and hot weather, -monsoon, and cold season passed, and crops -were sown and cut, and there were births -and marriages and deaths, Jasoda grew up. -She was now seventeen, and very fair to -see. Her mother-in-law hated her, as did -also her brother; and, more than all, her -brother’s wife, and her sisters-in-law. In -spite of their fine silk sarees and gold -ornaments, they were but little stars, whilst -this accursed girl was as the sun at noonday!</p> - -<p>Jasoda was the drudge of the family,—a -large clan, dwelling, as is customary, within -the same enclosure. These courtyards, -built irregularly, somewhat resemble a -child’s house of cards; narrow footpaths -between the mud walls compose the village -streets. You may steer your way among -these beaten tracks, and beneath these sun-baked -entrenchments, and never see a single -house; merely various postern doors which -enclose a space, possibly containing ten -hovels, and as many families. One of the -largest courtyards in the village belonged -to Padooram, the brother of Jasoda; he -was the richest man in the whole pergunnah, -owned land and cattle and plough -bullocks, and had no bunnia’s claims to -disquiet his sleep. His wife, a fat, pock-marked -woman, boasted real gold bangles, -and a jewelled nose-ring, and was the envy -of her sex. There was Jasoda’s father and -mother-in-law, and Monnee and Puthao, -their married daughters; her younger -brother; his wife and family; also her old -grandmother; and Jasoda was the servant -of them all. Truly they were hard masters -and merciless mistresses. She, their slave, -arose at dawn. She drew water till her -arms ached. She ground meal, and cooked, -and polished the brass cooking-vessels; she -carried the clothes of these households to -the ghât, and washed them; she minded -the children, and milked the buffaloes, and -herded the cattle. More than this, when -one of the plough bullocks was sick, her -brother placed the yoke on Jasoda’s -shoulders, and drove her as companion to -the spotted ox, up and down the long -furrows, and in the sight of all people. To -them it was as nought; no one cried -shame, or pitied her—she was only a -<i>widow</i>. In the harvest season there was -much to do, from daylight till dusk, cutting -cane and corn, and carrying and stacking, -and working at the sugar-press. Sometimes, -strong girl as she was, Jasoda wept -from sheer weariness. Yet, for all this toil, -she barely got enough to keep her from -semi-starvation. She was flung the scraps -that were left from meals, as well as the -rags of the family. Nor did she ever receive -one kind word or look, not even from -her grandmother. However, she was amply -compensated for this cruel indifference from -another source. Many were the kind words -and looks bestowed on her by the young -men of the village; but Jasoda was proud. -Jooplee, her sister-in-law, famed for the -most evil mind and wicked tongue within -many koss, even <i>she</i> could find no cause -of offence in her drudge, save that she was -the fairest maiden in all the taluka, and -this fault she punished with the zeal and -vigour of an envious and ugly woman! -Jasoda was desperately unhappy. What -had she done to men or gods, to be treated -thus cruelly? And there was nothing to -look forward to, even in twenty years’ -time. Her present lot would only be -altered by death—and after death? There -was no future existence for such as <i>she</i>. -Many a time she crept away, and poured -out all her wrongs to the squat stone idol -daubed with red paint, whose temple was -the shade of the peepul tree. She asked -him, “Why women were ever born into the -land?” and besought his help with tears -and passionate pleadings. In vain she -cried, “Ram, ram,” and took him offerings -of flowers, and gashed her arm with a sickle, -and shed her hot young blood before him. -He maintained his habitual placid pose, his -vacant stare, his graven grin, and gave no -sign. No, at the end of six weary moons -there was still no answer to her prayers. -Heart-sick, Jasoda now went and gazed -longingly at the river. She stole away to -visit it whilst her relations took their -midday rest in the cane-fields. Alas! it -was very low, and fat muggers lay upon its -grey mud banks, as lazy as so many logs -of wood, though their evil little eyes were -active enough—watching for floating corpses. -No, no; a big rapid torrent in the rains, -with a strong flood, fed by the far-away -snows, rushing boldly onward, bearing great -blocks of foam on its brown bosom,—into -<i>that</i> she could cast herself, but not into -one of these slow, slimy channels, creeping -past greasy banks, whereon ravenous alligators -would battle for her body.</p> - -<p>As time advanced, the tyranny of the -family became more oppressive, and Jasoda -threw patience to the winds—indeed, it had -long been threadbare. To be sent five or -six koss in the burning June sun, to gratify -the momentary whim of Taramonnee, a -child, or, rather, imp of five, was beyond -endurance, and represented the proverbial -“last straw.” The domestic martyr being -hopeless and desperate, now turned on her -tormentors, as a leopardess at bay. Why -should she be as an ox, a beast of burthen, -all her days? She gave shrill invective -for invective, accepted curses and blows -with sullen indifference, and refused to -work beyond a certain portion. Yea, they -might kill her, if they so willed; it would -be all the better; and she oscillated -between fits of hot passion and moods of -cold obstinacy. Her aged grandmother -could not imagine what had happened to the -household slave. She was usually so long-suffering, -so easily driven and abused. The -hag and the other women put their heads -together and took counsel, whilst the rebel -sat aloof in a dark corner of her hut, like -some wild animal in its den, her fixed dark -eyes staring out on the glaring white courtyard -with an expression of intense, hopeless -despair. She hated every one. She felt -that she could almost kill them. Truly -she had been born in an evil hour and -under an evil star, and she cursed both -hour and planet. There were Junia and -Talloo, girls who had played with her: -each had a husband and babies and -bangles; yea, and cows of their own. -Why was she beaten and half starved, and -treated like a stray pariah dog? She was -handsomer than either. Isa, the son of -Ganga, had told her that her eyes were -stars, her teeth as seed pearls, and her lips -like the bud of the pomegranate; yet these -fat, ugly women slept at ease on their -charpoys, whilst she toiled in the cold grey -dawn or in the scorching noonday heat!</p> - -<p>Above all creatures who breathed, she -detested Jooplee, her sister-in-law, the -mother of Taramonnee; and next to her, -Taramonnee, a shrill-voiced, malignant imp, -who pinched and bit her secretly, and -who once—when she was tied up and -beaten—danced before her, and made -mouths at her and mocked her, clapping -her hands with fiendish ecstasy.</p> - -<p>For many months a great fire had been -smouldering in Jasoda’s heart, and woe -be to the hand that stirred it! Once more -it was the cane-cutting season, and she was -toiling hard all day, reaping and carrying -and stacking. She was very very weary, and -whilst the carts lumbered villagewards with -the last load, she sat down under a peepul -tree to rest. It was the soft hour of -sunset, the cattle were going home, bats -were flickering to and fro, the low evening -smoke lay like a pale blue veil over the -land: smoke from fires where many hungry -people were baking the universal chupatti. -Jasoda fell fast asleep, and dreamt. Her -dreams were pleasant, for she dreamt that -she was dead. Suddenly she was rudely -awoke by an agonizing pain. No, it was -not a snake-bite; it was a pinch from the -sharp strong fingers of Jooplee’s daughter, -who, gazing intently into her face, cried -with malicious glee—</p> - -<p>“Ah, lazy one, arise and work! I shall -tell of thee, and to-night thou shalt be -beaten. The neighbours refuse to believe -that father beats thee, because thou dost -not scream. Mother said so. But thou -shalt scream to-night, so that thy cries can -be heard as far as the bunnia’s shop. Get -up, pig!” And she pushed her with her -foot.</p> - -<p>It needed but a touch like this to rouse -the sleeping flame. Instantly Jasoda sprang -erect, rage in her heart and murder in her -eye. At least she would rid herself of this -insect, and, snatching up a stone, she -dashed it at the child with all the force of -a muscular arm, and with the fury of years -of repressed passion. The aim was true, -and Taramonnee fell. For a second her -limbs twitched convulsively, and then she -lay still—oh, tragically still.</p> - -<p>“Rise!” screamed Jasoda. “Rise! and -may thine eyes be darkened, thou little -devil!”</p> - -<p>But there was no movement; Taramonnee -was evidently stunned. Jasoda -stooped and raised her, whilst a terrible -fear crept over her. The child’s head fell -back, her hand dropped. Was it possible? -Could she be <i>dead</i>? Yes, she was dead, -though she had not meant to kill her; and, -since she could not bring her to life, what -was she to do? She gazed with horror at -this awful, motionless thing, whose life she -herself had taken, oh, how easily! She -could no longer endure those staring, glazing -eyes, she must put them out of her -sight. Raising the limp body with a -supreme effort, she carried it in her arms -to a dry well at some distance, and then -averting her face, she threw it down. It -struck against the sides, with a dull muffled -sound, and fell to the bottom with a -hideous crash that made her shudder. As -Jasoda went slowly homewards, she was -conscious that she was now the same as -Moola, the son of Maldhu, who had cut his -wife’s throat with a sickle; or the city girl, -who drowned her baby in the tank in the -Mango tope. She cooked the evening meal -as usual, and heard Jooplee inquire for -Taramonnee, and send to seek her at a -neighbour’s; presently she became anxious, -talked of snakes, hyenas, and devils, and -even went herself to each postern door, -and called, “Taramonnee, Taramonnee;” -but she never once thought of inquiring -about her from the sullen girl who was -washing the cooking-pots. The old grandmother -said soothingly, “Surely she hath -gone with Almonee, who lives across the -river.” But this did not satisfy her anxious -parent, and the neighbourhood was summoned, -and a great search made. It was full -moon—a splendid harvest moon—and bright -as day. All night long Jasoda lay awake, -watching the moonbeams and listening to -the melancholy howl of the jackals, and the -heavy thud of the ripe banka fruit as it fell -in the courtyard. Should she run away or -stay? she asked herself. She debated the -vital question long, and finally resolved -that she would abide and await her fate! -She was weary of life. Why prolong it? -The river was low; best perish by the rope, -and thus end all. At least she would have -rest and peace, and perhaps a new and -better life in another world.</p> - -<p>At daybreak, the body of Taramonnee was -brought in and laid before her mother, who -tore her hair in a frenzy, and beat her head -against the wall. The hakim was summoned, -and solemnly declared that the -child had not met her death by accident. -No; behold, there was the blow on her -temple; of a surety, she had been murdered,—and -by whom? Jooplee read the answer -in Jasoda’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I struck her,” admitted the girl -boldly. “She came to me by the cane-field, -and pinched me sorely when I was asleep. -I am <i>glad</i> she is dead.”</p> - -<p>She repeated the same story to four -police, who arrived at noon, and bound her -arms, and led her away to jail. She suffered -it to be believed that she had murdered the -child in cold blood, and thrown her down -the well. Jasoda’s case was unusually -simple; there was but a brief trial. The -culprit offered no defence, and had apparently -no friends. It was known that -she had always hated Taramonnee and her -mother; she had found the former alone, -had slain her,—and was glad. Her own -mouth destroyed her. The village was in a -ferment. The court was crowded; Jooplee -and her people were ravening for revenge. -As for Jasoda’s kindred, they knew she -must be hanged—which thing was worse -than suttee—disgrace instead of glory -would cover them! When asked if she -had aught to say, Jasoda stood up before -the judge, a beautiful young creature, with -the passionate dark eyes and the regular -features of her race, and the form of a -Grecian nymph, and answered distinctly—</p> - -<p>“No, my lord sahib, I care not for my -life; and, if it is the will of the sirkar, let -them take it.” To herself she said, “Better -this end than the other; the river is low.”</p> - -<p>As Jasoda lay under sentence of death, -her venerable grandmother bestirred herself -to save her. She was a shrivelled, -hideous old hag, with a ragged red chuddah -over her head, and she sat at the gate of -the judge’s compound daily, and cried for -the space of two hours without ceasing.</p> - -<p>“Do hai! Do hai! Do hai!” <i>i.e.</i> “Mercy! -mercy! mercy!” She then adjourned to -the cantonment magistrate’s abode, and -shrieked the same prayer outside his gates; -and finally to the civil surgeon’s, who was -also the jail superintendent; and to him, -for this reason, she devoted one hour extra, -and her voice never once failed. Thus -much for being the scold of the village! -There was intense excitement in the neighbourhood -as the day of execution drew -nigh, and lo! one evening, when a great -gallows was raised on the maidan, there -were already collected thousands of people, -precisely as if it were some holy spot, a -scene of pilgrimage—all attracted by the -same desire—to see a woman hanged!</p> - -<p>It was indeed a grand tamasha. The -crowds far surpassed in numbers those who -assembled at the yearly feast. The local -inhabitants noted with complacency the -hundreds of total strangers who came for -many miles on foot, on ponies, or in ekkas. -Old Sona ceased now to scream and beat -her breast. She felt like one of the actors -in a tremendous tragedy, and was the object -of a certain amount of curiosity and attention—a -position that was entirely novel, -and—alas! alas! that it must be chronicled—secretly -enjoyed. The sun rose on the -fatal day—the last sunrise Jasoda would -ever see—the great prison gates opened, -and a body of police marched slowly forth. -Then came Jasoda, walking between two -warders. There was a murmur among the -throng. She was surprisingly fair to behold, -and for once in her life she wore a dress -like girls of her class. A wealthy and -eccentric woman in the city had sent it to -her. Yes, she was as fair as the newly -risen dawn. She stood and steadily surveyed -the immense expectant multitude. -She recognized the eyes of many people -from her own village fixed upon her with a -mixture of interest and awe. She beheld -her old grandmother, and her brother, and -Moonee, and Pathoo, and Jai Singh, the -son of Herk Singh, who had compared her -to Parbutti herself and to the new moon. -It seemed to her that to be the centre of -interest to so vast a throng was almost as -fine as a suttee! The last moment arrived, -and the superintendent asked her if she had -anything to say, any bequests to make.</p> - -<p>“Bequests!” and she almost laughed. -“Truly I have nothing in the world save a -few rags. But thou mayest give my body -to my grandmother; she seems sorry. I have -nothing to say. The child hurt me, and I -struck her. I meant not to kill her; nevertheless, -she died; that is all. She is dead, -and I shall soon be dead also.”</p> - -<p>Jasoda’s fortitude did not fail her—no, -not when her arms were pinioned, her -petticoats tied about her feet, the cap -drawn over her face. She never once -quailed or trembled.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the body had been cut down, and -the crowd had dispersed, the superintendent -sent for the old grandmother, who came, -dry-eyed and fierce.</p> - -<p>“It is somewhat against rules,” he said, -“but I am going to grant you the girl’s -only request: she said you were to have -her body—take it away, and burn it!”</p> - -<p>“I!” shrieked the harridan. “<i>I</i> touch -her after the dones (hangmen) have laid -their hands on her! <i>I</i>, a high-caste -Braminee! Do with the carrion as thou -wilt!” and she spat on the ground and -went her way. Thus, after death, neglect -and scorn pursued poor hot-tempered -Jasoda, even to the grave.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, had she but known it, her -wrongs were most amply avenged. Who -was there to do the work of the family—nay, -of five families? She who had been -their slave for years was sorely missed. -The lazy, useless womenkind had now to -cook and bake, draw water and feed cows, -and grumbled loudly and quarrelled savagely -among themselves—yea, even to -blows—though the task of one was now -portioned among so many. The patient, -graceful figure, toiling to and from the well, -or laden with wood or fodder, was no longer -to be met, and was missed by more than -her own household.</p> - -<p>“She was the fairest girl in all the -district,” said Gopal, the bunnia’s son. -“There was no joy in her life, she seemed -glad to die. Truly her execution was a -grand tamasha, and brought many strangers -from afar.”</p> - -<p>This was her epitaph.</p> - -<p>Jasoda’s name is still green in the -memory of the villagers of Sharsheo; not -that they acknowledge any special claim -on her part to beauty, virtue, or martyrdom, -but simply because it is not easy to -forget that Jasoda, the daughter of Akin-alloo, -and the widow of Sapona, was hanged.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="APPEAL">AN APPEAL TO THE GODS.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“We be the gods of the East,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Older than all;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Masters of mourning and feast,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">How shall we fall?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Within forty miles of where the Himalayas -rise from the plains, and the sunrise unveils -the blushing snows—and precisely half a -koss from the Kanāt river—lies the hamlet -of Haru, surrounded by a tangle of castor-oil -plants, mango trees, and tamarinds, and -standing in the midst of a fertile tract of -cane, corn, and poppy. The scarlet-and-white -poppies, the stiff, green cane, the -waving yellow wheat, also the village (which -boasted nine hundred souls at the last -census), were the joint property of two -wealthy zemindars. The northern part of -Haru—including the crops sown for the -opium department—was the inheritance of -Durga Pershad, a tall, dark, gaunt man, -with an unpleasant and sinister expression. -The wheat, cane, and southern end of the -town belonged to Golab Rai Sing, who bore -but a scant resemblance to his name—“the -King of Roses;” he was, in fact, a stout, -smiling, pock-marked person, with a glib -tongue, and a close fist. These two -zemindars hated one another as thoroughly -as men in their position were not only -bound, but born to do. They had not -merely been bequeathed adjoining lands, -and a whole village between them, but -a venerable blood feud, which had been -conscientiously handed down from generation -to generation.</p> - -<p>In good old days—days within living -memory—there had been desperate outbreaks, -dacoities, and murders, attended with -the usual sequel: hanging or imprisonment -beyond the seas. Now, in more civilized -times (although the vital question of the -well by the temple was yet in abeyance, -passed on from collector to collector), the -rival factions were content with pounding -each other’s cattle, burning each other’s -fodder, and blackening each other’s -characters. Both had a large following of -tenants, relations, parasites; and he who -brought tidings that evil had befallen the -enemy was a truly welcome guest! When -the great men met, they simply scowled -and passed on their way, and their women-folk -laid every sin to the charge of their -neighbours that it is possible for the depraved -imagination of a practised native -slanderer to conceive.</p> - -<p>Golab Rai Sing was the richer of the two -zemindars, though Durga Pershad owned -a larger extent of ground; but it was -whispered that he had lost much money in -a law-suit, and that Muttra Dass (the -soucar) held a mortgage on his best crops; -nevertheless, he carried his head high, and -his wife had real silver tyres to the wheels -of her ekka!</p> - -<p>It was the first moon in the new year, -and the collector’s camp was pitched under -the mango tope, between the village and -the river; he had but recently returned -from two years’ furlough, and from the -whirl of politics and the turmoil of life at -high pressure; also, he was new to the -district.</p> - -<p>As he stood meditating on the river bank -at dawn, and saw the snows rise on the -horizon with the sun, watched the strings -of cattle soberly threading their way to -pasture, heard the doves cooing in the -woods, and the rippling of the river through -the water plants, he said to himself, “Here -at least is rest and peace.” Casting his -eyes toward the red-roofed houses, half -concealed among bananas and cachar trees,—with -their exquisite purple flowers—</p> - -<p>“I am not sure that these people have -not six to four the best of it,” he remarked -aloud (no one but his dog received this -startling confidence), as he gazed enviously -at a group of lean brown Brahmins who were -dipping piously in the Kanāt, and pouring -water from their brass lotahs; he thought -of his own tailor’s and other bills, his wife’s -insane extravagance, her flirtations, his hard -work, his years of enforced exile.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he continued, “<i>we</i> know nothing -about it. We wear ourselves out running -after phantoms. Here is contentment, -assurance of future happiness, and present -peace.”</p> - -<p>But then, you see, he was a new man—a -visionary—and was totally ignorant of the -internal condition of this picturesque and -primitive hamlet.</p> - -<p>The same day, as in duty bound, the two -zemindars, each mounted on a pony, and -followed by a crowd of retainers, waited -upon the collector sahib, apparently on the -most amicable terms. Just once a year -they were compelled to masquerade as -friends, though when they had the collector’s -ear in private audience, their mutual complaints -were both numerous and bitter. -They bore, as offerings, fruit and wreaths of -evil-smelling marigolds (that noxious flower -so amazingly dear to the native of India); -also Golab Rai Sing carried with him one -thing which his rival lacked, and that was -his son and only child, Soonder—<i>i.e.</i> “the -beautiful”—a lively boy of five years, who -was gaily attired in a rose-coloured satin -coat, and wore a purple velvet cap and gold -bangles. He was a sharp and unquestionably -spoiled urchin. He sat with his father -and friends, or with his mother and her -associates, and listening open-eared, like -the proverbial little pitcher, heard many -things that were not good for his morals—heard -perpetual ridicule and abuse of -the enemy of his house; therefore, when -he encountered Durga Pershad in fields or -byways, he made hideous grimaces at -him, squinted significantly, and called him -“dog,” “pig,” “robber”—behaviour that -naturally endeared him to Pershad, who -yearned with irrepressible craving to find -him alone! Subsequently the heir of Golab -Rai Sing would return to his fond parents, -boast of his performance, and receive as -reward and encouragement lumps of sticky -cocoanut and deliciously long, wormy native -sweets.</p> - -<p>On the supreme occasion of the yearly -reception, the child Soonder was as prettily -behaved and hypocritical as his elders. -The collector’s lady noticed him—and that -publicly. She knew better than to say he -was a handsome boy (for, if she had no fear -of the evil eye, it was otherwise with her -audience), but she gave him a picture -paper, and a battledore and shuttlecock, -and his father swelled, beamed, and literally -shone with pride—for was not the presentation -made in the face of childless Durga -Pershad, and all the elders of the people? -And greater glory was yet in store for this -fortunate zemindar. The collector, having -looked over various papers, and heard -witnesses (many false), actually deigned to -visit the well in person, and concluded what -he considered a shamefully procrastinated -case, and finally made over the Kooah well, -and all its rights, to Golab Rai Sing and -his heirs for ever!</p> - -<p>That night Golab made a great feast to -all his followers, and bitter were the thoughts -of his defeated rival, as he lay sleepless -on his string charpoy, listening to the -devilish exultation implied by the ceaseless -tom-toms.</p> - -<p>As days went on, his thoughts became -still more poignant; it seemed to him that -his friends were showing defection. Golab -Rai had fine crops, on which there was no -lien; he had a son to light the torch of his -funeral pyre; he had the well. Of a truth, -he had <i>too</i> much! And he, Pershad, had -been flung in the dust, like a broken gurrah. -Thus he reflected as he sat brooding on the -river-bank at sundown. The cattle were -strolling home through the marshes, the -cranes were wheeling overhead, close by -a fierce, lean, black pariah gnawed some -mysterious and ghastly meal among the -rushes, and on a sandbank lay three huge -alligators—motionless as logs of wood—crafty -as foxes, voracious as South Sea -sharks. Durga Pershad glanced indifferently -at the cattle, at the cranes, but as his eyes -fell on the alligators they kindled, they -blazed with a truly sinister flash—the -alligators had offered him an idea!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was the feast of lights or lanterns, the -festival of Lucksmi, wife of Vishnu, and -the goddess of festival. She, however, -brought naught but sore misfortune to the -house of Golab Rai, for since sundown -the child was missing—was gone, without -leaving a trace. Amongst the busy excitement -of preparing the illuminations and -decorations, he had vanished. His mother -supposed he was with his father, and his -father believed him to be with his mother. -Every house, byre, and nook—yea, even -the well, was searched in vain. Durga -Pershad was humbly appealed to, as he sat -on his chabootra stolidly smoking his huka.</p> - -<p>“Why question me?” he replied. “How -should I know aught of the brat? What -child’s talk is this?”</p> - -<p>A whole day—twenty-four long hours—elapsed, -and suspicion pointed a steady -finger at Durga Pershad. Of late it was -noticed that he and the child had been -friends—that he had given Soonder sweets—yea, -and a toy. One man averred that -he saw a pair resembling them going -towards the river about sundown. The -child was jumping for joy, and had a green -air-balloon in his hand.</p> - -<p>This, Durga Pershad swore, was a black -lie; he had never left the village; his kinsman -could speak.</p> - -<p>“For how much?” scoffed the other side. -“What fool will credit a man’s relations?”</p> - -<p>Four days passed, and Golab Rai had aged -by twenty years. His round, fat face was -drawn and shrivelled; he was bent like an -aged man, and tottered as he walked.</p> - -<p>As for his wife, she had almost lost her -senses, though both she and her husband -clung wildly to hope, and he had lavished -money unsparingly in rewards and horse-flesh. -As a last resource, the miserable -mother of Soonder came and cast her -dishevelled person at the feet of Durga -Pershad—Durga Pershad, whom all her life -she had mocked, reviled, and figuratively -spat upon.</p> - -<p>“Take all I possess!” she cried—“my -jewels, my eyes, my very life; but tell me -what thou hast done with him? Doth he -yet live? My life, all thou wilt, for his!”</p> - -<p>As she spoke, a little cap was brought—a -velvet cap, soaking with water. It had -been found by a fisherman three miles down -the river.</p> - -<p>This was sufficient answer to the question, -“Doth he yet live?” The child was -no more, his cap bore witness; and Gindia, -his mother, swooned as one that was dead.</p> - -<p>Yes, Soonder had been thrown to the -alligators, without doubt; cast into their -jaws, like a kid or a dog. In their mind’s -eye, the villagers beheld the hideous scene, -they heard the shriek, saw the splash, and -the ensuing scuffle. What death should -Durga Pershad die?</p> - -<p>The whole place was in an uproar; excitement -was at fever heat. The police were -sent for to Hassanpore, the nearest large -station, and the suspected zemindar was -marched away, and lodged in the Jail -Khana; even his own people were dumb.</p> - -<p>Durga Pershad stoutly avowed his innocence -by every oath under a Hindoo heaven. -He engaged, at enormous expense, an English -pleader from Lucknow. He paid much -money elsewhere. There was no case. If -one man swore he met him with the child -at sundown on the feast of lights, there -were five unshaken witnesses who had -seen him at the same hour in the village.</p> - -<p>Therefore Durga Pershad was acquitted; -and, moreover, in the words of the Sudder -judge, “without a stain on his character!”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, matters were not made -equally agreeable for him at home. His -own partisans—save his tenants—held aloof -with expressive significance, and those who -were wont to assemble on his chabootra -of an evening to smoke, argue, and bukh, -were reduced by more than half.</p> - -<p>But he held his head as high as ever, -whilst that of his enemy lay low, even to -the dust. Of what avail now to Golab -Rai were his crops, his rents, his great -jars of “ghoor” (coarse sugar), even his -well, when he had no longer a child—a -son and heir?</p> - -<p>The immediate effects of the tragedy -gradually faded away; it had ceased to -be the sole daily topic, and it was again -winter-time. One chill, starlight evening, -as Durga Pershad was riding home -alone among the cane-fields, he was -suddenly set upon by a number of men, -who had lain in ambush in the crops. A -cloth was thrown over his head, he was -dragged off his pony, and hustled into a -doolie, which set off immediately, and -at great speed. There were many riding -and running beside it—the terrified prisoner -heard the sound of steps and hoofs and -muttered voices. It seemed to him that -he travelled for days; but, in truth, he had -only journeyed twenty hours, when he was -suddenly set down, the sliding door was -pushed back, and he was hauled forth. -He found himself standing in a temple -(an unknown temple), and by the light of -blazing torches he recognized at least one -hundred familiar faces, including those of -Golab Rai and the priest of the village -of Haru. He was so cramped and dazed -that at first he could only stagger and -blink; but as his hands were untied, he -found his voice.</p> - -<p>“What foul deed is this?” he demanded -hoarsely. “Where am I?”</p> - -<p>“Thou art within the most holy temple -of Gola-Gokeranath,” answered the priest, -impressively. “We have appealed to man -for justice—and in vain. Therefore, we -now approach the gods! Is it not so, my -brothers?”</p> - -<p>The reply was a prolonged murmur of -hoarse assent from the quiet, fierce-eyed -crowd.</p> - -<p>“Behold the image of Mahadeo, the -destroyer!” continued the priest, pointing -to a conical stone in the middle of the -temple, on which the holy Ganges water -dripped without ceasing. “Here is the -mark of Hanuman’s thumb, where he rested -on his way to Ceylon to war against the -great giant Ravan.”</p> - -<p>A venerable Mahant, or high-priest of -the Gosains, now advanced, and said, in -a voice tremulous with age—</p> - -<p>“Lay thy hand upon this spot, O Durga -Pershad, and swear as I shall speak.”</p> - -<p>Durga Pershad held back instinctively, -but the pressure of fifty arms constrained -him, and he yielded.</p> - -<p>“If I have had part or lot in the death -of Soonder, the son of Golab Rai Sing——”</p> - -<p>There was an expressive pause for a -full moment, and no sound was audible -save the slow, monotonous dripping of the -sacred stream.</p> - -<p>Durga Pershad shuddered, but repeated -the sentence somewhat unsteadily.</p> - -<p>“—I call upon Mahadeo, the most holy, -the destroyer, to smite me with the black -leprosy in the sight of all men, and that -within three moons. May I die in torture, -and by piecemeal. May I be abhorrent -alike to men and gods, and after death, -may I hang by my feet for one thousand -years above a fire of chaff.”</p> - -<p>Durga Pershad echoed this hideous -sentence with recovered composure. Truly, -it was a vast relief to find that his end was -not yet—his life in no present danger.</p> - -<p>Here was a weird and ghostly scene! -The dark, damp temple, at dead of night, -the crowd of stern, accusing countenances, -lit up by flashes of torchlight, the austere -high-priest in his robe of office, and the -haggard culprit, the central figure, glaring -defiance, with his uplifted hand upon the -cold wet stone! There seemed to the -wretched accused some accursed power in -this holy image; the stone clung tenaciously -to his trembling flesh, and he was -sensible of an awful, death-like chill that -penetrated to the very marrow of his bones.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In a few minutes the lights were extinguished, -the wolfish-faced crowd had melted -away, and Durga Pershad found himself -alone. He stumbled out of the shrine, -and by the cold, keen starlight descried -the edge of a large tank, which was surrounded -by temples. He had never visited -the place of his own free will, but he recognized -it from description as undoubtedly -the most holy Gola, where two hundred -thousand pilgrims flocked to worship once -a year.</p> - -<p>At daybreak he made his way to the -bazaar, and there sold a silver chain,—for -he had no money. It might be imagination, -but he believed that people looked -upon him with suspicious eyes. Three days -later, he was at home once more. He told -no one that he had been kidnapped—no, -not even his mother or his wife.</p> - -<p>By the end of a month, Durga Pershad -had become an altered man. He looked -wofully lean and haggard, he scarcely ate, -slept, or smoked, and appeared dreadfully -depressed. He now cared nought for taxes, -rents, or crops, and complained of a strange -numbness in his limbs. Much to the surprise -of his household, he undertook a pilgrimage -to Hurdwar, the source of the Ganges -(some one had suggested most holy Gola—some -one ignorant of Durga’s enforced -expedition). He had barely returned from -Hurdwar when, as if possessed by a fever -of piety, he set forth for Badrinath, in the -Himalayas. After that long and arduous -journey, he passed rapidly down to Benares. -From thence, concluding an absence of four -months, he returned finally to Haru, and -shut himself up within his own courtyard -and in his own house, refusing to see even -his nearest of kin. And now it began to -be whispered about from ear to ear that -Durga Pershad, the son of Govindoo -Pershad, was smitten with the kôrh—or -black leprosy.</p> - -<p>Yes, the grasp of that terrible disease -was upon him. His features altered, -thickened, and took the fatal and unmistakable -leonine look. In a surprisingly short -time he had lost the fingers of both hands. -To show himself abroad would simply be -to proclaim his guilt, and the judgment of -Mahadeo—whose wrath he had invoked. -For weeks and weeks he successfully evaded -his enemies, fortified within his own house, -and protected by his wife and mother, whose -shrill tongues garrisoned it effectually.</p> - -<p>When it became known that the hours -of Durga Pershad were numbered, a body -of the elders, led by the village priest, came -and sternly demanded an entrance. They -would take <i>no</i> denial. After frantic clamour -and frenzied resistance, they gained admittance—admittance -to the very presence of -the leper, who lay in a darkened room, -huddled up on a string bed.</p> - -<p>“Behold,” cried the priest in a sonorous -voice, “the finger of Mahadeo, and the -punishment of the slayer of a child! -Speak, ere your tongue rot away, and declare -unto us what befell the boy at thy -hands, O Durga Pershad, leper!”</p> - -<p>“Begone!” screamed his wife. “Depart, -devil, born with the evil eye, come -to mock at the afflicted of the gods!”</p> - -<p>“When he hath spoken, we will go our -ways,” answered a solemn voice; “but -otherwise, we remain until the end.”</p> - -<p>Durga Pershad raised himself laboriously -on his charpoy; his head was muffled up -in a brown blanket, he was nearly blind, and -cried aloud, in a shrill, piercing falsetto—</p> - -<p>“Yea, here is the answer—the god’s -answer”—and he thrust out a leprous -arm—“I did it.”</p> - -<p>“How? Hasten to speak, O vile one!”</p> - -<p>“I long desired his life,” he panted. -“He came with me to the river-bank of -his own accord, for I had promised him a -rare spectacle. My heart was hot within -me—yea, as a red-hot horse-shoe. Even -as he clamoured for my promise, I flung -him to the alligators. It was over in a -minute—but—I hear his scream now!”</p> - -<p>Then Durga Pershad covered his face, -and lo! as he turned to the wall, he died.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TRAVELLERS">TWO LITTLE TRAVELLERS.</h2> -</div> - -<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> - -<p>Gram had fallen to nine seers for the rupee, -which affected the sahibs who kept horses -and polo ponies; and rice was down to -eight measures—this affected the villagers -and ryots. The rains due at Christmas -had failed. There was talk of a great -scarcity and a sore famine in the land, -especially among the sleek, crafty bunnias, -who bought up every ounce of grain in the -district when it was cheap, and at the first -whisper of failing crops—often a rumour -started by themselves—locked it up relentlessly, -in hopes of starvation prices, -refusing to sell save at exorbitant rates.</p> - -<p>What is a road coolie to do under these -conditions?—a man whose daily wage -never exceeds one anna and a half, no -matter how markets may fluctuate. Three -rupees’ worth of grain will keep him alive -for twenty days; but how is he to exist -for the remainder of the month? How is -he to feed his children, to pay his tiny -rental, and the village tax?</p> - -<p>This was a problem that Chūnnee -pondered over, as he sat on a heap of -stones at the side of the road, with his -empty basket at his feet, and a look of -despair upon his handsome, and usually -good-humoured, countenance.</p> - -<p>Alas! Chūnnee had been born under an -evil star. Scorpio was his constellation, -and all the luck had ebbed from him, as -surely as it had flowed towards his half-brother -Zālim Sing.</p> - -<p>Now, Zālim Sing was prosperous and well-to-do, -the proprietor of a good mud house, -a patch of castor oil, and two biggahs of -land, planted in rape and linseed; he also -owned a huge milch buffalo, a pair of -plough bullocks, and the only ekka within -three koss. Yes, an ekka that came to him -with his wife, all lavishly decorated with -brass knobs and ornamental work, an ekka -that had yellow curtains, and was drawn -by a bay tat (a bazaar pony), with six rows -of blue beads round her ewe neck. Zālim -Sing was prouder of his turn-out than -any parvenu’s wife with her first equipage; -and perhaps it was on the strength of this, -more than his store of linseed and his plot -of land, that the village elders hearkened to -him with respect. He was a lean, shrewd-looking -man, with a cast in his eye and -a halt in his gait. Nevertheless, he had -prospered, and the world had gone well -with him, whereas it had gone ill with his -half-brother.</p> - -<p>But Chūnnee was not wise in his generation; -he had bartered away his share of the -ancestral home for two cows, a grindstone, -and some brass cooking-pots. The cows -had died the rains before last, the cooking-pots -were pawned to the local soucar; his -crop of one mango tree had failed, he had -no capital except his sturdy frame, two -horny hands, and his coolie basket.</p> - -<p>In his hovel there were his children—Girunda, -a boy aged ten, and Gyannia, -a girl of four. There was also a mat, an -old charpoy, a reaping-hook, a couple of -earthen pots, and a white cat. This was -all that Chūnnee possessed in the wide -world. It might have sufficed, had he had -wisdom like his brother; but, alas! he had -no brains. There he sat, on the kunker -heap, that glaring February afternoon. The -land was still covered with cane crops; the -barley was green, and in the ear; dry leaves -were whirling along the road; the banka -tree was dropping red flowers from its grey, -leafless branches; the mango tree was in -blossom. Yes, the hot weather, the time -of parching and scarcity, would be on them -soon. Suddenly he heard a rattling, and felt -a cloud of warm yellow dust. It was his -brother’s ekka. Zālim Sing and a friend tore -past at a gallop, and scarcely noticed the -coolie on the side of the road, beyond a -hoarse laugh of derision. Why had fortune -been kind to one brother and cruel to another? -Why had his cows died?—his wife been -bitten by a “karite” as she cut vetches, -and expired at sundown in agonies? Ah, -Junia was a loss—nigh as great as the -cows. She cooked, and minded the children; -she earned one anna a day for reaping; she -was fortunate to die young; she had never -lived to know hunger. Why had some -people stores and treasures, to whom they -were of no use, whilst others lacked a morsel -to keep them from perishing?</p> - -<p>Chūnnee sat for half an hour with his -arms loosely folded on his breast, and -pondered this question in his heart. Presently -he arose, and picked up his basket, -and took the path towards his village, where -its brown mud walls and straw roofs stood -out in strong relief against a noble tope of -mango trees; but these mangoes were the -property of the sirkar (government). Many -an envious eye had been cast on them and -their fine yearly harvests. Despite bazaar -rumours about scarcity, it was surely what -is called a bunnia’s famine; for this hungry, -handsome Rajpoot, with the form and -sinews of some Greek god, made his way -homewards between marvellous crops at -either side of the well-beaten path. The -self-same rich land was yielding gram, rape, -linseed; whilst barley towered high above -all. Where else will the earth yield four -harvests with little manure or care? But -not an inch of this fertile soil called -Chūnnee master! And what to him was -all this fertility? As he strode along, -a fierce temptation kept pace with his -steps, and whispered eagerly in his ear—</p> - -<p>“There is old Turroo, thy great-uncle; -he is nigh ninety years of age, and rich; -his head was grey in the mutiny year. -True, he favours Zālim Sing. They say he -hath even advanced him money for seeds, -because he is prosperous; and he will not -look at thee, because thou art poor, much -less suffer thee to cross his threshold. -They declare he hath a treasure buried—some -that he came upon in the mutiny -year. What avails it to him? He hath -his huka and his opium, his warm bedding, -and brass cooking-pots. He only enjoys -money when he looks at it—and thy -children are starving. They say that -thousands of rupees are hidden under his -floor, and one hundred rupees would make -thee a rich man. Thou mightest till that -plot of ground near the big baal tree, and -buy two plough bullocks for twenty-five -rupees. Krisna would then lend thee his -plough. Set grain—not linseed, having no -mill—grain at even twelve seers next year, -and thou wilt be a wealthy man; yea, and -better than Zālim Sing, who will no longer -scoff at thee or cover thee with dust. Thou -wilt have no need to go out as coolie. -Thou wilt have plenty of flour, and dál, -and fresh tobacco in thy huka. It is easy—as -easy as breathing. But to rob—to rob an -old man?” inquired conscience. “True; -but thine own kinsman, who cannot carry -his money to the burning ghâut, it ought -to be thine some day. Thou art his heir, -though he hates thee—men often hate -their next-of-kin. His hoarding—it is of no -use to him—it will save thee and thine -from death.”</p> - -<p>“But how—how can I take it?” inquired -Chūnnee of the tempter.</p> - -<p>“Behold, the nights are dark, the moon -doth not rise till morn; thou hast thy -krooplie still; dig through the mud wall. -They say the box is buried near the -hearth; open it, and carry away what thou -wilt in thy cloth. The old man sleeps as -though a corpse—he drinks opium. He -has no one in the house, no dog. It is so -easy; truly, it is a marvel he hath not been -robbed before! Take it; be bold. Truly, -it is half thine. Thou canst keep a pony, -too, and buy silver bangles for Gyannia.”</p> - -<p>“But how can I account for this sudden -wealth? All the world knows that I am -but a beggar.”</p> - -<p>“Carry it forth and hide it, bury it in a -hole far away; for doubtless there will be -a great search. Some weeks later, take a -few rupees, and go by rail to Lucknow; and -come back, and say thy wife’s grandmother -hath died, and left thee one hundred rupees. -The gold and jewels thou wilt take in a -roll of bedding to Lucknow, and sell. It -will all be easy; have no fear.”</p> - -<p>As these ideas were working in his brain, -and he was the sport of two conflicting -feelings, Chūnnee was rapidly approaching -his little hovel, which lay on the outskirts -of the village of Paroor. It was a small -hamlet of mud houses, huddled together -most irregularly. There was no main street, -nor even an attempt at one; no chief -entrance—merely half a dozen footpaths -running into the village from various -directions. There would be a high mud -wall and doorway leading into an enclosure, -containing twenty small huts, and as many -families, all connected; here were also ponies, -calves, fowl, the property of the clan, and -perchance a bullock-cart or a sugar-press. -These enclosures were set down indiscriminately, -and joined together; the only -village street, an irregular path, that threaded -its way between them. There were “sets” -even here, as in higher circles; inmates of -one mud courtyard, who owned a sugar-press, -looked down on the inmates of those -who had none.</p> - -<p>Most people looked down on Chūnnee, the -coolie—even the women, although he was -a handsome, well-made fellow. What are -looks, when a man has not a pice, and -owns nought save two crying children? -Chūnnee made his way past a crowd -collected round a khooloo, or sugar-mill—a -rude, wooden affair, turned by two bullocks, -fed with bits of raw cane, which it squeezes -into a receptacle in the ground, and subsequently -empties into another vat indoors, -where the sugar is boiled, and finally poured -off into huge jars (similar to those which contained -the forty thieves), and sent to middlemen, -who thereby reap much profit. Paroor -was in the midst of a sugar country, and -boasted half a dozen of these rude sugar-mills.</p> - -<p>Chūnnee passed through the scattered -strips of cane, basket in hand—there were -no greetings for him—and, turning a corner, -dived between two mud walls into a small -hut that stood by itself. A slim, nearly -naked lad ran out to meet him, with a look -of expectation on his intelligent face, but, -alas! his father was empty-handed. On -the mat lay a little girl with curly hair and -a fair but puny face. She was fast asleep, -holding in her arms a miserably thin -bazaar kitten—or it might be a full-grown -cat stunted in size.</p> - -<p>“She was hungry; I fetched her some -banka fruit from cows—now she is asleep,” -explained the boy. “There is a little -barley—the last—I made it,” and he -pointed to a cake, a very small one, baking -on some embers.</p> - -<p>“Father, what shall we do to-morrow?” -he asked, as his father devoured the only -food he had seen that day.</p> - -<p>“There is still the reaping-hook.”</p> - -<p>“Gunesh offers two annas for it.”</p> - -<p>“And it cost a rupee and a half.”</p> - -<p>“I went to-day to old Turroo, to ask -him for a few cowries, or a bit of a chupatti -for Gyannia—she was crying with hunger, -and calling for food.”</p> - -<p>“And what did he give thee?”</p> - -<p>“He smote me a blow on the back with -his staff”—pointing to a weal on his -shoulder. “He said I was a devil’s spawn, -good for nothing; like thee—a beggar.”</p> - -<p>“I would not be as I am, but I have -never had a chance—never one chance.” -And, ravenous as he was, Chūnnee the -famished yielded half his cake in answer to -his son’s wistful and expectant eyes.</p> - -<p>When darkness had fallen on the village, -the inhabitants went to bed like the birds—it -saved oil—though there were a few -budmashes who sat up all night and -gambled; each visiting the other’s house -in turn, and providing light and drink. -Yes, drink—drink, from the fatal mowra -tree. The fever of gambling seemed to be -all over the land. Some gambled away their -money, clothes, tools, cattle, but this gang -kept their proceedings secret—yea, even -from their nearest neighbours. Chūnnee -had never gambled.</p> - -<p>As, by degrees, the children were called -in, and the houses shut, the village grew -dark and quiet. About twelve o’clock, -Chūnnee rose, and felt for his krooplie (a -mattock with a short handle); then he -opened the door and looked forth; there -was not a sound to be heard, save the -breathing of the children and the distant -howling of a pack of jackals. There were -the clear cold stars in the sky, showing -above the opposite wall. Should he do -it? Oh, if Heaven would but send him -a sign! It seemed to him that his devout -wish was instantly fulfilled, for at that -moment Gyannia turned in her sleep, moaning -her frequent and pitiful cry when awake, -“I am hungry.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> -</div> - -<p>Chūnnee had now received his answer; he -stole forth, and crept like a shadow from -wall to wall, down a series of narrow paths, -till he came to a house standing alone in -an open space—a notable abode, for a tree -grew through the roof. There was no gate -to the outer yard, no dog. The door was -closed—needless to try it; he must work -his way through the mud wall at the back, -and crawl in. The baking of many seasons’ -suns had effectually hardened this impediment, -and he strove for an hour, listening -for sounds with intense trepidation, whilst -the sweat poured down his face. At last -he had scraped a sufficiently large aperture—he -was slender to leanness. He crept -through, but his usual bad luck pursued -him; his head came violently against a -brass chattie that fell with a clang enough -to waken the dead. It effectually aroused -the old man, who awoke and struck a match, -and showed Chūnnee that he had come -too late!</p> - -<p>The light displayed a deep hole in the -floor, an empty hole. The door was ajar; -the treasure was already stolen; and -Chūnnee stood there, krooplie in hand, with -the cavity in the wall to speak for him—the -convicted thief!</p> - -<p>Old Turroo’s piercing shrieks of “murder” -and “dacoity” assembled a dozen people -in less than three minutes. Yea, truly, he -had been robbed! A box lay outside empty, -and Chūnnee the coolie, the ne’er-do-well, -had come to this!</p> - -<p>He was caught like a rat in a trap! -There was the opening in the wall, the -muddy krooplie in his grasp; he stood -plainly convicted. The criminal hung his -head—of what avail to speak, and aver his -innocence?—he was not innocent! Others -had got the booty, he would suffer for them. -As he had been toiling and labouring they -had been within, and had carried off what -he too had come to seek.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was served rightly; but he -never got a chance—no, not even to rob.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile old Turroo literally rent his -clothes, and tore his scanty white beard, -and howled, cursed, and gesticulated like -a madman. Zālim Sing stood foremost -amongst sympathizers (for the venerable -relative still possessed a house, cattle, and -lands), and said “that truly it did not -surprise him to find that the thief was his -blood-brother.”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, it did astonish most of the -assembly, for Chūnnee, if miserably poor, -had ever been known to be scrupulously -honest. They were amazed, moreover, -that he should <i>begin</i> on such a large scale! -Chūnnee offered no resistance; he was led -away, and shut up in a cowhouse, whilst -Zālim Sing’s brother-in-law, full of zeal, -ran all the way to Bugwa to fetch the -police.</p> - -<p>The police arrived at daybreak—two -men and an inspector, in their blue tunics -and red turbans—all looking excessively -wise; but their searching and cross-examining, -discovered nothing beyond the -empty box. How had Chūnnee spirited -away the treasures? Who was his accomplice?</p> - -<p>“Let him be beaten till he speaks,” -implored the venerable creature who had -been ravished of his treasure. “Let the -soles of his feet be roasted until he opens -his mouth. Where hath he hidden them?”—and -he shouted to the whole assembled village—“the -two bags of rupees, the golden -bangles, the anklets, the strings of pearls—forty -pair without blemish? If he will -only give me the pearls!”—and the old -man lifted up his voice and wept.</p> - -<p>A dirty, half-naked old man, how strange -it seemed, to behold him weeping for his -pearls! Now, had it been a young and -lovely woman, the grief would have -seemed natural. And who would have -believed that old Turroo had such -treasures? Ay, he was a sly fox.</p> - -<p>“Give me my pearls, yea, and my gold -mohurs. Thou mayst keep the rest, and -go free,” he declared magnanimously.</p> - -<p>But Chūnnee could not give what he -had not got, and therefore held his peace. -His children screamed when they saw -their father’s arms pinioned with ropes, -the iron things on his hands, and heard -he was going away to the Jail Khana—screamed -from fear and hunger.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile old Turroo howled and raved -like one possessed, and, pointing to his -grand-nephew, besought the police to put -him to torture by fire, then and there. In -former days strange things were done -under the mantle of the law; but in -these enlightened times no policeman dare -venture, even for a large bribe, to practise -the question by torture.</p> - -<p>So Chūnnee was led away captive, -followed as far as the high-road by fully -half the village; and for more than a mile -along that dusty track, two little weeping -creatures pattered behind him. At length -the girl could go no further, and fell -exhausted. Her father halted between his -guard, and said—</p> - -<p>“Girunda, take care of thy sister. Go -to thy uncle; he will feed thee till I come -back. Go now, ere nightfall.”</p> - -<p>And if he doth not receive them, what -is to become of them? was a thought -that harassed him all the weary march. -At a turn of the road he turned and looked -back, and saw the two small forlorn figures -standing in the straight, white highway, -watching him to the last.</p> - -<p>Chūnnee was brought up before the -magistrate that day. He had been taken -red-handed, and had not denied his guilt. -He was silent with respect to the treasure. -It had been a most daring dacoity, but, as -it was his first offence, he would be only -sentenced to two years’ imprisonment in -Shahjhanpur jail.</p> - -<p>“And his two children?” he ventured -to ask. “Who would care for them? How -were they to live?” (There are no poor-houses -in India.)</p> - -<p>“Oh, the neighbours, or your relations,” -said the Sudder judge, knowing how immensely -generous, good, and charitable -the very poorest are to one another. “You -have a brother, of course—he will take -them.”</p> - -<p>Chūnnee was by no means so sanguine -on this point.</p> - -<p>He was sent on foot to jail—a distance of -sixty miles—and there put in leg-irons, and -a convict sacking-coat, with a square cap -to cover his shaven head. He was set to -work to pick oakum. He worked steadily, -though with a face and air of dogged -despair. But what was the good of giving -trouble? What was the good of anything? -The jail fare was not jail fare to him—it -was better than he had at home; and now -that he had sufficient to eat, he grew -strong. But how were his children faring? -Were they starving? Other convicts—robbers, -gamblers, dacoits—thought -Chūnnee proud and sullen, he was so -silent; or surely he was in for some great -crime?</p> - -<p>Luckily for him, the jail daroga liked him, -and promoted him to basket-making, and -thence to the vegetable garden. His percentage -on his earnings he did not take -out in money, or even in the Sunday smoke. -No; all went to the remission of his sentence. -Truly, life was not so bad, save for the hangings—every -convict was forced to attend—and -these executions were not infrequent, -for Shahjhanpur was in the centre of a -district notorious for murders. It was a -veritable case of “Satan finds some mischief -still for idle hands to do.”</p> - -<p>When all the grain of this most fertile -tract is harvested, and the sugar-cane -brakes have been cut and carried away -on bullock-carts, when the linseed is -pressed, and the sugar sold, and the wheat -threshed and ground, it is the hot weather; -no sowing or ploughing can be done. -People must wait for the first burst of the -rains, to soften the stone-like ground. And, -oh, how sweet to the nostrils is the smell -of earth after the first wild downpour!</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, they have money in their -hands—the fruit of their labour. They -have long, hot, idle days, and no occupation, -so they rake up old land-feuds, old -blood-feuds, old jealousies, and the result -is but too frequently a man’s body found -in a nullah, killed by a sickle or a lathi -(heavy stick), or a woman’s corpse drawn -out of some abandoned well.</p> - -<p>The jail gardens supplied all the vegetables -to the station, and the mem sahibs, -when the vegetable “doli” came late, knew -well the reason—there had been a hanging.</p> - -<p>Chūnnee attended the first execution -with apparently more trepidation than the -criminal himself, who walked to his fate -with a jaunty air, and on being asked if -he had arranged all his affairs said—</p> - -<p>“By your favour, yea;” and then, on -second thoughts, added, with amazing -vivacity, “There is one small brass lotah -which I forgot. I desire that it be given -to my sister-in-law.” And so, singing a -song to Nirvana, he ascended the gallows -and calmly met his fate.</p> - -<p>Another young man’s demeanour was -outrivalled by that of his own father and -the kinsfolk who had come to take leave -of him.</p> - -<p>The execution was at half-past six, and -the official in charge—a tender-hearted -gentleman—stood waiting till the farewells -were over, watch in hand. Time was up, -but he would give this vigorous young -Brahmin yet a few more minutes of life. -He was engaged in eager conversation -with his relatives, and it was commonly -reported and suspected that he had actually -confessed to the crime, and sacrificed himself -in order to save a near kinsman. The -official glanced at his watch once more, -and was astounded to catch the eye of -the culprit’s father, and hear him say, in -a most matter-of-fact tone—</p> - -<p>“Yea, truly, my son, time is up. Thou -hadst better go at once, for, remember, we -have fifteen koss to carry thee to the -Ganges to burn—and we shall not get home -till dark, and the moon is old!”</p> - -<p>The son, without a word, salaamed to -this more than Roman parent, and then -turned to meet his fate without an -instant’s hesitation. Chūnnee had beheld -many heroes of this type, but he had also -seen others who had not had it in them -to encounter death with similar fortitude. -He had noted the wandering, terrified eye, -the ashen lips drawn back from the chattering -teeth, the twitching knee-caps, as the man -was led forth to die like a dog; he had seen -it, and the sight had made his heart melt -like wax within him, and his limbs shake -as if he had been stricken with palsy. It -was his one horror, to be warned to attend -an execution.</p> - -<p>And then there was the ever-haunting -fear about his two desolate, helpless children—were -they well or ill, alive or dead? -He was seventy-six miles from his own -pergunnah—no one ever visited him with -tidings from home, no one came to see -him, and brought him bazaar news, and -sweets, a tin pot to drink from, or even a bit -of a wheaten chupatti. No, he had no -friends, either within the jail, or beyond -its walls.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> -</div> - -<p>Meanwhile the desolate little couple had -toiled painfully back to Paroor, and halted -outside their uncle’s enclosure. They -dared not venture in, and they crouched -timidly without the battered wooden doorway, -whilst Zālim Sing laid down the law, -expounded his own virtues, and denounced -Chūnnee to more than half the village. -He had always been secretly jealous of -his good-looking brother, who, moreover, -was the father of a son, whilst his wife -had borne him, instead of the much-desired -heir, no fewer than seven daughters, of whom -four survived; and Zālim’s enemies said -among themselves that his sins must be -many, or he would never have been punished -with seven girls! He talked freely, knowing -there was no one to defend the absent, -and the starving pair heard that their -father was a liar, a dacoit, a budmash, a -thief, and the most ungrateful kinsman -to a noble-hearted brother that ever drew -the breath of life—one cannot talk for ever; -and as the listeners gradually dropped -off, notice was naturally attracted by the -two wretched little beggars in the lane—what -was to become of them?—their home -was empty, save for a reaping-hook, a charpoy, -and a cat.</p> - -<p>Zālim Sing pulled his beard, and -scowled; his crooked eye rolled fiercely, -till a woman in the crowd exclaimed in a -loud clear voice—</p> - -<p>“Since thou sayest thou art a benevolent -man, and the most generous of kinsmen, -why dost thou stare at the starving ones, -instead of taking them in?”</p> - -<p>Their dusty feet and hunger-stricken -faces touched the crowd—as easily swayed -as the branch of a tree to this side and -that, by whatever wind may blow.</p> - -<p>There was a hoarse murmur, which the -crafty Zālim quickly interpreted; now was -the time to pose as a noble benefactor—or -never; and he drew the two children over -the threshold of the door, and shut himself -in with his detested encumbrances.</p> - -<p>He gave them some coarse food and -water, and showed them a sort of shed -where they might sleep. “But thou mayst -not enter my house,” he said, “or play -with my children; thy father is a wicked -man, therefore ye are pariahs, but I and -my children are good.”</p> - -<p>The next day he went to his brother’s -abode and sold the old charpoy, reaping-hook, -and house for the sum of seven -rupees; but he could neither sell nor kill the -cat—she sat serenely aloft in a neem tree, -far out of his reach. Presently she discovered -her old owners, or they discovered -her; they hid her secretly in their miserable -shelter, and begged a little milk in the -village. Alas! she was their only friend. -Their cousins—four sallow, ugly children, -two of whom had inherited their parent’s -violent squint, and all of whom were laden -with anklets and bangles, and a vast sense -of their own importance—condescended to -come and patronize the two wicked beggars -who lived in the old goat-shed in a corner -of the enclosure. They experienced an -intense and novel delight in patronizing, -teasing, pinching, and threatening these -little pariahs, who were better fun, and -afforded more scope for amusement, than -any of their usual games, and their sense of -their own superiority swelled to enormous -proportions. They visited the unfortunates -at all hours; but the cat knew their voices, -and hid hastily among the thatch. Bazaar -cats are wonderfully active and cunning, -they are also marvellous thieves, and the -cat throve.</p> - -<p>Presently Zālim Sing’s wife discovered -that Girunda was old enough to be of use. -She set him to do the work of two servants, -or one pony. He had to draw water and -carry it home from the well, to grind corn, -to cut fodder, whilst his little sister cried -herself to sleep alone, for she dared not -leave the cat, lest her ever-prying cousins -should discover it and throw it down the -well. Certainly its appearance was against -it; it was lean and long and dirty-white, -with a thin rat tail; and a sharp-pointed -face—a pure village type—hungry, and -careless of its appearance, a merciless -mouser, but a faithful adherent.</p> - -<p>Poor Girunda now toiled early and late, -he received nought but blows, abuse, and -the coarsest fare. Much of his utility -was unknown to his uncle—who was frequently -from home—but who scowled every -time that his glance fell upon him.</p> - -<p>Affairs were not going quite as smoothly -as hitherto with Zālim Sing. The prices -had risen in everything, save in his own -particular commodity, linseed. There was -the prospect of an unusually hot, scarce -season, and his pony was sick. He vented -all his ill humour on the two oppressed -children “within his gates”—a most excellent, -comprehensive, and Eastern -expression—meaning within the mud or -stone enclosure, where the master is -supreme, where he can shut out all the -world save his household, his oxen, and -servants—shut it out by merely closing -to the street an iron-knobbed wooden door. -Within Zālim’s gates his nephew became -a slave; he was made to tend the furnace -in the wall, at the other side of which -boiled an enormous receptacle of linseed oil. -This duty was murderous in the glaring, -breathless month of April; it was worse -than a fireman’s work in June in the Red -Sea—and the fireman is relieved at his post; -no one ever relieved Girunda—the name -signified “thick bread;” but of any bread -his share was small—and then he fell sick. -For two days he lay in his shed, burning -with fever, his uncle beat him repeatedly -with a thick stick for his laziness—beat -him savagely too—but the boy made no -moan, only his little sister screamed, and -the screams attracted the neighbours.</p> - -<p>“He is a lazy, idle, good-for-nothing -pig!” explained the uncle to an eager -inquirer; “he will not work aught save -his teeth. And she is half-witted.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said the listener; “and it is -only a charitable man like thyself, O -Zālim Sing, who would keep the beggar’s -brats, and with a dearth in the land, too; -and wheat rising every week.”</p> - -<p>Then she went back to her spinning of -coarse country cloth; Girunda lay and -buried his head in his hands, and Gyannia -sobbed in a corner; but his tormentor went -into the house, to confer with his wife.</p> - -<p>“If the boy would not work, neither -should he eat. Was <i>he</i> himself to mind the -furnace?” he demanded angrily.</p> - -<p>“The boy is sickening,” said the woman. -“I have seen it coming—it is something -bad—maybe the cholera, maybe the smallpox. -It is surely some heavy sickness.”</p> - -<p>“And he may die?”</p> - -<p>“Yea, having given it to us and ours. -What shall we do?”</p> - -<p>“Behold, to-night, when the village is -quiet, I will take the two of them, and set -them on the high-road. Thou canst bake -some chupattis, and I will give them four -annas, and tell them to begone, to return -here no more, for if they do, of a surety -I will kill them.”</p> - -<p>“They will believe thee!” said his wife -with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Yea. Why should they not beg, as -others do? And soon the boy can work, -and earn an anna a day.”</p> - -<p>“Yea, he will soon be able to work,” -agreed this treacherous woman.</p> - -<p>The children were surprised to be left -in peace till sunset, and then to receive -some fried beans and a chupatti—most -sumptuous fare for them! But when it -was dark, save for a dying moon, Zālim -Sing entered their hut, staff in hand, and -awoke them roughly.</p> - -<p>“Arise quickly, and come with me; thou -shalt no more remain under my roof. I -have fed thee for three moons, now thou -mayst go forth and feed thyselves. I will -set thee on the road, and give thee food for -two days and a little money; get thee to -some town, and appeal to the charitable. -Return here, and I will slay thee.”</p> - -<p>The children rose trembling; they had -not much delay in dressing, but Gyannia -smuggled the cat under her bit of blue -cloth (once her mother’s), and without one -word the wretched pair meekly followed -their uncle across the enclosure, past the -oil-press, the sleeping bullocks, out of the -postern, and through the silent village, -then away to the high-road. Their kinsman -walked along behind them in the powdery-white -dust, stick in hand, for nearly two -miles. It was nigh dawn; already the -yellow light glimmered in the east; he -must return; so he halted abruptly, and -gave the boy some chupattis rolled in -plantain leaves, and a four-anna piece (five-pence), -and then said, “There lieth thy -road out into the world; get thee gone, and -never let me behold thy face again,” and -turning, he walked rapidly homewards.</p> - -<p>The soft tap of his stick gradually died -away, and then the children were quite -alone. They sat down, and began to -whisper. It was not a dream; their uncle -had come to them in the middle of the -night, and brought them along the high-road -in the dark, and given them food, and -told them to begone, and never let him see -them again.</p> - -<p>After their first feeling of astonishment -had abated, they devoured a chupatti, -sharing it with the cat; and then, as the -dawn of light showed red along the horizon, -they rose and went forward.</p> - -<p>“If they had to walk, best make the -journey now,” thought the boy, who was -wonderfully sensible for his years.</p> - -<p>“Brother, whither are we going?” asked -Gyannia presently.</p> - -<p>“We have no one to go to but father,” -he replied. “We will go to him—to the -Jail Khana.”</p> - -<p>But he did not tell her, nor would she -have understood, that the jail in which -their father lay imprisoned was seventy -miles away. Hand-in-hand the two outcasts -went slowly along the shadeless white -roads; several villagers on the way to their -work met them, and halted and stared at -the party—a ragged little boy and girl, with -a bazaar cat running after them.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> -</div> - -<p>That day Girunda and Gyannia walked five -miles, resting in a nullah, under tufts of -high grass, in the heat of the sun from nine -till six—during which time the fierce hot -winds roared over the land, and swept the -roasted leaves up and down the roads, and -shook the branches of the cork trees. How -hot it was—every living thing seemed to -have secured some shelter, save these forlorn -children. The air was like a blast from a -furnace, the very stones were scorching to -the touch, and in the shallows, where a -great river had rushed in the rains, there -were now but a few shrunken pools in a -stony bed; in these pools wallowed blue -buffaloes (their hideous noses scarcely -above water), enjoying a sort of tepid relief.</p> - -<p>That night the travellers halted in a -village; a gwali’s (cowherd’s) wife was -surprised to see an exhausted-looking boy -carrying on his back a little girl, the little -girl in her turn carrying a cat. She invited -them in, and gave them milk, and asked -from whence they came.</p> - -<p>“Paroor,” replied Girunda.</p> - -<p>“Paroor? Lo! it is six koss away. -Do thy people know?” She eyed him -with suspicion.</p> - -<p>“Yea; our uncle hath turned us out to -beg.”</p> - -<p>“And where art thou going?”</p> - -<p>“To Shahjhanpur, where our father -dwells.”</p> - -<p>“Shahjhanpur!” with a scream; “why, -it is nigh thirty koss, and thou canst not -walk there.”</p> - -<p>“There is no other means.”</p> - -<p>“Hast thou any money?”</p> - -<p>Girunda untied a rag, and proudly displayed -his precious four-anna bit. He had -never possessed such a sum in his life.</p> - -<p>“It may maintain thee for two or three -days,” said the woman dubiously.</p> - -<p>“What work is thy father doing in -Shahjhanpur?”</p> - -<p>“Some one said he was making matting,” -rejoined the boy, simply. “He is in -jail.”</p> - -<p>“In jail! Oh, ye fathers!”</p> - -<p>“Yea; he went three months ago.”</p> - -<p>“And what hath he done?—murder—robbery?”</p> - -<p>“He hath done naught. They just took -him.”</p> - -<p>“But surely he must have robbed or -plundered?”</p> - -<p>“Nay; he was always very poor. He -had nothing to leave us but a sickle and -this cat; but old Turroo Sing had all his -money stolen.”</p> - -<p>“I see. And now it is buried somewhere,” -she added significantly. “How -long will thy father be in jail?”</p> - -<p>“Two years.”</p> - -<p>“A great time! Well, thou art weary, -and must need rest. Lie here on this mat, -and to-morrow I will give thee food to take -thee on for a day or two—money I have -none—and God will do the rest.”</p> - -<p>The next morning the children fared -well. That good Samaritan, the gwali’s -wife, secured them seats in a passing -bullock-hackery, and thus they accomplished -a considerable distance.</p> - -<p>The following day they met no friends, -and the heat was frightful—the air like a -flame. Nevertheless, Girunda tottered doggedly -forward, with his sister on his back, -for five miles, with long, long rests; and -at sunset they were nearing a large native -town—at any rate, it seemed large to them. -They were sent to the serai—a resting-place -for native wayfarers. There was a -great entrance gate leading into a wide -enclosed space, with plenty of accommodation -for camels, ekkas, and horses, and little -niches, or rooms, all around, for the travellers. -This was indeed a new life to Girunda—his -sister was asleep. He went and -watched the hairy Punjaubi dealers watering -and feeding their ponies; the bearded -camel-men giving fodder to their screaming, -bubbling, discontented animals; the “purda -nashins,” women, hidden behind a kind of -screen in a corner, from whence came much -shrill laughing and chattering. Tired as -he was, he was still more curious, and -crept forward and tried to peep, but was -rewarded with a stinging blow and a volume -of abuse from a hideous old hag. “They -were all ugly,” so he assured a hawker, -who laughed at his discomfiture.</p> - -<p>This serai, with its crowds of travellers, -and groups of animals, and imposing entrance, -was truly a most novel and wonderful -scene to this ignorant village lad.</p> - -<p>A woman, woman-like, once more took -pity on the party—the queer little group of -a boy and a girl and a cat, with no one -belonging to them, and not even possessing -a bundle of clothes. In reply to their -petition, “O mother, will you help us?” -she gave them a ride on her jingling ekka for -about eight miles. Girunda and Gyannia -had never been in (to them) such a splendid -equipage before, and were extremely happy -as the wiry chesnut animal between the -shafts, who tasted naught but bad grass or -roadside nibblings, kept up a steady canter -mile after mile. But, alas! the ekka’s -owner was going in a different direction -from theirs, and at a certain bridge she set -them down, and took leave of them, turning -away into a “cutcha” track.</p> - -<p>They were now in a different country, -where the road ran quite straight between -lines of neem trees, and was bounded with -burnt-up, rusty grass. The landscape was -desolate; there were no villages peeping -out of the clumps of trees, no houses -by the roadside: but these are always -rare in India.</p> - -<p>They halted at sundown, and crept under -the arches of a bridge over a dry watercourse, -and ate raw rice and drank water. -It was plain that they must pass the night -where they were, and as they were very -tired, they were not long in falling asleep. -Gyannia, infant-like, slept soundly till dawn, -but not so her brother. At midnight he -was awoke by a cold, damp nose being -poked into his face; he started up trembling, -and a few minutes later he heard his -visitor’s melancholy cry—it was only a -prowling jackal. As he sat and stared into -the grey light, his sharpened ears heard -another sound that made his heart beat -very fast—the “haunk—haunk” of a hyena. -The cat, too, sat up and listened. If it -came their way, he had no weapon; and -stories of children devoured by hyenas were -a common topic among the crones of Paroor -village. He had several times seen a -hyena skulking round, when he was driving -home the cow—a hideous, high-shouldered, -shuffling brute; but then his father had -been near, and he was not afraid. Now, -alas! his father was miles away, and he -was almost sick with terror. The cry came -nearer and nearer—oh, fearfully near—now -it was directly overhead! What intense -relief! the brute was on the high-road right -above them; yes, and the “haunk—haunk” -was dying gradually away in the distance; -but Girunda slept no more that night. -Supposing it should come back? The cat, -too, appeared to have anxieties; she did not -curl up, but sat bolt erect beside him. -She was a queer animal, attached to people -and not to a place, though the first day she -had followed them in a devious and uncertain -manner, uttering low mews of expostulation, -and even sitting down in the middle -of the road, and thus remonstrating from -afar, till they were almost out of sight, -but subsequently joining them like a whirlwind, -with a long white tail. Lately she -had been carried, and had had “lifts” in -the bullock-cart and ekka; so the cat was -much the freshest of the party, and seemed -to have become reconciled to the journey, -though she evidently did not approve of -sleeping out at night in the neighbourhood -of hyenas.</p> - -<p>It was the end of June, just before the -rains broke; the sky was like molten brass, -the earth like stone. Who would travel -in such a time?—who but two homeless -unfortunates, who must press forward or -else lie down and perish! Girunda staggered -along, carrying his sister, at the rate -of three koss a day. The four annas were -long exhausted, and they now openly begged -their bread! Some gave them a few handsful -of rice,—which they ate raw—some a -few cowries, which they spent at the little -bunnia shops; they could barely keep body -and soul together! Yes, they were like the -mendicants that had come to their own door -in the good times Girunda remembered, -when his mother was alive—and the cow.</p> - -<p>His mother—he could recollect her well. -She had pretty white teeth, and she laughed -often; but one day she came back from the -fields between two women. She was weeping, -and so were they, and they sent him -across the river to play; and when he returned, -a boy in the village ran shouting to -meet him, and cried, “Thy mother is dead; -a snake bit her.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes Girunda thought he would -die too; he was so hot, and so tired, and -his feet were so sore. If only he could -reach his father first! But how long the -miles had become! How he strained his -eyes to catch sight of the next milestone! -and what an enormous time it seemed -before it came into view! The road never -varied—never turned to the right hand or -the left; sometimes, as he toiled on, his -poor tired brain imagined that it had taken -the form of a great grey serpent, and was -coming towards him to swallow him up. -They were now within five miles of Shahjhanpur -city—would he ever reach it? -There were fine trees lining the route; there -were plenty of ekkas and ponies; there was -a loud-puffing fire-devil going yonder over -a bridge (he had heard of it), with a lot of -black boxes behind it; and still he was -three miles from Shahjhanpur—now two. -Oh, he could never arrive there—never!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> -</div> - -<p>About half-past six o’clock the next morning -a gang of convicts were working on the -road near the jail, carrying stones with -much chain-clanking, all obtrusively industrious -for the moment, as the keen black -eye of the jail burkundaz was fixed upon -them; but presently his gaze was attracted -by a little group that approached him: a -policeman escorting two ragged children.</p> - -<p>“What are these?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“They were found last night near the -police thana on the Futupore Road. The -boy had fainted on the wayside, and I kept -them till dawn, when I brought them in on a -passing hackery. They come, they say, from -Paroor, a village seventy miles off. The -boy has walked all the way, carrying the -girl on his back—so he says.”</p> - -<p>“Truly, but it is a fable! Of a surety, -they are beggars from our own city.”</p> - -<p>“We can easily prove them. They have -come hither to seek their father, who is in -prison here; they aver that his name is -Chūnnee Sing, of Paroor.”</p> - -<p>The convicts lagged to listen, and one -whispered to another, “It is the tall man, -who never smiles.”</p> - -<p>“Such a one is here for dacoity—two -years’ sentence.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he?” inquired the burkundaz -of one of the gang.</p> - -<p>“Working in the jail-garden gang, -hazoor” (<i>i.e.</i> your highness).</p> - -<p>An order was given to fetch him at once.</p> - -<p>“They had a cat, too,” continued the -policeman; “I left it at the thana. What -do these beggars with a cat?”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile a large crowd had collected -round the children—the curly-haired, pretty -little girl, and the miserably emaciated -boy, with his lacerated feet tied up in rags—a -number of market coolies and officers’ -servants; and the convicts dawdled near—as -closely as they dared.</p> - -<p>In a very short time the warder returned, -preceded by a tall convict. The children -stared with wistful, questioning eyes; they -did not recognize Chūnnee, at first glance, -in the close-fitting cap drawn well over his -ears, his loose dress, and chains; but after -a pause of breathless amazement he cried, -“Array khoda! Girunda and Gyannia, my -children, how came you here?”</p> - -<p>They rushed to him at the sound of that -familiar voice, and broke into loud cries -and sobs—sobs of joy and relief.</p> - -<p>“I walked,” panted the boy presently, -“and carried her. Uncle thrust us forth -one night; he said he would kill us if we -ever went back, so we came to thee. We -will abide with thee; we will never leave -thee,” sobbed the boy, clinging to his -hands, whilst Chūnnee took the girl up in -his arms and fondled her.</p> - -<p>“We are so tired and hungry, father; -may we not go to thy house and rest?” -and Gyannia dropped her head on his -shoulder.</p> - -<p>The jail official was much perplexed—here -was a most unusual case: two children -clamouring for admittance into an establishment -which every one else was averse to -entering.</p> - -<p>What was he to do with them? Were -they to be left at the gates, to be sent back -to Paroor? One thing was positively certain—they -could not be received inside the -jail.</p> - -<p>A great multitude had now gathered to -behold the convict’s boy, who had walked -seventy miles with his sister on his back. -It takes but little at any time to attract an -Indian audience. The crowd was about to -be dispersed by the police, when the jail -superintendent drove up in his brougham -for his morning inspection, and alighted, -and asked in amazement the reason of the -tumult.</p> - -<p>In five minutes he was in possession of -all the facts—the thread of the story—much -delayed by constant exclamations and additions -from excited women in the throng.</p> - -<p>“So these are thy children?” said the -superintendent to Chūnnee.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lord; and it was for the sake -of these that I tried to commit that theft.”</p> - -<p>“And thy brother hath turned them -out?”</p> - -<p>“So they say; and it was like him.”</p> - -<p>“Why hath he done so?”</p> - -<p>“How can I tell thee, protector of the -poor, save that he is a bad man? His -name of Zālim Sing fits him but too -well; truly he is a tyrannical lion. If -the bountiful sirkar would only feed my -children!”</p> - -<p>“You cannot, of course, have these -children with you; but I will look after -them for you, at any rate, for the present. -You shall see them again to-morrow. Here, -burkundaz; send these children down to -my house on an ekka, and let this crowd -disperse.”</p> - -<p>As soon as the two objects of curiosity -had been rattled off in charge of a warder, -the assembly melted away, each to his -own avocation.</p> - -<p>The superintendent’s wife was a charitable, -gentle lady, and accepted the weary, half-starved -wayfarers into her household. A -servant—one of their own caste—shared -his “go-down” with them, and they were -bathed, fed, and their sores attended to. -In a short time they looked totally different—such -is the effect of kindness. They went -to visit their father at stated periods, and -when Girunda related his life of toil and -blows at his uncle’s hands, Chūnnee’s straight -brows grew very black.</p> - -<p>The charitable lady who had given them -a shelter did more than feed and clothe -them; they were included among her -servants’ children, who learnt from a -munshi, and were taught at her expense. -The munshi, with his blue spectacles, sat -in the midst of them, and every week there -were prizes of fruit, and twice a year of -clothes. They were also permitted to pick -withered leaves in the lady’s lovely garden, -and Girunda was proud when he was allowed -to carry a pot; and sometimes their father -worked there also, with a few other favoured -convicts. And oh, what a garden that was!—even -to a <i>blasé</i> European eye, an exquisite -spot; how much more to two ignorant native -children, who have never seen any flowers -but marigolds? The steps from the house -led down into a great spreading lawn, green -and smooth as velvet, and surrounded -by wide walks, bordered with bushes of -magnificent roses. Beyond the lawn, and -leading straight out of it, lay an avenue -of loquat trees, which was lined with -stands of maiden-hair ferns, orchids, arum -lilies, jheel plants—a truly fairy-like -scene. There were long alleys overhung -with fruit trees and flowers; there were -enormous bushes of yellow roses—in one -tree a pair of bulbuls had their nest—a -large, square plot covered with a dense -crop of variegated sweet peas. There was, -moreover, a big vinery, a quantity of fruitful -peach trees, a cote of pigeons, with nearly -two hundred in the branches of a mango -tree, and a house full of white rabbits -with ruby eyes! Truly, when they were -permitted to enter this garden, Girunda -said to his sister, “Behold, this must be -the place the preaching moola meant when -he spoke of the garden of Paradise!”</p> - -<p>The wheel of fortune turns, and strange -events do occur at times, even in a mud -village, in an obscure locality.</p> - -<p>Old Turroo Sing had been wise in his -generation; he had not grudged to offer -a considerable reward for news of, or the -recovery of, his lost treasure. For eight -weary months no tidings reached him, and -he had almost prepared to await the coming -of death, a broken-hearted man, when, lo! -one day six gay policemen—I allude to -their red turbans, yellow trousers, and blue -tunics—were once more seen approaching -the village. The inspector had come to -see Turroo, to confer with him privately. -When the door was closed fast, the inspector -drew forth a heavy gold bangle, and placed -it in the old man’s withered, trembling -hands.</p> - -<p>“Is this yours?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“It is; it is; it is! Where are the -rest?” clamoured Turroo.</p> - -<p>“Patience! This was offered for sale in -Delhi, and was about to be melted down. -The man who sold it is in the village. He -is Goora Dutt, the brother-in-law of thy -nephew, Zālim Sing.”</p> - -<p>“May every curse light on him!” screamed -the venerable Turroo.</p> - -<p>“He was caught and convicted; he hath -confessed. Thou wilt get nearly all thy -property back, my father; but thou wilt be -liberal to the police?”</p> - -<p>“As I live, I will give much buchseesh, -I swear it on the cow’s tail!”</p> - -<p>“There is a gang of gamblers here in -Paroor. We have known it long. Goora -Dutt is the chiefest among them. They -were—for all things are known to the police—without -money; they were in debt, and -their creditors were hungry; therefore they -agreed to rob thee, and they did. They -carried off thy money and jewels. Though -Chūnnee Sing was convicted and sentenced -for the same, he never fingered a tolah of -gold nor one rupee.”</p> - -<p>“And where is it? where is it? Oh, -speak!”</p> - -<p>“It is buried by a neem tree near Goora -Dutt’s garden. They had no time to carry -it farther, and it is convenient to their -houses. The rupees are gone, but the gold -and pearls and carbuncles are still mostly -there. They feared to sell them, for the -size and number and marks were known.”</p> - -<p>In half an hour’s time Turroo Sing’s -treasure, which was buried in a kerosene-oil -tin (oh, to how many uses are those tins -put!), was dug up in the presence of the -entire village, and shown to its owner, who -wept with joy as he tore open the parcel -and counted his pearls—his forty pairs -without blemish. But there were some -very glum faces in the crowd—four families -were implicated in the robbery—and when -Zālim Sing had come to overwhelm his -grand-uncle with felicitations, that fierce -old person had spat at him—like an infuriated -toddy cat.</p> - -<p>“Thou hadst a hand in it, oh, badmash, -son of lies!” he screamed, foaming at the -mouth. “Thy brother-in-law, Goora Dutt, -is thy shadow. ’Twas he fetched the -police for Chūnnee, who hath languished in -jail for thy sins. Take this robber, and -release Chūnnee Sing.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Zālim Sing’s popularity had been on the -wane for a considerable time. He had -assured his neighbours in his most plausible -manner, that Girunda and Gyannia -had run away, ungrateful wretches that -they were—just like their father, the jail-bird. -But the neighbours believed a wholly -different tale. A ryot, living in the nearest -village, had met Zālim, one dark night, -driving a pair of children before him. -People began to whisper, and then to talk -openly, of screams heard from Zālim’s -house; of the boy Girunda being seen -carrying loads as heavy as a pony’s—and -now, after all these months, public opinion -set in, in full tide, in favour of Chūnnee.</p> - -<p>Zālim Sing had a presentiment that his -good days were leaving him when he saw -his friend Goora Dutt and four other men -led away between the crops, with handcuffs -on their wrists; and many a curious glance -was cast at Zālim himself.</p> - -<p>“How came his wife to wear a pearl -nose-ring? How came he to possess <i>four</i> -bullocks and a Waterbury watch and a -pistol? Could any one give an honest -reason? Could his crops have sold at -double the rates of ours?” his neighbours -asked one another. Truly, he was as great -a thief as any; but his accomplices had -been staunch to him, and had held their -peace.</p> - -<p>Of course Chūnnee was released, much -to his own surprise. His ragged coat -was restored to him one morning, with a -“hookum,” to say that he was free. His -first duty was to return thanks to the -benevolent lady who had rescued his -starving children. He laid his head at her -feet, and touched the hem of her gown; and -there was a mist in his eyes as he said, -“Now I understand why God suffered me -to be put in the Jail Khana. It was that -my children might know you. Eshwar, -Eshwar will bless you always.”</p> - -<p>“And where will you go, Chūnnee?” -she inquired, ere he took leave.</p> - -<p>“Home,” he answered: a native returns -to his ancestral village as a Swiss -turns to the mountains. “Back to Paroor -and my house. It is true that I have no -friends; but I have no friends anywhere. -I was born there; also my father and -grandfather. It is my country, and there -will I die.”</p> - -<p>“It is more to the purpose, how will -you live, once you are there?”</p> - -<p>“I have good-conduct money. I shall -hire a little bit of land, and dig it, and buy -seeds. Girunda is growing big, he can -help me.”</p> - -<p>He was not to be deterred by offers of -employment in the city. No, his heart -was set upon Paroor—only Paroor; and his -kind patroness fitted out the children with -clothes and food, and they bade farewell -to her, and her enchanted garden, with -many bitter tears.</p> - -<p>Most of the journey was made by rail, -and in the delightful novelty of the motion -of a railway carriage they soon forgot their -sorrows. The last twenty miles had to be -accomplished on foot. Girunda stepped -out manfully beside his father, who carried -Gyannia. All <i>he</i> had to carry was the cat; -and, moreover, he had now a pair of shoes -and a stick.</p> - -<p>They reached Paroor at nightfall, and -Chūnnee went straight to his own hut. It -was occupied by an old crone, who had -bought it from Zālim Sing for six rupees, -and who felt herself a proprietress of some -importance. She thrust him out with a -lighted brand, and Chūnnee and his family -passed the night under a stack of straw.</p> - -<p>The following morning he went and -rapped boldly at his brother’s door, and -confronted him sternly.</p> - -<p>“So thou art back, badmash! I wonder -thou hast come here!” cried Zālim, with -ill-simulated scorn.</p> - -<p>“How daredst thou sell my house?” rejoined -the other.</p> - -<p>“I sold it to pay for thy children’s food.”</p> - -<p>“Speak not of the children you worked -as slaves, and beat, and turned out at night -to perish. Restore the money and the -house, O villain!”</p> - -<p>Hearing loud and angry voices, the inevitable -crowd collected. There was Chūnnee, -looking quite well-to-do, and actually -speaking in a commanding tone to his once -all-powerful brother!</p> - -<p>“Behold, he hath sold my poor hovel, and -hath kept the money,” explained Chūnnee, -turning to the eager audience. “He hath -beaten and starved my children, and hath -thrust them out to die. Why do ye suffer -such a sinner among you?”</p> - -<p>The crowd began to clamour and howl, -and Zālim Sing withdrew and barred his -door; but the angry neighbours beat upon -it till it shook on its rusty hinges, and -Zālim Sing was forced to shout, “Go! thou -shalt have thy house, O badmash.” And -for the first time in all his life, Chūnnee -was beholden to the force of public opinion.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> -</div> - -<p>Old Turroo had heard of Chūnnee’s arrival. -Everything is known in a short time in -a small community, save such matters as -robbery and gambling, practised under the -cover of darkness.</p> - -<p>He sent for his grand-nephew—much to -that grand-nephew’s surprise—and beckoning -him in with a long, claw-like finger, -commanded him to close the door, and be -seated on a charpoy. He then pushed his -huka towards him, and coughed, and said—</p> - -<p>“Thou art back, and I have much to -say unto thee. How dost thou mean to -live, and keep thy children, O Chūnnee -Sing?”</p> - -<p>“I hope to hire that plot of land near -Ram Lall’s garden, and till it by hand, -and sow it with cotton, jawarri, and dál. -I have recovered my house which Zālim -Sing sold.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldst thou leave that dog-kennel, -and come and abide here with me?”</p> - -<p>“Here—with thee!” he echoed incredulously; -he could not believe his ears.</p> - -<p>“Yea. Hearken to me, Chūnnee, the -son of Duloo Sing. It is in my mind to -make thee mine heir. Thou hast suffered -wrongfully for my treasure; it shall be -thine one day.”</p> - -<p>“I did not take the money or jewels, it -is true, O Turroo Sing, but it is true that -I desired to steal them—not from love of -lucre and gold, or the vice of robbery, but -for the sake of my children, who were -perishing. All that day the little ones -tasted naught but cow’s food. The boy -asked thee for a few cowries, and thou -gavest him blows; and an evil spirit tempted -me as I walked in the fields at even, and -said in mine ear, ‘Turroo is rich—yea, very -rich. He hath a house and land and cattle, -and warm bedding, and brass cooking-pots, -and a store of grain laid up in his granary -for many seasons. Moreover, he hath a -great treasure buried beneath his floor, -which is of no profit to him, save to handle -and to count. Behold, some of this useless -silver will feed my children and me. I will -dig through the wall, and steal, under the -cover of darkness. The man is old; he -sleeps fast. I shall take one hundred -rupees, and be happy.’ But I failed, as thou -knowest. Nevertheless, I was guilty.”</p> - -<p>“Thou wert hungry, and thy children -were crying for food; but Zālim Sing had -no such excuse—he is a shaitan, the son -of a she ass. Thou shalt take his place, -and come after me; thou shalt live here -now with thy children. Surely a strong -man, with a lathi, is better than an aged -chokedar and a dog! I may be robbed -again; with thee I am safe; for doubtless -thou wilt guard thine own. Let the old -hag remain in thine hut, and bring thy -children hither.”</p> - -<p>So, to the amazement of the village, -Chūnnee, the pauper and the prisoner, was -elevated to the right hand of the richest -man in Paroor, and rose proportionately in -every one’s estimation. He tilled the land, -and sold the crops, and cut the cane, -whilst Girunda spent his time between the -fields and the village munshi—as befitted -a boy who would rise in the world, and -perchance go to college!</p> - -<p>His grand-uncle was proud of him, -and never tired of boasting of Girunda’s -seventy-mile march with his sister on his -back.</p> - -<p>Gyannia now wears a gold nose-ring, silver -bangles, and a chain—which gauds comprise -most of her toilette. She is a happy -infant, and passes her four sallow cousins -in the narrowest lane, with her head in -the air.</p> - -<p>Her cousins and their father have resorted -to every description of clever intrigue to get -on terms with their lucky relatives, but in -vain. It is the dream of Zālim Sing’s life -to bestow one of his sallow daughters in -marriage on Girunda, and thus keep the -fortune in the family; but it is not probable -that the boy—who retains a lively recollection -of the ladies’ nips and blows and -floutings—will ever meet his wishes. Moreover, -Turroo has already a bride in view.</p> - -<p>The cat prospers, though as lanky and -grimy as of old; she must be a cat of some -breeding, or of Chinese extraction, for when, -after all her vicissitudes, she found herself -once more in her native village, she did -not exhibit the least surprise—she merely -stretched out her long body, and strolled -over and sharpened her claws in the bark -of a familiar tree. She has accepted the -transformation from poverty to wealth with -complete equanimity, and sits washing her -face outside Turroo’s door, or surveys the -village from the tree that grows through -his roof, as if she had never lived elsewhere; -she has also implanted a wholesome fear -of her displeasure in the breast of Chondi -the pariah. But then she is a cat who has -travelled and seen the world, and he is but -a common village cur!</p> - -<p>Who would recognize Chūnnee Sing -now? He wears a handsome turban, and -coolies salaam to him, and address him as -“ap.” He rides on a white horse—yes, -a horse, not a pony—with a long pink tail, -and is the leading man in those parts; for -all he takes in hand appears to thrive.</p> - -<p>As he passes through the villages, coquettish -glances from pretty dark eyes are cast -at him, and he is greeted with playful -remarks. Chūnnee is as much sought after -now as he was formerly shunned. It is -a matter of common talk that a rich thakur -would gladly give him his daughter to wife; -but Chūnnee appears satisfied with his -present lot, and shows no signs of changing -his condition.</p> - -<p>Our story is ended, and we will now take -leave of Chūnnee and his charger, of -Gyannia and her ferret-faced cat, of Girunda—who -is almost as precious to Turroo as -the forty pairs of pearls again buried beneath -the floor—of the envious, adder-tongued -family of Zālim Sing—and cast a final -glance on the sleepy patriarchal village, -where it lies among its waving crops on -the hillside, within sight of a glint of the -sacred Ganges.</p> - -<p class="center"><strong>THE END.</strong></p> - -<p class="center"><small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.</small></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> -<p>Archaic spellings have been retained.</p> -<p>A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.</p> -<p>Gadrinath was changed to Badrinath. Badrinath is a well known holy city -and no place by the name of Gadrinath could be located.</p> -<p>The following word pairs were normalized to one spelling by -majority vote:<br /> -“Chunnee” to “Chūnnee”<br /> -“copybook” to “copy-book”<br /> -“cocoa-nut” to “cocoanut”<br /> -“deathlike” to “death-like”<br /> -“hillman” to “hill-man”<br /> -“pockmarked” to “pock-marked”<br /> -“race-course” to “racecourse”<br /> -</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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