Rendezvous with Horror & Nightmare Tales (2 in 1)

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Rendezvous with Horror & Nightmare Tales (2 in 1) Page 28

by Ruskin Bond


  Lakha Wala, Outlaw,"

  "Pooh!" cried Major Willoughly, "the blighter is only bluffing. How is he going to stop us from shooting?"

  "Who is this Lakha Wala, anyway?" asked a young merchant from Bombay.

  "He is a Kathi Landholder from the Junagadh State," replied the Policeman. "He has been an outlaw for the last three years. He had a considerable estate on the outskirts of the Gir forest until the Junagadh State claimed from him a small marriage tax. It only came to six rupees a year; but Lakha Wala thought somehow that his honour required that he should refuse to pay it. Instead of seeking Agency intervention, which he might well have obtained, he wrote a violent letter to the State, denying its sovereign jurisdiction. Naturally, the State Administration seized the village, as it was held on feudal tenure. Lakha Wala and his relatives then became outlaws, just as the Earl of Huntingdon did when he became Robin Hood. Since then, the villain has been robbing right and left and has given me no end of trouble. However, I shall send a man to Rajkot to get some of my mounted police here as secretly as possible. In the meantime, we shall see whether Lakha Wala really means business."

  Next morning after the usual Christmas salutation and more than the usual early breakfast, the Policeman and his guests—in all five guns—started in tongas or on horseback to a jheel three and a half miles away. It was a reed-grown lake with narrow winding reaches that stretched out of the main water. On the banks of the reaches were excellent stands for guns. The duck flying up the centre of the water were never more than twenty-five or thirty yards from the edge and therefore well within range. The biggest bags were usually taken off this jheel and it was as a rule shot before the others. The Policeman and his friends reached the jheel in about half an hour, got out their guns and drew for places. There did not seem to be many duck about; but Willoughby hopefully tried to explain this by saying: "It is a cold morning and the duck, I expect, are all hiding in the reeds. Directly the first shot is fired the sky will be black with them."

  It took the gun, who had drawn the farthest place, about a quarter of an hour to reach his stand. Having reached it, he fired a cartridge into the air as a signal. Then, he waited for the sky to blacken with the flying duck, but nothing happened. One or two teal raced about aimlessly; a spotbill rose and at once disappeared; a dozen shovellers, their long necks and shovel-shaped beaks outstretched, flew up and down the lake. Of the huge flights of mallard, gadwell and pochard that usually offered themselves as a prey to sportsmen, there was nothing to be seen.

  At 11 a.m. the guns, after waiting more and more hopelessly for sport, decided to meet, discuss the situation and have their second breakfast.

  "I am awfully sorry, you chaps," said the Policeman apologetically, "I do not understand it. Usually, this is our best jheel and we expect to get at least a hundred head for five guns. Let us see what we have got."

  At his orders the shikari laid out the game and it made a poor display. One marble teal, one common teal, five shovellers were the tale of duck. Besides these there were a brace of painted partridge, a couple of quail and three snipe that had been shot by the guns as they came back from their stands.

  "Well, fourteen head for a Christmas Day's shoot is pretty rotten," grumbled Willoughby. "It looks as if Lakha Wala has carried out his threat."

  Just then a piece of paper, stuck in a cleft stick, caught B2—'s eye. He went and took it. On it were written in Gujarati the following words:

  "Welcome, gentlemen, welcome; think kindly of me,

  Lakha Wala, Outlaw."

  The absence of game was now sufficiently accounted for. Lakha Wala and his Kathis had skilfully driven every bird off the little lake. Willoughby said; "Well, it doesn't matter much, let us go out after blackbuck. It will be nice to add a little venison to our larder." The Policeman sent for carts from the neighbouring village and while the guns breakfasted, the shikaris 'camouflaged' the carts with jowari stalks, so as to make the blackbuck think that they were cultivators' carts engaged in ordinary agricultural work. After breakfast each gun took a cart and started out in different directions.

  At five o'clock they all met again for tea and all had the same story to tell. They had never got near a buck. The most that anyone had seen was a frightened herd on the skyline; but directly the cart came within half a mile, the herd set off at full gallop. Lakha Wala's gang had, no doubt, been at work and had chased the buck until they were too terrified to stand. It was a disgruntled party that returned to camp. There, the policeman tried to console his guests by saying that he would change his programme and go next day to a jheel different from the one originally fixed. The change in the programme did not have the desired effect. The shoot on Boxing Day was a repetition of that on Christmas Day. There were no duck and the blackbuck were as wild as hawks and Lakha Wala had left a similar note with the same mocking words. The third and fourth day yielded no better results, although the Policeman changed his plans repeatedly. It was clear that one of the servants who knew English was giving information to Lakha Wala.

  On the evening of the fourth day the Policeman took his guests out of the hearing of the servants and said:

  "My mounted police have arrived. They are half a mile from the camp. They railed from Rajkot to Morvi and then marched by night. I do not think that Lakha Wala knows about their coming. What I propose is that we mention at table the time and place of tomorrow's shoot. Lakha Wala will go early to the spot. We shall start several hours before we are expected, accompanied by the mounted police, and shall catch the dacoits at their dirty work. What do you say? We shall have a man hunt instead of a duck shoot. Are you agreeable?"

  The proposal was acclaimed with enthusiasm. At dinner, the Policeman announced that they would try the first jheel again; but that in view of the uncertainty of the sport they would start about 10 a.m. Next morning at 4 a.m. the five guns in riding kit and carrying rifles stole quietly out of their tents. Led by the Policeman they walked the half mile to the mounted men's camp. There he took five mounts for himself and his guests. They had left their own horses behind so as not to give the alarm. Then, with the remaining twenty mounted police, the guns rode to the jheel. It was still pitch dark as they approached it; but they could hear shots fired along the banks. Lakha Wala and his Kathis were busy frightening the duck.

  Guided by the sound and the flashes, the Englishmen and the mounted police rode round the lake and succeeded in arresting Lakha Wala's men one after the other; but Lakha Wala himself they did not arrest. One of the outlaws pointed out where their horses were tethered and these, too, were secured. Among them was Lakha Wala's own mount, a splendid Kathi mare, shaped exactly like the horses on the Parthenon frieze. Her ears were bent inwards; she had noble shoulders and perfect quarters. Her only defect seemed to be her legs. Below the knees she seemed 'underpinned'; but to anyone acquainted with the Kathi breed the defect was not a real one. The solidity of the bone made up for its slimness. The Kathi mare was indeed, such an animal as a brigand chief should have. She was fast enough to catch anything on four legs and enduring enough to shake off any pursuit.

  "Lakha Wala cannot be far off," said the Policeman and he asked several questions of the prisoners. They, however, resolutely refused to answer.

  "There is a cultivator over there," said Willoughby, "let us ask him."

  The Englishmen and the mounted men got off their horses and went up to the cultivator and the policemen asked him whether he had seen Lakha Wala. At first, the man seemed frightened and pretended not to understand. At last, after repeated questions, he bent forward and whispered into the Policeman's ear.

  "For God's sake, Sahib, do not let Lakha Wala know that I gave you the information. He would torture me to death. I did see him half an hour ago; he was crawling through the reeds towards the southern end of the lake. If you ride there now you will certainly catch him."

  The Policeman repeated the information in Gujarati and in English and all were about to remount. Suddenly, his Musulman risaldar or troop
sergeant major exclaimed in Hindustani:

  "Sahib, that man is no cultivator. He is wearing a gold anklet. It must be Lakha Wala himself!"

  The words had hardly left the risaldar's mouth when the so-called cultivator sprang forward like a tiger. There was a flash and a groan. The risaldar sank to the ground with a silver-handled dagger in his heart. The cultivator dropped into the reeds close by and vanished. The Policeman went to the risaldar and tried to help him, but it was useless. He was stone dead. For several hours the party searched the reeds all round the lake, but without result. They never saw Lakha Wala again.

  The death of the risaldar cast a gloom over the camp. The Policeman had greatly esteemed his brave and resourceful subordinate and his guests felt that in view of what had happened they could not shoot anymore. They took the dead risaldar into Rajkot, where he was buried with military honours. My friend B—had the satisfaction of trying Lakha Wala's gang and giving them swinging sentences.

  The policeman could not catch Lakha Wala, although he sought for him everywhere. He, however, revenged himself by entering Lakha Wala's Kathi mare under his own name for the Rajkot sky races; she swept the board.

  It was not until more than twenty years afterwards that I heard the sequel to B—'s story. I was then Judicial Commissioner in Sind; but I had always kept up old Kathiawar friendships. One day an old Nagar Brahman called on me. I was very pleased to see him as I had often met him in Rajkot. We talked for a long time about people and places in Kathiawar, that I had known in old days. Suddenly, B—'s story came into my mind and I asked my visitor if he had ever heard what had happened to Lakha Wala.

  "Has your Honour not heard? I thought that you knew everything that had happened in Kathiawar."

  I was forced to admit that in spite of my omniscience I had never heard the fate of Lakha Wala.

  "Then I shall tell you," replied the Nagar, "for, I was then in the service of the Thakor of X. Since that time His Highness has not treated me well. Still, it is not for that reason that I tell your Honour, but because I know that you will not let the matter go any further." The Nagar then began his story with infinite gusto.

  "I was private secretary to His Highness when Lakha Wala came to X and asked for shelter. His Highness was greatly troubled about the man. The chiefs of Kathiawar, as you know, hate to give up an outlaw who has thrown himself on their mercy. At the same time His Highness was unwilling to have difficulties with the English police. He kept excellent order in his own territories and he did not want it thought that he deliberately harboured gang robbers. He called together his chief officials and told them to advise him after due reflection what should be done with the man. In the meantime, he gave orders for Lakha Wala's detention in the State jail.

  "That evening we all met in the Thakor Sahib's diwankhana or state room, where all the official business was discussed and transacted. Our chief took his seat at one end. The lights were brought in: we stood up and salaamed to them, as is our custom. His Highness then asked us our opinion. I advised that we should neglect old tradition and surrender Lakha Wala to the Agency police; for, I had by that time learnt that the man had murdered the risaldar. I added, too, that he had no longer followers, land or horse. He had lost his prestige, so why should we shield him?

  "My saying that Lakha Wala had lost his horse carried great weight; for, as you know, a Kathi outlaw without a horse is like a Rajput without a sword or a Brahman without learning. Still, the Bhats (State bards) and Charans (State minstrels) in the hall would not hear of our surrendering an outlaw. We spent a long time talking over the matter. At last, the oldest bard present rose."

  "'Protector of the Poor,' he began, 'you will remember that three years ago a Brahman beggar committed suicide just outside the town and since then we have had no rain. Why not sacrifice this Lakha Wala to the earth goddess to wipe out the stain of the Brahman's blood?'"

  "Had a Brahman committed suicide?" I asked.

  "Yes; but the Thakor Sahib was in no way to blame. The beggar was no better than a robber. He stole things right and left and extorted money from all the shopkeepers in the town; so at last, our chief told his police to drive him out of the State. But the Brahman, who was half-mad with opium and drink, stabbed himself in a rage and dying, invoked all sorts of curses on the State. The worst of it was that we did not have proper rain afterwards."

  "Our chief was impressed by the old bard's suggestions; but he said that he would pass no orders without hearing Lakha Wala." He sent for the Kathi and said:

  "'I dare not give you shelter, Lakha Wala. Which would you sooner I did? I can either hand you over to the British police, who will certainly have you hanged; or, I can sacrifice you to the earth goddess, after duly honouring you for a fortnight, as an atonement for the death of the Brahman who, as you know, killed himself and cursed the State three years ago?'

  "Lakha Wala thought for a moment: 'I do not want to be handed over to the British police; they would cause me to be hanged by a paria. If the Protector of the Poor will give me a month's honour and behead instead of hanging me, I shall agree to be sacrificed to the earth goddess."

  "Eventually, it was agreed that Lakha Wala should be honoured for the weeks and beheaded, not hanged. Once the terms were settled Lakha Wala was released on parole, decked with garlands by the State dancing girls and feasted sumptuously at the State expense."

  "But," I asked, "could not Lakha Wala have escaped, as he was allowed to go free?"

  "Of course, Sahib, and an ordinary criminal would have done so, but Lakha Wala was not an ordinary criminal. He was a Kathi noble and he never thought of breaking his word. Moreover, he really enjoyed all the honour that he received as the sacrificial victim. Every morning, he was decked with fresh garlands by the dancing girls; in the streets all salaamed to him and he had never been so well fed in his life. Indeed, on the day before his execution His Highness had him weighed and found that he had gained more than a stone in weight."

  "And, what about the day of execution; was Lakha Wala as brave then?"

  "Yes, indeed," said my Nagar friend enthusiastically "he could not have borne himself more bravely. He might have been one of our epic heroes come back to life. He walked by himself, unbound and unguarded, to the very spot where the Brahman had committed suicide and there knelt down. A Kathi in the State service struck his neck with a sword and it was all over in a moment."

  "Well, I hope that the sacrifice brought good rain?"

  "Sahib, I cannot, of course, say whether the rain was brought by the sacrifice or not; but it is a fact that in the following monsoon our State had rain, such as it had not had for thirty years. We had a bumper crop. His Highness paid off all his debts and three years' arrears of tribute to the British government and still had a very large sum over."

  "Did the government not hear of the matter?"

  "No, Sahib; Colonel Chaser, the Political Agent, did; but he kept the matter quiet. After all, His Highness had paid his tribute up to date, so why should Colonel Chaser make a fuss?"

  "Oh! come," I said. "I do not suppose the Colonel was influenced by money considerations. It is surely more likely that so wise a man took the view that since Lakha Wala had been executed, it did not much matter whether he had been punished by an Indian chief or the British court, or whether he had been beheaded or hanged."

  "It may be as you say," conceded my Nagar friend, "for indeed, the Colonel Sahib was a very wise man."

 

 

 


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