Confessions of a Thug

by Meadows Taylor

  CHAPTER XLIII.

  The old man returned my salutations cordially; and when we were fairlyseated, and the hookah had passed round, he related the sad historyof the parents of the girl he had adopted. His version of the talediffered little from that of my new acquaintance; and indeed the wholeaffair appeared to have been as successful a piece of Thuggee as I hadever listened to. I wonder who they were, thought I; I will mention thestory to my father; perhaps he may have heard of it, and can give mesome clue to the boy whose fate is buried in uncertainty. Yet the ladmay even now be among us; and as this thought flashed across my mind, ahalf conviction forced itself upon me that I was the man! But I checkedit,--it was a foolish thought, such as one harbours sometimes upon theslightest cause, and dismisses after a moment's reflection.

  "And you never heard aught of them afterwards, nor of the boy?" I asked.

  "Never," said the old man; "never; years have passed since then, andthe lad, if he lives, is about your own age, Meer Sahib; and--Ya Alla!"cried he, gazing on me, as a gust of wind caused the lamp to flaretowards me, "those features are familiar to me!--speak, man! thou artnot the son of him who was murdered?"

  I confess that his earnest gaze and manner, with my previousconvictions that the village was familiar to me, almost overpoweredme; but I was too old an adept in deceit to be long staggered by asuspicion which he had no means of confirming, and I replied carelesslyand with a laugh: "No, no, that cannot be; my father still lives,though my mother is dead; indeed I have but little remembrance of her.Besides we are pure Syuds by descent, and reside in a distant country,and you spoke of your old friend as a Pathan."

  "It cannot be then," said the old man, turning away with an air ofdisappointment; "yet the resemblance is very striking, and I pray you,Meer Sahib, to pardon an old man's mistake; it may be that my eyesare failing me. Yet look at him, my son, and say, does he not resemble_her_?"

  "He does so certainly," replied the other, "and I was struck with thesimilarity of features, when I first saw him; but it must be imaginary,or it is, perhaps, one of those unaccountable resemblances, which oneoften sees without being able to discover any cause why it shouldexist."

  "But you spoke of a coin," said I, "which you hold to be possessed ofpeculiar virtues."

  "I did, Meer Sahib, and my father will tell you that I have notoverrated its efficacy."

  "Nor has he," said the other; "many charms have I seen, but none equalto it: when around the neck of the wearer, no evil comes to her, nodisease attacks her, and the eye of the malevolent or envious rests invain upon her. Assuredly it possesses wonderful virtues, for if it isever absent from her, she suffers from disease, or is unquiet in mind."

  "Alla ke Qoodrut!" I exclaimed; "it is the work of God. Such charmsare indeed precious, and lucky is the possessor of them. I had once ason,--he became the victim of an evil glance cast by a Fakeer to whomalms were denied; he cursed my house, and the boy pined and died. Iwas absent from my home, and you may judge, sirs, of my agony when Iarrived and learned my boy was dead. I have never been blessed withanother; but a girl still survives, upon whom every care is lavished,and no charm is offered for sale by the wandering Fakeers, Moslem orHindoo, but it is eagerly purchased, and hung around her neck. In thismanner I have spent much money, but as yet without effect; for mychild is delicate, and afflicted with dreams which disturb her restand disquiet her gentle spirit; and I would to Alla I could become thepossessor of some charm similar to the one you mention."

  "Keep a stout heart, Meer Sahib," said the old man; "you have boughtyour experience with sorrow, to be sure, yet a constant attention tothe wants of the holy wanderers will no doubt have its effect in theend, and their prayers will be offered for the health of your child andher long life."

  "May Alla listen to them;" said I fervently, for my heart was then withmy child and my loved wife. I arose to take my leave, and as my newfriend insisted on accompanying me to our camp, we walked thither.

  "You will be ready, then, at the first dawn," observed I; "we travelearly for the sake of the cool morning air, and my companions bestirthemselves as soon as the first blush of light spreads over the east."

  "Depend on me," said he, "I will not keep you waiting: we have a longstage before us."

  He left me. I will have the charm, thought I, as I lay down to rest;my child shall be protected by its extraordinary virtue, and therewill be an end of the constant searchings for amulets, which do nogood, and cost much money: besides, I could not bring Azima a gift shewould prize more highly, better far in her eyes than strings of pearlsor costly jewels. Thus musing, my thoughts wandered to my home: mytreasures were before me in imagination, and I compared this my wildand exciting life with the peaceful moments I enjoyed when I was therewith them--Azima lying beside me, and our child amusing us with herinnocent gambols. The contrast was forcible, and appealed to my bestfeelings.

  I fell asleep; nor did I awake until the bustle of preparation forthe journey warned me that it was time to rise. Having performed myablutions, I repeated the morning prayer and thanksgiving, and issuingfrom my little tent, I saw the band was in readiness to move on; but mynew acquaintance and his family were as yet not with us.

  "Shall we move on?" asked Laloo,--who was now my confidant, being thesecond of the Bhuttotes,--as I stood near my horse, prepared to mount.

  "Not yet," said I; "I expect some bunij from the village; they promisednot to be late, yet the day advances. Send some one to hurry them."

  "Ay, our friends of last night, I suppose, Meer Sahib. Of course wewill wait for them, and I will send a fellow to quicken them: know youhow many there will be to deal with?"

  "Not I," I replied; "there are a man and his wife, but how many more Iknow not. We shall soon see, however."

  Our messenger returned almost immediately. "They come," said he; "I hadnot reached the village gate when I saw them issue forth."

  "And how many are there?" I asked.

  "There are two women on ponies, one old one on foot, and three menarmed with sword and matchlock."

  "Six in all," said I; "do you Laloo tell off the Bhuttotes: if we finda good place to-day I will give the jhirnee; if not, the business canbe done to-morrow."

  "True, Meer Sahib," he replied; "but we had better put it off to-day.To tell you the truth, there was an objectionable omen this morning,and you know there is no need of risking anything."

  "Certainly not; we can send on the Belhas to-night, and things are bestdone which are conducted regularly."

  The village party now approached us, and salutations were exchanged; westayed not, but pushed on at as rapid a pace as allowed the villagersto keep up with us; and we travelled thus to the end of the stage.I saw no likely place for the deed on our way, for the country wasthickly peopled and the villages were close to each other. But I heardwith inward satisfaction from my acquaintance, that the next march wasthrough a lonely tract, and I was urged by him to be on the alert andcareful, for that robbers were plentiful, and we might be attacked.

  They rested in our camp that day and night. I watched eagerly to see,if it were possible, the face of the woman who bore the prize I soeagerly coveted, but I could not discern it, she was strictly secluded,or if she moved out of the temporary screen her husband had erected,she was enveloped in a thick wrapper, which defied my utmost attemptsto discover her countenance. But she was _mine_, and I gloried inthe thought that ere another day should pass over me, she would havefallen under my hand, and the charm would be mine also. You, Sahib,will perhaps wonder at my eagerness to possess it; but you know us not,if you do. What mother is there in Hindostan, ay, or father, who doesnot covet a potent charm against the evil eye for his child or for hiswife, far more than riches, nay the commonest necessaries or comfortsof life? A child falls sick, the glance of some of one is declared tohave rested on it, ceremonies are performed without number, pepper isburned, mustard-seed placed in the room, and other things done whichyou would laugh at were I to relate them all; and hence comes thenecessity of ch
arms. Holy men are besought to give them, and are paidfor them highly: Fakeers are implored to pronounce mystic words overthe suffering infant; and women will sell anything they possess, eventheir jewels, to purchase an amulet which is said to be efficacious.Sahib, I had lost one child; another, my sole offspring, was constantlyailing, and we were tormented by a thousand miserable anticipationsregarding her. Within my reach was a sovereign remedy for all, so atleast I firmly believed. Can you wonder at my eagerness, my impatienceto possess it?

  Laloo came to me, and with him the chief of the Belhas. "We are to goon, I suppose, as soon as we can?" said the latter.

  "Certainly," replied I; "I hear the road lies through a lonely tract,which commences a few coss from here. See that you choose a good place,and that the grave will hold six bodies."

  "Jo hookum!" rejoined the fellow; "but I hope the information iscorrect about the road, and that it is not like the last stage,cultivated ground from first to last. I would have defied the bestBelha that ever drew breath to have selected a spot free from a chanceof interruption."

  "Rest content," said I; "the information is good, I had it from ourfellow-travellers, who have passed that way a hundred times."

  "Then I will start by sunset," continued he; "I suppose the nearer tothis the place is selected, consistently with security, the better."

  "Certainly," said I. "Go; you have your leave."

  Midnight soon arrived: we had arisen, and had proceeded about threecoss on our way; we had passed every village, and entered on thedesolate tract I have mentioned. The hot night wind still sighedover the waste, and through the thorny bushes by which it was thinlycovered. No sound broke the silence, save a shrill neigh from one ofour baggage-ponies at intervals, or the wild and melancholy note ofthe plover, as it piped its song to its mate, and was answered againfrom afar. Once or twice the half shriek, half howl of a hyaena might beheard, and so like was the cry to that of a wretch under the knife ofan assassin, that my blood curdled in my veins as the sound thrilledthrough me. I rode on, first of the party, eagerly looking for theBelha, who should give the welcome intelligence that the grave wasready, and that we were secure from interruption; nor had I long towait for this. At a turning in the road I saw the trusty messengerseated; and as he espied me and arose, I hastened to meet him.

  "Bhil manjeh?" I asked in our slang language.

  "Manjeh," was the reply: "'tis ready, Meer Sahib."

  "And how far, Gopal?"

  "Scarcely a cannon-shot from hence, a dry nulla with a sandy bedcrosses the road; and a tributary streamlet's course, between high andnarrow banks, was the best place we could find."

  "Good," said I, "you are always careful; now keep near me, and hold myhorse when I dismount: I have a share in this affair which I would nottrust to another."

  I slackened my horse's pace, and the party soon overtook me. I stoppedas they came up, and dismounted. "A plague on these roads of yours,Khan," said I to my acquaintance; "my horse has lost a shoe, and hisfoot is somewhat tender; so I will walk a coss or two to ease him of myweight. Surely there cannot be much more of this stony track."

  "Not much; a coss or two perhaps: we ought to be near a dry nulla, if Iam not mistaken, and from thence the next village is a coss and a half;after that the road is good."

  "Let the Meer Sahib ride on my tattoo," said a voice like music; "I amcramped and stiff, and I shall be glad to walk awhile." It was that ofmy victim! she who was to die under my hand ere a quarter of an hourelapsed. She must be beautiful with that voice, thought I; but I shallsee.

  "No, no, Khan," said I, "that must not be; I am soldier enough to walkwhen I have no horse. Mashalla! my limbs are strong and supple, and Iwould not mind trying you at a long stage."

  "As you will, Meer Sahib, but you have only to say the word, and shedismounts. Alla knows 'tis a small recompense for your safe protectionover this dreary tract, which never man yet passed but with fear andapprehension. The nulla too, we shall reach it soon--they say many abrave fellow's blood has moistened its sand."

  I saw the woman shudder at her husband's speech, and I checked him."Shame on you, Khan!" said I; "think who hears you: women's earsare not fitted to listen to tales of blood, save when they are of abattle-field, and of scenes in which honour is gained and fame won atthe sword's point. Here you are safe; no rascally Dacoo would dare tomeddle with a kafila like ours, and we shall pass the nulla, as wehave those behind us, without a thought of its dangers or what hasever happened in it. But what was that?" I eagerly asked, as somethingcrossed our path close to my feet.

  "Nothing but a hare," said the Khan; "some prowling jackal has scaredher from her form, and she seeks another hiding-place."

  "A hare!" I repeated, the current of my blood seeming to be suddenlyarrested, as I thought on the fearful omen to a Thug,--one that couldnot be disregarded, or, if disregarded, was certain to be followed bythe most dire calamities, nothing less than death or long imprisonment.

  "Yes, Meer Sahib, a hare. Why should it astonish you?"

  "But across my very path," I muttered involuntarily.

  "'Twas chance," said the man; "what of it?"

  "Nothing," replied I; "nothing,--we have an old superstition about itin my country, but 'tis an old woman's tale, I dare say."

  I paced on in silence. Ya Alla! what a conflict was raging in my heart!I have told you I disregarded omens: I cared not for them, only asthey were the soul of Thuggee as far as my men were concerned; and tohumour them I feigned to be particular in their observance. But my soulquailed when I was put to the proof. Every tale I had heard of thevengeance of Bhowanee at a conscious neglect of her commands and omensflashed in rapid succession across my mind,--how one had died, eatenby worms; another been overtaken by what the world called justice; howanother had lost his wife or children,--and I too had yet a child! Isay I quailed in mental terror for awhile; but mine was a stout heart,a noble spirit; and it roused at my call, like that of a good steed,which worn and weary with travel, yet at the approach of strife ordanger bears his master as gallantly as though he were fresh fromhis stall. Yes, my soul rallied. Away with such idle tales, fit onlyto be bugbears to children, said I mentally; Ameer Ali is not to befrightened by them. And to lose the charm,--the object of my anxiety,when almost within my grasp! I laughed aloud.

  "You are merry, Meer Sahib," cried Laloo, who I saw was at his place;"tell us your thoughts, that we may laugh too; and by Alla! we need it,for a more unsainted country I never saw."

  "'Twas but a thought," said I. "Know you where my hookah is?"

  "I do not," he replied, "but I will call for it." And the word waspassed by those who followed us for it to be brought.

  This was the preparatory signal. Every one heard it and took hispost. The place could not be far, and with my last words had passedaway every chance of life to our companions. Nor was it far off; afew moments' walking brought us to the brink of the nulla. I firstdescended into it, and disengaged my roomal. I was ready; one by onethe others followed me, and we were now in the middle of the dry andsandy bed, mingled together, the victims and their destroyers. I sawthe time was come, and I gave the jhirnee.

  They fell,--ay all! and almost at the same time. There was no sound, nocry, all that I heard was a faint gurgling noise from the husband ofthe woman, who had writhed in her death-agony under my fatal grip; afew convulsive throes and she was dead! I tore away the bodice whichcovered her bosom; I thrust my hands into it, and groped upon the stillwarm breast for the prize I had so earnestly longed for. I found ittied to a silk cord,--which defied my utmost efforts to break; but Iunsheathed my dagger and cut it, and I hugged the treasure to my heartin a frenzy of exultation. One look at the face, thought I, and theLughaees may do their work; and I gazed on it. It was beautiful, verybeautiful; but the expression and the eyes--, Sahib! why did I look atit? I might have spared myself years of torment had I not done so. Thatface, of all that I have ever seen in death, haunts me still, and willever haunt me, sleeping or waking.

 
Not that it had any particular effect on me then. No, it wasafterwards, as you shall hear, and when I had discovered what I haddone. Yes, she was beautiful, fair as my own Azima, as delicate andfaultless in form. The Lughaees shall not behold these beauties,thought I, nor could I listen to their coarse remarks; so I covered upthe bosom, folded the body decently in the sheet which had been aroundher, and sat down by it to await their coming.

  "How, Jemadar Sahib!" said Gopal, as he came up to me, "have you notstripped the body? But let me do so; yonder sheet is worth two rupees."

  "Let it alone!" cried I; "touch her not; she is too fair for the likeof you to look on. And hark ye, my friend, let her be buried as yousee her now. Whatever the others may say, tell them that it is myorder; and for your own share, you shall have a new sheet when we reachJhalone."

  "Jo hookum," said the man, "you shall be obeyed. But have you searchedfor jewels?"

  "I have; she had none. Away with her, and see that I am obeyed. Yetstay, I will accompany you."

  I went with him. The grave was where they had described it, between thehigh and narrow banks of a small watercourse; it was deep, and alreadycontained some bodies. I saw that of the fair girl laid carefully downover them, and I prevented their mutilating it with their knives asthey had done the others. I waited till all had been finished, andthe grave covered in; and collecting my scattered party we pursued ourjourney. It was well we had been so expeditious, for scarcely half acoss from the spot we met a large party of travellers, who, confidentin their numbers, had pushed on by night as we had done. Shortgreetings were exchanged between us, a few inquiries as to the road,whether water was to be had, and where, and we passed on.

  Our booty was small enough, as you may conceive,--about forty rupees,a few changes of raiment, the tattoo of the deceased, and the few andsimple ornaments of the women, worth perhaps a hundred rupees, were allwe got. But I had the real prize, worth in my eyes thousands of rupees.No one knew I had it, and I kept it hung round my own neck, and closeto my heart. A thousand times I took it out and gazed at it; there wassomething about it which had a mysterious effect on me,--many timesI thought I had seen it before, and I fancied its old and batteredsurface was familiar to me. But my mind gave me no clue to the idea,and I attributed the effect I have described to the influence of thecharm itself, and I was assured of its potency. How Azima will prizeit! thought I. In itself valueless, yet a treasure in her eyes andmine, for it will protect our child, and many an envious eye is uponher.

  We were still far from Jhalone, and the season admitted of fartherwanderings; but I was sated. Strange to say, I no longer thirsted foradventure; and though it came, and men were delivered into our hands,yet I sought not for them. Those we destroyed were casual travellerswho joined our party, and whose destruction was unavoidable.

  We held a general deliberation at a village on the confines of Malwa;and though some were for travelling northward as far as Agra, andthence to Jhalone, I overruled this, and, indeed, had the majorityon my side, who were satisfied with what we had got, and longed fortheir homes as I did. "However, my friends," said I, "our proceedinghomewards need not bring us worse booty than we should get by goingnorth. Roads are roads, and travellers will surely be on them whereverwe go. Let us not relax in our vigilance, and do you trust in the luckyfortune of Ameer Ali. Victory has always followed him, and his star isstill high in the ascendant. Above all, let us consult the omens, andby them be guided; if it is our fate soon to see our homes, they willdetermine our actions and proceedings."

  My speech was received with plaudits; the omens were consulted;and though none remarkable were observed, yet, in the opinion ofthe best-informed Thugs, we were justified in holding our presentdirection, till it should be changed either by meeting with newadventures or adverse omens. Accordingly we pursued our route.

  I forget how many days it was afterwards, but we were encamped atTearee, a large town in Bundelkhund, and had been there two days in thehope of bunij. We had been unlucky in not meeting with any till then;but our Tilhaees were actively employed, and I was determined not toquit the town without an adventure, as it was the last place on theroad to Jhalone where we could hope to meet with any of consequence.The Sothas and Tilhaees, however, returned in the afternoon withdowncast faces, declaring they could meet with no one, except miserablecreatures hardly worth the trouble of destroying; and all were formoving off the next morning.

  I was piqued at our ill luck, I know not why. "Stay, however," said Ito them all, "for the morrow; something tells me it will be a luckyday, and one is not of much consequence." My will was of course lawto them, and early the next day I dressed myself in my best clothes,armed myself with my most showy weapons, and taking some of the Thugswith me, as it were a personal escort, I rode into the town, causingmy horse to caracole as I went, in order to show off my admirablehorsemanship. Twice did I ride up and down the bazar and the principalstreets, but without meeting with any hope of adventure or bunij.At last, observing three respectable-looking Mahomedans seated on achubootra, or terrace, under the shade of a large peepul-tree, I rodeup to them, and inquired whether they could direct me to the abode ofany dealer in pearls or precious stones, as I wished to purchase some.

  "Are you in earnest?" said the oldest of the three; "or do you merelyask to find out whether our poor town would afford you such preciouscommodities?"

  "God forbid, sirs," said I, "that one so young as I am should dare toendeavour to jest with men of your age and respectable appearance. Ido indeed seek what I have said, and shall rejoice if any of you candirect my steps, for here I am a stranger."

  "Since such is the case," replied the old gentleman, "I am happy inbeing able, even at this moment, to present you to Shekh Nusr-oo-deen,who sits here beside me, and who follows the respectable calling youare in search of. But you had better dismount, and, if such is yourpleasure, join our Mujlis for as long as you feel inclined. My worthyfriend will then, I doubt not, be happy to accompany you to his abode,and show you the articles you require."

  "You are kind," said I, "and I accept of your civil invitation." Sosaying, I dismounted, and ascended by a few steps to where they weresitting. A few moments were occupied in the ceremonies of being seated.My new acquaintance called for a hookah and sherbet, and in a fewmoments we were on excellent terms.

  "And what may be your distinguished name?" said the elder of the three,who had first accosted me. I named myself,--"A poor Syud," said I; "anunworthy descendant of our Prophet,--on whose name be peace!"

  "Mashalla! I told you so," cried the old man. "Mashalla! there is nomistaking the noble race;--and his speech too! How say ye, my friends,is it not sweet and mellifluous, like a verse of Hafiz?"

  "Ameen! Ameen!" cried both, "'tis even so; the young Syud is a worthyrepresentative of his tribe, and we are fortunate in having made hisacquaintance."

  "You overpower me, worthy sirs," said I; "I little merit theseencomiums; for having spent all my days in camps and in strife, I havelearned few of those courtesies which ought to adorn the manners ofevery true believer."

  "You have served then with Sindia?" asked the pearl-merchant.

  "No," said I, "not in his armies, though there has been tough fightingenough to be seen with them. I have served in the Dukhun; and, I amproud to say, under the banners of Salabut Khan of Ellichpoor."

  "A good name," cried all; "the noble Khan too has won it bravely,though not on our side in the late contests."

  "It matters not," said I; "wherever a blow was to be struck, or therewas hope of a fight or a foray, Salabut Khan was ever first in thefray, and the last to leave it."

  "And your destination, Syud?" asked the pearl-merchant.

  "Jhalone," I replied. "Salabut Khan has reduced his force; and therebeing no longer hope of employment for a cavalier like myself, Ireturned home to my father, and have taken quiet service with theRajah,--whom Alla preserve! for he is as generous a prince as any ofHindostan; and on his behalf I have recently been on a mission tothe durbar of Doulut Rao
, on some matters which have been in disputebetween them. I am proud, too, to say, that all has been quietlysettled."

  "Soobhan Alla!" cried the third worthy; "how could it be otherwise,since our honoured guest has managed the negotiation?"

  Again I bowed my head to the earth, and acknowledged the compliment.Some desultory conversation followed, and I rose to depart. "My timeis precious," said I, "and I implore you to excuse me. I have much toarrange about the men who accompany me, and I go on to the chowree tosettle their accounts with the kotwal: if the worthy Shekh will allowone of his attendants to point out his abode, I will notice it, andvisit him ere sunset."

  "Nay, Meer Sahib, this cannot be," replied the Shekh: "behold I amready, I will accompany you; my poor house is not far off, and Allaforbid I should be the means of trespassing upon your time." He arose,girded up his loins, threw his shawl over his shoulders, and thrustinghis feet into his slippers, prepared to accompany me.

  "I take my leave then, worthy sirs," said I to the others; "may healthbe with you!"

  "Not without the pan and utr, Meer Sahib," said the elder; "it cannotbe, that we should let you go like a dog." And calling to an attendant,the articles were brought. The pan was presented to me; I was dulyanointed on my beard and under my arms, and after a few more salams andcompliments, I was following my new acquaintance the pearl merchant.

  "Is he to be bunij?" whispered one of my attendant Thugs to me inRamasee, as I passed him.

  "Hush!" said I, "speak not a word; but run all of ye before us andclear the way, as if I were a great man."

  They obeyed me and ran forward, shouting and pushing the crowd to andfro, as though I had been a nobleman of fifty descents and a hundredtitles.

  We soon reached the house of the merchant; and leaving our slippers atthe door, he took me by the hand and led me at once into the privateapartment, where I suppose he transacted his business or received hisbest customers. It was a dahlan, or verandah, opening into a court, inthe centre of which was a small fountain; its edges were planted withred poppies and larkspur, in various figures; and a plantain tree ortwo flung their broad green leaves over all. The place looked cool,and was scrupulously neat and clean. The room where we sat had beennewly whitewashed, and its floor covered with a white cloth, exceptthe musnud itself, which was of yellow cloth, bordered with bluevelvet; a few large luxurious-looking pillows invited me to recline,and forget the world and its cares. Such shall be my own home, thoughtI, after awhile; a fountain is easily made, and I will enjoy my peaceand quiet even as this worthy does. I had seen a hundred such, but theunobtrusive neatness and comfort of the spot struck me forcibly; andwhilst envying the possessor his peaceful lot, I was inwardly forminga plan to decoy him with me, which I had leisure to mature, for he hadleft me seated, and was for some time absent.