The Big Book of Animal Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  And he did.

  ‘Thank you for the lovely surprise,’ he wrote. ‘Obviously you could not have known that my doctor had advised me against any undue excitement. My blood pressure has been rather high. The sight of your grandson does not improve it. All the same, it’s the thought that matters and I take it all in good humour…’

  ‘What a strange letter,’ said Grandmother. ‘He must be ill, poor man. Are guavas bad for blood pressure?’

  ‘Not by themselves, they aren’t,’ said Grandfather, who had an inkling of what had happened. ‘But together with other things they can be a bit upsetting.’

  4

  Just when all of us, including Grandmother, were getting used to having the python about the house and grounds, it was decided that we would be going to Lucknow for a few months.

  Lucknow was a large city, about three hundred miles from Dehra. Aunt Ruby lived and worked there. We would be staying with her, and so, of course, we couldn’t take any pythons, monkeys or other unusual pets with us.

  ‘What about Popeye?’ I asked.

  ‘Popeye isn’t a pet,’ said Grandmother. ‘He’s one of us. He comes too.’

  And so the Dehra railway platform was thrown into confusion by the shrieks and whistles of our parrot, who could imitate both the guard’s whistle and the whistle of a train. People dashed into their compartments, thinking the train was about to leave, only to realize that the guard hadn’t blown his whistle after all. When they got down, Popeye would let out another shrill whistle, which sent everyone rushing for the train again. This happened several times until the guard actually blew his whistle. Then nobody bothered to get on, and several passengers were left behind.

  ‘Can’t you gag that parrot?’ asked Grandfather, as the train moved out of the station and picked up speed.

  ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said Grandmother. ‘I’ve bought a ticket for him, and he’s entitled to enjoy the journey as much as anyone.’

  Whenever we stopped at a station, Popeye objected to fruit sellers and other people poking their heads in through the windows. Before the journey was over, he had nipped two fingers and a nose, and tweaked a ticket inspector’s ear.

  It was to be a night journey, and, presently, Grandmother covered herself with a blanket and stretched out on the berth. ‘It’s been a tiring day. I think I’ll go to sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Aren’t we going to eat anything?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not hungry—I had something before we left the house. You two help yourselves from the picnic hamper.’

  Grandmother dozed off, and even Popeye started nodding, lulled to sleep by the clackety-clack of the wheels and the steady puffing of the steam engine.

  ‘Well, I’m hungry,’ I said. ‘What did Granny make for us?’

  ‘Stuffed samosas, omelettes, and tandoori chicken. It’s all in the hamper under the berth.

  I tugged at the cane box and dragged it into the middle of the compartment. The straps were loosely tied. No sooner had I undone them than the lid flew open, and I let out a gasp of surprise.

  In the hamper was a python, curled up contentedly. There was no sign of our dinner.

  ‘It’s a python,’ I said. ‘And it’s finished all our dinner.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Grandfather, joining me near the hamper. ‘Pythons won’t eat omelettes and samosas. They like their food alive! Why, this isn’t our hamper. The one with our food in it must have been left behind! Wasn’t it Major Malik who helped us with our luggage? I think he’s got his own back on us by changing the hamper!’

  Grandfather snapped the hamper shut and pushed it back beneath the berth.

  ‘Don’t let Grandmother see him,’ he said. ‘She might think we brought him along on purpose.’

  ‘Well, I’m hungry,’ I complained.

  ‘Wait till we get to the next station, then we can buy some pakoras. Meanwhile, try some of Popeye’s green chillies.’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘You have them, Grandad.’

  And Grandfather, who could eat chillies plain, popped a couple into his mouth and munched away contentedly.

  A little after midnight there was a great clamour at the end of the corridor. Popeye made complaining squawks, and Grandfather and I got up to see what was wrong.

  Suddenly there were cries of ‘Snake, snake!’

  I looked under the berth. The hamper was open.

  ‘The python’s out,’ I said, and Grandfather dashed out of the compartment in his pyjamas. I was close behind.

  About a dozen passengers were bunched together outside the washroom.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ asked Grandfather casually.

  ‘We can’t get into the toilet,’ said someone. ‘There’s a huge snake inside.’

  ‘Let me take a look,’ said Grandfather. ‘I know all about snakes.’

  The passengers made way, and Grandfather and I entered the washroom together, but there was no sign of the python.

  ‘He must have got out through the ventilator,’ said Grandfather. ‘By now he’ll be in another compartment!’ Emerging from the washroom, he told the assembled passengers, ‘It’s gone! Nothing to worry about. Just a harmless young python.’

  When we got back to our compartment, Grandmother was sitting up on her berth.

  ‘I knew you’d do something foolish behind my back,’ she scolded. ‘You told me you’d left that creature behind, and all the time it was with us on the train.’

  Grandfather tried to explain that we had nothing to do with it, that this python had been smuggled onto the train by Major Malik, but Grandmother was unconvinced.

  ‘Anyway, it’s gone,’ said Grandfather. ‘It must have fallen out of the washroom window. We’re over a hundred miles from Dehra, so you’ll never see it again.’

  Even as he spoke, the train slowed down and lurched to a grinding halt.

  ‘No station here,’ said Grandfather, putting his head out of the window.

  Someone came rushing along the embankment, waving his arms and shouting.

  ‘I do believe it’s the stoker,’ said Grandfather. ‘I’d better go and see what’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ I said, and together we hurried along the length of the stationary train until we reached the engine.

  ‘What’s up?’ called Grandfather. ‘Anything I can do to help? I know all about engines.’

  But the engine driver was speechless. And who could blame him? The python had curled itself about his legs, and the driver was too petrified to move.

  ‘Just leave it to us,’ said Grandfather, and, dragging the python off the driver, he dumped the snake in my arms. The engine driver sank down on the floor, pale and trembling.

  ‘I think I’d better drive the engine,’ said Grandfather. ‘We don’t want to be late getting into Lucknow. Your aunt will be expecting us!’ And before the astonished driver could protest, Grandfather had released the brakes and set the engine in motion.

  ‘We’ve left the stoker behind,’ I said.

  ‘Never mind. You can shovel the coal.’

  Only too glad to help Grandfather drive an engine, I dropped the python in the driver’s lap and started shovelling coal. The engine picked up speed and we were soon rushing through the darkness, sparks flying skywards and the steam whistle shrieking almost without pause.

  ‘You’re going too fast!’ cried the driver.

  ‘Making up for lost time,’ said Grandfather. ‘Why did the stoker run away?’

  ‘He went for the guard. You’ve left them both behind!’

  5

  Early next morning, the train steamed safely into Lucknow. Explanations were in order, but as the Lucknow station master was an old friend of Grandfather’s, all was well. We had arrived twenty minutes early, and while Grandfather went off to have a cup of tea with the engine driver and the station master, I returned the python to the hamper and helped Grandmother with the luggage. Popeye stayed perched on Grandmother’s shoulder, eyeing the busy platform with deep
distrust. He was the first to see Aunt Ruby striding down the platform, and let out a warning whistle.

  Aunt Ruby, a lover of good food, immediately spotted the picnic hamper, picked it up and said, ‘It’s quite heavy. You must have kept something for me! I’ll carry it out to the taxi.’

  ‘We hardly ate anything,’ I said.

  ‘It seems ages since I tasted something cooked by your granny.’ And after that there was no getting the hamper away from Aunt Ruby.

  Glancing at it, I thought I saw the lid bulging, but I had tied it down quite firmly this time and there was little likelihood of its suddenly bursting open.

  Grandfather joined us outside the station and we were soon settled inside the taxi. Aunt Ruby gave instructions to the driver and we shot off in a cloud of dust.

  ‘I’m dying to see what’s in the hamper,’ said Aunt Ruby. ‘Can’t I take just a little peek?’

  ‘Not now,’ said Grandfather. ‘First let’s enjoy the breakfast you’ve got waiting for us.’

  Popeye, perched proudly on Grandmother’s shoulder, kept one suspicious eye on the quivering hamper.

  When we got to Aunt Ruby’s house, we found breakfast laid out on the dining table.

  ‘It isn’t much,’ said Aunt Ruby. ‘But we’ll supplement it with what you’ve brought in the hamper.’

  Placing the hamper on the table, she lifted the lid and peered inside. And promptly fainted.

  Grandfather picked up the python, took it into the garden, and draped it over a branch of a pomegranate tree.

  When Aunt Ruby recovered, she insisted that she had seen a huge snake in the picnic hamper. We showed her the empty basket.

  ‘You’re seeing things,’ said Grandfather. ‘You’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Teaching is a very tiring job,’ I said solemnly.

  Grandmother said nothing. But Popeye broke into loud squawks and whistles, and soon everyone, including a slightly hysterical Aunt Ruby, was doubled up with laughter.

  But the snake must have tired of the joke because we never saw it again!

  The Eyes of the Eagle

  IT WAS a high, piercing sound, almost like the yelping of a dog. Jai stopped picking the wild strawberries that grew in the grass around him, and looked up at the sky. He had a dog—a shaggy guard-dog called Motu—but Motu did not yet yelp, he growled and barked. The strange sound came from the sky, and Jai had heard it before. Now, realizing what it was, he jumped to his feet, calling to his dog, calling his sheep to start for home. Motu came bounding towards him, ready for a game.

  ‘Not now, Motu!’ said Jai. ‘We must get the lambs home quickly’ Again he looked up at the sky.

  He saw it now, a black speck against the sun, growing larger as it circled the mountain, coming lower every moment—a golden eagle, king of the skies over the higher Himalayas, ready now to swoop and seize its prey.

  Had it seen a pheasant or a pine marten? Or was it after one of the lambs? Jai had never lost a lamb to an eagle, but recently some of the other shepherds had been talking about a golden eagle that had been preying on their flocks.

  The sheep had wandered some way down the side of the mountain, and Jai ran after them to make sure that none of the lambs had gone off on its own.

  Motu ran about, barking furiously. He wasn’t very good at keeping the sheep together—he was often bumping into then and sending them tumbling down the slope—but his size and bear-like look kept the leopards and wolves at a distance.

  Jai was counting the lambs; they were bleating loudly and staying close to their mothers. One—two—three—four…

  There should have been a fifth. Jai couldn’t see it on the slope below him. He looked up towards a rocky ledge near the steep path to the Tung temple. The golden eagle was circling the rocks.

  The bird disappeared from sight for a moment, then rose again with a small creature grasped firmly in its terrible talons.

  ‘It has taken a lamb!’ shouted Jai. He started scrambling up the slope. Motu ran ahead of him, barking furiously at the big bird as it glided away, over the tops of the stunted junipers to its eyrie on the cliffs above Tung.

  There was nothing that Jai and Motu could do except stare helplessly and angrily at the disappearing eagle. The lamb had died the instant it had been struck. The rest of the flock seemed unaware of what had happened. They still grazed on the thick, sweet grass of the mountain slopes.

  ‘We had better drive them home, Motu,’ said Jai, and at a nod from the boy, the big dog bounded down the slope, to take part in his favourite game of driving the sheep homewards. Soon he had them running all over the place, and Jai had to dash about trying to keep them together. Finally, they straggled homewards.

  A fine lamb gone,’ said Jai to himself gloomily. ‘I wonder what Grandfather will say’

  Grandfather said, ‘Never mind. It had to happen some day. That eagle has been watching the sheep for some time.’

  Grandmother, more practical, said; ‘We could have sold the lamb for three hundred rupees. You’ll have to be more careful in future, Jai. Don’t fall asleep on the hillside, and don’t read story-books when you are supposed to be watching the sheep!’

  ‘I wasn’t reading this morning,’ said Jai truthfully, forgetting to mention that he had been gathering strawberries.

  ‘It’s good for him to read,’ said Grandfather, who had never had the luck to go to school. In his days, there weren’t any schools in the mountains. Now there was one in every village.

  ‘Time enough to read at night,’ said Grandmother, who did not think much of the little one-room school down at Maku, their home village.

  ‘Well, these are the October holidays,’ said Grandfather. ‘Otherwise he would not be here to help us with the sheep. It will snow by the end of the month, and then we will move with the flock. You will have more time for reading then, Jai.’

  At Maku, which was down in the warmer valley, Jai’s parents tilled a few narrow terraces on which they grew barley, millets and potatoes. The old people brought their sheep up to the Tung meadows to graze during the summer months. They stayed in a small stone hut just off the path which pilgrims took to the ancient temple. At 12,000 feet above sea level, it was the highest Hindu temple on the inner Himalayan ranges.

  The following day Jai and Motu were very careful. The did not let the sheep out of sight even for a minute. Nor did they catch sight of the golden eagle. ‘What if it attacks again?’ wondered Jai. ‘How will I stop it?’

  The great eagle, with its powerful beak and talons, was more than a match for boy or dog. Its hind claw, four inches round the curve, was its most dangerous weapon. When it spread its wings, the distance from tip to tip was more than eight feet

  The eagle did not come that day because it had fed well and was now resting in its eyrie. Old bones, which had belonged to pheasants, snow-cocks, pine martens and even foxes, were scattered about the rocks which formed the eagle’s home. The eagle had a mate, but it was not the breeding season and she was away on a scouting expedition of her own.

  The golden eagle stood on its rocky ledge, staring majestically across the valley. Its hard, unblinking eyes missed nothing. Those strange orange-yellow eyes could spot a field rat or a mouse hare more than a hundred yards below.

  There were other eagles on the mountain, but usually they kept to their own territory. And only the bolder ones went for lambs, because the flocks were always protected by men and dogs.

  The eagle took off from its eyrie and glided gracefully, powerfully over the valley, circling the Tung mountain.

  Below lay the old temple, built from slabs of grey granite. A line of pilgrims snaked up the steep, narrow path. On the meadows below the peak, the sheep grazed peacefully, unaware of the presence of the eagle. The great bird’s shadow slid over the sunlit slopes.

  The eagle saw the boy and the dog, but he did not fear them. He had his eye on a lamb that was frisking about on the grass, a few feet away from the other grazing sheep.

  Jai d
id not see the eagle until it swept round an outcrop of rocks about a hundred feet away. It moved silently, without any movement of its wings, for it had already built up the momentum for its dive. Now it came straight at the lamb.

  Motu saw the bird in time. With a low growl he dashed forward and reached the side of the lamb at almost the same instant that the eagle swept in.

  There was a terrific collision. Feathers flew. The eagle screamed with rage. The lamb tumbled down the slope, and Motu howled in pain as the huge beak struck him high on the leg.

  The big bird, a little stunned by the clash, flew off rather unsteadily, with a mighty beating of its wings.

  Motu had saved the lamb. It was frightened but unhurt. Bleating loudly, it joined the other sheep, who took up the bleating. Jai ran up to Motu, who lay whimpering on the ground. There was no sign of the eagle. Quickly he removed his shirt and vest; then he wrapped his vest round the dog’s wound, tying it in position with his belt.

  Motu could not get up, and he was much too heavy for Jai to carry. Jai did not want to leave his dog alone, in case the eagle returned to attack.

  He stood up, cupped his hand to his mouth, and began calling for his grandfather.

  ‘Dada, dada!’ he shouted, and presently Grandfather heard him and came stumbling down the slope. He was followed by another shepherd, and together they lifted Motu and carried him home.

  Motu had a bad wound, but Grandmother cleaned it and applied a paste made of herbs. Then she laid strips of carrot over the wound—an old mountain remedy—and bandaged the leg. But it would be some time before Motu could run about again By then it would probably be snowing and time to leave these high-altitude pastures and return to the valley. Meanwhile, the sheep had to be taken out to graze, and Grandfather decided to accompany Jai for the remaining period.

  They did not see the golden eagle for two or three days, and, when they did, it was flying over the next range. Perhaps it had found some other source of food, or even another flock of sheep ‘Are you afraid of the eagle?’ Grandfather asked Jai.

  ‘I wasn’t before,’ said Jai. ‘Not until it hurt Motu. I did not know it could be so dangerous. But Motu hurt it too. He banged straight into it!’