Sandokan: The Two Tigers (The Sandokan Series Book 4)

by Emilio Salgari

  The crew had already begun to take down the yards, masts and rigging. Once the weapons, munitions, tents and supply crates had been unloaded, they dragged the sloop in among the mangroves. Several men had hacked out a large opening with their parangs; within minutes the ship disappeared beneath a blanket of reeds and branches.

  Sandokan, Yanez and Tremal-Naik assembled a squadron of Dyaks and set off towards the outskirts of the jungle to set up an outpost, while Kammamuri and Sambigliong established another along the western shore with a clear view of the islands of the Sundarbans. If the mahant had somehow managed to survive the trip through the jungle, the pirates would spot him before he reached the caverns.

  At two in the morning, several sentries were posted along the camp’s perimeter and the captains and the rest of the men slowly drifted off to sleep. Though the odd jackal howled from time to time, nothing happened to disturb their slumber. The island appeared deserted.

  The next afternoon, Tremal-Naik, Sandokan and Yanez, restless and impatient, went off to explore the jungle, accompanied by Darma and Punthy. Keeping hidden at all times, they arrived within sight of the old pagoda without encountering a soul.

  They waited for nightfall, in hope that Surama or Sirdar would come. Unfortunately, neither appeared, nor was there any sign of the mahant.

  Several times during the night, they heard a ramsinga sound off in the distance. What was the meaning of those melancholy notes?[22] Were they signals from sentries posted in the jungle, or were they merely announcing the start of a religious ceremony?

  Sandokan and his friends had immediately left their tents, hoping the notes had signalled Sirdar’s arrival, only to be disappointed once again.

  Towards midnight the trumpets stopped and silence returned to the jungle. Minutes later, one of the sentries came running to the Tiger’s tent.

  “Captain,” said the Malay, “Something’s moving in the bamboo.”

  “Sirdar?” asked Sandokan and Tremal-Naik in unison.

  “It’s too dark to tell.”

  “Take us there,” said Yanez.

  They grabbed their carbines and krises, summoned Lieutenant de Lussac and set off with the Malay, Darma walking alongside them.

  They had just reached the outskirts of the jungle when they heard a soft rustling in a tall grove of bamboo trees. Someone was coming towards them.

  “Fan out,” whispered Sandokan.

  The five men were about to separate when a sweet familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.

  “Good evening, sahibs!” said its owner as the reeds parted before them, “Sirdar sends his greetings.”

  Chapter 24

  The Thugs’ Pagoda

  SURAMA, THE BEAUTIFUL devadasi had suddenly emerged from the jungle, clutching a talwar she had used to open a path among the vegetation that covered the island.

  She was clad in the colourful costume of a temple dancer, a breastplate of gilded wood, and a blue silk skirt embroidered with silver and adorned with small pearls from Ceylon.

  They all rushed towards her; even Darma appeared happy to see the young woman, for she rubbed her head against the dancer’s leg.

  “My dear girl,” said Yanez, deeply moved, “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  “I’m tougher than you think, white sahib,” Surama replied with a smile. “Though for awhile I thought they planned to sacrifice me to their goddess.”

  “You’ve brought word from Sirdar?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “Yes, I’ve been instructed to tell you that the young priestess will perform a sacrifice in the pagoda at midnight.”

  “Wretches!” howled the Bengali. “Have you seen my daughter?”

  “No, only Suyodhana and his priests have that privilege.”

  “Did Sirdar say anything else?”

  “This will be the last sacrifice they perform on the island. The Thugs are preparing to depart for Delhi and Lucknow to assist in the insurrection.”

  “Insurrection?” asked Lieutenant de Lussac.

  “A terrible one, sir,” replied Surama. “Northern India is aflame, regiments of sepoys have shot their officers; every British family in Cawnpore and Lucknow has been slaughtered, and the Rani of Jhansi has raised her standard in rebellion.”

  “And Suyodhana is going to join the rebels?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “He no longer feels safe here. He knows that the little girl’s father is planning to attack Rajmangal.”

  “Who informed him of our plans?” asked Yanez.

  “The spies that followed you across the jungle.”

  “Does he know we’re here?” asked Sandokan.

  “No, the Thugs lost track of you after you left the tower of Barrackpore and climbed aboard the sloop. Sirdar told me everything.”

  “Why didn’t he come himself?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “He fears Suyodhana may try to escape; he’s keeping an eye on him.”

  “Are you staying with us?” asked Yanez.

  “No, white sahib,” replied Surama. “Sirdar is awaiting my return; it would be to your advantage if I remained with the Thugs until their departure.”

  “Unless we decide to drown them all in their caverns,” said Sandokan. “Was there anything else?”

  “One last thing. If Suyodhana does manage to escape, Sirdar promises to follow him no matter where he goes. Goodbye, white sahib, we’ll meet again soon,” said the beautiful devadasi, pressing Yanez’ hand.

  “For your own safety, make sure you leave the caverns the moment we enter their lair,” said Sandokan. “As soon as you hear a rifle blast, take refuge in the pagoda.”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Does the sacred banyan tree still lead into the caverns?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “No, that tunnel has been sealed. But there’s a secret passageway that leads in from the pagoda. You’ll have to attack from there. Goodnight, sahib, I hope you save little Darma and destroy those wretches.”

  She smiled, turned about and disappeared into the bamboo.

  “It’s nine o’clock,” said Sandokan once they were alone. “We should begin our preparations.”

  “Are we all going in?” asked de Lussac.

  “No, there are too many of us,” replied Sandokan. “What do you suggest, Tremal-Naik? You’re the most familiar with the pagoda.”

  “Have the men hide among the groves along the pond,” replied the Bengali. “We’ll climb down into the pagoda and make the first attack. Once Darma is safe, we’ll descend into the caverns and finish Suyodhana once and for all.”

  “As I’ve said before, I won’t go back to Mompracem until I’ve slain him,” replied Sandokan. “You have my word.”

  They quickly walked back to camp and dispatched several men to the canal to call in the sentries. They would need every man they had to battle Suyodhana’s Thugs.

  With Darma leading the way, at eleven o’clock, Sandokan, Yanez, de Lussac, Tremal-Naik and four Malays chosen from the strongest and most daring, silently left the camp. All were armed with carbines, pistols and parangs. Some carried rope to aid their climb. The rest of their men, thirty Malays and Dyaks, under Kammamuri and Sambigliong’s command, would follow a quarter of an hour later. Aside from their weapons, the prahu’s crew had also taken a dozen torches and several packs of explosives they planned to use in the caverns.

  Tremal-Naik, familiar with every inch of the island, led the first squadron, advancing cautiously, fearing a surprise at any moment. The Thugs, having been warned of their approach, could have easily prepared an ambush among the reeds that covered the island. However, their fears appeared unjustified, for Punthy did not show any signs of unease.

  The jungle appeared deserted, the solitary cry of a jackal or a hungry bighana at times breaking the deep silence that reigned over that sea of vegetation.

  Midnight was less than thirty minutes away when the squadron led by the Bengali reached the banks of the river. On the opposite shore, in a clearing before a colossal banyan tree, stood
the Thugs’ sacred pagoda.

  It was a giant structure, topped by an enormous dome, its walls adorned with elaborate carvings of gods and goddesses.

  Not a soul could be seen along the banks or in the clearing. The pagoda was dark, a sure sign the ceremony had not yet begun.

  “We’re in time,” said Tremal-Naik, trying to contain his excitement.

  “It’s odd the Thugs haven’t posted any guards about the pagoda now that they know we’re planning to attack,” said Sandokan, who was suspicious by nature.

  “This silence isn’t reassuring,” said Yanez. “What do you think, Tremal-Naik?”

  “Something’s not quite right,” replied the Bengali. “I can feel it.”

  “Your tiger agrees,” said the Frenchman. “Look.”

  Darma had come to a halt before a grove of bamboo that stretched to the pagoda. The small squad would have to pass through it, the shore opposite the pond being swampy and impracticable. She had growled and pricked up her ears, her tail beating her sides nervously as she sniffed the air.

  “She smells someone,” said Tremal-Naik. “There must be a Thug hiding in there.”

  “Whatever happens, hold your fire,” said Sandokan. “Tremal-Naik will capture him.”

  “I’ll let Darma have the honour,” replied the Bengali. “She’ll make quick work of him.”

  “There could be two of them.”

  “You’ll be close by.”

  He walked up to the tiger’s side, gently stroked her back, looked at her fixedly and said, “Come, Darma.” Then turning towards Sandokan and the others added, “wait a few seconds then follow us, keep close to the ground.”

  He slung his rifle around his shoulder, drew his parang and silently crept into the bamboo, keeping low and moving through the trees as quietly as possible. Darma followed four or five paces behind.

  Not a sound had emanated from that grove, yet Tremal-Naik’s instincts warned him that someone was hiding in there. He had gone fifty paces, when he came upon a small path that appeared to lead to the pagoda.

  He had just stood up to check for sentries, when he heard the bamboo rustle and felt a rope tighten about his neck.

  Before he could raise his parang to cut it, a mighty blow knocked him to the ground.

  “Surprise,” said a nearby voice.

  A man dressed in a loincloth, his chest tattooed with the mark of the Thugs, jumped out from among the reeds, his dagger gleaming menacingly in the moonlight. But before he could take another step a shadow leaped out of the bamboo and lunged at his throat, knocking him down with a single blow.

  The sound of snapping bones quickly filled the air. Darma had pounced upon the strangler and locked her jaws about his head as her powerful claws tore at his chest.

  Sandokan, who was ten paces from them, rushed forward, brandishing his parang.

  But by the time he arrived, the Thug was dead. Tremal-Naik had cast aside the noose and was back on his feet.

  “Did he attack you?” the pirate asked.

  “He caught me with his noose and knocked me to the ground,” replied Tremal-Naik, rubbing his neck. “That wretch had a solid punch; if it wasn’t for Darma, I doubt I’d still be alive.”

  Yanez, de Lussac and the Malays emerged from the reeds.

  “Don’t make a sound,” said Tremal-Naik. “There may be other Thugs hiding nearby.”

  “Darma, leave him be!”

  The tiger was greedily drinking the blood gushing from the strangler’s wounds.

  “Leave him be,” repeated Tremal-Naik, grabbing her by the neck.

  Darma obeyed with a growl.

  “By Jupiter!” exclaimed Yanez. “Look at what she did to that poor wretch! You can’t even make out his face.”

  “Quiet,” said Sandokan.

  They fell silent and listened, but not a sound reached their ears, save for the rustling of reeds swaying softly in the breeze.

  “This way,” said Tremal-Naik.

  They silently resumed their march and five minutes later emerged before the enormous pagoda.

  They stopped and carefully scanned the shadows beneath the carvings adorning the walls then quickly made their way to the base of an enormous statute of Subrahmanyan, one of Shiva’s four sons, born to slay the evil Suraparma, a demon that had been mercilessly ravaging the Earth.

  Tremal-Naik, the most agile among them, grabbed onto the colossus’ legs, pulled himself up to the statue’s chest, climbed up an arm and quickly reached its head. He tied a rope around it, tossed it to his companions and said, “It’ll get easier as we get nearer the top.”

  An elephant head had been carved into an enormous column above him. Tremal-Naik grabbed onto its trunk, climbed up it and reached the first cornice with ease.

  Sandokan and his men were quick to follow. Though the Frenchman was not as agile as the others, he did not remain far behind.

  A pantheon of gods and monsters adorned the walls, alongside carvings of turtles, serpents, nilgos, winged horses and statues of Vishnu’s various incarnations. Climbing from one to another, the eight brave men soon reached the top of the dome and came to a stop before a circular opening. A thick iron bar spanned across its width, one side supporting an enormous sphere of gilded metal.

  “I climbed down through that opening six years ago and watched Darma’s mother make an offering to Kali,” said Tremal-Naik, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “So this is where Suyodhana stabbed you,” said Sandokan.

  “Yes,” the Bengali replied darkly.

  “Let’s see how he fares against the eight of us.”

  He crouched down and carefully scanned the jungle. The tiger, unable to follow, was already heading back towards the trees.

  “Our men are over there,” he said. “Punthy’s running towards Darma. They’ll attack at the first rifle blast and spare no one.”

  “Will they have the time to climb up to the dome?” asked Yanez.

  “No. I’ve instructed Kammamuri to lead an attack through the main entrance,” replied Tremal-Naik. “They should be able to smash through the doors with a few blasts of their rifles.”

  “We should hurry,” said Sandokan.

  Tremal-Naik grabbed the thick rope that hung from the iron bar. He shook it gently and the sound of tinkling metal emanated up through the dark opening.

  “It’s the lamp,” he said.

  “Make way,” said Sandokan. “I want to be the first to climb down.”

  “The statue is right below the lamp; you can rest your feet on its head, there’s plenty of room, you won’t fall.”

  “Very well.”

  Sandokan tucked his pistols and parang into his sash, slung his carbine around his shoulder, then grabbed onto the rope and began to climb down, trying as best he could not to make a sound.

  The interior of the pagoda was dark and silent.

  Assured he was alone, Sandokan began to descend more quickly, until he felt the arms of the lamp beneath him. He felt around with one hand, found a metal crosspiece at the base of the rope, grabbed it and lowered himself until he hung suspended in midair. Instantly his feet struck something hard.

  “Must be the goddess’ head,” he murmured.

  Once he had found his footing, he let go of the lamp, slid down the enormous statue and reached the ground.

  The room was dark; he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him. He cast his eyes towards the opening and spotted a silhouette climbing down the rope.

  “That should be Tremal-Naik,” he murmured.

  He was not mistaken; within minutes his friend had slid down the statue and was by his side.

  “Did you hear anything?” asked the Bengali.

  “Nothing,” replied Sandokan. “You’d think the Thugs had already escaped.”

  Tremal-Naik started as drops of cold sweat gathered upon his brow.

  “No,” he said. “It’s impossible, we couldn’t have been betrayed.”

  “It’s almost midnight and it
appears-–”

  A deafening rumble that sounded like it was coming from beneath the ground cut him short.

  “What was that?”

  “A hauk, a large drum they use in religious ceremonies,” replied Tremal-Naik. “The Thugs haven’t escaped, they’re gathering to attack. Hurry, my friends! Climb down!”

  Yanez was already on the goddess’ head. At that cry the others quickly scrambled down, descending so swiftly they risked severing the rope.

  By the time the eight men had reunited, the hauk was sounding a second time.

  “There’s an alcove to the right of us,” said Tremal-Naik. “We’ll hide in there.”

  The noise grew louder, cries, bells, and trumpets sounding with the drums.

  Tremal-Naik, Sandokan, and the others had just hidden in the alcove when the door thundered open and fifty Thugs armed with torches, daggers, and talwars stormed into the pagoda. Naked to the waist, skins glistening with coconut oil, they howled fiercely as they drew their rumaals and prepared to attack.

  An old man with a long white beard quickly marched through the throng and shouted:

  “There they are! They’ve desecrated the pagoda! Destroy them!”

  Tremal-Naik and Sandokan cried out with anger and amazement:

  “The mahant!”

  Chapter 25

  In the Thugs’ Lair

  HOW HAD THAT terrible old man survived among the swamps of the Sundarbans? How had he escaped the poisonous cobras, pythons, gavials and tigers? How had he managed to cross the lagoon and reach the Thugs’ lair? What had become of Darma and Suyodhana? Had Sirdar betrayed them or had they been spotted scaling the pagoda?

  Sandokan and his friends did not have time to guess. The Thugs were descending upon them from all sides, talwars and daggers drawn, howling fiercely, as their rumaals whistled in the air.

  “Death to the infidels! Kali! Kali!”

  Sandokan was the first to rush out of the alcove and level his carbine at the mahant. The old fakir led the charge, a torch in one hand, a kampilan in the other, the same weapon he had taken from his guards aboard the prahu.

  “You’ll be the first to fall, old man!” howled the formidable pirate.