For two days he sat before the great temple of Kali: he was dressed neither as a Mohammedan nor as a Hindu, but as a sort of indeterminate holy man who might be a Jain or something rather vague. In this guise he was able to appeal successfully to the devout of all sects, and his begging bowl was rarely empty for long. But Hussein did not wish to live like this for long, so when he met a sanyassi who cast horoscopes he set off for Kapilavatthu, for the sanyassi had told him that the rajah in whose state the town lay was entertaining a group of distinguished politicians, and that he was going to give them a great feast. On the way Hussein encountered a company of dancers, with whom he travelled, arriving in Kapilavatthu in a week. After the feast Hussein gave a remarkably successful performance with his snakes, and amassed no less than seventeen rupees. On the next day he presented himself at the political officer’s house, and obtained permission to rid the house of snakes. He borrowed ten snakes, and had them concealed in strategic points. He resumed in the evening with all his paraphernalia. The Resident had seen it done before, and he had a shrewd idea of how it was worked, but he thought that it might entertain his guests, and he hoped that it might even stop the distinguished politicians from talking for a while.
First Hussein produced snakes from the ceiling-cloth — it was very striking to see a fat, writhing cobra wriggling out of the ceiling — and then he piped them out from under the beds of the white people. After that he went to the large, white-tiled bathroom that was the joy of the Resident’s heart, where he had his last two snakes concealed. He had put them back into his sack, and was making preparations for his departure, when he saw, to his horror, another snake creeping out of the waste pipe.
It was a very large hamadryad cobra, the most venomous of snakes. In the hope that it would go back when it saw the people, Hussein kept on piping with his flute; but the cobra came on, and by the time it was half out, Jellaludin, who had been sniffing about on the other side of the room, saw it, and darted forward. Hussein was very much afraid lest the mongoose should take it for one of the training snakes, and only nip it gently in the neck, for if he did, he would be bitten, and if he did not find a certain herb to counteract the poison within a few minutes, he would undoubtedly die. This herb is known only to the mongooses, who run to find it if ever they have been bitten in a fight with a snake, and when they eat it, it nullifies the poison, and they take no harm. As soon as Jellaludin got near the snake, he realised that something was wrong, and he danced round on his toes, keeping at a safe distance. The cobra had no smell of man about it, so Jellaludin sensed that it was not one that Hussein had put there.
The hamadryad came fully out of the drain pipe, and coiled itself ready to strike. The mongoose darted round and round it, drawing slightly nearer. Suddenly the cobra struck, missing Jellaludin by an inch. It smacked against the white tiles with a sound like that of a cracked whip, and the mongoose sprang back out of reach. Hussein could not go to his help, as the cobra would have bitten him, and he would have died within a quarter of an hour, in great agony.
The snake recoiled itself, and Jellaludin began going round and round again. It turned steadily, watching for a chance to strike. It thought it saw its opportunity, but the mongoose was just out of reach, and as the snake faltered for a split second, Jellaludin leapt at its head. He got a grip on its neck just below the hood — too low down — and the cobra, twisting its head, managed to bite him twice before its spine was broken.
Without pausing for a second, Jellaludin dropped the dead snake, and leapt out of the open window into the garden; he had no time to waste if he was to save his life. He saw a patch of neglected grass, and ran to it, sniffing eagerly. Soon he found that which he sought, and having eaten the bitter herb, he looked for water.
In the house the Resident crushed the cobra’s head beneath his heel, and Hussein put the body into his bag, for if Jellaludin were still alive, he would love the cobra as a meal.
The guests all chipped in with a couple of rupees or so, for they had been thrilled through and through, and what is more, they would have something to talk about besides politics, which was a boon; altogether Hussein got thirty-four rupees — quite a fortune for him. But he hardly waited for his reward: he was desperately anxious for Jellaludin. He got away as soon as possible, and ran out to the garden. He found the mongoose sitting on the gravel drive, licking his bites. Seeing Hussein, he trotted up and jumped on to his shoulder, whence he crept into the inside pocket in which he always travelled.
Then Hussein knew that all was well, for if the mongoose had been going to die, he would have known it, and crept away into some dark, quiet place to die in peace.
When they reached the house where they stayed, Hussein produced the dead cobra from his bag, and laid it in a quiet corner. Jellaludin took it away into a thick patch of grass; he did not reappear for two days, and then he crawled back, almost too fat to walk.
For some time after that Hussein travelled with the company of dancers as they went from place to place, for wherever they were in demand, he could be sure that he could pick up a living. They went mostly to feasts given by the rajahs of native states, for there the old ways are kept, and the traditional entertainments are appreciated. At the beginning of the rains, however, the dancers went to Haiderabad, and thither Hussein could not follow them, so he struck out on his own once more.
The rains had come very early that year, and he came across a regiment who were still out on a route march, and who had not yet reached their station. They were a week’s journey from their destination, and as they marched, the roads were swept away by the torrents of water that poured from the sky, and they had a most wretched time of it. At one place their guns sank deep into the mud overnight, in spite of all their precautions, and they sent for elephants to get them out.
It happened that they were near a place where some works were being done, in which twenty elephants of the PWD were employed, so these elephants were sent.
That night the rain ceased for a while, and certain of the camp-followers took the opportunity of building a few temporary huts, for the regiment would not move on for some days at least. Among them was Hussein, who built a little hut for himself near the elephants, so that he should smell them in the night, and dream of his former life, for which he frequently longed with a great longing. One thing he lacked, however, in his hut, and that was something dry to sleep on, so he went out to where the elephants were tethered, and he encountered the chief of the mahouts, who gave him an armful of straw.
When he had secured his bed with a piece of rope he turned to go, but the chief of the mahouts cried out, saying, ‘The price, O son of Eblis.’
‘Old man,’ replied Hussein, ‘who gave thee leave to sell the Government’s straw, expressly provided for the greater comfort of my lords the elephants?’ and with this he went away.
‘Now,’ said the chief of the mahouts, ‘I clearly perceive that this man is fundamentally evil, and that this is an unfortunate day for me.’ But he did not pursue Hussein, for he was an old man, and disliked tumult.
Hussein made a sort of nest out of his straw and burrowed into it. His hut was little more than a large umbrella made of thatch — it had no walls; nevertheless he slept very soundly until a little before dawn, when he was awakened by the trumpeting of an elephant, and the voice of a mahout abusing it. The trumpeting elephant was one that had just arrived, having been at a place more distant than the others. Hussein stirred, and rolled over in his straw; then he went to sleep again: he was dreaming a most curious dream when he was awakened again, this time by an elephant actually plucking the straw off him, and making a gurgling noise.
Hussein sprang up, abusing the elephant in the tongue of the mahouts. Nevertheless, it did not draw back, but touched Hussein gently with its trunk.
All at once Hussein perceived that it was Jehangir, his own very greatly beloved elephant. Then there was a scene that could not have been surpassed if the elephant had been a bride and Hussein a delayed brideg
room, just arrived in safety from the wars. When the camp was awake Hussein told Jehangir that he would go away for a little while, and that he would return almost at once. He came across one selling sugar-cane, and he bought several of the long, sweet sticks; then he borrowed some boiled rice from an acquaintance to break his fast, and went back to his hut. There he found a man endeavouring to lead the elephant away, and he ran up, and gave Jehangir one of the sugar-canes.
The man, seeing Hussein, cried, ‘Stand afar off, thou, for this is a lordly elephant, and by no means one to be fed by lowly people.’
And Hussein answered, saying, ‘O bahinchute, since when have the drovers of cattle called themselves mahouts?’ for he saw by the man’s caste mark that he was no true mahout, but a mere herder of beasts.
‘Nevertheless,’ replied the man, somewhat abashed, ‘I am the official attendant of the elephant lines.’ And he drew himself up importantly.
‘Where is his mahout?’ asked Hussein.
‘He has no regular mahout,’ replied the man, ‘for he will suffer none to remain with him for more than a few weeks: it is said that he seeks his first own mahout, and that he will not rest until he finds him.’
‘These are true words,’ replied Hussein. ‘You may fetch me water, a brush, and some arrack. This is an honour, for I am he for whom Jehangir Bahadur has waited. Be very quick, or I will have you trampled by him.’
The man was very much abashed by Hussein’s great air of authority, and saying, ‘On my head and heart,’ he went straightway to get those things which were ordered. The water and the stiff brush having been brought, and the arrack having been set aside in a pot, Hussein washed Jehangir all over very carefully, cleaning his great ears tenderly, and plucking the small stones and thorns from his feet. All the time Jehangir made a continuous bubbling noise of happiness, and caressed Hussein with his trunk.
Then Hussein gave him the arrack to drink; by this time the other mahouts had come, and they said, ‘What is this?’ Hussein told them the whole case, and they, who had spent their lives among the elephants as Hussein had done, said, ‘The matter is solved in a fitting matter; you will enter the service again, and they will make you the mahout of Jehangir.’
But some among them, the older men, said that it was hard to get back again once one had left, and this depressed Hussein, who knew it to be true.
‘But this is an exceptional case,’ said an old mahout, ‘and Jehangir will undoubtedly pine to death if you leave him again; I will speak to the chief of the mahouts myself, for he has the say in these matters.’
And all the mahouts said, ‘This is just.’ But when the chief was brought, he looked sourly upon Hussein, for he recognised in him the man who had tricked him out of two pice the evening before over a matter concerning the payment for straw, and he said, ‘Now this is without doubt an evil man, a but-pârast, and one whose female relations have no noses; who is he to consort with us?’
‘But Jehangir will perish if he goes,’ said one of the mahouts.
‘That is not so,’ replied the cantankerous old man, ‘for I shall make him my own especial charge.’ And then the chief of the mahouts, whose bile was enlarged by the frost of the morning, and whose temper was therefore more bellicose, caused Hussein to be ejected from the elephant lines. Then he shackled Jehangir with chains to prevent him from wandering again. When the elephant saw that Hussein was no longer among the mahouts, he raged and trumpeted, but he was impotent, on account of the chains.
Hussein dared not return to the camp, for fear of the enmity of the old man; but when the regiment moved on, he followed it, and saw Jehangir pulling the guns with the other elephants. He was very troublesome, however, and constantly stopped among crowds to look for Hussein.
The chief of the mahouts rode him, and wielded the iron ankus unmercifully, so that Hussein, watching from afar, raged furiously.
When it came to the place appointed, the regiment was split up, certain of the elephants being sent north with the guns, and the others to the south with various burdens. Among those who were sent back was Jehangir, for it was feared that he would go mûsth and run amok. The chief of the mahouts went north with the other elephants, and there he was killed by a certain stone that fell upon his head as he passed beneath a bridge. Hussein was able to see more of Jehangir as they travelled southwards, as he followed the returning detachment, giving performances with his snakes whenever he could. In a few days he approached the man who commanded the mahouts, and asked to be taken on, but the man refused, saying that he had been warned against Hussein as a wicked man who sought an opportunity to do evil. Hussein had no money wherewith to bribe the man, so he cried out to Heaven that this was an injustice, hoping to catch the ear of a white man; but the other man shouted louder, and men came running who beat Hussein with their lathis, and throwing him into a dry ditch forbade him to come near the elephants again. That night he stole into the lines and lay at the feet of Jehangir; the elephant lifted him up on to his back, and Hussein whispered his troubles into the broad, waving ears. Then he slept from weariness, stretched on the elephant’s back, and Jehangir shuffled to the limit of his chains; he strained for some time against them, and presently Hussein was awakened by the sharp, clear sound of snapping iron. The noise was not enough to alarm anybody, so none saw the elephant slip away from the lines like a grey shadow, moving without a sound.
Hussein lay still for a moment, somewhat confused.
Then he felt Jehangir moving under him, and he sat up. The elephant had come out on to the road, and was moving rapidly towards the south, where the deep forests came close down to the road. After a little time, while Hussein was still collecting his scattered wits, Jehangir left the road, and turned into the thick elephant grass that bordered it; there he stopped, and stuffed a bunch of tender leaves into his mouth.
‘Turn, Light of my soul,’ said Hussein, very frightened; ‘turn and go back before they find that you are gone. They will say that I have stolen you.’ Jehangir remained motionless. Hussein slipped to the ground and argued with the elephant. ‘If they catch me now, they will send me to the jail for many years, and I shall die,’ he said. But Jehangir only gurgled in his throat, and his eye took on an obstinate gleam. ‘Turn back before it is too late,’ repeated Hussein; ‘I cannot hide you, and they will catch us and put heavy irons on you.’
He stormed, but Jehangir only ate leaves, and rolled his head: he pleaded with the elephant, and wept at his feet, but Jehangir only ate wild sugar-cane and stood upon three legs to rest the fourth.
At length Hussein stood speechless, and Jehangir picked him up with his trunk; putting him on his back, the elephant set off towards the forest. Then Hussein gave in, and guided Jehangir on to a path which led more straightly into the deep woods. He urged Jehangir to his full speed, a peculiar loping shuffle that took them at a great pace; for, as he told the elephant, they would have to go far before dawn in order to have a chance of getting clear away. With his tireless gait the elephant gained the virgin forest before the moon had set, and by dawn they were so far away from the camp that Hussein felt safe; nevertheless, they kept on until noon, when they rested by a river.
Hussein lay on the warm sand and thought out a plan. He decided to lie hid until the hue and cry had died down, and then to go as far south as possible, keeping away from the towns; then he thought he would travel slowly about the country, hiring Jehangir and himself to clear away trees and to do work for which a well-guided elephant is essential. He had encountered men who owned an elephant and who travelled like this, so his appearance would give rise to no suspicion.
He decided that he would do this until he had amassed sufficient money to buy land and to settle down with Jehangir and Sashiya. Then he would have seven sons and a daughter, and the crops would be exceedingly good, and he would buy more land, and employ several men, and his sons would beget sons, and he would see great-grandchildren in his own lifetime, and many of his descendants would be mahouts of great fame, and so
me would be scholars, and some would be landowners, and he would have a funeral, when he died, that would be remembered for fifty years, and Jehangir would live to a great age with his eldest son.
Eleven
Hussein made a hut in a mango grove; there was a stream near-by, and close to it, on the other side, a deserted Ghond village. There seemed to be no particular reason why it should have been deserted, but Hussein disliked the look of it. There were plenty of ripe mangoes, and the jungle fowl laid their eggs in the grass, so Hussein did not do so badly. After a while he took to trapping small animals; as time went on he became quite adept at this, so he fed well.
The days passed very quickly; each one seemed quite long, but they slipped into the past one after another until a considerable period had elapsed.
Had it not been for Jehangir, Hussein would have perished in the jungle long before, but as it was he was quite safe from anything — or almost anything. One day, however, as he sat among the stones by the stream, watching Jehangir squirting himself, he felt something move beneath him, and as he got up, he felt an agonising pain, as if a red-hot wire had been thrust into him. He had sat on a scorpion.
The pain was excruciating, and he leapt high in the air. It was not very serious as scorpion stings go, for it was only a small one, and the sting had not been thrust right home. Nevertheless, he was intensely uncomfortable for a week. When he had recovered from the sting, he was forced to leave his hut by a host of soldier ants, who came marching through the trees early one morning, and decided to settle in the mango grove.
Hussein and Jehangir moved along the stream for half a day until they found another place, more pleasant than the mango grove, for their habitation.
It was near here that Hussein found a yogi in a small cave. He made the discovery quite by chance; it was at a place where the stream ran deep between fern-covered rocks. A huge frond covered the entrance to the cave; it moved in the breeze as Hussein passed, and revealed the yogi squatting on the ground. He was a very old man, bald and beardless. He had a face rather like that of a tortoise, and a remarkably benign expression. Hussein greeted him, and squatted before him, but the old man took no notice; he was deep in a contemplative trance; his eyes were focussed on a pebble. From time to time his lips moved, and a little whisper came from him; his hands occasionally half-spread themselves, as if he were arguing with someone, and emphasising a point. Hussein waited a long while, but the yogi did not come back to earth, so he left the cave quietly, since he was unwilling to break in on the old man’s contemplation.
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