by John Masters
The four younger men left three hours before dawn. Just before first light the old man went out of the overhang and walked silently among the rocks along the ridge crest, pausing now and then to turn his head slowly, his big ears trembling and his nostrils sniffing the air. The jungle stirred with a thousand small sounds, as its people prepared to end the night of hunting.
The old man pounced, leaping up and forward like a cat and landing on all fours beyond a round rock. A heavy lizard, two feet long, struggled momentarily in the old man’s black claws, then the neck snapped with a short crack and the old man carried the lizard back to the overhang. A quarter of an hour later he placed the lizard’s bare and bloody bones in a corner, wiped his mouth with a tuft of grass, and took up his position.
Towards evening he heard the deep rumbling roar of a tiger in the west. Half an hour later it was repeated. The old man gathered handfuls of red ants off the lizard bones, ate them, and, when the sun set, lay down and went to sleep,
Chapter 15
Mohan stood on the edge of the pit cliffs, above the eastern end of the dam, and wondered what he could do. Mr Kendrick was in Southdown, working on revenue papers. Foster was somewhere in the coolie camp below the dam there, wrestling with the forces of water, stone, and earth. Smith and two labourers were on the scaffold, sweating with mallet and crowbar. They had made a respectable hole in the cliff face.
From here he could see the scaffold clearly, though it was nearly three-quarters of a mile away. If he had had his binoculars with him he could have seen the faces of the men at work, on the platform. The scaffold had taken three days to build, three days when every time he looked out of the southern windows of Cheltondale he saw Foster, waving his arms and striding to and fro, working in a continuous frenzy of impatience. This was the scaffold’s fourth day of operation. It was in two sections. The lower section was built up from the ground. Foster had placed fifty-foot logs against the cliff and buttressed them in place with other logs, as long, that leaned at an angle against the cliff face. Forty feet up from the pit floor a working platform four feet wide by twelve feet long was cantilevered out from the uprights. Strong wooden rungs climbed the cliff between the uprights, forming a wide ladder. The upper section of the structure consisted of two massive beams on the cliff top, anchored into the soil well back from the edge. The last six feet of the beams projected over the cliff. From them a light bamboo ladder leached down to the platform. A sheer-legs stood a little to one side, where it could be used to lower heavier equipment, cut stones, and roof props down to the working platform, when they were needed.
As he stared, Mohan saw one of the three figures on the platform begin to ascend the ladder. At the top a point of red colour joined the figure, and the two went up the path towards Cheltondale, soon disappearing in the trees, reappearing on the verandah of the bungalow, disappearing once more into the shadow - Smith and Rukmini. Directly behind and above the point where he had last seen them the gold mohur tree that hung over the thatched roof was bursting into a brilliant orange and gold flower.
Mohan turned and strode down the steep slope towards the coolie camp. What should he do? Hurry back to Cheltondale and order Smith out of the house? That would be acting like an oriental potentate. Ignore it? There were a hundred reasons why Rukmini might have asked him in - for a cup of tea, to bandage a cut The place was full of servants. It was broad daylight. Mr Kendrick kept hinting that once a woman had been a prostitute she would never be faithful. But had Rukmini ever been one? And what was Mr Kendrick’s view of any woman worth?
He climbed the dam and stood on top, gloomily surveying the pit while the coolies passed and repassed him at their labour.
‘Mohan!’
He turned quickly. Barbara Kendrick was sitting at the end of the dam, her back against the cliff, the drawing-board on her knees. She was only twenty feet from him. She said, ‘I have been making a sketch of you. No, you can’t see it yet.’ She unpinned the paper, rolled it up, and put it away in the familiar metal cylinder. She stood up. Time to go back for tiffin. I want to go through the pit, but if s so eerie, somehow. Will you take me?’
There was no coquetry in her manner. He thought, I can talk to her now. I’ll ask her about Rukmini and Smith; she’ll make me see how mean and degrading my jealousy is.
‘Come on, then,’ he said gently. ‘Let me carry your drawing-board.’
‘Going back for tiffin now, Mrs Kendrick?’ The voice behind him was rough and determined. Mohan turned and found Jim Foster close at his elbow.
‘Yes,’ Mohan answered for her. ‘We’re going back through the pit.’
‘Fine,’ Foster said. ‘I’ll come along too. Pretty nasty for a lady, getting up that scaffold and the ladder.’
Barbara Kendrick hesitated a moment, her eye meeting Mohan’s. He knew that she had sensed his desire to talk to her. But there was no help for it. They followed Foster along the top of the dam. Foster talked volubly, pointing out various wonders of the work. At the head of the steps leading down the inner face, into the pit, he said, ‘Careful now, Mrs Kendrick. They’re a bit slippery.’
Slowly they descended the steps. From the foot a narrow path plunged into the scrub jungle, leading to the foot of the scaffold. As they entered it the leaves and twined tendrils roofed them in, and Mohan could no longer see the spindly , scaffolding ahead, or the foreshortened mouth of the conduit beyond, or even the bare, stark jut of Indra’s Rock beyond that.
‘Look where you’re putting your feet,’ Foster called back over his shoulder. They passed slowly on, stooping under the clutching arms of the scrub. The path was clearly marked, for the carpenters had come in and out this way when working on the scaffold.
Barbara Kendrick stopped. ‘This place is wonderful! I’d like to be here at night, when there’s a moon. Look at those creepers... and the arms of that tree, reaching out towards us, like a prisoner’s.’
The tree stood high above the scrub, its trunk twisted, its arms bare. It reminded Mohan of Laocoön and his sons wrestling with the giant python. There was a patch of colour beside the path twenty or thirty yards farther on. Beyond that he heard voices. The colour was yellow. It moved.
He was looking at a tiger crouched beside the path, the body facing away from him but the head turned, the yellow eyes staring into his. Beyond, the voices grew louder, and he heard the chink of metal.
People, coming along the path. The tiger, lying in wait for them. Himself, frozen with fear.
His arm came up slowly, pointing. Barbara saw it first, then Foster. The tiger did not move. It was waiting for the other people. Foster was frozen, like himself. Barbara stood between them, staring at the tiger.
He’d got to do something to warn the people. Anything he did would bring the tiger upon him. Mr Kendrick would run at it. Mr Kendrick was not afraid of animals, only of women.
He jerked himself into motion, but Foster had moved a fraction of a second earlier, shouting a warning and running forward. Mohan ran, a pace behind him. He found he had something in his hands, and hurled it at the tiger. The drawing-board flew through the air.
The tiger roared and leaped away from them. A moment later a moaning shriek towered slowly out of the jungle, cut off short under a deep cough. Twigs cracked, the bush creaked. Barbara Kendrick was here. Foster flung his arm across her chest, forcing her back and down. No revolver, no gun, no knife, nothing. Voices still yelled in front, but dwindling.
Fifteen feet ahead a black and gold shape sprang over a thicket, a man in its mouth. A tigress, not a tiger. She had the man by the middle of the back, so that his body hung down on either side, just like the buffalo cow. He was a coolie, his bare head towards them, the neck twisted and a trickle of blood running from the corner of the mouth, the wide eyes staring straight at Mohan. The tigress saw them, but took no notice and trotted off into the dense scrub, forcing a passage through it, with the man, as though it had been grass. The rustling and breaking of bushes continued for a few moments, th
en stopped.
For a long time there was no sound at all in the pit. The distant cries had died, and the midday wind stirred the heat, but in silence. She’s close, Mohan thought. Barbara was pressed close against Foster, not shivering, her eyes tremendous and her face utterly concentrated, looking the way the tigress had gone.
No sound there. She’d be licking her paw, perhaps, like a cat, sniffing the man, tapping him to see if he’d move again.
A loud crunch, the unmistakable sound of jaws champing on flesh. Mohan’s back hairs crawled. A decisive crack, like a dry stick breaking - the spine.
The low singsong whining purr rolled through the jungle, coming from there... no, there. She was moving. Mohan sank lower to the ground; Foster’s arm pressed Barbara down. She was moving, purring. His own tongue and lower lip dripped blood. She was not moving. He’d heard about the terror of that particular sound. It seemed to have no source. How long must they wait here, listening to this?
Foster pointed forward. The tigress had gone to the left and then a little back, towards the dam. Mohan rose, crouched low, took a careful step, placed his foot down. A twig snapped. The purr dropped to a thunderous growl. Mohan dropped, hardly breathing. After a minute the purr began again.
A new sound came from the west, ahead. The purring stopped; again the tigress gave her warning growl. Staring along the path under the overhanging scrub Mohan saw a pair of legs, moving, wearing khaki trousers and strong canvas-topped boots, the tip of a gun barrel... another pair of legs behind.
The tigress snarled once more. Bushes rustled, the sound fading rapidly towards the north.
She’s gone,’ he called shakily. ‘Here, here...’
Mr Kendrick appeared, Smith behind him. Smith carried a stick, Mr Kendrick a double-barrelled shotgun, and binoculars stung across his chest.
‘Mohan!’ he cried. He broke into a run. ‘What are you doing here? Haven’t I told you to take care of yourself? Don’t you realise ...’ His voice rose, broke.
‘I’m all right,’ Mohan stammered. Kendrick’s outburst enabled him to regain his own nerve. He said, ‘She took the man in there and started to eat him, and then went off towards the dam.’
Mr Kendrick’s tic had ceased. ‘Not worth following her,’ he said. ‘She’ll be going fast. She knows the danger as well as we do. She has to get back over the dam, which must be the way she came in. There’s no other. She won’t hurt anyone there, unless they shoot at her.’
‘No one there’s got a gun,’ Foster said.
Kendrick said, ‘We’ll pick up her trail at the dam, Smith. But first we’ve got to go back to Southdown and get proper rifles.’ He turned and strode fast back along the path, Smith following.
Foster, Mohan, and Barbara Kendrick looked at one another, in silence. Foster shook his head at last and they went on, in silence.
At the top of the scaffold they found a few coolies and Ahmed, the foreman’s cousin. Rukmini was not there. Surely she might have come, Mohan thought
Foster spoke to Ahmed. ‘Who was it?’
‘One of the Nagpur coolies, sahib,’ Ahmed said. He was still trembling, his mouth working uncontrollably. ‘We were coming back from our work and heard someone shout, ‘Careful, tiger!’ - so we ran, scattering into the jungle, but it was no - use. The tigress had already chosen him, She came and took him, aiiih right in front of me! I could have touched her as she stood up and bit his neck, so that it broke, the neck broke, then she seized him, and was gone, all in a second, two seconds...’
Mr Kendrick galloped up on a horse. Now he had a heavy rifle slung across me saddle. Has Smith Sahib gone to the dam?’ he called. Ahmed said, ‘Yes, sahib.’
Kendrick said, ‘Mohan, did you say she’d started to eat him, therein the pity
Mohan said, ‘Yes. She...’
‘She must be very hungry. She won’t go far. Get everyone inside their houses. No more outside work today.’ He galloped off.
Ahmed and the coolies vanished, hurrying towards the coolie camp. Mohan turned to Barbara. ‘I’ll pick up my rifle from the house and escort you back to Southdown.’
‘No, you won’t,’ Foster snapped. ‘I will’
Mohan blinked. He saw that Foster had worked himself into a towering rage.
‘Please, please!’ Barbara Kendrick’s voice was soft between them. An unwilling triumph illuminated her face, her colour had returned, and she was almost smiling. ‘I’m not going to Southdown just yet,’ she said. ‘I’m going back into the pit’
‘What?’ both men cried together.
‘I’ve left the cylinder there.’
‘We can fetch it later,’ Mohan said. He realised she was determined that her husband should not get at it; but, all the same, this was sheer folly.
She was obstinate. ‘I’m afraid I must go now.’
Mohan said, ‘Then I’ll go with you.’
Foster turned on him. ‘I just told you to keep out of this. Step this way a minute.’ He grabbed Mohan’s arm, and pulled him away. Mohan allowed himself to be dragged off, for he had begun to think Foster had gone mad. Foster pushed his face close, dropped his voice, and grated, ‘You keep your hands off Mrs Kendrick, see? You don’t mean her any good and she’s too much off a lady to know it. Leave her alone. Got it!’
Foster let go with a final shake, turned, and stalked back towards Mrs Kendrick. Mohan took a step after him, anger rising at the way he had been spoken to. Then he thought, by God,, Foster thinks he’s protecting a white woman against a dirty nigger. Blind with range, he broke into a run.
Rukmini ran out from the trees on his left. She threw herself into Mohan’s arms. ‘Are you all right? My dearest, my dearest, are you ...?’
‘Yes,’he growled. ’Get out of my way.’
She held him fast, and he could not move. The tigress’ she said. ‘I was with one of the parties searching for the entrance to the cave, and only just heard. I’ve run all the way.’
‘I’m all right,’ he said. Her tears were warm and wet against his neck. He stared over her head at the top of the scaffold, where Foster and Mrs Kendrick had just disappeared. ‘I’m going to see that that fellow is dismissed,’ he said.
Rukmini stood away from him. ‘Let’s go up to the house,’ she said. She took his arm. He went slowly with her, frowning.
Rukmini said gently, ‘My dear lord, you can’t give her anything, except what any man can give any woman. Foster can.’
He muttered. ‘He thinks I’m a nigger.’
‘Did he say so?’ she asked.
‘No, but...’
She interrupted him. That’s not it at all He’s in love with her. He’d pick a fight with Mr Smith if Mr Smith meant the same to her that you do.’
Mohan felt an enormous relief; He didn’t want to hate anyone with the intensity of hate he had just felt towards Jim Foster. They reached the drawing-room and he sank down on the sofa, Rukmini curled up beside him, her head on his chest. ‘I don’t see what they are ever going to have in common,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Love, trust, affection, admiration,’ she said. ‘Four things she’s never had... I heard that Mr Foster tried to warn the coolies, though the tigress must have been very close.’
‘I tried, too,’ Mohan said. He added, ‘He moved first, and I think he was more frightened than I was.’
Rukmini said, ‘He wanted to show Mrs Kendrick, and himself, that he was as good a man as you.’
Mohan nodded. He had found the strength to move in the same manner - determination to stand on a level with Kendrick.
Rukmini said, ‘Let her go, my dear lord. Let her go to Mr Foster.’
She seemed to become depressed. After a while she slid to her feet and walked across the room. She stood, wringing her hands slowly together, looking out of the window. He asked her, ’What is it?’
She burst out, ‘I cannot bear to think of Mr Kendrick’s unhappiness. Does he fail everywhere because he is impotent, or is he impotent because he has always failed? Thank
God, it is something a woman cannot know - to be absolutely unable to give. It must drive a man to despair to hatred...’
Mohan said, ‘She hates him as much.’
She said, ‘Something must be done. No man should suffer that.’ She ran back, and threw herself into his arms. ‘I love you, only you. Will you remember? Always? Promise.’
‘I’ll remember,’ he said.
‘Until the first time you doubt!’ she said. ‘Was it love that made you give Mrs Kendrick what she needed’
‘No!’ he said, jumping up. ‘Of course it wasn’t,’
‘Why did you do it then?’
‘She... she needed me!’ he cried. ‘I couldn’t resist it. You don’t know what a man feels like, Rukmini, when... ‘
‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘You must remember that a woman sometimes feels the same.’
In the evening Charles Kendrick came to Cheltondale, with Smith. They were both grimed with dirt and the stains of the jungle. Kendrick said, ‘She left the body three miles beyond the coolie camp. She’d eaten half of it while she was travelling. She won’t come back.’
Smith said, ‘Foster and the headman of Konpara met us at the camp on our way back. They’ve been having trouble.’ At first all the coolies refused to work, anywhere, until the tigress is killed. Finally, they did agree to go back tomorrow, but only on the dam and the conduit. There’ll be no more archaeological work until she’s killed.’
‘I shall devote all my time to tracking her down,’ Kendrick said. ‘But don’t expect results too quickly. It will be a slow job.’
‘No work at all?’ Rukmini said in dismay.
Smith said, ‘The headman offered to work, with his brothers, but I couldn’t accept that.’
‘He has too much to do in the village,’ Kendrick said.
‘Then I shall,’ Rukmini cried. ‘I won’t let the tigress stop the search! I can hold the crowbar for you to hit, at least.’
Smith smiled at her, the flecked eyes dancing with admiration and an intimate knowledge. Mohan turned away, gripped by the familiar, hated ogre of jealousy. He had imagined, for one mad moment, that Rukmini was telling him, earlier, that she felt a helpless passion for Kendrick, and would not be able to resist him if he made an advance. But it was Smith, of course, whom she had meant.