Shikar Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  The cattle, many of which have been brought from the famine-stricken village lands on the edge of the forest, form a terrible picture. Every rib stands sharply out from the tightly-drawn discoloured skin, the quarters are deeply sunken, the eyes staring, and many a miserable beast already carries the unmistakable hallmark of approaching death on its drawn and haggard face. The wild animals' plight, though bad, is perhaps not quite so serious as in the case of the cattle, for Nature wild creatures are at all times far healthier and stronger than the domestic animals of man. Also, a denizen of the wilds, born and bred in the jungle, has much more experience in obtaining food when food is scarce than the miserable overworked and under-fed cattle of the Indian villager. The scavenging and carnivorous animals, on the other hand, although also put to trouble over the scarcity of water, are now waxing fat on the trials of their neighbours, just as the war profiteer grows bloated at the expense of his country and countrymen during times of stress. The tigers and leopards have little trouble in obtaining more food than they can eat, for the deer and cattle are too weak to look after themselves properly and are forced to drink at one or other of the very few remaining pools of water, even though they know that death in feline form is probably awaiting them there. As for the hyenas, foul but necessary scavengers that they are, they now feel that 'Der tag' has indeed come at last for them, and their hideous forms are to be seen everywhere each evening as they set out on their nightly bouts of gluttony. Even the very expression of their faces seems to have changed, if one may judge by the leering grin of one which passed near the camp the previous night—a grin which seemed to say "Ah: now it is my turn. I, the despised outcast, am coming into my own at last!"

  The birds, also, except again those that prey on their lesser neighbours, are not their usual bright and happy selves. Many are now sitting about dejectedly in the stifling heat, with their beaks wide open in the vain effort to lessen the dryness of their throats. Here a crow, that impertinent and ubiquitous villain of the East, squats with his head thrown back and mouth gaping open, like an Indian sepoy waiting to receive his dose of liquid quinine on a sick-parade. There a magpie-robin, which, at this season of the year, usually sings happily to his mate as she sits comfortably on her nest in a neighbouring tree. True: following Nature's imperious call to reproduce their species, the nest is there and the faithful housewife is doing her duty nobly; but the insects which make up their food have nearly all died in the drought, and, unless the long-delayed rain should come in time, the two parents will be very hard put to find sufficient nourishment for the four or five voracious youngsters which will presently occupy the nest and clamour for food from morning till night.

  Not far from the magpie-robin's nest and at the mouth of a gorge leading into the foot-hills, simmers in the heat a timber camp, where the contractors who are working within this area have collected their produce preparatory to taking it away in bullock carts to the nearest railway station some 25 miles away. Sawn scantlings and sleepers of pine and sal, toon and laurel-wood, are scattered about all over the place, while here and there men and dragging-buffaloes are lying down and making the most of what little shelter they can find from the scorching rays of the afternoon sun.

  A deep hush lies over all, and the only sound to be heard is the creaking of the punkah in the forest rest house at the edge of the parao. Even this sound is not continuous, for the punkah sways but erratically to and fro in response to the dreamy efforts of the punkah-puller, who naturally feels that it is indeed hard that he alone should have to work while everyone else is resting. A short distance in front of the rest-house is a small pool of water, where the little hill-stream, one of the very few that have not yet dried up, makes its last appearance before disappearing under ground to be lost in the enormous bed of boulders, which, for untold ages, have rolled down the hills and now compose the bone-dry sub-soil formation of the bhabar tract. It is this pool of water that makes the place still habitable for man and beast and bird, and continuously all day and all night, a Constant stream of thirsty creatures appears from all directions to drink of the life-giving fluid. At the moment the men and domestic animals are all dosing and the turn of the birds and more daring wild animals has come. A large party of langoors, seemingly quite indifferent to the blazing sun, are sitting about in the stoney stream-bed, and one or two are bending down in a most ungainly manner to lap up the tepid water, which has been stewing in the sun all day long. A jackal, fat and lazy as the result of the gargantuan feasts he has had during the last few weeks, is just sneaking back to the fetid carcase of a bullock which died of famine a few days ago. In a tree above the pool is a party of Paradise-flycatchers and what a vivid contrast there is between the almost unearthly beauty of the cock bird, with his snowy white livery, black crest, and long white tail, and the filthy sneaking appearance of the disappearing jackal! Surely one might mistake the one for a wanderer from Heaven and the other as one of Satan's minions, waxing fat on the present troubles of other creatures. If this were truly the case, the former would certainly find the Earth, in its present famine-stricken and sun-scorched state, a very poor substitute for the lush gardens of Paradise.

  Presently a stir arises among the drowsy human beings in the camp, for word passes round that a musth wild elephant, driven almost mad by a combination of his temporary functional derangement and the lack of sufficient water, is advancing through the jungle towards the pool and must pass right through the stacks of timber to reach his objective. A musth elephant is a creature that is treated at all times with the greatest respect by everyone, from the mighty tiger downwards, and a musth elephant that is also suffering from heat and thirst may only too easily become a murderer on the slightest provocation. Once the dread news is out there comes a sudden stampede, as everyone flees to leave the thirst-racked creature a clear path to the water which he must and will have, for he, a lover of the night and the cool depths of the jungle, must be in desperate straits indeed to have ventured out in the open blazing sun in the middle of such an afternoon. Then once more the hush falls—this time a hush pregnant with the possibility of coming events. Even so, one or two of the human inhabitants of the parao, more daring than their fellows, hide themselves among the bushes on the line of approach of the elephant and nervously wait to watch his arrival.

  For a short time absolute silence reigns; then comes a cracking of dry leaves and branches. Once again all is still and it seems that he must have stopped. But no: he suddenly comes into view and—what a splendid sight he is. A magnificent makna, fully 10 feet in height at the shoulder, striding slowly along with stately majestic tread, he looks the veritable giant among wild elephants that he really is. His head is held very high, he appears to tower among the neighbouring trees, and his whole appearance is suggestive of utter contempt of any lesser creature that may dare to block his path. The dark musth discharge on his cheek is still clearly visible, but he is evidently nearing the end of his functional derangement; his whole body is drawn and emciated, partly as a result of his musth state, and partly from lack of water and sufficient food; his eye is sunken and angry, and although he is evidently not in a blood-thirsty mood, woe betide any creature that dares to check his progress. Thus he moves steadily forward and one wonders how many scores of years have passed over that stately head; how often has he seen the jungle stricken with drought and famine like the present; how many times has he visited this life-giving pool of water in similar circumstances?

  By now he has reached the timber parao, which may check his progress or cause his slumbering temper to arise. But no! He pauses not for a moment, nor does he deflect a yard to the right or left. Straight through the parao among the cut timber he advances, seemingly unconscious of the cowering workmen who are lying concealed here and there among the logs, and now at last he is within sight of the water which has drawn him here at this unusual hour. A man in similar circumstances would rush the last few yards and eagerly lap up the precious fluid, but this jungle monarch shows not the sli
ghtest sign of eagerness or excitement. On he goes at exactly the same pace, advancing like inexorable Fate, until at last he has reached the pool and his greatly needed drink and bath are at hand. Even now he does not hurry, but pushes the end of his trunk gently into the water, carefully washes out the trunk, and then, with one sharp intake of his breath, draws up two or three bucketfuls of the tepid liquid. He then lifts up his trunk to squirt the water over his heated body and one can feel with him the intense satisfaction that he obtains as the water trickles down his enormous flanks and washes away the dust and dirt which have collected on his body during his tiring journey to the pool. Again and again he draws up trunkfuls of water, sometimes squirting it right up in the air so that it falls over him like a shower-bath, sometimes shooting it right down into his soft fleshy mouth, and sometimes swishing it over those muscular legs which must have carried his great frame tens of thousands of miles during the century of more that he has spent in these forests. Once or twice he pushes the end of his trunk further than usual down his throat and then vibrates his body in a most astonishing manner as though he were trying to force the water to the very extremities of his parched and somewhat emaciated frame.

  In the meantime the human refugees, realising at last that this elephant is far top absorbed in his enjoyment of the water to pay any attention to them, gradually creep nearer to watch the unusual scene. First one and then another of the jungle workmen and camp servants collect on the edge of the stream-bed some fifty yards away, until at last two score or more spectators are there, even including the Forest Officer's little four-year-old daughter, who, in her short life, has already had fine views of a tiger and a leopard, to which is now added the almost unique picture of a musth wild elephant bathing in broad daylight only a few yards distant from a forest-camp. The spectators finally lose all fear, and, squatting about quite openly all over the place, freely comment on the elephant's figure and manner of bathing, as though they were watching some performance in a circus. Yet, even now, although the human voice is usually anathema to a wild elephant, this monarch of the jungle pays not the slightest attention, but remains entirely absorbed in his own occupation. Perhaps he regards human beings with the contempt which many of them deserve and does not even notice their existence, or may be his mind and intelligence are befogged as the result of his affliction combined with the parching thirst which may have been racking his body for many days past.

  In any case, he remains for perhaps fifteen minutes longer and then, satisfied at last, he turns, still not deigning even to glance in the direction of his audience, and strides off at exactly the same even steady pace that marked his arrival. As he leaves the open river-bed to reach the tree jungle, he passes over some soft sand, where he leaves clear foot-prints 5' 1" in circumference. Twice the circumference of an elephant's fore-foot gives the height at the shoulder almost to an inch, so that he thereby proves that, even though he has no tusks, he is over 10' in height, and, as regards size at any rate, fully deserves his claim—as testified by his magnificent appearance and bearing—to be a veritable monarch among the numerous denizens of these famous jungles.

  (1929)

  Shooting in the Doon

  By John O'Lynn

  uzoor, anything may come out in this jungle," the local guide assured me. "As you can see, it is really a continuation of the Government Forest and you are only the second sahib who has had permission from the zemindar to shoot here this year. The first, a Major Sahib, should have shot a tiger but he was too intent on watching a cheetal which was approaching him and he did not see the tiger go by."

  Promising, what? Miles and miles of sal forest rising gradually into the lower hills fringing the Western Doon wherein lay the reserved Government Forest. As I had never before shot in a submontane area I had not yet seen a tiger nor yet—curiously enough—even a sambhur or cheetal in the wilds, though I had, at various times, shot two panther and two bear in the Hills. The present prospect of "anything at all" was distinctly pleasant.

  The beaters—nearly a score in number—were arranged for and drawn into line with instructions from my guide as to the direction they should take. I was led away from them, through a maze of sal, and posted just over the crest of a knoll, behind a handy tree whence I obtained a fair view for nearly a hundred yards around.

  My journey had been the best part of three-quarters of a mile but the beaters were, in a direct line, a matter of seven or eight hundred yards away.

  They had started. Nearer and nearer came their shouts. Now they must be a mere three hundred yards distant. Still no cry, louder than usual, marking the advent of some large animal.

  Suddenly from out of a small nullah in the labyrinth around me dashed a large cheetal stag. He paused a moment and though his head was then hidden behind two closely-growing trees I had seen enough to realise his was a head worth having. A second sufficed to bring my rifle to my shoulder, less than another for a quick aim at an easy shot at about sixty yards and......the lovely creature fell like a log.

  A rapid re-load—even before the stag lay on the ground— and, still crouched behind my tree, I awaited the beat. No, nothing more. The beaters began to emerge, I whistled up my companion and we met where the cheetal lay.

  Confound! Still partly in hard velvet! What a nuisance to find my very first cheetal to be one I would not have shot had I properly seen his horns. Hm! All his own fault for putting his head where it was screened!

  However, he was a full thirty-one inches and there was really very little velvet to peel off. "It would come off", said the crowd. Right, I would try not to regret my share in the tragedy, even though it was not wholly my fault, for cheetal were actually "open".

  Back in triumph to the car where the luggage-carrier was given an unusual load. The first tragedy was over.

  My orders were strict that the cheetal head be hung up in the sun every day to expedite the process, already started, of the velvet peeling. For three days, therefore, had the head hung from a nail, some six feet off the ground, in front of the Dak Bungalow where I was staying.

  On the third afternoon I returned from my work, a couple of miles away, to find that consternation reigned in my camp. The head had remained unwatched for a short time because of the temporary absence of the watchman for the time being. These things will happen and it is a wise man who refrains from too close an inquisition but contents himself with a wholesome strafe all round!

  "What dog was it?" was one of the few questions I allowed myself.

  "Huzoor," volunteered a servant, "it must have been that black and white female dog of the bania's—the one whose shop is on the main road near the serai. I saw it prowling around here just before we discovered that the head had been pulled off the wall."

  "Do you mean the one I saw with puppies playing around it the other day?" I asked.

  "Yea, Huzoor, that very one—the mis-begotten wretch!" came the eager reply.

  Once more—"Confound!" I gazed longingly at the ruined symmetry of my thirty-one inch (and first) cheetal head. No power on earth could now restore its lost beauty. Four clear inches had been gnawed off the right horn—just when it had begun to peel so splendidly too and I was on my way to having a trophy worth keeping.

  However! I thought of the emaciated form of the mother-dog I had seen. Less than the proverbial bag-o'-bones, she was dependent chiefly on such scraps as were thrown to her for the existence of herself and four very jolly little pi-pups. ... Dash it all! How could I nurse wrath against her—even though I too had been the object of her frantic barks as I had passed by her master's shop. "Poor thing" was the unpractical thought which persisted in rising in my mind as I thought of both her unfailing care of her whelps and her apparently unending watch over the bania's shop. She had not merely to live; she had two very distinct jobs in life and I could not find it in me to be too hard about it.

  "Very well," I ordered. "Orderly, you alone go and tell the bania not to allow his dog to come scavenging around here again. If she c
auses any further damage, however, tell him that I shall hold him responsible."

  Even while compliance was assured I could see disappointment in some of the faces of my staff. I am sure that they would have loved an opportunity to have gone off and thrown their weight about a bit more possibly till the bania had, for peace's sake, sold them some flour at less than favourable rates!

  There it was, the second tragedy. The head was ruined beyond recall but, because of some silly urge within me, I could forgive and try to forget. To forget wholly was impossible. Curious, eh?

  III

  Two afternoons later my shikari came to me with news which was always most welcome—a panther kill of the night before. Would I sit up? Yes, he had found the kill and, if I could come, he would make a machan. Time and distance were no obstacle as the place was a bare thirty yards from the main motor road.

  We went there and, after a brief look around, I decided to sit on the ground. The kill was a few paces down the bank of a shallow nullah and hidden under some very dense scrub. Above was a field of wheat. To the right was the road and to the left, circling below the field, was a dense scrub through which lay the panther's only way if he wanted—as of course all panthers want— cover on his way to his meal.