by Ruskin Bond
He had to joke; otherwise he would have felt like weeping for Kurnail Jarn.
As for Mollie, she raised her trunk and tenderly snuffed the body of Kurnail Jarn, just as she had been wont to do when he sunned himself on the verandah.
'The chances are,' Donaldson mused aloud, 'that Spots will return for his booty. I shall sit up and turn myself into a reception committee.'
It was with the utmost difficulty that Mollie could be persuaded to leave Kurnail Jarn. Time after time, she returned to the tree and only by using the goad could her mahout at last force her to march slowly and sadly back to the camp.
Never, thought Donaldson, had he seen an animal so full of grief. The elephant looked quite hunched with sorrow as she went padding through the moonlight attended by the chattering servants.
Meanwhile, he had to find himself a suitable hide. There was no time to build a machan, or platform: he must make do with a handy tree.
Forty yards away from the tree in which Kurnail Jarn's body hung, he found a scaleable perch with an uninterrupted view of that pathetic white patch picked out by the moonlight.
With his back to the bole of the tree and his legs straddling a branch, he settled himself as comfortably as possible for his vigil.
He knew it might be a long one.
The moonlight slid slowly round, but Kurnail Jarn still gleamed faintly.
It was indeed a long and weary wait. . . .
Donaldson's head nodded; he roused up with a painful jerk.
Strive how he might, he could not ward off the leaden feeling that stole into his eyelids.
He dozed. . . .
How long he dozed he did not know. He awoke with a start. In his sleep he thought he had heard something big but stealthy working through the trees. Perhaps, he had been dreaming.
With renewed determination he resumed his watch.
Abruptly, with a thumping heart, in one of those awful jungle silences that came smothering down like something tangible and suffocating, Donaldson knew that the panther had returned.
With every nerve tingling, but with a steady hand, he watched and listened.
Through the moonlit trees to his left, he caught the slightest movement. He dared not turn. He must wait until the panther came into his arc of fire.
The silence was so intense, that it seemed inevitable that either the violent thumping of his heart or the monstrous ticking of his watch would betray him.
His rifle was greasy in his grip and he made a mental note to scold his bearer for leaving too much oil on it, but it was sweat from his hands that he could feel.
Now, from the very corner of his eye, Donaldson knew that the panther was in the open, standing stock-still but for a faint twitching of the tip of its tail. In the bars and filigrees of the moonlight its black rosettes stood out as if embossed.
Still, Donaldson dared not fire. The panther was uneasy and if he tried to bring his gun to bear he would spoil any chance he had in that deceptive light.
As if playing a game of sly fox, the panther glided on a pace and halted, taut and suspicious but lusting for its prey.
Three more paces and Donaldson would fire.
He swallowed . . . and it seemed a noisy gulp.
Another silent pace and the panther halted, head up, staring, it seemed, straight at Donaldson. It could not have winded him: what little breeze there was came from the direction of Kurnail Jarn's tree.
Donaldson eased the first pressure on the trigger and brought the rifle butt close into his shoulder.
Even as he did so there suddenly burst out of the trees behind him a thundering, trumpeting shape, huge and terrifying in the moonlight.
It was Mollie.
Taken utterly by surprise, for elephant was the last foe it had anticipated—man was what it had suspected—the panther hesitated, and was lost.
It flattened in the jungle grass, turned, bellied away too late.
One huge and terrible foot bowled it over; a second huge and terrible foot broke its back.
And, snarling hideously in brief agony, the panther was pounded and crushed and utterly obliterated beneath the stamping feet of Mollie.
In his tree, Donaldson watched and wondered, breathless with awe at this savage spectacle. Whether Mollie had come back to mourn her lost friend, or whether she had deliberately set out to ambush the panther, he could not tell.
But all that did not matter: the effect was the same.
Kurnail Jarn had been avenged.
From The Boy Scouts Annual, 1954
A Short Story about an Elephant
t was not often that Nina misbehaved herself, but on the two occasions upon which she did she created something of a furore and cost her owner a considerable amount of money in compensating the victims.
Nina is a circus elephant turning the scales at well over two tonnes so it can readily be imagined that when she leaned against a house something was bound to happen—to the house.
It took 160 men to entice Nina out of her native Burma jungles, 60 pulling mightily on ropes fixed to the fo 'c 's 'le end, while the remainder busied themselves astern with a variety of ingenious devices calculated to agitate in a forward direction an apparently immovable mass. The contest was an unequal one serving only to feed the growing fires of resentment that burned in Nina's broad breast. There were but a hundred yards or so to cover in order to gain a clear road, and not one of the perspiring shikaris gave a thought to the handsome wooden bungalow nearby which ordinarily housed a forest officer, at the moment away on his rounds.
The gallant but defeated 160 sat down to take counsel among themselves and to discuss plans, but they could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion by which their end might be achieved. At the same time something must be done, for Nina had to be delivered to her purchaser by a certain time. It behoved them therefore to get moving, or more accurately, to get Nina moving, and so once more to the ropes, dear friends, for the daylight is beginning to wane.
Almost before they had taken the strain, however, Nina, exercising a strange feminine precocity, began to move forward of her own volition, much to the gratification of her captors elated at this unexpected lightening of their task. But their elation quickly turned to apprehension when they saw the captive's steps were turned steadily and purposefully in the direction of the sahib's bungalow. Guessing the intention the men flung themselves upon their ropes once more in a frantic effort to divert Nina from her course, but just as they had been unable to induce her to move but an hour ago, so did they now find it impossible to arrest her progress or turn her for an instant from her purpose. As many as still clung to the ropes were dragged bodily along the ground, and their wild shouts, in chorus with the noisy alarm of their companions, served only further to enrage the great beast. It was, indeed, fortunate for them that Nina singled out the bungalow, the pending fate of which was now plainly apparent, upon which to vent her feelings rather than upon the immediate human cause of her discontent.
Nothing could now stop that great lumbering mountain of flesh making straight for the bungalow. Away went the stout fence surrounding the compound as though it had been of paper. The garden took on the appearance of having been swept by a young tornado, and the terrified cries of the fleeing servants carried far in the still, early evening air. Crash, went the great head into wall number one, and away went great pieces of timber flying far and wide, as trunk, head and prodigious feet accomplished, in ten minutes a feat of demolition that would have done credit to a gang of professional house-breakers working for as many hours. Then, with a rapid change of mood Nina stood placidly amid the wreckage, surveying her handiwork with huge satisfaction. As she remained thus immobile her former attendants, after a suitable lapse of time, plucked up courage and gradually began to make their reappearance, though it is true that some of them were at this juncture a good mile away from the scene, doubtless having made the distance in even time.
Eventually, Nina was delivered as per order to her purchaser, and only once m
ore did she forget her manners.
It was in Bangkok that the trouble occurred, though this time there was no demonstration of temper. Their results, however, were sufficiently alarming.
Poor Nina, while parading through the outskirts of the town, was assailed by an insufferable irritation between the shoulders. In like case her owner might have found the corner of a convenient mantlepiece, but no such ready-made remedy was available to Nina. But to her intense satisfaction, at that moment the procession was passing by one of those houses built upon high stilts so common in that part of the world.
Quietly Nina detached herself from her companions, and selecting a cross-beam from which a rough stump protruded she insinuated herself beneath the house with a manoeuvre that brought the stump in contact with the offending irritation. In an ecstasy of relief she began to rub, and coincidently the house began to sway. To all the proddings and shouting she was supremely indifferent, nor was she moved by the frenzied cries of the occupants of the house which continued to sway with an ever-increasing amplitude.
Finally, of course, the worst happened, and the house and its owners toppled bodily to the ground. Nina's remedy for the irritation cost her owner exactly Rs 400—absurdly excessive, of course, but it had to be paid in order that awkward consequences might be avoided.
Great care is taken of Nina for she is probably the only elephant in India who has ever been taught to stand on her head, to the huge delight of her audiences. Privately, the lesson was learned after her back legs had been suddenly hoisted up with block and tackle many times. At first Nina was bewildered, but it was not long before she appreciated what was expected of her, and now she thus obligingly performs upon the word of command.
Indian State Railways Magazine, 1932
Down Elephant Street
K.M. Eady
aclaren was having his first experience of jungle marching, and, although Punch, when a little fellow, had seen something of that sort of work, it had never been through such tangle as this.
The forest trees, densely matted overhead, and each, in its turn, overgrown with thick masses of orchids and other creepers, so that the monkeys could race from tree-top to tree-top without a break, shut out the light of the sun and the cooling breezes from the human wayfarers below, while beneath, in the damp, stifling, oppressive heat, there seemed to be every kind of shrub and creeper that Nature could produce, capable of growing a thorn or sharp, sword-edged leaf to tear and wound the unwary passer-by.
The two lads made very slow progress, but that was only to be expected; the worst feature of the case was that it was by no means sure. They had no compass, they could not see the sun, and, in the soft, dim twilight of the forest, all paths—or rather, absence of paths—looked the same. After some time a vague fear began to oppress Punch that they might not be keeping their course correctly, and he was considerably upset to find that Maclaren shared his fears, but their dismay was complete when, one evening, they came back to their last night's resting-place, and discovered that the day's march had been in a circle.
Both lads flung themselves down on the ground, and looked at each other in speechless dread. At length Punch spoke, 'A whole day lost!' he groaned, 'and perhaps that fellow Ismail close behind us!'
'And, this may not be the first day that we've done the same thing,' Maclaren added, still more dejectedly.
'And, it may not be the last,' Punch suggested with a gasp.
'Oh! hang it, old fellow, now we know, we shall be able to prevent it,' Maclaren interposed hastily. 'We must fix on some big tree ahead, and keep straight on, and—'
'But that's what we have been trying to do all the time! Don't you see, old fellow, we can only see the trees a few yards ahead of us, and, when we reach one mark, we can't be sure that the next one is really straight ahead.'
This was, unfortunately, only too true, as many a traveller had discovered before them. They discussed the matter at length before settling down to rest, but could find no real solution to their difficulty. They resolved to be more careful, to mark each distinct clump of trees in their minds as they passed, and, for the rest, to push on steadily and hope for the best, but it was with considerable misgiving that they started once more.
They dared not stray into the jungle in pursuit of game, but a continuous vegetable diet, and that a very sparing one, became exceedingly monotonous. When a herd crossed their path, or a single animal started up from under their feet, they were able now and again to spear a little wild pig, and once managed to secure one of the pretty little hogdeer which Maclaren had never seen before; but they always felt that the lighting of a fire, even in this dense forest, was dangerous work, and might bring their human enemies on them, while the scent of blood might attract other, and equally undesirable foes. Indeed, one night, when a portion of cooked hog's meat had been put aside, well wrapped in leaves, for the morrow, it was found to have been carried away by some noiseless visitor, and it was only by the tracks on the soft ground that the lads could gather how great a risk they had run of being mauled or killed.
But they were fated to pass through a far worse danger than this. One day, they had been making their way as usual through dense jungle, from time to time obliged to cut a path through the thicket of underwood and trailing creepers, and seeing only a few yards ahead into the dim recesses of the dark, silent forest. Suddenly Punch, who was leading, stopped short, and peered through the bushes at some unusual sight.
'What is it?' Maclaren whispered, coming to his side.
'A clearing. Look—straight ahead,' and he pointed through the trees to where unmistakably a clearing had been made, not only in the underwood, but among the lesser trees.
'Is it those dwarf fellows again, or—or Malays' and Maclaren's whisper betrayed his anxiety.
'I don't know; neither, I think. 'We have heard no axes, and, see—that tree has been uprooted, not cut down! Come on very carefully, and we'll spy out the land.'
With extreme caution they stole on, skirting the open space for fear of ambushed foes, but seeking for some spot where, themselves sheltered, they could view the clearing more closely. At length one was found, and then, leaning forward over the branch of a tree on its outskirts, the opening could be clearly observed.
It covered a considerable space, but appeared to have been roughly made, for its boundaries were uneven, and the trees and shrubs had been selected from all spots and of all kinds, and had been thrown down, singly or in heaps, in the wildest confusion. Some were strong young saplings, torn up bodily by the roots, tree ferns were pushed down, and pressed and broken into a heap of crushed bushes, and all the lower and smaller growth, had been trodden down into the miry ground below, which again was full of the marks of huge footsteps. Beyond, on the one side, a broad lane of broken and down-trodden shrubs showed whence the intruders had come, while another broad lane, nearly opposite, marked the spot of their exit, and, throughout both, lopped branches and torn down creepers, half-eaten and then thrown away, told their own tale of destruction, apparently quite as much for amusement as for food.
Punch laughed aloud, and sprang out fearlessly into the opening. 'Elephants,' he said reassuringly, as his companion followed him more cautiously. 'They've gone on, hours ago, after making hay very considerably here. There must have been a lot of them,' he added, as he tried to distinguish the footmarks.
'Elephants!' Maclaren repeated. 'Do you mean to say that they can make a clearing like this? Why, it would take a small army of woodmen to cut down all those trees.'
'No doubt, but it's child's play to a hungry elephant to haul up a tree, for the sake of a few leaves on its crown, perhaps. They're queer beasts. They seem to delight in smashing things about just for the fun of it. Look, some of those trees haven't been touched for food.'
'I wish we had been earlier and could have seen them,' Maclaren said eagerly. 'A herd of wild elephants very much at home in the jungle would have been a sight worth seeing.'
'Yes, if we had a couple of good rif
les and were dead shots,' Punch replied with unusual gravity. 'As it is, the less we see of them the better. If we came across them and scared them, especially if there were any old cow elephants with young calves among them, they would charge like a shot, and'—he looked round expressively at the mass of destruction at their feet—'you can guess pretty well how we should come out of the business.'
'H'm!' Maclaren's sporting aspirations died away suddenly. 'Yes, they would make hay, as you call it, of us very easily. So, I suppose we mustn't use that road over there which they have so kindly made for us.'
'I don't know about that,' Punch replied doubtfully. 'They passed some time ago, and may have gone miles ahead by this time; on the other hand, they may be feeding or sleeping close by. They sleep a good deal in the daytime, I believe. Anyway, I think we may safely use their road for a bit, but we must keep a sharp look out, hold our tongues, tread softly, and, if we see or hear them, make for a big tree, and stay up in it until they move on. It wouldn't waste more time than cutting our way through this hateful jungle.'
'Don't abuse the jungle,' Maclaren laughed. 'It helped us out of Ismail's clutches.'
'We aren't out of the wood yet, literally or otherwise,' Punch replied, not very consolingly. 'Come on, old fellow, here goes for a trot down Elephant Street!'
It was certainly a relief to find a broad and comparatively smooth path prepared for them, and for some two miles or more it led onwards in a fairly straight course, and, so far as the lads could judge, in the direction of Disting. So far, so good, but it was with considerable trepidation that both kept their eyes fixed steadily forward, looking ahead eagerly for new dangers. At length they reached a slight incline, where the path led straight up to its summit, but, of course, beyond that point, further views, except of the thick wall of tree-tops below, were shut out by the hill itself. Very cautiously the lads stole up, endeavouring, with care learnt by experience, to avoid treading on dry twigs, or striking the boot against trunks or roots of trees.