He learnt that it was at least a hundred feet long, and that it spoke with the voice of trumpeting elephants; but it was plain that the simple villagers wished to impress him, so he was suitably impressed. At fifty miles he had heard of Vakrishna as a great snake which was longer than five large pythons, and as impalpable as the mist; by twenty-five miles the cobra had shrunk to a snake as long as three pythons, which habitually ate tigers; and at ten miles it was only a great snake which could kill an elephant. Yet all these reports contained the same assertion that the cobra was white, so Hussein bided his time.
That evening, when the warm milk had been set down in front of the little hole from which the snake used to come Hussein offered to give a free performance with his snakes.
He set down the basket with the snakes in it and squatted before it; the villagers sat round in a ring.
The Mohammedan blew a thin, squeaky tune on a kind of globular flute, and presently the lid of the basket began to rise. It fell off sideways, and a cobra’s head appeared in the opening. The tune grew faster, and the snake shot up a foot or so, swaying in time with the tune.
Soon two other snakes appeared, and they crept out of the basket on to the ground. The crowd was quite silent, and the only sound that was to be heard was the shrill piping of the snake-charmer.
The three cobras shuffled vaguely, half coiled, with their heads about a foot from the ground.
Suddenly the tune changed, and the snakes began to dance. They traced strange patterns on the dust, weaving their heads to and fro, moving incessantly.
Hussein heard the faint hiss that he had been expecting, and turning ever so slightly he saw half the length of Vakrishna protruding from the roots of the pipal-tree.
The hood on the cobra’s neck was half open, and its curious markings showed distinctly on the strangely white skin. Hussein caught his breath, for he saw at once that it was the real thing, that great rarity, a truly white cobra.
Slowly he let the music die down; he had seen all that he wished.
As the music became fainter and more slow the snakes danced less swiftly, and at length they sank to the ground. Quickly Hussein picked them up by the neck and thrust them back into the basket.
All that night the snake-charmer lay awake, thinking of the white cobra. He knew that if he took it away he would not get twenty miles, for there was no railway, and the hue and cry which the villagers would certainly raise would catch him before he could dispose of his treasure. By daybreak, however, he had thought out a scheme. He had noticed that they were repainting the dak-bungalow with white paint. At noon he went there and took a little pannikin full of the white paint, and during the siesta, when everyone else was asleep, he took one of his own snakes and painted it white.
It was very difficult to keep the snake still, but Hussein was safe enough, as the cobra’s fangs had been drawn long ago. At last the snake was fairly white all over, and nearly dry, but it was in a furious temper, and although Hussein had drugged it before starting, he was hard put to it to control it by the time that he came to try to paint Vakrishna’s markings on it.
At length the task was completed, however, and the finished product might easily have been taken for Vakrishna in the dusk. In the night when the rest of the village was asleep, the snake-charmer crept to the pipal-tree, and squatting by the hole he played certain tunes on his pipe very softly. It was a long time before the snake took any notice, but by the time the moon had risen, Hussein heard the dry rustling sound that a snake makes when it moves, and he saw the cobra’s eyes gleaming in the entrance to the hole. In the moonlight the white snake was almost invisible, but Hussein could see its shadow quite clearly.
Very slowly Vakrishna slid out into the open.
From beneath his loose cloak Hussein took the body of a young rat; he laid it on the ground and shuffled backwards into the deep purple shadow of the pipal-tree.
The cobra’s head glided towards the rat, and then, with an incredibly swift movement, Vakrishna snapped it up and swallowed it. Hussein could see all this by the light of the full moon, he could even see the rat going down the snake’s body, and he went back to bed well satisfied.
In the rat’s body the snake-charmer had put a certain drug, because he could not handle the cobra while it was conscious, as its fangs had not been drawn, and it did not know him.
By the next day the painted snake became more furious than ever, as the paint made it extremely uncomfortable.
Hussein knew that the drug would act at about noon, so he made his plans for departure, telling the headman that he would be continuing his journey in the afternoon, when the heat of the sun had died down. So far his plan had worked perfectly, and the only thing that worried Hussein was the behaviour of the painted snake, which was ominously calm.
When the great heat of the noonday sun had driven all the villagers to shelter, the snake-charmer went to Vakrishna’s tree with a hooked stick. Quickly he drew the limp, unconscious snake out, and put it into a sack, from which he took the substitute, and put its nose to the hole in the tree.
The painted snake seemed disinclined to go in, so Hussein trod on its tail; it disappeared into the pipal-tree.
Hussein strolled back to his room by a devious way. No one had seen him. He gloated for a while over the white cobra, and then put it into a special basket by itself.
He packed up his belongings and set out, passing by the pipal-tree, where he could see the painted snake’s head at the entrance to the hole. He tapped it on the nose, and it shot back into the hollow roots.
He had gone some ten miles by nightfall, and he slept in a village with one arm round Vakrishna’s basket.
Towards morning he was awakened by the headman of Kurasai, who was bawling in his ear and beating him with a stick.
They all set on him, and dragging him into the road they beat him until he was unconscious. They also broke his baskets, releasing his trained snakes, and they took away Vakrishna.
The priest, apparently more compassionate than the rest, stayed to revive him, and when he came to his senses, Hussein asked him how they had found out.
‘A little before sundown,’ said the Brahmin, ‘when all the village was assembled, your snake came out, and before our eyes he cast his skin, and I, picking it up in its entirety, clearly perceived the fraud, as the paint flaked off.’ And with this the compassionate man beat Hussein more grievously than the others, leaving him for dead.
JEHANGIR BAHADUR
XI
Jehangir Bahadur
Although Hussein was by profession a snake-charmer, he had been born a mahout, and until he had made things too hot for himself in the Public Works Department he had worked with the elephants which his father had ridden before him.
Hussein, after an extremely varied career, decided to settle down on the land and end his life in peace. He had neither land nor money, but, as he said, even the eagle is born without feathers.
While he was travelling about the Punjab with his snakes he encountered a regiment going north up the Grand Trunk Road with all its guns and impedimenta. Hussein followed the soldiers among the camp sutlers, and when they encamped he prepared his snakes for a performance.
Nevertheless, until they had fed he did not approach, for there is a native proverb which says ‘Never speak to a white man until he is fed.’ After their meal, however, the soldiers were disposed to be amused, and Hussein gave his performance in an open space before the tents.
Soon after the sun set, and the snake-charmer wandered away to the native lines to look for a bed. He learnt that there was straw to be had for two pice in the elephant lines, and he went towards the place where about twenty elephants were tethered for the night. There he encountered the chief of the mahouts, who gave him straw for a bed.
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 s
ell the Government’s straw, expressly purchased for the greater comfort of my lords the elephants?’ and with this he went away, bearing his straw to a secluded spot towards the end of the lines.
‘Now,’ said the chief of the mahouts, ‘I clearly perceive that that 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 kind of nest in his straw and burrowed into it. He slept soundly until a little before dawn, when one of the elephants who had slipped his picket ropes woke him by taking the greater portion of his straw.
Hussein sprang up, abusing the elephant in the tongue of the mahouts. It drew back, ashamed; for an elephant is most sensitive to abuse in language which it understands, but none outside the mahout caste understands the peculiar hathi-tongue in which elephants should be admonished and rebuked.
The elephant became ashamed of itself, and shuffled backwards into the shadows. It was a bull elephant, with tusks ringed with silver bands that gleamed in the half light.
Hussein went back to his bed, but there was not enough to sleep in, so he gathered up his basket of snakes and went over to a fire which some of the early rising camp followers had kindled.
From one he borrowed some cold boiled rice wherewith he broke his fast. The man who yielded up his rice was a Jat, a farmer from the rich corn lands some way farther north, who had come into the camp to sell fowls. He was a simple man, and Hussein borrowed a rupee from him.
After his meal Hussein went back to the elephant lines to look at the elephants, for his breeding had given him a true appreciation of the great beasts. On the way he came across a man selling sugar cane, and he bought several of the sweet, juicy sticks.
He came to the elephant lines, and almost at once he recognized the one who had eaten his bed by the silver rings about his tusks. The elephant knew him at once, and looked sheepish; then it reached out its trunk and touched him on the arm, and Hussein knew that he had known this elephant long ago.
He thought for a moment, and then it came back to him in a flash; it was Jehangir Bahadur, who had come to his father for training when Hussein was a youth. He had been very fond of Jehangir for the five years that he had known him, although he was naturally most attached to Muhammed Akbar, the elephant which his grandfather, his father, and himself had served – indeed Hussein had not left the service until Muhammed Akbar died.
Jehangir had recognized him as soon as he had seen him in the full light, and he gave a little gurgle of delight, bending his fore-legs until his head was almost on the ground, with his trunk curled back over his forehead.
When they had stroked and patted one another, Hussein sat between Jehangir’s front feet and fed him with the sugar canes in the shade of his flapping ears.
Presently a man came along the lines, and seeing Hussein he cried, ‘Man, stand afar off, for this is a lordly elephant, and one who is by no means to be fed by lowly people.’ And Hussein answered, saying, ‘O bahinchute, since when have the drovers of beasts called themselves mahouts?’ for he saw by the man’s caste mark that he was no mahout, but a mere herder of cattle.
‘Nevertheless,’ replied the man, somewhat abashed, ‘I am the temporary attendant of the mighty one.’
‘Has he then no regular mahout?’ asked Hussein.
‘No, for he will suffer none to remain with him for more than a few months. It is said that he seeks a previous mahout, and will never be satisfied 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 whom Jehangir Bahadur has waited. On your head and heart.’ Now the man was taken aback by Hussein’s air of authority, and straightway he went to fetch that which was commanded. 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.
When he had done he gave Jehangir the arrack to drink; by this time several other mahouts had come, and they said, ‘Who is this?’ They learnt that Hussein was Jehangir’s first mahout, and they said, ‘These things are as they should be.’ For they had spent their lives among the elephants, and they understood them.
One asked Hussein why he did not rejoin the service, and he replied that he had left it quickly for certain imperative reasons, and that he would find it hard to get back again.
‘But this is an exceptional case,’ said an old mahout, ‘and Jehangir will undoubtedly pine if you leave him again. I will speak to the chief of the mahouts myself.’
And all the mahouts said, ‘This is just.’
But when the chief was brought he looked sourly upon Hussein, for he recognized in him the man who had tricked him out of two pice the evening before, and he said, ‘Now this is without doubt an evil man, a bût-parast, 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 old man, ‘for I shall make him my own especial charge.’ And with this he caused Hussein to be ejected from the camp.
Jehangir could not help him, as he was shackled with chains to prevent him from wandering again, but as Hussein was hustled away the elephant trumpeted and raged.
Hussein dared not return to the camp on account of the enmity of the old man, but in a week, when the regiment moved north again, 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 being returned to south with various burdens.
Among those who were sent back was Jehangir, for it was feared that he would go musth and run amok.
The chief of the mahouts went north with the other elephants where he was killed by reason of a stone that fell on his head as he passed beneath a bridge; so Hussein was able to see more of Jehangir. 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 to 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.
When he slept from weariness, stretched on the elephant’s back, Jehangir shuffled to the limit of his chains, and then strained slowly against them; he put his mighty strength into the task, and presently Hussein was awakened by the clear, sharp sound of snapping iron. The noise was not enough to alarm anyone, 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 thick forests lay within a mile of the road. Jehangir left the road, and went into the deep elephant grass which bordered it; 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 ele
phant.
‘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, 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 upon 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 reached out his trunk and putting his mahout up on his back again he set off towards the forest.
Then the mahout gave in, and guided the elephant on to a path which led more straightly to the deep woods. He urged Jehangir to his full speed, a peculiar loping shuffle, which took them along at a great speed; 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 died down, and then to go as far south as possible, keeping away from the towns; then he thought that 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 who would be able to do the work of many bullocks without feeling it.
Hussein lived in the forest with Jehangir for some weeks before he thought it safe to move up the river to where he knew the Grand Trunk Road crossed it on a bridge.