Before the big elephants had been brought on the scene, Jehangir’s mood had changed. He rammed his opponent once more with all his force, and then went away to look for something to destroy, for his temper made him feel like destroying things.
No one dared to get in front of him, so he trotted off down the lines towards the larger huts where the married mahouts lived. His one desire, that was by now an obsession, was to crush something: his head was aching splittingly, and his madness had driven all the goodness out of him for the time. He came quickly down the dusty road, and Hussein, on the roof, recognised him at once by the glint of the silver bands round his tusks, which were cut short. He had no idea that Jehangir was mûsth; indeed, he had never seen an elephant in that state, and he only knew of it by hearsay. He called out to the elephant, but he was rather surprised when Jehangir came charging at full speed towards the mud house; Hussein thought that he was only playing, as he had often done before. But Jehangir did not pull up; he blundered right on into the brick wall, smashing it down with his forehead, and quite ruining the melons.
Hussein gasped, and then shouted, ‘Oh, soor-kabutcha kasoorneen, what have you done?’
The elephant stood still over the wreckage of the bed; he had knocked his head very hard against the wall, and that had cleared it a little. If he had been left alone the madness would have clouded his brain again, but Hussein came scrambling off the roof, catching a heavy bowl which was there to catch rain, and he leapt from the top of the verandah on to Jehangir’s neck, crying, ‘Oh, son of a great pig, what have you done to my fine melons?’ He beat the bowl furiously on Jehangir’s head, so that it broke.
It did not hurt the elephant particularly, but it brought him to his senses. Suddenly he saw what he had done: it was as though he had awoken from a bad dream. He was horribly afraid that he might have injured Hussein, for he was very fond of the boy. But Hussein kept banging at his head with what remained of the pot, so he saw that there was no harm done.
‘Go straight back to your picket, you clumsy, toad-like oont; I shall never speak to you again. The melons were almost ripe, and now they are quite ruined. Worthless earth-worm that you are,’ shouted Hussein very angrily. By this time a pursuing crowd of mahouts with five huge tuskers and chains had come up, and as soon as they were within ear-shot, a man shouted, ‘Have a care, have a care, he is mûsth.’
Hussein heard this, but he saw that the fit had passed. Very quickly the two biggest elephants came up on either side of Jehangir to pin him, so that a rope could be passed about one of his legs; but Hussein saw his opportunity, and cried, ‘Leave us alone, we shall not hurt you.’
Everyone gaped, as Hussein had hoped they would, and Mustapha said, ‘But what is this? Jehangir has gone mûsth.’
‘It is a small matter, I have dealt with it. He was only a little troubled with the heat, so he came to see me. I shall take him to the pool.’ Hussein carried it off perfectly, and they went down to the water, where Jehangir squirted water all over himself, and then plastered his head with cool grey mud.
But the next day Jehangir was punished in the only way that an elephant can be. He was chained firmly to a tree, and each of the other elephants was given a good length of chain. They all filed past him, and each gave him a great blow with the chain: they went round three times. Jehangir was bitterly ashamed of himself, and he trumpeted in the night, but Hussein came and comforted him until the morning.
Hussein gained a great deal of credit, and it was prophesied that he would become a famous mahout when he grew older. The Englishman in charge of the mahouts sent him twenty rupees, for he said that anything might have happened if Jehangir had not been caught. The khitmutgar took fifteen of the rupees by way of commission, but even so, it was great wealth for Hussein while it lasted. For a little while Hussein was quite unbearable at home, but Mustapha beat him one day, and he returned to normal.
Jehangir became even more attached to Hussein after that, as he felt that he had saved him from doing horrible things.
Zeinab was the only person who saw through Hussein’s pretence of having known that the elephant was mûsth, and one day, when she suddenly taxed him with it, he was too flustered to deny it. She used to blackmail him in a mild way, so he paid more attention to Mustapha’s teaching than he would have done otherwise, and he kept the garden in much better order; but she was a kindly soul, and did not plague him at all, so he loved her none the less. Although she had a long tongue with a shrewd edge to it on occasion, she was as good as a mother to Hussein, and she treated him just as well as her own sons, and perhaps a little better, for she knew that she would never have another young boy of her own. Zeinab was also a surpassingly good cook, which made her household love her more than any amount of beauty would have done. It was firmly held by all those who had tasted it that the saffron stew she made from the tail of a fat-tailed sheep was equal to any food this side of Paradise. She had inherited the recipe for this dish from her mother, who in turn had had it from hers; it had come with her to Mustapha, being of great worth. Indeed, it was this stew that had brought Mustapha to her in the first place, as he had eaten it one evening in the house of Wali Dad, and had asked who had cooked it.
Mustapha’s three sons, Amir Khan, Yussuf, and Abd’allah, were also kind to Hussein in that rather condescending, offhand manner that very young men use towards boys, because they wish it clearly to be understood that they are on two different planes — that they are quite grown up, and that anyone younger is a great deal younger, and not a man at all.
Amir Khan had a moustache, of which he was inordinately proud, and which he oiled assiduously; he was the mahout of a cow elephant called Kali, because of her temper. He was a weak, good-natured youth; handsome, and rather vain. He was very proud of his elephant, who, to tell the truth, was a singularly dull and vicious brute as elephants go, and often he would tell Hussein of the wonderful way in which she understood him, and of the things she could do if she were not so highly strung.
Yussuf and Abd’allah were twins; they were very much alike — both tall and well set; but apart from their inherent understanding of elephants, they were stupid; but they were simple and good-natured, and Hussein got on very well with them. Being rather young to be full mahouts, they were employed to cut fodder in between taking out any odd elephant that had no regular mahout. They spent a good deal of their time playing soccer football, which had been introduced by the English soldiers. It was extremely popular, particularly among the young Mohammedans. They played in bare feet, and their game was very fast, as the ground was nearly always as hard as asphalt. Hussein played quite a lot, but he was very light, so he did not get much of a game, the barging being rather heavy; but he was quick on his feet, and when he could get hold of the ball he could generally do something with it.
The Sikhs at Amritsar were also keen footballers, and one of the younger English officers in the PWD had organised a match between an eleven of his men and a team drawn by his friend, a lieutenant in a Sikh regiment.
The game was played on Thursday, when there were no parades, and the soldiers turned up in great force. All the mahouts came with as great a muster of elephants as they could bring for the honour of their side.
The match ground lay near the regimental barracks. None of the senior officers of the Sikhs or the PWD liked to be spoil-sports, so they all turned up. The Mohammedans played in white turbans, closely tied for greater security, and the Sikhs in blue turbans. Yussuf and Abd’allah were both playing as half-backs, and Hussein was watching with Mustapha on Jehangir.
The match was very fast from the beginning, and the ball was all over the field before a few minutes had gone. The audience was very much worked up, and the Sikhs were howling in Punjabi to encourage their men.
At half-time there was still no score: the barging had been a trifle wild, but it had been perfectly clean. After the change-over the game was still faster, and presently Abd’allah, the left half, took the ball from one of the Sikhs,
and ran up the field with it. He tricked three men very neatly, and he had just swung the ball in to the waiting centre forward when one of the backs charged him very heavily. He had already passed the ball when he was knocked flying; the Sikh had used his elbow, and Abd’allah was carried off the field. A penalty was awarded against the soldiers, and immediately afterwards the PWD side scored. The penalty was unpopular with the non-Moslem part of the crowd, and the goal made it even more so. The Sikhs began playing rather wildly, and their opponents met them fully half-way.
Before long a Sikh was knocked out practically in the goal mouth; his turban came off, showing his long hair — a great shame for a Sikh. But the game went on and no penalty was awarded, although half the crowd howled for one.
Then the outside left of the PWD team broke away, running right up the touch-line with the ball. The inside left was backing him up. They were on the side away from their supporters; two men converged on the outside left, but he tricked them both, and passed the ball to the inside left, who had gone ahead. Instantly all the Sikhs shouted ‘Offside!’ but the referee did not blow his whistle.
No one quite saw what happened next, but there was a scuffle as some of the onlookers surged on to the ground, and when they went back the inside left was lying unconscious over the ball.
Then someone knocked a Sikh’s turban off, and pulled his long hair. A Sikh hurled his knife-edged steel turban-quoit at the referee, cutting his head open. Then all the Mohammedans rushed as one man from their side on to the ground, and the Sikhs met them in mid-field. Their elephants were a tower of strength to the mahouts, and although they were outnumbered, the PWD team were collected, and carried off to safety by their supporters.
The Hindus in the crowd joined with the Sikhs against the Mohammedans, and soon a budding riot was growing on the football-ground.
Fortunately some of the senior officers had guessed what would happen a little after half-time, and they had called out the guard from the barracks. The Sikhs’ discipline soon re-asserted itself, and what might have been a very ugly riot fizzled out after a round of blank cartridge. Nevertheless, three people had managed to get killed, and a great deal of religious fanaticism had been stirred up, which meant an anxious month for the Indian Police. The unfortunate young men who had organised the game were given exceedingly undesirable posts. The PWD man was sent out to investigate wells in the Bikaneer desert villages, and the Sikhs’ officer was attached to a Madrassi regiment of infantry. The mahouts were moved, with the elephants, to a place right away in the Deccan, where they were building a road. The elephants, with their mahouts, travelled with the baggage-train of a south-bound regiment.
Three
They marched all the way, as there was no urgent need for them. The journey took several weeks; Hussein and Mustapha stayed with Jehangir, and on the way Mustapha recited long suras, in a high chanting voice, so as to improve Hussein’s mind. Sometimes, when Mustapha dozed on Jehangir’s neck, Hussein would slip off, and go back through the dust to the slow bullock carts where Zeinab sat among the pots and bundles. At each stopping-place she made a little fire, and prepared kebabs, which she wrapped in cool leaves for Hussein to eat on the way. Every day was like the one before. They marched, with halts, from dawn until sunset, when the soldiers pitched their tents, and a complete camp sprang up within an hour. Hussein and his cousins slept on a great soft pile of fodder that smelt sweet and fresh, like new-mown hay.
Before dawn the bugles went, and the tents disappeared like snow in summer. By sunrise they would be on the march again.
It was a splendid journey from Hussein’s point of view — there were always new things to be seen, and new people to talk to. On one memorable evening some villagers tried to creep into the camp and steal a rack of rifles, but they were caught, amid great tumult and shouting; once a leopard took a straggling goat; and once Hussein lay down on a fat snake in the fodder heap.
But at last they came to the place where the regiment was stationed, and the mahouts went on alone. They had an escort of the Indian Police, as they were going through a very wild part of the country, where there were bands of dacoits. One night they camped half-way through a great forest, and in the night they heard the trumpeting of wild elephants. The tame elephants trumpeted back, and Kali, Amir Khan’s elephant, broke her picket-rope and vanished into the forest; she went for ever, and though most of the mahouts thought it a good riddance, Amir Khan was inconsolable. He wandered into the jungle calling for Kali, and he got lost. They spent a day in finding him; he had stumbled into a wild bees’ nest, and he was in a lamentable state.
At length they came to Rajkot, where the road was being made right through the jungle. The hills nearby abounded in game, from wild elephants and tigers to sand-grouse. The young ‘Stant Sahib’ who commanded the Police was a very keen shikar; and Hussein soon developed a great admiration for him.
He was a big, red-headed man, with a face burnt brick-red by the sun. This prevailing redness gave his blue eyes a startling intensity which impressed the natives tremendously; in fact, there was a rumour current that he had a tail, being a sort of djinni. Hussein used to gaze at him for long periods; he had never seen anything like it before. ‘I wonder’, he thought, ‘whether his tail is red, too?’
He often used to hold the Stant Sahib’s pony, so as to look at him more closely, but he never saw a vestige of a tail, red or otherwise. After a while the Englishman began to notice Hussein, and sometimes he spoke to him. At this time Hussein was a tall, thin boy of about sixteen — a young man by Indian standards.
One day the Stant Sahib, whose name was Gill, heard of a leopard that had made a kill about half a day’s journey into the jungle. According to the report the leopard was a very large one, which had been harrying the cattle in a little Ghond village in the jungle for some time. Gill wanted to pot a good-sized leopard, but the journey would have to be made on an elephant, as it would take much too long to cut a way through the virgin jungle. So he went to the Englishman in charge of the mahouts, and asked him if he could spare him an elephant.
‘I can let you have an elephant all right,’ said this man, ‘but I’m afraid I really can’t spare a single mahout; you see, four of my best men have gone on leave for some damned funeral or festival or something, and I need every man I can lay my hands on for this tricky stretch of road by the stream.’
‘That’s a pest, because I particularly want to get out to that part of the jungle — it isn’t so much on account of the leopard, but because the dacoits have been rather busy in that direction, and I’ve an idea that a bit of reconnoitring might do some good.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, old man, but no can do. I’ve got to get past that awkward patch before the big-wigs come out and make remarks about inefficiency and lamentable lack of drive.’
‘Oh well, I daresay I can make it on a pony, but it’ll mean carrying a hell of a lot of kit. I suppose you’re coming over for bridge to-night?’
‘Yes, of course; look here, I tell you what, perhaps you can get hold of a chap who knows which end of an elephant goes first, and then I can let you have one, if you’ll take full responsibility and all that.’
‘That’s definitely an idea. I daresay I’ll be able to get hold of someone, if it’s only my syce — an elephant will make all the difference. By the way, don’t forget to bring over some sodawater to-night, I’ve run clean out of it.’
The next day Gill’s khitmutgar went among the mahouts to find someone who could take the Englishman’s elephant. After a good deal of discussion a man suggested Hussein.
‘He is very young,’ objected the khitmutgar.
‘Yes,’ said Mustapha, ‘but he knows Jehangir almost as well as I know him myself, and moreover, he handled him when he was mûsth, which not many would have done.’ All the mahouts supported him in this.
‘He would have to take a lesser wage,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘on account of his youth.’
‘And a certain khitmutgar would get a
larger share of it,’ replied Mustapha.
‘No such thought entered my mind,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘for I am a virtuous man; he will get eight annas, which is a princely sum for a youth.’
‘Allah! Behold this virtuous khitmutgar — he would sell his grandmother’s shroud! Hussein shall have one rupee and four annas, not a pice less.’
‘These Muslims! I am fallen among thieves! Fourteen annas and two pice.’
‘By no means; one rupee and one anna.’
‘Very well, one rupee.’ They haggled a little longer, and at length Mustapha got one rupee two pice for Hussein, who had not said a word. He had a curiously exalted feeling in his heart, as he had never officially been in full charge of an elephant before.
He wanted to have a howdah on Jehangir, that he should look the more glorious, but Gill only wanted a pad. Long before dawn Hussein prepared Jehangir. He scrubbed the great forehead, so that it seemed grey against the blackness of the rest of his body, and he polished the silver bands about the fore-shortened tusks. Zeinab wrapped up some chupatties for him, and Amir Khan lent him an ancient iron ankus.
At daybreak he brought Jehangir round to Gill’s bungalow. Gill had his breakfast while the khitmutgar and Hussein put his things on the pad. He only expected to be gone three days, so he had cut down his baggage to the minimum. When everything was ready, Jehangir knelt so that Gill could get up, and they set off down a little thin path.
The sun had not yet come up over the trees, and there was only a curious greenish light. It was quite cold. A slight silver mist floated about the tall grass and the trees. Everything was quiet.
Jehangir made very little sound as he went along; his great round feet were padded like thick rubber, so that he seemed like a moving shadow. Presently Hussein, who had been awake nearly all night, fell asleep as he sat a-straddle on the elephant’s neck. Gill was not sufficiently used to the elephant’s rolling walk to be able to sleep, but he dozed now and then. It was rather like being in a boat when there is a swell on the sea, and the tall, waving elephant grass rippled like water. At length they came to a place where the path joined three others: Jehangir stopped for guidance. Hussein awoke with a start; he turned to Gill, who was looking at a sketch map on the back of an envelope. It showed a vague path — indicated by a wavy pencil line — that led to the Ghond village.