Revengeful God
THE proprieties, such as they were, were scrupulously attended to. Henry Winton received Ruby Miranda's application for the post of headmistress of the school at Silent Hill within two days of his return from Chinnar; and Henry waited a whole week before sending her the letter of appointment telling her to report for work.
And with that, he tried to put Ruby Miranda out of his mind. But it was not easy to put a girl like Ruby Miranda out of one's mind. Apart from the fact that Henry had found himself thinking more and more of her physical charms, there were the purely ad- minstrative complications created by her appointment. In order to be able to pay her a hundred rupees per month, he had found it necessary to make her the head teacher. It was only after her appli ation had been received that he had found that she had received very little schooling. He knew that Sarkar, his present school teacher, had matriculated at Calcutta University: he was bound to make a protest about someone less qualified than himself being put over his head. But that was something that could not be helped. Henry could not visualize a girl like Kuby Miranda as an underling to a man like Sarkar-babu.
It was unfortunate that old Sarkar bu had to be superseded. but Henry had never felt particularly di-tressed about what Sarkar would think or say. If he didn't like to serve under Miss Miranda. he was welcome to leave, and that was all there was to it. And he knew perfectly well that there was not the least likelihood of Sarkar- babu's throwing away his job in protest
Oh, ves: Sarkar was going to be dead easy to deal with. He was the typical babu: grinning, servile, grovelling, almost dog-like; he was the ideal Indian subordinate, the kin. of man who was totally. incapable of thinking in terms of hitting back-in the last analysis, the kind of man on whom the business of the Empire rested. Henry was glad that Sarkar was not a man like Jugal Kishore, capable of being damned awkward over a question of rights, dan- gerous, cunning. vindictive; soft and yielding whenever it suited him, but equally capable of violent recoil. It was just as well that Miss Miranda was superseding Sarkar and not someone like Jugal Kishore. You could not put down a man like Jugal Kishore with bluster, by telling him to take it or leave it. You needed far bigger guns; bigger guns and plenty of ammunition too. Henry was just as determined as ever to get rid of Jugal Kishore, but he was aware that it was not a process that could be rushed.
The new labour laws were all on the side of the employee; it was difficult to get rid of a permanent employee. But of course there were always ways of doing it, and Henry was in no hurry; and he certainly did not want to give Jugal Kishore the satisfaction of assuming that his complaint to the police had had the slightest effect on Henry. It was important not to rush things.
But Henry had already begun his campaign; had already piled up a good deal of ammunition. He had gone through the reports of all the recent labour demands and was gratified to see that Jugal Kishore figured prominently in every one of them. It was Jugal Kishore who had organized a committee which called itself the Council of Labour, and the names of the members of the Council beaded Henry's private 'black list'. You could not get rid of a man for organizing labour, of course; but that was the sort of argument you needed to convince Sudden after you had managed to get rid of the man. Sudden was sure to back you up all the way through if you convinced him that the real reason for your getting rid of an old employee was that he was a Bolshy. For the actual, official reason of dismissal. he would have to wait until the next drunken brawl amongst the coolies or some kind of rumpus in which Jugal Kishore figured, however directly. Then he would be able to make a proper case against him. It was just a question of waiting until the cards fell into the right order.
Since Henry's return from the Chinnar Week. Jugal Kishore had carried out his duties with excessive diligence and docility, and for a time Henry had wondered if his subordinate had any inkling that the manager was gunning for him. Henry himself had be haved as though nothing had happened; as though he were totally unaware of the complaint that Jugal Kishore had lodged with the police in Tinapur. He was, therefore, all the more surprised when. one evening, his head boy came and told him that Jugal Kishore- babu wanted to see him..
Tell him to come to the office, to-morrow."
'He says he wishes to see sahib on some private matter."
It was one of the Brindian Company's unwritten rules that any of the supervisors or higher servants of the company who wished to see their manager at his bungalow on any private business could do so between seven and eight in the evening. Henry now realized that it would look pointed if he were to send Jugal Kishore away without seeing him.
Tell him to wait in the verandah," said Henry.
He took a long time before going out, thinking out in advance what he was going to say if Jugal Kishore brought up the subject of the complaint to the police. He decided not to say anything about it himself.
When he came out into the verandah, Henry noticed that Jugal Kishore was not alone, he had his nieve with him. Damned odd that his head-boy had not said anything about her being there, Henry thought. It was almost certain that Jugal Kishore had bribed him not to say anything about her. Or was it that he was just being dis creet? having been used to escorting good-looking Indian women to the manager's bungalow during Wallach's time.
"Good evening, sir," said Jugal Kishore, folding his hands with excessive servility, and keeping them folded. He was wearing a thick, rumpled grey-flannel suit and a brown pill-box cap. He had always worn the same kind of clothes since Henry bad first seen him, five years earlier. Say "Good Evening" to Winton sahib, Gauri,' he said to his nete.
'Good evening, sir,' said his niece in a precise, high-school-trained accent, folding her hands.
So that was her name Gauri. She Fid obviously dressed with care, in a speckled green silk sari and a red-and-green choli to go with it. In her hair was a thick chain of yellow flowers, Henry again caught himself wondering how anyone so exceptionally good- looking could be related to a man as ugly as Jugal Kishore. What kind of niece was she?-or was she no relation at all? One could never tell in India. If there were dozens of degrees of marriage, how many kinds of female relations?
"Good evening," said Henry stiffly. And what can I do for you, Jugal Kishore? He kept standing himself so that he should not have to invite them to sit down.
'This is my niece Gaur,' said Jugal Kishore, simpering. His teeth were stained black with the juice of paan and tobacco.
'I once caught her stealing tea leaf, remarked Henry.
"Young people are always getting into mischief, sahib,' replied Jugal Kishore, touching his forehead with his still-folded hands. Sahib was too kind in letting her take the bag away; too kind." and Jugal Kishore gave a laugh, sly and meaningful. Not a word of apology about his completely take complaint to the police: so Jugal Kishore had not come to say he was sorry. What did he want?
I hope the thieving has stopped,' said Henry.
"Sahib is very kind, answered Jugal Kishore. 'Gauri wanted to say sorry. Say "I am sorry" to the sahib, Gauri,' he said to his niece.
I am very sorry,' said Gauri with a faint smile on her face.
"Well, don't do it again." said Henry sternly. Nothing elve, is there?
Yes, sahib, Jugal Kishore said. 'My mece his read up to the seventh book in Hindi and five books ni Inglish. I understand there is a vacancy for an assistant teacher m the school here.
I don't think your miete y suitable Henry cut in curtly.
'She is fully qualitied, salib. Gaun got her education in the Tina- pur milway colony high school and she has passed I'm sorry but the job is already filled Goun is much better qualihed than loco-baba Miranda's daughter, sabab, said Jugal Kishore. She can speak and write Eng Ish much better, and Hindi is her mother tongue. It is in Hindi that she will live to teach in the garden chool"
She should have applied earlier said Henry weakly, feeling really untated that Jugal Kishore had already found out about his having offered the joh to Ruby Miramla 1: no use coming here after the job filled No one knew anything about the job sahib, besides, an unqualified teacher can be removed at any tune Jugal Kishore pointed out Since you seem to know the regulations so well.' answered Henry. 'there's no tve ny telling you that the garden school is entirely my own business, not the company's; and any appointment at a hundred rupees a month is entirely within my powers. I don't even have to refer to head office 'My niece will be content to work as assistant teacher; at sixty rupees a month. She would not be superseding Sarkar-babu," said Jugal Kishore very humbly, once again touching his forehead with his folded hands.
'I'm afraid it's not possible, Jugal Kishore." "Has the sahib anything else in mind?"
'No, nothing."
"Was there some other kind of... er, service sahib was expecting from Miranda's daughter... like Wallach sahib...?"
I have discussed the subject quite enough, Jugal Kisho.e,' said Heary, reminding himself that he must keep cool."
I only wanted to say that if there was some such service, my niece would be quite willing to...
Thave nothing more to say, said Henry.
"Is not my niece as beautiful as Miss Miranda?" asked Jugal Kishore, unfolding his hands for the first time, and pointing a finger at Gauri, who had pulled the end of her sari over her face I'm sorry, but I can't take her on," said Henry with finality, but still with surprising evenness.
Why not?' asked Jugal Kishore in a trembling voire. Why not? Is she not as beautiful as the Miranda girl? Look! Look!" and he eached out and pulled Gaunt's van away from her head and shoulders. Look and he tugged viciously at the knot of her choli, laying bare her full, firm breasts, startlingly white against the olive can of her face and arms
The question of looks has nothing to do with it And is she not better qualified?"
"I dare say she s
Then why not? Because she happens to be an Indian? pure Indian?"
At last Jugal Kishore had asked the question Henry had been waiting for. le said, stil very volilly, still without raising his voice. Because she's a thiet, because I do not wish to emplov anyone in my whool who is personally known to me to be a thief."
I think sahib is making a mistake, said Jugal Kishore, but Henry knew that he had made his point. and the other wilted almost visibly, his confidence suddenly drained away. Gauri turned her face away as though she had been slapped, and began to sob Violently.
Take her away, ordered Henry, rausing his voice at last. He turned on his heels and walked to the doorway where he stopped and shouted. 'A thief!"
As the day of Ruby Miranda's arrival approached, Henry's anti- cipation mounted. He found it difficult to keep his thoughts away from her. He would picture her coming to his office every now and then, at first primly, but afterwards with increasingly easy famili arity. He began to long for her, looking forward to the nearness of a woman, to talk and byplay vaguely connected with sex; the meaningful half-smile, the knowing glance, the naughty word, deli- berately slipped in. the easy blush. He could picture her coming into his bungalow in the evenings, ultimately setting up a beautiful dual relationship like that of a fictional French mistress: the per- fect, efficient schoolmstress during office hours, the deliciously wanton companion of non-duty hours.
And in spite of himself Henry began to count the days to her arrival: as he tore off the date on his desk calendar, the thought never failed to toss his mind that it was one day less to wait for her.
Only three more days were left when the tea lorry brought over a telegram from the post office three miles away in the valley, and at first Henry could think only that it had something to do with Ruby Miranda's arrival. Had she suddenly decided not to take on the job?
It was a telegram from the district commissioner, Barloe, and it told him that the one-tusked rogne had shown up again. The elephant had trampled down a rice field and destroyed a whole row of scaret rows in the vicinity of Lamlung. Lanilung, of all places: Cockburn's garden.
Send for Kistulal," said Henry to the head boy waiting behind his chair. "Kistulal the shikari. For the first time in two weeks Ruby Miranda had gone completely out of his thoughts as they turned swiftly to the famed one-rusked rogne, the elephant he. Henry Winton, was going to hunt and kill. He was embarking on a heady, exhilarating adventure such as comes to a hunter but once in a lifetime.
One of the reasons the one-tusked rogue was still alive was that it had become something of a god-Ganesha, their elephant-god also had only one tusk. The villagers in the tea district were getting increasingly reluctant to report the animal's whereabouts. But when it made a kill they could not keep its presence a secret be cause of the police inquiry that followed such a death. In the ordinary way, the tea district farmers offered prayers and gifts to propitiate the one-tusker-and each hoped that his offerings would keep it away from his own fields.
Everyone in the tea district had heard of the one-tusked rogue, of how clever and diabolically running it was, how revengeful, and yet how kind, considerate, even magnanimous. Legends grow more vigorously upon Indian soil than almost anywhere else in the world. Smothered as they were, in the mumbo-jumbo of native lore, Henry Winton had always found it difficult to dig down to the truth of the elephant's doings. He had gone about it systematically, closely questioning anyone who had come directly into contact with the animal. but it had always been difficult to get them to talk; everyone seemed to tear the vengeance of the elephant-god. Everyone, except Kistulal the shikan. Kistulal was a casteless, godless man, an aboriginal, a Bhil or a Gond; and to him, the kill- ing of the animals in the jungle was not merely a question of earn- ing a livelihood, of baksheesh, it was equally a question of pro- fessional pride. of skill and rourage and teamwork. Above all, it was a question of zidd, of a lifelong feud against wild animals, dat- ing from the time when, as a young man, he had been mauled by a bear. The bear had charged at him quite unprovoked and felled him and torn his leg with its four-inch claws, ripping out the flesh in shreds as he had lain back feebly kicking at the bear's face. Now. he had no pity for the animals of the jungle, no tender feelings of any sort: he was a killer, pure and simple, proud of his profession. It was his business to track an animal down and to get his hunter within range of a shot, and he was unshakably convinced that no one else could track down an animal as well as he, Kistulal. At the end of it, all he asked for was a hunter who did not panic and who shot straight. An animal of the jungle expertly tracked down and cleanly killed was to Kistulal like his pooja to the Vedic brahmin, a purely spiritual reward it was something more than the crafts man's pleasure, purely professional, at a neatly exeruted piece of work; and at the same time, it was a further step in the fulfilment of a continuous, lifelong vendetta agains, the dark forces of the jungle. Kistulal had been a shikari all his conscious life, and understood the jungle better than anyone else; and he had always been full of praise for Henry.
"Sahib is steady; sahib is as good as Karbeet-saab,' he had said to Henry Winton after their last hunt for a black bear in the Pagoda valley. That was the fourth year they had hunted together, and Henry had experienced the surge of elation that only a big-game hunter could feel when told that he is as good as Jim Corbett.
All the same, it was just as well that neither he, Henry Winton. nor his shikari, Kistulal, was superstitious; otherwise there would have been little chance of their going out to kill an elephant which everyone else seemed to be convinced was something of a god.
What had made the one-tusker a confirmed rogue was, of course, an act of human folly. A farmer, waiting up in his field at night for pig or deer, had fired a buckshot at him. Henry had had a talk with that farmer, and he could visualize the man, standing help- lessly in the open field flooded in moonlight. looking at the immense grey bulk of the elephant trampling down his almost ripe crop of rice. He had raised his muzzle-loader and fired, almost without realizing what he was doing, more in desperation and anger than with any positive intention of killing the elephant.
Elephants cannot turn their heads much. The one-tusker had turned its whole body, slowly and deliberately, like a field-gun being aimed, and then it had trumpeted loudly and charged. The farmer had turned and fled, dropping his useless gun.
Then I slipped in the mud and fell down,' the man had told Henry, fell down in the tall, want-high rice." The elephant had stopped dead in its tracks, its enormous trunk wriggling up and down like a snake, trying to scent where its attacker had suddenly vanished. And then it had seen a scarecrow standing a few yards away from where the farmer had fallen, and had rushed at it, felling it with a blow of its trunk. It had gone at it again and again, trampling it in the mud with its feet and trunk and stabbing at it viciously with its single tusk. Its career as a rogue had begun from that day. Whenever it came upon a figure it attacked, making no distinction between scarecrows or men and women.
That had been two years ago. It had killed three men and one woman up to now and had destroyed scores of scarecrows.
'He is an incarnation of Ganesha, the elephant-god, many a villager had told Henry in all seriousness. The great God Ganesha too has only one tusk. He will kill many men and women; no one will kill him, ever."
There was absolutely no question of appealing to their reason. If you pointed out that if the beast were really something of a god. it would not go about killing innocent farmers and destroying their crops, they would tell you that its victims were sure to have committed some unforgivable sins during their previous lives and were being punished in this one.
That was the sort of thing you were constantly coming up against, and it was almost impossible to expect much co-operation from the semi-aboriginal villagers of the tea district when they knew that you were out to kill the one-tusker, they had no wish to participate in an open war against a revengefui, temperamental God. It was the sort of inconsistency you could not remove with common sense. The Indian people had been given the fullest possible measure of self-rule, with their own ministers in the provinces. But their politicians, not content with that, were forever clamouring for more and more power, they wanted the British to quit the rountry altogether. It was only a political stunt, of course, for even the Indian leaders could not have been serious about such a demand. The very thought of what would happen to the country if the British ever took it into their heads to aunt was enough to make you shudder.
Kistulal has come, sahib, his head boy came to tell Henry; and there, right behind him, was Kistulal himself, black and diminutive, grinning as ever and full of bounce. It was good to see Kistulal, the professional hunter, a link with the all male, hairy-chested world of big-game hunting.
"We shall be starting early in the morning," said Henry, 'first thing in the morning, so that we get in Tamlung before dark."
"As early as you like, sahib; as early sahib can wake up,' said Kistulal, squatting down near the fire uninvited, bringing with him a whiff of the atmosphere of the hunting camps; of early rising and smoking fires and the damp smells of the jungle, and also the anticipation and the fear.
'It is a very cold evening, sahib,' pronounced Kistulal, and he blew on his hands and shook his shoulders as though he were shivering with the cold.
It was the camp-fire atmosphere all right, right in Henry Winton's sitting room, for that was Kistulal's way of demanding a drink. A shikari had certain privileges, and even the servants were aware of them, for the house boy was still hovering in the room. 'Bring Kistulal a rum and pani,' Henry ordered, 'a stiff rum and pani."
'Not too much pani, ohe. Kistulal said to the boy, grinning.
They set out as planned, at crack of dawn the next morning. It was nine days before Henry returned to Silent Hill. By that time, Ruby Miranda had already been there for nearly a week.
