The Taming of the Jungle Part 9

"Bijoo's life is forfeit," he resumed; "and the rope that shall hang him is already made, for the sircar never fails to find whom it seeks. But Bijoo, alive or dead, is worth a thousand rupees to the man who shall take him. 'Twere pity that the money should go to some jackal of a man, for it belongs, of a right, to Chandni, whom he hath wrongfully mutilated; but he is a man, and will, doubtless, make the only reparation in his power, and yield himself up, for her sake, to some one who will bestow the blood money upon her."

The shadow rose from the tall gra.s.s and speedily disappeared in the darkness. Soon after, those who sat round the fire heard the dreadful lamenting of a strong man who walks between Remorse and Despair.

"Brothers," said Ram Deen, as he rose to go to his hut, "alive or dead, Bijoo will be here to-morrow night."

At the fire, next evening, no one spoke; they were waiting for the fulfilment of Ram Deen's prediction, and the bugle-call of the fateful man had just been heard in the direction of the Bore bridge.

"Bijoo hath come, Thanadar ji," said Ram Deen, as he dismounted from the mail-cart.

He then proceeded, with the help of his hostler, to lift a heavy burden covered with a cloth from the back seat of the mail-cart. The limp hands trailing on the ground as they carried it showed their burden to be a corpse. They laid it in the firelight; and Ram Deen, drawing the covering from its face, disclosed the dreadful features of a man who had been hanged; part of the rope that had strangled him still encircled his throat.

"This was the way of it," began Ram Deen, after due identification had been made and the corpse had been carried to the thana; "this was the way of it: this evening, just before we began the descent that leads to the Bore bridge, a man sprang from the darkness in front of the horses and stayed the mail-cart below the great huldoo tree that stretches its arms across the road. The light of the lamps showed him to be Bijoo. So I sent the hostler forward to the bridge to await my coming, for Bijoo and I were fain to be alone for that which had to be said between us.

"When we were by ourselves I bade him mount the mail-cart and sit beside me. As he took his place, he said, 'Wah! coach-wan, dost thou not fear to be alone with a hunted man on a jungle road? I might slay thee now, for I am armed, and so remove the only man who can match me in the Terai.'

"'Nevertheless,' I replied, 'I will take thee to-night to Kaladoongie with my naked hands, if need be.'

"'We will speak of that hereafter,' said Bijoo; 'but now tell me of her.'

"'She is as you made her,--nakti and poor and a widow; for thou art but a dead man, Bijoo.'

"'And you spake the truth, last night, when you said she went to the sahib's tent to plead for me?'

"Taking one of the lamps, I held it to my face, saying, 'Draw now thy khookri, Bijoo, and slay me if thou thinkest I have lied.'

"''Tis well,' he replied, sheathing his weapon. 'And what will become of Chandni?'

"'She shall dwell honorably with her kinswoman in my hut, and respected of all men as long as I live; but the road is not safe, Bijoo, and bad men and jungle fever and wild beasts have slain better men than I; and, bethink thee, by yielding thyself my prisoner thou canst bestow one thousand rupees on Chandni, and so set her beyond the reach of want and scoffers till her end come.'

"He mused awhile, and then replied quietly, 'I will go with thee.

Proceed. I know thou wilt bestow upon her the reward offered by the sircar.'

"'But they will hang thee, Bijoo.'

"'Of a surety. Proceed.'

"''Tis a shameful death, for the hangman is a sweeper,--some brother to Bhamaraya, perhaps.'

"'Nevertheless, proceed; but promise me that thou wilt trap the lame witch in some pit of h.e.l.l, Ram Deen.'

"'Fret not thyself on that score, Bijoo; I have already given the matter thought. But why should the sircar hang thee? They--would--not--hang--a dead man;' and I flicked a branch that overhung us with my whip.

"'Thou art right, Ram Deen,' he said, quietly; 'but, lo! I have not slept for many nights, and my thought is not clear.' He then stooped downward, groping in the bottom of the mail-cart, and drew forth one of the heel ropes of the horses.

"Throwing one end of the rope over the branch that was above us, he fastened it thereto with a running loop, and then encircled his neck with a noose at the other end.

"As he stood up on the seat, he asked, 'Thou wilt give me honorable burning, Ram Deen?' And I replied, 'I will be nearest of kin to thee in this matter.'

"'Tis well. Thou wilt not forget thy reckoning with Bhamaraya?'

"But ere I could make reply, the gray wolf that hunts beyond the bridge bayed, and the horses broke from me in their fear, so that I could not stay them till we reached the Naini Tal road."

"Yea, brothers," said the hostler, at whom Ram Deen looked for confirmation of this part of his story, "I had scarce time to leap to one side, as the mail-cart sped past me whilst I waited on the bridge."

More he would have said,--for he had never before enjoyed the privilege of speech at the Thanadar's fire, and the occasion was epochal,--but he saw in Ram Deen's face that which made him whine and say, "But I am a poor man, and know nothing, and my sight is dim by reason of sitting overmuch by gra.s.s fires,--only Ram Deen, Bahadoor, could not stay the horses, though he cursed their female relatives for many generations, and----"

"So, Thanadar ji," interrupted Ram Deen, "as soon as I could restrain the horses I turned them back, and, after picking up the hostler (who, because he is more silent, is wiser than most poor men who are ever talking of what they know not), I drove to the huldoo tree where hung Bijoo as dead as you saw him but now."

Then, after a pause, he said, "Brothers, let it be told in the Terai that Bijoo came back as befitted an honorable man."

CHAPTER IX

_The Rope that Hanged Bijoo_

"Thy man-child is very beautiful, my lord," said Tara.

Ram Deen was sitting outside of his hut on a charpoi, whilst Tara rubbed their month-old babe with "bitter oil" in the forenoon sun.

The little brown manikin, without a st.i.tch on him to conceal G.o.d's handiwork, sprawled on his stomach across his mother's knees, making inarticulate noises, and wriggling after the manner of infants when it is well with them, for the sun was pleasantly warm, and his mother's rubbing appealed to his budding sensations.

"It is not so beautiful as its beautiful mother," said Ram Deen.

"Thou Worthless!" exclaimed Tara. "Sawest ever such hands?" and she put a finger into the wee palm that clasped it by "reflex action."

"Toba! toba!" swore Ram Deen. "Nana Debi send grace to evil-doers in the Terai in the days to come, or else shall they be undone by these hands.

Why, they might almost crush a fly!"

"Nevertheless, coach-wan ji, my lord, thy son shall be taller than thou when he is a man grown."

"Khoda (G.o.d) grant it, for thy son must drive the mail-cart in the time to come, and the Terai is full of dangers."

"But he _shall not_ drive the mail-cart," said Tara; "he shall be Thanadar of Kaladoongie, and he shall feed his father and his mother when his beard begins to sing on a sc.r.a.ping palm. Eh, my butcha?" and the young mother, after the manner of young mothers the world over, bent her head and kissed the little one's dimples.

"He shall be rich, too, coach-wan ji," said a tall woman with a beautiful figure appearing in the doorway of the hut. Her eyes made beholders long to look upon the rest of her face; but that was closely veiled, for it was horribly mutilated.

Her voice was thick and m.u.f.fled, and she spoke with difficulty. It was the unhappy Chandni.

"He shall be rich, if a thousand rupees can make him rich, and the wishes of thy humble servant. Tulsi Ram, pundit, hath this day indited a letter for me to Moti Ram, the great mahajun of Naini Tal, directing him to hold the money, that was the price of Bijoo, for thy son till he comes to man's estate."

"Now, nay, Chandni," remonstrated Ram Deen; "I am richer than most men in the Terai, and, through the advice of my friend, the Thanadar, my wealth groweth apace, and my son shall lack nothing. Biroo, too, is provided for; thou mayest need the money thyself, for the thread of life parts easily in the Terai, as thou knowest, and the shelter of my hut may be wanting to thee some day."

"Nevertheless, my lord and my master, thy lowly handmaid must not be thwarted in this matter," and Chandni disappeared into the hut.