Book: Son of Power

W >> Will Levington Comfort and Zamin Ki Dost >> Son of Power




"I loved the way he said 'Lad' to you."

It was hours afterwards that the shot was heard. . . . Carlin was
closer. He felt her shivering. He could not be sure of the words, yet
the spirit of them never left his heart:

"If I were she--and I had found you so--upon the lawn--I should want
Hand-of-a-God to wait for me--like that!"




CHAPTER XI

_Elephant Concerns_

"Only the altogether ignorant do not know that the women of my line
have been chaste."

It was the youngest mahout of the Chief Commissioner's elephant
stockades of Hurda, who spoke.

They sat in comfort under the feathery branches of tall tamarisk trees,
smoking their water-pipes, after the sunset meal. It was the time for
talk.

"A good beginning," said a very old man near by, "it being wise, in
case of doubt, to stop the mouth of--who might speak afterward."

"And the men of my line," proceeded the youngest mahout, without
embarrassment, "have been illustrious--save those who are forgotten.
They all have been of High Himalaya; yet I am the least among you. I
render homage of Hill blood, hot and full, to every one of you--my
elders--because you are all mahouts of High Himalaya, even as my
fathers were."

The men of the stockades bowed their heads in grave acknowledgment.

"Then by what curse of what gods falls this calamity," the boy went on,
"that we of the Chief Commissioner's stockades are forced to receive a
mahout from the Vindha Hills; and an unreputed elephant--from the hills
without repute?"

"Softly, young one, softly!" a mahout in his full prime made swift
answer. "Truly it is well the young are not permitted to use that
untamed strength in speech, which is best governed by the waste of
sinew!"

The youngest mahout bent his head in humility and said with soft
reverence:

"Will he who is most wise among us, enlighten the darkness of him who
is most foolish?"

"It is that elephants of great repute have come from the Vindha Hills;
and mahouts of great learning. Also, there is a luminous tradition
that the most exalted creatures of their kind--those who travelled far
from the high lands of Persia long ago--chose place for their future
generations in the Vindha Hills; and not in High Himalaya."

This man who had first rebuked sternly and afterward explained with
extreme gentleness, was Kudrat Sharif, the mahout of Neela Deo--mighty
leader of their caravan. He was malik--which is to say, governing
mahout--over them all; and best qualified among them. Therefore a
clamour rose for more. The youngest mahout went from his place and sat
near, as Kudrat Sharif continued:

"The black elephants are all but gone. Not more than one in a
generation of men is seen any more. They are seldom toiled into the
trap-stockades, in which the less wary are taken. The natures of those
who have been snared are strange to us of the High Hills. They
sometimes destroy men in their anger; they sometimes destroy themselves
in their grief."

"What is the heart of this knowledge?" asked a man who had not spoken
before.

"That these stockades are distinguished by Government," Kudrat Sharif
replied. "The elephant who is to reach us this evening, is a black
elephant--descended from the lines of ancient Persia."

A chorus of exclamations swept the circle, before the gurgle of hookahs
took the moment, as the mahouts gave themselves to meditation and
water-winnowed smoke.

Then the trumpet tones of an elephant were heard from far out in the
gathering gloom.

"May Vishnu, the great Preserver, save us from a killer!"

The man who said these words was not less than magical in his power to
control the unruly; but he never took credit to himself. "That is the
voice of a fighter--smooth as curds of cream--and it reaches from far
out; very far out."

The challenge-call sounded again; and the big males of the stockade
answered without hesitation.

These mahouts had trained ears; and they listened--computing the
stranger's rate of speed. The fullness of tone increased; and
presently one said:

"He comes fast."

But they were not prepared to see the elephant that rolled into the
glare of their torches out of the night.

He came to pause in the centre of the exercise arena--a vast sanded
disk just front of the stockade buildings--and stood rocking his huge
body, tamping the ground with his feet as if still travelling. The
mahout on his neck spoke to him patiently:

"Now will my master use his intelligence to understand that we have
arrived?"

Then turning to the men on the ground, the strange mahout said
wistfully:

"Look on me with compassion, oh men of honour and of fame! I have
heard of you, but you have not heard of me."

"We have heard of you, that you are the making of a master-mahout, in
due time," answered Kudrat Sharif.

"Then the gods who preserved my fathers to old age, have not forgotten
that I learned patience in my extreme youth," sighed the man.

Seeing that the elephant was not quieting, Kudrat Sharif spoke now in
pacifying tones--to the mahout:

"Come down among us who are your brothers; we have prepared all things
for your refreshment."

"I will come down with a full heart and an empty stomach, most
beneficent, when this Majesty will permit," the strange mahout assented
wearily.

"Is he rough, son--to sit?" asked the very old man, coming closer.

The elephant shied a step and his mahout cuddled one ear with his
fingers, as he replied:

"He is the smoothest thing that ever moved upon the surface of the
earth--like a wind driven by fiends. But he never stops."

The elephant was rolling more widely if anything, than at first; so the
mahouts stood back a little and considered him.

His blackness was like very old bronze, with certain metallic gleams in
it--like time-veiled copper and brass. His flawless frame was covered
with tight-banded muscle. There was no appearance of fat. His skin
was smooth--without wrinkles. He was young; about forty years, or
less. But there was the nick of a tusk-stroke in one ear; and a small
red devil in his eye.

Without warning, he flicked his mahout off his neck and set him
precisely on the ground--the movement so quick no eye could follow his
trunk as it did it.

The youngest mahout brought a sheaf of tender branches--such as are
most desirable--and laid them near, but not too near; and when the
elephant began to eat, they removed the burden of his mahout's
possessions from his back.

Then the man received their ministrations--keeping an eye on the
elephant. When he was ready to smoke, he began slowly:

"Ram Yaksahn is my name; and my ancestors--from the first far breath of
tradition--have been servants of the elephant people. We were of High
Himalaya till the man who was the man before my father. Since then we
serve in the Vindha Hills. My twin brother was called with his master,
to the teak jungles of the South; but I have been with the
trap-stockades till now, when they send me down to these plains with
the catch of all seasons."

"It is a good hearing," said the very old man, as they all bent their
heads; and the youngest mahout carefully arranged some specially good
tobacco in Ram Yaksahn's hookah.

"Now what is his record?" one asked.

"First, there is a record," Ram Yaksahn replied, "which may be his or
another's. It is your right to know.

"Four monsoons before this elephant was trapped, the body of a forest
reserve officer was found on a mountain slope. The head was broken;
and the ribs. Rains had washed away all earth-marks, but small trees
had been uprooted near that place; therefore the thing had been done by
an elephant. Close by, a dead dog lay; entirely battered--and a split
stick. Burial was given to that man with few words. He was not
mourned. May the gods render to him his due!"

The mahouts assented, as Ram Yaksahn smoked a moment.

"Be patient with me, most honourable," he went on, in strained tones.
"I come to you serving a strange master. The record I tell now, is
truly your right to know."

"Have no fear; we serve with you!" Kudrat Sharif reassured him.

"Some months after this elephant was trapped," he continued, "they had
him picketed in the working grounds--to learn the voices of men. It
was there, in the midst of us all, that he killed his first mahout. No
man could prevent.

"That mahout was a violent man. He had just struck his own child an
unlawful blow. She lay on the ground as the dead lie. Then it was
that this elephant moved before any man could move. We heard his
picket stakes come up, but we did not see them come up. No man could
prevent.

"He gathered the child's dead body in his trunk and swung it back and
forth--back and forth. It hung like a cloth. Slowly he came nearer to
his mahout, while he swung the body of the child. When he was close,
he laid the body between his own front feet. The violent man stood
watching like one in a dream.

"Then this elephant who is now my master, caught the man who stood
watching--as you saw him take me down, swiftly--and swung him, but in a
circle. The man struck the ground on his head and it was broken; also
his ribs."

Low murmurs of appreciation swelled among the listening mahouts. Ram
Yaksahn bent his head.

"It was determined," he said with satisfaction, "by wise men of
authority who rule such matters at the trap-stockades, that this
elephant had done just judgment; because the man had done murder.

"But we could not come close to this elephant--to link with his
leg-chains--for his threatening eye. That night and the next day, he
kept the body between his feet--the body of the little child he
kept--save when he swung it. No man could prevent.

"Then he left it" (Ram Yaksahn's voice suddenly went husky), "and came
to me--and put me on his neck. For this reason I am his to him; and he
is mine to me!"

"Well done, well done!" the mellow voice of Kudrat Sharif spoke softly;
and the mahouts of the Chief Commissioner's stockades assented.

"There is yet one thing," Ram Yaksahn resumed, "and I should cover my
face to tell it. But if you learn that I am a fool of fools, consider
my foolishness. His blackness is strange; his strength is mighty--it
took four to handle him, not two, in the beginning--and his quickness
is more quick than a man can think. Also, he has a red devil in his
eye.

"When my name was spoken after his name and my duty rendered me to
serve him, I found he was indeed my master. We consider the creatures
of his kind are exalted above men; but I thought him a son of darkness,
come up out of the pit. In my fool heart I did; and I do not know yet.

"At the time when he was trapped, I was in High Himalaya finding a fair
woman of lineage as good as my own--as my fathers have done. So when
this last thing happened, not many weeks ago, a son of mine lay on his
mother's breast. She came out with the child and sat near me. She was
teaching me that my son laughed. I saw only her; and knew only that
her babe was strong.

"I forgot that this elephant browsed close by, having long picket
chains to reach the tender branches. He came toward where we sat and
stood looking at us; and I called on her to behold the red devil in his
eye. But I looked--not into his eye; and I did not see him upon
us--till he lifted my son from her breast. I saw the little body swing
up, far above my head--the so very little body--and I heard her cry in
the same breath."

Ram Yaksahn laid his forehead against his fists and softly beat his
head. Looking up with drawn features, he went on:

"My face was in the grasses when I heard her laugh. Then I saw the
babe--not longer than a man's arm--slowly swinging in my master's
trunk, back and forth--back and forth. The little one was making
noises of content--such as babes use--when my master laid him very
gently between his own front feet. The child spread his hands,
reaching up for the curling tip above his face.

"Now it has been said that I am not lacking in courage; but in that
hour I was without sense to know courage or fear. The fingers of cold
death felt along my veins and searched out the marrow of my bones; for
when I leaped to take the babe--I met the red threat in my master's
eye. But the mother of my son went like a blown leaf and stooped
between this elephant's feet, to lift up her first man-child.

"She came away with him safe; and this elephant swayed before us, at
the end of his picket chains, stretching his quivering trumpet-tip
toward the babe--with flaming fires in his eyes.

"The daughter of High Himalayan mahouts called this black majesty 'Nut
Kut'; and they have added that name on the Government books. But they
will not take his first name away. I have finished."

And Ram Yaksahn gave himself to his hookah--still keeping his eye on
Nut Kut.

"His first name has not been told," mildly reminded the very old man.

"His first name is Nut Kut!" said Ram Yaksahn with decision. "But his
last name is Pyar-awaz."

All the mahouts laughed; translating the double name in their own
minds---Mischief, the Voice-of-Love.

"We have no violent men in these stockades," said Kudrat Sharif,
speaking to them all. "And we do not find that Ram Yaksahn was lacking
in courage. We will prove the nature of Nut Kut with kindness."

His decision was conclusive; and they proceeded to encourage the mighty
black into his own enclosure.

This was the coming of Nut Kut to the Chief Commissioner's elephant
stockades at Hurda. As time went by, the attraction of his mysterious
nature inflamed the mahouts with interest; and also with concern--for
he was a fearsome fighter.


Carlin had gone to a sick sister-in-law for a few days; and as
soon as he heard of it, Dickson Sahib had driven to the M'Cord
bungalow--realising that without her it would be desolate to his young
American friend. Protesting that he needed someone to come and break
his own loneliness, he carried Skag home.

So just now Skag was smoking his after-tiffin cigarette in the verandah
of Dickson Sahib's big bungalow. The great Highway-of-all-India, with
its triple avenue, its monarch trees, swept past the front of the
grounds. Several times from here, he had seen a big elephant go
joyously rolling by. He could tell it was joyous; and the man on its
neck was usually singing.

The very smell of elephants had always stirred Skag--like all clean
good earth-smells in one. When he was animal trainer in the circus,
the elephants had not been his special charge; but he had seen a good
deal of them. They looked to him like convicts; or manikins--moving to
the pull of the hour-string. They were incessantly being loaded,
unloaded, made to march; cooped in small, stuffy places--chained.

He wanted to see elephants--herds of them! He wanted to see them in
multitudes, working for men in their own way; using their own
intelligence. He wanted to see them in their own jungles--living their
own lives.

Sooner or later he meant to see them, all ways. He had come to India,
the land of elephants, partly for that reason; but in the Mahadeo
mountains he had found none--nor in the great Grass Jungle. Yet he had
learned that when he wanted anything--way back in the inside of
himself--he was due to get it. To-day this thing was gnawing more than
ever before; he wanted elephants--hard.

Dickson Sahib came out on his way back to the offices and stopped to
finish their tiffin conversation:

"I'm glad you're interested in young Horace; you're going to be no end
good for him, I can see that. You'll find him far too mature for his
years. His brain's too active; but he's not abnormal. His tutors call
him insatiable; but from his babyhood the breath of his life has been
elephants. He's taken a lot from the learned natives; they talk with
him as if he were quite grown--half of it I couldn't follow myself."

"That is extraordinary to me," said Skag.

"Of course it is. But there's been nothing else for it. My own days
are quite tied up, and his mother--the climate, you know. So you see
what I mean, he's really needing--just you."

Dickson's eyes turned on a little fellow who stood alone, further down
the verandah. Then his face shadowed, as he spoke in a lower tone:

"I said he's not abnormal--that should be qualified. Several years ago
he was carried home from the Chief Commissioner's elephant stockades by
their governing mahout, Kudrat Sharif. The servants said he was crying
and fighting to go back; but otherwise seemed quite himself. When I
came from the offices in the evening, however, he was in a fever;
raving about Nut Kut--raving about Nut Kut for days--always wanting to
go back to Nut Kut.

"I went after the governing mahout and he said the child had played too
hard; and that was why they brought him home. Kudrat Sharif is a
graceful man, with much dignity; but I always felt he held something in
reservation."

"What about Nut Kut?" Skag asked.

"Nut Kut is a great black elephant, trapped in the Vindha Hills only a
few years ago. He's young and I've heard he's a dangerous fighter. My
son likes him; but I can't get over believing he's responsible for the
high nerve tension the boy always carries. But don't let Horace annoy
you." Dickson Sahib finished hurriedly. "You're his first love, you
know!"

Any man knows the kind of thrill when he's told that a boy has fallen
in love with him; but the lad's interest in elephants--reminding Skag
of his own--made him specially worth considering. The little figure
suggested dynamic power rather than physical strength. The hair was
dull brown, with an overcast of pale flame on it; the skin too white.
But the eyes held Skag. They were pure grey, full of smouldering
shadows and high lights--forever contending with each other. At this
moment the boy was leaning his head toward the road, listening.

"She's petulant to-day, the lady!" he chuckled. "Wait till you see
Mitha Baba, Skag Sahib."

Down through the great trees a handsome female elephant approached,
careering at a curious choppy gait. With her trunk well up, she was
trumpeting every third step.

"What's the matter with her?" Skag asked.

"She's abused, Skag Sahib." The boy became a bit embarrassed;
hesitating, before he went on: "The Hakima used to speak to her
whenever she passed Miss Annesley's bungalow; and now--she's not there
to do it."

Horace waved his hand to Mitha Baba's mahout; and the mahout shouted
something in a dialect Skag did not know.

"He's awfully proud of Mitha Baba; and it's true, Skag Sahib, there
isn't anything in grey beyond her; but--" Horace stopped, suddenly
gone wistful.

"What's the trouble?" Skag asked, startled.

"They won't let me near him--they won't let me! I want him more than
anything I know--"

"Then you'll get him!" interrupted Skag.

It must have been the sureness in Skag's voice, that made some choking
tightness way back in the boy's soul let go; whole vistas of
possibilities opened up.

"We're going to get on, you know--I'm sure of it!" he said
breathlessly. "If only I were old enough to be your friend!"

Skag remembered the father's words.

"I've never had a friend younger than myself," he answered, "and there
are only a few years difference--why not?"

Their hands met as men. And it was still early in the afternoon.

Horace went into the house and spoke with a servant. Coming out, he
took a long minute to get some excitement well in hand before speaking:

"I've arranged for one thing to show you, already! My boy will be back
from the bazaar soon, to let me know whether the time will be to-day or
to-morrow. It's a surprise--if you don't mind, Skag Sahib."

"All right, then what is the most interesting thing you know about?"
Skag asked.

"Elephants. No question."

"Have you many here in Hurda?"

"Not any belonging to Hurda; but our Chief Commissioner has forty
Government elephants in his stockades--the finest ever. Neela Deo, the
Blue God--who is the leader of the caravan--the mahouts say there isn't
an elephant in the world to touch him; and Mitha Baba and Gunpat
Rao--they're famous in all India. And Nut Kut; indeed, Skag Sahib, you
should see Nut Kut. They don't allow strangers about where he is; he's
the one--the mahouts won't let me go near him."

"What's wrong with him?" Skag asked.

"I don't know; I'm always wondering. In the beginning--when I was
little--but I don't believe it was--wrong."

The boy spoke haltingly, frowning; but went on:

"That's between Nut Kut and--Horace Dickson! I like him better than
anything I know. The mahouts have tried every way to discourage
me--yes, they have!"

"What does he do?" Skag questioned.

"You know Government does _not_ permit elephant fighting," the boy
began solemnly, "but--Nut Kut doesn't know it! His pet scheme is to
break away out of his own stockades, if there are any elephants across
the river--that's where the regiments camp--and get in among the
military elephants. He's a frightful fighter."

"How do they handle him?" Skag asked.

"It takes more than two of their best males to do it--big trained
fellows, you understand. Even then, usually, one of the great females
comes with her chain--the kind they call 'mother-things'--she handles
it with her trunk. Just one little flick across his ears and any
fighter will be willing to stop--even Nut Kut. But it's to see, Skag
Sahib; never twice the same--it can't be told."

A servant came in from the highway, salaaming before Horace and
reporting that the _tamasha_ would occur at the usual time this
afternoon--afternoon; not evening.

"Then we'll have tea, at once!" Horace interrupted him. "Quick! tell
the butler."

After tea they walked along the great Highway-of-all-India, by the edge
of the native town and over the low stone bridge. Beyond the river,
they passed acres of tenting. A glamour of dust lay in the slanting
sun-rays. An intense earth-smell penetrated Skag's senses. A feel of
excitement was in the air.

"Where are the elephants?" Skag asked.

"How do you know it's elephants?" the boy countered.

"Several ways; but last of all, I smell 'em."

"It is elephants--much elephants. You are to see them in one of their
big works in the Indian elephant-military department."

This announcement of the programme instantly made Skag forget that he
had come out with a lad in need of healthy comradeship.

"What work?" he asked.

"This is elephant concerns, Skag Sahib," the boy replied; "they work
with men and they work for men, but no one knows what they think about
the man-end of it; because they are always and always doing things men
never expect. They do funny things and strange things and wonderful
things. It's the inside working of an elephant regiment, that makes it
so different from anything else.

"It's all tied up with men on the outside; but you mustn't notice the
outside. Inside is what I mean--the elephant concerns. No one knows
what it will be to-day."

"Have you forgotten Nut Kut?" smiled Skag.

"Not ever!" the boy answered quickly, "but even if he doesn't
come--they almost always do something interesting. That's why we never
call them animals or beasts, but sometimes creatures--because they have
a kind of intelligence we have not. And that's why we _always_ speak
of them as persons."

"I like that," Skag put in.

"From end to end of India," the boy went on, "down Bombay side and up
Calcutta side, regiments of elephants go with regiments of men--in the
never-ending fatigue marching that keeps them all fit.

"The tenting and commissariat-stuff is carried by the elephants,
straight from camp to camp, safe and sure and in proper time--always.
That's the point, you understand, Skag Sahib--they never run away with
it, or lose it, or go aside into the jungle to eat. You're going to
see one regiment start out to-day.

"The man-regiment will go another road--a little longer, but not so
rough. The elephant regiment will go by themselves, just one mahout on
each neck--like you would carry a mouse. Really, they go on their own
honour; because men have no power to control them--only with their
voices. You know Government doesn't permit elephants to be shot, for
anything--only in case one is court-martialled and sentenced to die."

"Don't the mahouts ever punish them?" Skag asked.

"They're not allowed to torture them--never mind what! And men can't
punish elephants any other way--they're not big enough."

Then a voice rolled out of the dust-glamour before them. In quality
and reach and power, it reminded Skag of a marvel voice that used to
call newspapers in the big railway station in Chicago.

"Whose voice?" he asked Horace.

"That's the master-mahout. He calls the elephants; you'll see. He's
the only kind of mahout who ever gets pay for himself."

"How's that?"

"It's what makes the elephant-military a proper department. Only
elephant names on the books; the pay goes to them. The mahout is
always an elephant's servant; he eats from his master, of course. From
the outside it saves a lot of trouble, to be sure."

Skag laughed. From the elephant standpoint, a small Englishman was
conceding a certain amount of convenience to men.

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