Book: Son of Power

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




So they had tales that night.




CHAPTER VIII

_The Monster Kabuli_

Skag had learned, in finding Carlin, that it wasn't like a man in America
finding the one particular and inimitable girl, not even if she were the
_laurus nobilis_ and he the eagle of the same coin. In India, where
people have pride of race, and time to keep it shining, there are
formalities. . . . The two had arranged to meet in the jungle--not deep
in the glen where the tiger had coughed, but at the edge toward Hurda,
when Skag returned from Poona. He was to go straight into the jungle
from the railway station. Carlin would be watching and follow
there. . . .

Sanford Hantee of the Natural Research Department, after much opportunity
to wrestle with the subtle and gritty and hard-testing demon of delay,
came at last to Hurda again, and stepped out of the coach with a throb in
his chest and a knot in his throat which only the best and bravest
soldiers have brought in from the field. As the moments of waiting at
the edge of the jungle passed, it dawned upon him that something had
happened, or Carlin already would be with him, at least crossing the big
sun-shot area from the walled city. . . . What had happened is this
story of the monster Kabuli, which is an animal story even without the
entrance of the racing elephant, Gunpat Rao.


Many months before, five merchants came in from far Kabul and sat down in
the market-place at Hurda, day by day unfolding more of their packs.
They brought nuts from High Himalaya, foot-hill raisins and the long
white Kabuli grapes themselves, packed in cotton, a dozen to fifteen in
the box. Then there were dried figs and dates, pomegranates picked up
far this side of the Hills, Kabuli weaves of cloth, and silks inwoven
with gold thread. They were small packs, but worth a great price; which
is important to relate in any company.

Now these five Kabulies were usually together (not too far from the
kadamba tree where Ratna Ram sat); and their turbans were of different
colours, but their hearts were mainly of one kind of hell. Sometimes
they stood and sometimes they moved one by one among the bazaars; but
Hurda thought of them as one alien presence, and signified that the
hugest of them, the monster himself, was also the most hateful and
dangerous, which he was.

If I should tell how tall he was exactly, and this in the midst of Sikhs
and other of the tallest people of the world, you would think it one of
the high lights of a writer-man, and if I should tell you of the face of
this monster; the soft folds of fury resting there in the main; the bulk
of loose greyish lids over the whites of eyes flecked with brown
pigments; of the sunken upper lip and the nose drooping against it, you
would say long before I had finished, "Let up on the poor beast--"

And this was a rich man, this Kabuli; richer than any of these brothers,
and deeper-minded; so that he could think with keener power to make his
thought come true. Also, life was more full to him than to the others,
so that he could look over the world of his packs; and when he slept in
the midst of his packs, all his treasure was not there. You really
should have seen him smile as the head-missionary, Mr. Maurice,
approached, and you should have seen the smile change to a sneer, without
a flick of difference in the expression of the eyes. And perhaps it is
just as well that you missed the look that came into the eyes of the
monster Kabuli when the beautiful English missionary, Margaret Annesley,
passed.

Miss Annesley was Carlin's closest friend in Hurda. They worked together
among the women and children, among the sick and hungry, and found much
to do, without entering the deeper concerns of soul-wellbeing which Mr.
Maurice attended. These last were rather reticent concerns of Carlin,
especially. Mr. Maurice protested against their moving through certain
parts of the city, against entering Mohammedan households, or the
quarters of the bazaar women--all of which talk was well-listened to.
Miss Annesley had no fear, because she was essentially clean. She was
effective and tireless, a thrilling sort of saint; but she could see no
evil, not even in the monster Kabuli. Carlin had no fear because she was
Carlin; but she had a clear eye for jungle shadows--for beasts, saints,
and men. As for the Kabuli, she quietly remarked:

"Why, Margaret, can't you see he's a mad dog?"

In other words, Carlin used the optic nerve as well as the vision said to
be of the soul.

"But, my dear, he seemed really stirred," Miss Annesley protested.

"I do not doubt he was stirred," Carlin replied. Her mind was the mind
of India, with Western contrasts; also it was familiar from both angles
with the various attractive attributes of her friend. . . . But Margaret
Annesley continued to greet the monster Kabuli from time to time. Having
great means and worldly goods and riotous health, he had nothing to
discuss but his soul--which few beside Margaret would have found
ostensible.

"I tell you he has _rabies_," Carlin once repeated.

This did no good; so she went to Deenah who was Miss Annesley's servant,
a Hindu of the Hindus and priceless. Deenah declared that he was already
aware of the danger; that he missed nothing; also that he was watchful as
one who feared the worst.

Deenah was a small man, swift and noiseless. He had an invincible
equilibrium and authority in his own world, which was a considerable
establishment back of the dining-room, including a most delectable little
creature even smaller than Deenah, but quite as important, and sharing
all light and shadow by his side. Deenah had a look of forked lightning
and a mellow voice. The more angry he became, the more caressing his
tones.

One day while he was down in the bazaars buying provisions, the monster
Kabuli beckoned Deenah to come closer. They stood together--terrier and
blood-hound--and Deenah listened while the form and colour of better
conditions was outlined for his sake. . . . The Kabuli had heard that
Deenah was a great servant; he had heard it from many sources, even that
Deenah was favourably compared with the chief commissioner's favourite
servant--who was a picked man of ten thousand.

Deenah inclined his head, hearkening for the tone within the tone, but
gravely acknowledged that he had heard much in this life harder to listen
to.

The Kabuli continued that Deenah was no doubt appreciated on a small
scale in the house of Annesley Sahiba; but the establishment itself, as
well as the people, was inadequate to offer scope for the talents of such
a man as Deenah; also that Deenah was remiss in making no better
provision for the future of his own household; also, the gifts should be
considered--and now the Kabuli was opening his packs.

Deenah granted that life was not all sumptuous as he might wish, but he
had been given to understand no man's life was so in this world; he would
be glad now, to hear the plan by which all that he lacked could appear
and all that he hoped for, come to pass.

The Kabuli opened wider his treasures. Deenah's narrow-lidded eyes
feasted upon the wealths and crafts of many men. . . . And the plan had
to do, not with this night nor with the next, but with the night after
these two nights were passed, and Deenah's Sahiba and the Hakima
(literally, the physician, which meant Carlin) were to be brought for the
evening to the house of the Kabuli's friend, one Mirza Khan, a
Mohammedan, whose soul also was in great need.

Deenah's voice was gentle as he enquired how he was to be used--why
riches accrued to him, since it was the life of the life of his mistress
to serve those ill or in need, body or soul. The Kabuli replied that he
was not sure that the Sahiba would go to a Mohammedan house, even with
her friend the Hakima, unless Deenah could assure his mistress that the
Mohammedan was well known to him and honourable, his house an abode of
fellowship and peace.

Deenah considered well, in soft tones saying presently that he could not
accomplish this thing alone, but must advise with his fellow-servants who
were trustworthy. In fact, if the Kabuli could come this afternoon--when
the Sahiba and the Hakima would be away--and tell his story once more, in
the presence of the utterly reliable among the servants--all might be
brought to pass.

The Kabuli did not care for the plan, but Deenah repeated that he could
not do this thing alone; his voice admirably gentle, as he reiterated his
own helplessness. . . . Still he granted with hesitation that the Sahiba
deigned to trust him to a degree. . . . At this moment the Kabuli saw
Deenah's eyes forking at the treasure-pack. There was longing in them
that was pain. The face of Deenah was the face of one struck and
crippled with his own needs, which point helped the Kabuli to decision.

The terms of the agreement were made straight and fixed. Deenah went
back to his house where he made the monster's plan known to the servants.
In the afternoon, when the house was empty, the monster Kabuli called and
opened a small pack in the quiet shade of the compound, before the eyes
of six men and one woman, as much Deenah as himself. . . . When the time
in the story came that Deenah was to use his influence upon the mind of
his mistress, there seemed a slowness of understanding among the other
servants; so that the Kabuli had to speak again and very clearly.

Just now the head of Deenah bent low over the open pack, the movement of
his hand instantly drawing and filling the eye of the trader from Kabul;
and then it was that the Sahiba's _syce_, who was a huge man,
materialised a _lakri_ from under his long cotton tunic--the _lakri_
being a stick of olive-wood from High Himalaya and very hard. This he
brought down with great force upon the hugest and ugliest head in all
Central Provinces at that time.

Merely a beginning. Six other _lakris_ were drawn from five other
tunics--the extra one for Deenah.

The great body was dragged farther back toward the servants' quarters.
Here Deenah officiated. With each blow he enunciated in caressing tones,
some term of the agreement . . . until he heard the protest of the mother
of his little son:

"Shall you, Deenah, who are only her man-servant, have all the privilege
of defending the Sahiba--to whom I, Shanti, am as her own child?"

And Deenah, not missing a count, cried:

"Come and defend!"

So Deenah's wife and the other women came, bringing the smooth hand
stones with which they ground the spices into curry powder. . . . And
when the beating was over, they carefully tied up the pack of the Kabuli
and sealed it without a single article missing. Then they carried the
body out of the compound, across the main highway, beyond the parallel
bridle-road, and let it slide softly down into the little _khud_ beyond,
deeper and deeper each year from erosion.


A little afterward, that same afternoon, Margaret Annesley and Carlin
Deal were walking along the bridle-path. Hearing a moan they looked over
into the khud, where the monster Kabuli was coming to. He managed to
raise one hand, but the movement of the fingers somehow struck the pity
from Carlin's heart. It was not a clean gesture of a chastened man.
Even though his body was terribly bruised and broken, the face was that
of Ravage in person. Carlin pulled her companion on. They hastened to
the bungalow where the tied pack was in evidence and strange sounds
reached them from the servants' compound.

It was the picture of a tranced group that they saw--Deenah sitting upon
the ground, uttering frightful low curses securely coupled together--in
the language of all languages for this ancient art. The others were
around him, even two or three of the women.

"Deenah!" Miss Annesley called.

The concentration was not to be broken.

"Deenah--is a madness come to this place?"

The head of her priceless servant was bowing close to the ground, but his
mind was still away; and in high concord to his tones, were the tones of
the small delectable one, whose eyes, dark and vivid, were the eyes of
Jael singing her song after slaying Sisera. Margaret turned to her
_syce_. There were tears and sweat in his eyes, but no answering human
gleam.

"Carlin--" she said. "Help me carry the _daik-ji_--"

It was a huge vessel containing several gallons of cool water; and this
was lifted by four hands and poured upon Deenah, whose eyes met them at
once with the light of reason.

"Bear witness, I am cursing softly," he said.

"Are you my head servant?"

"I am thy servant."

"And you permit this bazaar-tamasha in your compound?"

Deenah observed that this was not an affair upon which he could speak to
the Sahiba, his mistress. Meanwhile Carlin watched Deenah's eyes fill
with the keen reds of bloody memory.

"Go away, Margaret," Carlin said. "He will talk to me. Please go now.
In six breaths he will be back in his trance again--"


So it happened. Deenah watched his mistress depart, then he raised his
eyes to Carlin, saying:

"The Hakima will understand. These things are not for the Sahiba--"

"Speak--"

Deenah arose, saying: "It is not good for you to set foot in my house,
but come to the threshold; then neither my voice nor the voices of these
shall enter her understanding--"

Deenah pointed to the rest of the servants who gathered around.

The tale of the monster Kabuli was unfolded to Carlin without a single
interruption for several moments; in fact, until Margaret Annesley came
running forth, crying:

"Are you never going to cease talk and carry help to the Kabuli--who is
hurt?"

Carlin beckoned her back. "Not hurt, dear. He is ill. He has
hydrophobia."


"Our protection depends upon you," Deenah concluded, to Carlin. "We
commit ourselves to you; we render our lives and honour into your care.
You alone, Hakima-ji, can present the story of these doings to the chief
commissioner, whose name we hold in honour above other men. Will you see
that it be known--not one thread has been taken or changed from the pack
of the Kabuli; also, the chief commissioner--out of his equity which has
never failed--shall judge us, _knowing_ that we did the beating for the
Sahiba's sake."

The chief commissioner at Hurda was a good and a just man. He listened
seriously and spoke to Carlin of the value of good Indian servants in the
houses of the English; of the dangers of the tiger in the grass and the
serpent upon the rock and the Kabuli in the khud--to whom he would attend
at once.

It was many weeks after that when the case was called, and Deenah's eyes
grew red-rimmed like a pit-terrier's as he told the story again, but his
voice fondled the ears of those present in the court-room. . . . One by
one, the other four Kabulies left the market-place in Hurda; and when the
monster himself had been made to pay and his healing had been
uninterrupted for many weeks, there came, a day when the unwalled city of
Hurda knew him no more.

He was not forgotten, even though months sped by; for in Miss Annesley's
heart was a pang over the big man who had been horribly hurt. . . .
Meanwhile for Carlin all life was changed--as the magic of swift
afterglow changes every twig and leaf and stem. Then came her hard days,
watching for Skag's return--the weeks passing while he waited in Poona.
Every morning from a distance, she observed the train come in from the
South. When Skag did not appear, sometimes she would go alone for a
while to the edge of the jungle, but never deep, because he had asked her
not to. Sometimes it was an hour or two before she was ready to look out
at the world or the light again. . . .

One early morning as she crossed the market-place, Carlin saw a strange
elephant there with his mahout; and a messenger approached deferentially,
asking if she were the Hakima, and if she could lead the way to Annesley
Sahiba. . . . Four hours' journey away--this was the messenger's
story--a native prince whose dignity included the keeping of one
elephant, an honourable dispensation from Indian Government, had called
in great need for the ministration of the Hakima, and that of her friend,
Annesley Sahiba--for lo, unto him a child was to be born.

Carlin asked if she were needed at once--thinking of the many days and
the train at noontime. The messenger said that within four hours he was
told to deliver the Hakima and Annesley Sahiba at the palace door. He
followed along, and the elephant came behind him, as she walked toward
Margaret's bungalow. . . . If Skag were to come this day, she
thought! . . . Deenah was away, but Carlin left word with his wife that
she would be back that night, or early the next day. Margaret was ready.
Carlin was in the howdah beside her, before there was really a chance to
think.




CHAPTER IX

_The Monster Kabuli (Continued)_

Skag did arrive from Poona that day. When Carlin did not come to the
jungle-edge, and the vivid open area between him and the city showed no
movement, he did not linger many minutes. Power had come to him from
the waiting days, and this hour was the acid test. All his life he had
refused to look back or look ahead, making the _Now_--the present
moving point, his world--wasting no energy otherwise.

In the long waiting days, he had learned what many a man afield had
been forced to learn in loneliness, that when he was very still, and
feeling _high_, not too tired--in fact, when he could forget
himself--something of Carlin came to him, over the miles.

But in spite of all he knew, much force of his life had strained
forward to this moment of meeting. The shock of disappointment dazed
him. His first thought was that there was some good reason; but after
that, the misery of faint-heartedness stole in, and he wondered the old
sad wonder--if love had changed.

Skag hurried back to the station where he had left the Great Dane,
Nels, with Bhanah, who would have to find quarters for himself. Nels
stood between the two, waiting for his orders; and wheeled with a dip
of the head almost puppy-like when the man decided. So Skag walked on
toward the road where Carlin lived; and at his heels, with dignity,
strode one of the four great hunting dogs in India. Presently he saw
Miss Annesley's head-servant, Deenah, running toward him--face grey
with calamity.

And now Skag heard of the coming of the messenger with the strange
elephant; and the black edging began to run about Deenah's tale, as he
revealed the ugly possibilities in his own mind that the Monster Kabuli
had his part in this sending:

". . . Now Hantee Sahib must learn," Deenah finished, "that not within
four hours' journey from Hurda; nay, not within six hours' journey from
Hurda, is there any native prince with the dignity of one elephant."

. . . They were walking rapidly toward the house of the chief
commissioner whom Deenah said was away in the villages. Their hope of
life and death fell upon the Deputy Commissioner-Sahib. Always as he
spoke, Deenah's face steadily grew more grey, the rims of his eyes more
red. His memories of the monster were flooding in like the rains over
old river-beds, and there was no mercy for Skag in anything he said.

The Deputy Commissioner, a perfectly groomed man, leisurely appeared.
He did not wear spectacle or glass; still there was a glisten about his
eyes, as if one were there. He came out into the verandah opening a
heavy cigarette-case of soft Indian gold. His head tilted back as if
sipping from a cup, as he lit and inbreathed the cigarette. To Skag he
seemed so utterly aloof, so irreparably out of touch with a man's needs
at a moment like this, that he could not have asked a favour or
adequately stated his case. Deenah took this part, however. If there
were drama or any interest in the tale, there was no sign from the
Deputy, whose eyes now cooled upon Nels, and widened. Presently he
interrupted Deenah to inquire who owned this dog.

The servant signified the American, and Skag took the straight glisten
of the Englishman's glance for the first time.

"May I inquire? From whom?"

Skag coldly told him that the dog had been owned by Police Commissioner
Hichens of Bombay. . . . The deputy regretfully ordered Deenah to
continue his narrative, and in the silence afterward, presently spoke
the name:

"Neela Deo, of course--"

This meant the Blue God, the leader of the caravan; and signified the
lordliest elephant in all India. . . . The Deputy, after a slight
pause, answered himself:

"But Neela Deo is away with the chief commissioner. . . . Mitha Baba--"

There was another lilting pause. This referred to a female elephant,
the meaning of whose name was "Sweet Baby." The Deputy capitulated:

"Mitha Baba, yes; especially since she knows the Hakima--and oh, I say,
that's a strange tale, you know--"

He glanced from Deenah to Nels, to Skag; but received no encouragement
to narrate same. Not in the least unbalanced, he tipped back his head
and took another drink from between his smoky fingers; then his
glassless eye glittered out through the white burning of the noon, as
he added:

"But Mitha Baba would not chase a strange elephant, unless she
positively knew the creature was running off with her own Gul
Moti. . . . She's discriminating, is Mitha Baba. But I say, Gunpat
Rao came from the Vindhas, you know."

It dawned upon Skag that this wasn't monologue, but conversation; also
that it had some vague bearing upon his own affairs. The pause was
very slight, when the Deputy resumed:

"Yes, Gunpat Rao is from the Vindha Hills, within the life-time of one
man. . . . Mitha Baba is as fast, but she won't do it; so there's an
end. Gunpat Rao. . . . Gunpat Rao. The mahouts say young male
elephants will follow a strange male for the chance of a fight. It's
consistent enough. Yes, we'll call in Chakkra. . . . Are you ready to
travel, sir?"

This was to Skag.

No array of terms could express how ready to travel was Sanford Hantee.
The Bengali mahout, Chakkra, appeared; a sturdy little man with blue
turban, red kummerband, and a scarf and tunic of white.

The Deputy flicked away his cigarette and now spoke fast--talk having
to do with Nels, with the Hakima, with Gunpat Rao, who was his
particular mahout's master, and of the strange elephant who had carried
the two Sahibas away.

Chakkra reported at this point that he had seen this elephant in the
market place, an old male--with a woman's howdah, covering too few of
his wrinkles--and a mahout who would ruin the disposition of anything
but a man-killer. Chakkra appeared to have an actual hatred toward
this man, for he enquired of the Deputy:

"Have I your permission to deal with the mahout of this thief elephant?"

"Out of your own blood-lust--no. Out of necessity--yes."

A queer moment. It was as if one supposed only to crawl, had suddenly
revealed wings. Not until this instant did Skag realise that a Chief
Commissioner had the flower of England to pick his deputies from, and
had made no mistake in this man. . . . A moment later, Nels had been
given preliminary instruction, and Skag was lifted, with a playful
flourish of the trunk, by Gunpat Rao himself, into the light hunting
howdah. Chakkra was also in place, when the Deputy waved his hand with
the remark:

"Oh, I say, I'd be glad of the chase, myself, but an official, you
know, . . . and Lord, what a dog!"

The last was as Nels swung around in front of Gunpat Rao's trunk as if
formally to remark: "You see we are to travel together to-day."

The Deputy detained them a second or two longer, while he brought his
gun-case and a pair of pistols, to save the time of Skag procuring his
own at the station. They heard him call, after the start:

"It might be a running fight, you know. . . ."

A little out, Nels was given the scent of the strange elephant and
Deenah left them, with nothing to mitigate the evil discovery that
Carlin and her friend had been carried straight through the open jungle
country, toward the Vindhas; not at all in the direction the messenger
had stated within hearing of the other servants.


A steady beat through Skag's tortured mind--was Deenah's story of the
monster Kabuli; no softness nor mercy in those details. He had
watched, in the Deputy, a man unfold, after the mysterious manner of
the English. He had entered suddenly, abruptly into one of the most
enthralling centres of fascination in Indian life--the elephant
service. He had seen the exalted and complicated mechanism of a Chief
Commissioner's Headquarters get down to individual business with
remarkable speed and not the loss of an ounce of dignity. But under
every feeling and thought--was the slow bass beat of Deenah's story
about the monster Kabuli.

Nels had been called to the trail in the very hour of his arrival.
Skag would have supposed their movement leisurely, except that he saw
Nels steadily at work. Gunpat Rao, the most magnificent elephant in
the Chief Commissioner's stockades--excepting Neela Deo and Mitha
Baba--was making speed under him, at this moment. (Gunpat Rao had
approved of him instantly, swinging him up into the howdah with a glad
grace and a touch that would not unfreshen evening wear.)

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