The Elephant God - Gordon Casserly (which ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Gordon Casserly
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The elephants lumbered swiftly in file through the deserted city, for it was now emptied of its inhabitants. Merchants, traders, shopkeepers, workers, harlots, and criminals, all had flocked to the Moti Mahal to witness the sacrifice.
As they entered the Palace gates the mahout of the animal carrying Barclay, Dermot, and two planters called to a native standing idly in the courtyard:
"Why wert thou not out with thy elephant, Ebrahim?"
The man addressed, a grey-bearded Mussulman, replied:
"Shiva-ji is bad today. I fear him greatly."
"Is it the madness of the dhantwallah?"
"It is the madness."
And the speaker cracked his finger-joints to avert evil luck.
Dinner was not a very jovial meal among the English guests that night. Much to their relief the Rajah did not come in to them. The ladies retired early to their rooms, and the men were not long in following their example.
Barclay and Dermot, who were the only occupants of the floor on which their rooms were situated—it was the top one of the wing—went upstairs together. At the Deputy Superintendent's door a man squatted and, as they approached, rose, and saluted them in military fashion. It was Barclay's police orderly.
"Hast got it?" asked his master in the vernacular.
"I have got it, Sahib. It is here," and the man placed a small covered basket in his hands.
"Bahut atcha. Ruksat hai" (very good. You have leave to go), said his officer, using the ordinary Indian formula for dismissing a subordinate.
"Salaam, Sahib."
The orderly saluted and went away down the passage.
"Wait a moment, Major; I'm going with you to your room," said the Deputy Superintendent, opening his door. "Do you mind bringing my light along, as yours may be gone again. My hands are full with this basket."
When they reached Dermot's apartment they found a lamp burning feebly in it, smoking, and giving little light.
"Looks as if there's a fresh game on tonight," said Dermot in a low voice. "This is not the lamp I had before dinner. That was a large and brilliant one. I'm glad we brought yours along."
"Barricade the door, Major," whispered Barclay. "Are the shutters closed? Yes; that's all right."
"What have you got in that mysterious basket?" his companion asked.
"You'll see presently."
He set it down on the floor and raised the lid. A small, sharp-muzzled head with fierce pink eyes popped up and looked about suspiciously. Then its owner climbed cautiously out on to the floor. It was a slim, long-bodied little animal like a ferret, with a long, furry tail.
"Hullo! A mongoose? You think they'll try the same trick again?" asked Dermot.
He glanced at the bed and picked up his cane.
"Just stand still, Major, and watch. If there's anything in the snake line about our young friend here will attend to it."
The mongoose trotted forward for a few steps, then sat down and scratched itself. It rose, yawned, stretched its legs, and looked up at the two men, betraying no fear of them. Then it lifted its sharp nose into the air, sniffed, and pattered about the room, stopping to smell the legs of the dressing-table and a cap of Dermot's lying on the floor. It investigated several rat-holes at the bottom of the walls and approached the bed. Under it a pair of the soldier's slippers were lying. The mongoose, passing by them, turned to smell them. Suddenly it sprang back, leaping a couple of feet into the air. When it touched the floor it crouched with bared teeth, the hair on its back bristling and its tail fluffed out until it was bigger than the body of the fierce little animal.
"By Jove, it has found something!" exclaimed Barclay.
The two men leant forward and watched intently. The mongoose approached the slippers again in a series of bounds, jumped around them, crouched, and then sprang into the air again.
Suddenly there was a rush and a scurry. The mongoose had pounced on one slipper and was shaking it savagely, beating it on the floor, rolling over and over and leaping into the air with it. Its movements were so rapid that for a few moments the watchers could distinguish nothing in the miniature cyclone of slipper and ball of fluffy hair inextricably mingled. Then there was a pause. The mongoose stood still, then backed away with stiffened legs, its sharp teeth fixed in the neck of a small snake about ten inches long, which it was trying to drag out of the slipper.
"Good heavens! This is worse than last night," cried Barclay. "It's a karait."
This reptile is almost more poisonous than a cobra, and, as it is thin and rarely exceeds twelve inches in length, it can hide anywhere and is an even deadlier menace in a house.
The mongoose backed across the room, dragging the snake and with it the slipper.
"Why the deuce doesn't it pull the karait out?" said Dermot, bending down to look more closely, as the mongoose paused. "By George! Look at this, Barclay. The snake's fastened to the inside of the slipper by a loop and a bit of thin wire."
"What a devilish trick!" cried Barclay.
"Well, I hope that concludes the entertainment for tonight," said Dermot. "Enough is as good as a feast."
When next morning the servant brought in his tray, Dermot was smoking a cigarette in an easy chair, and he fancied that there was a scared expression in the man's eyes, as the fellow looked covertly at the slippers on the Major's feet.
CHAPTER XVII A TRAP
In the forenoon of the fifth day of the Durgá-Puja Festival the Dewan and Chunerbutty sat on the thick carpet of the Rajah's apartment, which was in that part of the Palace facing the wing given up to the visitors. It formed one of the sides of the square surrounding the paved courtyard below, which was rarely entered. Only one door led into it from the buildings which lined it on three sides, a door under the Rajah's suite of apartments.
That potentate was sprawling on a pile of soft cushions, glaring malevolently at his Chief Minister, whom he hated and feared.
"Curses on thee, Dewan-ji!" he muttered, turning uneasily and groaning with the pain of movement. For he was badly bruised, sore, and shaken, from his treatment by the crowd on the previous day.
"Why on me, O Maharaj?" asked the Dewan, looking at him steadily and with hardly-veiled contempt.
"Because thine was the idea of this foolish celebration yesterday. Mother Durgá was angry with me for introducing this foreign way of worship," answered the superstitious atheist, conveniently forgetting that the idea was his own. "It will cost me large sums to these greedy priests, if she is not to punish me further."
"Not for that reason, but for another, is the Holy Mother enraged, O Maharaj," replied his Minister. "For the lack of a sweeter sacrifice than we offered her yesterday."
"What is that?" demanded the Rajah suspiciously. He distrusted his Dewan more than any one else in his service.
"Canst thou ask? Thou who bearest on thy forehead the badge of the Sáktas?"
"Thou meanest a human sacrifice?"
"I do."
"I have given Durgá many," grumbled the Rajah. "But if she be greedy, let her have more. There are girls in my zenana that I would gladly be rid of."
"The Holy Mother demands a worthier offering than some wanton that thou hast wearied of."
Chunerbutty spoke for the first time.
"She wants the blood of one of the accursed race; of a Feringhi; of this soldier and spy."
The Rajah shifted uneasily on his cushions. He hated but he feared the white men, and he had not implicit faith in the Dewan's talk of their speedy overthrow.
"Mother Durgá has rejected him," he said. "Have ye not all tried to slay him and failed?"
The Dewan nodded his head slowly and stared at the carpet.
"There is some strange and evil influence that sets my plans at naught."
"The gods, if there be gods as you Brahmins say, protect him. I think evil will come to us if we harm him. And can we? Did he not lie down with the hooded death itself, a cobra, young, active, full of venom, and rise unhurt?"
"True. But perhaps the snake had escaped from the bed before the Feringhi entered it," said the Dewan meditatively.
"To guard against that, did they not fasten the karait in his shoe?"
"He may have discovered it in time," said the engineer. "Englishmen fear snakes greatly and always look out for them."
"Ha! and did he not eat and drink the poisoned meal prepared for him by our skilfullest physician?"
There was no answer to this. The mystery of Dermot's escape from death was beyond their understanding.
"There is certainly something strange about him," said Chunerbutty. "At least, so it is reported in our district, though to me he seems a fool. But there all races and castes fear him. Curious tales are told of him. Some say that Gunesh, the Elephant-headed One, protects him. Others hold that he is Gunesh himself. Can it be so?"
The Dewan smiled.
"Since when hast thou believed in the gods again?" he asked.
"Well, it is hard to know what is true or false. If there be no gods, perhaps there are devils. My Christian friends are more impressed by the latter."
The Rajah shook his head doubtfully.
"Perhaps he is a devil. Who knows? They told me that he summoned a host of devils in the form of elephants to slay my soldiers. Pah! it is all nonsense. There are no such things."
With startling distinctness the shrill trumpeting of an elephant rang through the room.
"Mother Kali preserve me!" shrieked the superstitious Rajah, flinging himself in terror on his face. "That was no mortal elephant. Was it Gunesh that spoke?" He lifted his head timidly. "It is a warning. Spare the Feringhi. Let him go."
"Spare him? Knowest thou, O Maharaj, that the girl thou dost desire loves him? But an hour ago I heard her tell him that she wished to speak with him alone," said Chunerbutty.
"Alone with him? The shameless one! Curses on him! Let him die," cried the jealous Rajah, his fright forgotten.
The Dewan smiled.
"There was no need to fear the cry of that elephant," he said. "It was your favourite, Shiva-ji. He is seized with the male-madness. They have penned him in the stone-walled enclosure yonder. He killed his mahout this morning."
"Killed Ebrahim? Curse him! If he had not cost me twenty thousand rupees I would have him shot," growled the Rajah savagely. "Killed Ebrahim, my best mahout? Why could he not have slain this accursed Feringhi if he had the blood-lust on him?"
"In the name of Siva the Great One!" exclaimed the Dewan piously. "It is a good thought. Listen to me, Maharaj! Listen, thou renegade" (this to Chunerbutty, who dared not resent the old man's insults).
The three heads came together.
After lunch that day Dermot sat smoking in his room. Although it had no punkah and the heat was great, he had escaped to it from the crowded lounge to be able to think quietly. But his thoughts were not of the attempts on his life and the probability that they would be repeated. His mind was filled with Noreen to the temporary exclusion of all other subjects. She puzzled him. He had supposed her engaged, or practically engaged, to Charlesworth. Yet she had come away from Darjeeling at its gayest time and here seemed to be engrossed with Chunerbutty. She was always with him or he with her. He never left her side. She sat by him at every meal. She had gone alone with him in his howdah to the Moti Mahal, when every other elephant had carried more than two persons. He knew that she had always regarded the Hindu as a friend, but he had not thought that she was so attracted to him. Certainly now she did not
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