KARI'S STORY
I cannot tell how many hours passed. I think I fell asleep, but
perhaps I saw this waking--I cannot tell. Suddenly Kari's face
changed. He moved his eyes forward, looked at me, and said:
"Brother, this is the night of the jungle and I want you to hear
a tale that my mother told me when I was four months old, and
still roaming in the jungle. That was a short time before she and
I were captured by men. I was born near the foot-hills of the
Himalayas, for the snow-covered mountains could be seen in the
distance, but we elephants were so proud of our own height that
we never bothered about the hills. I once asked my mother, 'Why
do tigers smell like this? Wherever a tiger goes, he brings a
terrible stench with him.' This is what she told me:
"'Every animal that lives in the jungle is born to one kind of
food or another. He either eats meat or he lives on herbs and
fruits. Those who eat herbs never hate or fear, but those who eat
other animals are tainted with both. We elephants never fear
anyone or hate anyone and that is why we exude no stench, but a
tiger has to live by killing. In order to kill one must hate, and
in order to hate one must fear, and those spirits that you see
walking through the air have taught all animals the secret of the
jungle.
"'Now the secret of the jungle is this--the animal that lives by
killing is diseased. He carries a strange, festering sore within
him and that poisons his whole blood. Wherever he goes the stench
of that poison reaches other animals, and this mother of us all
who loves tigers, as well as the antelopes they kill, is so wise
that animals that kill must be branded so that their victims will
be able to take shelter. For this reason wherever the tiger goes
his stench precedes him, and knowing this the fox comes out of
his little hole and calls through the jungle that the tiger is
out. Hence, here in the night when the moonlight falls on the
thickest gloom, following the plaintive cry, the cunning fox, the
servant of our mother, threads its way through the jungle giving
the warning to all animals.'
"Very soon one sees the black form of a tiger moving in the
moonlight without the slightest sound. He never attacks
elephants. After he passes, the horrible smell of carnage grows
less and less, and then another fox gives the call throughout the
jungle, telling the animals that the tiger has passed.
"If on the morrow thou comest to the same spot where the tiger
and fox have passed, thou shalt not find a trace of their coming
and going for it is the law of the jungle that no animal leaves
the mark of his foot or the stain of his presence on leaves or
grass. The victims of the tiger dare not leave footprints for it
will give away their whereabouts. The cheetah, the tiger, and
even the wild cats who live by killing, leave no trace behind.
And that is why the dwelling of men annoys me so; they cannot
even raise their heads without disturbing the air."
In my dream, I asked him, "How did you live with your elephant
mother in the jungle?"
"Our life was a playing and a toil," he answered, "but the toil
was a playing, and the playing was a toil. When the leaves began
to get crisp and colored and the sun called us to the South, we
would leave the foot-hills of the Himalayas and follow the sacred
river bed through vast forest lanes, going further and further
south. Time and again we would come to dwellings of men. How
wretched are men! Wherever they go they murder trees and
slaughter forests! And in these comings and goings, I saw strange
things.
"One winter we came to jungles on the seashore where I saw
crocodiles lying on the banks of the Delta in the daytime, with
their mouths open and little birds going in and out of them,
cleaning their teeth, and eating all the insects that poison
their gums. It is a pity we elephants have no birds to clean our
teeth. And, there too, even in the water you could smell animals
that lived on other animals.
"When we traveled, the old male masters went first, then the
children, then babies and the mothers, and in the rear all the
maidens and young fathers. When we went to sleep at night, the
old ones made a ring of tusks, within which the young maids and
the males each made rings, and in that triple ring we children
slept guarded by elephants and stars. In my sleep in the jungle I
have seen elephant ghosts in the sky shaking their tusks of
lightning, roaring in anger and battling with the moon. These
elephants of the sky are our dead ancestors watching over us. You
know, in the beginning, elephants ruled over all other animals,
and hence, men and monkeys and snakes and tigers were created."
"Who made the rhinoceros?" I asked in my dream.
"The rhinoceros," Kari answered, "is a wayward elephant. Once
when our ancestors were making a very beautiful animal they fell
asleep. They had already completed the thick hide and the small
legs, when some malicious spirit completed the head and instead
of putting a trunk put a horn on it, and that is why the
rhinoceros goes through the jungle like a spirit of evil. Dost
thou not hear him coming tonight? The trees are falling and the
saplings are cracking. The rhinoceros is snorting. That is the
way of his coming; wherever he goes he carries destruction before
him and he is not afraid to leave a trail behind, for no animal
could kill him and tigers do not want to kill him because they
cannot get beyond his hide."
That minute a tall tree fell in front of us and the raging
rhinoceros went by.
"Why does he walk straight?" I said to Kari. "Most animals do
not."
"Only the well-born go round," Kari said. "The ill-bred find the
shortest road to everything."
Just then there was a stillness in the jungle and from nowhere,
like marching clouds, came herds of elephants, silent and slow.
Above there was no light. A vast blackness had been spread over
the stars and moon, and throughout the gloom beyond there was a
singing and an eagerness.
"Go up the tree," Kari said to me. "I want to be rid of you
tonight."
Sleeping or dreaming--I do not know--I did his bidding and then
saw Kari stand and give a call and the whole elephant herd
stopped. I could understand everything they said; and when they
looked at him some of the young elephants laughed, "Look, he has
the mark of a chain on his ankle; he bears the slavery of man."
Kari raised his trunk and silenced their silly chatter by
trumpeting. Then he said, "I want a mate tonight. How many of you
free-born want to test my strength?"
One of the young elephants said, "How old are you?"
"There is no age to a hero," answered Kari.
One of the elephants, the leader of the herd, shook his head. "We
have amongst us younglings who have taught tigers humility; we
have amongst us younglings who have broken hillocks with their
fury, and pulled down the thickest trees of the jungle. So thou,
man lover, temper thy speech to humility; it is not meet for thee
to seek a bride amongst the free-born."
Kari snorted and said, "Give forth the challenge, I accept." And
one of the elephants with two small tusks just coming out of his
mouth stood out from the herd and trumpeted. Kari stood and a
quiver ran through his muscles and I could see his body throb.
"Don't be afraid," I whispered to him. "We have taught you the
tale of man; he does not know it."
He waved his trunk at me and then plunged into the other
elephant. The whole herd stood around and watched the fight. In
a few moments a young girl elephant stood apart from the herd,
watching the fight, and I knew she was the prize of this battle.
First they put their trunks together and bellowed. Then the two
mountains of flesh bounded at each other as if hills were
striking hills. As I have said before, Kari's tusks were not long
enough to be of any use, so every time they crushed against each
other Kari had to be very careful to avoid the other's tusks.
At last their trunks came together and their bodies were tightly
pinioned. They looked like a great mountain spinning round and
round. There was a pause and Kari rose on his hind legs and held
his front legs up. That instant the wild elephant let go of his
trunk and leapt to cut Kari's trunk with his tusks, but before he
could do that, Kari struck him on the head and he went reeling
into the distance. He would have fallen if he had not struck
against a tree, and if an elephant falls, that is the end of the
battle.
As Kari thought he had struck his opponent down, he stood there
feeling victorious and I could see a shiver of relief going
through his body. The other elephant, however, gauged the
distance and came upon him again with great momentum. Before Kari
realized what had happened, the elephant gored him with his
tusks. Kari gave a painful yell, and walking backwards drew his
neck from the tusks of his opponent. I could feel a quake go
through him as a tree which has just been cut throbs before it
falls.
The herd yelled, and shook their heads with great glee,
whispering, "We have won." Then Kari began to walk in a circle.
The other elephant did likewise and they faced each other. Now
and then they would come close together; their trunks would
strike each other, then they would separate and go around again.
By this time the sky was black and the livid tongue of the
lightning flickered on the crest of the clouds. But the rumble of
the thunder could not be heard because the two elephants were
trumpeting so loudly.
Again they locked trunks and bodies and spun around. Quickly Kari
released his trunk and stood aside, leaving the other elephant to
go spinning against the herd. That instant Kari ran forward and
struck the side of the other elephant, giving him a broad-side
blow and throwing him on the ground. The herd scattered and a
clamor of wonder spread from elephant to elephant. Kari rose on
his hind legs and fell upon his opponent with his forefeet, as he
started to rise. The oldest elephant said, "It is done." At this
the herd slunk away slowly and the beaten elephant was seen no
more.
The female who was waiting for the end of this battle came up to
Kari and they put their trunks together. A deafening crash of
thunder fell upon the forest and the lightning was striking trees
far and near. A terrible deluge of rain came and blotted
everything out of sight. I clung to the branch of my tree for
fear I might be washed down to the ground. I do not know how
long it rained. When I looked up, I could see that there was a
white light above, but the rain was still falling on me. Then I
realized that the foliage above my head was so thick that the
raindrops were caught in it and were still coming down. I did not
dare to go up further into the tree, for the branches were very
slippery, so I stayed until every drop of water had fallen.
The moon set and I could hear all kinds of noises. Many animals
were moving about. From the tree-top I heard the shaking of the
coats of the monkey, and below on the ground I felt the heaving
of hoofs on the wet grass. Then all this stopped and on the wet
undergrowth again there was a movement like the zig-zag stripe of
the tiger's skin.
[Illustration: THE TIGER HAD FOUND HIS KILL]
Suddenly, there was a bark followed by a deafening roar and then
the thud of a leaping body falling on the ground. The tiger had
found his kill. You know the tiger has three different calls--the
hunger wail which is like a terrible sound cutting the jungle
with hate; then the snorting bark of the tiger which means
that he is nearing his prey; and then through the stillness of
the jungle, one hears his third call, the triumphant roar of the
kill, which means that he has found his prey. This roar has a
terrible effect on the victim; it paralyzes him with terror, and
like a lightning flash, along with the roar, the tiger falls upon
his prey. This is just what was happening now a short while
before sunrise. The tiger growled now and then to announce that
he had had his dinner and then other small animals came up and
fell upon the prey after he had left it.
All the animals who had taken shelter in their lairs and holes
during the rain were now beginning to come out. This morning
there was no silence in the jungle; in the small hours all the
animals were eager to get something to eat, so that by day-break
they could go to sleep with something in their stomachs. When the
dawn came, I saw Kari standing under the tree in the thick
twilight under the foliage. I came down on the ground to find
traces of the struggle of the night. The rain had washed it all
away, but as I got up and touched Kari's neck, he winced and I
knew that the marks he bore were the only testimony of the
battle.
We went back across the river, and found Kopee there, wet and
miserable. He was glad to get down from the tree and get on the
elephant's back and feel the sunlight on his skin. I urged Kari
to get him something to eat, but he would not hear of it, so we
hastened back toward the village. On our way home, I verified the
law of the jungle, for Kari had really developed a slight stench.
You may say that it was the wound that gave the odor, but I do
not think so. When he went to war and battled with another
elephant, he must have hated as well as feared, and the smell of
fear and hate was upon him. It took nearly a fortnight to wash
the stench away from him, and you must remember that it was not
the bathing in the water that did it. It was in the gentle care
and friendship of the village that Kari gradually forgot to hate
his enemy.