THE ELEPHANT GOD
BY GORDON GASSERLY
NEW YORK
1921
TO A CERTAIN ROGUE ELEPHANT RESIDENT IN THE TERAI FOREST
THE SLAYER OF DIVERS MEN AND WOMEN
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF MUCH
INSTRUCTION AND IN THE HOPE THAT SOME DAY IN THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS
THEY MAY MEET AGAIN AND DECIDE THE ISSUE
FOREWORD TO AMERICAN EDITION
Twenty years ago I dedicated my first book, _The Land of the Boxers; or
China Under the Allies_, to the American officers and soldiers of the
expeditionary forces then fighting in the Celestial Empire--as well as to
their British comrades. And when, some years afterwards, I was visiting
their country, right glad I was that I had thus offered my slight tribute
to the valour of the United States Army. For from the Pacific to the
Atlantic I met with a hospitality and a kindness that no other land could
excel and few could equal. And ever since then, I have felt deep in debt to
all Americans and have tried in many parts of our Empire to repay to those
who serve under the Star Spangled Banner a little of what I owe to their
fellow-countrymen.
Only those who have experienced that sympathetic American kindness can
realise what it is. It is all that gives me courage to face the reading
public as a writer of fiction and attempt to depict to it the fascinating
world of an Indian jungle, the weird beasts that people it, and the
stranger humans that battle with them in it. The magic pen of a Kipling
alone could do justice to that wonderful realm of mountain and forest that
is called the Terai--that fantastic region of woodland that stretches for
hundreds of miles along the foot of the Himalayas, that harbours in its dim
recesses the monsters of the animal kingdom, quaint survivals of a vanished
race--the rhinoceros, the elephant, the bison, and the hamadryad, that
great and terrible snake which can, and does, pursue and overtake a mounted
man, and which with a touch of its poisoned fang can slay the most powerful
brute. The huge Himalayan bear roams under the giant trees, feeding on
fruit and honey, yet ready to shatter unprovoked the skull of a poor
woodcutter. Those savage striped and spotted cats, the tiger and the
panther, steal through it on velvet paw and take toll of its harmless
denizens.
But, if I cannot describe it as I would, at least I have lived the life of
the wild in the spacious realm of the Terai. I would that I had the power
to make others feel what I have felt, the thrill that comes when facing the
onrush of the bloodthirstiest of all fierce brutes, a rogue elephant, or
the joy of seeing a charging tiger check and crumple up at the arresting
blow of a heavy bullet.
I have followed day after day from dawn to dark and fought again and again
a fierce outlaw tusker elephant that from sheer lust of slaughter had
killed men, women, and children and carried on for years a career of crime
unbelievable.
No one that knows the jungle well will refuse to credit the strangest story
of what wild animals will do. Of all the swarming herds of wild elephants
in the Terai, the Mysore, or the Ceylon jungles no man, white or black, has
ever seen one that had died a natural death. Yet many have watched them
climbing up the great mountain rampart of the Himalayas towards regions
where human foot never followed. The Death Place of the Elephants is a
legend in which all jungle races firmly believe, but no man has ever found
it. The mammoths live a century and a half--but the time comes when each of
them must die. Yet no human eye watches its death agony.
Those who know elephants best will most readily credit the strangest tales
of their doings. And there are men--white men--whose power over wild beasts
and wilder fellow men outstrips the novelist's imagination, the true tale
of whose doings no resident in a civilised land would believe.
GORDON CASSERLY.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE SECRET MISSION 3
II.--A ROGUE ELEPHANT 20
III.--A GIRL OF THE TERAI 35
IV.--THE MADNESS OF BADSHAH 59
V.--THE DEATH-PLACE 79
VI.--A DRAMATIC INTRODUCTION 95
VII.--IN THE RAJAH'S PALACE 117
VIII.--A BHUTTIA RAID 137
IX.--THE RESCUE OF NOREEN 155
X.--A STRANGE HOME-COMING 175
XI.--THE MAKING OF A GOD 193
XII.--THE LURE OF THE HILLS 213
XIII.--THE PLEASURE COLONY 231
XIV.--THE TANGLED SKEIN OF LOVE 248
XV.--THE FEAST OF THE GODDESS KALI 267
XVI.--THE PALACE OF DEATH 286
XVII.--A TRAP 309
XVIII.--THE CAT AND THE TIGER 330
XIX.--TEMPEST 351
XX.--THE GOD OF THE ELEPHANTS 377
THE ELEPHANT GOD
CHAPTER I
THE SECRET MISSION
"The letters, sahib," said the post orderly, blocking up the doorway of the
bungalow.
Kevin Dermot put down his book as the speaker, a Punjaubi Mohammedan in
white undress, slipped off his loose native shoes and entered the room
barefoot, as is the custom in India.
"For this one a receipt is needed," continued the sepoy, holding out a long
official envelope registered and insured and addressed, like all the
others, to "The Officer Commanding, Ranga Duar, Eastern Bengal."
Major Dermot signed the receipt and handed it to the man. As he did so the
scream of an elephant in pain came to his ears.
"What is that?" he asked the post orderly.
"It is the _mahout_, Chand Khan, beating his _hathi_ (elephant), sahib,"
replied the sepoy looking out.
Dermot threw the unopened letters on the table, and, going out on the
verandah of his bungalow, gazed down on the parade ground which lay a
hundred feet below. Beyond it at the foot of the small hill on which stood
the Fort was a group of trees, to two of which a transport elephant was
shackled by a fore and a hind leg in such a way as to render it powerless.
Its _mahout_, or driver, keeping out of reach of its trunk, was beating it
savagely on the head with a bamboo. Mad with rage, the man, a grey-bearded
old Mohammedan, swung the long stick with both hands and brought it down
again and again with all his force. From the gateway of the Fort above the
_havildar_, or native sergeant, of the guard shouted to the _mahout_ to
desist. But the angry man ignored him and continued to belabour his
unfortunate animal, which, at the risk of dislocating its leg, struggled
wildly to free itself and screamed shrilly each time that the bamboo fell.
This surprised Dermont, for an elephant's skull is so thick that a blow
even from the _ankus_ or iron goad used to drive it, is scarcely felt.
The puzzled officer re-entered the bungalow and brought out a pair of
field-glasses, which revealed the reason of the poor tethered brute's
screams. For they showed that in the end of the bamboo were stuck long,
sharp nails which pierced and tore the flesh of its head.
Major Dermot was not only a keen sportsman and a lover of animals, but he
had an especial liking for elephants, of which he had had much experience.
So with a muttered oath he put down the binoculars and, seizing his helmet,
ran down the steep slope from his bungalow to the parade ground. As he went
he shouted to the _mahout_ to stop. But the man was too engrossed in his
brutality to hear him or the _havildar_, who repeated the Major's order. It
was not until Dermot actually seized his arm and dragged him back that he
perceived his commanding officer. Dropping the bamboo he strove to justify
his ill-treatment of the elephant by alleging some petty act of
disobedience on its part.
His excuses were cut short.
"_Choop raho!_ (Be silent!) You are not fit to have charge of an animal,"
cried the indignant officer, picking up and examining the cruel weapon. The
sharp points of the nails were stained with blood, and morsels of skin and
flesh adhered to them. Dermot felt a strong inclination to thrash the
brutal _mahout_ with the unarmed end of the bamboo, but, restraining
himself, he turned to the elephant. With the instinct of its kind it was
scraping a little pile of dust together with its toes, snuffing it up in
its trunk and blowing it on the bleeding cuts on its lacerated head.
"You poor beast! You mustn't do that. We'll find something better for you,"
said the Major compassionately.
He called across the parade ground to his white-clad Mussulman butler, who
was looking down at him from the bungalow.
"Bring that fruit off my table," he said in Hindustani. "Also the little
medicine chest and a bowl of water."
When the servant had brought them Dermot approached the elephant.
"_Khubbadar_--(take care)--sahib!" cried a coolie, the _mahout's_
assistant. "He is suffering and angry. He may do you harm."
But, while the rebuked _mahout_ glared malevolently and inwardly hoped that
the animal might kill him, Dermot walked calmly toward it, holding out his
hand with the fruit. The elephant, regarding him nervously and suspiciously
out of its little eyes, shifted uneasily from foot to foot, and at first
shrank from him. But, as the officer stood quietly in front of it, it
stretched out its trunk and smelled the extended hand. Then it touched the
arm and felt it up to the shoulder, on which it let the tip of the trunk
rest for a few seconds. At last it seemed satisfied that the white man was
a friend and did not intend to hurt it.
During the ordeal Dermot had never moved; although there was every reason
to fear that the animal, either from sheer nervousness or from resentment
at the ill-treatment that it had just received, might attack him and
trample him to death. Indeed, many tame elephants, being unused to
Europeans, will not allow white men to approach them. So the Hindu coolie
stood trembling with fright, while the _havildar_ and the butler were
alarmed at their sahib's peril.
But Dermot coolly peeled a banana and placed it in the elephant's mouth.
The gift was tried and approved by the huge beast, which graciously
accepted the rest of the fruit. Then the Major said to it in the _mahouts'_
tongue:
"_Buth!_ (Lie down!)"
The elephant slowly sank down to the ground and allowed the Major to
examine its head, which was badly lacerated by the spikes. Dermot cleansed
the wounds thoroughly and applied an antiseptic to them. The animal bore it
patiently and seemed to recognise that it had found a friend; for, when it
rose to its feet again, it laid its trunk almost caressingly on Dermot's
shoulder.
The officer stroked it and then turned to the _mahout_, who was standing in
the background.
"Chand Khan, you are not to come near this elephant again," he said. "I
suspend you from charge of it and shall report you for dismissal. _Jao!_
(Go!)"
The man slunk away scowling. Dermot beckoned to the Hindu, who approached
salaaming.
"Are you this animal's coolie?"
(The Government of India very properly recognises the lordliness of the
elephant and provides him in captivity with no less than two body-servants,
a _mahout_ and a coolie, whose mission in life is to wait on him.)
The Hindu salaamed again.
"Yes, _Huzoor_ (The Presence)," he replied.
"How long have you been with it?"
"Five years, _Huzoor_."
"What is its name?"
"_Badshah_ (The King). And indeed he is a _badshah_ among elephants. No one
but a Mussulman would treat him with disrespect. Your Honour sees that he
is a _Gunesh_ and worthy of reverence."
The animal, which was a large and well-shaped male, possessed only one
tusk, the right. The other had never grown. Dermot knew that an elephant
thus marked by Nature would be regarded by Hindus as sacred to _Gunesh_,
their God of Wisdom, who is represented as having the head of an elephant
with a single tusk, the right. Many natives would consider the animal to be
a manifestation of the god himself and worship it as a deity. So the Major
made no comment on the coolie's remark, but said:
"What is your name?"
"Ramnath, _Huzoor_."
"Very well, Ramnath. You are to have sole charge of Badshah until I can get
someone to help you. You will be his _mahout_. Take this medicine that I
have been using and put it on as you have seen me do. Don't let the animal
blow dust on the cuts. Keep them clean, and bring him up tomorrow for me to
see."
He handed the man the antiseptic and swabs. Then he turned to the elephant
and patted it.
"Good-bye, Badshah, old boy," he said. "I don't think that Ramnath will
ill-treat you."
The huge beast seemed to understand him and again touched him with the tip
of its trunk.
"Badshah knows Your Honour," said the Hindu. "He will regard you always now
as his _ma-bap_ (mother and father)."
Dermot smiled at this very usual vernacular expression. He was accustomed
to being called it by his sepoys; but he was amused at being regarded as
the combined parents of so large an offspring.
"Badshah has never let a white man approach him before today, _Huzoor_,"
continued Ramnath. "He has always been afraid of the sahibs. But he sees
you are his friend. _Salaam kuro_, Badshah!"
And the elephant raised his trunk vertically in the air and trumpeted the
_Salaamut_ or royal salute that he had been taught to make. Then, at
Ramnath's signal, he lowered his trunk and crooked it. The man put his bare
foot on it, at the same time seizing one of the great ears. Then Badshah
lifted him up with the trunk until he could get on to the head into
position astride the neck. Then the new _mahout_, salaaming again to the
officer, started his huge charge off, and the elephant lumbered away with
swaying stride to its _peelkhana_, or stable, two thousand feet below in
the forest at the foot of the hills on which stood the Fort of Ranga Duar.
For this outpost, which was garrisoned by Dermot's Double Company of a
Military Police Battalion, guarded one of the _duars_, or passes, through
the Himalayas into India from the wild and little-known country of Bhutan.
Its Commanding Officer watched the elephant disappear down the hill before
returning to his little stone bungalow, which stood in a small garden
shaded by giant mango and jack-fruit trees and gay with the flaming lines
of bougainvillias and poinsettias.
Dismissing the post orderly, who was still waiting, Dermot threw himself
into a long chair and took up the letters that he had flung down when
Badshah's screams attracted his attention. They were all routine official
correspondence contained in the usual long envelopes marked "On His
Majesty's Service." The registered one, however, held a smaller envelope
heavily sealed, marked "Secret" and addressed to him by name. In this was a
letter in cipher.
Dermot got up from his chair and, going into his bedroom, opened a trunk
and lifted out of it a steel despatch box, which he unlocked. From this he
extracted a sealed envelope, which he carried back to the sitting-room.
First examining the seals to make sure that they were intact, he opened the
envelope and took from it two papers. One was a cipher code and on the
other was the keyword to the official cipher used by the military
authorities throughout India. This word is changed once a year. On the
receipt of the new one every officer entitled to be in possession of it
must burn the paper on which is written the old word and send a signed
declaration to that effect to Army Headquarters.
Taking a pencil and a blank sheet of paper Dermot proceeded to decipher the
letter that he had just received. It was dated from the Adjutant General's
Office at Simla, and headed "Secret." It ran:
"Sir:
"In continuation of the instructions already given you orally, I have
the honour to convey to you the further orders of His Excellency the
Commander-in-Chief in India.
"Begins: 'Information received from the Secretary to the Foreign
Department, Government of India, confirms the intelligence that Chinese
emissaries have for some time past been endeavouring to re-establish the
former predominance of their nation over Tibet and Bhutan. In the former
country they appear to have met with little success; but in Bhutan, taking
advantage of the hereditary jealousies of the _Penlops_, the great feudal
chieftains, they appear to have gained many adherents. They aim at
instigating the Bhutanese to attempt an invasion of India through the
_duars_ leading into Eastern Bengal, their object being to provoke a war.
The danger to this country from an invading force of Bhutanese, even if
armed, equipped, and led by Chinese, is not great. But its political
importance must not be minimised.
"'For the most serious feature of the movement is that information received
by the Political Department gives rise to the grave suspicion that, not
only many extremists in Bengal, but even some of the lesser rajahs and
nawabs, are in treasonable communication with these outside enemies.
"'Major Dermot, at present commanding the detachment of the Military
Battalion stationed at Ranga Duar, has been specially selected, on account
of his acquaintance with the districts and dialects of the _duars_ and that
part of the Terai Forest bordering on Bhutan, to carry out a particular
mission. You are to direct him to inspect and report on the suitability,
for the purposes of defence against an invasion from the north, of:
(_a_) The line of the mountain passes at an altitude of from 3000 to
6000 feet.
(_b_) A line established in the Terai Forest itself.
"'In addition, if this officer in the course of his investigations
discovers any evidence of communication between the disloyal elements
inside our territory and possible enemies across the border, he will at
once inform you direct.' Ends.
"Please note His Excellency's orders and proceed to carry them out
forthwith. You can pursue your investigations under the pretence of big
game shooting in the hills and jungle. The British officer next in
seniority to you will command the detachment in your absences. You may
communicate to him as much of the contents of this letter as you deem
advisable, impressing upon him the necessity for the strictest secrecy.
"You will in all matters communicate directly and confidentially with this
office.
"I have the honour to be, Sir,
"Your most obedient servant."
Here followed the signature of one of the highest military authorities in
India.
Dermot stared at the letter.
"So that's it!" he thought. "It's a bigger thing than I imagined."
He had known when he consented to being transferred from a staff
appointment in Simla to the command of a small detachment of a Military
Police Battalion garrisoning an unimportant frontier fort on the face of
the Himalayas that he was being sent there for a special purpose. He had
consented gladly; for to him the great attraction of his new post was that
he would find himself once more in the great Terai Jungle. To him it was
Paradise. Before going to Simla he had been stationed with a Double Company
of the Indian Infantry Regiment to which he belonged in a similar outpost
in the mountains not many miles away. This outpost had now been abolished.
But while in it he used to spend all his spare time in the marvellous
jungle that extended to his very door.
The great Terai Forest stretches for hundreds of miles along the foot of
the Himalayas, from Assam through Bengal to Garwhal and up into Nepal. It
is a sportsman's heaven; for it shelters in its recesses wild elephants,
rhinoceros, bison, bears, tigers, panthers, and many of the deer tribes.
Dermot loved it. He was a mighty hunter, but a discriminating one. He did
not kill for sheer lust of slaughter, and preferred to study the ways of
the harmless animals rather than shoot them. Only against dangerous beasts
did he wage relentless war.
Dermot knew that he could very well leave the routine work of the little
post to his Second in Command. The fort was practically a block of
fortified stone barracks, easily defensible against attacks of badly armed
hillmen and accommodating a couple of hundred sepoys. It was to hold the
_duar_ or pass of Ranga through the Himalayas against raiders from Bhutan
that the little post had been built.
For centuries past the wild dwellers beyond the mountains were used to
swooping down from the hills on the less warlike plainsmen in search of
loot, women, and slaves. But the war with Bhutan in 1864-5 brought the
borderland under the English flag, and the Pax Britannica settled on it.
Yet even now temptation was sometimes too strong for lawless men.
Occasionally swift-footed parties of fierce swordsmen swept down through
the unguarded passes and raided the tea-gardens that are springing up in
the foothills and the forests below them. For hundreds of coolies work on
these big estates, and large consignments of silver coin come to the
gardens for their payment.
But there was bigger game afoot than these badly-armed raiders. The task
set Dermot showed it; and his soldier's heart warmed at the thought of
helping to stage a fierce little frontier war in which he might come early
on the scene.
Carefully sealing up again and locking away the cipher code and keyword, he
went out on the back verandah and shouted for his orderly. The dwellings of
Europeans upcountry in India are not luxurious--far from it. Away from the
big cities like Bombay, Calcutta, or Karachi, the amenities of civilisation
are sadly lacking. The bungalows are lit only by oil-lamps, their floors
are generally of pounded earth covered with poor matting harbouring fleas
and other insect pests, their roofs are of thatch or tiles, and such
luxuries as bells, electric or otherwise, are unknown. So the servants, who
reside outside the bungalows in the compounds, or enclosures, are summoned
by the simple expedient of shouting "Boy".
Presently the orderly appeared.
"Shaikh Ismail," said the Major, "go to the Mess, give my salaams to Parker
Sahib, and ask him to come here."
The sepoy, a smart young Punjabi Mussulman, clad in the white undress
of the Indian Army, saluted and strode off up the hill to the pretty
mess-bungalow of the British officers of the detachment. In it the
subaltern occupied one room.
When he received Dermot's message, this officer, a tall, good-looking man
of about twenty-eight years of age, accompanied the orderly to his senior's
quarters.
"Come in and have a smoke, Parker," said the Major cheerily.
The subaltern entered and helped himself to a cigarette from an open box on
the table before looking for a chair in the scantily-furnished room.
As he struck a match he said,
"Ismail Khan tells me you've just had trouble with that surly beast, Chand
Khan".
Dermot told him what had occurred.
"What a _soor!_ (swine!)" exclaimed Parker indignantly. "I always knew he
was a cruel devil; but I didn't think he was quite such a brute. And to
poor old Badshah too. It's a damned shame".
"He's a good elephant, isn't he?" asked the senior.
"A ripper. Splendid to shoot from and absolutely staunch to tiger," said
the subaltern enthusiastically. "Major Smith--our Commandant before you,
sir--was charged by a tiger he had wounded in a beat near Alipur Duar. He
missed the beast with his second barrel. The tiger sprang at the howdah,
but Badshah caught him cleverly on his one tusk and knocked him silly. The
Major reloaded and killed the beast before it could recover."
"Good for Badshah. He seemed to me to be a fine animal," said Dermot.
"One of the best. We all like him; though he'll never let any white man
handle him. By the way, Ismail Khan says he permitted you to do it."
"I doctored up his cuts. Besides, I'm used to elephants."
"All the same you're the first sahib I've heard Of that Badshah has allowed
to touch him. Do you know, the Hindus worship him. He's a _Gunesh_--I
supposed you noticed that. I've seen some of them simply go down on their
faces in the dust before him and pray to him. There's a curious thing about
Badshah, too. Have you heard?"
"No. What is it?" asked the Major.
"Well, it's a rummy thing. He's usually awfully quiet and obedient. But
sometimes he gets very restless, breaks loose, and goes off on his own into
the jungle. After a week or two he comes back by himself, as quiet as a
lamb. But when the fit's on him nothing will hold him. He bursts the
stoutest ropes, breaks iron chains; and I believe he'd pull down the
_peelkhana_ if he couldn't get away."
"Oh, that often happens with domesticated male elephants," said Dermot.
"They have periodic fits of sexual excitement--get _must_, you know--and go
mad while these last."
"Oh, no. It's not that," replied the subaltern confidently. "Badshah
doesn't go _must_. It's something quite different. The jungle men around
here have a quaint belief about it. You see, Badshah was captured by the
Kheddah Department here years ago--twenty, I think. He's about forty now.
He was taken away to other parts of India, Mhow for one----"
"Yes, they used to have an elephant battery there," broke in the Major.
"But somehow or other he got here eventually. Rather curious that he should
have been sent back to his birthplace. Anyhow, the natives believe that
when he breaks away he goes off to family reunions or to meet old pals."
"I shouldn't be surprised," remarked Dermot, meditatively. "They're strange
beasts, elephants. No one really knows much about them. I expect the jungle
calls to them, as it does to me."
He lit a cigarette and went on,
"But I've sent for you to talk over something important. Read that."
He handed Parker his transcription of the cipher letter. As the subaltern
read it his eyes opened wider and wider. When he had finished he exclaimed
joyfully,
"By Jove, Major, that's great. Do you think there's anything in it? How
ripping it'll be if they try to come in by this pass! Won't we just knock
them! Couldn't we get some machine guns?"
"I'm afraid we couldn't hold the Fort of Ranga Duar against a whole
invading army, Parker. You know it isn't really defensible against a
serious attack."
"Oh, I say! Do you mean, sir, that we'd give it up to a lot of Chinks and
bare-legged Bhuttias without firing a shot?"
The Major smiled at his junior's indignation.
"You must remember, Parker, that if an invasion comes off it will be on a
scale that two hundred men won't stop. The Bhutanese are badly armed; but
they are fanatically brave. They showed that in their war with us in '64
and '65. They had only swords, bows, and arrows; but they licked one of our
columns hollow and drove our men in headlong flight. But cheer up, Parker,
if there is a show it won't be my fault if you and I don't have a good look
in."
"Thank you, Major," said the subaltern gratefully.
He smoked in silence for a while and then said:
"D'you know, sir, I had an idea there was something up when Major Smith was
suddenly ordered away and you, who didn't belong to us, were sent here from
Simla. I'd heard of you before, not only as a great _shikari_--the natives
everywhere in these jungles talk a lot about you--but also as a keen
soldier. A fellow doesn't usually come straight from a staff job at Army
Headquarters to a small outpost like this for nothing."
Dermot laughed.
"Unless he has got into trouble and is sent off as a punishment," he said.
"But that didn't happen to be my case. However, I was delighted to leave
Simla. Better the jungle a thousand times."
"Yes; Simla's rather a rotten place, I believe," remarked the subaltern
meditatively. "Too many brass hats and women. They're the curse of India,
each of them. And I'm sure the women do the most harm."
"Well, steer clear of the latter, and don't become one of the former," said
Dermot with a laugh, rising from his chair, "then you'll have a peaceful
life--but you won't get on in your profession."