QUICKSANDS
When Kathlyn came to the river she swerved toward the broadest part of
it. Twice she stumbled over boulders, but rose pluckily and, bruised
and breathless, plunged into the water. It was swift running and
shoulder deep, and she was forced to swim strongly to gain the opposite
shore. She dragged herself up to the bank and, once there, looked
back. What she saw rather astonished her. She could not solve the
riddle at first. The lion seemed to be struggling with some invisible
opponent. He stood knee deep in the sands, tugging and pulling. He
began to roar. Even as Kathlyn gazed she saw his chest touch the sand
and his swelling flanks sink lower. Fascinated, she could not withdraw
her gaze. How his mighty shoulders heaved and pulled! But down, down,
lower and lower, till nothing but the great maned head remained in
view. Then that was drawn down; the sand filled the animal's mouth and
stopped his roaring; lower, lower . . .
Quicksands! The spot where he had disappeared stirred and glistened
and shuddered, and then the eternal blankness of sand.
She was not, then, to die? Should she return to the temple? Would
they not demand of her the restoration of the lion? She must go on,
whither she knew not. She regretted the peace of the temple in the
daytime. She could see the dome from where she stood. Like Ishmael,
she must go on, forever and forever on. Was God watching over her?
Was it His hand which stayed the onslaught of the beast and defeated
the baser schemes of men? Was there to be a haven at the end? She
smiled wanly. What more was to beset her path she knew not, nor cared
just then, since there was to be a haven at the end.
Perhaps prescience brought to her mind's eye a picture; she saw her
father, and Bruce, and Winnie, and her sweetheart, and they seemed to
be toasting her from the end of a long table, under the blue California
sky. This vision renewed her strength. She proceeded onward.
She must have followed the river at least a mile when she espied a raft
moored to a clump of trees. Here she saw a way of saving her weary
limbs many a rugged mile. She forded the stream, freed the raft, and
poled out into the middle of the stream.
It happened that the Mohammedan hunters who owned the raft were at this
moment swinging along toward the temple. On the shoulders of two
rested a pole from which dangled the lifeless body of a newly killed
leopard. They were bringing it in as a gift to the head man of the
village, who was a thoroughgoing Mohammedan, and who held in contempt
Hinduism and all its amazing ramifications.
The white priestess was indeed a puzzle; for, while the handful of
Mohammedans in the village were fanatical in their belief in the true
prophet and his Koran, and put little faith in miracles and still less
in holy men who performed them, the advent of the white priestess
deeply mystified them. There was no getting around this: she was
there; with their own eyes they saw her. There might be something in
Hinduism after all.
When the hunters arrived at the portico of the temple they found two
greatly terrified holy men, shrilling their "Ai! Ai!" in lamentation
and beating their foreheads against the earth.
"Holy men, what is wrong?" asked one of the hunters, respectfully.
"The lion has killed our priestess; the sacred fires must die again!
Ai! Ai!"
"Where is the lion?"
"They fled toward the river, and there he has doubtless destroyed her,
for in evil, Siva, represented by the lion, is more powerful than
Vishnu, reincarnated in our priestess. Ai! Ai! She is dead and we
are undone!"
"Come!" said the chief huntsman. "Let us run to the river and see what
these queer gods are doing. We'll present the skin of Siva to our
master!" He laughed.
The leopard carriers deposited their burden and all started off at a
dog-trot. They had always been eager regarding this lion. In the
temple he was inviolable; but at large, that was a different matter.
Arriving at the river brink, they saw the foot-prints of the lion on
the wet sand which ran down to the water. To leap from this spot to
the water was not possible for any beast of the jungle. Yet the lion
had vanished completely, as though he had been given wings. They stood
about in awe till one of the older hunters knelt, reached out, and dug
his hand into the innocent looking sand. Instantly he leaped to his
feet and jumped back.
"The sucking sand!" he cried. "To the raft!"
They skirted the dangerous quicksands and dashed along the banks to
discover that their raft was gone. Vishnu, then, as reincarnated,
required solid transportation, after the manner of human beings? They
became angry. A raft was a raft, substantial, necessary; and there was
no reason why a god who had ten thousand temples for his own should
stoop to rob a poor man of his wherewithal to travel in safety.
"The mugger!" exclaimed one, "let the high priestess beware of the
mugger, for he is strong enough to tip over the raft!"
Nearly every village which lies close to a stream has its family
crocodile. He is very sacred and thrives comfortably upon suicides and
the dead, which are often cast into the river to be purified. The
Hindus are a suicidal race; the reverse of the occidental conception,
suicide is a quick and glorious route to Heaven.
The current of the stream carried Kathlyn along at a fair pace; all she
had to do was to pole away from the numerous sand-bars and such
boulders as lifted their rugged heads above the water.
Round a bend the river widened and grew correspondingly sluggish. She
sounded with her pole. Something hideous beyond words arose--a fat,
aged, crafty crocodile. His corrugated snout was thrust quickly over
the edge of the raft. She struck at him wildly with the pole, and in a
fury he rushed the raft, upsetting Kathlyn.
The crocodile sank and for a moment lost sight of Kathlyn, who waded
frantically to the bank, up which she scrambled. She turned in time to
see the crocodile's tearful [Transcriber's note: fearful?] eyes staring
up at her from the water's edge. He presently slid back into his slimy
bed; a few yellow bubbles, and he was gone.
Kathlyn's heart became suddenly and unaccountably swollen with rage;
she became primordial; she wanted to hurt, maim, kill. Childishly she
stooped and picked up heavy stones which she hurled into the water.
The instinct to live flamed so strongly in her that the crust of
civilization fell away like mist before the sun, and for a long time
the pure savage (which lies dormant in us all) ruled her. She would
live, live, live; she would live to forget this oriental inferno
through which she was passing.
She ran toward the jungle, all unconscious of the stone she still held
in her hand. She lost all sense of time and compass; and so ran in a
half circle, coming out at the river again.
The Indian twilight was rising in the east when she found herself again
looking out upon the water, the stone still clutched tightly. She
gazed at the river, then at the stone, and again at the river. The
stone dropped with a thud at her feet. The savage in her had not
abated in the least; only her body was terribly worn and wearied and
the robe, muddied and torn, enveloped her like a veil of ice. Above
her the lonely yellow sky; below her the sickly river; all about her
silence which held a thousand menaces. Which way should she go? Where
could she possibly find shelter for the night?
The chill roused her finally and she swung her arms to renew the
circulation. Near by she saw a tree, in the crotch of which reposed a
platform, and upon this platform sat a shrine. A few withered flowers
hung about the gross neck of the idol, and withered flowers lay
scattered at the base of the tree. There was also a bundle of dry
rushes which some devotee had forgotten. At least, yonder platform
would afford safety through the night. So, with the last bit of
strength at her command, she gathered up the rushes and climbed to the
platform, arranging her bed behind the idol. She covered her shoulders
with the rushes and drew her knees up to her chin. She had forgotten
her father, Bruce, the happy days in a far country; she had but a
single thought, to sleep. What the want of sleep could not perform
exhaustion could; and presently she lay still.
Thus, she neither saw nor heard the pious pilgrims who were on their
way to Allaha to pray in that temple known to offer protection against
wild beasts. Fortunately, they did not observe her.
The pilgrim is always a pilgrim in India; it becomes, one might say, a
fascinating kind of sport. To most of them, short pilgrimages are as
tame as rabbits would be to the hunter of lions. They will walk from
Bombay to Benares, from Madras to Llassa, begging and bragging all the
way. Eventually they become semi-holy, distinguished citizens in a
clutter of mud huts.
They deposited some corn and fruit at the foot of the tree and
departed, leaving Kathlyn in peace. But later, when the moon poured
its white, cold radiance over her face it awakened her, and it took her
some time to realize where she was.
Below, belly deep in the river, stood several water buffaloes, their
sweeping horns glistening like old ivory in the moonshine. Presently a
leopard stole down to the brink and lapped the water greedily, from
time to time throwing a hasty, apprehensive glance over his sleek
shoulders. The buffaloes never stirred; where they were it was safe.
Across the river a bulky shadow moved into the light, and a fat, brown
bear took his tithe of the water. The leopard snarled and slunk off.
The bear washed his face, possibly sticky with purloined wild honey,
and betook himself back to his lair.
Kathlyn suddenly became aware of the fact that she was a spectator to a
scene such as few human beings are permitted to see: truce water, where
the wild beasts do not kill one another. She grew so interested that
she forgot her own plight. The tree stood only a few feet from the
water, so she saw everything distinctly.
Later, when his majesty the tiger made his appearance dramatically, the
buffaloes simply moved closer together, presenting a formidable
frontage of horns.
Never had Kathlyn seen such an enormous beast. From his great padded
paws to his sloping shoulders he stood easily four feet in height, and
his stripes were almost as broad as her hand. He drank, doubtless
eying the buffaloes speculatively; some other time. Then he, too, sat
on his haunches and washed his face, but with infinite gracefulness.
It occurred to the watcher that, familiar as she was with the habits of
wild beasts, never had she witnessed a tiger or a lion enact this
domestic scene. Either they were always pacing their cages, gazing far
over the heads of those who watched them, or they slept. Even when
they finished a meal of raw meat they merely licked their chops; there
was no toilet.
Here, however, was an elaborate toilet. The great cat licked his paws,
drew them across his face; then licked his beautiful sides, purring;
for the night was so still and the beast was so near that she could see
him quite plainly. He stretched himself, took another drink, and
trotted off to the jungle.
Then came a herd of elephants, for each species seemed to have an
appointed time. The buffaloes emerged and filed away into the dark.
The elephants plunged into the water, squealing, making sport,
squirting water over their backs, and rolling, head under; and they
buffeted one another amiably, and there was a baby who seemed to get in
everybody's way and the grown-ups treated him shabbily. By and by
they, too, trooped off. Then came wild pigs and furtive antelopes and
foolish, chattering apes.
At last the truce water became deserted and Kathlyn lay down again,
only to be surprised by a huge ape who stuck his head up over the edge
of the platform. The surprise was mutual. Kathlyn pushed the idol
toward him. The splash of it in the water scared off the unwelcome
guest, and then Kathlyn lay down and slept.
A day or so later Bruce arrived at the temple. Day after day he had
hung to the trail, picking it up here and losing it there. He found
Rajah, the elephant, the howdah gone, and only the ornamental headpiece
discovered to Bruce that he had found his rogue. Rajah was docile
enough; he had been domesticated so long that his freedom rather irked
him.
Bruce elicited from the mourning holy men the amazing adventure in all
its details. Kathlyn had disappeared in the jungle and not even the
tried hunters could find her. She was lost. Bruce, though in his
heart of hearts he believed her dead, took up the trail again. But
many weary weeks were to pass ere he learned that she lived.
He shook his fist toward Allaha. "Oh, Durga Ram, one of these fine
days you and I shall square accounts!"
* * * * * *
Kathlyn had just completed herself a dress of grass. Three years
before she had learned the trick from the natives in Hawaii. The many
days of hardship had made her thinner, but never had she been so hardy,
so clear eyed, so quick and lithe in her actions. She had lived
precariously, stealing her food at dusk from the tents of the ryots;
raw vegetables, plantains, mangoes. Sometimes she recited verses in
order that she might break the oppressive silence which always
surrounded her.
She kept carefully out of the way of all human beings, so she had lost
all hope of succor from the brown people, who had become so hateful to
her as the scavengers of the jungle. There was something to admire in
the tiger, the leopard, the wild elephant; but she placed all natives
(perhaps wrongly) in a class with the unclean jackals and hyenas.
Tanned deeply by wind and sun, Kathlyn was darker than many a native
woman. Often she thought of Bruce, but hope of his finding her had
long since died within her. Every night when she climbed to her
platform she vowed she would start south the next morning; south,
toward the land where there were white people; but each morning found
her hesitant.
Behind her tree there was a clearing, then a jumble of thickly growing
trees; beyond those was another clearing, upon which stood a deserted
elephant stockade. The grass had grown rank in it for want of use.
She was in the act of putting on grass sandals when she saw, to her
dismay, the approach of men and elephants. Two elephants were ridden
by mahouts. Two other elephants were being jostled toward the
stockade, evidently new captives. They proceeded passively, however,
for elephants submit to captivity with less real trouble than any other
wild beast. Kathlyn crouched low in the grass and waited till the men
and elephants entered the stockade; then she ran quickly toward her
haven, the platform in the tree. She never went very far from this,
save in search of food. She had also recovered the idol and set it
back in its place. It was not, fortunately, a much frequented spot.
It was for the benefit of the occasional pilgrim, the ryots having
shrines more conveniently situated.
She nestled down among her rushes and waited. She could not see the
stockade from where she now was, but she could hear shouts from the
mahouts.
Recently she had discovered a leopard's lair near the stockade and was
very careful to avoid it, much as she wanted to seize the pretty cubs
and run away with them. By this time she knew the habits, fears, and
hatreds of these people of the jungle, and she scrupulously attended
her affairs as they attended theirs. Sometimes the great striped tiger
prowled about the base of the tree, sharpened his claws on the bark,
but he never attempted to ascend to the platform. Perhaps he realized
the uselessness of investigation, since the platform made it impossible
for him to see what was up there. But always now, to and from the
truce water, he paused, looked up, circled the tree, and went away
mystified.
Only the grass eating beasts came down to water that night, and Kathlyn
understood by this that the men and the elephants were still in the
stockade.
The following morning she went down to the stream to bathe; at the same
time the parent leopards came for drink. They had not cared to seek
their lair during the night on account of the fires; and, worrying over
their cubs, they were not in the most agreeable mood.
Kathlyn saw their approach in time to reach her platform. They snarled
about the tree, and the male climbed up as far as the platform.
Kathlyn reached over with a stout club and clouted the brute on his
tender nose.
A shot broke the silence and a bullet spat angrily against the tree
trunk. Two cats fled. Immediately there came a squealing and
trumpeting from the stockade.
This is what had happened: The chief mahout had discovered the cubs and
had taken them into the stockade just as another hunter had espied the
parent leopards. The rifle shot had frightened one of the wild
elephants. With a mighty plunge he had broken the chain which held him
prisoner to the decoy elephant and pushed through the rotten stockade,
heading straight for the river.
Kathlyn saw his bulk as it crashed straight through the brush. He
shuffled directly toward her tree. The ground about was of clay,
merging into sand as it sloped toward the river. The frantic runaway
slipped, crushed against the tree trunk, recovered himself, and went
splashing into the water.
Kathlyn was flung headlong and only the water saved her from severe
bodily harm. When she recovered her senses she was surrounded by a
group of very much astonished Mohammedans.
They jabbered and gesticulated to one another and she was conducted to
the stockade. She understood but two words--"Allaha" and "slave."