Mr. Gupta, a Bengali gentleman, was a skilled engineer. The Government
thought highly of him and whenever any work of special difficulty
had to be undertaken, always chose him.
At one time he was stationed at Hazaribagh. This district is even
now infested with tigers, and in those far-off days these lords of
the jungle roamed far and wide.
There was then no railway. Travelling was done by palki or by
"push-push"---a box-like carriage on four wheels, in which the
traveller was forced to recline, and which relays of coolies pushed
before them. The roads were often mere tracks through dense forest.
It happened that Mr. Gupta was ordered to report on some important work
a few miles away. His devoted wife carefully packed his luggage. They
were a happy couple and each short parting was a pain in their lives. A
trustworthy old servant always accompanied his master to camp. But
to-day to his mistress' surprise he begged not to go.
When Gupta came in, his wife told him of the man's unwillingness to
accompany him.
"Nonsense!" said Gupta, "he will have to go. What has happened to him?"
"I think he is ill" the wife excusingly replied, her tender heart
full of the man's wistful face and strange manner. Still she agreed
with her husband and told the bearer, he must go with his master.
"Forgive me, I have high fever, Ma-ji," he shivered, addressing her
by the honoured name of mother, as is the custom of Indian servants
in an Indian household.
She turned again to her husband who said: "I know what is in the
poor old fellow's mind. He has an idea he will be killed by a
tiger. However, tell him there is no danger. I am taking a large
number of bearers and he can keep near the palki."
Mrs. Gupta tried to cheer the servant with this information but he
wailed: "Ma-ji, I am afraid. Surely a tiger will kill me to-night."
"Do not fear," consoled the kind lady. "Your master will take good
care of you." "Go you must," she continued in a firm tone. "There is
no one except you who knows his ways and can see to his comfort. Now
get ready quickly."
"Oh, Ma-ji," he sobbed like a child, "I obey, but my heart is heavy."
Mr. Gupta had to travel through the night. After an early dinner he
started, attended by many palki-bearers and the old servant. The moon
rose bright and glorious and bathed the picturesque country in soft
radiance. The silence of the forest was broken only by the rhythmic
cries of the bearers and the pat-pat of their feet. The first stream
was reached and the bearers asked for a halt. Consent granted, they
went into the stream to drink of the deeper water. The old servant
crouched by the palki.
"Thirstest not?" kindly asked his master.
"Babu-ji, I feel nervous. I will stay near you."
Gupta wondered what might have unstrung the man, and felt sorry for
him. "Come and sit close to me," he said.
The night was cold and the old bearer, huddled in his blanket, sat
on the edge of the palki door.
Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a rapid crash
through the dry grass near the palki, and with a thrilling roar a
tiger leapt at the man and dragged him away. The palki shook, and
the bearer's piteous cry "Babu-ji, Babu-ji, I told you" filled the
forest, and echoed and echoed again as the tiger bore him away. Then
all became still.
Gupta realised what had happened. He lay back sick with horror, and
felt as if he were the guilty one. For many a day the old man's dying
wail rang in his ears.