I have told you of my popularity among the Thugs, and when it became
known that a new expedition was planned, and would set out after the
Dussera, so many men offered themselves that I was obliged to reject
numbers, and select those whom I knew, from experience and character,
would be likely to behave best. Among them were a few who were
excellent musicians and singers. I had before, on many occasions, felt
the want of such men, to amuse travellers with whom I had fallen in;
and these were particularly acceptable to me at the present time, as
the expedition was a large one; and the country being quieter and more
settled than it had been for some years, we were assured that the roads
would be full of persons of rank and consequence travelling to and from
their homes. In order that our band might have the greater appearance
of respectability, I begged of my father to accompany us; for his
venerable appearance and polished manners would, I was certain, do more
to insure us success than all our most cunning stratagems.
Nor was I neglectful of the Rajah; from time to time I visited his
durbar, and was always received with the greatest civility and
attention, as indeed I deserved; for not only was I a good servant
to him, but as numbers of Thugs had settled around me in different
villages, the revenue they paid for his protection and connivance at
our work amounted to a handsome sum yearly; and I need not say it was
punctually paid, for upon this mainly depended our concealment. In
the last expedition, however, I had pleaded poverty on my return, and
though I could have well spared five thousand rupees from my own share,
I was content with presenting as my nuzzur a gun I had purchased in
Bombay for two hundred rupees, and a small string of pearls which I had
found among the treasure of the Rokurreas; and he seemed satisfied; but
it was merely the feigned content which precedes a violent outbreak
of discontent or passion. He was our bitter, deadly enemy, though he
cloaked his designs under the garb of friendship, and was gradually
perfecting his schemes for our destruction.
We set out. I have nothing new or interesting to relate to you of the
manner in which our preparations were made and completed. Azima too,
poor soul, never dreamed of what we were: it was enough for her to know
that every new expedition brought her new ornaments and better clothes,
and enabled her to live in a higher and more expensive manner. I had
been enabled to add greatly to my house, and it was now as comfortable
and spacious as I could desire. She knew too that, with increased
wealth, she could look for a higher alliance for our daughter, our
only child; and she had even now received proposals of marriage for
her, some of which were in every way advantageous, and with persons
unconnected with our profession, of which I was glad; for, knowing full
well that one mischance, or one traitor among us, would hurl me at once
from my prosperity, I was desirous of marrying her to some one who
could protect her, and be free from any dangers similar to those I was
myself exposed to.
I however bade Azima wait, because (as I told her) the journey I
was about to undertake would be infallibly prosperous, and a fresh
addition to our already ample means would enable us to have the
marriage ceremony performed in a manner fitting or perhaps exceeding
our pretensions. She readily acceded to my request; for if there be
one thing more than another about which a matron of Hindostan is
solicitous, it is the marriage of her child; not as regards happiness
I must own, though perhaps there may be a lurking wish that she may
be happy; but the main matter is, that her clothes shall be of the
best and richest materials, her jewels many and of value, and the
whole of the establishment which she takes to her new lord of the most
substantial description; that they may last her for years, and procure
for her mother the goodwill of the female members of her husband's
family. Nothing is productive of more quarrels among the females
than that anything should appear indifferent; remarks are made, and
reproaches are bandied about between the united families; and out of
these soon grows an enmity which never cools. Many a marriage, which
promised well at its outset, has been marred in its joyous termination
by fault being found with the equipments of the bride, which are always
submitted for inspection to her female relations before they become her
own property for ever.
But I am digressing, and must return to my own adventures. We left
Jhalone as before, upwards of three hundred Thugs, under my father,
Ganesha, Peer Khan, and myself. We gave out along the road that we were
servants of the Nizam, and were returning to our service at Hyderabad
after our periodical leave of absence; this was necessary, for our
numbers without it would have provoked suspicion.
Never shall I forget the first matter we took in hand; not that there
was anything remarkable in the destruction of four men, but it was
attended by a sad result, which damped the spirits of the party for
many days afterwards, and from which _one_ never recovered. Peer Khan
had a nephew, a boy of about ten years old, a noble little fellow,
beautiful in his features, and intelligent beyond his years. As you may
imagine, he was a great favourite among us all, and I had repeatedly
asked Peer Khan to allow me to adopt him as my son, to supply the place
of the child I had lost: but he would not hear of it, for the child was
the son of a beloved sister who was dead; the boy's father had also
died about two years before, and Peer Khan had taken him to his home,
and loved him as his own.
The little fellow rode a spirited pony which I had given him, was
always in the van of the party, and amused us by his mimic feats of
horsemanship and by his intelligent prattle: he could never be kept
behind; and when the time came that the four men were to meet their
fate, we had given him in charge to those who brought up the rear,
with strict orders that on no account was he to be permitted to come
on after us. Peer Khan also had desired him to keep with these people,
as he was going off the road to a village at some distance; and he had
promised obedience. Yet all our precautions were of no avail;--how
could they be, when what followed had evidently been written in his
destiny?
I had just given the jhirnee, and the four miserable men were writhing
in the agonies of death, one of them too was shrieking, when, Ya Alla!
who should come galloping up but Alum Khan, the boy I have mentioned.
His first exclamation was of triumph that he had caught us; but how
can I tell the look of horror to which his countenance was instantly
changed when he saw what was going on! His eyes became fixed, and were
wide open, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, he uttered no
sound, but clasped his hands in agony; and before I could dismount, or
even Peer Khan, who was superintending the work, he had fallen from his
pony insensible.
"What shall we do?" cried I to Peer Khan, as we raised him up and
strove to comfort him. "Speak to him; a word from you may arouse him."
"My child, my child!" cried Peer Khan, in accents of terror and misery;
"oh speak to me! one word only--you are killing your parent. Ya Alla!"
continued he, raising his hands to heaven, "grant that this swoon may
pass away, and that he may speak; I will feed a hundred Fakeers in
thy name, O merciful Prophet! if thou wilt but intercede and grant my
prayer." But it was of no avail; the poor boy lay senseless, though his
eyes were fixed and staring, and not a word could he utter. The Thugs,
too, had left the dead, and were all around us. There was a rivulet
close by, in which the bhil had been prepared; I thought of water, and
bid one of the men run for some. It was brought, and I poured it into
his mouth. "He revives,--his lips move!" cried Peer Khan, in an ecstasy
of delight, "He speaks!" And the poor boy did speak.
"Where am I, uncle?" said he, in a faint voice. "Where am I? What have
I seen?" And he passed his hands over his eyes.
"Nothing, nothing," cried his uncle; "you have fallen from your pony,
that is all. You should not ride so hard, my child; you might have been
killed."
"No, no," said the boy; "I did not fall. I saw--Alla save me! save me,
uncle! Oh, look at their eyes and faces--there they lie. Oh, kill me, I
cannot bear it! I shall die."
Unhappy child! he had again seen their faces,--we had never thought of
the dead. One of the bodies lay close to us, the distorted features
grinning horribly; and it had fallen against a bank, so that he saw it
sitting half upright--a dreadful spectacle for a child.
"Take it away, take it away!" he shouted, in his infant voice. "I shall
die! Oh, bury me! I shall never forget the face and the eyes--they will
be ever before me!"
"Away with them!" cried I; and as I turned again to the child, he had
sunk on his face in the sand of the road, and was endeavouring to hide
himself in it,--he was in strong convulsions.
"Alla! Alla! what shall I do!" cried Peer Khan. "Oh, Meer Sahib, by
your soul, by your mother's honour, do something! Save that child, and
I will be your slave till the end of my days; I will serve you on my
knees,--I will be your menial."
"What can be done?" said I. "All we can do is to stay with him, and
comfort him when the paroxysm is past. He will revive soon and forget
all."
Poor boy, how he strove in his convulsions! He could not speak
intelligibly; he foamed at the mouth; his lips grew livid and
contracted; his eyes, when he opened them, seemed sunk into his head.
I had never seen such terror before, nor could I have believed that it
would have had such an effect on any one. We carried him to the edge
of the stream, and by dint of bathing his face, and forcing water into
his mouth, he partly revived. He had just opened his eyes again, when,
by a miserable chance, they fell upon one of the turbans of the dead
men, with which I had been wiping his face. It had an instantaneous
effect on him; his screams broke out afresh, nothing could console him,
and we were in dreadful alarm about him. What to do we knew not; we
were far away from any human habitation; and even had we been near one,
we dared not have called in any hukeem to see him, for his incoherent
ravings would have too truly exposed our doings. We sat by the boy
in fearful apprehensions that every throe and convulsion would cause
his death; at last we raised him up and placed him on his pony, and
had succeeded in conveying him about a coss while he was in a state
of insensibility; but it was of no avail. Again he awoke from his
temporary unconsciousness, and we were obliged to take him down, and
lay him on a bank at the side of the road, while we fanned his face and
endeavoured to compose him.
But he was greatly reduced in strength, his moans were feebler and
feebler; and though he now opened his eyes and gazed calmly around him,
it was but too plain to us that the delicate flower had been blighted,
and was fast withering under the terror which possessed him. Peer Khan
was in a dreadful state; he raved, he entreated, he prayed; he knelt
down beside the poor sufferer, and bedewed his face with his tears,
which were fast falling; but no mercy was shown him. We sat thus till
long past mid-day; numerous travellers passed us, all commiserating the
child's state of suffering, but they shook their heads as they left us,
with a firm conviction that he must die.
And he did die! towards evening the pure spirit fled from the suffering
body, and we were left alone in the wild waste with the dead.
"It is of no use lamenting now," said I to Peer Khan, as he sat, his
hands clasped in anguish, rocking himself to and fro, and moaning and
sobbing as though his spirit would break. "It is of no use, brother,
the boy is dead, and we must carry the body on to the stage, which is
not very far distant."
"Do as you will," he replied: "as for me my heart is broken; I shall
never look up again. He was the life of my soul, and without him what
shall I do? what shall I do?"
But we raised the body up, and at times carrying it, at others placing
it before us on our horses, we conveyed it to the camp. Our absence
had been known; but as its cause was also known, none of the Thugs had
come out to meet us. We laid down our sad burden in my tent, a grave
was quickly dug, and it was buried by torch-light, amidst the tears and
lamentations of the whole band; for the boy was beloved by all.
Peer Khan came to me in the dead of the night, and awoke me from a
restless slumber, in which the dreams of the sad scene had fearfully
mingled. I was glad that he had come, but not for what followed.
"Meer Sahib," said he, after a long silence, "I am not what I was,--I
never shall be again; I am broken in spirit, and am no longer fit for
my profession. My fate too points against it, and after this dreadful
catastrophe I should be useless to you; permit me therefore to depart.
You see I am calm and composed, and I do not say what I now urge on you
in passion or grief; therefore let me depart. I will go to my home, and
in solitude endeavour to make the remainder of my life acceptable to
Alla, who has visited me with this affliction. Nor will it be long ere
the earth covers me; I feel that this blow has shaken me to my soul,
and it will bow me down to the grave."
I saw it was useless to argue with him: his features were stamped with
despair, and to contravene a man's fate is impossible. It is the will
of Alla, and what mortal can oppose it? It must have its course.
"Go," said I, "Peer Khan; may peace be with you, and the blessing of
the Prophet! I feel for you. I shall ever grieve with you; but if, in
after-times, your inclination leads you to join me, I need not say how
gladly I shall avail myself of your services. We have been friends and
brothers, and we part such, I hope, after years of a sincere and mutual
affection."
He could not reply to me--he wrung my hands, while the big tears rolled
from his eyes over his manly features: he made attempts to address me,
but the words stuck in his throat; and at length throwing himself at my
feet, he kissed them, and embraced my knees: he then arose, and after
gazing on me for a moment, with features working under the effects of
suppressed emotion, he rushed from my presence for ever--ay, for ever!
When we returned to Jhalone he was dead; his grief had killed him!
He had been more to me than any of my other companions, and deeply I
sorrowed over his untimely fate. I said this event threw a gloom over
our party, which did not pass away for many days; but gradually the men
assumed their wonted cheerfulness, and again the song, the jest, and
the tale were heard in our merry and light-hearted camp. Nor was the
more serious part of our object neglected. Within a march or two of
Jubbulpoor, we had heard that a Moonshee, stated to be a man of great
wealth, was travelling before us to Nagpoor, and we made an effort to
overtake him. We effected this march from Jubbulpoor, on the Nagpoor
side, and were now entering on our best ground; I say our best, as
there were but few inhabitants in that miserable country.
We overtook the Moonshee; but had it not been that we were nearly three
hundred Thugs in number, we should have hesitated to attack so large a
party as his. He had two good-sized tents, horses, camels, a palankeen
and bearers, and servants; and we deliberated long over the matter. The
omens, however, having been consulted, were found to be favourable, and
therefore we hesitated no longer, but now laid our plans to effect an
object which promised so much plunder.
We encamped close to the Moonshee for two days; of course this led to
intercourse. Hearing that we were respectable persons, he sent to my
father and myself to come to him on the second evening, and we went.
The Moonshee was in the employment of the Europeans; he had served with
the force at Jalna, under General Doveton, though we could not make
out whether he was a servant of that officer or not; but he spoke of
him in such terms as led us to suppose he was. He told us that now the
country was settled, he had obtained leave to go to Hindostan, and was
returning with his wife and child. We spent a pleasant evening with
him, for he was a man of extensive information, and amused us with
many anecdotes and accounts of the Feringhees, of whom he spoke in
terms of the highest praise, and undeceived us as to many particulars
we had heard of them, and materially removed many of our prejudices
against them. I respected them more from what he said than I had ever
done before; for though every one acknowledged they were good and brave
soldiers, it was said they were vicious, and debauched, and drunken.
At one or two questions of mine the Moonshee laughed immoderately. I
asked him once why the Europeans eat with knives and forks, and spoons,
instead of with their fingers, which God had given them.
"Yes," said my father, "old as I am I have never been able to find this
out. Tell us, for you know, as you have yourself seen them eat."
"Tell me what you have heard," said the Moonshee, "and I will give you
an answer."
"It appears so extraordinary," said I, "that I can hardly believe it;
for why should not all men be the same? Nevertheless, I have heard,
and from what I thought to be good authority, that their finger-nails
contain poison, and therefore they dare not risk the chance of their
drawing blood, nay more, of touching their food."
How he laughed! I thought he would never have ended; and I felt nettled
that my remark should have given rise to such immoderate mirth. I could
hear, too, from the tittering behind the division of the tent, that
the women were also provoked to merriment at my expense. At last he
said,--"No, no, Meer Sahib, this is folly. Who could have told you such
a lie? What if their skins be white and their faces ruddy, are they not
the same flesh and blood as we are? They eat with spoons and knives
because it is the custom of their country, and because they do not like
to soil their hands; besides, their style of cookery is different to
ours; for instance, they roast half a sheep and eat it, and how could
they do so without the implements they use?"
"I confess my ignorance," said I, "and am ashamed to put any more
questions to you about them, so shall believe henceforward that all I
have heard are lies." Yet I longed at the same time to ask more about
their drinking scenes, and the meaning of the words, "Hip! hip! hip!"
which I fully believed to be of mystic import.
It was late when we separated; but before we did so we agreed to
travel in company, and to pass our evenings together. This was what we
wanted; our success was inevitable should we succeed in getting him
on one or two marches further, as the villagers there knew us, were
our friends, and for a small consideration would keep themselves to
their houses, and allow us to do what we liked. I have not mentioned
this before, Sahib, for you very well know that it is the case. We
have friends wherever we go; we bribe all we can, and have our agents
in every part of the country in the disguise of Fakeers or merchants.
Some zemindars fear us, others bully us and extort large sums from us,
but they are generally faithful; and without their help and connivance
do you think we could effect anything? We could not. In the Nizam's
country particularly we are well aided. Many of the zemindars have
Thugs in regular pay, whom they have been in the habit of sending out
on the road; some are content with a certain sum a year; others, who
fear so close a connexion with us, now and then pretend to arrest us,
and get as much as they can; and as there is no police of any kind,
they are not afraid of their dealings being brought to light. I myself
know but little of how these matters are managed there,--I mean from
personal experience; but I have heard from others, and in particular
from Motee, who led a gang of Thugs for some years all over the
Huzoor's dominions, and told me, that so long as he paid the potails
of villages, the zemindars, and the revenue servants _handsomely_, he
had no obstruction; that hundreds of others did the same, and practised
their profession so openly, that they often never took the trouble
of burying the bodies of those they destroyed. You know that this is
truth, Sahib, and therefore I need hardly mention it. But to my story.
We reached the village we wished to gain--a miserable hamlet called
Biseynee; but the Potail was in our interest, and a present of twenty
rupees now and then, with sometimes a new turban, gained us his silence
and co-operation. I say co-operation, for he often gave over passengers
to Thugs, by declaring that his village was unsafe, and that they must
go and encamp outside with the rest--who were the Thugs. He knew well
what would become of them; but he was, as I have said, paid for his
treachery.
Well, we reached Biseynee. I had purchased for the worthy Potail a
handsome turban and waistband, and had prepared for him a number of
other articles, one of which was an English pistol, which he had sent
word by a Thug that I was to purchase for him. As soon as I arrived,
I went into the village to him, and in his own house tied the turban
on his head, presented him with the gifts I had prepared, and added a
purse of twenty rupees.
"Ha!" said he, "what now, Meer Sahib? you are not used to be so
liberal. What bunij have you, that you are come with it to my poor
place, to give it a worse name than it has already?"
"Oh, none," said I, carelessly; "you know I have not been this way for
some years, and these are to prove that I have not forgotten you."
"Thanks for your kindness; may your condescension increase," said he;
"but the bunij, Meer Sahib? You are a cunning gentleman; I know you
of old. Who is he in the tents yonder? and why have so many Thugs
collected here? You cannot conceal your designs from me."
"Nor do I wish it," said I; "but remember our old compact."
"I do--I do," said he, hurriedly; "but times are changed, and with them
my masters. Know you not that this country belongs to the Sahib-logue?"
"And what of that, Potailjee?" said I; "what difference does it make?"
"None," he replied, "to _me_; but have you not seen the horsemen?"
"What horsemen?" cried I.
"Six," said he, "and a Duffadar. My poor village, it seems, has a bad
name for thieves; and they have sent a party here to guard it. Alla
help us, and keep the bread in our mouths!"
"And the Duffadar, what is he like?"
"He is a Hindoo," said the Potail, "and a Bhojpooree; he is called
Hittah Singh; his men, too, are all of his tribe."
"Bhojpoorees!" said I; "then I dare say they are Thugs. What Bhojpooree
was ever an honest man?"
"No, they are not Thugs, Meer Sahib, for I have tried them with the
password. But, between you and me, I think my friend Hittah Singh only
wants an opportunity to be as great a rascal as I am myself,--may Alla
pardon me!"
"I have no doubt of it," said I. "Where is he?"
"Shall I call him?"
"Do so," said I. "If I cannot persuade him, I will bully him; and, if
the worst comes to the worst, you know we are more than three hundred
to six, and they would have but little chance."
"True, Meer Sahib; but no violence, I pray; have some consideration for
my good name. If the Europeans heard of violence having been done, they
would turn me out of my place."
"And you would turn Thug, I suppose. But quick, Potailjee, call the man
here."
He was absent for a short time, and returned with a short mean-looking
fellow; and I could plainly see that rascal was written on his
countenance. You know the old proverb--"Chor ke daree men, tinka"
(there is always a straw in a thief's beard). Salutations were
exchanged, and I came to the point at once.
"Look you, Duffadar Sahib," said I to him, "you may have guessed what
we are?" He nodded assent. "This is good," I continued, "as perhaps you
may have guessed at our object."
"Partly," said he; "but what do I know about you?"
"Exactly," said I--"the very thing I want; you need know nothing, and
you will have nothing to tell if you are ever asked. Take my advice,
and remain quietly within your village; and if the earth turns upside
down you are not to stir out. For this you shall be well paid. But if
you molest us, remember we are three hundred to seven--fearful odds, my
friend."
"Nay, I am wise," said he; "what Bhojpooree is not? Nor do I wish to
interfere. Do what you like; neither I nor my men will stir a foot."
"Can you depend on them?" said I; "can they be close?"
"As close as you wish them to be, Jemadar; but we must be paid."
"Certainly," said I; "I would not have it otherwise: but the reward
depends on what we get."
"Say two hundred rupees," said the fellow; "it is worth your while."
"Well, it is a bargain, Duffadar," I replied, "and the Potail is
witness. And now I will give you further advice, which is, that you are
to know nothing and see nothing, if even the lord Sahib were to ask
you. You are to know only that travellers came and departed, and you
kept no account of them."
"Of course," said the fellow; "I know this of old. I have met parties
of your people in my own country, and have no reason to be dissatisfied
with them: they have always behaved like men of honour, and kept their
words with me."
"Then we are agreed?" said I.
"Certainly; you will see nought of us, and I will come to you at night
for my money."
"You had better come now, Duffadar, as I think we shall move on after
it is all over."
"Do you go, Potailjee; it would not look well for me to go with the
Syud Sahib. Do you go, and bring the money."
"Come then," said I, "we are losing time."
"Shall you return soon?" asked the Duffadar of me.
"I know not," I replied; "but it is probable. At any rate, as this
country always produces good booty for us, you will see us here pretty
often."
"The oftener the better," said he; "and I must continue to keep
my station here; it would be hard to lose such good friends. You,
Potailjee, can help me to a few low caste rascals from time to time, to
send in as thieves we have caught."
"Certainly," said the Potail--"there are plenty of Gonds and Dhérs in
the country; every one knows they are thieves; and if they may not
immediately have committed any robberies, they have been engaged in
them some time or other, so that it is all the same. I will get you a
few from time to time, as you want them."
"Now and then I shall require a few," said he, "just to keep up my
character and appearances, and a few years in irons will do none of
them any harm--the government will take care of them."
I could not help laughing heartily at the cool manner in which this was
proposed and accepted. But it was the truth; and I know that it was,
and is now, a matter of every-day occurrence. Many a Duffadar of police
has won a good name with his officers in this way, and for one guilty
man he has seized a dozen innocent people. Who cares about Mangs and
Dhérs?--they are always villains and robbers.