_Coelum, Non Animum Mutant_
The Commissioner of Kumaon had arrived at Kaladoongie in the course of
his winter tour of inspection, and the same evening Joti Prshad, his
butler, sat beside the Thanadar on a charpoi and smoked with
metropolitan ease amidst the awe-struck notables of the jungle village.
Ram Deen alone was not abashed, and puffed his hookah unconcernedly,
although Joti Prshad told many wonderful things of the sahiblogue, and
spoke concerning the doings of the great world of Naini Tal during the
greater rains.
Joti Prshad was a small man, and Ram Deen's _blase_ mood galled his
sense of superiority; it was but right that he should snub this
exasperatingly cool villager.
"Thanadar ji," he began, "thou and I know that nowhere in Hindoostan is
there such greatness assembled as at Naini Tal during the Greater
Barsat."
"Men say that the governor-general still goeth to Simla, but, doubtless,
the sirdar knoweth best," said Ram Deen.
"The Lat-sahib, indeed, goeth to Simla, but those with him be mere
karanis (clerks), and shopkeepers, and half-castes. 'Tis plain thou hast
not seen Naini Tal, coach-wan."
"The Terai sufficeth me, Joti Prshad."
"They say," piped Goor Dutt, the little bullock driver, "that the
mem-sahibs at Naini Tal bare their shoulders and bosoms and dance with
strange men. Toba, toba!"
This being an indisputable fact, and one to which Joti Prshad had never
reconciled himself, the latter did not speak, and the diversion thus
made by the byl-wan was felt by all to be in Ram Deen's favor.
Taking advantage of the silence of Joti Prshad, Ram Deen went on: "The
people of Naini Tal come and go, but the children of the Terai never
forget their mother. What sayest thou, Thanadar ji?"
"'Tis even so, brothers," said the Thanadar, with the gravity of one who
is in authority and under the stress of weighing his words.
As they evidently waited for him to proceed, the Thanadar continued:
"The jungle is our father and our mother, and the huldoo trees our near
kin, O my brothers; and we who have once seen the beauty of the morning
in the jungle, and the rye-fields laughing in the clearings in the
winter, may not live elsewhere."
"Ay, Thanadar ji," said Ram Deen; "and, moreover, the senses of those
who live in bazaars are asleep as with bhang, and they cannot see nor
hear the wonders of God."
A general "humph" of assent followed Ram Deen's speech.
"If the sirdar will stay with us we will show him whereof we speak,"
said the Thanadar. But the butler had fond recollections of Oude and the
rose-fields of Shahjahanpoor, where they make attar, and shook his head
dissentingly. So the Thanadar went on: "Many seasons since, a holy
man--a Sunyasi--who had given up his wife and children and lived in a
hollow tree by the Rock of Khalsi (whereon are written the laws of the
great king Asoka) returned to Gurruckpoor, his native village, when he
felt the Great Darkness coming on. He told the village Brahmin that he
longed for death, but that he could not die outside of the Terai."
After a pause, during which the bubbling of his narghili was heard, the
Thanadar said: "It is the same with all who are born in the
Terai,--Faringi and Padhani, Brahmin and Dome, Sunyasi and fair
woman,--all are alike in bondage, and return, sooner or later, to their
jungle mother. Listen. Twelve years ago there came to Gurruckpoor to
hunt big game an Englishman named Fisher Sahib. He was of those favored
by God who have much wealth, and to whom sport standeth for occupation.
As he was accustomed to fulfil his heart's desires, he hired two
shooting elephants from the Rajah of Rampore,--one for himself and the
other for his mem-sahib, who accompanied him. And he had a great camp,
and many servants, and beaters, and shikaris, chief of whom was Juggoo,
whose fame as a hunter reached from Phillibeet to Dehra. He it was who
always rode with the sahib in his howdah, and he had command from the
mem-sahib never to leave the sahib's side in the jungle, in that he was
rash and loved danger, and many a time fell into it unawares by reason
that he saw not clearly except he looked through a piece of glass that
he wore in one eye.
"One day the sahib had shot a deer, and let himself down from his
elephant--Juggoo going with him--to give it hallal, according to the
rule of the Koran,--for he intended the deer as a gift to the
Mussulmanis in his camp. As he bent over the deer to cut its throat with
his khookri, a great boar ran upon them from a thicket. Juggoo uttered a
cry of warning, but ere the sahib could find his sight the boar was upon
them, and Juggoo thrust himself in its way and got his death, or the
sahib had been killed.
"So they carried the dead man to the camp, where his daughter, Chambeli,
having cooked his evening meal, awaited the return of her father. She
was fifteen years in age, and a widow,--for her betrothed husband and
all his people had died five years before of The Sickness (small-pox);
so she had returned to her father, and had cared for his house ever
since. And Kali Dass, who was learning jungle-craft from her father,
would have had her to mistress. 'Come and live with me, my beloved,
beyond the head-waters of the Bore Nuddee,' he had pleaded; 'and when
thy hair hath grown again none shall know thou art a widow, and the
people of the foothills shall wonder at thy beauty.'
"'But I shall know and Nana Debi,--and the others matter not, Kali
Dass'" she replied firmly.
"So Kali Dass went his way; and the young man and Chambeli looked at
each other, but spake no more together.
"The mem-sahib it was who told Chambeli of her father's death, Kali Dass
standing by, and she turned on him like a leopard bereft of its young
and upbraided him, saying, 'Hadst thou been a man, Kali Dass, my father
were still living.' Thereafter she swooned, and the mem-sahib laid her
on her own couch, and held her in her arms and comforted her, because
Juggoo had died to save the sahib.
"Then for that she was childless and very wealthy, and could do
whatsoever seemed good in her eyes, the mem-sahib took Chambeli across
the Black Water. They brought her up as their own kin, teaching her
whatsoever it is fitting the daughter of a Faringi should know, and
training her to work amongst our women and children when they should be
afflicted with sickness; and, furthermore, she was to turn them from
Nana Debi to the God of the Faringis.
"Moreover, to aid her in her work she was married to a young English
padre; and they came to Kaladoongie six years ago, when the next
new-year festival of the Faringis shall arrive. And because we knew her
and still remembered Juggoo, her father, we of Kaladoongie waited on her
at the dak-bungalow on the day she returned.
"She came out to us on the veranda, dressed in the garments of a
mem-sahib, and we saw that she was a woman grown and in the mid-noon of
her beauty. She was glad to see us, calling us all by our names, and we
greeted her with such gifts as we could,--fruit and flowers and
sweetmeats. Last of all came Kali Dass, and behind him four men bearing
a leopard but newly slain, slung from a pole.
"They laid the beast at her feet, and Chambeli laughed and clapped her
hands till the little padre, her husband, frowned at her; whereon her
nostrils twitched and she looked at him in wonderment, as though she saw
for the first time that he was a small man with a pale face, and void of
authority.
"Then turning to Kali Dass she said in our Terai tongue, 'Is it well
with thee, shikari ji? Thou art doubtless married and happy?'
"And he said, 'Nay; I have no spouse, save only my jungle-craft.'
"'And the jungle?' she asked, looking on the ground.
"'It is my father and my mother, and fairer than any of its daughters,
mem-sahib. But thou hast been in great cities, and across the Black
Water; thou hast read in books, and hast changed thy gods,--what
shouldst thou care for the jungle?'
"'It is the garden of God, Kali Dass, and I am fain to see it again, for
I am a Padhani born, and a daughter of the Terai.'
"Ere she gave us leave to depart it was arranged that she and the padre
sahib, accompanied by me and Kali Dass, should start in the early
morning and follow the Bore Nuddee backward into the foothills.
"Kali Dass was at the dak-bungalow before me in the morning; and he was
dressed in holiday clothes; his face shone, and behind one ear he had
placed a marigold.
"When the padre and his mem-sahib came forth from their chamber, behold!
she was dressed as a Padhani; and she was the Chambeli we knew of old,
only taller.
"'I am but a Padhani,' she explained, 'and shall get nearer to my people
the more I am like to them.'
"It was a time of great stillness when we started, for the morning was
just born, and the dew lay on all things. Taking the road to Naini Tal,
we struck into the jungle when we came to the path that leads to the
ford of the Bore Nuddee, and Chambeli alighted from her pony and walked
in front of the rest with Kali Dass. A faint flush showed in the east,
and presently a jungle-cock greeted the dawn. Chambeli stopped, and,
with joy in her face, she turned round to the padre sahib, exclaiming,
'Didst hear that?' And he laughed, saying, 'It was but the crowing of a
cock.'
"'But it came out of the stillness of the morning, and the dew accorded
with it,--and it was a wild thing,--but how shouldst thou understand?
thou art not of the Terai,' she said.
"Soon the glow in the east became brighter, and the jungle burst into
its morning song. Chambeli stopped and put her hands to her forehead, as
if she would remember something; then she said to the shikari,
'Something is lacking, Kali Dass; what is it?' And even as she spake
there came the call of a black partridge from a thicket near by: 'Sobhan
teri koodruth!' Brothers, ye know that the black partridge is the priest
of the Terai, and at its voice Chambeli fled with a cry of joy from the
path and into the thick jungle.
"The little padre sahib, knowing not what to think, urged us to follow
her. When we came up with her, Kali Dass stood by regarding her with a
smile, whilst she lay on the ground with her face buried in the dewy
grass, moaning and saying, 'O Jungle Mother, I will never leave thee
again, I will never leave thee again!' And the little padre chid her in
his own tongue; whereat she rose shuddering; and brushing the dew and
the tears from her face, she returned to the path.
"She had eyes and ears for everything that morning, and was as a wild
thing that had just fled from captivity.
"When we came to the brow of the hill that slopes down to the ford, the
sun rose over the tops of the trees and laid a gleaming sword across the
stream; and as we looked at the brightness and wonder of it all there
came to us the song of a string of Padhani women approaching the ford.
In an instant Chambeli took up the song, and set off swiftly down the
narrow path, we following as we could.
"As she neared the ford she lifted her sari and took the water with her
bare limbs; and I looked at the little padre, who seemed sore amazed.
"When we had all crossed the ford, Chambeli and Kali Dass were not to be
seen on the road that ran by the stream. A traveller on his way to
Kaladoongie said he had not met them, and as we questioned him there
came the report of a gun.
"'Kali Dass hath met game, padre sahib,' said I.
"'Find them, and bring them back instantly, Thanadar,' commanded the
holy man, and his voice shook with anger.
"Following the direction of the shot, I came upon their tracks, and
thereafter I found a handful of fresh feathers. A few paces beyond lay a
small book; it was the sacred book of the Faringis printed in Nagari,
and on the first leaf, which was held down by a stone, was writing in
English. On the path a pace farther were two sticks crossed, and beyond
that other two; and I knew it was the warning of Kali Dass, who must not
be followed.
"So I returned with the little book to the padre sahib. And when he had
read what was written on the first leaf he trembled and clutched at his
throat, and I caught him in my arms as he fell from his horse.
"I returned with him to Kaladoongie; but Chambeli and Kali Dass never
came back.
"I showed the writing in the book to Tulsi Ram. Speak, pundit, and tell
our brothers what it meant."
Tulsi Ram, pleased and proud to give an exhibition of his scholarship,
replied, "Brothers, and you, O Joti Prshad, the writing said: 'Like to
like: Kali Dass is of my blood, and the great jungle hath claimed her
daughter this day.'"