_A Daughter of the Gods_
To those in evening conclave round the fire came a long refrain sung on
one high note by Goor Dutt, as his bullock-cart approached the village.
"She died in the night of co-o-o-old," he keened. There was a pathos in
his voice which told of his own sufferings, for the night was frosty,
rather than those of some fictitious person.
"What freight to-night, byl-wan?" inquired the Thanadar, when he came
within speaking distance.
"Vessels of clay, and a dead man," replied the little bullock driver.
Some one held a torch to the thing that lay across the end of the
bullock driver's wagon, shrouded in a white cloth, on which was a red
wet stain as big as a man's hand.
"'Tis Lakhoo, the dacoit," said the Thanadar, when the face of the
corpse had been uncovered; "now, Nana Debi be praised for his taking
off! Some one will be the richer for this deed by five hundred rupees."
Below the left breast of the corpse, and beneath the stain on the cloth
that covered it, was a little hole that would scarce admit the tip of a
man's finger, but whence, nevertheless, had issued the life of one of
the terrors of the Terai. The dead man had been the head of a daring
band of dacoits, whose depredations ranged from Rajpore to Bareilly, and
on each of whose heads was a large reward, for they had not hesitated to
commit murder when committing theft.
After Goor Dutt had refreshed his inner man and taken his place at the
fire, he began: "This was the way of it: This evening, as I came
hitherwards, there passed me two doolis, and he who held the torch to
light the way was Lakhoo, whom I had seen once before at the thana at
Moradabad, whence he afterwards escaped. As the doolis passed, he held
the torch to my face, but I feigned sleep, and so he did not molest me.
"The baggage, slung on poles across the shoulders of the bearers, showed
the people in the doolis to be Faringis; and I was minded to see what
would happen, and, if need were, bring thee early word, Thanadar ji, as
to Lakhoo's doings. So I tied my bullocks to a tree and followed the
doolis, treading where the dust was thick and the shadows deepest.
"When the doolis arrived at the path that leads to Nyagong, men came out
of the jungle and stopped the bearers; and I crept behind a bael tree on
the edge of the road and within fifty paces of the travellers, so that I
could see and hear all that passed, for the torch was bright and the
night was still, and Lakhoo spoke as one who knoweth not the need for
speaking low.
"And when those who carried the doolis knew that it was Lakhoo who had
borne the torch for them, and that they were in the midst of his men,
their livers turned to water. One, less frightened than the others,
attempted to flee, but a bamboo lat descended on his skull, and he lay
as one dead, and the rest moaned, 'Ram dhwy, ram dhwy!'
"'Ye Sons of Jackals! ye have naught to fear,' said Lakhoo. 'What were
your miserable dole for the carrying of these doolis to me? But,
remember, ye have nor eyes nor ears now if ye would have them
hereafter!'
"And they whined, saying, 'We be blind and deaf, Bahadoor; and we know
nothing, for we be poor men.'
"'Therefore are ye safe, ye sons of mothers without virtue, for they who
sleep in the doolis are rich, and the family of the sahib who hanged my
brother last year. Who would crack dry bones for sustenance when savory
meat is at hand?'
"Thereafter he tapped on the roof of one of the doolis, saying, 'Wake,
mem-sahib, wake!'
"'What is the matter, dooli-wallah?' was the reply, in the feeble voice
of a sick woman.
"'This is the chowki, khodawund; but the fresh bearers are not here, and
those who brought thee hither are spent and cannot proceed farther. But
there are those here who will bear thee on thy journey for a proper
price.'
"So she called aloud in her own tongue, and there came forth into the
night, from the other dooli, a young lad rubbing the sleep from his eyes
and yawning; and whilst he parleyed with his mother, the curtain of her
dooli was lifted, and a young mem-sahib rose from it and stood beside
the boy, and we could see they were brother and sister, but she was the
older and taller by a span, and in the budding of her womanhood. The
hair, that fell to her waist, was as spun gold in the light of the
torches; rings and stones flashed in her ears and on her fingers, but
they were nothing to the glances of her eyes, which met four-square the
eyes of those to whom she spoke; and she looked at those who were
present as though they were there to do her bidding.
"When the sick mem-sahib in the dooli had finished speaking, the younger
one addressed the masalchi (torch-bearer), saying, 'How far is it to the
next chowki, and what do you ask for taking us there?'
"'Two kos (six miles), mem-sahib, and the hire of my men is fifty
rupees,' answered Lakhoo.
"'And what did you get for bringing us here?' asked she, turning to the
dooli-bearers who stood round them.
"'They are poor men, missy baba, and know nothing,' said Lakhoo, at whom
the dooli-bearers looked for instructions.
"'Son of a Pig!' exclaimed the young lad, taking a leather bag from his
sister's hand and throwing the money, a rupee at a time, on the ground;
'there are fifty rupees. Proceed, for the mem-sahib, my mother, is sick,
and must be on the hills ere the morning sun give heat,' and his face
flushed in the torchlight.
"So Lakhoo tied the money in his waistband, and, without further speech,
sat down and smoked the hookah that was passed to him.
"And after awhile the baba (boy), who had been walking to and fro with
the young woman, his sister, stopped opposite Lakhoo, and spoke,
saying, 'Why do you not proceed, dooli-wallah?'
"'Because I am waiting for my hire, baba ji,' replied Lakhoo.
"'I paid you but now,' exclaimed the young sahib.
"'The sahib is scarce awake,' said Lakhoo, in a bantering tone, 'and
hath been dreaming.' And his men who formed the outer circle laughed
insolently.
"'Liar!' shouted the young sahib, bursting into tears and clinching his
hand; but his sister laid a restraining finger on his arm, and whispered
in his ear.
"'We will give thee thy due, masalchi,' she said, as she went to her
mother's dooli.
"When she returned, she put a three-cornered bag of leather in her
brother's hand.
"'The young mem-sahib is as generous as she is beautiful,' said Lakhoo,
fixing hot eyes on her, whereat her nostrils twitched; 'and her hair is
more precious than gold.' And as he spake, he laid a desecrating hand on
her locks.
"'Swine-born!" shouted the young lad, and drawing from the bag in his
hand a toy that glittered in the torchlight, he put it to Lakhoo's
breast and fired. The tall man bounded into the air like a stricken
deer, and fell prone on his face. As the dacoits rose to their feet, I
smote on the branches of the bael tree that sheltered me with my bamboo
staff, shouting like three men, 'Thieves, thieves!' So Lakhoo's men fled
headlong, and I came forth from my shelter, and salaamed to the baba and
the young mem-sahib.
"'Thou hast earned five hundred rupees, sahib,' said I, 'by the killing
of the great dacoit, Lakhoo.'
"'We had been slain, an' it had not been for thee,' said the young
mem-sahib. 'Who and what art thou?'
"'Goor Dutt, byl-wan, mem-sahib,' I replied; 'and it is my highest
reward to have served thee and thine.'
"'Now, nay, byl-wan, my brother, Charlie Sahib, herewith bestows on thee
whatsoever reward is due for the killing of this dog.'
"'Ay, and this pistol, too,' interrupted the young lad, putting his
glittering toy in my hand. And he showed me the wonder of it,--how it
spake five times, if need were, and how to charge it.
"Then they put the dead man on my bullock-cart, which one of those
present had been sent to fetch. And when the bearers took up the doolis,
they shouted, as one man, 'Chali Sahib ke jhai!'"
"Wah, byl-wan ji, wah!" exclaimed Ram Deen, when Goor Dutt had finished,
"thou art taller than most men. Let us honor a man, my brothers."
And those who sat round the fire sprang to their feet, and woke the
slumbering village with the heartiness of their salutation, as they
shouted, "Goor Dutt ji ke jhai!"