The sal forests.--The jungle goddess.--The trees in the jungle.
--Appearance of the forests.--Birds.--Varieties of parrots.--A 'beat'
in the forest.--The 'shekarry.'--Mehrman Singh and his gun.--The
Banturs, a jungle tribe of wood-cutters.--Their habits.--A village
feast.--We beat for deer.--Habits of the spotted deer.--Waiting for
the game.--Mehrman Singh gets drunk.--Our bag.--Pea-fowl and their
habits.--How to shoot them.--Curious custom of the Nepaulese.--How
Juggroo was tricked, and his revenge.
Tirhoot is too generally under cultivation and too thickly inhabited
for much land to remain under jungle, and except the wild pig of which
I have spoken, and many varieties of wild fowl, there is little game to
be met with. It is, however, different in North Bhaugulpore, where
there are still vast tracts of forest jungle, the haunt of the spotted
deer, nilghau, leopard, wolf, and other wild animals. Along the banks
of the Koosee, a rapid mountain river that rolls its flood through
numerous channels to join the Ganges, there are immense tracts of
uncultivated land covered with tall elephant grass, and giving cover to
tigers, hog deer, pig, wild buffalo, and even an occasional rhinoceros,
to say nothing of smaller game and wildfowl, which are very plentiful.
The sal forests in North Bhaugulpore generally keep to the high ridges,
which are composed of a light, sandy soil, very friable, and not very
fertile, except for oil and indigo seeds, which grow most luxuriantly
wherever the forest land has been cleared. In the shallow valleys which
lie between the ridges rice is chiefly cultivated, and gives large
returns. The sal forests have been sadly thinned by unscientific and
indiscriminate cutting, and very few fine trees now remain. The earth
is teeming with insects, chief amongst which are the dreaded and
destructive white ants. The high pointed nests of these destructive
insects, formed of hardened mud, are the commonest objects one meets
with in these forest solitudes.
At intervals, beneath some wide spreading peepul or bhur tree, one
comes on a rude forest shrine, daubed all over with red paint, and with
gaudy festoons of imitation flowers, cut from the pith of the plantain
tree, hanging on every surrounding bough. These shrines are sacred
to _Chumpa buttee_, the Hindoo Diana, protectress of herds, deer,
buffaloes, huntsmen, and herdsmen. She is the recognised jungle
goddess, and is held in great veneration by all the wild tribes and
half-civilized denizens of the gloomy sal jungle.
The general colour of the forest is a dingy green, save when a deeper
shade here and there shows where the mighty bhur uprears its towering
height, or where the crimson flowers of the _seemul_ or cotton tree,
and the bronze-coloured foliage of the _sunpul_ (a tree very like the
ornamental beech in shrubberies at home) imparts a more varied colour
to the generally pervading dark green of the universal sal.
The varieties of trees are of course almost innumerable, but the sal is
so out of all proportion more numerous than any other kind, that the
forests well deserve their recognised name. The sal is a fine, hard
wood of very slow growth. The leaves are broad and glistening, and in
spring are beautifully tipped with a reddish bronze, which gradually
tones down into the dingy green which is the prevailing tint. The
_sheshum_ or _sissod_, a tree with bright green leaves much resembling
the birch, the wood of which is invaluable for cart wheels and
such-like work, is occasionally met with. There is the _kormbhe_, a
very tough wood with a red stringy bark, of which the jungle men make
a kind of touchwood for their matchlocks, and the _parass_, whose
peculiarity is that at times it bursts into a wondrous wealth of bright
crimson blossom without a leaf being on the tree. The _parass_ tree in
full bloom is gorgeous. After the blossom falls the dark-green leaves
come out, and are not much different in colour from the sal. Then there
is the _mhowa_, with its lovely white blossoms, from which a strong
spirit is distilled, and on which the deer, pigs, and wild bear love to
feast. The peculiar sickly smell of the _mhowa_ when in flower pervades
the atmosphere for a great distance round, and reminds one forcibly of
the peculiar sweet, sickly smell of a brewery. The hill _sirres_ is a
tall feathery-looking tree of most elegant shape, towering above the
other forest trees, and the natives strip it of its bark, which they
use to poison streams. It seems to have some narcotic or poisonous
principle, easily soluble in water, for when put in any quantity in a
stream or piece of water, it causes all the fish to become apparently
paralyzed and rise to the surface, where they float about quite
stupified and helpless, and become an easy prey to the poaching
'Banturs' and 'Moosahurs' who adopt this wretched mode of fishing.
Along the banks of the streams vegetation gets very luxurious, and
among the thick undergrowth are found some lovely ferns, broad-leaved
plants, and flowers of every hue, all alike nearly scentless. Here is
no odorous breath of violet or honeysuckle, no delicate perfume of
primrose or sweetbriar, only a musty, dank, earthy smell which gets
more and more pronounced as the mists rise along with the deadly
vapours of the night. Sleeping in these forests is very unhealthy.
There is a most fatal miasma all through the year, less during the hot
months, but very bad during and immediately after the annual rains; and
in September and October nearly every soul in the jungly tracts is
smitten with fever. The vapour only rises to a certain height above the
ground, and at the elevation of ten feet or so, I believe one could
sleep in the jungles with impunity; but it is dangerous at all times to
sleep in the forest, unless at a considerable elevation. The absence of
all those delicious smells which make a walk through the woodlands at
home so delightful, is conspicuous in the sal forests, and another of
the most noticeable features is the extreme silence, the oppressive
stillness that reigns.
You know how full of melody is an English wood, when thrush, blackbird,
mavis, linnet, and a thousand warblers flit from tree to tree. How the
choir rings out its full anthem of sweetest sound, till every bush and
tree seems a centre of sweet strains, soft, low, liquid trills, and
full ripe gushes of melody and song. But it is not thus in an Indian
forest. There are actually few birds. As you brush through the long
grass and trample the tangled undergrowth, putting aside the sprawling
branches, or dodging under the pliant arms of the creepers, you may
flush a black or grey partridge, raise a covey of quail, or startle a
quiet family party of peafowl, but there are no sweet singers flitting
about to make the vaulted arcades of the forest echo to their music.
The hornbill darts with a succession of long bounding flights from one
tall tree to another. The large woodpecker taps a hollow tree close by,
his gorgeous plumage glistening like a mimic rainbow in the sun. A
flight of green parrots sweep screaming above your head, the _golden
oriole_ or mango bird, the _koel_, with here and there a red-tufted
_bulbul_, make a faint attempt at a chirrup; but as a rule the deep
silence is unbroken, save by the melancholy hoot of some blinking owl,
and the soft monotonous coo of the ringdove or the green pigeon. The
exquisite honey-sucker, as delicately formed as the petal of a fairy
flower, flits noiselessly about from blossom to blossom. The natives
call it the 'Muddpenah' or drinker of honey. There are innumerable
butterflies of graceful shape and gorgeous colours; what few birds
there are have beautiful plumage; there is a faint rustle of leaves, a
faint, far hum of insect life; but it feels so silent, so unlike the
woods at home. You are oppressed by the solemn stillness, and feel
almost nervous as you push warily along, for at any moment a leopard,
wolf, or hyena may get up before you, or you may disturb the siesta of
a sounder of pig, or a herd of deer.
Up in those forests on the borders of Nepaul, which are called the
_morung_, there are a great many varieties of parrot, all of them
very beautiful. There is first the common green parrot, with a red
beak, and a circle of salmon-coloured feathers round its neck; they
are very noisy and destructive, and flock together to the fields
where they do great damage to the crops. The _lutkun sooga_ is an
exquisitely-coloured bird, about the size of a sparrow. The _ghur[=a]l_,
a large red and green parrot, with a crimson beak. The _tota_ a
yellowish-green colour, and the male with a breast as red as blood;
they call it the _amereet bhela_. Another lovely little parrot, the
_taeteea sooga_, has a green body, red head, and black throat; but the
most showy and brilliant of all the tribe is the _putsoogee_. The body
is a rich living green, red wings, yellow beak, and black throat; there
is a tuft of vivid red as a topknot, and the tail is a brilliant blue;
the under feathers of the tail being a pure snowy white.
At times the silence is broken by a loud, metallic, bell-like cry,
very like the yodel you hear in the Alps. You hear it rise sharp and
distinct, 'Looralei!' and as suddenly cease. This is the cry of the
_kookoor gh[=e]t_, a bird not unlike a small pheasant, with a
reddish-brown back and a fawn-coloured breast. The _sherra_ is another
green parrot, a little larger than the _putsoogee_, but not so
beautifully coloured.
There is generally a green, slime-covered, sluggish stream in all these
forests, its channel choked with rotting leaves and decaying vegetable
matter. The water should never be drunk until it has been boiled and
filtered. At intervals the stream opens out and forms a clear
rush-fringed pool, and the trees receding on either bank leave a lovely
grassy glade, where the deer and nilghau come to drink. On the glassy
bosom of the pool in the centre, fine duck, mallard, and teal, can
frequently be found, and the rushes round the margin are to a certainty
good for a couple of brace of snipe.
Sometimes on a withered branch overhanging the stream, you can see
perched the _ahur_, or great black fish-hawk. It has a grating,
discordant cry, which it utters at intervals as it sits pluming its
black feathers above the pool. The dark ibis and the ubiquitous
paddy-bird are of course also found here; and where the land is low and
marshy, and the stream crawls along through several channels, you are
sure to come across a couple of red-headed _sarus_, serpent birds, a
crane, and a solitary heron. The _moosahernee_ is a black and white
bird, I fancy a sort of ibis, and is good eating. The _dokahur_ is
another fine big bird, black body and white wings, and as its name
(derived from _dokha_, a shell) implies, it is the shell-gatherer, or
snail-eater, and gives good shooting.
When you have determined to beat the forest, you first get your coolies
and villagers assembled, and send them some mile or two miles ahead,
under charge of some of the head men, to beat the jungle towards you,
while you look out for a likely spot, shady, concealed, and cool, where
you wait with your guns till the game is driven up to you. The whole
arrangements are generally made, of course under your own supervision,
by your _Shekarry_, or gamekeeper, as I suppose you might call him. He
is generally a thin, wiry, silent man, well versed in all the lore of
the woods, acquainted with the name, appearance, and habits of every
bird and beast in the forest. He knows their haunts and when they are
to be found at home. He will track a wounded deer like a bloodhound,
and can tell the signs and almost impalpable evidences of an animal's
whereabouts, the knowledge of which goes to make up the genuine hunter.
When all is still around, and only the distant shouts of the beaters
fall faintly at intervals on the ear, his keen hearing detects the
light patter of hoof or paw on the crisp, withered leaves. His
hawk-like glance can pick out from the deepest shade the sleek coat or
hide of the leopard or the deer; and even before the animal has come in
sight, his senses tell him whether it is young or old, whether it is
alarmed, or walking in blind confidence. In fact, I have known a good
shekarry tell you exactly what animal is coming, whether bear, leopard,
fox, deer, pig, or monkey.
The best shekarry I ever had was a Nepaulee called 'Mehrman Singh.' He
had the regular Tartar physiognomy of the Nepaulese. Small, oblique,
twinkling eyes, high cheekbones, flattish nose, and scanty moustache.
He was a tall, wiry man, with a remarkably light springy step, a bold
erect carriage, and was altogether a fine, manly, independent fellow.
He had none of the fawning obsequiousness which is so common to the
Hindoo, but was a merry laughing fellow, with a keen love of sport and
a great appreciation of humour. His gun was fearfully and wonderfully
made. It was a long, heavy flint gun, with a tremendously heavy barrel,
and the stock all splices and splinters, tied in places with bits of
string. I would rather not have been in the immediate vicinity of the
weapon when he fired it, and yet he contrived to do some good shooting
with it.
He was wonderfully patient in stalking an animal or waiting for its
near approach, as he never ventured on a long shot, and did not
understand our objection to pot-shooting. His shot was composed of
jagged little bits of iron, chipped from an old _kunthee_, or
cooking-pot; and his powder was truly unique, being like lumps of
charcoal, about the size of small raisins. A shekarry fills about four
or five fingers' depth of this into his gun, then a handful of old
iron, and with a little touch of English powder pricked in with a pin
as priming, he is ready for execution on any game that may come within
reach of a safe pot-shot. When the gun goes off there is a mighty
splutter, a roar like that of a small cannon, and the slugs go hurtling
through the bushes, carrying away twigs and leaves, and not
unfrequently smashing up the game so that it is almost useless for the
table.
The _Banturs_, who principally inhabit these jungles, are mostly of
Nepaulese origin. They are a sturdy, independent people, and the women
have fair skins, and are very pretty. Unchastity is very rare, and the
infidelity of a wife is almost unknown. If it is found out, mutilation
and often death are the penalties exacted from the unfortunate woman.
They wear one long loose flowing garment, much like the skirt of a
gown; this is tightly twisted round the body above the bosoms, leaving
the neck and arms quite bare. They are fond of ornaments--nose, ears,
toes and arms, and even ancles, being loaded with silver rings and
circlets. Some decorate their nose and the middle parting of the hair
with a greasy-looking red pigment, while nearly every grown-up woman
has her arms, neck, and low down on the collar bone most artistically
tattooed in a variety of close, elaborate patterns. The women all work
in the clearings; sowing, and weeding, and reaping the rice, barley,
and other crops. They do most of the digging where that is necessary,
the men confining themselves to ploughing and wood-cutting. At the
latter employment they are most expert; they use the axe in the most
masterly manner, but their mode of cutting is fearfully wasteful; they
always leave some three feet of the best part of the wood in the
ground, very rarely cutting a tree close down to the root. Many of
them are good charcoal-burners, and indeed their principal occupation
is supplying the adjacent villages with charcoal and firewood. They use
small narrow-edged axes for felling, but for lopping they invariably
use the Nepaulese national weapon--the _kookree_. This is a heavy,
curved knife, with a broad blade, the edge very sharp, and the back
thick and heavy. In using it they slash right and left with a quick
downward stroke, drawing the blade quickly toward them as they strike.
They are wonderfully dexterous with the _kookree_, and will clear
away brush and underwood almost as quickly as a man can walk. They
pack their charcoal, rice, or other commodities, in long narrow
baskets, which they sling on a pole carried on their shoulders, as we
see the Chinese doing in the well known pictures on tea-chests. They
are all Hindoos in religion, but are very fond of rice-whiskey. Although
not so abstemious in this respect as the Hindoos of the plains, they
are a much finer race both physically and morally. As a rule they are
truthful, honest, brave, and independent. They are always glad to see
you, laugh out merrily at you as you pass, and are wonderfully
hospitable. It would be a nice point for Sir Wilfrid Lawson to
reconcile the use of rice-whiskey with this marked superiority in all
moral virtues in the whiskey-drinking, as against the totally-abstaining
Hindoo.
To return to Mehrman Singh. His face was seamed with smallpox marks,
and he had seven or eight black patches on it the first time I saw him,
caused by the splintering of his flint when he let off his antediluvian
gun. When he saw my breechloaders, the first he had ever beheld, his
admiration was unbounded. He told me he had come on a leopard asleep in
the forest one day, and crept up quite close to him. His faith in his
old gun, however, was not so lively as to make him rashly attack so
dangerous a customer, so he told me. 'Hum usko jans deydea oos wukt,'
that is, 'I _gave_ the brute its life that time, but,' he continued,
'had I had an English gun like this, your honour, I would have blown
the _soor_ (_Anglice_, pig) to hell.' Old Mehrman was rather strong in
his expletives at times, but I was not a little amused at the cool way
he spoke of _giving_ the leopard its life. The probability is, that had
he only wounded the animal, he would have lost his own.
These Nepaulese are very fond of giving feasts to each other. Their
dinner-parties, I assure you, are very often 'great affairs.' They are
not mean in their arrangements, and the wants of the inner man are very
amply provided for. Their crockery is simple and inexpensive. When the
feast is prepared, each guest provides himself with a few broad leaves
from the nearest sal tree, and forming these into a cup, he pins them
together with thorns from the acacia. Squatting down in a circle, with
half-a-dozen of these sylvan cups around, the attendant fills one with
rice, another with _dhall_, a third with goat's-flesh, a fourth with
_turkaree_ or vegetables, a fifth with chutnee, pickle, or some kind of
preserve. Curds, ghee, a little oil perhaps, sugar, plantains, and
other fruit are not wanting, and the whole is washed down with copious
draughts of fiery rice-whiskey, or where it can be procured, with
palm-toddy. Not unfrequently dancing boys or girls are in attendance,
and the horrid din of tom-toms, cymbals, a squeaking fiddle, or a
twanging sitar, rattling castanets, and ear-piercing songs from the
dusky _prima donna_, makes night hideous, until the grey dawn peeps
over the dark forest line.
Early in January, 1875, my camp was at a place in the sal jungles
called Lohurneah. I had been collecting rents and looking after my seed
cultivation, and Pat and our sporting District Engineer having joined
me, we determined to have a beat for deer. Mehrman Singh had reported
numerous herds in the vicinity of our camp. During the night we had
been disturbed by the revellers at such a feast in the village as I
have been describing. We had filled cartridges, seen to our guns, and
made every preparation for the beat, and early in the morning the
coolies and idlers of the forest villages all round were ranged in
circles about our camp.
Swallowing a hasty breakfast we mounted our ponies, and followed by our
ragged escort, made off for the forest. On the way we met a crowd of
Banturs with bundles of stakes and great coils of strong heavy netting.
Sending the coolies on ahead under charge of several headmen and peons,
we plunged into the gloom of the forest, leaving our ponies and grooms
outside. When we came to a likely-looking spot, the Banturs began
operations by fixing up the nets on the stakes and between trees, till
a line of strong net extended across the forest for several hundred
yards. We then went ahead, leaving the nets behind us, and each took up
his station about 200 yards in front. The men with the nets then hid
themselves behind trees, and crouched in the underwood. With our
kookries we cut down several branches, stuck them in the ground in
front, and ensconced ourselves in this artificial shelter. Behind us,
and between us and the nets, was a narrow cart track leading through
the forest, and the reason of our taking this position was given me by
Pat, who was an old hand at jungle shooting.
When deer are being driven, they are intensely suspicious, and of
course frightened. They know every spot in the jungle, and are
acquainted with all the paths, tracks, and open places in the forest.
When they are nearing an open glade, or a road, they slacken their
pace, and go slowly and warily forward, an old buck generally leading.
When he has carefully reconnoitred and examined the suspected place in
front, and found it clear to all appearance, they again put on the
pace, and clear the open ground at their greatest speed. The best
chance of a shot is when a path is in front of _them_ and behind _you_,
as then they are going slowly.
At first when I used to go out after them, I often got an open glade,
or road, in _front_ of me; but experience soon told me that Pat's plan
was the best. As this was a beat not so much for real sport, as to show
me how the villagers managed these affairs, we were all under Pat's
direction, and he could not have chosen better ground. I was on the
extreme left, behind a clump of young trees, with the sluggish muddy
stream on my left. Our Engineer to my right was about one hundred yards
off, and Pat himself on the extreme right, at about the same distance
from H. Behind us was the road, and in the rear the long line of nets,
with their concealed watchers. The nets are so set up on the stakes,
that when an animal bounds along and touches the net, it falls over
him, and ere he can extricate himself from its meshes, the vigilant
Banturs rush out and despatch him with spears and clubs.
We waited a long time hearing nothing of the beaters, and watching the
red and black ants hurrying to and fro. Huge green-bellied spiders
oscillated backwards and forwards in their strong, systematically woven
webs. A small mungoose kept peeping out at me from the roots of an old
india-rubber tree, and aloft in the branches an amatory pair of hidden
ringdoves were billing and cooing to each other. At this moment a
stealthy step stole softly behind, and the next second Mr. Mehrman
Singh crept quietly and noiselessly beside me, his face flushed with
rapid walking, his eye flashing with excitement, his finger on his lip,
and a look of portentous gravity and importance striving to spread
itself over his speaking countenance. Mehrman had been up all night at
the feast, and was as drunk as a piper. It was no use being angry with
him, so I tried to keep him quiet and resumed my watch.
A few minutes afterwards he grasped me by the wrist, rather startling
me, but in a low hoarse whisper warning me that a troop of monkeys was
coming. I could not hear the faintest rustle, but sure enough in a
minute or two a troop of over twenty monkeys came hopping and shambling
along, stopping every now and then to sit on their hams, look back,
grin, jabber, and show their formidable teeth, until Mehrman rose up,
waved his cloth at them, and turned them off from the direction of the
nets toward the bank of the stream.
Next came a fox, slouching warily and cautiously along; then a couple
of lean, hungry-looking jackals; next a sharp patter on the crisp dry
leaves, and several peafowl with resplendent plumage ran rapidly past.
Another touch on the arm from Mehrman, and following the direction of
his outstretched hand, I descried a splendid buck within thirty yards
of me, his antlers and chest but barely visible above the brushwood. My
gun was to my shoulder in an instant, but the shekarry in an excited
whisper implored me not to fire. I hesitated, and just then the stately
head turned round to look behind, and exposing the beautifully curving
neck full to my aim, I fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing the
fine buck topple over, seemingly hard hit.
A shot on my right, and two shots in rapid succession further on,
shewed me that Pat and H. were also at work, and then the whole forest
seemed alive with frightened, madly-plunging pig, deer, and other
animals. I fired at, and wounded an enormous boar that came rushing
past, and now the cries of the coolies in front as they came trooping
on, mingled with the shouts of the men at the nets, where the work of
death evidently was going on.
It was most exciting while it lasted, but, after all, I do not think it
was honest sport. The only apology I could make to myself was, that the
deer and pig were far too numerous, and doing immense damage to the
crops, and if not thinned out, they would soon have made the growing of
any crop whatever an impossibility.
The monkey being a sacred animal, is never molested by the natives, and
the damage he does in a night to a crop of wheat or barley is
astonishing. Peafowl too are very destructive, and what with these and
the ravages of pig, deer, hares, and other plunderers, the poor ryot
has to watch many a weary night, to secure any return from his fields.
On rejoining each other at the nets, we found that five deer and two
pigs had been killed. Pat had shot a boar and a porcupine, the latter
with No. 4 shot. H. accounted for a deer, and I got my buck and the
boar which I had wounded in the chest; Mehrman Singh had followed him
up and tracked him to the river, where he took refuge among some long
swamp reeds. Replying to his call, we went up, and a shot through the
head settled the old boar for ever. Our bag was therefore for the first
beat, seven deer, four pigs, and a porcupine.
The coolies were now sent away out of the jungle, and on ahead for a
mile or so, the nets were coiled up, our ponies regained, and off we
set, to take another station. As we went along the river bank,
frequently having to force our way through thick jungle, we started 'no
end' of peafowl, and getting down we soon added a couple to the bag.
Pat got a fine jack snipe, and I shot a _Jheela_, a very fine waterfowl
with brown plumage, having a strong metallic, coppery lustre on the
back, and a steely dark blue breast. The plumage was very thick and
glossy, and it proved afterwards to be excellent eating.
Peafowl generally retire to the thickest part of the jungles during the
heat of the day, but if you go out very early, when they are slowly
wending their way back from the fields, where they have been revelling
all night, you can shoot numbers of them. I used to go about twenty or
thirty yards into the jungle, and walk slowly along, keeping that
distance from the edge. My syce and pony would then walk slowly by the
edges of the fields, and when the syce saw a peafowl ahead, making for
the jungle, he would shout and try to make it rise. He generally
succeeded, and as I was a little in advance and concealed by the
jungle, I would get a fine shot as the bird flew overhead. I have shot
as many as eight and ten in a morning in this way. I always used No. 4
shot with about 3-1/2 drams of powder.
Unless hard hit peafowl will often get away; they run with amazing
swiftness, and in the heart of the jungle it is almost impossible to
make them rise. A couple of sharp terriers, or a good retriever, will
sometimes flush them, but the best way is to go along the edge of the
jungle in the early morn, as I have described. The peachicks, about
seven or eight months old, are deliciously tender and well flavoured.
Old birds are very dry and tough, and require a great deal of that
old-fashioned sauce, Hunger.
The common name for a peafowl is _m[=o]r_, but the Nepaulese and Banturs
call it _majoor_. Now _majoor_ also means coolie, and a young fellow,
S., was horrified one day hearing his attendant in the jungle telling
him in the most excited way, '_Majoor, majoor_, Sahib; why don't you
fire?' Poor S. thought it was a coolie the man meant, and that he must
be going mad, wanting him to shoot a coolie, but he found out his
mistake, and learnt the double meaning of the word, when he got home
and consulted his _manager_.
The generic name for all deer is in Hindustani HURIN, but the Nepaulese
call it CHEETER. The male spotted deer they call KUBRA, the female
KUBREE. These spotted deer keep almost exclusively to the forests, and
are very seldom found far away from the friendly cover of the sal
woods. They are the most handsome, graceful looking animals I know,
their skins beautifully marked with white spots, and the horns wide and
arching. When properly prepared the skin makes a beautiful mat for a
drawing room, and the horns of a good buck are a handsome ornament to
the hall or the verandah. When bounding along through the forest, his
beautifully spotted skin flashing through the dark green foliage, his
antlers laid back over his withers, he looks the very embodiment of
grace and swiftness. He is very timid, and not easily stalked.
In March and April, when a strong west wind is blowing, it rustles the
myriads of leaves that, dry as tinder, encumber the earth. This
perpetual rustle prevents the deer from hearing the footsteps of an
approaching foe. They generally betake themselves then to some patch of
grass, or long-crop outside the jungle altogether, and if you want them
in those months, it is in such places, and not inside the forest at
all, that you must search. Like all the deer tribe, they are very
curious, and a bit of rag tied to a tree, or a cloth put over a bush,
will not unfrequently entice them within range.
Old shekarries will tell you that as long as the deer go on feeding and
flapping their ears, you may continue your approach. As soon as they
throw up the head, and keep the ears still, their suspicions have been
aroused, and if you want venison, you must be as still as a rock, till
your game is again lulled into security, As soon as the ears begin
flapping again, you may continue your stalk, but at the slightest
noise, the noble buck will be off like a flash of lightning. You should
never go out in the forest with white clothes, as you are then a
conspicuous mark for all the prying eyes that are invisible to you. The
best colour is dun brown, dark grey, or dark green. When you see a deer
has become suspicious, and no cover is near, stand perfectly erect and
rigid, and do not leave your legs apart. The 'forked-parsnip' formation
of the 'human form divine' is detected at a glance, but there's just a
chance that if your legs are drawn together, and you remain perfectly
motionless, you may be mistaken for the stump of a tree, or at the best
some less dangerous enemy than man.
As we rode slowly along, to allow the beaters to get ahead, and to let
the heavily-laden men with the nets keep up with us, we were amused to
hear the remarks of the syces and shekarries on the sport they had just
witnessed. Pat's old man, Juggroo, a merry peep-eyed fellow, full of
anecdote and humour, was rather hard on Mehrman Singh for having been
up late the preceding night. Mehrman, whose head was by this time
probably reminding him that there are 'lees to every cup,' did not seem
to relish the humour. He began grasping one wrist with the other hand,
working his hand slowly round his wrist, and I noticed that Juggroo
immediately changed the subject. This, as I afterwards learned, is the
invariable Nepaulese custom of showing anger. They grasp the wrist as I
have said, and it is taken as a sign that, if you do not discontinue
your banter, you will have a fight.
The Nepaulese are rather vain of their personal appearance, and hanker
greatly after a good thick moustache. This, nature has denied them, for
the hair on their faces is scanty and stubbly in the extreme. One day
Juggroo saw his master putting some bandoline on his moustache, which
was a fine, handsome, silky one. He asked Pat's bearer, an old rogue,
what it was.
'Oh!' replied the bearer, 'that is the gum of the sal tree; master
always uses that, and that is the reason he has such a fine moustache.'
Juggroo's imagination fired up at the idea.
'Will it make mine grow too?'
'Certainly.'
'How do you use it?'
'Just rub it on, as you see master do.'
Away went Juggroo to try the new recipe.
Now, the gum of the sal tree is a very strong resin, and hardens in
water. It is almost impossible to get it off your skin, as the more
water you use, the harder it gets.
Next day Juggroo's face presented a sorry sight. He had plentifully
smeared the gum over his upper lip, so that when he washed his face,
the gum _set_, making the lip as stiff as a board, and threatening to
crack the skin every time the slightest muscle moved.
Juggroo _was_ 'sold' and no mistake, but he bore it all in grim
silence, although he never forgot the old bearer. One day, long after,
he brought in some berries from the wood, and was munching them,
seemingly with great relish. The bearer wanted to know what they were,
Juggroo with much apparent _nonchalance_ told him they were some very
sweet, juicy, wild berries he had found in the forest. The bearer asked
to try one.
Juggroo had _another_ fruit ready, very much resembling those he was
eating. It is filled with minute spikelets, or little hairy spinnacles,
much resembling those found in ripe doghips at home. If these even
touch the skin, they cause intense pain, stinging like nettles, and
blistering every part they touch.
The unsuspicious bearer popped the treacherous berry into his mouth,
gave it a crunch, and then with a howl of agony, spluttered and spat,
while the tears ran down his cheeks, as he implored Juggroo by all the
gods to fetch him some water.
Old Juggroo with a grim smile, walked coolly away, discharging a
Parthian shaft, by telling him that these berries were very good for
making the hair grow, and hoped he would soon have a good moustache.
A man from the village now came running up to tell us that there was a
leopard in the jungle we were about to beat, and that it had seized,
but failed to carry away, a dog from the village during the night.
Natives are so apt to tell stories of this kind that at first we did
not credit him, but turning into the village he showed us the poor dog,
with great wounds on its neck and throat where the leopard had pounced
upon it. The noise, it seems, had brought some herdsmen to the place,
and their cries had frightened the leopard and saved the wretched dog.
As the man said he could show us the spot where the leopard generally
remained, we determined to beat him up; so sending a man off on
horseback for the beaters to slightly alter their intended line of
beat, we rode off, attended by the villager, to get behind the
leopard's lair, and see if we could not secure him. These fierce and
courageous brutes, for they are both, are very common in the sal
jungles; and as I have seen several killed, both in Bhaugulpore and
Oudh, I must devote a chapter to the subject.