The Sa'-Zada Tales Part 7

"He is either a great liar, or not so bad as is written in The Book,"

commented Sher Abi, the Crocodile; "but in my land where was his Brother, the Jackal, I never heard good of his kind."

"I am sure it is a true tale," declared Sa'-zada; "Coyote could not have made it up."

Fourth Night

The Story of Raj Bagh, the King Tiger

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

FOURTH NIGHT

THE STORY OF RAJ BAGH, THE KING TIGER

While the Keeper Sa'-zada was still loitering over his tea, there came to his ears an imperious roaring call "Wah-h-h! Wah-h-h! Wah-houh!"

"This is the Tiger's night, indeed," he muttered to himself. "Old Raj Bagh is eager to tell us the tale of his life." Then he hurried down to their cages and corrals saying, "Come, comrades; the King of the Jungle calls us."

"We shall have strong tales of blood-letting to-night," muttered Magh the Orang-Outang.

"King of the Jungle, indeed!" sneered Hathi, the Elephant. "When I was Lord of the jungle I knew no king--that is, amongst the animals."

"Now," began Sa'-zada, opening The Book, when the Jungle Dwellers had all gathered in front of Bagh, the killer's cage; "now we shall know all about Huzoor Stripes. And mind you, Hathi, and all the rest, there must be no anger, for Bagh's way of life has not been of his own making; for with his kind it is their nature to kill that which they eat."

"I was born in Chittagong," began Bagh, "and well I remember the little _Nullah_ in which my Mother kept me, a big tea garden spread over three hills just near our hiding place, and there was always much good eating.

"For months after I was born my Mother made me hide in the _Nullah_.

That was always in the evening. And as for hiding, how anyone can get along without stripes in his coat I can't understand. Let me hide in a gra.s.s field where the sun throws sharp shadows up and down across everything and I'll give my ration of meat for the week to anyone who can see me three lengths of my tail away."

"Where was your Mother all this time?" queried Magh, tauntingly.

"To be sure," answered Bagh, "she would be away for hours making the kill, and when she came back would lick my face, and teach me the sweet smell of new meat and hot blood. Then the next evening, just as it was getting dark, she would take me with her to the kill, which was usually a Cow, and which she had very cunningly hidden in elephant gra.s.s, or a bamboo clump, or some little _Nullah_. There would be still half of it left. I grew big and strong, and longed to make a kill on my own account.

"But that year a terrible thing happened to the Buffaloes and Cows upon which we depended for food. They were all down in the Flat Lands, which is close by the sea, and one day when the jungle was much torn by strong, fierce winds, a great water came over the land, and ate up all the Cattle, and many of the Men-kind. Then, indeed, we fairly starved, for the few that were left were kept close to the bamboo houses of the villagers. Night after night, even in the day-time, my Mother and I sought for the chances of a kill, for I had grown big at that time, and she took me with her. We were really starving; perhaps a small Chital (deer), or a Dog, or something came our way once in a while, but the pain in my stomach was so great that I moaned, and moaned, and I believe it was because of me that my Mother became a Man-killer."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Mooswa. "Became a killer of the Men-kind?

Dreadful!"

"I, too, have killed Men," a.s.serted Raj Bagh; "and why is it so evil, my big-nosed eater-of-gra.s.s? Your food is the leaves of the jungle, and you have it with you always. When you are hungry you walk, walk, and soon you come to where there is much food, and you eat, and with you that is all right--there is no evil in it. As Sa'-zada has said, it is our way of life to kill our eating. When there is no Chital we kill Sambhur; when there are no Deer we kill Pigs, or even Buffalo; when there is nothing but Man, and we are changed from our usual way of kill by great hunger, we slay Man. With all Dwellers of the Jungle, there is fear of the Men-kind, that is all, nothing but fear; and when once that is broken we kill the Men-kind even as any other Jungle Dweller."

"Little Brother," began Sa'-zada, "it is spoken amongst my Kind, that a Man-killer is always an old, broken-toothed Tiger, full-manged, and of evil ways; and that once having tasted human flesh he becomes a killer of nothing else."

"Ha-hauk!" laughed Bagh, "those be silly Jungle tales. Am I broken-toothed, or full of a mange, or is Raj Bagh? All a lie, Little Master, all a lie. It is but a chance of the Jungle that makes a Man-killer, even as I will tell, and the taste of the flesh is not more than the taste of meat.

"Yes," he continued, "I was with my Mother that day, the first day of the Man-kill, and in my stomach was a great pain like the biting of Red Ants. It was near the coming of night, and we crept down into the tea garden where there were many of the coolie kind working amongst the bushes. I think my Mother was looking for a stray dog, or perhaps a small Bullock; but the coolies seeing us cried aloud in their fright, 'Bagh hai!' and ran. I think it was this that made my Mother charge suddenly amongst them, for if they had stood and looked at us I'm sure we should have turned and gone away; but in the charge a Man fell.

Baghni seized him by the neck, threw him on her back, and we both galloped into the jungle. After that, whenever we were hungry we went back to the tea garden in just the same way.

"But one day a coolie saw us first and ran to his master's bungalow crying with much fear. Neither of us thought anything of that, for it was as they had done before; so we went on down in the little _Nullah_ between the hills, looking sharply for others of the Black Workers.

Suddenly I heard a noise as of something approaching.

"'Keep still, O Baghela,' said Baghni, 'here cometh one of the Men-kind, and I will make a kill.'

"As we waited, presently there was no sound. 'The kill has gone away,'

I whispered to Baghni, but she struck me hard with her tail, almost knocking some of my teeth out; that was to keep still. There was not even any scent of the Men-kind in the wind now; most surely he had gone away, I thought. What a silly old Baghni my Mother must be.

"I heard a soft whistle behind me, 'Sp-e-e-t!' just like that, much as you've heard Hawk in his cage call. When I looked around there was one of the White-face, even the Sahib of the tea garden. I knew him, for I had seen him once before. In his hand he held what I have since learned was a thunder-stick. I looked in his eyes for perhaps three lashes of my tail, but I could see there nothing of the Man-fear Hathi has told us of. Such eyes I have never seen in any animal's head; not yellow like those of my kind, nor red and black like Hathi's, nor even dull brown like Korite the killer's; just of a quiet color like a tiny bit of the sky coming between the leaves of the forest.

"What was he waiting for, I thought. Baghni had not heard him, for she did not turn her head. Then he made the call like Hawk's again, and Baghni turned her head even as I had, and looked full at him, but he did not run away.

"Now feeling something lifted from me, because his eyes were on Baghni, I think, I looked again sideways from the corner of my eye. Baghni had set her ears tight back, and drawn her lip up in a cross snarl, so that her teeth, almost the length of Boar's tusks, said as plain as could be, 'Now I will crush your back.' But still in his eyes that were like bits of sky was not the Man-fear; if I had seen it there most surely I had charged straight at his throat, for I was angry, and still, I think, filled with much fear.

"Then Baghni turned around, crouched with her head low, looking straight at him. As she did so, the Sahib raised his thunder-stick, there was an awful noise from it, I heard Baghni scream 'Gur-houk!' and she had charged. I, too, followed her, thinking she had got this Man who was our kill; but just beyond in the _Nullah_, even the length of Bainsa's corral from here, I saw her on her side tearing up the tea bushes with her great paws. I stopped for the length of two breaths, but I could see that there was something very wrong--she was going to sleep. Then the greatest fear that I have ever known came over me, and I galloped fast into the jungle to where was my hiding-place."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BUT I COULD SEE THAT THERE WAS SOMETHING VERY WRONG ..."]

"They had killed your Mother, had they, Bagh?" asked Mooswa.

"I think so, for I never saw her again. I was afraid to go back where the men labored, and, as I had said, there were no Bullocks, and I nearly starved to death."

"But how did they catch you?" queried Magh.

"It was all because of my hunger. When I was not stronger than a jungle Bakri (sheep), not having eaten for days and days, I heard one night a Pariah Dog howling in the jungle. It took me hours to know that there was no danger near this crying one of the Dog-kind. I went round and round in circles that I had made smaller each time, and drew the wind from all sides into my nose to see if there was the Man scent. There was nothing but the Pariah, and by some means he had got into a hole.

Of course, afterwards I knew it was the evil work of this Sahib who had killed Baghni. Such a hole the Pariah was in, it was as long as these two cages, and though wide at the bottom, it was small at the top, even like the cover of Magh's house yonder. I crawled in and caught the Dog in my strong jaws. Sweet fles.h.!.+ how he howled when he knew I was coming.

"Then with a crash something fell behind me, and closed the hole so I could not get out, and at once I heard them shouting."

"Where had they come from so soon?" queried Magh.

"They were up in the jungle trees," answered Bagh.

"I think it is a fine lie," grunted Boar. "Do you mean to say, Bagh, that you could not see them in the trees?"

"You have little knowledge of my kind, Piggy. Know you not that when going through the jungle we never look up?"

"I do," interrupted Raj Bagh, "but I learned the trick. Brother Bagh is right, though; I suppose it comes from always looking for our kill on the ground, and I have heard that this is why the Hunters so often kill us from _Machans_ (shooting rest in a tree). We never see them until we are struck."

"The Men were all about the hole," continued Bagh, "and it was he of the white face that cried, 'Don't kill him, don't stick him with the spears! He is only a Baghela, and we will take him alive for Sa'-zada.'

"They dug little holes from the top, and bound me with strong ropes; it was so narrow I couldn't turn round, you see. Then I was sent here to Sa'-zada. Though he is good to me, still I wish I was back in my old jungle."