Son of Power Part 40

As they topped the crest of a low hill, the Gul Moti scanned the country declining before her toward the Nerbudda. A string of jewels appeared--incredibly gorgeous in mid-day light. It was thirty-eight full-caparisoned elephants--going fast. Mitha Baba called on them to wait for her; but they remained in sight only a few minutes. The Gul Moti's high courage sank; the caravan was too near the river to be delayed by Mitha Baba's calls--the river too far ahead.

"Do they ever obey her, Laka Din?" the Gul Moti asked.

"They always used to," the old man replied dubiously.

Finally Mitha Baba came out into the straight descent toward the river.

No elephants were in sight, but a blotch of colour showed on the bank.

"Well done for those mahouts!" the Gul Moti cried out in relief. "The caparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?"

"It was well done, Hakima-ji," the old man exulted. "The masters were listening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river--s.p.a.ce of six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is no easiness--unfastening everything from top of an elephant. (I who am old have done it!) Also, some went down to loosen underneath buckles. You shall see."

They found four very disconsolate mahouts on the bank of the river beside the great pile of nicely arranged stuff.

"I want the smallest howdah you have!" called the Gul Moti, as the men sprang in front of Mitha Baba.

"But, Hakima-ji," they protested, "by getting down--we were left behind!"

"I must not be left--and yet you must take these clothes from her!" the Gul Moti said, while they helped the old man to the ground.

"Then go to her neck--oh, Thou Healer-without-fear! She will not wait long--she follows Nut Kut, the demon! and Gunpat Rao, who both got away with everything on!"

Still hoping, the Gul Moti slipped over the edge of the big howdah and climbed toward Mitha Baba's neck. The mahouts worked fast stripping her.

Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny fingers, and plunged into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Moti a little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke.

Day went by--and no elephants in sight. Night came on--and no elephants in sight. Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident of her way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began to climb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if she were coming in to her own stockades. The Gul Moti took up her call again--thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba was not thinking of the caravan. It had happened that the Gul Moti's tones had fallen upon those intonations used in High Himalaya, to send the toilers out to toil wild elephants in.

It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephant crashed past them--lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as it ran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in a fight. But the outline of it, in the shadows, appeared too lean to be one of her own.

Soon after that, Mitha Baba trumpeted in a new tone of voice--one the Gul Moti had never heard before. It sounded very wild, very desolate.

"In the name of all the G.o.ds, Mitha Baba, what's the meaning of that?"

the Gul Moti enquired with a little tension--it being one of those moments when one gains a.s.surance by speech.

But Mitha Baba's reply was in the very oldest language of India--one even the mahouts know only a very little of. It rose in wild, wistful tones--higher and higher. It was repeated from time to time; the sense of it strangely thrilling to the girl on her neck.

. . . They were well up in the mountains, so far that the trees had become ma.s.sive of body and heavy and dense of top--the moon only just showing through--when they heard the trumpeting of elephants, off toward the east. Mitha Baba answered at once, turning abruptly toward the east.

"Mitha Baba!" the Gul Moti protested, "our people have never gone off in this direction--where are we, anyway?"

Mitha Baba's calling was just as wild as before; but it had become wild exultation.

. . . They were coming up into what reminded the Gul Moti of something she had heard--that the really old jungle is always dark; that the light of day never touches earth there. This was almost dark, the moon glinting through black shadows--only at intervals.

The sense of this place was strange. It might be on another planet. And that thought touched the root of the difference--this was not on, this was in. Everything felt in--deep in.

Here Mitha Baba changed her voice again. (Nothing had ever happened to the Gul Moti like it.) It was still wild, still wistful--quite as much so as before. But there was a cooing roll in it--away and away the most enticing thing human ears ever listened to. It sounded like Nature--weaving all spells of all glamour, in tone; soft-flaming gold, in tone; soft-flaming rose, in tone; and on and on--the very softest, deepest magics of life-perpetual!

. . . The trumpeting ahead was fuller and nearer, distinctly nearer; almost as if they were coming into it. Then, without warning, the mighty mountain trees cut off the moon-lit sky. It had been dark before--now it was utterly dark!

Suddenly the Gul Moti was aware of a strong earth-smell. There was no stench about. It had a quality of incense made of tree-gums and sandalwood and perfume-barks, all together. Then a dull thudding caught her ear--almost rhythmic.

. . . The earth-smells deepened and the thudding thickened. Mitha Baba was not climbing any more; moving smoothly, on what felt like firm soil, she seemed to turn and turn again. It was fathoms deep in rayless night--the place that never knew the light of day!

Carlin clung tight to Mitha Baba's neck and remembered everything actual, everything definite, everything sound and sensible she knew. The earth-smells filled her nostrils, her lungs, her blood; tree-gums, sandal-wood, perfume-bark, body-warmth--charging the air.

And over all--wild, and wistful, and pulsing-tender--the weaving of Mitha Baba's enchantment through the dark.

The thudding all about her on the ground--must be the sound of many wild feet! This must be--the "toiling in."

. . . A rending, tearing noise broke in on Mitha Baba's voice; and at once a great crash among the trees, high up. (Someone had torn a sapling from its place and flung it far.)

. . . The keen squeal of a very little elephant--right near--and the angry protest of a strange voice. (Some mother's baby had been pinched, in the crowd!)

. . . It must be imagination--this strong nearness! The Gul Moti, putting out her hand, touched--skin! And within the same breath, on both sides of Mitha Baba--first this side and then that side--two great elephants challenged each other. They were both long, rocking blasts, a little above and almost against the Gul Moti's quickened ears. She shivered under the shock.

Mitha Baba, without breaking her step, backed away from between them; and the impact of frightful blow meeting frightful blow, bruised through the outbreak of much trumpeting.

As Mitha Baba went further and further from the fighters, the Gul Moti was amazed at the sounds of their meeting--like explosions. She remembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephant fight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport.

. . . A soft, _feeling_ thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder along down her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba's neck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at the stranger with her head. The Gul Moti's confidence in the great female's intention to protect her, was established!

At last, lifting her head sharply to utter a different call, Mitha Baba developed a peculiar drive in her motion; a queer drive in the whole huge body that had something to do with a wide swinging of the head. It made them both touch the strange elephants, every few minutes; and always there was a storm of trumpeting all about. Gradually these outbreaks began to sound toward one side; but the direction kept changing--so the Gul Moti made out that Mitha Baba was moving round and round on the outside of the ma.s.s.

After a while they came again into the vicinity where the big males were still fighting. Mitha Baba rocked on her feet a moment, calling a curious low call--a question, softly spoken. At once there was the sound of rapid movement in front. Then Mitha Baba literally whirled--plunging away at incredible speed--almost exactly in the opposite direction from the one she had been facing.

Doctor Carlin Deal Hantee tried to remember Skag--tried to remember her own name. She locked herself about that neck with her strength--she clung with her might. She flattened her body and gripped with her fingers and with her toes--long since having kicked off her low shoes.

Away and away they went, coming out into the moonlight--long enough to see a ma.s.s of dun shadows rising and falling, lurching and rolling, on all sides. Surely the Gul Moti had known that this was a wild elephant herd--these hours. Surely the Gul Moti had heard the "toiling" of them in! But what was Mitha Baba going to do with them--now that she had them?

Down the long slopes and up the steep inclines--the two big elephants close on either side of Mitha Baba--plunging into khuds and out again--most of the time up-ended, one way or the other, at astounding angles--the wild herd raced with Mitha Baba toward whatever destination she might choose.

Dawn broke upon them while they were still in the very rugged hills; and as the mountain outlines cleared of mist, the Gul Moti saw that Mitha Baba was leading her catch straight away back to Hurda. True to her training--there being no trap-stockades near--the toiler was taking them home! The situation was absurd; but it roused the Gul Moti--like one out of a dream--to actual joy.

Through grey avenues of forest trees--rolling down khuds, ringing up crags--the voice of Nut Kut went on out beyond the mountain peaks, to meet approaching day. Nut Kut, the great black elephant who had been trapped in these same Vindha Hills only a few years ago, was rejoicing in freedom again. Nut Kut, who had already made his reputation as the most deadly fighter known to the mahouts, was exulting in strength. It was his joy-song. It came from straight ahead. Mitha Baba answered with a rollicking squeal. But the wild herd voices were savage--chaotic. Now Nut Kut's challenge came back--looming. The situation was no longer absurd.

It meant a fight--an open fight--between the wild herd and the caravan.

The wild herd would never give Mitha Baba over to her own--they would surely fight to keep her. Everything tightened in the Gul Moti and locked--hard. She had known most of the caravan elephants all her life--what would happen to them? They had lived among men these many and many years--never permitted to fight--they could not be equally fighting-fit. The herd would be much leaner--it must be much tougher.

So she bruised her head and her heart between the things that were due to happen to her caravan--horrible punishments and almost certain deaths.

When the caravan appeared, the males were leading; the four females well in the rear. Nut Kut's flaming orange and imperial-blue trappings covered and c.u.mbered him; and young Gunpat Rao's gorgeous saffron and old-rose burned through the Gul Moti's eyes to the hard lump in her throat--it was the one time in their lives when they should be free.

At once the wild females gathered their youngsters--and some who seemed almost mature--cutting them out from the herd and driving them back.

This revealed the wild fighters--many more in number than those of the caravan. The approaching challenges, from both sides, were thundering thick and fast now. The two bodies of elephants were plunging down the opposite sides of a deep khud and would meet in the broad bottom. Mitha Baba--the big males on each side of her--was setting the pace for this side, as if everything depended on time. But when they were quite close, she rushed ahead--straight through the caravan and beyond.

Mitha Baba had been leading her catch to her own stockades--being in no wise responsible that they were not trap-stockades! Now, the home elephants having come to receive it, she had rushed it in--exactly as she would have rushed it into a trap. But Mitha Baba was not satisfied.