The Second Jungle Book
He lowered his head so that the sound would travel, and cried a long,
long, “Good hunting”--a midnight call in the afternoon, which was quite
awful enough to begin with. Mowgli heard it rumble, and rise, and fall,
and die off in a creepy sort of whine behind him, and laughed to himself
as he ran through the Jungle. He could see the charcoal-burners huddled
in a knot; old Buldeo’s gun-barrel waving, like a banana-leaf, to every
point of the compass at once. Then Gray Brother gave the Ya-la-hi!
Yalaha! call for the buck-driving, when the Pack drives the nilghai, the
big blue cow, before them, and it seemed to come from the very ends of
the earth, nearer, and nearer, and nearer, till it ended in a shriek
snapped off short. The other three answered, till even Mowgli could have
vowed that the full Pack was in full cry, and then they all broke
into the magnificent Morning-song in the Jungle, with every turn, and
flourish, and grace-note that a deep-mouthed wolf of the Pack knows.
This is a rough rendering of the song, but you must imagine what it
sounds like when it breaks the afternoon hush of the Jungle:--
One moment past our bodies cast
No shadow on the plain;
Now clear and black they stride our track,
And we run home again.
In morning hush, each rock and bush
Stands hard, and high, and raw:
Then give the Call: “Good rest to all
That keep The Jungle Law!”
Now horn and pelt our peoples melt
In covert to abide;
Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill
Our Jungle Barons glide.
Now, stark and plain, Man’s oxen strain,
That draw the new-yoked plough;
Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red
Above the lit talao.
Ho! Get to lair! The sun’s aflare
Behind the breathing grass:
And cracking through the young bamboo
The warning whispers pass.
By day made strange, the woods we range
With blinking eyes we scan;
While down the skies the wild duck cries
“The Day--the Day to Man!”
The dew is dried that drenched our hide
Or washed about our way;
And where we drank, the puddled bank
Is crisping into clay.
The traitor Dark gives up each mark
Of stretched or hooded claw;
Then hear the Call: “Good rest to all
That keep the Jungle Law!”
But no translation can give the effect of it, or the yelping scorn the
Four threw into every word of it, as they heard the trees crash when
the men hastily climbed up into the branches, and Buldeo began repeating
incantations and charms. Then they lay down and slept, for, like all who
live by their own exertions, they were of a methodical cast of mind; and
no one can work well without sleep.
Meantime, Mowgli was putting the miles behind him, nine to the hour,
swinging on, delighted to find himself so fit after all his cramped
months among men. The one idea in his head was to get Messua and her
husband out of the trap, whatever it was; for he had a natural mistrust
of traps. Later on, he promised himself, he would pay his debts to the
village at large.
It was at twilight when he saw the well-remembered grazing-grounds, and
the dhak-tree where Gray Brother had waited for him on the morning that
he killed Shere Khan. Angry as he was at the whole breed and community
of Man, something jumped up in his throat and made him catch his breath
when he looked at the village roofs. He noticed that every one had come
in from the fields unusually early, and that, instead of getting to
their evening cooking, they gathered in a crowd under the village tree,
and chattered, and shouted.
“Men must always be making traps for men, or they are not content,” said
Mowgli. “Last night it was Mowgli--but that night seems many Rains ago.
To-night it is Messua and her man. To-morrow, and for very many nights
after, it will be Mowgli’s turn again.”
He crept along outside the wall till he came to Messua’s hut, and looked
through the window into the room. There lay Messua, gagged, and bound
hand and foot, breathing hard, and groaning: her husband was tied to the
gaily-painted bedstead. The door of the hut that opened into the street
was shut fast, and three or four people were sitting with their backs to
it.
Mowgli knew the manners and customs of the villagers very fairly. He
argued that so long as they could eat, and talk, and smoke, they would
not do anything else; but as soon as they had fed they would begin to be
dangerous. Buldeo would be coming in before long, and if his escort had
done its duty, Buldeo would have a very interesting tale to tell. So he
went in through the window, and, stooping over the man and the woman,
cut their thongs, pulling out the gags, and looked round the hut for
some milk.
Messua was half wild with pain and fear (she had been beaten and stoned
all the morning), and Mowgli put his hand over her mouth just in time
to stop a scream. Her husband was only bewildered and angry, and sat
picking dust and things out of his torn beard.
“I knew--I knew he would come,” Messua sobbed at last. “Now do I KNOW
that he is my son!” and she hugged Mowgli to her heart. Up to that time
Mowgli had been perfectly steady, but now he began to tremble all over,
and that surprised him immensely.
“Why are these thongs? Why have they tied thee?” he asked, after a
pause.
“To be put to the death for making a son of thee--what else?” said the
man sullenly. “Look! I bleed.”
Messua said nothing, but it was at her wounds that Mowgli looked, and
they heard him grit his teeth when he saw the blood.
“Whose work is this?” said he. “There is a price to pay.”
“The work of all the village. I was too rich. I had too many cattle.
THEREFORE she and I are witches, because we gave thee shelter.”
“I do not understand. Let Messua tell the tale.”
“I gave thee milk, Nathoo; dost thou remember?” Messua said timidly.
“Because thou wast my son, whom the tiger took, and because I loved thee
very dearly. They said that I was thy mother, the mother of a devil, and
therefore worthy of death.”
“And what is a devil?” said Mowgli. “Death I have seen.”
The man looked up gloomily, but Messua laughed. “See!” she said to her
husband, “I knew--I said that he was no sorcerer. He is my son--my son!”
“Son or sorcerer, what good will that do us?” the man answered. “We be
as dead already.”
“Yonder is the road to the Jungle”--Mowgli pointed through the window.
“Your hands and feet are free. Go now.”
“We do not know the Jungle, my son, as--as thou knowest,” Messua began.
“I do not think that I could walk far.”
“And the men and women would be upon our backs and drag us here again,”
said the husband.
“H’m!” said Mowgli, and he tickled the palm of his hand with the tip
of his skinning-knife; “I have no wish to do harm to any one of this
village--YET. But I do not think they will stay thee. In a little while
they will have much else to think upon. Ah!” he lifted his head and
listened to shouting and trampling outside. “So they have let Buldeo
come home at last?”
“He was sent out this morning to kill thee,” Messua cried. “Didst thou
meet him?”
“Yes--we--I met him. He has a tale to tell and while he is telling it
there is time to do much. But first I will learn what they mean. Think
where ye would go, and tell me when I come back.”
He bounded through the window and ran along again outside the wall
of the village till he came within ear-shot of the crowd round the
peepul-tree. Buldeo was lying on the ground, coughing and groaning,
and every one was asking him questions. His hair had fallen about his
shoulders; his hands and legs were skinned from climbing up trees,
and he could hardly speak, but he felt the importance of his position
keenly. From time to time he said something about devils and singing
devils, and magic enchantment, just to give the crowd a taste of what
was coming. Then he called for water.
“Bah!” said Mowgli. “Chatter--chatter! Talk, talk! Men are
blood-brothers of the Bandar-log. Now he must wash his mouth with water;
now he must blow smoke; and when all that is done he has still his story
to tell. They are very wise people--men. They will leave no one to guard
Messua till their ears are stuffed with Buldeo’s tales. And--I grow as
lazy as they!”
He shook himself and glided back to the hut. Just as he was at the
window he felt a touch on his foot.
“Mother,” said he, for he knew that tongue well, “what dost THOU here?”
“I heard my children singing through the woods, and I followed the one I
loved best. Little Frog, I have a desire to see that woman who gave thee
milk,” said Mother Wolf, all wet with the dew.
“They have bound and mean to kill her. I have cut those ties, and she
goes with her man through the Jungle.”
“I also will follow. I am old, but not yet toothless.” Mother Wolf
reared herself up on end, and looked through the window into the dark of
the hut.
In a minute she dropped noiselessly, and all she said was: “I gave thee
thy first milk; but Bagheera speaks truth: Man goes to Man at the last.”
“Maybe,” said Mowgli, with a very unpleasant look on his face; “but
to-night I am very far from that trail. Wait here, but do not let her
see.”
“THOU wast never afraid of ME, Little Frog,” said Mother Wolf, backing
into the high grass, and blotting herself out, as she knew how.
“And now,” said Mowgli cheerfully, as he swung into the hut again, “they
are all sitting round Buldeo, who is saying that which did not happen.
When his talk is finished, they say they will assuredly come here with
the Red--with fire and burn you both. And then?”
“I have spoken to my man,” said Messua. “Khanhiwara is thirty miles from
here, but at Khanhiwara we may find the English--”
“And what Pack are they?” said Mowgli.
“I do not know. They be white, and it is said that they govern all
the land, and do not suffer people to burn or beat each other without
witnesses. If we can get thither to-night, we live. Otherwise we die.”
“Live, then. No man passes the gates to-night. But what does HE do?”
Messua’s husband was on his hands and knees digging up the earth in one
corner of the hut.
“It is his little money,” said Messua. “We can take nothing else.”
“Ah, yes. The stuff that passes from hand to hand and never grows
warmer. Do they need it outside this place also?” said Mowgli.
The man stared angrily. “He is a fool, and no devil,” he muttered. “With
the money I can buy a horse. We are too bruised to walk far, and the
village will follow us in an hour.”
“I say they will NOT follow till I choose; but a horse is well thought
of, for Messua is tired.” Her husband stood up and knotted the last
of the rupees into his waist-cloth. Mowgli helped Messua through the
window, and the cool night air revived her, but the Jungle in the
starlight looked very dark and terrible.
“Ye know the trail to Khanhiwara?” Mowgli whispered.
They nodded.
“Good. Remember, now, not to be afraid. And there is no need to go
quickly. Only--only there may be some small singing in the Jungle behind
you and before.”
“Think you we would have risked a night in the Jungle through anything
less than the fear of burning? It is better to be killed by beasts than
by men,” said Messua’s husband; but Messua looked at Mowgli and smiled.
“I say,” Mowgli went on, just as though he were Baloo repeating an old
Jungle Law for the hundredth time to a foolish cub--“I say that not a
tooth in the Jungle is bared against you; not a foot in the Jungle is
lifted against you. Neither man nor beast shall stay you till you come
within eye-shot of Khanhiwara. There will be a watch about you.” He
turned quickly to Messua, saying, “HE does not believe, but thou wilt
believe?”