THE MADNESS OF SHERE BAHADUR

THE MADNESS OF SHERE BAHADUR

The mahout's small son, engaged with an equally small friend in the pleasant occupation of stringing into garlands the thick yellow and white champac blossoms that strewed the ground under the broad-leaved tree near the lentena hedge, was startled by an angry trumpet, and looked in the direction of Shere Bahadur.

"He is must," said one to the other, in an awe-struck whisper, and then, a sudden terror seizing them, they bounded silently and swiftly like little brown apes into a gap in the hedge and vanished.

There were ten thousand evil desires hissing in Shere Bahadur's heart as he swayed to and fro under the huge peepul tree to which he was chained. Indignity upon indignity had been heaped upon him. It was a mere accident that Aladin, the mahout who had attended him for twenty years, was dead. How on earth was Shere Bahadur to know that his skull was so thin? He had merely tapped it with his trunk in a moment of petulance, and the head of Aladin had crackled in like the shell of an egg. Shere Bahadur was reduced to the ranks. For weeks he had to carry the fodder supply of the Maharaj's stables, like an ordinary beast of burden and a low-caste slave; a fool to boot had been put to attend on him. It was not to be borne. Shere Bahadur clanked his chains angrily, and ever and anon flung wisps of straw, twigs, and dust on his broad back and mottled forehead. He, a Kemeriah of Kemeriahs, to be treated thus! He was no longer the stately beast that bore the yellow and silver howdah of the Maharaj Adhiraj in solemn procession, who put aside with a gentle sweep of his trunk the children who crowded the narrow streets of Kalesar. No, it was different now. He was a felon and an outcast, bound like a thief. Something had given way in his brain, and Shere Bahadur was mad. The flies hovered on the sore part over his left ear, where the long peak of the driving-iron had burrowed in, and, with a trumpet of rage, the elephant blew a cloud of dust into the air and strained himself backwards.

Click! click! The cast-iron links of the big chain that bound him snapped, and Shere Bahadur was free. He cautiously moved his pillar-like legs backwards and forwards to satisfy himself of the fact, and then, with the broad fans of his ears spread out, stood for a moment still as a stone. High up amongst the leaves the green pigeons whistled softly to each other, and a grey squirrel was engaged in hot dispute with a blue jay over treasure-trove, found in a hollow of one of the long branches that, python-like, twined and twisted overhead. Far away, rose tier upon tier of purple hills, and beyond them a white line of snow-capped peaks stood out against the sapphire of the sky. Hathni Khund was there, the deep pool of the Jumna, where thirty years before Shere Bahadur had splashed and swam. It was there that he fought and defeated the hoary tusker of the herd, the one-tusked giant who had bullied and tyrannized over his tribe for time beyond Shere Bahadur's memory.

Perhaps a thought of that big fight stirred him, perhaps the breeze brought him the sweet scent of the young grass in the glens. At any rate, with a quick, impatient flap of his ears, Shere Bahadur turned and faced the hills. As he did so his twinkling red eyes caught sight of the Kalesar state troops on their parade ground, barely a quarter of a mile from where he stood. The fat little Maharaj was there, standing near the saluting point. Close to him was the Vizier, with the court, and, last but not least, a knowing little fox-terrier dug up the earth with his forepaws, scattering it about regardless of the august presence.

The Maharaj was proud of his troops. He had raised them himself in an outburst of loyalty, the day after a birthday gazette in which His Highness Sri Ranabir Pertab Sing, Maharaj Adhiraj of Kalesar, had been admitted a companion of an exalted order. The Star of India glittered on the podgy little prince. He was dreaming of a glorious day when he, he himself, would lead the victorious levy through the Khyber, first in the field against the Russ, when a murmur that swelled to a cry of fear rose from the ranks, and the troops melted away before their king. Rifles and accoutrements were flung aside; there was a wild stampede, and the gorgeously attired colonel, putting spurs to his horse, mingled with the dust and was lost to view. The Maharaj stormed in his native tongue, and then burst into English oaths. He had a very pretty vocabulary, for had he not been brought up under the tender care of the Sirkar? He turned in his fury towards the Vizier, but was only in time to see the snowy robes of that high functionary disappearing into a culvert, and the confused mob of his court running helter-skelter across the sward. But yet another object caught the prince's eye, and chilled him with horror. It was the vast bulk of Shere Bahadur moving rapidly and noiselessly towards him. Sri Ranabir was a Rajpoot of the bluest blood, and his heart was big: but this awful sight, this swift, silent advance of hideous death, paralyzed him with fear. Already the long shadow of the elephant had moved near his feet, already he seemed impaled on those cruel white tusks, when there was a snapping bark, and the fox-terrier flew at Shere Bahadur and danced round him in a tempest of rage. The elephant turned, and made a savage dash at the dog, who skipped nimbly between his legs and renewed the assault in the rear. But this moment of reprieve roused His Highness. The prince became a man, and the Maharaj turned and fled, darting like a star across the soft green. Shere Bahadur saw the flash of the jewelled aigrette, the sheen of the order, and, giving up the dog, curled his trunk and started in pursuit. It was a desperate race. The Maharaj was out of training, but the time he made was wonderful, and the diamond buckles on his shoes formed a streak of light as he fled. But, fast as he ran, the race would have ended in a few seconds if it were not for Bully, the little white fox-terrier. Bully thoroughly grasped the situation, and acted accordingly. He ran round the elephant, now skipping between his legs, the next moment snapping at him behind--and Bully had a remarkably fine set of teeth. The Maharaj sighted a small hut, the door of which stood invitingly open. It was a poor hut made of grass and sticks, but it seemed a royal palace to him.

"Holy Gunputty!" he gasped. "If I could----"

But it was no time to waste words. Already the snakelike trunk of his enemy was stretched out to fold round him, when with a desperate spurt he reached the door, and dashed in. But Shere Bahadur was not to be denied. He stood for a moment, and then, putting forward his forefoot, staved in the side of the frail shelter and brought down the house. Sri Ranabir hopped out like a rat, and it was well for him that in the cloud of dust and thatch flying about he was unobserved, for Shere Bahadur, now careless of Bully's assaults and certain of his man, was diligently searching the débris. But he found nothing save a brass vessel, which he savagely flung at the dog. Then he carefully stamped on the hut, and reduced everything to chaos. In the meantime Sri Ranabir, unconscious that the pursuit had ceased, ran on as if he was wound up like a clock, ran until his foot slipped, and the Maharaj Adhiraj rolled into the soft bed of a nullah, and lay there with his eyes closed, utterly beaten, and careless whether the death he had striven so hard to avoid came or not. Then there was a buzzing in his ears and everything became a blank.

"Blessed be the prophet! He liveth." And the Vizier helped his fallen master to rise, aided by the Heir Apparent, in whose heart, however, there were thoughts far different from those which found expression on the lips of the Nawab Juggun Jung, prime minister of Kalesar. The sympathetic, if somewhat excited, court crowded round their king, and a little in the distance was the whole population of Kalesar, armed with every conceivable weapon, and keeping up their courage by beating on tom-toms, blowing horns, and shouting until the confusion of sound was indescribable.

"Come back to the palace, my lord. They will drive the evil one out of him." And the Vizier waved his hand in the direction of the crowd, and pointed to where in the distance Shere Bahadur was making slowly and steadily for the hills. But the Maharaj Adhiraj would do no such thing. "Ryful lao!" he roared in his vernacular; "Gimme my gun!" he shrieked in English. There was no refusing; a double-barrelled gun was thrust in his hands, he scrambled on the back of the first horse he saw, and, followed by his cheering subjects and the whole court, dashed after the elephant.

"Mirror of the Universe, destroy him not," advised the Vizier who rode at the prince's bridle-hand. "The beast is worth eight thousand rupees, and cannot be replaced. The treasury is almost empty, and we will want him when the Lat Saheb comes." The Maharaj was prudent if he was brave, and the empty treasury was a strong argument. Besides, they were getting rather close to Shere Bahadur and outpacing the faithful people. But he gave in slowly. "What is to be done?" he asked, taking a pull at the reins.

"The people will drive him back," replied the Vizier, "and we will chain him up securely. He is but must, and in a month or so all will pass away."

Shere Bahadur had now reached an open plain, where he stopped, and turning round, faced his pursuers.

"Go on, brave men!" shouted the Vizier. "A thousand rupees to him who links the first chain on that Shaitan. Drive him back! Drive him back!"

There is the courage of numbers, and this the people of India possess. They gradually formed a semi-circle round Shere Bahadur, cutting off his retreat to the hills, and attempted by shouts and the beating of tom-toms to drive him forwards. But they kept at a safe distance, and the elephant remained unmoved.

"Prick him forwards," roared the Vizier. "Are none of ye men? Behold! the Light of the Universe watches your deeds! A must elephant--pah! What is it but an animal?"

"By your lordship's favour," answered a voice, "he is not must, only angry--there is no stream from his eye. Nevertheless, I will drive him to the lines, for I am but dust of the earth, and a thousand rupees will make me a king." Then a red-turbaned man stepped out of the throng. It was the low-caste cooly who had been put to attend to the elephant on Aladin's death. He was armed with a short spear, and he crept up to the beast on his hands and knees, and then, rising, dug the weapon into the elephant's haunch. Shere Bahadur rapped his trunk on the ground, gave a short quick trumpet, and, swinging round, made for the man. He did this in a slow, deliberate manner, and actually allowed him to gain the crowd. Then he flung up his head with a screech and dashed forward.

Crack! crack! went both barrels of Sri Ranabir's gun, and two bullets whistled harmlessly through the air. The panic-striken mob turned and fled, bearing the struggling prince in the press. The elephant was, however, too quick, and, to his horror, Sri Ranabir saw that he had charged home. Then Sri Ranabir also saw something that he never forgot. Not a soul did the elephant harm, but with a dogged persistence followed the red turban. Some bolder than the rest struck at him with their tulwars, some tried to stab him with their spears, and one or two matchlocks were fired at him, but to no purpose. Through the crowd he steered straight for his prey, and the crowd itself gave back before him in a sea of frightened faces. At last the man himself seemed to realize Shere Bahadur's object, and it dawned like an inspiration on the rest. They made a road for the elephant, and he separated his quarry from the crowd. At last! He ran him down on a ploughed field and stood over the wretch. The man lay partly on his side, looking up at his enemy, and he put up his hand weakly and rested it against the foreleg of the elephant, who stood motionless above him. So still was he that a wild thought of escape must have gone through the wretch's mind, and with the resource born of imminent peril he gathered himself together inch by inch, and made a rush for freedom. With an easy sweep of his trunk Shere Bahadur brought him back into his former position, and then--the devil came out, and a groan went up from the crowd, for Shere Bahadur had dropped on his knees, and a moment after rose and kicked something, a mangled, shapeless something, backwards and forwards between his feet.

"Let him be," said the Vizier, laying a restraining hand on Sri Ranabir. "What has he killed but refuse? The Shaitan will go out of him now."

When he had done the deed Shere Bahadur moved a few yards further and began to cast clods of earth over himself. Then it was seen that a small figure, with a driving-hook in its little brown hand, was making directly for the elephant.

"Come back, you little fool!" shouted Sri Ranabir. But the boy made no answer, and running lightly forward, stood before Shere Bahadur. He placed the tinsel-covered cap he wore at the beast's feet, and held up his hands in supplication. The crowd stood breathless; they could hear nothing, but the child was evidently speaking. They saw Shere Bahadur glare viciously at the boy as his trunk drooped forward in a straight line. The lad again spoke, and the elephant snorted doubtfully. Then there was no mistaking the shrill treble "Lift!" Shere Bahadur held out his trunk in an unwilling manner. The boy seized hold of it as high as he could reach, placed his bare feet on the curl, and murmured something. A moment after he was seated on the elephant's neck, and lifting the driving-iron, waved it in the air.

"Hai!" he screamed as he drove it on to the right spot, the sore part over the left ear. "Hai! Base-born thief, back to your lines!"

And the huge bulk of Shere Bahadur turned slowly round and shambled off to the peepul tree like a lamb.

"By the trunk of Gunputty! I will make that lad a havildar, and the thousand rupees shall be his," swore the Maharaj.

"Pillar of the earth!" advised the Vizier, "let this unworthy one speak. It is Futteh Din, the dead Aladin's son. Give him five rupees, and let him be mahout."

When I last saw Shere Bahadur he was passing solemnly under the old archway of the "Gate of the Hundred Winds" at Kalesar. The Maharaj Adhiraj was seated in the howdah, with his excellency the Nawab Juggun Jung by his side. On the driving-seat was Futteh Din, gorgeous in cloth of gold, and they were on their way to the funeral-pyre of the Heir Apparent, who had died suddenly from a surfeit of cream.

As they passed under the archway a sweetmeat-seller rose and bowed to the prince, and Shere Bahadur, stretching out his trunk, helped himself to a pound or so of Turkish Delight.

"Such," said the sweetmeat-seller to himself ruefully, as he gazed after the retreating procession, "such are the ways of kings."