The Beast Tamer

by Ruskin Bond

  It was a long wait. The panther kept calling for an hour, but came no nearer. Then a long silence followed. I grew impatient. I said to the shikari, ‘It’s no use waiting any longer, is it?’ He put his finger to his lips and said one word, ‘Yell’ (it will come). I grumbled no more. The kill was the body of a young heifer. The panther had dragged its victim’s corpse under a high rock that stood up about twenty yards from where I was hidden. I looked so long and earnestly at the kill and the rock that I must have hypnotized myself into a doze. I woke up with a start, as the shikari touched my shoulder and whispered, ‘Ala’ (it has come). I gripped my rifle, looked all round but could see nothing. It was dusk and it was getting difficult to notice objects. Then I noticed what seemed to be a round stone on the top of the rock opposite me. I had not observed it before and I wondered whether it could be a portion of a panther. It seemed, however, to be motionless. Just as I was about to look elsewhere, the round rock began to grow and then alter its shape, and I at last made out clearly the head and forequarters of a panther. It looked enormous in the fading light and I confess that I thought it was a tiger.

  Slowly the wary beast pulled itself to its feet and began to walk round the side of the great rock. For a second it disappeared, and I was in an agony of apprehension that it had gone forever. I wondered how on earth I should climb back all those thousands of feet after a blank day. Then it reappeared and I was all excitement again. Very slowly and silently, it walked across the face of the rock until it was just over the dead heifer. ‘Maro sahib’ (Shoot), whispered my shikari and I aimed as best I could; for it had got so dark that I could barely make out the foresight. I fired and was very pleased to see my enemy crumple up and fall over. I still hoped that it might be a tiger and I joyously descended from my tree after giving the prone object a second barrel. The beaters would have rushed up to the dead animal, but I was able to keep them by me. We walked up to it, I covering it with my rifle. At last one of the beaters bent forward and pulled the animal’s tail. It made no response. ‘It is dead, sahib,’ said the shikari. ‘No wagh would suffer such an insult were it alive.’ The shikari was right. It was dead, but it was only a panther.

  I had my drink, while the beaters tied the panther’s feet to a bamboo. Then with our enemy ignominiously hanging upside down from the bamboo, we started homewards. At the frontier of every village, the beaters shouted to the village God that they had killed a panther and that the God should rejoice. We climbed up two thousand feet, then walked down two thousand feet into the Krishna valley. The stream was lit up in the weirdest way. The whole population of the valley were engaged in catching the crabs that infest the river bed and damage the crops. All of them had torches in their hands. These, I was told, dazzled the crabs. In any case, they gave the hunters a chance of seeing their quarry. I watched them for some time and then started to climb the last two thousand feet to the brow of the Mahableshwar plateau. I shall never forget that climb. It was raining again. I had had no tea and no dinner. By the time I reached the top, I was ‘dead to the world’. And when we passed the little image of Ganpati, I, this time, salaamed before any one else.

  It was 2 a.m. by the time I found my tonga on the road. Into it we stuffed the panther; and as I drove off I heard the beaters singing and laughing as they raced down the steep hill paths. Fatigue and they had never met.

  The next summer I got a second panther in very nearly the same place, only a hundred feet up the far side of the valley. It was a bold panther this time, so the shikari told me, and it would not keep me waiting long. It had, it seemed, early that morning rushed past a herdsman, pulled down one of his young cows in spite of his loudly vocal protests. The other herdsmen had come up and had driven the robber off his prey and word had been sent to Mahableshwar. I received the news from my shikari and again I went down two thousand feet and up two thousand feet and down two thousand feet and then up a hundred feet the other side. The kill lay out in the open and the round trees were villagers squatting like vultures. They had had a hard time keeping the panther off the kill.

  I got into my machan, loaded my rifle and settled myself comfortably. Then I looked round. It was the wildest spot that I had ever been in. Rough, low scrub covered the hillside and hid the coarse grass beneath. There was not a sign of human dwelling visible, although there must have been huts somewhere in which the herdsmen lived. I felt thankful that good actions done in some former life had saved me from a life spent in such a valley. Then I looked at the kill and at the bushes round it. As I did so, a beautifully marked panther walked fearlessly into the open. It stood still and looked to see if the herdsmen, who had previously driven it off its prey, were still there. Seeing and hearing nothing, it turned to take a step nearer the kill. I put up my rifle and aimed. As I did so, my sight protector came off the barrel and fell to the ground. I passed an agonizing moment. If the sight protector had struck a rock, the noise would have startled the panther and I should never have been seen again. Happily the sight protector fell in the grass and made no sound. A second later I had fired and the panther was dead. It was a beautiful beast and I was delighted to get the skin. The tramp back was severe, but less so than on the previous occasion. It was much earlier in the day and I was back for dinner.

  I went several times afterwards into the Krishna and adjoining valleys, but without any fortune. One day, however, I had an interesting experience. I had climbed down into the Krishna valley and up the other side, and there I sat over the kill. It was a young bull that had been slain that morning by a panther, said by the villagers to have developed man-eating tendencies. I waited until it was dark and then got out of the machan. To light us homewards, one of the beaters carried a lantern. Just before we got to the edge of the plateau and were about to descend into the Krishna valley, the lantern bearer stopped and pointed to the ground. We came up and looked. Over the footprints that we had left as we walked towards the machan were the footprints of the panther. As we stalked it, it had stalked us, and had we not been such a large party, it might have tried to carry one of us off. It was very interesting and I was almost consoled for my blank day. I have always had a soft spot in my heart for that panther. We did each other no injury; we parted as friends. I did not get the panther and better still, it did not get me.

  Hunters of Souls

  Augustus Somerville

  During a long period of service in the Survey Department of the Government of India, I have had occasions, to visit many of the remotest parts of India, away from the beaten tracks and devoid of those forms and amenities of civilization that an average traveller learns to expect.

  It was on one of these excursions that I came across an extraordinary tribe living in the heart of the mountain fastnesses of Chhota Nagpur. These people who call themselves Bhills, but who, I have reason to suspect from their colour, language and facial expressions, are closely related to the Sontal and Ghond tribes, are a nomadic, semi-barbaric race living exclusively on wild animals, in the snaring and trapping of which they are experts, and also on their reputation as ‘Soul Catchers’. In this last extraordinary avocation I was most interested, but could glean no information from the natives themselves until one day I had an opportunity of watching a ‘Soul Catcher’ at work.

  Early in October. 1908, I received orders to survey a large section of forest land in the Palamu District. Certain wiseacres had discovered traces of minerals, such as mica, coal, etc., in the neighbourhood and were making tentative offers for the purchase of a large tract of this land, with mining rights thrown in. A wide-awake government, hearing that I had a mining engineer’s certificate attached to the many credentials that secured me this position, decided to send me down to survey the land, and incidentally report on its possibilities as a mining area.

  I will hasten over the first part of the journey as uninteresting, but once at Daltonganj, a small station on the extreme end of the only decent motoring road in the district, I found myself on the brink of the unknown.

  Ne
xt morning I procured a hand-cart for the transport of my tent, guns, ammunition, etc., and with two servants and a native guide, set out for the interior.

  The only road was a rough cart track, which after we had followed for about six miles, disappeared in the impenetrable undergrowth through which we were compelled to travel; abandoning the cart, we bundled the tent and accessories into three packs, which my two servants and the guide carried, and shouldering my rifle myself, set out on the 30-mile trek that would eventually bring us to the village of the Soul Catchers.

  That night we camped on the edge of the jungle, near the banks of a small stream. In a short time we had the tent erected and a good fire blazing merrily. Dangerous animals were numerous in the district, and after a good dinner, I turned in with my rifle fully loaded on the cot besides me.

  Nothing untoward occurred that night, but in the early hours of the morning, the servants awoke me with the disquieting information that our guide had disappeared.

  Needless to say, I took this information very seriously. To be without a guide in that wilderness of unchartered forest and impenetrable bush was alarming enough, but what worried me most was that I had supplies only for a couple of days, and the possibilities of locating the village without a guide was remote enough to depress the most sanguine of explorers.

  I will never forget the three days we wandered in that forest. It was one of the most awful experiences I have ever had.

  From the onset, I had determined to travel light and so abandoned the tent and other heavy accessories. My survey instruments, I buried securely in the vicinity of a large pepul tree, marking the spot with several heavy boulders from the adjoining stream, then carrying only our food, guns and ammunition, set out for the nearest human habitation.

  Directing myself solely with my pocket compass, I travelled due south-east—the direction we were taking prior to the guide’s disappearance. Of beaten tracks there were none, but hitherto we had managed to avoid the worst sections of the forest fairly successfully. Bereft of the experience and woodcraft of our guide, we blundered into all manner of pitfalls, and on several occasions found ourselves in thick masses of undergrowth composed almost entirely of stunted plum bushes fairly bristling with thorns, that tore our clothes and lacerated our hands and legs fearfully. All that day we trekked through a waterless section of the forest and suffered agonies from heat and thirst. Towards evening, however, we emerged on an open plain on the edge of a vast swamp. My two servants were advancing slightly ahead of me, and as they left the forest and saw the cold water ahead, they threw down their burdens and raced towards the marsh. At this instant I also broke from the entangling bushes on the edge of the swamp and all but followed their example, so parched was I, when I beheld a sight that for a moment, kept me spellbound. As the natives reached the water-edge, two huge black forms rose, and with a snort of rage made for the unfortunate men. In a moment I had recognized the animals for the powerful, fearless wild buffalo of the Chhota Nagpur plateau. Unslinging my rifle from my shoulder, I fired at the animal nearest to me, but in my haste aimed too low, so that the bullet, intended for the shoulder, penetrated the animal’s knee. The buffalo went down with a crash and as I turned to fire at its mate, I realized with a thrill of horror, that I was too late. The second unfortunate Indian, in his haste to leave the water, had slipped on the marshy banks and lay floundering in the mire. In a moment the buffalo was on him, and with one mighty sweep of its huge horns, hurled his body through the air to land a mangled mass of bones and flesh some ten feet from the bank. At this moment it spotted me, and with a snort of rage, charged in my direction. I am afraid I let no sporting sentiments interfere with my shooting. Working the bolt of my rifle steadily from my shoulder—my rifle being of the magazine pattern—put four successive shots into the huge brute in as many seconds, so that it went down as if pollaxed.

  By this time my remaining servant, trembling with the shock of his recent experience, had reached my side, and reloading, I went towards the wounded buffalo. Although handicapped with its broken legs, the animal was nevertheless making a gallant effort to get out of the deep mire that hampered its movements. As we approached the beast, it glared at us, and with a savage bellow attempted to charge. Awaiting till it had approached sufficiently close, one well-directed shot put an end to its miseries, and we were safe to attend to our unfortunate comrade.

  Poor fellow, he must have been killed instantaneously; covering up the body with a piece of cloth, we dug a shallow grave and buried him as decently as possible. By this time it was getting dark, so we built a fire and camped a short distance away.

  That night I slept badly. The excitement of the evening and the strangeness of the situation kept me continuously awake. Towards morning the cold became intense, and unable to sleep, I determined to rise, replenish the fire and if possible boil some water for an early cup of tea.

  Leaving the shelter of the bush in which I lay, I walked briskly towards the place where I had seen Mohamed Ali stock our small store of edibles. Unable to find them, I was first under the impression that I had mistaken the spot, but a closer inspection showed a few remaining packages containing flour and sugar. Shouting loudly to Mohamed Ali to wake up, I started a feverish search in the surrounding bushes for further signs of the stores, but although I wandered far into the forest, not a single trace of food could I find. Incensed with Mohamed Ali for his carelessness and blaming myself bitterly for not carefully attending to the storing of this essential part of our equipment more carefully, I awaited the arrival of my servant impatiently, determined to give him a bit of my mind.

  I must have waited fully half an hour, still searching round in the hope of finding part of the missing stores, before I was aware that no Mohamed Ali had turned up.

  ‘What on earth is the matter with the fellow,’ I wondered. ‘He surely cannot be still asleep.’

  Returning to the camp, I looked all round for him. His blanket lay in a ruffled heap on the spot where he had slept, but of the man himself there was no trace.

  All that morning I waited, searching the surrounding forest and even firing my rifle occasionally in the hope of attracting his attention if the poor fellow had wandered into the forest and lost his direction, but to no avail, and at last I was compelled to admit that henceforth I would have to travel alone.

  Imagine my position. One of my servants killed, two mysteriously spirited away in the dead of night, and no provision of any sort except a little flour and sugar to sustain me till I reached a human habitation of some type.

  To say I was depressed, is to put it mildly. Candidly, I was more than depressed, I was scared. The vision of myself parched with thirst, faint from starvation, wandering through the dense forest, a prey to any wild animal I chanced to meet, filled me with the gravest apprehensions.

  Keep on, I knew I had to. To stay where I was, would only diminish my chances of reaching civilization, so that, while I had the strength and ability, I determined to push on depending on my good fortune to strike some village.

  Cutting first a generous supply of meat from the carcass of one of the buffaloes I had shot the evening previous, I packed the few things I needed and, with as much ammunition as I could carry, set out on my lonely trek.

  All that day I worked steadily south-east, but although I kept a sharp lookout, I failed to detect any signs of human habitation. That night, fearing to sleep on the ground alone, I looked around for a convenient tree, and after singeing a portion of the meat over a small fire, I ate a frugal meal, and climbed to the topmost branches.

  The evening was still light and I scanned the forest in every direction. On every side was an unending vista of green and yellow leaves broken here and there by small clearings, but of villages no sign existed.

  The night fell quickly, and soon a glorious moon sailed over the tree tops flooding the rustling, billowy sea of green below me, with a soft translucent light. It was a night, which in spite of my precarious position, I recall with the keenes
t delight.

  Scarcely had the darkness fallen when a sambur belled in a thicket nearby and soon the forest awoke to its nocturnal life of mystery and movement.

  From my lofty perch, I watched a herd of spotted deer troop past my tree, pursued by a stealthy yellow form which I instantly recognized for a huge leopard. I could have shot the beast easily, so unaware was he of any human presence, but I refrained from firing and later was thankful for this forbearance.

  As the night wore on, I settled myself more comfortably in the deep fork of the tree and was soon asleep.

  I may have slept a couple of hours, perhaps less, when I was awakened by a peculiar throbbing sound that seemed to fill the forest.

  I roused myself, and looking round eagerly, soon detected the direction from which the sound was proceeding. As it approached, I recognized the low droaning of the large drums the Sontals in this district use and I must confess the thought of human beings filled me with a strange sensation of joy and relief.

  Fortunately a natural prudence restrained me from springing from my perch and hastening in the direction of the drums. Waiting till the first of the drummers emerged from the thick forest, I raised myself and was about to call out, when I noticed that the leading natives, bearing huge flaming torches, were nude, except for a single loincloth and grotesquely decorated in yellow and vermillion. The torch-bearers were followed by others hideously painted in white and black representing skeletons. These extraordinary beings were executing a wired type of dance and chanting a solemn dirge, while immediately behind them, slung from bamboo poles, were the bodies of two men. The vanguard of this strange procession was formed of a large crowd of Sontals armed with spears, bows and arrows, and various other crude weapons.