by Ruskin Bond
'It's nasty business,' I said, my heart sinking at the suggestion of concealment.
'It will be nastier still if we don't keep it dark, and you won't like having to give me away, you know. Either we must bury the thing here and say nothing about it, or else we must take it back to the station and stand the devil's own fuss. Probably I shall be kicked out of the service.'
'Of course I'll stand by you,' I said with an effort, 'but we can't do anything this minute. We'd better hide it in that long grass and come back after dinner. We must have something to dig with.'
Caulfield agreed sullenly, and between us we pushed the body in amongst the thick, coarse grass, which completely concealed it, and then made our way back to the camp. We ordered dinner and pretended to eat it, after which we sat for half an hour smoking, until the plates were cleared away and the servants had left the tent. Then I put my hunting-knife into my pocket, and Caulfield picked up a kitchen chopper that his bearer had left lying on the floor, after hammering a stiff joint of a camp chair, and we quitted the tent casually as though intending to have a stroll in the moonlight, which was almost as bright as day. We walked slowly at first, gradually increasing our pace as we left the camp behind us, and Caulfield never spoke a word until we came close to the tall grass that hid the fakir's body. Then he suddenly clutched my arm.
'God in heaven!' he whispered, pointing ahead, 'what is that?'
I saw the grass moving, and heard a scraping sound that made my heart stand still. We moved forward in desperation and parted the grass with our hands. A large jackal was lying on the fakir's body, grinning and snarling at being disturbed over his hideous meal.
'Drive it away,' said Caulfield, hoarsely. But the brute refused to move, and as it lay there showing its teeth, its face reminded me horribly of the wretched man dead beneath its feet. I turned sick and faint, so Caulfield shouted and shook the grass and threw clods of soil at the animal, which rose at last and slunk slowly away. It was an unusually large jackal, more like a wolf, and had lost One of its ears. The coat was rough, and mangy and thickly sprinkled with grey.
For more than an hour we worked desperately with the chopper and hunting-knife, being greatly aided in our task by a rift in the ground where the soil had been softened by water running from the jheel, and finally we stood up with the sweat pouring from our faces, and stamped down the earth which now covered all traces of Caulfield's crime. We had filled the grave with some large stones that were lying about (remnants of some ancient temple, long ago deserted and forgotten), thus feeling secure that it could not easily be disturbed by animals.
The next morning we returned to the station, and Caulfield shut himself up more than ever. He entirely dropped his shooting, which before had been his one pleasure, and the only person he ever spoke to, unofficially, was myself.
The end of April came with its plague of insects and scorching winds. The hours grew long and weary with the heat, and dust storms howled and swirled over the station, bringing perhaps a few tantalising drops of rain, of more often leaving the air thick with a copper-coloured haze.
One night when it was too hot to sleep, Caulfield suddenly appeared in my verandah and asked me to let him stay the night in my bungalow.
'I know I'm an ass,' he said in awkward apology, 'but I can't stay by myself. I get all sorts of beastly ideas.'
I asked no questions, but gave him a cheroot and tried to cheer him up, telling him scraps of gossip, and encouraging him to talk, when a sound outside made us both start. It proved to be only the weird, plaintive cry of a jackal, but Caulfield sprang to his feet, shaking all over.
'There it is again!' he exclaimed. 'It has followed me over here. Listen!' turning his haggard, sleepless eyes on me. 'Every night that brute comes and howls round my house, and I tell you, on my oath, it's the same jackal we saw eating the poor devil I shot.'
'Nonsense, my dear chap,' I said, pushing him back into the chair, 'you must have got fever. Jackals come and howl round my house all night. That's nothing.'
'Look here,' said Caulfield, very calmly, 'I have no more fever than you have, and if you imagine I am delirious you are mistaken.' He lowered his voice. 'I looked out one night and saw the brute. It had only one ear!'
In spite of my own common sense and the certainty that Caulfield was not himself, my blood ran cold, and after I had succeeded in quieting him and he had dropped off to sleep on the couch, I sat in my long chair for hours, going over in my mind every detail of that horrible night in the jungle.
Several times after this Caulfield came to me and repeated the same tale. He swore he was being haunted by the jackal we had driven away from the fakir's body, and finally took it into his head that the spirit of the murdered man had entered the animal and was bent on obtaining vengeance.
Then he suddenly ceased coming over to me, and when I went to see him he would hardly speak, and only seemed anxious to get rid of me. I urged him to take leave or see a doctor, but he angrily refused to do either, and said he wished I would keep away from him altogether. So I left him alone for a couple of days, but on the third evening my conscience pricked me for having neglected him, and I was preparing to go over to his bungalow, when his bearer rushed in with a face of terror and besought me to come without delay. He said he feared his master was dying, and he had already sent for the doctor. The latter arrived in Caulfield's verandah simultaneously with myself, and together we entered the sick man's room. Caulfield was lying unconscious on his bed.
'He had a sort of fit, sahib,' said the frightened bearer, and proceeded to explain how his master had behaved.
The doctor bent over the bed.
'Do you happen to know if he had been bitten by a dog lately?' he asked, looking up at me.
'Not to my knowledge,' I answered, while the faint wail of a jackal out across the plain struck a chill to my heart.
For twenty-four hours we stayed with Caulfield, watching the terrible struggles we were powerless to relieve, and which lasted till the end came. He was never able to speak after the first paroxysm, which had occurred before we arrived, so we could not learn from him whether he had been bitten or not, neither could the doctor discover any scar on his body which might have been made by the teeth of an animal. Yet there was no shadow of doubt that Caulfield's death was due to hydrophobia.
As we stood in the next room when all was over, drinking the dead man's whisky and soda, which we badly needed, we questioned the bearer closely, but he could tell us little or nothing. His master, he said, did not keep dogs, nor had the bearer ever heard of his having been bitten by one; but there had been a mad jackal about the place nearly three weeks ago which his master had tried to shoot but failed.
'It couldn't have been that,' said the doctor; 'he would have come to me if he had been bitten by a jackal.'
'No,' I answered mechanically, 'it could not have been that.' And I went into the bedroom to take a last look at poor Caulfield's thin, white face with its ghastly, hunted expression, for there was now nothing more that I could do for him.
Then I picked up a lantern and stepped out into the dark verandah, intending to go home. As I did so, something came silently round the corner of the house and stood in my path. I raised my lantern and caught a glimpse of a mass of grey fur, two fiery yellow eyes, and bared, glistening teeth. It was only a stray jackal, and I struck at it with my stick, but instead of running away it slipped past me and entered Caulfield's room. The light fell on the animal's head, and I saw that it had only one ear.
In a frenzy I rushed back into the house calling for the doctor and servants.
'I saw a jackal come in here,' I said, searching round the bedroom, 'hunt it out at once.'
Every nook and corner was examined, but no jackal was found.
'Go home to bed, my boy, and keep quiet till I come and see you in the morning,' said the doctor, looking at me keenly. 'This business has shaken your nerves, and you imagination is beginning to play you tricks. Good-night.'
'Good
-night,' I answered, and went slowly back to my bungalow, trying to persuade myself that he was right.
From East of Suez (1926)
A Ghost in Burma
(A Story Based on Fact)
by Gerald T. Tait
T IS A REMARKABLE FACT THAT GOOD FOOD AND DRINK SEEM to have the power of stimulating the mind and memory, and in consequence, some of the best stories, whether they belong to the humorous series or whether they be yarns, are told after dinner. The following was no exception to the rule and we heard it at a friendly gathering of exiles on leave, united after many years of absence and many years of wandering in strange lands. Peter Kane, burnt mahogany by the tropical sun, tall, broad shouldered, who had spent the greater part of his service in wild corners of the Empire, had been listening for some time with a smile on his face, to a discussion on ghosts. Finally he broke into the conversation. "Would you fellows like a true yarn on ghosts?" We naturally all assented. I have set it down in his own words and you may or may not believe it according to the amount of imagination or superstition, call it whatever you like, in your make up. As far as we were concerned, knowing Peter we believed the story.
"It happened years ago. I was only a young railway engineer then just out from Home. Ever since my early childhood the name "Burma" was magic to my mind; it typified all that represents the mysterious East, and you can imagine my joy on learning that I was appointed to that country of my dreams. My luck as I believed then was in the ascendant, for on my arrival, I found I was to join a survey party working towards the Chinese border lying beyond the river Salween. What more could a youngster wish for? A wild country, inhabited by few but very wild tribes, plenty of work, plenty of sport, and before us the unknown, the unexplored. As one grows older and more settled, I must confess one's ideas of luck differ somewhat and nowadays, luck to my mind is to get nearer home. However, for a youngster the outlook was ideal. I landed in Rangoon late in October and made my way by rail to Mandalay whence the survey expedition was to set forth. I can hardly describe the joy it was to me to see this country; I literally drank it all in and asked for more. From the very start, Rangoon with the great Shwe Dagon covered with gold, the multi-coloured crowd around its base, the orange robed priests, the pilgrims, the vendors, the beggars, crowded my brain with one confused mass of colour. Then in the train, I seemed to spend my time moving from one side of the carriage to the other. Everything struck me as picturesque, the paddy fields with those solemn white or gray paddy birds picking their way daintily through the slush, the smiling Burmans up to their knees in mud planting out the rice, little thatched roofed huts clustering around groves of great darkleaved trees, the whole country green and fertile.... So much for childish enthusiasm.
My stay in Mandalay was short; indeed we left two days after my arrival. The party consisted of Paddy Greene as Chief, a short, plump, cheery, fairhaired Irishman with always a twinkle in his eye, an amazing brogue and a divine voice when he sang. Then Tom Inglis, neither handsome nor ugly, just average looking exactly alike the hundreds of thousands of other men of the same class who have followed the same footsteps through Public School and University; entirely dependable and sound, never rattled. Next followed John Alaistairs, dark haired and morose; and lastly myself just a raw youngster without any particular distinction. The remainder of our staff consisted of native surveyors and a full complement of ubiquitous coolies.
The first portion of our journey was by train to railhead, situated about 100 to 150 miles from the Chinese frontier as the crow flies. In actual fact for us, this distance was just about double; for the country to be surveyed was extremely hilly and covered with dense and impenetrable jungle. The only existing trade routes being tracks following the crests of the ridges rising anything up to 5,000 feet above the bottom of the valleys. These tracks, however, were not for us. The road we had to travel followed not the ridges but the valleys and the slopes slightly above them. Those who have visited this part of the world and strayed from the beaten track, will readily understand what I mean when I talk about impenetrable jungle. Imagine a solid barrier of trees rising to 120 feet, covered with thick foliage close planted, with between them colossal bushes with thorns three or more inches long and clumps of thick bamboo; the whole woven into a solid mass by myriads of creepers, some with stems like a ship's hawser, the only relief from the monotonous green being patches of brightly coloured orchids; slopes amazingly steep and studded with rocks and boulders hidden by the undergrowth but more than noticeable when stumbled upon. Advance through this country meant about two miles a day with luck, every fool: of path hewn by the axes of the special jungle-clearing coolies, and every foot stubbornly contested by the forest. To crown everything a dim semi-religious light filtered by the dark mantle of leaves overhead. Observations could only be made by laboriously climbing tall trees. A heartbreaking country but possessing an undeniable thrill in spite of the damp heat and the mosquitoes.
I must confess that at times I felt depressed and had it not been for Paddy and his tonic-like nature, I really don't know how we would have carried on. Alaistairs was more than a wet blanket and would alone have depressed a regiment. Inglis on the other hand seemed utterly undisturbed by his surroundings and might just as well have been walking down Piccadilly for all the effect they had on him.
You may think that I am drawing out this description unduly. I do it, however, with a purpose so that you will more fully grasp the inexplicableness of the subsequent find and events.
Our work went on and we crept further and further into the unknown depths towards the Salween. Finally after about two and a half months we stepped out on to the crest of a ridge almost devoid of trees, overlooking the surrounding country and in particular the Salween itself. The change from the monotony of our foregoing road to this open and wildly beautiful vista, swept away all feelings of depression.
We have now reached the setting for our drama. I will describe it so that you fellows may picture it in your minds.
The river flows with a rushing roar at the foot of immense perpendicular rocky walls forming a deep trench varying from 90 to 400 feet across. The bed of the river consists in a series of steps anything up to a mile long with a drop of ten or fifteen feet between each, turning the swift waters, sometimes into cascades, sometimes into rapids filled with boulders. The sides of this trench rise up to 1,000 or 1,500 feet above the level of the river. From the top the ground, covered with enormous rocks piled up into confused masses, stretches inland a few miles but rises to 5,000 and 6,000 feet, thus forming a valley about eight miles across with slopes set at 60 degrees. This valley receives numerous tributary streams, most of them contained in deep gorges cutting the main valley at right angles. The whole country is covered with dense jungle and tall rough grass. The few flat spaces to be seen are small golden sand banks on the edges of the side streams where, throughout the day, myriads of butterflies of every size and colour, dance and scintillate. Also here and there, small plateaux just above the level of the waters of the main stream, where the trench shallows and where the mantle of vegetation has slightly retreated. It is here, by the way, that are sometimes to be found the temporary shelters put up by the nomadic tribes of this country Moi, Khas and Tac-Cui, strayed from the neighbouring wilds of Laos. These patches show up brilliant emerald due to the wild plantains and the wild paddy thereon.
Through this decor of savage beauty we made our way to the banks of the river.
Two days were wasted looking for a place to cross.
The third morning on turning a bend, we suddenly came upon an amazing sight. On the opposite bank, perched upon an almost overhanging rock, stood a square bungalow, for all the world like the ordinary P.W.D. rest-houses found throughout India and Burma. We could hardly believe our eyes. The strangeness of this find in the middle of this dense jungle defied words. Our native followers themselves, we could see, were just as surprised as ourselves. One fact stood out very clearly. We had to examine this bungalow. A place was fou
nd, about half a mile down stream where the river was fordable and we finally reached the bungalow by two in the afternoon.
The East is a curious part of the world particularly in respect to the propagation of news and messages generally. Now remember our coolies had never been anywhere near this part of Burma before, nor had they ever heard of this bungalow; further, for weeks we had not seen any local natives. Yet one and all refused to approach saying that it was haunted. I asked them how they knew and the only reply I could obtain was "We have just been warned not to stay here." They were very insistent that it was not their fault, but how could they act against direct orders. As to "Who" gave the orders they would not say. No amount of questioning elucidated a further reply and finally they remained sullen and dumb.
This was most annoying for the idea of resting once more in civilised surroundings appealed to us tremendously. After a short discussion we decided to remain on the spot for three days provided of course we succeeded in propitiating our coolies. Before going any further, let me describe the general lay-out of the building.
Square, perched on a bare rock overlooking the Salween, it had a verandah running around on the three sides to landwards. The fourth side, an absolutely flat wall with just one window in the centre, overhung a 1,000-foot drop straight into the river below. In the very middle of the whole building, was an open courtyard with a large brick cube in the centre about 10 feet aside. The bungalow was in a fair state of repair yet unoccupied.
We were all as keen as mustard to investigate and entered, led by Paddy. In spite of our coolies' fears it seemed a very ordinary kind of habitation. The only odd thing about it was the brick cube in the courtyard and this particularly attracted Paddy's attention. For the time being, however, he said nothing and would pass no opinion as to its raison d'etre. Try as we would we could not evolve a theory as to how this building had been erected and by whom. We settled on our various rooms, Paddy, Inglis and myself chosing the room overlooking the river; Alaistairs preferring to be alone in a room off the courtyard. I could scarcely tear myself away from our window for the view was really magnificent with its sheer drop of a thousand feet into the roaring torrent below.
