by Ruskin Bond
Such attention might well have soothed the irascible spirit of any ordinary 'munjia'; but Mahadev, whose acute intelligence had survived his body, knew well that such offerings, although pleasing, got a 'munjia' nowhere. His only chance of obtaining a speedy rebirth and thus advancing towards the end of his eighty million earthly lives was to enter and possess some other human body and then cause its destruction. There were several ways of possessing a human body, but only one was easy and that was to enter the mouth when its owner yawned. Mahadev, no longer anxious to do anyone harm now that offerings were made at the foot of the pipal tree, hovered about the neighbourhood, hoping to take advantage of some passing Indian and to possess his body when he yawned. Unfortunately every Indian is well aware of the risks run in yawning and always snaps his fingers in front of his mouth so as to scare away evil spirits.
For a whole month Mahadev's spirit fluttered close to the faces of passing wayfarers, but not one gave him a chance. They did not often yawn; but when they did they never failed to snap their fingers and to scare him away. At last seeing a solitary Englishman yawn cavernously in the distance it occurred to Mahadev that he might possess an Englishman's body, since he could not enter an Indian's. At first the thought was hateful to him. Although he had often met Englishmen and liked many of them, he had always remained orthodox in food and the thought of occupying the body of a "beef-eating" foreigner was simply hateful. Nevertheless he decided at last that it was better to enter an Englishman's body and drive out his soul than remain for ever an 'anima sine corpore,' gibbering dismally in a pipal tree.
When, however, he lay in wait for Englishmen playing golf, he found another obstacle in his way. When they yawned, especially if they were not alone, they put a hand in front of their mouth, thus blocking the entrance quite as effectually as by snapping their fingers. Still Mahadev had seen one Englishman yawn without covering his mouth, so he hoped that he would see another; and so it happened. After several days' vain waiting, Mahadev saw the Assistant Judge Colin Travers pass close to the pipal tree. Travers had come out of court late and had, therefore, found no partner at the clubhouse. He was tired with work and had a yawning fit. As he passed the pipal tree he yawned for about the tenth time. He was carrying in one hand a mashie and in the other a bag of clubs, so he had no hand left with which to cover his mouth. It opened to its fullest extent and offered a wide aperture by which Mahadev could enter. The 'munjia' dived between the double row of strong, white teeth, down the throat; and while Colin Travers was laying down his bag of clubs and wondering whether he should play his next shot with his mashie or his iron, the evil spirit that had been Mahadev drove out Colin Travers' soul and occupied the vacant body.
The physical shock to Travers was so great that he sat down helplessly at the foot of the pipal tree and gasped feebly for breath. Once, however, he recovered his physical powers he became the tool of Mahadev's spirit and obeyed without hesitation the 'munjia's' slightest whim. Indeed, why should he have objected? His own soul was lost and had no longer any control over his body; on the other hand Mahadev's soul completely dominated it. Now what Mahadev wanted was that his new body should be destroyed. His own spirit would then be free for rebirth. There were two ways by which the 'munjia' could achieve his end. He might either kill himself or he might commit a murder and get hanged. Now in the Hindu belief suicide (athmaghat) is a grave sin and Mahadev had already committed sin enough by entering the soul of an Englishman. In his next life he would certainly have to pay for that crime by not being born a Brahman. If he committed suicide as well, heaven alone knew what dreadful fate might befall him. He might be reborn as a Mhar or even as a Mang. His only resource, therefore, was to commit a murder and so get condemned to death. Having formed this resolve, he picked up his clubs and walking towards the assistant judge's bungalow, entered it. The servants seeing, as they thought, their master Colin Travers, salaamed and made way for him. The 'munjia' did not know Mrs. Travers, but he hoped that he would find her in. She was sitting in the dining room with a friend, a lady missionary from the medical mission beyond Godavari. Hearing her husband's step, she called 'Is that you Colin? I thought you were going to the Club. Miss Smith the medical missionary is here. She will be delighted to see you. Do come and talk to her."
"Oh! do, Mr. Travers" echoed Miss Smith.
The 'munjia' noticed a thrusting dagger on the wall just inside the outer door. Travers had secured it when trying some dacoits. The 'munjia' took it off the wall, felt its point and walked into the drawing room. He bent over Mrs. Travers, as if to kiss her, but she recoiled in horror at the expression of his eyes.
"Good gracious, Colin, what is the matter with you? You look different! You have become somebody else!"
The false Colin did not answer, but deliberately drove his; thrusting dagger into her heart. The unfortunate missionary rose to flee, but the 'munjia' overtook her and killed her with a thrust in the back. He then threw the dagger on the ground, walked to the office of the superintendent of police, Alfred Dawkins and said calmly: "I have: come to give myself up for a double murder, please arrest me."
The superintendent had for several hours been trying to pen a report about: the criminal tribes in his district. He had a store of sound practical knowledge of their ways and customs and he could have told at a glance to what section any wandering beggar belonged; but his penmanship was not equal to his experience. In his efforts to cover two sheets of foolscap with material that a skilled writer could have expanded into a thick book, the unhappy superintendent: had chewed his wooden penholder almost down to the metal. He was too preoccupied to grasp what Travers had said: but delighted to escape for a moment from the intolerable drudgery of writing sonorous official phrases, he rose to his feet and said cordially: "By Jove, Travers, do come in; sit down and have a whisky and soda! Here, boy, bring in two chota pegs. I suppose you have come to speak to me about the police enquiry in that coining case? Or let me see—would it be about the murder of little Krishnabai by that up-country watchman?"
"No indeed, I have not come about either of those cases, Superintendent Sahib," said Travers, using unconsciously the Indian form of address, " I have just committed a double murder and I have come to give myself up."
"Committed a double murder? What the devil are you talking about? If you have come to pull my leg, old chap, I really have no time now and you'd better try your luck some other day; but don't go away until you've had your chota peg. It's no fun drinking alone, is it? Ha! Ha!" and the jolly policeman laughed heartily.
"No, Superintendent Sahib, I am not joking," replied Travers earnestly. "I really have committed a double murder and please come and see for yourself."
After a quarter of an hour Dawkins, clad in white uniform and followed by four constables, joined Travers.
"Now come along and show me this mare's nest of yours."
Travers did not reply and the two walked together in silence during the ten minutes needed to go from the superintendent's house to that of the assistant judge. On reaching it, they were met by a mob of excited servants, who shouted: "The Sahib has killed his Memsahib and the doctor Memsahib! The Sahib has killed his Memsahib and the doctor Memsahib!"
The superintendent began at last to think that there was something in Travers' story and entering the assistant judge's bungalow became certain of its truth.
Turning to one of the constables, Dawkins told him to fetch the deputy superintendent of police, Khan Sahib Mahmud Khan, and instruct him to hold an inquest. With two constables behind them he and Travers walked to the Khan Bahadur's house. The latter, a retired Parsi Deputy Collector, nearly fell over backwards when he was asked to record Travers' confession.
"The fact was," stated Travers, " I was both tired of my wife and jealous of her. I wanted to get rid of her; I also wished to punish her for the way she flirted with....with (the 'munjia' did not know the names of any of the regimental officers, so he finished lamely) with certain military gentlemen. Coming home I saw he
r sitting in the drawing room, so I decided to kill her. I took a dacoit's dagger from off the wall and going up to her, I stabbed her. Then that foolish woman, Miss Smith began to talk, you know how these medical missionaries jabber—so I killed her too."
The confession was carefully recorded. Travers was placed in the lockup for the night; and next morning he was taken before the first class assistant collector, to whom the superintendent had telegraphed. He recorded the Crown evidence as briefly as possible; and when Travers pleaded guilty to the two charges of murder and admitted the correctness of his confession, the magistrate committed the accused to take his trial in the High Court of Bombay.
On the morning of Travers' trial there was great excitement in the Presidency town. The sessions hall of the High Court of Judicature was packed to overflowing; indeed hundreds of would-be spectators were turned away. Travers' trial was the first on the list of criminal trials. The judge to whom the sessions had been allotted sat in state in his red robes under the sword of justice. On either side sat the Sheriff and the Chief Presidency Magistrate. As Travers was English, the jury of nine selected to find on his guilt or innocence were also English. He had refused to engage a barrister, so one of the European members of the Bar, who knew him personally, undertook voluntarily his defence. It was impossible for his counsel to do much, because Travers from the beginning insisted on pleading guilty; the medical evidence, too, confirmed the accused's protest that he was absolutely sane. The barrister for the defence could only rely on the passage in Travers' confession that he was jealous and attempted to reduce, the charge from one of murder to one of culpable homicide; but as the Advocate-General pointed out, Travers' jealousy of his wife was no excuse for the assassination of Miss Smith. The judge summed up shortly and the jury after an absence of barely ten minutes brought in a verdict that Travers was guilty of murder, but added to their verdict a strong recommendation for mercy. Why they did so, they would probably have found it hard to explain. Their real reason, no doubt, was that in their belief no sane man could have behaved like Travers. If Travers was sane, then all the facts had not been put before the court.
The judge was glad of an excuse not to pass sentence of death on a man whom he knew personally and whom he had until recently always esteemed; so much to Travers' obvious disgust, he passed a sentence of penal servitude for life. The accused was led away and the judge called the next case.
Travers was sent to jail and from the first was an object of special interest to the superintendent, Captain Jameson of the Indian Medical Service. Jameson had never met Travers before, but he felt that there must be some terrible secret underlying his conduct. The prison staff took their cue from the superintendent, Travers responded to kindness and the jail officials all thought he was the nicest as well as the most intelligent prisoner, whom they had ever had at Euroda. It was however, only the lull before the storm. The 'munjia' had not the slightest intention of remaining imprisoned in Travers' body a moment longer than he could help. If two murders did not suffice to procure a death sentence, then he would commit three. The third would certainly bring him release, for murder by a life convict can, under the Indian Penal Code, only be punished by death. One day Travers asked if he might have a pair of Indian clubs for morning exercise, as, so he said, his health was suffering from lack of it. He had always been accustomed to swing them for half an hour every morning. Jameson was delighted to grant this trifling indulgence and as he had a spare pair in his bungalow, he brought them over the same evening and gave them to Travers.
Travers broke into profuse thanks, so as to disarm any possible fears on the superintendent's part. Picking up the clubs, he swung them once over his shoulder and then brought down with all his force the right hand club on the top of Jameson's head. The unfortunate officer fell with a broken skull; and a second blow, as he lay on the hard stone flagged courtyard shattered it to pieces.
"Now," thought the 'munjia' in triumph, "I am bound to be hanged."
No one, however, came forward to arrest him. The guards were all too bewildered to take any action. Then the joy of battle inherited from Travers' Norse ancestors acted physically on Mahadev's soul. "After all why await trial? Why not go on killing until death comes of itself?" With a club in each hand Travers fell on the unfortunate Maratha guard, who scattered in every direction. Running after them at great speed, Travers overtook several and with mighty blows clubbed them to death. The Indian convicts locked into their cells were in an ecstasy of delight. They applauded each murderous blow with yells of:
"Shabash Sahib! Maro Sahib!" (Bravo Sahib! Hit them Sahib)!
After Travers had killed half a dozen sepoys, those on duty at the outer gate ran up the staircase into the central tower, whence they commanded all the open spaces of the great prison. From this vantage point, they took careful aim with their rifles and fired deliberately at Travers. It was not easy to kill him, because he was moving about and also because in his berserk rage, he did not seem to be affected by the bullet wounds. At last he collapsed suddenly from loss of blood. As he lay motionless the guards fired a volley at him. He gave a convulsive movement, tried to rise and fell back dead.
At last the 'munjia' had won the desired release. Mahadev's soul left Travers' body and took its place in the line of Hindu souls waiting for reincarnation.
All the Englishmen who had known Travers were deeply shocked at his crimes and death.
"Such a terrible end to a most promising career," they said. "Travers might have risen to anything. He must have been mad but it was a dreadful end."
Yes, they were quite right; it was a dreadful end, a terrible end. Yet what happened to Travers might have happened to anyone— to you or to me.
From Indian Christmas Stories (1936)
The Pool
by John Eyton
OME THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO A LITTLE WHILE TEMPLE nestled in a fold of the hills, like a mushroom in a green dell. It stood on the bank of a dark pool; wooded hills towered over it to the west, and barren hills rolled away to the east. It was a very holy place; men believed that the foot of God had touched earth here and had made a valley. So from time immemorial it had been a place of pilgrimage. Men journeyed to the hills to see it, and the steps leading down to the pool were often thronged with travellers in white garments, women in saris of red and blue, sadhus in orange and in yellow.
The water was dark—born of a deep-laid spring, which was never dry, and whose overflow ran away in a little tinkling rill into the deep woods. It was believed that the pool was bottomless— for what could resist the foot of God?
Animals came to drink quite near the temple with out fear— dark, great-eyed Sambar stags—little barking deer of the colour of autumn leaves—mottled leopards. There were bright birds too about it—proud pheasants, and jays of vivid blue; big butterflies of dark green and blue, with swallow tails; and red dragon-flies haunted the reedy edges.
It was ever a place of great silence and of rest. A very holy man watched over the temple, sitting all day long, legs crossed, arms folded. He was said to be a hundred years old. His face was wizened and shrivelled and puckered in a thousand wrinkles. His head was shaven, and his forehead bore three upright lines of yellow paint. He wore but a single blanket of faded orange.
Such were the temple and the pool, and the priest of the pool.
There came an evil day for that peaceful place. A horde of wild Mohammedan fanatics from below swept over the hills and descended like a scourge on the pool. The little old priest ran up the path towards them, his arms outstretched, adjuring them to spare the ancient holy temple. A swarthy man of great stature lifted his sharp sword and swept off the head of the little priest; others plunged their swords into the frail body, and they threw the wreck of it into the pool. They burned the temple and destroyed the peace of the place..... Then the pestilence passed on.
Thereafter, green rushes covered the whole face of the water, save where the spring welled up in the middle. Men feared to approach the p
ool, where pale figures were seen at night, and where a despairing cry was sometimes heard. The peace returned; the place was left to the animals and the birds and the butterflies. But the memory of it never died.
Time passed, and the surrounding hills came into the hands of an Englishman, a retired Colonel named Brown. He was not an unkindly man, but he had a strong belief in the absolute superiority of his own race, and in the inviolability of property. He was tall, with white hair and moustache, and a face whose natural redness was enhanced by the white suits and hats which he wore. He made a pleasant estate in the hills; built a roomy bungalow; put up neat cottages; planted orchards, laid out paths everywhere; in fact, subdued the jungle with a system admirably English. Incidentally he cleaned up the pool, which lay just beyond his boundary. The villagers refused to do the work, but he imported labour, and cleared out the rushes and dredged up the mud. In the course of the work they found a number of blackened stones and rudely carved figures, which the Colonel gave to the Lucknow Museum. Evidently there had been some sort of a temple on the spot, which lent colour to the village talk. Then the spring was analysed and found to contain good water; so the supply was utilised, pipe-lines being laid on to the gardens. The villagers resented the whole proceeding, but they always did resent innovation. Colonel Brown was justly proud of his improvements.
Then the most annoying thing happened. The Colonel was walking round the estate one afternoon when he distinctly heard the mournful chant which accompanies funeral procession. It was the usual thing—a sentence endlessly repeated by two alternate groups, first in full tone, then faintly, like an echo. It came from the direction of the pool. When he had turned the corner he saw the awful truth—a little party of men walking swiftly down the path and bearing a stretcher on which lay a body swathed in white. Mourners trotted behind intoning their sad chant. They were actually going to burn a dead body near the spring-head! It was monstrous. They did it too; he saw the smoke curling up from the valley, and found logs of charred wood at the fringe of the pool the next morning.
