Hussein

by Patrick O'Brian

  Hussein had wandered a great distance from Laghat by this time, and he had come to the hills of Assam. He was going through a wide plain, thinly wooded and very far from anywhere in particular, when he heard a noise rather like the whistle of a train, and he saw a great grey shape coming at him in a cloud of dust.

  It was a rhinoceros; a huge, savage brute. It had been looking for something to vent its anger on all day, but hitherto it had only been able to plough up shrubs and bushes. Hussein, walking a good way ahead of Jehangir, had awakened it from a half-doze, and the wind had taken his scent right to the rhinoceros, who had charged without another thought. Hussein did not pause to look at it; he ran as hard as he could for a tree, and shot up into its branches. Jehangir was too far away to be reached in time, and even the short distance between him and the tree took enough time for the rhino to be practically upon him before he reached it.

  Hussein shouted for Jehangir, and the elephant came slowly towards him, picking a branch here and a branch there as he came. He had not caught the scent of the rhino, who was backing to charge the tree, but in a moment he heard the crash as the great beast hurtled against the trunk, almost uprooting it. Jehangir broke into a rapid shuffle, and the rhino turned to face him. The rhino’s little eyes were red with rage, and it pawed impatiently at the ground. Suddenly it gave a great whistling snort, and charged at the elephant; it travelled, for all its vast bulk, like a galloping horse, and the ground shook beneath it.

  Jehangir met it half-way, and there was a great thud as they met; a cloud of dust flew up. When the dust cleared away Hussein saw the rhino scrambling unwieldily to its feet; it had been knocked flying. Jehangir had cunningly avoided the great horn, and had sidestepped, ramming the rhinoceros in the side as it shot past.

  The rhino peered uncertainly at its adversary; its eyes were very poor, and it was the wrong side of the wind. Twice it scraped up the ground with its single horn, and then it charged again. Jehangir stooped, and met it shoulder-on. The elephant was thrust back nearly a yard, and the rhino stopped dead.

  Instantly Jehangir whipped his trunk round its leg, and jerked with all his might; the rhino crashed over with a bellow of rage, and Jehangir heaved himself up to kneel on it. He was very much hampered by his blunted tusks, for he could not thrust them through the rhino’s hide, but he crushed all the breath out of it. The rhino, however, was a beast of enormous strength, and it heaved up under Jehangir, and cast him off, gashing furiously at him as he did so. The sharp horn scored a deep furrow in the elephant’s side, and Jehangir backed away for a moment, discomfited. The rhino dashed forward, striving to get beneath the elephant so as to disembowel him, but Jehangir knelt on his fore-knees and received the charge on his shoulder; the horn wounded him deeply again, and blood poured from him.

  Then, spreading his ears, Jehangir gave a great trumpeting bellow, and charged at the rhino, who stood to meet him. At the impact the rhino was knocked over and over, for Jehangir, with incredible nimbleness, jigged to the side immediately before striking, in order to avoid the horn. At once Jehangir bore down on the rhino again, and dashed his whole weight on it. Twice the rhino tried to heave from beneath him to get its horn into play, but Jehangir was immovable, and he thrust and thrust until the rhino’s bellowings died down; then he backed for a moment, and rearing up, he stamped on the rhino with both forefeet. With a last effort the rhinoceros scrambled up before Jehangir could stamp again, and it staggered away. The elephant charged again, and again the rhino went down. Jehangir crushed it until its very armour seemed to flatten, and blood came from its nose; he tried, unsuccessfully, to gore it for a few moments, and then stood away. The rhino lay still, breathing heavily. Its eyes were closed. It seemed almost dead. But a rhino is a very difficult beast to kill, and after a little while it got to its feet and shook itself. The elephant and the rhinoceros looked at one another; Jehangir’s ears flapped out, and he raised his trunk: the rhino wheeled and trotted away. At a couple of hundred yards it turned, snorted fiercely, and then made off at a good speed into the bushes.

  Jehangir came to the tree where Hussein had taken shelter, and they continued their journey until they came to a river, where Hussein bathed Jehangir’s wounds. Twice on the way Hussein saw the rhinoceros looking at them, but each time it only scraped the earth and charged away.

  By the time Jehangir’s wounds had healed they had come to a small town, where Hussein told various tales in the evening. He stayed there two days, and on the evening of the second day he saw Ram Narain in his audience. Hussein gave no sign that he had seen the man, and he finished his tale, but inside he felt a curious misgiving, as if something unfortunate were going to happen.

  When he went away from the market-place, Ram Narain followed him, and greeted him, saying, ‘This is a singular coincidence. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was obliged to give up my pilgrimage,’ replied Hussein, ‘because various misfortunes befell me.’

  They talked for some time about indifferent subjects, and then Ram Narain invited Hussein to come and have food with him. Hussein refused, saying that he must go on his way, but Ram Narain insisted, saying that he had one or two things to discuss that he thought might interest one who was a teller of tales. So Hussein consented, and when they had done with their meat, Ram Narain said openly, ‘I know that you remember seeing me in the house of Huneifa at Peshawar, when I asked you whether Feroze Khan was in the city, and you replied that he was at Umballa. I also know that you are the same man as he who was mixed up in a curious affair at Haiderabad.’ Hussein did not reply, but smoked his pipe with the utmost composure.

  ‘It is because I know that you know what Feroze Khan was doing that I have sought you out, and now that I have disclosed myself, I want you to tell me something, and for this information I will give you fifty rupees. Where did Feroze Khan go from Haiderabad, and when he came to Peshawar, did he have dealings with any man in the goldsmiths’ bazaar? and, most important of all, what did the Dewan tell him about the Rajah of Kappilavatthu?’

  Still Hussein did not reply. Ram Narain went on, quite amiably, and in the same quiet monotone that he had always employed, ‘If you tell me these things I will give you fifty rupees; I have them here. If you do not, I will tell Lutuf Khan, the cousin of Kadir Baksh, who has his string of horses quite near here just now, where you are.’

  Hussein smoked in silence for some time; then he said, ‘First we went to Jubbulpore, and then we followed a regiment whose name I have forgotten until we came to Peshawar. There was a man in the goldsmiths’ bazaar who nodded at me, and I told Feroze Khan. I do not know anything about the Dewan; in fact, I thought the old man was lying when he told me about it.’

  There was a short silence; Hussein saw that Ram Narain believed him.

  ‘That is what I wanted to know: here are the fifty rupees. Will you come and see me here to-morrow night? I may be able to give you a commission that will earn you some more money.’

  ‘I will be here,’ said Hussein.

  The next night Hussein came to the house where Ram Narain was staying, and they fed together.

  Ram Narain talked for a long while, asking Hussein innumerable questions. Hussein answered them all quite freely, and he told practically the whole story of his life, with the exception of that concerning the time during which he stayed at Laghat: he left that out, and said that he had wandered about with Jehangir. Ram Narain let fall one or two remarks that showed that he did not believe this, but he did not press the point, seeing that Hussein wished to hide something. Then he unfolded his proposition; Hussein was to go to Kappilavatthu, a small native state in Rajputana, and obtain employment in the Rajah’s household. When this was done he would be told what to do next. Ram Narain warned him repeatedly that any mention of his being employed to do this would endanger his life. He said that Hussein’s employment in the Rajah’s household would be arranged, and that he would be supplied with money for his journey, and after that, with a sum varying with his success i
n performing whatever he was told to undertake. Ram Narain stressed the point that it would be nothing dangerous, but requiring the exercise, possibly, of cunning.

  Hussein raised several objections, and pointed out that he had to think of Jehangir; but Ram Narain smoothed them all out, and said that it would be easier with the elephant than without, and that Jehangir would have a very fine home with the rest of the rajah’s elephants, for it would be arranged that the rajah’s chief mahout should hire him.

  By dawn Hussein had agreed, for the whole plan fitted in very well with his own desires; his only objection to it was that he did not know what they were going to ask him to do, and his memory of seeing Feroze Khan lying dead in the street — for the old man had, presumably, been in the same employ.

  ‘Then that is all settled,’ said Ram Narain at last. ‘There is one thing more; remember always that it is best for you not to know whom you are working for, and that it would be very unwise for you to attempt to find out: you may be sure that we are on the right side, and you may interpret that however you like. Also, if anyone mentions the incident of Feroze Khan casually, in speaking to you, you are to know that he comes from me.’

  Fifteen

  Behind the great stables of the Royal Palace at Kappilavatthu there lay the quarters where lived the hawks, hounds, cheetahs, and other animals used for hunting. The men who looked after them lived in little huts round about, or in lofts over them: of these men the only one who had not inherited his office from his father and grand-father was Hussein, who was therefore despised.

  Hussein had been given charge of a young hunting-leopard called Shaitan. The cheetah was a very highly strung beast, and nervous; in the beginning it did not like Hussein at all, but he soon made friends with it, for he had a way with animals.

  At first all the other men regarded Hussein with enmity, for they looked upon him as an interloper: moreover, they were all Hindus, with the exception of one man. Hussein would have been very lonely at first had it not been for Jehangir.

  The one other Mohammedan was a very old man called Yussuf; he also looked after one of the cheetahs. This old man had four wives, the youngest of whom was called Fatima. She was the daughter of a Bikaneeri camelman, who had given her to Yussuf as part payment of a debt. One day she called to Hussein as he passed by the balcony that ran along the side of Yussuf’s zenana, and asked him to give her husband a message. She stayed talking with him a while, until a voice from inside called to her. As she turned to go, her light chudder dropped — whether it was done on purpose or by accident Hussein could not tell, but he saw a remarkably pretty face beneath it.

  A day or two later the same thing happened again, and they stayed talking for nearly half an hour. That night Hussein received a flower message telling him to return at moon-rise.

  Hussein was always faithful to Sashiya, for she was more important to him than anything else, and he always guarded her memory very close to his heart; but he was, like most men, faithful in his own way. So moon-rise saw him by the balcony.

  They talked about many things, and Hussein learnt that old Yussuf was completely under the domination of his third wife, a very strict woman who would not let him take the opium to which he was addicted. She was furious if he took any notice of his other wives, and frequently threatened to poison them. Moreover, she controlled her husband’s money, and only allowed him a very little of it. The old man was curiously terrified of his wife’s displeasure, and although he hated her for her strong will, yet he loved her as well.

  After they had spoken for some time about Yussuf, Fatima told Hussein how unhappy she was: she said that no one understood her. Then there was a long silence. The girl swayed yieldingly against him; and Hussein, more from a feeling that it was expected of him than from any powerful inclination, held her to him.

  He was a little dismayed when she proved to be exceedingly amorous, but he closed his eyes, and saw Sashiya in her place.

  Now Hussein had, for some time, desired to learn more about the proper training of hunting leopards, and of their care, but none of the other men were at all friendly to him. He thought about that which Fatima had told him concerning Yussuf’s frustrated desire for opium, and the next morning, when the cheetahs were being exercised, he walked in front of the old man, and ostentatiously dropped one of those little heart shaped brass boxes with various compartments in which one carries hashish, bhang, betel-nut, or opium, according to one’s taste. As he picked it up he let fall a few opium pills. Yussuf said nothing at the time, but in the evening he came to Hussein, and said, ‘I have a cheetah collar for which I have no further need: it would fit your Shaitan perfectly,’ and with this he scratched himself with an embarrassed air.

  ‘Alas,’ replied Hussein, squatting down before the cages, ‘I am a poor man, and although I know that Shaitan needs a new collar, I am too needy to buy him one befitting a cheetah of his quality: also, I dare not apply to the chief hunter for the money, for he is said to be both parsimonious to a degree, and excessively prone to wrath.’

  ‘Now I see that you are a deserving man, and modest,’ said Yussuf, ‘so I shall give you this collar. It is a poor gift, although a discerning eye might find some small merit in the chasing of the brass ring that encircles it. Indeed, now that I compare the unworthiness of this collar with the manifest excellence of the one to whom I address myself, I am overcome with shame, to such an extent that I can no longer think of giving you this bauble — although it has, undoubtedly, a certain merely commercial value — as a gift.’

  ‘Assuredly it would be a royal gift,’ said Hussein uneasily.

  ‘Even so,’ replied the old man, ‘but it is unworthy of you: however, I see a way out of the difficulty; in order to show the lack of worth of this collar, I will exchange it with you for a certain trumpery brass box that I saw you drop this morning.’

  Without more words Hussein produced the box; Yussuf’s eyes glistened, and he stretched out his hand.

  ‘But I forgot,’ said Hussein, as if moved by an after-thought, ‘I have foolishly left certain pills in this box; I will remove them.’

  ‘Pray do not trouble yourself,’ stammered the old man eagerly; ‘they may assuage various pangs that I feel after having partaken too freely of dates.’

  ‘But these pills are of no value for such pangs: they are more concerned with giving ease to the mind, being made from the best opium.’

  There was a pause while Hussein transferred them to another box. Yussuf’s face fell as he saw the last pill go, and he said, with a melancholy air, ‘The Prophet never forbade its use; he only referred to intoxicating liquors … only the most bigoted and stiff-necked would twist the holy words … women, camels, and goats … all very much the same …’ The old man fell to muttering in his beard until Hussein invited him to drink coffee with him.

  When they had drunk their coffee, Yussuf returned to the subject of opium. ‘Perhaps one of those pills might help a peculiarly heavy feeling that I can discern in my head,’ he said.

  ‘It is possible,’ replied Hussein, handing him one; ‘yet it may have strange effects, such as producing hallucinations, or even boils.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Yussuf, swallowing the pill contentedly, ‘it is good to mortify the flesh. My father told me that in Uidapur he once saw a remarkably holy dervish completely covered with boils. This holy man, dying, became a famous pir, and the devout still flock in great numbers to his tomb.’

  ‘Allahu akbar,’ replied Hussein, and unrolled his rug towards Mecca, for the sun was setting, and the hour of the evening prayer was at hand.

  After they had prayed, Hussein blew gently upon the smouldering embers of his fire, and fanned it into a blaze, for the nights were cold at that time. They made themselves comfortable about the fire, and Hussein led the conversation to the subject of cheetahs. Long into the night the old man spoke of their correct training, and the way in which they should be caused to hunt. The one pill that Hussein had given him was not sufficient
to send him off into a coma, for he had a strong head, but it was enough to loosen his tongue, and Hussein, listening eagerly, learnt a great deal.

  The next evening Yussuf came again: Hussein gave him another pill, and they talked until the moon set, when the old man, having taken a second pill when Hussein’s back was turned, went to sleep. Hussein had to carry him back to his house; he was pushing him gently through an open window when there was a sound of someone moving within; Hussein left the old man propped against the window and faded rapidly away in the darkness towards his own place. As he went he heard footsteps following him, and then came Fatima’s voice, saying, ‘Stop', in a loud whisper.

  Hussein did not feel like dallying with her then, so he ran on, and presently her footsteps ceased.

  As time went on, it became the accepted thing for Yussuf to spend his evenings with Hussein. To the questions of his third wife the old man replied that he and Hussein discussed grave matters of the law of Islam, and that it was only correct that the only two Mohammedans among the Rajah’s hunters should help one another as much as possible. In this way Hussein learnt a great many things about his new craft, and by the time the season for hunting antelope and gazelle came round, he felt confident that both he and Shaitan would do as well as most. Shaitan was a good-looking young cheetah with a very affectionate way about him: indeed, he was more like a great dog than a cat. When he was still he looked a gawky beast, but potentially beautiful; it was only when he got into action that one realised his surpassing perfection: all his clumsiness disappeared: his legs, which, when he was still, seemed too long for his slender body, were hardly visible when he was at the height of his speed. During the brief space of his utmost endeavour, there was nothing on four legs that Shaitan could not catch.