Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER VII.*

  _*THE RANA'S SONS.*_

  The first thing which attracted Kathleen's attention, when her fatherlifted her out of her swinging carriage, was the sight of a Thibetanwoman milking the cows. She was dressed in dirty rags, with a tornblanket thrown over her head. But round her neck she wore three stringsof beads, so quaint and curious Kathleen could do nothing but look atthem. The beads were as big as hazel-nuts. One row was of coral andturkois; in another the beads were of a greenish hue, spotted all overlike thrushes' eggs; the third was coral, with silver tags between. Sothe ayah took her to beg a cup of milk, whilst the breakfast waspreparing. They made her a cup with a leaf and a thorn; and as thequeer-looking milkmaid twisted it into proper shape round her slenderfingers, she noticed the child's red eyes and colourless cheeks andheard the story of the lost brother. "O children of pigs!" sheexclaimed. "To think a wolf in May would eat him up! No, no. There hasbeen many a child brought up by the wolves, as I've heard tell. Perhapsit was its grandfather; who knows? It would not hurt it if it were."

  She caught up Kathleen in her arms, and carried her to the edge of thecliff, pointing downwards to the tops of the mighty trees growing in thedark ravines between the hills they had been crossing--hills belowhills, stretching away beneath their feet, so grand and vast and wild.The gray mud walls of the little Hindu village looked like an ant-hillin their midst. Kathleen felt dimly how the timid, gentle, imaginativeHindu men and women, who have lived all their lives within reach of theformidable beasts that range at will through those forest-glades, growso afraid that their fear almost changes to reverence. They say theyare all God's creatures, mightier and stronger than themselves. Theydare not hurt them for the world; and they think when they die theyshall be changed into them. They mix their fancies with all they seeand hear, as her father had told her; but yet she could not helplistening when the weird-looking milkmaid entreated her not to cry anymore, but to see the glorious places where the wild wolves slept in thesunlight, and to think her little brother was there among them. Oh no;she did not believe he would want to come back. He would grow into awolf, and be happy.

  Kathleen felt frightened, for she saw that the ayah believed her. Thenthe Thibetan unloosed the wonderful beads from her neck and let Kathleenexamine them. They were heirlooms which had been handed down for manygenerations. The coral and turkois had been worn by hergreat-grandmother; the coral with the silver tags came from her father'speople. She always wore them; they were safer round her neck thananywhere. The ayah agreed with her.

  Kathleen carried her leafy cup indoors, to show to her mother. A hastybreakfast was preparing--fowl and eggs, but no bread anywhere, onlychupatties, the thin round cakes which the woman outside was making whenthey arrived. They very much resembled a dry crisp pancake. The freshhill air gave the children an appetite, and they ate heartily.

  "Papa," whispered Kathleen, "may I talk about the wolves to you?"

  "Better not, darling," was the quick reply; "father is too busy to talknow."

  Away went Mr. Desborough, ordering and arranging everything to insurethe comfort of his wife and children; for he knew that he must soonleave them to enjoy their three months' gipsying among the hills. Hetrusted that picking flowers and chasing butterflies would soon occupyall his little fairy's thoughts, if he could but keep her from dwellingon the terrible remembrance.

  Horace was soon fast asleep on his mother's lap, and Kathleen's eyeswere blinking.

  There were chairs and tables and charpoys in the bungalow, kept readyfor the use of visitors. So as soon as breakfast was over, the ayah putKathleen and Horace to bed.

  The rooms were all on one floor, and as every door stood wide open, theywere not out of Mrs. Desborough's sight a single moment.

  The charpoy, or Indian bedstead, is only a wooden frame with cross-barsof webbing, and on this a mat or a resais is laid. The ayah fetched thepillows Bene Madho was unpacking, and all was ready. Going to bed issuch a simple affair in India, for nobody undresses as we do in England.Dressing and undressing belong to the bath. The ayah covered thechildren with a large mosquito-net, and then flung herself on thematting beside them.

  A few hours' refreshing sleep made them feel like different beings. Butthey were still very tired, and were quite content to sit together onthe steps of the veranda, watching the mowers cutting the grass. It washappiness to Kathleen to have her little brother once again, and shedevoted herself to the delightful task of making Racy laugh. There wasa bird a little bigger than an English starling, with shining wings ofcopper colour, violet and blue, which hopped about their feet, and thenflew off to perch on the cow's back, and good-naturedly catch theinsects which were teasing it.

  Presently they saw a curious procession coming up the hill--two Hinduboys riding on donkeys, with syces running beside them carrying scarletumbrellas over their heads, ornamented with deep gold-fringes. Behindthem rode their tutor, and after him four native Hindus, carrying trayson their heads, tastefully piled with fruit and vegetables and flowers.

  "Early visitors," exclaimed Mr. Desborough, who was walking aboutdirecting the mowers.

  The boys proved to be the two young sons of the Rana of Nataban, or "thebrook of the forest," whose castle they had passed by the way.

  "Look! look!" cried Racy, clapping his little hands, and making such anoise that all the strangers turned their heads and regarded him. Thetwo young chieftains alighted, and advanced to Mr. Desborough, who heldout his hand to the eldest, English fashion. The boy took it betweenboth his own and dropped into it something which felt very like a littleball of cobwebs, but was in reality a tiny bag of musk. He thendirected his servants to place their trays on the ground at Mr.Desborough's feet. They were a present from his father, the Rana. Theywere bright-eyed, intelligent boys, but as delicate and graceful asgirls. Their tutor was a clever young Brahmin, who had been educated inthe government schools, and longed, above all things, to visit London.He could speak English, and was teaching it to his pupils.

  This was quite a relief; and when the formal greetings were wellthrough, and the boys were seated one on each side of Mr. Desborough, hesent Kathleen to fetch the jar of English sweets which Bene Madho hadbought for her consolation. It was just unpacked, and stood on thetable near the window by which they were seated, and he perceived thelarge, dreamy eyes of his youngest visitor rested upon it verycuriously.

  Whilst she was gone for it, Horace came and stood between his father'sknees. He certainly mistook the two young ranas for big dolls, as theysat as stately and grave as they could in their saffron-coloureddresses, embroidered belts, and heavy silver bracelets. Horace, with hiscurly flaxen hair and blue eyes, was equally interesting to them, andthe drum with which he was playing still more so.

  The old trouble had returned to Kathleen's eyes as she ran in for herjar of peppermint lozenges. She was thinking of the Thibetan woman andall she had said. "Oh, if Carl were alive in the jungle, could not theyfind him and bring him home?" Her little heart was full. She longed topour it out to her mother, but her father's words restrained her. Mrs.Desborough looked so ill, so sadly worn, and kissed her so fondly,Kathleen could only venture to entreat her to come and look at thestrange milkmaid, with her wonderful necklaces. She was hoping theThibetan would repeat to her the strange things she had said about Carl.

  Mrs. Desborough promised at once; she had not the heart to refuse herdarlings anything, for fear they, too, should be stolen from her. Shefollowed her little daughter into the veranda, putting on her gloves.They were black. The youngest boy, Aglar, had never seen a lady's glovebefore. He watched her intently, as if he thought her hands hadsuddenly changed colour. He spoke to his tutor in his soft, musicalIndi; who gravely informed her the young Rana had such a longing to feelthe lady's hand, might he be permitted to touch it?

  Mrs. Desborough smiled, and held hers out to him.

  Aglar rose, made his salaam, and
softly felt her fingers all over. Itseemed to afford him infinite delight. So, to amuse him, Mrs.Desborough took off her gloves and put them on again. The long row ofbuttons pleased him exceedingly.

  "Give them to him," suggested Mr. Desborough, who was wondering how hecould return the Rana's present, having nothing with him but just thenecessary things his family required.

  The transfer was made; the mystery of the buttons made easy, too, by theaddition of a tiny button-hook. The little fellow was in ecstasies. Notso Horace, who set up a clamour to have his mother's gloves back, whichamused them all.

  Mr. Desborough was talking to the elder, whose name was Rattam, abouthis lessons. He was fond of reading, had made some way in English andPersian, and was much gratified with the gift of an English book onbotany, which Mr. Desborough had brought with him, hoping to interesthis wife in the lovely plants and flowers she was sure to find among thehills. It was very doubtful whether the new owner could possiblyunderstand it, but he liked to examine the plates.

  Mr. Desborough thought they were getting on, when Horace renewed hisclamour, pointing at Aglar, and declaring, "He is nobody but a native.He shan't have my mamma's gloves. He shan't!"

  Mrs. Desborough grew pink with annoyance, for she knew their youngvisitors would be highly offended, if they really understood Englishwell enough to know what the child was saying. In vain his fatherfrowned. He would not be quieted. Kathleen slipped round and filledhis mouth with her peppermint, to stop his tongue.

  "We are all spoiling him as fast as we can," muttered her father, with abitter sigh, as he sent her across to Rattam, who regarded Horace withpure amazement. No Hindu child is ever permitted to be rough or rude.Kathleen shyly offered Rattam her jar, trying to make up for Racy'snaughtiness by behaving as prettily as she could. Rattam examined herpeppermints curiously, and then drew back, afraid to touch one, for itmight be degrading to himself.

  He dare not taste one, he said, for fear of losing caste by eatinganything which might be improper for a Brahmin.

  This horror of losing caste--that is, of forfeiting his position as aBrahmin, one of the highest class of Hindus, to whom all the others lookup with reverence--is the bugbear of a Hindu gentleman's life, andRattam was fully impressed with its importance.

  Yet he was gratified; and although no persuasion could induce him totouch the peppermint, he expressed his thanks with the air of a prince,adding, "You must permit me to send you a bird of my own training, to bemy vakeel" ("Ambassador," interpreted the tutor), "and remind you ofme," Rattam went on; "and, I assure you, he is a very amusing fellow."

  He spoke so carefully and so correctly, it made Kathleen think he hadlearned his English sentences ready before he came. She wished shecould ask her ayah how she ought to answer him in Indi; but that was outof the question. If he understood not her reply, he knew by her shylittle smile she was pleased.

  "It is a hill-mina from Nepaul, with a remarkably good, rich voice--"He looked to his tutor, perplexed for the next word. It was notforthcoming.

  "Does the little beebee understand Persian?" he asked.

  Mr. Desborough shook his head, relieved to find his guest's English wasnot yet perfect.

  "Persian is our French," said the tutor, making a sign to Aglar, who hadnot yet finished his examination of Mrs. Desborough's hands; but when hecaught his tutor's eye, he dropped down on the ground by her side,sitting cross-legged, as still and stately as a little statue. He neverraised his eyes or uttered a single word until a second sign gave himpermission.

  When the ayah appeared with the children's box of playthings, the twoyoung visitors forgot themselves and their grand manners in the wondersof Kathleen's magic top, and behaved with an easy grace which wasnatural to them, and much more prepossessing.

  "Let Aglar take it away with him, Kathy," whispered Mr. Desborough; "Iwill buy you another."

  Mamma had slipped out during the exhibition of the playthings to consultwith Bene Madho about the tiffen. She thought he might know better thanshe did what such fastidious young princes would condescend to eat.

  He told her they never touched anything but butter, sweetmeats, andvegetables or fruit. Butter Mrs. Desborough could procure in plenty,but the sweetmeats ran wofully short. Salad and syllabub, with some oftheir own beautiful fruit, had to suffice.

  The amount of butter the little princes consumed was somethingastonishing. No wonder Rattam was so fat. Aglar's hoarse coughdistressed Mrs. Desborough. She always carried a well-filledmedicine-chest about with her, for the sake of her own delicatechildren. So she found him some cough-drops, and a porous plaster forthe chest, to lay on the empty trays her husband was trying to refill.

  Kathleen relinquished a great many of her toys to please their duskyvisitors. Rattam liked everything in pairs. He was highly delightedwith her doll's tea-cups, as he said "there were three pairs." But hereturned her the teapot. One of a sort looked mean in his eyes.

  When tiffen was over, their interesting neighbours rose to depart, withthe demure gravity of old men.