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Neck on my shoulder, we set out. The British Government forbids the use of
firearms to the common people of India, and so we carried no rifles.
About three in the afternoon we reached the village north-west in the
lamasery. There we took up the trail of the buffalo. We followed it through
dense woods and wide clearings. Here and there we crossed a brook or had
to climb over mammoth fallen trees. It was extraordinary how clear the
buffalo's hoof-prints were, and how deep!
Ghond remarked: "He must have been frightened to death, for see how
heavily he had trodden here. Animals in their normal unafraid state leave
very little trace behind, but when frightened, they act as if the terror of being
killed weighed their bodies down. This fellow's hoofs have made prodigious
and dear marks wherever he went. How frightened he must have been!"
At last we reached an impassable river. Its current, according to Ghond,
was sharp enough to break our legs had we stepped into it. Strangely
enough, the buffalo too had not dared to cross it. So we followed his
precedent, looking for more hoof-prints on the bank. In twenty more minutes
we found that they swerved off the stream-bank and disappeared into a thick
jungle that looked as black as a pit, although it was hardly five in the
afternoon. This place could not have been more than half an hour's run from
the village, for a wild buffalo of any age.
Ghond asked, "Do you hear the song of the water?" After listening for
several minutes I heard the sound of water kissing the sedges, and other
grass not far off, with gurgling groaning sounds. We were about twenty feet
from a lake into which the river ran. "The murderous buffalo is hiding--
probably asleep somewhere between here and the lagoon," cried Ghond.
"Let us make our home on one of the twin trees yonder. It is getting dark,
and I am sure he will be here soon. We should not be found on the floor of
the jungle when he turns up. There is hardly a space of four feet between the
trees!"
His last words struck me as curious. So I examined the space between the
trees. They were tall and massive, and between them lay a piece of earth just
broad enough to afford room for both of us walking abreast of each other.
 "Now I shall lay down my fear-soaked tunic half-way between these
Twins." Then Ghond proceeded to take from under his tunic a bundle of old
clothes that he had been wearing until today. He placed them on the ground,
then climbed one of the trees. After Ghond had gone up, he swung down a
rope ladder for me. I climbed up on it with Gay-Neck fluttering and beating
his wings on my shoulders in order to keep his balance. Both of us safely
reached the branch on which Ghond was sitting, and since the evening was
coming on apace, we sat still for a while.
The first thing I noticed as the dusk fell was bird-life. Herons, hornbills,
grouse, pheasant, song- sparrows and emerald necks of parrots seemed to
infest the forest. The drone of the bee, the cut-cut-cut of the woodpecker and
the shrill cry of the eagle far overhead blended with the tearing, crying
noises of the mountain torrent and the staccato laughter of the already
waking hyenas.
The tree on which we made our home for the night was very tall. We went
farther up in order to make sure that no leopard or serpent was above us.
After a close inspection we chose a couple of branches between which we
hung our rope ladder in the shape of a strong hammock. Just as we had made
ourselves secure on our perch, Ghond pointed to the sky. I looked up at
once. There floated on wings of ruby a very large eagle. Though darkness
was rising like a flood from the floor of the jungle, in the spaces above the
sky burned "like a pigeon's throat," and through it circled again and again
that solitary eagle who was no doubt, according to Ghond, performing his
worship of the setting sun. His presence had already had a stilling effect on
the birds and insects of the forest. Though he was far above them, yet like a
congregation of mute worshippers, they kept silent while he, their King, flew
backwards and forwards, and vaulted before their God, the Father of Lights,
with the ecstasy of a hierophant. Slowly the ruby fire ebbed from his wings.
Now they became purple sails hinged with sparks of gold. As if his
adoration was at last concluded, he rose higher and, as an act of self-
immolation before his deity, flew towards the flaming peaks burning with
fire, and vanished in their splendour like a moth.
Below, a buffalo's bellowing unlocked the insect voices one by one,
tearing into shreds and tatters the stillness of the evening. An owl hooted
near by, making Gay-Neck snuggle closely to my heart under my tunic.
Suddenly the Himalayan Koel, a night-bird, very much like a nightingale,
flung abroad its magic song. Like a silver flute blown by a God, trill upon
trill, cadenza upon cadenza, spilled its torrential peace that rushed like rain
down the boughs of the trees, dripping over their rude barks to the floor of
the jungle, then through their very roots into the heart of the earth.
The enchantment of an early summer night in the Himalayas will remain
forever indescribable. In fact it was so sweet and lonely that I felt very
sleepy. Ghond put an extra rope around me that held me secure to the trunk
of the tree. Then I put my head on his shoulder in order to sleep comfortably.
But before I did so, he told me of his plan:
"Those cast-off garments of mine are what I wore while my heart was
possessed of fear. They have a strange odour. If that brother-in-law (idiot) of
a buffalo gets their scent, he will come hither. He who is frightened responds
to the odour of fear. If he comes to investigate my cast-off dress, we shall do
what we can to him. I hope we can lasso and take him home as tame as a
heifer ... " I did not hear the rest of his words, for I had fallen asleep.
I do not know how long I slept, but suddenly I was roused by a terrific
bellowing. When I opened my eyes, Ghond, who was already awake, undid
the rope around me and pointed below. In the faint light of the dawn at first I
saw nothing, but I heard distinctly the groaning and grunting of an angry
beast. In the tropics the day breaks rapidly. I looked down most intently.
Now in the growing light of day I saw.... There could be no two opinions
about what I saw. Yes, there was a hillock of shining jet rubbing its dark side
against the tree on which we sat. It was about ten feet long, I surmised,
though half of its bulk was covered by the leaves and boughs of the trees.
The beast looked like a black opal coming out of a green furnace, under the
morning sun. I thought, "The buffalo that in nature looks healthy and silken,
in a zoo is a mangy creature with matted mane and dirty skin. Can those who
see buffalo in captivity ever conceive how beautiful they can be? What a
pity that most young people instead of seeing one animal in nature-which is
worth a hundred in any zoo must derive their knowledge of God's creatures
from their appearance in prisons. If we cannot perceive any right proportion
of man's moral nature by looking at prisoners in a jail, how do we manage to
think that we know all about an animal by gazing at him penned in a cage?"
However, to return to that murderous buffalo at the foot of our tree, Gay-
Neck was freed from under my tunic and left to roam on the tree, which
Ghond and I descended by a number of branches, like the rungs of a ladder,
till we reached a branch that was about two feet above the buffalo. He did [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]