The bullock cart ride
By now more then a month had passed since the man eater or man eaters first appeared on the scene. During this time more than ten children had lost their lives and countless citizens had lived in dread of the man eater every waking moment of their lives. It is true that we had accounted for one of the animals, which later proved to be a man eater. But this had not made much difference to the killings which seemed to continue unabated. It was clear that we were dealing with a very canny animal and none of the conventional methods of Shikar were going to work. It was then conventional methods of Shikar were going to work. It was then that I thought of the bullock cart ride.
The idea was quite simple really, to ride at night in a bullock cart, on the trails most frequented by the man eater. Hitherto we had pursued the man eater by jeep, or lain in wait for it over baits tied up at selected locations. Thesemethods had not worked probably because the man eater than a jeep as villagers do for moving about, it was ulikely to arouse any suspicion. To male the whole thing aooear absolutly natural, we would also have to keep some women and children with us. When this cart moved out, with the women and children chattering merrily, the bells round the necks of the bullocks jingling, no wolf would ever suspect that the cart also held a shikar with a loaded shot gun, waiting for it. At simple but effective plan it seemed to me, but there was only one snag, no women or children would agree to act as decoys, in this manner. But this problem was solved for me in an unexpected way.
As it happened my wife and children had been felling rather left out of the proceedings ever since the man eater appeared on the scene, because they had not been able to accompany me on tour. On this particular occasion, giving in to the entreaties of my wife, I had allowed them to accompany me to Astha, strictly on the condition that they would have to stay on in Astha Rest House, while I was out man eater hunting. This condition was reluctantly accepted, and my wife and two children aged two and four were with me at Astha when this particular problem arose. I explained the bullock cart plan to my wife and told the how unfortunate it was, that I could not get any women and children to accompany me in the bullock cart, especially since there was really no danger involved. My wife very gamely suggested that she and the children could give me comppany during the bullock cart ride. She thoughtit would be a lark. As I had told her myself that there was no danger involved, I could not very well object. Thus it was that this small problem was circumvented and the stage was set for an experience that proved to be rather more thrilling than I had bargained for.
The mukaddam or the Patel of village Rupendra had agreed to put his bullock cart at my disposal but as he could not get any of his farm labourers to drive the cart he agreed to drive himself. It turned out to be a full moon night, as it always seemed to be whenever we had an encounter with the wolf. The road we had selected was the Rupahera track, from the point where it branches off from the Amla Mazzu road. This track, as has been mentioned before was much frequented by the wolf. A few words about the topography of the place would not be out of place here. The Dodi plateau terminates abruptly in a series of steep headlands just north of the track. At the foot of these hills is a fairly dense forest of teak, which ends just short of the track. The hills in this part of the world look like the jagged shoreline on a rocky coast, where the sea makes deep indentations in the shape of innumerable small coves and inlets. If you substitute the forest for the sea, you will get the picture. The country to the right of the road is more open and park like, with large trees, standing over the track in places. Beyond this small fringe of open woodland are the fields of jowar, which at that time were ubiquitous in the area.
The mukkadam had brought his best cart for us, a neat vehicle, open on the top, with a liberal bedding of straw at the back to cushion the ride. It was drawn by a pair of short but sturdy bullocks, each wearing a tinkling bell round its neck. Leaving our jeep at the junction of the two tracks, we-that is -my wife and two children got on to the bullock cart. My young daughter, who was a mischievous little mite, barely over two years of age, was excited beyond measure at this adventure. Her eyes, which were then round and black as the jamun berries which she was fond of eating, were dancing with excitement. Her brother who was two years older, and therefore already conscious of superior wisdom, was more reserved, but was thrilled nonetheless, but I could already sense that my wife was beginning to have some misgivings about having so readily agreed to my scheme. I did my best to reassure her, telling her that we were not in any danger and asking her to enjoy the lovely scene that was before us.
The landscape before us was indeed a scene of wondrous beauty. The moon shed a flood of radiance on the scene, a radiance which was so white as to be almost blue. I have never seen moonlight like this since then, this light had a glass like transparency, a clear lucent quality, like the clarity of thin ice or a cold clear vein of water cascading over stones in a mountain stream. Every object, every little blade of grass and leaf was etched sharply in the brilliant clarity of that light. There was no wind, it was very still, and deep, mysterious repose seemed to hold everything in a spell. The great trees cast huge shadows on the road, which lay ankle deep in soft white dust.
This spell was broken when our little cart set off, with its bells tinkling and the children prattling excitedly. The driver of our cart, soon launched himself into a rustic song, and what he lacked in tunefulness he seemed to make up in enthusiasm. Disturbed by all this noise, a great horned owl, which was sitting over a stump by the side of the road, flew away noiselessly. Then suddenly the driver seemed to slacken his song. He looked at me with a look of wild surmise, yes, I had also heard what he had heard -the distant, but unmistakable sound of a wolf wailing. My wife and children had heard this this too, for they suddenly fell silent. The cart went on with its bells tinkling. The wheels raised small puffs of dust, which fell back after dancing in the moonlight for a while. The silence seemed to return again like the tide returning.
I kept a sharp lookout over the small stockade that enclosed the back of the cart. But the wolf after his initial call was keeping quite. The small jungle sounds that engage your attention while sitting up over a kill could not be heard over the noise of the cart. After a while the spell was broken, the children started chattering again and our cart driver again started hemming a song under his breath, he was still too chastened to sing. A nightjar rose suddenly, out of a small depression in the road where he was sitting, all but invisible. Some people consider this bird, a bird of ill omen, and I was wondering what will happen when suddenly the silence of the night was once again shattered, this time by the scream of a human being in agony. The scream seemed to come from the right of the road. It was not repeated, but there was no doubt that it seemed to come from a person in mortal fear of his life. The scream appeared to come from the direction of a small temple, that stands in a dense grove just south of the road, about five hundred yards from where we were. Shouting at the top of my voice to the person, who was apparently in danger, I told him that help was at hand and he should hang on or just a moment. I then asked my cart driver to push his bullocks as hard as he could. This he did and the study little animals, broke into a fast trot, arriving at the temple in a latter of sweat in just a few minutes.
This temple was a simple whitewashed structure, dedicated to shiva. it stood on a broad platform, that was built all around it. This temple was looked after by a sadhu, a mendicant who has renounced the world. This sadhu was actually a young man, with long matted locks and intense brooding eyes. He was a silent, reclusive person, and I suspect the village were in awe of him. As the temple was too small for anyone to sleep inside, the sadhu used to sleep on the platform. The only concession to the cold weather he would make was a small fire which he kept burning by his side. otherwise a thin sheet of cotton, was his only raiment and covering, hot weather or cold. A true ascetic was this young man, who had forsaken the world at this youthful age to pursue the call of his spirit. When we reached the temple, the sadhu was sitting up on the platform with blood flowing profusely from his left shoulder. The fire that he always kept burning had burned down to a few smouldering embers. This was the story that I got out of him.
As you know sahib, it is my practice to sleep outside, whether it is winter or summer. I fear no man, and no animal certainly. Yes ! I had heard about this wolf, and have even heard it calling in the forest many a times, but bird, a bird of ill omen, and I was wondering what will happen when suddenly the silence of the night was once again. The scream of a human being in agony. The scream seemed to come from the right of the road. It was not repeated, but there was no doubt that it seemed to come from a person in mortal fear of his life. The scream appeared to come from th direction of a small temple, that stands in a dense grove just south of the road, about five hundred yards from where we were. Shouting at the top of my voice to the person, who was apparently in danger, I told him that help was at hand and he should hang on for just a moment. I then asked my cart driver to push his bullocks as hard as he could. This he did and the sturdy little animals, broke into a fast trot, arriving at the temple in a lather of sweat in just a few minutes.
This temple was a simple whitewashed structure, dedicated to shiva. It stood on a broad platform, that was, built all around it. This temple was looked after by a sadhu, a mendicant who has renounced the world. This sadhu was actually a young man, with long matted locks and intense brooding eyes. He was a silent, reclusive person, and I suspect the villagers were in awe of him. As the temple was too small for anyone to sleep inside, the sadhu used to sleep on the platform. The only concession to the cold weather he would make was a small fire which he kept burning by his side. Otherwise a thin sheet of cotton, was his only raiment and covering, hot weather or cold. A true ascetic was this young man, who had forsaken the world at this youthful age to pursue the call of his spirit. When we reached the temple, the sadhu was sitting up on the platform with blood flowing profusely from his left shoulder. The fire that he always kept burning had burned down to a few smouldering embers. This was the story that I got out of him.
As you know sahib, it is my practice to sleep outside, whether it is winter or summer. I fear no man, and no animal certainly. Yes ! I had heard about this wolf, and have even heard it calling in the forest many a times, but what has a sadhu to fear from an animal. But this animal must be a powerful evil spirit, because only such spirits can harm a sadhu, Sahib as I was sleeping, I felt a tearing pain in my shoulders and I must have screamed out involuntarily. This was the scream you heard. Inspite of the pain, my eyes opened instantly and I was alert, for a sadhu's sleep is light. I saw this big wolf with its fangs buried in my shoulder. I picked up the tongs, which I always keep at my side and out a burning ember from my fire and thrust it at the wolf's muzzle. With a snarl of rage, the wolf loosened its hold on my shoulder. Just then I heard your shout. The wolf must have heart it too, because he then disappeared into the darkness as suddenly as he come I tell you sahib this is no animal, but a spirit, but I am also a sadhu and though he can harm me, he can not yet kill me."
As he told me his story,the sadhu must have been in considerable pain, but if he was, he did not show it. His eyes still burned with a fiery intensity. He scouted my suggestions that he come with me to Ashta for treatment. He assured me, that he had his own medicine which was more effective that any thing that we could provide. As the sadhu was thus resolved, not to leave his temple, or to take treatment outside, we decided to leave him where he was. But one thing we did, we helped him build up a large fire from a heap of firewood that was kept nearby. This fire would keep the wolf at bay, if he was lurking anywhere in the vicinity as I felt sure that he was. I raised a silent salute to a very br ave man, and turned to get back to our cart to begin our return journey, but a complication now arose. The mukkadam said, his bullocks were too tired after their sprint, to immediately be put to harness again. They would have to rested overnight before we could return. The choice before me was thus, either to stay on and spend the rest of the night at the temple, or brave the return journey on foot. I chose to go back. Nothing could however induce the mukkadam to go with us. He pref erred to lock himself up inside the temple and spend the night doubled up like a sack, rather than brave the imagined dangers of the road.
So there was nothing for it but to take to the road on our own. This was not such a foolhardy undertaking as it seems. I knew the wolf would never attack a party of four which included an armed man. As long as we kept to the middle of the track and kept a sharp lookout, we should be absolutely safe. My wife and children were fortunately of the same mind, they thought nothing of walking back, they knew they would not be in any real danger, so long as we remained alert. So we set of on our return journey, my wife leading, the two kids in the middle and I at the back.
The Journey was not along one, the night was beautiful, the road stretched ahead, with the jungle on one side and the large trees on the other. The moon still shone overhead, large, resplendent, shedding its flood of vitreous light on the whole scene. Much as I love nature however, I could not really enjoy its beauty because I had to keep my senses tuned to the task in hand. Our feet made no noise on the soft sand, the jungle was silent, but I could sense that the wolf was watching us. I fancied that I saw the gleam of eyes, glaring, baleful and red, following us in the darkness. We had been on the road about half an hour when a fox, darted across, from the right, raising a flurry of dust in his wake, and startling all of us. When we came to the tree stump, we saw that the large owl was back on his perch. This time he did not rise at our approach, but kept looking down at us with that brooding mournfulness that owls have.
By now our journey was nearly over and the two children had regained their spirits. They were laughing and clapping as they saw our jeep standing in the fork of the road, with Shamshad the driver and Ran Singh the Home Guard Jawan waiting for us. As the driver turned the ignition and the jeep roared to life we heard it again, at first almost inaudible, then slowly in volume, a curious but unmistakable sound, like the wind soughing among the trees; it was the wolf throwing us his challenge again.
