CHAPTER 11
Rumbold was carrying out his felling out his felling operation in the forests of Sohagpur and his camp was not far. The camp was fenced off by a rough stockade-inside was a simple tent, just a ridge pole supported by fore cross-members covered with canvas, which served as Rumbodl’s home. When on this timber operations, Rumbold could rough it out, as well as any. Long of all shapes and sizes were piled up inside the stockade, and the loggers, poor peasants mostly, slept in the open along the perimeter. Into this camp, on a moonlit night, when the mood was temporarily obscured by clouds, stepped a shadowy form. This man had a large blanket tied around the shoulders like a cape and a bandana masked his face. In his hands was a revolver, which he carried with the muzzle acing downwards, as though he had no intention of firing it. He wore a felt hat with a broad brim, and this rather theatrical outfit was a kind of badge of identity. NO one who saw him could doubt he was looking at Maan Singh, the outlaw.
Maan Singh entered the camp silently but made no attempt at concealing himself. The watchman who was dozing by a smouldering fire recognized him instantly and gave the alarm. “Maan Sing, Maan Singh! shouted the watchman and the whole camp was in a commotion at once, the sleeping loggers roused form their sleep, running about the stockade wildly.
But their frenetic movements were checked suddenly by a clear and commanding voice, all of you, stop running and sit down, you will not come to any harm if you do as I say. He looked at the watchman,” go and bring your master!”
The watchman, paralysed with fear and awe was slow to move, but before he could obey Rumbold walked out the tent; his single barrelled Martini-Henry fife in this hands.
“Drop your gun Rumbold and keep your hands up. I do not want unnecessary violence.” There was quiet menace in those words, but Rumbold did not obey.
“So you are Maan Singh, Let me tell you I take no orders from a boldly nigger. Damn your bloody nerve.” So saying, Rumbold aimed his rifle at the intruder and fired. Before he could reload, the stranger, who had been lounging carelessly until then, fired his gun from a crouching position and Rumbold’s rifle was knocked out of his hands.
“Curse you bandit,” said Rumbold, as he hopped around clutching his wrist from which blood was spouting freely.
“I could easily have knocked your brains out Rumbold. Now stop your ranting and listen to me. You are a thief and a liar. You have cut down trees in the sacred grove of the Korkus, a thing that no one had ever done before and you have to pay the price. You have to compensate the Korkus and you will pay them ten thousand rupees for the trees that you have cut down. You will also henceforth desist from cutting down trees anywhere in either the district of Hoshangabad or the state of Ratangarh.”
“And what if I refuse to carry out these..these absurd conditions of yours.”
“You know better than to refuse, “said Maan Singh as another bullet raised a puff of dust near Rumbold’s toe, sending him into a renewed frenzy of hopping.”
When he looked up Maan Singh was gone.
