At length they came to Rajkot, where the road was being made right through the jungle. The hills nearby abounded in game, from wild elephants and tigers to sand-grouse. The young ‘Stant Sahib’ who commanded the Police was a very keen shikar; and Hussein soon developed a great admiration for him.
He was a big, red-headed man, with a face burnt brick-red by the sun. This prevailing redness gave his blue eyes a startling intensity which impressed the natives tremendously; in fact, there was a rumour current that he had a tail, being a sort of djinni. Hussein used to gaze at him for long periods; he had never seen anything like it before. ‘I wonder’, he thought, ‘whether his tail is red, too?’
He often used to hold the Stant Sahib’s pony, so as to look at him more closely, but he never saw a vestige of a tail, red or otherwise. After a while the Englishman began to notice Hussein, and sometimes he spoke to him. At this time Hussein was a tall, thin boy of about sixteen — a young man by Indian standards.
One day the Stant Sahib, whose name was Gill, heard of a leopard that had made a kill about half a day’s journey into the jungle. According to the report the leopard was a very large one, which had been harrying the cattle in a little Ghond village in the jungle for some time. Gill wanted to pot a good-sized leopard, but the journey would have to be made on an elephant, as it would take much too long to cut a way through the virgin jungle. So he went to the Englishman in charge of the mahouts, and asked him if he could spare him an elephant.
‘I can let you have an elephant all right,’ said this man, ‘but I’m afraid I really can’t spare a single mahout; you see, four of my best men have gone on leave for some damned funeral or festival or something, and I need every man I can lay my hands on for this tricky stretch of road by the stream.’
‘That’s a pest, because I particularly want to get out to that part of the jungle — it isn’t so much on account of the leopard, but because the dacoits have been rather busy in that direction, and I’ve an idea that a bit of reconnoitring might do some good.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, old man, but no can do. I’ve got to get past that awkward patch before the big-wigs come out and make remarks about inefficiency and lamentable lack of drive.’
‘Oh well, I daresay I can make it on a pony, but it’ll mean carrying a hell of a lot of kit. I suppose you’re coming over for bridge to-night?’
‘Yes, of course; look here, I tell you what, perhaps you can get hold of a chap who knows which end of an elephant goes first, and then I can let you have one, if you’ll take full responsibility and all that.’
‘That’s definitely an idea. I daresay I’ll be able to get hold of someone, if it’s only my syce — an elephant will make all the difference. By the way, don’t forget to bring over some sodawater to-night, I’ve run clean out of it.’
The next day Gill’s khitmutgar went among the mahouts to find someone who could take the Englishman’s elephant. After a good deal of discussion a man suggested Hussein.
‘He is very young,’ objected the khitmutgar.
‘Yes,’ said Mustapha, ‘but he knows Jehangir almost as well as I know him myself, and moreover, he handled him when he was mûsth, which not many would have done.’ All the mahouts supported him in this.
‘He would have to take a lesser wage,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘on account of his youth.’
‘And a certain khitmutgar would get a larger share of it,’ replied Mustapha.
‘No such thought entered my mind,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘for I am a virtuous man; he will get eight annas, which is a princely sum for a youth.’
‘Allah! Behold this virtuous khitmutgar — he would sell his grandmother’s shroud! Hussein shall have one rupee and four annas, not a pice less.’
‘These Muslims! I am fallen among thieves! Fourteen annas and two pice.’
‘By no means; one rupee and one anna.’
‘Very well, one rupee.’ They haggled a little longer, and at length Mustapha got one rupee two pice for Hussein, who had not said a word. He had a curiously exalted feeling in his heart, as he had never officially been in full charge of an elephant before.
He wanted to have a howdah on Jehangir, that he should look the more glorious, but Gill only wanted a pad. Long before dawn Hussein prepared Jehangir. He scrubbed the great forehead, so that it seemed grey against the blackness of the rest of his body, and he polished the silver bands about the fore-shortened tusks. Zeinab wrapped up some chupatties for him, and Amir Khan lent him an ancient iron ankus.
At daybreak he brought Jehangir round to Gill’s bungalow. Gill had his breakfast while the khitmutgar and Hussein put his things on the pad. He only expected to be gone three days, so he had cut down his baggage to the minimum. When everything was ready, Jehangir knelt so that Gill could get up, and they set off down a little thin path.
The sun had not yet come up over the trees, and there was only a curious greenish light. It was quite cold. A slight silver mist floated about the tall grass and the trees. Everything was quiet.
Jehangir made very little sound as he went along; his great round feet were padded like thick rubber, so that he seemed like a moving shadow. Presently Hussein, who had been awake nearly all night, fell asleep as he sat a-straddle on the elephant’s neck. Gill was not sufficiently used to the elephant’s rolling walk to be able to sleep, but he dozed now and then. It was rather like being in a boat when there is a swell on the sea, and the tall, waving elephant grass rippled like water. At length they came to a place where the path joined three others: Jehangir stopped for guidance. Hussein awoke with a start; he turned to Gill, who was looking at a sketch map on the back of an envelope. It showed a vague path — indicated by a wavy pencil line — that led to the Ghond village.
‘Hm,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t show any other paths. Still, the place lies almost dead east of the road-head, so we had better steer by compass.’
According to the compass none of the paths would do, so they struck into the jungle. It was not long after the rains just then, and the jungle was very thick, so thick that a man on the ground would have had to go down on his hands and knees to creep through it in places; but Jehangir made his own way.
Hussein carried his cousin’s ankus with him, so as to look like a great mahout; but he never used it, because his grandfather had said that the best mahouts never needed to — but it looked well. He had soon got tired of holding it, and had put it down behind him, just in front of the compass by which Gill was going. Naturally the iron affected the compass, so that by noon they found themselves before a river that ran between a hillside covered with bamboo and a great reddish expanse of rocky hills that faded away into thin jungly country in the distance.
‘This is all wrong,’ said Gill. ‘We are miles out. This river isn’t shown at all on the map.’
‘It is the Jhelunga, huzoor,’ said Hussein.
‘You’re right; I remember it now; I was here for pig-sticking some time ago. We’d better have lunch now we’re here.’
Hussein tapped Jehangir on the forehead, and the elephant knelt. Gill got off, and they pitched a little tent, for the sun was at its height. Gill fed from a tin of peaches and some biscuits, while Hussein retired behind a rock and ate his chupatties and some cold lamb’s tail, carefully wrapped in a vine leaf by Zeinab. Jehangir found a flowering mimosa bush, which he