Part 40 (1/2)

As they topped the crest of a low hill, the Gul Moti scanned the country declining before her toward the Nerbudda. A string of jewels appeared--incredibly gorgeous in mid-day light. It was thirty-eight full-caparisoned elephants--going fast. Mitha Baba called on them to wait for her; but they remained in sight only a few minutes. The Gul Moti's high courage sank; the caravan was too near the river to be delayed by Mitha Baba's calls--the river too far ahead.

”Do they ever obey her, Laka Din?” the Gul Moti asked.

”They always used to,” the old man replied dubiously.

Finally Mitha Baba came out into the straight descent toward the river.

No elephants were in sight, but a blotch of colour showed on the bank.

”Well done for those mahouts!” the Gul Moti cried out in relief. ”The caparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?”

”It was well done, Hakima-ji,” the old man exulted. ”The masters were listening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river--s.p.a.ce of six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is no easiness--unfastening everything from top of an elephant. (I who am old have done it!) Also, some went down to loosen underneath buckles. You shall see.”

They found four very disconsolate mahouts on the bank of the river beside the great pile of nicely arranged stuff.

”I want the smallest howdah you have!” called the Gul Moti, as the men sprang in front of Mitha Baba.

”But, Hakima-ji,” they protested, ”by getting down--we were left behind!”

”I must not be left--and yet you must take these clothes from her!” the Gul Moti said, while they helped the old man to the ground.

”Then go to her neck--oh, Thou Healer-without-fear! She will not wait long--she follows Nut Kut, the demon! and Gunpat Rao, who both got away with everything on!”

Still hoping, the Gul Moti slipped over the edge of the big howdah and climbed toward Mitha Baba's neck. The mahouts worked fast stripping her.

Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny fingers, and plunged into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Moti a little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke.

Day went by--and no elephants in sight. Night came on--and no elephants in sight. Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident of her way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began to climb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if she were coming in to her own stockades. The Gul Moti took up her call again--thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba was not thinking of the caravan. It had happened that the Gul Moti's tones had fallen upon those intonations used in High Himalaya, to send the toilers out to toil wild elephants in.

It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephant crashed past them--lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as it ran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in a fight. But the outline of it, in the shadows, appeared too lean to be one of her own.

Soon after that, Mitha Baba trumpeted in a new tone of voice--one the Gul Moti had never heard before. It sounded very wild, very desolate.

”In the name of all the G.o.ds, Mitha Baba, what's the meaning of that?”

the Gul Moti enquired with a little tension--it being one of those moments when one gains a.s.surance by speech.

But Mitha Baba's reply was in the very oldest language of India--one even the mahouts know only a very little of. It rose in wild, wistful tones--higher and higher. It was repeated from time to time; the sense of it strangely thrilling to the girl on her neck.

. . . They were well up in the mountains, so far that the trees had become ma.s.sive of body and heavy and dense of top--the moon only just showing through--when they heard the trumpeting of elephants, off toward the east. Mitha Baba answered at once, turning abruptly toward the east.

”Mitha Baba!” the Gul Moti protested, ”our people have never gone off in this direction--where are we, anyway?”

Mitha Baba's calling was just as wild as before; but it had become wild exultation.

. . . They were coming up into what reminded the Gul Moti of something she had heard--that the really old jungle is always dark; that the light of day never touches earth there. This was almost dark, the moon glinting through black shadows--only at intervals.

The sense of this place was strange. It might be on another planet. And that thought touched the root of the difference--this was not on, this was in. Everything felt in--deep in.

Here Mitha Baba changed her voice again. (Nothing had ever happened to the Gul Moti like it.) It was still wild, still wistful--quite as much so as before. But there was a cooing roll in it--away and away the most enticing thing human ears ever listened to. It sounded like Nature--weaving all spells of all glamour, in tone; soft-flaming gold, in tone; soft-flaming rose, in tone; and on and on--the very softest, deepest magics of life-perpetual!

. . . The trumpeting ahead was fuller and nearer, distinctly nearer; almost as if they were coming into it. Then, without warning, the mighty mountain trees cut off the moon-lit sky. It had been dark before--now it was utterly dark!