Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
"Taajoob!" said he, "wonderful! I could have sworn they both looked
at me; but I am growing old and foolish." Well, Sahib, as I said, I
gazed and gazed at them, so that I wonder even now, they saw nothing
extraordinary in it, and did not remark it. But no: the old man
continued a relation of some treaties the Nagpoor Rajah was forming
with the English, and was blaming him for entering into any league
with them against his brethren, when my father called out "Tumbako lao
(bring tobacco)!" It was the signal! quicker than thought the Thug
had thrown his handkerchief round the neck of the old man, another
one his round that of the son, and in an instant they were on their
backs struggling in the agonies of death. Not a sound escaped them
but an indistinct gurgling in their throats; and as the Bhuttotes
quitted their fatal hold, after a few moments, others, who had been
waiting for the purpose, took up the bodies and bore them away to the
already-prepared grave.
"Now for the rest," cried my father in a low tone: "some of you rush on
the servants; see that no noise is made; the bullock-driver and others
can be dealt with easily."
Some of the men ran to the place the _khayet_ had chosen, and
surrounded the unsuspecting cart-driver and the other servants, who
were cooking under a tree. I saw and heard a scuffle; but they also
were all dead ere they could cry out.
"Come!" said my father and Hoosein, taking me by the arms and hurrying
me along; "come and see how they are disposed of."
I went, or was rather dragged along, to one side of our encampment,
where there was a ravine some feet deep, in the bottom of which a hole
had been dug, and by the side of which eight bodies were lying. The
father and son, his two wives, the bullock-driver, two male servants,
and an old woman; also a servant, who was in the inclosure with the
women. The bodies were nearly naked, and presented a ghastly spectacle,
as they lay in a confused heap, but just visible from the brink of the
ravine.
"Are they all here?" asked my father.
"Yes, Khodawund," said one of the Lughaees, whom I knew.
"Then in with them!" cried my father; and they were quickly deposited
in their last resting-place, the head of one over the feet of another,
so that they might lie close.
"We had better open them," said the Lugha, "for the ground is loose and
they will swell."
So gashes were made in their abdomens, and the earth quickly filled in
on them; it was stamped down, the top smoothed, and in a few moments
no one could have discovered that eight human beings had been secreted
beneath the spot. We turned away from it, and every one betook himself
to repose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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