India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
the flock, and almost before Gunga Dass and I had time to withdraw to the
tussock, two more captives were struggling in the upturned claws of the
decoys. So the chase--if I can give it so dignified a name--continued
until Gunga Dass had captured seven crows. Five of them he throttled at
once, reserving two for further operations another day. I was a good deal
impressed by this, to me, novel method of securing food, and complimented
Gunga Dass on his skill.
"It is nothing to do," said he. "To-morrow you must do it for me. You are
stronger than I am."
This calm assumption of superiority upset me not a little, and I answered
peremptorily;--"Indeed, you old ruffian! What do you think I have given
you money for?"
"Very well," was the unmoved reply. "Perhaps not to-morrow, nor the day
after, nor subsequently; but in the end, and for many years, you will
catch crows and eat crows, and you will thank your European God that you
have crows to catch and eat."
I could have cheerfully strangled him for this; but judged it best under
the circumstances to smother my resentment. An hour later I was eating one
of the crows; and, as Gunga Dass had said, thanking my God that I had a
crow to eat. Never as long as I live shall I forget that evening meal. The
whole population were squatting on the hard sand platform opposite their
dens, huddled over tiny fires of refuse and dried rushes. Death, having
once laid his hand upon these men and forborne to strike, seemed to stand
aloof from them now; for most of our company were old men, bent and worn
and twisted with years, and women aged to all appearance as the Fates
themselves. They sat together in knots and talked--God only knows what
they found to discuss--in low equable tones, curiously in contrast to the
strident babble with which natives are accustomed to make day hideous. Now
and then an access of that sudden fury which had possessed me in the
morning would lay hold on a man or woman; and with yells and imprecations
the sufferer would attack the steep slope until, baffled and bleeding, he
fell back on the platform incapable of moving a limb. The others would
never even raise their eyes when this happened, as men too well aware of
the futility of their fellows' attempts and wearied with their useless
repetition. I saw four such outbursts in the course of that evening.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account