Ye shall not see my strikers; ye shall hear them and guess; By night, before the moon-rise, I will send for my cess, And the wolf shall be your herdsman By a landmark removed, For the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall seed where ye loved! I will reap your fields before you at the hands of a host; Ye shall glean behind my reapers for the bread that is lost; And the deer shall be your oxen By a headland untilled, For the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall leaf where ye build! I have untied against you the club-footed vines, I have sent in the Jungle to swamp out your lines The trees--the trees are on you! The house-beams shall fall, And the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall cover you all! THE UNDERTAKERS When ye say to Tabaqui, "My Brother!" when ye call the Hyena to meat, Ye may cry the Full Truce with Jacala--the Belly that runs on four feet. --_Jungle Law._ [Illustration] THE UNDERTAKERS "Respect the aged!" It was a thick voice--a muddy voice that would have made you shudder--a voice like something soft breaking in two. There was a quaver in it, a croak and a whine. "Respect the aged! O Companions of the River--respect the aged!" Nothing could be seen on the broad reach of the river except a little fleet of square-sailed, wooden-pinned barges, loaded with building-stone, that had just come under the railway bridge, and were driving down-stream. They put their clumsy helms over to avoid the sand-bar made by the scour of the bridge-piers, and as they passed, three abreast, the horrible voice began again: "O Brahmins of the River--respect the aged and infirm!" A boatman turned where he sat on the gunwale, lifted up his hand, said something that was not a blessing, and the boats creaked on through the twilight. The broad Indian river, that looked more like a chain of little lakes than a stream, was as smooth as glass, reflecting the sandy-red sky in mid-channel, but splashed with patches of yellow and dusky purple near and under the low banks. Little creeks ran into the river in the wet season, but now their dry mouths hung clear above water-line. On the left shore, and almost under the railway bridge, stood a mud-and-brick and thatch-and-stick village, whose main street, full of cattle going back to their byres, ran straight to the river, and ended in a sort of rude brick pier-head, where people who wanted to wash could wade in step by step. That was the Ghaut of the village of Mugger-Ghaut.