Dhan Gopal Mukerji Ghond the Hunter

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

early in the morning. He did not put in his appearance again for nearly six
months. We all came to the conclusion that we had lost him. He had gone
back to the wild. I who had given him freedom did not mind his return to
nature, though it was very difficult to find another like him. By now I had a
dozen homing pigeons, a pair of rabbits and a panther cub to look after,
which filled my days. I had a dog also, but I never counted him as a charge.
His name was Sarameya; for brevity's sake we called him Sar.
One may not feel the loss of a mongoose, but it is very hard to fill his
place. No other animal is like him. Sar, the wolf-dog, missed him very
much. Sar shared his grandfather's savage wolf-trait and used to run away
into the forest with Benji. Now that the latter had gone the dog was very
unhappy. Half the time he did not know what to do with himself. He hung
around the village as most dogs do, and ran toward the jungle once in a
while to find out if Benji was returning home. It was a pitiful dog that we
had to deal with for nearly a month, who was either running up the stairs or
going out of doors in order to look all over the countryside for the signs of
the returning mongoose. Next to Sar, the pigeons felt the absence of the lost
one most keenly. He was their playmate. Even the dog could not play his
game of hide and seek so well. It would begin with a cheeping sound away
below stairs. That meant: "Pigeons, are you ready?" These birds would look
at one another, preen their wings and say nothing. '' Cheep" from below
again. The pigeons looked more unconcerned than ever, yet they kept their
eye on the stairway. But did the mongoose come? Not yet. He was no such
fool. The pigeons felt that the sound had no meaning for them. "It was a
mistake; Benji was talking to someone else probably," each bird said to
himself. Instead of expecting the mongoose, they set to amuse one another.
Hardly had the pigeons relaxed their vigilance when like a black lightning
up the stairs the little fellow dashed, his nose all point and his eyes red as
burning charcoal. The pigeons hopped up and fled the roof as if from a
hawk. The game had begun. No matter where and when a pigeon descended
from the air, Benji would chase him off ere his two feet touched the roof.
Then a very daring pigeon would swoop down; at that Benji would leap up
to catch him, but alas, the four footed fellow always fell short of his
objective. He never caught even a feather.
Now there was no one to play with. The dog did his best to chase the
pigeons off the roof, but his body was so big that he never could run fast on
it. He seemed to reach the end of the roof before he got into any proper
speed. Besides, these pigeons were forever running away. They did nothing
for him. Truth to tell, they were a bit afraid of Sar. His height and length and
his long jaws made him appear formidable, while Benji was small, and
looked innocent. But the pigeons did not know that the sharp teeth of the
mongoose could do more damage than those of a dog. Besides, Sar was
trained not to hurt any domestic animal, be it a cat, a bird, or an albino rat.
Sar, however, did have one real playmate in another animal. I have already
mentioned a baby panther. She was bought for me by my aunt as a present.
We got her from a Yarkandhi trader who came by our village. She, the little
kitten, we named Mita, the friend, and we taught her to love our big dog.
When Benji went away to the jungle, Mita was seven weeks old. Her coat
was taking on that spotted magnificence that surpasses description. The
gleaming gold skin was dotted with delicate and numerous deep brown
spots; though they were small yet their abundance made them gleam like
round black butterflies on yellow silk. And when she, the wearer of such a
coat, went up a tree, the foliage hid her completely: she melted into its
brown, green and yellow as if she was a part of the branch on which she
crouched.
Even the keen eyes of the dog Sar could not make out where she hid. So he
would howl and call for some sign of her. And, invariably, after a long spell
of pleading from the foot of the tree, he got from above an awe inspiring
"yawl"--a mixture of mewing and roar. Though inexplicable, yet that answer
had something peremptory about it. It sent the dog away from under the tree.
Was it that the cat made the dog understand by her cry that at heart her race
was not a friend of his? Or was it purely the female cutting short the male's
serenading. All the same, there was no hiding that something doleful dwelt
in that cat's spirit.
What did I do about training her? First of all, she never had any uncooked
food to eat, and instead of meat of any sort, she was given cooked fish. Even [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Tematy