The Sa'-Zada Tales

"Like a Pig," interjected Boar.

"Like a Babe Hathi," corrected Elephant. "And Mah, who had been looking for me, just in the nick of time threw Bagh many yards into the Jungle with her trunk. I don't know how other animals get along without a trunk; it seems just suited for every purpose.

"The next happening was worse, for it came from the Men-kind. It was a hot, hot day. We were all standing on a hill in the shade of trees, flapping our ears to keep the flies off, when suddenly Old Bull kinked his head sideways, whistled softly through his trunk, and we all stopped flapping to listen. Even Calf as I was, I knew there was some danger near. In the wind there was nothing – nothing unusual, just the sweet scent of the tiny little white flowers that grow close to the short grass. But Old Bull was afraid; he gave a signal for us to move, and we started.

"In a minute there was an awful cracking like the breaking of a tree, only different, and we all ran here, there, everywhere. Of course since that, having been taken in the hunt by the Men-kind, I know it was a gun, as they call it.

"Old Bull charged straight for a little white cloud that rose from where the noise had been; then crack! crack! crack! the guns trumpeted all over the Jungle – but I won't tell any more of that happening, because Old Bull was killed; and Mah, too – though the Men-kind said afterwards, so I've heard, that it was a mistake, as they only killed Bulls, being white hunters, for the sake of the feet and tusks.

"It was late in the evening before the herd gathered again, and we traveled far, fearing the evil of the Men-kind."

"Was there no evil with your own people?" queried Wolf. "Just feeding, and nothing else?"

"Well," answered Hathi, hesitatingly, "sometimes in a herd there grows up one who is a 'Rogue.' We had one such, I remember. But that also came about because of the Men-kind – a yellow man. It was a Hill-man, and when this Rogue of whom I speak – he also was a Bull – was just full grown, a matter of perhaps twenty years, this Hill-man thrust into his head, from a distance, too, being seated in a tree, an arrow.

"The arrow remaining there as it did, caused this Bull to become of an evil temper. Quarreling, quarreling always, butting his huge head into a comrade because of a mere nothing; and with his tusks putting his mark on many of us without cause; sometimes it would be a kick from his forefoot, or a slap of his trunk. When we were near to the places of the Men-kind he would wallow in the rice fields, and pull up the young plantain trees by the roots, even knock the queer little houses they lived in to pieces, for they were but of bamboo and leaves. Of course the dwellers ran for their lives, and sometimes brought fire, and made noise with their guns, and beat gongs to frighten him away.

"Many times we drove him forth from the herd; and sometimes he stayed away himself for days, sulky. In the end we lost him altogether, and we were all glad; but strange as it may appear, I saw him again in Rangoon in the timber yards. That was after I was caught."

"Tell us about that happening," pleaded Sa'-zada, "for it is even not written in The Book."

"I was taken in a manner full of deceit, and because I had faith in those of my own kind. I was, perhaps, fifteen or twenty years old at the time – but in a Hathi's life a year or two is of no moment, for we are long-lived – and what might be called second in charge of the herd, a condition of things which I resented somewhat, but the Herd Bull had been leader while I was growing up, so there was no just claim on my part really.

"And it happened in our wanderings that we came not far from the greatest of all the Men's places in that land, Ava (Mandalay). One day as I was pulling down the young bamboos and stripping the feathered top, a strange Hathni (female elephant) came to me and put her trunk softly on my neck. She was all alone, and I felt sorry for her; besides, she was nice – showed me such lovely places for good feeding. I spent a whole day with her, and the next day, too, and as we went through the jungle, suddenly we came to a sort of immense, strong hauda. It wasn't a bit like the Men's haudas that they live in, else I should never have been deceived; great trunks of trees growing up out of the ground straight, and close together, but no branches or leaves to them; as square on top as the end of my leg. This queer-looking jungle thing troubled me. 'What is it?' I asked Hathni.

"'It's my home,' she replied; 'come in, Comrade.'"

"And of course the woman had her way," remarked Sa'-zada; "you went into the parlor, Hathi, old chap, I suppose."

"Not by that name knew I it, Sa'-zada; they called it a Keddah, as I found out. But I went in."

"And was caged," laughed Black Chita.

"Inside," continued Hathi, "was a winding path, and Hathni trotted down this so fast that I lost her. A great wooden gate dropped behind me, and I knew that I was in a trap. It was a big place, but no openings to get out.

"Then the Men-kind showed their yellow faces all over the walls, just like Hanumen– the gray-whiskered Monkey of those parts.

"'A White Elephant at last, at last!' they cried; 'now will the King be pleased.'

"I was left alone that night, but the next day the Men-kind came with two ruffianly Bulls of my kind who bunted and bustled me about, and fought me, while the men slipped great strong ropes over my legs. In a week I was that tired and sore from this treatment that I was ready to go any place. Then I was taken to Ava; and such doings! I dislike to tell it all; it's hardly modest.

"They put a silk covering over me to keep the Flies off, and a garland of white jasmine flowers about my neck – sweet-smelling flowers they were; in my ears two big red stones of the ruby kind were placed; and always as I walked a great silk umbrella was over my head. And as for eating – humpf, humpf, humpf! they just made me ill with sweets to be eaten out of gold dishes."

"Is this a true tale, O Sa'-zada?" queried Black Leopard. "For one of the jungle folk it is a strange happening."

"It is true," replied the Keeper; "that was the way with the White Elephant at the Burma King's court, it is written in another book I have read."

"And no one was allowed to ride on my back but the King," declared Hathi, "excepting, of course, the Mahout. As I walked I was afraid of stepping on some one; the Men-kind were forever flopping down on their knees to worship me. It was this way for years; then one season there came war; great guns spoke with a roar louder than Bagh's; and vast herds of the white-faced Men-kind came, letting free the blood of the yellow-faced ones; and in the end I was taken away, and sent down to Rangoon, and put to work in the timber yards. There was no worship, and few sweetmeats, and for silk covering I was given a harness with leather collar and chain traces. It was like being back in the jungle again – I was just a common Hathi, only I was called there Raj Singh.

"It was at that time I met the Bull who was a Rogue. He was also working in the timber yards, but it had done him much good – his temper was improved."

"Was it kind treatment cured him?" asked Sa'-zada.

"No," replied Hathi; "they whipped him into a gentle behavior. Two big Bulls with heavy iron chains swinging from their trunks thrashed him until he promised to cease making trouble. But one day he broke out bad, and smashed everything – tore the Master's dogcart to pieces, knocked the Cooly's haudas down, and trumpeted like an evil jungle spirit. He even killed his Mahout, which was a silly thing, though he declared his driver, the Mahout, sitting up on his back, one foot on either side, had prodded viciously at his head until poor Rogue's blood was on fire.

"But in the end they sent me away to Sa'-zada, and I am quite content"; and reaching his big trunk over to the Keeper, Hathi caressed the latter's cheek lovingly.

"Oh, we are all content," declared Magh; "for Sa'-zada is a kind and gentle Master."

"Now, all to your cages and your pens," cried the Keeper, "for it is late. To-morrow night, perhaps, we shall have the tale of Gidar, the Jackal."

THIRD NIGHT

THE STORIES OF GIDAR, THE JACKAL,

AND COYOTE, THE PRAIRIE WOLF

"To-night," commenced Sa'-zada, "we are to have the interesting life story of the two half-brothers, Gidar and Coyote."

"A thief's tale of a certainty," chuckled Magh.

"In my land, which was Burma, there were none so useful as we," began Gidar. "Not of high repute our mission, perhaps, but still useful, being scavengers; and to this end we are all born with a fair appetite; but useful always, even Bagh knows that. I was Lieutenant to one of his kind – a great killer he was – for a matter of two years. Then he came by way of a dispute with the Men-kind, and they finished him in short order.

"Now, you know, Brothers, our kind have steadily worked southward from India, pushing into new lands from all time, even like the Sahibs, until we are now half down through Burma. It must be a dull land that has not our sweet song at night. If there were but a Pack here now we'd sing you a rare chorus."

"I've heard the song," quoth Bagh; "it's wretched."

"How goes it?" asked Wolf. "Our Pack has a cry of great strength; the 'bells of the forest,' the Redmen call it."

"It's somewhat this way," said Jackal, and sitting on his haunches he raised his long, sharp nozzle high in air, stretching his lean throat toward the moon that glinted fretfully through the swaying trees; and on the still, quiet night air floated his cry of far-off India:

"'Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-o!

I smell a dead Hindoo-oo!'

"That would be my cry, Brothers. Then from all quarters of the jungle the Pack would take up the song and sing back:

"'Where, where, where, where, where, where?'

"And I would answer back cheerily:

"'Here, here, here, here, here, here!'

"Then all together we would sing with all our lungs:

"'Oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-h

Mussulman or Hind-oo?

Here, there, or anywhere,

All flesh is flesh, we do not care.'"

"A charming song," sneered Magh.

"Ah, I cannot give it right; you should have heard it, little Eater-of-sour-fruit, in the dead closeness of a Burman jungle, from the many throats of a hungry Pack.

"The people of that land liked the song full well, and they never molested us. But life was one continuous struggle for food. We were not slayers like Chita, or Bagh, or Python; or stealers of crops like Boar and Rogue Hathi; almost as simple in our way of life as Mooswa.

"I remember once a fat Dog-pup of the Terrier kind, which I bagged. It was all the fault of the Pup's master; he tried to kill me."

"You had probably been singing to him," said Sa'-zada.

"We had, I admit," answered Jackal. "It was on Borongo Island; two men, Sahibs they were called there, you know, lived in a bungalow built on high posts, after the manner of all houses in that land. The bungalow was built on the shore, and every day the water came up under it, and then went back again. This was a most wise arrangement of the water's traveling, for it threw up many a dead Fish and Crab for our eating.

"Well I remember the cook-house was a little to one side from the bungalow, with a poor, ill-conditioned bamboo door to it. Regularly, doing our scavenger work, we used to clean up that cook-house, eating everything the servant-kind had not devoured. Several times I made a great find in that very place, for the cook, it appears, was a most forgetful fellow. When there was nothing left for us in the way of food, we'd carry off the pots and pans into the jungle grass; why, I hardly know, but it seemed proper to do so.

"Neither do I know which of the Pack first started singing under the bungalow; but this also afforded us much content. Many hours on in the dark we'd all steal gently down from the jungle, and gather under the house. Then, as one, we'd give voice to the hunger cry together, until even the Sahibs would shout in fear. It was good to make the Men-kind afraid; but also we would flee swiftly, for the two Sahibs would rush out like a jackal that had suddenly become possessed of much poisoned meat, and 'bang, bang, bang' with the guns.

"I had much to do with Men, and just when I thought they were full cross because of our serenade, what was my surprise to find each evening a full measure of rice put in a certain place for me. 'It is full of the datura' (poison), I thought, and watched while a lean Pariah Dog from the village ate it. But there was nothing wrong with it. So the next evening I made haste to get a full share of it myself. As I ate, hurriedly I must say, twang-g! came a mighty Boar-spear.

"But only the shaft of it struck my back, so I made off with great diligence. I heard the Sahib say as he picked up the spear, 'Missed him, by Jove!' You see, he had been hiding in a corner of the bungalow. But I was hungry, and the rice was good – most delicious – so I crept back with two comrades, and keeping to the thick grass, stalked the bungalow most carefully. I saw the Sahibs all at their eating, for the door was open, it being hot; you see, he thought I wouldn't come back so soon.

"'I will eat with you,' I said, and made straight for the rice; but it was nearly all gone; the Terrier Pup of which I have spoken, and which belonged to this very Sahib who had thrown the spear, was just finishing his Master's bait.

"'Oh, you wicked Dog!' I said, 'to steal my supper this way,' and knowing that his master was in the habit of throwing spears at that very spot, I picked him up and carried him to the jungle for safety.

"'Oh, oh E-u-u-h!' how he squealed, and the Men-kind left their eating, and came rushing after us with much shouting, but it was dark and they had no chance of catching us."

"And you ate the poor little fellow?" asked Mooswa.

"Horrible!" cried Magh, "to eat a Dog."

"Not at all bad stuffed with rice, I assure you," declared Gidar. "For a day or two I kept more or less out of the way; I was afraid the Sahibs might be very angry.

"It was two nights after this I discovered more rice some distance from the bungalow in a pail which was sunk in the ground, and over this stood a couple of posts that had not been there before. I remembered that, so I sat by quietly watching this new thing, and trying to decide what it might be.

"Now the Sahibs had two pigs, and as I watched, along came these two, grunting, and shoving things about with their long noses, and presently one of them discovered the rice in the pail.

"'Ugh, ugh, ugh!' said he, 'just a mouthful of this will do me good.' You know, of course, a pig eats first and thinks after, so in this case he plunged his big head in the pail, and 'zip! whang!' went something, and before I could jump to my feet he was dangling in the air hung by the neck; he didn't even have a chance to squeal. Of course his mate took to his heels and cleared out, while I finished the rice, knowing the evil was in the custody of my Squeaker friend. In the morning the Pig was dead."

"It's a fine thief's tale," commented Magh, "but in the end they caught you right enough."

"Not there," corrected Gidar; "that was another place. A Sahib who had come to the jungle seeking dwellers for such places as this, made the taking; but with him one might as well be caught first as last, for he knew more of our ways than we knew of his. Now let Coyote speak; I am tired."

"Does Coyote come from Burma, too, O Sa'-zada?" queried Magh.

"No, he's from Mooswa's country; from the great plains away in the far West. There is not much in The Book about Coyote; that is, not much that's good."

"I knew it," laughed Magh; "I've watched him there in his cage which is opposite mine, day after day, and I never saw a smile on his face."

"You should be put in the cage with Hyena," declared Coyote, "if you think an animal has got to grin all the time to be of fair nature. Or of what use are you, little pot-belly, or the whole of your tribe – Hanuman, Hooluk, or Chimpanzee – none of you worth the nuts you eat; and yet you're always grinning and chattering, and playing fool tricks about the cage. You're a fine one to judge your fellow creatures."

"Coyote just sits there and scratches Fleas, and growls, and snaps at his mate – he's a low-born sort of Wolf," continued Magh.

"He's not of our kind," declared Wolf; "it's all a lie."

"Never mind, never mind," cried Sa'-zada, "no doubt like all the rest of us he has his good and bad qualities."

"I was once starving," resumed Coyote. "You who have lived in a warm land where something is growing all the year round, know nothing of the hunger that comes when the fierce blizzard blots out everything, and there is only snow, snow, everywhere. Can one eat snow? It's all very fine for you with a paunch full of candy to sit there and prate about stealing, but if Wie-sak-ke-chack puts the hunger pains in one's stomach and the fat bacon – Ghurr-h-h! but the juice of it is sweet when one is near dead – puts the fat bacon behind log walls, what is one to do, eh? Does a fellow dig, dig, dig through earth so hard that he must bite it out with his teeth, dig deep under the log walls for sport as the Cubs play in the sunshine, or just to steal? Bah, you who have never known hunger know not of this thing. Why, once when the ground was frozen hard, and I was dying inch by inch, some fierce-toothed Animal inside me biting, biting – only of course it was the hunger chewing at my stomach – I dove fair through the window of a log shack to get at the meat inside. The glass cut me, to be sure, but that was nothing to the hunger pain that goes on, on, never ceasing until there is food, or one is dead.

"I saved a man's life once at a post called Stand-Off. The place came by its name in the days of a mighty fight when my Man and his comrades stood off the Mounted Police. These Men had been given as bad a name as Coyotes even. My Man may have been bad, too; but how was I to know, being only a Coyote? He was always throwing me bones and pieces of bread, and whistling to me, and calling me Jack.

"Now this place Stand-Off was on the river flat, and one night in spring-time I heard a great flood coming down the Belly River. It was a still night, and the noise of the rushing water came to my ears for miles, but the Men heard it not, for they were all in the Shacks. Fast I galloped down over the flat near to the Shack where was this Man who had often thrown me a bone. I whimpered, and whistled, and barked the danger call, and howled the death-coming song, and finally my friend came to the door and threw a stick of wood at me, and spoke fierce oaths. Then he shut the door. I could hear the roaring getting louder and louder, and knew that soon it would be too late for all the Men-kind; not that I cared, except for this one. On one side of the town was the swift-running Belly River, and beyond a high-cut bank; on my side was the flat land that would soon be many feet deep with ice and rushing water. So I howled louder than ever, and he came out and strove to kill me with a Firestick, but I only ran a little piece into the darkness, and howled again.

"Being a Man of much temper he chased me, and the noise brought out the others, for they thought it was Indians. I sought to lead him over to the side of the flat land which was next the sloping hill, knowing full well that the new water would flow there first.

"All at once he ceased running behind me, and I, who was listening, knew that he scarce breathed he was that still. Now, he will hear it, I thought; and in an instant I heard him cry to the others: 'Boys, we must pull out from this – there's a devil of a freshet coming.' That was the way of the Men from Stand-Off; many strange words of a useless need.

"I tell you, Comrades, it was soon an awful night; here and there the Men ran trying to save something – their Horses and guns for most part, even some of the evil firewater; and the strong swearings they used sounded but just as the whimpering of Wolf Pups, the wind was that fierce, carrying the dreadful roar of the Chinook flood.

"You who have heard Bagh and Hathi scolding at each other, with perhaps Black Panther and Bald Eagle taking part, may know somewhat the like of that night's noises.

"Seeing that my Man was coming riding swiftly on his Cayuse, I, too, ran quickly for the upland; but, as I have said, just in the hollow which was there, being the trail where once had run the river, the flood was rushing even as I have seen it in the foot-hills – the flat land was surrounded.

"As the Men galloped up they stopped, and spoke evil words at the flood, rushing up and down looking for a ford. I also was afraid to cross.

"Suddenly I thought me of a place I knew well lower down, wondrous like a Beaver dam, though I think there had been no Beavers in the land since Chief Mountain was a hole in the ground. I barked, to call my Man friend, and ran toward this spot.

"'There goes that locoed Coyote,' I heard him say; 'he's trailing for a crossing; damned if I don't follow him. Come on, you fellows,' and after me they galloped like madmen.

"Just below the place that was like a dam the water was not too bad, for the ice had jammed up above, and it was spreading out all over the flat. I plunged in, for, Comrades, it was a time of great hurry. Swimming a river is not of my liking – none of my kind like it – but this seemed an evil night altogether, with no choice but to reach the uplands.

"'Sure thing! the Coyote's dead to rights on this outfit,' I heard my Man say; and wallow, wallow, in the bronchos came, splashing and snorting. And so we crossed just as the ice broke in the jam, and swept down like the swift rolling of many stones. I heard my Man say as they all got down from the horses to empty the water out of their long boots, 'If I ever clap peeps on to that Coyo again, I'll shove grub pile into him till he busts. Strike me dead if he hasn't saved the whole outfit of us.'

"Anyway I knew there would be much feeding and no harm if I kept close to these evil Men-kind, for they were great givers.

"I sought to save the one man, and if there be any credit it comes to me because of that; the others followed him, and even they said he had saved them."

"I think it is a true tale," declared Mooswa, "for I once had a happening in saving the life of a Boy who had been good to me."

"What happened to the Men's place, Dog-Wolf?" queried Sa'-zada.

"In the morning there was nothing – nothing but great pieces of ice all over the flat. Then the Men trailed for a place called Slideout, where were more evil men of the firewater way of life, and I followed, arranging it so that my Man saw me, and that day when he killed an Antelope, he left a sweet piece of the eating for me; and I might have lived all my life close to their camp in great fatness, but for the evil chance that drew the Men-kind close to a place called MacLeod. And it was there, being pursued by ferocious yellow-haired Dogs, I hid in a Hen-house and was caught. At first they were for killing me, but there happened a Man-Pup of that house who cried for me as his Doggie, and later came one of the Men-kind, gave blankets in exchange for me, and I was sent here to the place where is Sa'-zada."

"He is either a great liar, or not so bad as is written in The Book," commented Sher Abi, the Crocodile; "but in my land where was his Brother, the Jackal, I never heard good of his kind."

"I am sure it is a true tale," declared Sa'-zada; "Coyote could not have made it up."

FOURTH NIGHT

THE STORY OF RAJ BAGH, THE KING TIGER

While the Keeper Sa'-zada was still loitering over his tea, there came to his ears an imperious roaring call "Wah-h-h! Wah-h-h! Wah-houh!"

"This is the Tiger's night, indeed," he muttered to himself. "Old Raj Bagh is eager to tell us the tale of his life." Then he hurried down to their cages and corrals saying, "Come, comrades; the King of the Jungle calls us."

"We shall have strong tales of blood-letting to-night," muttered Magh the Orang-Outang.

"King of the Jungle, indeed!" sneered Hathi, the Elephant. "When I was Lord of the jungle I knew no king – that is, amongst the animals."

"Now," began Sa'-zada, opening The Book, when the Jungle Dwellers had all gathered in front of Bagh, the killer's cage; "now we shall know all about Huzoor Stripes. And mind you, Hathi, and all the rest, there must be no anger, for Bagh's way of life has not been of his own making; for with his kind it is their nature to kill that which they eat."