Kitabı oku: «The Memoirs of a White Elephant», sayfa 7

CHAPTER XXI
JEALOUSY

He appeared one day at the Palace of Golconda – the enemy – the fiancé – whom I had already learned to detest.

When I saw him advancing from a distance, talking and laughing with Parvati, a red flame danced before me, and I closed my eyes to escape from the frenzy of rage which overwhelmed me at the sight of him.

I could hear them coming; the voice of the stranger reached my ears, resounded in them, and pierced them like a sharp arrow! On hearing it I seemed to see once more the bloody battlefield – the corpses crushed under my feet, and my Master in chains, and our perilous flight through the wilderness…

A tremor shook me from head to foot. I lowered my head and kept my eyes obstinately shut, and I tore up the ground with my tusks to try and work off my fury.

I heard them coming nearer and nearer, she with her light step, and he dragging his feet along carelessly. He had seen me, and it was of me that he was speaking.

"Ah!" said he, "you have a white elephant! I know that a great veneration is felt for animals of this species in some countries – among others in Siam, the country of the Queen your mother. We, however, are less simple-minded, and we like them for processions, but value them less than the others because they are less robust." Parvati had stopped near me, disturbed by my silent rage, which was plainly visible to her; she sought to soothe me with her gentle hand, and her voice shook as she replied to the Prince: "Iravata is the good Genius of our family. The soul of one of my ancestors dwells in him, and he is my dearest friend!"

"Not dearer than your fiancé, I hope!" said he with a conceited laugh.

"He who has been devoted to me since my birth is more of a friend than the fiancé of yesterday…"

"Why, this is serious!" cried Baladji, laughing still louder: "Must I really be jealous of a great beast like that?"…

I could no longer restrain myself from opening my eyes, and at the look that met his, the Prince recoiled several steps.

"By Kali," said he, "your Ancestor has not a very pleasant expression! his eyes are as ferocious as a tiger's!"

"Let us go on, I beg of you," said Parvati. "I do not know what has irritated him, but Iravata is not himself to-day."

"I will go on very willingly," said the Prince, endeavouring to conceal his fright, "for I detest the vicinity of elephants because of their odour!" He turned and went away hurriedly, while Parvati, before rejoining him, looked back at me, and clasped her hands supplicatingly.

It was well that he left, for I could no longer control myself; the idea of crushing him under my feet, and stamping him to a jelly had come over me, and in spite of the shame I felt at such a murderous impulse, I could not banish it.

CHAPTER XXII
FLIGHT

For several days after this Parvati did not come to visit me. I saw her at a distance, walking in the gardens, always accompanied by the black Baladji-Rao, whose white turban striped with gold showed brilliantly against the dark green shrubbery.

Perhaps the Princess intended to punish me for having shown myself so bitter and full of hatred, or perhaps she dreaded some outbreak of temper on my part; but her absence only embittered me still more, and my hatred increased for him who had deprived me of her presence, and the desire to murder him haunted me day and night. —

The Palace was all in confusion with preparations for the wedding. They came to try on me a mantle of silver brocade embroidered with pearls and turquoise, a crown of feathers, and a howdah of gold fillagree, in which the bridal couple were to be seated on the day of the marriage; for to me had been assigned the honour of carrying them in the great triumphal procession which was to traverse all Golconda.

But in proportion as the day approached my longing to kill the Prince increased to such intensity, that to avoid committing so fearful a crime, I took a painful resolution… I resolved to leave the Palace – and to fly!

Leave Parvati! Leave the King and Saphire-of-Heaven! They who had made my life so sweet – so free – so happy! Go wandering about the world, exposed to whatever might befall me, and perhaps become once more a mere savage… How could I endure such misfortune – such misery?

But I realized that I must sacrifice myself to prevent bringing a terrible catastrophe on those who had been so kind to me. Should Baladji-Rao be assassinated in Golconda, war would again be declared, fearful reprisals would be made, and my benefactors ruined. I had done my best to curb my feelings, and resign myself to what I could not help; but a sight of the Prince of Mysore, no matter at what distance, caused a cloud of rage to mount to my brain which deprived me of reason, and impelled me irresistibly to destroy him.

I must go. I must give to my beloved Parvati this last proof of my devotion.

The night before the wedding I waited for the moon to set, and then I noiselessly opened the great door of my stable, and stole softly out.

For a moment I thought of going for a last time under the window of the Princess's chamber, and of gathering some lotus flowers and fastening them to her balcony, as I had often done before; that would have been a sort of "good-bye" and she would have understood. But my heart was heavy, and my eyes dim; I feared if I did so I might give way, and be unable to carry out my resolution, and leave. So, I crossed the courtyard quickly, lifted the bar and the chain on the gateway, and then, after fastening them once more to the best of my ability, I went forth.

A great silence rested everywhere on Golconda; all was dark and empty. My head hung down with shame and sorrow, and as I walked my big tears fell on the road, so that I could have been traced by them, if the dust had not at once dried them up!

The day was dawning when I drew near the forest which had so often been the goal of my excursions with the little Princess.

In those days, when the dusky outline of the trees and thickets shone out against the brilliant rose-colour of the sky, how delighted was I to entertain the laughing Princess with my gay frolics! And now, how sadly and mournfully was I seeking its somber shade! My breast swelled with huge sighs – elephantine sighs – which escaped me with such terrible sounds that the beasts of the forest fled away, frightened.

I was so overcome that I was obliged to stop, and had I been a man I might, like the Court Poet, have put into verse the emotions of my heart, and the hoarse groans which burst from me could have been translated thus:

 
"Alas! I shall see thee no more, dearest Parvati:
Smile of my life, Sun of my days, Moon of my night!
I shall see thee no more… Alas!
 
 
"No more will thy soft hand stroke me!
Nor thy gentle voice speak the friendly words
That sounded sweeter to me than the sweetest music!
 
 
"But I leave thee to avoid committing a fearful crime.
 
 
"Thou, no doubt wilt soon have forgotten me.
Thou wilt always be the divine Princess Parvati,
Loved and blessed by all!
But I, deprived of thee,
Shall be only a poor wandering brute,
With naught to comfort me
But the remembrance of former happiness!.."
 

Yes, that is how the Poet would have lamented – and I also if I had not been an elephant!

I went on deeper and deeper into the forest, and the thought came to me of asking help of the good Hermit who had so kindly received us on the day when I attempted to carry off the Princess, and when the serpent and the storm had brought me to repent of my wrong doing.

Certainly this pious old man, who had so long studied the lives of the Saints, and knew that one must be no less pitiful to animals than to human beings, would not repel me, and perhaps his comforting words would heal somewhat the sufferings which were too much for me.

As I advanced the woods seemed changed; the birds no longer sang, the flowers were pale and withered, and even the trees were brown and dying.

"It is because I myself am so sad," thought I at first; "that is the reason the forest seems so dreary; but by and by, when I shall have found the Hermit, and his words will have imparted to me a little courage, I shall hear the birds sing again, and see the flowers I used to gather for her!"

Alas! I was mistaken. Like myself the forest had really lost all its gayety; the birds would not sing, nor the flowers bloom any more. I searched in every direction, but could not find the Hermit; at last I discovered, buried in the grass, a few half-decayed planks which alone remained to mark the spot where the hut had once stood. I saw that it had been abandoned, and left to be destroyed by the winds and the rain.

The good Hermit, with whom I had hoped to find a refuge, had left the forest; he had gone to seek another hermitage, or had taken up the life of a wandering mendicant, such as the Sacred Books sometimes ordain for Brahmans; or perhaps he might even be dead, killed by some ferocious tiger.

And so it was, that with him, all the joy and gladness had departed from the beautiful forest, which his presence no longer sanctified.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE HERD

If anything could have added to my wretchedness it would have been this failure to find the kind Hermit.

What was to become of me? accustomed as I had been for so long to living among men – petted and cherished by all?

Oh! why did no wise suggestion now come to me? Why did I not think of returning to the Palace of Golconda, where very likely my absence had not yet been discovered?

Alas! jealousy and murderous hatred still governed me; it was necessary that I should suffer and be punished; and the wise counsel which might have spared me so many trials never entered my head.

I wandered aimlessly through glades and thickets, penetrating desperately to the wildest parts of the forest. And now a new distress was added to my misery. If I had, like men, the faculty of blushing, I would blush to say that hunger was now torturing me. I ought not, perhaps, at such a time to have given a thought to so commonplace a necessity as food; but, I repeat, our race supports less than any other the lack of nourishment; and, during my long life, I have seen so many men yield to the mere fear of hunger, that I trust I shall not be criticised too severely for my weakness.

I was, then, very sorrowful – and very hungry! I gathered here and there a few half-dead leaves, or a bunch of thin grass – but what could they do to sustain me? I was beginning to despair, when I heard in the distance a sound which I recognized as the trumpeting of elephants. This encouraged me. I said to myself:

"These Elephants whom I hear are, no doubt, Wild Elephants; still, I will try to touch their hearts, and, perhaps, seeing my distress, they will admit me to their Herd."

This thought inspired me with a little confidence, and I made my way towards that part of the forest whence the sounds proceeded. They continued to reach me at intervals, and, guided in this way, I reached after a while an opening in the woods, in which twenty large Elephants were resting, reclining on the ground.

In the centre of the clearing was a great heap of fruits and fresh vegetables. (The Elephants are accustomed to separate at night, and go through the fields and near-by plantations, to forage for food, and they return bringing with them what they have been unable to eat, and make of it a common stock of provisions.)

I saw them quietly enjoying their repast; from time to time, one would extend his trunk and select a fruit or vegetable from the heap, and tranquilly munch it, as if quite sure that nothing would come near to disturb them, or to interfere with their meal.

Several were sleeping; and yet, in spite of the calm and peaceful appearance of these Elephants, one felt they were savage and ready to defend themselves fiercely against any intrusion. I trembled as I approached them!

I was thinking how I could best attract their attention, when one of them saw me, and with a hoarse cry, gave the alarm to his companions. Instantly those who had been eating stopped, and those who were asleep awoke. They all looked at me, and in those looks I could see no sign of sympathy for him who had disturbed them. I was on the point of taking flight – but hunger held me fast, and I said humbly, in elephant language, something like this:

"My Brothers, I am a very unfortunate and friendless creature, who has no wish to offend you. I have been for a long time wandering about, without food or shelter, and if you do not assist me I shall soon die of hunger. Have pity upon me! Give me a little of your provisions, and I will in return be glad to render you any service in my power!"

These words had no effect. They said to themselves:

"This is a White Elephant – and no doubt sick; at any rate he is not like us. Why should we allow him to come among us?"

One Elephant, who was taller and more powerful than the others, and who seemed to be a leader among them, said roughly:

"We should never take in strangers. We should beware of all new-comers, and far from treating them with kindness, we should chase them away. Even if this Elephant were dark like us, he has no business here; he was not born in this clearing. He is White, and that is a still stronger reason for sending him off!"

At this all the Elephants cried out with one voice:

"Yes! Yes! – let him go!"

Then they all turned to me and cried:

"BEGONE! BEGONE!.."

I tried to speak again, but their cries became more fierce. Many rose up and threatened me with their tusks. Alone as I was against twenty Elephants – what could I do?.. Then, too, my life among kindly and affectionate masters, and my occupation of watching over and serving the sweetest and gentlest of Princesses, had rendered me averse to fighting… I did not like quarrels. Their furious screams shocked and horrified me, and I left the clearing where for a moment I had hoped to find refuge.

I saw now that I had nothing to hope from my fellow-elephants. Everywhere it would be the same. I should be treated as an intruder. I remembered how, even in my infancy, when I lived in the forest of Siam, I had been looked on with dislike by my companions of the Herd, because of my white colour – the very thing that had caused me to be welcomed by men. How then would it be with strangers? even if less savage than those I had just left?

It would always be the same… No herd would ever consent to receive me.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE BRAHMAN

I really knew not what to do, and my reflections grew more and more gloomy, when I noticed that I had by degrees wandered out from the forest, which now lay behind me.

A rich plain on which were fields and meadows and villages was before me, stretching out as far as the eye could see. A white road traversed this plain at some distance.

It was now twilight; the fields were deserted, and not a peasant was to be seen anywhere on the far-off road. I determined to reach this highway, however, for it certainly would lead me somewhere – probably to some city where I might be received. Cast out and rejected by my fellow-elephants, my only hope now rested on the kindness of men…

As I was passing through a field of vegetables I could not resist the temptation of stealing a few, and in this way appeasing to some extent my hunger.

Night had fallen when I gained the road. I set out to follow it, snatching a fruit now and then from the trees that bordered it.

I had gone but a short distance when my eye fell upon a dark object lying at the foot of the embankment. I went near, and looking closely, I saw that it was a man… Was he dead? – or only asleep?.. I sniffed at him, and felt the warmth of his breath – he was alive! I examined him still more closely; his clothing was ragged and stained with dust and mud. His appearance was that of a labourer, and yet, around his waist I noticed the "cord" which marked him as a Brahman. A Brahman in such rags might be one of those who sometimes adopt the life of a Beggar, in obedience to the precepts of their religion. His breath, however, recalled the odour of certain strong liquors, imported by the Europeans, some of which I had seen in bottles, and had smelt with disgust; This showed that he was not leading the life of abstinence suitable for a Mendicant Brahman. He was, no doubt, one of those unfortunate Brahmans fallen into poverty and disgrace – "Apad," as it is called in the Indian language. The holy law permits these to labour at any kind of work, such as in ordinary circumstances would be entirely forbidden to their "caste."

After looking at him for a long time I was able to make out his features. He had not a cruel face. No doubt he would receive me gladly, and perhaps welcome me as a gift from the Gods!.. I had been so long unused to being alone that I could not endure it… A companionship here offered itself… What would it be like?.. I had no means of guessing; but even were the Brahman to prove the cruellest of masters, I felt that I would rather submit to be maltreated by him than to live alone.

I gave him a little blow with my trunk, to waken him. He opened his eyes, and stammered:

"Eh!.. What's that?"

The night air, which had grown cold, now fully aroused him, and he saw me.

"What is this? Whose elephant is this? Can it be he who has waked me up, poking me with his trunk? – does he mean to hurt me, I wonder?"

He got up, painfully and with difficulty. I gave a few little supplicating whimpers, to show that, on the contrary, I was asking for his sympathy. Pretty soon he ceased to fear me.

"Well!" said he, "I do not know where you come from, but – bah! – that is none of my business! We should treat animals as kindly as human beings. It looks as if you wanted to make friends with me!" I bent my head in sign of assent, as I had seen men do.

"You seem very intelligent! I am only a poor unfortunate Brahman, in 'Apad,' obliged to accept the hardest, sort of work in order to live, and to labour at tasks that are far beneath my rank. No doubt I am expiating sins committed in some former existence. But, follow me, if you choose! You shall share my poor living: and, perhaps, you may even prove useful to me; for one who owns an elephant can obtain more lucrative employment than he who has only his strong arms and good-will to offer."

To show him that I accepted his proposal to live with him for the future, I bent my forefoot, inviting him to mount on my back. He understood, and climbed up, and when he had settled himself to the best of his ability, he said:

"Go ahead! Follow the road before you! Perhaps the Gods have sent you to me for my advantage! Choose your own way. I have neither house nor friends; anybody may receive us who will."

I was no longer alone; and in my forlorn condition this was a bit of good luck. I walked along the road, feeling less despondent, and carrying my new master.

This new master was called Moukounj. Many a time when we tramped long distances without finding any one who would give work to either or both of us, I would hear him talking to himself, and recounting his misfortunes, and I ended by knowing them by heart. His tale was simple enough. He belonged to a rich family of Brahmans, and had spent his youth at Lahore, where he had received instruction in all that it behoved a Brahman to know, at the hands of excellent masters. Later on the Rajah of the Mahrattas took him into his service as "pourohita"; the "pourohita" is a priest whom the princes employ to offer sacrifices to the Gods in their name. I have heard the English say that rich Europeans employ priests of their own religion to perform similar duties, and that they are called "chaplains."

Moukounj was highly thought of by the Rajah of the Mahrattas, who treated him in the most friendly manner; and he might have risen to eminence and great honour, had it not been for a terrible fault. He could not resist the temptation of drinking strong liquors and was continually getting drunk. When intoxicated, he had several times been guilty of grave infractions of the Court etiquette, and in spite of the regard felt for him by the Rajah, he was dismissed.

This disgrace did not cure Moukounj of his weakness; on the contrary, he fell into the way of drinking more and more. At last, avoided by everyone, turned out of every household, despised by the other Brahmans, he finally sank to beggary, and tramped about the country, thankful to take any sort of work that offered. He had been a Cook; he had been a Stone-mason – but everywhere his fault prevented him from remaining any length of time.

At present he was engaged most of the time in helping the Navvies and the Stevedores, and he lived on very meagre wages, the greater portion of which he spent for that yellow liquor which the Europeans call "Eau-de-Vie" ("Water-of-Life") – why I do not know, for it seems to me that, far from giving them life, it slowly kills them!..

Thanks to me, Moukounj was now a little better off; he hired me out to carry heavy burthens, and himself to carry light ones; and the coarse vegetables he bought to feed me cost but very little.

Our life was very monotonous. If we found ourselves in a city where Moukounj could not find work – we left, and wandered on till we found something to do.

Moukounj was, on the whole, not a bad fellow – always ready to be useful where he could – the way he had received me was proof of this! He was jolly and good-natured, and loved to remember and recite the fine speeches he had learned at Lahore. But when drunk his disposition changed; he grew irritable; he became ugly and violently angry; he quarrelled with his fellow-workmen, and went so far as to beat me.

I certainly was not happy. When the work I was employed in seemed too humiliating, and when Moukounj lashed me with blows – I suffered bitterly. But why rebel? Things might be worse – so I submitted.

I thought constantly of my old life, wondering what had become of the lovely Parvati; did the Prince love her?.. Was she happy?.. Did she ever remember me?..

I tried to frame replies to these questions that would be as comforting as possible, and these thoughts softened somewhat my sorrows.

I never could tell you the names of all the cities we saw, all the rivers I crossed, the mountains I climbed with Moukounj. I remember one French city where I helped to build a palace for the Governor; I also carried the rails for a tramway they were building just outside of Madras. I did much other work of about the same kind, and I passed several years in this wandering and monotonous existence.