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.