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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9edb35 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60627 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60627) diff --git a/old/60627-0.txt b/old/60627-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 980eb9a..0000000 --- a/old/60627-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7306 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village in the Jungle, by Leonard Woolf - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Village in the Jungle - -Author: Leonard Woolf - -Release Date: November 4, 2019 [EBook #60627] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VILLAGE IN THE JUNGLE *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Hathi Trust.) - - - - - - -THE VILLAGE -IN THE JUNGLE - -BY - -L. S. WOOLF - -SECOND IMPRESSION - -LONDON -EDWARD ARNOLD - -1913 - - - - -CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X - - - - -To V. W. - - -I've given you all the little, that I've to give; -You've given me all, that for me is all there is; -So now I just give back what you have given-- -If there is anything to give in this. - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -The village was called Beddagama, which means the village in the jungle. -It lay in the low country or plains, midway between the sea and the -great mountains which seem, far away to the north, to rise like a long -wall straight up from the sea of trees. It was in, and of, the jungle; -the air and smell of the jungle lay heavy upon it--the smell of hot air, -of dust, and of dry and powdered leaves and sticks. Its beginning and -its end was in the jungle, which stretched away from it on all sides -unbroken, north and south and east and west, to the blue line of the -hills and to the sea. The jungle surrounded it, overhung it, continually -pressed in upon it. It stood at the door of the houses, always ready to -press in upon the compounds and open spaces, to break through the mud -huts, and to choke up the tracks and paths. It was only by yearly -clearing with axe and katty that it could be kept out. It was a living -wall about the village, a wall which, if the axe were spared, would -creep in and smother and blot out the village itself. - -There are people who will tell you that they have no fear of the jungle, -that they know it as well as the streets of Maha Nuwara or their own -compounds. Such people are either liars and boasters, or they are fools, -without understanding or feeling for things as they really are. I knew -such a man once, a hunter and tracker of game, a little man with -hunched-up shoulders and peering, cunning little eyes, and a small dark -face all pinched and lined, for he spent his life crouching, slinking, -and peering through the undergrowth and the trees. He was more silent -than the leopard and more cunning than the jackal: he knew the tracks -better than the doe who leads the herd. He would boast that he could see -a buck down wind before it could scent him, and a leopard through the -thick undergrowth before it could see him. 'Why should I fear the -jungle?' he would say. 'I know it better than my own compound. A few -trees and bushes and leaves, and some foolish beasts. There is nothing -to fear there.' One day he took his axe in his hand, and the sandals of -deer-hide to wear in thorny places, and he went out to search for the -shed horns of deer, which he used to sell to traders from the towns. He -never returned to the village again, and months afterwards in thick -jungle I found his bones scattered upon the ground, beneath some -thorn-bushes, gnawed by the wild pig and the jackal, and crushed and -broken by the trampling of elephants. And among his bones lay a bunch of -peacock feathers that he had collected and tied together with a piece of -creeper, and his betel-case, and the key of his house, and the tattered -fragments of his red cloth. In the fork of one of the thorn-bushes hung -his axe: the massive wooden handle had been snapped in two. I do not -know how he died; but I know that he had boasted that there was no fear -in the jungle, and in the end the jungle took him. - -All jungles are evil, but no jungle is more evil than that which lay -about the village of Beddagama. If you climb one of the bare rocks that -jut up out of it, you will see the jungle stretched out below you for -mile upon mile on all sides. It looks like a great sea, over which the -pitiless hot wind perpetually sends waves unbroken, except where the -bare rocks, rising above it, show like dark smudges against the -grey-green of the leaves. For ten months of the year the sun beats down -and scorches it; and the hot wind in a whirl of dust tears over it, -tossing the branches and scattering the leaves. The trees are stunted -and twisted by the drought, by the thin and sandy soil, by the dry wind. -They are scabrous, thorny trees, with grey leaves whitened by the clouds -of dust which the wind perpetually sweeps over them: their trunks are -grey with hanging, stringy lichen. And there are enormous cactuses, -evil-looking and obscene, with their great fleshy green slabs, which put -out immense needle-like spines. More evil-looking still are the great -leafless trees, which look like a tangle of gigantic spiders' -legs--smooth, bright green, jointed together--from which, when they are -broken, oozes out a milky, viscous fluid. - -And between the trees are the bushes which often knit the whole jungle -together into an impenetrable tangle of thorns. On the ground beneath -the trees it is very still and very hot; for the sterile earth is -covered with this thorny matted undergrowth, through which the wind -cannot force its way. The sound of the great wind rushing over the -tree-tops makes the silence below seem more heavy. The air is heavy with -the heat-beating up from the earth, and with the smell of dead leaves. -All the bushes and trees seem to be perpetually dying for ten months of -the year, the leaves withering, and the twigs and branches decaying and -dropping off, to be powdered over the ground among the coarse withered -grass and the dead and blackened shrubs. And yet every year, when the -rains come, the whole jungle bursts out again into green; and it forces -its way forward into any open space, upon the tracks, into villages and -compounds, striving to blot out everything in its path. - -If you walk all day through the jungle along its tangled tracks, you -will probably see no living thing. It is so silent and still there that -you might well believe that nothing lives in it. You might perhaps in -the early morning hear the trumpeting and squealing of a herd of -elephants, or the frightened bark of the spotted deer, or the deeper -bark of the sambur, or the blaring call of the peacock. But as the day -wore on, and the heat settled down upon the trees, you would hear no -sound but the rush of the wind overhead, and the grating of dry branches -against one another. Yet the shadows are full of living things, moving -very silently, themselves like shadows, between the trees, slinking -under the bushes and peering through the leaves. - -For the rule of the jungle is first fear, and then hunger and thirst. -There is fear everywhere: in the silence and in the shrill calls and the -wild cries, in the stir of the leaves and the grating of branches, in -the gloom, in the startled, slinking, peering beasts. And behind the -fear is always the hunger and the thirst, and behind the hunger and the -thirst fear again. The herd of deer must come down to drink at the -water-hole. They come down driven by their thirst, very silently through -the deep shadows of the trees to the water lying white under the moon. -They glide like shadows out of the shadows, into the moonlight, -hesitating, tiptoeing, throwing up their heads to stare again into the -darkness, leaping back only to be goaded on again by their thirst, ears -twitching to catch a sound, and nostrils quivering to catch a scent of -danger. And when the black muzzles go down into the water, it is only -for a moment; and then with a rush the herd scatters back again -terror-stricken into the darkness. And behind the herd comes the -leopard, slinking through the undergrowth. Whom has he to fear? Yet -there is fear in his eyes and in his slinking feet, fear in his pricked -ears and in the bound with which he vanishes into the shadows at the -least suspicious sound. - -In the time of the rains the jungle might seem to be a pleasant place. -The trees are green, and the grass stands high in the open spaces. Water -lies in pools everywhere; there is no need to go stealthily by night to -drink at rivers or water-holes. The deer and the pig roam away, growing -fat on the grass and the young leaves and the roots; the elephant -travels far from the river bank. The time of plenty lasts, however, but -a little while. The wind from the north-east drops, the rain fails; for -a month a great stillness lies over the jungle; the sun looks down from -a cloudless sky; the burning air is untempered by a breath of wind. It -is spring in the jungle, a short and fiery spring, when in a day the -trees burst out into great masses of yellow or white flowers, which in a -day wither and die away. - -The pools and small water-holes begin to dry up under the great heat; -the earth becomes caked and hard. Then the wind begins to blow from the -south-west, fitfully at first, but growing steadier and stronger every -day. A little rain falls, the last before the long drought sets in. The -hot, dry wind sweeps over the trees. The grass and the shrubs die down; -the leaves on the small trees shrivel up, and grow black and fall. The -grey earth crumbles into dust, and splits beneath the sun. The little -streams run dry; the great rivers shrink, until only a thin stream of -water trickles slowly along in the middle of their immense beds of -yellow sand. The water-holes are dry; only here and there in the very -deepest of them, on the rocks, a little muddy water still remains. - -Then the real nature of the jungle shows itself. Over great tracts there -is no water for the animals to drink. Only the elephants remember the -great rivers, which lie far away, and whose banks they left when the -rains came; as soon as the south-west wind begins to blow, they make for -the rivers again. But the deer and the pig have forgotten the rivers. In -the water-holes the water has sunk too low for them to reach it on the -slippery rocks; for days and nights they wander round and round the -holes, stretching down their heads to the water, which they cannot -touch. Many die of thirst and weakness around the water-holes. From time -to time one, in his efforts to reach the water, slips, and falls into -the muddy pool, and in the evening the leopard finds him an easy prey. -The great herds of deer roam away, tortured by thirst, through the -parched jungle. They smell the scent of water in the great wind that -blows in from the sea. Day after day they wander away from the rivers -into the wind, south towards the sea, stopping from time to time to -raise their heads and snuff in the scent of water, which draws them on. -Again many die of thirst and weakness on the way; and the jackals follow -the herds, and pull down in the open the fawns that their mothers are -too weak to protect. And the herds wander on until at last they stand -upon the barren, waterless shore of the sea. - -Such is the jungle which lay about the village of Beddagama. The village -consisted of ten scattered houses, mean huts made of mud plastered upon -rough jungle sticks. Only one of the huts had a roof of tiles, that of -the village headman Babehami; the others were covered with a thatch of -cadjans, the dried leaves of the cocoanut-palm. Below the huts to the -east of the village lay the tank, a large shallow depression in the -jungle. Where the depression was deepest the villagers had raised a long -narrow bund or mound of earth, so that when the rain fell the tank -served as a large pond in which to store the water. Below the bund lay -the stretch of rice-fields, about thirty acres, which the villagers -cultivated, if the tank filled with water, by cutting a hole in the -bund, through which the water from the tank ran into the fields. The -jungle rose high and dense around the fields and the tank; it stretched -away unbroken, covering all the country except the fields, the tank, and -the little piece of ground upon which the houses and compounds stood. - -The villagers all belonged to the goiya caste, which is the caste of -cultivators. If you had asked them what their occupation was, they would -have replied 'the cultivation of rice'; but in reality they only -cultivated rice about once in ten years. Rice requires water in plenty; -it must stand in water for weeks before it grows ripe for the reaping. -It could only be cultivated if the village tank filled with water, and -much rain had to fall before the tank filled. If the rains from the -north-east in November were good, and the people could borrow seed, then -the rice-fields in January and February were green, and the year brought -the village health and strength; for rice gives strength as does no -other food. But this happened very rarely. Usually the village lived -entirely by cultivating chenas. In August every man took a katty and -went out into the jungle and cut down the undergrowth, over an acre or -two. Then he returned home. In September he went out again and set fire -to the dead undergrowth, and at night the jungle would be lit up by -points of fire scattered around the village for miles; for so sterile is -the earth, that a chena, burnt and sown for one year, will yield no crop -again for ten years. Thus the villagers must each year find fresh jungle -to burn. In October the land is cleared of ash and rubbish, and when the -rains fall in November the ground is sown broadcast with millet or -kurakkan or maize, with pumpkins, chillies, and a few vegetables. In -February the grain is reaped, and on it the village must live until the -next February. No man will ever do any other work, nor will he leave the -village in search of work. But even in a good year the grain from the -chenas was scarcely sufficient for the villagers. And just as in the -jungle fear and hunger for ever crouch, slink, and peer with every -beast, so hunger and the fear of hunger always lay upon the village. It -was only for a few months each year after the crop was reaped that the -villagers knew the daily comfort of a full belly. And the grain sown in -chenas is an evil food, heating the blood, and bringing fever and the -foulest of all diseases, parangi. There were few in the village without -the filthy sores of parangi, their legs eaten out to the bone with the -yellow, sweating ulcers, upon which the flies settle in swarms. The -naked children, soon after their birth, crawled about with immense pale -yellow bellies, swollen with fever, their faces puffed with dropsy, -their arms and legs thin, twisted little sticks. - -The spirit of the jungle is in the village, and in the people who live -in it. They are simple, sullen, silent men. In their faces you can see -plainly the fear and hardship of their lives. They are very near to the -animals which live in the jungle around them. They look at you with the -melancholy and patient stupidity of the buffalo in their eyes, or the -cunning of the jackal. And there is in them the blind anger of the -jungle, the ferocity of the leopard, and the sudden fury of the bear. - -In Beddagama there lived a man called Silindu, with his wife Dingihami. -They formed one of the ten families which made up the village, and all -the families were connected more or less closely by marriage. Silindu -was a cousin of the wife of Babehami, the headman, who lived in the -adjoining compound. Babehami had been made a headman because he was the -only man in the village who could write his name. He was a very small -man, and was known as Punchi Arachchi[1] (the little Arachchi). Years -ago, when a young man, he had gone on a pilgrimage to the vihare[2] at -Medamahanuwara. He had fallen ill there, and had stayed for a month or -two in the priest's pansala. The priest had taught him his letters, and -he had learnt enough to be able to write his own name. - -Silindu was a cultivator like the other villagers. The village called -him 'tikak pissu' (slightly mad). Even in working in the chena he was -the laziest man in the village. His real occupation was hunting; that is -to say he shot deer and pig, with a long muzzle-loading gas-pipe gun, -whenever he could creep up to one in the thick jungle; or, lying by the -side of a water-hole at night, shoot down some beast who had come there -to drink. Why this silent little man, with the pinched-up face of a grey -monkey and the long, silent, sliding step, should be thought slightly -mad, was not immediately apparent. He seemed only at first sight a -little more taciturn and inert than the other villagers. But the village -had its reasons. Silindu slept with his eyes open like some animals, and -very often he would moan, whine, and twitch in his sleep like a dog; he -slept as lightly as a deer, and would start up from the heaviest sleep -in an instant fully awake. When not in the jungle he squatted all day -long in the shadow of his hut, staring before him, and no one could tell -whether he was asleep or awake. Often you would have to shout at him and -touch him before he would attend to what you had to say. But the -strangest thing about him was this, that although he knew the jungle -better than any man in the whole district, and although he was always -wandering through it, his fear of it was great. He never attempted to -explain or to deny this fear. When other hunters laughed at him about -it, all he would say was, 'I am not afraid of any animal in the jungle, -no, not even of the bear or of the solitary elephant (whom all of you -really fear), but I am afraid of the jungle.' But though he feared it, -he loved it in a strange, unconscious way, in the same unconscious way -in which the wild buffalo loves the wallow, and the leopard his lair -among the rocks. Silent, inert, and sullen he worked in the chena or -squatted about his compound, but when he started for the jungle he -became a different man. With slightly bent knees and toes turned out, he -glided through the impenetrable scrub with a long, slinking stride, -which seemed to show at once both the fear and the joy in his heart. - -And Silindu's passions, his anger, and his desire were strange and -violent even for the jungle. It was not easy to rouse his anger; he was -a quiet man, who did not easily recognise the hand which wronged him. -But if he were roused he would sit for hours or days motionless in his -compound, his mind moving vaguely with hatred; and then suddenly he -would rise and search out his enemy, and fall upon him like a wild -beast. And sometimes at night a long-drawn howl would come from -Silindu's hut, and the villagers would laugh and say, 'Hark! the leopard -is with his mate,' and the women next morning when they saw Dingihami -drawing water from the tank would jeer at her. - -At length Dingihami bore twins, two girls, of whom one was called Punchi -Menika and the other Hinnihami. When the women told Silindu that his -wife was delivered of two girls, he rushed into the hut and began to -beat his wife on the head and breasts as she lay on the mat, crying, -'Vesi! vesi mau! Where is the son who is to carry my gun into the -jungle, and who will clear the chena for me? Do you bear me vesi for me -to feed and clothe and provide dowries? Curse you!' And this was the -beginning of Silindu's quarrel with Babehami, the headman; for Babehami, -hearing the cries of Dingihami and the other women, rushed up from the -adjoining compound and dragged Silindu from the house. - -Dingihami died two days after giving birth to the twins. Silindu had a -sister called Karlinahami, who lived in a house at the other end of the -village. Misfortune had fallen upon her, the misfortune so common in the -life of a jungle village. Her husband had died of fever two months -before: a month later she bore a child which lived but two weeks. When -Dingihami died, Silindu brought her to his hut to bring up his two -children. Her hut was abandoned to the jungle. When the next rains fell -the mud walls crumbled away, the tattered roof fell in, the jungle crept -forward into the compound and over the ruined walls; and when Punchi -Menika was two years old, only a little mound in the jungle marked the -place where Karlinahami's house had stood. - -Karlinahami was a short, dark, stumpy woman, with large impassive eyes -set far apart from one another, flat broad cheeks, big breasts, and -thick legs. Unlike her brother she was always busy, sweeping the house -and compound, fetching water from the tank, cooking, and attending to -the children. Very soon after she came to Silindu's house she began to -talk and think of the children as though she had borne them herself. -Like her brother she was slow and sparing of speech; and her eyes often -had in them the look, so often in his, as if she were watching something -far away in the distance. She very rarely took much part in the -interminable gossip of the other village women when they met at the tank -or outside their huts. This gossip is always connected with their -husbands and children, food and quarrels. - -But Karlinahami was noted for her storytelling: she was never very -willing to begin, but often, after the evening meal had been eaten, the -women and many of the men would gather in Silindu's compound to listen -to one of her stories. They sat round the one room or outside round the -door, very still and silent, listening to her droning voice as she -squatted by the fire and stared out into the darkness. Outside lay -Silindu, apparently paying no attention to the tale. The stories were -either old tales which she had learnt from her mother, or were stories -usually about Buddha, which she had heard told by pilgrims round the -campfire on their way to pilgrimages, or in the madamas or pilgrims' -resting-places at festivals. These tales, and a curious droning chant -with which she used to sing them to sleep, were the first things that -the two children remembered. This chant was peculiar to Karlinahami, and -no other woman of the village used it. She had learnt it from her -mother. The words ran thus: - - -'Sleep, child, sleep against my side, -Aiyo! aiyo! the weary way you've cried; -Hush, child, hush, pressed close against my side. - -'Aiyo! aiyo! will the trees never end? -Our women's feet are weary; O Great One, send -Night on us, that our wanderings may end. - -'Hush, child, hush, thy father leads the way, -Thy mother's feet are weary, but the day -Will end somewhere for the followers in the way. - -'Aiyo! aiyo! the way is rough and steep, -Aiyo! the thorns are sharp, the rivers deep, -But the night comes at last. So sleep, child, sleep.' - - -Until Punchi Menika and Hinnihami were three years old Silindu appeared -not even to be aware of their existence. He took no notice of them in -the house or compound, and never spoke about them. But one day he was -sitting in front of his hut staring into the jungle, when Punchi Menika -crawled up to him and put her hand on his knee, and looked solemnly up -into his face. Silindu looked down at her, took her by her hands, and -stood her up between his two knees. He stared vacantly into her eyes for -some time, and then suddenly he began to speak to her in a low voice: - -'Little toad! why have you left the pond? Isn't there food there for -your little belly? Rice and cocoanuts and mangoes and little cakes of -kurakkan? Is the belly full, that you have left the pond for the jungle? -Foolish little toad! The water is good, but the trees are evil. You have -come to a bad place of dangers and devils. Yesterday, little toad, I lay -under a domba-tree by the side of a track, my gun in my hand, waiting -for what might pass. The devils are very angry in the jungle, for there -has been no rain now for these three months. The water-holes are dry; -the leaves and grass are brown; the deer are very thin; and the fawns, -dropped this year, are dying of weakness and hunger and thirst. -Therefore, the devils are hungry, and there is nothing more terrible -than a hungry devil. Well, there I lay, flat on the ground, with my gun -in my hand; and I saw on the opposite side of the track, lying under a -domba-tree, a leopardess waiting for what might pass. I put down my gun, -and, "Sister," I said, "is the belly empty?" For her coat was mangy, and -the belly caught up below, as though with pain. "Yakko, he-devil," she -answered, "three days now I have killed but one thin grey monkey, and -there are two cubs in the cave to be fed. Yakkini, she-devil," I said, -"there are two little toads at home to be fed. But I still have a -handful of kurakkan in my hut, from which my sister can make cakes. It -remains from last year's chena, and after it is eaten there will be -nothing. The headman, too, is pressing for the three shillings[3] body -tax. 'How,' I say to him, 'can there be money where there is not even -food?' But the kurakkan will last until next poya day. Therefore, your -hunger is greater than mine. The first kill is yours." So we lay still a -long time, and at last I heard far away the sound of a hoof upon a dry -stick. "Sister," I whispered, "I hear a deer coming this way. Yakko, -have you no ears?" she said. "A long while now I have been listening to -a herd of wild pig coming down wind. Can you not even now hear their -strong breathing, and their rooting in the dry earth, and the patter of -the young ones' feet on the dry leaves? Yakkini," I said, for I heard -her teeth clicking in the darkness, "the ear of the hungry is in the -belly: the sound of your teeth can be heard a hoo[4] cry's distance -away." So we lay still again, and at last the herd of pigs came down the -track. First came an old boar, very black, his tusks shining white in -the shadows; then many sows and young boars; and here and there the -little pigs running in and out among the sows. And as they passed, one -of the little pigs ran out near the domba-bush, and Yakkini sprang and -caught it in her teeth, and leapt with it into the branch of a palu-tree -which overhung the path. There she sat, and the little pig in her mouth -screamed to its mother. Then all the little pigs ran together screaming, -and stood on one side, near the bush where I lay; and the great boars -and the young boars and sows ran round the palu-tree, looking up at -Yakkini, and making a great noise. And the old sow, who had borne the -little pig in Yakkini's mouth, put her forefeet against the trunk of the -tree, and looked up, and said, "Come down, Yakkini; she-devil, thief. -Are you afraid of an old, tuskless sow? Come down." But the leopardess -laughed, and bit the little pig in the back behind the head until it -died, and she called down to the old sow, "Go your way, mother. There -are two cubs at home in the cave, and they are very hungry. Every year I -drop but one or two cubs in the cave, but the whole jungle swarms with -your spawn. I see eight brothers and sisters of your child there by the -domba-bush. Go your way, lest I choose another for my mate. Also, I do -mot like your man's teeth." The old boar and the sows were very angry, -and for a long while they ran round the tree, and tore at it with their -tusks, and looked up and cursed Yakkini. But Yakkini sat and watched -them, and licked the blood which dripped from the little pig's back. I -too lay very still under my domba-bush, for there is danger in an angry -herd. At last the old boar became tired, and he gathered the little pigs -together in the middle of the herd, and led them away down the track. -Then Yakkini dropped to the ground, and bounded away into the jungle, -carrying the little pig in her mouth. So you see, little crow, it is a -bad place to which you have come. Be careful, or some other devil will -drop on you out of a bush, and carry you off in his mouth.' - -While Silindu had been speaking, Hinnihami had crawled and tottered -across the compound to join her sister. At the end of his long story she -was leaning against his shoulder. From that day he seemed to regard the -two children differently from the rest of the world in which he lived. -He was never tired of pouring out to them in a low, monotonous drone his -thoughts, opinions, and doings. That they did not understand a word of -what he said did not trouble him in the least; but when they grew old -enough to understand and to speak and to question him, he began to take -a new pleasure in explaining to them the world in which he lived. - -It was a strange world, a world of bare and brutal facts, of -superstition, of grotesque imagination; a world of trees and the -perpetual twilight of their shade; a world of hunger and fear and -devils, where a man was helpless before the unseen and unintelligible -powers surrounding him. He would go over to them again and again in the -season of drought the reckoning of his small store of grain, and the -near approach of the time when it would be exhausted; his perpetual fear -of hunger; his means and plans for obtaining just enough for existence -until the next chena season. But, above all, his pleasure seemed to be -to tell them of the jungle, of his wanderings in search of game, of his -watchings by the water-holes at night, of the animals and devils which -lived among its shadows. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -So Punchi Menika and Hinnihami grew up to be somewhat different from the -other village children, who crawl and play about the compounds, always -with the women and always listening to women's gossip. Long before they -had grown strong and big enough to go down in the morning and evening -with Karlinahami to the tank, and to carry back on their heads the red -earthenware waterpots, they had learnt from Silindu to sit by his side -for hour upon hour through the hot afternoons, very still and very -silent, while he stared silently before him, or droned out his -interminable tales. They grew up to be strange and silent children, -sitting one on either side of him in a long, thoughtless trance. And -they learnt to believe all he told them about the strange world of -jungle which surrounded them, the world of devils, animals, and trees. -But above all they learnt to love him, blindly, as a dog loves his -master. - -When they grew old enough to trot along by his side, Silindu used to -take them out with him into the jungle. The villagers were astonished -and shocked, but Silindu went his own way. He showed them the -water-holes upon the rocks; the thick jungle where the elephant hides -himself from the heat of the day, strolling leisurely among the trees -and breaking off great branches to feed upon the leaves as he strolls; -the wallow of the buffalo, and the caves where the bear and the leopard -make their lairs. He showed them the sambur lying during the day in the -other great caves; they dashed out, tens and tens of them, like enormous -bats from the shadow of the overhanging rocks, to disappear with a crash -into the jungle below. He taught them to walk so that no leaf rustled or -twig snapped under their feet, to creep up close to the deer and the -sambur and the pig. They were surprised at first that the animals in the -jungle did not speak to them as they always did to Silindu when he was -alone. But Silindu explained it to them. 'You are very young,' he said. -'You do not know the tracks. You are strange to the beasts. But they -know me. I have grown old among the tracks. A man must live many years -in the jungle before the beasts speak to him, or he can understand what -they say.' - -Punchi Menika and Hinnihami were also unlike the other village children -in appearance. They, like Silindu, never had fever, and even in the days -of greatest scarcity Karlinahami had seen that they got food. -Karlinahami was far more careful to wash them than most mothers are: she -used to quote the saying, 'Dirt is bad and children are trouble, but a -dirty child is the worst of troubles.' The result was that they never -got parangi, or the swollen belly and pale skin of fever. Their skin was -smooth and blooming; it shone with a golden colour, like the coat of a -fawn when the sun shines on it. Their eyes were large and melancholy; -like the eyes of Buddha in the Jataka, 'they were like two windows made -of sapphire shining in a golden palace.' Their limbs were strong and -straight, for their wanderings with Silindu had made their muscles firm -as a man's, not soft like the women's who sit about in the compound, -cooking and gossiping and sleeping all day. - -There was therefore considerable jealousy among the women, and -ill-feeling against Karlinahami, when they saw how her foster children -were growing up. When they were ten or eleven years old, it often burst -out against her in angry taunts at the tank. - -'O Karlinahami!' Nanchohami, the headman's wife, would say, 'you are -growing an old woman and, alas, childless! But you have done much for -your brother's children. Shameless they must be to leave it to you to -fetch the water from the tank and not to help you. This is the fourth -chatty full you are carrying to-day. I have seen it with these eyes. The -lot of the childless woman is a hard one. See how my little one of eight -years helps me!' - -'Nanchohami, your tongue is still as sharp as chillies. Punchi Menika -has gone with my brother, and Hinnihami is busy in the house.' - -'Punchi Menika wants but three things to make her a man. I pity you, -Karlinahami, to live in the house of a madman, and to bring up his -children shameless, having no children of your own. They are vedda[5] -children, and will be vedda women, wandering in the jungle like men.' - -The other women laughed, and Angohami, a dirty shrivelled woman, with -thin shrivelled breasts, called out in a shrill voice: - -'Why should we suffer these veddas in the village? Their compound smells -of their own droppings, and of the offal and rotten meat on which they -feed. I have borne six children, and the last died but yesterday. In the -morning he was well: then Silindu cast the evil eye upon him as he -passed our door, and in the evening he was dead. They wither our -children that their own may thrive.' - -'You lie,'said Karlinahami, roused for the moment by this abuse; 'you -lie, mother of dirt. Yesterday at this hour I saw your Podi Sinho here -in the tank, pale and shivering with fever, and pouring the cold tank -water over himself. How should such a mother keep her children? All know -that you have borne six, and that all are dead. What did you ever give -them but foul words?' - -'Go and lie with your brother, the madman, the vedda, the pariah,' -shrieked Angohami as Karlinahami turned to go. 'Go to your brother of -the evil eye. You blighter of others' children, eater of offal, vesi, -vesige mau! Go to him of the evil eye, belli, bellige duwa; go to your -brother. Aiyo! aiyo! My little Podi Sinho! I am a mother only of the -dead, a mother of six dead children. Look at my breasts, shrivelled and -milkless. I say to the father of my child,[6] "Father of Podi Sinho," I -say, "there is no kurakkan in the house, there is no millet and no -pumpkin, not even a pinch of salt. Three days now I have eaten nothing -but jungle leaves. There is no milk in my breasts for the child." Then I -get foul words and blows. "Does the rain come in August?" he says. "Can -I make the kurakkan flower in July? Hold your tongue, you fool. August -is the month in which the children die. What can I do?" Then comes fever -and Silindu's evil eye, curse him, and the little ones die. Aiyo! aiyo!' - -'Your man is right,' said Nanchohami. 'This is the month when the -children die. Last year in this month I buried one and my brother's wife -another. Good rain never falls now, and there is always hunger and -fever. The old die and the little ones with them. The father of my -children has but nine houses under him, and makes but five shillings a -year from his headmanship. His father's father, who was headman before -him, had thirty houses in his headmanship, and twenty shillings were -paid him by the Government every year, besides twenty-four kurunies of -paddy from the fields below the tank. I have not seen rice these five -years. The headman now gives all and receives nothing.' Here one of the -women laughed. 'You may well laugh, Podi Nona,' she continued. 'Did not -he[7] lend your man last year twenty kurunies[8] of kurakkan,[9] and has -a grain of it come back to our house? And Silindu owes another thirty, -and came but yesterday for more. And Angohami there, who whines about -her Podi Sinho, her man has had twenty-five kurunies since the reaping -of the last crop.' - -These words of Nanchohami were not without effect. An uneasy movement -began among the little group of women at the mention of debts: clothes -were gathered up, the chatties of water placed on their heads, and they -began to move away out of reach of the sharp tongue of the headman's -wife. And as they moved away up the small path, which led from the tank -to the compounds, they murmured together that Nanchohami did not seem to -remember that they had to repay two kurunies of kurakkan for every -kuruni lent to them. - -Nanchohami had touched the mainspring upon which the life of the village -worked--debt. The villagers lived upon debt, and their debts were the -main topic of their conversation. A good kurakkan crop, from two to four -acres of chena, would be sufficient to support a family for a year. But -no one, not even the headman, ever enjoyed the full crop which he had -reaped. At the time of reaping a band of strangers from the little town -of Kamburupitiya, thirty miles away, would come into the village. -Mohamadu Lebbe Ahamadu Cassim, the Moorman boutique-keeper, had supplied -clothes to be paid for in grain, with a hundred per cent, interest, at -the time of reaping; the fat Sinhalese Mudalali,[10] Kodikarage Allis -Appu, had supplied grain and curry stuffs on the same terms; and among a -crowd of smaller men the sly-faced low-caste man, who called himself -Achchige Don Andris (his real name Andrissa would have revealed his -caste), who, dressed in dirty white European trousers and a coat, was -the agent of the tavern-keeper in Kamburupitiya, from whom the villagers -had taken on credit the native spirit, made from the juice of the -cocoanut flowers, to be drunk at the time of marriages. The villagers -neither obtained nor expected any pity from this horde. With the reaping -of the chenas came the settlement of debts. With their little greasy -notebooks, full of unintelligible letters and figures, they descended -upon the chenas; and after calculations, wranglings, and abuse, which -lasted for hour after hour, the accounts were settled, and the strangers -left the village, their carts loaded with pumpkins, sacks of grain, and -not infrequently the stalks of Indian hemp,[11] which by Government -order no man may grow or possess, for the man that smokes it becomes -mad. And when the strangers had gone, the settlement with the headman -began; for the headman, on a small scale, lent grain on the same terms -in times of scarcity, or when seed was wanted to sow the chenas. - -In the end the villager carried but little grain from his chena to his -hut. Very soon after the reaping of the crop he was again at the -headman's door, begging for a little kurakkan to be repaid at the next -harvest, or tramping the thirty miles to Kamburupitiya to hang about the -bazaar, until the Mudalali agreed once more to enter his name in the -greasy notebook. - -With the traders in Kamburupitiya the transactions were purely matters -of business, but with the headman the whole village recognised that they -were something more. It was a very good thing for Babehami, the -Arachchi, to feel that Silindu owed him many kurunies of kurakkan which -he could not repay. When Babehami wanted some one to clear a chena for -him, he asked Silindu to do it; and Silindu, remembering the debt, dared -not refuse. When Silindu shot a deer--for which offence the Arachchi -should have brought him before the police court at Kamburupitiya--he -remembered his debt, and the first thing he did was to carry the best -piece of meat as an offering to the headman's house. And Babehami was a -quiet, cunning man in the village: he never threatened, and rarely -talked of his loans to his debtors, but there were few in the village -who dared to cross him, and who did not feel hanging over them the power -of the little man. - -The power which they felt hanging over them was by no means imaginary; -it could make the life of the man who offended the headman extremely -unpleasant. It was not only by his loans that Babehami had his hand upon -the villagers; their daily life could be made smooth or difficult by him -at every turn. - -The life of the village and of every man in it depended upon the -cultivation of chenas. A chena is merely a piece of jungle, which every -ten years is cleared of trees and undergrowth and sown with grain -broadcast and with vegetables. The villagers owned no jungle themselves; -it belonged to the Crown, and no one might fell a tree or clear a chena -in it without a permit from the Government. It was through these permits -that the headman had his hold upon the villagers. Application for one -had to be made through him; it was he who reported if a clearing had -been made without one, or if a man, having been given one, cleared more -jungle than it allowed him to clear. Every one in the village knew well -that Babehami's friends would find no difficulty in obtaining the -authority to clear a chena, and that the Agent Hamadoru[12] would never -hear from Babehami whether they had cleared four acres or eight. But the -life of the unfortunate man, who had offended the headman, would be full -of dangers and difficulties. The permit applied for by him would be very -slow in reaching his hands: when it did reach his hands, if he cleared -half an acre more than it allowed him to clear, his fine would be heavy; -and woe betide him if he rashly cleared a chena without a permit at all. - -Babehami had never liked Silindu, who was a bad debtor. Silindu was too -lazy even to cultivate a chena properly, and even in a good year his -crop was always the smallest in the village. He was always in want, and -always borrowing; and Babehami found it no easy task to gather in -principal and interest after the boutique-keepers from Kamburupitiya had -taken their dues. And he was not an easy man to argue with: if he wanted -a loan he would, unheeding of any excuse or refusal, hang about the -headman's door for a whole day. But if it were a case of repayment, he -would sit staring over his creditor's head, listening, without a sign or -a word, to the quiet persuasive arguments of the headman. - -The headman's dislike became more distinct after the birth of Punchi -Menika and Hinnihami. Silindu had resented his interference between him -and his wife, and when Dingihami died bitter words had passed between -them; Though Silindu soon forgot them, Babehami did not. For years -Silindu did not realise what was taking place, but he vaguely felt that -life was becoming harder for him. A month after Dingihami's death his -store of grain was exhausted, and it became necessary for him to begin -his yearly borrowings. Accordingly, he took his gun and went in the -evening to the nearest water-hole to wait for deer. The first night he -was unsuccessful: no deer came to drink; but on the second he shot a -doe. He skinned the deer, cut it up, and carried the meat to his hut. He -then carefully chose the best piece of meat, and took it with him to -Babehami's house. The headman was squatting in his doorway chewing -betel. His little eyes twinkled when he saw Silindu with the meat. - -'Ralahami,'[13] said Silindu, stopping just outside the door, 'yesterday -I was in the jungle collecting domba fruit--what else is there to -eat?--when I smelt a smell of something dead some fathoms away. I -searched about, and soon I came upon the carcass of a doe killed by a -leopard--the marks of his claws were under the neck, and the belly was -eaten. The meat I have brought to my house. This piece is for you.' - -The headman took the meat in silence, and hung it up in the house. He -fetched a chew of betel and gave it to Silindu. The two men then -squatted down, one on each side of the door. For a long time neither -spoke: their chewing was only interrupted every now and then by the -ejection of a jet of red saliva. At last Babehami broke the silence: - -'Four days ago I was in Kamburupitiya--I was called to the kachcheri -there. They asked me two fanams[14] in the bazaar for a cocoanut.' - -'Aiyo! I have not seen a cocoanut for two years.' - -'Two fanams! And last year at this time they were but one fanam each. In -the bazaar I met the Korala Mahatmaya. The Korala Mahatmaya is a hard -man: he said to me, "Arachchi, there are guns in your village for which -no permit has been given by the Agent Hamadoru." I said to him, -"Ralahami, if there be, the fault is not mine." Then he said, "The order -has come from the Agent Hamadoru to the Disa Mahatmaya[15] that if one -gun be found without permit in a headman's village there will be trouble -both for the Arachchi and the Korala." Now the Disa Mahatmaya is a good -man, but the Korala is hard; and they say in Kamburupitiya that the -Agent Hamadoru is very hard and strict, and goes round the villages -searching for guns for which no permits have been given. They say, too, -that he will come this way next month.' - -There was a short silence, and then Babehami continued: - -'It is five months, Silindu, since I told you to take a permit for your -gun, and you have not done so yet. The time to pay three shillings has -gone by, and you will now have to pay four. The Korala is a hard man, -and the Agent Hamadoru will come next month.' - -Silindu salaamed. - -'Ralahami, I am a poor man. How can I pay four shillings or even three? -There is not a fanam in the house. There was a permit taken two years -ago. You are my father and my mother. I will hide the gun in a place -that only I know of, and if it be taken or question be made, is it not -easy to say that the stock was broken, and it was not considered -necessary to take a permit for a broken gun?' - -But the argument, which before had been successful with Babehami, now -seemed to have lost its strength. - -'A permit is required. It is the order of Government. I have told you -the Korala is a hard man, and he is angry with me because I brought him -but two cocoanuts as a present, whereas other Arachchis bring him an -amunam of paddy. For I, too, am a poor man.' - -Silindu sat in helpless silence. The hopelessness of raising two rupees -to pay for a gun licence for the moment drove out of his mind the object -of his coming to Babehami's house. All that he felt was the misery of a -new misfortune, and, as was his nature, he sat dumb under it. At last, -however, the pressing need of the moment again recurred to him, and he -started in the tortuous way, habitual to villagers, to approach the -subject. - -'Ralahami, is there any objection to my clearing Nugagahahena next chena -season?' - -'There are three months before the chena season. Why think of that now?' - -'When the belly is empty, the mouth talks of rice. Last year my chena -crop was bad. There was but little rain, and the elephants broke in and -destroyed much kurakkan. The Lord Buddha himself would be powerless -against the elephants.' - -Silindu got up as if to go. He took a step towards the stile which led -into the compound, and then turned back as if he had just remembered -something, and began in a soft, wheedling voice: - -'Ralahami, there is nothing to eat in the house. There is Karlinahami to -feed too. If you could but lend me ten kurunies! I would repay it -twofold at the reaping of Nugagahahena.' - -Babehami chewed for some minutes, and then spat with great deliberation. - -'I have no grain to lend now, Silindu.' - -'Ralahami, it is only ten kurunies I am asking for--only ten -kurunies--and surely the barn behind your house is full.' - -'There is very little grain in the barn now, and what there is will not -last me until the reaping of the next crop. There is the old man, my -father, to be fed, and my wife and her brother, and the two children.' - -'Will you let me die of hunger? and my two children? Give but five -kurunies, and I will repay it threefold.' - -'If you had come last poya, Silindu, I could have given it. But I owed -fifteen rupees to Nandiyas, the boutique-keeper in Kamburupitiya, for -clothes, and I took kurakkan to pay it. The barn is all but empty.' - -'Aiyo! We must die of hunger then. Give but one measure, and I will -repay one kuruni at next reaping.' - -'I paid away all my grain that was in the barn. The grain which remains -is my father's, and he keeps it for his use. You must go to the Mudalali -in Kamburupitiya, Silindu, and borrow from him. And when you go there, -remember, you must take a permit for the gun.' - -Silindu felt that he had nothing more to say. He had the meat at home -which he would dry and take to Kamburupitiya and sell in the bazaar. -Then he would have to borrow from the Mudalali, who knew him too well to -give anything but ruinous terms. Perhaps in that way he would manage to -return to the village with a few kurunies of kurakkan and a gun licence. -He walked slowly away from the headman's compound. Babehami's little -eyes twinkled as he saw Silindu move away, and he smiled to himself. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Silindu made the journey to Kamburupitiya, obtained the licence for his -gun and some grain, but life continued to become harder for him. The -headman's ill-feeling worked against him unostentatiously, and in all -sorts of little things. He never thought about the motives and -intentions of those around him, and Babehami always had some excuse for -refusing a loan or pressing for payment of the body tax. He did not -become conscious of Babehami's enmity, or aware that many of the -difficulties of his life were due to it. - -The collection of the body tax was a good example of the way in which -the headman worked against him. Every villager had to pay the -three-shilling tax or do work on the roads, work which was the worst of -hardships to them. It had always been Babehami's custom to pay himself -the tax for each villager, and then recover what he had paid, with heavy -interest, out of the crops at the time of reaping. But for some years -after Dingihami's death, Silindu found that when the time to pay the tax -came round, Babehami was always short of money. Silindu never had any -money himself, and he was therefore compelled to work upon the roads. - -As the years passed he became more sullen, more taciturn, and more lazy. -Some evil power--one of the unseen powers which he could not -understand--was, he felt, perpetually working against him. He tried to -escape from it, or at any rate to forget it by leaving the village for -the jungle. He would disappear for days together into the jungle, living -upon roots and the fruit of jungle trees, and anything which might fall -to his gun. He talked with no one except Punchi Menika and Hinnihami. -For them he never had a harsh word, and it was seldom that he returned -to the hut without bringing them some wild fruit or a comb of the wild -honey. - -Gradually the hut of the veddas, as they were nicknamed, seemed to the -other villagers to fall under a cloud. The headman's enmity and the -strange ways of Silindu formed a bar to intercourse. And so it came -about that Punchi Menika and Hinnihami grew up somewhat outside the -ordinary life of the village. The strangeness and wildness of their -father hung about them: as the other women said of them, they grew up in -the jungle and not in the village. But with their strangeness and -wildness went a simplicity of mind and of speech, which showed in many -ways, but above all in their love for Silindu and each other. - -Their lives were harder even than those of the other village women. As -they became older the fear of hunger became more and more present with -them. When Silindu was away from the village they were often compelled -to live upon the fruits and leaves and roots, which they gathered -themselves in the jungle. And when the chena season began, they worked -like the men and boys in the chenas. They cut down the undergrowth and -burnt it; they cleared the ground and sowed the grain; they lay out all -night in the watch huts to scare away the deer and wild pig which came -to damage the crop. - -When they were fifteen, Babun Appu, the brother of Nanchohami, came to -live in his brother-in-law's, the headman's, house. He had previously -lived in another house with his father, an old man, toothless and -brainless. When the old man whom he had supported died, he abandoned his -hut and came to live with his sister and her husband. The number of -houses in the village thus sank to eight. - -At that time Babun Appu was twenty-one years old. He was tall for a -Sinhalese, broad-shouldered, and big-boned. His skin was a dark -chocolate-brown, his face oval, his nose small, his lips full and -sensual. His expression was curiously virile and simple; but his brown -eyes, which were large and oval-shaped, swept it at moments with -something soft, languorous, and feminine. This impression of a mixture -of virility and femininity was heightened by the long hair, which he -tied in a knot at the back of his head after the custom of villagers. He -was noted for his strength, his energy, and his good humour. The minds -of most villagers are extraordinarily tortuous and suspicious, but Babun -was remarkable for his simplicity. It used to be said of him in the -village, 'Babun's Appu could not cheat a child; but a child, who had not -learnt to talk, could cheat Babun Appu.' - -For two years Babun had lived in the hut adjoining Silindu's without -ever speaking more than a word or two to Punchi Menika. But her presence -began to move him strongly. His lips parted, and his breathing became -fast and deep as he saw her move about the compound. He watched in -painful excitement her swelling breasts and the fair skin, which went -into soft folds at her hips when she bent down for anything. - -One night in the chena season Punchi Menika had been watching the crop -of her father's chena. It lay three miles away from the village, at some -distance from any other chena. The track therefore which led from it to -the village was used by no one except herself, her father, and sister. -In the early morning she started back to the hut. - -There had been rain during the night, and the jungle was fresh and -green. That freshness, which the time of rain brings for so brief a -time, was upon all things. The jungle was golden with the great hanging -clusters of the cassia flowers. The bushes were starred with the white -karambu flowers, and splashed with masses of white and purple kettan. -The grey monkeys leapt, shrieking and mocking, from bough to bough; the -jungle was filled with the calling of the jungle fowl and the wild cries -of the peacocks. From the distance came the trumpeting and shrieking of -a herd of elephants. As Punchi Menika passed a bush she heard from -behind it the clashing of horns. Very quietly she peered round. Two -stags were fighting, the tines of the horns interlocked; up and down, -backwards and forwards, snorting, panting, and straining they struggled -for the doe which stood grazing quietly beside. Punchi Menika had crept -up very quietly; but the doe became uneasy, lifted her head, and looked -intently at the bush behind which Punchi Menika crouched. She approached -the bush slowly, stamping the ground angrily from time to time, and -uttering the sharp shrill call of alarm. But the bucks fought on, up and -down the open space. Punchi Menika laughed as she turned away. 'Fear -nothing, sister,' she said, 'there is no leopard crouching for you. -Fight on, brothers, for the prize is fair.' - -Punchi Menika walked slowly on down the track. The blood in her veins -moved strangely, stirred by the stirring life around her. The trumpet -call of the sambur blared through the jungle, a terrific cry of desire. -The girl, who had heard it unmoved thousands of times before, started at -the sound of it. A sense of uneasiness came over her. Suddenly she -stopped at the sight of something which moved behind a bush down the -track. - -She stood trembling as Babun came out of the jungle and walked towards -her. His eyes were very bright; his teeth showed white between his -parted lips; the long black hair upon his breast glistened with sweat. -He stood in front of her. - -'Punchi Menika,' he said, 'I have come to you.' - -'Aiyo!' she answered. 'I was very frightened. I thought you were a devil -of the trees crouching there for me behind the bushes. Even when we were -little children our father warned us against the devils that would leap -upon us from the bushes.' - -'I have come to you. Come with me out of the path into the thick jungle. -Last night I could not sleep for thinking of you. So I came in the early -morning along the path to meet you on your way from the chena. I cannot -sleep, Punchi Menika, for thinking of you. I have watched you in the -compound and at the tank--your fair skin and the little breasts. Do not -fear, I will not hurt you, Punchi Menika; but come, come quickly, out of -the path.' - -A strange feeling of excitement came over the girl, of joy and fear, as -Babun leant towards her, and put out his hand to take her by the wrist. -A great desire to fly from him, and at the same time to be caught by him -came over her. She stood looking down until his fingers touched her -skin; then with a cry she broke from him, and ran down the track to the -village. She heard his breathing very close to her as she ran; and when -she looked round over her shoulder she felt his breath on her face, saw -his bright eyes and great lips, through which the teeth shone white. -Another moment and she felt the great strength of his arms as he seized -her. He held her close to him by the wrists. - -'Why do you run, why are you frightened, Punchi Menika? I will not hurt -you.' - -She allowed him to take her into the thick jungle, but she struggled -with him, and her whole body shook with fear and desire as she felt his -hands upon her breasts. A cry broke from her, in which joy and desire -mingled with the fear and the pain: - -'Aiyo! aiyo!' - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -In towns and large villages there are, especially among people of the -higher castes, many rigid customs and formalities regarding marriages -always observed. It is true that the exclusion of women no longer -exists; but young girls after puberty are supposed to be kept within the -house, and only to meet men of the immediate family. A marriage is -arranged formally; a formal proposal is made by the man's father or -mother to the girl's father or mother. There are usually long -negotiations and bargainings between the two families over the dowry. -When at last the preliminaries are settled and the wedding day arrives, -it is a very solemn and formal affair. All the members of each family -are invited; the bridegroom goes with his friends and relations to the -house of the bride, and then conducts her in procession, followed by the -guests, to his own house. Much money is spent upon entertaining, and new -clothes and presents. - -But in villages like Beddagama, these customs and formalities are often -not observed. The young girls are not kept within the house; they have -to work. The young men know them, and often choose for themselves. There -is no family arrangement, no formal proposal of marriage; the villagers -are too poor for there to be any question of a dowry. - -And yet the villager makes a clear distinction between marriage and what -he calls concubinage. In the former the woman is recognised by his and -her families as his wife; almost invariably she is openly taken to his -house, and there is a procession and feasting on the wedding day: in the -latter the woman is never publicly recognised as a wife. Marriage is -considered to be more respectable than concubinage, and in a headman's -immediate family it would be more usual to find the women 'recognised' -wives than 'unrecognised' wives. And though in the ordinary village life -the 'unrecognised' wife is as common as, or even more common than, the -'recognised' wife, and is treated by all exactly as if she were the -man's wife, yet the distinction is understood and becomes apparent upon -formal occasions. For instance, a woman who is living with a man as his -'unrecognised' wife cannot be present at her sister's wedding. When a -man takes a woman to live with him in this informal way, the arrangement -is, however, regarded as in many ways a formal one, a slightly lower -form than the recognised marriage. The man and the woman are of the same -caste always: there would even be strong objection on the part of the -man or woman's relations if either the one or the other did not come -from a 'respectable' family. - -Babun knew well his brother-in-law's dislike of Silindu, and the -contempt with which the 'veddas' were regarded by the other villagers. -He knew that his sister and Babehami would be very angry with him if he -chose a wife from such a family. But he had watched Punchi Menika, and -gradually a love, which was more than mere desire, had grown up in him. -The wildness and strangeness of her father and of Hinnihami were -tempered in her by a wonderful gentleness. Passion and desire were -strong in him: they would allow no interference with his determination -to take her to live with him. - -The night after his meeting with Punchi Menika on the path from the -chena, he broke the news to Nanchohami and Babehami, as he and his -brother-in-law were eating the evening meal. - -'Sister,' he said, 'it is time that, I took a wife.' - -Nanchohami laughed. 'There is no difficulty. When you go to the chena -the women look after you and smile and say, "Chi! chi! There goes a man. -O that he would take my daughter to his house." But there are no women -for you here. They are all sickly things, unfit to bear you children.' - -'My father's brother married a woman of Kotegoda,' said Babehami. 'In -those days wives brought dowries with them--of land. He went to live on -her land at Kotegoda: it lies fifty miles away, towards Ruhuna. His sons -and daughters are married now in that village, and have children. They -are rich: it is a good village: rain falls there, and there are cocoanut -lands, and paddy grows. The village spreads and prospers, and the -headman is a rich man. They say that tax is paid upon sixty men every -year. It would be a good thing for you to take a wife from there, for -she would bring you a dowry.' - -'Yes,' said Nanchohami, 'it would be a good thing for you to go to -Kotegoda and take a woman from there, a daughter of my man's -brother.[16] She would bring you land, and you could settle there. What -use is it to live in this village? Even the chena crops wither for want -of rain. It is an evil place this.' - -'I want no woman of Kotegoda,' said Babun. 'Nor will I leave the -village. There is a woman, this Punchi Menika, the daughter of Silindu. -I am going to take her to live with me.' - -Babehami looked at his brother-in-law, his little eyes moving restlessly -in astonishment and anger. Nanchohami threw up her hands, and began in a -voice which shrilled and fluted with anger: - -'Ohé! So we are to take veddas into the house, and I am to call a -pariah sister! A fine and a rich wife! A pariah woman, a vedda, a -daughter of a dog, vesi, vesige duwa! Ohé! the headman's brother is to -marry a sweeper of jakes! Do you hear this? Will you allow these -Tamils[17] in your house? Yes, 'twill be a fine thing in the village to -hear that the headman has given his wife and daughters to Rodiyas,[18] -leopards, jackals!' - -Babehami broke in upon his wife's abuse; but she, now thoroughly -aroused, continued throughout the conversation to pour out a stream of -foul words from the background in a voice which gradually rose shriller -and shriller. - -'The woman is right,' Babehami said angrily to Babun. 'You cannot bring -this woman to the house.' - -'I will take no other woman. I have watched her there about the -compound. She is fair and gentle. She is unlike the other women of this -village (here he looked round at Nanchohami), in whose mouths are always -foul words.' - -Babehami tried to hide his anger. He knew his brother-in-law to be -obstinate as well as good-humoured and simple. - -'No doubt the woman is fair. But if you desire her, is she not free to -all to take? Does she not wander, like a man, in the jungle? They say -that even kings have desired Rodiya women. If you desire her, it is not -hard to take her. But there need be no talk of marriage, or bringing her -to the house.' - -'This morning I took her with me into the jungle, but it is not enough; -the desire is still with me. I have thought about it. It is time that I -took a wife to cook my food and bear me children. I want no other than -this. I can leave your compound, and build myself a new house, and take -her to live with me.' - -Babehami's anger began to break out again. - -'Are you a fool? Will you take this beggar woman to be your wife? Is not -her father always about my door crying for a handful of kurakkan? Fool! -I tell you my brother's children in Kotegoda will bring you land, paddy -land, and cocoanuts. There is no difference between one woman and -another.' - -'I tell you I want no Kotegoda woman. I will take the daughter of -Silindu. I want no strange woman or strange village. I can build myself -a house here, and clear chenas, as my father did and his father.' - -'Is it for this I took you into my house? Two years you have eaten my -food. How much of my kurakkan have you taken?' - -'I have taken nothing from you. I have worked two years in the chena, -and the crop came to you, not to me. Is not the grain now in your barn -from the chena cleared by me?' - -Babehami was too quiet and cunning often to give way to anger, but this -time he was carried away by the defiance of his brother-in-law, whom he -regarded as a fool. He gesticulated wildly: - -'Out of my house, dog; out of my house. You shall bring no woman to my -compound. Go and lie with the pariahs in their own filth?' - -Babun got up and stood over Babehami. - -'I am going,' he said quietly, 'and I will take Punchi Menika as my -wife.' - -The abuse of the headman and his wife followed him out of the compound. -He walked slowly over to Silindu's hut. He found Silindu squatting under -a ragged mustard-tree which stood in the compound, and he squatted down -by his side. He did not like Silindu; he had always an uncomfortable -feeling in the presence of this wild man, who never spoke to any one -unless he was spoken to; and he felt it difficult to begin now upon the -subject which had brought him to the compound. Silindu paid no attention -to him. Babun sat there unable to begin, listening to the sounds of the -women in the hut. At last he said: - -'Silindu, I have come to speak to you about your daughter Punchi -Menika.' - -Silindu remained quite still: he apparently had not heard. Babun touched -him on the arm. - -'I am talking of your daughter, Silindu, Punchi Menika.' - -Silindu turned and looked at him. - -'The girl is in the house. What have you to do with her?' - -'I want you to listen to me, Silindu, for there is much to say. I have -watched the girl from the headman's compound, and a charm has come upon -me. I cannot eat or sleep for thinking of her. So I said to my sister -and my sister's husband, "It is time for me to take a wife, and now I -will bring this girl into the compound." But they were very angry, for -they want to marry me to a woman of Kotegoda, because of the land which -she would bring as dowry. To-night they abused me, and there was a -quarrel. I have left their compound. Now I will make myself a house in -the old compound where my father lived, and I will take the girl there -as my wife.' - -Silindu had become more and more attentive as he listened to Babun. The -words seemed to distress him: he shifted about, fidgeted with his hands, -scratched himself all over his body. When Babun stopped, he took some -time before he said: - -'The girl is too young to be given to a man.' - -Babun laughed. 'The girl has attained her age. She is older than many a -woman who has a husband.' - -'The girl is too young. I cannot give her to you, or evil will come -of it.' - -Babun's patience began to be exhausted. His good humour had been -undisturbed during the scene in the headman's compound, but this new -obstacle began to rouse him. His voice rose: - -'I cannot live without the girl. I have quarrelled with my sister and -the headman over her; I have left the compound for her. I ask no dowry. -Why should you refuse her to me?' - -'They call us veddas in the village, while you are of the headman's -house. Does the leopard of the jungle mate with the dog of the village?' - -'That is nothing to me. The wild buffalo seeks the cows in the village -herds. The girl is very gentle, and my mind is made up. Also the girl -wishes to come to me.' - -The loud voices of the two men had reached the women in the house. They -had come out, and stood listening behind the men. At the last words of -Babun, Silindu cried out as if he had been struck: - -'Aiyo! aiyo! they take even my daughter from me. Is there money in the -house? No. Is there rice? No. Is there kurakkan, or chillies, or -jaggery,[19] or salt even? The house is empty. But there is always -something for the thief to find. They creep in while I am away in the -jungle; they see the little ones whom I have fed, the little ones who -laughed and called me "Appochchi"[20] when I brought them fruits and -honeycomb from the jungle. They creep in like the hooded snake, and -steal them away from me. Aiyo! aiyo! The little ones laugh to go.' - -Punchi Menika rushed forward, threw herself at Silindu's feet, which she -touched and caressed with her hands. She struck the ground several times -with her forehead, crying and wailing: - -'Appochchi! Appochchi! Will you kill me with your words? I will never -leave you nor my sister.' - -Babun turned upon her: - -'Are the words in the jungle nothing then? Did you lie to me when you -said you would come to my house? They are right then when they say that -women's words are lies--in the morning one thing, at night another. Did -I not tell you that I cannot be without you? Aiyo! You told me there -under the cassia-tree that you would come to me and cook my rice. And in -the evening I am homeless and without you! I shall go now into the -jungle and hang myself.' - -Babun moved away, but Karlinahami caught hold of his hand and pulled him -back. Punchi Menika threw herself on the ground again in front of -Silindu. - -'Appochchi! it is true: I said I would go to him. Do not kill me with -bitter words. I must go: I cannot be without him. I gave my word: what -can I do?' - -Punchi Menika crouched down at Silindu's feet. He sat very still for a -little while, and then began in a low, moaning voice: - -'Did I not often tell you of the devils of the trees that lurk for you -by the way? I have stood by you against them in the day: I have held you -in my arms when they howled about the house at night. I told you that -the place is evil, and evil comes from it. They lie in the shadows of -the trees, and cast spells on you as you pass. And now one has got you, -and you laugh to go from me. They sit in the trees among the grey -monkeys and laugh at me as I pass in the morning: they howl at me among -the jackals as I come back in the evening. They take all from me, and -the house is very empty.' - -'Appochchi! the devils are not taking me. I shall not leave you; when -you come from the jungle I shall be here with my sister. But the man has -called to me and I must go to him. The cub does not always remain in the -cave by the father's side: her time comes, and she hears her mate call -from the neighbouring rocks: she leaves her father's cave for another's. -But, Appochchi, she will still look out for the old leopard when he -returns: she will live very close to him.' - -'Aiyo! aiyo! the house will be empty.' - -'The doe cannot always stay with the herd. She hears the call of the -buck, and they fly together into the jungle.' - -'The house is empty. There is no use for me to live now.' - -Karlinahami, who had been growing more and more impatient, here broke -in: - -'Are you mad, brother? The child is a woman now, and it is time to give -her to a man. Is she to die childless because she has a father? There is -no need for her even to leave the compound. There is room for Babun to -make himself a house here.' - -Babun eagerly seized upon this suggestion. He assured Silindu that he -had no intention of taking Punchi Menika out of the compound. Punchi -Menika, still crouching at his feet, told her father that she would -never leave him. - -It was eventually arranged that for the present Babun should live in the -house while he put up another house for himself and Punchi Menika. -Silindu took no part in the discussion. After Karlinahami intervened, he -became silent: there was nothing for him to do or to say which could -help him: it was only one more of the evils which inevitably came upon -him. The talk died down: the others went into the house to prepare the -evening meal. He sat on under the mustard-tree, staring at the outline -of the trees against the starlit sky. The silence of the jungle settled -down upon the compound. Punchi Menika brought him his food. She tried to -comfort him, to get him to come into the house, but for once she could -not rouse him. He sat in the compound through the night, staring into -the darkness, and muttering from time to time, 'Aiyo, the house is -empty!' - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Babun put up a new hut in Silindu's compound, and three weeks after he -left his brother-in-law, he and Punchi Menika began to live together in -it. It was the beginning of a far greater prosperity for the family. -Babun worked hard: he cleared his chena and watched it well: his crop -was always the best in the village, and the produce went with Silindu's -into a barn which served in common for the whole compound. - -Silindu did not again refer to Punchi Menika's leaving him. He seemed -hardly to be aware of Babun's existence in the compound: he very rarely -addressed a word to him. In fact, he now scarcely ever spoke to any one -except Hinnihami. When he came back to the compound from the jungle or -from the chenas, he never went into the new hut, where Punchi Menika -lived: he never called her to him as he had been used to do. If she came -out in the evenings to sit with him and speak with him, he answered her -questions; but he no longer poured out to her everything that was in his -mind, as he still did to Hinnihami. It seemed as if he were unable to -share her with another. - -And Punchi Menika altered. Her blind love for her father and her sister -remained, but it was swamped by a fierce attachment to Babun. She felt -the barrier which had grown up and separated her from Silindu, and in a -less degree from Hinnihami. And as her life became different, she lost -some of the wildness which had before belonged to her. She began to lead -a life more like the other village women. She no longer went to, or -worked, in the chena; the jungle began to lose its hold on her. She had -listened from the time when she first began to understand anything to -the tales of her father, and imperceptibly his views of life had become -hers: she and he were only two out of the countless animals which wander -through the jungle, continually beset by hunger and fear. But as she -became more and more separated from him and attached to Babun, this view -of life--always vague and unconsciously held--became vaguer and dimmer. -The simplicity of Babun reacted upon her: she became the man's woman, -the cook of his food, the cleaner of his house, the bearer of his -children. - -There had always been considerable difference in character between -Hinnihami and Punchi Menika. There was very little of her sister's -gentleness in Hinnihami. There was, added to the strangeness and -wildness which she derived from Silindu, a violence of feeling far -greater than his. You could see this in her eyes, which gradually lost -the melancholy of childhood, and glowed with a fierce, startled look -through the long black hair, which hung in disorder about her pale brown -face. The village women, who never tired of following Nanchohami's lead -in jeering at Karlinahami and Punchi Menika, soon learned to respect the -passionate anger which it was so easy to rouse in Hinnihami. - -And the passion of her anger was equalled by the passion of her -attachment to Silindu and Punchi Menika. The women soon learned that it -was as dangerous to abuse in her presence her father or her sister, as -to risk a gibe at the girl herself. It was always remembered in the -village how, when Angohami once, worked up by the bitterness of her own -tongue, raised her hand against Punchi Menika, Hinnihami, then a child -of eight, had seized the baby which the woman was carrying on her hip -and flung it into the tank water. - -Hinnihami had taken no part in the discussion about her sister's -marriage. But when Babun took Punchi Menika to live with him in the hut -which he had built, she felt an instinctive dislike towards him, a -feeling that she was being robbed of something. Her father and her -sister were everything to her: for she had never felt for Karlinahami -the blind affection which she felt for them. She could not understand, -therefore, how Punchi Menika could turn from them to this man whom she -had scarcely known the day before. - -She saw and understood her father's anger and unhappiness, but she could -not turn against her sister. Something had happened which she did not -understand: 'an evil had come out of the jungle,' as such evils come. If -any one could be blamed, it was the stranger Babun; but as her sister -desired to go to him, she put on one side her own feelings of anger -against him. She watched in silence the new house being put up, and she -watched in silence Punchi Menika leave the old hut for the new. She felt -as if she were losing something; that her sister was going away from -her, and that her life had greatly altered. She turned with an increased -passion of attachment to her father; she refused to allow Karlinahami to -cook his food for him; if he went out alone in the jungle, she would sit -for hours in the compound watching the path by which she knew he would -return; and whenever he would allow her, she followed him on his -expeditions. - -The marriage of Punchi Menika and Babun created a great sensation in the -village. The headman and his wife did not at first hide their anger, and -the thought that they had been crossed was not unpleasant to many of the -villagers. Moreover, Babun was liked, and in many ways respected. The -contempt in which the veddas had been held could no longer be shown -towards a compound where he had married and where he lived. The compound -was no longer avoided; the men entered it now to see Babun, and the -women began to come and gossip with Punchi Menika. - -It was not in Babehami's nature to remain long openly an enemy of any -one. His cunning mind was inclined to, and suited for, intrigue. He -understood how much easier--and more enjoyable--it is to harm your -enemy, if he thinks that you are his friend, rather than if he knows you -are his enemy. He was, however, too angry with Babun for any open -reconciliation. He hid his anger; and though he never went into Babun's -compound, nor Babun into his, when they met in the village paths, they -spoke to one another as if there was nothing between them. But he often -thought over the reckoning which he was determined one day to have; and -it was Silindu and his family who, he made up his mind, would feel it -most heavily. He was a man who never forgot what he considered a wrong -done him. He could wait long to repay a real or imaginary injury: the -repayment might be made in many divers ways, but until it was repaid -with interest his mind was unsatisfied. - -As time passed Silindu's family began again to enter into the ordinary -village life. It was natural, therefore, that the hesitation which the -villager might have felt to take a wife from the family died down before -Babun's example. People who live in towns can hardly realise how -persistent and violent are the desires of those who live in villages -like Beddagama. In many ways, and in this beyond all others, they are -very near to the animals; in fact, in this they are more brutal and -uncontrolled than the brutes; that, while the animals have their -seasons, man alone is perpetually dominated by his desires. - -Hinnihami, both in face and form, was more desirable than any of the -other women. It was about a year after Babun and Punchi Menika began to -live together that proposals began to be made about her. There lived in -one of the huts, with his old mother, a man called Punchirala. He was a -tall, thin, dark man, badly afflicted with parangi. The naturally crafty -look of his face had been intensified by an accident. When a young man -he had been attacked by a bear, which met him crawling under the bushes -in search of a hive of wild bees which he had heard in the jungle. The -bear mauled him, and had left the marks of its teeth and claws upon his -cheeks and forehead, and partially destroyed his right eye. The drooping -lid of the injured eye gave him the appearance of perpetually and -cunningly winking. He had some reputation in the village as a vederala -or doctor, and also as a dealer in spells. The result of his quarrel -with his brother had made him feared and respected. They had cultivated -a chena in common, and a dispute had arisen over the division of the -produce. Punchirala considered himself to have been swindled. He went -out into the jungle and collected certain herbs, leaves, and fruit. He -put them in a cocoanut shell together with a lime, and placed them at -night in the corner of his brother's compound. The next morning his -brother was found to be lying unable to speak or move. The wife and -mother came and begged Punchirala to remove the spell. He denied all -knowledge of the matter, and in three days his brother died. The -brother's share of the chena produce was handed over to Punchirala, as -no one else was inclined to run the risk of the curse which appeared to -attach to it. - -Punchirala was about thirty-eight years old. The woman who had lived -with him had died about a year previously, and the marriage of Babun had -directed his attention towards Hinnihami. His first proposals were made -to the girl herself. He was astonished by the fury with which they were -rejected, but he was not discouraged. He watched for his opportunity; -and some days later, when Hinnihami was not there, he went to Silindu's -compound. He found Silindu sitting in the shadow of the hut. - -'I heard,' he said to him, 'that you have an ulcer in your foot. Let me -see. Aiyo! caused by a bad thorn! Here are some leaves. I brought them -with me. They will do it good.' - -Silindu had been unable to walk for some days owing to the swelling and -pain. He was very glad to show the foot to the vederala. Punchirala sat -down to examine it, and Karlinahami and Babun came out to see what was -going on. This was exactly what Punchirala wanted. He heated the leaves -by putting them in hot water, which he made Karlinahami fetch. He tied -them on with much ceremony, and then the whole party squatted down to -talk. - -'This medicine I learned from my father,' he told them. 'It is of great -power. It will draw the evil and the heat out of the foot into the -leaves, and to-morrow you will be able to walk.' - -The power of medicine and spells was a subject which never failed to -appeal to Karlinahami. - -'They say your father was a great man, and that in those days people -came to the village from all sides for his medicine.' - -'Ah, but he was a great man, and I have all my knowledge from him. Now -the Government builds hospitals, and makes people go to them, and gives -them Government medicine, which is useless. And so our work is taken -from us, and people die of these foreign medicines. But my father was a -great man. He knew of many charms: one which would bring any woman to a -man. There is a tale about that charm. In those days there lived a -Korala Mahatmaya by the sea, a big-bellied man, a great lover of women. -Down the coast, beyond his village, was a village in which only Malay -people live. The Malay women are before all others in beauty, very fair, -with eyes shaped like pomegranate seeds. They are Mohammedan people, and -no Sinhalese can approach their women; for the men are very jealous, and -also strong and fearless. They are bad men. The Korala Mahatmaya used to -go to the village on Government work, and every time he walked through -the street, and saw the women peeping at him from the doorways--and he -saw their eyes shaped like pomegranate seeds, shining beneath the cloths -which covered their heads--he was very troubled, and longed to have a -Malay woman. At last he could bear it no longer: so he lay down in his -house, and sent a message to my father to say that he was very ill, and -that he should come to him at once. Then my father went three days' -journey to the Korala's house; and, when he came there, the Korala -Mahatmaya sent all the women out of the house, and he made my father sit -down by his side, and he said to him, "Vederala, I am very ill. I cannot -sleep: I have a great desire day and night in me for a woman from the -Malay village along the coast. I can get no pleasure from my own women. -But if I be seen even talking to a Malay woman, the men of the village -would rise and beat me to death. The desire is killing me. Now you, I -know, have great skill in charms. You must make me one therefore which -will bring a Malay woman to me to a place of which I will tell you." -Then my father said, "Hamadoru! I dare not do this. For I must go and -make the charm in the compound of the girl's house. And I know these -Malay people: they are very bad men. If they catch me there, they will -kill me." But the Korala Mahatmaya said, "There is no need to fear. -There is a house at the end of the village standing somewhat apart from -the others. There lives in it a young girl, unmarried, the daughter of -Tuwan Abdid. I will take you there on a moonless night, and you will -make the charm there. And if the next night the girl comes to me, I will -give you £5."[21] Then my father thought, "If I refuse the Korala -Mahatmaya, he will be angry, and put me into trouble, and ruin me; and -if I consent to his wish I will gain £5 which is much money, and -possibly a beating from the Malay men. It is better to risk the -beating." So he agreed to make the charm on a moonless night. Then the -Korala Mahatmaya gave out that he was very ill, and that my father was -treating him. And for three days my father lived in the house, preparing -the charm. On the fourth day the Korala Mahatmaya and my father--taking -cold cooked rice with them--set out from the house, saying they were -going to my father's village for the treatment of the Korala with -medicines in my father's house. But after leaving the village they -turned aside from the path, and went secretly through the jungle to a -cave near the Malay village. The cave was hidden in thick jungle, and -they lay there through the day. When it was night and very dark they -crept out, and the Korala showed the house to my father. My father stood -in the garden of the house, and made the charm, and buried it in the -earth of the garden, and returned to the cave with the Korala Mahatmaya. -All through the next day they lay in the cave, and ate only the cold -rice, and the Korala Mahatmaya talked much of the Malay women, and their -eyes, which were shaped like pomegranate seeds. And in the evening, at -the time when the women go to draw water, the girl came to the cave, and -the Korala Mahatmaya enjoyed her. Then he sent her away, and he called -my father who was sitting outside in the jungle, and told him that the -girl was cross-eyed and ugly, and not worth £5, but at the most ten -rupees. He gave my father ten rupees, and told him he would give the -other forty some other time--but the money was never paid. Next day they -went back to the Korala's house, and told a tale how the Korala -Mahatmaya had got well on the way to my father's village, and so they -had returned at once. But the girl had seen the Korala Mahatmaya in the -village, and she recognised his black face and big belly, and she told -her mother how she had been charmed to go to the cave. The mother told -the Malay men, and they were very angry. Next time that the Korala -Mahatmaya went to their village, they set upon him, and beat him with -clubs and sticks until he nearly died. Then they put him in a -bullock-cart, and tied his hands together above his head to the hood of -the cart, and took him twelve miles into Kamburupitiya, to the Agent -Hamadoru, and said that they had caught the Korala Mahatmaya with a bag -on his back stealing salt. And there was a great case, and the -magistrate Hamadoru believed the story of the Korala Mahatmaya, who had -many witnesses to show that on the very day on which the girl said she -had gone to the cave they had seen him on the road to my father's -village. So the Malay men all were sent to prison; but my father got a -great name; for all the country, except the magistrate Hamadoru, knew of -the charm by which he had brought the girl to the fat Korala Mahatmaya -in the cave.' - -'Did your father teach you the making of the charm?' asked Karlinahami. - -'Am I not a vederala and the son of a vederala? The learning of the -father is handed down to the son.' - -'Yes, I remember hearing my mother speak of him: there was no one in the -district, she said, so skilled in charms and medicines as your father.' - -'Yes, he knew many things which other vederalas know nothing of. He had -a charm by which devils are charmed to become the servants of the -charmer. He learnt it from a man of Sinhala,[22] who lived long ago in -the neighbouring village. This man was called Tikiri Banda, and he -wanted to marry the daughter of the headman. The headman refused to give -her, and Tikiri Banda being very angry put a charm upon a devil which -lived in a banian-tree. And the devil took a snake in his hand and -touched the headman with it on the back as he passed under the tree in -the dusk, and the headman's back was bent into a bow for the rest of his -days.' - -'Was that the village called Bogama?' asked Silindu, who had listened -with interest. 'Where the nuga-trees[23] now stand in the jungle to the -south? The last house was abandoned when I was a boy, but the devil -still dances beneath the nuga-trees.' - -'Yes, it was Bogama. It was a village like this in my father's time, and -in your father's time. I can myself remember houses there near the -nuga-trees.' - -'Of course,' said Karlinahami. 'Podi Sinho's wife Angohami came from -there. Aiyo! when the jungle comes in, how things are forgotten!' - -'Well, well,' said the vederala, 'the devils still dance under the -trees, though the men have gone. The chena crops were bad, and every -year the fever came; it is the same now in this village. The old -medicines of the vederalas are no longer used, but people go to the -towns and hospitals for these foreign medicines. But they die very -quickly, and where there was a village there are only trees and devils!' - -The little group was silent for a while; nothing could be heard but the -sigh of the wind among the trees for miles around them. Then the -vederala began to speak again: - -'Yes, that was a wonderful charm. The headman walked bow-backed for the -rest of his life because he would not give the girl. Aiyo! it is always -the women who bring trouble to us men, and yet what can a man do? A man -without a wife, they say, is only half a man. There is no comfort in a -house where there is no woman to cook the meal.' - -'There is no need to use your charm, vederala,' said Karlinahami, 'if -you want one for yourself.' - -'There is only one unmarried woman in the village now,' said the -vederala, 'and she is Silindu's daughter.' - -An uncomfortable silence fell upon the listeners. Karlinahami and Babun -looked at Silindu, who remained silent, his eyes fixed upon the ground. -The vederala's intentions were very clear, and the point of his previous -stories very obvious now. Punchirala turned to Karlinahami: - -'I was thinking but yesterday that it is time that the girl was given in -marriage. Babun here has taken her twin sister, and it is wrong that a -woman should live alone.' - -'It is not for me to give the girl. She is her father's daughter.' - -Silindu's face showed his distress. The vederala was a dangerous man to -offend, but too much was being asked of him. He began in a low voice: - -'The girl is too young; she has not flowered yet.' - -Punchirala laughed. - -'Did you bring the girl up or only filth, as the saying is? They are -called twins, but the one has been married a year and the other has not -flowered yet!' - -'Vederala! I would give the girl, but she is unwilling. She told me last -night that you had spoken to her. She is of the jungle, wild, not fit -for your house. She was very frightened and angry.' - -For a moment Punchirala was disconcerted that his rebuff was known. But -anger came to his rescue. - -'Am I to ask the girl then when I want a wife? Can the father not give -his child? So the child is angry, and the father obeys! Ohé! strange -customs spring up! You are a fool, Silindu. If you tell the child to -obey, there is no more to be said.' - -'The girl is a wild thing, I tell you. I cannot give her against her -will.' - -The vederala got up. He smiled at Silindu, who watched him anxiously. - -'You will not give the girl, Silindu?' - -'I cannot, I cannot.' - -'You will not give her? Remember the man of Sinhala, who taught my -father.' - -'Aiyo! how can I do this?' - -'And the headman of Bogama, and the devil that still dances beneath the -trees.' - -Silindu's face worked with excitement. - -'Ask anything else of me, vederala. I cannot do this, I cannot do -this.' - -Punchirala walked away. The others watched him in silence. When he got -to the fence of the compound, he turned round and smiled at them again. - -'And don't forget,' he called out, 'to tell the girl about the Malay -girl who came to the Korala Mahatmaya in the cave. A black-faced man and -big-bellied, but she came, she came. I am an ugly man, and the bear's -claws have made me uglier; a poor bed-fellow for a girl! And so was he, -black as a Tamil, and a great belly swaying as he walked. But she came -to the cave, to the calling of my father's charm. Oh yes, she came, she -came.' - -Punchirala walked away chuckling. Silindu was trembling with excitement -and fear. Karlinahami burst out into a wail of despair. - -'Aiyo! what will become of us, brother? He is a bad man, a bad man; very -cunning and clever. There is no protection against his charms. He will -bring evil and disease upon the house: he will make devils enter us. -What have you done? What have you done? Aiyo!' - -Babun was not as excited as the other two, but he was very serious. - -'It would perhaps have been better to give him the girl,' he said. 'The -man is not a bad man if you do not cross him, and the girl is of age to -marry. Even the bravest man does not go down the path where a devil -lives.' - -'Only the fool struggles against the stronger,' said Karlinahami. 'What -the vederala says is medicine, is medicine. It is not too late, brother, -to undo the evil. To whom else in the village can you give the girl?' - -Silindu turned upon them in his anger and fear: - -'Have you too joined to plague me? Evils come upon a man: it is fate. -What can I do? The girl is unwilling: am I to throw away the kurakkan -when the rice is already stolen? Am I to help the thief to plunder my -house? I am a poor man, and the evil has come upon me; I can do nothing -against it. His devils will enter me, and I shall waste away. But as for -the child, what else is left to me? I will not force her to go to this -son of a----. Go into the house, woman, and cry there; and you, Babun, -is it not enough that you have stolen from me one child that now you -should join with this dog to steal the other from me?' - -The other two were frightened by this outburst of Silindu; they saw that -to argue with him would only increase his excitement. They left him. He -remained squatting in the compound, and as his anger died down fear -possessed him utterly. He had no doubt of the powers of Punchirala over -him: he knew that he had delivered himself into his power, and the power -of the devils that surrounded him. He had no thought of resistance in -such a case. The terrible sense of a blank wall of fate, against which a -man may hurl himself in vain, was upon him. He sat terrified and crushed -by the inevitableness of the evil which must be. When Hinnihami -returned, he told her what had happened, and she shared in his terror -and despair. - -The charms of the vederala did not take long to act upon Silindu. He -felt that he was a doomed man, and his mind could think of nothing but -the impending evil. The banian-trees of the ruined village of Bogama -obsessed his mind: he knew that ruin waited for him there, and yet a -horrible desire to see them was always present with him. He could no -longer remain in the hut or compound: he wandered through the jungle, -fighting against the pull of the desire: his wanderings became a circle, -of which the banian-trees were the centre. He tried to go back to his -hut, where he felt that there was safety for him, and found himself -walking in the opposite direction. Darkness began to settle over the -jungle, and the life, which awakes only in its darkness, began to stir. -Voices mocked him from the canopy of leaves above him; dim forms moved -among the shadows of the trees. Suddenly a blind terror came upon him, -and he began to run through the dense jungle. The boughs of the trees -lashed him as he ran down the narrow tracks; the thorns tore him like -spurs. He lost all sense of direction; vague shapes seemed to follow him -in the darkness; enormous forms broke away from the track before him, to -crash away among the undergrowth and trees. The throbbing of his heart -and throat became unendurable, but still his one idea was to run. As he -ran the jungle suddenly became thinner; the thorny undergrowth had given -way to more open spaces. Even here it was very dark. He stumbled against -the knotted root of a tree; a long, straight, swinging bough struck him -in the face; a wild, derisive yell came from above. The blood seemed to -rise and drown his eyes: he felt about vaguely with his hands. He -recognised the root-like, stringy trunks of the banian-trees: he heard -the cry ring out above his head, and he fell huddled together among the -roots of the trees. - -Silindu did not hear again the cry of the devil-bird from the tree-tops. -He lay unconscious throughout the night. When dawn broke he came to -himself stiff and cold. He dragged himself slowly to the hut. There was -no necessity to tell the others what had happened. The pale yellow of -his skin, his sunken glazed eyes, his shivering body told them that -Punchirala's charms had already begun their work, and his devils had -already entered Silindu. He lay down on a mat within the hut to wait for -the slow sapping of his life by the spell. - -For the next two days Silindu lay in the hut, very slowly letting go his -hold of life. A kind of coma was upon him, as he felt life gradually -slipping from his body. From time to time the women began a shrill wail -in the compound. Babun went to expostulate with Punchirala; but the -vederala, after listening with a malignant smile, replied that he knew -nothing, and could do nothing, in the matter. Babun returned to lounge -moodily about the compound. - -On the second day Karlinahami determined in despair to go herself to the -vederala. She found him sitting in his compound. - -'You have come about your brother, no doubt. But I can do nothing; I'm -only a poor vederala. There is the Government hospital in Kamburupitiya, -and a Mahatmaya in trousers, a drinker of arrack, a clever man; he will -give you Government medicines free of charge--just a fanam or two for -the peon who stands by the door. You should take your brother there. It -is only three days' journey.' - -'Vederala! my brother lies in the hut dying. He has covered his head -with his cloth, and he will neither eat nor speak. Life is slipping from -him.' - -'The doctor Mahatmaya will say it is the fever. He will give you a -bottle of fever mixture--free of charge. A clever man, the doctor -Mahatmaya. Yes, you should take him to the hospital and get the -medicine--free of charge. It is a good medicine, though unpleasant to -the taste, they tell me.' - -'Aiyo! what is the good of going to the hospital? Why do you talk like -that, vederala? You are laughing at me. We know that it is the devils -that have entered my brother, and that you alone have power to save -him.' - -'Devils! what do I know of devils? No, they tell me the doctor Mahatmaya -keeps no medicine in the hospital against devils. 'The Government says -there are no devils. Surely it is fever, or fire-fever,[24] or -dysentery. It is for these that they give Government medicine. No, it is -no good going to the hospital for devils.' - -'Vederala! I have brought you kurakkan here; it is all I have. And I -will talk to the girl for you, yes, and to my brother if he gets well. -But take the spell from him, vederala; take the spell from him, I pray -you.' - -'I know nothing of spells. I am a poor village vederala with a little -knowledge of roots and leaves and fruits, which my father taught me.' - -'Vederala, you yourself told us of the charms and spells. Your skill is -known. Charm the devil to leave my brother. He meant no harm; he is a -strange man--you know that, vederala. He never meant to injure you. The -girl will come to you, I will see to that--only take the spell from my -brother.' - -Punchirala sat and looked at Karlinahami, smiling, for a little while. -Then he said, 'Is the woman mad too? What do I know of charms and -spells? I can work no charm on your brother. But I have some little -knowledge of devils--my father taught me. Well, well, let me think now. -If a devil has entered the man, and is slowly taking his life from him, -perhaps there is a way. Let me think. Do you know the village of -Beragama?' - -'No, vederala, no. I have heard of it, but I do not know it.' - -'Well, it lies over there to the east, five days' journey through the -jungle, beyond Maha Potana and the River of Jewels. Do you think you -could take your brother there?' - -'Yes, vederala, we could go there.' - -'There is a great temple there, and the great Beragama deviyo[25] lives -in it. He is a Tamil god, so they say; but Sinhalese kapuralas[26] serve -him in the temple. My father used to say that he is a very great god. -His power is over the jungle, and the devils who live in it. The devils -of the trees obey him, for his anger is terrible. If a devil has entered -a man, and is harming him, and taking his life from him, the man should -make a vow to the god, so my father used to say. Then he should go to -the temple at Beragama at the time of the great festival, and roll in -the dust round the temple three times every day, and call upon the god -in a loud voice to free him from the devil. And perhaps, if he call loud -enough, the god will hear him and order the devil to leave him. Then the -devil will be afraid of the god's power, and will leave the man, who -will be freed from the evil. Now the great festival falls on the day of -the next full moon. Perhaps if your brother makes a vow to the Beragama -deviyo, and goes to the great festival, the devil will be driven out by -the god. You and the girl might take him there; and perhaps I will go -too, for I have made a vow myself.' - -Karlinahami fell at the vederala's feet, salaaming and whimpering -blessings on him. Then she hurried home. It took a long time to make -Silindu understand that there was hope for him. At first he would not -listen to their entreaties and exhortations. At last, when he was -prevailed upon to believe that it was Punchirala himself who had -suggested the remedy, some spirit to fight for life seemed to creep into -him. He took some food for the first time, and sat listening to the -plans for the pilgrimage. It was decided that they should start on the -next day, and that Babun should accompany them. - -The next day the pilgrims set out on a journey which, with the enfeebled -Silindu, would they knew take them at least six days. Their road the -whole way led them through thick jungle; villages were few, and what -there were consisted only of a few squalid huts. The only village of any -size through which they were to pass was Maha Potana, an agricultural -village, one day's journey from Beragama, which had sprung up around a -vast tank restored by Government. They carried their food with them, and -slept at night on the bare earth under bushes or trees. Every day they -trudged, straggling along in single file, from seven to eleven in the -morning, and from three to six in the evening. Silindu was dazed and -weak, and often had to be helped along by Babun. The women carried large -bundles of food and chatties,[27] wrapped up in cloths, upon their -heads. It was the hottest time of the year, when the jungle is withered -with drought, the grass has died down, the earth is caked and cracked -with heat; the trees along the paths and road are white with dust. The -pools had dried up, and the little streams were now mere channels of -gleaming sand. Often they had to go all day without finding a pool or a -well with water in it. For twelve hours every day the sun beat down upon -them fiercely; the quivering heat from the white roads beat up into -their faces and eyes; the wind swept them with its burning gusts and -eddies of dust. Their feet were torn by the thorns, and swollen and -blistered by the hot roads. As Hinnihami followed hour after hour along -the white track, which for ever coiled out before her into the walls of -dusty trees, the old song, which Karlinahami had sung to them when they -were children, continually was in her mind, and she sang as she walked: - -'Our women's feet are weary, but the day Must end somewhere for the -followers in the way.' - - -Two days' journey from Beddagama they joined a larger and more -frequented track. Here they continually met little bands of pilgrims -bound for the same destination as themselves. The majority of them were -Tamils, Hindus from India, from the tea estates, and from the north and -east of the island; strange-looking men, such as Hinnihami had never -seen before; very dark, with bodies naked to the waist; with lines of -white and red paint on their shoulders, their foreheads smeared with -ashes, and the mark of God's eye between their eyebrows. They wore -clothes of fine white cotton, caught up between the legs, and they -carried brass bowls and brass tongs. Their women, heavy and -sullen-looking, followed, carrying bundles and children. - -There were, however, also little bands of Buddhists, Sinhalese like -themselves, and to one of these bands they attached themselves. Four of -them were a family from a village only twenty miles north of Beddagama, -and jungle people like themselves. They were taking a blind child to see -whether, if they called upon the god, he would hear them and give him -sight. There were a fisher and his wife from the coast; they were -childless, and the woman had vowed to go to the festival and touch the -heel of the kapurala, in order that the god might remove from her the -curse of barrenness. Last, there was an old man, a trader from a large -and distant village of another district; he wore immense spectacles, and -all day long he walked reading or chanting from a large Sinhalese -religious book, which he carried open in his hand. The rest of the party -did not understand a word of what he read, but they felt that he was -acquiring merit, and that they would share a little of it. He had been -brought up in a Buddhist temple, and at night after the evening-meal he -gathered the little party round him and preached to them, or read to -them, by the light of the camp-fire, how they should live in order to -acquire merit in this life. And at the appropriate places they all cried -out together, 'Sadhu! sadhu!' or he made them all repeat together aloud -the sil or rules; and as their voices rose and fell in the stillness of -the night air, Karlinahami's face shone with ecstasy, and a sense of -well-being and quiet, strange to her, stole over Hinnihami. Even in -Silindu there came a change; he joined in the chant: - - -'Búddhun sáranam gáchchamÃ,' - - -with which they began and ended the day; he became less hopeless and -sullen, and the look of fear began to leave his eyes. In the evenings, -when the air grew cool and gentle after the pitiless heat and wind of -the day; as they sat around the fire by the roadside; and the great -trees rose black behind them into the night; and the stars blazed above -them between the leaves; and up and down the road twinkled the fires of -other pilgrims, and the air was sweet with the smell of the burning wood -and the hum of voices; and the vast stillness of the jungle folded them -round on every side; and they listened to the strange words, but half -understood, of the Lord Buddha, and how he attained to Nirvana;--then -the sufferings of the day were forgotten, and a feeling stole over them -of peace and holiness and merit acquired. - -And one evening, at Babun's suggestion, Karlinahami told them a story -which had always been a favourite with the village women. At first the -old man with the book and spectacles showed signs of being offended at -this usurpation; but he was soothed by their saying that they did not -want to tire him, and by their asking him to read to them again after -the story was finished. In the end he was an absorbed listener as -Karlinahami told the following story:[28] - -'The Lord Buddha, in one of his previous lives, met a young girl -carrying kunji[29] to her father, who was ploughing in the field. And -when he saw her he thought, "The maiden is fair. If she is unmarried she -would make me a fit wife." And she thought when she saw him, "If such a -one took me to wife, I would bring fortune to my family." And he said to -her, "What is your name?" Her name was Amara Devi, which means -"undying," so she replied, "Sir, my name is that which never was, is, -nor will be in this world. Nothing," he said, "born in this world is -undying. Is your name Amara?" She answered, "Yes, sir." Then the Buddha -said, "To whom are you taking the kunji? To the first god. You are -taking it to your father? Yes, sir. What is your father doing? He makes -one into two. To make one into two is to plough. Where is your father -ploughing? He ploughs in that place from which no man returns. No man -returns from the grave. Is he ploughing near the burial-ground? Yes, -sir." Then Amara Devi offered the Buddha kunji to drink, and he accepted -it, and he thought to himself, "If the maiden gives me the kunji without -first washing the pot, I will leave her at once." But Amara Devi washed -the pot first, and then gave the kunji. The Buddha drank the kunji, and -said, "Friend, where is your house that I may go to it?" And Amara Devi -answered, "Go by this path until you come to a boutique where they sell -balls of rice and sugar; go on until you come to another where they sell -kunji. From there you will see a flamboyant-tree in full blossom. At -that tree take the path towards the hand with which you eat rice.[30] -That is the way to my father's house." And the Buddha went as Amara Devi -had directed him, and found the house, and went in. Amara Devi's mother -was in the house, and she welcomed the Buddha, and made him sit down. -And he, seeing the poverty of the house, said, "Mother, I am a tailor. -Have you anything for me to sew?" And she said, "Son, there are clothes -and pillows to mend, but I have no money to pay for the mending." Then -he replied, "There is no need of money; bring them for me to mend." So -the Lord Buddha sat and mended the torn clothes and pillows; and in the -evening Amara Devi came back from the fields carrying a bundle of -firewood on her head, and a sheaf of jungle leaves in the folds of her -cloth. And Buddha lived in the house some days in order to learn the -behaviour of the girl. At the end of three days he gave her half a -seer[31] of rice, and said, "Amara Devi, cook for me kunji, boiled rice, -and cakes." She never thought to say, "How can I cook so much out of -half a seer of rice?" but was ready to do as she was told. She cleaned -the rice, boiled the whole grains, made kunji from the broken grains, -and cakes from the dust. She offered the kunji to the Buddha, and he -took a mouthful and tasted the delight of its sweetness, but to try her -he spat it out on the ground, and said, "Friend, since you do not know -how to cook, why do you waste my rice?" Amara Devi took no offence, but -offered him the cakes, saying, "Friend, if the kunji does not please -you, will you eat of the cakes?" And the Buddha did the same with the -cakes. Then Amara Devi offered him the rice, and again he spat out the -rice, and pretended to be very angry, and smeared the food upon her head -and body, and made her stand in the sun before the door. The girl showed -no anger, but went out and stood in the sun. Then the Buddha said, -"Amara Devi, friend, come here," and she came to him, and he took her as -his wife, and lived with her in the city in the gatekeeper's house. And -she still thought he was a tailor, and one day he sent two men to her -with a thousand gold pieces to try her. The men took the gold pieces, -and with them tempted her, but she said, "These thousand gold pieces are -unworthy to wash my husband's feet." And three times she was tempted, -and at last he told them to bring her to him by force. So they brought -her to him by force, and when she came into his presence she did not -know him, for he sat in state in his robes, but she smiled and wept when -she looked at him. The Buddha asked her why she smiled and wept, and she -said, "Lord, I smiled with joy to see your divine splendour and the -merit acquired by you in innumerable births; but when I thought that in -this birth you might by some evil act, such as this, by seducing -another's wife, earn the pains of death, I wept for love of you." Then -the Buddha sent her back to the house of the gatekeeper, and he told the -king and queen that he had found a princess for his wife. And the queen -gave jewels and gold ornaments to Amara Devi, and she was taken in a -great chariot to the house of the Buddha, and from that day she lived -happily with him as his wife.' - -The other pilgrims, except the fisher, who had fallen asleep, were -delighted with Karlinahami's story, and they wanted her to tell them -another. But she was afraid to offend the old man again, so she refused. -The old man read to them a while, and gradually, one after the other, -they dropped off to sleep. And in the morning they started off again -down the long white road; and at midday, when they were hot and -footsore, the wall of jungle before them parted suddenly, and they came -out into a great fertile plain. The green rice-fields stretched out -before them, dotted over with watch-huts and clumps of cocoanut-trees -and red-roofed houses, and the immense white domes of dagobas gleaming -in the sun. Beyond shone the pleasant sheet of water through which the -jungle had yielded the smiling plain; the dead trees still stood up -gaunt and black from its surface; great white birds sat upon the black -branches, or flapped lazily over the water with wild, hoarse cries; its -bosom was starred and dappled with pink lotus-flowers. And beyond again -lay the long dark stretch of jungle, out of which, far away to the -north, towered into the fiery sky the line of dim blue hills. It was the -tank and village of Maha Potana; and when the weary band of pilgrims -suddenly saw the monotony of the trees and of the parched jungle give -place to the water, and the green fields, and the white dagobas, the -shrines built by kings long ago to hold the relics of the Lord Buddha, -they raised their hands, salaaming, and cried aloud, 'Sadhu! Sadhu!'[32] - -They picked lotus-flowers, and went to the great dagoba, which is called -after an ancient king, and laid the flowers upon the shrine as an -offering, and walked three times around, crying, 'Sadhu! Sadhu!' and -thus acquired merit. Then they went into the bazaar which was crowded -with pilgrims, Hindus and Buddhists, and Indian fakirs and Moormen. -Innumerable bullock-carts stood on the road and paths and open spaces, -and the air rang with the bells of the bulls, which lazily fed upon the -great bundles of straw tied to the carts. - -And the old man, who had noted the poverty of Silindu and his family, -bought them rice and curry and plantains. So they sat under the shade of -a great bo-tree, and ate a meal such as Hinnihami had never eaten -before. Her eyes wandered vacantly from thing to thing; she was dazed by -the crowd perpetually wandering to and fro, by the confused din of -talking people, of coughing cattle, and jangling bells. In the evening -they went to another dagoba, and then returned to the bo-tree and -lighted their fire. All about them were other little fires, around which -sat groups, like themselves, of pilgrims eating the evening meal. They -ate rice again and cakes, and Hinnihami grew heavy with sleepiness. A -great peace came upon her as she heard Karlinahami tell of how she had -before come on pilgrimage to the great Buddhist festival at Maha Potana, -when the crowds were tens of thousands more. And the old man told of a -pilgrimage to the sacred city of Anuradhapura on the great poya day, -when hundreds of thousands acquire merit by encircling the shrine; and -the merit to be acquired by climbing Adam's Peak, or by visiting the -ruined shrines of Situlpahuwa, which the jungle has covered, so that the -bears and leopards have made their lairs in the great caves by the side -of Buddhas, who lie carved out of rock. The air was heavy with the smell -of cooking and the pungent smell of the burning wood; the voice of the -old man seemed to come from very far away. She covered her head with a -cloth and lay down on the bare ground. For the first time the bareness -and fear and wildness of life had fallen from her; she fell asleep in -the peace of well-being, and the merit which she had acquired. - -Next morning, to the regret of all, they had to leave the pleasant -village and resting-place of Maha Potana, and face again the suffering -and weariness of the jungle. For two days their path led them through -low thorny jungle, where there was little shelter from the sun. The -track became stony and rocky; great boulders of grey lichen-covered rock -were strewn among the thick undergrowth; at intervals could be seen -enormous rocks towering above the trees. In the afternoon of the first -day they caught their first glimpse of the sacred Beragama hill, which -rises into three rounded peaks above the village and temple. Next day, -towards evening, they had reached the high forest, which, starting from -its foot, clothed the hill almost to its peaks. - -Then, once again, the jungle parted suddenly, and they stood upon the -bank of a great stream. The banks were deep, and enormous trees, kumbuk -with its peeling bark and the wild fig-tree, shaded them. The season of -drought had narrowed the stream of water, so that it flowed shallow in -the centre of the channel, leaving on either side a great stretch of -white sand. Up and down stream were innumerable pilgrims, washing from -them in the sacred waters the dust of the journey, and the impurities of -life, before they entered the village. They followed the example of the -other pilgrims, and performed the required ablutions; after which they -put on clean white clothes, and climbed a path on the opposite bank -which led them into the village. - -They found themselves in a long, very broad street, on each side of -which were boutiques and houses and large buildings--resting-places for -the pilgrims. The street was thronged with pilgrims, idling, buying -provisions, hurrying to the temple. It was near the time for the -procession to start from the temple. The festival lasted fourteen days, -and every night the god was taken in procession through the village: it -culminated in the great procession of the fourteenth night, which falls -when the moon is full; and in the ceremony of the following morning, -when the kapurala goes down, accompanied by all the pilgrims, into the -bed of the river, and 'cuts the waters' with a golden knife. Silindu and -his party arrived in Beragama on the ninth day of the festival, so that -they would remain six days in the village, and take part in six -processions. - -At either end of the broad straight street stood temples. The one at the -north end belonged to the Beragama deviyo: the temple or dewala itself -was a small, squat, oblong building, above which at one end rose the -customary dome-like erection of Hindu temples, on which are -fantastically carved the images of gods. Around the temple was an -enormous courtyard enclosed by red walls of roughly-baked bricks. Just -outside the wall of the courtyard on the east side was another and a -smaller temple belonging to the god's lawful wife. At the southern end -of the street stood another temple: it was a square, dirty white -building without a courtyard, but surrounded on all sides by a verandah, -in which, among a litter of broken furniture and odds and ends, lounged -and squatted and slept a large number of pilgrims. The only entrance to -the shrine itself was through a doorway in the front, which was screened -by a large curtain ornamented crudely with the figures of gods and -goddesses. No one was allowed to enter behind this curtain except the -kapuralas, for the temple belonged to the mistress of the Beragama -deviyo. - -The solemnity of the pilgrimage was intensified in the minds of Silindu -and Karlinahami and the other pilgrims, who were villagers like -themselves, by the mystery which surrounds the god. On the road and -around the fires at night, in the streets of the village, and in the -very courtyard of the temple, they listened to the tales and legends; -and believing them all without hesitation or speculation they felt, -through their strangeness, far more than they had ever felt with the -Buddha of dagobas and vihares, that this god was very near their own -lives. - -Who was he, this Tamil god, living in the wilderness, whom the Tamils -said was Kandeswami, the great Hindu god? These Buddhist villagers felt -that they could understand him; he was so near to the devils of the -trees and jungles whom they knew so well. He had once lived upon the -centre of the three peaks of the great hill, ruling over the unbroken -forest which stretched below him, tossing and waving north to the -mountains, and south to the sea. That was why every night throughout the -festival a fire blazed from the peak. But one day, as he sat among the -bare rocks upon the top of the hill and looked down upon the winding -river and the trees which cooled its banks, the wish came to him to go -down and live in the plain beyond the river. Even in those days he was a -Tamil god, so he called to a band of Tamils who were passing, and asked -them to carry him down across the river. The Tamils answered, 'Lord, we -are poor men, and have travelled far on our way to collect salt in the -lagoons by the seashore. If we stop now, the rain may come and destroy -the salt, and our journey will have been for nothing. We will go on, -therefore, and on our way back we will carry you down, and place you on -the other side of the river, as you desire.' The Tamils went on their -way, and the god was angry at the slight put upon him. Shortly -afterwards a band of Sinhalese came by: they also were on their way to -collect salt in the lagoons. Then the god called to the Sinhalese, and -asked them to carry him down across the river. The Sinhalese climbed the -hill, and carried the god down, and bore him across the river, and -placed him upon its banks under the shadow of the trees, where now -stands his great temple. Then the god swore that he would no longer be -served by Tamils in his temple, and that he would only have Sinhalese to -perform his ceremonies; and that is why to this day, though the god is a -Tamil god, and the temple a Hindu temple, the kapuralas are all -Buddhists and Sinhalese. - -The god, therefore, is of the jungle; a great devil, beneficent when -approached in the right manner and season, whose power lies for miles -upon the desolate jungle surrounding his temple and hill. A power to -swear by, for he will punish for the oath sworn falsely by his hill; a -power who will listen to the vow of the sick or of the barren woman; a -power who can aid us against the devils which perpetually beset us.[33] - -It was in this way that the pilgrims regarded the god, and they chose -well the time of his festival to approach him. For the god loved a hind, -and had made her his mistress, and had placed her in the temple which -stood at the southern end of his street. On each of the fourteen nights -of his festival the kapuralas entered his shrine, and covering the god -in a great black cloth, so that no one should look upon him, carried him -out, and placed him upon the back of an elephant. Then the pilgrims -called upon the name of the god, and with bowls of blazing camphor upon -their heads followed him in procession to his mistress's temple. There -the kapuralas, blindfolded, took the god, hidden by the cloth, from the -elephant, and carried him up the steps of the temple. Again, the -pilgrims shouted the god's name, and women pressed forward to touch the -kapurala as he passed, for in this way they escape the curse of -barrenness. The kapurala carried the god to his mistress, and then -retired. Amid the roar of tomtoms, the jangling of bells, the flaring of -great lights, and the passionate shouts of the people, the pilgrims -prostrated themselves. Then the kapurala, still blindfolded, again -slipped behind the curtain into the shrine, and brought out the god and -placed him upon the elephant, and the procession followed him back to -his own temple. - -Silindu and the others reached the village in the evening, only a little -while before the procession started. They therefore made their way at -once to the great temple, and took their stand among the pilgrims who -crowded the courtyard. They had eaten nothing since the midday meal; -they were hungry and dizzy after the long days upon the road. Silindu -seemed too dazed and weak to take much notice of what was taking place -about him, and he had to be helped along by Babun. Karlinahami was awed -and devout: an old pilgrim, she knew the demeanour required of her. - -The effect upon Hinnihami was different. Tired and hungry though she -was, even the great crowd in the courtyard excited her. As each new -pilgrim arrived he called aloud upon the god; and the whole crowd took -up the cry, which rose and fell around the shrine. She who had before -never seen more than forty or fifty people in her life felt the weight -and breath of thousands that jostled and pressed her. Her heart beat as, -under the flare of the torches, hundreds of arms were raised in -supplication, and to the crash of the tomtoms the name of the god -thundered through the air. The tears came into her eyes and ran down her -cheeks as time after time the roll of the many voices surged about her; -and when at last the great moment came, and the kapurala appeared -carrying the god under the black cloth, and over the sea of arms the -elephant lifted up its trunk and trumpeted as the god was placed upon -its back, she stretched out her hands and cried to, the god to hear her. - -They followed in the rear of the procession, where men roll over and -over in the dust, and childless women touch the ground with their -forehead between every step, in fulfilment of their vows. - -Silindu, with drawn face and vacant eyes, dragged himself along, leaning -on Babun: Karlinahami, devout and stolid, raised the ceremonial cry at -the due stopping-places. But Hinnihami felt the power of the god in her -and over them all: she felt how near he was to them, mysteriously hidden -beneath the great cloth which lay upon the elephant's back. She felt -again the awe which great trees in darkness and the shadows of the -jungle at nightfall roused in her, the mystery of darkness and power, -which no one can see. And again and again as the procession halted, and -the cry of the multitude rolled back to them, her breath was caught by -sobs, and again she lifted her hands to the god and called upon his -name. She formulated no prayer to him, she spoke no words of -supplication: only in excitement and exaltation of entreaty she cried -out the name of the god. - -They were too tired that night to go into the shrine of the big temple -after the procession and see the ceremony there. They had lost sight of -the old man in the crowd, so that they had to make their meal off a -little food that they carried with them. Then, worn out by the journey -and excitement, they lay down on the bare ground in the courtyard of the -temple. - -Next morning Silindu was no better. He seemed weaker and more lifeless: -it was clear that the devil had not yet left him. Babun remained with -him, while Karlinahami and Hinnihami went down to the river to bathe. -The excitement of the previous evening had not died out of the girl, and -there was much going on around her to keep it up. The village was a -small one, and really consisted of little more than the one street of -thirty or forty houses, which were roofed with red tiles and had brown -walls of mud. Most of the houses were turned into boutiques during the -pilgrimage, and the inhabitants prospered by selling provisions to the -pilgrims. When Karlinahami and Hinnihami returned from the river, -hundreds filled the street, lounging, strolling, gossiping, and -purchasing. Every now and then the crowd would gather more thickly in -one quarter, and they would see a pilgrim arrive performing some strange -vow. There were some who had run a skewer through their tongue and -cheeks; another had thrust, through the skin of his back a long stick -from which hung bowls of milk. At another time they saw a man, naked -except for a dirty loin cloth, his long hair hanging about his face, and -a great halo of flowers and branches upon his head; thirty or forty -great iron hooks had been put through the skin of his back; to every -hook was attached a long cord, and all the cords had been twisted into a -rope. Another man held the rope, while the first, bearing with his full -weight upon it so that the skin of his back was drawn away from his -body, danced around in a circle and shouted and sang. - -As Karlinahami and Hinnihami were making their way slowly through the -crowd, they suddenly heard a soft voice behind them say: - -'Well, mother, has not the hospital cured your brother of his fever?' -They turned and saw the smiling face and winking eye of the vederala. -Hinnihami shrank away from him behind Karlinahami. - -'Vederala,' said Karlinahami, 'I must speak with you. Come away from all -these people.' - -They pushed through the crowd, and going down a narrow opening between -two boutiques found themselves in the strip of quiet forest upon the -bank of the river. The vederala squatted down under a tree and began to -chew betel. Karlinahami squatted down opposite to him, and Hinnihami -tried to hide herself behind her from the eye of the vederala, which -seemed to her maliciously to wink at her. - -Punchirala leaned round and peered at the girl. - -'Well, daughter,' he said, ironically emphasising the word 'daughter, -what have you come to the god for? Have you touched the kapurala's foot -and prayed for a child? Truly they say he is the god of the barren wife. -Chi, chi, she covers her face with her hands. Is the man dead then? What -has the widow to do in Beragama? Ohé! now, see. She has come to the god -for clothing and food,[34] as they say. May the god give her a man, -young and fair and strong, a prince with cattle and land. For the girl -is fair, even I, the one-eyed old man, can see that--and the god is a -great god.' - -'Don't talk this nonsense, vederala,' broke in Karlinahami impatiently. -'You shame the girl and frighten her. The god is a great god, we know -that, and as you told me we brought my brother here. Aiyo! the long road -and the hot sun. We are burnt as black as Tamils, and look at our feet. -On the road the strong and healthy fall sick, and the sick, man grows -weaker. Have you sent my brother here to kill him? He lies now in the -temple with no strength in him. Last night we took him in the -perahera,[35] and called upon the god to hear us. I pray you, -vederala--you are a wise man, and renowned for your knowledge--tell me -what wrong have we done. The devil remains; the god has not heard us, -nor driven him out.' - -'Be patient, mother. This fever is a hard thing to cure. Did I not tell -you that even in the hospital there is no medicine against it? And it is -hard for a man to find the lucky hour. The gecko[36] calls, and the man -starts from the house: the man does not hear the sign; he is saying, -"You there bring that along!" and, "You here, where is the bundle with -the kurakkan?" So he starts on the journey in an unlucky hour.' - -'We heard no gecko, nor any other bad sign. But we had to start quickly, -for the time was short. We had no time to consult an astrologer to find -the lucky hour.' - -'Yes, perhaps that is it. And it is no easy matter, as I told you, to -find a cure for these--fevers.' - -'But, vederala, what are we to do now? The man's strength goes from him. -Even to take him back the long way to the village will be difficult.' - -'Patience, mother, patience. You must call louder to the god nightly -until the moon is full. Perhaps even now the devil--the fever--is -fighting against him.' - -'Aiyo! what help for the cultivator when the flies have sucked the -strength from the paddy? He sowed in an unlucky hour, and not even the -god can help him. Pity us, vederala. Will you not come with us and look -at my brother now?' - -'Why should I see your brother?' said the vederala angrily. 'What good -can I do? Did I not tell you, woman, that I cannot cure your brother's -fever? Where the god fails, can the man succeed? O the minds of these -women! They say in the village'--here he looked round and smiled at -Hinnihami--'that even the little one is like an untamed buffalo cow.' - -'Do not be angry with me, vederala. You are the only help left for us. -We are weary with walking, and in grief. How can the women of the house -not raise the cry when the brother and father lies dying within? If I -have spoken foolishly, pardon my words.' - -Punchirala sat silently looking at Hinnihami. The girl was crying. The -memory of the great god, whom she had seen go riding by upon the -elephant amid the flames and the shouts, the wild god who ruled over the -jungle, and to whom the men crowned with flowers and leaves were now -dancing in the street, the god to whom she cried so passionately on the -night before, had left her: her excitement and exaltation had died out -as she listened to the jeering words of Punchirala. She hated him as she -had hated him when he approached her before; but as she listened to him -talking to Karlinahami, fear--the fear that she felt for unknown -evils--gradually crept upon her. She cried helplessly, and Punchirala -smiled at her as he watched her. Karlinahami watched his face -expectantly and anxiously. - -At last Punchirala began again slowly: - -'How the girl cries. And for her father too! I am thinking that there is -yet something for you to do. I am a poor vederala, and my powers are -small. But there is a man here, a great man, a holy man, who they say is -very skilled in medicine and magic, and knows the mind of the god. He is -a sanyasi[37] from beyond the sea, from India, and his hair is ten -cubits[38] in length. Perhaps if you take Silindu to him, and inquire of -him, he will tell you the god's mind. But you must take money for him.' - -'Aiyo! what is the use of talking of money to the starving?' - -Punchirala fumbled in the fold of his cloth, and drew out his -betel-case. From this he took a very dirty rag, in which were a number -of copper and silver coins. He made up the sum of ninety-five cents, and -handed it over to Karlinahami. - -'Here you are then, a rupee. Even the gods require payment. You can pay -me three shillings in kurakkan when the crop is reaped. The sanyasi sits -behind the little temple under a banian-tree. To-day, when the sun sinks -behind the trees of the jungle, take your brother to him and make -inquiry.' - -Punchirala got up and began walking away, followed by the obeisances and -profuse thanks of Karlinahami. The two women hurried back to the temple. -They found that the old man and the fisher and his wife had joined -Silindu and Babun. The whole party agreed that the only thing to do was -to consult the sanyasi. They waited, dozing and talking through the hot -afternoon, until the hour fixed by the vederala arrived. - -As soon as the sun sank behind the jungle, and the shadow of the trees -fell upon the temple courtyard, they went in a body to the banian-trees. -They found the sanyasi sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree -with a brass bowl by his side. He was unlike any sanyasi whom they had -seen before. He had a long black beard reaching below his waist, a big -hooked nose, and little twinkling black eyes. He wore a long white -cotton robe, which was indescribably dirty, and an enormous dirty white -turban. As they approached him he unwound the folds of his turban, and -displayed his hair to the crowd which surrounded him. It was plaited and -matted into two thin coils upon the top of his head, and its length had -not been by any means exaggerated by Punchirala. The sanyasi spoke only -a strange language, unintelligible to the Tamils and Sinhalese in the -crowd, but there stood by him an old Tamil man who interpreted what he -said. - -Babun led Silindu up to the sanyasi and dropped the money in the bowl. -He explained what he wanted to the old Tamil, who understood and spoke -(very badly) Sinhalese. The crowd pressed forward to listen. The sanyasi -and his interpreter muttered together. The old man then addressed the -crowd, and told them that the holy man could not consult the god, or -give an answer, with them pressing upon him. There was much talking and -excitement, but at last a large circle was cleared, and the crowd was -induced to move away out of earshot. Most of the people squatted down, -and, though they could not hear a word of what followed, they watched in -hope of some exciting development. - -Babun and Silindu squatted down in front of the sanyasi. Karlinahami, -Hinnihami, and the others of their party stood behind them. Silindu, -weak and dejected though he was, for the first time for several days -seemed to take some interest in what was passing. It had been arranged -that Babun should explain the case to the sanyasi. - -'Will you tell the holy man,' he said to the interpreter, 'that we are -poor folk and ask pardon of him? This man is my wife's father, a hunter, -a very poor man. There is also a yakka who lives in the banian-trees in -the jungle over there' (Babun made a sweep with his arm towards the -west). 'This yakka has entered this man, and his life is going from him. -Why has the yakka entered the man? There is another man in the village; -that man is skilled in charms and magic, and is angry with this man. -Therefore, he charmed the devil to do this. Well, then, when this had -happened, the woman went to him and prayed him to charm the devil away -again. Then he said, "Take your brother to Beragama, and pray to the god -there at the great festival." So we walked and walked to this place with -the sick man, and we went in the perahera and called to the god. But the -god does not hear us, and the man's life is going from him. Then the -woman went again to the man, for he too is here, and told him. He said, -"I can do nothing; take the man to the holy man who sits under the -banian-tree, and make inquiry of him." So we waited for the lucky hour, -and have brought him.' - -The interpreter talked in the strange tongue with the sanyasi, and then -said to Babun: - -'The holy man says that the offering is too small.' - -'Father, it is all we have. We are very poor. Rain never falls upon our -fields, and we have no land. We pray him to help us.' - -There was another muttered conversation, and then the interpreter -said: - -'It is very little for so great a thing. But the holy man will help -you.' - -The little group became very still; everyone watched the sanyasi -anxiously. He muttered to himself, fixed his eyes on the ground in front -of him, made marks in the sand with his finger, and swayed his body from -side to side. Then looking at Silindu intently he began to speak very -volubly. Silindu watched him, fascinated. At last the sanyasi stopped, -and the interpreter addressed them: - -'The holy man says thus: it is true that a devil of the jungle has -entered the man. This devil is of great power. Why has this happened? -The man is a foolish man. There has come into the holy man's mind -another man, his face marked with scars, and one-eyed. He is a vederala, -very skilled in charms. You have not told why the one-eyed man is angry, -but the holy man knows because of his holiness and wisdom. The one-eyed -man came and said, "Give me your daughter," but this man, being mad, -refused and spoke evil. Then the one-eyed man was very angry, and went -away and made a charm over the devil, and the devil entered the man. -When the one-eyed man made the charm he said to the devil: "Unless she -be given to me, do not leave him."' - -A cry broke from Hinnihami; she covered her face with her hands, and -crouched in fear upon the ground. The interpreter paid no attention to -her. - -'Now even the one-eyed man cannot loose the charm, so he has sent you to -the god. The god is of great power over devils: he heard your prayer, -and he said to this devil, "Leave the man." But the yakka answered, -fighting against the power, "Something must be given." The master said, -"Unless she be given, do not leave the man. Am I to die for this foolish -man's sake?" Then the god said, "Yes, something must be given--either -the man or the girl." The holy man knows this, and says that you must -remain here, and take the man every night in the perahera until the -night of the full moon, and on the morning of the next day you must -return to the village. But on the evening of the first day's journey, -the one-eyed man will meet you in an open stony place beside two -palu-trees. Then you must go to him and say, "There is the girl; take -her." He will take the girl, and the devil will leave the man. -Otherwise, if you do not do this the man will die, for something must be -given--either the man or the girl. Remember, too, that the girl cannot -be given during the festival.' - -Hinnihami pressed her body against the ground, but her eyes were dry -now. She was broken: tired and numb with fear and despair; she had -always known that it was she who was bringing death upon her father. -Instinctively, like a wild animal against a trap, she had fought against -the idea of giving herself to Punchirala. At the thought of her body -touching his, the skin seemed to shrink against her bones. Silindu was -everything to her, and she knew that now she was everything to him. At -first she had felt that she was being driven inevitably to sacrifice -herself; but when Karlinahami returned from Punchirala's compound, and -told them of the pilgrimage, hope came to her. The hardships and -excitement of the road, her ecstasy before the god, had driven away her -first feeling of despair. The god would certainly help them. But fear -had crept in again at the first sight of Punchirala, and as she listened -to his talk with Karlinahami her hope grew cold. Now she knew that she -must inevitably sacrifice herself. Had not the sanyasi known the truth -which Babun had not disclosed? She knew that not even the god could help -her; she had heard his words, 'Yes, something must be given--either the -man or the girl.' Once more evil had come out of the jungle. - -The effect upon the other listeners had also been great. The holy man -had seen what Babun had hidden; they knew well that they had heard from -him the reply of the god. They walked back to the temple talking about -it in low voices. There was no suggestion of doubt in any one as to what -should be done. Even Silindu had given in. The god had spoken; it was -fate, the inevitable. The girl would be given. - -The remainder of the festival passed slowly for them. They followed the -perahera dispirited, and called upon the god nightly. But there was no -hope or even doubt now to excite them. Silindu, listless, waited for his -release; Hinnihami was cowed and dulled by despair. The nights passed, -and the morning following the new moon came; and they went down -dutifully to the river to take part in the cutting of the waters. They -were a melancholy little group among the laughing, joking crowd, which -stood knee-deep in the river. And when the supreme moment came, and the -kapurala cut the waters, and the crowd with a shout splashed high over -themselves and one another the waters which would bring them good -fortune through the coming year, Hinnihami stood among them weeping. - -The pilgrimage was over, and a line of returning pilgrims began at once -to stream across the river westwards. The old man and the fisher and his -wife said good-bye to them, for they felt that it was not right for -them, being strangers, to be present at what was to take place upon the -homeward journey. Then they too set out. They walked all that day -slowly--for Silindu was very weak--and in silence. When the shadows -began to lengthen the jungle became thinner, and the ground more stony. -They knew that they must be nearing the place. The track turned and -twisted through the scrub; the air was very still. They passed a bend, -and there before them stood the vederala under some palu-trees. They -stopped for a moment and looked at one another. Karlinahami touched -Silindu on the arm. He took Hinnihami by the hand and went up to -Punchirala. His eyes seemed to be fixed upon something far away beyond -Punchirala; he spoke very slowly: - -'Here is the girl; take her.' - -Punchirala looked at Hinnihami and smiled. - -'It is well,' he said. - -Silindu turned, and with Karlinahami and Babun walked on down the track. -Neither of them looked back. Hinnihami was left standing by the -vederala, her arms hanging limply by her side, her eyes looking on the -ground. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It became clear on the morning after Hinnihami had been given to the -vederala that the sanyasi had rightly interpreted the will of the god, -and that the devil had left Silindu. His eyes no longer presented the -glazed appearance, which is the sign of possession. He ate eagerly of -the scanty morning meal; and, though still weak, walked with a vigour -unknown to him since the night when he fell beneath the banian-trees in -the jungle. Throughout the homeward journey strength and health -continued to return to him; and by the time they reached the village, -the colour of his skin showed that he had been restored to his normal -condition. - -Though they travelled very slowly, they had not again seen the vederala -and Hinnihami on the way home. Punchirala made no haste to return to the -village, and he only appeared there two days after Silindu arrived. He -showed no signs of pleasure in his triumph; he was more quiet and -thoughtful than usual. In the house he seemed to his mother to be -uneasy, and a little afraid of Hinnihami. - -The girl had yielded herself to him in silence. In the long journey -together through the jungle he had, without success, tried many methods -of breaking or bending her spirit. But he had failed: his jeers and his -irony, his anger and his embraces, had all been received by her in -sullen silence. He would have put her down to be merely a passionless, -stupid village woman had he not seen the light and anger in her eyes, -and the shudder that passed over her body when he touched her. - -On the morning after she arrived in the village, Hinnihami was alone in -Punchirala's compound; the vederala had gone out, and his mother was in -the house. She saw Silindu coming along the path, and ran out eagerly to -meet him. They sat down under a tamarind tree, just outside the stile in -the compound fence. - -'The yakka has gone,'said Silindu. 'The god drove him out after the -vederala took you. But now what to do? The house is empty without you, -child.' - -'I must come back, Appochchi. I cannot live in this house.' - -'But, is it safe? Will not he bring evil again upon us? The god said one -must be given, and now if I take you again, will he not kill you?' - -'The god said that one must be given, and it was done. I was given, and -the man took me. Surely the gods cannot lie. The evil has been driven -out; and as for the man, I am not frightened of him.' - -'Ané!' said the mocking voice of the vederala behind them. 'They are -not frightened of the man. Oh no, nor of the devils either, I suppose.' - -Silindu and Hinnihami got up; the old fear came upon Silindu when he saw -Punchirala, but the girl turned angrily upon the vederala, who was -astonished by her violence. - -'Punchirala,'[39] she said, 'I am not frightened of you. The god did not -say I was to live with you. There is no giving of food or clothing. I -was given that the devil might leave my father. Was the god disobeyed? I -was given to you, you dog; the devil has flown; the god heard us there -at Beragama; he will not allow you again to do evil.' - -'Mother, mother, come out! Listen to the woman I brought to the house; -she has become a vederala. The pilgrimage has made her a sanyasi, I -think, knowing the god's mind, skilled in magic.' - -'Keep your words for the women of the house. I am going.' - -'And are there no other charms, Silindu? No other devils in the trees? -You have learned wisdom surely from a wise woman.' - -'Do not listen to him, Appochchi. He can no longer harm us. The god has -aided us.' She turned upon Punchirala. 'Do you wish me to stay in the -house? Yes, there are still devils in the trees. Do not I too come from -the jungle? I shall be like a yakkini to you in the house, you dog. You -can tell them, they say, by the eyes which do not blink. Rightly the -village women call me yakkini. I will stay with you. Look at my arms. -Are they not as strong as a man's arms? I will stay with you, but as you -lie by my side in the house I will strangle you, Punchirala.' - -Punchirala instinctively stepped back, and Hinnihami laughed. - -'Ohé! Are you frightened, Punchirala? The binder of yakkas is -frightened of the yakkini. You can tell her, they say, because her eyes -are red and unblinking, and because she neither fears nor loves. It is -better for you that I should go--to the trees from which a I came, -mighty vederala. Otherwise, I would strangle you, and eat you in the -house. Come, Appochchi, we will go out into the jungle together again as -we did long ago--aiyo! the long time. I was a little thing then--and the -little sister too. Come, Appochchi; do not fear this Rodiya dog: he is -frightened: and now I will never leave you.' - -Punchirala was really frightened. He stood and watched the girl walk -slowly away with Silindu along the path. Things had not happened quite -as he had expected or hoped. He had enjoyed his first triumph over the -girl, but he had soon grown to doubt whether her continued presence in -his house would add to his comfort. He had felt, without understanding, -that the giving of her body to him had only made her spirit more -unyielding. Even on the way from Beragama he had felt nervous and -uncomfortable with her. He was angered by his defeat and by her taunts, -but he watched her disappear with a distinct feeling of relief. - -The vederala made no further attempt to molest Silindu, and the next -nine months were a period of unwonted prosperity and happiness in the -'Vedda' family. Towards the end of October great clouds rolled up from -the northeast, and great rains broke over the jungle. For days the rain -fell steadily, ceaselessly. The tank filled and ran over; the dry sandy -channels became torrents, sweeping down old rotten trunks and great -trees through the jungle; a mist of moisture rose from the parched -earth, and hung grey upon the face of the jungle. Suddenly the ground -became green, and soon the grass stood waist-high beneath the -undergrowth. The earth at last was sodden; and as the rain still fell -and the streams overflowed, the water spread out in a vast sheet beneath -the trees. - -Not for forty years, it was said, had rain fallen so abundantly. A great -chena crop was assured. The more energetic began to talk of rice -cultivation, now that the tank was full, and to regret the want of seed -paddy. Then a rumour spread that the Government was going to make -advances of seed, and at last one day the Korala Mahatmaya appeared in -the village, and the rumour was confirmed. Promissory-notes were signed; -buffaloes were borrowed to turn up the soil of the fields; and at last, -after twelve years, the village again saw paddy standing green in the -water below their tank. - -Silindu's family, principally owing to Babun, had a large share in the -prosperity which came to the village from the wonderful chena and -rice-crops. Their store was full of kurakkan and millet and rice. They -were well fed, and even Silindu became happy. After the return of -Hinnihami he seemed to change greatly. They were almost always together, -and the fearlessness which she had shown towards Punchirala, and which -seemed to have changed her suddenly from a child into a woman, inspired -him. The fear of evil overhanging him no longer oppressed him. He worked -with Babun cheerfully in the chena and rice-fields: he began again to -talk with Punchi Menika. And sometimes he would sit in the compound and -tell his strange stories to her and to the child, who had been born to -her eighteen months before, and he was happy as he had been happy with -her and with Hinnihami years ago when they were children. His happiness -and Hinnihami's was greatly increased when she gave birth to a daughter. -The child, conceived during the pilgrimage, was a pledge to them from -the god that, as his word had been obeyed, the evil had been finally -conquered. To the physical joy which Hinnihami felt as she suckled the -child, was added her exultation in the knowledge that she was holding in -her arms a charm against the evil which had threatened Silindu. Her -hatred for the father only increased therefore her love for his child. - -But the love and care which she showed from the moment of her birth to -Punchi Nona, as she called her daughter, were from the first to be -shared with another. On the morning following the evening on which the -child was born, Silindu came back from the jungle carrying in his arms a -fawn newly dropped by its mother. He went straight to Hinnihami, who lay -in the hut nursing the child, and kneeling down by her placed the fawn -in her arms. Hinnihami with a little laugh took it, and nestling it -against the child was soon suckling the one at one breast and the other -at the other. Silindu watched in silence: he was very serious. - -'It is well, it is well,' he said when he saw that the fawn was sucking -quietly and nestling against Hinnihami and the child. - -'The little weakling,' said Hinnihami, gently touching with her fingers -the soft skin of the fawn. 'How hungry for milk the little one is! Where -has it come from?' - -'It has come to you from the jungle. The gods have sent it.' - -She bent her head, and very softly drew her lips backwards and forwards -over its back. - -'It takes the milk like the child. Has the god given another gift, -Appochchi?' - -'The god sent it. Last night I went to the water-hole, but nothing came -while the moon was up. Then clouds gathered and the moon was hidden, and -it became very dark. I heard a doe cry near by in pain, "Amma, -amma",[40] but it was too dark to see, so I lay down and slept on the -top of the high rock. I woke up with the first light, and, as I lay -there, I heard below the moving of something among the leaves. Very -slowly I looked over the rock, and there below in the undergrowth I saw -the back of a doe. Her head was down, hidden by the leaves, and she -murmured, licking something on the grass. Slowly, slowly I took up my -gun and leaned it over the rock and fired. Everything was hidden from me -by the smoke, and I lay quiet until the wind blew it from before me. -When I looked again I saw the doe stand there still, the blood running -down her side; and she stretched up her head toward me from the jungle, -and her great eyes rolled back with fear and showed white, and she -opened her mouth and cried terribly to me. I was sorry for her pain, and -I said, "Hush, mother, the evil has come. What use to cry? Lie down that -death may come to you easily." But again she stretched out her neck -toward me, and cried loud in pain, "Amma! amma! Aiyo! aiyo! It is you -who have brought the evil, Yakka. To the child here that I dropped last -night and that lies now between my feet. Little son, I have borne you to -be food for the jackal and the leopard." Then I came down from the rock -and stood by her and said, "Mother, the daughter at home this night bore -a child. I will take this one too to her, and she will give it the -breast." Then she stretched out her head, and she cried out again, and -fell dead upon the ground by the side of the fawn.' - -Hinnihami pressed the fawn to her. - -'Yes, he has come to me out of the jungle, a sign from the god, a great -charm against evil. Did not the god himself take the doe as his -mistress? They told it to us at Beragama. And now in the same night he -has sent me a son and a daughter from the jungle.' - -So Hinnihami suckled the child and the fawn together. The village looked -on with astonishment and disapproval. 'The woman is as mad as the -father,' was the general comment. It was commonly rumoured that she -showed more love for Punchi Appu, as the fawn was called, than for her -daughter. And though she did not realise it herself, it was true. 'The -son from the jungle' inspired in her a passionate love and -tenderness--the great eyes which watched her and the wonderful skin that -she was never tired of caressing. He had come to her out of the jungle, -with something of the mystery and exaltation which she had felt in -Beragama towards the god who went by upon the elephant. And her love was -increased by the attachment of Punchi Appu to her. Long before Punchi -Nona could crawl about the compound, the fawn would trot along by her -side crying to be taken up and fed; and even after it grew old enough to -feed upon grass and leaves, it never left her, following her always -about the house and compound, and through the village and jungle. - -The year of the great rains and rice and plenty was followed by a year -of scarcity and sickness. For four months, from June to October, the sun -beat down from a cloudless sky. The great wind from the south-west -failed at last, but even then the rain did not come, and the withering -heat lay still and heavy over the jungle. The little puddle thick with -mud in the tank, which supplied the village with water, dried up, and -the women had to go daily four miles to fetch water from an abandoned -tank in the jungle. In November the chenas were still standing black and -unsown. At last a little rain fell and the seed was sown. The crop just -showed green above the ground, and drought came again, and the young -shoots died down. - -Then, when it was too late to save the crops, the rains came, and with -them sickness. Want had already begun to be felt by bodies weakened by -the long drought, and fever and dysentery swept over the country. There -was not a family in Beddagama which did not suffer, nor a house in which -death did not take the old or the children. The doctor Mahatmaya, whom -Punchirala despised, appeared in the village, bringing the medicines -which he despised still more; but his efforts were no more or less -successful than those of the village vederala. When at last the sickness -passed away, it was found that the village had lost sixteen out of its -forty-one inhabitants. And the jungle pressed in and claimed two of the -eight houses, after dysentery and fever had taken the men, the women, -and their children, who lived there. - -Even Silindu's house did not escape: there death took its toll of the -young. First Punchi Menika's child sickened, and then Punchi Nona. Day -after day the mothers, helpless, watched the fever come and shake the -children's bodies, and sap and waste their strength. The wail of the two -women, each for her dead child, was raised in one night. - -It was Silindu who seemed to feel the loss of the children more than any -one else in the house. This time clearly the envious powers had grudged -him his little happiness. He had been foolish to show his pleasure in -the children crawling about the house. He had brought disaster upon them -and upon himself. The misery he had felt at losing Punchi Menika came -upon him again. It was his own fault: he was a fool to tempt the evil -powers that stood around him eager for their opportunity. - -After their first wild outburst of grief, Punchi Menika and Hinnihami -felt their loss less than Silindu. The death of the child is what every -mother must continually expect. They had seen it too long in the village -to be surprised at their own suffering: the birth of children every year -and then the coming of the fever to carry them off. Their grief was -lightened by the feeling of resignation to the inevitable. And in -Hinnihami's case there was a further consolation. She still had Punchi -Appu, in whose attachment she could forget the child's death. All her -love for the child was now merged in her love for him: he was the -mysterious gift and pledge of the god; and she felt that so long as he -followed by her side, so long as she felt the caress of his lips upon -her hand, no real evil could come to her. - -Hinnihami's extraordinary love for the deer was well known in the -village, and had never been approved. At first it was regarded merely as -the folly of the 'mad' woman. These views were, however, very rarely -expressed to the girl herself, for most of the villagers stood in some -fear of her passionate anger. But about the time when the epidemic of -fever and dysentery was decreasing, a new feeling towards them made its -appearance in the village. It was started by Punchirala. 'The mad woman -and her child,' he would say. 'What sort of madness is that? An evil -woman, an evil woman. I have some knowledge of charms and magic. I took -her to my house to live with me. But did I keep her? I drove her away -very soon. I did not want the evil eye and a worker of evil to bring -misfortune on my house. My mother knows, for she heard her call herself -a yakkini. Only because of my knowledge of charms was I able to keep -away the evil with which she threatened me. And then comes this deer -which they say is found in the jungle. Was not the woman herself in -travail that very night? Do not she-devils give birth to devils? Do -village women suckle deer? Surely it is a devil, born of a devil. Look -at the evil that fell upon the village when it came. The crops withered, -and the old and the young died. It has brought us want and disease and -death.' - -The village soon came to believe in Punchirala's opinions. Small -children were hurried away out of sight of Hinnihami as she passed. The -deer was certainly a devil, who had brought misfortune on the village. -Some said that at night it went out and ate the corpses in the new -graves. It had been clear for some time that the ill-feeling against -them had been growing, when an event occurred which required immediate -action. The son of the headman died suddenly, and apparently for no -cause. Then it was remembered that, three days before, the child had -been carrying some leaves when he met the deer and Hinnihami. The deer -had gone up to the child and tried to nibble the leaves, but the boy had -snatched them away. The headman and the vederala were convinced that -Hinnihami and the deer were the direct cause of the child's death. There -was much talk between Babehami and Punchirala; other villagers were sent -for; there was much coming and going and discussion in the headman's -compound, and eventually action was decided upon. - -The next day Hinnihami was collecting firewood in an old chena. The deer -was with her, feeding at a little distance from her upon the young -leaves and grass. Suddenly she was aroused by noise and movements near -her. A small band of men and boys from the village had crept quietly -through the jungle, and now were between her and the deer. As she looked -up the first stone was thrown: it missed its mark, but another followed, -and struck with a thud upon the deer's side. He bounded forward. -Hinnihami cried out and ran towards him: at the sound of her voice he -stopped and looked round. A shower of stones fell about him; thin -streams of blood began to trickle down his flanks; suddenly he plunged -forward upon his head, his two forelegs broken at the knees. A cheer -broke from the men. Hinnihami, as she dashed forward, was caught by two -men and flung backwards upon the ground. She fell heavily and for a -moment was stunned; then she heard the long, bleating cry of pain, and -saw the deer vainly trying to raise itself upon its broken legs among -the jeering knot of men. She felt the blood surge up to her forehead and -temples as a wave of anger came over her, and she flung herself upon the -two men who barred her path. Swinging their arms wildly, they gave her -blow upon blow with the open hand upon her head and breast. Her jacket -was torn into shreds, and at last she fell exhausted. - -The sight of the bleeding deer and the woman lying on the ground, naked -to the waist, seemed to send a wave of lust and cruelty through the men. -They tore Hinnihami's cloth from her, and, taking her by her arms, -dragged her naked up to the deer. - -'Bring the vesi to her child,' they shouted. 'Comfort your yakka, -yakkini. Is there no milk in your breasts for him now?' - -They held her that she might see what they did. The deer was moaning in -pain. One of the men cut a thick stick and struck him upon the hind legs -until they were broken. Hinnihami fought and struggled, but she was -powerless in their hands. At length, when they had become tired of -torturing them, they threw her down by the deer's side and went away. - -Hinnihami was unhurt, but she was stunned by the violence of anger and -horror. The deer moaned from time to time. She tried to lift him with -some vague idea of carrying him back to the house. But he screamed with -pain at the slightest movement, and he had grown too big for her to -carry. She felt that he was dying. She flung herself down by him, -caressing his head, and calling to him not to leave her. 'Punchi Appu! -Punchi Appu!' she kept repeating, 'you must not die. Surely the god who -gave you to me will save you. Punchi Appu, Punchi Appu, you cannot die.' - -Then gradually a sense only of dull despair settled upon her. She sat -through the long day unconscious of the passing of time. She was unaware -when the deer died; she knew that he was dead now, and that with him -everything had died for her. There was nothing for her to live for now, -and already she felt life slipping from her. She thought of the child -who had died too: she had missed her, and grieved for her, but she had -never loved the child as she loved the deer. He had come to her, a wild -thing from the jungle, the god's mysterious gift. Now he was lying there -dead, his broken limbs twisted under him, the dead white eyes bulging, -the tongue hanging out from the open mouth. She shuddered as she -remembered the scene, shuddered as she recalled the thud of the stones -and the blows. - -She was found by Silindu next morning, still sitting naked by the body -of the deer, her hair wet with the dew, and her limbs stiff with the -chill of the jungle at night. He tried in vain to rouse her. She -recognised him. 'Let me be, Appochchi,' she kept repeating. 'Let me die -here, for he is dead. Let me die here, Appochchi.' - -Then Silindu wrapped her cloth about her, and carried her in his arms to -the house. She cried a little when she felt his tears fall upon her, but -after that she showed no more signs of grief. She lay in the house, -silent, and resigned to die. She had even ceased to think or feel now. -Life had no more a hold upon her, and in the hour before dawn in deep -sleep she allowed it to slip gently from her. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Silindu knew well now that Hinnihami had been a victim to save him. Both -the devil and the god had said, 'Either the man or the girl must be -given.' It was the girl who had been given; but it was he who should -have died, when the devil still possessed him. He knew now, when it was -too late, that in giving Hinnihami to the vederala he was giving her to -certain death. He had gained nothing by his first refusal of the -vederala but pain and trouble, and now the bitterest of griefs. In the -end he had lost her utterly; now indeed the house was empty. He was a -fool, yes, a fool; he knew that; but how can a man know how to walk -surrounded by all the snares of evil and disaster? A man may wash -himself clean of oil, but however much he rubs himself he will never rub -off fate. And then there was Punchirala; it was he who was the real -cause of the evil. Why had he ever come with his hateful face into the -compound? He would go in the early morning and take his gun and shoot -the vederala dead as he came out of his house. And yet what would be the -good of that now--now that Hinnihami was dead? It would only be more -evil. It would be useless. It was useless for him to do anything now. - -For days Silindu sat about the compound 'thinking and thinking,' as -Punchi Menika called it. She alone had any influence with him, and even -she had no power to console him. In time grief lost its first -bitterness, and he sank into a perpetual state of sullen despair. An air -of gloom and disaster seemed to hang about the compound. - -It was not long after the life of the village had been stirred by the -death of Hinnihami that another event happened which caused no little -excitement. It was seen that Babehami, the headman, was having a house -built on the open ground adjoining his compound; and as soon as it was -finished there came to live in it a man from Kamburupitiya, known as -Fernando. Many of the villagers had had dealings with him: he kept a -small boutique in Kamburupitiya, and lent money on the usual, and even -more than the usual, interest. He was not a Sinhalese, and spoke -Sinhalese very badly. Some people said he was a Tamil: his black skin -and curly black hair pointed to the fact that he had Kaffir blood in his -veins. - -He was a typical town man, cunning, unscrupulous, with a smattering of -education. He wore the ordinary native cloth, but above it a shirt and -coat, and the villagers therefore called him Mahatmaya. It was obvious -that some very peculiar circumstances had brought such a man to settle -down in a village like Beddagama. The fact was that the headman and many -of the villagers were deeply in his debt. The failure of the previous -year's chena crop had made it impossible to recover anything; in fact he -was pestered with requests for further loans to tide the debtors over -the hot season, until the chenas could again be sown. - -The creditor was faced with an unpleasant alternative. If he refused -further loans he would lose what he had lent already through the death -or emigration of his debtors, or they would borrow from others, and thus -make it difficult for him to recover. On the other hand the complete -failure of the chena crop made his own position far from easy: the debt -outstanding together with the interest would be in itself a heavy charge -on the next crop, even if it were a really good one. To be safe in -giving still more credit, he required additional security. - -It was Babehami, the headman, who devised a scheme to meet these -difficulties. Four acres of chena would be allowed to each debtor: the -permits would be given in favour of the debtors, who were to assign -their rights to Fernando for one-fifth of the crop. It was tacitly -understood that if the four-fifths of the crop exceeded the amount of -the loans and interest, the debts would be considered cancelled. -Fernando was to come to the village, and himself supervise the working -of the chenas. Practically, therefore, the money-lender was hiring -labour for the cultivation of chenas for one-fifth of the crop, an -exceedingly paying transaction; while his rights and power of action for -the outstanding debts remained unaffected. The villagers were completely -in his hands, and both sides were fully aware of it. The whole -transaction, certainly, so far as the headman was concerned, was -illegal. Babehami knew this; but his needs were pressing, and his own -profit would be great; for, while his consent was purchased by the -cancellation of his debts, by a private arrangement with Fernando, his -own four acres of chena were not assigned to the money-lender. - -To the villagers Fernando was, owing to his dress and habits, a -Mahatmaya. He did not treat them as his equals, and they--being in his -debt--treated him as a superior. He was, however, on terms of intimacy -with Babehami; and although he had a small boy with him as servant, he -took all his meals in the headman's house. - -Punchi Menika very soon attracted Fernando's attention. Her face and -form would have been remarkable even in a town: to find her among the -squalid women of so squalid a village astonished him. He wanted a woman -to live with him; he was always wanting a woman; and it would be far -more comfortable to have his food cooked for him than to go always to -the headman for his meals. He anticipated no difficulty; she was a mere -village woman, and the husband was a village boor, and in his debt. - -Despite his confidence Fernando decided to act cautiously. He knew very -little about villages, but he knew the many proverbs about women and -trouble; and he had heard many tales of violence and murder, of which -women had been the cause. He was quite alone among people whom he did -not really understand, far away from the boutiques and police court, the -busy little town which he understood, and where alone he really felt -secure. He was a timid man, and he hated the jungle; and, though he -despised these people who lived in it, he was not comfortable, with -them. - -His first move was to try to learn something about the family from the -headman. He sounded Babehami cautiously. The result pleased him greatly. -They were bad people according to the headman--veddas, gipsies, -traffickers in evil, whores, and vagabonds. By evil charms they had -enticed Babun to their compound, and now they boasted that he, the -brother of the headman's wife, had married Punchi Menika. They were -dangerous people; they had brought misfortune and death into the -village. Fernando was not greatly impressed by their reputation for -working harm 'by magic'; as became a town-man, he was somewhat -sceptical; but what was clear to him was that the headman hated the -whole family; they would get in no eventuality any help or sympathy from -him. This knowledge was as valuable as it was pleasing to him. - -Then one evening he surprised them by coming and chatting to Babun -almost as if he were an equal. It was evening, just about the time -before the lamps are lit in the house, when the air grows cool, and the -wind dies down, and the afterglow of the setting sun is in the sky. The -work in the chena for the man, and in the house for the woman, was over. -Babun was squatting in the compound near the house, and Punchi Menika -stood behind him, leaning against the doorpost. From time to time a word -or two was spoken, but for the most part they were content to allow the -silence of the evening to descend upon them, as they watched with vacant -eyes the light fade out of the sky. - -Punchi Menika brought the wooden mortar in which the grain was pounded, -turned it upside down, and dusted the top with a piece of cloth. - -'Will you sit down, aiya?' said Babun. Fernando sat down upon it. Babun -squatted opposite to him, while Punchi Menika stood behind, leaning -against the doorpost. - -'Well, Babun,' said Fernando, 'will the chena crop be good, do you -think?' - -'Who can say, aiya, who can say? Only a fool measures his grain before -it is on the threshing-floor.' - -'Then all these villagers do that, for they are all fools. Aiyo! what -cattle! what trouble they give a man!' - -'We are poor men, aiya, and ignorant.' - -'I'm not thinking of you, Babun, but of the others. There is only one -man in the village; all say that, and I've seen it myself. But the -others! They will ruin me. How much do they owe me! Only a very good -crop will pay it, but they don't care. They don't fence the chena or -watch it; they sit and sleep in the compound, and the deer and pig go -off with my rupees in their bellies. Isn't that true?' - -'It's true, aiya.' - -'And what can I do, a town man, with all these chenas? I ought to have a -gambaraya.'[41] - -'Yes, you want a gambaraya.' - -'So I thought, and I thought too, "This Babun is the only man in the -village, why shouldn't he be my gambaraya?" Well, what do you say? You -could look after the other chenas, and also cultivate your own?' - -Babun was silent with astonishment; it was a piece of good fortune which -he could never have dreamed of. - -'I would give you one-twentieth of the crop, after the fifth had been -paid to the cultivators,' Fernando went on. 'Would you do it for that?' - -'Yes, aiya, I will do it for that, gladly.' - -'Very well, that's settled. You are my gambaraya now.' - -Fernando sighed and stretched himself. 'What a place this jungle is!' he -said. 'It is not fit for a sensible man to live in. Of course these -other villagers, if they went anywhere else, what could they do, the -cattle? They do not know the east from the west, as the tale says. If -they get into a bazaar they are frightened, and run about like a scared -bull. But you, Babun, you are young and strong; you are a knowing man. -Why do you starve here when you could eat rice and grow fat elsewhere?' - -'So my sister and her man said, aiya! They wanted me to go away and -marry in another village--over there; rain falls and rice grows there. -But it is a great evil to live in a strange place and among strangers.' - -Fernando laughed. 'An evil you call it! But how many have got wealth and -fortune by going to strange places! Have you not heard of Maha Potana? -Many years ago it was all trees and jungle like this, and no one lived -there. Then they built the great tank in the jungle, and people went -there from all the villages of the west--poor men living in villages -like this. Now it is a town, and all are rich there, and eating rice.' - -'Yes, aiya, we know that. The tank was built in my father's time. And -the Korala Mahatmaya and the Ratemahatmaya came to the village and spoke -as you speak now. And they said that land would be given to all that -went there, and water from the tank for the cultivation of rice. It was -in a year, I remember my father telling me, when rain had not -fallen--like the last crop with us--and there was want in the village, -and many died of fever. They urged my father to go, for he was a good -man: they knew that. And my father said to them--so he told me--"How can -I go to this strange place? Can I take the woman and the child with me? -I have no house there, and no money to buy in the bazaar. Among -strangers and in strange places evil comes. Here my father lived, and -his father before him, in this house; and they cleared the chenas as I -do, and from time to time when rain fell sowed rice below the tank. What -folly for me to leave my home and field and the chena to meet evil in -strange places." My father said this to the headman, and all the other -men of the village also refused to go, except one man--Appu they called -him; he went with his wife, and was given land under Maha Potana. And -nothing was heard of Appu for many months; and his brother, who still -lived here, at last went to Maha Potana to inquire about him. And when -he came there the people told him that Appu was dead of the fever, and -that his wife had gone away, and no one knew where she had gone.' - -'But people die of fever in Beddagama.' - -'Yes, aiya, of course many people die of fever here too. But they die -among their relations, and friends, and people who are known to them; in -houses where their fathers lived before them. Surely it is a more bitter -thing to die in a strange place. I am a poor man and ignorant, and I -cannot explain it to you better. There is always trouble and evil in -strange places; when a man goes even upon a journey or pilgrimage to -Kamburupitiya or Maha Potana or Beragama, always, aiya, he is troubled -and afraid--in the bazaars and boutiques and on the roads people unknown -to him--and everywhere he is thinking of his village, and his house, and -the tank, and the jungle paths which he knows there, and people living -in the village, all of whom he knows. That is why a man will not leave -his village, even when the crops fail and there is no food; no, not even -when the headmen come--and they come now every year--and say, "There is -good land to be given in such a place, there is work upon such a road, -or in such a village, why starve here?" I have heard people say that far -away in the west there are large towns, Colombo and Kalutara and Galle, -where every one has food and money always; but, aiya, not even to those -towns do you see a man going who has been born and lived all his life in -a village.' - -'Am I not now among strangers? What evil will befall me?' - -'May the gods keep it away from you, aiya. But how can a man tell what -evil is before him? But you are not an ignorant village man like us, and -besides after the chena is reaped you will return to your house.' - -Fernando was silent for a while. When he spoke again he had a curiously -seductive effect upon his listeners. His low, soft voice and broken -Sinhalese, the languorousness and softness which seemed to pervade him -fascinated them even more than what he said. - -'What can the buffalo born in the fold know of the jungle? or does the -wild buffalo know how to work in the rice-fields? I was born far away -across the sea on the coast. I was only a little child when they brought -me to Colombo to live there in the shop which my father kept. He had no -fear to leave his village and to cross the sea, nor had he any desire to -go back again there. He was a rich man. Ohé! what a town is Colombo. -There we lived in a great building, and all around us were houses and -houses, and people and people: no jungle or snakes or wild beasts; not -even a paddy-field or a cocoanut-tree. Always streets and people -walking, walking backwards and forwards on the red roads (and very few -even known to you by sight), and bullock-carts and carriages and -rickshaws, hundreds upon hundreds. And there are houses, very high, as -high as the hill at Beragama, full of white Mahatmayas and their women, -always coming and going from the ships. How many times have I stood -outside when a boy and watched them, always laughing and talking loud, -like madmen, and dancing, men and women together. And how fair are the -women, fair as the lotus-flower as the tale says; very fair and very -shameless.' - -'Is it true then that the women of the white Mahatmayas are shameless?' -broke in Punchi Menika. - -'In Colombo all say they are shameless. Very fair, very mad, and very -shameless. Their eyes are like cat's eyes. The proverb says, "If the -eyes of a woman are like the eyes of a cat, evil comes to the man who -looks into them." The hair of the English Mahatmayas' women is very -fair, the colour of the young cocoanut-flowers. Yes, they are mad. In -the evening strange music is played by many men sitting high up near the -roof; then every Mahatmaya takes a woman in his arms, and looking into -her eyes goes round and round very quickly on the floor.' - -'Aiya, aiya, is this a true tale?' - -'Why should I tell you what is false? Did I not live twenty years there -in Colombo? It is a great town. In the morning I went and walked on the -stone road that has been built into the sea, and within is the harbour, -full always of great ships bigger than villages. Always the Mahatmayas -are coming and going in the great ships; from where they come and where -they go no one can tell. You stand upon the stone road, and you see the -great ship come in across the sea in the morning, filled with white -Mahatmayas, and in the evening it carries them out again across the sea. -They are all very rich, and for a thing that costs one shilling they -willingly give five. Also they are never quiet, going here and there -very quickly, and doing nothing. Very many are afraid of them, for -suddenly they grow very angry, their faces become red, and they strike -any one who is near with the closed hand.' - -Fernando stopped. He had become quite excited as he recalled his life in -Colombo in his youth. He had forgotten where he was. Suddenly he became -aware of his surroundings, the little village so far away from -everything; the ignorant, uncouth villager who listened to him; the -woman behind him for whose sake he had come to the hut, and whom for the -moment he had forgotten. For a while Babun did not like to disturb his -silence, then he asked diffidently: - -'But, aiya, if Colombo is your village, how is it that you now live in -Kamburupitiya?' - -Fernando laughed. 'What talk is this of villages?' he said. 'Everywhere -here the question is, "Of what village is he?" And then, "He is of -Beddagama or Bogama, or Beragama, or any gama."[42] And the liver in -villages says, as you did but now, "How can I leave my gama?" Did I not -tell you that I am of no village? My father's village is beyond the sea, -and they say that the father's village is the son's. I have never seen -that village; I have forgotten its name. I was born in Colombo, which is -no village, but a town. Aiyo! what a town it is! How pleasant! The -houses and the noise and smell of the bazaar for miles, and the dust and -people everywhere! What folly to live here, like a sanyasi on the top of -a bare rock! Perhaps one day I shall return to Colombo, and live in a -great house, as my father did. My father was a rich man, but always -gambling; no money stayed in the house. And I spent much money upon -women. There was a nautch-girl from the coast; her eyes had made me mad, -and she devoured me. It was always rupees, and bracelets, and anklets, -and silk cloths. Then my father was very angry, for all the money had -gone on the gambling and jewellery. There was no money to pay the -merchants for goods for the shop, but worst of all he had no money for -gambling. The girl had taunted me because I had come empty-handed, -saying that she would shame me openly if I came back again with nothing. -So I again asked my father for money. He drove me away, cursing me; so I -went into the shop, and took goods and sold them, and taking two -handfuls of silver flung them down before the girl. But when my father -found what I had done, he cursed me again, and beat me, and drove me out -of the house, saying, that if I returned he would give me to the police. -I ran out very sad because of the girl. I was also sorry that I had -given her both handfuls of silver, and had not kept one for myself. I -stood at a street corner thinking that now I would die of hunger, and -that it would be better to hang myself. Just then there passed a -Moorman, Cassim, a man of Kalutara, a merchant, whom I had often seen in -my father's shop. He laughed at me when he saw me, and said, speaking -Tamil, "Now I see that the feet of the girl have danced away with the -old man's wealth and the young man's life." At that the tears ran down -my face, and I told him all that had happened. Then he said, "Come with -me to Kalutara. You can sell there for me in my shop." So I went with -him to Kalutara, and stayed there selling for him for two years. After -that he sent me to sell for him in Kamburupitiya, and there I now live, -and have a shop of my own.' - -Fernando paused for a while; then he began again: - -'You see I have no village. I live always among strangers, but no evil -has come. I left Colombo without a cent, and now I have become rich. -What folly to starve where one was born when there are riches to be got -in the neighbouring village! Well, I am going now.' - -Babun accompanied his guest to the stile of the compound, and took leave -of him with the usual words, 'It is well; go and come again.' - -Fernando was quite satisfied with his interview. He thought he had -gauged Babun, and that he would have no difficulty with him; he seemed -so simple and mild. Both the man and woman had obviously been impressed -by him and by his wealth. He was, however, still cautious; he decided to -make his first overture through the servant boy, whom he could trust. - -The boy was instructed carefully. He was to go to Punchi Menika as if on -his own initiative His master was a rich man, and a great lover of -women. He had already remarked upon her beauty. The boy was quite sure -that, though his master had not actually said so, he desired her -greatly. If she agreed, he would tell his master that the next night -that Babun was watching in the chena she would come to his house or -would receive him in hers. It would benefit both her and her husband, -for his master was very kind and generous. - -The attempt was a failure. Punchi Menika listened to what the boy had to -say, and then gave him a sound smack in the face, which sent him crying -back to his master. She was very angry with the 'badness of these boys -from the town,' and she did not suspect that he had been sent by his -master. - -Fernando beat the servant boy, and himself went to Punchi Menika's -compound one evening when he knew that Babun would be watching at the -chena. - -'Woman,' he said, 'you have beaten my servant boy. Why is that?' - -'He came here with evil words, aiya.' - -'Evil words? A child of eight?' - -'Chi, chi. But he came here with evil words and lies.' - -'Lies? What did he say? That your face is very fair, and that all men -desire you?' - -'Aiya, aiya, do not speak like that. He spoke shameful words. I cannot -tell you what he said.' - -'Nonsense. You have beaten my servant and you must tell me why, or I -must go to the headman.' - -'Aiya, why force me to tell what is shameful?' - -'What nonsense. Are you a child, then? What shame is there in words?' - -'The boy came here with shameful words, saying that you desired a woman. -He called me to come to you secretly at night, when my man goes to the -chena.' - -Fernando looked very hard at Punchi Menika. He smiled when her eyes -dropped. - -'But what if the boy did not lie? What if he was sent by his master?' - -'Hush, aiya. Do not speak like that.' - -'Why? Am I so foul that the woman of the villager Babun shrinks from -me?' - -'It is not that.' - -'What is it, then? The women of Colombo and Kamburupitiya have not found -me foul. Are you afraid?' - -'Yes, aiya, I am afraid.' - -'Afraid of what? What harm can come? Who need know? And what can Babun -do? He is a fool. He owes me money. What can he do?' - -'I am afraid. It is difficult for me to explain to you, for I see you -will grow angry. I am a village woman, ignorant: I am not a woman like -that. I went to the man willingly, even against my father's will. He has -been the father of my child, that is dead. He is good to me. Let me -alone, aiya, let me alone, to keep his house and cook his meals for him -as before.' - -'Why not? I do not ask you to come to Kamburupitiya to be my wife. There -is no talk of leaving your husband. I am rich, and can give you money -and jewels. You will bring good fortune to your husband, for I will -cancel his debts and give him the share of the other chenas which I -promised him.' - -'I cannot do it, aiya.' - -'What folly! There is nothing to fear. The houses are near with the same -fence. No one will know if you come to me through the fence after -nightfall. If I say 'Come, I want you,' is it not enough? Do you wish me -to lie on the ground before you and pray to you?' - -'Enough, enough, aiya. Pardon me, I cannot do it.' - -'Will you bring ruin on your man, then?' - -'I do not understand.' - -'What? She doesn't understand. What cattle these people are! Is Babun in -my debt? Is he to get a share of my chenas?' - -'Yes, aiya, I heard you tell him so.' - -'Well, is anything given for nothing? Do they give you rice in the -bazaar for nothing, or kurakkan or cloth? Do they? Fool, why do you -stand there looking at me like a buffalo? You--your man, tell him that I -have been here, and what I said. Will he sell you to me like a sack of -kurakkan? If not, he is a fool too, a dog, a pig; if not, he gets no -share of the crop from me, his debts stand and the interest too. I can -ruin him. He--I will, too, I will ruin him. Do you hear that? Well, what -do you say?' - -'What is there to say, aiya? I cannot do it. If this thing must come to -us, what can we do? Always evil is coming into this house--from the -jungle, my father says. At first there was no food. Then the devil -entered into my father. Then more evil, upon my sister and her child, -and upon my child. The children died; they killed Punchi Appu; they -killed my sister. And now evil again.' - -Punchi Menika had spoken in a very low voice, very slowly. Fernando -stood looking at her. For a moment he was affected by the resignation -and sadness of her tone. Then he thought he had been a fool to lose his -temper and threaten openly. But how could one deal with cattle like -these people? He began to grow angry again, but he recognised that it -was useless and dangerous further to show his anger and disappointment. -He returned without another word to his house. - -His failure astonished him almost more than it annoyed him. His first -thought was to approach Babun himself. Probably the woman was only -frightened of her husband, and probably the husband would see more -clearly the advantages to be gained by giving his consent. But Fernando -had lost a good deal of his confidence; he felt the need of an adviser -and ally. There could be no danger in consulting the headman. In any -case it would be dangerous for Babehami to oppose him, and there was -every reason to believe that Babehami would be only too glad of an -opportunity of working against Babun and Punchi Menika. - -Next day, after he had eaten the evening meal, in the headman's house, -and while he was sitting in the compound with Babehami, chewing betel, -he opened the subject. - -'I thought to get your wife's brother to oversee my chenas. He is a good -man, I think.' - -Babehami spat. 'What will you pay him?' - -'One twentieth of the crop. He is a good man to work.' - -'He is a good worker. His chena is always the best, but he is a fool. He -has brought disgrace upon us.' - -'Is he married to that woman?' - -'No. He went to her father's house and lives there with her.' - -'It would be a good thing to take him from them. Is he not tired of her -now?' - -'He was mad about her. He would not listen to reason.' - -'Ah, but that was at first, long ago. They say the man first finds -heaven in a woman, later in a field, and last in the temple. Would you -like to get him back to your house?' - -'Yes.' - -'Well, why not?' Fernando moved nearer to Babehami and lowered his -voice. 'Ralahami, I must live here some months. Without a woman what -comfort in a house? The woman is not ill-looking and could cook my meals -for me. I had thought of this for some days, so I sent my servant boy to -her. She answered that she would come, but she was afraid of her man. -Then I thought of speaking to the man, but it is not easy for a -stranger. I thought, if he marries this woman it is a disgrace to the -headman. It is better that his friends speak to him. Probably he is -tired of the woman, and will marry from another village some girl who -has a dowry of land.' - -Babehami seemed to be considering the ground in front of him with great -attention; from time to time he spat very deliberately. It was -impossible to tell from his face what impression Fernando's suggestion -had made upon him. His silence irritated Fernando. 'What swine these -villagers are,' he thought. - -'Well,' he said at last, 'what do you say?' - -'Did she say she would come to you, if Babun allowed her?' - -'Yes, but why do you ask that? If the man agrees, what difficulty can -there be?' - -'Perhaps none, perhaps none, aiya, but who can say? They are mad those -people. It happens so sometimes to people who live as we do in the -jungle. The spirits of the trees, they say, enter into a family and they -are mad and a trouble to the village. Who knows what such people will -do?' - -'Well?' - -'What more is there to say now?' - -'Is the plan good?' - -'Yes.' - -'But will you help me?' - -'The plan is a good one certainly. But I am on bad terms with my wife's -brother. We quarrelled about the girl. What can I do?' - -'If you talk to him now, Ralahami? You quarrelled when he was hot after -the girl. That was long ago; and a man soon tires of the woman that has -borne him children. And there are many ways, Ralahami, to persuade him -if you will help me. There are the debts and the chenas, and many other -ways. What is there that a headman cannot do? It is wrong for him to sit -still and watch disgrace come upon him and his family. Have you given -him his permit to chena yet?' - -'No, not yet.' - -'Well, you can keep it back. How can they live without chenas? Then -there are the courts. I can help you there, for, being of Kamburupitiya, -I know the ways of the courts well. There will be cases and trouble for -him, and for them.' - -Babehami was not to be hurried. He considered the proposal for some -minutes. It was the sort of persecution which appealed to him. He would -at the same time be injuring those he disliked, helping those in whose -debt he stood, and pleasing himself. He could see very little risk in -it, and much to gain. - -'Well, aiya,' he said at length, 'I will help you if I can. I will speak -to Babun. Shall it be done soon?' - -'Yes, quickly. Send for him now. There is no harm in doing it before me; -and there is no time to lose if I am to get the woman.' - -Babehami was at first averse to doing things with such precipitation; he -liked to think over carefully each move in his game. But he was -overpersuaded by Fernando, who could not restrain his impatience. A -message was sent to Babun that the headman wanted to speak to him. Babun -was very much astonished at receiving this message, and still more so at -his reception. He was given a chew of betel and welcomed warmly. - -'Brother,' said the headman, 'it is a bad thing for those of the same -blood to quarrel. This Mahatmaya has been speaking of it, saying you are -a good man. All that is very long ago, and it is well to forget it.' - -'I have forgotten it. I have never had a bad thought of you in my mind, -brother.' - -'Good, good. Nor I of you, brother, really. Well, and how are things -with you now?' - -'The light half of the moon returns. This Mahatmaya is giving me his -chenas to work for a share of the crop.' - -'Good, good. Where there is food, there is happiness. Never have I known -a year like this, and I am growing an old man now. On the poya[43] day -two months back there was not a kuruni of grain in all the village. I -went to the Korala Mahatmaya; I said to him: "Can men live on air?" He -is a hard man. He said (his stomach swollen with rice), "For ten years -now I have told you to leave your village. There are fields and land -elsewhere; there is work elsewhere; they pay for work on the roads. If -you make your paddy field on rock, do you expect the rice to grow?" I -said to him, "The Government must give food or the people will die." -Then he said, "Go away and die quickly," and he abused me, calling me a -tom-tom-beater, and drove me away. So I went to this Mahatmaya and -arranged about the chenas. Had it not been for him, we should all have -starved.' - -'I know. The Mahatmaya has been very good.' - -'And now again the Mahatmaya said to me: "It is a foolish thing to -quarrel with a brother. It is long ago and about a woman. A young man -hot after a woman! What use is it? Send for him and be friends."' - -'The Mahatmaya is very good to us.' - -'I was wrong, brother. I say it to you myself. I used shameful words to -you. But that was long ago. A young man must have a woman. It is foolish -to stand in his way. Even the buck will turn upon you in the rutting -season.' - -'All that is forgotten now.' - -'So the Mahatmaya says: "It is time," he said, "for him to marry. Send -for him and become friends again. For the heat of youth is now past." So -I sent for you.' - -'I have come.' - -'He said to me, "Now is the time. The boy has become a man. When he -learns about the woman, he will do as you ask."' - -'I do not understand that.' - -'The woman has offered to go and live with the Mahatmaya and cook his -meals for him. So the Mahatmaya says, "Very well, I will take her to -live with me while I am here. I will give her food and money, and also -to her father. I will give work in my chenas to your brother. So your -brother can leave the woman and marry from another village."' - -'I do not understand. I do not wish to marry from another village. And -what offer of the woman do you talk of?' - -'The woman came to the Mahatmaya while you were away in the chena. She -offered herself to him. The Mahatmaya said to her, "I cannot take you -unless the man gives you." Then he came to me: he said to me, "This -woman says this and that to me. It would be better for me to take her to -live with me while I am here; and you should marry your brother to an -honest woman." So I sent for you.' - -'It must be lies, brother. It must be lies. Who told this to you?' - -'The Mahatmaya himself. Would he tell lies?' - -'Is this true, aiya?' Babun asked Fernando. - -'Yes, it is true. The woman came to me.' - -'The woman is a whore, brother; I told you so long ago. It is better -that you should give her to the Mahatmaya, and marry now from another -village. You can come back to my house and live here meanwhile.' - -Babun was dazed. His first instinct had been to disbelieve entirely the -story about Punchi Menika. He did not believe it now, but he could not -disbelieve it. Why should the Mahatmaya lie? He could not tell him to -his face that he was lying. He got up and stood hesitating. The others -watched him. Fernando had difficulty in repressing his laughter. Several -times Babun opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. - -'I do not understand,' he said at last. 'I do not understand this. The -woman went to the Mahatmaya? Offered herself? Aiya, that cannot be so. -Surely she would be afraid? Yet you yourself say it's true. Aiyo, I do -not understand. I must go to the woman herself.' - -Babehami got up and caught hold of Babun by the arm, trying to prevent -his leaving the compound. - -'Do not do that, brother. Let her go, let her go to the Mahatmaya, and -do you stay here. My house is always open to you; stay now and I will -tell the woman to go to the Mahatmaya.' - -'No, no. I must see her myself.' - -'What is the use? There will only be abuse and angry words. It is always -lies or foul words in a woman's mouth.' - -'I must go, brother. I must see her myself.' - -'What folly! But you would never listen to me, and see what has come of -it. She is a whore. It was known before, but you would not believe it. -You would not listen. Hark, the lizard chirps. It is an evil hour, but -again you do not listen. You are going, brother, to meet misfortune.' - -Babun allowed himself to be brought back into the compound. His mind -worked slowly, and he was dazed by the shock, and by the insinuating -stream of the headman's words. But there was a curious obstinacy about -him which Babehami recognised and feared. Babun came back, but he did -not squat down again. He stood near Fernando; his forehead was wrinkled -with perplexity. Surely the story could not be true, and yet how could -it be false? Why should the Mahatmaya and Babehami lie to him? The -simplicity of his character made him always inclined to believe at once -and without question anything said to him. The headman had reckoned on -this, and his plan would probably, but for Fernando, have succeeded. -Suddenly, however, the latter could no longer restrain his amusement. -The wrinkled forehead, the open mouth, the pain and hesitation in -Babun's face as he stood before him, seemed to him extraordinarily -ridiculous. He laughed. The laugh broke the spell. Babun turned again. - -'I must see the woman herself,' he said as he walked away. - -'That was foolish, aiya,' said Babehami to Fernando. 'Very foolish. He -would have stayed.' - -'I know. But I couldn't help it. He stood there like a bull pulled this -way and that with a string in its nose. What now?' - -'He will come back. Then we shall see. It is spoilt now, I think. This -bull is an obstinate brute when it jibs. We may have to use the goad. It -will be the only way, I think.' - -They waited in silence. The headman proved right. Babun returned. He did -not speak to Fernando, but addressed himself to Babehami. - -'The Mahatmaya was right to laugh at me for a fool. Yes, I am a fool. I -know that. The tale was false. It was the Mahatmaya who called the woman -to come to him, and she refused. I knew it. Yes, brother, I knew it. But -I was frightened by your words. I thought, "he is my sister's man, why -should he lie to me?" It was lies. The woman wept for shame when I told -her.' - -'It was true, brother. It is the woman who is lying now to you. She is -frightened of you, frightened that you should know what she has done.' - -'I am a fool, brother, but what use is there in repeating lies now? The -story was false. It was the Mahatmaya who came to my house and called -the woman to him. She refused. She would not leave me.' He turned to -Fernando. 'Aiya, why come and trouble us? We are poor and ignorant, and -you have wealth, and women in the town as you told us. Leave us in -peace, aiya, leave us in peace.' - -'It is not lies,' broke in Babehami. 'Truly you are a fool. The woman is -ashamed now, and lies to you, and you believe. But what has that to do -with it? The Mahatmaya is now ready to take the woman. It is time that -this folly should end. Let him take her, and come back to this house.' - -'She refuses, I tell you.' - -'What has that to do with it? It is time for you to marry, and leave -that filth.' - -'What is the good, brother, of beginning this again? It will only lead -to angry words again. I told you, so many years back, that I want no -other wife than this. It is the same now. I will live with no one else. -All these lies and words are useless.' - -'Ohé, ohé! it may lead to angry words; yes, but are they useless? Last -time you refused to listen to me. Well, I did nothing: I allowed you to -go your own way. You brought shame on me and my family. I did nothing. I -let you go. But now it is different. Suppose they were lies, the words -spoken by me just now. They weren't, but suppose they were. What then? -The Mahatmaya wants the woman now. He calls her to him: she will not -come; you refuse to give her. Is it wise, wise brother? Think a little. -Is there much kurakkan in the house after the drought? The Mahatmaya has -made you overseer of his chenas. If the woman is refused, will you -remain overseer? The twentieth of the crop will go, I think, to some one -else. Is it wise for the bull to fight against the master, when he has -the goad in his hand? Is it wise, too, always to be fighting against the -headman? Even the headman has a little power still. The chena permit has -not yet come for you. Perhaps it may never come. Who knows?' - -'The Mahatmaya will not do that--and you--you are my brother.' - -'If the woman is not given to me,' said Fernando, 'neither will the -twentieth be given to you. I have not come here to be laughed at by -cattle like you. First the woman is offered, and then I am refused! What -does it mean? Would you try to make me out a fool?' - -'Very well, aiya, then I will not have the twentieth. The woman cannot -be given to you.' - -'Fool,' said Babehami. 'So you refuse again to listen to me? But -remember this time it will not be as it was before. You shall not always -disgrace and insult me.' - -'I have never spoken nor thought evil of you, brother. But I tell you, -as I told you before, I will not live without this woman. It is useless -to talk more, for nothing but angry words will follow. Therefore I am -going.' - -Babun did not wait for any answer from the two men, but went quickly -from the compound. The other two sat on discussing the matter for long. -They had to take their steps quickly, for Fernando would only be a few -weeks in the village, and he was very anxious, now that he was really -opposed, to possess Punchi Menika. Their plans were laid that night. - -Babun and Silindu very soon became aware of the web that was being spun -around them. They had already begun to cultivate a chena together: two -days after Babun's conversation with Babehami and Fernando they found -another man, Baba Sinno, a near relation of Babehami, in occupation of -it. Babun went to the headman to inquire what this meant. The headman -was quite ready to explain it. No permit could be given to Babun and -Silindu this year. It was a Government rule that permits were to be -given only to fit persons. Babun and Silindu were not fit persons, -therefore no permits could be given to them. That was all. - -They returned to the compound amazed, overwhelmed. Babun explained to -Silindu the real cause of the headman's act, the proposal of Fernando -and its reception. It was clear that the two men would stop at nothing, -that they had determined upon the complete ruin of Silindu's family, -unless Punchi Menika were given up. For if no chena were given, it meant -starvation; for they had at the utmost food only for a month, and -besides that nothing but their debts. They saw that Baba Sinno was but a -foil; they did not dare to turn him out by force, because they had no -permits which would give them the right to do so. If they had felt that -there was any one in the village who would openly take their part, it -would have been different; but they knew that no one would dare to side -with them against the headman and Fernando, who already held the whole -village enmeshed in their debt. - -The more they discussed it the more horrible became their fear. In a -month they would be starving or forced to leave the village. There was -only one thing for them to do, to put the whole case before the -Assistant Government Agent. Babun set off for Kamburupitiya next morning -with this object. His trouble and his fear drove him; and he did the -three days' journey in two. On the morning of the third day, hours -before the office opened, he was standing, haggardand frightened, on the -Kachcheri[44] verandah, waiting to fall at the feet of the Assistant -Agent. At last a peon or two arrived, and later some clerks. At first no -one took any notice of him. Then a peon came and asked him what he -wanted. He told him that he had come to make a complaint to the -Assistant Agent. The peon said, 'The Assistant Agent is away on circuit. -You must send a petition.' - -'When will he be back?' - -'I don't know.' - -'Where is he now, aiya?' - -'I don't know.' - -He had not the few cents necessary to buy him a fuller answer. He went -from one peon to another, and from one clerk to another trying to learn -more particulars. They told him nothing; they did not know, they said, -when the Assistant Agent would return, or where he was; he had better -have a petition written, and come again a week later. He became stupid -with fear and misery. He hung about the verandah hour after hour, doing -nothing, and thinking of nothing. At last, late in the afternoon, he -wandered aimlessly into the bazaar. He was passing the shop of the -Moorman, who had previously made many loans in Beddagama: Cassim, who -was sitting within doing nothing, knew Babun and called out to him: - -'What are you doing in Kamburupitiya, Babun? Like cotton down in a -storm! What is the matter with you? I hear that dog Fernando is in -Beddagama--may he die of the fever.' - -'I have been to the Kachcheri to lay a complaint before the Agent -Hamadoru. The Agent Hamadoru is away on circuit. I cannot learn where he -is or when he returns.' - -'Ohé! a complaint? Those dogs of peons! Every one knows where the Agent -Hamadoru is except the peon; and he only knows when there are fanams in -his hand. The Agent Hamadoru is in Galbodapattu on circuit: he will not -return for another ten days. Every one knows that.' - -'Aiyo! then we are ruined!' - -'Why? what is it?' - -'We are ruined. Only the Agent Hamadoru could help us, and now it will -be too late. Our chena is taken from us. Aiyo! Aiyo!' - -'Is this one of Fernando's games? They say that the chenas are his now, -and not the Government's. The low caste fisher! Vesige puta! He is a -Mudalali now: I expect he hopes to be made the Agent Hamadoru one day.' - -'It is he, aiya, he and the headman. They want me to give my wife to the -Mudalali. I refused. Now they have taken my chena from me. They will -ruin me. The Agent Hamadoru, if he knew, would have interfered to stop -this; but now it will be too late by the time I can complain to him. It -will be too late, aiya!' - -The fat Moorman rolled from side to side with laughter. - -'O the dog! O the dog! O the dog! There is no one like these fishers for -finding money and women everywhere. Allah! They call us Moormen cunning -and clever. The only thing I ever found in Beddagama was bad debts. And -here this swine of a fisher finds not only bags of grain, and bags of -rupees there, but women too. But I am sorry for you, Babun. I remember -you; you were a good man in that accursed village. Come in here now, and -I'll see what I can do for you. I should like to stop that swine's game. -But it is difficult. One wants time. We must send a petition; the Agent -Hamadoru would stop it if he knew. But there are always peons and clerks -and headmen in the way before you can get to him. Cents here and cents -there, and delays and inquiries! You want time, and we haven't got it. -But there is nothing for it but a petition. Here now, I'll write it -myself for you to spite that dog Fernando.' - -The Mudalali made Babun give him all the particulars, and he wrote the -petition, and stamped and posted it. He told Babun to come in again to -Kamburupitiya in ten days' time to see him about it. He also gave him -food, and made him sleep that night in his verandah. The next day Babun, -somewhat comforted, set out for his village. He was very weary by the -time that he reached it: he felt that he could show little gain from his -journey to Silindu and Punchi Menika. Ruin seemed very near to them. -They could do little but sit gloomily talking of their fears. - -But Babehami and Fernando were meanwhile not idle. The cunning headman -and the town-man, with his energetic fertile mind, were a strong -combination. On the morning after Babun's return to the village a rumour -spread through the village that the headman's house had been broken into -during the night, and that Babehami had left at once to complain to the -Korala. Late in the afternoon of the same day the Korala and Babehami -arrived in the village. They called to them three or four of the village -men, and went with them straight to Silindu's compound. The Korala, a -fat, consequential, bullying man, went in first and summoned Babun, -Silindu, and Punchi Menika. They were handed over to Babehami's brother, -who was instructed to keep them in the compound, and not to allow them -out of his sight. - -The news of the burglary had not reached Babun and Silindu. They were -bewildered by what was passing. They saw the Korala go into the house -with Babehami. They were some time in the house, while the men in the -compound talked together in whispers. A little group of men and women -had gathered outside the fence, and Fernando stood in the door of his -house watching what was happening. At last the two headmen came out of -the house. The Korala was carrying a bundle. He walked up to Babun and -showed him the bundle: it consisted of two cloths, a pair of gold -ear-rings, and some other pieces of gold jewellery. - -'Where did you get these from, yakko?'[45] he asked. - -'I know nothing about them: they are not mine.' - -'Don't lie, yakko. They were in your house. Where did you get them -from?' - -'Hamadoru, I know nothing about them. Some one must have put them -there.' - -'Lies. They were stolen last night from the Arachchi's house. The -Mudalali saw you leaving the house in the night. Curse you, I shall have -to take you into Kamburupitiya now to the court and the magistrate -Hamadoru. And what about this fellow?' pointing to Silindu, 'Do you -charge him as well?' - -'Yes, Mahatmaya,' said Babehami. 'But there is the box too. Should not -the jungle round the house be searched for it?' - -'Yes. Hi there, you fellows! Go and search that piece of jungle there.' - -Three or four men went off slowly and began a desultory search in the -jungle which lay behind the compound. Suddenly there was a cry, and one -of them lifted up a large box. He brought it to the Korala. The lock had -been forced open. It was recognised as the headman's. The case was -complete, and the onlookers recognised that the evidence against Babun -was damning. - -Babun and Silindu were taken off to the headman's house. They had to -spend the night in the verandah with Babehami's brother, who was there -to see that they did not run away. The injustice of this new catastrophe -seemed to have completely broken Babun's spirit. His misfortunes were -too many and sudden for him to fight against. He refused to talk, and -squatted with his back against the wall silent throughout the night. The -effect upon Silindu was different. He saw at last the malignity of the -headman and how his life had been ruined by it. This last stroke made -him aware of the long series of misfortunes, which he now felt were all -due to the same cause. This knowledge roused him at last from his -resignation and from the torpor habitual to his mind. He talked -incessantly in a low voice, sometimes to Babun, but more often -apparently to himself. - -'They call me a hunter, a vedda? A fine hunter! To be hunted for years -now and not to know it! It is the headman who is the vedda, a very -clever hunter. I have been lying here like a fat old stag in a thicket -while he was crawling, crawling nearer and nearer, round and round, -looking for the shot. Where was the watching doe to cry the alarm? -Always he shot me down as I lay quiet. But the old hunter should be very -careful. In the end misfortune comes. Perhaps this time I am a buffalo, -wounded. The wise hunter does not follow up the wounded buffalo, where -the jungle is thick. Ha! ha! The wounded buffalo can be as clever as the -clever hunter. He hears the man crawling and crawling through the -jungle. He stands there out of the track in the shadows, the great black -head down, the blood bubbling through the wound, listening to the twigs -snap and the dry leaves rustle; and the man comes nearer and nearer. -Fool! you cannot see him there, but he can see you now; he will let you -pass him, and then out he will dash upon you, and his great horns will -crash into your side, and he will fling you backwards through the air as -if you were paddy straw. The old buffalo knows, the old buffalo knows; -the young men laugh at him, "buffaloes' eyes," they say, "blind eyes, -foolish eyes, a foolish face like a buffalo," but he is clever, amma! he -is clever--when wounded--when he hears the hunter after him--cleverer -than the cleverest hunter. And when it has gone on for years! all his -life! What will he do then? Will he lie quiet then? Oh! he will lie -quiet, yes, and let them take all from him, daughter and home and food. -He will shake his head and sigh the great sigh, and lie quiet in the mud -of the wallow, very sad. And then at last they come after his life. -Shall they take that too? Then at last he knows and is angry--very -angry--and he stands waiting for them. The fools! They come on, crawling -still; they do not know that he is ready for them now. The fools! the -fools!' - -The next morning the Korala took with him the complainant, the accused, -and the witnesses, of whom Fernando turned out to be one, and started -for Kamburupitiya. Punchi Menika went with them. They travelled slowly, -and reached Kamburupitiya on the fourth morning. Silindu had relapsed -into his usual state of sullen silence; Babun's spirit appeared to be -completely broken. He scarcely understood what the charge against him -was; he knew nothing of why or on what evidence it had been made. He -waited bewildered to see what new misfortune fate and his enemies would -bring upon him. - -The parties and witnesses in the case were taken at once to the -court-house. They waited about all the morning on the verandah. The -court was a very large oblong room with a roof of flat red tiles. At one -end was the bench, a raised dais, with a wooden balustrade round it. -There were a table and chair upon the dais. In the centre of the room -was a large table with chairs round it for the bar and the more -respectable witnesses. At the further end of the room was the dock, a -sort of narrow oblong cage made of a wooden fence with a gate in it. -Silindu and Babun were locked up in this cage, and a court peon stood by -the gate in charge of them. There was no other furniture in the room -except the witness-box, a small square wooden platform surrounded by a -wooden balustrade on three of its sides. - -Nothing happened all the morning: Babun and Silindu squatted down behind -the bars of their cage. They were silent: they had never been in so vast -or so high a room. The red tiles of the roof seemed a very long way -above their heads. Outside they could hear the murmur of the sea, and -the rush of the wind, and the whispered conversation of the witnesses on -the verandah; but inside the empty room the silence awed them. About one -o'clock there was a stir through the court: the headmen hurried in, a -proctor or two came and sat down at the table. The peon nudged Babun and -Silindu, and told them to stand up. Then they saw a white Hamadoru, an -Englishman, appear on the daïs and sit down. The court interpreter, a -Sinhalese Mahatmaya in coat and trousers, stood upon a small wooden step -near the bench. The judge spoke to him in an angry voice. The -interpreter replied in a soothing deferential tone. The conversation -being in English was unintelligible to Babun and Silindu. Then the door -of their cage was unlocked, and they were led out and made to stand up -against the wall on the left of the bench. - -The court-house stood on a bare hill which rose above the town, a small -headland which ran out into the sea to form one side of the little bay. -The judge, as he sat upon the bench, looked out through the great open -doors opposite to him, down upon the blue waters of the bay, the red -roofs of the houses, and then the interminable jungle, the grey jungle -stretching out to the horizon and the faint line of the hills. And -throughout the case this vast view, framed like a picture in the heavy -wooden doorway, was continually before the eyes of the accused. Their -eyes wandered from the bare room to the boats and the canoes, bobbing up -and down in the bay, to the group of little figures on the shore hauling -in the great nets under the blazing sun, to the dust storms sweeping -over the jungle, miles away where they lived. The air of the court was -hot, heavy, oppressive; the voices of those who spoke seemed both to -themselves and to the others unreal in the stillness. The murmur of the -little waves in the bay, the confused shouts of the fishermen on the -shore, the sound of the wind in the trees floated up to them as if from -another world. - -It was like a dream. They did not understand what exactly was happening. -This was 'a case' and they were 'the accused,' that was all they knew. -The judge looked at them and frowned; this increased their fear and -confusion. The judge said something to the interpreter, who asked them -their names in an angry threatening voice. Silindu had forgotten what -his ge[46] name was; the interpreter became still more angry at this, -and Silindu still more sullen and confused. From time to time the judge -said a few sharp words in English to the interpreter: Silindu and Babun -were never quite certain whether he was or was not speaking to them, or -whether, when the interpreter spoke to them in Sinhalese, the words were -really his own, or whether he was interpreting what the judge had said. - -At last the question of the names was settled. Babehami was told to go -into the witness box. As he did so a proctor stood up at the table and -said: - -'I appear for the complainant, your honour.' - -'Any one for the defence?' said the judge. - -'Have you a proctor?' the interpreter asked Silindu. - -'No,' said Babun, 'we are very poor.' - -'No, your worship,' said the interpreter. - -Babehami knew exactly what to do; it was not the first time that he had -given evidence. He was quite at his ease when he made the affirmation -that he would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the -truth. He gave his name and his occupation. Then his proctor stood up -and said to him: - -'Now Arachchi, tell us exactly what has happened.' - -Babehami cleared his throat and then told the following story in a -rather sing-song voice: - -'About four days ago when I woke up in the morning my wife had gone out -into the compound. I heard her cry out, "Aiyo, some one has made a hole -in the wall of the house." I ran out and saw a hole on the western side -of the house. The hole was big enough for a man to crawl through. There -are two rooms in the house, one on the eastern side, and one on the -western side. We, my wife and I, were sleeping that night in the room on -the east side; in the other room was a wooden box in which were clothes -and two new sarong cloths and jewellery belonging to my wife. The box -was locked. When I saw the hole I ran back into the house to see if the -box was safe. I found it had disappeared. At that I cried out: "Aiyo, my -box has been stolen." Then the Mudalali, who had been staying in the hut -next to mine, hearing the cries came up and asked what was the matter. I -told him: he said, "Last night about four peyas[47] before dawn I went -out into the compound for a call of nature. I heard a noise in your -compound. Thinking it was a wild pig I stepped back into the doorway and -looked. Then I saw your brother-in-law come running from your compound -carrying something in his hands. He ran into the jungle behind his own -house." I went straight off to the village of the Korala Mahatmaya; it -lies many miles away to the north. Then when the sun was about there -(pointing about three-quarters way up the wall of the court) I met the -Korala Mahatmaya on the road. The Korala Mahatmaya said, "What are you -coming this way for, to trouble me? I am going to Kamburupitiya." I told -him what had happened and turned with him to go back. We came to the -village in the afternoon. The Korala Mahatmaya went to the accused's -house and searched. In the roof between the thatch he found the two -sarong cloths and my wife's jewellery, and the box with the lock broken -was found in the jungle behind the house.' - -When Babehami began his story, Babun and Silindu had not really listened -to what he was saying. They were still dazed and confused, they did not -quite understand what was going on. But as he proceeded, they gradually -grasped what he was doing, and when he told the story about the -Mudalali, they saw the whole plot. Their brains worked slowly; they felt -they were trapped; there was no way out of it. Babehami's proctor stood -up to examine him, but the judge interrupted him: - - -'The first accused, I understand, is the brother-in-law of the -complainant. Is that correct? I propose to charge the accused now. But -is there any evidence against the second accused--Silindu, isn't his -name?--Mr. Perera?' - -The proctor called Babehami to him and had a whispered conversation with -him. - -'There is no evidence, sir,' he said to the judge, 'to connect him -directly with the theft. But he was in the house in which the first -accused lived, on the night in question. He must have been an accessory. -He is the owner of the house, I understand, and might be charged with -receiving.' - -'No, certainly not--if that's your only evidence to connect him with the -theft. I should not be prepared to convict in any case, Mr. Perera. I -shall discharge him at once--especially as the man does not look as if -he is quite right in the head.' - -'Very well, sir.' - -'Charge the first accused only,' said the judge to the interpreter. -'There is no evidence against the second accused. He can go.' - -This conversation had been in English and therefore was again -unintelligible to the two accused. Their bewilderment was increased -therefore when the interpreter said to Silindu: 'You there, go away.' -Silindu, not knowing where he had to go, remained where he was. 'Can't -you hear, yakko?' shouted the interpreter. 'Clear out.' The peon came up -and pushed Silindu out on to the verandah. A small group of idle -spectators laughed at him as he came out. - -'They'll hang you in the evening, father,' said a small boy. - -'I thought the judge Hamadoru said ten years' rigorous imprisonment,' -said a young man. Silindu turned to an old man who looked like a -villager, and said: - -'What does it mean, friend?' Every one laughed. - -'You are acquitted,' said the old man; 'go back to your buffaloes.' - -Babun also did not understand the acquittal of Silindu. Things appeared -to be happening around him as if he were in a dream. The interpreter -came and stood in front of him and said the following sentence very fast -in Sinhalese: - -'You are charged under section 1010 of the Penal Code with housebreaking -and theft of a box, clothing, and jewellery, in the house of the -complainant, on the night of the 10th instant, and you are called on to -show cause why you should not be convicted.' - -'I don't understand, Hamadoru.' - -'You heard what the complainant said?' - -'Yes, Hamadoru.' - -'He charges you with the theft. Have you anything to say?' - -'I know nothing about this.' - -'He says he knows nothing about this,' said the interpreter to the -judge. - -'Any witnesses?' said the judge. - -'Have you any witnesses?' said the interpreter to Babun. - -'How can I have witnesses? No one will give evidence against the -headman.' - -'Any reason for a false charge?' asked the judge. - -'Hamadoru, the headman is on very bad terms with me; he is angry with me -because of my wife. He is angry with my wife's father. He wanted me to -marry from another village. Then he wanted me to give my wife to the -Mudalali and because I refused he is angry.' - -'Anything else?' - -Babun was silent. There was nothing more to say. He looked out through -the great doors at the jungle. He tried to think where Beddagama was; -but, looking down upon it from that distance, it was impossible to -detect any landmark in the unbroken stretch of trees. - -'Very well, Mr. Perera,' said the judge. - -Mr. Perera got up again and began to examine Babehami. - -'How long have you been a headman?' - -'Fifteen years.' - -'Have you ever had a private case before?' - -'No.' - -'Are you on bad terms with your brother-in-law?' - -'No, but he is on bad terms with me.' - -'How is that?' - -'There is a Government Order that chenas are only to be given to fit -persons. The accused is not a fit person: he could do work, but he is -lazy. Therefore chenas were refused to him. He thought that I had done -this. It was a Kachcheri Order from the agent Hamadoru. Last week he was -very angry and threatened me because of it. The Mudalali heard him.' - -'Is the Mudalali a friend of yours?' - -'How could he be, aiya? He is a mahatmaya of Kamburupitiya. I am only a -village man. How could he be a friend of mine? He comes to the village -merely to collect debts due to him.' - -'And when he comes, you let him stay in the unoccupied house next to -yours. Otherwise you do not know him?' - -'Yes, that is true, aiya.' - -'Is the Korala related to you?' - -'No.' - -'A friend of yours?' - -'No; he was on bad terms with me. He said I troubled him and was a bad -headman.' - -Mr. Perera sat down. - -'Any questions?' said the judge. - -'Any questions?' the interpreter asked Babun. - -'I don't understand,' said Babun. - -'Yakko,' said the interpreter angrily, 'do you want to ask complainant -any questions?' - -'What questions are there to ask? It is lies what he said.' - -There was a pause while the judge waited for Babun to think of a -question. The silence confused him, and all the eyes looking at him. He -fixed his own eyes on the jungle. - -At last Babun thought of a question. - -'Did you not ask me to give the woman to the Mudalali?' - -'No,' said Babehami. - -'Did not the Mudalali call her to go to his house?' - -'I know nothing of that.' - -'Weren't you angry when I married the woman?' - -'No.' - -Babun turned desperately to the judge. - -'Hamadoru,' he said, 'it is all lies he is saying.' The judge was -looking straight at him, but Babun could read nothing in the impassive -face; the light eyes, 'the cat's eyes,' of the white Hamadoru frightened -him. - -'Is that all?' said the judge. - -Babun was silent. - -'Who is this Mudalali?' said the judge sharply to Babehami. - -'Fernando Mudalali, Hamadoru. He comes from Kamburupitiya; he is a -trader, he lends money in the village.' - -'What's he doing in the village now?' - -'He has come to collect debts.' - -'When did he come?' - -'About a week ago.' - -'When is he going?' - -'I don't know.' - -'Is he married?' - -'I don't think so. I don't know.' - -'Why do you give him a house to live in?' - -'Hamadoru, the little hut was empty. He came to me and said: "Arachchi," -he said, "I must stay here a few days. I want a house. There is that hut -of yours--can I live in it?" So I said, "Why not?"' - -'Whose is the hut?' - -'Mine.' - -'Why did you build it?' - -'It was built, Hamadoru, for this brother-in-law of mine.' - -'When?' - -'I don't know.' - -'What do you mean?' - -'Hamadoru, last year, I think.' - -'But your brother-in-law lives with his father-in-law?' - -'Yes.' - -'Then why did you build him a house?' - -'There was talk of his leaving the other people.' - -'Has the Mudalali ever stayed in the village before?' - -'No.' - -'Do you owe anything to him?' - -'No.' - -'Next witness.' - -Babehami stood down and the Korala entered the witness-box. He was -examined by Mr. Perera. He told his story very simply and quietly. He -had met Babehami, who had told him that his house had been broken into -and that a box had been stolen; he described the box and its contents; -he suspected his brother-in-law, who had been seen going away from his -house in the night, by the Mudalali. The Korala then described how he -went into and searched the house, and how he found the cloths and -jewellery which answered to Babehami's previous description. He then -produced them. The proctor examined him. - -'Are you on good terms with the complainant?' - -'I am not on good terms or bad terms with him. I only know him as a -headman.' - -'Do you complain of his troubling you?' - -'I complained that he was a bad headman. He has troubled me with silly -questions. He is an ignorant man.' - -Mr. Perera sat down. 'Any questions?' asked the judge. - -'Any questions?' asked the interpreter of Babun. - -Babun shook his head. 'What questions are there?' he said. - -'Do you know this Mudalali?' said the judge to the Korala. - -'I have seen him before in Kamburupitiya.' - -'Have you seen him before in Beddagama?' - -'No.' - -'Did you know that he was there?' - -'No.' - -'Do you know of any ill-feeling between complainant and accused?' - -'No, I did not know the accused at all. I live many miles from -Beddagama.' - -'Next witness.' - -Fernando was the next witness. He wore for the occasion a black European -coat, a pink starched shirt, and a white cloth. He was cool and -unabashed. He told how he had gone out in the night for a call of -nature, how he had heard a noise in the compound of the headman and had -then seen Babun come out carrying something and go with it into the -jungle behind his own house. - -'Could you see what it was?' asked the proctor. - -'Not distinctly. He walked as if it were heavy. It was rather large.' - -'How did you recognise him? Can you swear it was he?' - -'I can swear that it was the accused. I recognised him first by his -walk. But I also saw his face in the moonlight.' - -'Are you on bad terms with accused? Does he owe you money?' - -'I am not on bad terms with him. I scarcely know him. He owes me for -kurakkan lent to him. I had arranged to make him my gambaraya. All the -villagers there owe me money.' - -'How long have you been in the village?' - -'About ten days. I am making arrangements for the recovery of my loans. -Last crop failed and therefore much is owed to me.' - -The proctor sat down. - -'Any questions?' said the judge. - -'Any questions?' said the interpreter to Babun. Babun shook his head. -'It is lies they are telling,' he murmured. - -'Are you married?' the judge asked Fernando. - -'No.' - -'You live with a woman in Kamburupitiya?' - -'Yes.' - -'How did you come to settle in the hut in Beddagama?' - -'I was getting into difficulties with my loans because the crop failed -last year. I thought I must go to the village during the chena season -and arrange for the repayment. I saw the hut empty there, and went to -the headman and asked whether I might live there. He said "Yes."' - -'Do you know the accused's wife?' - -'I have seen her. Their compound adjoins that of the hut. Otherwise I do -not know her.' - -'Next witness.' - -The man who had found the box gave evidence of how and where he had -found it. Various villagers were then called, who identified the things -found in Silindu's hut and the box as having belonged to Babehami. They -all denied any knowledge of ill-feeling between Babun and the headman or -of any intimacy between the headman and Fernando. This closed the case -for the prosecution. - -The judge then addressed Babun in a speech which was interpreted to him. -Babun should now call any witnesses whom he might have. It was for him -to decide whether he would himself go into the witness-box and give -evidence. If he gave evidence he would be liable to cross-examination by -Babehami's proctor; if he did not, he (the judge) might draw any -conclusion from his refusal. - -Babun did not really understand what this meant. He did not reply. - -'Well?' said the interpreter. - -'I don't understand.' - -'Are you going to give evidence yourself?' - -'As the judge hamadoru likes.' - -'Explain it to him properly,' said the judge. 'Now, look here. There is -the evidence of the Korala that he found the things in your house. There -is no evidence of his being a prejudiced witness. There is the evidence -of Fernando that he saw you leaving the complainant's hut at night. You -say that Fernando wants your wife, and that the headman is in league -with him against you. At present there is no evidence of that at all. -According to your story the things must have been deliberately put into -your house by complainant, or Fernando--or both. Listen to what I am -saying. Have you any witnesses or evidence of all this?' - -'Hamadoru, how could I get witnesses of this? No one will give evidence -against the headman.' - -'I will adjourn the case if you want to call witnesses from the -village.' - -'What is the good? No one will speak the truth.' - -'Well, then, you had better, in any case, give evidence yourself.' - -'Get up here,' said the interpreter. - -Babun got into the witness-box. He told his story. The judge asked him -many questions. Then the proctor began cross examining. - -'Are you on bad terms with the Korala? Do you know him well?' - -'I am not on bad terms. I scarcely know him.' - -'Do you know that Fernando came to the village to recover money, that he -has arranged to get the chena crops from many of the villagers in -repayment of his loans?' - -'Yes.' - -'Did he ask you to act as overseer of those chenas, and promise you a -share of the crop if you did?' - -'Yes.' - -'Because he thought you the best worker in the village?' - -'Yes, I think so.' - -'When did this happen?' - -'About a week ago.' - -The proctor sat down. Babun called no witnesses. There was a curious -look of pain and distress in his face. The judge watched him in silence -for some minutes, then he told the interpreter to call Silindu. Silindu -was pushed into the box, the interpreter recited the words of the -affirmation to him. He said, 'I do not understand, Hamadoru.' It took -some time to make him understand that he had only to repeat the words -after the interpreter. He sighed and looked quickly from side to side -like a hunted animal. The eyes of the judge frightened him. He was -uncertain whether he was being charged again with the theft. He had not -listened to what was going on after he had been sent out of the court. -It occurred vaguely to him that the best thing would be to pretend to be -completely ignorant of everything. He still thought of the wounded -buffalo listening to the hunter crawling after him through the scrub: -'He doesn't move,' he muttered to himself, 'until he is sure: he stands -quite stupid and still, listening always; but when he sees clear, then -out he rushes charging.' - -'Stop that muttering,' said the judge, 'and listen carefully to what I -ask you. You've got to speak the truth. There's no charge against you; -you've got nothing to fear if you speak the truth. Do you understand?' - -'I understand, Hamadoru,' said Silindu. But he thought, 'They are -cunning hunters. They lie still in the undergrowth, waiting for the old -bull to move. But he knows: he stands quite still.' - -'Is there any reason why the headman should bring a false case against -you and the accused?' - -'I don't know, Hamadoru.' - -'You are not on bad terms with him personally.' - -'I have nothing against him. He does not like me, they say.' - -'Why doesn't he like you?' - -'Hamadoru, how should I know that?' - -'You have never had any quarrel with him?' - -'No, Hamadoru.' - -'Are you related to him?' - -'I married a cousin of his wife.' - -'The accused lives in your house? He is married to your daughter?' - -'Yes, Hamadoru.' - -'Do you know of any quarrel between him and the headman?' - -'How should I know that?' - -'There was no quarrel at the time of the marriage?' - -'They say this and that, but how should I know, Hamadoru?' - -'You know nothing about it yourself, then?' - -'No, Hamadoru.' - -'Do you know the Mudalali Fernando?' - -'No, Hamadoru.' - -'You don't know him? Doesn't he stay in the hut adjoining your -compound?' - -'I have seen him there. I have never spoken with him.' - -'Did you hear of anything between him and your daughter?' - -'They talk, Hamadoru.' - -'What did they say?' - -'They said he wanted my daughter.' - -'Who said? When?' - -'This man' (pointing to Babun). - -'When?' - -'Three or four days ago.' - -'You know nothing more, yourself, about this?' - -'No, Hamadoru.' - -Neither Babun nor Babehami's proctor asked Silindu any questions; he was -told to go away, and was pushed out of court by the peon. The case was -over, only the judgment had to be delivered now. The judge leant back in -his chair, gazing over the jungle at the distant hills. There was not a -sound in the court. Outside, down on the shore, the net had been hauled -in, and the fish sold. Not a living being could be seen now, except an -old fisherman sitting by a broken canoe, and looking out over the waters -of the bay. The wind had died away, and sea and jungle lay still and -silent under the afternoon sun. The court seemed very small now, -suspended over this vast and soundless world of water and trees. Babun -became very afraid in the silence. The judge began to write; no one else -moved, and the only sound in the world seemed to be the scratching of -the pen upon the paper. At last the judge stopped writing. He looked at -Babun, and began to read out his judgment in a casual, indifferent -voice, as if in some way it had nothing to do with him. The interpreter -translated it sentence by sentence to Babun. - -'There is almost certainly something behind this case which has not come -out. There is, I feel, some ill-feeling between complainant and accused. -The complainant impressed me most unfavourably. But the facts have to be -considered. There can be no doubt that complainant's things were found -hidden in the house in which accused lives, and that the box was found -in the jungle behind the house. The evidence of the Korala is obviously -trustworthy on these points. There is clear evidence, too, that a hole -had been made in complainant's house wall. Then there is the evidence of -the Mudalali. As matters stand, it was for the accused to show that that -evidence was untrustworthy. He has not really attempted to do this. His -father-in-law's evidence, if anything, goes to show that there is -nothing in complainant's story that Fernando wanted to get hold of his -wife. Accused's defence implies that there was a deliberate conspiracy -against him. I cannot accept his mere statement that such a conspiracy -existed without any corroborating evidence of motive for it. He has no -such evidence. Even if there were ill-feeling over the refusal of a -chena or something else, it would cut both ways; that is, it might have -been accused's motive for the theft. I convict accused, and sentence him -to six months' rigorous imprisonment.' - -Babun had not understood a word of the broken sentences of the judgment -until the interpreter came to the last words, 'six months' rigorous -imprisonment.' Even then, it was only when the peon took hold of him by -the arm to put him back again into the cage, that he realised what it -meant--that he was to be sent to prison. - -'Hamadoru,' he burst out, 'I have not done this. I cannot go to prison, -Hamadoru! It is all lies, it is lies that he has said. He is angry with -me. I have not done this. I swear on the Beragama temple I have not done -this. I cannot go to prison. There is the woman, Hamadoru, what will -become of her? Oh! I have not done this. I have not.' - -The proctors and idlers smiled; the peon and the interpreter told Babun -to hold his tongue. The judge got up and turned to leave the court. - -'I am sorry,' he said, 'but the decision has been given. I treated you -very leniently as a first offender.' - -Every one stood up in silence as the judge left the court. As soon as he -had left, everything became confusion. Proctors, witnesses, court -officials, and spectators all began talking at once. - -Babun crouched down moaning in the cage. Punchi Menika began to shriek -on the verandah, until the peon came out and drove her away. Only -Silindu maintained his sullenness and calmness. He followed Babun when -he was taken away by the peon to the lock-up. At one point, when he saw -that the peon was not looking, he laid his hand on Babun's arm and -whispered: - -'It is all right, son, it is all right. Don't be afraid. The old buffalo -is cunning still. Very soon he will charge.' He smiled and nodded at -Babun, and then left him to find Punchi Menika. - -It took some time for Silindu to find Punchi Menika. She had wandered -aimlessly away from the court through the bazaar. Silindu was now -extraordinarily excited, he seemed to be almost happy. He ran up to her, -took her by the hand, and began leading her quickly away out of the -town. - -'We must go away at once,' he said. 'There is much to think of and much -to do. It is late, but we at least do not fear the jungle. The jungle is -better than the town. We can sleep by the big trees at the second hill.' - -'But, Appochchi, my man. What will become of him? What will they do to -him? Will they kill him?' - -'Babun is all right. I have told him. The Government do not kill. There -is no killing here. But in the jungle, always killing--the leopard and -jackal, and the hunter. Yes, and the hunter, always killing, the blood -of deer and pig and buffalo. And at last, the hunting of the hunter, -very slow, very quiet, very cunning; and at the end, after a long time, -the blood of the hunter.' - -'But, Appochchi, stop, do. What does it mean? They are taking him to -prison. What will they do with him? Shall we never see him again?' - -'The hunter? Yes, yes we shall see him again. Very soon, but he will not -see us?' - -'What is this about the hunter? It is my man I am talking about.' - -'Oh, Babun. He is all right. The white Hamadoru said, "Six months' -rigorous imprisonment." I heard that quite clear at the end. "Six -months' rigorous imprisonment." It was all that I heard clearly. He is -all right. There is no need for you to cry. They will take him away over -there--(Silindu pointed to the east)--there is a great house----I -remember I saw it a long time ago when I went on a pilgrimage with my -mother. They will put him in the great house, and give him rice to eat, -so I hear. Then he will come back to the village----but it will be after -the hunting.' - -'O Appochchi, are you sure?' - -'Yes, child, all will be well after the hunting. But now I must -think.' - -Punchi Menika saw that it would be impossible to get anything more out -of Silindu in his present state. They walked on in silence. As they -walked his excitement began to die down. He seemed to be thinking -deeply. From time to time he muttered to himself. Late in the evening -they came to the big trees. Silindu collected some sticks and made a -fire. Then he squatted down while Punchi Menika cooked some food which -they had carried with them. - -Once or twice as they sat round the fire, after having eaten the food, -Punchi Menika began to question Silindu about Babun, but he did not -reply; he did not seem to hear her. Her mind was numbed by the fear and -uncertainty. She lay down on the ground, and an uneasy sleep came to -her. Suddenly she was aroused by Silindu shaking her. She saw in the -light of the fire how his face was working with excitement. - -'Child, there are two of them, two of them the whole time, and I never -saw it.' - -'What do you mean? Where?' - -'Hunting me, child, hunting us all--me, you, and Babun, and Hinnihami. -They killed Hinnihami, your sister. I found her lying there in the -jungle, dying. They did that. But they shall not get you. There are two -of them. Listen! I hear them crawling round us in the jungle, do you -hear? Now--there----! I thought there was only one, fool that I was--the -little headman. But now I hear them both. The little headman first and -then the other; the man with the smooth black face and the smile. It was -he, wasn't it? Didn't Babun say so? He came to you and called you to -come to his house. Babun said so, I heard him. Fernando--the -Mudalali--he wanted to take you away, but he couldn't. Then he went to -the headman and together they went to hunt us. Isn't that true? Isn't -that true?' - -'Yes, Appochchi, yes. It was because they wanted me for the Mudalali. -Then they took the chena away and then they brought the case. They have -taken my man from me, what shall I do?' - -'Hush, I am here. They shall do no more. Listen, child. It is true that -they have taken Babun from you. For six months he will be over there. -"Very well," they think. They thought to send me there too, but the -judge Hamadoru was wise. "Get out," he said to me. I did not understand -then, and they laughed at me, but I understand now. Well, those two will -come back to the village. "The man," they think, "is away over there for -six months, only the woman and the mad father are here. What can they -do? The Mudalali can now take the woman." Is this true?' - -'Appochchi! It is what I fear. It is true.' - -'It is true. But do not be afraid. The old father is there, but he is -not altogether mad. The Mudalali will come back to-morrow, perhaps, r -the next day, with the headman. Then they will begin again.' - -'Yes, yes. That is what I fear, Appochchi. What can we do? we must go -away.' - -'Hush, child. Do not cry out. There is no need to be afraid. We cannot -go away. How can we live away from the village and the jungle which we -know. That is foolish talk. There in the town I do not understand even -what they say to me; and the noise and the talking in the bazaar, and -people always laughing, and the long hard roads and so many houses all -together! How could we live there? But in the village I am not -altogether mad. It is folly to talk of leaving it and the jungle. Very -soon I shall feel the gun in my hand again. Then I shall be a man again, -slipping between the trees--very quietly. Ha, ha! we know the tracks, -little Arachchi. I remember, child, when I was but a boy, I went out -once with my father for skins and horns. He was a good hunter and knew -the jungle well. We went on and on--many days--round and round too--he -leading, and I following. And at last we came to very thick jungle which -not even he knew. And a sort of madness came on us to go on and on -always, and we had forgotten the village and the wife and mother. The -jungle was tall, dense, and dark, and the sky was covered with -cloud--day after day--so that one could not tell the west from the east. -And at last, when we had many skins and horns, my father stopped, and -stood still in the track and laughed. "Child," he said, "we are mad, we -have become like the bear and the elephant; it is time to return to the -village." Then he turned round and began to walk. Soon he stopped again, -frowning. It was very dark. He stood there for a little, thinking; and -then climbed a very big tree and looked around for a long time. Then he -came down and I saw from his face that he was very afraid. We said -nothing, but started off again. For many peyas we walked and always -through very thick jungle. Again he stopped and climbed a tree and -again, when he came down, there was great fear in his face. Aiyo! that -was the first time that I saw the fear, the real fear of the jungle; but -then I did not understand. "Appochchi," I said, "what is the matter? -Boy," he said, and his voice trembled; "we are lost. I do not know where -we are, nor where the village lies, nor how we came, nor which is east -and which is west. From the trees I can see nothing which I know, not -even the hill at Beragama, only the tops of the trees everywhere. -Therefore we must be very far from the village. I have heard of such -things happening to very good hunters; but always before I have known -the way. Punchi Appu must have died like that. Wandering on and on until -no powder is left and no food. Aiyo! the jungle will take us, as they -say." Then I said, "Appochchi, do not be afraid. I do not know which way -we came, and I cannot tell just now which is west and which is east -because of the clouds; but I know where the village lies. It is over -there. Can you lead the way?" he asked, and I said, "Yes." Then he -said, "Perhaps you know, perhaps you do not; but now one way is as good -as another for me. You go first." At that I was pleased, and led on -straight to where I knew the village must lie. For two days I led the -way and my father said nothing, but I saw that he became more and more -afraid. And on the third day, suddenly he cried out, "I know this: this -track leads to the village. You are going right." It was a track I had -never been on, but I still led the way; and on the fourth day we entered -the village--well, what was I saying? Yes, I know the tracks, even in -those days when I was a boy I knew the jungle. But this time it requires -clever hunting.' - -'Yes, Appochchi, but what to do now, when they come back to the -village?' - -'Those two! Ah! now you listen, child. I have thought over it all this -time and there is only one way. I shall kill them both.' - -'Kill them! O Appochchi, no, no. You are mad!' - -'Am I mad? And what if I am? Haven't they always called me mad, the mad -vedda. Well, now let them see if I am mad or not. Have they not hunted -me for all these years and am I always to go running like a stupid deer -through the jungle? No, no, little Arachchi; no, no. This time it is the -old wounded buffalo. Three times, four times that night in the hut when -I saw it first I got up to get my gun and end it. And again, after the -court, I would have done it, had I had a gun. But I thought--no, not -yet, for once we must act cunningly, not in anger only. The buffalo's -eye is red with anger, but he stands quiet until the hunter has passed. -Then he charges.' - -'But, Appochchi, you must not say that. You cannot do it. You must come -away. They will take you and hang you.' - -'What can I do? I cannot leave the village; I will not; I have told you -that. There is no other way.' - -'But what are you going to do?' - -'Ah! I must think. It needs cunning and skill first. I must think.' - -'No, no, Appochchi; no, no. It would be better to give me to the -Mudalali!' - -'I would rather kill you than that. Do you hear? I shall kill you if you -go to the Mudalali.' - -'Oh! oh! isn't it enough that they should have taken my man from me? And -now more evil comes.' - -'I tell you that I will end this now. Now I shall sleep and to-morrow -think of the way.' - -Silindu refused to listen any further to Punchi Menika's expostulations. -He lay down by the fire and soon slept. Next day, and throughout their -journey to the village, he was very silent, and refused to discuss the -subject at all with her. The lethargy habitual to him had left him -completely. He was in an extraordinary state of excitement, goaded on -perpetually by great gusts of anger against Babehami and Fernando. When -he got back to his house he sat down in the compound in a place from -which he could see the headman's house, and waited. He watched the house -all day, and, when in the evening he saw the headman return, he smiled. -Then he got up and went into the hut. He took his gun which stood in the -corner of the room, unloaded it, and reloaded it again with fresh powder -and several big slugs. He examined the caps carefully, chose two, and -put them in the fold of his cloth. Then he lay down and slept. - -Next morning he was very quiet and thoughtful; but if any one had -watched him closely, he would have seen that he was really in a state of -intense excitement. After eating the morning meal he took his gun and -went over to the headman's house. To the astonishment of Babehami and -his wife he walked into the house, put his gun in the corner of the -room, and squatted down. Babehami watched him closely for a minute or -two; he felt uneasy; he noted that the curious wild look in Silindu's -eyes was greater than ever. - -'Well, Silindu, what is it?' he said. - -'Arachchi, I have come to you about this chena. I cannot live without -chena. You must give it back to me.' - -'You heard in the court that the chena cannot be given to you. It has -been given to Appu. Let us have an end of all this trouble.' - -'Yes, Arachchi, that is why I have come to you. I want an end of all -this trouble. Do you hear that? An end now--to-day--of trouble. Trouble, -trouble, for years. We must end it to-day. Do you hear?' - -'What do you mean?' - -'Yes. What did I say? This, this. Now, Arachchi, that was nothing; do -not mind what I said then. I was thinking, thinking. You know they call -me mad in the village. Well, I was thinking, you know, now that Babun is -over there for six months, I heard the judge Hamadoru say that clearly, -but to me he said merely, "Clear out"--I was never a friend of that -Babun--all the trouble has come from him--he took Punchi Menika from me, -and then Hinnihami. I saw her lying in the jungle by the deer--what did -we call him? Kalu Appu? Punchi Appu? Yes, yes, Punchi Appu, that was -long ago. They beat her. They threw stones at her. That was long ago--in -the jungle. But now Babun is away for six months. When he comes back, I -shall say to him, "Clear out," as the judge Hamadoru said. They laughed -at me then. A foolish old man, a mad old man, eh? Ha, ha! little -Arachchi, little Arachchi, you have laughed at me too--for years, -haven't you, haven't you?' - -'What is all this, Silindu? What do you mean? I don't understand.' - -'Ah, Arachchi, it is nothing. Do not mind what I say. I do not know what -I was saying. I am a poor man, Arachchi, very ignorant, a little mad. -But I am a quiet man; I have given no trouble in the village. You know -that well, Arachchi, don't you? I cannot speak well--like you, -Arachchi--in the court. But this is what I want to say. I do not like -this Babun; all the trouble has come from him. I am a quiet man in the -village, you know that. I said to my daughter on the way here by the big -palu-trees at the second hill--I said to her, "The man is now sent away; -he will be over there for six months. He is a foolish man. It is he who -has brought the trouble. The Mudalali is a good man. The Arachchi, too, -is a good man. Why should we quarrel with those two? There is no shame -in your going to the Mudalali." Then my daughter said, "I will do as you -think best, Appochchi." Do you understand now, Arachchi?' - -Silindu stopped. The Arachchi had been watching him narrowly. He began -to understand the drift of Silindu's incoherent words. But he still felt -uneasy. As Silindu spoke, his suppressed excitement became more and more -apparent in his voice and words. But Babehami knew well that he was mad, -and that he was also wonderfully stupid. It was just like him to do -things in this wild way. The more Babehami thought of it, the more he -became convinced that the conviction of Babun had done its work. Silindu -and Punchi Menika had given in. - -'Yes, I think I understand,' he said. 'It is true that the Mudalali will -take your daughter. He is a good man; and the trouble came from Babun, -as you say.' - -'That is it, Arachchi, that is it. Let the Mudalali take Punchi Menika. -My daughter cannot live with thieves now. She will go to the Mudalali. -Do you understand?' - -'Yes, Silindu. But it must be done quietly. She cannot go openly to his -house, or there will be silly talk, after what was said in the court.' - -'No, no. It must be done quietly, very quietly.' - -'I will tell the Mudalali, and she can come at night to him. Afterwards, -perhaps, she can live at the house; but at first she must go secretly at -night.' - -'Ha, ha, Arachchi. You are clever! How clever you are! You think of all -things. Yes, it must be all done quietly, quietly.' - -'Very well, Silindu, I will tell the Mudalali. It is a good thing to end -all this trouble, like this.' - -'Yes, it is a very good thing to end it--like this. Yes--like this, like -this. But now the chena, Arachchi. I cannot live without the chena. -Without a chena I must starve. You cannot see me starve. Even now there -is no grain in my house. You must give me the chena.' - - -Babehami thought for a while, then he said: - -'Well, I will see what can be done; perhaps I can arrange with Appu -about the chena. We will see.' - -'Yes, Arachchi, but let us have done with it once for all. The thing is -settled. Appu cannot be left there. Come.' - -'Why, what do you want? Don't you trust me?' - -'Yes, I trust you--why not, Arachchi?--but I am afraid of Appu. If he is -left there to do work, he will refuse to go. He is in the chena now. It -would be better to go and tell him at once.' - -'I cannot go now. To-morrow, perhaps.' - -'Arachchi, it is but two miles. You said it is a good thing to end the -trouble. Let us settle it now, to-day, and the Mudalali can have Punchi -Menika to-night.' - -Babehami was silent. He disliked being hurried. On the other hand he -would be very glad to see the whole matter settled. His action with -regard to the chena troubled him because it was dangerous. He knew that -the petition had been presented, and he was not at all sure that he -would come off as well in an inquiry as he had in the court. It would -also be wise to bind Silindu to him by giving him back the chena, and -not to risk his changing his mind about the Mudalali and Punchi Menika. -He argued a little more, and stood out half-heartedly against Silindu's -urgings to start at once. At last he gave in, and they started for the -chena. - -They followed a narrow jungle track which had been lately cleared. The -tangle of shrubs and undergrowth and trees was like a wall on each side -of the track. The headman walked first, and Silindu, carrying his gun, -followed. For the first three-quarters of a mile they walked in silence, -except for a word or two which the headman shouted back to Silindu -without turning his head. Silindu had fallen somewhat behind; he -quickened his pace, and came up close to the headman; he was muttering -to himself. - -'What do you say?' asked Babehami. - -'What? Was I talking? I do not know, Arachchi. They say the hunter talks -to himself in the jungle. It is a custom. Have you ever been a hunter, -Arachchi?' - -'No. You know that well enough.' - -'Oh yes. You are no hunter. Who should know that better than I? But do -they call me a good hunter, Arachchi? skilful, cunning? Do I know the -tracks, Arachchi?' - -'Of course, every one knows you to be the best hunter in the district.' - -'Aiyo, the best hunter in the district! And do you know, Arachchi, that -I am afraid of the jungle?' - -'So they say. What are you afraid of?' - -Silindu began to speak with great excitement. As he went on his voice -began to get shriller and shriller; it trembled with anger and fear and -passion. - -'I am afraid of everything, Arachchi; the jungle, the devils, the -darkness. But, above all, of being hunted. Have you ever been hunted, -Arachchi? No, of course you are not a hunter, and therefore have never -been hunted. But I know. It happens sometimes to the cleverest of us. -The elephant, they say; but that I have never seen. But the buffalo: I -have seen that--here--on this very track--before it was cleared--many -years ago. The buffalo is stupid, isn't he, little Arachchi? Very -stupid; he does not see--he does not hear--he goes on wallowing in his -mud. And they hunt him year after year--year after year--he does not -know--he does not see them--he does not hear them. Do you know that? I -know it--I am a hunter. Then--then having crept close, they shoot him. -It was near here. At first, crash--he tears away through the jungle, the -blood flowing down his side. He is afraid, very afraid--and in pain. But -the pain brings anger, and with anger, anger, Arachchi, comes cunning. -And now, Arachchi, now comes the game, the dangerous game. The young men -laugh at it, but the wise hunter would be afraid. There he stood, do you -see?--there--under that maiyilittan-tree, head down, very still. And the -hunter--fool, fool--crept after him through the undergrowth: there was -no track then. Ah, it was thick then: he could not see anything but the -shrubs and thorns; he did not see the red eyes behind him nor the great -head down. For the other was cunning now, cunning, and very angry. And -when the hunter had gone on a little--just where you are now, -Arachchi--then--do you hear, little Arachchi?--then, out and crash, he -charged, charged, like this----' - -Babehami had at first hardly listened, but the fury and excitement of -Silindu had at last forced his attention. As Silindu said the last -words, Babehami half stopped and turned his head: he just saw Silindu's -blazing eyes and foam on the corner of his lips; at the same moment he -felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressed against his back. Silindu pulled -the trigger and Babehami fell forward on his face. A great hole was -blown in the back, and the skin round it was blackened and burnt; the -chest was shattered by the slugs which tore their way through. The body -writhed and twisted on the ground for a minute, and then was still. -Silindu kicked it with his foot to see whether it was dead. There was no -movement. He reloaded his gun and turned back towards the village. His -excitement had died down: the old lethargy was coming upon him again. He -felt this himself and walked faster, muttering, 'Even now it is not -safe. There were two of them. There is still the other.' - -When Silindu got back to the village, Fernando was in the headman's -compound. When he saw Silindu he came down towards the fence and called -out to him, 'Where is the Arachchi? They say he went out with you.' -Silindu walked up towards the stile, and stopping levelled his gun at -the Mudalali. Fernando stepped back, his mouth wide open, his eyes -staring, his whole face contorted with fear. He cowered down behind the -stile, stretching his hands vaguely out between the wooden bars, and -shouted: - -'Don't shoot! don't shoot!' - -The stile was little or no protection: between the two bottom bars -Silindu could see the Mudalali's fat stomach and legs. He took careful -aim between the bars and fired. Fernando fell backwards, writhing and -screaming with pain. Silindu went and looked over the stile: at the same -moment Babehami's wife rushed out of the house. But he saw that his work -had been accomplished; blood was pouring from the Mudalali's stomach; -his two legs and one of his hands were shattered. 'The trouble is -ended,' he muttered. - -He walked very slowly to his house. He put the gun in the corner of the -room, thought for a minute, and then immediately left the hut. He saw -that already there was a crowd of people in the headman's compound: the -women were screaming. Silindu turned into the jungle at the back of his -house, and walking quickly cut across to the track which led to -Kamburupitiya. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Before Silindu reached the Kamburupitiya track, he stopped and squatted -down with his back against a tree. He wanted to think. After the wild -excitement which had possessed him now for three days, a feeling of -immense lassitude came upon him. His mind worked slowly, confusedly; he -had no clear idea of where he was going, or of what he ought to do. He -was very tired, very unhappy now; but he felt no regret for what he had -done--no remorse for the blood of the Arachchi and of Fernando could -trouble him. So far as they were concerned, he only felt a great relief. - -He wanted to lie down and sleep. He lent back against the tree and began -to doze, but he started up again immediately, listening for footsteps of -pursuers. His first idea had been simply to run away into the jungle, to -get away at any rate from the village. The hunt would begin; he would be -hunted once again, he knew that. Then he thought of going east where the -thick jungle stretched unbroken for miles. He could live there in some -cave among the rocks; he could live there safe from his hunters for -months. He had heard stories of other men doing this: strange men from -other districts, whom the Government and the police were hunting down -for some crime. They came down from the north, so it was said, flying to -the sanctuary of the uninhabited jungle where they lay hidden for years; -they lived alone in caves and in trees, eating leaves and wild fruit and -honey, and the birds and animals which they managed to snare or kill. -They were never caught; there were no villages in that wilderness from -which information could come to the police. Sometimes one of the few -bold hunters, who were the only people to penetrate these solitudes, -would catch a glimpse of a wild, naked man in a cave or among the -shadows of the trees. Some of them perhaps eventually, trusting to the -lapse of time and to the short memory of the Government, went back to -their villages and their homes. But most of them died of fever in the -jungle to which they had fled. - -If such a life were possible for men from distant villages, who did not -know the jungle, it would be easy for Silindu. But as he squatted under -the trees thinking of what he should do, a feeling of horror for such a -life crept over him, and his repugnance to flying became stronger and -stronger. He was very tired. What he desired--and the desire was -sharp--was to rest, to be left alone untroubled in the village--in his -hut, in his compound--to sleep quietly there at night, to sit hour after -hour through the hot day under the mustard-tree in the compound. But in -the jungle there would be no rest. It was just in order to escape that -terror--the feeling of the hunted animal, the feeling that some one was -always after him meaning evil--that he had killed the Arachchi and the -Mudalali. And if he fled into the jungle now, he would have gained -nothing by the killing. He would live with that feeling for months, for -years, perhaps for ever. The hunt would begin again, and again it was he -who would be the hunted. - -Then he thought of returning to the village, but that too would be -useless; he would get no peace there. He knew well what would happen. -The Korala would be sent for; he would be seized, worried, bullied, -ill-treated probably. That would be worse than the jungle. Suddenly the -conviction came to him that it would be best to end it all at once, to -go into Kamburupitiya and give himself up to the Ratemahatmaya and the -white Hamadoru, to confess what he had done. He got up and started for -the town immediately, keeping to the game tracks in the thick jungle, -and avoiding the main tracks, for he did not wish to meet any one. - -He walked slowly, following instinctively the tangled winding tracks. -His lassitude and fatigue increased. He reached Kamburupitiya in the -evening of the third day, and asked his way to the Ratemahatmaya's -house. - -When Silindu reached the Ratemahatmaya's house, no news of the murder -had yet come to Kamburupitiya. He had walked slowly, but what was a slow -pace for him was faster than that of the other villagers. He went into -the compound, and walked cautiously round the house: in the verandah -through the lattice-work he saw the Ratemahatmaya lying in a long chair. -There was a table with a lamp upon it beside him. Silindu coughed. The -Ratemahatmaya looked up and said sharply: - -'Who is there?' - -'Hamadoru, it is I. May I come into the verandah?' - -'What do you want at this time? Come to-morrow. I can't attend to -anything at night.' - -'Hamadoru, I come from Beddagama. There has been a murder there.' - -'Come in, then.' - -Silindu came into the verandah and salaamed. He stood in front of the -Ratemahatmaya. - -'Hamadoru,' he said, 'I have killed the Arachchi and the Mudalali.' - -The Ratemahatmaya sat up. 'You? What? What do you mean? Who are -you?' - -'I am Silindu of Beddagama. The Arachchi brought a false case against me -and my son-in-law. May I sit down, Hamadoru? I am very tired. Babun was -sent to prison by the judge Hamadoru, but to me he said, "Clear out." -The case was false. They were trying to bring evil upon me and my -daughter. The Mudalali wanted the girl. They were still trying to bring -evil on me, so I said, "Enough." I took the gun and I went out with the -Arachchi over there to the chena, and I shot him through the back. He is -dead, lying there on the track. Then I went back to the village and shot -the Mudalali in the belly through the stile. He was not dead then, but I -looked over and saw the blood coming fast from the belly low down. He -must be dead now.' - -The Ratemahatmaya was not a brave man. As he listened to Silindu's short -expressionless sentences, the bald description of the shedding of blood, -given in the tired voice of the villager, he became afraid. He sat up in -his chair looking at Silindu, who crouched in front of him, motionless, -watching him. The light of the lamp fell upon the dark, livid face. It -was the face of the grey monkeys which leap above the jungle among the -tree-tops, and peer down at you through the branches; a face scarred and -pinched by suffering and weariness and fear. It was as if something evil -from the darkness, which he did not understand, had suddenly appeared in -his quiet verandah. He looked out nervously over Silindu's head into the -night: the light of the lamp in the verandah made it seem very dark -outside. The Ratemahatmaya became still more afraid in the silence which -followed Silindu's speech. He suddenly got up and shouted for his -servant. There was the sound of movements in the back of the house, and -a dirty servant boy, in a dirty vest and cloth, came blinking and -yawning into the verandah. The Ratemahatmaya told him to stand by -Silindu. - -The Ratemahatmaya drew in a deep breath of relief. The beating of his -heart became quieter. - -'Now, yakko!' he said in a sharp angry tone, 'stand up.' - -Silindu did not move; he looked up at the Ratemahatmaya with weary eyes -and said, 'Hamadoru! I am very tired. For days now there has been no -rest for me. Aiyo! I cannot remember how long it is now since I sat -quiet in my compound. Let me sleep now. I have come straight to you and -told you all. I thought at first I would run away. I could have lived -out there for months, and you would not have caught me. But I was tired -of all this: I am very tired. I thought: No. What is the good? Out there -away from the village, and the hut, and the compound, and the daughter? -It is the evil all over again. Aiyo! how tired I am of it. It is better -to end it now. So I came here. I have told you no lies. What harm can I -do now? Let me sleep here, and to-morrow you can do what you like to -me.' - -'Do you hear what I say? Stand up, yakko, stand up. Make him stand -up.' - -The servant boy kicked Silindu in the ribs, and told him to stand up. -Silindu rose slowly. - -'Now, then. You say you have killed the Arachchi and the Mudalali. Is -that Fernando, the boutique-keeper?' - -'Yes, Hamadoru, yes. Fernando, the boutique-keeper.' - -'Fetch me ink and paper and a pen.' - -The servant boy fetched the paper, ink, and pen. Meanwhile Silindu again -squatted down. The Ratemahatmaya prepared to write. - -'Didn't you hear me tell you to get up? Get up, yakko' (the servant boy -kicked Silindu again). 'Now, then. When did you kill them, and how?' - -'Three or four days ago. It was in the morning. I went with the Arachchi -to the chena. I shot him through the back.' - -'Where did you get the gun?' - -'It was my gun. I had it in my house.' - -'Was it licensed?' - -'Yes, Hamadoru. I am very tired. What is the good of all these -questions? I tell you I killed them both. Let me be. I cannot think of -these things now. To-morrow, perhaps, to-morrow. Surely you have me here -safe, and can do with me what you like to-morrow.' - -The Ratemahatmaya was a self-important, fussy little man; he was also -timid, and not fond of taking responsibilities. The sudden appearance of -Silindu with this strange story out of the darkness had upset him. He -was very annoyed when Silindu again sank down into a squatting position. -'Stand up, fellow,' he said. 'Stand up. Didn't you hear me, pariah? -Stand up. You've got to answer my questions. Now, then. What did I ask -last? Now, then----' He paused and thought for a moment. 'It is not, -perhaps, too late. Perhaps I had better take him at once to the -magistrate. Yes, that's better. You there get the bull put into the -hackery. No, no, stop there; you must look after the man. Keep him -there. Kalu Appu! Kalu Appu! Call Kalu Appu! Kalu Appu! Hoi! D'you hear? -Wake up! Put the bull in the hackery and hurry up.' - -At last another servant boy was woken up, the bull was put into the -hackery. The Ratemahatmaya put on a dark coat, and, with many curses and -complaints, got into the cart. Silindu followed slowly with the servant -boy. They trailed wearily along the dark roads for three-quarters of a -mile: then the cart stopped in the compound of the magistrate's -bungalow. The Ratemahatmaya got out and went round to the back of the -house to announce his arrival through the servants. Silindu squatted -down near the hackery; he was no longer quite conscious of what was -going on around him; after a while the Ratemahatmaya called to him to -come round into the house, and the boy who had driven the bullock poked -him up with the goad. - -He was taken along a broad dark verandah, and suddenly found himself in -a large well-lit room. Had it not been for the stupor of his fatigue he -would have been very frightened, for he had never seen anything like -this room before. It seemed to him to be full of furniture, and all the -furniture to be covered with strange objects. In reality there was only -a little travel-battered furniture in the barn-like white-washed room. -There was matting on the floor, and rugs on the matting. An immense -writing-table littered with letters and papers stood in front of the -window. There were three or four tables on which were some ugly -ornaments, mostly chipped or broken, and a great many spotted and faded -photographs. A gun, a rifle, and several sentimental pictures broke the -monotony of the white walls. The rest of the furniture consisted of a -great many chairs, two or three lamps, and a book-case with thirty or -forty books in it. - -When Silindu entered the room with the Ratemahatmaya, the magistrate was -lying in a long chair reading a book. He got up and went over to sit -down at the writing-table. He was the white Hamadoru, whom Silindu had -seen before in the court. He was dressed now in black, in evening-dress. -He sat back in his chair and stared at Silindu in silence for a minute -or two with his 'cat's eyes'; he looked cross and tired. Silindu had -instinctively squatted down again. The Ratemahatmaya angrily told him to -stand up. The magistrate seemed to be lost in thought: he continued to -stare at Silindu, and as he did so the look of irritation faded from his -face. He noted the hopelessness and suffering in Silindu's face, the -slow weariness of effort with which he moved his limbs. 'He need not -stand,' he said to the Ratemahatmaya. 'He looks damned tired, poor -devil. You can take a chair yourself, Ratemahatmaya. God! This is a nice -time to bring me work, and you seem to've brought me a miserable-looking -wretch. You say it's a murder case?' - -'Yes, sir. Or rather it appears so. I do not know much about it. In -fact, sir, only what this man has told me. He appeared at my place just -now--not half an hour ago--and says that he has killed the Arachchi of -his village and another man. I brought him straight to you, sir.' - -'Oh, damn it! That means I'll have to go out there to-morrow. How far is -it? Beddagama? I don't know the place.' - -'It's up the north track, in the jungle, sir. It must be between fifty -or sixty miles away, sir.' - -'Oh, damn! And there are any number of cases fixed for to-morrow. -Well--poor devil--he looks pretty done himself! By Jove! I believe he is -the man who was before me as an accused in that theft case the other -day. I would not charge him, I remember--no evidence against him. It -might have been better for him, perhaps, if I had, and convicted him, -too.' He turned to Silindu, and said in Sinhalese, 'You were accused of -theft before me a few days ago, weren't you?' - -'Yes, Hamadoru.' - -'Ah, I thought so. Well, Ratemahatmaya, I suppose I had better record -your statement first in form. Come on, now.' - -The Ratemahatmaya made a short statement of how Silindu had come to him, -and what he had said. The magistrate wrote it down, and then turned to -Silindu, and explained to him that the offence with which he was charged -was murder, and that he was prepared to take down anything he wished to -say, and that anything which he did say would be read out at his trial. - -Silindu did not quite understand, but he felt vaguely encouraged by the -white Hamadoru. He had spoken Sinhalese to him; he had not spoken in an -angry voice, and he was the same Hamadoru who had told him to clear out -of the court when he was charged before. - -'It is as the Dissamahatmaya[48] said. I have killed the Arachchi and -the Mudalali. If the Hamadoru sends to the village, he will find that -what I say is true. The Hamadoru remembers the previous case; he knew -that they brought a false case against me. He told me to clear out. But -the whole case was false--against Babun, too. Am I to tell everything? I -am very tired, Hamadoru. For three days now I have been walking and no -food but the jungle fruit and leaves. If I might rest now a little, and -sleep until to-morrow.... What can I do? I have told all. I am almost an -old man, very poor. What can I do?' - -'I think I had better take down what you have to say now. But you need -not stand. You had better begin from the case. What happened after -that?' - -'Aiyo, Hamadoru, aiyo! I am very tired. After the case----It was a false -case. The Arachchi for long had been trying to do me harm. How long I -cannot remember, but for many years it seems to me. At that time it was -because of my daughter; he wanted to take her from Babun and give her to -the Mudalali. Well, after the case I set out for the village with the -daughter. And all the way I was thinking--thinking how to end this evil. -For I knew well that when they came back to the village it would begin -again, all over again. They had put Babun in jail--it was a false case, -but how should the Hamadoru know that?--with all the lies they told. And -they would get Punchi Menika for the Mudalali. Then, as I went, I -thought of the old buffalo who is wounded and charges upon----' Silindu -caught sight of the gun and rifle, and stopped. 'Ah! the Hamadoru is a -hunter, too? He knows the jungle?' he asked eagerly. - -'Yes, I know the jungle.' - -'Good; then the Hamadoru will understand. The evil and the killing -there----"Yes, it is time," I thought, "to end the evil. I must kill -them both." I was a quiet man in the village, all know that. I harmed no -one; I wanted to live quietly. I went back to my compound, and sat down -and waited. In the evening came the Punchi Arachchi to his house; I saw -him go in. Then I took my gun, and went to him, and said: "Ralahami, you -may give the woman to the Mudalali, and in return give me back my -chena." The Arachchi thought to himself: "Here is a fool." But he said: -"Very well, I will give the chena back to you." Then we started for the -chena, and as we went on the track I shot him from behind. He is lying -dead there now--on the track which leads from the village to the chena. -If the Hamadoru sends some one, he can find the body.' - -'Yes, and then?' - -'Then, Hamadoru, I loaded the gun again, and went back to the village. -There was still the Mudalali. I saw him in the Arachchi's garden. He -called to me. "Where is the Arachchi?" I went close up to him--he was -standing by the stile, and through it I saw his big belly. I shot him -too. He must be dead now.' - -'Yes, and then?' - -'Then? I went to my house, for the women ran out screaming. I put the -gun in my house, and went out into the jungle. I was tired. I am a poor -man, and I have harmed no one in the village. I am getting old: I wanted -to live quietly in my hut. I wanted to rest, Hamadoru. What good, I -thought, to fly into the jungle? Only more evil. So I came straight to -the Dissamahatmaya. I told him what I had done. That is all.' - -The magistrate wrote down what Silindu said, and when he had finished, -sat thinking, the pen in his hand, and looking at Silindu. It was very -quiet in the room; outside was heard only the drowsy murmur of the sea. -Suddenly the quiet was broken by the heavy breathing and snoring of -Silindu, who had fallen asleep where he squatted. - -'Leave him alone for a bit,' the magistrate said to the Ratemahatmaya. -'There's nothing more to be got from him to-night. We shall have to push -on to Beddagama early to-morrow. I suppose it's true what he says.' - -'I think so, sir.' - -'Damned curious. I thought he wasn't right in the head when I saw him in -court before. Well, I'm glad _I_ shan't have to hang him.' - -'You think he will be hanged, sir?' - -'He'll be sentenced at any rate. Premeditation, on his own -showing--clearly. And a good enough motive for murder. A very simple -case--so they'll think it. You think so, too?' - -'It seems to be a simple case, sir.' - -'I see you would make a very good judge, Ratemahatmaya. I don't mind -telling you--unofficially of course--that I'm a very bad one. It does -not seem at all a simple case to me. _I_ shouldn't like to hang Silindu -of Beddagama for killing your rascally headman. Now then, Ratemahatmaya, -here you are; a Sinhalese gentleman; lived your whole life here, among -these people. Let's have your opinion of that chap there. He's a human -being, isn't he? What sort of a man is he? And how did he come suddenly -to murder two people?' - -'It's difficult, sir, for me to understand them; about as difficult as -for you, sir. They are very different from us. They are very ignorant. -They become angry suddenly, and then, they kill like--like--animals, -like the leopard, sir.' - -'Savages, you mean? Well, I don't know. I rather doubt it. You don't -help the psychologist much, Ratemahatmaya. This man, now: I expect he's -a quiet sort of man. All he wanted was to be left alone, poor devil. You -don't shoot, I believe, Ratemahatmaya, so you don't know the jungle -properly. But it's really the same with the other jungle animals, even -your leopard, you know. They just want to be left alone, to sleep -quietly in the day, and to get their food quietly at night. They won't -touch you if you leave them alone. But if you worry 'em enough; follow -'em up and pen 'em up in a corner or a cave, and shoot '450 bullets at -them out of an express rifle; well, if a bullet doesn't find the lungs -or heart or brain, they get angry as you call it, and go out to kill. I -don't blame them either. Isn't that true?' - -'I believe it is, sir.' - -'And it's the same with these jungle people. They want to be left alone, -to reap their miserable chenas and eat their miserable kurakkan, to live -quietly, as he said, in their miserable huts. I don't think that you -know, any more than I do, Ratemahatmaya, what goes on up there in the -jungle. He was a quiet man in the village, I believe that. He only -wanted to be left alone. It must take a lot of cornering and torturing -and shooting to rouse a man like that. I expect, as he said, they went -on at him for years. This not letting one another alone, it's at the -bottom of nine-tenths of the crime and trouble; and in nine-tenths of -that nine-tenths there's one of your headmen concerned--whom you are -supposed to look after.' - -'It's very difficult, sir. They live far away in these little villages. -Many of them are good men and help the villagers. But they are ignorant, -too.' - -'Oh, I'm not blaming you, Ratemahatmaya. I'm not blaming any one. And -it's late if we are to start early to-morrow. You had better take your -friend away with you and put him in the lock-up. Tell them to give him -some food if he wants it. Good night.' - -The Ratemahatmaya shook Silindu until he woke up. It was some little -while before he realised where he was, and then that he had to set out -again with the Ratemahatmaya. He turned to the magistrate. - -'Where are they taking me to, Hamadoru?' - -'You will be taken to the prison. You will have to stay there until you -are tried.' - -'But I have told the truth to the Hamadoru. Let him give his decision. -It is to end it all that I came here.' - -'I can't try you. You will have to be tried by the great judge.' - -'Aiyo, it is you I wish to judge me. You are a hunter, and know the -jungle. If they take me away now, how do I know what will happen? What -will they do to me? Let it end now, Hamadoru.' - -'I am sorry, but I can't do anything. You will be charged with murder. I -can't try you for that. The great judge tries those cases. But no harm -will come to you. You will be able to rest in the jail until the trial.' - -'And what will they do to me? Will they hang me?' - -'I'm afraid I can't tell you even that. You must go with the -Dissamahatmaya now.' - -Silindu, passive again, followed the Ratemahatmaya out of the room. The -latter, grumbling at the late hour and the foolish talk of the -magistrate, got into his hackery, and the procession trailed off again -into the darkness towards the lock-up. Here a long delay occurred. A -sleepy sergeant of police had to be woken up, and the whole story had to -be explained to him. Eventually Silindu was led away by him and locked -up in a narrow bare cell, which, with its immense door made of massive -iron bars, was exactly like a cage for some wild animal. In it at last -he found himself allowed to lie down and sleep undisturbed. - -The rest, which the magistrate had promised him, seemed however to be -still far off; for early next morning he was taken out of his cell and -made to start off with the police sergeant for Beddagama. The -magistrate, riding on a horse, and the Ratemahatmaya, in his -hackery,[49] passed them when they were two or three miles from the -town. A little while afterwards a messenger from Beddagama met the -party, bringing the news of the murder to the Ratemahatmaya. - -Silindu was being taken to Beddagama to be present at the magistrate's -inquiry, but he did not understand this. He was weak and tired after the -excitement of the trial and the murder, the long days upon the road, and -the little food. He began to think that he had been a fool to give -himself up; as he walked behind the police sergeant through the jungle, -of which he knew every tree and track, a great desire for it and for -freedom came upon him again. He thought of the great bars of the cell -door through which he had seen the daylight for the first time that -morning. Babun was even now lying behind such bars, and would lie there -for six months. And he himself? He might never see the daylight except -through such bars now for the rest of his life--unless they hanged him. -He thought of the great river that cut through the jungle many miles -away: it was pleasant there, to bathe in the cool clear water, and to -lie on the bank under the great wild fig-trees in the heat of the day. -If he had not given himself up, he might have been there by now, -watching the elephant sluicing water over its grey sides or the herd of -deer coming down the opposite bank to drink. The thought came to him -even now to slip into the jungle and disappear; the fool of a police -sergeant would never catch him, would go on for a mile or two probably -without knowing that his prisoner had escaped. But he still followed the -police sergeant and had not the will or the energy for so decisive a -step, for breaking away from the circumstances to which he had always -yielded, for taking his life in his hands and moulding it for himself. -He had tried once to fight against life when he killed the Arachchi and -the Mudalali; he was now caught again in the stream; evil might come, -but he could struggle no more. - -He had forgotten Punchi Menika until he was a mile or two from the -village, and he saw her waiting for him by the side of the track. The -rumour had reached the village that Silindu was being brought back by -the police in chains. Some said that he was going to be hanged there and -then in the village. Punchi Menika had started off to meet him. Her -first terror when she had been told of what her father had done had -given place to bewilderment, but when she saw him in charge of the -police sergeant she ran to him with a cry: - -'Is it true, Appochchi; is it true, what they say?' - -'What do they say? That I killed those two? It is true I killed them. -Then I went to Kamburupitiya and told it all to the Dissamahatmaya and -the magistrate Hamadoru.' - -'Aiyo, and will they hang you now?' - -'What? Do they say that?' - -'They say that in the village. It isn't true, is it, Appochchi?' - -'I don't know; perhaps it is true, perhaps it isn't. But the magistrate -Hamadoru said I would be tried by the great judge.' - -'Aiyo! you were mad, Appochchi. It would have been better to have given -me to the Mudalali.' - -'Hold your tongue, hold your tongue!' burst out Silindu angrily, but his -anger died down as rapidly as it had sprung up. 'Don't say that, child, -don't say that. No, that is not true, is it, daughter? It is not true. -It was for you I did it; and now--after all that--surely in a little -while all will be well for you.' - -'Well? What is to become of me? What am I to do? They will take you away -again and hang you, or keep you in the great house over there. And my -man, aiyo, is there too. I shall be alone here. What am I to do, -Appochchi?' - -'Hush! All will be well with you, I tell you. There is no one here to -trouble you now. There will be quiet for you again--and for me, perhaps, -why not? The killing was for that. Surely, surely, it must be, child. -And Babun? Why, in a little while Babun will come back--in a month or -two; you will wait in the village, you will sit in the house, in the -compound, under the little mustard-tree--so quietly, and the quiet of -the great trees, child, round about--nothing to trouble you now. And in -a month or two he will come back; he is a good man, Babun, and there -will be no evil then--now that the Arachchi is dead and the Mudalali. -There will be quiet for you then, and rest.' - -'How can I live here alone? There is no food in the house even now.' - -'Are not there others in the village? They will help you for a month or -two, and they know Babun. He will work hard in the chena and repay -them.' - -'And you? What will they do to you? Aiyo, aiyo!' - -'What does it matter? What have I ever done for you? It was true when -they said that I was a useless man in the village. To creep through the -leaves like a jackal; yes, I can do that; but what else? Isn't the bad -crop in the chena rightly called Silindu's crop. There was never food in -my house. The horoscope was true--nothing but trouble and evil and -wandering in the jungle. It is a good thing for you that I leave the -compound; when I go, good fortune may come.' - -'Do not say that, Appochchi; do not say that! To whom did we run in the -compound, Hinnihami and I? What father was like you in the village? Must -I forget all that now, and sit alone in another's compound begging a -little kunji and a handful of kurakkan? No, no! I cannot stay here. -Won't they take me away with you to the jail? I cannot live here -alone--without you!' - -The sergeant looked back and angrily told Punchi Menika to stop making -such a noise. They were nearing the village. - -'Hush, child,' said Silindu. 'You must stay here. They will not take -you, and what could you do in the big town there? You must wait here for -Babun.' - -The inquiry began as soon as they reached the village. Silindu went with -the magistrate, the Ratemahatmaya, the Korala (who had been sent for), -and most of the men of the village to the place where the Arachchi had -been shot. The body lay where it had fallen; a rough canopy of boughs -and leaves had been raised over it to shade it from the sun. A watcher -sat near to keep off the pigs and jackals. When the canopy was removed -for the magistrate to inspect the body, a swarm of flies rose and hung -buzzing in the air above the corpse. The body had not been moved; it lay -on its face, the legs half drawn up under the stomach. The blood had -dried in great black clots over the wounds on the back. The magistrate -looked at it, and then the Korala turned it over. A glaze of grey film -was over the eyes. The hot air in the jungle track was heavy with the -smell of putrefaction. The crowd of villagers, interested but unmoved, -stood watching in the background, while the magistrate, sitting on the -stump of a tree, began to write, noting down the position and condition -in which he had found the body. Then the doctor arrived and began to cut -up the body, where it lay, for post-mortem examination. - -The magistrate walked back slowly to the village, followed by Silindu -and the headman and such of the spectators as were more interested in -the inquiry than in the post-mortem. The same procedure of inspection -was gone through with Fernando's body, which lay under another little -canopy, where he had died by the stile of the Arachchi's compound. After -the inspection came the inquiry: a table and chair had been placed under -a large tamarind-tree for the magistrate to write at. The witnesses were -brought up, examined, and their statements written down. After each had -made his statement, Silindu was told that he could ask them any -questions which he wanted them to answer. He had none. The afternoon -dragged on; there was no wind, but the heat seemed to come in waves -across the village, bringing with it the faint smell of decaying human -flesh. The dreary procession of witnesses, listless and perspiring, -continued to pass before the tired irritable magistrate. One told how he -had seen Silindu and the Arachchi leave the village, Silindu walking -behind and carrying a gun; another had heard a shot from the direction -of the chena; another had seen Silindu return by himself to the village -carrying a gun. The Arachchi's wife told of Silindu's early visit to the -hut, of how he left with the Arachchi, of how later, hearing the report -of a gun followed by screams, she ran out of the house to see Silindu -standing with a smoking gun in his hand and Fernando writhing on the -ground near the stile. - -Late in the afternoon the inquiry was over. As the Ratemahatmaya had -said, it was a simple case. Silindu was remanded, and would certainly be -tried for murder before a Supreme Court judge. For the present he was -handed over to the police sergeant, with whom he slept that night in a -hut in the village. Next day he was taken back to Kamburupitiya, where -he again spent the night in the lock-up. Then he was handed over to a -fiscal's peon, who put handcuffs on him and started with him along the -dusty main road which ran towards the west. They walked slowly along the -road for two days. The peon was a talkative man, and he tried to make -Silindu talk with him, but he soon gave up the attempt. He had to fall -back for conversation on any chance traveller going the same way towards -Tangalla where the prison was. - -'This fellow,' he would explain to them, pointing to Silindu, 'has -killed two men. He will be hanged, certainly he will be hanged. But he's -mad. Not a word can you get out of him. He walks along like that mile -after mile, looking from side to side--never a word. He thinks there are -elephants on the main road I suppose. He comes from up there--in the -jungle. They are all cattle like that there of course. I would rather -drive a bull along the road than him.' - -They passed through several villages, where Silindu was an object of -great interest. People came out of the houses and boutiques, and -discussed him and his crimes with the peon. The first night they slept -in a boutique in one of these villages. The boutique was full of people; -they gathered round to watch Silindu eat his curry and rice with his -handcuffed hands. They too discussed him in loud tones with the peon. -There were two traders on their way to Kamburupitiya; the rest, with the -exception of one old man, belonged to the village. This old man was one -of those wanderers whom one meets from time to time in villages, upon -the roads, or even sometimes in the jungle. Very old, very dirty, with -long matted hair and wild eyes, he sat mumbling to himself in a corner. -A beggar and mad, he had two claims to the charity of the -boutique-keeper, who had taken him in for the night and given him a good -meal of curry and rice. - -The peon had for the twentieth time that day told Silindu's story with -many embellishments, and complained bitterly of his silence and -stupidity. The others sat round in the reeking atmosphere watching -Silindu eat his rice by the dim light of two oil wicks. - -'Will they hang him, aiya?' asked the boutique-keeper. - -'Yes, he'll be hanged, sure enough,' said the peon. 'He confessed it -himself, you see.' - -'But they never really hang people, I am told. They send them away to a -prison a long way off. They say they hang them just to frighten people.' - -The other villagers murmured approval. The peon laughed. - -'Of course they hang them. I've known people who were hanged. Why -Balappu, who lived next door to me in Kamburupitiya, was hanged. He -quarrelled with his brother in the street outside my house--it was about -a share in their land--and he stabbed him dead. They hanged him. I took -him along this same road to the prison three years ago. A good man he -was: wanted to gamble all along the road.' - -'But you don't know that he was hanged, aiya. No one saw it, no one ever -sees it.' - -'Nonsense,' said one of the traders. 'In Maha Nuwara they hang them. I -knew a man there whose nephew was hanged, and afterwards they gave him -the body to bury. The head hung over like this, and the mark of the rope -was round the neck.' - -The old beggar had listened to what was going on, squatting in his -corner. He did not get up, but shuffled slowly forward into the circle, -still in a squatting position. Silindu, who had before shown little -interest in the conversation, looked up when the beggar intervened. - -'Aiyo! what's that you say?' the old man asked. 'They are going to hang -this man? Why's that?' - -'He shot two men dead up there in the jungle.' - -'Chi! chi! why did he do that?' - -'He's mad, father, as mad as you.' - -The old man turned and looked hard at Silindu, while Silindu stared at -him. The spectators laughed at the curious sight. The old man smiled. - -'He's not mad,' he said. 'Not as mad as I am. So he killed twice, did -he? Dear, dear. The Lord Buddha said: Kill not at all, kill nothing. It -is a sin to kill. If he saw a caterpillar in the path, he put his foot -on one side. Man, man, why have you killed twice? Were you mad?' - -'I'm not mad,' said Silindu. 'They were hunting me: they would have -killed me. Therefore I killed them.' - -'The man is not mad, no more mad than you, or you--but I--I am mad. So -at least they say. Why do they say that I'm mad? My son, do you see this -paper?' (He showed a very dirty English newspaper to Silindu.) 'Well, if -you are quite quiet and no gecko[50] cries and the jackals don't howl, I -will look at it like this afterwards, for some short time--staring -hard--then I shall see things on the paper, not the writing--I have -wandered all my life--a wanderer on the path, seeking merit by the Three -Gems--I cannot read writing or letters--but I shall see things -themselves, a little hut up there in the jungle, if you desire it--your -hut, my son--and I'll tell you what is doing there, that the woman is -lying in the hut, crying perhaps. This paper was given to me by a white -Mahatmaya whom I met out there once, also in the jungle. It is of great -power: before I could only see what was doing in this country; but now, -by its help, I can see over the sea, to the white Mahatmaya's country. -Then they say: this is a mad old man. Well, well, who knows? I am always -on the path--to-morrow I shall leave this village--from village to -village, from town to town, and from jungle to jungle. I see many -different men on the path. Strange men, and they do strange things. -Thieving, stabbing, killing, cultivating paddy. I do not cultivate -paddy, nor do I thieve or kill. I am mad perhaps. But very often it is -they who seem to me to want but a little to be mad. All this doing and -doing,--running round and round like the red ants--thieving, stabbing, -killing, cultivating this and that. Is there much good or wisdom in such -a life? It seems to me full of evil--nothing but evil and trouble. Do -they ever sit down and rest, do they ever meditate? Desire and desire -again, and no fulfilment ever. Is such a life sane or mad? Did they call -you mad in the village even before this, my son?' - -'Yes, the mad hunter,' said Silindu, and the others laughed again. - -'Ah, you are a hunter too. That also I have not done. But I know the -jungle, for I travel through it often on my path. Do the beasts in it -speak to you, son hunter?' - -'Yes. They used to speak to me.' - -'So they called you mad. All the beasts in the jungle speak to me too, -except the elephant. The elephant is too sad even to talk. Usually when -I see him he is eating; for he is always hungry because of his sins in -the previous birth. But sometimes I find him standing alone away among -the rocks, swaying from side to side. He is very sad, thinking of his -sins in the previous birth. Then I say to him, "Brother, your feet too -are upon the path. It is good to think of the sins of the previous -birth, but there is no need of such sadness." Then he sways more and -more, and his trunk moves from side to side, and he lifts one foot up -after the other very slowly, but he never says a word, watching me with -his little eye. Once, indeed, I remember, he lifted up his trunk and -screamed. I too lifted up my hands and cried out with him, for we were -both on the path.' - -'You do not know the jungle, father,' said Silindu. 'It is of food and -killing and hunting that the beasts talk to me. They know nothing of -your path, nor do I.' - -'Aiyo, it is not only in the jungle that they say that. They say the -same in the small villages and the great towns. What do you say, sir?' -he said, turning to one of the traders. - -'I do not go into the jungle or talk to elephants, old man,' said the -trader. 'I know the bazaar, and there they think of fanams[51] first and -the path last.' - -'A man must live,' said the other trader. 'It is only priests and -beggars who have full bellies and idle hands.' - -'The Lord Buddha was a beggar and a priest too,' said the old man, and -began to mumble to himself. The laugh was against the trader. - -'Aiya,' said the old man to the peon, 'who is going to hang this -hunter?' - -'The Government of course. He will be tried by the judge, and then they -will hang him.' - -'This is another thing which I do not understand. To the madman this -seems foolish to kill a man because he has killed. If it is a sin, will -he not be punished in the next birth?' - -The old beggar had a strange influence on Silindu, who watched him the -whole time, fascinated. The mumbled words seemed to excite him greatly. - -'What do you mean, father?' he said, his voice rising. 'How punished in -the next birth? They will punish me here--the judge--they do that--they -will hang me--you hear what these have said.' - -'I do not know about that. I only know of the path. On my way through -the villages I hear them say this or that, but I do not understand. -To-morrow I shall be gone, to the east, and you to the west. Do you -know, my son, where you will sleep to-morrow night? No, no. Nor I -either. But we go on the path each of us, because of the sins in our -previous births. As the Lord Buddha said to the she-devil, "O fool! -fool! Because of your sins in the former birth, you have been born a -she-devil: and yet you go on committing sins even now. What folly!" Is -not that clear? Of these punishments of the Government I know nothing. -If they are punishments they are because of sins committed in your -previous birth; but be sure that for the sins which you commit in this -birth--for the killing--for that is a sin, a great sin--you will be -punished in the next birth. How many will hell await there! Surely, son, -it is better to wander on and on from village to village, always, -begging a little rice and avoiding sin.' - -'But surely I have committed no sin. All these years they plagued me, -and did evil to me. Was I to be starved by them, and my daughter -starved? Was I to allow them to take her from me and from Babun?' - -'The Lord Buddha said, "It is a sin to kill, even the louse in the hair -must not be cracked between the nails." The other things I do not -understand. I have no daughter and no wife and no hut. It is better to -be without. They stand in one's way on the path. And to starve? What -need to starve, my son? In every village is a handful of rice for the -wanderer. As for the hanging, that is very foolish; the judge must be a -foolish man, but I do not think it will hurt you. Remember it is not for -the killing of the two men, but for the previous birth. Then there comes -hell. You must have killed many deer and pig.' - -'Yes, yes, I am a hunter, but what of that, father, what of that?' - -'Each is a sin, for I told you, didn't I, that the Lord Buddha said, "It -is a sin to kill." My son, you are a hunter, you know the jungle; surely -you have seen the evil there, and the pain--always desire and killing. -No peace or rest there either for the deer or the pig, or the little -grey mongoose. They have sinned, and are far from Nirvana and happiness; -and, like the she-devil, they sin again only to bring more evil on -themselves by their blindness. What happiness is there in it, my son? -The deer and the pig, they too are upon the path. It was greater sin to -kill them than the other two. For those two, you say, were bringing evil -upon you; but what did the deer and pig do to you? eh, hunter? tell me -that.' - -'Do? Nothing, of course. But there is no food up there. One must have -food to live.' - -'No food up there? There is always food upon the path, a handful of rice -in every village, for the beggar. I have been forty years now on the -path. Have I starved?' - -'What was your village, father?' - -'The name--I have forgotten--but it lay up there in the hills--a -pleasant place--rain in plenty, and the little streams always running -into the rice-fields, and cocoa-nut and areca-nut trees all around.' - -'Ohé!' murmured one of the villagers, 'it is easy to avoid killing in a -place like that.' - -'Have you ever worked, old man?' said the peon. 'Have you ever earned a -fanam by work? In this part of the country rupees don't grow on wara[52] -bushes.' - -'No,' said the old man; 'I have never done anything like that. I am mad, -you know'. I remember once they took me to the field to watch--I was a -boy--I had to scare the birds away. I was there alone, sitting under a -small tree beside the field. The little birds came in crowds to feed on -the young paddy. They were very hungry. What harm, I thought, if they -eat a little? Plenty will remain for the house. So I sat there thinking -of other things, and I forgot about the paddy and the birds until my -father came and beat me. After that they took me no more to the fields; -and I sat in the compound all day, thinking foolish things, until at -last an old priest came by, and he told me of the path, and how to -meditate, and I followed him. He died many years ago, many years. I have -been no more to my village, it is forgotten; but I think it was up there -in the hills; it is very long ago, and I have seen many villages since -then. They are all the same; even the names I never know; always some -huts, and men and women and children, suffering punishment for their -sins and sinning again.' - -'This is fool's talk,' said the peon impatiently. 'We cannot all beg -upon the road. I have heard the priests themselves say that every one -cannot reach Nirvana. Nor are we all mad. There are the women and the -children. Are they too to become holy men? It is hard enough to live on -the eleven rupees which the Government gives us. I don't kill deer, but -I eat it when I can get it. Is that too a sin, old man?' - -But before the old beggar could answer, Silindu threw himself down on -the ground in front of him, and touching his feet with his hands burst -out: - -'It is true, father, it is true what you say. I did not understand -before, though I knew; yes, I knew it well. I have seen it all so long -in the jungle. But I did not understand. How many times have I told the -little ones--not understanding--about it all. Always the killing, -killing, killing; everything afraid: the deer and the pig and the jackal -after them, and the leopard himself. Always evil there. No peace, no -rest--it was rest I wanted. It is true, father, I have seen it, it is -the punishment for their sins. And always evil for me too, there; hunger -always and trouble always. You should have shown me this path of yours -before, father; even now I do not understand that, and it would be -useless now. Through all the evil I have but sinned more, killing the -deer and the pig, and now these two men. It is too late. They will hang -me, they will hang me, and what then, old man, what then?' - -The old man began to shake with laughter. He mumbled incoherently, -pulling at his beard and long hair with his hands. The scene caused -great pleasure and amusement to all the others, except the peon, who was -annoyed at finding that he was no longer playing the most important -part. After a while the old man's laughter began to subside, and he -regained sufficient control to make himself intelligible. - -'Well, well,' he said, 'well, well, I'm not the Lord Buddha, my son. -Well, well. D'you see that? He touches my feet as though I were the Lord -Buddha himself. I have never seen that before, and I have seen many -strange things. I am become a holy man; well, well.' Here again he was -overcome with silent laughter. - -'Do not laugh, father,' said Silindu. 'Why do you laugh? Is it lies that -you told me just now?' - -The other became serious again at once. - -'Lies? No, no. I do not tell lies. Aiyo, it is all true. But what was it -you were saying just then? Ah, yes. You were afraid, afraid of the -hanging and the punishment, and of the next birth. Too late, you said, -too late for the path. My son, it is never too late to acquire merit. -Perhaps they will hang you, perhaps not. Who can say? It matters little, -for it will be as it will be. I do not think it will hurt very much. And -before that, it is possible for you to acquire much merit. It will help -you much in the next birth. You must meditate: you must think of holy -things. Here are holy words for you to learn.' He repeated a Pali -stanza, and tried to make Silindu learn it. It was a difficult task, and -it was only after innumerable repetitions that Silindu at last got it by -heart. When he had at last done so, he sat mumbling it over to himself -again and again, so as not to forget it. - -'That is good,' went on the old man. 'Along the road as you go--wherever -you are going--to the prison or to the hanging--repeat the holy words -many times. In that way you will acquire merit. Also meditate on your -sins, the sin of killing, the deer and pig which you have killed. So you -will acquire merit too. And avoid killing. Remember, if there were a -caterpillar in the path, he put his foot on one side. So too you will -acquire merit. It will help you in the next birth. I think you are -already on the path, my son. And perhaps if my path too leads me to the -west, who knows? I shall see you there again, and we shall talk -together. Now, however, I grow tired.' - -So saying the old man shuffled back into a corner, and covering his head -and face with a dirty cloth, soon fell asleep. Silindu continued to -mumble the Pali stanza, which he did not understand. The villagers, -seeing that no more amusement was to be obtained from the strangers, -left the boutique; and the boutique-keeper and the other travellers soon -after spread out their mats on the ground, and lay down to sleep. - -The next day the peon and Silindu started off very early in the morning. -All along the road Silindu repeated the holy words to the great -annoyance of the peon. They reached the prison at Tangalla late in the -evening. It was dark when they arrived, and Silindu was at once locked -up in a cell. He fell asleep, still repeating the Pali stanza. - -Silindu remained three weeks in the prison. It seemed to him an immense -building. It was a large and ancient Dutch fort, with high battlemented -grey walls of great thickness. The inside formed a square paved -courtyard in which the prisoners worked at breaking stones and preparing -coir[53] by hammering cocoa-nut husks with wooden mallets. Round the -courtyard were built the cells, oblong bare rooms with immense windows -and gates, iron barred, which looked out upon the yard. Silindu, not -being a convicted person, was not made to do any work. He squatted in -his cell, watching the prisoners working in the yard, and thinking of -what the old beggar had told him. He tried to meditate upon his sins, -but soon found that to be impossible. He began, however, to forget the -village and Punchi Menika, and all the trouble that had gone before. He -repeated the Pali stanza many times during the day. He was very happy; -he grew fat upon the good prison food. - -Only once was the monotony of the days broken for him. He was watching a -group of prisoners, in their blue and white striped prison clothes; they -all looked almost exactly alike. They were quite near the gate of his -cell, filling the bathing-trough with water. Suddenly in one of them he -recognised Babun. He jumped up and ran to the bars of the gate, crying -out: - -'Ohé! Babun! Babun!' - -Babun looked round. There was no surprise or interest in his face, when -he saw that it was Silindu. A great change had come over him in the -short time during which he had been in prison. His skin, a sickly yellow -colour, seemed to have shrunk with the flesh and muscle, which had -wasted; he was bent and stooping; his eyes were sunken; a look of -dullness and hopelessness was in his face. He looked at Silindu -frowning. Silindu danced about with excitement behind the bars. - -'You know me, Babun?' he shouted. 'You know me? Why do you look like -that? All is well, all is well. I shot the Arachchi and Fernando: they -are dead. But all is well. They'll hang me. That's why I'm here. But I -have my feet on the path. I've acquired merit. The old man was right.' - -A jail guard shouted across the courtyard to Silindu to 'shut his -mouth.' - -'And the woman,' said Babun, in a low, dull voice. 'Where is the -woman?' - -'She is there in the village waiting for you. All is well, I tell you. -They are dead: I killed them. It was the only way, though a sin, a great -sin, the old man said. They will hang me, every one says so; but all is -well, I've found the path. And you--you'll go back to the village. -Punchi Menika is there, waiting. The evil is over.' - -Babun stared at him, frowning. His face had lost completely the open -cheerful look which it had once had. At last he said slowly: - -'You are mad. I don't understand you. If you have killed those two, you -are a fool, madman. What's the good? I shall never go back there. I -shall die here. And you? Yes, they'll hang you, as you say. What's the -good? You are mad, mad--you always were.' - -He turned away, and slowly lifting the pail of water emptied it into the -trough. - -Silindu often saw Babun again in the yard, but never spoke to him. Babun -seemed purposely to avoid passing near his cell, and if he had to do so, -he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. The day of Silindu's trial -arrived. In the morning he was taken out of his cell, and handed over -with four other prisoners to an escort of police. They put handcuffs on -his hands, and led him through the streets to the court. - -Silindu's case was the first case for trial. He did not pay much -attention to the proceedings--he continued to mumble the Pali -stanza--but he felt the greater pomp and solemnity of this court -compared with the police court. The judge was a grey-haired man in a -dull scarlet gown. There was a jury, among which were several white -Mahatmayas; there were a great many lawyers sitting round the table in -the centre of the court; and there was a crowd of officials and -policemen standing about. - -Silindu had an advocate assigned to him by the court to defend him. The -lawyer soon found it useless to discuss the case with the prisoner: the -line of defence was clear, however; he would admit the killing, and -plead insanity and provocation. The indictment for murder was read, and -the witnesses for the prosecution then gave their evidence. They were -cross-examined by Silindu's advocate, only with a view to showing that -it had been well known in the village that Silindu was mad: they -admitted that he had always been 'tikak pissu.' They none of them knew -anything about a quarrel with the Arachchi before the theft and the -conviction of Babun. - -Silindu's advocate then put him in the witness-box. He repeated the -statement which he had made to the magistrate. He was asked very few -questions in cross-examination, but the judge examined him at some -length. The judge's object was to make it clear, when the idea of -killing the two men first came to Silindu, and what was in Silindu's -mind during his walk to the chena with the Arachchi. Silindu understood -nothing of what was going on; he did not know, and could not have been -made to understand the law; he understood the point and reason for no -single question asked him. He knew he would be hanged; he was tired of -this continual slow torture of questions which he had to answer; he -wanted only to be left in peace to repeat the holy words again and -again: he had told them of the killing so many times; why should they -continue to bother him with these perpetual questions? He answered the -questions indifferently, baldly. Most of those in the court listening to -his bare passionless sentences describing how he determined to kill the -two men, how he watched for their return to the village, sitting all day -long in his compound, and how he finally killed them on the next day, -were left with the conviction that they had before them a brutal and -cold murderer. - -The summing up of the judge, however, showed that he was not one of -those who regarded it as a simple case. He laid stress on the fact that -the prisoner had never been considered in the village to be completely -sane, and he directed the notice of the jury to the 'queer' ideas which -the prisoner seemed to have had in his mind about the hunting and his -own identification with the buffalo. It was right for them also to -consider the demeanour of the prisoner while in court, his apparent -listlessness and lack of interest in what was going on. They must, -however, remember that if the defence of insanity was to succeed, they -must be satisfied that the prisoner was actually incapable, owing to -unsoundness of mind, of knowing the nature of his act, or of knowing -that he was doing what was wrong or contrary to law. - -After the judge had summed up, the jury were told they could retire to -consider their verdict, but after consulting with them, the foreman -stated they were all agreed that the prisoner was guilty of murder. -Silindu was still muttering his stanza; he had not tried to understand -what was going on around him. The court interpreter went close up to the -dock and told him that the jury had found him guilty of murder. Was -there anything which he had to say why sentence of death should not be -passed on him? A curious stillness had fallen on the place. Silindu -suddenly became conscious of where he was: he looked round and saw that -every one was looking at him; he saw the faces of the crowd outside -staring through the windows and craning round the pillars on the -verandah; all the eyes were staring at him as if something was expected -from him. For a moment the new sense of comfort and peace left him; he -felt afraid again, hunted; he looked up and down the court as if in -search of some path of escape. - -'Aiyo!' he said to the interpreter, 'does that mean I am to be -hanged?' - -'Have you anything to say why you should not be sentenced to be -hanged?' - -'What is there to say? I have known that a long time. They told me that -I should be hanged--all the people--along the road. What is there to say -now, aiya?' - -Silindu's words were interpreted to the judge, who took up a black cloth -and placed it on his head. Silindu was sentenced to be hanged by the -neck until he should be dead. The words were translated to him in -Sinhalese by the interpreter. He began again to repeat the stanza. He -was taken out of the court, handcuffed, and escorted back to his cell in -the prison by five policemen armed with rifles. - -He was to be hanged in two weeks' time, and the days passed for him -peacefully as the days had passed before the trial. He had no fear of -the hanging now. If he had any feeling towards it, it was one of -expectancy, even hope. Vaguely he looked forward to the day as the end -of some long period of evil, as the beginning of something happier and -better. He scarcely thought of the actual hanging, but when he did, he -thought of it in the words of the old beggar, 'I do not think it will -hurt much.' - -Four days before the day fixed for the execution, the jailer came to -Silindu's cell accompanied by a Sinhalese gentleman dressed very -beautifully in European clothes and a light grey sun-helmet. Silindu was -told to get up and come forward to the window of the cell. The Sinhalese -gentleman then took a document out of his pocket and began reading it -aloud in a high pompous voice. It informed Silindu that the sentence of -death passed on him had been commuted to one of twenty years' rigorous -imprisonment. When the reading stopped, Silindu continued to stare -vacantly at the gentleman. - -'Do you understand, fellow?' said the latter. - -'I don't understand, Hamadoru.' - -'Explain to him, jailer.' - -'You are not going to be hanged, d'you understand that? You'll be kept -in prison instead--twenty years.' - -'Twenty years?' - -'Yes, twenty years. D'you understand that?' - -Silindu did not understand it. He could understand a week or two weeks, -or a month, or even six months, but twenty years meant nothing to him. -It was just a long time. At any rate he was not, after all, to be -hanged. For the moment a slight sense of uneasiness and disappointment -came over him. In the last four days he had grown to look forward to the -end, and now the end was put off for twenty years, for ever, it seemed -to him. He squatted down by the gate of his cell, holding the great iron -bars in his hands and staring out into the courtyard. He thought of the -past three weeks which he had spent in the cell; after all, they had -been very peaceful and happy. He had been acquiring merit, as the old -man told him to do. Now he would have more time still for acquiring it. -He would be left in peace here for twenty years--for a lifetime--to -acquire merit, and at the end he might make his way back to the village -and find Babun and Punchi Menika there, and sit in their compound again -watching the shadows of the jungle. It was very peaceful in the cell. - -A jail guard came and unlocked the cell gate. Silindu was taken out and -made to squat down in the long shed which ran down the centre of the -courtyard. A wooden mallet was put into his hand and a pile of cocoanut -husk thrown down in front of him. For the remainder of that day, and -daily for the remainder of twenty years, he had to make coir by beating -cocoanut husks with the wooden mallet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Punchi Menika had been present at the inquiry of the magistrate in the -village, but she had not spoken to Silindu after her meeting with him -when he was being brought to Beddagama by the police sergeant. The -magistrate and the headman and the prisoner had left for Kamburupitiya -very early in the morning following the day of the inquiry. She and the -other villagers woke up to find that the village had already been left -to its usual sleepy life. There was nothing for her to do but to obey -Silindu's instructions, to wait for Babun's release, living as best she -might in the hut with Karlinahami. Her present misfortunes, the -imprisonment of Babun, the loss of her father, and the fate (and the -uncertainty of it) which hung over him, weighed numbly upon her. And the -future filled her with vague fears; she did not, could not plan about -it, or calculate about it, or visualise it, or anything in it. She did -not even think definitely of how she was going to live for six months, -until Babun should return. There was scarcely food in the house for her -and Karlinahami to exist in semi-starvation through those six months. -Yet the future loomed somehow upon her, filling her with a horrible -sense of uneasiness, uncertainty. It was a new feeling. She sat in the -hut silent and frightened the greater part of the day. She thought of -Silindu stories of hunters who had lost their way in the jungle. Their -terror must have been very like hers; she was alone, terribly alone and -deserted; she too had lost her way, and like them one path was as good -or as bad to her as another. - -Karlinahami was nearly fifty years old now, and in a jungle village a -woman--and especially a woman without a husband--is very old, very near -the grave at fifty. The sun and the wind, the toil, the hunger, and the -disease sap the strength of body and mind, bring folds and lines into -the skin, and dry up the breasts. A woman is old at forty or even -thirty. No one, man or woman, in the jungle, lives to the term of years -allotted to man. It would have been difficult to say whether Karlinahami -looked nearer eighty than ninety, nearer ninety than a hundred. The -jungle had left its mark on her. Her body was bent and twisted, like the -stunted trees, which the south-west wind had tortured into grotesque -shapes. The skin, too, on her face and thin limbs reminded one of the -bark of the jungle trees; it was shrunken against the bones, and -wrinkled, and here and there flaking off into whitish brown scales, as -the bark flakes off the kumbuk-trees. The flesh of the cheeks had dried -and shrunk; the lips seemed to have sunk into the toothless mouth, -leaving a long line damp with saliva under the nose. And under the lined -forehead were the eyes, lifeless and filmy, peering out of innumerable -wrinkles. The eyes were not blind, but they seemed to be sightless--the -pupil, the iris, and even the white had merged--because the mind was -dying. It is what usually happens in the jungle--to women -especially--the mind dies before the body. Imperceptibly the power of -initiative, of thought, of feeling, dies out before the monotony of -life, the monotony of the tearing hot wind, the monotony of endless -trees, the monotony of perpetual hardship. It will happen at an age when -in other climates a man is in his prime, and a woman still bears -children. The man will still help at the work in the chena, cutting down -the undergrowth and sowing the crop; but he will do so unthinking, -without feeling, like a machine or an animal; and when it is done he -will sit hour after hour in his compound staring with his filmy eyes -into nothing, motionless, except when he winds one long thin arm round -himself, like a grey monkey, and scratches himself on the back. And the -woman still carries the waterpot to the muddy pool to fetch water; still -cooks the meal in the house. While they still stand upright, they must -do their work; they eat and they sleep; they mutter frequently to -themselves; but they do not speak to others, and no one speaks to them. -They live in a twilight, where even pain is scarcely felt. - -Karlinahami was sinking rapidly into this twilight. In the jungle decay -and growth are equally swift. The trial of Silindu and Babun, the murder -of the Arachchi and Fernando, and now the loss of Silindu had meant very -little to her. She had felt vaguely that many evils were happening, but -facts no longer had meaning for her clouded mind. She fetched the water -as usual for the cooking, muttering to herself; but she did not speak to -Punchi Menika, and Punchi Menika knew that to talk to her or consult -with her would be useless. - -A month after the conviction of Silindu the life of the village would at -first sight have appeared to have regained its ordinary course. But in -reality a great change had come over it. It had been a small village, a -dwindling village before; one of those villages doomed to slow decay, to -fade out at last into the surrounding jungle. Now at a blow, in a day, -it lost one out of its six houses, and seven out of its twenty-five -inhabitants. For after the death of the Arachchi, Nanchohami, his wife, -decided to leave the village. Her children were too young to do chena -work; so that it was not possible any longer to support herself in -Beddagama. In Kotegoda, where the Arachchi's relations lived, there was -paddy land and cocoanuts, and rain fell in plenty every year. They would -give her a hut, and a little land; she would marry her children there; -she had always said that Beddagama was an unholy place, full of evil and -evil omens. She packed up her few possessions in a bullock hackery, -which she borrowed from the Korala, and set out for Kotegoda. The -Arachchi's house was abandoned to the jungle. There was no one to -inhabit it; and indeed no one would have been foolhardy enough to go and -live in it. It was ill-omened, accursed, and very soon came to be known -as the haunt of devils. It seemed to make a long fight against the -jungle. The fence itself merged into the low scrub which surrounded it, -growing into a thick line of small trees. The wara bushes, with their -pale grey thick leaves and purple flowers the rank grass, the great -spined slabs of prickly pear, crawled out from under the shadow of the -fence over the compound up to the walls and the very door. But the walls -were thicker and better made than those of most huts: the roof was of -tiles; there was no cadjan thatch to be torn and scattered by the -south-west wind. The rains of the north-east monsoon beat against the -mud walls for two years in vain; they washed out great holes in them, -through which you could see the jungle sticks upon which the mud had -been plastered. The sticks exposed to the damp air took root and burst -into leaf. Great weeds, and even bushes, began to grow up between the -tiles, from seeds dropped by birds or scattered by the wind. An immense -twisted cactus towered over the roof. The tiles were dislodged and -pushed aside by the roots. The jungle was bursting through the walls, -overwhelming the house from above. The jungle moved within the walls: at -last they crumbled; the tiled roof fell in. The grass and the weeds grew -up over the little mound of broken red pottery; the jungle sticks of the -walls spread out into thick bushes. Tall saplings of larger trees began -to show themselves. By the end of the third rains the compound and the -house had been blotted out. - -It was as if the jungle had broken into the village. Other huts had been -abandoned, overwhelmed, blotted out before, but they had always lain on -the outside of the village. The jungle had only drawn its ring closer -round the remaining huts; it had not broken into the village--the -village had remained a whole, intact. But now the jungle cut across the -village, separating Silindu's and Bastian Appu's hut from the rest. The -villagers themselves noted it: they felt that they were living in a -doomed place. 'The village is dying,' Nanchohami had said before she -left. 'An evil place, devil-haunted. It is dying, as its young die with -the old. No children are born in it now. An evil place. In ten years it -will have gone, trampled by the elephants.' - -It was, however, only very gradually that this feeling of doom came to -be felt by the village and the villagers. At first, after the excitement -of the trials and the murder, they seemed to have settled down to the -old monotonous life, as it had been before. The vederala was appointed -Arachchi. Punchi Menika waited for Babun. She did not and could not -count the passing of time: a week was only some days to her, and six -months only many months; but she waited, watching the passage of time, -vaguely but continuously, for the day when Babun should return. She -heard the rumour which eventually reached the village that after all -Silindu was not to be hanged; he was to be kept in prison, they said, -for ever, for the remainder of his life. It brought no comfort to her; -he had been taken out of her life, she would never see him again; did it -matter whether he was dead or in prison? - -She waited month after month. Her first feelings of fear were lost in -the perpetual sense of expectancy as the time slipped away. And she had -to work, to labour hard in order to keep herself and Karlinahami alive. -The little store of kurakkan in the house dwindled rapidly. She had to -search the jungle for edible leaves and wild fruit and roots, like the -wild onions which the pig feed upon. When the chena season came she -worked in the others' chenas, Balappu's and Bastian Appu's, and even -Punchirala's. She worked hard like a man for a few handfuls of kurakkan, -given to her as a charity. The others liked her, and were in their way -kind to her; they liked her quietness, her gentleness and submission. -Even Punchirala said of her: 'She goes about like a doe. They used to -call the mad vedda a leopard. The leopard's cub has turned into a deer.' - -As the months passed, she gradually began to feel as if each day might -be the one on which Babun would return. And as each day passed without -bringing him, she tried to reckon whether the six months had really -gone. She talked it over with the other villagers. Some said it was five -months, others seven months since the conviction. They discussed it for -hours, wrangling, quarrelling, shouting at one another. He had been -convicted two months--about two months--before the Sinhalese New Year. -'No, it was one month before the New Year. It couldn't be one month -before, because the chena crop was not reaped yet. Reaped? Why it had -only just been sown. It must have been three months before. Three -months, you fool? Isa chena crop like ninety days' rice? Fool? Who is a -fool? Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue! At any rate, it was before the -New Year, and it's already six months since the New Year. Aiyo! Six -months since the New Year. It is only a month since I sowed my chena. -Who ever heard of sowing a chena five months after the New Year? It is -not three months since the New Year.' - -Punchi Menika would stand listening to them going over it again and -again, hour after hour. She listened in silence, and would then slip -quietly away to wander in the evening down the track towards -Kamburupitiya. It was on the track that she hoped, that she was certain -that she would meet him. Then all would be well; the evil would end, as -Silindu had said. But as the days went by, the certainty left her; even -hope began to tremble, to give place to forebodings, fears. The time -came when all were agreed that the six months had passed; something must -have happened to him; he was ill, perhaps, or he had just been forgotten -there; one can never tell, anything may happen when a man gets into -prison; 'they' simply have forgotten to let him out. - -Punchirala, the new headman, was consulted. - -'The man,' he said, 'is probably dead.' Punchi Menika shuddered. Her -great eyes, in which the look of suffering had already grown profound -and steady, did not leave the vederala's face. 'Yes, I expect the man's -dead. They die quickly over there in prison. Especially strong men like -Babun. They lie down in a corner and die. There is medicine for -diseases, but is there any medicine for fate? So they say, and lie down -in the corner and die. There is nothing for you to do. No. I can give -you no medicine for fate either. You must sit down here in the village -and marry a young man--if you can find one, and if not, perhaps, an old -one. Eh? Why not? Though the jackals are picking the bones of the -elephant on the river bank, there are other elephants bathing in the -river. Nor are they all cows. Well, well.' - -'Ralahami, do you really know anything? Have you heard that he is -dead?' - -'I have heard nothing. From whom could I hear? If you want to hear -anything you must go to the prison. It will take you many days--first to -Kamburupitiya, and then west along the great road, three days to -Tangalla, where the prison is. You must ask at the prison. They can tell -you.' - -Punchi Menika left the vederala in silence. She walked away very slowly -to the hut; the conviction had come to her at once that she must go to -the prison. The thought of the journey alone into an unknown world -frightened her; but she felt that she must go, that she could not bear -any longer this waiting in doubt in the village. She made some cakes of -kurakkan, tied them up in a handkerchief, together with some uncooked -grain which the villagers gave her when they heard of her intended -journey, and started next day for Kamburupitiya. - -The first part of her journey, the track to Kamburupitiya, she knew -well. She had, too, no fear, as other women have, of being alone in the -jungle. It was when she turned west along the main road to Tangalla that -her real troubles began. She felt lost and terribly alone on the -straight, white, dusty road. The great clumsy bullock carts, laden with -salt or paddy, perpetually rumbled by her; the carters she knew were bad -men, terrible tales were told about them in the villages. The life of -the road frightened her far more than the silence and solitude of the -jungle. That she understood: she belonged to it. But the stream of -passers-by upon the road, the unknown faces and the eyes that always -stared strangely, inquiringly at her for a moment, and had then passed -on for ever, made her feel vaguely how utterly alone she was in the -world. And nowhere was this feeling so strong for her as in the villages -which she slunk through like a frightened jackal. Everywhere it was the -same; the crowd of villagers and travellers staring at her from in front -of the village boutique, the group of women gossiping and laughing round -the well in the paddy field--not a known face among them all. She had -not the courage even to ask to be allowed to sleep at night in a -boutique or hut. She preferred to creep into some small piece of jungle -by the roadside, when darkness found her tired and hungry. - -She was very tired and very hungry before she reached Tangalla. Her -bewilderment was increased by the network of narrow streets. She -wandered about until she suddenly found herself in the market. It was -market-day, and a crowd of four or five hundred people were packed -together into the narrow space, which was littered with the goods and -produce which they were buying and selling: fruit and vegetables and -grain and salt and clothes and pots. Every one was talking, shouting, -gesticulating at the same time. The noise terrified her, and she fled -away. She hurried down another narrow street, and found herself at the -foot of a hill which rose from the middle of the town. There were no -houses upon its sides, but there was an immense building on the top of -it. There was no crowd there, only an old man sitting on the bare -hillside watching five lean cows which were trying to find some stray -blades of parched brown grass on the stony soil. - -She squatted down, happy in the silence and solitude of the place after -the noise of the streets and market. Nothing was to be heard except the -cough of one of the cows from time to time, and from far off the faint, -confused murmur from the market-place. She looked up at the great white -building; it was very glaring and dazzling in the blaze of the sun. She -wondered whether it was the prison in which Babun lay. She looked at the -old man sitting among the five starved cows. He reminded her a little of -Silindu; he sat so motionless, staring at a group of cocoanut-trees that -lay around the bottom of the hill. He was as thin as the cattle which he -watched: as their flanks heaved in the heat you saw the ribs sticking -out under their mangy coats, and you could see, too, every bone of his -chest and sides panting up and down under his dry, wrinkled skin. The -insolent noisy towns-people had terrified her; this withered old man -seemed familiar to her, like a friend. He might very easily have come -out of the jungle. - -She went over to where he sat, and stood in front of him. For a moment -he turned on her his eyes, which were covered with a film the colour of -the film which forms on stagnant water; then he began again to stare at -the palms in silence. - -'Father,' she said, 'is that the prison?' - -The old man looked up slowly at the great glaring building as if he had -seen it for the first time, and then looked from it to Punchi Menika. - -'Yes,' he said in a dry husky voice. 'Why?' - -'My man must be there,' said Punchi Menika gazing at the white walls. -'He was sent there many months ago. They sent him there for six months. -It was a false case. The six months have passed now, but he has not -returned to the village. I have come to ask about him here--a long way. -I am tired, father, tired of all this. But he must be there.' - -The old man's eyes remained fixed upon the cocoanut-palms; he did not -move. - -'What is your village, woman?' he asked. - -'I come from Beddagama.' - -'Beddagama, I know it. I knew it long ago. I, too, come from over there, -from Mahawelagama, beyond Beddagama. You should go back to your village, -woman.' - -'But my man, father, what about my man?' - -The old man turned his head very slowly and looked up at the prison. The -sun beat down upon his face, which seemed to have been battered and -pinched and folded and lined by age and misery. His eyes wandered from -the prison to one of the cows. She stood still, stretching out her head -in front of her, her great eyes bulging; she coughed in great spasms -which strained her flanks. He waited until the coughing had stopped, and -she began again to search the earth for something to eat. Then he said, -speaking as if to himself: - -'They never come out from there--not if they are from the jungle. How -can they live in there, always shut in between walls? These town -people--they do not mind, but we----Surely I should know--I am from -Mahawelagama, a village in the jungle over there. I would go back now, -but I am too old. When one is old, it is useless; but you----Go back to -your village, woman. It is folly to leave the village. There is hunger -there, I know, I remember that; but there is the hut and the compound -all by themselves, and the jungle beyond. Here there is nothing but -noise and trouble, and one house upon the other.' - -'But I must ask at the prison first for my man. Why are they keeping him -there?' - -'They never come out. Surely I should know. My son was sent there. He -never came out. The case was in this town, and I came here and spent all -I had for him. Then I thought I will wait here until they let him out; -but he never came. It will be the same with your man. Go back to the -village.' - -Punchi Menika wept quietly from weariness and hunger and misery at the -old man's words: - -'It is no good crying,' he said; 'I am old, and who should know better -than I? They never come out. It is better to go back to the village.' - -Punchi Menika got up and walked slowly up the hill, and then round the -prison. There was only one entrance to it, an immense solid wooden gate -studded with iron nails. She knocked timidly, so timidly that the sound -was not heard within. Then she sat down against the wall and waited. -Hours passed, and nothing happened; the gate remained closed; no sound -could be heard from within the prison; the hill was deserted except for -the five cows whose coughing she could hear from time to time below her. -But she waited patiently for something to happen, only moving now and -again into the shadow of the wall, when the sun in its course beat down -upon her. - -At last the door opened, and a man in a khaki uniform and helmet, -carrying a club in his hand, came out. He looked at Punchi Menika, and -said sharply: - -'What do you want here?' - -'I have come about my man, aiya. A long time ago he was sent here for -six months. The time has passed, but he has not returned to the village. -They say he is dead. Is it true, aiya?' - -'What was his name and village?' - -'He was from Beddagama.' - -'His name?' - -'Aiya, how can I tell his name?' - -'What was his name, fool?' - -'They called him Babun.' - -'What was he convicted for?' - -'It was a false case. They said he had robbed the Arachchi.' - -'Oh, that man, yes. The Arachchi was killed afterwards, wasn't he?' - -'Yes, yes, my father did that.' - -'Well, he was here, too. Have you any money, woman?' - -'No, aiya, none; we are very poor.' - -'Ah! well. We can't tell you anything here. You must go to -Kamburupitiya, and send a petition to the Agent Hamadoru.' - -'But you know my man, aiya; you said you did. What harm to tell me? Is -he here now? What has happened to him? I have come many days' journey to -ask about him, and now you send me away to more trouble.' - -The jail guard looked at Punchi Menika for a minute or two. - -'Well,' he said, 'charity they say is like rain to a parched crop. You -are asking for drought in a parched field. I knew the man; he was here, -but he is dead. He died two months back.' - -The jail guard expected to hear the shrill cry and the beating of the -breast, the signs of a woman's mourning. Punchi Menika astonished him by -walking slowly away to the shade, and sitting down again by the prison -wall. The blow was too heavy for the conventional signs of grief. She -sat dry-eyed; she felt little, but the intense desire to get away to the -village, to get away out of this world, where she was lost and alone, to -the compound, where she could sit and watch the sun set behind the -jungle. She did not wait long; she set out at once down the hill. The -old man still sat among his cows looking at the cocoanut-trees. - -'Ah,' he said, as she passed him, 'they never come out. I told you so.' - -'He is dead, father.' - -'Yes, they never come out. Go back to the village, child.' - -'I am going, father.' - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Two years later, Punchi Menika was still living in the hut which had -belonged to Silindu, but she lived alone. Karlinahami had died slowly -and almost painlessly, like the trees around her. Her death had brought -no difference into Punchi Menika's life, except that now she had to find -food for herself alone. - -The years had brought more evil, death, and decay upon the village. Of -the five houses which stood when Punchi Menika returned from her journey -to the prison, only two remained, her own, and that of the headman -Vederala Punchirala. Disease and hunger visited it year after year. It -seemed, as the headman said, to have been forgotten by gods and men. -Year after year, the rains from the north-east passed it by; only the -sun beat down more pitilessly, and the wind roared over it across the -jungle; the little patches of chena crop which the villagers tried to -cultivate withered as soon as the young shoots showed above the ground. -No man, traveller or headman or trader, ever came to the village now. No -one troubled any longer to clear the track which led to it; the jungle -covered it and cut the village off. - -Disease and death took the old first, Podi Sinho, and his wife Angohami, -and the jungle crept forward over their compound. And three years later -two other huts were abandoned. In one had lived Balappu with his wife -and sister, and his two children; in the other Bastian Appu with his two -sons, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, and a grandchild. They had tried to -help Punchi Menika by letting her work in their chenas, and by giving -her a share in the meagre crop. They struggled hard against the fate -that hung over them, clinging to the place where they had been born and -lived, the compound they knew, and the sterile chenas which they had -sown. No children were born to them now in their hut, their women were -as sterile as the earth; the children that had been born to them died of -want and fever. At last they yielded to the jungle. They packed up their -few possessions and left the village for ever, to try and find work and -food in the rice-fields of Maha Potana. - -They tried to induce Punchi Menika to go with them, but she refused. She -remembered her misery and loneliness upon the road to Tangalla, and the -words of the old man from Mahawelagama, who sat among the cows upon the -hill there. She remembered Babun's words to the Mudalali, 'Surely it is -a more bitter thing to die in a strange place.' It might be a still -bitterer thing to live in a strange place. She was alone in the world; -the only thing left to her was the compound and the jungle which she -knew. She clung to it passionately, blindly. The love which she had felt -for Silindu and Babun--who were lost to her for ever, whose very -memories began to fade from her in the struggle to keep alive--was -transferred to the miserable hut, the bare compound, and the parched -jungle. - -So she was left alone with Punchirala. He was an old man now, weak and -diseased. After a while he became too feeble even to get enough food to -keep himself alive. She took him into her hut. She had to find food now -for him, as well as for herself, by searching the jungle for roots and -fruit, and by sowing a few handfuls of grain at the time of the rains in -the ground about the hut. He gave her no thanks; as his strength -decayed, his malignancy and the bitterness of his tongue increased; but -he did not live long after he came to her hut; hunger and age and -parangi at last freed her from his sneers and his gibes. - -The jungle surged forward over and blotted out the village up to the -very walls of her hut. She no longer cleared the compound or mended the -fence, the jungle closed over them as it had closed over the other huts -and compounds, over the paths and tracks. Its breath was hot and heavy -in the hut itself which it imprisoned in its wall, stretching away -unbroken for miles. Everything except the little hut with its rotting -walls and broken tattered roof had gone down before it. It closed with -its shrubs and bushes and trees, with the impenetrable disorder of its -thorns and its creepers, over the rice-fields and the tanks. Only a -little hollowing of the ground where the trees stood in water when rain -fell, and a long little mound which the rains washed out and the -elephants trampled down, marked the place where before had lain the tank -and its land. - -The village was forgotten, it disappeared into the jungle from which it -had sprung, and with it she was cut off, forgotten. It was as if she was -the last person left in the world, a world of unending trees above which -the wind roared always and the sun blazed. She became one of the beasts -of the jungle, struggling perpetually for life against hunger and -thirst; the ruined hut, through which the sun beat and the rains washed, -was only the lair to which she returned at night for shelter. Her -memories of the evils which had happened to her, even of Babun and her -life with him, became dim and faded. And as they faded, her childhood -and Silindu and his tales returned to her. She had returned to the -jungle; it had taken her back; she lived as he had done, understanding -it, loving it, fearing it. As he had said, one has to live many years -before one understands what the beasts say in the jungle. She understood -them now, she was one of them. And they understood her, and were not -afraid of her. They became accustomed to the little tattered hut, and to -the woman who lived in it. The herd of wild pigs would go grunting and -rooting up to the very door, and the old sows would look up unafraid and -untroubled at the woman sitting within. Even the does became accustomed -to her soft step as she came and went through the jungle, muttering -greetings to them; they would look up for a moment, and their great eyes -would follow her for a moment as she glided by, and then the heads would -go down again to graze without alarm. - -But life is very short in the jungle. Punchi Menika was a very old woman -before she was forty. She no longer sowed grain, she lived only on the -roots and leaves that she gathered. The perpetual hunger wasted her -slowly, and when the rains came she lay shivering with fever in the hut. -At last the time came when her strength failed her; she lay in the hut -unable to drag herself out to search for food. The fire in the corner -that had smouldered so long between the three great stones was out. In -the day the hot air eddied through the hut, hot with the breath of the -wind blowing over the vast parched jungle; at night she shivered in the -chill dew. She was dying, and the jungle knew it; it is always waiting; -can scarcely wait for death. When the end was close upon her a great -black shadow glided into the doorway. Two little eyes twinkled at her -steadily, two immense white tusks curled up gleaming against the -darkness. She sat up, fear came upon her, the fear of the jungle, blind -agonising fear. - -'Appochchi, Appochchi!' she screamed. 'He has come, the devil from the -bush. He has come for me as you said. Aiyo! save me, save me! -Appochchi!' - -As she fell back, the great boar grunted softly, and glided like a -shadow towards her into the hut. - - -[Footnote 1: The lowest rank of headman, the headman over a village.] - -[Footnote 2: A Buddhist temple containing an image of Buddha.] - -[Footnote 3: Shilling used colloquially for the half rupee or 50 cents -= 8d.] - -[Footnote 4: A common method of measuring distance--the distance -being that at which it is possible to hear a man cry 'hoo.'] - -[Footnote 5: The veddas are the aborigines of Ceylon, and are or were -hunters. They are often identified with Yakkas or devils.] - -[Footnote 6: A Sinhalese woman will not speak to or refer to her -husband byname. She always speaks of or to him as 'The father of -my child,' or 'The father of Podi Sinho,' etc., or simply 'He.'] - -[Footnote 7: _Vide_ note _supra._] - -[Footnote 8: Kuruni is a measure employed in the measurement of grain.] - -[Footnote 9: Kurakkan, a grain, _Eleusine coracana._] - -[Footnote 10: Term applied usually to a rich trader.] - -[Footnote 11: Called bhang, ganja, or hashish.] - -[Footnote 12: The head of a district for administrative and revenue -purposes is a European Civil servant, and is called an assistant -Government agent. The Sinhalese call him Agent Hamadoru.] - -[Footnote 13: A respectful form of address.] - -[Footnote 14: A fanam: six cents, one penny.] - -[Footnote 15: Disa Mahatmaya is the title used by villagers in referring -to chief headmen or Ratemahatmayas. Koralas are subordinate headmen of -korales under the Ratemahatmayas. Each Korala again has under him -several Arachchis, who are headmen of single villages.] - -[Footnote 16: The son of a paternal uncle is regarded as a brother.] - -[Footnote 17: A favourite form of abuse among the Sinhalese is to call -some one a Tamil.] - -[Footnote 18: Rodiyas are the lowest Sinhalese caste.] - -[Footnote 19: Native sugar made from the kitul palm.] - -[Footnote 20: Father.] - -[Footnote 21: Colloquially used for 50 rupees.] - -[Footnote 22: Kandyan district.] - -[Footnote 23: The banian-tree.] - -[Footnote 24: Typhoid.] - -[Footnote 25: Deviyo used of a god.] - -[Footnote 26: Kapuralas are persons who perform various services in -temples.] - -[Footnote 27: Earthenware pots.] - -[Footnote 28: This story is taken from the Ummaga Jataka.] - -[Footnote 29: A sort of rice gruel.] - -[Footnote 30: The 'hand with which you eat rice' is a common expression -for the right hand, the left hand being used for an unmentionable -purpose.] - -[Footnote 31: A small measure.] - -[Footnote 32: Sadhu is an exclamation of assent or approval, which -people listening to the reading of Banna or Buddhist scriptures repeat -at intervals. It is also used by pilgrims at the sight of temples or -dagobas.] - -[Footnote 33: There are two distinct races in Ceylon, Tamils and -Sinhalese. Their language, customs, and religions are different. The -Tamils are Dravidians, probably the original inhabitants of India; they -are Hindus in religion. The Sinhalese are Aryans, and their religion is -Buddhism. The Tamils inhabit the north and east of the island, the -Sinhalese the remainder.] - -[Footnote 34: An expression used frequently in stories to mean a -husband.] - -[Footnote 35: Procession, usually a Sinhalese or Buddhist procession.] - -[Footnote 36: Lizard. The chirping cry of the gecko is universally -regarded as a warning cry of ill omen.] - -[Footnote 37: A holy man or religious beggar Hindu.] - -[Footnote 38: Fifteen feet.] - -[Footnote 39: Hinnihami addresses Punchirala by name, and thereby shows -him that she does not regard herself as living with him as his wife.] - -[Footnote 40: Mother.] - -[Footnote 41: A gambaraya is technically a man who oversees the -cultivation of rice-fields for the owners, and is paid usually by a -share of the crop.] - -[Footnote 42: Gama means a village.] - -[Footnote 43: A poya day is the day of the change of the moon, which is -kept as a sacred day by the Buddhists, answering in some ways to the -Christian Sunday.] - -[Footnote 44: Kachcheri is the Government offices.] - -[Footnote 45: A term used by superiors to inferiors meaning something -like 'fellow.'] - -[Footnote 46: Ge is Sinhalese for house. A ge name answers in some -respects to a surname.] - -[Footnote 47: A peya is a Sinhalese hour, and is equal to about twenty -minutes.] - -[Footnote 48: A term commonly used by villagers, referring to the -Ratemahatmaya.] - -[Footnote 49: A hackery is a single bullock cart.] - -[Footnote 50: The common lizard: its 'chirp' is always considered by -the Sinhalese to be a warning or sign of ill omen.] - -[Footnote 51: Pence.] - -[Footnote 52: A shrub which grows in waste places.] - -[Footnote 53: Coir, fibre of the cocoa-nut husk.] - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village in the Jungle, by Leonard Woolf - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES VILLAGE IN THE JUNGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 60627-0.txt or 60627-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/2/60627/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Hathi Trust.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Village in the Jungle - -Author: Leonard Woolf - -Release Date: November 4, 2019 [EBook #60627] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES OF VILLAGE IN THE JUNGLE *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Hathi Trust.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/woolf_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - - -<h2>THE VILLAGE</h2> - -<h2>IN THE JUNGLE</h2> - -<h4>BY</h4> - -<h3>L. S. WOOLF</h3> - -<h4>SECOND IMPRESSION</h4> - -<h4>LONDON</h4> - -<h5>EDWARD ARNOLD</h5> - -<h5>1913</h5> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<p style="margin-left: 20%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -<a id="CONTENTS"></a><a>CONTENTS</a> -<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></p> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<p class="center">To V. W.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">I've given you all the little, that I've to give;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">You've given me all, that for me is all there is;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 16em;">So now I just give back what you have given—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 17em;">If there is anything to give in this.</span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<p>The village was called Beddagama, which means the village in the jungle. -It lay in the low country or plains, midway between the sea and the -great mountains which seem, far away to the north, to rise like a long -wall straight up from the sea of trees. It was in, and of, the jungle; -the air and smell of the jungle lay heavy upon it—the smell of hot air, -of dust, and of dry and powdered leaves and sticks. Its beginning and -its end was in the jungle, which stretched away from it on all sides -unbroken, north and south and east and west, to the blue line of the -hills and to the sea. The jungle surrounded it, overhung it, continually -pressed in upon it. It stood at the door of the houses, always ready to -press in upon the compounds and open spaces, to break through the mud -huts, and to choke up the tracks and paths. It was only by yearly -clearing with axe and katty that it could be kept out. It was a living -wall about the village, a wall which, if the axe were spared, would -creep in and smother and blot out the village itself.</p> - -<p>There are people who will tell you that they have no fear of the jungle, -that they know it as well as the streets of Maha Nuwara or their own -compounds. Such people are either liars and boasters, or they are fools, -without understanding or feeling for things as they really are. I knew -such a man once, a hunter and tracker of game, a little man with -hunched-up shoulders and peering, cunning little eyes, and a small dark -face all pinched and lined, for he spent his life crouching, slinking, -and peering through the undergrowth and the trees. He was more silent -than the leopard and more cunning than the jackal: he knew the tracks -better than the doe who leads the herd. He would boast that he could see -a buck down wind before it could scent him, and a leopard through the -thick undergrowth before it could see him. 'Why should I fear the -jungle?' he would say. 'I know it better than my own compound. A few -trees and bushes and leaves, and some foolish beasts. There is nothing -to fear there.' One day he took his axe in his hand, and the sandals of -deer-hide to wear in thorny places, and he went out to search for the -shed horns of deer, which he used to sell to traders from the towns. He -never returned to the village again, and months afterwards in thick -jungle I found his bones scattered upon the ground, beneath some -thorn-bushes, gnawed by the wild pig and the jackal, and crushed and -broken by the trampling of elephants. And among his bones lay a bunch of -peacock feathers that he had collected and tied together with a piece of -creeper, and his betel-case, and the key of his house, and the tattered -fragments of his red cloth. In the fork of one of the thorn-bushes hung -his axe: the massive wooden handle had been snapped in two. I do not -know how he died; but I know that he had boasted that there was no fear -in the jungle, and in the end the jungle took him.</p> - -<p>All jungles are evil, but no jungle is more evil than that which lay -about the village of Beddagama. If you climb one of the bare rocks that -jut up out of it, you will see the jungle stretched out below you for -mile upon mile on all sides. It looks like a great sea, over which the -pitiless hot wind perpetually sends waves unbroken, except where the -bare rocks, rising above it, show like dark smudges against the -grey-green of the leaves. For ten months of the year the sun beats down -and scorches it; and the hot wind in a whirl of dust tears over it, -tossing the branches and scattering the leaves. The trees are stunted -and twisted by the drought, by the thin and sandy soil, by the dry wind. -They are scabrous, thorny trees, with grey leaves whitened by the clouds -of dust which the wind perpetually sweeps over them: their trunks are -grey with hanging, stringy lichen. And there are enormous cactuses, -evil-looking and obscene, with their great fleshy green slabs, which put -out immense needle-like spines. More evil-looking still are the great -leafless trees, which look like a tangle of gigantic spiders' -legs—smooth, bright green, jointed together—from which, when -they are broken, oozes out a milky, viscous fluid.</p> - -<p>And between the trees are the bushes which often knit the whole jungle -together into an impenetrable tangle of thorns. On the ground beneath -the trees it is very still and very hot; for the sterile earth is -covered with this thorny matted undergrowth, through which the wind -cannot force its way. The sound of the great wind rushing over the -tree-tops makes the silence below seem more heavy. The air is heavy with -the heat-beating up from the earth, and with the smell of dead leaves. -All the bushes and trees seem to be perpetually dying for ten months of -the year, the leaves withering, and the twigs and branches decaying and -dropping off, to be powdered over the ground among the coarse withered -grass and the dead and blackened shrubs. And yet every year, when the -rains come, the whole jungle bursts out again into green; and it forces -its way forward into any open space, upon the tracks, into villages and -compounds, striving to blot out everything in its path.</p> - -<p>If you walk all day through the jungle along its tangled tracks, you -will probably see no living thing. It is so silent and still there that -you might well believe that nothing lives in it. You might perhaps in -the early morning hear the trumpeting and squealing of a herd of -elephants, or the frightened bark of the spotted deer, or the deeper -bark of the sambur, or the blaring call of the peacock. But as the day -wore on, and the heat settled down upon the trees, you would hear no -sound but the rush of the wind overhead, and the grating of dry branches -against one another. Yet the shadows are full of living things, moving -very silently, themselves like shadows, between the trees, slinking -under the bushes and peering through the leaves.</p> - -<p>For the rule of the jungle is first fear, and then hunger and thirst. -There is fear everywhere: in the silence and in the shrill calls and the -wild cries, in the stir of the leaves and the grating of branches, in -the gloom, in the startled, slinking, peering beasts. And behind the -fear is always the hunger and the thirst, and behind the hunger and the -thirst fear again. The herd of deer must come down to drink at the -water-hole. They come down driven by their thirst, very silently through -the deep shadows of the trees to the water lying white under the moon. -They glide like shadows out of the shadows, into the moonlight, -hesitating, tiptoeing, throwing up their heads to stare again into the -darkness, leaping back only to be goaded on again by their thirst, ears -twitching to catch a sound, and nostrils quivering to catch a scent of -danger. And when the black muzzles go down into the water, it is only -for a moment; and then with a rush the herd scatters back again -terror-stricken into the darkness. And behind the herd comes the -leopard, slinking through the undergrowth. Whom has he to fear? Yet -there is fear in his eyes and in his slinking feet, fear in his pricked -ears and in the bound with which he vanishes into the shadows at the -least suspicious sound.</p> - -<p>In the time of the rains the jungle might seem to be a pleasant place. -The trees are green, and the grass stands high in the open spaces. Water -lies in pools everywhere; there is no need to go stealthily by night to -drink at rivers or water-holes. The deer and the pig roam away, growing -fat on the grass and the young leaves and the roots; the elephant -travels far from the river bank. The time of plenty lasts, however, but -a little while. The wind from the north-east drops, the rain fails; for -a month a great stillness lies over the jungle; the sun looks down from -a cloudless sky; the burning air is untempered by a breath of wind. It -is spring in the jungle, a short and fiery spring, when in a day the -trees burst out into great masses of yellow or white flowers, which in a -day wither and die away.</p> - -<p>The pools and small water-holes begin to dry up under the great heat; -the earth becomes caked and hard. Then the wind begins to blow from the -south-west, fitfully at first, but growing steadier and stronger every -day. A little rain falls, the last before the long drought sets in. The -hot, dry wind sweeps over the trees. The grass and the shrubs die down; -the leaves on the small trees shrivel up, and grow black and fall. The -grey earth crumbles into dust, and splits beneath the sun. The little -streams run dry; the great rivers shrink, until only a thin stream of -water trickles slowly along in the middle of their immense beds of -yellow sand. The water-holes are dry; only here and there in the very -deepest of them, on the rocks, a little muddy water still remains.</p> - -<p>Then the real nature of the jungle shows itself. Over great tracts there -is no water for the animals to drink. Only the elephants remember the -great rivers, which lie far away, and whose banks they left when the -rains came; as soon as the south-west wind begins to blow, they make for -the rivers again. But the deer and the pig have forgotten the rivers. In -the water-holes the water has sunk too low for them to reach it on the -slippery rocks; for days and nights they wander round and round the -holes, stretching down their heads to the water, which they cannot -touch. Many die of thirst and weakness around the water-holes. From time -to time one, in his efforts to reach the water, slips, and falls into -the muddy pool, and in the evening the leopard finds him an easy prey. -The great herds of deer roam away, tortured by thirst, through the -parched jungle. They smell the scent of water in the great wind that -blows in from the sea. Day after day they wander away from the rivers -into the wind, south towards the sea, stopping from time to time to -raise their heads and snuff in the scent of water, which draws them on. -Again many die of thirst and weakness on the way; and the jackals follow -the herds, and pull down in the open the fawns that their mothers are -too weak to protect. And the herds wander on until at last they stand -upon the barren, waterless shore of the sea.</p> - -<p>Such is the jungle which lay about the village of Beddagama. The village -consisted of ten scattered houses, mean huts made of mud plastered upon -rough jungle sticks. Only one of the huts had a roof of tiles, that of -the village headman Babehami; the others were covered with a thatch of -cadjans, the dried leaves of the cocoanut-palm. Below the huts to the -east of the village lay the tank, a large shallow depression in the -jungle. Where the depression was deepest the villagers had raised a long -narrow bund or mound of earth, so that when the rain fell the tank -served as a large pond in which to store the water. Below the bund lay -the stretch of rice-fields, about thirty acres, which the villagers -cultivated, if the tank filled with water, by cutting a hole in the -bund, through which the water from the tank ran into the fields. The -jungle rose high and dense around the fields and the tank; it stretched -away unbroken, covering all the country except the fields, the tank, and -the little piece of ground upon which the houses and compounds stood.</p> - -<p>The villagers all belonged to the goiya caste, which is the caste of -cultivators. If you had asked them what their occupation was, they would -have replied 'the cultivation of rice'; but in reality they only -cultivated rice about once in ten years. Rice requires water in plenty; -it must stand in water for weeks before it grows ripe for the reaping. -It could only be cultivated if the village tank filled with water, and -much rain had to fall before the tank filled. If the rains from the -north-east in November were good, and the people could borrow seed, then -the rice-fields in January and February were green, and the year brought -the village health and strength; for rice gives strength as does no -other food. But this happened very rarely. Usually the village lived -entirely by cultivating chenas. In August every man took a katty and -went out into the jungle and cut down the undergrowth, over an acre or -two. Then he returned home. In September he went out again and set fire -to the dead undergrowth, and at night the jungle would be lit up by -points of fire scattered around the village for miles; for so sterile is -the earth, that a chena, burnt and sown for one year, will yield no crop -again for ten years. Thus the villagers must each year find fresh jungle -to burn. In October the land is cleared of ash and rubbish, and when the -rains fall in November the ground is sown broadcast with millet or -kurakkan or maize, with pumpkins, chillies, and a few vegetables. In -February the grain is reaped, and on it the village must live until the -next February. No man will ever do any other work, nor will he leave the -village in search of work. But even in a good year the grain from the -chenas was scarcely sufficient for the villagers. And just as in the -jungle fear and hunger for ever crouch, slink, and peer with every -beast, so hunger and the fear of hunger always lay upon the village. It -was only for a few months each year after the crop was reaped that the -villagers knew the daily comfort of a full belly. And the grain sown in -chenas is an evil food, heating the blood, and bringing fever and the -foulest of all diseases, parangi. There were few in the village without -the filthy sores of parangi, their legs eaten out to the bone with the -yellow, sweating ulcers, upon which the flies settle in swarms. The -naked children, soon after their birth, crawled about with immense pale -yellow bellies, swollen with fever, their faces puffed with dropsy, -their arms and legs thin, twisted little sticks.</p> - -<p>The spirit of the jungle is in the village, and in the people who live -in it. They are simple, sullen, silent men. In their faces you can see -plainly the fear and hardship of their lives. They are very near to the -animals which live in the jungle around them. They look at you with the -melancholy and patient stupidity of the buffalo in their eyes, or the -cunning of the jackal. And there is in them the blind anger of the -jungle, the ferocity of the leopard, and the sudden fury of the bear.</p> - -<p>In Beddagama there lived a man called Silindu, with his wife Dingihami. -They formed one of the ten families which made up the village, and all -the families were connected more or less closely by marriage. Silindu -was a cousin of the wife of Babehami, the headman, who lived in the -adjoining compound. Babehami had been made a headman because he was the -only man in the village who could write his name. He was a very small -man, and was known as Punchi Arachchi<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> (the little Arachchi). Years -ago, when a young man, he had gone on a pilgrimage to the vihare<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> at -Medamahanuwara. He had fallen ill there, and had stayed for a month or -two in the priest's pansala. The priest had taught him his letters, and -he had learnt enough to be able to write his own name.</p> - -<p>Silindu was a cultivator like the other villagers. The village called -him 'tikak pissu' (slightly mad). Even in working in the chena he was -the laziest man in the village. His real occupation was hunting; that is -to say he shot deer and pig, with a long muzzle-loading gas-pipe gun, -whenever he could creep up to one in the thick jungle; or, lying by the -side of a water-hole at night, shoot down some beast who had come there -to drink. Why this silent little man, with the pinched-up face of a grey -monkey and the long, silent, sliding step, should be thought slightly -mad, was not immediately apparent. He seemed only at first sight a -little more taciturn and inert than the other villagers. But the village -had its reasons. Silindu slept with his eyes open like some animals, and -very often he would moan, whine, and twitch in his sleep like a dog; he -slept as lightly as a deer, and would start up from the heaviest sleep -in an instant fully awake. When not in the jungle he squatted all day -long in the shadow of his hut, staring before him, and no one could tell -whether he was asleep or awake. Often you would have to shout at him and -touch him before he would attend to what you had to say. But the -strangest thing about him was this, that although he knew the jungle -better than any man in the whole district, and although he was always -wandering through it, his fear of it was great. He never attempted to -explain or to deny this fear. When other hunters laughed at him about -it, all he would say was, 'I am not afraid of any animal in the jungle, -no, not even of the bear or of the solitary elephant (whom all of you -really fear), but I am afraid of the jungle.' But though he feared it, -he loved it in a strange, unconscious way, in the same unconscious way -in which the wild buffalo loves the wallow, and the leopard his lair -among the rocks. Silent, inert, and sullen he worked in the chena or -squatted about his compound, but when he started for the jungle he -became a different man. With slightly bent knees and toes turned out, he -glided through the impenetrable scrub with a long, slinking stride, -which seemed to show at once both the fear and the joy in his heart.</p> - -<p>And Silindu's passions, his anger, and his desire were strange and -violent even for the jungle. It was not easy to rouse his anger; he was -a quiet man, who did not easily recognise the hand which wronged him. -But if he were roused he would sit for hours or days motionless in his -compound, his mind moving vaguely with hatred; and then suddenly he -would rise and search out his enemy, and fall upon him like a wild -beast. And sometimes at night a long-drawn howl would come from -Silindu's hut, and the villagers would laugh and say, 'Hark! the leopard -is with his mate,' and the women next morning when they saw Dingihami -drawing water from the tank would jeer at her.</p> - -<p>At length Dingihami bore twins, two girls, of whom one was called Punchi -Menika and the other Hinnihami. When the women told Silindu that his -wife was delivered of two girls, he rushed into the hut and began to -beat his wife on the head and breasts as she lay on the mat, crying, -'Vesi! vesi mau! Where is the son who is to carry my gun into the -jungle, and who will clear the chena for me? Do you bear me vesi for me -to feed and clothe and provide dowries? Curse you!' And this was the -beginning of Silindu's quarrel with Babehami, the headman; for Babehami, -hearing the cries of Dingihami and the other women, rushed up from the -adjoining compound and dragged Silindu from the house.</p> - -<p>Dingihami died two days after giving birth to the twins. Silindu had a -sister called Karlinahami, who lived in a house at the other end of the -village. Misfortune had fallen upon her, the misfortune so common in the -life of a jungle village. Her husband had died of fever two months -before: a month later she bore a child which lived but two weeks. When -Dingihami died, Silindu brought her to his hut to bring up his two -children. Her hut was abandoned to the jungle. When the next rains fell -the mud walls crumbled away, the tattered roof fell in, the jungle crept -forward into the compound and over the ruined walls; and when Punchi -Menika was two years old, only a little mound in the jungle marked the -place where Karlinahami's house had stood.</p> - -<p>Karlinahami was a short, dark, stumpy woman, with large impassive eyes -set far apart from one another, flat broad cheeks, big breasts, and -thick legs. Unlike her brother she was always busy, sweeping the house -and compound, fetching water from the tank, cooking, and attending to -the children. Very soon after she came to Silindu's house she began to -talk and think of the children as though she had borne them herself. -Like her brother she was slow and sparing of speech; and her eyes often -had in them the look, so often in his, as if she were watching something -far away in the distance. She very rarely took much part in the -interminable gossip of the other village women when they met at the tank -or outside their huts. This gossip is always connected with their -husbands and children, food and quarrels.</p> - -<p>But Karlinahami was noted for her storytelling: she was never very -willing to begin, but often, after the evening meal had been eaten, the -women and many of the men would gather in Silindu's compound to listen -to one of her stories. They sat round the one room or outside round the -door, very still and silent, listening to her droning voice as she -squatted by the fire and stared out into the darkness. Outside lay -Silindu, apparently paying no attention to the tale. The stories were -either old tales which she had learnt from her mother, or were stories -usually about Buddha, which she had heard told by pilgrims round the -campfire on their way to pilgrimages, or in the madamas or pilgrims' -resting-places at festivals. These tales, and a curious droning chant -with which she used to sing them to sleep, were the first things that -the two children remembered. This chant was peculiar to Karlinahami, and -no other woman of the village used it. She had learnt it from her -mother. The words ran thus:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Sleep, child, sleep against my side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aiyo! aiyo! the weary way you've cried;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hush, child, hush, pressed close against my side.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Aiyo! aiyo! will the trees never end?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our women's feet are weary; O Great One, send</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Night on us, that our wanderings may end.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Hush, child, hush, thy father leads the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thy mother's feet are weary, but the day</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Will end somewhere for the followers in the way.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Aiyo! aiyo! the way is rough and steep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aiyo! the thorns are sharp, the rivers deep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But the night comes at last. So sleep, child, sleep.'</span></p> - - -<p>Until Punchi Menika and Hinnihami were three years old Silindu appeared -not even to be aware of their existence. He took no notice of them in -the house or compound, and never spoke about them. But one day he was -sitting in front of his hut staring into the jungle, when Punchi Menika -crawled up to him and put her hand on his knee, and looked solemnly up -into his face. Silindu looked down at her, took her by her hands, and -stood her up between his two knees. He stared vacantly into her eyes for -some time, and then suddenly he began to speak to her in a low voice:</p> - -<p>'Little toad! why have you left the pond? Isn't there food there for -your little belly? Rice and cocoanuts and mangoes and little cakes of -kurakkan? Is the belly full, that you have left the pond for the jungle? -Foolish little toad! The water is good, but the trees are evil. You have -come to a bad place of dangers and devils. Yesterday, little toad, I lay -under a domba-tree by the side of a track, my gun in my hand, waiting -for what might pass. The devils are very angry in the jungle, for there -has been no rain now for these three months. The water-holes are dry; -the leaves and grass are brown; the deer are very thin; and the fawns, -dropped this year, are dying of weakness and hunger and thirst. -Therefore, the devils are hungry, and there is nothing more terrible -than a hungry devil. Well, there I lay, flat on the ground, with my gun -in my hand; and I saw on the opposite side of the track, lying under a -domba-tree, a leopardess waiting for what might pass. I put down my gun, -and, "Sister," I said, "is the belly empty?" For her coat was mangy, and -the belly caught up below, as though with pain. "Yakko, he-devil," she -answered, "three days now I have killed but one thin grey monkey, and -there are two cubs in the cave to be fed. Yakkini, she-devil," I said, -"there are two little toads at home to be fed. But I still have a -handful of kurakkan in my hut, from which my sister can make cakes. It -remains from last year's chena, and after it is eaten there will be -nothing. The headman, too, is pressing for the three shillings<a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> body -tax. 'How,' I say to him, 'can there be money where there is not even -food?' But the kurakkan will last until next poya day. Therefore, your -hunger is greater than mine. The first kill is yours." So we lay still a -long time, and at last I heard far away the sound of a hoof upon a dry -stick. "Sister," I whispered, "I hear a deer coming this way. Yakko, -have you no ears?" she said. "A long while now I have been listening to -a herd of wild pig coming down wind. Can you not even now hear their -strong breathing, and their rooting in the dry earth, and the patter of -the young ones' feet on the dry leaves? Yakkini," I said, for I heard -her teeth clicking in the darkness, "the ear of the hungry is in the -belly: the sound of your teeth can be heard a hoo<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> cry's distance -away." So we lay still again, and at last the herd of pigs came down the -track. First came an old boar, very black, his tusks shining white in -the shadows; then many sows and young boars; and here and there the -little pigs running in and out among the sows. And as they passed, one -of the little pigs ran out near the domba-bush, and Yakkini sprang and -caught it in her teeth, and leapt with it into the branch of a palu-tree -which overhung the path. There she sat, and the little pig in her mouth -screamed to its mother. Then all the little pigs ran together screaming, -and stood on one side, near the bush where I lay; and the great boars -and the young boars and sows ran round the palu-tree, looking up at -Yakkini, and making a great noise. And the old sow, who had borne the -little pig in Yakkini's mouth, put her forefeet against the trunk of the -tree, and looked up, and said, "Come down, Yakkini; she-devil, thief. -Are you afraid of an old, tuskless sow? Come down." But the leopardess -laughed, and bit the little pig in the back behind the head until it -died, and she called down to the old sow, "Go your way, mother. There -are two cubs at home in the cave, and they are very hungry. Every year I -drop but one or two cubs in the cave, but the whole jungle swarms with -your spawn. I see eight brothers and sisters of your child there by the -domba-bush. Go your way, lest I choose another for my mate. Also, I do -mot like your man's teeth." The old boar and the sows were very angry, -and for a long while they ran round the tree, and tore at it with their -tusks, and looked up and cursed Yakkini. But Yakkini sat and watched -them, and licked the blood which dripped from the little pig's back. I -too lay very still under my domba-bush, for there is danger in an angry -herd. At last the old boar became tired, and he gathered the little pigs -together in the middle of the herd, and led them away down the track. -Then Yakkini dropped to the ground, and bounded away into the jungle, -carrying the little pig in her mouth. So you see, little crow, it is a -bad place to which you have come. Be careful, or some other devil will -drop on you out of a bush, and carry you off in his mouth.'</p> - -<p>While Silindu had been speaking, Hinnihami had crawled and tottered -across the compound to join her sister. At the end of his long story she -was leaning against his shoulder. From that day he seemed to regard the -two children differently from the rest of the world in which he lived. -He was never tired of pouring out to them in a low, monotonous drone his -thoughts, opinions, and doings. That they did not understand a word of -what he said did not trouble him in the least; but when they grew old -enough to understand and to speak and to question him, he began to take -a new pleasure in explaining to them the world in which he lived.</p> - -<p>It was a strange world, a world of bare and brutal facts, of -superstition, of grotesque imagination; a world of trees and the -perpetual twilight of their shade; a world of hunger and fear and -devils, where a man was helpless before the unseen and unintelligible -powers surrounding him. He would go over to them again and again in the -season of drought the reckoning of his small store of grain, and the -near approach of the time when it would be exhausted; his perpetual fear -of hunger; his means and plans for obtaining just enough for existence -until the next chena season. But, above all, his pleasure seemed to be -to tell them of the jungle, of his wanderings in search of game, of his -watchings by the water-holes at night, of the animals and devils which -lived among its shadows.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<p>So Punchi Menika and Hinnihami grew up to be somewhat different from the -other village children, who crawl and play about the compounds, always -with the women and always listening to women's gossip. Long before they -had grown strong and big enough to go down in the morning and evening -with Karlinahami to the tank, and to carry back on their heads the red -earthenware waterpots, they had learnt from Silindu to sit by his side -for hour upon hour through the hot afternoons, very still and very -silent, while he stared silently before him, or droned out his -interminable tales. They grew up to be strange and silent children, -sitting one on either side of him in a long, thoughtless trance. And -they learnt to believe all he told them about the strange world of -jungle which surrounded them, the world of devils, animals, and trees. -But above all they learnt to love him, blindly, as a dog loves his -master.</p> - -<p>When they grew old enough to trot along by his side, Silindu used to -take them out with him into the jungle. The villagers were astonished -and shocked, but Silindu went his own way. He showed them the -water-holes upon the rocks; the thick jungle where the elephant hides -himself from the heat of the day, strolling leisurely among the trees -and breaking off great branches to feed upon the leaves as he strolls; -the wallow of the buffalo, and the caves where the bear and the leopard -make their lairs. He showed them the sambur lying during the day in the -other great caves; they dashed out, tens and tens of them, like enormous -bats from the shadow of the overhanging rocks, to disappear with a crash -into the jungle below. He taught them to walk so that no leaf rustled or -twig snapped under their feet, to creep up close to the deer and the -sambur and the pig. They were surprised at first that the animals in the -jungle did not speak to them as they always did to Silindu when he was -alone. But Silindu explained it to them. 'You are very young,' he said. -'You do not know the tracks. You are strange to the beasts. But they -know me. I have grown old among the tracks. A man must live many years -in the jungle before the beasts speak to him, or he can understand what -they say.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika and Hinnihami were also unlike the other village children -in appearance. They, like Silindu, never had fever, and even in the days -of greatest scarcity Karlinahami had seen that they got food. -Karlinahami was far more careful to wash them than most mothers are: she -used to quote the saying, 'Dirt is bad and children are trouble, but a -dirty child is the worst of troubles.' The result was that they never -got parangi, or the swollen belly and pale skin of fever. Their skin was -smooth and blooming; it shone with a golden colour, like the coat of a -fawn when the sun shines on it. Their eyes were large and melancholy; -like the eyes of Buddha in the Jataka, 'they were like two windows made -of sapphire shining in a golden palace.' Their limbs were strong and -straight, for their wanderings with Silindu had made their muscles firm -as a man's, not soft like the women's who sit about in the compound, -cooking and gossiping and sleeping all day.</p> - -<p>There was therefore considerable jealousy among the women, and -ill-feeling against Karlinahami, when they saw how her foster children -were growing up. When they were ten or eleven years old, it often burst -out against her in angry taunts at the tank.</p> - -<p>'O Karlinahami!' Nanchohami, the headman's wife, would say, 'you are -growing an old woman and, alas, childless! But you have done much for -your brother's children. Shameless they must be to leave it to you to -fetch the water from the tank and not to help you. This is the fourth -chatty full you are carrying to-day. I have seen it with these eyes. The -lot of the childless woman is a hard one. See how my little one of eight -years helps me!'</p> - -<p>'Nanchohami, your tongue is still as sharp as chillies. Punchi Menika -has gone with my brother, and Hinnihami is busy in the house.'</p> - -<p>'Punchi Menika wants but three things to make her a man. I pity you, -Karlinahami, to live in the house of a madman, and to bring up his -children shameless, having no children of your own. They are vedda<a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -children, and will be vedda women, wandering in the jungle like men.'</p> - -<p>The other women laughed, and Angohami, a dirty shrivelled woman, with -thin shrivelled breasts, called out in a shrill voice:</p> - -<p>'Why should we suffer these veddas in the village? Their compound smells -of their own droppings, and of the offal and rotten meat on which they -feed. I have borne six children, and the last died but yesterday. In the -morning he was well: then Silindu cast the evil eye upon him as he -passed our door, and in the evening he was dead. They wither our -children that their own may thrive.'</p> - -<p>'You lie,'said Karlinahami, roused for the moment by this abuse; 'you -lie, mother of dirt. Yesterday at this hour I saw your Podi Sinho here -in the tank, pale and shivering with fever, and pouring the cold tank -water over himself. How should such a mother keep her children? All know -that you have borne six, and that all are dead. What did you ever give -them but foul words?'</p> - -<p>'Go and lie with your brother, the madman, the vedda, the pariah,' -shrieked Angohami as Karlinahami turned to go. 'Go to your brother of -the evil eye. You blighter of others' children, eater of offal, vesi, -vesige mau! Go to him of the evil eye, belli, bellige duwa; go to your -brother. Aiyo! aiyo! My little Podi Sinho! I am a mother only of the -dead, a mother of six dead children. Look at my breasts, shrivelled and -milkless. I say to the father of my child,<a name="FNanchor_6_1" id="FNanchor_6_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> "Father of Podi Sinho," I -say, "there is no kurakkan in the house, there is no millet and no -pumpkin, not even a pinch of salt. Three days now I have eaten nothing -but jungle leaves. There is no milk in my breasts for the child." Then I -get foul words and blows. "Does the rain come in August?" he says. "Can -I make the kurakkan flower in July? Hold your tongue, you fool. August -is the month in which the children die. What can I do?" Then comes fever -and Silindu's evil eye, curse him, and the little ones die. Aiyo! aiyo!'</p> - -<p>'Your man is right,' said Nanchohami. 'This is the month when the -children die. Last year in this month I buried one and my brother's wife -another. Good rain never falls now, and there is always hunger and -fever. The old die and the little ones with them. The father of my -children has but nine houses under him, and makes but five shillings a -year from his headmanship. His father's father, who was headman before -him, had thirty houses in his headmanship, and twenty shillings were -paid him by the Government every year, besides twenty-four kurunies of -paddy from the fields below the tank. I have not seen rice these five -years. The headman now gives all and receives nothing.' Here one of the -women laughed. 'You may well laugh, Podi Nona,' she continued. 'Did not -he<a name="FNanchor_7_1" id="FNanchor_7_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_1" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> lend your man last year twenty kurunies<a name="FNanchor_8_1" id="FNanchor_8_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_1" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> of kurakkan,<a name="FNanchor_9_1" id="FNanchor_9_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_1" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> and has -a grain of it come back to our house? And Silindu owes another thirty, -and came but yesterday for more. And Angohami there, who whines about -her Podi Sinho, her man has had twenty-five kurunies since the reaping -of the last crop.'</p> - -<p>These words of Nanchohami were not without effect. An uneasy movement -began among the little group of women at the mention of debts: clothes -were gathered up, the chatties of water placed on their heads, and they -began to move away out of reach of the sharp tongue of the headman's -wife. And as they moved away up the small path, which led from the tank -to the compounds, they murmured together that Nanchohami did not seem to -remember that they had to repay two kurunies of kurakkan for every -kuruni lent to them.</p> - -<p>Nanchohami had touched the mainspring upon which the life of the village -worked—debt. The villagers lived upon debt, and their debts were the -main topic of their conversation. A good kurakkan crop, from two to four -acres of chena, would be sufficient to support a family for a year. But -no one, not even the headman, ever enjoyed the full crop which he had -reaped. At the time of reaping a band of strangers from the little town -of Kamburupitiya, thirty miles away, would come into the village. -Mohamadu Lebbe Ahamadu Cassim, the Moorman boutique-keeper, had supplied -clothes to be paid for in grain, with a hundred per cent, interest, at -the time of reaping; the fat Sinhalese Mudalali,<a name="FNanchor_10_1" id="FNanchor_10_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_1" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> Kodikarage Allis -Appu, had supplied grain and curry stuffs on the same terms; and among a -crowd of smaller men the sly-faced low-caste man, who called himself -Achchige Don Andris (his real name Andrissa would have revealed his -caste), who, dressed in dirty white European trousers and a coat, was -the agent of the tavern-keeper in Kamburupitiya, from whom the villagers -had taken on credit the native spirit, made from the juice of the -cocoanut flowers, to be drunk at the time of marriages. The villagers -neither obtained nor expected any pity from this horde. With the reaping -of the chenas came the settlement of debts. With their little greasy -notebooks, full of unintelligible letters and figures, they descended -upon the chenas; and after calculations, wranglings, and abuse, which -lasted for hour after hour, the accounts were settled, and the strangers -left the village, their carts loaded with pumpkins, sacks of grain, and -not infrequently the stalks of Indian hemp,<a name="FNanchor_11_1" id="FNanchor_11_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_1" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> which by Government -order no man may grow or possess, for the man that smokes it becomes -mad. And when the strangers had gone, the settlement with the headman -began; for the headman, on a small scale, lent grain on the same terms -in times of scarcity, or when seed was wanted to sow the chenas.</p> - -<p>In the end the villager carried but little grain from his chena to his -hut. Very soon after the reaping of the crop he was again at the -headman's door, begging for a little kurakkan to be repaid at the next -harvest, or tramping the thirty miles to Kamburupitiya to hang about the -bazaar, until the Mudalali agreed once more to enter his name in the -greasy notebook.</p> - -<p>With the traders in Kamburupitiya the transactions were purely matters -of business, but with the headman the whole village recognised that they -were something more. It was a very good thing for Babehami, the -Arachchi, to feel that Silindu owed him many kurunies of kurakkan which -he could not repay. When Babehami wanted some one to clear a chena for -him, he asked Silindu to do it; and Silindu, remembering the debt, dared -not refuse. When Silindu shot a deer—for which offence the Arachchi -should have brought him before the police court at Kamburupitiya—he -remembered his debt, and the first thing he did was to carry the best -piece of meat as an offering to the headman's house. And Babehami was a -quiet, cunning man in the village: he never threatened, and rarely -talked of his loans to his debtors, but there were few in the village -who dared to cross him, and who did not feel hanging over them the power -of the little man.</p> - -<p>The power which they felt hanging over them was by no means imaginary; -it could make the life of the man who offended the headman extremely -unpleasant. It was not only by his loans that Babehami had his hand upon -the villagers; their daily life could be made smooth or difficult by him -at every turn.</p> - -<p>The life of the village and of every man in it depended upon the -cultivation of chenas. A chena is merely a piece of jungle, which every -ten years is cleared of trees and undergrowth and sown with grain -broadcast and with vegetables. The villagers owned no jungle themselves; -it belonged to the Crown, and no one might fell a tree or clear a chena -in it without a permit from the Government. It was through these permits -that the headman had his hold upon the villagers. Application for one -had to be made through him; it was he who reported if a clearing had -been made without one, or if a man, having been given one, cleared more -jungle than it allowed him to clear. Every one in the village knew well -that Babehami's friends would find no difficulty in obtaining the -authority to clear a chena, and that the Agent Hamadoru<a name="FNanchor_12_1" id="FNanchor_12_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_1" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> would never -hear from Babehami whether they had cleared four acres or eight. But the -life of the unfortunate man, who had offended the headman, would be full -of dangers and difficulties. The permit applied for by him would be very -slow in reaching his hands: when it did reach his hands, if he cleared -half an acre more than it allowed him to clear, his fine would be heavy; -and woe betide him if he rashly cleared a chena without a permit at all.</p> - -<p>Babehami had never liked Silindu, who was a bad debtor. Silindu was too -lazy even to cultivate a chena properly, and even in a good year his -crop was always the smallest in the village. He was always in want, and -always borrowing; and Babehami found it no easy task to gather in -principal and interest after the boutique-keepers from Kamburupitiya had -taken their dues. And he was not an easy man to argue with: if he wanted -a loan he would, unheeding of any excuse or refusal, hang about the -headman's door for a whole day. But if it were a case of repayment, he -would sit staring over his creditor's head, listening, without a sign or -a word, to the quiet persuasive arguments of the headman.</p> - -<p>The headman's dislike became more distinct after the birth of Punchi -Menika and Hinnihami. Silindu had resented his interference between him -and his wife, and when Dingihami died bitter words had passed between -them; Though Silindu soon forgot them, Babehami did not. For years -Silindu did not realise what was taking place, but he vaguely felt that -life was becoming harder for him. A month after Dingihami's death his -store of grain was exhausted, and it became necessary for him to begin -his yearly borrowings. Accordingly, he took his gun and went in the -evening to the nearest water-hole to wait for deer. The first night he -was unsuccessful: no deer came to drink; but on the second he shot a -doe. He skinned the deer, cut it up, and carried the meat to his hut. He -then carefully chose the best piece of meat, and took it with him to -Babehami's house. The headman was squatting in his doorway chewing -betel. His little eyes twinkled when he saw Silindu with the meat.</p> - -<p>'Ralahami,'<a name="FNanchor_13_1" id="FNanchor_13_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_1" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> said Silindu, stopping just outside the door, 'yesterday -I was in the jungle collecting domba fruit—what else is there to -eat?—when I smelt a smell of something dead some fathoms away. I -searched about, and soon I came upon the carcass of a doe killed by a -leopard—the marks of his claws were under the neck, and the belly was -eaten. The meat I have brought to my house. This piece is for you.'</p> - -<p>The headman took the meat in silence, and hung it up in the house. He -fetched a chew of betel and gave it to Silindu. The two men then -squatted down, one on each side of the door. For a long time neither -spoke: their chewing was only interrupted every now and then by the -ejection of a jet of red saliva. At last Babehami broke the silence:</p> - -<p>'Four days ago I was in Kamburupitiya—I was called to the kachcheri -there. They asked me two fanams<a name="FNanchor_14_1" id="FNanchor_14_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_1" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> in the bazaar for a cocoanut.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! I have not seen a cocoanut for two years.'</p> - -<p>'Two fanams! And last year at this time they were but one fanam each. In -the bazaar I met the Korala Mahatmaya. The Korala Mahatmaya is a hard -man: he said to me, "Arachchi, there are guns in your village for which -no permit has been given by the Agent Hamadoru." I said to him, -"Ralahami, if there be, the fault is not mine." Then he said, "The order -has come from the Agent Hamadoru to the Disa Mahatmaya<a name="FNanchor_15_1" id="FNanchor_15_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_1" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> that if one -gun be found without permit in a headman's village there will be trouble -both for the Arachchi and the Korala." Now the Disa Mahatmaya is a good -man, but the Korala is hard; and they say in Kamburupitiya that the -Agent Hamadoru is very hard and strict, and goes round the villages -searching for guns for which no permits have been given. They say, too, -that he will come this way next month.'</p> - -<p>There was a short silence, and then Babehami continued:</p> - -<p>'It is five months, Silindu, since I told you to take a permit for your -gun, and you have not done so yet. The time to pay three shillings has -gone by, and you will now have to pay four. The Korala is a hard man, -and the Agent Hamadoru will come next month.'</p> - -<p>Silindu salaamed.</p> - -<p>'Ralahami, I am a poor man. How can I pay four shillings or even three? -There is not a fanam in the house. There was a permit taken two years -ago. You are my father and my mother. I will hide the gun in a place -that only I know of, and if it be taken or question be made, is it not -easy to say that the stock was broken, and it was not considered -necessary to take a permit for a broken gun?'</p> - -<p>But the argument, which before had been successful with Babehami, now -seemed to have lost its strength.</p> - -<p>'A permit is required. It is the order of Government. I have told you -the Korala is a hard man, and he is angry with me because I brought him -but two cocoanuts as a present, whereas other Arachchis bring him an -amunam of paddy. For I, too, am a poor man.'</p> - -<p>Silindu sat in helpless silence. The hopelessness of raising two rupees -to pay for a gun licence for the moment drove out of his mind the object -of his coming to Babehami's house. All that he felt was the misery of a -new misfortune, and, as was his nature, he sat dumb under it. At last, -however, the pressing need of the moment again recurred to him, and he -started in the tortuous way, habitual to villagers, to approach the -subject.</p> - -<p>'Ralahami, is there any objection to my clearing Nugagahahena next -chena season?'</p> - -<p>'There are three months before the chena season. Why think of that -now?'</p> - -<p>'When the belly is empty, the mouth talks of rice. Last year my chena -crop was bad. There was but little rain, and the elephants broke in and -destroyed much kurakkan. The Lord Buddha himself would be powerless -against the elephants.'</p> - -<p>Silindu got up as if to go. He took a step towards the stile which led -into the compound, and then turned back as if he had just remembered -something, and began in a soft, wheedling voice:</p> - -<p>'Ralahami, there is nothing to eat in the house. There is Karlinahami -to feed too. If you could but lend me ten kurunies! I would repay it -twofold at the reaping of Nugagahahena.'</p> - -<p>Babehami chewed for some minutes, and then spat with great -deliberation.</p> - -<p>'I have no grain to lend now, Silindu.'</p> - -<p>'Ralahami, it is only ten kurunies I am asking for—only ten -kurunies—and surely the barn behind your house is full.'</p> - -<p>'There is very little grain in the barn now, and what there is will not -last me until the reaping of the next crop. There is the old man, my -father, to be fed, and my wife and her brother, and the two children.'</p> - -<p>'Will you let me die of hunger? and my two children? Give but five -kurunies, and I will repay it threefold.'</p> - -<p>'If you had come last poya, Silindu, I could have given it. But I owed -fifteen rupees to Nandiyas, the boutique-keeper in Kamburupitiya, for -clothes, and I took kurakkan to pay it. The barn is all but empty.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! We must die of hunger then. Give but one measure, and I will -repay one kuruni at next reaping.'</p> - -<p>'I paid away all my grain that was in the barn. The grain which remains -is my father's, and he keeps it for his use. You must go to the Mudalali -in Kamburupitiya, Silindu, and borrow from him. And when you go there, -remember, you must take a permit for the gun.'</p> - -<p>Silindu felt that he had nothing more to say. He had the meat at home -which he would dry and take to Kamburupitiya and sell in the bazaar. -Then he would have to borrow from the Mudalali, who knew him too well to -give anything but ruinous terms. Perhaps in that way he would manage to -return to the village with a few kurunies of kurakkan and a gun licence. -He walked slowly away from the headman's compound. Babehami's little -eyes twinkled as he saw Silindu move away, and he smiled to himself.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<p>Silindu made the journey to Kamburupitiya, obtained the licence for his -gun and some grain, but life continued to become harder for him. The -headman's ill-feeling worked against him unostentatiously, and in all -sorts of little things. He never thought about the motives and -intentions of those around him, and Babehami always had some excuse for -refusing a loan or pressing for payment of the body tax. He did not -become conscious of Babehami's enmity, or aware that many of the -difficulties of his life were due to it.</p> - -<p>The collection of the body tax was a good example of the way in which -the headman worked against him. Every villager had to pay the -three-shilling tax or do work on the roads, work which was the worst of -hardships to them. It had always been Babehami's custom to pay himself -the tax for each villager, and then recover what he had paid, with heavy -interest, out of the crops at the time of reaping. But for some years -after Dingihami's death, Silindu found that when the time to pay the tax -came round, Babehami was always short of money. Silindu never had any -money himself, and he was therefore compelled to work upon the roads.</p> - -<p>As the years passed he became more sullen, more taciturn, and more -lazy. Some evil power—one of the unseen powers which he could not -understand—was, he felt, perpetually working against him. He tried -to escape from it, or at any rate to forget it by leaving the village -for the jungle. He would disappear for days together into the jungle, -living upon roots and the fruit of jungle trees, and anything which -might fall to his gun. He talked with no one except Punchi Menika and -Hinnihami. For them he never had a harsh word, and it was seldom that he -returned to the hut without bringing them some wild fruit or a comb of -the wild honey.</p> - -<p>Gradually the hut of the veddas, as they were nicknamed, seemed to the -other villagers to fall under a cloud. The headman's enmity and the -strange ways of Silindu formed a bar to intercourse. And so it came -about that Punchi Menika and Hinnihami grew up somewhat outside the -ordinary life of the village. The strangeness and wildness of their -father hung about them: as the other women said of them, they grew up in -the jungle and not in the village. But with their strangeness and -wildness went a simplicity of mind and of speech, which showed in many -ways, but above all in their love for Silindu and each other.</p> - -<p>Their lives were harder even than those of the other village women. As -they became older the fear of hunger became more and more present with -them. When Silindu was away from the village they were often compelled -to live upon the fruits and leaves and roots, which they gathered -themselves in the jungle. And when the chena season began, they worked -like the men and boys in the chenas. They cut down the undergrowth and -burnt it; they cleared the ground and sowed the grain; they lay out all -night in the watch huts to scare away the deer and wild pig which came -to damage the crop.</p> - -<p>When they were fifteen, Babun Appu, the brother of Nanchohami, came to -live in his brother-in-law's, the headman's, house. He had previously -lived in another house with his father, an old man, toothless and -brainless. When the old man whom he had supported died, he abandoned his -hut and came to live with his sister and her husband. The number of -houses in the village thus sank to eight.</p> - -<p>At that time Babun Appu was twenty-one years old. He was tall for a -Sinhalese, broad-shouldered, and big-boned. His skin was a dark -chocolate-brown, his face oval, his nose small, his lips full and -sensual. His expression was curiously virile and simple; but his brown -eyes, which were large and oval-shaped, swept it at moments with -something soft, languorous, and feminine. This impression of a mixture -of virility and femininity was heightened by the long hair, which he -tied in a knot at the back of his head after the custom of villagers. He -was noted for his strength, his energy, and his good humour. The minds -of most villagers are extraordinarily tortuous and suspicious, but Babun -was remarkable for his simplicity. It used to be said of him in the -village, 'Babun's Appu could not cheat a child; but a child, who had not -learnt to talk, could cheat Babun Appu.'</p> - -<p>For two years Babun had lived in the hut adjoining Silindu's without -ever speaking more than a word or two to Punchi Menika. But her presence -began to move him strongly. His lips parted, and his breathing became -fast and deep as he saw her move about the compound. He watched in -painful excitement her swelling breasts and the fair skin, which went -into soft folds at her hips when she bent down for anything.</p> - -<p>One night in the chena season Punchi Menika had been watching the crop -of her father's chena. It lay three miles away from the village, at some -distance from any other chena. The track therefore which led from it to -the village was used by no one except herself, her father, and sister. -In the early morning she started back to the hut.</p> - -<p>There had been rain during the night, and the jungle was fresh and -green. That freshness, which the time of rain brings for so brief a -time, was upon all things. The jungle was golden with the great hanging -clusters of the cassia flowers. The bushes were starred with the white -karambu flowers, and splashed with masses of white and purple kettan. -The grey monkeys leapt, shrieking and mocking, from bough to bough; the -jungle was filled with the calling of the jungle fowl and the wild cries -of the peacocks. From the distance came the trumpeting and shrieking of -a herd of elephants. As Punchi Menika passed a bush she heard from -behind it the clashing of horns. Very quietly she peered round. Two -stags were fighting, the tines of the horns interlocked; up and down, -backwards and forwards, snorting, panting, and straining they struggled -for the doe which stood grazing quietly beside. Punchi Menika had crept -up very quietly; but the doe became uneasy, lifted her head, and looked -intently at the bush behind which Punchi Menika crouched. She approached -the bush slowly, stamping the ground angrily from time to time, and -uttering the sharp shrill call of alarm. But the bucks fought on, up and -down the open space. Punchi Menika laughed as she turned away. 'Fear -nothing, sister,' she said, 'there is no leopard crouching for you. -Fight on, brothers, for the prize is fair.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika walked slowly on down the track. The blood in her veins -moved strangely, stirred by the stirring life around her. The trumpet -call of the sambur blared through the jungle, a terrific cry of desire. -The girl, who had heard it unmoved thousands of times before, started at -the sound of it. A sense of uneasiness came over her. Suddenly she -stopped at the sight of something which moved behind a bush down the -track.</p> - -<p>She stood trembling as Babun came out of the jungle and walked towards -her. His eyes were very bright; his teeth showed white between his -parted lips; the long black hair upon his breast glistened with sweat. -He stood in front of her.</p> - -<p>'Punchi Menika,' he said, 'I have come to you.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo!' she answered. 'I was very frightened. I thought you were a -devil of the trees crouching there for me behind the bushes. Even when -we were little children our father warned us against the devils that -would leap upon us from the bushes.'</p> - -<p>'I have come to you. Come with me out of the path into the thick -jungle. Last night I could not sleep for thinking of you. So I came in -the early morning along the path to meet you on your way from the chena. -I cannot sleep, Punchi Menika, for thinking of you. I have watched you -in the compound and at the tank—your fair skin and the little -breasts. Do not fear, I will not hurt you, Punchi Menika; but come, come -quickly, out of the path.'</p> - -<p>A strange feeling of excitement came over the girl, of joy and fear, as -Babun leant towards her, and put out his hand to take her by the wrist. -A great desire to fly from him, and at the same time to be caught by him -came over her. She stood looking down until his fingers touched her -skin; then with a cry she broke from him, and ran down the track to the -village. She heard his breathing very close to her as she ran; and when -she looked round over her shoulder she felt his breath on her face, saw -his bright eyes and great lips, through which the teeth shone white. -Another moment and she felt the great strength of his arms as he seized -her. He held her close to him by the wrists.</p> - -<p>'Why do you run, why are you frightened, Punchi Menika? I will not hurt -you.'</p> - -<p>She allowed him to take her into the thick jungle, but she struggled -with him, and her whole body shook with fear and desire as she felt his -hands upon her breasts. A cry broke from her, in which joy and desire -mingled with the fear and the pain:</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! aiyo!'</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - - -<p>In towns and large villages there are, especially among people of the -higher castes, many rigid customs and formalities regarding marriages -always observed. It is true that the exclusion of women no longer -exists; but young girls after puberty are supposed to be kept within the -house, and only to meet men of the immediate family. A marriage is -arranged formally; a formal proposal is made by the man's father or -mother to the girl's father or mother. There are usually long -negotiations and bargainings between the two families over the dowry. -When at last the preliminaries are settled and the wedding day arrives, -it is a very solemn and formal affair. All the members of each family -are invited; the bridegroom goes with his friends and relations to the -house of the bride, and then conducts her in procession, followed by the -guests, to his own house. Much money is spent upon entertaining, and new -clothes and presents.</p> - -<p>But in villages like Beddagama, these customs and formalities are often -not observed. The young girls are not kept within the house; they have -to work. The young men know them, and often choose for themselves. There -is no family arrangement, no formal proposal of marriage; the villagers -are too poor for there to be any question of a dowry.</p> - -<p>And yet the villager makes a clear distinction between marriage and -what he calls concubinage. In the former the woman is recognised by his -and her families as his wife; almost invariably she is openly taken to -his house, and there is a procession and feasting on the wedding day: in -the latter the woman is never publicly recognised as a wife. Marriage is -considered to be more respectable than concubinage, and in a headman's -immediate family it would be more usual to find the women 'recognised' -wives than 'unrecognised' wives. And though in the ordinary village life -the 'unrecognised' wife is as common as, or even more common than, the -'recognised' wife, and is treated by all exactly as if she were the -man's wife, yet the distinction is understood and becomes apparent upon -formal occasions. For instance, a woman who is living with a man as his -'unrecognised' wife cannot be present at her sister's wedding. When a -man takes a woman to live with him in this informal way, the arrangement -is, however, regarded as in many ways a formal one, a slightly lower -form than the recognised marriage. The man and the woman are of the same -caste always: there would even be strong objection on the part of the -man or woman's relations if either the one or the other did not come -from a 'respectable' family.</p> - -<p>Babun knew well his brother-in-law's dislike of Silindu, and the -contempt with which the 'veddas' were regarded by the other villagers. -He knew that his sister and Babehami would be very angry with him if he -chose a wife from such a family. But he had watched Punchi Menika, and -gradually a love, which was more than mere desire, had grown up in him. -The wildness and strangeness of her father and of Hinnihami were -tempered in her by a wonderful gentleness. Passion and desire were -strong in him: they would allow no interference with his determination -to take her to live with him.</p> - -<p>The night after his meeting with Punchi Menika on the path from the -chena, he broke the news to Nanchohami and Babehami, as he and his -brother-in-law were eating the evening meal.</p> - -<p>'Sister,' he said, 'it is time that, I took a wife.'</p> - -<p>Nanchohami laughed. 'There is no difficulty. When you go to the chena -the women look after you and smile and say, "Chi! chi! There goes a man. -O that he would take my daughter to his house." But there are no women -for you here. They are all sickly things, unfit to bear you children.'</p> - -<p>'My father's brother married a woman of Kotegoda,' said Babehami. 'In -those days wives brought dowries with them—of land. He went to -live on her land at Kotegoda: it lies fifty miles away, towards Ruhuna. -His sons and daughters are married now in that village, and have -children. They are rich: it is a good village: rain falls there, and -there are cocoanut lands, and paddy grows. The village spreads and -prospers, and the headman is a rich man. They say that tax is paid upon -sixty men every year. It would be a good thing for you to take a wife -from there, for she would bring you a dowry.'</p> - -<p>'Yes,' said Nanchohami, 'it would be a good thing for you to go to -Kotegoda and take a woman from there, a daughter of my man's -brother.<a name="FNanchor_16_1" id="FNanchor_16_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_1" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> She would bring you land, and you could settle there. What -use is it to live in this village? Even the chena crops wither for want -of rain. It is an evil place this.'</p> - -<p>'I want no woman of Kotegoda,' said Babun. 'Nor will I leave the -village. There is a woman, this Punchi Menika, the daughter of Silindu. -I am going to take her to live with me.'</p> - -<p>Babehami looked at his brother-in-law, his little eyes moving -restlessly in astonishment and anger. Nanchohami threw up her hands, and -began in a voice which shrilled and fluted with anger:</p> - -<p>'Ohé! So we are to take veddas into the house, and I am to call a -pariah sister! A fine and a rich wife! A pariah woman, a vedda, a -daughter of a dog, vesi, vesige duwa! Ohé! the headman's brother is to -marry a sweeper of jakes! Do you hear this? Will you allow these -Tamils<a name="FNanchor_17_1" id="FNanchor_17_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_1" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> in your house? Yes, 'twill be a fine thing in the village to -hear that the headman has given his wife and daughters to Rodiyas,<a name="FNanchor_18_1" id="FNanchor_18_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_1" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> -leopards, jackals!'</p> - -<p>Babehami broke in upon his wife's abuse; but she, now thoroughly -aroused, continued throughout the conversation to pour out a stream of -foul words from the background in a voice which gradually rose shriller -and shriller.</p> - -<p>'The woman is right,' Babehami said angrily to Babun. 'You cannot bring -this woman to the house.'</p> - -<p>'I will take no other woman. I have watched her there about the -compound. She is fair and gentle. She is unlike the other women of this -village (here he looked round at Nanchohami), in whose mouths are always -foul words.'</p> - -<p>Babehami tried to hide his anger. He knew his brother-in-law to be -obstinate as well as good-humoured and simple.</p> - -<p>'No doubt the woman is fair. But if you desire her, is she not free to -all to take? Does she not wander, like a man, in the jungle? They say -that even kings have desired Rodiya women. If you desire her, it is not -hard to take her. But there need be no talk of marriage, or bringing her -to the house.'</p> - -<p>'This morning I took her with me into the jungle, but it is not enough; -the desire is still with me. I have thought about it. It is time that I -took a wife to cook my food and bear me children. I want no other than -this. I can leave your compound, and build myself a new house, and take -her to live with me.'</p> - -<p>Babehami's anger began to break out again.</p> - -<p>'Are you a fool? Will you take this beggar woman to be your wife? Is -not her father always about my door crying for a handful of kurakkan? -Fool! I tell you my brother's children in Kotegoda will bring you land, -paddy land, and cocoanuts. There is no difference between one woman and -another.'</p> - -<p>'I tell you I want no Kotegoda woman. I will take the daughter of -Silindu. I want no strange woman or strange village. I can build myself -a house here, and clear chenas, as my father did and his father.'</p> - -<p>'Is it for this I took you into my house? Two years you have eaten my -food. How much of my kurakkan have you taken?'</p> - -<p>'I have taken nothing from you. I have worked two years in the chena, -and the crop came to you, not to me. Is not the grain now in your barn -from the chena cleared by me?'</p> - -<p>Babehami was too quiet and cunning often to give way to anger, but this -time he was carried away by the defiance of his brother-in-law, whom he -regarded as a fool. He gesticulated wildly:</p> - -<p>'Out of my house, dog; out of my house. You shall bring no woman to my -compound. Go and lie with the pariahs in their own filth?'</p> - -<p>Babun got up and stood over Babehami.</p> - -<p>'I am going,' he said quietly, 'and I will take Punchi Menika as my -wife.'</p> - -<p>The abuse of the headman and his wife followed him out of the compound. -He walked slowly over to Silindu's hut. He found Silindu squatting under -a ragged mustard-tree which stood in the compound, and he squatted down -by his side. He did not like Silindu; he had always an uncomfortable -feeling in the presence of this wild man, who never spoke to any one -unless he was spoken to; and he felt it difficult to begin now upon the -subject which had brought him to the compound. Silindu paid no attention -to him. Babun sat there unable to begin, listening to the sounds of the -women in the hut. At last he said:</p> - -<p>'Silindu, I have come to speak to you about your daughter Punchi -Menika.'</p> - -<p>Silindu remained quite still: he apparently had not heard. Babun -touched him on the arm.</p> - -<p>'I am talking of your daughter, Silindu, Punchi Menika.'</p> - -<p>Silindu turned and looked at him.</p> - -<p>'The girl is in the house. What have you to do with her?'</p> - -<p>'I want you to listen to me, Silindu, for there is much to say. I have -watched the girl from the headman's compound, and a charm has come upon -me. I cannot eat or sleep for thinking of her. So I said to my sister -and my sister's husband, "It is time for me to take a wife, and now I -will bring this girl into the compound." But they were very angry, for -they want to marry me to a woman of Kotegoda, because of the land which -she would bring as dowry. To-night they abused me, and there was a -quarrel. I have left their compound. Now I will make myself a house in -the old compound where my father lived, and I will take the girl there -as my wife.'</p> - -<p>Silindu had become more and more attentive as he listened to Babun. The -words seemed to distress him: he shifted about, fidgeted with his hands, -scratched himself all over his body. When Babun stopped, he took some -time before he said:</p> - -<p>'The girl is too young to be given to a man.'</p> - -<p>Babun laughed. 'The girl has attained her age. She is older than many a -woman who has a husband.'</p> - -<p>'The girl is too young. I cannot give her to you, or evil will come -of it.'</p> - -<p>Babun's patience began to be exhausted. His good humour had been -undisturbed during the scene in the headman's compound, but this new -obstacle began to rouse him. His voice rose:</p> - -<p>'I cannot live without the girl. I have quarrelled with my sister and -the headman over her; I have left the compound for her. I ask no dowry. -Why should you refuse her to me?'</p> - -<p>'They call us veddas in the village, while you are of the headman's -house. Does the leopard of the jungle mate with the dog of the -village?'</p> - -<p>'That is nothing to me. The wild buffalo seeks the cows in the village -herds. The girl is very gentle, and my mind is made up. Also the girl -wishes to come to me.'</p> - -<p>The loud voices of the two men had reached the women in the house. They -had come out, and stood listening behind the men. At the last words of -Babun, Silindu cried out as if he had been struck:</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! aiyo! they take even my daughter from me. Is there money in the -house? No. Is there rice? No. Is there kurakkan, or chillies, or -jaggery,<a name="FNanchor_19_1" id="FNanchor_19_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_1" class="fnanchor">[19]</a>or salt even? The house is empty. But there is always -something for the thief to find. They creep in while I am away in the -jungle; they see the little ones whom I have fed, the little ones who -laughed and called me "Appochchi"<a name="FNanchor_20_1" id="FNanchor_20_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_1" class="fnanchor">[20]</a>when I brought them fruits and -honeycomb from the jungle. They creep in like the hooded snake, and -steal them away from me. Aiyo! aiyo! The little ones laugh to go.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika rushed forward, threw herself at Silindu's feet, which -she touched and caressed with her hands. She struck the ground several -times with her forehead, crying and wailing:</p> - -<p>'Appochchi! Appochchi! Will you kill me with your words? I will never -leave you nor my sister.'</p> - -<p>Babun turned upon her:</p> - -<p>'Are the words in the jungle nothing then? Did you lie to me when you -said you would come to my house? They are right then when they say that -women's words are lies—in the morning one thing, at night another. -Did I not tell you that I cannot be without you? Aiyo! You told me there -under the cassia-tree that you would come to me and cook my rice. And in -the evening I am homeless and without you! I shall go now into the -jungle and hang myself.'</p> - -<p>Babun moved away, but Karlinahami caught hold of his hand and pulled -him back. Punchi Menika threw herself on the ground again in front of -Silindu.</p> - -<p>'Appochchi! it is true: I said I would go to him. Do not kill me with -bitter words. I must go: I cannot be without him. I gave my word: what -can I do?'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika crouched down at Silindu's feet. He sat very still for a -little while, and then began in a low, moaning voice:</p> - -<p>'Did I not often tell you of the devils of the trees that lurk for you -by the way? I have stood by you against them in the day: I have held you -in my arms when they howled about the house at night. I told you that -the place is evil, and evil comes from it. They lie in the shadows of -the trees, and cast spells on you as you pass. And now one has got you, -and you laugh to go from me. They sit in the trees among the grey -monkeys and laugh at me as I pass in the morning: they howl at me among -the jackals as I come back in the evening. They take all from me, and -the house is very empty.'</p> - -<p>'Appochchi! the devils are not taking me. I shall not leave you; when -you come from the jungle I shall be here with my sister. But the man has -called to me and I must go to him. The cub does not always remain in the -cave by the father's side: her time comes, and she hears her mate call -from the neighbouring rocks: she leaves her father's cave for another's. -But, Appochchi, she will still look out for the old leopard when he -returns: she will live very close to him.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! aiyo! the house will be empty.'</p> - -<p>'The doe cannot always stay with the herd. She hears the call of the -buck, and they fly together into the jungle.'</p> - -<p>'The house is empty. There is no use for me to live now.'</p> - -<p>Karlinahami, who had been growing more and more impatient, here broke -in:</p> - -<p>'Are you mad, brother? The child is a woman now, and it is time to give -her to a man. Is she to die childless because she has a father? There is -no need for her even to leave the compound. There is room for Babun to -make himself a house here.'</p> - -<p>Babun eagerly seized upon this suggestion. He assured Silindu that he -had no intention of taking Punchi Menika out of the compound. Punchi -Menika, still crouching at his feet, told her father that she would -never leave him.</p> - -<p>It was eventually arranged that for the present Babun should live in -the house while he put up another house for himself and Punchi Menika. -Silindu took no part in the discussion. After Karlinahami intervened, he -became silent: there was nothing for him to do or to say which could -help him: it was only one more of the evils which inevitably came upon -him. The talk died down: the others went into the house to prepare the -evening meal. He sat on under the mustard-tree, staring at the outline -of the trees against the starlit sky. The silence of the jungle settled -down upon the compound. Punchi Menika brought him his food. She tried to -comfort him, to get him to come into the house, but for once she could -not rouse him. He sat in the compound through the night, staring into -the darkness, and muttering from time to time, 'Aiyo, the house is -empty!'</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - - -<p>Babun put up a new hut in Silindu's compound, and three weeks after he -left his brother-in-law, he and Punchi Menika began to live together in -it. It was the beginning of a far greater prosperity for the family. -Babun worked hard: he cleared his chena and watched it well: his crop -was always the best in the village, and the produce went with Silindu's -into a barn which served in common for the whole compound.</p> - -<p>Silindu did not again refer to Punchi Menika's leaving him. He seemed -hardly to be aware of Babun's existence in the compound: he very rarely -addressed a word to him. In fact, he now scarcely ever spoke to any one -except Hinnihami. When he came back to the compound from the jungle or -from the chenas, he never went into the new hut, where Punchi Menika -lived: he never called her to him as he had been used to do. If she came -out in the evenings to sit with him and speak with him, he answered her -questions; but he no longer poured out to her everything that was in his -mind, as he still did to Hinnihami. It seemed as if he were unable to -share her with another.</p> - -<p>And Punchi Menika altered. Her blind love for her father and her -sister remained, but it was swamped by a fierce attachment to Babun. She -felt the barrier which had grown up and separated her from Silindu, and -in a less degree from Hinnihami. And as her life became different, she -lost some of the wildness which had before belonged to her. She began to -lead a life more like the other village women. She no longer went to, or -worked, in the chena; the jungle began to lose its hold on her. She had -listened from the time when she first began to understand anything to -the tales of her father, and imperceptibly his views of life had become -hers: she and he were only two out of the countless animals which wander -through the jungle, continually beset by hunger and fear. But as she -became more and more separated from him and attached to Babun, this view -of life—always vague and unconsciously held—became vaguer -and dimmer. The simplicity of Babun reacted upon her: she became the -man's woman, the cook of his food, the cleaner of his house, the bearer -of his children.</p> - -<p>There had always been considerable difference in character between -Hinnihami and Punchi Menika. There was very little of her sister's -gentleness in Hinnihami. There was, added to the strangeness and -wildness which she derived from Silindu, a violence of feeling far -greater than his. You could see this in her eyes, which gradually lost -the melancholy of childhood, and glowed with a fierce, startled look -through the long black hair, which hung in disorder about her pale brown -face. The village women, who never tired of following Nanchohami's lead -in jeering at Karlinahami and Punchi Menika, soon learned to respect the -passionate anger which it was so easy to rouse in Hinnihami.</p> - -<p>And the passion of her anger was equalled by the passion of her -attachment to Silindu and Punchi Menika. The women soon learned that it -was as dangerous to abuse in her presence her father or her sister, as -to risk a gibe at the girl herself. It was always remembered in the -village how, when Angohami once, worked up by the bitterness of her own -tongue, raised her hand against Punchi Menika, Hinnihami, then a child -of eight, had seized the baby which the woman was carrying on her hip -and flung it into the tank water.</p> - -<p>Hinnihami had taken no part in the discussion about her sister's -marriage. But when Babun took Punchi Menika to live with him in the hut -which he had built, she felt an instinctive dislike towards him, a -feeling that she was being robbed of something. Her father and her -sister were everything to her: for she had never felt for Karlinahami -the blind affection which she felt for them. She could not understand, -therefore, how Punchi Menika could turn from them to this man whom she -had scarcely known the day before.</p> - -<p>She saw and understood her father's anger and unhappiness, but she -could not turn against her sister. Something had happened which she did -not understand: 'an evil had come out of the jungle,' as such evils -come. If any one could be blamed, it was the stranger Babun; but as her -sister desired to go to him, she put on one side her own feelings of -anger against him. She watched in silence the new house being put up, -and she watched in silence Punchi Menika leave the old hut for the new. -She felt as if she were losing something; that her sister was going away -from her, and that her life had greatly altered. She turned with an -increased passion of attachment to her father; she refused to allow -Karlinahami to cook his food for him; if he went out alone in the -jungle, she would sit for hours in the compound watching the path by -which she knew he would return; and whenever he would allow her, she -followed him on his expeditions.</p> - -<p>The marriage of Punchi Menika and Babun created a great sensation in -the village. The headman and his wife did not at first hide their anger, -and the thought that they had been crossed was not unpleasant to many of -the villagers. Moreover, Babun was liked, and in many ways respected. -The contempt in which the veddas had been held could no longer be shown -towards a compound where he had married and where he lived. The compound -was no longer avoided; the men entered it now to see Babun, and the -women began to come and gossip with Punchi Menika.</p> - -<p>It was not in Babehami's nature to remain long openly an enemy of any -one. His cunning mind was inclined to, and suited for, intrigue. He -understood how much easier—and more enjoyable—it is to harm -your enemy, if he thinks that you are his friend, rather than if he -knows you are his enemy. He was, however, too angry with Babun for any -open reconciliation. He hid his anger; and though he never went into -Babun's compound, nor Babun into his, when they met in the village -paths, they spoke to one another as if there was nothing between them. -But he often thought over the reckoning which he was determined one day -to have; and it was Silindu and his family who, he made up his mind, -would feel it most heavily. He was a man who never forgot what he -considered a wrong done him. He could wait long to repay a real or -imaginary injury: the repayment might be made in many divers ways, but -until it was repaid with interest his mind was unsatisfied.</p> - -<p>As time passed Silindu's family began again to enter into the ordinary -village life. It was natural, therefore, that the hesitation which the -villager might have felt to take a wife from the family died down before -Babun's example. People who live in towns can hardly realise how -persistent and violent are the desires of those who live in villages -like Beddagama. In many ways, and in this beyond all others, they are -very near to the animals; in fact, in this they are more brutal and -uncontrolled than the brutes; that, while the animals have their -seasons, man alone is perpetually dominated by his desires.</p> - -<p>Hinnihami, both in face and form, was more desirable than any of the -other women. It was about a year after Babun and Punchi Menika began to -live together that proposals began to be made about her. There lived in -one of the huts, with his old mother, a man called Punchirala. He was a -tall, thin, dark man, badly afflicted with parangi. The naturally crafty -look of his face had been intensified by an accident. When a young man -he had been attacked by a bear, which met him crawling under the bushes -in search of a hive of wild bees which he had heard in the jungle. The -bear mauled him, and had left the marks of its teeth and claws upon his -cheeks and forehead, and partially destroyed his right eye. The drooping -lid of the injured eye gave him the appearance of perpetually and -cunningly winking. He had some reputation in the village as a vederala -or doctor, and also as a dealer in spells. The result of his quarrel -with his brother had made him feared and respected. They had cultivated -a chena in common, and a dispute had arisen over the division of the -produce. Punchirala considered himself to have been swindled. He went -out into the jungle and collected certain herbs, leaves, and fruit. He -put them in a cocoanut shell together with a lime, and placed them at -night in the corner of his brother's compound. The next morning his -brother was found to be lying unable to speak or move. The wife and -mother came and begged Punchirala to remove the spell. He denied all -knowledge of the matter, and in three days his brother died. The -brother's share of the chena produce was handed over to Punchirala, as -no one else was inclined to run the risk of the curse which appeared to -attach to it.</p> - -<p>Punchirala was about thirty-eight years old. The woman who had lived -with him had died about a year previously, and the marriage of Babun had -directed his attention towards Hinnihami. His first proposals were made -to the girl herself. He was astonished by the fury with which they were -rejected, but he was not discouraged. He watched for his opportunity; -and some days later, when Hinnihami was not there, he went to Silindu's -compound. He found Silindu sitting in the shadow of the hut.</p> - -<p>'I heard,' he said to him, 'that you have an ulcer in your foot. Let me -see. Aiyo! caused by a bad thorn! Here are some leaves. I brought them -with me. They will do it good.'</p> - -<p>Silindu had been unable to walk for some days owing to the swelling and -pain. He was very glad to show the foot to the vederala. Punchirala sat -down to examine it, and Karlinahami and Babun came out to see what was -going on. This was exactly what Punchirala wanted. He heated the leaves -by putting them in hot water, which he made Karlinahami fetch. He tied -them on with much ceremony, and then the whole party squatted down to -talk.</p> - -<p>'This medicine I learned from my father,' he told them. 'It is of great -power. It will draw the evil and the heat out of the foot into the -leaves, and to-morrow you will be able to walk.'</p> - -<p>The power of medicine and spells was a subject which never failed to -appeal to Karlinahami.</p> - -<p>'They say your father was a great man, and that in those days people -came to the village from all sides for his medicine.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, but he was a great man, and I have all my knowledge from him. Now -the Government builds hospitals, and makes people go to them, and gives -them Government medicine, which is useless. And so our work is taken -from us, and people die of these foreign medicines. But my father was a -great man. He knew of many charms: one which would bring any woman to a -man. There is a tale about that charm. In those days there lived a -Korala Mahatmaya by the sea, a big-bellied man, a great lover of women. -Down the coast, beyond his village, was a village in which only Malay -people live. The Malay women are before all others in beauty, very fair, -with eyes shaped like pomegranate seeds. They are Mohammedan people, and -no Sinhalese can approach their women; for the men are very jealous, and -also strong and fearless. They are bad men. The Korala Mahatmaya used to -go to the village on Government work, and every time he walked through -the street, and saw the women peeping at him from the doorways—and he -saw their eyes shaped like pomegranate seeds, shining beneath the cloths -which covered their heads—he was very troubled, and longed to have a -Malay woman. At last he could bear it no longer: so he lay down in his -house, and sent a message to my father to say that he was very ill, and -that he should come to him at once. Then my father went three days' -journey to the Korala's house; and, when he came there, the Korala -Mahatmaya sent all the women out of the house, and he made my father sit -down by his side, and he said to him, "Vederala, I am very ill. I cannot -sleep: I have a great desire day and night in me for a woman from the -Malay village along the coast. I can get no pleasure from my own women. -But if I be seen even talking to a Malay woman, the men of the village -would rise and beat me to death. The desire is killing me. Now you, I -know, have great skill in charms. You must make me one therefore which -will bring a Malay woman to me to a place of which I will tell you." -Then my father said, "Hamadoru! I dare not do this. For I must go and -make the charm in the compound of the girl's house. And I know these -Malay people: they are very bad men. If they catch me there, they will -kill me." But the Korala Mahatmaya said, "There is no need to fear. -There is a house at the end of the village standing somewhat apart from -the others. There lives in it a young girl, unmarried, the daughter of -Tuwan Abdid. I will take you there on a moonless night, and you will -make the charm there. And if the next night the girl comes to me, I will -give you £5."<a name="FNanchor_21_1" id="FNanchor_21_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_1" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Then my father thought, "If I refuse the Korala -Mahatmaya, he will be angry, and put me into trouble, and ruin me; and -if I consent to his wish I will gain £5 which is much money, and -possibly a beating from the Malay men. It is better to risk the -beating." So he agreed to make the charm on a moonless night. Then the -Korala Mahatmaya gave out that he was very ill, and that my father was -treating him. And for three days my father lived in the house, preparing -the charm. On the fourth day the Korala Mahatmaya and my father—taking -cold cooked rice with them—set out from the house, saying they were -going to my father's village for the treatment of the Korala with -medicines in my father's house. But after leaving the village they -turned aside from the path, and went secretly through the jungle to a -cave near the Malay village. The cave was hidden in thick jungle, and -they lay there through the day. When it was night and very dark they -crept out, and the Korala showed the house to my father. My father stood -in the garden of the house, and made the charm, and buried it in the -earth of the garden, and returned to the cave with the Korala Mahatmaya. -All through the next day they lay in the cave, and ate only the cold -rice, and the Korala Mahatmaya talked much of the Malay women, and their -eyes, which were shaped like pomegranate seeds. And in the evening, at -the time when the women go to draw water, the girl came to the cave, and -the Korala Mahatmaya enjoyed her. Then he sent her away, and he called -my father who was sitting outside in the jungle, and told him that the -girl was cross-eyed and ugly, and not worth £5, but at the most ten -rupees. He gave my father ten rupees, and told him he would give the -other forty some other time—but the money was never paid. Next day they -went back to the Korala's house, and told a tale how the Korala -Mahatmaya had got well on the way to my father's village, and so they -had returned at once. But the girl had seen the Korala Mahatmaya in the -village, and she recognised his black face and big belly, and she told -her mother how she had been charmed to go to the cave. The mother told -the Malay men, and they were very angry. Next time that the Korala -Mahatmaya went to their village, they set upon him, and beat him with -clubs and sticks until he nearly died. Then they put him in a -bullock-cart, and tied his hands together above his head to the hood of -the cart, and took him twelve miles into Kamburupitiya, to the Agent -Hamadoru, and said that they had caught the Korala Mahatmaya with a bag -on his back stealing salt. And there was a great case, and the -magistrate Hamadoru believed the story of the Korala Mahatmaya, who had -many witnesses to show that on the very day on which the girl said she -had gone to the cave they had seen him on the road to my father's -village. So the Malay men all were sent to prison; but my father got a -great name; for all the country, except the magistrate Hamadoru, knew of -the charm by which he had brought the girl to the fat Korala Mahatmaya -in the cave.'</p> - -<p>'Did your father teach you the making of the charm?' asked -Karlinahami.</p> - -<p>'Am I not a vederala and the son of a vederala? The learning of the -father is handed down to the son.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, I remember hearing my mother speak of him: there was no one in the -district, she said, so skilled in charms and medicines as your -father.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, he knew many things which other vederalas know nothing of. He had -a charm by which devils are charmed to become the servants of the -charmer. He learnt it from a man of Sinhala,<a name="FNanchor_22_1" id="FNanchor_22_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_1" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> who lived long ago in -the neighbouring village. This man was called Tikiri Banda, and he -wanted to marry the daughter of the headman. The headman refused to give -her, and Tikiri Banda being very angry put a charm upon a devil which -lived in a banian-tree. And the devil took a snake in his hand and -touched the headman with it on the back as he passed under the tree in -the dusk, and the headman's back was bent into a bow for the rest of his -days.'</p> - -<p>'Was that the village called Bogama?' asked Silindu, who had listened -with interest. 'Where the nuga-trees<a name="FNanchor_23_1" id="FNanchor_23_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_1" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> now stand in the jungle to the -south? The last house was abandoned when I was a boy, but the devil -still dances beneath the nuga-trees.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, it was Bogama. It was a village like this in my father's time, and -in your father's time. I can myself remember houses there near the -nuga-trees.'</p> - -<p>'Of course,' said Karlinahami. 'Podi Sinho's wife Angohami came from -there. Aiyo! when the jungle comes in, how things are forgotten!'</p> - -<p>'Well, well,' said the vederala, 'the devils still dance under the -trees, though the men have gone. The chena crops were bad, and every -year the fever came; it is the same now in this village. The old -medicines of the vederalas are no longer used, but people go to the -towns and hospitals for these foreign medicines. But they die very -quickly, and where there was a village there are only trees and devils!'</p> - -<p>The little group was silent for a while; nothing could be heard but the -sigh of the wind among the trees for miles around them. Then the -vederala began to speak again:</p> - -<p>'Yes, that was a wonderful charm. The headman walked bow-backed for the -rest of his life because he would not give the girl. Aiyo! it is always -the women who bring trouble to us men, and yet what can a man do? A man -without a wife, they say, is only half a man. There is no comfort in a -house where there is no woman to cook the meal.'</p> - -<p>'There is no need to use your charm, vederala,' said Karlinahami, 'if -you want one for yourself.'</p> - -<p>'There is only one unmarried woman in the village now,' said the -vederala, 'and she is Silindu's daughter.'</p> - -<p>An uncomfortable silence fell upon the listeners. Karlinahami and Babun -looked at Silindu, who remained silent, his eyes fixed upon the ground. -The vederala's intentions were very clear, and the point of his previous -stories very obvious now. Punchirala turned to Karlinahami:</p> - -<p>'I was thinking but yesterday that it is time that the girl was given in -marriage. Babun here has taken her twin sister, and it is wrong that a -woman should live alone.'</p> - -<p>'It is not for me to give the girl. She is her father's daughter.'</p> - -<p>Silindu's face showed his distress. The vederala was a dangerous man to -offend, but too much was being asked of him. He began in a low voice:</p> - -<p>'The girl is too young; she has not flowered yet.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala laughed.</p> - -<p>'Did you bring the girl up or only filth, as the saying is? They are -called twins, but the one has been married a year and the other has not -flowered yet!'</p> - -<p>'Vederala! I would give the girl, but she is unwilling. She told me last -night that you had spoken to her. She is of the jungle, wild, not fit -for your house. She was very frightened and angry.'</p> - -<p>For a moment Punchirala was disconcerted that his rebuff was known. But -anger came to his rescue.</p> - -<p>'Am I to ask the girl then when I want a wife? Can the father not give -his child? So the child is angry, and the father obeys! Ohé! strange -customs spring up! You are a fool, Silindu. If you tell the child to -obey, there is no more to be said.'</p> - -<p>'The girl is a wild thing, I tell you. I cannot give her against her -will.'</p> - -<p>The vederala got up. He smiled at Silindu, who watched him anxiously.</p> - -<p>'You will not give the girl, Silindu?'</p> - -<p>'I cannot, I cannot.'</p> - -<p>'You will not give her? Remember the man of Sinhala, who taught my -father.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! how can I do this?'</p> - -<p>'And the headman of Bogama, and the devil that still dances beneath the -trees.'</p> - -<p>Silindu's face worked with excitement.</p> - -<p>'Ask anything else of me, vederala. I cannot do this, I cannot do -this.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala walked away. The others watched him in silence. When he got -to the fence of the compound, he turned round and smiled at them again.</p> - -<p>'And don't forget,' he called out, 'to tell the girl about the Malay -girl who came to the Korala Mahatmaya in the cave. A black-faced man and -big-bellied, but she came, she came. I am an ugly man, and the bear's -claws have made me uglier; a poor bed-fellow for a girl! And so was he, -black as a Tamil, and a great belly swaying as he walked. But she came -to the cave, to the calling of my father's charm. Oh yes, she came, she -came.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala walked away chuckling. Silindu was trembling with excitement -and fear. Karlinahami burst out into a wail of despair.</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! what will become of us, brother? He is a bad man, a bad man; very -cunning and clever. There is no protection against his charms. He will -bring evil and disease upon the house: he will make devils enter us. -What have you done? What have you done? Aiyo!'</p> - -<p>Babun was not as excited as the other two, but he was very serious.</p> - -<p>'It would perhaps have been better to give him the girl,' he said. 'The -man is not a bad man if you do not cross him, and the girl is of age to -marry. Even the bravest man does not go down the path where a devil -lives.'</p> - -<p>'Only the fool struggles against the stronger,' said Karlinahami. 'What -the vederala says is medicine, is medicine. It is not too late, brother, -to undo the evil. To whom else in the village can you give the girl?'</p> - -<p>Silindu turned upon them in his anger and fear:</p> - -<p>'Have you too joined to plague me? Evils come upon a man: it is fate. -What can I do? The girl is unwilling: am I to throw away the kurakkan -when the rice is already stolen? Am I to help the thief to plunder my -house? I am a poor man, and the evil has come upon me; I can do nothing -against it. His devils will enter me, and I shall waste away. But as for -the child, what else is left to me? I will not force her to go to this -son of a——. Go into the house, woman, and cry there; and you, Babun, -is it not enough that you have stolen from me one child that now you -should join with this dog to steal the other from me?'</p> - -<p>The other two were frightened by this outburst of Silindu; they saw that -to argue with him would only increase his excitement. They left him. He -remained squatting in the compound, and as his anger died down fear -possessed him utterly. He had no doubt of the powers of Punchirala over -him: he knew that he had delivered himself into his power, and the power -of the devils that surrounded him. He had no thought of resistance in -such a case. The terrible sense of a blank wall of fate, against which a -man may hurl himself in vain, was upon him. He sat terrified and crushed -by the inevitableness of the evil which must be. When Hinnihami -returned, he told her what had happened, and she shared in his terror -and despair.</p> - -<p>The charms of the vederala did not take long to act upon Silindu. He -felt that he was a doomed man, and his mind could think of nothing but -the impending evil. The banian-trees of the ruined village of Bogama -obsessed his mind: he knew that ruin waited for him there, and yet a -horrible desire to see them was always present with him. He could no -longer remain in the hut or compound: he wandered through the jungle, -fighting against the pull of the desire: his wanderings became a circle, -of which the banian-trees were the centre. He tried to go back to his -hut, where he felt that there was safety for him, and found himself -walking in the opposite direction. Darkness began to settle over the -jungle, and the life, which awakes only in its darkness, began to stir. -Voices mocked him from the canopy of leaves above him; dim forms moved -among the shadows of the trees. Suddenly a blind terror came upon him, -and he began to run through the dense jungle. The boughs of the trees -lashed him as he ran down the narrow tracks; the thorns tore him like -spurs. He lost all sense of direction; vague shapes seemed to follow him -in the darkness; enormous forms broke away from the track before him, to -crash away among the undergrowth and trees. The throbbing of his heart -and throat became unendurable, but still his one idea was to run. As he -ran the jungle suddenly became thinner; the thorny undergrowth had given -way to more open spaces. Even here it was very dark. He stumbled against -the knotted root of a tree; a long, straight, swinging bough struck him -in the face; a wild, derisive yell came from above. The blood seemed to -rise and drown his eyes: he felt about vaguely with his hands. He -recognised the root-like, stringy trunks of the banian-trees: he heard -the cry ring out above his head, and he fell huddled together among the -roots of the trees.</p> - -<p>Silindu did not hear again the cry of the devil-bird from the tree-tops. -He lay unconscious throughout the night. When dawn broke he came to -himself stiff and cold. He dragged himself slowly to the hut. There was -no necessity to tell the others what had happened. The pale yellow of -his skin, his sunken glazed eyes, his shivering body told them that -Punchirala's charms had already begun their work, and his devils had -already entered Silindu. He lay down on a mat within the hut to wait for -the slow sapping of his life by the spell.</p> - -<p>For the next two days Silindu lay in the hut, very slowly letting go his -hold of life. A kind of coma was upon him, as he felt life gradually -slipping from his body. From time to time the women began a shrill wail -in the compound. Babun went to expostulate with Punchirala; but the -vederala, after listening with a malignant smile, replied that he knew -nothing, and could do nothing, in the matter. Babun returned to lounge -moodily about the compound.</p> - -<p>On the second day Karlinahami determined in despair to go herself to the -vederala. She found him sitting in his compound.</p> - -<p>'You have come about your brother, no doubt. But I can do nothing; I'm -only a poor vederala. There is the Government hospital in Kamburupitiya, -and a Mahatmaya in trousers, a drinker of arrack, a clever man; he will -give you Government medicines free of charge—just a fanam or two for -the peon who stands by the door. You should take your brother there. It -is only three days' journey.'</p> - -<p>'Vederala! my brother lies in the hut dying. He has covered his head -with his cloth, and he will neither eat nor speak. Life is slipping from -him.'</p> - -<p>'The doctor Mahatmaya will say it is the fever. He will give you a -bottle of fever mixture—free of charge. A clever man, the doctor -Mahatmaya. Yes, you should take him to the hospital and get the -medicine—free of charge. It is a good medicine, though unpleasant to -the taste, they tell me.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! what is the good of going to the hospital? Why do you talk like -that, vederala? You are laughing at me. We know that it is the devils -that have entered my brother, and that you alone have power to save -him.'</p> - -<p>'Devils! what do I know of devils? No, they tell me the doctor Mahatmaya -keeps no medicine in the hospital against devils. 'The Government says -there are no devils. Surely it is fever, or fire-fever,<a name="FNanchor_24_1" id="FNanchor_24_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_1" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> or -dysentery. It is for these that they give Government medicine. No, it is -no good going to the hospital for devils.'</p> - -<p>'Vederala! I have brought you kurakkan here; it is all I have. And I -will talk to the girl for you, yes, and to my brother if he gets well. -But take the spell from him, vederala; take the spell from him, I pray -you.'</p> - -<p>'I know nothing of spells. I am a poor village vederala with a little -knowledge of roots and leaves and fruits, which my father taught me.'</p> - -<p>'Vederala, you yourself told us of the charms and spells. Your skill is -known. Charm the devil to leave my brother. He meant no harm; he is a -strange man—you know that, vederala. He never meant to injure you. The -girl will come to you, I will see to that—only take the spell from my -brother.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala sat and looked at Karlinahami, smiling, for a little while. -Then he said, 'Is the woman mad too? What do I know of charms and -spells? I can work no charm on your brother. But I have some little -knowledge of devils—my father taught me. Well, well, let me think now. -If a devil has entered the man, and is slowly taking his life from him, -perhaps there is a way. Let me think. Do you know the village of -Beragama?'</p> - -<p>'No, vederala, no. I have heard of it, but I do not know it.'</p> - -<p>'Well, it lies over there to the east, five days' journey through the -jungle, beyond Maha Potana and the River of Jewels. Do you think you -could take your brother there?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, vederala, we could go there.'</p> - -<p>'There is a great temple there, and the great Beragama deviyo<a name="FNanchor_25_1" id="FNanchor_25_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_1" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> lives -in it. He is a Tamil god, so they say; but Sinhalese kapuralas<a name="FNanchor_26_1" id="FNanchor_26_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_1" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> serve -him in the temple. My father used to say that he is a very great god. -His power is over the jungle, and the devils who live in it. The devils -of the trees obey him, for his anger is terrible. If a devil has entered -a man, and is harming him, and taking his life from him, the man should -make a vow to the god, so my father used to say. Then he should go to -the temple at Beragama at the time of the great festival, and roll in -the dust round the temple three times every day, and call upon the god -in a loud voice to free him from the devil. And perhaps, if he call loud -enough, the god will hear him and order the devil to leave him. Then the -devil will be afraid of the god's power, and will leave the man, who -will be freed from the evil. Now the great festival falls on the day of -the next full moon. Perhaps if your brother makes a vow to the Beragama -deviyo, and goes to the great festival, the devil will be driven out by -the god. You and the girl might take him there; and perhaps I will go -too, for I have made a vow myself.'</p> - -<p>Karlinahami fell at the vederala's feet, salaaming and whimpering -blessings on him. Then she hurried home. It took a long time to make -Silindu understand that there was hope for him. At first he would not -listen to their entreaties and exhortations. At last, when he was -prevailed upon to believe that it was Punchirala himself who had -suggested the remedy, some spirit to fight for life seemed to creep into -him. He took some food for the first time, and sat listening to the -plans for the pilgrimage. It was decided that they should start on the -next day, and that Babun should accompany them.</p> - -<p>The next day the pilgrims set out on a journey which, with the enfeebled -Silindu, would they knew take them at least six days. Their road the -whole way led them through thick jungle; villages were few, and what -there were consisted only of a few squalid huts. The only village of any -size through which they were to pass was Maha Potana, an agricultural -village, one day's journey from Beragama, which had sprung up around a -vast tank restored by Government. They carried their food with them, and -slept at night on the bare earth under bushes or trees. Every day they -trudged, straggling along in single file, from seven to eleven in the -morning, and from three to six in the evening. Silindu was dazed and -weak, and often had to be helped along by Babun. The women carried large -bundles of food and chatties,<a name="FNanchor_27_1" id="FNanchor_27_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_1" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> wrapped up in cloths, upon their -heads. It was the hottest time of the year, when the jungle is withered -with drought, the grass has died down, the earth is caked and cracked -with heat; the trees along the paths and road are white with dust. The -pools had dried up, and the little streams were now mere channels of -gleaming sand. Often they had to go all day without finding a pool or a -well with water in it. For twelve hours every day the sun beat down upon -them fiercely; the quivering heat from the white roads beat up into -their faces and eyes; the wind swept them with its burning gusts and -eddies of dust. Their feet were torn by the thorns, and swollen and -blistered by the hot roads. As Hinnihami followed hour after hour along -the white track, which for ever coiled out before her into the walls of -dusty trees, the old song, which Karlinahami had sung to them when they -were children, continually was in her mind, and she sang as she walked:</p> - -<p>'Our women's feet are weary, but the day Must end somewhere for the -followers in the way.'</p> - - -<p>Two days' journey from Beddagama they joined a larger and more -frequented track. Here they continually met little bands of pilgrims -bound for the same destination as themselves. The majority of them were -Tamils, Hindus from India, from the tea estates, and from the north and -east of the island; strange-looking men, such as Hinnihami had never -seen before; very dark, with bodies naked to the waist; with lines of -white and red paint on their shoulders, their foreheads smeared with -ashes, and the mark of God's eye between their eyebrows. They wore -clothes of fine white cotton, caught up between the legs, and they -carried brass bowls and brass tongs. Their women, heavy and -sullen-looking, followed, carrying bundles and children.</p> - -<p>There were, however, also little bands of Buddhists, Sinhalese like -themselves, and to one of these bands they attached themselves. Four of -them were a family from a village only twenty miles north of Beddagama, -and jungle people like themselves. They were taking a blind child to see -whether, if they called upon the god, he would hear them and give him -sight. There were a fisher and his wife from the coast; they were -childless, and the woman had vowed to go to the festival and touch the -heel of the kapurala, in order that the god might remove from her the -curse of barrenness. Last, there was an old man, a trader from a large -and distant village of another district; he wore immense spectacles, and -all day long he walked reading or chanting from a large Sinhalese -religious book, which he carried open in his hand. The rest of the party -did not understand a word of what he read, but they felt that he was -acquiring merit, and that they would share a little of it. He had been -brought up in a Buddhist temple, and at night after the evening-meal he -gathered the little party round him and preached to them, or read to -them, by the light of the camp-fire, how they should live in order to -acquire merit in this life. And at the appropriate places they all cried -out together, 'Sadhu! sadhu!' or he made them all repeat together aloud -the sil or rules; and as their voices rose and fell in the stillness of -the night air, Karlinahami's face shone with ecstasy, and a sense of -well-being and quiet, strange to her, stole over Hinnihami. Even in -Silindu there came a change; he joined in the chant:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Búddhun sáranam gáchchamÃ,'</span></p> - - -<p>with which they began and ended the day; he became less hopeless and -sullen, and the look of fear began to leave his eyes. In the evenings, -when the air grew cool and gentle after the pitiless heat and wind of -the day; as they sat around the fire by the roadside; and the great -trees rose black behind them into the night; and the stars blazed above -them between the leaves; and up and down the road twinkled the fires of -other pilgrims, and the air was sweet with the smell of the burning wood -and the hum of voices; and the vast stillness of the jungle folded them -round on every side; and they listened to the strange words, but half -understood, of the Lord Buddha, and how he attained to Nirvana;—then -the sufferings of the day were forgotten, and a feeling stole over them -of peace and holiness and merit acquired.</p> - -<p>And one evening, at Babun's suggestion, Karlinahami told them a story -which had always been a favourite with the village women. At first the -old man with the book and spectacles showed signs of being offended at -this usurpation; but he was soothed by their saying that they did not -want to tire him, and by their asking him to read to them again after -the story was finished. In the end he was an absorbed listener as -Karlinahami told the following story:<a name="FNanchor_28_1" id="FNanchor_28_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_1" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> - -<p>'The Lord Buddha, in one of his previous lives, met a young girl -carrying kunji<a name="FNanchor_29_1" id="FNanchor_29_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_1" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> to her father, who was ploughing in the field. And -when he saw her he thought, "The maiden is fair. If she is unmarried she -would make me a fit wife." And she thought when she saw him, "If such a -one took me to wife, I would bring fortune to my family." And he said to -her, "What is your name?" Her name was Amara Devi, which means -"undying," so she replied, "Sir, my name is that which never was, is, -nor will be in this world. Nothing," he said, "born in this world is -undying. Is your name Amara?" She answered, "Yes, sir." Then the Buddha -said, "To whom are you taking the kunji? To the first god. You are -taking it to your father? Yes, sir. What is your father doing? He makes -one into two. To make one into two is to plough. Where is your father -ploughing? He ploughs in that place from which no man returns. No man -returns from the grave. Is he ploughing near the burial-ground? Yes, -sir." Then Amara Devi offered the Buddha kunji to drink, and he accepted -it, and he thought to himself, "If the maiden gives me the kunji without -first washing the pot, I will leave her at once." But Amara Devi washed -the pot first, and then gave the kunji. The Buddha drank the kunji, and -said, "Friend, where is your house that I may go to it?" And Amara Devi -answered, "Go by this path until you come to a boutique where they sell -balls of rice and sugar; go on until you come to another where they sell -kunji. From there you will see a flamboyant-tree in full blossom. At -that tree take the path towards the hand with which you eat rice.<a name="FNanchor_30_1" id="FNanchor_30_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_1" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> -That is the way to my father's house." And the Buddha went as Amara Devi -had directed him, and found the house, and went in. Amara Devi's mother -was in the house, and she welcomed the Buddha, and made him sit down. -And he, seeing the poverty of the house, said, "Mother, I am a tailor. -Have you anything for me to sew?" And she said, "Son, there are clothes -and pillows to mend, but I have no money to pay for the mending." Then -he replied, "There is no need of money; bring them for me to mend." So -the Lord Buddha sat and mended the torn clothes and pillows; and in the -evening Amara Devi came back from the fields carrying a bundle of -firewood on her head, and a sheaf of jungle leaves in the folds of her -cloth. And Buddha lived in the house some days in order to learn the -behaviour of the girl. At the end of three days he gave her half a -seer<a name="FNanchor_31_1" id="FNanchor_31_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_1" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> of rice, and said, "Amara Devi, cook for me kunji, boiled rice, -and cakes." She never thought to say, "How can I cook so much out of -half a seer of rice?" but was ready to do as she was told. She cleaned -the rice, boiled the whole grains, made kunji from the broken grains, -and cakes from the dust. She offered the kunji to the Buddha, and he -took a mouthful and tasted the delight of its sweetness, but to try her -he spat it out on the ground, and said, "Friend, since you do not know -how to cook, why do you waste my rice?" Amara Devi took no offence, but -offered him the cakes, saying, "Friend, if the kunji does not please -you, will you eat of the cakes?" And the Buddha did the same with the -cakes. Then Amara Devi offered him the rice, and again he spat out the -rice, and pretended to be very angry, and smeared the food upon her head -and body, and made her stand in the sun before the door. The girl showed -no anger, but went out and stood in the sun. Then the Buddha said, -"Amara Devi, friend, come here," and she came to him, and he took her as -his wife, and lived with her in the city in the gatekeeper's house. And -she still thought he was a tailor, and one day he sent two men to her -with a thousand gold pieces to try her. The men took the gold pieces, -and with them tempted her, but she said, "These thousand gold pieces are -unworthy to wash my husband's feet." And three times she was tempted, -and at last he told them to bring her to him by force. So they brought -her to him by force, and when she came into his presence she did not -know him, for he sat in state in his robes, but she smiled and wept when -she looked at him. The Buddha asked her why she smiled and wept, and she -said, "Lord, I smiled with joy to see your divine splendour and the -merit acquired by you in innumerable births; but when I thought that in -this birth you might by some evil act, such as this, by seducing -another's wife, earn the pains of death, I wept for love of you." Then -the Buddha sent her back to the house of the gatekeeper, and he told the -king and queen that he had found a princess for his wife. And the queen -gave jewels and gold ornaments to Amara Devi, and she was taken in a -great chariot to the house of the Buddha, and from that day she lived -happily with him as his wife.'</p> - -<p>The other pilgrims, except the fisher, who had fallen asleep, were -delighted with Karlinahami's story, and they wanted her to tell them -another. But she was afraid to offend the old man again, so she refused. -The old man read to them a while, and gradually, one after the other, -they dropped off to sleep. And in the morning they started off again -down the long white road; and at midday, when they were hot and -footsore, the wall of jungle before them parted suddenly, and they came -out into a great fertile plain. The green rice-fields stretched out -before them, dotted over with watch-huts and clumps of cocoanut-trees -and red-roofed houses, and the immense white domes of dagobas gleaming -in the sun. Beyond shone the pleasant sheet of water through which the -jungle had yielded the smiling plain; the dead trees still stood up -gaunt and black from its surface; great white birds sat upon the black -branches, or flapped lazily over the water with wild, hoarse cries; its -bosom was starred and dappled with pink lotus-flowers. And beyond again -lay the long dark stretch of jungle, out of which, far away to the -north, towered into the fiery sky the line of dim blue hills. It was the -tank and village of Maha Potana; and when the weary band of pilgrims -suddenly saw the monotony of the trees and of the parched jungle give -place to the water, and the green fields, and the white dagobas, the -shrines built by kings long ago to hold the relics of the Lord Buddha, -they raised their hands, salaaming, and cried aloud, 'Sadhu! Sadhu!'<a name="FNanchor_32_1" id="FNanchor_32_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_1" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p> - -<p>They picked lotus-flowers, and went to the great dagoba, which is called -after an ancient king, and laid the flowers upon the shrine as an -offering, and walked three times around, crying, 'Sadhu! Sadhu!' and -thus acquired merit. Then they went into the bazaar which was crowded -with pilgrims, Hindus and Buddhists, and Indian fakirs and Moormen. -Innumerable bullock-carts stood on the road and paths and open spaces, -and the air rang with the bells of the bulls, which lazily fed upon the -great bundles of straw tied to the carts.</p> - -<p>And the old man, who had noted the poverty of Silindu and his family, -bought them rice and curry and plantains. So they sat under the shade of -a great bo-tree, and ate a meal such as Hinnihami had never eaten -before. Her eyes wandered vacantly from thing to thing; she was dazed by -the crowd perpetually wandering to and fro, by the confused din of -talking people, of coughing cattle, and jangling bells. In the evening -they went to another dagoba, and then returned to the bo-tree and -lighted their fire. All about them were other little fires, around which -sat groups, like themselves, of pilgrims eating the evening meal. They -ate rice again and cakes, and Hinnihami grew heavy with sleepiness. A -great peace came upon her as she heard Karlinahami tell of how she had -before come on pilgrimage to the great Buddhist festival at Maha Potana, -when the crowds were tens of thousands more. And the old man told of a -pilgrimage to the sacred city of Anuradhapura on the great poya day, -when hundreds of thousands acquire merit by encircling the shrine; and -the merit to be acquired by climbing Adam's Peak, or by visiting the -ruined shrines of Situlpahuwa, which the jungle has covered, so that the -bears and leopards have made their lairs in the great caves by the side -of Buddhas, who lie carved out of rock. The air was heavy with the smell -of cooking and the pungent smell of the burning wood; the voice of the -old man seemed to come from very far away. She covered her head with a -cloth and lay down on the bare ground. For the first time the bareness -and fear and wildness of life had fallen from her; she fell asleep in -the peace of well-being, and the merit which she had acquired.</p> - -<p>Next morning, to the regret of all, they had to leave the pleasant -village and resting-place of Maha Potana, and face again the suffering -and weariness of the jungle. For two days their path led them through -low thorny jungle, where there was little shelter from the sun. The -track became stony and rocky; great boulders of grey lichen-covered rock -were strewn among the thick undergrowth; at intervals could be seen -enormous rocks towering above the trees. In the afternoon of the first -day they caught their first glimpse of the sacred Beragama hill, which -rises into three rounded peaks above the village and temple. Next day, -towards evening, they had reached the high forest, which, starting from -its foot, clothed the hill almost to its peaks.</p> - -<p>Then, once again, the jungle parted suddenly, and they stood upon the -bank of a great stream. The banks were deep, and enormous trees, kumbuk -with its peeling bark and the wild fig-tree, shaded them. The season of -drought had narrowed the stream of water, so that it flowed shallow in -the centre of the channel, leaving on either side a great stretch of -white sand. Up and down stream were innumerable pilgrims, washing from -them in the sacred waters the dust of the journey, and the impurities of -life, before they entered the village. They followed the example of the -other pilgrims, and performed the required ablutions; after which they -put on clean white clothes, and climbed a path on the opposite bank -which led them into the village.</p> - -<p>They found themselves in a long, very broad street, on each side of -which were boutiques and houses and large buildings—resting-places for -the pilgrims. The street was thronged with pilgrims, idling, buying -provisions, hurrying to the temple. It was near the time for the -procession to start from the temple. The festival lasted fourteen days, -and every night the god was taken in procession through the village: it -culminated in the great procession of the fourteenth night, which falls -when the moon is full; and in the ceremony of the following morning, -when the kapurala goes down, accompanied by all the pilgrims, into the -bed of the river, and 'cuts the waters' with a golden knife. Silindu and -his party arrived in Beragama on the ninth day of the festival, so that -they would remain six days in the village, and take part in six -processions.</p> - -<p>At either end of the broad straight street stood temples. The one at the -north end belonged to the Beragama deviyo: the temple or dewala itself -was a small, squat, oblong building, above which at one end rose the -customary dome-like erection of Hindu temples, on which are -fantastically carved the images of gods. Around the temple was an -enormous courtyard enclosed by red walls of roughly-baked bricks. Just -outside the wall of the courtyard on the east side was another and a -smaller temple belonging to the god's lawful wife. At the southern end -of the street stood another temple: it was a square, dirty white -building without a courtyard, but surrounded on all sides by a verandah, -in which, among a litter of broken furniture and odds and ends, lounged -and squatted and slept a large number of pilgrims. The only entrance to -the shrine itself was through a doorway in the front, which was screened -by a large curtain ornamented crudely with the figures of gods and -goddesses. No one was allowed to enter behind this curtain except the -kapuralas, for the temple belonged to the mistress of the Beragama -deviyo.</p> - -<p>The solemnity of the pilgrimage was intensified in the minds of Silindu -and Karlinahami and the other pilgrims, who were villagers like -themselves, by the mystery which surrounds the god. On the road and -around the fires at night, in the streets of the village, and in the -very courtyard of the temple, they listened to the tales and legends; -and believing them all without hesitation or speculation they felt, -through their strangeness, far more than they had ever felt with the -Buddha of dagobas and vihares, that this god was very near their own -lives.</p> - -<p>Who was he, this Tamil god, living in the wilderness, whom the Tamils -said was Kandeswami, the great Hindu god? These Buddhist villagers felt -that they could understand him; he was so near to the devils of the -trees and jungles whom they knew so well. He had once lived upon the -centre of the three peaks of the great hill, ruling over the unbroken -forest which stretched below him, tossing and waving north to the -mountains, and south to the sea. That was why every night throughout the -festival a fire blazed from the peak. But one day, as he sat among the -bare rocks upon the top of the hill and looked down upon the winding -river and the trees which cooled its banks, the wish came to him to go -down and live in the plain beyond the river. Even in those days he was a -Tamil god, so he called to a band of Tamils who were passing, and asked -them to carry him down across the river. The Tamils answered, 'Lord, we -are poor men, and have travelled far on our way to collect salt in the -lagoons by the seashore. If we stop now, the rain may come and destroy -the salt, and our journey will have been for nothing. We will go on, -therefore, and on our way back we will carry you down, and place you on -the other side of the river, as you desire.' The Tamils went on their -way, and the god was angry at the slight put upon him. Shortly -afterwards a band of Sinhalese came by: they also were on their way to -collect salt in the lagoons. Then the god called to the Sinhalese, and -asked them to carry him down across the river. The Sinhalese climbed the -hill, and carried the god down, and bore him across the river, and -placed him upon its banks under the shadow of the trees, where now -stands his great temple. Then the god swore that he would no longer be -served by Tamils in his temple, and that he would only have Sinhalese to -perform his ceremonies; and that is why to this day, though the god is a -Tamil god, and the temple a Hindu temple, the kapuralas are all -Buddhists and Sinhalese.</p> - -<p>The god, therefore, is of the jungle; a great devil, beneficent when -approached in the right manner and season, whose power lies for miles -upon the desolate jungle surrounding his temple and hill. A power to -swear by, for he will punish for the oath sworn falsely by his hill; a -power who will listen to the vow of the sick or of the barren woman; a -power who can aid us against the devils which perpetually beset us.<a name="FNanchor_33_1" id="FNanchor_33_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_1" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> - -<p>It was in this way that the pilgrims regarded the god, and they chose -well the time of his festival to approach him. For the god loved a hind, -and had made her his mistress, and had placed her in the temple which -stood at the southern end of his street. On each of the fourteen nights -of his festival the kapuralas entered his shrine, and covering the god -in a great black cloth, so that no one should look upon him, carried him -out, and placed him upon the back of an elephant. Then the pilgrims -called upon the name of the god, and with bowls of blazing camphor upon -their heads followed him in procession to his mistress's temple. There -the kapuralas, blindfolded, took the god, hidden by the cloth, from the -elephant, and carried him up the steps of the temple. Again, the -pilgrims shouted the god's name, and women pressed forward to touch the -kapurala as he passed, for in this way they escape the curse of -barrenness. The kapurala carried the god to his mistress, and then -retired. Amid the roar of tomtoms, the jangling of bells, the flaring of -great lights, and the passionate shouts of the people, the pilgrims -prostrated themselves. Then the kapurala, still blindfolded, again -slipped behind the curtain into the shrine, and brought out the god and -placed him upon the elephant, and the procession followed him back to -his own temple.</p> - -<p>Silindu and the others reached the village in the evening, only a little -while before the procession started. They therefore made their way at -once to the great temple, and took their stand among the pilgrims who -crowded the courtyard. They had eaten nothing since the midday meal; -they were hungry and dizzy after the long days upon the road. Silindu -seemed too dazed and weak to take much notice of what was taking place -about him, and he had to be helped along by Babun. Karlinahami was awed -and devout: an old pilgrim, she knew the demeanour required of her.</p> - -<p>The effect upon Hinnihami was different. Tired and hungry though she -was, even the great crowd in the courtyard excited her. As each new -pilgrim arrived he called aloud upon the god; and the whole crowd took -up the cry, which rose and fell around the shrine. She who had before -never seen more than forty or fifty people in her life felt the weight -and breath of thousands that jostled and pressed her. Her heart beat as, -under the flare of the torches, hundreds of arms were raised in -supplication, and to the crash of the tomtoms the name of the god -thundered through the air. The tears came into her eyes and ran down her -cheeks as time after time the roll of the many voices surged about her; -and when at last the great moment came, and the kapurala appeared -carrying the god under the black cloth, and over the sea of arms the -elephant lifted up its trunk and trumpeted as the god was placed upon -its back, she stretched out her hands and cried to, the god to hear her.</p> - -<p>They followed in the rear of the procession, where men roll over and -over in the dust, and childless women touch the ground with their -forehead between every step, in fulfilment of their vows.</p> - -<p>Silindu, with drawn face and vacant eyes, dragged himself along, leaning -on Babun: Karlinahami, devout and stolid, raised the ceremonial cry at -the due stopping-places. But Hinnihami felt the power of the god in her -and over them all: she felt how near he was to them, mysteriously hidden -beneath the great cloth which lay upon the elephant's back. She felt -again the awe which great trees in darkness and the shadows of the -jungle at nightfall roused in her, the mystery of darkness and power, -which no one can see. And again and again as the procession halted, and -the cry of the multitude rolled back to them, her breath was caught by -sobs, and again she lifted her hands to the god and called upon his -name. She formulated no prayer to him, she spoke no words of -supplication: only in excitement and exaltation of entreaty she cried -out the name of the god.</p> - -<p>They were too tired that night to go into the shrine of the big temple -after the procession and see the ceremony there. They had lost sight of -the old man in the crowd, so that they had to make their meal off a -little food that they carried with them. Then, worn out by the journey -and excitement, they lay down on the bare ground in the courtyard of the -temple.</p> - -<p>Next morning Silindu was no better. He seemed weaker and more lifeless: -it was clear that the devil had not yet left him. Babun remained with -him, while Karlinahami and Hinnihami went down to the river to bathe. -The excitement of the previous evening had not died out of the girl, and -there was much going on around her to keep it up. The village was a -small one, and really consisted of little more than the one street of -thirty or forty houses, which were roofed with red tiles and had brown -walls of mud. Most of the houses were turned into boutiques during the -pilgrimage, and the inhabitants prospered by selling provisions to the -pilgrims. When Karlinahami and Hinnihami returned from the river, -hundreds filled the street, lounging, strolling, gossiping, and -purchasing. Every now and then the crowd would gather more thickly in -one quarter, and they would see a pilgrim arrive performing some strange -vow. There were some who had run a skewer through their tongue and -cheeks; another had thrust, through the skin of his back a long stick -from which hung bowls of milk. At another time they saw a man, naked -except for a dirty loin cloth, his long hair hanging about his face, and -a great halo of flowers and branches upon his head; thirty or forty -great iron hooks had been put through the skin of his back; to every -hook was attached a long cord, and all the cords had been twisted into a -rope. Another man held the rope, while the first, bearing with his full -weight upon it so that the skin of his back was drawn away from his -body, danced around in a circle and shouted and sang.</p> - -<p>As Karlinahami and Hinnihami were making their way slowly through the -crowd, they suddenly heard a soft voice behind them say:</p> - -<p>'Well, mother, has not the hospital cured your brother of his fever?' -They turned and saw the smiling face and winking eye of the vederala. -Hinnihami shrank away from him behind Karlinahami.</p> - -<p>'Vederala,' said Karlinahami, 'I must speak with you. Come away from all -these people.'</p> - -<p>They pushed through the crowd, and going down a narrow opening between -two boutiques found themselves in the strip of quiet forest upon the -bank of the river. The vederala squatted down under a tree and began to -chew betel. Karlinahami squatted down opposite to him, and Hinnihami -tried to hide herself behind her from the eye of the vederala, which -seemed to her maliciously to wink at her.</p> - -<p>Punchirala leaned round and peered at the girl.</p> - -<p>'Well, daughter,' he said, ironically emphasising the word 'daughter, -what have you come to the god for? Have you touched the kapurala's foot -and prayed for a child? Truly they say he is the god of the barren wife. -Chi, chi, she covers her face with her hands. Is the man dead then? What -has the widow to do in Beragama? Ohé! now, see. She has come to the god -for clothing and food,<a name="FNanchor_34_1" id="FNanchor_34_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_1" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> as they say. May the god give her a man, -young and fair and strong, a prince with cattle and land. For the girl -is fair, even I, the one-eyed old man, can see that—and the god is a -great god.'</p> - -<p>'Don't talk this nonsense, vederala,' broke in Karlinahami impatiently. -'You shame the girl and frighten her. The god is a great god, we know -that, and as you told me we brought my brother here. Aiyo! the long road -and the hot sun. We are burnt as black as Tamils, and look at our feet. -On the road the strong and healthy fall sick, and the sick, man grows -weaker. Have you sent my brother here to kill him? He lies now in the -temple with no strength in him. Last night we took him in the -perahera,<a name="FNanchor_35_1" id="FNanchor_35_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_1" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> and called upon the god to hear us. I pray you, -vederala—you are a wise man, and renowned for your knowledge—tell me -what wrong have we done. The devil remains; the god has not heard us, -nor driven him out.'</p> - -<p>'Be patient, mother. This fever is a hard thing to cure. Did I not tell -you that even in the hospital there is no medicine against it? And it is -hard for a man to find the lucky hour. The gecko<a name="FNanchor_36_1" id="FNanchor_36_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_1" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> calls, and the man -starts from the house: the man does not hear the sign; he is saying, -"You there bring that along!" and, "You here, where is the bundle with -the kurakkan?" So he starts on the journey in an unlucky hour.'</p> - -<p>'We heard no gecko, nor any other bad sign. But we had to start quickly, -for the time was short. We had no time to consult an astrologer to find -the lucky hour.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, perhaps that is it. And it is no easy matter, as I told you, to -find a cure for these—fevers.'</p> - -<p>'But, vederala, what are we to do now? The man's strength goes from him. -Even to take him back the long way to the village will be difficult.'</p> - -<p>'Patience, mother, patience. You must call louder to the god nightly -until the moon is full. Perhaps even now the devil—the fever—is -fighting against him.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! what help for the cultivator when the flies have sucked the -strength from the paddy? He sowed in an unlucky hour, and not even the -god can help him. Pity us, vederala. Will you not come with us and look -at my brother now?'</p> - -<p>'Why should I see your brother?' said the vederala angrily. 'What good -can I do? Did I not tell you, woman, that I cannot cure your brother's -fever? Where the god fails, can the man succeed? O the minds of these -women! They say in the village'—here he looked round and smiled at -Hinnihami—'that even the little one is like an untamed buffalo cow.'</p> - -<p>'Do not be angry with me, vederala. You are the only help left for us. -We are weary with walking, and in grief. How can the women of the house -not raise the cry when the brother and father lies dying within? If I -have spoken foolishly, pardon my words.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala sat silently looking at Hinnihami. The girl was crying. The -memory of the great god, whom she had seen go riding by upon the -elephant amid the flames and the shouts, the wild god who ruled over the -jungle, and to whom the men crowned with flowers and leaves were now -dancing in the street, the god to whom she cried so passionately on the -night before, had left her: her excitement and exaltation had died out -as she listened to the jeering words of Punchirala. She hated him as she -had hated him when he approached her before; but as she listened to him -talking to Karlinahami, fear—the fear that she felt for unknown -evils—gradually crept upon her. She cried helplessly, and Punchirala -smiled at her as he watched her. Karlinahami watched his face -expectantly and anxiously.</p> - -<p>At last Punchirala began again slowly:</p> - -<p>'How the girl cries. And for her father too! I am thinking that there is -yet something for you to do. I am a poor vederala, and my powers are -small. But there is a man here, a great man, a holy man, who they say is -very skilled in medicine and magic, and knows the mind of the god. He is -a sanyasi<a name="FNanchor_37_1" id="FNanchor_37_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_1" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> from beyond the sea, from India, and his hair is ten -cubits<a name="FNanchor_38_1" id="FNanchor_38_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_1" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> in length. Perhaps if you take Silindu to him, and inquire of -him, he will tell you the god's mind. But you must take money for him.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! what is the use of talking of money to the starving?'</p> - -<p>Punchirala fumbled in the fold of his cloth, and drew out his -betel-case. From this he took a very dirty rag, in which were a number -of copper and silver coins. He made up the sum of ninety-five cents, and -handed it over to Karlinahami.</p> - -<p>'Here you are then, a rupee. Even the gods require payment. You can pay -me three shillings in kurakkan when the crop is reaped. The sanyasi sits -behind the little temple under a banian-tree. To-day, when the sun sinks -behind the trees of the jungle, take your brother to him and make -inquiry.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala got up and began walking away, followed by the obeisances and -profuse thanks of Karlinahami. The two women hurried back to the temple. -They found that the old man and the fisher and his wife had joined -Silindu and Babun. The whole party agreed that the only thing to do was -to consult the sanyasi. They waited, dozing and talking through the hot -afternoon, until the hour fixed by the vederala arrived.</p> - -<p>As soon as the sun sank behind the jungle, and the shadow of the trees -fell upon the temple courtyard, they went in a body to the banian-trees. -They found the sanyasi sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree -with a brass bowl by his side. He was unlike any sanyasi whom they had -seen before. He had a long black beard reaching below his waist, a big -hooked nose, and little twinkling black eyes. He wore a long white -cotton robe, which was indescribably dirty, and an enormous dirty white -turban. As they approached him he unwound the folds of his turban, and -displayed his hair to the crowd which surrounded him. It was plaited and -matted into two thin coils upon the top of his head, and its length had -not been by any means exaggerated by Punchirala. The sanyasi spoke only -a strange language, unintelligible to the Tamils and Sinhalese in the -crowd, but there stood by him an old Tamil man who interpreted what he -said.</p> - -<p>Babun led Silindu up to the sanyasi and dropped the money in the bowl. -He explained what he wanted to the old Tamil, who understood and spoke -(very badly) Sinhalese. The crowd pressed forward to listen. The sanyasi -and his interpreter muttered together. The old man then addressed the -crowd, and told them that the holy man could not consult the god, or -give an answer, with them pressing upon him. There was much talking and -excitement, but at last a large circle was cleared, and the crowd was -induced to move away out of earshot. Most of the people squatted down, -and, though they could not hear a word of what followed, they watched in -hope of some exciting development.</p> - -<p>Babun and Silindu squatted down in front of the sanyasi. Karlinahami, -Hinnihami, and the others of their party stood behind them. Silindu, -weak and dejected though he was, for the first time for several days -seemed to take some interest in what was passing. It had been arranged -that Babun should explain the case to the sanyasi.</p> - -<p>'Will you tell the holy man,' he said to the interpreter, 'that we are -poor folk and ask pardon of him? This man is my wife's father, a hunter, -a very poor man. There is also a yakka who lives in the banian-trees in -the jungle over there' (Babun made a sweep with his arm towards the -west). 'This yakka has entered this man, and his life is going from him. -Why has the yakka entered the man? There is another man in the village; -that man is skilled in charms and magic, and is angry with this man. -Therefore, he charmed the devil to do this. Well, then, when this had -happened, the woman went to him and prayed him to charm the devil away -again. Then he said, "Take your brother to Beragama, and pray to the god -there at the great festival." So we walked and walked to this place with -the sick man, and we went in the perahera and called to the god. But the -god does not hear us, and the man's life is going from him. Then the -woman went again to the man, for he too is here, and told him. He said, -"I can do nothing; take the man to the holy man who sits under the -banian-tree, and make inquiry of him." So we waited for the lucky hour, -and have brought him.'</p> - -<p>The interpreter talked in the strange tongue with the sanyasi, and then -said to Babun:</p> - -<p>'The holy man says that the offering is too small.'</p> - -<p>'Father, it is all we have. We are very poor. Rain never falls upon our -fields, and we have no land. We pray him to help us.'</p> - -<p>There was another muttered conversation, and then the interpreter -said:</p> - -<p>'It is very little for so great a thing. But the holy man will help -you.'</p> - -<p>The little group became very still; everyone watched the sanyasi -anxiously. He muttered to himself, fixed his eyes on the ground in front -of him, made marks in the sand with his finger, and swayed his body from -side to side. Then looking at Silindu intently he began to speak very -volubly. Silindu watched him, fascinated. At last the sanyasi stopped, -and the interpreter addressed them:</p> - -<p>'The holy man says thus: it is true that a devil of the jungle has -entered the man. This devil is of great power. Why has this happened? -The man is a foolish man. There has come into the holy man's mind -another man, his face marked with scars, and one-eyed. He is a vederala, -very skilled in charms. You have not told why the one-eyed man is angry, -but the holy man knows because of his holiness and wisdom. The one-eyed -man came and said, "Give me your daughter," but this man, being mad, -refused and spoke evil. Then the one-eyed man was very angry, and went -away and made a charm over the devil, and the devil entered the man. -When the one-eyed man made the charm he said to the devil: "Unless she -be given to me, do not leave him."'</p> - -<p>A cry broke from Hinnihami; she covered her face with her hands, and -crouched in fear upon the ground. The interpreter paid no attention to -her.</p> - -<p>'Now even the one-eyed man cannot loose the charm, so he has sent you to -the god. The god is of great power over devils: he heard your prayer, -and he said to this devil, "Leave the man." But the yakka answered, -fighting against the power, "Something must be given." The master said, -"Unless she be given, do not leave the man. Am I to die for this foolish -man's sake?" Then the god said, "Yes, something must be given—either -the man or the girl." The holy man knows this, and says that you must -remain here, and take the man every night in the perahera until the -night of the full moon, and on the morning of the next day you must -return to the village. But on the evening of the first day's journey, -the one-eyed man will meet you in an open stony place beside two -palu-trees. Then you must go to him and say, "There is the girl; take -her." He will take the girl, and the devil will leave the man. -Otherwise, if you do not do this the man will die, for something must be -given—either the man or the girl. Remember, too, that the girl cannot -be given during the festival.'</p> - -<p>Hinnihami pressed her body against the ground, but her eyes were dry -now. She was broken: tired and numb with fear and despair; she had -always known that it was she who was bringing death upon her father. -Instinctively, like a wild animal against a trap, she had fought against -the idea of giving herself to Punchirala. At the thought of her body -touching his, the skin seemed to shrink against her bones. Silindu was -everything to her, and she knew that now she was everything to him. At -first she had felt that she was being driven inevitably to sacrifice -herself; but when Karlinahami returned from Punchirala's compound, and -told them of the pilgrimage, hope came to her. The hardships and -excitement of the road, her ecstasy before the god, had driven away her -first feeling of despair. The god would certainly help them. But fear -had crept in again at the first sight of Punchirala, and as she listened -to his talk with Karlinahami her hope grew cold. Now she knew that she -must inevitably sacrifice herself. Had not the sanyasi known the truth -which Babun had not disclosed? She knew that not even the god could help -her; she had heard his words, 'Yes, something must be given—either the -man or the girl.' Once more evil had come out of the jungle.</p> - -<p>The effect upon the other listeners had also been great. The holy man -had seen what Babun had hidden; they knew well that they had heard from -him the reply of the god. They walked back to the temple talking about -it in low voices. There was no suggestion of doubt in any one as to what -should be done. Even Silindu had given in. The god had spoken; it was -fate, the inevitable. The girl would be given.</p> - -<p>The remainder of the festival passed slowly for them. They followed the -perahera dispirited, and called upon the god nightly. But there was no -hope or even doubt now to excite them. Silindu, listless, waited for his -release; Hinnihami was cowed and dulled by despair. The nights passed, -and the morning following the new moon came; and they went down -dutifully to the river to take part in the cutting of the waters. They -were a melancholy little group among the laughing, joking crowd, which -stood knee-deep in the river. And when the supreme moment came, and the -kapurala cut the waters, and the crowd with a shout splashed high over -themselves and one another the waters which would bring them good -fortune through the coming year, Hinnihami stood among them weeping.</p> - -<p>The pilgrimage was over, and a line of returning pilgrims began at once -to stream across the river westwards. The old man and the fisher and his -wife said good-bye to them, for they felt that it was not right for -them, being strangers, to be present at what was to take place upon the -homeward journey. Then they too set out. They walked all that day -slowly—for Silindu was very weak—and in silence. When the shadows -began to lengthen the jungle became thinner, and the ground more stony. -They knew that they must be nearing the place. The track turned and -twisted through the scrub; the air was very still. They passed a bend, -and there before them stood the vederala under some palu-trees. They -stopped for a moment and looked at one another. Karlinahami touched -Silindu on the arm. He took Hinnihami by the hand and went up to -Punchirala. His eyes seemed to be fixed upon something far away beyond -Punchirala; he spoke very slowly:</p> - -<p>'Here is the girl; take her.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala looked at Hinnihami and smiled.</p> - -<p>'It is well,' he said.</p> - -<p>Silindu turned, and with Karlinahami and Babun walked on down the track. -Neither of them looked back. Hinnihami was left standing by the -vederala, her arms hanging limply by her side, her eyes looking on the -ground.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<p>It became clear on the morning after Hinnihami had been given to the -vederala that the sanyasi had rightly interpreted the will of the god, -and that the devil had left Silindu. His eyes no longer presented the -glazed appearance, which is the sign of possession. He ate eagerly of -the scanty morning meal; and, though still weak, walked with a vigour -unknown to him since the night when he fell beneath the banian-trees in -the jungle. Throughout the homeward journey strength and health -continued to return to him; and by the time they reached the village, -the colour of his skin showed that he had been restored to his normal -condition.</p> - -<p>Though they travelled very slowly, they had not again seen the vederala -and Hinnihami on the way home. Punchirala made no haste to return to the -village, and he only appeared there two days after Silindu arrived. He -showed no signs of pleasure in his triumph; he was more quiet and -thoughtful than usual. In the house he seemed to his mother to be -uneasy, and a little afraid of Hinnihami.</p> - -<p>The girl had yielded herself to him in silence. In the long journey -together through the jungle he had, without success, tried many methods -of breaking or bending her spirit. But he had failed: his jeers and his -irony, his anger and his embraces, had all been received by her in -sullen silence. He would have put her down to be merely a passionless, -stupid village woman had he not seen the light and anger in her eyes, -and the shudder that passed over her body when he touched her.</p> - -<p>On the morning after she arrived in the village, Hinnihami was alone in -Punchirala's compound; the vederala had gone out, and his mother was in -the house. She saw Silindu coming along the path, and ran out eagerly to -meet him. They sat down under a tamarind tree, just outside the stile in -the compound fence.</p> - -<p>'The yakka has gone,'said Silindu. 'The god drove him out after the -vederala took you. But now what to do? The house is empty without you, -child.'</p> - -<p>'I must come back, Appochchi. I cannot live in this house.'</p> - -<p>'But, is it safe? Will not he bring evil again upon us? The god said one -must be given, and now if I take you again, will he not kill you?'</p> - -<p>'The god said that one must be given, and it was done. I was given, and -the man took me. Surely the gods cannot lie. The evil has been driven -out; and as for the man, I am not frightened of him.'</p> - -<p>'Ané!' said the mocking voice of the vederala behind them. 'They are -not frightened of the man. Oh no, nor of the devils either, I suppose.'</p> - -<p>Silindu and Hinnihami got up; the old fear came upon Silindu when he saw -Punchirala, but the girl turned angrily upon the vederala, who was -astonished by her violence.</p> - -<p>'Punchirala,'<a name="FNanchor_39_1" id="FNanchor_39_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_1" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> she said, 'I am not frightened of you. The god did not -say I was to live with you. There is no giving of food or clothing. I -was given that the devil might leave my father. Was the god disobeyed? I -was given to you, you dog; the devil has flown; the god heard us there -at Beragama; he will not allow you again to do evil.'</p> - -<p>'Mother, mother, come out! Listen to the woman I brought to the house; -she has become a vederala. The pilgrimage has made her a sanyasi, I -think, knowing the god's mind, skilled in magic.'</p> - -<p>'Keep your words for the women of the house. I am going.'</p> - -<p>'And are there no other charms, Silindu? No other devils in the trees? -You have learned wisdom surely from a wise woman.'</p> - -<p>'Do not listen to him, Appochchi. He can no longer harm us. The god has -aided us.' She turned upon Punchirala. 'Do you wish me to stay in the -house? Yes, there are still devils in the trees. Do not I too come from -the jungle? I shall be like a yakkini to you in the house, you dog. You -can tell them, they say, by the eyes which do not blink. Rightly the -village women call me yakkini. I will stay with you. Look at my arms. -Are they not as strong as a man's arms? I will stay with you, but as you -lie by my side in the house I will strangle you, Punchirala.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala instinctively stepped back, and Hinnihami laughed.</p> - -<p>'Ohé! Are you frightened, Punchirala? The binder of yakkas is -frightened of the yakkini. You can tell her, they say, because her eyes -are red and unblinking, and because she neither fears nor loves. It is -better for you that I should go—to the trees from which a I came, -mighty vederala. Otherwise, I would strangle you, and eat you in the -house. Come, Appochchi, we will go out into the jungle together again as -we did long ago—aiyo! the long time. I was a little thing -then—and the little sister too. Come, Appochchi; do not fear this -Rodiya dog: he is frightened: and now I will never leave you.'</p> - -<p>Punchirala was really frightened. He stood and watched the girl walk -slowly away with Silindu along the path. Things had not happened quite -as he had expected or hoped. He had enjoyed his first triumph over the -girl, but he had soon grown to doubt whether her continued presence in -his house would add to his comfort. He had felt, without understanding, -that the giving of her body to him had only made her spirit more -unyielding. Even on the way from Beragama he had felt nervous and -uncomfortable with her. He was angered by his defeat and by her taunts, -but he watched her disappear with a distinct feeling of relief.</p> - -<p>The vederala made no further attempt to molest Silindu, and the next -nine months were a period of unwonted prosperity and happiness in the -'Vedda' family. Towards the end of October great clouds rolled up from -the northeast, and great rains broke over the jungle. For days the rain -fell steadily, ceaselessly. The tank filled and ran over; the dry sandy -channels became torrents, sweeping down old rotten trunks and great -trees through the jungle; a mist of moisture rose from the parched -earth, and hung grey upon the face of the jungle. Suddenly the ground -became green, and soon the grass stood waist-high beneath the -undergrowth. The earth at last was sodden; and as the rain still fell -and the streams overflowed, the water spread out in a vast sheet beneath -the trees.</p> - -<p>Not for forty years, it was said, had rain fallen so abundantly. A great -chena crop was assured. The more energetic began to talk of rice -cultivation, now that the tank was full, and to regret the want of seed -paddy. Then a rumour spread that the Government was going to make -advances of seed, and at last one day the Korala Mahatmaya appeared in -the village, and the rumour was confirmed. Promissory-notes were signed; -buffaloes were borrowed to turn up the soil of the fields; and at last, -after twelve years, the village again saw paddy standing green in the -water below their tank.</p> - -<p>Silindu's family, principally owing to Babun, had a large share in the -prosperity which came to the village from the wonderful chena and -rice-crops. Their store was full of kurakkan and millet and rice. They -were well fed, and even Silindu became happy. After the return of -Hinnihami he seemed to change greatly. They were almost always together, -and the fearlessness which she had shown towards Punchirala, and which -seemed to have changed her suddenly from a child into a woman, inspired -him. The fear of evil overhanging him no longer oppressed him. He worked -with Babun cheerfully in the chena and rice-fields: he began again to -talk with Punchi Menika. And sometimes he would sit in the compound and -tell his strange stories to her and to the child, who had been born to -her eighteen months before, and he was happy as he had been happy with -her and with Hinnihami years ago when they were children. His happiness -and Hinnihami's was greatly increased when she gave birth to a daughter. -The child, conceived during the pilgrimage, was a pledge to them from -the god that, as his word had been obeyed, the evil had been finally -conquered. To the physical joy which Hinnihami felt as she suckled the -child, was added her exultation in the knowledge that she was holding in -her arms a charm against the evil which had threatened Silindu. Her -hatred for the father only increased therefore her love for his child.</p> - -<p>But the love and care which she showed from the moment of her birth to -Punchi Nona, as she called her daughter, were from the first to be -shared with another. On the morning following the evening on which the -child was born, Silindu came back from the jungle carrying in his arms a -fawn newly dropped by its mother. He went straight to Hinnihami, who lay -in the hut nursing the child, and kneeling down by her placed the fawn -in her arms. Hinnihami with a little laugh took it, and nestling it -against the child was soon suckling the one at one breast and the other -at the other. Silindu watched in silence: he was very serious.</p> - -<p>'It is well, it is well,' he said when he saw that the fawn was sucking -quietly and nestling against Hinnihami and the child.</p> - -<p>'The little weakling,' said Hinnihami, gently touching with her fingers -the soft skin of the fawn. 'How hungry for milk the little one is! Where -has it come from?'</p> - -<p>'It has come to you from the jungle. The gods have sent it.'</p> - -<p>She bent her head, and very softly drew her lips backwards and forwards -over its back.</p> - -<p>'It takes the milk like the child. Has the god given another gift, -Appochchi?'</p> - -<p>'The god sent it. Last night I went to the water-hole, but nothing came -while the moon was up. Then clouds gathered and the moon was hidden, and -it became very dark. I heard a doe cry near by in pain, "Amma, -amma",<a name="FNanchor_40_1" id="FNanchor_40_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_1" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> but it was too dark to see, so I lay down and slept on the -top of the high rock. I woke up with the first light, and, as I lay -there, I heard below the moving of something among the leaves. Very -slowly I looked over the rock, and there below in the undergrowth I saw -the back of a doe. Her head was down, hidden by the leaves, and she -murmured, licking something on the grass. Slowly, slowly I took up my -gun and leaned it over the rock and fired. Everything was hidden from me -by the smoke, and I lay quiet until the wind blew it from before me. -When I looked again I saw the doe stand there still, the blood running -down her side; and she stretched up her head toward me from the jungle, -and her great eyes rolled back with fear and showed white, and she -opened her mouth and cried terribly to me. I was sorry for her pain, and -I said, "Hush, mother, the evil has come. What use to cry? Lie down that -death may come to you easily." But again she stretched out her neck -toward me, and cried loud in pain, "Amma! amma! Aiyo! aiyo! It is you -who have brought the evil, Yakka. To the child here that I dropped last -night and that lies now between my feet. Little son, I have borne you to -be food for the jackal and the leopard." Then I came down from the rock -and stood by her and said, "Mother, the daughter at home this night bore -a child. I will take this one too to her, and she will give it the -breast." Then she stretched out her head, and she cried out again, and -fell dead upon the ground by the side of the fawn.'</p> - -<p>Hinnihami pressed the fawn to her.</p> - -<p>'Yes, he has come to me out of the jungle, a sign from the god, a great -charm against evil. Did not the god himself take the doe as his -mistress? They told it to us at Beragama. And now in the same night he -has sent me a son and a daughter from the jungle.'</p> - -<p>So Hinnihami suckled the child and the fawn together. The village -looked on with astonishment and disapproval. 'The woman is as mad as the -father,' was the general comment. It was commonly rumoured that she -showed more love for Punchi Appu, as the fawn was called, than for her -daughter. And though she did not realise it herself, it was true. 'The -son from the jungle' inspired in her a passionate love and -tenderness—the great eyes which watched her and the wonderful skin -that she was never tired of caressing. He had come to her out of the -jungle, with something of the mystery and exaltation which she had felt -in Beragama towards the god who went by upon the elephant. And her love -was increased by the attachment of Punchi Appu to her. Long before -Punchi Nona could crawl about the compound, the fawn would trot along by -her side crying to be taken up and fed; and even after it grew old -enough to feed upon grass and leaves, it never left her, following her -always about the house and compound, and through the village and -jungle.</p> - -<p>The year of the great rains and rice and plenty was followed by a year -of scarcity and sickness. For four months, from June to October, the sun -beat down from a cloudless sky. The great wind from the south-west -failed at last, but even then the rain did not come, and the withering -heat lay still and heavy over the jungle. The little puddle thick with -mud in the tank, which supplied the village with water, dried up, and -the women had to go daily four miles to fetch water from an abandoned -tank in the jungle. In November the chenas were still standing black and -unsown. At last a little rain fell and the seed was sown. The crop just -showed green above the ground, and drought came again, and the young -shoots died down.</p> - -<p>Then, when it was too late to save the crops, the rains came, and with -them sickness. Want had already begun to be felt by bodies weakened by -the long drought, and fever and dysentery swept over the country. There -was not a family in Beddagama which did not suffer, nor a house in which -death did not take the old or the children. The doctor Mahatmaya, whom -Punchirala despised, appeared in the village, bringing the medicines -which he despised still more; but his efforts were no more or less -successful than those of the village vederala. When at last the sickness -passed away, it was found that the village had lost sixteen out of its -forty-one inhabitants. And the jungle pressed in and claimed two of the -eight houses, after dysentery and fever had taken the men, the women, -and their children, who lived there.</p> - -<p>Even Silindu's house did not escape: there death took its toll of the -young. First Punchi Menika's child sickened, and then Punchi Nona. Day -after day the mothers, helpless, watched the fever come and shake the -children's bodies, and sap and waste their strength. The wail of the two -women, each for her dead child, was raised in one night.</p> - -<p>It was Silindu who seemed to feel the loss of the children more than -any one else in the house. This time clearly the envious powers had -grudged him his little happiness. He had been foolish to show his -pleasure in the children crawling about the house. He had brought -disaster upon them and upon himself. The misery he had felt at losing -Punchi Menika came upon him again. It was his own fault: he was a fool -to tempt the evil powers that stood around him eager for their -opportunity.</p> - -<p>After their first wild outburst of grief, Punchi Menika and Hinnihami -felt their loss less than Silindu. The death of the child is what every -mother must continually expect. They had seen it too long in the village -to be surprised at their own suffering: the birth of children every year -and then the coming of the fever to carry them off. Their grief was -lightened by the feeling of resignation to the inevitable. And in -Hinnihami's case there was a further consolation. She still had Punchi -Appu, in whose attachment she could forget the child's death. All her -love for the child was now merged in her love for him: he was the -mysterious gift and pledge of the god; and she felt that so long as he -followed by her side, so long as she felt the caress of his lips upon -her hand, no real evil could come to her.</p> - -<p>Hinnihami's extraordinary love for the deer was well known in the -village, and had never been approved. At first it was regarded merely as -the folly of the 'mad' woman. These views were, however, very rarely -expressed to the girl herself, for most of the villagers stood in some -fear of her passionate anger. But about the time when the epidemic of -fever and dysentery was decreasing, a new feeling towards them made its -appearance in the village. It was started by Punchirala. 'The mad woman -and her child,' he would say. 'What sort of madness is that? An evil -woman, an evil woman. I have some knowledge of charms and magic. I took -her to my house to live with me. But did I keep her? I drove her away -very soon. I did not want the evil eye and a worker of evil to bring -misfortune on my house. My mother knows, for she heard her call herself -a yakkini. Only because of my knowledge of charms was I able to keep -away the evil with which she threatened me. And then comes this deer -which they say is found in the jungle. Was not the woman herself in -travail that very night? Do not she-devils give birth to devils? Do -village women suckle deer? Surely it is a devil, born of a devil. Look -at the evil that fell upon the village when it came. The crops withered, -and the old and the young died. It has brought us want and disease and -death.'</p> - -<p>The village soon came to believe in Punchirala's opinions. Small -children were hurried away out of sight of Hinnihami as she passed. The -deer was certainly a devil, who had brought misfortune on the village. -Some said that at night it went out and ate the corpses in the new -graves. It had been clear for some time that the ill-feeling against -them had been growing, when an event occurred which required immediate -action. The son of the headman died suddenly, and apparently for no -cause. Then it was remembered that, three days before, the child had -been carrying some leaves when he met the deer and Hinnihami. The deer -had gone up to the child and tried to nibble the leaves, but the boy had -snatched them away. The headman and the vederala were convinced that -Hinnihami and the deer were the direct cause of the child's death. There -was much talk between Babehami and Punchirala; other villagers were sent -for; there was much coming and going and discussion in the headman's -compound, and eventually action was decided upon.</p> - -<p>The next day Hinnihami was collecting firewood in an old chena. The -deer was with her, feeding at a little distance from her upon the young -leaves and grass. Suddenly she was aroused by noise and movements near -her. A small band of men and boys from the village had crept quietly -through the jungle, and now were between her and the deer. As she looked -up the first stone was thrown: it missed its mark, but another followed, -and struck with a thud upon the deer's side. He bounded forward. -Hinnihami cried out and ran towards him: at the sound of her voice he -stopped and looked round. A shower of stones fell about him; thin -streams of blood began to trickle down his flanks; suddenly he plunged -forward upon his head, his two forelegs broken at the knees. A cheer -broke from the men. Hinnihami, as she dashed forward, was caught by two -men and flung backwards upon the ground. She fell heavily and for a -moment was stunned; then she heard the long, bleating cry of pain, and -saw the deer vainly trying to raise itself upon its broken legs among -the jeering knot of men. She felt the blood surge up to her forehead and -temples as a wave of anger came over her, and she flung herself upon the -two men who barred her path. Swinging their arms wildly, they gave her -blow upon blow with the open hand upon her head and breast. Her jacket -was torn into shreds, and at last she fell exhausted.</p> - -<p>The sight of the bleeding deer and the woman lying on the ground, naked -to the waist, seemed to send a wave of lust and cruelty through the men. -They tore Hinnihami's cloth from her, and, taking her by her arms, -dragged her naked up to the deer.</p> - -<p>'Bring the vesi to her child,' they shouted. 'Comfort your yakka, -yakkini. Is there no milk in your breasts for him now?'</p> - -<p>They held her that she might see what they did. The deer was moaning in -pain. One of the men cut a thick stick and struck him upon the hind legs -until they were broken. Hinnihami fought and struggled, but she was -powerless in their hands. At length, when they had become tired of -torturing them, they threw her down by the deer's side and went away.</p> - -<p>Hinnihami was unhurt, but she was stunned by the violence of anger -and horror. The deer moaned from time to time. She tried to lift him -with some vague idea of carrying him back to the house. But he screamed -with pain at the slightest movement, and he had grown too big for her to -carry. She felt that he was dying. She flung herself down by him, -caressing his head, and calling to him not to leave her. 'Punchi Appu! -Punchi Appu!' she kept repeating, 'you must not die. Surely the god who -gave you to me will save you. Punchi Appu, Punchi Appu, you cannot -die.'</p> - -<p>Then gradually a sense only of dull despair settled upon her. She sat -through the long day unconscious of the passing of time. She was unaware -when the deer died; she knew that he was dead now, and that with him -everything had died for her. There was nothing for her to live for now, -and already she felt life slipping from her. She thought of the child -who had died too: she had missed her, and grieved for her, but she had -never loved the child as she loved the deer. He had come to her, a wild -thing from the jungle, the god's mysterious gift. Now he was lying there -dead, his broken limbs twisted under him, the dead white eyes bulging, -the tongue hanging out from the open mouth. She shuddered as she -remembered the scene, shuddered as she recalled the thud of the stones -and the blows.</p> - -<p>She was found by Silindu next morning, still sitting naked by the body -of the deer, her hair wet with the dew, and her limbs stiff with the -chill of the jungle at night. He tried in vain to rouse her. She -recognised him. 'Let me be, Appochchi,' she kept repeating. 'Let me die -here, for he is dead. Let me die here, Appochchi.'</p> - -<p>Then Silindu wrapped her cloth about her, and carried her in his arms -to the house. She cried a little when she felt his tears fall upon her, -but after that she showed no more signs of grief. She lay in the house, -silent, and resigned to die. She had even ceased to think or feel now. -Life had no more a hold upon her, and in the hour before dawn in deep -sleep she allowed it to slip gently from her.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - - -<p>Silindu knew well now that Hinnihami had been a victim to save him. -Both the devil and the god had said, 'Either the man or the girl must be -given.' It was the girl who had been given; but it was he who should -have died, when the devil still possessed him. He knew now, when it was -too late, that in giving Hinnihami to the vederala he was giving her to -certain death. He had gained nothing by his first refusal of the -vederala but pain and trouble, and now the bitterest of griefs. In the -end he had lost her utterly; now indeed the house was empty. He was a -fool, yes, a fool; he knew that; but how can a man know how to walk -surrounded by all the snares of evil and disaster? A man may wash -himself clean of oil, but however much he rubs himself he will never rub -off fate. And then there was Punchirala; it was he who was the real -cause of the evil. Why had he ever come with his hateful face into the -compound? He would go in the early morning and take his gun and shoot -the vederala dead as he came out of his house. And yet what would be the -good of that now—now that Hinnihami was dead? It would only be -more evil. It would be useless. It was useless for him to do anything -now.</p> - -<p>For days Silindu sat about the compound 'thinking and thinking,' as -Punchi Menika called it. She alone had any influence with him, and even -she had no power to console him. In time grief lost its first -bitterness, and he sank into a perpetual state of sullen despair. An air -of gloom and disaster seemed to hang about the compound.</p> - -<p>It was not long after the life of the village had been stirred by the -death of Hinnihami that another event happened which caused no little -excitement. It was seen that Babehami, the headman, was having a house -built on the open ground adjoining his compound; and as soon as it was -finished there came to live in it a man from Kamburupitiya, known as -Fernando. Many of the villagers had had dealings with him: he kept a -small boutique in Kamburupitiya, and lent money on the usual, and even -more than the usual, interest. He was not a Sinhalese, and spoke -Sinhalese very badly. Some people said he was a Tamil: his black skin -and curly black hair pointed to the fact that he had Kaffir blood in his -veins.</p> - -<p>He was a typical town man, cunning, unscrupulous, with a smattering of -education. He wore the ordinary native cloth, but above it a shirt and -coat, and the villagers therefore called him Mahatmaya. It was obvious -that some very peculiar circumstances had brought such a man to settle -down in a village like Beddagama. The fact was that the headman and many -of the villagers were deeply in his debt. The failure of the previous -year's chena crop had made it impossible to recover anything; in fact he -was pestered with requests for further loans to tide the debtors over -the hot season, until the chenas could again be sown.</p> - -<p>The creditor was faced with an unpleasant alternative. If he refused -further loans he would lose what he had lent already through the death -or emigration of his debtors, or they would borrow from others, and thus -make it difficult for him to recover. On the other hand the complete -failure of the chena crop made his own position far from easy: the debt -outstanding together with the interest would be in itself a heavy charge -on the next crop, even if it were a really good one. To be safe in -giving still more credit, he required additional security.</p> - -<p>It was Babehami, the headman, who devised a scheme to meet these -difficulties. Four acres of chena would be allowed to each debtor: the -permits would be given in favour of the debtors, who were to assign -their rights to Fernando for one-fifth of the crop. It was tacitly -understood that if the four-fifths of the crop exceeded the amount of -the loans and interest, the debts would be considered cancelled. -Fernando was to come to the village, and himself supervise the working -of the chenas. Practically, therefore, the money-lender was hiring -labour for the cultivation of chenas for one-fifth of the crop, an -exceedingly paying transaction; while his rights and power of action for -the outstanding debts remained unaffected. The villagers were completely -in his hands, and both sides were fully aware of it. The whole -transaction, certainly, so far as the headman was concerned, was -illegal. Babehami knew this; but his needs were pressing, and his own -profit would be great; for, while his consent was purchased by the -cancellation of his debts, by a private arrangement with Fernando, his -own four acres of chena were not assigned to the money-lender.</p> - -<p>To the villagers Fernando was, owing to his dress and habits, a -Mahatmaya. He did not treat them as his equals, and they—being in -his debt—treated him as a superior. He was, however, on terms of -intimacy with Babehami; and although he had a small boy with him as -servant, he took all his meals in the headman's house.</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika very soon attracted Fernando's attention. Her face and -form would have been remarkable even in a town: to find her among the -squalid women of so squalid a village astonished him. He wanted a woman -to live with him; he was always wanting a woman; and it would be far -more comfortable to have his food cooked for him than to go always to -the headman for his meals. He anticipated no difficulty; she was a mere -village woman, and the husband was a village boor, and in his debt.</p> - -<p>Despite his confidence Fernando decided to act cautiously. He knew very -little about villages, but he knew the many proverbs about women and -trouble; and he had heard many tales of violence and murder, of which -women had been the cause. He was quite alone among people whom he did -not really understand, far away from the boutiques and police court, the -busy little town which he understood, and where alone he really felt -secure. He was a timid man, and he hated the jungle; and, though he -despised these people who lived in it, he was not comfortable, with -them.</p> - -<p>His first move was to try to learn something about the family from the -headman. He sounded Babehami cautiously. The result pleased him greatly. -They were bad people according to the headman—veddas, gipsies, -traffickers in evil, whores, and vagabonds. By evil charms they had -enticed Babun to their compound, and now they boasted that he, the -brother of the headman's wife, had married Punchi Menika. They were -dangerous people; they had brought misfortune and death into the -village. Fernando was not greatly impressed by their reputation for -working harm 'by magic'; as became a town-man, he was somewhat -sceptical; but what was clear to him was that the headman hated the -whole family; they would get in no eventuality any help or sympathy from -him. This knowledge was as valuable as it was pleasing to him.</p> - -<p>Then one evening he surprised them by coming and chatting to Babun -almost as if he were an equal. It was evening, just about the time -before the lamps are lit in the house, when the air grows cool, and the -wind dies down, and the afterglow of the setting sun is in the sky. The -work in the chena for the man, and in the house for the woman, was over. -Babun was squatting in the compound near the house, and Punchi Menika -stood behind him, leaning against the doorpost. From time to time a word -or two was spoken, but for the most part they were content to allow the -silence of the evening to descend upon them, as they watched with vacant -eyes the light fade out of the sky.</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika brought the wooden mortar in which the grain was pounded, -turned it upside down, and dusted the top with a piece of cloth.</p> - -<p>'Will you sit down, aiya?' said Babun. Fernando sat down upon it. Babun -squatted opposite to him, while Punchi Menika stood behind, leaning -against the doorpost.</p> - -<p>'Well, Babun,' said Fernando, 'will the chena crop be good, do you -think?'</p> - -<p>'Who can say, aiya, who can say? Only a fool measures his grain before -it is on the threshing-floor.'</p> - -<p>'Then all these villagers do that, for they are all fools. Aiyo! what -cattle! what trouble they give a man!'</p> - -<p>'We are poor men, aiya, and ignorant.'</p> - -<p>'I'm not thinking of you, Babun, but of the others. There is only one -man in the village; all say that, and I've seen it myself. But the -others! They will ruin me. How much do they owe me! Only a very good -crop will pay it, but they don't care. They don't fence the chena or -watch it; they sit and sleep in the compound, and the deer and pig go -off with my rupees in their bellies. Isn't that true?'</p> - -<p>'It's true, aiya.'</p> - -<p>'And what can I do, a town man, with all these chenas? I ought to have a -gambaraya.'<a name="FNanchor_41_1" id="FNanchor_41_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_1" class="fnanchor">[41]</a></p> - -<p>'Yes, you want a gambaraya.'</p> - -<p>'So I thought, and I thought too, "This Babun is the only man in the -village, why shouldn't he be my gambaraya?" Well, what do you say? You -could look after the other chenas, and also cultivate your own?'</p> - -<p>Babun was silent with astonishment; it was a piece of good fortune -which he could never have dreamed of.</p> - -<p>'I would give you one-twentieth of the crop, after the fifth had been -paid to the cultivators,' Fernando went on. 'Would you do it for -that?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, aiya, I will do it for that, gladly.'</p> - -<p>'Very well, that's settled. You are my gambaraya now.'</p> - -<p>Fernando sighed and stretched himself. 'What a place this jungle is!' -he said. 'It is not fit for a sensible man to live in. Of course these -other villagers, if they went anywhere else, what could they do, the -cattle? They do not know the east from the west, as the tale says. If -they get into a bazaar they are frightened, and run about like a scared -bull. But you, Babun, you are young and strong; you are a knowing man. -Why do you starve here when you could eat rice and grow fat -elsewhere?'</p> - -<p>'So my sister and her man said, aiya! They wanted me to go away and -marry in another village—over there; rain falls and rice grows -there. But it is a great evil to live in a strange place and among -strangers.'</p> - -<p>Fernando laughed. 'An evil you call it! But how many have got wealth -and fortune by going to strange places! Have you not heard of Maha -Potana? Many years ago it was all trees and jungle like this, and no one -lived there. Then they built the great tank in the jungle, and people -went there from all the villages of the west—poor men living in -villages like this. Now it is a town, and all are rich there, and eating -rice.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, aiya, we know that. The tank was built in my father's time. And -the Korala Mahatmaya and the Ratemahatmaya came to the village and spoke -as you speak now. And they said that land would be given to all that -went there, and water from the tank for the cultivation of rice. It was -in a year, I remember my father telling me, when rain had not -fallen—like the last crop with us—and there was want in the -village, and many died of fever. They urged my father to go, for he was -a good man: they knew that. And my father said to them—so he told -me—"How can I go to this strange place? Can I take the woman and -the child with me? I have no house there, and no money to buy in the -bazaar. Among strangers and in strange places evil comes. Here my father -lived, and his father before him, in this house; and they cleared the -chenas as I do, and from time to time when rain fell sowed rice below -the tank. What folly for me to leave my home and field and the chena to -meet evil in strange places." My father said this to the headman, and -all the other men of the village also refused to go, except one -man—Appu they called him; he went with his wife, and was given -land under Maha Potana. And nothing was heard of Appu for many months; -and his brother, who still lived here, at last went to Maha Potana to -inquire about him. And when he came there the people told him that Appu -was dead of the fever, and that his wife had gone away, and no one knew -where she had gone.'</p> - -<p>'But people die of fever in Beddagama.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, aiya, of course many people die of fever here too. But they die -among their relations, and friends, and people who are known to them; in -houses where their fathers lived before them. Surely it is a more bitter -thing to die in a strange place. I am a poor man and ignorant, and I -cannot explain it to you better. There is always trouble and evil in -strange places; when a man goes even upon a journey or pilgrimage to -Kamburupitiya or Maha Potana or Beragama, always, aiya, he is troubled -and afraid—in the bazaars and boutiques and on the roads people -unknown to him—and everywhere he is thinking of his village, and -his house, and the tank, and the jungle paths which he knows there, and -people living in the village, all of whom he knows. That is why a man -will not leave his village, even when the crops fail and there is no -food; no, not even when the headmen come—and they come now every -year—and say, "There is good land to be given in such a place, -there is work upon such a road, or in such a village, why starve here?" -I have heard people say that far away in the west there are large towns, -Colombo and Kalutara and Galle, where every one has food and money -always; but, aiya, not even to those towns do you see a man going who -has been born and lived all his life in a village.'</p> - -<p>'Am I not now among strangers? What evil will befall me?'</p> - -<p>'May the gods keep it away from you, aiya. But how can a man tell what -evil is before him? But you are not an ignorant village man like us, and -besides after the chena is reaped you will return to your house.'</p> - -<p>Fernando was silent for a while. When he spoke again he had a curiously -seductive effect upon his listeners. His low, soft voice and broken -Sinhalese, the languorousness and softness which seemed to pervade him -fascinated them even more than what he said.</p> - -<p>'What can the buffalo born in the fold know of the jungle? or does the -wild buffalo know how to work in the rice-fields? I was born far away -across the sea on the coast. I was only a little child when they brought -me to Colombo to live there in the shop which my father kept. He had no -fear to leave his village and to cross the sea, nor had he any desire to -go back again there. He was a rich man. Ohé! what a town is Colombo. -There we lived in a great building, and all around us were houses and -houses, and people and people: no jungle or snakes or wild beasts; not -even a paddy-field or a cocoanut-tree. Always streets and people -walking, walking backwards and forwards on the red roads (and very few -even known to you by sight), and bullock-carts and carriages and -rickshaws, hundreds upon hundreds. And there are houses, very high, as -high as the hill at Beragama, full of white Mahatmayas and their women, -always coming and going from the ships. How many times have I stood -outside when a boy and watched them, always laughing and talking loud, -like madmen, and dancing, men and women together. And how fair are the -women, fair as the lotus-flower as the tale says; very fair and very -shameless.'</p> - -<p>'Is it true then that the women of the white Mahatmayas are shameless?' -broke in Punchi Menika.</p> - -<p>'In Colombo all say they are shameless. Very fair, very mad, and very -shameless. Their eyes are like cat's eyes. The proverb says, "If the -eyes of a woman are like the eyes of a cat, evil comes to the man who -looks into them." The hair of the English Mahatmayas' women is very -fair, the colour of the young cocoanut-flowers. Yes, they are mad. In -the evening strange music is played by many men sitting high up near the -roof; then every Mahatmaya takes a woman in his arms, and looking into -her eyes goes round and round very quickly on the floor.'</p> - -<p>'Aiya, aiya, is this a true tale?'</p> - -<p>'Why should I tell you what is false? Did I not live twenty years there -in Colombo? It is a great town. In the morning I went and walked on the -stone road that has been built into the sea, and within is the harbour, -full always of great ships bigger than villages. Always the Mahatmayas -are coming and going in the great ships; from where they come and where -they go no one can tell. You stand upon the stone road, and you see the -great ship come in across the sea in the morning, filled with white -Mahatmayas, and in the evening it carries them out again across the sea. -They are all very rich, and for a thing that costs one shilling they -willingly give five. Also they are never quiet, going here and there -very quickly, and doing nothing. Very many are afraid of them, for -suddenly they grow very angry, their faces become red, and they strike -any one who is near with the closed hand.'</p> - -<p>Fernando stopped. He had become quite excited as he recalled his life -in Colombo in his youth. He had forgotten where he was. Suddenly he -became aware of his surroundings, the little village so far away from -everything; the ignorant, uncouth villager who listened to him; the -woman behind him for whose sake he had come to the hut, and whom for the -moment he had forgotten. For a while Babun did not like to disturb his -silence, then he asked diffidently:</p> - -<p>'But, aiya, if Colombo is your village, how is it that you now live in -Kamburupitiya?'</p> - -<p>Fernando laughed. 'What talk is this of villages?' he said. 'Everywhere -here the question is, "Of what village is he?" And then, "He is of -Beddagama or Bogama, or Beragama, or any gama."<a name="FNanchor_42_1" id="FNanchor_42_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_1" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> And the liver in -villages says, as you did but now, "How can I leave my gama?" Did I not -tell you that I am of no village? My father's village is beyond the sea, -and they say that the father's village is the son's. I have never seen -that village; I have forgotten its name. I was born in Colombo, which is -no village, but a town. Aiyo! what a town it is! How pleasant! The -houses and the noise and smell of the bazaar for miles, and the dust and -people everywhere! What folly to live here, like a sanyasi on the top of -a bare rock! Perhaps one day I shall return to Colombo, and live in a -great house, as my father did. My father was a rich man, but always -gambling; no money stayed in the house. And I spent much money upon -women. There was a nautch-girl from the coast; her eyes had made me mad, -and she devoured me. It was always rupees, and bracelets, and anklets, -and silk cloths. Then my father was very angry, for all the money had -gone on the gambling and jewellery. There was no money to pay the -merchants for goods for the shop, but worst of all he had no money for -gambling. The girl had taunted me because I had come empty-handed, -saying that she would shame me openly if I came back again with nothing. -So I again asked my father for money. He drove me away, cursing me; so I -went into the shop, and took goods and sold them, and taking two -handfuls of silver flung them down before the girl. But when my father -found what I had done, he cursed me again, and beat me, and drove me out -of the house, saying, that if I returned he would give me to the police. -I ran out very sad because of the girl. I was also sorry that I had -given her both handfuls of silver, and had not kept one for myself. I -stood at a street corner thinking that now I would die of hunger, and -that it would be better to hang myself. Just then there passed a -Moorman, Cassim, a man of Kalutara, a merchant, whom I had often seen in -my father's shop. He laughed at me when he saw me, and said, speaking -Tamil, "Now I see that the feet of the girl have danced away with the -old man's wealth and the young man's life." At that the tears ran down -my face, and I told him all that had happened. Then he said, "Come with -me to Kalutara. You can sell there for me in my shop." So I went with -him to Kalutara, and stayed there selling for him for two years. After -that he sent me to sell for him in Kamburupitiya, and there I now live, -and have a shop of my own.'</p> - -<p>Fernando paused for a while; then he began again:</p> - -<p>'You see I have no village. I live always among strangers, but no evil -has come. I left Colombo without a cent, and now I have become rich. -What folly to starve where one was born when there are riches to be got -in the neighbouring village! Well, I am going now.'</p> - -<p>Babun accompanied his guest to the stile of the compound, and took -leave of him with the usual words, 'It is well; go and come again.'</p> - -<p>Fernando was quite satisfied with his interview. He thought he had -gauged Babun, and that he would have no difficulty with him; he seemed -so simple and mild. Both the man and woman had obviously been impressed -by him and by his wealth. He was, however, still cautious; he decided to -make his first overture through the servant boy, whom he could trust.</p> - -<p>The boy was instructed carefully. He was to go to Punchi Menika as if -on his own initiative His master was a rich man, and a great lover of -women. He had already remarked upon her beauty. The boy was quite sure -that, though his master had not actually said so, he desired her -greatly. If she agreed, he would tell his master that the next night -that Babun was watching in the chena she would come to his house or -would receive him in hers. It would benefit both her and her husband, -for his master was very kind and generous.</p> - -<p>The attempt was a failure. Punchi Menika listened to what the boy had -to say, and then gave him a sound smack in the face, which sent him -crying back to his master. She was very angry with the 'badness of these -boys from the town,' and she did not suspect that he had been sent by -his master.</p> - -<p>Fernando beat the servant boy, and himself went to Punchi Menika's -compound one evening when he knew that Babun would be watching at the -chena.</p> - -<p>'Woman,' he said, 'you have beaten my servant boy. Why is that?'</p> - -<p>'He came here with evil words, aiya.'</p> - -<p>'Evil words? A child of eight?'</p> - -<p>'Chi, chi. But he came here with evil words and lies.'</p> - -<p>'Lies? What did he say? That your face is very fair, and that all men -desire you?'</p> - -<p>'Aiya, aiya, do not speak like that. He spoke shameful words. I cannot -tell you what he said.'</p> - -<p>'Nonsense. You have beaten my servant and you must tell me why, or I -must go to the headman.'</p> - -<p>'Aiya, why force me to tell what is shameful?'</p> - -<p>'What nonsense. Are you a child, then? What shame is there in -words?'</p> - -<p>'The boy came here with shameful words, saying that you desired a -woman. He called me to come to you secretly at night, when my man goes -to the chena.'</p> - -<p>Fernando looked very hard at Punchi Menika. He smiled when her eyes -dropped.</p> - -<p>'But what if the boy did not lie? What if he was sent by his -master?'</p> - -<p>'Hush, aiya. Do not speak like that.'</p> - -<p>'Why? Am I so foul that the woman of the villager Babun shrinks from -me?'</p> - -<p>'It is not that.'</p> - -<p>'What is it, then? The women of Colombo and Kamburupitiya have not -found me foul. Are you afraid?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, aiya, I am afraid.'</p> - -<p>'Afraid of what? What harm can come? Who need know? And what can Babun -do? He is a fool. He owes me money. What can he do?'</p> - -<p>'I am afraid. It is difficult for me to explain to you, for I see you -will grow angry. I am a village woman, ignorant: I am not a woman like -that. I went to the man willingly, even against my father's will. He has -been the father of my child, that is dead. He is good to me. Let me -alone, aiya, let me alone, to keep his house and cook his meals for him -as before.'</p> - -<p>'Why not? I do not ask you to come to Kamburupitiya to be my wife. -There is no talk of leaving your husband. I am rich, and can give you -money and jewels. You will bring good fortune to your husband, for I -will cancel his debts and give him the share of the other chenas which I -promised him.'</p> - -<p>'I cannot do it, aiya.'</p> - -<p>'What folly! There is nothing to fear. The houses are near with the -same fence. No one will know if you come to me through the fence after -nightfall. If I say 'Come, I want you,' is it not enough? Do you wish me -to lie on the ground before you and pray to you?'</p> - -<p>'Enough, enough, aiya. Pardon me, I cannot do it.'</p> - -<p>'Will you bring ruin on your man, then?'</p> - -<p>'I do not understand.'</p> - -<p>'What? She doesn't understand. What cattle these people are! Is Babun -in my debt? Is he to get a share of my chenas?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, aiya, I heard you tell him so.'</p> - -<p>'Well, is anything given for nothing? Do they give you rice in the -bazaar for nothing, or kurakkan or cloth? Do they? Fool, why do you -stand there looking at me like a buffalo? You—your man, tell him -that I have been here, and what I said. Will he sell you to me like a -sack of kurakkan? If not, he is a fool too, a dog, a pig; if not, he -gets no share of the crop from me, his debts stand and the interest too. -I can ruin him. He—I will, too, I will ruin him. Do you hear that? -Well, what do you say?'</p> - -<p>'What is there to say, aiya? I cannot do it. If this thing must come to -us, what can we do? Always evil is coming into this house—from the -jungle, my father says. At first there was no food. Then the devil -entered into my father. Then more evil, upon my sister and her child, -and upon my child. The children died; they killed Punchi Appu; they -killed my sister. And now evil again.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika had spoken in a very low voice, very slowly. Fernando -stood looking at her. For a moment he was affected by the resignation -and sadness of her tone. Then he thought he had been a fool to lose his -temper and threaten openly. But how could one deal with cattle like -these people? He began to grow angry again, but he recognised that it -was useless and dangerous further to show his anger and disappointment. -He returned without another word to his house.</p> - -<p>His failure astonished him almost more than it annoyed him. His first -thought was to approach Babun himself. Probably the woman was only -frightened of her husband, and probably the husband would see more -clearly the advantages to be gained by giving his consent. But Fernando -had lost a good deal of his confidence; he felt the need of an adviser -and ally. There could be no danger in consulting the headman. In any -case it would be dangerous for Babehami to oppose him, and there was -every reason to believe that Babehami would be only too glad of an -opportunity of working against Babun and Punchi Menika.</p> - -<p>Next day, after he had eaten the evening meal, in the headman's house, -and while he was sitting in the compound with Babehami, chewing betel, -he opened the subject.</p> - -<p>'I thought to get your wife's brother to oversee my chenas. He is a -good man, I think.'</p> - -<p>Babehami spat. 'What will you pay him?'</p> - -<p>'One twentieth of the crop. He is a good man to work.'</p> - -<p>'He is a good worker. His chena is always the best, but he is a fool. -He has brought disgrace upon us.'</p> - -<p>'Is he married to that woman?'</p> - -<p>'No. He went to her father's house and lives there with her.'</p> - -<p>'It would be a good thing to take him from them. Is he not tired of her -now?'</p> - -<p>'He was mad about her. He would not listen to reason.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, but that was at first, long ago. They say the man first finds -heaven in a woman, later in a field, and last in the temple. Would you -like to get him back to your house?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'Well, why not?' Fernando moved nearer to Babehami and lowered his -voice. 'Ralahami, I must live here some months. Without a woman what -comfort in a house? The woman is not ill-looking and could cook my meals -for me. I had thought of this for some days, so I sent my servant boy to -her. She answered that she would come, but she was afraid of her man. -Then I thought of speaking to the man, but it is not easy for a -stranger. I thought, if he marries this woman it is a disgrace to the -headman. It is better that his friends speak to him. Probably he is -tired of the woman, and will marry from another village some girl who -has a dowry of land.'</p> - -<p>Babehami seemed to be considering the ground in front of him with great -attention; from time to time he spat very deliberately. It was -impossible to tell from his face what impression Fernando's suggestion -had made upon him. His silence irritated Fernando. 'What swine these -villagers are,' he thought.</p> - -<p>'Well,' he said at last, 'what do you say?'</p> - -<p>'Did she say she would come to you, if Babun allowed her?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, but why do you ask that? If the man agrees, what difficulty can -there be?'</p> - -<p>'Perhaps none, perhaps none, aiya, but who can say? They are mad those -people. It happens so sometimes to people who live as we do in the -jungle. The spirits of the trees, they say, enter into a family and they -are mad and a trouble to the village. Who knows what such people will -do?'</p> - -<p>'Well?'</p> - -<p>'What more is there to say now?'</p> - -<p>'Is the plan good?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'But will you help me?'</p> - -<p>'The plan is a good one certainly. But I am on bad terms with my wife's -brother. We quarrelled about the girl. What can I do?'</p> - -<p>'If you talk to him now, Ralahami? You quarrelled when he was hot after -the girl. That was long ago; and a man soon tires of the woman that has -borne him children. And there are many ways, Ralahami, to persuade him -if you will help me. There are the debts and the chenas, and many other -ways. What is there that a headman cannot do? It is wrong for him to sit -still and watch disgrace come upon him and his family. Have you given -him his permit to chena yet?'</p> - -<p>'No, not yet.'</p> - -<p>'Well, you can keep it back. How can they live without chenas? Then -there are the courts. I can help you there, for, being of Kamburupitiya, -I know the ways of the courts well. There will be cases and trouble for -him, and for them.'</p> - -<p>Babehami was not to be hurried. He considered the proposal for some -minutes. It was the sort of persecution which appealed to him. He would -at the same time be injuring those he disliked, helping those in whose -debt he stood, and pleasing himself. He could see very little risk in -it, and much to gain.</p> - -<p>'Well, aiya,' he said at length, 'I will help you if I can. I will -speak to Babun. Shall it be done soon?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, quickly. Send for him now. There is no harm in doing it before -me; and there is no time to lose if I am to get the woman.'</p> - -<p>Babehami was at first averse to doing things with such precipitation; -he liked to think over carefully each move in his game. But he was -overpersuaded by Fernando, who could not restrain his impatience. A -message was sent to Babun that the headman wanted to speak to him. Babun -was very much astonished at receiving this message, and still more so at -his reception. He was given a chew of betel and welcomed warmly.</p> - -<p>'Brother,' said the headman, 'it is a bad thing for those of the same -blood to quarrel. This Mahatmaya has been speaking of it, saying you are -a good man. All that is very long ago, and it is well to forget it.'</p> - -<p>'I have forgotten it. I have never had a bad thought of you in my mind, -brother.'</p> - -<p>'Good, good. Nor I of you, brother, really. Well, and how are things -with you now?'</p> - -<p>'The light half of the moon returns. This Mahatmaya is giving me his -chenas to work for a share of the crop.'</p> - -<p>'Good, good. Where there is food, there is happiness. Never have I known -a year like this, and I am growing an old man now. On the poya<a name="FNanchor_43_1" id="FNanchor_43_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_1" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> day -two months back there was not a kuruni of grain in all the village. I -went to the Korala Mahatmaya; I said to him: "Can men live on air?" He -is a hard man. He said (his stomach swollen with rice), "For ten years -now I have told you to leave your village. There are fields and land -elsewhere; there is work elsewhere; they pay for work on the roads. If -you make your paddy field on rock, do you expect the rice to grow?" I -said to him, "The Government must give food or the people will die." -Then he said, "Go away and die quickly," and he abused me, calling me a -tom-tom-beater, and drove me away. So I went to this Mahatmaya and -arranged about the chenas. Had it not been for him, we should all have -starved.'</p> - -<p>'I know. The Mahatmaya has been very good.'</p> - -<p>'And now again the Mahatmaya said to me: "It is a foolish thing to -quarrel with a brother. It is long ago and about a woman. A young man -hot after a woman! What use is it? Send for him and be friends."'</p> - -<p>'The Mahatmaya is very good to us.'</p> - -<p>'I was wrong, brother. I say it to you myself. I used shameful words to -you. But that was long ago. A young man must have a woman. It is foolish -to stand in his way. Even the buck will turn upon you in the rutting -season.'</p> - -<p>'All that is forgotten now.'</p> - -<p>'So the Mahatmaya says: "It is time," he said, "for him to marry. Send -for him and become friends again. For the heat of youth is now past." So -I sent for you.'</p> - -<p>'I have come.'</p> - -<p>'He said to me, "Now is the time. The boy has become a man. When he -learns about the woman, he will do as you ask."'</p> - -<p>'I do not understand that.'</p> - -<p>'The woman has offered to go and live with the Mahatmaya and cook his -meals for him. So the Mahatmaya says, "Very well, I will take her to -live with me while I am here. I will give her food and money, and also -to her father. I will give work in my chenas to your brother. So your -brother can leave the woman and marry from another village."'</p> - -<p>'I do not understand. I do not wish to marry from another village. And -what offer of the woman do you talk of?'</p> - -<p>'The woman came to the Mahatmaya while you were away in the chena. She -offered herself to him. The Mahatmaya said to her, "I cannot take you -unless the man gives you." Then he came to me: he said to me, "This -woman says this and that to me. It would be better for me to take her to -live with me while I am here; and you should marry your brother to an -honest woman." So I sent for you.'</p> - -<p>'It must be lies, brother. It must be lies. Who told this to you?'</p> - -<p>'The Mahatmaya himself. Would he tell lies?'</p> - -<p>'Is this true, aiya?' Babun asked Fernando.</p> - -<p>'Yes, it is true. The woman came to me.'</p> - -<p>'The woman is a whore, brother; I told you so long ago. It is better -that you should give her to the Mahatmaya, and marry now from another -village. You can come back to my house and live here meanwhile.'</p> - -<p>Babun was dazed. His first instinct had been to disbelieve entirely the -story about Punchi Menika. He did not believe it now, but he could not -disbelieve it. Why should the Mahatmaya lie? He could not tell him to -his face that he was lying. He got up and stood hesitating. The others -watched him. Fernando had difficulty in repressing his laughter. Several -times Babun opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped.</p> - -<p>'I do not understand,' he said at last. 'I do not understand this. The -woman went to the Mahatmaya? Offered herself? Aiya, that cannot be so. -Surely she would be afraid? Yet you yourself say it's true. Aiyo, I do -not understand. I must go to the woman herself.'</p> - -<p>Babehami got up and caught hold of Babun by the arm, trying to prevent -his leaving the compound.</p> - -<p>'Do not do that, brother. Let her go, let her go to the Mahatmaya, and -do you stay here. My house is always open to you; stay now and I will -tell the woman to go to the Mahatmaya.'</p> - -<p>'No, no. I must see her myself.'</p> - -<p>'What is the use? There will only be abuse and angry words. It is -always lies or foul words in a woman's mouth.'</p> - -<p>'I must go, brother. I must see her myself.'</p> - -<p>'What folly! But you would never listen to me, and see what has come of -it. She is a whore. It was known before, but you would not believe it. -You would not listen. Hark, the lizard chirps. It is an evil hour, but -again you do not listen. You are going, brother, to meet misfortune.'</p> - -<p>Babun allowed himself to be brought back into the compound. His mind -worked slowly, and he was dazed by the shock, and by the insinuating -stream of the headman's words. But there was a curious obstinacy about -him which Babehami recognised and feared. Babun came back, but he did -not squat down again. He stood near Fernando; his forehead was wrinkled -with perplexity. Surely the story could not be true, and yet how could -it be false? Why should the Mahatmaya and Babehami lie to him? The -simplicity of his character made him always inclined to believe at once -and without question anything said to him. The headman had reckoned on -this, and his plan would probably, but for Fernando, have succeeded. -Suddenly, however, the latter could no longer restrain his amusement. -The wrinkled forehead, the open mouth, the pain and hesitation in -Babun's face as he stood before him, seemed to him extraordinarily -ridiculous. He laughed. The laugh broke the spell. Babun turned again.</p> - -<p>'I must see the woman herself,' he said as he walked away.</p> - -<p>'That was foolish, aiya,' said Babehami to Fernando. 'Very foolish. He -would have stayed.'</p> - -<p>'I know. But I couldn't help it. He stood there like a bull pulled this -way and that with a string in its nose. What now?'</p> - -<p>'He will come back. Then we shall see. It is spoilt now, I think. This -bull is an obstinate brute when it jibs. We may have to use the goad. It -will be the only way, I think.'</p> - -<p>They waited in silence. The headman proved right. Babun returned. He -did not speak to Fernando, but addressed himself to Babehami.</p> - -<p>'The Mahatmaya was right to laugh at me for a fool. Yes, I am a fool. I -know that. The tale was false. It was the Mahatmaya who called the woman -to come to him, and she refused. I knew it. Yes, brother, I knew it. But -I was frightened by your words. I thought, "he is my sister's man, why -should he lie to me?" It was lies. The woman wept for shame when I told -her.'</p> - -<p>'It was true, brother. It is the woman who is lying now to you. She is -frightened of you, frightened that you should know what she has done.'</p> - -<p>'I am a fool, brother, but what use is there in repeating lies now? The -story was false. It was the Mahatmaya who came to my house and called -the woman to him. She refused. She would not leave me.' He turned to -Fernando. 'Aiya, why come and trouble us? We are poor and ignorant, and -you have wealth, and women in the town as you told us. Leave us in -peace, aiya, leave us in peace.'</p> - -<p>'It is not lies,' broke in Babehami. 'Truly you are a fool. The woman -is ashamed now, and lies to you, and you believe. But what has that to -do with it? The Mahatmaya is now ready to take the woman. It is time -that this folly should end. Let him take her, and come back to this -house.'</p> - -<p>'She refuses, I tell you.'</p> - -<p>'What has that to do with it? It is time for you to marry, and leave -that filth.'</p> - -<p>'What is the good, brother, of beginning this again? It will only lead -to angry words again. I told you, so many years back, that I want no -other wife than this. It is the same now. I will live with no one else. -All these lies and words are useless.'</p> - -<p>'Ohé, ohé! it may lead to angry words; yes, but are they useless? Last -time you refused to listen to me. Well, I did nothing: I allowed you to -go your own way. You brought shame on me and my family. I did nothing. I -let you go. But now it is different. Suppose they were lies, the words -spoken by me just now. They weren't, but suppose they were. What then? -The Mahatmaya wants the woman now. He calls her to him: she will not -come; you refuse to give her. Is it wise, wise brother? Think a little. -Is there much kurakkan in the house after the drought? The Mahatmaya has -made you overseer of his chenas. If the woman is refused, will you -remain overseer? The twentieth of the crop will go, I think, to some one -else. Is it wise for the bull to fight against the master, when he has -the goad in his hand? Is it wise, too, always to be fighting against the -headman? Even the headman has a little power still. The chena permit has -not yet come for you. Perhaps it may never come. Who knows?'</p> - -<p>'The Mahatmaya will not do that—and you—you are my -brother.'</p> - -<p>'If the woman is not given to me,' said Fernando, 'neither will the -twentieth be given to you. I have not come here to be laughed at by -cattle like you. First the woman is offered, and then I am refused! What -does it mean? Would you try to make me out a fool?'</p> - -<p>'Very well, aiya, then I will not have the twentieth. The woman cannot -be given to you.'</p> - -<p>'Fool,' said Babehami. 'So you refuse again to listen to me? But -remember this time it will not be as it was before. You shall not always -disgrace and insult me.'</p> - -<p>'I have never spoken nor thought evil of you, brother. But I tell you, -as I told you before, I will not live without this woman. It is useless -to talk more, for nothing but angry words will follow. Therefore I am -going.'</p> - -<p>Babun did not wait for any answer from the two men, but went quickly -from the compound. The other two sat on discussing the matter for long. -They had to take their steps quickly, for Fernando would only be a few -weeks in the village, and he was very anxious, now that he was really -opposed, to possess Punchi Menika. Their plans were laid that night.</p> - -<p>Babun and Silindu very soon became aware of the web that was being spun -around them. They had already begun to cultivate a chena together: two -days after Babun's conversation with Babehami and Fernando they found -another man, Baba Sinno, a near relation of Babehami, in occupation of -it. Babun went to the headman to inquire what this meant. The headman -was quite ready to explain it. No permit could be given to Babun and -Silindu this year. It was a Government rule that permits were to be -given only to fit persons. Babun and Silindu were not fit persons, -therefore no permits could be given to them. That was all.</p> - -<p>They returned to the compound amazed, overwhelmed. Babun explained to -Silindu the real cause of the headman's act, the proposal of Fernando -and its reception. It was clear that the two men would stop at nothing, -that they had determined upon the complete ruin of Silindu's family, -unless Punchi Menika were given up. For if no chena were given, it meant -starvation; for they had at the utmost food only for a month, and -besides that nothing but their debts. They saw that Baba Sinno was but a -foil; they did not dare to turn him out by force, because they had no -permits which would give them the right to do so. If they had felt that -there was any one in the village who would openly take their part, it -would have been different; but they knew that no one would dare to side -with them against the headman and Fernando, who already held the whole -village enmeshed in their debt.</p> - -<p>The more they discussed it the more horrible became their fear. In a -month they would be starving or forced to leave the village. There was -only one thing for them to do, to put the whole case before the -Assistant Government Agent. Babun set off for Kamburupitiya next morning -with this object. His trouble and his fear drove him; and he did the -three days' journey in two. On the morning of the third day, hours -before the office opened, he was standing, haggardand frightened, on the -Kachcheri<a name="FNanchor_44_1" id="FNanchor_44_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_1" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> verandah, waiting to fall at the feet of the Assistant -Agent. At last a peon or two arrived, and later some clerks. At first no -one took any notice of him. Then a peon came and asked him what he -wanted. He told him that he had come to make a complaint to the -Assistant Agent. The peon said, 'The Assistant Agent is away on circuit. -You must send a petition.'</p> - -<p>'When will he be back?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know.'</p> - -<p>'Where is he now, aiya?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know.'</p> - -<p>He had not the few cents necessary to buy him a fuller answer. He went -from one peon to another, and from one clerk to another trying to learn -more particulars. They told him nothing; they did not know, they said, -when the Assistant Agent would return, or where he was; he had better -have a petition written, and come again a week later. He became stupid -with fear and misery. He hung about the verandah hour after hour, doing -nothing, and thinking of nothing. At last, late in the afternoon, he -wandered aimlessly into the bazaar. He was passing the shop of the -Moorman, who had previously made many loans in Beddagama: Cassim, who -was sitting within doing nothing, knew Babun and called out to him:</p> - -<p>'What are you doing in Kamburupitiya, Babun? Like cotton down in a -storm! What is the matter with you? I hear that dog Fernando is in -Beddagama—may he die of the fever.'</p> - -<p>'I have been to the Kachcheri to lay a complaint before the Agent -Hamadoru. The Agent Hamadoru is away on circuit. I cannot learn where he -is or when he returns.'</p> - -<p>'Ohé! a complaint? Those dogs of peons! Every one knows where the Agent -Hamadoru is except the peon; and he only knows when there are fanams in -his hand. The Agent Hamadoru is in Galbodapattu on circuit: he will not -return for another ten days. Every one knows that.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! then we are ruined!'</p> - -<p>'Why? what is it?'</p> - -<p>'We are ruined. Only the Agent Hamadoru could help us, and now it will -be too late. Our chena is taken from us. Aiyo! Aiyo!'</p> - -<p>'Is this one of Fernando's games? They say that the chenas are his -now, and not the Government's. The low caste fisher! Vesige puta! He is -a Mudalali now: I expect he hopes to be made the Agent Hamadoru one -day.'</p> - -<p>'It is he, aiya, he and the headman. They want me to give my wife to -the Mudalali. I refused. Now they have taken my chena from me. They will -ruin me. The Agent Hamadoru, if he knew, would have interfered to stop -this; but now it will be too late by the time I can complain to him. It -will be too late, aiya!'</p> - -<p>The fat Moorman rolled from side to side with laughter.</p> - -<p>'O the dog! O the dog! O the dog! There is no one like these fishers -for finding money and women everywhere. Allah! They call us Moormen -cunning and clever. The only thing I ever found in Beddagama was bad -debts. And here this swine of a fisher finds not only bags of grain, and -bags of rupees there, but women too. But I am sorry for you, Babun. I -remember you; you were a good man in that accursed village. Come in here -now, and I'll see what I can do for you. I should like to stop that -swine's game. But it is difficult. One wants time. We must send a -petition; the Agent Hamadoru would stop it if he knew. But there are -always peons and clerks and headmen in the way before you can get to -him. Cents here and cents there, and delays and inquiries! You want -time, and we haven't got it. But there is nothing for it but a petition. -Here now, I'll write it myself for you to spite that dog Fernando.'</p> - -<p>The Mudalali made Babun give him all the particulars, and he wrote the -petition, and stamped and posted it. He told Babun to come in again to -Kamburupitiya in ten days' time to see him about it. He also gave him -food, and made him sleep that night in his verandah. The next day Babun, -somewhat comforted, set out for his village. He was very weary by the -time that he reached it: he felt that he could show little gain from his -journey to Silindu and Punchi Menika. Ruin seemed very near to them. -They could do little but sit gloomily talking of their fears.</p> - -<p>But Babehami and Fernando were meanwhile not idle. The cunning headman -and the town-man, with his energetic fertile mind, were a strong -combination. On the morning after Babun's return to the village a rumour -spread through the village that the headman's house had been broken into -during the night, and that Babehami had left at once to complain to the -Korala. Late in the afternoon of the same day the Korala and Babehami -arrived in the village. They called to them three or four of the village -men, and went with them straight to Silindu's compound. The Korala, a -fat, consequential, bullying man, went in first and summoned Babun, -Silindu, and Punchi Menika. They were handed over to Babehami's brother, -who was instructed to keep them in the compound, and not to allow them -out of his sight.</p> - -<p>The news of the burglary had not reached Babun and Silindu. They were -bewildered by what was passing. They saw the Korala go into the house -with Babehami. They were some time in the house, while the men in the -compound talked together in whispers. A little group of men and women -had gathered outside the fence, and Fernando stood in the door of his -house watching what was happening. At last the two headmen came out of -the house. The Korala was carrying a bundle. He walked up to Babun and -showed him the bundle: it consisted of two cloths, a pair of gold -ear-rings, and some other pieces of gold jewellery.</p> - -<p>'Where did you get these from, yakko?'<a name="FNanchor_45_1" id="FNanchor_45_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_1" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> he asked.</p> - -<p>'I know nothing about them: they are not mine.'</p> - -<p>'Don't lie, yakko. They were in your house. Where did you get them -from?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, I know nothing about them. Some one must have put them -there.'</p> - -<p>'Lies. They were stolen last night from the Arachchi's house. The -Mudalali saw you leaving the house in the night. Curse you, I shall have -to take you into Kamburupitiya now to the court and the magistrate -Hamadoru. And what about this fellow?' pointing to Silindu, 'Do you -charge him as well?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Mahatmaya,' said Babehami. 'But there is the box too. Should not -the jungle round the house be searched for it?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. Hi there, you fellows! Go and search that piece of jungle -there.'</p> - -<p>Three or four men went off slowly and began a desultory search in the -jungle which lay behind the compound. Suddenly there was a cry, and one -of them lifted up a large box. He brought it to the Korala. The lock had -been forced open. It was recognised as the headman's. The case was -complete, and the onlookers recognised that the evidence against Babun -was damning.</p> - -<p>Babun and Silindu were taken off to the headman's house. They had to -spend the night in the verandah with Babehami's brother, who was there -to see that they did not run away. The injustice of this new catastrophe -seemed to have completely broken Babun's spirit. His misfortunes were -too many and sudden for him to fight against. He refused to talk, and -squatted with his back against the wall silent throughout the night. The -effect upon Silindu was different. He saw at last the malignity of the -headman and how his life had been ruined by it. This last stroke made -him aware of the long series of misfortunes, which he now felt were all -due to the same cause. This knowledge roused him at last from his -resignation and from the torpor habitual to his mind. He talked -incessantly in a low voice, sometimes to Babun, but more often -apparently to himself.</p> - -<p>'They call me a hunter, a vedda? A fine hunter! To be hunted for -years now and not to know it! It is the headman who is the vedda, a very -clever hunter. I have been lying here like a fat old stag in a thicket -while he was crawling, crawling nearer and nearer, round and round, -looking for the shot. Where was the watching doe to cry the alarm? -Always he shot me down as I lay quiet. But the old hunter should be very -careful. In the end misfortune comes. Perhaps this time I am a buffalo, -wounded. The wise hunter does not follow up the wounded buffalo, where -the jungle is thick. Ha! ha! The wounded buffalo can be as clever as the -clever hunter. He hears the man crawling and crawling through the -jungle. He stands there out of the track in the shadows, the great black -head down, the blood bubbling through the wound, listening to the twigs -snap and the dry leaves rustle; and the man comes nearer and nearer. -Fool! you cannot see him there, but he can see you now; he will let you -pass him, and then out he will dash upon you, and his great horns will -crash into your side, and he will fling you backwards through the air as -if you were paddy straw. The old buffalo knows, the old buffalo knows; -the young men laugh at him, "buffaloes' eyes," they say, "blind eyes, -foolish eyes, a foolish face like a buffalo," but he is clever, amma! he -is clever—when wounded—when he hears the hunter after -him—cleverer than the cleverest hunter. And when it has gone on -for years! all his life! What will he do then? Will he lie quiet then? -Oh! he will lie quiet, yes, and let them take all from him, daughter and -home and food. He will shake his head and sigh the great sigh, and lie -quiet in the mud of the wallow, very sad. And then at last they come -after his life. Shall they take that too? Then at last he knows and is -angry—very angry—and he stands waiting for them. The fools! -They come on, crawling still; they do not know that he is ready for them -now. The fools! the fools!'</p> - -<p>The next morning the Korala took with him the complainant, the accused, -and the witnesses, of whom Fernando turned out to be one, and started -for Kamburupitiya. Punchi Menika went with them. They travelled slowly, -and reached Kamburupitiya on the fourth morning. Silindu had relapsed -into his usual state of sullen silence; Babun's spirit appeared to be -completely broken. He scarcely understood what the charge against him -was; he knew nothing of why or on what evidence it had been made. He -waited bewildered to see what new misfortune fate and his enemies would -bring upon him.</p> - -<p>The parties and witnesses in the case were taken at once to the -court-house. They waited about all the morning on the verandah. The -court was a very large oblong room with a roof of flat red tiles. At one -end was the bench, a raised dais, with a wooden balustrade round it. -There were a table and chair upon the dais. In the centre of the room -was a large table with chairs round it for the bar and the more -respectable witnesses. At the further end of the room was the dock, a -sort of narrow oblong cage made of a wooden fence with a gate in it. -Silindu and Babun were locked up in this cage, and a court peon stood by -the gate in charge of them. There was no other furniture in the room -except the witness-box, a small square wooden platform surrounded by a -wooden balustrade on three of its sides.</p> - -<p>Nothing happened all the morning: Babun and Silindu squatted down -behind the bars of their cage. They were silent: they had never been in -so vast or so high a room. The red tiles of the roof seemed a very long -way above their heads. Outside they could hear the murmur of the sea, -and the rush of the wind, and the whispered conversation of the -witnesses on the verandah; but inside the empty room the silence awed -them. About one o'clock there was a stir through the court: the headmen -hurried in, a proctor or two came and sat down at the table. The peon -nudged Babun and Silindu, and told them to stand up. Then they saw a -white Hamadoru, an Englishman, appear on the daïs and sit down. The -court interpreter, a Sinhalese Mahatmaya in coat and trousers, stood -upon a small wooden step near the bench. The judge spoke to him in an -angry voice. The interpreter replied in a soothing deferential tone. The -conversation being in English was unintelligible to Babun and Silindu. -Then the door of their cage was unlocked, and they were led out and made -to stand up against the wall on the left of the bench.</p> - -<p>The court-house stood on a bare hill which rose above the town, a small -headland which ran out into the sea to form one side of the little bay. -The judge, as he sat upon the bench, looked out through the great open -doors opposite to him, down upon the blue waters of the bay, the red -roofs of the houses, and then the interminable jungle, the grey jungle -stretching out to the horizon and the faint line of the hills. And -throughout the case this vast view, framed like a picture in the heavy -wooden doorway, was continually before the eyes of the accused. Their -eyes wandered from the bare room to the boats and the canoes, bobbing up -and down in the bay, to the group of little figures on the shore hauling -in the great nets under the blazing sun, to the dust storms sweeping -over the jungle, miles away where they lived. The air of the court was -hot, heavy, oppressive; the voices of those who spoke seemed both to -themselves and to the others unreal in the stillness. The murmur of the -little waves in the bay, the confused shouts of the fishermen on the -shore, the sound of the wind in the trees floated up to them as if from -another world.</p> - -<p>It was like a dream. They did not understand what exactly was happening. -This was 'a case' and they were 'the accused,' that was all they knew. -The judge looked at them and frowned; this increased their fear and -confusion. The judge said something to the interpreter, who asked them -their names in an angry threatening voice. Silindu had forgotten what -his ge<a name="FNanchor_46_1" id="FNanchor_46_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_1" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> name was; the interpreter became still more angry at this, -and Silindu still more sullen and confused. From time to time the judge -said a few sharp words in English to the interpreter: Silindu and Babun -were never quite certain whether he was or was not speaking to them, or -whether, when the interpreter spoke to them in Sinhalese, the words were -really his own, or whether he was interpreting what the judge had said.</p> - -<p>At last the question of the names was settled. Babehami was told to go -into the witness box. As he did so a proctor stood up at the table and -said:</p> - -<p>'I appear for the complainant, your honour.'</p> - -<p>'Any one for the defence?' said the judge.</p> - -<p>'Have you a proctor?' the interpreter asked Silindu.</p> - -<p>'No,' said Babun, 'we are very poor.'</p> - -<p>'No, your worship,' said the interpreter.</p> - -<p>Babehami knew exactly what to do; it was not the first time that he had -given evidence. He was quite at his ease when he made the affirmation -that he would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the -truth. He gave his name and his occupation. Then his proctor stood up -and said to him:</p> - -<p>'Now Arachchi, tell us exactly what has happened.'</p> - -<p>Babehami cleared his throat and then told the following story in a -rather sing-song voice:</p> - -<p>'About four days ago when I woke up in the morning my wife had gone out -into the compound. I heard her cry out, "Aiyo, some one has made a hole -in the wall of the house." I ran out and saw a hole on the western side -of the house. The hole was big enough for a man to crawl through. There -are two rooms in the house, one on the eastern side, and one on the -western side. We, my wife and I, were sleeping that night in the room on -the east side; in the other room was a wooden box in which were clothes -and two new sarong cloths and jewellery belonging to my wife. The box -was locked. When I saw the hole I ran back into the house to see if the -box was safe. I found it had disappeared. At that I cried out: "Aiyo, my -box has been stolen." Then the Mudalali, who had been staying in the hut -next to mine, hearing the cries came up and asked what was the matter. I -told him: he said, "Last night about four peyas<a name="FNanchor_47_1" id="FNanchor_47_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_1" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> before dawn I went -out into the compound for a call of nature. I heard a noise in your -compound. Thinking it was a wild pig I stepped back into the doorway and -looked. Then I saw your brother-in-law come running from your compound -carrying something in his hands. He ran into the jungle behind his own -house." I went straight off to the village of the Korala Mahatmaya; it -lies many miles away to the north. Then when the sun was about there -(pointing about three-quarters way up the wall of the court) I met the -Korala Mahatmaya on the road. The Korala Mahatmaya said, "What are you -coming this way for, to trouble me? I am going to Kamburupitiya." I told -him what had happened and turned with him to go back. We came to the -village in the afternoon. The Korala Mahatmaya went to the accused's -house and searched. In the roof between the thatch he found the two -sarong cloths and my wife's jewellery, and the box with the lock broken -was found in the jungle behind the house.'</p> - -<p>When Babehami began his story, Babun and Silindu had not really -listened to what he was saying. They were still dazed and confused, they -did not quite understand what was going on. But as he proceeded, they -gradually grasped what he was doing, and when he told the story about -the Mudalali, they saw the whole plot. Their brains worked slowly; they -felt they were trapped; there was no way out of it. Babehami's proctor -stood up to examine him, but the judge interrupted him:</p> - - -<p>'The first accused, I understand, is the brother-in-law of the -complainant. Is that correct? I propose to charge the accused now. But -is there any evidence against the second accused—Silindu, isn't his -name?—Mr. Perera?'</p> - -<p>The proctor called Babehami to him and had a whispered conversation -with him.</p> - -<p>'There is no evidence, sir,' he said to the judge, 'to connect him -directly with the theft. But he was in the house in which the first -accused lived, on the night in question. He must have been an accessory. -He is the owner of the house, I understand, and might be charged with -receiving.'</p> - -<p>'No, certainly not—if that's your only evidence to connect him -with the theft. I should not be prepared to convict in any case, Mr. -Perera. I shall discharge him at once—especially as the man does -not look as if he is quite right in the head.'</p> - -<p>'Very well, sir.'</p> - -<p>'Charge the first accused only,' said the judge to the interpreter. -'There is no evidence against the second accused. He can go.'</p> - -<p>This conversation had been in English and therefore was again -unintelligible to the two accused. Their bewilderment was increased -therefore when the interpreter said to Silindu: 'You there, go away.' -Silindu, not knowing where he had to go, remained where he was. 'Can't -you hear, yakko?' shouted the interpreter. 'Clear out.' The peon came up -and pushed Silindu out on to the verandah. A small group of idle -spectators laughed at him as he came out.</p> - -<p>'They'll hang you in the evening, father,' said a small boy.</p> - -<p>'I thought the judge Hamadoru said ten years' rigorous imprisonment,' -said a young man. Silindu turned to an old man who looked like a -villager, and said:</p> - -<p>'What does it mean, friend?' Every one laughed.</p> - -<p>'You are acquitted,' said the old man; 'go back to your buffaloes.'</p> - -<p>Babun also did not understand the acquittal of Silindu. Things appeared -to be happening around him as if he were in a dream. The interpreter -came and stood in front of him and said the following sentence very fast -in Sinhalese:</p> - -<p>'You are charged under section 1010 of the Penal Code with -housebreaking and theft of a box, clothing, and jewellery, in the house -of the complainant, on the night of the 10th instant, and you are called -on to show cause why you should not be convicted.'</p> - -<p>'I don't understand, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'You heard what the complainant said?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'He charges you with the theft. Have you anything to say?'</p> - -<p>'I know nothing about this.'</p> - -<p>'He says he knows nothing about this,' said the interpreter to the -judge.</p> - -<p>'Any witnesses?' said the judge.</p> - -<p>'Have you any witnesses?' said the interpreter to Babun.</p> - -<p>'How can I have witnesses? No one will give evidence against the -headman.'</p> - -<p>'Any reason for a false charge?' asked the judge.</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, the headman is on very bad terms with me; he is angry with -me because of my wife. He is angry with my wife's father. He wanted me -to marry from another village. Then he wanted me to give my wife to the -Mudalali and because I refused he is angry.'</p> - -<p>'Anything else?'</p> - -<p>Babun was silent. There was nothing more to say. He looked out through -the great doors at the jungle. He tried to think where Beddagama was; -but, looking down upon it from that distance, it was impossible to -detect any landmark in the unbroken stretch of trees.</p> - -<p>'Very well, Mr. Perera,' said the judge.</p> - -<p>Mr. Perera got up again and began to examine Babehami.</p> - -<p>'How long have you been a headman?'</p> - -<p>'Fifteen years.'</p> - -<p>'Have you ever had a private case before?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Are you on bad terms with your brother-in-law?'</p> - -<p>'No, but he is on bad terms with me.'</p> - -<p>'How is that?'</p> - -<p>'There is a Government Order that chenas are only to be given to fit -persons. The accused is not a fit person: he could do work, but he is -lazy. Therefore chenas were refused to him. He thought that I had done -this. It was a Kachcheri Order from the agent Hamadoru. Last week he was -very angry and threatened me because of it. The Mudalali heard him.'</p> - -<p>'Is the Mudalali a friend of yours?'</p> - -<p>'How could he be, aiya? He is a mahatmaya of Kamburupitiya. I am only a -village man. How could he be a friend of mine? He comes to the village -merely to collect debts due to him.'</p> - -<p>'And when he comes, you let him stay in the unoccupied house next to -yours. Otherwise you do not know him?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, that is true, aiya.'</p> - -<p>'Is the Korala related to you?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'A friend of yours?'</p> - -<p>'No; he was on bad terms with me. He said I troubled him and was a bad -headman.'</p> - -<p>Mr. Perera sat down.</p> - -<p>'Any questions?' said the judge.</p> - -<p>'Any questions?' the interpreter asked Babun.</p> - -<p>'I don't understand,' said Babun.</p> - -<p>'Yakko,' said the interpreter angrily, 'do you want to ask complainant -any questions?'</p> - -<p>'What questions are there to ask? It is lies what he said.'</p> - -<p>There was a pause while the judge waited for Babun to think of a -question. The silence confused him, and all the eyes looking at him. He -fixed his own eyes on the jungle.</p> - -<p>At last Babun thought of a question.</p> - -<p>'Did you not ask me to give the woman to the Mudalali?'</p> - -<p>'No,' said Babehami.</p> - -<p>'Did not the Mudalali call her to go to his house?'</p> - -<p>'I know nothing of that.'</p> - -<p>'Weren't you angry when I married the woman?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>Babun turned desperately to the judge.</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru,' he said, 'it is all lies he is saying.' The judge was -looking straight at him, but Babun could read nothing in the impassive -face; the light eyes, 'the cat's eyes,' of the white Hamadoru frightened -him.</p> - -<p>'Is that all?' said the judge.</p> - -<p>Babun was silent.</p> - -<p>'Who is this Mudalali?' said the judge sharply to Babehami.</p> - -<p>'Fernando Mudalali, Hamadoru. He comes from Kamburupitiya; he is a -trader, he lends money in the village.'</p> - -<p>'What's he doing in the village now?'</p> - -<p>'He has come to collect debts.'</p> - -<p>'When did he come?'</p> - -<p>'About a week ago.'</p> - -<p>'When is he going?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know.'</p> - -<p>'Is he married?'</p> - -<p>'I don't think so. I don't know.'</p> - -<p>'Why do you give him a house to live in?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, the little hut was empty. He came to me and said: -"Arachchi," he said, "I must stay here a few days. I want a house. There -is that hut of yours—can I live in it?" So I said, "Why not?"'</p> - -<p>'Whose is the hut?'</p> - -<p>'Mine.'</p> - -<p>'Why did you build it?'</p> - -<p>'It was built, Hamadoru, for this brother-in-law of mine.'</p> - -<p>'When?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know.'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, last year, I think.'</p> - -<p>'But your brother-in-law lives with his father-in-law?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'Then why did you build him a house?'</p> - -<p>'There was talk of his leaving the other people.'</p> - -<p>'Has the Mudalali ever stayed in the village before?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Do you owe anything to him?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Next witness.'</p> - -<p>Babehami stood down and the Korala entered the witness-box. He was -examined by Mr. Perera. He told his story very simply and quietly. He -had met Babehami, who had told him that his house had been broken into -and that a box had been stolen; he described the box and its contents; -he suspected his brother-in-law, who had been seen going away from his -house in the night, by the Mudalali. The Korala then described how he -went into and searched the house, and how he found the cloths and -jewellery which answered to Babehami's previous description. He then -produced them. The proctor examined him.</p> - -<p>'Are you on good terms with the complainant?'</p> - -<p>'I am not on good terms or bad terms with him. I only know him as a -headman.'</p> - -<p>'Do you complain of his troubling you?'</p> - -<p>'I complained that he was a bad headman. He has troubled me with silly -questions. He is an ignorant man.'</p> - -<p>Mr. Perera sat down. 'Any questions?' asked the judge.</p> - -<p>'Any questions?' asked the interpreter of Babun.</p> - -<p>Babun shook his head. 'What questions are there?' he said.</p> - -<p>'Do you know this Mudalali?' said the judge to the Korala.</p> - -<p>'I have seen him before in Kamburupitiya.'</p> - -<p>'Have you seen him before in Beddagama?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Did you know that he was there?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Do you know of any ill-feeling between complainant and accused?'</p> - -<p>'No, I did not know the accused at all. I live many miles from -Beddagama.'</p> - -<p>'Next witness.'</p> - -<p>Fernando was the next witness. He wore for the occasion a black -European coat, a pink starched shirt, and a white cloth. He was cool and -unabashed. He told how he had gone out in the night for a call of -nature, how he had heard a noise in the compound of the headman and had -then seen Babun come out carrying something and go with it into the -jungle behind his own house.</p> - -<p>'Could you see what it was?' asked the proctor.</p> - -<p>'Not distinctly. He walked as if it were heavy. It was rather -large.'</p> - -<p>'How did you recognise him? Can you swear it was he?'</p> - -<p>'I can swear that it was the accused. I recognised him first by his -walk. But I also saw his face in the moonlight.'</p> - -<p>'Are you on bad terms with accused? Does he owe you money?'</p> - -<p>'I am not on bad terms with him. I scarcely know him. He owes me for -kurakkan lent to him. I had arranged to make him my gambaraya. All the -villagers there owe me money.'</p> - -<p>'How long have you been in the village?'</p> - -<p>'About ten days. I am making arrangements for the recovery of my loans. -Last crop failed and therefore much is owed to me.'</p> - -<p>The proctor sat down.</p> - -<p>'Any questions?' said the judge.</p> - -<p>'Any questions?' said the interpreter to Babun. Babun shook his head. -'It is lies they are telling,' he murmured.</p> - -<p>'Are you married?' the judge asked Fernando.</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'You live with a woman in Kamburupitiya?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'How did you come to settle in the hut in Beddagama?'</p> - -<p>'I was getting into difficulties with my loans because the crop failed -last year. I thought I must go to the village during the chena season -and arrange for the repayment. I saw the hut empty there, and went to -the headman and asked whether I might live there. He said "Yes."'</p> - -<p>'Do you know the accused's wife?'</p> - -<p>'I have seen her. Their compound adjoins that of the hut. Otherwise I -do not know her.'</p> - -<p>'Next witness.'</p> - -<p>The man who had found the box gave evidence of how and where he had -found it. Various villagers were then called, who identified the things -found in Silindu's hut and the box as having belonged to Babehami. They -all denied any knowledge of ill-feeling between Babun and the headman or -of any intimacy between the headman and Fernando. This closed the case -for the prosecution.</p> - -<p>The judge then addressed Babun in a speech which was interpreted to -him. Babun should now call any witnesses whom he might have. It was for -him to decide whether he would himself go into the witness-box and give -evidence. If he gave evidence he would be liable to cross-examination by -Babehami's proctor; if he did not, he (the judge) might draw any -conclusion from his refusal.</p> - -<p>Babun did not really understand what this meant. He did not reply.</p> - -<p>'Well?' said the interpreter.</p> - -<p>'I don't understand.'</p> - -<p>'Are you going to give evidence yourself?'</p> - -<p>'As the judge hamadoru likes.'</p> - -<p>'Explain it to him properly,' said the judge. 'Now, look here. There is -the evidence of the Korala that he found the things in your house. There -is no evidence of his being a prejudiced witness. There is the evidence -of Fernando that he saw you leaving the complainant's hut at night. You -say that Fernando wants your wife, and that the headman is in league -with him against you. At present there is no evidence of that at all. -According to your story the things must have been deliberately put into -your house by complainant, or Fernando—or both. Listen to what I am -saying. Have you any witnesses or evidence of all this?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, how could I get witnesses of this? No one will give evidence -against the headman.'</p> - -<p>'I will adjourn the case if you want to call witnesses from the -village.'</p> - -<p>'What is the good? No one will speak the truth.'</p> - -<p>'Well, then, you had better, in any case, give evidence yourself.'</p> - -<p>'Get up here,' said the interpreter.</p> - -<p>Babun got into the witness-box. He told his story. The judge asked him -many questions. Then the proctor began cross examining.</p> - -<p>'Are you on bad terms with the Korala? Do you know him well?'</p> - -<p>'I am not on bad terms. I scarcely know him.'</p> - -<p>'Do you know that Fernando came to the village to recover money, that -he has arranged to get the chena crops from many of the villagers in -repayment of his loans?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'Did he ask you to act as overseer of those chenas, and promise you a -share of the crop if you did?'</p> - -<p>'Yes.'</p> - -<p>'Because he thought you the best worker in the village?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, I think so.'</p> - -<p>'When did this happen?'</p> - -<p>'About a week ago.'</p> - -<p>The proctor sat down. Babun called no witnesses. There was a curious -look of pain and distress in his face. The judge watched him in silence -for some minutes, then he told the interpreter to call Silindu. Silindu -was pushed into the box, the interpreter recited the words of the -affirmation to him. He said, 'I do not understand, Hamadoru.' It took -some time to make him understand that he had only to repeat the words -after the interpreter. He sighed and looked quickly from side to side -like a hunted animal. The eyes of the judge frightened him. He was -uncertain whether he was being charged again with the theft. He had not -listened to what was going on after he had been sent out of the court. -It occurred vaguely to him that the best thing would be to pretend to be -completely ignorant of everything. He still thought of the wounded -buffalo listening to the hunter crawling after him through the scrub: -'He doesn't move,' he muttered to himself, 'until he is sure: he stands -quite stupid and still, listening always; but when he sees clear, then -out he rushes charging.'</p> - -<p>'Stop that muttering,' said the judge, 'and listen carefully to what I -ask you. You've got to speak the truth. There's no charge against you; -you've got nothing to fear if you speak the truth. Do you understand?'</p> - -<p>'I understand, Hamadoru,' said Silindu. But he thought, 'They are -cunning hunters. They lie still in the undergrowth, waiting for the old -bull to move. But he knows: he stands quite still.'</p> - -<p>'Is there any reason why the headman should bring a false case against -you and the accused?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'You are not on bad terms with him personally.'</p> - -<p>'I have nothing against him. He does not like me, they say.'</p> - -<p>'Why doesn't he like you?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, how should I know that?'</p> - -<p>'You have never had any quarrel with him?'</p> - -<p>'No, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Are you related to him?'</p> - -<p>'I married a cousin of his wife.'</p> - -<p>'The accused lives in your house? He is married to your daughter?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Do you know of any quarrel between him and the headman?'</p> - -<p>'How should I know that?'</p> - -<p>'There was no quarrel at the time of the marriage?'</p> - -<p>'They say this and that, but how should I know, Hamadoru?'</p> - -<p>'You know nothing about it yourself, then?'</p> - -<p>'No, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Do you know the Mudalali Fernando?'</p> - -<p>'No, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'You don't know him? Doesn't he stay in the hut adjoining your -compound?'</p> - -<p>'I have seen him there. I have never spoken with him.'</p> - -<p>'Did you hear of anything between him and your daughter?'</p> - -<p>'They talk, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'What did they say?'</p> - -<p>'They said he wanted my daughter.'</p> - -<p>'Who said? When?'</p> - -<p>'This man' (pointing to Babun).</p> - -<p>'When?'</p> - -<p>'Three or four days ago.'</p> - -<p>'You know nothing more, yourself, about this?'</p> - -<p>'No, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>Neither Babun nor Babehami's proctor asked Silindu any questions; he -was told to go away, and was pushed out of court by the peon. The case -was over, only the judgment had to be delivered now. The judge leant -back in his chair, gazing over the jungle at the distant hills. There -was not a sound in the court. Outside, down on the shore, the net had -been hauled in, and the fish sold. Not a living being could be seen now, -except an old fisherman sitting by a broken canoe, and looking out over -the waters of the bay. The wind had died away, and sea and jungle lay -still and silent under the afternoon sun. The court seemed very small -now, suspended over this vast and soundless world of water and trees. -Babun became very afraid in the silence. The judge began to write; no -one else moved, and the only sound in the world seemed to be the -scratching of the pen upon the paper. At last the judge stopped writing. -He looked at Babun, and began to read out his judgment in a casual, -indifferent voice, as if in some way it had nothing to do with him. The -interpreter translated it sentence by sentence to Babun.</p> - -<p>'There is almost certainly something behind this case which has not -come out. There is, I feel, some ill-feeling between complainant and -accused. The complainant impressed me most unfavourably. But the facts -have to be considered. There can be no doubt that complainant's things -were found hidden in the house in which accused lives, and that the box -was found in the jungle behind the house. The evidence of the Korala is -obviously trustworthy on these points. There is clear evidence, too, -that a hole had been made in complainant's house wall. Then there is the -evidence of the Mudalali. As matters stand, it was for the accused to -show that that evidence was untrustworthy. He has not really attempted -to do this. His father-in-law's evidence, if anything, goes to show that -there is nothing in complainant's story that Fernando wanted to get hold -of his wife. Accused's defence implies that there was a deliberate -conspiracy against him. I cannot accept his mere statement that such a -conspiracy existed without any corroborating evidence of motive for it. -He has no such evidence. Even if there were ill-feeling over the refusal -of a chena or something else, it would cut both ways; that is, it might -have been accused's motive for the theft. I convict accused, and -sentence him to six months' rigorous imprisonment.'</p> - -<p>Babun had not understood a word of the broken sentences of the judgment -until the interpreter came to the last words, 'six months' rigorous -imprisonment.' Even then, it was only when the peon took hold of him by -the arm to put him back again into the cage, that he realised what it -meant—that he was to be sent to prison.</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru,' he burst out, 'I have not done this. I cannot go to prison, -Hamadoru! It is all lies, it is lies that he has said. He is angry with -me. I have not done this. I swear on the Beragama temple I have not done -this. I cannot go to prison. There is the woman, Hamadoru, what will -become of her? Oh! I have not done this. I have not.'</p> - -<p>The proctors and idlers smiled; the peon and the interpreter told Babun -to hold his tongue. The judge got up and turned to leave the court.</p> - -<p>'I am sorry,' he said, 'but the decision has been given. I treated you -very leniently as a first offender.'</p> - -<p>Every one stood up in silence as the judge left the court. As soon as -he had left, everything became confusion. Proctors, witnesses, court -officials, and spectators all began talking at once.</p> - -<p>Babun crouched down moaning in the cage. Punchi Menika began to shriek -on the verandah, until the peon came out and drove her away. Only -Silindu maintained his sullenness and calmness. He followed Babun when -he was taken away by the peon to the lock-up. At one point, when he saw -that the peon was not looking, he laid his hand on Babun's arm and -whispered:</p> - -<p>'It is all right, son, it is all right. Don't be afraid. The old -buffalo is cunning still. Very soon he will charge.' He smiled and -nodded at Babun, and then left him to find Punchi Menika.</p> - -<p>It took some time for Silindu to find Punchi Menika. She had wandered -aimlessly away from the court through the bazaar. Silindu was now -extraordinarily excited, he seemed to be almost happy. He ran up to her, -took her by the hand, and began leading her quickly away out of the -town.</p> - -<p>'We must go away at once,' he said. 'There is much to think of and -much to do. It is late, but we at least do not fear the jungle. The -jungle is better than the town. We can sleep by the big trees at the -second hill.'</p> - -<p>'But, Appochchi, my man. What will become of him? What will they do to -him? Will they kill him?'</p> - -<p>'Babun is all right. I have told him. The Government do not kill. -There is no killing here. But in the jungle, always killing—the -leopard and jackal, and the hunter. Yes, and the hunter, always killing, -the blood of deer and pig and buffalo. And at last, the hunting of the -hunter, very slow, very quiet, very cunning; and at the end, after a -long time, the blood of the hunter.'</p> - -<p>'But, Appochchi, stop, do. What does it mean? They are taking him to -prison. What will they do with him? Shall we never see him again?'</p> - -<p>'The hunter? Yes, yes we shall see him again. Very soon, but he will -not see us?'</p> - -<p>'What is this about the hunter? It is my man I am talking about.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, Babun. He is all right. The white Hamadoru said, "Six months' -rigorous imprisonment." I heard that quite clear at the end. "Six -months' rigorous imprisonment." It was all that I heard clearly. He is -all right. There is no need for you to cry. They will take him away over -there—(Silindu pointed to the east)—there is a great -house——I remember I saw it a long time ago when I went on a -pilgrimage with my mother. They will put him in the great house, and -give him rice to eat, so I hear. Then he will come back to the -village——but it will be after the hunting.'</p> - -<p>'O Appochchi, are you sure?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, child, all will be well after the hunting. But now I must -think.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika saw that it would be impossible to get anything more out -of Silindu in his present state. They walked on in silence. As they -walked his excitement began to die down. He seemed to be thinking -deeply. From time to time he muttered to himself. Late in the evening -they came to the big trees. Silindu collected some sticks and made a -fire. Then he squatted down while Punchi Menika cooked some food which -they had carried with them.</p> - -<p>Once or twice as they sat round the fire, after having eaten the food, -Punchi Menika began to question Silindu about Babun, but he did not -reply; he did not seem to hear her. Her mind was numbed by the fear and -uncertainty. She lay down on the ground, and an uneasy sleep came to -her. Suddenly she was aroused by Silindu shaking her. She saw in the -light of the fire how his face was working with excitement.</p> - -<p>'Child, there are two of them, two of them the whole time, and I never -saw it.'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean? Where?'</p> - -<p>'Hunting me, child, hunting us all—me, you, and Babun, and -Hinnihami. They killed Hinnihami, your sister. I found her lying there -in the jungle, dying. They did that. But they shall not get you. There -are two of them. Listen! I hear them crawling round us in the jungle, do -you hear? Now—there——! I thought there was only one, -fool that I was—the little headman. But now I hear them both. The -little headman first and then the other; the man with the smooth black -face and the smile. It was he, wasn't it? Didn't Babun say so? He came -to you and called you to come to his house. Babun said so, I heard him. -Fernando—the Mudalali—he wanted to take you away, but he -couldn't. Then he went to the headman and together they went to hunt us. -Isn't that true? Isn't that true?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Appochchi, yes. It was because they wanted me for the Mudalali. -Then they took the chena away and then they brought the case. They have -taken my man from me, what shall I do?'</p> - -<p>'Hush, I am here. They shall do no more. Listen, child. It is true that -they have taken Babun from you. For six months he will be over there. -"Very well," they think. They thought to send me there too, but the -judge Hamadoru was wise. "Get out," he said to me. I did not understand -then, and they laughed at me, but I understand now. Well, those two will -come back to the village. "The man," they think, "is away over there for -six months, only the woman and the mad father are here. What can they -do? The Mudalali can now take the woman." Is this true?'</p> - -<p>'Appochchi! It is what I fear. It is true.'</p> - -<p>'It is true. But do not be afraid. The old father is there, but he is -not altogether mad. The Mudalali will come back to-morrow, perhaps, r -the next day, with the headman. Then they will begin again.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, yes. That is what I fear, Appochchi. What can we do? we must go -away.'</p> - -<p>'Hush, child. Do not cry out. There is no need to be afraid. We -cannot go away. How can we live away from the village and the jungle -which we know. That is foolish talk. There in the town I do not -understand even what they say to me; and the noise and the talking in -the bazaar, and people always laughing, and the long hard roads and so -many houses all together! How could we live there? But in the village I -am not altogether mad. It is folly to talk of leaving it and the jungle. -Very soon I shall feel the gun in my hand again. Then I shall be a man -again, slipping between the trees—very quietly. Ha, ha! we know -the tracks, little Arachchi. I remember, child, when I was but a boy, I -went out once with my father for skins and horns. He was a good hunter -and knew the jungle well. We went on and on—many days—round -and round too—he leading, and I following. And at last we came to -very thick jungle which not even he knew. And a sort of madness came on -us to go on and on always, and we had forgotten the village and the wife -and mother. The jungle was tall, dense, and dark, and the sky was -covered with cloud—day after day—so that one could not tell -the west from the east. And at last, when we had many skins and horns, -my father stopped, and stood still in the track and laughed. "Child," he -said, "we are mad, we have become like the bear and the elephant; it is -time to return to the village." Then he turned round and began to walk. -Soon he stopped again, frowning. It was very dark. He stood there for a -little, thinking; and then climbed a very big tree and looked around for -a long time. Then he came down and I saw from his face that he was very -afraid. We said nothing, but started off again. For many peyas we walked -and always through very thick jungle. Again he stopped and climbed a -tree and again, when he came down, there was great fear in his face. -Aiyo! that was the first time that I saw the fear, the real fear of the -jungle; but then I did not understand. "Appochchi," I said, "what is the -matter? Boy," he said, and his voice trembled; "we are lost. I do not -know where we are, nor where the village lies, nor how we came, nor -which is east and which is west. From the trees I can see nothing which -I know, not even the hill at Beragama, only the tops of the trees -everywhere. Therefore we must be very far from the village. I have heard -of such things happening to very good hunters; but always before I have -known the way. Punchi Appu must have died like that. Wandering on and on -until no powder is left and no food. Aiyo! the jungle will take us, as -they say." Then I said, "Appochchi, do not be afraid. I do not know -which way we came, and I cannot tell just now which is west and which is -east because of the clouds; but I know where the village lies. It is -over there. Can you lead the way?" he asked, and I said, "Yes." Then he -said, "Perhaps you know, perhaps you do not; but now one way is as good -as another for me. You go first." At that I was pleased, and led on -straight to where I knew the village must lie. For two days I led the -way and my father said nothing, but I saw that he became more and more -afraid. And on the third day, suddenly he cried out, "I know this: this -track leads to the village. You are going right." It was a track I had -never been on, but I still led the way; and on the fourth day we entered -the village—well, what was I saying? Yes, I know the tracks, even -in those days when I was a boy I knew the jungle. But this time it -requires clever hunting.'</p> - - - -<p>'Yes, Appochchi, but what to do now, when they come back to the -village?'</p> - -<p>'Those two! Ah! now you listen, child. I have thought over it all this -time and there is only one way. I shall kill them both.'</p> - -<p>'Kill them! O Appochchi, no, no. You are mad!'</p> - -<p>'Am I mad? And what if I am? Haven't they always called me mad, the mad -vedda. Well, now let them see if I am mad or not. Have they not hunted -me for all these years and am I always to go running like a stupid deer -through the jungle? No, no, little Arachchi; no, no. This time it is the -old wounded buffalo. Three times, four times that night in the hut when -I saw it first I got up to get my gun and end it. And again, after the -court, I would have done it, had I had a gun. But I thought—no, not -yet, for once we must act cunningly, not in anger only. The buffalo's -eye is red with anger, but he stands quiet until the hunter has passed. -Then he charges.'</p> - -<p>'But, Appochchi, you must not say that. You cannot do it. You must come -away. They will take you and hang you.'</p> - -<p>'What can I do? I cannot leave the village; I will not; I have told you -that. There is no other way.'</p> - -<p>'But what are you going to do?'</p> - -<p>'Ah! I must think. It needs cunning and skill first. I must think.'</p> - -<p>'No, no, Appochchi; no, no. It would be better to give me to the -Mudalali!'</p> - -<p>'I would rather kill you than that. Do you hear? I shall kill you if -you go to the Mudalali.'</p> - -<p>'Oh! oh! isn't it enough that they should have taken my man from me? -And now more evil comes.'</p> - -<p>'I tell you that I will end this now. Now I shall sleep and to-morrow -think of the way.'</p> - -<p>Silindu refused to listen any further to Punchi Menika's -expostulations. He lay down by the fire and soon slept. Next day, and -throughout their journey to the village, he was very silent, and refused -to discuss the subject at all with her. The lethargy habitual to him had -left him completely. He was in an extraordinary state of excitement, -goaded on perpetually by great gusts of anger against Babehami and -Fernando. When he got back to his house he sat down in the compound in a -place from which he could see the headman's house, and waited. He -watched the house all day, and, when in the evening he saw the headman -return, he smiled. Then he got up and went into the hut. He took his gun -which stood in the corner of the room, unloaded it, and reloaded it -again with fresh powder and several big slugs. He examined the caps -carefully, chose two, and put them in the fold of his cloth. Then he lay -down and slept.</p> - -<p>Next morning he was very quiet and thoughtful; but if any one had -watched him closely, he would have seen that he was really in a state of -intense excitement. After eating the morning meal he took his gun and -went over to the headman's house. To the astonishment of Babehami and -his wife he walked into the house, put his gun in the corner of the -room, and squatted down. Babehami watched him closely for a minute or -two; he felt uneasy; he noted that the curious wild look in Silindu's -eyes was greater than ever.</p> - -<p>'Well, Silindu, what is it?' he said.</p> - -<p>'Arachchi, I have come to you about this chena. I cannot live without -chena. You must give it back to me.'</p> - -<p>'You heard in the court that the chena cannot be given to you. It has -been given to Appu. Let us have an end of all this trouble.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Arachchi, that is why I have come to you. I want an end of all -this trouble. Do you hear that? An end now—to-day—of -trouble. Trouble, trouble, for years. We must end it to-day. Do you -hear?'</p> - -<p>'What do you mean?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. What did I say? This, this. Now, Arachchi, that was nothing; do -not mind what I said then. I was thinking, thinking. You know they call -me mad in the village. Well, I was thinking, you know, now that Babun is -over there for six months, I heard the judge Hamadoru say that clearly, -but to me he said merely, "Clear out"—I was never a friend of that -Babun—all the trouble has come from him—he took Punchi -Menika from me, and then Hinnihami. I saw her lying in the jungle by the -deer—what did we call him? Kalu Appu? Punchi Appu? Yes, yes, -Punchi Appu, that was long ago. They beat her. They threw stones at her. -That was long ago—in the jungle. But now Babun is away for six -months. When he comes back, I shall say to him, "Clear out," as the -judge Hamadoru said. They laughed at me then. A foolish old man, a mad -old man, eh? Ha, ha! little Arachchi, little Arachchi, you have laughed -at me too—for years, haven't you, haven't you?'</p> - -<p>'What is all this, Silindu? What do you mean? I don't understand.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, Arachchi, it is nothing. Do not mind what I say. I do not know -what I was saying. I am a poor man, Arachchi, very ignorant, a little -mad. But I am a quiet man; I have given no trouble in the village. You -know that well, Arachchi, don't you? I cannot speak well—like you, -Arachchi—in the court. But this is what I want to say. I do not -like this Babun; all the trouble has come from him. I am a quiet man in -the village, you know that. I said to my daughter on the way here by the -big palu-trees at the second hill—I said to her, "The man is now -sent away; he will be over there for six months. He is a foolish man. It -is he who has brought the trouble. The Mudalali is a good man. The -Arachchi, too, is a good man. Why should we quarrel with those two? -There is no shame in your going to the Mudalali." Then my daughter said, -"I will do as you think best, Appochchi." Do you understand now, -Arachchi?'</p> - -<p>Silindu stopped. The Arachchi had been watching him narrowly. He began -to understand the drift of Silindu's incoherent words. But he still felt -uneasy. As Silindu spoke, his suppressed excitement became more and more -apparent in his voice and words. But Babehami knew well that he was mad, -and that he was also wonderfully stupid. It was just like him to do -things in this wild way. The more Babehami thought of it, the more he -became convinced that the conviction of Babun had done its work. Silindu -and Punchi Menika had given in.</p> - -<p>'Yes, I think I understand,' he said. 'It is true that the Mudalali -will take your daughter. He is a good man; and the trouble came from -Babun, as you say.'</p> - -<p>'That is it, Arachchi, that is it. Let the Mudalali take Punchi Menika. -My daughter cannot live with thieves now. She will go to the Mudalali. -Do you understand?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Silindu. But it must be done quietly. She cannot go openly to his -house, or there will be silly talk, after what was said in the court.'</p> - -<p>'No, no. It must be done quietly, very quietly.'</p> - -<p>'I will tell the Mudalali, and she can come at night to him. -Afterwards, perhaps, she can live at the house; but at first she must go -secretly at night.'</p> - -<p>'Ha, ha, Arachchi. You are clever! How clever you are! You think of all -things. Yes, it must be all done quietly, quietly.'</p> - -<p>'Very well, Silindu, I will tell the Mudalali. It is a good thing to -end all this trouble, like this.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, it is a very good thing to end it—like this. -Yes—like this, like this. But now the chena, Arachchi. I cannot -live without the chena. Without a chena I must starve. You cannot see me -starve. Even now there is no grain in my house. You must give me the -chena.'</p> - - -<p>Babehami thought for a while, then he said:</p> - -<p>'Well, I will see what can be done; perhaps I can arrange with Appu -about the chena. We will see.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Arachchi, but let us have done with it once for all. The thing is -settled. Appu cannot be left there. Come.'</p> - -<p>'Why, what do you want? Don't you trust me?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, I trust you—why not, Arachchi?—but I am afraid of -Appu. If he is left there to do work, he will refuse to go. He is in the -chena now. It would be better to go and tell him at once.'</p> - -<p>'I cannot go now. To-morrow, perhaps.'</p> - -<p>'Arachchi, it is but two miles. You said it is a good thing to end the -trouble. Let us settle it now, to-day, and the Mudalali can have Punchi -Menika to-night.'</p> - -<p>Babehami was silent. He disliked being hurried. On the other hand he -would be very glad to see the whole matter settled. His action with -regard to the chena troubled him because it was dangerous. He knew that -the petition had been presented, and he was not at all sure that he -would come off as well in an inquiry as he had in the court. It would -also be wise to bind Silindu to him by giving him back the chena, and -not to risk his changing his mind about the Mudalali and Punchi Menika. -He argued a little more, and stood out half-heartedly against Silindu's -urgings to start at once. At last he gave in, and they started for the -chena.</p> - -<p>They followed a narrow jungle track which had been lately cleared. The -tangle of shrubs and undergrowth and trees was like a wall on each side -of the track. The headman walked first, and Silindu, carrying his gun, -followed. For the first three-quarters of a mile they walked in silence, -except for a word or two which the headman shouted back to Silindu -without turning his head. Silindu had fallen somewhat behind; he -quickened his pace, and came up close to the headman; he was muttering -to himself.</p> - -<p>'What do you say?' asked Babehami.</p> - -<p>'What? Was I talking? I do not know, Arachchi. They say the hunter -talks to himself in the jungle. It is a custom. Have you ever been a -hunter, Arachchi?'</p> - -<p>'No. You know that well enough.'</p> - -<p>'Oh yes. You are no hunter. Who should know that better than I? But do -they call me a good hunter, Arachchi? skilful, cunning? Do I know the -tracks, Arachchi?'</p> - -<p>'Of course, every one knows you to be the best hunter in the -district.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo, the best hunter in the district! And do you know, Arachchi, that -I am afraid of the jungle?'</p> - -<p>'So they say. What are you afraid of?'</p> - -<p>Silindu began to speak with great excitement. As he went on his voice -began to get shriller and shriller; it trembled with anger and fear and -passion.</p> - -<p>'I am afraid of everything, Arachchi; the jungle, the devils, the -darkness. But, above all, of being hunted. Have you ever been hunted, -Arachchi? No, of course you are not a hunter, and therefore have never -been hunted. But I know. It happens sometimes to the cleverest of us. -The elephant, they say; but that I have never seen. But the buffalo: I -have seen that—here—on this very track—before it was -cleared—many years ago. The buffalo is stupid, isn't he, little -Arachchi? Very stupid; he does not see—he does not hear—he -goes on wallowing in his mud. And they hunt him year after -year—year after year—he does not know—he does not see -them—he does not hear them. Do you know that? I know it—I am -a hunter. Then—then having crept close, they shoot him. It was -near here. At first, crash—he tears away through the jungle, the -blood flowing down his side. He is afraid, very afraid—and in -pain. But the pain brings anger, and with anger, anger, Arachchi, comes -cunning. And now, Arachchi, now comes the game, the dangerous game. The -young men laugh at it, but the wise hunter would be afraid. There he -stood, do you see?—there—under that maiyilittan-tree, head -down, very still. And the hunter—fool, fool—crept after him -through the undergrowth: there was no track then. Ah, it was thick then: -he could not see anything but the shrubs and thorns; he did not see the -red eyes behind him nor the great head down. For the other was cunning -now, cunning, and very angry. And when the hunter had gone on a -little—just where you are now, Arachchi—then—do you -hear, little Arachchi?—then, out and crash, he charged, charged, -like this——'</p> - -<p>Babehami had at first hardly listened, but the fury and excitement of -Silindu had at last forced his attention. As Silindu said the last -words, Babehami half stopped and turned his head: he just saw Silindu's -blazing eyes and foam on the corner of his lips; at the same moment he -felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressed against his back. Silindu pulled -the trigger and Babehami fell forward on his face. A great hole was -blown in the back, and the skin round it was blackened and burnt; the -chest was shattered by the slugs which tore their way through. The body -writhed and twisted on the ground for a minute, and then was still. -Silindu kicked it with his foot to see whether it was dead. There was no -movement. He reloaded his gun and turned back towards the village. His -excitement had died down: the old lethargy was coming upon him again. He -felt this himself and walked faster, muttering, 'Even now it is not -safe. There were two of them. There is still the other.'</p> - -<p>When Silindu got back to the village, Fernando was in the headman's -compound. When he saw Silindu he came down towards the fence and called -out to him, 'Where is the Arachchi? They say he went out with you.' -Silindu walked up towards the stile, and stopping levelled his gun at -the Mudalali. Fernando stepped back, his mouth wide open, his eyes -staring, his whole face contorted with fear. He cowered down behind the -stile, stretching his hands vaguely out between the wooden bars, and -shouted:</p> - -<p>'Don't shoot! don't shoot!'</p> - -<p>The stile was little or no protection: between the two bottom bars -Silindu could see the Mudalali's fat stomach and legs. He took careful -aim between the bars and fired. Fernando fell backwards, writhing and -screaming with pain. Silindu went and looked over the stile: at the same -moment Babehami's wife rushed out of the house. But he saw that his work -had been accomplished; blood was pouring from the Mudalali's stomach; -his two legs and one of his hands were shattered. 'The trouble is -ended,' he muttered.</p> - -<p>He walked very slowly to his house. He put the gun in the corner of the -room, thought for a minute, and then immediately left the hut. He saw -that already there was a crowd of people in the headman's compound: the -women were screaming. Silindu turned into the jungle at the back of his -house, and walking quickly cut across to the track which led to -Kamburupitiya.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Before Silindu reached the Kamburupitiya track, he stopped and -squatted down with his back against a tree. He wanted to think. After -the wild excitement which had possessed him now for three days, a -feeling of immense lassitude came upon him. His mind worked slowly, -confusedly; he had no clear idea of where he was going, or of what he -ought to do. He was very tired, very unhappy now; but he felt no regret -for what he had done—no remorse for the blood of the Arachchi and -of Fernando could trouble him. So far as they were concerned, he only -felt a great relief.</p> - -<p>He wanted to lie down and sleep. He lent back against the tree and -began to doze, but he started up again immediately, listening for -footsteps of pursuers. His first idea had been simply to run away into -the jungle, to get away at any rate from the village. The hunt would -begin; he would be hunted once again, he knew that. Then he thought of -going east where the thick jungle stretched unbroken for miles. He could -live there in some cave among the rocks; he could live there safe from -his hunters for months. He had heard stories of other men doing this: -strange men from other districts, whom the Government and the police -were hunting down for some crime. They came down from the north, so it -was said, flying to the sanctuary of the uninhabited jungle where they -lay hidden for years; they lived alone in caves and in trees, eating -leaves and wild fruit and honey, and the birds and animals which they -managed to snare or kill. They were never caught; there were no villages -in that wilderness from which information could come to the police. -Sometimes one of the few bold hunters, who were the only people to -penetrate these solitudes, would catch a glimpse of a wild, naked man in -a cave or among the shadows of the trees. Some of them perhaps -eventually, trusting to the lapse of time and to the short memory of the -Government, went back to their villages and their homes. But most of -them died of fever in the jungle to which they had fled.</p> - -<p>If such a life were possible for men from distant villages, who did -not know the jungle, it would be easy for Silindu. But as he squatted -under the trees thinking of what he should do, a feeling of horror for -such a life crept over him, and his repugnance to flying became stronger -and stronger. He was very tired. What he desired—and the desire -was sharp—was to rest, to be left alone untroubled in the -village—in his hut, in his compound—to sleep quietly there -at night, to sit hour after hour through the hot day under the -mustard-tree in the compound. But in the jungle there would be no rest. -It was just in order to escape that terror—the feeling of the -hunted animal, the feeling that some one was always after him meaning -evil—that he had killed the Arachchi and the Mudalali. And if he -fled into the jungle now, he would have gained nothing by the killing. -He would live with that feeling for months, for years, perhaps for ever. -The hunt would begin again, and again it was he who would be the -hunted.</p> - -<p>Then he thought of returning to the village, but that too would be -useless; he would get no peace there. He knew well what would happen. -The Korala would be sent for; he would be seized, worried, bullied, -ill-treated probably. That would be worse than the jungle. Suddenly the -conviction came to him that it would be best to end it all at once, to -go into Kamburupitiya and give himself up to the Ratemahatmaya and the -white Hamadoru, to confess what he had done. He got up and started for -the town immediately, keeping to the game tracks in the thick jungle, -and avoiding the main tracks, for he did not wish to meet any one.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly, following instinctively the tangled winding tracks. -His lassitude and fatigue increased. He reached Kamburupitiya in the -evening of the third day, and asked his way to the Ratemahatmaya's -house.</p> - -<p>When Silindu reached the Ratemahatmaya's house, no news of the murder -had yet come to Kamburupitiya. He had walked slowly, but what was a slow -pace for him was faster than that of the other villagers. He went into -the compound, and walked cautiously round the house: in the verandah -through the lattice-work he saw the Ratemahatmaya lying in a long chair. -There was a table with a lamp upon it beside him. Silindu coughed. The -Ratemahatmaya looked up and said sharply:</p> - -<p>'Who is there?'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, it is I. May I come into the verandah?'</p> - -<p>'What do you want at this time? Come to-morrow. I can't attend to -anything at night.'</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru, I come from Beddagama. There has been a murder there.'</p> - -<p>'Come in, then.'</p> - -<p>Silindu came into the verandah and salaamed. He stood in front of the -Ratemahatmaya.</p> - -<p>'Hamadoru,' he said, 'I have killed the Arachchi and the Mudalali.'</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya sat up. 'You? What? What do you mean? Who are -you?'</p> - -<p>'I am Silindu of Beddagama. The Arachchi brought a false case against -me and my son-in-law. May I sit down, Hamadoru? I am very tired. Babun -was sent to prison by the judge Hamadoru, but to me he said, "Clear -out." The case was false. They were trying to bring evil upon me and my -daughter. The Mudalali wanted the girl. They were still trying to bring -evil on me, so I said, "Enough." I took the gun and I went out with the -Arachchi over there to the chena, and I shot him through the back. He is -dead, lying there on the track. Then I went back to the village and shot -the Mudalali in the belly through the stile. He was not dead then, but I -looked over and saw the blood coming fast from the belly low down. He -must be dead now.'</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya was not a brave man. As he listened to Silindu's -short expressionless sentences, the bald description of the shedding of -blood, given in the tired voice of the villager, he became afraid. He -sat up in his chair looking at Silindu, who crouched in front of him, -motionless, watching him. The light of the lamp fell upon the dark, -livid face. It was the face of the grey monkeys which leap above the -jungle among the tree-tops, and peer down at you through the branches; a -face scarred and pinched by suffering and weariness and fear. It was as -if something evil from the darkness, which he did not understand, had -suddenly appeared in his quiet verandah. He looked out nervously over -Silindu's head into the night: the light of the lamp in the verandah -made it seem very dark outside. The Ratemahatmaya became still more -afraid in the silence which followed Silindu's speech. He suddenly got -up and shouted for his servant. There was the sound of movements in the -back of the house, and a dirty servant boy, in a dirty vest and cloth, -came blinking and yawning into the verandah. The Ratemahatmaya told him -to stand by Silindu.</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya drew in a deep breath of relief. The beating of his -heart became quieter.</p> - -<p>'Now, yakko!' he said in a sharp angry tone, 'stand up.'</p> - -<p>Silindu did not move; he looked up at the Ratemahatmaya with weary eyes -and said, 'Hamadoru! I am very tired. For days now there has been no -rest for me. Aiyo! I cannot remember how long it is now since I sat -quiet in my compound. Let me sleep now. I have come straight to you and -told you all. I thought at first I would run away. I could have lived -out there for months, and you would not have caught me. But I was tired -of all this: I am very tired. I thought: No. What is the good? Out there -away from the village, and the hut, and the compound, and the daughter? -It is the evil all over again. Aiyo! how tired I am of it. It is better -to end it now. So I came here. I have told you no lies. What harm can I -do now? Let me sleep here, and to-morrow you can do what you like to -me.'</p> - -<p>'Do you hear what I say? Stand up, yakko, stand up. Make him stand -up.'</p> - -<p>The servant boy kicked Silindu in the ribs, and told him to stand up. -Silindu rose slowly.</p> - -<p>'Now, then. You say you have killed the Arachchi and the Mudalali. Is -that Fernando, the boutique-keeper?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Hamadoru, yes. Fernando, the boutique-keeper.'</p> - -<p>'Fetch me ink and paper and a pen.'</p> - -<p>The servant boy fetched the paper, ink, and pen. Meanwhile Silindu -again squatted down. The Ratemahatmaya prepared to write.</p> - -<p>'Didn't you hear me tell you to get up? Get up, yakko' (the servant boy -kicked Silindu again). 'Now, then. When did you kill them, and how?'</p> - -<p>'Three or four days ago. It was in the morning. I went with the -Arachchi to the chena. I shot him through the back.'</p> - -<p>'Where did you get the gun?'</p> - -<p>'It was my gun. I had it in my house.'</p> - -<p>'Was it licensed?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Hamadoru. I am very tired. What is the good of all these -questions? I tell you I killed them both. Let me be. I cannot think of -these things now. To-morrow, perhaps, to-morrow. Surely you have me here -safe, and can do with me what you like to-morrow.'</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya was a self-important, fussy little man; he was also -timid, and not fond of taking responsibilities. The sudden appearance of -Silindu with this strange story out of the darkness had upset him. He -was very annoyed when Silindu again sank down into a squatting position. -'Stand up, fellow,' he said. 'Stand up. Didn't you hear me, pariah? -Stand up. You've got to answer my questions. Now, then. What did I ask -last? Now, then——' He paused and thought for a moment. 'It -is not, perhaps, too late. Perhaps I had better take him at once to the -magistrate. Yes, that's better. You there get the bull put into the -hackery. No, no, stop there; you must look after the man. Keep him -there. Kalu Appu! Kalu Appu! Call Kalu Appu! Kalu Appu! Hoi! D'you hear? -Wake up! Put the bull in the hackery and hurry up.'</p> - -<p>At last another servant boy was woken up, the bull was put into the -hackery. The Ratemahatmaya put on a dark coat, and, with many curses and -complaints, got into the cart. Silindu followed slowly with the servant -boy. They trailed wearily along the dark roads for three-quarters of a -mile: then the cart stopped in the compound of the magistrate's -bungalow. The Ratemahatmaya got out and went round to the back of the -house to announce his arrival through the servants. Silindu squatted -down near the hackery; he was no longer quite conscious of what was -going on around him; after a while the Ratemahatmaya called to him to -come round into the house, and the boy who had driven the bullock poked -him up with the goad.</p> - -<p>He was taken along a broad dark verandah, and suddenly found himself in -a large well-lit room. Had it not been for the stupor of his fatigue he -would have been very frightened, for he had never seen anything like -this room before. It seemed to him to be full of furniture, and all the -furniture to be covered with strange objects. In reality there was only -a little travel-battered furniture in the barn-like white-washed room. -There was matting on the floor, and rugs on the matting. An immense -writing-table littered with letters and papers stood in front of the -window. There were three or four tables on which were some ugly -ornaments, mostly chipped or broken, and a great many spotted and faded -photographs. A gun, a rifle, and several sentimental pictures broke the -monotony of the white walls. The rest of the furniture consisted of a -great many chairs, two or three lamps, and a book-case with thirty or -forty books in it.</p> - -<p>When Silindu entered the room with the Ratemahatmaya, the magistrate -was lying in a long chair reading a book. He got up and went over to sit -down at the writing-table. He was the white Hamadoru, whom Silindu had -seen before in the court. He was dressed now in black, in evening-dress. -He sat back in his chair and stared at Silindu in silence for a minute -or two with his 'cat's eyes'; he looked cross and tired. Silindu had -instinctively squatted down again. The Ratemahatmaya angrily told him to -stand up. The magistrate seemed to be lost in thought: he continued to -stare at Silindu, and as he did so the look of irritation faded from his -face. He noted the hopelessness and suffering in Silindu's face, the -slow weariness of effort with which he moved his limbs. 'He need not -stand,' he said to the Ratemahatmaya. 'He looks damned tired, poor -devil. You can take a chair yourself, Ratemahatmaya. God! This is a nice -time to bring me work, and you seem to've brought me a miserable-looking -wretch. You say it's a murder case?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, sir. Or rather it appears so. I do not know much about it. In -fact, sir, only what this man has told me. He appeared at my place just -now—not half an hour ago—and says that he has killed the -Arachchi of his village and another man. I brought him straight to you, -sir.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, damn it! That means I'll have to go out there to-morrow. How far -is it? Beddagama? I don't know the place.'</p> - -<p>'It's up the north track, in the jungle, sir. It must be between fifty -or sixty miles away, sir.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, damn! And there are any number of cases fixed for to-morrow. -Well—poor devil—he looks pretty done himself! By Jove! I -believe he is the man who was before me as an accused in that theft case -the other day. I would not charge him, I remember—no evidence -against him. It might have been better for him, perhaps, if I had, and -convicted him, too.' He turned to Silindu, and said in Sinhalese, 'You -were accused of theft before me a few days ago, weren't you?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Ah, I thought so. Well, Ratemahatmaya, I suppose I had better record -your statement first in form. Come on, now.'</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya made a short statement of how Silindu had come to -him, and what he had said. The magistrate wrote it down, and then turned -to Silindu, and explained to him that the offence with which he was -charged was murder, and that he was prepared to take down anything he -wished to say, and that anything which he did say would be read out at -his trial.</p> - -<p>Silindu did not quite understand, but he felt vaguely encouraged by the -white Hamadoru. He had spoken Sinhalese to him; he had not spoken in an -angry voice, and he was the same Hamadoru who had told him to clear out -of the court when he was charged before.</p> - -<p>'It is as the Dissamahatmaya<a name="FNanchor_48_1" id="FNanchor_48_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_1" class="fnanchor">[48]</a>said. I have killed the Arachchi and -the Mudalali. If the Hamadoru sends to the village, he will find that -what I say is true. The Hamadoru remembers the previous case; he knew -that they brought a false case against me. He told me to clear out. But -the whole case was false—against Babun, too. Am I to tell everything? I -am very tired, Hamadoru. For three days now I have been walking and no -food but the jungle fruit and leaves. If I might rest now a little, and -sleep until to-morrow.... What can I do? I have told all. I am almost an -old man, very poor. What can I do?'</p> - -<p>'I think I had better take down what you have to say now. But you need -not stand. You had better begin from the case. What happened after -that?'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo, Hamadoru, aiyo! I am very tired. After the -case——It was a false case. The Arachchi for long had been -trying to do me harm. How long I cannot remember, but for many years it -seems to me. At that time it was because of my daughter; he wanted to -take her from Babun and give her to the Mudalali. Well, after the case I -set out for the village with the daughter. And all the way I was -thinking—thinking how to end this evil. For I knew well that when -they came back to the village it would begin again, all over again. They -had put Babun in jail—it was a false case, but how should the -Hamadoru know that?—with all the lies they told. And they would -get Punchi Menika for the Mudalali. Then, as I went, I thought of the -old buffalo who is wounded and charges upon——' Silindu -caught sight of the gun and rifle, and stopped. 'Ah! the Hamadoru is a -hunter, too? He knows the jungle?' he asked eagerly.</p> - -<p>'Yes, I know the jungle.'</p> - -<p>'Good; then the Hamadoru will understand. The evil and the killing -there——"Yes, it is time," I thought, "to end the evil. I -must kill them both." I was a quiet man in the village, all know that. I -harmed no one; I wanted to live quietly. I went back to my compound, and -sat down and waited. In the evening came the Punchi Arachchi to his -house; I saw him go in. Then I took my gun, and went to him, and said: -"Ralahami, you may give the woman to the Mudalali, and in return give me -back my chena." The Arachchi thought to himself: "Here is a fool." But -he said: "Very well, I will give the chena back to you." Then we started -for the chena, and as we went on the track I shot him from behind. He is -lying dead there now—on the track which leads from the village to -the chena. If the Hamadoru sends some one, he can find the body.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, and then?'</p> - -<p>'Then, Hamadoru, I loaded the gun again, and went back to the village. -There was still the Mudalali. I saw him in the Arachchi's garden. He -called to me. "Where is the Arachchi?" I went close up to him—he was -standing by the stile, and through it I saw his big belly. I shot him -too. He must be dead now.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, and then?'</p> - -<p>'Then? I went to my house, for the women ran out screaming. I put the -gun in my house, and went out into the jungle. I was tired. I am a poor -man, and I have harmed no one in the village. I am getting old: I wanted -to live quietly in my hut. I wanted to rest, Hamadoru. What good, I -thought, to fly into the jungle? Only more evil. So I came straight to -the Dissamahatmaya. I told him what I had done. That is all.'</p> - -<p>The magistrate wrote down what Silindu said, and when he had finished, -sat thinking, the pen in his hand, and looking at Silindu. It was very -quiet in the room; outside was heard only the drowsy murmur of the sea. -Suddenly the quiet was broken by the heavy breathing and snoring of -Silindu, who had fallen asleep where he squatted.</p> - -<p>'Leave him alone for a bit,' the magistrate said to the Ratemahatmaya. -'There's nothing more to be got from him to-night. We shall have to push -on to Beddagama early to-morrow. I suppose it's true what he says.'</p> - -<p>'I think so, sir.'</p> - -<p>'Damned curious. I thought he wasn't right in the head when I saw him -in court before. Well, I'm glad <i>I</i> shan't have to hang him.'</p> - -<p>'You think he will be hanged, sir?'</p> - -<p>'He'll be sentenced at any rate. Premeditation, on his own -showing—clearly. And a good enough motive for murder. A very simple -case—so they'll think it. You think so, too?'</p> - -<p>'It seems to be a simple case, sir.'</p> - -<p>'I see you would make a very good judge, Ratemahatmaya. I don't mind -telling you—unofficially of course—that I'm a very bad one. -It does not seem at all a simple case to me. <i>I</i> shouldn't like to -hang Silindu of Beddagama for killing your rascally headman. Now then, -Ratemahatmaya, here you are; a Sinhalese gentleman; lived your whole -life here, among these people. Let's have your opinion of that chap -there. He's a human being, isn't he? What sort of a man is he? And how -did he come suddenly to murder two people?'</p> - -<p>'It's difficult, sir, for me to understand them; about as difficult -as for you, sir. They are very different from us. They are very -ignorant. They become angry suddenly, and then, they kill -like—like—animals, like the leopard, sir.'</p> - -<p>'Savages, you mean? Well, I don't know. I rather doubt it. You don't -help the psychologist much, Ratemahatmaya. This man, now: I expect he's -a quiet sort of man. All he wanted was to be left alone, poor devil. You -don't shoot, I believe, Ratemahatmaya, so you don't know the jungle -properly. But it's really the same with the other jungle animals, even -your leopard, you know. They just want to be left alone, to sleep -quietly in the day, and to get their food quietly at night. They won't -touch you if you leave them alone. But if you worry 'em enough; follow -'em up and pen 'em up in a corner or a cave, and shoot '450 bullets at -them out of an express rifle; well, if a bullet doesn't find the lungs -or heart or brain, they get angry as you call it, and go out to kill. I -don't blame them either. Isn't that true?'</p> - -<p>'I believe it is, sir.'</p> - -<p>'And it's the same with these jungle people. They want to be left -alone, to reap their miserable chenas and eat their miserable kurakkan, -to live quietly, as he said, in their miserable huts. I don't think that -you know, any more than I do, Ratemahatmaya, what goes on up there in -the jungle. He was a quiet man in the village, I believe that. He only -wanted to be left alone. It must take a lot of cornering and torturing -and shooting to rouse a man like that. I expect, as he said, they went -on at him for years. This not letting one another alone, it's at the -bottom of nine-tenths of the crime and trouble; and in nine-tenths of -that nine-tenths there's one of your headmen concerned—whom you -are supposed to look after.'</p> - -<p>'It's very difficult, sir. They live far away in these little villages. -Many of them are good men and help the villagers. But they are ignorant, -too.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, I'm not blaming you, Ratemahatmaya. I'm not blaming any one. And -it's late if we are to start early to-morrow. You had better take your -friend away with you and put him in the lock-up. Tell them to give him -some food if he wants it. Good night.'</p> - -<p>The Ratemahatmaya shook Silindu until he woke up. It was some little -while before he realised where he was, and then that he had to set out -again with the Ratemahatmaya. He turned to the magistrate.</p> - -<p>'Where are they taking me to, Hamadoru?'</p> - -<p>'You will be taken to the prison. You will have to stay there until you -are tried.'</p> - -<p>'But I have told the truth to the Hamadoru. Let him give his decision. -It is to end it all that I came here.'</p> - -<p>'I can't try you. You will have to be tried by the great judge.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo, it is you I wish to judge me. You are a hunter, and know the -jungle. If they take me away now, how do I know what will happen? What -will they do to me? Let it end now, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'I am sorry, but I can't do anything. You will be charged with -murder. I can't try you for that. The great judge tries those cases. But -no harm will come to you. You will be able to rest in the jail until the -trial.'</p> - -<p>'And what will they do to me? Will they hang me?'</p> - -<p>'I'm afraid I can't tell you even that. You must go with the -Dissamahatmaya now.'</p> - -<p>Silindu, passive again, followed the Ratemahatmaya out of the room. The -latter, grumbling at the late hour and the foolish talk of the -magistrate, got into his hackery, and the procession trailed off again -into the darkness towards the lock-up. Here a long delay occurred. A -sleepy sergeant of police had to be woken up, and the whole story had to -be explained to him. Eventually Silindu was led away by him and locked -up in a narrow bare cell, which, with its immense door made of massive -iron bars, was exactly like a cage for some wild animal. In it at last -he found himself allowed to lie down and sleep undisturbed.</p> - -<p>The rest, which the magistrate had promised him, seemed however to be -still far off; for early next morning he was taken out of his cell and -made to start off with the police sergeant for Beddagama. The -magistrate, riding on a horse, and the Ratemahatmaya, in his -hackery,<a name="FNanchor_49_1" id="FNanchor_49_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_1" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> passed them when they were two or three miles from the -town. A little while afterwards a messenger from Beddagama met the -party, bringing the news of the murder to the Ratemahatmaya.</p> - -<p>Silindu was being taken to Beddagama to be present at the -magistrate's inquiry, but he did not understand this. He was weak and -tired after the excitement of the trial and the murder, the long days -upon the road, and the little food. He began to think that he had been a -fool to give himself up; as he walked behind the police sergeant through -the jungle, of which he knew every tree and track, a great desire for it -and for freedom came upon him again. He thought of the great bars of the -cell door through which he had seen the daylight for the first time that -morning. Babun was even now lying behind such bars, and would lie there -for six months. And he himself? He might never see the daylight except -through such bars now for the rest of his life—unless they hanged -him. He thought of the great river that cut through the jungle many -miles away: it was pleasant there, to bathe in the cool clear water, and -to lie on the bank under the great wild fig-trees in the heat of the -day. If he had not given himself up, he might have been there by now, -watching the elephant sluicing water over its grey sides or the herd of -deer coming down the opposite bank to drink. The thought came to him -even now to slip into the jungle and disappear; the fool of a police -sergeant would never catch him, would go on for a mile or two probably -without knowing that his prisoner had escaped. But he still followed the -police sergeant and had not the will or the energy for so decisive a -step, for breaking away from the circumstances to which he had always -yielded, for taking his life in his hands and moulding it for himself. -He had tried once to fight against life when he killed the Arachchi and -the Mudalali; he was now caught again in the stream; evil might come, -but he could struggle no more.</p> - -<p>He had forgotten Punchi Menika until he was a mile or two from the -village, and he saw her waiting for him by the side of the track. The -rumour had reached the village that Silindu was being brought back by -the police in chains. Some said that he was going to be hanged there and -then in the village. Punchi Menika had started off to meet him. Her -first terror when she had been told of what her father had done had -given place to bewilderment, but when she saw him in charge of the -police sergeant she ran to him with a cry:</p> - -<p>'Is it true, Appochchi; is it true, what they say?'</p> - -<p>'What do they say? That I killed those two? It is true I killed them. -Then I went to Kamburupitiya and told it all to the Dissamahatmaya and -the magistrate Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo, and will they hang you now?'</p> - -<p>'What? Do they say that?'</p> - -<p>'They say that in the village. It isn't true, is it, Appochchi?'</p> - -<p>'I don't know; perhaps it is true, perhaps it isn't. But the magistrate -Hamadoru said I would be tried by the great judge.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! you were mad, Appochchi. It would have been better to have given -me to the Mudalali.'</p> - -<p>'Hold your tongue, hold your tongue!' burst out Silindu angrily, but -his anger died down as rapidly as it had sprung up. 'Don't say that, -child, don't say that. No, that is not true, is it, daughter? It is not -true. It was for you I did it; and now—after all that—surely -in a little while all will be well for you.'</p> - -<p>'Well? What is to become of me? What am I to do? They will take you -away again and hang you, or keep you in the great house over there. And -my man, aiyo, is there too. I shall be alone here. What am I to do, -Appochchi?'</p> - -<p>'Hush! All will be well with you, I tell you. There is no one here to -trouble you now. There will be quiet for you again—and for me, -perhaps, why not? The killing was for that. Surely, surely, it must be, -child. And Babun? Why, in a little while Babun will come back—in a -month or two; you will wait in the village, you will sit in the house, -in the compound, under the little mustard-tree—so quietly, and the -quiet of the great trees, child, round about—nothing to trouble -you now. And in a month or two he will come back; he is a good man, -Babun, and there will be no evil then—now that the Arachchi is -dead and the Mudalali. There will be quiet for you then, and rest.'</p> - -<p>'How can I live here alone? There is no food in the house even -now.'</p> - -<p>'Are not there others in the village? They will help you for a month or -two, and they know Babun. He will work hard in the chena and repay -them.'</p> - -<p>'And you? What will they do to you? Aiyo, aiyo!'</p> - -<p>'What does it matter? What have I ever done for you? It was true when -they said that I was a useless man in the village. To creep through the -leaves like a jackal; yes, I can do that; but what else? Isn't the bad -crop in the chena rightly called Silindu's crop. There was never food in -my house. The horoscope was true—nothing but trouble and evil and -wandering in the jungle. It is a good thing for you that I leave the -compound; when I go, good fortune may come.'</p> - -<p>'Do not say that, Appochchi; do not say that! To whom did we run in the -compound, Hinnihami and I? What father was like you in the village? Must -I forget all that now, and sit alone in another's compound begging a -little kunji and a handful of kurakkan? No, no! I cannot stay here. -Won't they take me away with you to the jail? I cannot live here -alone—without you!'</p> - -<p>The sergeant looked back and angrily told Punchi Menika to stop making -such a noise. They were nearing the village.</p> - -<p>'Hush, child,' said Silindu. 'You must stay here. They will not take -you, and what could you do in the big town there? You must wait here for -Babun.'</p> - -<p>The inquiry began as soon as they reached the village. Silindu went -with the magistrate, the Ratemahatmaya, the Korala (who had been sent -for), and most of the men of the village to the place where the Arachchi -had been shot. The body lay where it had fallen; a rough canopy of -boughs and leaves had been raised over it to shade it from the sun. A -watcher sat near to keep off the pigs and jackals. When the canopy was -removed for the magistrate to inspect the body, a swarm of flies rose -and hung buzzing in the air above the corpse. The body had not been -moved; it lay on its face, the legs half drawn up under the stomach. The -blood had dried in great black clots over the wounds on the back. The -magistrate looked at it, and then the Korala turned it over. A glaze of -grey film was over the eyes. The hot air in the jungle track was heavy -with the smell of putrefaction. The crowd of villagers, interested but -unmoved, stood watching in the background, while the magistrate, sitting -on the stump of a tree, began to write, noting down the position and -condition in which he had found the body. Then the doctor arrived and -began to cut up the body, where it lay, for post-mortem examination.</p> - -<p>The magistrate walked back slowly to the village, followed by Silindu -and the headman and such of the spectators as were more interested in -the inquiry than in the post-mortem. The same procedure of inspection -was gone through with Fernando's body, which lay under another little -canopy, where he had died by the stile of the Arachchi's compound. After -the inspection came the inquiry: a table and chair had been placed under -a large tamarind-tree for the magistrate to write at. The witnesses were -brought up, examined, and their statements written down. After each had -made his statement, Silindu was told that he could ask them any -questions which he wanted them to answer. He had none. The afternoon -dragged on; there was no wind, but the heat seemed to come in waves -across the village, bringing with it the faint smell of decaying human -flesh. The dreary procession of witnesses, listless and perspiring, -continued to pass before the tired irritable magistrate. One told how he -had seen Silindu and the Arachchi leave the village, Silindu walking -behind and carrying a gun; another had heard a shot from the direction -of the chena; another had seen Silindu return by himself to the village -carrying a gun. The Arachchi's wife told of Silindu's early visit to the -hut, of how he left with the Arachchi, of how later, hearing the report -of a gun followed by screams, she ran out of the house to see Silindu -standing with a smoking gun in his hand and Fernando writhing on the -ground near the stile.</p> - -<p>Late in the afternoon the inquiry was over. As the Ratemahatmaya had -said, it was a simple case. Silindu was remanded, and would certainly be -tried for murder before a Supreme Court judge. For the present he was -handed over to the police sergeant, with whom he slept that night in a -hut in the village. Next day he was taken back to Kamburupitiya, where -he again spent the night in the lock-up. Then he was handed over to a -fiscal's peon, who put handcuffs on him and started with him along the -dusty main road which ran towards the west. They walked slowly along the -road for two days. The peon was a talkative man, and he tried to make -Silindu talk with him, but he soon gave up the attempt. He had to fall -back for conversation on any chance traveller going the same way towards -Tangalla where the prison was.</p> - -<p>'This fellow,' he would explain to them, pointing to Silindu, 'has -killed two men. He will be hanged, certainly he will be hanged. But he's -mad. Not a word can you get out of him. He walks along like that mile -after mile, looking from side to side—never a word. He thinks -there are elephants on the main road I suppose. He comes from up -there—in the jungle. They are all cattle like that there of -course. I would rather drive a bull along the road than him.'</p> - -<p>They passed through several villages, where Silindu was an object of -great interest. People came out of the houses and boutiques, and -discussed him and his crimes with the peon. The first night they slept -in a boutique in one of these villages. The boutique was full of people; -they gathered round to watch Silindu eat his curry and rice with his -handcuffed hands. They too discussed him in loud tones with the peon. -There were two traders on their way to Kamburupitiya; the rest, with the -exception of one old man, belonged to the village. This old man was one -of those wanderers whom one meets from time to time in villages, upon -the roads, or even sometimes in the jungle. Very old, very dirty, with -long matted hair and wild eyes, he sat mumbling to himself in a corner. -A beggar and mad, he had two claims to the charity of the -boutique-keeper, who had taken him in for the night and given him a good -meal of curry and rice.</p> - -<p>The peon had for the twentieth time that day told Silindu's story with -many embellishments, and complained bitterly of his silence and -stupidity. The others sat round in the reeking atmosphere watching -Silindu eat his rice by the dim light of two oil wicks.</p> - -<p>'Will they hang him, aiya?' asked the boutique-keeper.</p> - -<p>'Yes, he'll be hanged, sure enough,' said the peon. 'He confessed it -himself, you see.'</p> - -<p>'But they never really hang people, I am told. They send them away to -a prison a long way off. They say they hang them just to frighten -people.'</p> - -<p>The other villagers murmured approval. The peon laughed.</p> - -<p>'Of course they hang them. I've known people who were hanged. Why -Balappu, who lived next door to me in Kamburupitiya, was hanged. He -quarrelled with his brother in the street outside my house—it was -about a share in their land—and he stabbed him dead. They hanged -him. I took him along this same road to the prison three years ago. A -good man he was: wanted to gamble all along the road.'</p> - -<p>'But you don't know that he was hanged, aiya. No one saw it, no one -ever sees it.'</p> - -<p>'Nonsense,' said one of the traders. 'In Maha Nuwara they hang them. I -knew a man there whose nephew was hanged, and afterwards they gave him -the body to bury. The head hung over like this, and the mark of the rope -was round the neck.'</p> - -<p>The old beggar had listened to what was going on, squatting in his -corner. He did not get up, but shuffled slowly forward into the circle, -still in a squatting position. Silindu, who had before shown little -interest in the conversation, looked up when the beggar intervened.</p> - -<p>'Aiyo! what's that you say?' the old man asked. 'They are going to hang -this man? Why's that?'</p> - -<p>'He shot two men dead up there in the jungle.'</p> - -<p>'Chi! chi! why did he do that?'</p> - -<p>'He's mad, father, as mad as you.'</p> - -<p>The old man turned and looked hard at Silindu, while Silindu stared at -him. The spectators laughed at the curious sight. The old man smiled.</p> - -<p>'He's not mad,' he said. 'Not as mad as I am. So he killed twice, did -he? Dear, dear. The Lord Buddha said: Kill not at all, kill nothing. It -is a sin to kill. If he saw a caterpillar in the path, he put his foot -on one side. Man, man, why have you killed twice? Were you mad?'</p> - -<p>'I'm not mad,' said Silindu. 'They were hunting me: they would have -killed me. Therefore I killed them.'</p> - -<p>'The man is not mad, no more mad than you, or you—but I—I am mad. So -at least they say. Why do they say that I'm mad? My son, do you see this -paper?' (He showed a very dirty English newspaper to Silindu.) 'Well, if -you are quite quiet and no gecko<a name="FNanchor_50_1" id="FNanchor_50_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_1" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> cries and the jackals don't howl, I -will look at it like this afterwards, for some short time—staring -hard—then I shall see things on the paper, not the writing—I have -wandered all my life—a wanderer on the path, seeking merit by the Three -Gems—I cannot read writing or letters—but I shall see things -themselves, a little hut up there in the jungle, if you desire it—your -hut, my son—and I'll tell you what is doing there, that the woman is -lying in the hut, crying perhaps. This paper was given to me by a white -Mahatmaya whom I met out there once, also in the jungle. It is of great -power: before I could only see what was doing in this country; but now, -by its help, I can see over the sea, to the white Mahatmaya's country. -Then they say: this is a mad old man. Well, well, who knows? I am always -on the path—to-morrow I shall leave this village—from village to -village, from town to town, and from jungle to jungle. I see many -different men on the path. Strange men, and they do strange things. -Thieving, stabbing, killing, cultivating paddy. I do not cultivate -paddy, nor do I thieve or kill. I am mad perhaps. But very often it is -they who seem to me to want but a little to be mad. All this doing and -doing,—running round and round like the red ants—thieving, stabbing, -killing, cultivating this and that. Is there much good or wisdom in such -a life? It seems to me full of evil—nothing but evil and trouble. Do -they ever sit down and rest, do they ever meditate? Desire and desire -again, and no fulfilment ever. Is such a life sane or mad? Did they call -you mad in the village even before this, my son?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, the mad hunter,' said Silindu, and the others laughed again.</p> - -<p>'Ah, you are a hunter too. That also I have not done. But I know the -jungle, for I travel through it often on my path. Do the beasts in it -speak to you, son hunter?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. They used to speak to me.'</p> - -<p>'So they called you mad. All the beasts in the jungle speak to me too, -except the elephant. The elephant is too sad even to talk. Usually when -I see him he is eating; for he is always hungry because of his sins in -the previous birth. But sometimes I find him standing alone away among -the rocks, swaying from side to side. He is very sad, thinking of his -sins in the previous birth. Then I say to him, "Brother, your feet too -are upon the path. It is good to think of the sins of the previous -birth, but there is no need of such sadness." Then he sways more and -more, and his trunk moves from side to side, and he lifts one foot up -after the other very slowly, but he never says a word, watching me with -his little eye. Once, indeed, I remember, he lifted up his trunk and -screamed. I too lifted up my hands and cried out with him, for we were -both on the path.'</p> - -<p>'You do not know the jungle, father,' said Silindu. 'It is of food and -killing and hunting that the beasts talk to me. They know nothing of -your path, nor do I.'</p> - -<p>'Aiyo, it is not only in the jungle that they say that. They say the -same in the small villages and the great towns. What do you say, sir?' -he said, turning to one of the traders.</p> - -<p>'I do not go into the jungle or talk to elephants, old man,' said the -trader. 'I know the bazaar, and there they think of fanams<a name="FNanchor_51_1" id="FNanchor_51_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_1" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> first and -the path last.'</p> - -<p>'A man must live,' said the other trader. 'It is only priests and -beggars who have full bellies and idle hands.'</p> - -<p>'The Lord Buddha was a beggar and a priest too,' said the old man, and -began to mumble to himself. The laugh was against the trader.</p> - -<p>'Aiya,' said the old man to the peon, 'who is going to hang this -hunter?'</p> - -<p>'The Government of course. He will be tried by the judge, and then they -will hang him.'</p> - -<p>'This is another thing which I do not understand. To the madman this -seems foolish to kill a man because he has killed. If it is a sin, will -he not be punished in the next birth?'</p> - -<p>The old beggar had a strange influence on Silindu, who watched him -the whole time, fascinated. The mumbled words seemed to excite him -greatly.</p> - -<p>'What do you mean, father?' he said, his voice rising. 'How punished -in the next birth? They will punish me here—the judge—they -do that—they will hang me—you hear what these have -said.'</p> - -<p>'I do not know about that. I only know of the path. On my way through -the villages I hear them say this or that, but I do not understand. -To-morrow I shall be gone, to the east, and you to the west. Do you -know, my son, where you will sleep to-morrow night? No, no. Nor I -either. But we go on the path each of us, because of the sins in our -previous births. As the Lord Buddha said to the she-devil, "O fool! -fool! Because of your sins in the former birth, you have been born a -she-devil: and yet you go on committing sins even now. What folly!" Is -not that clear? Of these punishments of the Government I know nothing. -If they are punishments they are because of sins committed in your -previous birth; but be sure that for the sins which you commit in this -birth—for the killing—for that is a sin, a great -sin—you will be punished in the next birth. How many will hell -await there! Surely, son, it is better to wander on and on from village -to village, always, begging a little rice and avoiding sin.'</p> - -<p>'But surely I have committed no sin. All these years they plagued me, -and did evil to me. Was I to be starved by them, and my daughter -starved? Was I to allow them to take her from me and from Babun?'</p> - -<p>'The Lord Buddha said, "It is a sin to kill, even the louse in the hair -must not be cracked between the nails." The other things I do not -understand. I have no daughter and no wife and no hut. It is better to -be without. They stand in one's way on the path. And to starve? What -need to starve, my son? In every village is a handful of rice for the -wanderer. As for the hanging, that is very foolish; the judge must be a -foolish man, but I do not think it will hurt you. Remember it is not for -the killing of the two men, but for the previous birth. Then there comes -hell. You must have killed many deer and pig.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, yes, I am a hunter, but what of that, father, what of that?'</p> - -<p>'Each is a sin, for I told you, didn't I, that the Lord Buddha said, -"It is a sin to kill." My son, you are a hunter, you know the jungle; -surely you have seen the evil there, and the pain—always desire -and killing. No peace or rest there either for the deer or the pig, or -the little grey mongoose. They have sinned, and are far from Nirvana and -happiness; and, like the she-devil, they sin again only to bring more -evil on themselves by their blindness. What happiness is there in it, my -son? The deer and the pig, they too are upon the path. It was greater -sin to kill them than the other two. For those two, you say, were -bringing evil upon you; but what did the deer and pig do to you? eh, -hunter? tell me that.'</p> - -<p>'Do? Nothing, of course. But there is no food up there. One must have -food to live.'</p> - -<p>'No food up there? There is always food upon the path, a handful of -rice in every village, for the beggar. I have been forty years now on -the path. Have I starved?'</p> - -<p>'What was your village, father?'</p> - -<p>'The name—I have forgotten—but it lay up there in the -hills—a pleasant place—rain in plenty, and the little -streams always running into the rice-fields, and cocoa-nut and areca-nut -trees all around.'</p> - -<p>'Ohé!' murmured one of the villagers, 'it is easy to avoid killing in a -place like that.'</p> - -<p>'Have you ever worked, old man?' said the peon. 'Have you ever earned a -fanam by work? In this part of the country rupees don't grow on wara<a name="FNanchor_52_1" id="FNanchor_52_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_1" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> -bushes.'</p> - -<p>'No,' said the old man; 'I have never done anything like that. I am -mad, you know'. I remember once they took me to the field to -watch—I was a boy—I had to scare the birds away. I was there -alone, sitting under a small tree beside the field. The little birds -came in crowds to feed on the young paddy. They were very hungry. What -harm, I thought, if they eat a little? Plenty will remain for the house. -So I sat there thinking of other things, and I forgot about the paddy -and the birds until my father came and beat me. After that they took me -no more to the fields; and I sat in the compound all day, thinking -foolish things, until at last an old priest came by, and he told me of -the path, and how to meditate, and I followed him. He died many years -ago, many years. I have been no more to my village, it is forgotten; but -I think it was up there in the hills; it is very long ago, and I have -seen many villages since then. They are all the same; even the names I -never know; always some huts, and men and women and children, suffering -punishment for their sins and sinning again.'</p> - -<p>'This is fool's talk,' said the peon impatiently. 'We cannot all beg -upon the road. I have heard the priests themselves say that every one -cannot reach Nirvana. Nor are we all mad. There are the women and the -children. Are they too to become holy men? It is hard enough to live on -the eleven rupees which the Government gives us. I don't kill deer, but -I eat it when I can get it. Is that too a sin, old man?'</p> - -<p>But before the old beggar could answer, Silindu threw himself down on -the ground in front of him, and touching his feet with his hands burst -out:</p> - -<p>'It is true, father, it is true what you say. I did not understand -before, though I knew; yes, I knew it well. I have seen it all so long -in the jungle. But I did not understand. How many times have I told the -little ones—not understanding—about it all. Always the -killing, killing, killing; everything afraid: the deer and the pig and -the jackal after them, and the leopard himself. Always evil there. No -peace, no rest—it was rest I wanted. It is true, father, I have -seen it, it is the punishment for their sins. And always evil for me -too, there; hunger always and trouble always. You should have shown me -this path of yours before, father; even now I do not understand that, -and it would be useless now. Through all the evil I have but sinned -more, killing the deer and the pig, and now these two men. It is too -late. They will hang me, they will hang me, and what then, old man, what -then?'</p> - -<p>The old man began to shake with laughter. He mumbled incoherently, -pulling at his beard and long hair with his hands. The scene caused -great pleasure and amusement to all the others, except the peon, who was -annoyed at finding that he was no longer playing the most important -part. After a while the old man's laughter began to subside, and he -regained sufficient control to make himself intelligible.</p> - -<p>'Well, well,' he said, 'well, well, I'm not the Lord Buddha, my son. -Well, well. D'you see that? He touches my feet as though I were the Lord -Buddha himself. I have never seen that before, and I have seen many -strange things. I am become a holy man; well, well.' Here again he was -overcome with silent laughter.</p> - -<p>'Do not laugh, father,' said Silindu. 'Why do you laugh? Is it lies -that you told me just now?'</p> - -<p>The other became serious again at once.</p> - -<p>'Lies? No, no. I do not tell lies. Aiyo, it is all true. But what was -it you were saying just then? Ah, yes. You were afraid, afraid of the -hanging and the punishment, and of the next birth. Too late, you said, -too late for the path. My son, it is never too late to acquire merit. -Perhaps they will hang you, perhaps not. Who can say? It matters little, -for it will be as it will be. I do not think it will hurt very much. And -before that, it is possible for you to acquire much merit. It will help -you much in the next birth. You must meditate: you must think of holy -things. Here are holy words for you to learn.' He repeated a Pali -stanza, and tried to make Silindu learn it. It was a difficult task, and -it was only after innumerable repetitions that Silindu at last got it by -heart. When he had at last done so, he sat mumbling it over to himself -again and again, so as not to forget it.</p> - -<p>'That is good,' went on the old man. 'Along the road as you -go—wherever you are going—to the prison or to the -hanging—repeat the holy words many times. In that way you will -acquire merit. Also meditate on your sins, the sin of killing, the deer -and pig which you have killed. So you will acquire merit too. And avoid -killing. Remember, if there were a caterpillar in the path, he put his -foot on one side. So too you will acquire merit. It will help you in the -next birth. I think you are already on the path, my son. And perhaps if -my path too leads me to the west, who knows? I shall see you there -again, and we shall talk together. Now, however, I grow tired.'</p> - -<p>So saying the old man shuffled back into a corner, and covering his -head and face with a dirty cloth, soon fell asleep. Silindu continued to -mumble the Pali stanza, which he did not understand. The villagers, -seeing that no more amusement was to be obtained from the strangers, -left the boutique; and the boutique-keeper and the other travellers soon -after spread out their mats on the ground, and lay down to sleep.</p> - -<p>The next day the peon and Silindu started off very early in the -morning. All along the road Silindu repeated the holy words to the great -annoyance of the peon. They reached the prison at Tangalla late in the -evening. It was dark when they arrived, and Silindu was at once locked -up in a cell. He fell asleep, still repeating the Pali stanza.</p> - -<p>Silindu remained three weeks in the prison. It seemed to him an immense -building. It was a large and ancient Dutch fort, with high battlemented -grey walls of great thickness. The inside formed a square paved -courtyard in which the prisoners worked at breaking stones and preparing -coir<a name="FNanchor_53_1" id="FNanchor_53_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_1" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> by hammering cocoa-nut husks with wooden mallets. Round the -courtyard were built the cells, oblong bare rooms with immense windows -and gates, iron barred, which looked out upon the yard. Silindu, not -being a convicted person, was not made to do any work. He squatted in -his cell, watching the prisoners working in the yard, and thinking of -what the old beggar had told him. He tried to meditate upon his sins, -but soon found that to be impossible. He began, however, to forget the -village and Punchi Menika, and all the trouble that had gone before. He -repeated the Pali stanza many times during the day. He was very happy; -he grew fat upon the good prison food.</p> - -<p>Only once was the monotony of the days broken for him. He was -watching a group of prisoners, in their blue and white striped prison -clothes; they all looked almost exactly alike. They were quite near the -gate of his cell, filling the bathing-trough with water. Suddenly in one -of them he recognised Babun. He jumped up and ran to the bars of the -gate, crying out:</p> - -<p>'Ohé! Babun! Babun!'</p> - -<p>Babun looked round. There was no surprise or interest in his face, when -he saw that it was Silindu. A great change had come over him in the -short time during which he had been in prison. His skin, a sickly yellow -colour, seemed to have shrunk with the flesh and muscle, which had -wasted; he was bent and stooping; his eyes were sunken; a look of -dullness and hopelessness was in his face. He looked at Silindu -frowning. Silindu danced about with excitement behind the bars.</p> - -<p>'You know me, Babun?' he shouted. 'You know me? Why do you look like -that? All is well, all is well. I shot the Arachchi and Fernando: they -are dead. But all is well. They'll hang me. That's why I'm here. But I -have my feet on the path. I've acquired merit. The old man was right.'</p> - -<p>A jail guard shouted across the courtyard to Silindu to 'shut his -mouth.'</p> - -<p>'And the woman,' said Babun, in a low, dull voice. 'Where is the -woman?'</p> - -<p>'She is there in the village waiting for you. All is well, I tell you. -They are dead: I killed them. It was the only way, though a sin, a great -sin, the old man said. They will hang me, every one says so; but all is -well, I've found the path. And you—you'll go back to the village. -Punchi Menika is there, waiting. The evil is over.'</p> - -<p>Babun stared at him, frowning. His face had lost completely the open -cheerful look which it had once had. At last he said slowly:</p> - -<p>'You are mad. I don't understand you. If you have killed those two, you -are a fool, madman. What's the good? I shall never go back there. I -shall die here. And you? Yes, they'll hang you, as you say. What's the -good? You are mad, mad—you always were.'</p> - -<p>He turned away, and slowly lifting the pail of water emptied it into -the trough.</p> - -<p>Silindu often saw Babun again in the yard, but never spoke to him. -Babun seemed purposely to avoid passing near his cell, and if he had to -do so, he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. The day of Silindu's trial -arrived. In the morning he was taken out of his cell, and handed over -with four other prisoners to an escort of police. They put handcuffs on -his hands, and led him through the streets to the court.</p> - -<p>Silindu's case was the first case for trial. He did not pay much -attention to the proceedings—he continued to mumble the Pali -stanza—but he felt the greater pomp and solemnity of this court -compared with the police court. The judge was a grey-haired man in a -dull scarlet gown. There was a jury, among which were several white -Mahatmayas; there were a great many lawyers sitting round the table in -the centre of the court; and there was a crowd of officials and -policemen standing about.</p> - -<p>Silindu had an advocate assigned to him by the court to defend him. The -lawyer soon found it useless to discuss the case with the prisoner: the -line of defence was clear, however; he would admit the killing, and -plead insanity and provocation. The indictment for murder was read, and -the witnesses for the prosecution then gave their evidence. They were -cross-examined by Silindu's advocate, only with a view to showing that -it had been well known in the village that Silindu was mad: they -admitted that he had always been 'tikak pissu.' They none of them knew -anything about a quarrel with the Arachchi before the theft and the -conviction of Babun.</p> - -<p>Silindu's advocate then put him in the witness-box. He repeated the -statement which he had made to the magistrate. He was asked very few -questions in cross-examination, but the judge examined him at some -length. The judge's object was to make it clear, when the idea of -killing the two men first came to Silindu, and what was in Silindu's -mind during his walk to the chena with the Arachchi. Silindu understood -nothing of what was going on; he did not know, and could not have been -made to understand the law; he understood the point and reason for no -single question asked him. He knew he would be hanged; he was tired of -this continual slow torture of questions which he had to answer; he -wanted only to be left in peace to repeat the holy words again and -again: he had told them of the killing so many times; why should they -continue to bother him with these perpetual questions? He answered the -questions indifferently, baldly. Most of those in the court listening to -his bare passionless sentences describing how he determined to kill the -two men, how he watched for their return to the village, sitting all day -long in his compound, and how he finally killed them on the next day, -were left with the conviction that they had before them a brutal and -cold murderer.</p> - -<p>The summing up of the judge, however, showed that he was not one of -those who regarded it as a simple case. He laid stress on the fact that -the prisoner had never been considered in the village to be completely -sane, and he directed the notice of the jury to the 'queer' ideas which -the prisoner seemed to have had in his mind about the hunting and his -own identification with the buffalo. It was right for them also to -consider the demeanour of the prisoner while in court, his apparent -listlessness and lack of interest in what was going on. They must, -however, remember that if the defence of insanity was to succeed, they -must be satisfied that the prisoner was actually incapable, owing to -unsoundness of mind, of knowing the nature of his act, or of knowing -that he was doing what was wrong or contrary to law.</p> - -<p>After the judge had summed up, the jury were told they could retire to -consider their verdict, but after consulting with them, the foreman -stated they were all agreed that the prisoner was guilty of murder. -Silindu was still muttering his stanza; he had not tried to understand -what was going on around him. The court interpreter went close up to the -dock and told him that the jury had found him guilty of murder. Was -there anything which he had to say why sentence of death should not be -passed on him? A curious stillness had fallen on the place. Silindu -suddenly became conscious of where he was: he looked round and saw that -every one was looking at him; he saw the faces of the crowd outside -staring through the windows and craning round the pillars on the -verandah; all the eyes were staring at him as if something was expected -from him. For a moment the new sense of comfort and peace left him; he -felt afraid again, hunted; he looked up and down the court as if in -search of some path of escape.</p> - -<p>'Aiyo!' he said to the interpreter, 'does that mean I am to be -hanged?'</p> - -<p>'Have you anything to say why you should not be sentenced to be -hanged?'</p> - -<p>'What is there to say? I have known that a long time. They told me -that I should be hanged—all the people—along the road. What -is there to say now, aiya?'</p> - -<p>Silindu's words were interpreted to the judge, who took up a black -cloth and placed it on his head. Silindu was sentenced to be hanged by -the neck until he should be dead. The words were translated to him in -Sinhalese by the interpreter. He began again to repeat the stanza. He -was taken out of the court, handcuffed, and escorted back to his cell in -the prison by five policemen armed with rifles.</p> - -<p>He was to be hanged in two weeks' time, and the days passed for him -peacefully as the days had passed before the trial. He had no fear of -the hanging now. If he had any feeling towards it, it was one of -expectancy, even hope. Vaguely he looked forward to the day as the end -of some long period of evil, as the beginning of something happier and -better. He scarcely thought of the actual hanging, but when he did, he -thought of it in the words of the old beggar, 'I do not think it will -hurt much.'</p> - -<p>Four days before the day fixed for the execution, the jailer came to -Silindu's cell accompanied by a Sinhalese gentleman dressed very -beautifully in European clothes and a light grey sun-helmet. Silindu was -told to get up and come forward to the window of the cell. The Sinhalese -gentleman then took a document out of his pocket and began reading it -aloud in a high pompous voice. It informed Silindu that the sentence of -death passed on him had been commuted to one of twenty years' rigorous -imprisonment. When the reading stopped, Silindu continued to stare -vacantly at the gentleman.</p> - -<p>'Do you understand, fellow?' said the latter.</p> - -<p>'I don't understand, Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'Explain to him, jailer.'</p> - -<p>'You are not going to be hanged, d'you understand that? You'll be kept -in prison instead—twenty years.'</p> - -<p>'Twenty years?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, twenty years. D'you understand that?'</p> - -<p>Silindu did not understand it. He could understand a week or two -weeks, or a month, or even six months, but twenty years meant nothing to -him. It was just a long time. At any rate he was not, after all, to be -hanged. For the moment a slight sense of uneasiness and disappointment -came over him. In the last four days he had grown to look forward to the -end, and now the end was put off for twenty years, for ever, it seemed -to him. He squatted down by the gate of his cell, holding the great iron -bars in his hands and staring out into the courtyard. He thought of the -past three weeks which he had spent in the cell; after all, they had -been very peaceful and happy. He had been acquiring merit, as the old -man told him to do. Now he would have more time still for acquiring it. -He would be left in peace here for twenty years—for a -lifetime—to acquire merit, and at the end he might make his way -back to the village and find Babun and Punchi Menika there, and sit in -their compound again watching the shadows of the jungle. It was very -peaceful in the cell.</p> - -<p>A jail guard came and unlocked the cell gate. Silindu was taken out and -made to squat down in the long shed which ran down the centre of the -courtyard. A wooden mallet was put into his hand and a pile of cocoanut -husk thrown down in front of him. For the remainder of that day, and -daily for the remainder of twenty years, he had to make coir by beating -cocoanut husks with the wooden mallet.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<p>Punchi Menika had been present at the inquiry of the magistrate in the -village, but she had not spoken to Silindu after her meeting with him -when he was being brought to Beddagama by the police sergeant. The -magistrate and the headman and the prisoner had left for Kamburupitiya -very early in the morning following the day of the inquiry. She and the -other villagers woke up to find that the village had already been left -to its usual sleepy life. There was nothing for her to do but to obey -Silindu's instructions, to wait for Babun's release, living as best she -might in the hut with Karlinahami. Her present misfortunes, the -imprisonment of Babun, the loss of her father, and the fate (and the -uncertainty of it) which hung over him, weighed numbly upon her. And the -future filled her with vague fears; she did not, could not plan about -it, or calculate about it, or visualise it, or anything in it. She did -not even think definitely of how she was going to live for six months, -until Babun should return. There was scarcely food in the house for her -and Karlinahami to exist in semi-starvation through those six months. -Yet the future loomed somehow upon her, filling her with a horrible -sense of uneasiness, uncertainty. It was a new feeling. She sat in the -hut silent and frightened the greater part of the day. She thought of -Silindu stories of hunters who had lost their way in the jungle. Their -terror must have been very like hers; she was alone, terribly alone and -deserted; she too had lost her way, and like them one path was as good -or as bad to her as another.</p> - -<p>Karlinahami was nearly fifty years old now, and in a jungle village a -woman—and especially a woman without a husband—is very old, -very near the grave at fifty. The sun and the wind, the toil, the -hunger, and the disease sap the strength of body and mind, bring folds -and lines into the skin, and dry up the breasts. A woman is old at forty -or even thirty. No one, man or woman, in the jungle, lives to the term -of years allotted to man. It would have been difficult to say whether -Karlinahami looked nearer eighty than ninety, nearer ninety than a -hundred. The jungle had left its mark on her. Her body was bent and -twisted, like the stunted trees, which the south-west wind had tortured -into grotesque shapes. The skin, too, on her face and thin limbs -reminded one of the bark of the jungle trees; it was shrunken against -the bones, and wrinkled, and here and there flaking off into whitish -brown scales, as the bark flakes off the kumbuk-trees. The flesh of the -cheeks had dried and shrunk; the lips seemed to have sunk into the -toothless mouth, leaving a long line damp with saliva under the nose. -And under the lined forehead were the eyes, lifeless and filmy, peering -out of innumerable wrinkles. The eyes were not blind, but they seemed to -be sightless—the pupil, the iris, and even the white had -merged—because the mind was dying. It is what usually happens in -the jungle—to women especially—the mind dies before the -body. Imperceptibly the power of initiative, of thought, of feeling, -dies out before the monotony of life, the monotony of the tearing hot -wind, the monotony of endless trees, the monotony of perpetual hardship. -It will happen at an age when in other climates a man is in his prime, -and a woman still bears children. The man will still help at the work in -the chena, cutting down the undergrowth and sowing the crop; but he will -do so unthinking, without feeling, like a machine or an animal; and when -it is done he will sit hour after hour in his compound staring with his -filmy eyes into nothing, motionless, except when he winds one long thin -arm round himself, like a grey monkey, and scratches himself on the -back. And the woman still carries the waterpot to the muddy pool to -fetch water; still cooks the meal in the house. While they still stand -upright, they must do their work; they eat and they sleep; they mutter -frequently to themselves; but they do not speak to others, and no one -speaks to them. They live in a twilight, where even pain is scarcely -felt.</p> - -<p>Karlinahami was sinking rapidly into this twilight. In the jungle decay -and growth are equally swift. The trial of Silindu and Babun, the murder -of the Arachchi and Fernando, and now the loss of Silindu had meant very -little to her. She had felt vaguely that many evils were happening, but -facts no longer had meaning for her clouded mind. She fetched the water -as usual for the cooking, muttering to herself; but she did not speak to -Punchi Menika, and Punchi Menika knew that to talk to her or consult -with her would be useless.</p> - -<p>A month after the conviction of Silindu the life of the village would -at first sight have appeared to have regained its ordinary course. But -in reality a great change had come over it. It had been a small village, -a dwindling village before; one of those villages doomed to slow decay, -to fade out at last into the surrounding jungle. Now at a blow, in a -day, it lost one out of its six houses, and seven out of its twenty-five -inhabitants. For after the death of the Arachchi, Nanchohami, his wife, -decided to leave the village. Her children were too young to do chena -work; so that it was not possible any longer to support herself in -Beddagama. In Kotegoda, where the Arachchi's relations lived, there was -paddy land and cocoanuts, and rain fell in plenty every year. They would -give her a hut, and a little land; she would marry her children there; -she had always said that Beddagama was an unholy place, full of evil and -evil omens. She packed up her few possessions in a bullock hackery, -which she borrowed from the Korala, and set out for Kotegoda. The -Arachchi's house was abandoned to the jungle. There was no one to -inhabit it; and indeed no one would have been foolhardy enough to go and -live in it. It was ill-omened, accursed, and very soon came to be known -as the haunt of devils. It seemed to make a long fight against the -jungle. The fence itself merged into the low scrub which surrounded it, -growing into a thick line of small trees. The wara bushes, with their -pale grey thick leaves and purple flowers the rank grass, the great -spined slabs of prickly pear, crawled out from under the shadow of the -fence over the compound up to the walls and the very door. But the walls -were thicker and better made than those of most huts: the roof was of -tiles; there was no cadjan thatch to be torn and scattered by the -south-west wind. The rains of the north-east monsoon beat against the -mud walls for two years in vain; they washed out great holes in them, -through which you could see the jungle sticks upon which the mud had -been plastered. The sticks exposed to the damp air took root and burst -into leaf. Great weeds, and even bushes, began to grow up between the -tiles, from seeds dropped by birds or scattered by the wind. An immense -twisted cactus towered over the roof. The tiles were dislodged and -pushed aside by the roots. The jungle was bursting through the walls, -overwhelming the house from above. The jungle moved within the walls: at -last they crumbled; the tiled roof fell in. The grass and the weeds grew -up over the little mound of broken red pottery; the jungle sticks of the -walls spread out into thick bushes. Tall saplings of larger trees began -to show themselves. By the end of the third rains the compound and the -house had been blotted out.</p> - -<p>It was as if the jungle had broken into the village. Other huts had -been abandoned, overwhelmed, blotted out before, but they had always -lain on the outside of the village. The jungle had only drawn its ring -closer round the remaining huts; it had not broken into the -village—the village had remained a whole, intact. But now the -jungle cut across the village, separating Silindu's and Bastian Appu's -hut from the rest. The villagers themselves noted it: they felt that -they were living in a doomed place. 'The village is dying,' Nanchohami -had said before she left. 'An evil place, devil-haunted. It is dying, as -its young die with the old. No children are born in it now. An evil -place. In ten years it will have gone, trampled by the elephants.'</p> - -<p>It was, however, only very gradually that this feeling of doom came to -be felt by the village and the villagers. At first, after the excitement -of the trials and the murder, they seemed to have settled down to the -old monotonous life, as it had been before. The vederala was appointed -Arachchi. Punchi Menika waited for Babun. She did not and could not -count the passing of time: a week was only some days to her, and six -months only many months; but she waited, watching the passage of time, -vaguely but continuously, for the day when Babun should return. She -heard the rumour which eventually reached the village that after all -Silindu was not to be hanged; he was to be kept in prison, they said, -for ever, for the remainder of his life. It brought no comfort to her; -he had been taken out of her life, she would never see him again; did it -matter whether he was dead or in prison?</p> - -<p>She waited month after month. Her first feelings of fear were lost in -the perpetual sense of expectancy as the time slipped away. And she had -to work, to labour hard in order to keep herself and Karlinahami alive. -The little store of kurakkan in the house dwindled rapidly. She had to -search the jungle for edible leaves and wild fruit and roots, like the -wild onions which the pig feed upon. When the chena season came she -worked in the others' chenas, Balappu's and Bastian Appu's, and even -Punchirala's. She worked hard like a man for a few handfuls of kurakkan, -given to her as a charity. The others liked her, and were in their way -kind to her; they liked her quietness, her gentleness and submission. -Even Punchirala said of her: 'She goes about like a doe. They used to -call the mad vedda a leopard. The leopard's cub has turned into a -deer.'</p> - -<p>As the months passed, she gradually began to feel as if each day -might be the one on which Babun would return. And as each day passed -without bringing him, she tried to reckon whether the six months had -really gone. She talked it over with the other villagers. Some said it -was five months, others seven months since the conviction. They -discussed it for hours, wrangling, quarrelling, shouting at one another. -He had been convicted two months—about two months—before the -Sinhalese New Year. 'No, it was one month before the New Year. It -couldn't be one month before, because the chena crop was not reaped yet. -Reaped? Why it had only just been sown. It must have been three months -before. Three months, you fool? Isa chena crop like ninety days' rice? -Fool? Who is a fool? Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue! At any rate, it -was before the New Year, and it's already six months since the New Year. -Aiyo! Six months since the New Year. It is only a month since I sowed my -chena. Who ever heard of sowing a chena five months after the New Year? -It is not three months since the New Year.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika would stand listening to them going over it again and -again, hour after hour. She listened in silence, and would then slip -quietly away to wander in the evening down the track towards -Kamburupitiya. It was on the track that she hoped, that she was certain -that she would meet him. Then all would be well; the evil would end, as -Silindu had said. But as the days went by, the certainty left her; even -hope began to tremble, to give place to forebodings, fears. The time -came when all were agreed that the six months had passed; something must -have happened to him; he was ill, perhaps, or he had just been forgotten -there; one can never tell, anything may happen when a man gets into -prison; 'they' simply have forgotten to let him out.</p> - -<p>Punchirala, the new headman, was consulted.</p> - -<p>'The man,' he said, 'is probably dead.' Punchi Menika shuddered. Her -great eyes, in which the look of suffering had already grown profound -and steady, did not leave the vederala's face. 'Yes, I expect the man's -dead. They die quickly over there in prison. Especially strong men like -Babun. They lie down in a corner and die. There is medicine for -diseases, but is there any medicine for fate? So they say, and lie down -in the corner and die. There is nothing for you to do. No. I can give -you no medicine for fate either. You must sit down here in the village -and marry a young man—if you can find one, and if not, perhaps, an -old one. Eh? Why not? Though the jackals are picking the bones of the -elephant on the river bank, there are other elephants bathing in the -river. Nor are they all cows. Well, well.'</p> - -<p>'Ralahami, do you really know anything? Have you heard that he is -dead?'</p> - -<p>'I have heard nothing. From whom could I hear? If you want to hear -anything you must go to the prison. It will take you many -days—first to Kamburupitiya, and then west along the great road, -three days to Tangalla, where the prison is. You must ask at the prison. -They can tell you.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika left the vederala in silence. She walked away very slowly -to the hut; the conviction had come to her at once that she must go to -the prison. The thought of the journey alone into an unknown world -frightened her; but she felt that she must go, that she could not bear -any longer this waiting in doubt in the village. She made some cakes of -kurakkan, tied them up in a handkerchief, together with some uncooked -grain which the villagers gave her when they heard of her intended -journey, and started next day for Kamburupitiya.</p> - -<p>The first part of her journey, the track to Kamburupitiya, she knew -well. She had, too, no fear, as other women have, of being alone in the -jungle. It was when she turned west along the main road to Tangalla that -her real troubles began. She felt lost and terribly alone on the -straight, white, dusty road. The great clumsy bullock carts, laden with -salt or paddy, perpetually rumbled by her; the carters she knew were bad -men, terrible tales were told about them in the villages. The life of -the road frightened her far more than the silence and solitude of the -jungle. That she understood: she belonged to it. But the stream of -passers-by upon the road, the unknown faces and the eyes that always -stared strangely, inquiringly at her for a moment, and had then passed -on for ever, made her feel vaguely how utterly alone she was in the -world. And nowhere was this feeling so strong for her as in the villages -which she slunk through like a frightened jackal. Everywhere it was the -same; the crowd of villagers and travellers staring at her from in front -of the village boutique, the group of women gossiping and laughing round -the well in the paddy field—not a known face among them all. She had -not the courage even to ask to be allowed to sleep at night in a -boutique or hut. She preferred to creep into some small piece of jungle -by the roadside, when darkness found her tired and hungry.</p> - -<p>She was very tired and very hungry before she reached Tangalla. Her -bewilderment was increased by the network of narrow streets. She -wandered about until she suddenly found herself in the market. It was -market-day, and a crowd of four or five hundred people were packed -together into the narrow space, which was littered with the goods and -produce which they were buying and selling: fruit and vegetables and -grain and salt and clothes and pots. Every one was talking, shouting, -gesticulating at the same time. The noise terrified her, and she fled -away. She hurried down another narrow street, and found herself at the -foot of a hill which rose from the middle of the town. There were no -houses upon its sides, but there was an immense building on the top of -it. There was no crowd there, only an old man sitting on the bare -hillside watching five lean cows which were trying to find some stray -blades of parched brown grass on the stony soil.</p> - -<p>She squatted down, happy in the silence and solitude of the place after -the noise of the streets and market. Nothing was to be heard except the -cough of one of the cows from time to time, and from far off the faint, -confused murmur from the market-place. She looked up at the great white -building; it was very glaring and dazzling in the blaze of the sun. She -wondered whether it was the prison in which Babun lay. She looked at the -old man sitting among the five starved cows. He reminded her a little of -Silindu; he sat so motionless, staring at a group of cocoanut-trees that -lay around the bottom of the hill. He was as thin as the cattle which he -watched: as their flanks heaved in the heat you saw the ribs sticking -out under their mangy coats, and you could see, too, every bone of his -chest and sides panting up and down under his dry, wrinkled skin. The -insolent noisy towns-people had terrified her; this withered old man -seemed familiar to her, like a friend. He might very easily have come -out of the jungle.</p> - -<p>She went over to where he sat, and stood in front of him. For a moment -he turned on her his eyes, which were covered with a film the colour of -the film which forms on stagnant water; then he began again to stare at -the palms in silence.</p> - -<p>'Father,' she said, 'is that the prison?'</p> - -<p>The old man looked up slowly at the great glaring building as if he had -seen it for the first time, and then looked from it to Punchi Menika.</p> - -<p>'Yes,' he said in a dry husky voice. 'Why?'</p> - -<p>'My man must be there,' said Punchi Menika gazing at the white walls. -'He was sent there many months ago. They sent him there for six months. -It was a false case. The six months have passed now, but he has not -returned to the village. I have come to ask about him here—a long -way. I am tired, father, tired of all this. But he must be there.'</p> - -<p>The old man's eyes remained fixed upon the cocoanut-palms; he did not -move.</p> - -<p>'What is your village, woman?' he asked.</p> - -<p>'I come from Beddagama.'</p> - -<p>'Beddagama, I know it. I knew it long ago. I, too, come from over -there, from Mahawelagama, beyond Beddagama. You should go back to your -village, woman.'</p> - -<p>'But my man, father, what about my man?'</p> - -<p>The old man turned his head very slowly and looked up at the prison. -The sun beat down upon his face, which seemed to have been battered and -pinched and folded and lined by age and misery. His eyes wandered from -the prison to one of the cows. She stood still, stretching out her head -in front of her, her great eyes bulging; she coughed in great spasms -which strained her flanks. He waited until the coughing had stopped, and -she began again to search the earth for something to eat. Then he said, -speaking as if to himself:</p> - -<p>'They never come out from there—not if they are from the -jungle. How can they live in there, always shut in between walls? These -town people—they do not mind, but we——Surely I should -know—I am from Mahawelagama, a village in the jungle over there. I -would go back now, but I am too old. When one is old, it is useless; but -you——Go back to your village, woman. It is folly to leave -the village. There is hunger there, I know, I remember that; but there -is the hut and the compound all by themselves, and the jungle beyond. -Here there is nothing but noise and trouble, and one house upon the -other.'</p> - -<p>'But I must ask at the prison first for my man. Why are they keeping -him there?'</p> - -<p>'They never come out. Surely I should know. My son was sent there. He -never came out. The case was in this town, and I came here and spent all -I had for him. Then I thought I will wait here until they let him out; -but he never came. It will be the same with your man. Go back to the -village.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika wept quietly from weariness and hunger and misery at the -old man's words:</p> - -<p>'It is no good crying,' he said; 'I am old, and who should know better -than I? They never come out. It is better to go back to the village.'</p> - -<p>Punchi Menika got up and walked slowly up the hill, and then round the -prison. There was only one entrance to it, an immense solid wooden gate -studded with iron nails. She knocked timidly, so timidly that the sound -was not heard within. Then she sat down against the wall and waited. -Hours passed, and nothing happened; the gate remained closed; no sound -could be heard from within the prison; the hill was deserted except for -the five cows whose coughing she could hear from time to time below her. -But she waited patiently for something to happen, only moving now and -again into the shadow of the wall, when the sun in its course beat down -upon her.</p> - -<p>At last the door opened, and a man in a khaki uniform and helmet, -carrying a club in his hand, came out. He looked at Punchi Menika, and -said sharply:</p> - -<p>'What do you want here?'</p> - -<p>'I have come about my man, aiya. A long time ago he was sent here for -six months. The time has passed, but he has not returned to the village. -They say he is dead. Is it true, aiya?'</p> - -<p>'What was his name and village?'</p> - -<p>'He was from Beddagama.'</p> - -<p>'His name?'</p> - -<p>'Aiya, how can I tell his name?'</p> - -<p>'What was his name, fool?'</p> - -<p>'They called him Babun.'</p> - -<p>'What was he convicted for?'</p> - -<p>'It was a false case. They said he had robbed the Arachchi.'</p> - -<p>'Oh, that man, yes. The Arachchi was killed afterwards, wasn't he?'</p> - -<p>'Yes, yes, my father did that.'</p> - -<p>'Well, he was here, too. Have you any money, woman?'</p> - -<p>'No, aiya, none; we are very poor.'</p> - -<p>'Ah! well. We can't tell you anything here. You must go to -Kamburupitiya, and send a petition to the Agent Hamadoru.'</p> - -<p>'But you know my man, aiya; you said you did. What harm to tell me? Is -he here now? What has happened to him? I have come many days' journey to -ask about him, and now you send me away to more trouble.'</p> - -<p>The jail guard looked at Punchi Menika for a minute or two.</p> - -<p>'Well,' he said, 'charity they say is like rain to a parched crop. You -are asking for drought in a parched field. I knew the man; he was here, -but he is dead. He died two months back.'</p> - -<p>The jail guard expected to hear the shrill cry and the beating of the -breast, the signs of a woman's mourning. Punchi Menika astonished him by -walking slowly away to the shade, and sitting down again by the prison -wall. The blow was too heavy for the conventional signs of grief. She -sat dry-eyed; she felt little, but the intense desire to get away to the -village, to get away out of this world, where she was lost and alone, to -the compound, where she could sit and watch the sun set behind the -jungle. She did not wait long; she set out at once down the hill. The -old man still sat among his cows looking at the cocoanut-trees.</p> - -<p>'Ah,' he said, as she passed him, 'they never come out. I told you -so.'</p> - -<p>'He is dead, father.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, they never come out. Go back to the village, child.'</p> - -<p>'I am going, father.'</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<p>Two years later, Punchi Menika was still living in the hut which had -belonged to Silindu, but she lived alone. Karlinahami had died slowly -and almost painlessly, like the trees around her. Her death had brought -no difference into Punchi Menika's life, except that now she had to find -food for herself alone.</p> - -<p>The years had brought more evil, death, and decay upon the village. Of -the five houses which stood when Punchi Menika returned from her journey -to the prison, only two remained, her own, and that of the headman -Vederala Punchirala. Disease and hunger visited it year after year. It -seemed, as the headman said, to have been forgotten by gods and men. -Year after year, the rains from the north-east passed it by; only the -sun beat down more pitilessly, and the wind roared over it across the -jungle; the little patches of chena crop which the villagers tried to -cultivate withered as soon as the young shoots showed above the ground. -No man, traveller or headman or trader, ever came to the village now. No -one troubled any longer to clear the track which led to it; the jungle -covered it and cut the village off.</p> - -<p>Disease and death took the old first, Podi Sinho, and his wife -Angohami, and the jungle crept forward over their compound. And three -years later two other huts were abandoned. In one had lived Balappu with -his wife and sister, and his two children; in the other Bastian Appu -with his two sons, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, and a grandchild. They -had tried to help Punchi Menika by letting her work in their chenas, and -by giving her a share in the meagre crop. They struggled hard against -the fate that hung over them, clinging to the place where they had been -born and lived, the compound they knew, and the sterile chenas which -they had sown. No children were born to them now in their hut, their -women were as sterile as the earth; the children that had been born to -them died of want and fever. At last they yielded to the jungle. They -packed up their few possessions and left the village for ever, to try -and find work and food in the rice-fields of Maha Potana.</p> - -<p>They tried to induce Punchi Menika to go with them, but she refused. -She remembered her misery and loneliness upon the road to Tangalla, and -the words of the old man from Mahawelagama, who sat among the cows upon -the hill there. She remembered Babun's words to the Mudalali, 'Surely it -is a more bitter thing to die in a strange place.' It might be a still -bitterer thing to live in a strange place. She was alone in the world; -the only thing left to her was the compound and the jungle which she -knew. She clung to it passionately, blindly. The love which she had felt -for Silindu and Babun—who were lost to her for ever, whose very -memories began to fade from her in the struggle to keep alive—was -transferred to the miserable hut, the bare compound, and the parched -jungle.</p> - -<p>So she was left alone with Punchirala. He was an old man now, weak and -diseased. After a while he became too feeble even to get enough food to -keep himself alive. She took him into her hut. She had to find food now -for him, as well as for herself, by searching the jungle for roots and -fruit, and by sowing a few handfuls of grain at the time of the rains in -the ground about the hut. He gave her no thanks; as his strength -decayed, his malignancy and the bitterness of his tongue increased; but -he did not live long after he came to her hut; hunger and age and -parangi at last freed her from his sneers and his gibes.</p> - -<p>The jungle surged forward over and blotted out the village up to the -very walls of her hut. She no longer cleared the compound or mended the -fence, the jungle closed over them as it had closed over the other huts -and compounds, over the paths and tracks. Its breath was hot and heavy -in the hut itself which it imprisoned in its wall, stretching away -unbroken for miles. Everything except the little hut with its rotting -walls and broken tattered roof had gone down before it. It closed with -its shrubs and bushes and trees, with the impenetrable disorder of its -thorns and its creepers, over the rice-fields and the tanks. Only a -little hollowing of the ground where the trees stood in water when rain -fell, and a long little mound which the rains washed out and the -elephants trampled down, marked the place where before had lain the tank -and its land.</p> - -<p>The village was forgotten, it disappeared into the jungle from which it -had sprung, and with it she was cut off, forgotten. It was as if she was -the last person left in the world, a world of unending trees above which -the wind roared always and the sun blazed. She became one of the beasts -of the jungle, struggling perpetually for life against hunger and -thirst; the ruined hut, through which the sun beat and the rains washed, -was only the lair to which she returned at night for shelter. Her -memories of the evils which had happened to her, even of Babun and her -life with him, became dim and faded. And as they faded, her childhood -and Silindu and his tales returned to her. She had returned to the -jungle; it had taken her back; she lived as he had done, understanding -it, loving it, fearing it. As he had said, one has to live many years -before one understands what the beasts say in the jungle. She understood -them now, she was one of them. And they understood her, and were not -afraid of her. They became accustomed to the little tattered hut, and to -the woman who lived in it. The herd of wild pigs would go grunting and -rooting up to the very door, and the old sows would look up unafraid and -untroubled at the woman sitting within. Even the does became accustomed -to her soft step as she came and went through the jungle, muttering -greetings to them; they would look up for a moment, and their great eyes -would follow her for a moment as she glided by, and then the heads would -go down again to graze without alarm.</p> - -<p>But life is very short in the jungle. Punchi Menika was a very old -woman before she was forty. She no longer sowed grain, she lived only on -the roots and leaves that she gathered. The perpetual hunger wasted her -slowly, and when the rains came she lay shivering with fever in the hut. -At last the time came when her strength failed her; she lay in the hut -unable to drag herself out to search for food. The fire in the corner -that had smouldered so long between the three great stones was out. In -the day the hot air eddied through the hut, hot with the breath of the -wind blowing over the vast parched jungle; at night she shivered in the -chill dew. She was dying, and the jungle knew it; it is always waiting; -can scarcely wait for death. When the end was close upon her a great -black shadow glided into the doorway. Two little eyes twinkled at her -steadily, two immense white tusks curled up gleaming against the -darkness. She sat up, fear came upon her, the fear of the jungle, blind -agonising fear.</p> - -<p>'Appochchi, Appochchi!' she screamed. 'He has come, the devil from the -bush. He has come for me as you said. Aiyo! save me, save me! -Appochchi!'</p> - -<p>As she fell back, the great boar grunted softly, and glided like a -shadow towards her into the hut.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>The lowest rank of headman, the headman over a village.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>A Buddhist temple containing an image of Buddha.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Shilling used colloquially for the half rupee or 50 cents -= 8d.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>A common method of measuring distance—the distance -being that at which it is possible to hear a man cry 'hoo.'</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>The veddas are the aborigines of Ceylon, and are or were -hunters. They are often identified with Yakkas or devils.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_1" id="Footnote_6_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>A Sinhalese woman will not speak to or refer to her -husband byname. She always speaks of or to him as 'The father of -my child,' or 'The father of Podi Sinho,' etc., or simply 'He.'</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_1" id="Footnote_7_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_1"><span class="label">[7]</span></a><i>Vide</i> note <i>supra.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_1" id="Footnote_8_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_1"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>Kuruni is a measure employed in the measurement of grain.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_1" id="Footnote_9_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_1"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>Kurakkan, a grain, <i>Eleusine coracana.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_1" id="Footnote_10_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_1"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Term applied usually to a rich trader.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_1" id="Footnote_11_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_1"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Called bhang, ganja, or hashish.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_1" id="Footnote_12_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_1"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>The head of a district for administrative and revenue -purposes is a European Civil servant, and is called an assistant -Government agent. The Sinhalese call him Agent Hamadoru.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_1" id="Footnote_13_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_1"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>A respectful form of address.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_1" id="Footnote_14_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_1"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>A fanam: six cents, one penny.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_1" id="Footnote_15_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_1"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>Disa Mahatmaya is the title used by villagers in referring -to chief headmen or Ratemahatmayas. Koralas are subordinate headmen of -korales under the Ratemahatmayas. Each Korala again has under him -several Arachchis, who are headmen of single villages.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_1" id="Footnote_16_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_1"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>The son of a paternal uncle is regarded as a brother.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_1" id="Footnote_17_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_1"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>A favourite form of abuse among the Sinhalese is to call -some one a Tamil.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_1" id="Footnote_18_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_1"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>Rodiyas are the lowest Sinhalese caste.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_1" id="Footnote_19_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_1"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>Native sugar made from the kitul palm.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_1" id="Footnote_20_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_1"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>Father.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_1" id="Footnote_21_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_1"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>Colloquially used for 50 rupees.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_1" id="Footnote_22_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_1"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>Kandyan district.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_1" id="Footnote_23_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_1"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>The banian-tree.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24_1" id="Footnote_24_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_1"><span class="label">[24]</span></a>Typhoid.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25_1" id="Footnote_25_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_1"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>Deviyo used of a god.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26_1" id="Footnote_26_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_1"><span class="label">[26]</span></a>Kapuralas are persons who perform various services in -temples.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27_1" id="Footnote_27_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_1"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>Earthenware pots.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28_1" id="Footnote_28_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_1"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>This story is taken from the Ummaga Jataka.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29_1" id="Footnote_29_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_1"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>A sort of rice gruel.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_30_1" id="Footnote_30_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_1"><span class="label">[30]</span></a>The 'hand with which you eat rice' is a common expression -for the right hand, the left hand being used for an unmentionable -purpose.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_31_1" id="Footnote_31_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_1"><span class="label">[31]</span></a>A small measure.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_32_1" id="Footnote_32_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_1"><span class="label">[32]</span></a>Sadhu is an exclamation of assent or approval, which -people listening to the reading of Banna or Buddhist scriptures repeat -at intervals. It is also used by pilgrims at the sight of temples or -dagobas.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_33_1" id="Footnote_33_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_1"><span class="label">[33]</span></a>There are two distinct races in Ceylon, Tamils and -Sinhalese. Their language, customs, and religions are different. The -Tamils are Dravidians, probably the original inhabitants of India; they -are Hindus in religion. The Sinhalese are Aryans, and their religion is -Buddhism. The Tamils inhabit the north and east of the island, the -Sinhalese the remainder.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_34_1" id="Footnote_34_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_1"><span class="label">[34]</span></a>An expression used frequently in stories to mean a -husband.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_35_1" id="Footnote_35_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_1"><span class="label">[35]</span></a>Procession, usually a Sinhalese or Buddhist procession.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_36_1" id="Footnote_36_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_1"><span class="label">[36]</span></a>Lizard. The chirping cry of the gecko is universally -regarded as a warning cry of ill omen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_37_1" id="Footnote_37_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_1"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>A holy man or religious beggar Hindu.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_38_1" id="Footnote_38_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_1"><span class="label">[38]</span></a>Fifteen feet.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_39_1" id="Footnote_39_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_1"><span class="label">[39]</span></a>Hinnihami addresses Punchirala by name, and thereby shows -him that she does not regard herself as living with him as his wife.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_40_1" id="Footnote_40_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_1"><span class="label">[40]</span></a>Mother.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_41_1" id="Footnote_41_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_1"><span class="label">[41]</span></a>A gambaraya is technically a man who oversees the -cultivation of rice-fields for the owners, and is paid usually by a -share of the crop.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_42_1" id="Footnote_42_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_1"><span class="label">[42]</span></a>Gama means a village.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_43_1" id="Footnote_43_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_1"><span class="label">[43]</span></a>A poya day is the day of the change of the moon, which is -kept as a sacred day by the Buddhists, answering in some ways to the -Christian Sunday.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_44_1" id="Footnote_44_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_1"><span class="label">[44]</span></a>Kachcheri is the Government offices.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_45_1" id="Footnote_45_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_1"><span class="label">[45]</span></a>A term used by superiors to inferiors meaning something -like 'fellow.'</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_46_1" id="Footnote_46_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_1"><span class="label">[46]</span></a>Ge is Sinhalese for house. A ge name answers in some -respects to a surname.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_47_1" id="Footnote_47_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_1"><span class="label">[47]</span></a>A peya is a Sinhalese hour, and is equal to about twenty -minutes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_48_1" id="Footnote_48_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_1"><span class="label">[48]</span></a>A term commonly used by villagers, referring to the -Ratemahatmaya.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_49_1" id="Footnote_49_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_1"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>A hackery is a single bullock cart.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_50_1" id="Footnote_50_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_1"><span class="label">[50]</span></a>The common lizard: its 'chirp' is always considered by -the Sinhalese to be a warning or sign of ill omen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_51_1" id="Footnote_51_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_1"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>Pence.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_52_1" id="Footnote_52_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_1"><span class="label">[52]</span></a>A shrub which grows in waste places.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_53_1" id="Footnote_53_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_1"><span class="label">[53]</span></a>Coir, fibre of the cocoa-nut husk.</p></div> - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village in the Jungle, by Leonard Woolf - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VILLAGE IN THE JUNGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 60627-h.htm or 60627-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/2/60627/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Hathi Trust.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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