CHAP. I.—THE PÚSÁRI’S ADVENTURE.

Buried in the depths of the great Thorokádú jungle lay the little village of Pandiyán. Half-a-dozen low, round, mud-huts with conical roofs, thatched with rice-straw, each with its pandál or workshed, granary, and cooking-pot stand, composed the village. A strong stake-fence surrounded each hut, intended as much to keep off the village cattle as a protection from the wild beasts which infested the surrounding jungle. On two sides of the village the jungle rose like a wall; on the third side lay the village tank. Along the bund or dam grew a number of giant marúthú trees, with their spreading, twisted roots in the water, and their long branches hanging gracefully over it. The placid surface of the tank, with its dark background of jungle, looked like a plate of burnished silver, and lay clear and unruffled save by the splash of some water-bird fishing, or the movements of a slowly swimming crocodile. On the top of the dam, under a gigantic tree, and overlooking the village, stood a little temple. It was a small mud-hut, painted in vertical stripes of red and white. A rudely hewn stone idol, smeared with oil and coarse paint, and representing Púliya the jungle-god, stood on a niche at the farther end. A rough slab of stone, on which lay withered offerings of flowers; an iron trident stuck in the ground before the door; a dirty brass lamp, and a bell, comprised the rest of the sacred furniture and utensils. Through a gap in the wall of jungle, on the other side of the village, could be seen the rice-fields irrigated by the tank, an expanse of emerald green. Picturesque watch-huts and stacks of last season’s straw stood here and there in the fields.

It was late in the afternoon and very hot. To the shade of a group of huge dense-foliaged tamarind trees that stood in the centre of the village all the animal population of Pandiyán appeared to have come. Black mud-covered buffaloes all standing and staring stupidly; dwarf village cattle wandering restlessly about, pestered by swarms of flies; mangy, gaunt, pariah dogs snarling viciously at each other; and long-legged, skinny fowls—all had sought protection from the burning rays of the sun under the shady trees.

At one end of the village, nearest to the little temple, stood a hut, round the door of which was congregated nearly the whole population of the village. More than a score of persons, men, women, and children, stood round an object in their midst, all talking excitedly to each other and everybody at once. It was a buffalo they were looking at, and the interest and excitement they showed arose from its having sustained a severe injury. There was a gaping wound on its hind-leg, its hock sinew having been cut through. The great ungainly brute, though so seriously hurt, stood patient and quiet, looking about with a heavy stupid air.

Among the crowd surrounding the buffalo was a young girl, whose light colour, clean bright clothes, and profusion of jewellery, showed her to be of superior caste and position to the others. She was Vallee, the daughter of Ráman Ummiyan, the púsári or village priest of Pandiyán. She was a handsome girl, about fifteen years old; tall, slender, and graceful, with regular features; large dark eyes, finely arched eyebrows, and small sensitive mouth. She was engaged in washing the blood and dirt from the buffalo’s wound. It was evident, from the remarks addressed to her by the bystanders, condoling with her or offering advice, that her father was the owner of the wounded animal.

‘It is no use, child,’ said an old man who had been examining the wound. ‘He will never plough again. The sinew is cut through, and he will be lame for life.’

‘Ap-pah! What will my father say when he comes home?’ exclaimed Vallee.

‘Ah, there will be a breaking of pots then, no doubt,’ replied the old man.—‘Where was the beast found?’ he added.

‘Suriyan found him standing in the river helpless this afternoon, and drove him home on three legs,’ replied Vallee.

‘Perhaps he cut himself on the sharp rocks in the river,’ suggested a bystander.

‘No, no!’ said the old man. ‘The cut was made by a knife; and we would not have to go far to find the owner of the knife,’ he added, muttering.

‘You are right enough, father,’ whispered the other, who had overheard the old man’s remark. ‘We know very well who did this, and the púsári will know too! There will be trouble when he comes home.—Ah, here he comes!’

As he spoke, a man emerged from the jungle and entered the village, and seeing the crowd, walked hastily towards it. It was Ráman Ummiyan, the village priest. He was a tall, spare man, clad in a single yellow garment. Several strings of sacred beads encircled his neck; and his forehead, breast, and shoulders were smeared with consecrated ashes. His face indicated a man of strong passions. His keen, close-set eyes; deeply lined forehead; thin, sensitive nostrils; hard, straight mouth, and other strongly marked features, showed him to be of an irritable, quarrelsome disposition. As he advanced, the little crowd round the wounded buffalo opened and made way for him.

‘What is this? What is the matter with it?’ he exclaimed as he glanced at the animal.

‘See! father,’ replied Vallee, pointing to the wound. ‘Suriyan found it at the river, and has just driven it here.’

For a moment the púsári bent and looked at the wound; then he burst into a furious rage. Striking the end of his stick heavily on the ground, he exclaimed passionately: ‘It is Iyan Elúvan who has done this!’

The púsári and the man he spoke of were fellow-villagers and deadly enemies. The feud between them had arisen from a quarrel about a field which both men claimed. On going to law, the púsári had won the case, and the other consequently hated him with a deep and deadly hatred. Iyan Elúvan was a man of a cruel, malignant, cunning nature, and never lost an opportunity of injuring or harassing his enemy. The quarrel was now some years old, but his hatred was just as bitter as ever. Many a time had the púsári had cause to regret having incurred his neighbour’s ill-will. He was not equal to him in audacity and cunning, and was also a much poorer man. He had brought many actions against his enemy; but the latter’s keener brain and longer purse had almost always enabled him to get the better of his adversary. The object of each man was to drive the other out of the village; but the interests of both of them in the village were too great to permit either to leave, so they lived on within a stone’s-throw of one another, deadly enemies, always on the watch to injure each other in every possible way.

‘Ah, ah!’ shouted the púsári, gesticulating furiously with his stick. ‘I will have vengeance for it! I swear by Púliya I will not rest till I have repaid him with interest, though it cost me my last rupee!—How long,’ he continued, turning fiercely to the villagers, who stood round silent but sympathising—‘how long are we to bear with this man? He is a wild beast, as cruel and dangerous as the fiercest brute in these jungles. He will stand at nothing to gratify his hate. He has robbed me and slandered me, and brought false cases against me; and now, see the brutal way he has injured this poor brute of mine! He will try to murder me next. But I will have vengeance; I will complain to the headman!’

‘Not much use in that, iya’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed the púsári passionately, ‘he will bribe the headman as usual, no doubt. But I will outbid him! The múdliya shall have my last ricepot ere I be balked of my vengeance!’ So saying, he strode into his house, muttering curses and threats.

Vallee, after a short time, followed him in. ‘The rice is ready, father,’ she said. ‘Shall I serve it?’

‘No!’ replied her father sternly. ‘I will neither eat nor drink till I have seen to this matter. I shall go at once to Mánkúlam and see the múdliya.’

‘Father!’ said Vallee hesitatingly, ‘perhaps Iyan did not do this; perhaps’——

‘You’re a fool, child!’ returned the púsári sharply. ‘Who but he could have done it?’

‘Valan told me’—— began Vallee timidly.

Her father interrupted her with an angry exclamation. ‘Did I not order you never to speak to him? Have you dared to listen to the brother of my bitterest enemy?’ and he raised his hand threateningly. ‘Now listen, daughter! If you ever speak to Valan or listen to him or have aught to do with him again, I will beat you as I would a dog; I swear to you I will.—Now, hearken to my words and obey!’ And with a threatening look and a suggestive shake of his stick, the púsári stalked out. After another look in silence at the wounded buffalo, he left the village and strode off in the direction of Mánkúlam, leaving Vallee crouching in a corner of the hut with her hands over her face and sobbing aloud.

Valan Elúvan, of whom they had been speaking, was the younger brother of the púsári’s enemy, and was Vallee’s lover. He was a man of a very different nature from his brother, being open-hearted, generous, and good-natured. Nevertheless, the púsári hated him almost as much as he did his brother. The understanding between Valan and Vallee had only recently been come to. For a long time, Valan had watched and admired the graceful maiden; but owing to the bad feeling between the two families, had not ventured to speak to her. One day, however, seeing her in difficulties with a troublesome cow she was trying to milk, he went to her assistance. She thanked him shyly, but with such evident pleasure at his attention, that he was emboldened to speak to her again, when he met her one day going to a neighbouring village. After that, they frequently found occasion to meet alone, and gradually their acquaintance grew to intimacy, and finally ripened to love. Unfortunately, her father discovered accidentally what was going on, and sternly forbade Vallee ever to speak to her lover again. Since then, she had only had one opportunity of seeing Valan. This fresh outrage on the part of Iyan Elúvan, she knew but too well, finally extinguished all chance of her father ever accepting Valan as her lover; so, crouching in the dark hut, she gave vent to her grief.

Meanwhile, the púsári was striding along the jungle-path leading to Mánkúlam, his mouth full of curses, and his heart full of hatred and thoughts of vengeance. The path was narrow and winding, leading now along sandy torrent-beds, then through lofty forest or thorny jungle. The village was three miles distant, and it was now evening, so he walked as fast as he could, finding some vent for his feelings in the violent exercise. When he had walked two-thirds of the way, he arrived at a broad river. It was now nearly dry, it being the hot season, and was merely a wide reach of deep sand, with shallow pools here and there under the high banks. The púsári had crossed the river and had just entered the jungle on the other side, when he suddenly uttered a curse and stopped short. Coming along the path towards him, and alone, was a man. It was his enemy, Iyan Elúvan! He was a broad-shouldered, big-headed man, with a round face, out of which looked two little pig-like, cunning eyes. A slight contraction of one side of his face causing him to show his teeth, gave him a peculiar, sinister, sneering expression. He had been at work cutting fence-sticks, for he was carrying his katti or jungle-knife over his shoulder.

On catching sight of each other, the two men stopped and looked at one another. The púsári’s face worked with passion, his eyes glittered, and the veins stood out on his forehead. The other had a mocking, evil smile on his face, which seemed to irritate his enemy beyond endurance. Suddenly the púsári grasped his heavy iron-shod stick and made two steps forward. In an instant Iyan swung round his jungle-knife and stood on the defensive, while his sneering smile gave place to a look of concentrated hate. For a few moments they stood glaring at each other, and then the púsári slowly stepped to one side and motioned to the other to pass on, which he did, keeping an eye on his foe, however, and passing out of reach of him. As soon as he had gone by, the púsári resumed his journey, his rencontre with his enemy having added fresh fuel to the fire of evil passions blazing in his heart. Iyan watched him till he had gone some distance, and then, after a few moments’ hesitation, turned and followed, keeping him in sight, but remaining a long way behind.

A walk of a mile further brought the púsári to the village of Mánkúlam, with Iyan following in the distance. It was rather a large village, consisting of about a score of huts, scattered about a wide open spot in the jungle, with a tank on one side, and rice-fields stretching beyond it. On the outskirts of the village was a house larger and more pretentious than any of the others, and boasting a dense plantain grove, growing close to the hut, and a few cocoa-nut palms. This was the residence of the múdliya, or headman of the district. On entering the inclosure through the rude stile or gap in the fence, the púsári paused for a moment, for the place seemed deserted, no one being in sight. He heard, however, the sound of voices inside the hut, so, stepping forward, with a loud unceremonious ‘Salaam, múdliya!’ he entered the hut. Seeing his enemy enter the headman’s house, Iyan came cautiously forward, but paused irresolutely at the gate. A glance round showed him that the people of the house were all indoors, so, sneaking into the inclosure, he crept stealthily through the grove of plantain trees till he got close to the door of the hut, when he crouched down under the eaves. From his hiding-place he could hear all that was said in the hut.