It was in the middle of May—just before the beginning of the lesser rains—that Ram Deen and certain wayfarers sat round a handful of fire at Lal Kooah from mere force of habit, for the heat of the evening was great, and not a breath of air stirred in the jungle. The sâl trees had lost their leaves and looked like ghosts; the grass had been burnt in all directions; and as the sun set in the copper sky, it lit up a landscape that might have stood for the "abomination of desolation."
The dry chirping of the crickets, just beginning to tune their first uneasy strains, accorded with the unholy scene. Even the horses waiting for the mail-cart were imbued with the depressing influence of the season, and hung their heads with a sense of despair, as though they thought the blessed monsoon would never set in.
No one spoke, and the hookah passed from hand to hand in a dreary silence. Suddenly, the attention of those assembled was attracted by the curious action of a bya (tailor) bird in a neighboring mimosa tree. It was calling frantically, and dropping lower from bough to bough, as though against its will.
"Nâg!" exclaimed the bunnia; and, directed by his remark, all eyes were turned to the foot of the tree, where an enormous cobra with expanded hood was swaying its head from side to side, and drawing the wretched bird to its doom through the fascination of fear.
Ram Deen, whose sympathies were always with the weak and defenceless, rose to his feet, and, throwing a dry clod of earth at the reptile, drove the creature from the tree; whilst the bird, released from its hypnotic influence, flew away.
"Brothers," said Ram Deen, "fear is the father of all sins, and the cause of most calamities. He who feareth not death is a king in his own right, and dieth but once; but a coward—shabash! who can count his pangs?"
"Ho! ho!" chuckled the little bullock driver; "Ram Deen, The Fearless, shall live to be an hundred years old."
"Nay, Goor Dutt," said Ram Deen, gravely regarding the little man, "I, too, have known fear. No man may drive the mail to Kaladoongie without looking on death."
Ram Deen smoked awhile in silence; and, when the expectation of his listeners was wrought to a proper pitch, he went on: "Ye all knew Nandha, the hostler, who used to go with me last year from this stage to Kaladoongie?"
"Ay, coach-wan ji," responded the carrier for the others. "'Tis a great telling, but not known to these honorable wayfarers who come from beyond Moradabad."