The Village in the Jungle

by Leonard Woolf

'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?'