Confessions of a Thug

by Meadows Taylor

Bodhee! thought I; then there is indeed no hope. Until his name was mentioned, I had a faint idea that the accusation might be a fabricated one; especially as I had heard nothing of the sahoukar's fate from my father: but Bodhee had been with him, and he was the chief of the Lughaees, and it was more than probable that he had dug the grave for the victim.

"Let Bodhee be brought forward," cried the rajah.

He came; his fetters clanked as he moved, and it was not until he had advanced into the midst of the Durbar that he beheld my father and myself bound and as criminals. The sight staggered him, and well it might; he had been trusted by us, raised to the rank he held by my father, and ever treated by him as a son, though he was of a different faith to ours. His face was convulsed by his emotions—they might have been those of a faithful heart struggling against ingratitude; and I looked with a breathless anxiety to the first words which should fall from him. But before he spoke the Rajah addressed him.

"Miserable wretch!" said he, "your life has been spared on the condition that you speak the truth, and reveal, without reservation of a single circumstance, every deed of murder you have been engaged in: this has been promised you by the English, and you have now to prove that you will perform your engagement. If you do perform it, well; if not, though the English are your protectors, I swear to you that you shall be dragged to death by my elephants ere a ghurree of time has passed over you. Bid the elephant be brought!" cried he to an attendant; "and see that the chains are ready. By Gunga! there will be work for him ere long: and now," continued he to the approver, "knowest thou aught of the death of Jeswunt Mul of this town,—he who used to manage my private affairs, or if he indeed be dead? Speak, and remember that truth alone can save you."

There was a breathless silence; my father gazed at the informer with an intense anxiety; it was evident to me that he thought one word from him would seal his fate for ever, or that, should he deny the deed, he would escape. Earnestly, imploringly, he looked at him, and the informer was well nigh overcome; he trembled in every limb, and the big drops of sweat stood out on his face, while the veins of his forehead swelled almost to bursting.

"Speak, Bodhee!" said my father in a hollow voice,—yet still he smiled,—"speak, and tell the rajah that his poor servant Ismail is not guilty of this deed."

"Silence!" exclaimed the Rajah; "gag him if he attempts to utter a word to influence the informer; we will do justice in this matter; and you, Meer Sahib (turning to a respectable-looking person who was seated near him), you shall be able to tell the Sahib-logue that justice can be done in the Durbar of Jhalone. Bring up the elephant," he cried to the attendants; "and do you, Bodhee, look your last on the earth and sky, for by Gunga, I swear, thou art nigh to death if thou deceivest me. I read it in thy face that this matter is known to thee."

But still Bodhee hesitated: there was evidently a struggle within him whether he should die in defence of his old protector, or betray him to save his own life. For a moment the former feeling prevailed; he turned to the Rajah, and said distinctly and firmly, "May I be your sacrifice, Maha Rajah! I know nothing of this matter: of other murders I can tell you, but I know nought of this."

"He lies!" said the other approver; "he was with Ismail Jemadar; he is afraid to speak out, and has lied to you, O Prince."

"You hear him," cried the Rajah to Bodhee; "you hear what your fellow Thug says; yet, much as you have deserved death, I give you a few moments more: the shadow of the verandah is now close on my musnud,—till it reaches it thou shalt live—beyond it, one finger's breadth, and you die!"