‘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.