Читать книгу Hussein - Patrick O’Brian - Страница 6

Mustapha, Hussein’s uncle, was a quiet, dreamy man, and although he was by birth and breeding a mahout, he was also a considerable scholar in the old Islamic tradition. He knew the greater part of the Q’ran by heart, and he had even begun a commentary on Al Beidâwi, the great commentator of the Q’ran. One of the first things he did when Hussein was convalescent was to teach him to read. His own sons — he had three — had reverted to type, and they were simple mahouts, blood and bone, so that he had long ceased trying to hammer any learning into their thick heads. But Hussein was more quick, and he wished to please Mustapha.

Mustapha had all the scholar’s enthusiasm for imparting his knowledge, and after a few months Hussein could struggle through most of the Q’ran. Among those people it was no little distinction to be able to read, for not two in a hundred of the common people could understand the written word. Mustapha’s three sons were all considerably older than Hussein, and they thought him too young to quarrel with at all seriously, so they got on very well together.

Zeinab was particularly good to Hussein, for she was a good-natured motherly woman, and she felt the need of someone to look after now that her own children were almost grown up.

The elephants were soon moved away from Agra, and after a little time they were stationed at Amritsar. In this town Hussein began to lead a new life. To begin with, the people spoke a different tongue, for they were mostly Sikhs, speaking Punjabi. Hussein could generally make himself understood in Urdu, which is spoken all over the land, but very quickly he learnt Punjabi so well that he thought in it. His grief, which had died down to a dull ache, seemed to leave him with all these new things coming into his life, and although it returned sometimes when he was unhappy or alone, yet as time went on it faded out of his conscious mind.

They all lived in a hut in the elephant lines, which consisted of a long row of flat-roofed buildings with little gardens. There was a broad maiden that sloped down to the river, which was dammed in order to make a pool for the elephants. The town was some little distance from the elephant lines. In the evening the mahouts used to give their elephants over to their sons, and they were taken down to the pool. Hussein often used to take his uncle’s elephant, who was called Jehangir Bahadur.

When they came to the pool the elephants would walk slowly in and squirt themselves all over with the cool water. They all had different habits, and it was Jehangir’s custom to go out into the deepest part, where he could go right under, only leaving his trunk out to breathe. Then he would come out to the shallow part where Hussein was; he would suck up a trunkful of water, and squirt it all over himself, while Hussein scrubbed him with a coir brush. When they were back on the bank, Hussein would search Jehangir’s broad feet for thorns, and also his ears, which were rather tender, becoming inflamed very easily.

The water at the dam made a perfect swimming pool, as no crocodiles ever came there for fear of the elephants.

In the garden outside Mustapha’s house there was an old piece of wall that stood by itself; for no particular reason it had never been pulled down, so Mustapha made a sloping bed against it for melons. Hussein was very fond of melons, and he had made these his special care, for being rather far-sighted he reasoned that the more they were looked after as plants, the better they would be as melons.

He was squatting idly on the top of the wall when the heat of the day had passed, gazing at the ripening melons. In the elephant lines he heard a tumult, but he paid little attention, for the mahouts often quarrelled, making a great noise without ever coming to blows; therefore, thought Hussein, it was not worth while running to see two men shouting at one another, with other people joining in to make more noise. Actually the hubbub was caused by Jehangir, who had gone mûsth, and had knocked another elephant over. It was a mild attack of that form of madness that is peculiar to elephants: it is often caused by an elephant being given too much bamboo in its fodder, for this makes its blood so hot that a very little will upset it and drive it mûsth.

All the mahouts were trying to separate the elephants but they could do nothing. As the noise increased Hussein climbed on to the flat roof of the hut to see what it was all about; he hoped that it would be Imam Din pulling Daoud Shah’s beard, as he had often threatened to do. The mahouts got out two of the biggest elephants to force Jehangir away.

Hussein was in two minds about going to find out what it was all about: the sun was still too hot for it to be worth while running to hear two of the mahouts’ wives abusing one another, but, of course, it might with luck be Imam Din carrying out his threat. From the roof he could not see anything but a confused crowd, because of the dust and the heat-haze.

Before the big elephants had been brought on the scene, Jehangir’s mood had changed. He rammed his opponent once more with all his force, and then went away to look for something to destroy, for his temper made him feel like destroying things.

No one dared to get in front of him, so he trotted off down the lines towards the larger huts where the married mahouts lived. His one desire, that was by now an obsession, was to crush something: his head was aching splittingly, and his madness had driven all the goodness out of him for the time. He came quickly down the dusty road, and Hussein, on the roof, recognised him at once by the glint of the silver bands round his tusks, which were cut short. He had no idea that Jehangir was mûsth; indeed, he had never seen an elephant in that state, and he only knew of it by hearsay. He called out to the elephant, but he was rather surprised when Jehangir came charging at full speed towards the mud house; Hussein thought that he was only playing, as he had often done before. But Jehangir did not pull up; he blundered right on into the brick wall, smashing it down with his forehead, and quite ruining the melons.

Hussein gasped, and then shouted, ‘Oh, soor-kabutcha kasoorneen, what have you done?’

The elephant stood still over the wreckage of the bed; he had knocked his head very hard against the wall, and that had cleared it a little. If he had been left alone the madness would have clouded his brain again, but Hussein came scrambling off the roof, catching a heavy bowl which was there to catch rain, and he leapt from the top of the verandah on to Jehangir’s neck, crying, ‘Oh, son of a great pig, what have you done to my fine melons?’ He beat the bowl furiously on Jehangir’s head, so that it broke.

It did not hurt the elephant particularly, but it brought him to his senses. Suddenly he saw what he had done: it was as though he had awoken from a bad dream. He was horribly afraid that he might have injured Hussein, for he was very fond of the boy. But Hussein kept banging at his head with what remained of the pot, so he saw that there was no harm done.

‘Go straight back to your picket, you clumsy, toad-like oont; I shall never speak to you again. The melons were almost ripe, and now they are quite ruined. Worthless earth-worm that you are,’ shouted Hussein very angrily. By this time a pursuing crowd of mahouts with five huge tuskers and chains had come up, and as soon as they were within ear-shot, a man shouted, ‘Have a care, have a care, he is mûsth.’

Hussein heard this, but he saw that the fit had passed. Very quickly the two biggest elephants came up on either side of Jehangir to pin him, so that a rope could be passed about one of his legs; but Hussein saw his opportunity, and cried, ‘Leave us alone, we shall not hurt you.’

Everyone gaped, as Hussein had hoped they would, and Mustapha said, ‘But what is this? Jehangir has gone mûsth.’

‘It is a small matter, I have dealt with it. He was only a little troubled with the heat, so he came to see me. I shall take him to the pool.’ Hussein carried it off perfectly, and they went down to the water, where Jehangir squirted water all over himself, and then plastered his head with cool grey mud.

But the next day Jehangir was punished in the only way that an elephant can be. He was chained firmly to a tree, and each of the other elephants was given a good length of chain. They all filed past him, and each gave him a great blow with the chain: they went round three times. Jehangir was bitterly ashamed of himself, and he trumpeted in the night, but Hussein came and comforted him until the morning.

Hussein gained a great deal of credit, and it was prophesied that he would become a famous mahout when he grew older. The Englishman in charge of the mahouts sent him twenty rupees, for he said that anything might have happened if Jehangir had not been caught. The khitmutgar took fifteen of the rupees by way of commission, but even so, it was great wealth for Hussein while it lasted. For a little while Hussein was quite unbearable at home, but Mustapha beat him one day, and he returned to normal.

Jehangir became even more attached to Hussein after that, as he felt that he had saved him from doing horrible things.

Zeinab was the only person who saw through Hussein’s pretence of having known that the elephant was mûsth, and one day, when she suddenly taxed him with it, he was too flustered to deny it. She used to blackmail him in a mild way, so he paid more attention to Mustapha’s teaching than he would have done otherwise, and he kept the garden in much better order; but she was a kindly soul, and did not plague him at all, so he loved her none the less. Although she had a long tongue with a shrewd edge to it on occasion, she was as good as a mother to Hussein, and she treated him just as well as her own sons, and perhaps a little better, for she knew that she would never have another young boy of her own. Zeinab was also a surpassingly good cook, which made her household love her more than any amount of beauty would have done. It was firmly held by all those who had tasted it that the saffron stew she made from the tail of a fat-tailed sheep was equal to any food this side of Paradise. She had inherited the recipe for this dish from her mother, who in turn had had it from hers; it had come with her to Mustapha, being of great worth. Indeed, it was this stew that had brought Mustapha to her in the first place, as he had eaten it one evening in the house of Wali Dad, and had asked who had cooked it.

Mustapha’s three sons, Amir Khan, Yussuf, and Abd’allah, were also kind to Hussein in that rather condescending, offhand manner that very young men use towards boys, because they wish it clearly to be understood that they are on two different planes — that they are quite grown up, and that anyone younger is a great deal younger, and not a man at all.

Amir Khan had a moustache, of which he was inordinately proud, and which he oiled assiduously; he was the mahout of a cow elephant called Kali, because of her temper. He was a weak, good-natured youth; handsome, and rather vain. He was very proud of his elephant, who, to tell the truth, was a singularly dull and vicious brute as elephants go, and often he would tell Hussein of the wonderful way in which she understood him, and of the things she could do if she were not so highly strung.

Yussuf and Abd’allah were twins; they were very much alike — both tall and well set; but apart from their inherent understanding of elephants, they were stupid; but they were simple and good-natured, and Hussein got on very well with them. Being rather young to be full mahouts, they were employed to cut fodder in between taking out any odd elephant that had no regular mahout. They spent a good deal of their time playing soccer football, which had been introduced by the English soldiers. It was extremely popular, particularly among the young Mohammedans. They played in bare feet, and their game was very fast, as the ground was nearly always as hard as asphalt. Hussein played quite a lot, but he was very light, so he did not get much of a game, the barging being rather heavy; but he was quick on his feet, and when he could get hold of the ball he could generally do something with it.

The Sikhs at Amritsar were also keen footballers, and one of the younger English officers in the PWD had organised a match between an eleven of his men and a team drawn by his friend, a lieutenant in a Sikh regiment.

The game was played on Thursday, when there were no parades, and the soldiers turned up in great force. All the mahouts came with as great a muster of elephants as they could bring for the honour of their side.

The match ground lay near the regimental barracks. None of the senior officers of the Sikhs or the PWD liked to be spoil-sports, so they all turned up. The Mohammedans played in white turbans, closely tied for greater security, and the Sikhs in blue turbans. Yussuf and Abd’allah were both playing as half-backs, and Hussein was watching with Mustapha on Jehangir.

The match was very fast from the beginning, and the ball was all over the field before a few minutes had gone. The audience was very much worked up, and the Sikhs were howling in Punjabi to encourage their men.

At half-time there was still no score: the barging had been a trifle wild, but it had been perfectly clean. After the change-over the game was still faster, and presently Abd’allah, the left half, took the ball from one of the Sikhs, and ran up the field with it. He tricked three men very neatly, and he had just swung the ball in to the waiting centre forward when one of the backs charged him very heavily. He had already passed the ball when he was knocked flying; the Sikh had used his elbow, and Abd’allah was carried off the field. A penalty was awarded against the soldiers, and immediately afterwards the PWD side scored. The penalty was unpopular with the non-Moslem part of the crowd, and the goal made it even more so. The Sikhs began playing rather wildly, and their opponents met them fully half-way.

Before long a Sikh was knocked out practically in the goal mouth; his turban came off, showing his long hair — a great shame for a Sikh. But the game went on and no penalty was awarded, although half the crowd howled for one.

Then the outside left of the PWD team broke away, running right up the touch-line with the ball. The inside left was backing him up. They were on the side away from their supporters; two men converged on the outside left, but he tricked them both, and passed the ball to the inside left, who had gone ahead. Instantly all the Sikhs shouted ‘Offside!’ but the referee did not blow his whistle.

No one quite saw what happened next, but there was a scuffle as some of the onlookers surged on to the ground, and when they went back the inside left was lying unconscious over the ball.

Then someone knocked a Sikh’s turban off, and pulled his long hair. A Sikh hurled his knife-edged steel turban-quoit at the referee, cutting his head open. Then all the Mohammedans rushed as one man from their side on to the ground, and the Sikhs met them in mid-field. Their elephants were a tower of strength to the mahouts, and although they were outnumbered, the PWD team were collected, and carried off to safety by their supporters.

The Hindus in the crowd joined with the Sikhs against the Mohammedans, and soon a budding riot was growing on the football-ground.

Fortunately some of the senior officers had guessed what would happen a little after half-time, and they had called out the guard from the barracks. The Sikhs’ discipline soon re-asserted itself, and what might have been a very ugly riot fizzled out after a round of blank cartridge. Nevertheless, three people had managed to get killed, and a great deal of religious fanaticism had been stirred up, which meant an anxious month for the Indian Police. The unfortunate young men who had organised the game were given exceedingly undesirable posts. The PWD man was sent out to investigate wells in the Bikaneer desert villages, and the Sikhs’ officer was attached to a Madrassi regiment of infantry. The mahouts were moved, with the elephants, to a place right away in the Deccan, where they were building a road. The elephants, with their mahouts, travelled with the baggage-train of a south-bound regiment.