Olivia in India Part 9

These bows and arrows, by the way, are rather interesting. The natives make them of bamboo and strips of hide, and they are tipped with iron.

They really shoot things with them--birds and wild animals, I mean. I bought one from the owner of the dressing-gown for four annas, to take home to Peter. It seemed very little for a real bow and arrow, but Dr.

Russel said it was quite enough; and when one comes to think of it, it is double a man's day's wage. I _am_ enjoying myself at Takai. As the man said when he lost his wife, "It's verra quiet but verra peacefu'."

After Calcutta, the quiet does seem almost uncanny.

It is a blameless existence one leads. I think I would soon grow very good, for there is no temptation to be anything else. One can't be very frivolous when there is no one to be frivolous with; nor can one backbite and be unkind, for there is no provocation. As for being vain and fond of the putting on of apparel, what is the good when one is the Best People if one wears a garment of any description?

Although there is nothing to do, the days never seem too long. After _chota-hazri_ I generally go for a walk with the children. There is one good broad road pa.s.sing the bungalow which leads away to the Back of Beyond, but we prefer the little tracks worn by the feet of the natives, which criss-cross everywhere. Jean won't stir a step without a horrid, dilapidated rag doll called Topsy. I do dislike the faces of rag dolls, their lack of profile is so gruesome, and Topsy is a most depressing specimen of her kind; but Jean lavishes affection on her.

A woman-child is an odd thing. I remember being taken into a shop to choose a doll, and I chose a most hideous thing with curly white hair.

No one could understand why, and I was too shy to tell. It was because the doll was so ugly; I felt sure no one would buy her, and I couldn't bear to think of her loneliness. The boys christened her "Mrs.

Smilie," after a lady of that name whom they thought she resembled, and the poor thing came to a tragic end. They were playing at the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, in the shrubbery, seized on "Mrs.

Smilie" to play the t.i.tle role, and with brutal realism chopped off her poor ugly head. I arrived just in time to see the deed, and rushed swiftly, with fists and feet, to avenge her fate.

Well, we set off every morning on our pilgrimage, Jean calling herself "Mrs. Jones," and walking primly till we reach what we pretend is the seash.o.r.e, where she forgets her dignity and rolls about in the sand.

A certain kind of tree that Dr. Russel has planted round about the bungalow makes a noise exactly like waves, so it is easy to pretend about the sea. We meet many pilgrims on their way to some holy place, and we create quite a sensation in the little cl.u.s.ters of huts--they could hardly be called villages--that we pa.s.s through. The inhabitants crowd around us, saying "Johar," which I take it is Santali for "Salaam," and we repeat "Johar" and grin broadly in reply; and the pie dogs sniff round us in a friendly way. The other day we met a boy who, on beholding me, stood stock still, threw back his head, and shouted with laughter. I never heard more whole-hearted merriment. I had to join in. Whether it was that he had never seen anyone with fair hair before, or whether there is something particularly droll in my appearance, I don't know, but he evidently found me the funniest thing he had met with for a long time. It is generally Topsy who is the centre of interest. They hustle one another to look at her and gurgle with delight. Jean told me solemnly, "I have to leave her at home when I go with Mummy to the villages. They won't listen about Jesus for looking at Topsy."

Jean's great desire is to meet "someone white." Yesterday I saw a horseman approaching in European riding kit and a topi. "Look, Jean,"

I said, "I believe that is an Englishman" but when he came up to us and raised his topi with a flourish Jean said mournfully, "No, it's n.o.body white," and I had to pick her up hurriedly in case she should say something more to hurt the poor Eurasian.

When we come in from our walk it is tiffin-time. After that the children are put to bed, and I sit in the verandah and write and rest.

Did I say rest? This is what goes on:

"O-liv-i-a!"

I go into the nursery, and Jean, very wide awake, demands a needle and thread, as she wants to sew a dress for Topsy. I tie a piece of thread into a large darning-needle and supply her with my handkerchief, which she proceeds to sew into a tight ball. I return to my writing.

"Olivia!"

This time it is Robert.

"Olivia, if this bungalow fell into the tank would it splash out all the water?"

"Of course it would."

"Then what would the water do when it fell back from the splash and found the bungalow blocking up its tank?"

Unable to think of an answer, I tell him to be a good boy and not disturb people when they are writing. Ronald begs for a piece of paper and a pencil, and having got it, proceeds to write down everything beginning with G. I once told Peter to do that, and his list when I looked at it ran: "G.o.d--Gollywog--Gordon Highlanders."...

Immediately I resume my writing it begins again, "Olivia" in every tone, peremptory, beseeching, coaxing--but like the deaf adder I stop my ears and refuse to hear. I am using this opportunity to write my great work on the Mutiny, and it isn't nearly so easy to write a book as I thought. No matter how much I try, my sentences seem all to stand up on end. I can't acquire any ease or grace of style. I read somewhere lately that young writers use too many adjectives, that good writers depend more on verbs. It has made me rather nervous and I keep counting both, but a certain dubiety in my own mind as to which is which greatly complicates matters. My heroine, too, is a failure, I like her name--Belinda--but it is the only thing I like about her.

What is the good of me laboriously writing down that she is beautiful and charming when I am convinced in my own mind she is nothing of the kind? However, I mean to persevere....

We all meet at tea--the nicest time of the day I think. My friend Katie says the world isn't properly warmed up till five o'clock, and certainly there is a feeling of comfort all over everything at the clink of the teacups. Mrs. Russel being Scots, knows how to give a proper tea, with plates, and knives, and scones, and jam; and I am as greedy as a schoolboy over it. Yesterday there was no milk--such a blow. The cows had wandered into a man's land, and he, as the custom is, marched them into the pound five miles away, and there we were--milkless!

The country round Takai is quite pretty--almost like Scots moorland.

Yesterday we went for a picnic to a river at the opening of a pa.s.s--a most interesting place where not very long ago a native boy had been eaten by a tiger. You see, picnics in the jungle are not quite the insipid things they are at home! There is always the chance that the unwary may be devoured. Actually we did see yesterday the footprints of a tiger in the sand by the river--pugs I think is the proper expression. I was scared, but Robert advanced boldly into the bushes.

Ronald, watching him admiringly, said, "He is very brave; he is as brave as Daniel."

Talking about tigers, they aren't nearly as prevalent as I thought. I had an idea they were prowling all over India waiting to spring, but one man told me he had been in India fifteen years and had never seen one. Boggley came on one once and took it for a cow--short-sighted Boggley! Dr. Russel says there was a man-eating tiger in the district lately, and a reward was offered for its capture. A young engineer sallied forth to slay. He directed the natives to dig a pit near where the tiger was known to be and cover it with branches, and the next day went and found it had walked into the trap. The natives removed the branches, the gallant engineer approached, but they had dug the pit on a slope, and the tiger _came walking up to meet him!_

I would rather like to see a wild beast from a safe distance. A native came into hospital only yesterday with his arm all torn and mauled by a leopard, but, though I have walked miles through the jungle, I have seen nothing more fearsome than a black-beetle, and _that_ I might have seen at home. The Santals are very keen _s.h.i.+karis_, and go regularly to hunt armed with bows and arrows and a few guns.

One morning I watched them start. With them was a youth home on holiday from a situation in Calcutta--I liked his idea of a shooting costume. He wore a pair of bright blue socks and yellow shoes, a pink s.h.i.+rt worn over a dhoti, and over that a well-cut tweed coat (evidently an old one of his master's), a high linen collar, but no tie, a straw hat and enormous blue spectacles. The last-named were evidently worn more for effect than by order of the oculist, for the youth removed them when the time came to use his gun.

_27th_.

My home mail has just come in. I like to be in the verandah to see the dak-runner bring in the letters. I hear him long before I see him, for he carries a stick with jingling bells at the end to frighten away animals as he comes through the jungle. Mine was a particularly nice mail to-day--good news from everyone. You have no idea how out here one loves to get letters, and how one gloats over every sc.r.a.p of news. Do you really look forward to my letters? Your letters are the greatest comfort to me; indeed, I can't imagine what it would be like without them.

I must finish this up, for the mail goes to-morrow. My time here is nearly run. I hear from Boggley that he expects to arrive to-morrow, and we depart together the next day. I shall be sorry and glad--both.

Sorry to leave Takai and the dear people, more than glad to be with Boggley.

Robert has just come in, excitedly clutching the tail of a lizard. He had caught it going up the wall, and the lizard had wriggled away and left its tail. Now I suppose it will perseveringly grow another.

Robert is holding the tail before Jean that she may see it wriggle, and saying, "G.o.d made it so. _Wasn't_ it clever?" The dear babies! How I shall miss them!

_Circuit House, Lakserai, Jan 31_.

This letter must begin in pencil, for Boggley has the only pen. By the bye, would you mind keeping my letters till I get home? I think it might be amusing to read them when my cold weather in India is a thing of the past.

Behold us on the first stage of our wanderings!

We left Takai on Wednesday, I in my old friend the doolie, Boggley on his bicycle. It is wonderful where a bicycle can go in India.

I was much sorrier to leave Takai than I thought I should be, and I think they were a little sorry to see me go. Even the missionary ladies unbent so far as to say they would miss my bright face and merry chatter. How differently people describe things! Bright and merry are hardly the adjectives I should have applied to my soulful countenance and brilliant conversation; but no matter. They all stood on the verandah to watch us go. Mrs. Russel, dear woman, was obviously sincerely sorry for anyone leaving such a delectable spot as Takai; and indeed there are many worse places. The boys grinned benignly, each hopping on one foot. Robert, looking rather like a toadstool with his topi and thin legs, said, "I'm going to Scotland soon, and I'm not coming back to India till I have a long beard."

Just as we were starting, an object hurtled through the air and fell at my feet, and Jean's voice explained, "It is Topsy, Olivia; you may have her"; then, self-sacrificing but heart-broken, she buried her head in her mother's lap. I am rather "tear-minded," as our old nurse used to say, at any time, and I saw things through a mist for the first mile or two.

It didn't seem nearly such a long way going to the station as coming from it, but Boggley on his bicycle was there long before me and my doolie men. We got a train to wherever we were going to about five o'clock. I had some sandwiches with me, and we got tea handed in at a station. It tasted of musty straw, and Boggley said the milk wasn't safe, but the cups made up for everything. Boggley's bore the legend _Forget-me-not_, and mine _A present for a good girl_ in gilt letters.

About eight o'clock we came to another station--it is quite impossible to remember their ridiculous names--and got out. It was quite an important station, and the large refreshment-room had a long table set for dinner. Lining the walls of the room were tall gla.s.s cases filled with tinned meats, jam, biscuits, and other eatables, for in the Mofussil provisions are bought at the railway stations. After dinner Boggley produced a pencil and sheet of paper. "Now," he said, "we must make a list of provisions wanted." So we sat on the table and laid our heads together.

"We'll begin with necessaries," said Boggley "b.u.t.ter."

"Jam," I added, "and cheese."

These being put down, we couldn't think of another single thing.

"Go on," said Boggley, biting his pencil "That can't be all."

"Biscuits," I said with a flash of inspiration, and we chose three boxes of biscuits, and stuck again.

When the attendant produced a list of provisions kept, we got on better, and soon had two large wooden boxes packed with things that sounded as if they might taste good. The only thing I do feel we have been extravagant in is mustard--it is an enormous tin, and one doesn't really eat such a vast deal of mustard.

The list finished and approved, I asked when our train came in.

"About 4.30," said Boggley. This was 9 p.m.

"What!" I cried, aghast, "Where are we going to sleep?"

Boggley waved his hands comprehensively. "Anywhere," he said; "we'll see what the waiting-room is like."