Indra—supreme hypocrite—fathered the first two, who were brother and sister. Kali—wife of Shiva, the great destroyer—Kali—goddess of plague and famine and fear and death—was their mother.
Beware the white elephant—who is never white. The stain of Indra is on his skin; the shadow of Kali on his hair. Honour is not in him!
The Gul Moti had always loved adventures; and she had been in the throat of several. But this was no lark3; it was more serious than funny. Thirty-eight of the most valuable elephants in India were rolling away before her toward the Vindha Hills. If they once arrived there, no man could say how many of them, or if any of them, would ever be recovered. The Nerbudda River crossed their path mid-way—almost at flood. If they entered that tide—deep and wide and muddy—state-housings of great value would be hopelessly damaged.
Mitha Baba was beginning to show that she did not like the old mahout's urging—but Mitha Baba was always willful. Indeed, the Gul Moti was depending much on this same willfulness. The splendid female was still young, but she had been for years a celebrated5 toiler7 of wild elephants; and it was well known she had loved the game. Had she forgotten it? Could she be reminded? First, it was supremely8 important to overtake all the others this side the Nerbudda.
The old mahout gasped9 a broken cry, as Mitha Baba lifted him and set him not too gently on the ground; she was in a hurry herself and she was making speed on her own account—she objected to being urged. The Gul Moti, understanding in a flash, cried quickly:
"No, no! Mitha Baba, I want him! Put him up to me—put him up to me—soon!"
Mitha Baba wavered in her long stride.
"Mitha Baba, I want him—I want him!"
And the elephant turned on a circle and caught him up, throwing him far enough back, so the Gul Moti could help him into the howdah.
"My day is done!" he said bitterly.
Then, in the white fire of what men call genius, the Gul Moti stood up to meet this new emergency—leaning toward Mitha Baba's head—and called in ringing tones:
"Now come, Mitha Baba, we're away! We're going out to fetch them in!
Away, away, awa-a-ay!"
So long as he lived, the old mahout told of the intoxicating12 splendour of that young voice—the golden beauty of those tones; of how Mitha Baba reached out further and further every stride, to its rhythm, till the earth rose up and the stars began to swing.
"We'll fetch them in, Mitha Baba, we'll fetch them in! . . . Away, away, awa-a-ay!"
But the toiler of wild elephants had remembered the game she loved.
As they topped the crest13 of a low hill, the Gul Moti scanned the country declining before her toward the Nerbudda. A string of jewels appeared—incredibly gorgeous in mid-day light. It was thirty-eight full-caparisoned elephants—going fast. Mitha Baba called on them to wait for her; but they remained in sight only a few minutes. The Gul Moti's high courage sank; the caravan14 was too near the river to be delayed by Mitha Baba's calls—the river too far ahead.
Finally Mitha Baba came out into the straight descent toward the river.
"Well done for those mahouts!" the Gul Moti cried out in relief. "The caparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?"
"It was well done, Hakima-ji," the old man exulted17. "The masters were listening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river—space of six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is no easiness—unfastening everything from top of an elephant. (I who am old have done it!) Also, some went down to loosen underneath18 buckles19. You shall see."
They found four very disconsolate20 mahouts on the bank of the river beside the great pile of nicely arranged stuff.
"I want the smallest howdah you have!" called the Gul Moti, as the men sprang in front of Mitha Baba.
"But, Hakima-ji," they protested, "by getting down—we were left behind!"
"I must not be left—and yet you must take these clothes from her!" the
Gul Moti said, while they helped the old man to the ground.
"Then go to her neck—oh, Thou Healer-without-fear! She will not wait long—she follows Nut Kut, the demon21! and Gunpat Rao, who both got away with everything on!"
Still hoping, the Gul Moti slipped over the edge of the big howdah and climbed toward Mitha Baba's neck. The mahouts worked fast stripping her. Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny22 fingers, and plunged23 into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Moti a little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke.
Day went by—and no elephants in sight. Night came on—and no elephants in sight. Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident of her way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began to climb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if she were coming in to her own stockades24. The Gul Moti took up her call again—thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba was not thinking of the caravan. It had happened that the Gul Moti's tones had fallen upon those intonations25 used in High Himalaya, to send the toilers out to toil6 wild elephants in.
It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephant crashed past them—lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as it ran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in a fight. But the outline of it, in the shadows, appeared too lean to be one of her own.
"In the name of all the gods, Mitha Baba, what's the meaning of that?" the Gul Moti enquired28 with a little tension—it being one of those moments when one gains assurance by speech.
But Mitha Baba's reply was in the very oldest language of India—one even the mahouts know only a very little of. It rose in wild, wistful tones—higher and higher. It was repeated from time to time; the sense of it strangely thrilling to the girl on her neck.
. . . They were well up in the mountains, so far that the trees had become massive of body and heavy and dense29 of top—the moon only just showing through—when they heard the trumpeting30 of elephants, off toward the east. Mitha Baba answered at once, turning abruptly31 toward the east.
"Mitha Baba!" the Gul Moti protested, "our people have never gone off in this direction—where are we, anyway?"
Mitha Baba's calling was just as wild as before; but it had become wild exultation32.
. . . They were coming up into what reminded the Gul Moti of something she had heard—that the really old jungle is always dark; that the light of day never touches earth there. This was almost dark, the moon glinting through black shadows—only at intervals33.
The sense of this place was strange. It might be on another planet. And that thought touched the root of the difference—this was not on, this was in. Everything felt in—deep in.
Here Mitha Baba changed her voice again. (Nothing had ever happened to the Gul Moti like it.) It was still wild, still wistful—quite as much so as before. But there was a cooing roll in it—away and away the most enticing34 thing human ears ever listened to. It sounded like Nature—weaving all spells of all glamour35, in tone; soft-flaming gold, in tone; soft-flaming rose, in tone; and on and on—the very softest, deepest magics of life-perpetual!
. . . The trumpeting ahead was fuller and nearer, distinctly nearer; almost as if they were coming into it. Then, without warning, the mighty36 mountain trees cut off the moon-lit sky. It had been dark before—now it was utterly37 dark!
Suddenly the Gul Moti was aware of a strong earth-smell. There was no stench about. It had a quality of incense38 made of tree-gums and sandalwood and perfume-barks, all together. Then a dull thudding caught her ear—almost rhythmic39.
. . . The earth-smells deepened and the thudding thickened. Mitha Baba was not climbing any more; moving smoothly40, on what felt like firm soil, she seemed to turn and turn again. It was fathoms41 deep in rayless night—the place that never knew the light of day!
Carlin clung tight to Mitha Baba's neck and remembered everything actual, everything definite, everything sound and sensible she knew. The earth-smells filled her nostrils42, her lungs, her blood; tree-gums, sandal-wood, perfume-bark, body-warmth—charging the air.
And over all—wild, and wistful, and pulsing-tender—the weaving of Mitha
Baba's enchantment43 through the dark.
The thudding all about her on the ground—must be the sound of many wild feet! This must be—the "toiling44 in."
. . . A rending45, tearing noise broke in on Mitha Baba's voice; and at once a great crash among the trees, high up. (Someone had torn a sapling from its place and flung it far.)
. . . The keen squeal46 of a very little elephant—right near—and the angry protest of a strange voice. (Some mother's baby had been pinched, in the crowd!)
. . . It must be imagination—this strong nearness! The Gul Moti, putting out her hand, touched—skin! And within the same breath, on both sides of Mitha Baba—first this side and then that side—two great elephants challenged each other. They were both long, rocking blasts, a little above and almost against the Gul Moti's quickened ears. She shivered under the shock.
Mitha Baba, without breaking her step, backed away from between them; and the impact of frightful47 blow meeting frightful blow, bruised48 through the outbreak of much trumpeting.
As Mitha Baba went further and further from the fighters, the Gul Moti was amazed at the sounds of their meeting—like explosions. She remembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephant fight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport.
. . . A soft, feeling thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder along down her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba's neck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at the stranger with her head. The Gul Moti's confidence in the great female's intention to protect her, was established!
At last, lifting her head sharply to utter a different call, Mitha Baba developed a peculiar50 drive in her motion; a queer drive in the whole huge body that had something to do with a wide swinging of the head. It made them both touch the strange elephants, every few minutes; and always there was a storm of trumpeting all about. Gradually these outbreaks began to sound toward one side; but the direction kept changing—so the Gul Moti made out that Mitha Baba was moving round and round on the outside of the mass.
After a while they came again into the vicinity where the big males were still fighting. Mitha Baba rocked on her feet a moment, calling a curious low call—a question, softly spoken. At once there was the sound of rapid movement in front. Then Mitha Baba literally52 whirled—plunging53 away at incredible speed—almost exactly in the opposite direction from the one she had been facing.
Doctor Carlin Deal Hantee tried to remember Skag—tried to remember her own name. She locked herself about that neck with her strength—she clung with her might. She flattened54 her body and gripped with her fingers and with her toes—long since having kicked off her low shoes. Away and away they went, coming out into the moonlight—long enough to see a mass of dun shadows rising and falling, lurching and rolling, on all sides. Surely the Gul Moti had known that this was a wild elephant herd55—these hours. Surely the Gul Moti had heard the "toiling" of them in! But what was Mitha Baba going to do with them—now that she had them?
Down the long slopes and up the steep inclines—the two big elephants close on either side of Mitha Baba—plunging into khuds and out again—most of the time up-ended, one way or the other, at astounding56 angles—the wild herd raced with Mitha Baba toward whatever destination she might choose.
Dawn broke upon them while they were still in the very rugged57 hills; and as the mountain outlines cleared of mist, the Gul Moti saw that Mitha Baba was leading her catch straight away back to Hurda. True to her training—there being no trap-stockades near—the toiler was taking them home! The situation was absurd; but it roused the Gul Moti—like one out of a dream—to actual joy.
Through grey avenues of forest trees—rolling down khuds, ringing up crags—the voice of Nut Kut went on out beyond the mountain peaks, to meet approaching day. Nut Kut, the great black elephant who had been trapped in these same Vindha Hills only a few years ago, was rejoicing in freedom again. Nut Kut, who had already made his reputation as the most deadly fighter known to the mahouts, was exulting58 in strength. It was his joy-song. It came from straight ahead. Mitha Baba answered with a rollicking squeal. But the wild herd voices were savage—chaotic. Now Nut Kut's challenge came back—looming. The situation was no longer absurd.
It meant a fight—an open fight—between the wild herd and the caravan. The wild herd would never give Mitha Baba over to her own—they would surely fight to keep her. Everything tightened59 in the Gul Moti and locked—hard. She had known most of the caravan elephants all her life—what would happen to them? They had lived among men these many and many years—never permitted to fight—they could not be equally fighting-fit. The herd would be much leaner—it must be much tougher. So she bruised her head and her heart between the things that were due to happen to her caravan—horrible punishments and almost certain deaths.
When the caravan appeared, the males were leading; the four females well in the rear. Nut Kut's flaming orange and imperial-blue trappings covered and cumbered him; and young Gunpat Rao's gorgeous saffron and old-rose burned through the Gul Moti's eyes to the hard lump in her throat—it was the one time in their lives when they should be free.
At once the wild females gathered their youngsters—and some who seemed almost mature—cutting them out from the herd and driving them back. This revealed the wild fighters—many more in number than those of the caravan. The approaching challenges, from both sides, were thundering thick and fast now. The two bodies of elephants were plunging down the opposite sides of a deep khud and would meet in the broad bottom. Mitha Baba—the big males on each side of her—was setting the pace for this side, as if everything depended on time. But when they were quite close, she rushed ahead—straight through the caravan and beyond.
Mitha Baba had been leading her catch to her own stockades—being in no wise responsible that they were not trap-stockades! Now, the home elephants having come to receive it, she had rushed it in—exactly as she would have rushed it into a trap. But Mitha Baba was not satisfied. With a curious little call she wheeled, coming back to face the wild herd from her own side.
It was a turmoil61 that looked and sounded like nothing imaginable. The fighting pairs were choosing each other and taking place. They had plenty of room. When it was settled between them, Nut Kut was facing the most powerful-looking of the wild fighters; and Gunpat Rao, another who looked almost as dangerous. The extra males of the wild herd—every one formidable—were skirmishing about, watching for a chance to interfere62. It looked bad for the caravan.
The mahouts—the Gul Moti had scarcely remembered them till now—were calling back and forth63 about a bad one, a "tricky64 elephant." Following their gestures, she saw a pale shape moving around in the open. They left no doubt that he represented the worst of all danger. They were charging each other to watch him—never mind what.
. . . The fight was on. Plainly—in every tone, every action—the wild went in with wild enthusiasm, the tame with grave determination. Mitha Baba, having come in closer than any of the other females, did not move,—save for a constant turning of her head under the Gul Moti's icy fingers—seeming to keep an eye on all the separate fights at once.
Her fear for the caravan elephants was anguish65, her fatigue66 extreme; but excitement held the Gul Moti in a vise. She saw the fighters meet, skull67 to skull. (Those were the frightful blows she had heard in the dark, through the trumpeting of a whole herd!) How could any living thing endure the impact of such weight? She looked to see the skin break away and fall apart at once. She expected to see an elephant's head split open. It was nerve-wrecking—an arena68 of giant violence.
"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" one of the mahouts shouted.
"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" others called back.
The Gul Moti knew that Neela Deo did not fight; that it was his leadership they needed. Soon she heard a muffled69 cry from the same mahout:
"Men of the Hills, mourn with me!"
(A low wind of tone replied.)
His elephant seemed slower than the one against him; slower in getting back—in coming on. . . . Now he was wavering—shaken through his whole bulk by every meeting. . . . He was not running—he was dazed—he was down! Staring wide-eyed at the horror—the way a barbarian70 elephant kills—the Gul Moti was glad Skag did not see! . . . The mahout had managed to reach a tree in time to save his own life and was crouching71 on a branch, with his head buried in his arms.
Nut Kut was finishing with the leader of the wild herd—more mercifully than the wild was of doing it—when two of the extras charged him together. Ram72 Yaksahn, his mahout—whose voice had not been heard before—cried out; and Mitha Baba went in like a thunder-bolt. How it happened no one could tell, but one of the wild elephants—before Mitha Baba's rush, or in the instant when she reached him—caught his tusk73 under Nut Kut's side-bands. They were made of heavy canvas, with chains on top. As Mitha Baba drove at him and Nut Kut turned—his tusk ripped out sidewise. With a frantic74 scream he got away, running up into the jungle—still screaming so far as they could hear.
The Gul Moti, numb60 with weariness, had held on with her last ounce of strength. Now she sat amazed at her escape—while a tumult75 of trumpeting shattered the air about her. There was disturbance76 among the fighting pairs; some staying with each other, some changing—running to and fro—charging at odd angles. But when the confusion cleared—more fresh ones had come in!
Now Nut Kut was a whirl-wind—he was unbelievable. One broke away from him and ran—demoralised. One died—fairly defeated. Still others came to meet him; yet his challenges were triumphant77 to the point of frenzy78.
"Call on the gods! The devil is in!" rang out.
Gunpat Rao was now fighting for his life. The "tricky elephant" had charged him from the open. This was the bad one whom the mahouts had recognised on sight—had feared from the beginning. Gunpat Rao was one of the finest young elephants in captivity79; one of the swiftest in the caravan; but the mahouts knew he could not think a trick! The sense of his danger swept them.
The Gul Moti knew that "white elephants" are always feared—being almost always bad. This one was not white; nor grey, nor yellow. He was whitish-grey—dull-tawny overcast—unclean looking. He was larger in frame than Gunpat Rao; but very lean—long, loose-jointed. He moved like a suckling trying to caper80. But there was a rakish look about him.
In spite of all their own stress—every one of their elephants being in some degree of jeopardy—the mahouts gave as much attention to Gunpat Rao as they could. It was foregone conclusion—he was doomed81. Bracing82 themselves to witness his defeat, expecting to see his bitter death in the end, yet the bad one's method at the start maddened them beyond control.
"He was bred in the Pit!" one mahout called.
"His father was Depravity!" another called back.
And they cursed him with the curses of the Hills.
The pale one's behaviour was entirely84 different from any the Gul Moti had seen. He was doing nothing regular—not using the common methods at all. He was giving Gunpat Rao no chance to get back—to put his body-weight into his drive. He was staying too close. He was circling—starting to rush in and veering85 away—round and round, in and out. Then the Gul Moti saw! He was manoeuvring to strike Gunpat Rao back of his ear! He was trying to "hit below the belt!"
So Gunpat Rao was kept pivoting86 in his own tracks to face the danger, with scant87 room to meet a rush when it came. And always it came when least suggested by the other's manner. Then the pale one squealed—a succession of thin, cutting tones—and Gunpat Rao answered with a charge. The pale one raced away from him, wheeling suddenly and coming in behind his head. (An instant before, it looked as if they would meet fairly.) But Gunpat Rao, being in full drive and not on guard against such a manoeuvre88, could not stop quickly; yet he swerved89 just enough to clear that yellow tusk—with a long slash90 in his flank! . . . Gunpat Rao began to show that he was baffled. His trunk came around—feeling of Chakkra!
"He wants Neela Deo! His heart is alone!" Chakkra cried out.
"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" the mahouts answered together.
And from the khud-wall behind them, a thundering challenge rolled down.
Now the elephants of the Chief Commissioner92's stockades gave account of themselves. Youth had returned to them—courage had been restored. They clamoured to heaven that they were doing well. They shouted to the universe that they belonged to him—to Neela Deo, their King!
Sanford Hantee scarcely saw—an impossible thing—Carlin on Mitha Baba's neck! Her face was actually strange—the awful pallor—the fire. It left his brain a blank to other impressions, for minutes.
The Gul Moti only glimpsed the stone-white face of her American, beside the Chief Commissioner, as Neela Deo charged past, on his way to take over the fight that was taxing Gunpat Rao to the last breath before defeat. Neela Deo had seen at once where he was needed most. He went in with a charging challenge that was intoxication93 to those who heard—all the assurance of ancient mastership in it.
No one had ever seen Neela Deo fight before. Kudrat Sharif was so astonished that he barely got back from his neck in time to be out of the way. The mahouts were amazed—Neela Deo did not fight! Neela Deo was the Lord of peaceful rule!
Many of the fighting pairs broke away from each other, when they heard Neela Deo's charging challenge, as if agreeing that the destiny of all hung on the issue of his contest. This left most of the mahouts free to watch. With passionate94 distress95 they saw the King—wounded almost to death less than four months since—carrying a heavy howdah and three men—going in to fight with a bad elephant who was all but fresh. They cursed the wild elephant with every inward breath, seeing as little hope for Neela Deo as they had seen for Gunpat Rao.
The Gul Moti watched—appalled. It seemed to her that the pale one had been playing—before he engaged with Neela Deo. But he did not play any more. He manoeuvred so fast that his body appeared to glance in and out. But Neela Deo foiled him with still greater speed. Her eye could not follow all—the maze49, the glamour, the incredible spectacle.
Neela Deo's first blow had shaken the pale one, carrying a different dimension of force from any in himself. He gave way—backing from it with an angry scream, showing surprise and rage in every movement. When he circled round, trying to get in on Neela Deo's side, the King was too quick for him—forcing him out, forcing him further out; not permitting him to follow his chosen course, whatever direction he took. He came in with his peculiar art of approaches—the jarring blow was there! He played all his lightning feints—the shock that rocked him was a flash quicker! Neela Deo met him squarely, whatever curve he made—whatever tangent he turned upon. This, every time, in spite of himself; for he always meant to avoid that crash!
He tried his falsetto squeals—all aggravation96 in them. But Neela Deo refused to accept taunts97. This caused an instant's pause—the pale one seeming to consider. Then he raced away and came back on a full drive, as if meaning to meet the King in a legitimate98 encounter—after all. But Neela Deo only lowered his head a fraction, leaning a bit forward; and the pale one, instead of finishing straight, or passing alongside close enough to strike—swerved out. This was the moment when Neela Deo charged him and he ran, dodging—far beyond the range of the fighting arena—down the khud valley. Everyone followed; the wild elephants running by themselves—screaming in harsh tones; the caravan—trumpeting in clear, full tones; the mahouts, calling the name of the King—beside themselves with delight.
But Neela Deo was at the pale one's heels—his tusks99 not dangerous, having been shortened and banded. Yet they were sharp enough to make the pale one turn and defend himself. And desperately100 he fought, using every faculty101 of his nature—every value of his wild fitness. Still the crook102 in him showed. It was all faster now than in the beginning, but he was not exhausted103, he was not broken; only a bit less certain, a breath less quick, when he tried the same old trick—to get in back of Neela Deo's ear. And it was on that false turn that Neela Deo caught him fairly in the throat—caught him and finished him in one thrust—with the blunt point of a banded tusk. (That was the miracle of it all—the banded tusk!)
Then Neela Deo stood back, put up his trunk and uttered a long, strong blast. They were ringing tones—mounting clarion104 tones, with tremendous volume at the top. They were the King's proclamation of victory.
The mahouts answered him in High Himalayan voices—full of unleashed105 devotion. The caravan made announcement of that allegiance the heart of an elephant gives—sometimes. But the wild herd broke away and ran shrieking106 up into the Vindha Hills.
Coming down from Mitha Baba's neck between Skag's hands, the Gul Moti smiled into his anguished107 eyes.
"Carlin! Are you—safe?" he asked.
"Safe—now!" she answered.
The tone of that low "now" startled him.
"Where have you been?" he breathed.
"Far—" she said, "very far!"
"But where?" he questioned.
"It was not in our world, Skag," she said. "It was—dark!"
The Chief Commissioner had come close, to hear; was stroking her shoulder, in fact—in an absent-minded way—shaking his head.
"You can't mean—the dark?" he broke in.
"I mean it was utterly dark, sir," she said. "It was absolutely dark!"
"But—I'm not able to understand!" her old friend protested.
"It was there Mitha Baba found them," the Gul Moti explained. "It was there she did the 'toiling in.' Then, she was leading them home to Hurda, when we met the caravan—at dawn."
Some of the mahouts had gathered about. The Chief Commissioner spoke51 to them in their speech and they answered him—calling others. Soon the men of High Himalaya drew near with grave deference108, slowly stooping to touch the ground at her feet.
"No human has ever been in that before," said Kudrat Sharif. "We will prepare rest for her—Chosen-of-Vishnu, the Great Preserver!"
It was after they had cared for the Gul Moti with the best they had—water from a mountain stream and food Neela Deo had carried, in a shelter made of tender deodar tips, where she now slept on a bed made of the same—that the mahouts told the Chief Commissioner and Skag, all they themselves had seen.
By this time concern had spread from Hurda throughout the country. Neela Deo had gone out to find the Gul Moti, carrying the Chief Commissioner and Son of Power. No one had come back. Calamity must have fallen. Men went out on horses to trace them. But it was certain priests of Hanuman who found the caravan first. (The Gul Moti having saved the life of a monkey king once, her safety was their concern also.) Without being seen or heard themselves, they went close enough to learn that she was making recovery from great exhaustion109; and that the mahouts were caring for an elephant unable to travel by reason of a bad wound. They overheard talk of strange happenings; but more about Neela Deo's undreamed-of achievement.
Before any of the searchers from Hurda reached the caravan, mysterious gifts of provisions—much needed—were found by the mahouts, with a crude writing beside them: "For the Healer-without-fear." And those same priests of Hanuman—preparing a signal-system as they came—brought the good word back to the anxious people, who became joyous110 at once. Their Gul Moti was safe! Neela Deo was safe—everyone was safe. (But that was a strange saying—that Neela Deo had fought!)
Bonfires blazed up in every village within sight of the caravan's way home—from so far away as watchers on Hurda's highest hill could see—burning night and day. At last the one furthest from Hurda went out. The watchers raced in—Neela Deo's caravan was coming! One by one, the bonfires went out—till it was this side the Nerbudda. Then the people made ready.
They thronged111 out the great Highway-of-all-India, meeting the caravan where the slow-moving elephants turned in from open jungle. Eagerly striving to see the Gul Moti's face, eagerly pointing at Neela Deo, yet it was a stranger silent multitude. Only many tears on many tears showed their feeling.
The Gul Moti sat in Neela Deo's howdah, with the Chief Commissioner and Son-of-Power. Two men came close, carrying a long slender shape covered with pure white cloth—dripping wet.
"We be poor men," one said, "but our hands bring to thee, oh Healer—from the people of Hurda, oh Healer—" and breaking off, because his lips could speak no more, he stooped reverently112 to lay aside the covering.
A great folded leaf appeared; a long heavy stalk; then the flawless splendour of one bloom—immaculate! a sacred lotus, brought from far lakes. The Gul Moti received its ineffable113 loveliness and rose to stretch her fingers toward the multitude. Then their shouts swept the horizon.
Still, their concept of Neela Deo's character must be either shattered or restored—and soon; they would not wait. Ominously114 quiet questions went up to the mahouts; and the mahouts were full-ready to answer! In the end, it sounded like a wild Himalayan chant about Neela Deo's great fight to save Gunpat Rao. The people listened patiently, till an inward meaning enlightened them. Then they exulted:
"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"
"Exalted115 in majesty116, Defender117 of honour, protecting his own with strength! We will remember him!"
"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"
"He with the wisdom of ages. Destroyer of devastators, preserving his friend with blood! Our children shall not forget!"
"He the Discerner of men, Equitable118 King! He the Discerner of evil, Invincible119 King! All generations after us shall hear of him; but we have looked upon his face!"
"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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6
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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toiler
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| 辛劳者，勤劳者 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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9
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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10
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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13
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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14
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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15
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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16
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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19
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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20
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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21
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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22
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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23
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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24
stockades
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| n.（防御用的）栅栏，围桩( stockade的名词复数 ) | |
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25
intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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26
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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28
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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29
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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30
trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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31
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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32
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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33
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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34
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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35
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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36
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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37
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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38
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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39
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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40
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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41
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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42
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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43
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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44
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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45
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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46
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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47
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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48
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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49
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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50
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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53
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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54
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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55
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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56
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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57
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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58
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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59
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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60
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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61
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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62
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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63
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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64
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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65
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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66
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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67
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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68
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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69
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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70
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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71
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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72
ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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73
tusk
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| n.獠牙，长牙，象牙 | |
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74
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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75
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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76
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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77
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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78
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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79
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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80
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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81
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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82
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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83
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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84
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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85
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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86
pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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87
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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88
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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89
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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91
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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92
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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93
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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94
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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95
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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96
aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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97
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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98
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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99
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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100
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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101
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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102
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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103
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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104
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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105
unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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107
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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108
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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109
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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110
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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111
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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113
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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114
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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115
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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116
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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117
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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118
equitable
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| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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119
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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