13 Tiger Adventure (12 page)

‘I think he’s adopted us,’ said Hal. That’s the easiest catch we ever made. In fact, we didn’t catch him, he caught us. What a friendly beast! We have the dogwolf, now we must get the wolf.’

With a skilful fling of the lasso Hal necked the largest and finest of the wolves. He and Roger both laid hold of the rope and drew the howling wolf to the back of the truck.

‘I’ll get him up on to the truck,’ Roger said.

‘You can’t do that,’ Hal said, ‘he must weigh nearly two hundred pounds.’

Roger went back. He jerked on the rope until the wolf angrily leaped up on the truck, snarling, ready to punish this boy for annoying him.

But Roger was no longer there. He was standing behind the cage, the door of which stood open. The animal was not used to cages. What he wanted was to get at the boy whom he could see plainly through the back of the cage. He walked in. Roger slipped round and closed the cage door.

Captured - one wolf. The dogwolf did not need to be captured. Evidently he had not seen human beings for a long time and he elected to stay with them. He didn’t need to be caged. The dog in him trusted a dog’s best friend - man.

So, wolf and dogwolf travelled back to camp. The wolf was caged. But the dogwolf ran free. He could be relied upon to stick, around where he was petted, well fed, and safe.

At their long-delayed breakfast, Hal said, ‘Roger, you remember reading White Fang by Jack London - about the animal called White Fang who was part dog, part wolf. And then there was that story by Kipling about the little boy called Mowgli who was brought up by a wolf. Since that was written there have been more stories about children being brought up by wolves. They are very common in India. One of these stories is about a small boy who had been abandoned at birth but was cared for by the wolves.

He walked on his hands and feet, he could not speak any language, but he could howl like a wolf. Of course it was just a story, but many people believed it. Anyhow, such stories show that some people trust wolves and find there is much good in them. But I think the best qualities of all come out when you put dog and wolf together as you see them in our new friend, Dogwolf.’

Hal had been working very hard collecting animals. He was very tired, almost sick. He needed a rest.

‘You look like a ghost.’ Roger said. ‘Why don’t you let up for a little while?’

‘I’ve been thinking about doing just that,’ Hal said. ‘How would you like to go to the Vale of Kashmir for a week or two? It’s just one of the loveliest places on earth.’

That would be great,’ said Roger. ‘I’ve heard about it. Vale means valley, doesn’t it? They have houseboats. Perhaps we could rent one and live on it. But who would take care of our animals?’

That’s the trouble,’ admitted Hal. They would have to be fed every day, and they would have to be protected against crooks like those three in the barn-house. We’ll have to find someone to take care of them. Suppose I go and see Abu Singh. We’ve given him an elephant worth millions of rupees. Perhaps he would be willing to do something for us.’

Hal found Abu Singh eating his breakfast. Abu Singh was happy to see him. ‘Come, my good friend, sit down and eat with me.’

Thank you, but I’ve already had breakfast,’ Hal said.

‘You look as if you needed more. Either that or rest. You are doing very hard work - why don’t you relax for a little while?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it. But someone will have to look after our animals. They would have to be fed. And it would be necessary to protect them against thieves who are very anxious to steal them.’

‘Why don’t you let me help?’ said Abu Singh. ‘I can’t stay there myself, but I could have one of our men posted there.’

‘Very kind of you,’ Hal said. ‘But he would have to be on the job day and night. He could use our cabin.’

It will be a pleasure to do this for you.’ said Abu Singh. ‘You have done so much for me. The elephant you gave me is one of our best.’

He went to the door and called in a mahout. He said to Hal, This mahout’s name is Akbar. Akbar, this is Hal Hunt who has a permit to collect animals in the Gir Forest. He has already made a fine collection. But it is very hard work and he and his brother are going away for a week or two. While they are away, I want you to look after their animals, feed them, and don’t let anybody steal them. You may use their cabin. Can I rely upon you?’

‘Certainly, Master. When shall I begin?’

‘At once. Go back with Mr. Hunt and he will tell you just what each animal requires in the way of food.’

Hal liked Akbar and felt the job was in good hands. He and Roger were free to go, and they left at once for New Delhi where they could get a plane for the wonderful valley of Kashmir.

The plane climbed to a dizzy height, passed through a narrow gorge, and came down to the most beautiful spot they had ever seen.

The valley was a cradle surrounded completely by Himalayan peaks. The river Jhelum ran through it and there were dozens of lakes. All the land was so green that it looked as if it had been painted yesterday. The plains below were hot, but here the air was delightfully cool. When the British governed India they would come every summer to Kashmir to get away from the terrific heat of the plains. They would live on houseboats. Now the British were gone but the houseboats were still there, three hundred of them lined up ready for use.

After landing, the boys inspected the houseboats. They picked one name bone Star. At their request, it was poled across Dal Lake to a quiet little cove where it came to rest in

a great bed of lotus. These magnificent plants have leaves as big as umbrellas and flowers of great beauty.

The boys felt they were in a sort of heaven. This was a hidden paradise which, once seen, could never be forgotten. Hundreds of years ago the emperors of India had made this their summer home. One of them, the Emperor Jahangir, had written:

Kashmir is a garden of eternal spring. Its pleasant meadows and enchanting cascades are beyond all description. There are running streams and fountains beyond count. Wherever the eye reaches there is running water. In the enchanting spring the hills and plains are filled with blossoms.

The great Himalayas crowned with snow and gleaming with glaciers completely encircle the valley. The livery green of growing things with the silver threads of streams, canals and lakes turn the whole into a sort of Himalayan Venice. The broad Jhelum River passes through lovely lake after lake on its way to join the might Indus.

The mountains are the world’s highest. Nothing in the range stands at less than eighteen thousand feet. One soars to twenty-six thousand, another twenty-eight thousand while Everest tops the entire planet at twenty-nine thousand feet. Even the Vale of Kashmir itself is a mile high.

On a peak above the houseboat was a storybook castle, on another peak the maharajah’s palace, and on another an ancient fortress.

‘Let’s take a look at our floating house,’ Hal said.

In a hotel they would have one room. Here they had seven rooms. All were beautifully furnished. The ceilings were of fine wood. The windows were large affording a wonderful view, the carpets were thick, and the bulging lamps were made of camels’ stomachs. A stairway led up to the flat roof which was a hundred feet long, a fine place to stroll or sit and admire the beauty on every side.

‘No better place than this in the world to rest,’ Hal said.

One would not expect electric lights on a houseboat, electric fans, two baths, a well-stocked library, hand-carved furniture and oil paintings. But this floating palace had all that and more.

It did not have a kitchen. This was a blessing because there were no fumes from cooking stoves. Thirty feet behind the houseboat was the ‘kitchen boat’ where all the cooking was done and where the help lived. At mealtimes a butler came from the kitchen boat bearing trays of food which were unloaded on to the table in the dining-room and the butler stayed to serve the two lucky travellers.

And even that was not all. The houseboat itself did not move, but moored to its bow was a shikara or pleasure boat forty-five feet long, manned by four paddlers who would take you anywhere at any time of the day or night. You could take a trip by moonlight at two a.m. if you wished.

‘Something like the gondolas they have in Venice.’ Hal said, ‘but a lot better. Instead of sitting upright you lie on those cushions. You have cushions under your back, cushions beside you, cushions under your head and cushions under your feet. There’s a canopy above you and curtains that may be drawn against sun or wind. Let’s go for a ride.’

No sooner said than done. They stepped into the shikara, nodded to the smiling boatman, waved a hand to indicate that they wanted to go round the lake, and off they went in a boat that was named Abode of Peace.

The shikara brushed through beds of lotus with their gorgeous pink-and-white flowers and three-foot leaves, through squat, contented water lilies and tall, swaying reeds as graceful as young girls, under a sky so clear it seemed no sky at all, and over open stretches of water so smooth that they seemed to consist merely of mountains upside down. One man sang softly to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument called a sarangi.

‘Who knows what emperors have sailed in this boat,’ said Roger. ‘I feel like an emperor myself.’

The air was so clean that objects at a great distance seemed to be close by. It was as if they were looking at everything through a magnifying glass. There was good health in the breeze, no pollution anywhere. No wonder many Kashmiri lived to be a hundred.

Other shikaras drifted by, their names neatly displayed: Dancing Girl, Spring Rose, Kashmir Glory, Rock and Roll.

When the sarangist finished his song, there was no sound but the dip of paddles and the swoop of orange-breasted blue-backed kingfishers.

No roar of motors. A lake with no speedboats churning up the surface, destroying the mirror that held so many mountains.

‘Look at the gardens!’ exclaimed Roger.

They were not vegetable gardens, and they were not flower gardens although there were many flowers. They were lovely parks that had been established by the emperors of past ages. They covered miles along the shore. Great chinar trees as mighty and as old as the huge sequoia gigantea of California raised their heads almost two hundred feet high. Between them were dozens of streams, waterfalls and fountains. The shikara glided by the ‘Garden of Breeze’ laid out by the Emperor Akbar, the ‘Garden of Pleasure’ with its fountains falling over ten terraces, and the ‘Royal Spring’ designed by the Emperor Shah Jehan, creator of the Taj Mahal which is said to be the most beautiful building in the world.

In such a paradise the boys got back their strength. After a week they hired a car and drove up to Leh at an altitude of nearly twelve thousand feet.

Here they had none of the pleasant climate of the Vale. The thin, dry air could not resist the sun or hold the heat after the sun had gone. The temperature climbed to 120°F at noon and sank to 40°F at midnight.

The people of Leh got their living from herds of tough cattle and yaks. They could grow crops of barley and rice. They knew the ways of the otter and the antelope, the ibex and the Himalayan black bear, the gazelle, chital, musk deer, leopard, fox, jackal, wolf, wildcat and the handsome and graceful snow leopard.

The boys were sorry they had no way to transport some of these animals to their camp in the Gir Forest. But their chance would come later in the mountains above the Gir.

The boys came back to Kashmir and then travelled to Swat. This was a very small country surrounded by Pakistan which now governs its affairs.

But not so long ago it was a kingdom under the Ahkoond or King of Swat. The name ‘Swat’ is so curious that the playful poet, Edward Lear, wrote this jingle:

Who, or why, or which, or what

Is the Akond of Swat?

Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?

Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair,

or SQUAT?

The land of Swat is about a hundred miles long and fifty wide. It is watered by the Swat River. Its half-million Swatis speak the Swat language. Everything is Swat in Swat.

Edward Lear was answered by another poet:

What, what, what,

What’s the news from Swat?

Sad news,

Bad news,

Comes by cable led

Through the Indian Ocean’s bed.

Through the Persian Gulf, the Red

Sea and the Med—

Iterranean - he’s dead;

The Ahkoond is dead!

The boys stayed in the Swat Hotel and they dined on Swat’s chief export, honey. And they saw the Swat dungeon where criminals were confined.

Next door to Swat the Hunts found another tiny country, called Dir.

‘Dir me,’ said Hal. This is worse than Swat. No schools, no colleges, no hospitals, except one for dogs.’

The Prince of Dir kept forty dogs and forty wives. Some of the Diris were pirates. If the border was not carefully watched, a Swati cow would be carried off, or a Swati wife.

On the Hunts went to New Delhi and then to the Gir Forest and their precious animals which the mahout had cared for so well. In fact, he had added one more. It was a beautiful black-and-white giant panda, a visitor from nearby China, cousin of the red panda they had already captured.

‘Good to be home,’ said Hal, ‘and good that not one animal has been stolen.’ He tried to press some rupees upon Akbar but the mahout would not accept any payment.

‘You have already paid us,’ he said, ‘a hundred times over. Your elephant is a great logger. Any time we can help you, let us know.’

Walking in the forest, the Hunts suddenly came upon a herd of some thirty wild water-buffalo, the biggest and most dangerous of all oxen next to the gaur.

These great animals, weighing more than two thousand pounds, faced about and regarded the boys with angry tosses of their heads and deep bellows that told the newcomers that they were not welcome.

‘Better get up a tree,’ Hal said.