No More Learning

Following the impulse of the outer world when dealing with natives, I
put my hand into my pocket and drew out four annas. The absurdity of the
gift struck me at once, and I was about to replace the money.

Gunga Dass, however, was of a different opinion. "Give me the money,"
said he; "all you have, or I will get help, and we will kill you! " All
this as if it were the most natural thing in the world!

A Briton's first impulse, I believe, is to guard the contents of his
pockets; but a moment's reflection convinced me of the futility
of differing with the one man who had it in his power to make me
comfortable; and with whose help it was possible that I might eventually
escape from the crater. I gave him all the money in my possession, Rs.
9-8-5--nine rupees eight annas and five pie--for I always keep small
change as bakshish when I am in camp. Gunga Dass clutched the coins, and
hid them at once in his ragged loin cloth, his expression changing to
something diabolical as he looked round to assure himself that no one
had observed us.

"Now I will give you something to eat," said he.

What pleasure the possession of my money could have afforded him I am
unable to say; but inasmuch as it did give him evident delight I was not
sorry that I had parted with it so readily, for I had no doubt that he
would have had me killed if I had refused. One does not protest against
the vagaries of a den of wild beasts; and my companions were lower than
any beasts. While I devoured what Gunga Dass had provided, a coarse
chapatti and a cupful of the foul well-water, the people showed not the
faintest sign of curiosity--that curiosity which is so rampant, as a
rule, in an Indian village.

I could even fancy that they despised me. At all events they treated me
with the most chilling indifference, and Gunga Dass was nearly as bad.
I plied him with questions about the terrible village, and received
extremely unsatisfactory answers. So far as I could gather, it had been
in existence from time immemorial--whence I concluded that it was at
least a century old--and during that time no one had ever been known to
escape from it. [I had to control myself here with both hands, lest the
blind terror should lay hold of me a second time and drive me raving
round the crater. ] Gunga Dass took a malicious pleasure in emphasizing
this point and in watching me wince. Nothing that I could do would
induce him to tell me who the mysterious "They" were.

"It is so ordered," he would reply, "and I do not yet know any one who
has disobeyed the orders. "

"Only wait till my servants find that I am missing," I retorted, "and I
promise you that this place shall be cleared off the face of the earth,
and I'll give you a lesson in civility, too, my friend. "

"Your servants would be torn in pieces before they came near this place;
and, besides, you are dead, my dear friend. It is not your fault, of
course, but none the less you are dead and buried. "

At irregular intervals supplies of food, I was told, were dropped down
from the land side into the amphitheatre, and the inhabitants fought for
them like wild beasts. When a man felt his death coming on he retreated
to his lair and died there. The body was sometimes dragged out of the
hole and thrown on to the sand, or allowed to rot where it lay.

The phrase "thrown on to the sand" caught my attention, and I asked
Gunga Dass whether this sort of thing was not likely to breed a
pestilence.

"That," said he, with another of his wheezy chuckles, "you may see for
yourself subsequently. You will have much time to make observations. "

Whereat, to his great delight, I winced once more and hastily continued
the conversation:--"And how do you live here from day to day?