At a spot not far distant from the brook, the guide called their
attention to a most wretched looking man, overgrown with hair, who was
seated on the skin of a tiger. His body was covered with mud and ashes,
his skin sunburnt, his dress a few wretched tatters. He appeared not to
observe the approach of the strangers, neither moving nor speaking a
word, but remaining with his eyes fixed on a small and rude tomb, formed
of the black slate stones which lay around, and exhibiting a small
recess for a lamp. As they approached the man, and placed before him a
rupee or two, and some rice, they observed that a tiger's skull and
bones lay beside him, with a sabre almost consumed by rust.
While they gazed on this miserable object, the guide acquainted them
with his tragical history. Sadhu Sing had been a Sipahee, or soldier,
and freebooter of course, the native and the pride of a half-ruined
village which they had passed on the preceding day. He was betrothed to
the daughter of a Sipahee, who served in the mud fort which they saw at
a distance rising above the jungle. In due time, Sadhu, with his
friends, came for the purpose of the marriage, and to bring home the
bride. She was mounted on a Tatoo, a small horse belonging to the
country, and Sadhu and his friends preceded her on foot, in all their
joy and pride. As they approached the nullah near which the travellers
were resting, there was heard a dreadful roar, accompanied by a shriek
of agony.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239