The child screamed.
Chacko rushed to where his wife and son slept. In the dim glow from the turned down wick of the lantern that was in a corner of the room he saw Mariam, half awake, gently patting the child. The crying tapered off. He crouched and touched little Mathai’s cheek. It was warm and soft and still wet where the tears had rolled down.
After a while he went back to his room. Many thoughts crossed his mind. Big One had accepted his challenge but he had failed to confront the beast. Why was he making so many mistakes? He had bagged his first crocodile at the age of thirteen and now, after eighteen years of exp
erience, he was performing like a novice. Was it because of some special power that Big One had? Was the creature really invincible?
At daybreak Chacko saw that Nero’s open grave had been annihilated. The skeleton was a heap of jointed and broken bones. The harpoon and the bamboo stakes were flat on the ground and the palm leaf streamers that had turned light brown in the sun lay scattered. Sand was viciously dug up in several parts of the ravaged square.
Instinct told the hunter that Big One wouldn’t come there again. He would have to locate and kill the enemy. If that didn’t happen before the first week of June when the southwest monsoon normally arrived, the beast would have an additional advantage. In the torrential rains it would be almost impossible to spot him. The ensuing floods would favor the crocodile to mount an attack.
Panic gripped the island. Big One had been to Chacko’s house three times but not a single shot had been fired. That was proof enough for the people to reiterate that the crocodile was an evil spirit and unconquerable.
After deliberating for a few days Chacko went secretly to a Brahmin astrologer who lived thirty miles away. The man asked for his horoscope. Like most Christians, he did not have one. The astrologer made him sit before a set of squares drawn on the floor and squatted opposite. He asked Chacko to name a flower and quote a number. The Brahmin made some calculations, moving his palms all the while along the sacred thread that was looped from his left shoulder to the right side of the torso. After identifying the star under which the hunter was born, he placed some small cowries on the squares and withdrew them systematically, chanting Sanskrit verses. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Minutes passed before the Brahmin started talking. Words came out slowly and his voice sounded as though it emanated from a great distance.
“There is danger,” the man said. “You have a powerful adversary who is not human. You did something wrong to acquire such an enemy.”
“Perhaps it is anger against my father.”
“Your problem has nothing to do with your sire.”
Chacko did not respond.
“I can see,” the astrologer carried on haltingly, “water and land. I can also see you and a beast. And a row of stones. In the background there are two vague human figures. One appears white. The other is in a dark robe.”
There was a long pause. The Brahmin appeared to be straining to visualize the future. He opened his eyes abruptly and said, “I cannot see beyond that.”
Chacko was confused. What the astrologer said made no sense to him. “Is my enemy evil?” he asked.
“There is good and bad in all beings.”
“Sir, what I want to know is whether my opponent has supernatural powers.”
“Supernatural power is what The Supernatural Power bestows. It might be there, might not be there. No one can tell.”
“What should I do?”
The Brahmin considered the question and answered, “Shed all traces of pride. Purify yourself and acquire power. Pray to all your gods. The rest is fate.”
Still confused, Chacko went to the church as soon as he was back in Kadep. He didn’t tell the vicar about his visit to the astrologer. Without wasting time he asked, "Is Big One an evil spirit?"
"I don't think so," the priest answered. "But there are many things in this world for which we have no rational explanation."
"Father, I was confident of handling Big One. After all, I’m the best hunter in these areas. But now I'm beginning to feel a little uneasy."
The priest smiled. "Yes," he said, "I can see. That's a good sign."
"Why do you say that?"
"I know that you are capable of defeating Big One. But when a man is overconfident he's forgetting God. Without Him you’re nothing."
"What's you advice?"
"You must," the priest answered, "approach the enemy from a position of strength. Trust in God. And pray."
After contemplating what the priest and the astrologer had advised Chacko asked Mariam to pack. Next morning, they went to the pier on the eastern side of the island. Mariam walked in front carrying the child, and a small steel box containing essential clothing on her head. Chacko followed a few paces behind her with his loaded gun. There were some ponds and canals along the route. The hunter didn’t rule out the possibility of a surprise attack be Big One.
After a long wait at the jetty, the passenger vessel going south from
The boat had traveled for nearly five minutes when Chacko heard the bellowing.
"Crocodile," some one shouted.
The hunter looked. It was a strange sight, awesome. Big One was fifty yards away keeping pace with the vessel, which was beginning to pick up speed. He kept on roaring. Each time the beast did that he bent like a bow, head and tail above the lake surface. His sharp teeth were clearly visible. Water sprayed into the air from his flanks. When the tail fell back there was more spray.
Passengers were dazed. No one spoke. Mariam glanced at the beast once and started crying silently, clutching the baby to her bosom with one hand and counting rosary beads with the other.
But Chacko was not worried. The beast was unlikely to attack the boat since he had exposed himself. The hunter considered using his gun but it didn’t have the range. He stood quietly, watching the antics of the crocodile that was mocking him in front of all those people. He was glad they were strangers. Nobody from Kadep was on board.
Big One submerged as suddenly as he had appeared. It would be months before he was sighted again.
Chacko left Mariam and the baby at his father-in-law's house. From there, traveling overnight on foot and by bullock cart he reached Kottayam, a trading center for hill produce and estate supplies early in the morning. He managed to get a lift in one of the trucks carrying provisions to the plantations in the High Ranges and by the afternoon reached his destination, the mist-shrouded Windermere Estate. That was where Luka worked.
The man from Kadep was not used to the cold of the hills. That night he sat wrapped in a blanket, drinking rum with his brother-in-law and eating chunks of spicy bison meat. He could not help thinking how much better crocodile tails with its stored up fat tasted.
After a few pegs he explained the purpose of his visit. Luka had mentioned some time back that CF Carlson, the owner of the plantation, was a great hunter who had shot many tigers and elephants. He wanted to meet the Englishman.
Carlson had returned recently from a furlough to Blighty. That was something he had missed for years because of the Great War. Next morning Chacko went to the owner’s bungalow. With Luka translating, he told Carlson all details about Big One except his blunder at the bridge. The white man was interested. He leaned back on a planter’s chair smoking a pipe filled with aromatic tobacco and listened attentively.
When the narrative was over Carlson said, "Never shot a crocodile. But I'll take care of this one."
"No, sahib," Chacko protested quickly. "I must kill Big One."
There was a flash of anger on the Englishman's face. "What the hell do you want then?"
"A gun," the man from Kadep answered. "A gun that can kill an elephant."
"What do you think I am?" Carlson retorted. "A bloody arms dealer?"
"No sahib," Chacko replied with respect. "I want to borrow the weapon."
"Borrow? How do I know that you'll return it?"
"I'm Chacko, the son of Mathai. You'll get the gun back, and the skin."
Carlson laughed.
The crocodile hunter's training in modern guns began the same day. The planter had a collection of weapons. The program started with a .22 rifle. Chacko’s aim and reflexes were superb. Gradually he became used to the weight and kick of weapons, which could drop a charging elephant in its tracks. The practice included quick shooting, fast reloading and firing from different positions. Chacko learned to roll with the gun and come up firing. There were detailed instructions on maintenance of rifles. The safety code in big game hunting was also taught.
Carlson collected information on crocodiles from the Encyclopedia Britannica that he had, and books borrowed from the Planters’ Club library and friends. Relevant points were discussed with Chacko.
Now they had to decide on the weapon to be used. The man from Kadep had already become familiar with different types of guns. The Englishman explained about ammunition. Soft nosed bullets that exploded on penetration caused extensive internal damage. Some hunters preferred it for the first shot and followed up with a non-expanding solid for the kill.
“There won’t be time,” Chacko said, “for a second shot.”
Carlson nodded. Range was not very important here. What mattered was power, and accuracy. He chose a Martini Henry. It was a good gun, which had range as well.
Using his influence with the government Carlson obtained the Kadep area sheet of the classified General Traverse Survey of India Map and spent a great deal of time studying the details. He and Chacko theorized about the possible methods and locations of attack by Big One and the techniques to be used by the hunter to trace the beast. The sahib admitted that crocodile hunting was unlike the big game that he knew, and perhaps more difficult.
The forests always gave useful indicators for a hunter, like spoors, droppings, waterholes, crumbled undergrowth, favorite foods of different species and the locations they were found, predictable habits of animals, scent, weather and temperature. Looking at the greenish ball shaped excreta of elephants, an experienced person could tell not only the direction in which the animals had passed but also the approximate time. When a tiger was on the prowl, birds and the smaller creatures in the vicinity scrambled away. A wounded buffalo was likely to veer away from the herd and circle back to its original track to attack the pursuer. Normally there would be at least a guide and a gun bearer on a hunting expedition. Some hunters waited on a machan, a platform erected at a safe height on trees with a live prey tied below, or when drummers ‘beat’ the forest to drive the animals that way.
Hunting crocodiles was different. These beasts normally searched for prey at night. They could go on for long periods without food and spent many hours of the day resting quietly at some safe haven. Their usual method of attack was to crawl up stealthily within striking distance, rush out at an incredible speed and grab the victim. Sometimes they attacked out of sheer vengeance. Crocodiles were more vulnerable on land and shallow waters. The lake offered them immense cover. It was extremely difficult to get a fix on a wily crocodile like Big One unless it made a mistake.
Soon Chacko’s training was shifted to a stream near the estate bungalow. Live fish, submerged stones and driftwood that floated down the rapids were the initial targets. He learned to judge the deflection of bullets in water, the varying speeds at which objects moved in the current and the sudden changes in their direction. The next step was with green bamboo pieces tied to ropes and placed near the waterline. The hunter was made to walk along the riverbank at dusk. When someone positioned away from the line of fire pulled the string and the bamboo jerked up, he was to shoot. With practice his hit rate improved.
To round up the training, there were instructions on long range shooting as well. In this, gauging the distance and the wind factor carefully and adjusting the gun sight appropriately for straight, upward and downhill shots were important.
Weeks passed and it was early March. One evening Carlson and Chacko were in the drawing room of the bungalow. The sahib was on his favorite leather upholstered chair smoking his pipe. The hunter from Kadep sat on a large tiger skin spread out on the wooden floor. A turbaned butler was mixing whiskey and soda for his master and acting as interpreter.
"In some countries," the Englishman said, "crocodiles were considered evil spirits. But in certain places like ancient
"My people too," Chacko said after a brief pause, "say that Big One has supernatural powers."
Carlson looked at him sharply. "You don't believe that nonsense, do you?" he asked.
The crocodile hunter didn't reply.
Carlson took a sip of whiskey that the butler had placed near his chair. "With all the training,” he asked, "aren't you confident now?”
Chacko was pensive. "Back in Kadep," he answered, "one wouldn't know when, where and how."
"You're right," Carlson agreed. "A hunter's always alone to face the unpredictable.” He drank more whiskey and continued, “Out there in the forest I feel humble. And scared. A hunter is only a small speck in the great scheme of things. He’s an intruder into the fine-tuned mechanism of nature.”
The Englishman took a pull at the pipe and went on, “But sometimes one has to kill. A man-eater, for instance. Or a rouge elephant.”
There was a long pause. Each man was left with his own thoughts.
After a while Carlson broke the silence. "I can give you a job here," he said, "if you like."
"Thank you. But I have to go. Maybe after I kill Big One."
"Yes," the white man agreed. "Go tomorrow."
In the morning when Chacko was ready to leave, Carlson opened two boxes of cartridges. He test fired one from each lot and handed over the rest along with the gun to Chacko. He also presented him a headlamp and an ammunition belt.
Before they parted the white man said, “Remember, Big One doesn’t know the power and range of this rifle.”
To be continued.
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