have happened if Jehangir had not been caught. The khitmutgar took fifteen of the rupees by way of commission, but even so, it was great wealth for Hussein while it lasted. For a little while Hussein was quite unbearable at home, but Mustapha beat him one day, and he returned to normal.
Jehangir became even more attached to Hussein after that, as he felt that he had saved him from doing horrible things.
Zeinab was the only person who saw through Hussein’s pretence of having known that the elephant was mûsth, and one day, when she suddenly taxed him with it, he was too flustered to deny it. She used to blackmail him in a mild way, so he paid more attention to Mustapha’s teaching than he would have done otherwise, and he kept the garden in much better order; but she was a kindly soul, and did not plague him at all, so he loved her none the less. Although she had a long tongue with a shrewd edge to it on occasion, she was as good as a mother to Hussein, and she treated him just as well as her own sons, and perhaps a little better, for she knew that she would never have another young boy of her own. Zeinab was also a surpassingly good cook, which made her household love her more than any amount of beauty would have done. It was firmly held by all those who had tasted it that the saffron stew she made from the tail of a fat-tailed sheep was equal to any food this side of Paradise. She had inherited the recipe for this dish from her mother, who in turn had had it from hers; it had come with her to Mustapha, being of great worth. Indeed, it was this stew that had brought Mustapha to her in the first place, as he had eaten it one evening in the house of Wali Dad, and had asked who had cooked it.
Mustapha’s three sons, Amir Khan, Yussuf, and Abd’allah, were also kind to Hussein in that rather condescending, offhand manner that very young men use towards boys, because they wish it clearly to be understood that they are on two different planes — that they are quite grown up, and that anyone younger is a great deal younger, and not a man at all.
Amir Khan had a moustache, of which he was inordinately proud, and which he oiled assiduously; he was the mahout of a cow elephant called Kali, because of her temper. He was a weak, good-natured youth; handsome, and rather vain. He was very proud of his elephant, who, to tell the truth, was a singularly dull and vicious brute as elephants go, and often he would tell Hussein of the wonderful way in which she understood him, and of the things she could do if she were not so highly strung.
Yussuf and Abd’allah were twins; they were very much alike — both tall and well set; but apart from their inherent understanding of elephants, they were stupid; but they were simple and good-natured, and Hussein got on very well with them. Being rather young to be full mahouts, they were employed to cut fodder in between taking out any odd elephant that had no regular mahout. They spent a good deal of their time playing soccer football, which had been introduced by the English soldiers. It was extremely popular, particularly among the young Mohammedans. They played in bare feet, and their game was very fast, as the ground was nearly always as hard as asphalt. Hussein played quite a lot, but he was very light, so he did not get much of a game, the barging being rather heavy; but he was quick on his feet, and when he could get hold of the ball he could generally do something with it.
The Sikhs at Amritsar were also keen footballers, and one of the younger English officers in the PWD had organised a match between an eleven of his men and a team drawn by his friend, a lieutenant in a Sikh regiment.
The game was played on Thursday, when there were no parades, and the soldiers turned up in great force. All the mahouts came with as great a muster of elephants as they could bring for the honour of their side.
The match ground lay near the regimental barracks. None of the senior officers of the Sikhs or the PWD liked to be spoil-sports, so they all turned up. The Mohammedans played in white turbans, closely tied for greater security, and the Sikhs in blue turbans. Yussuf and Abd’allah were both playing as half-backs, and Hussein was watching with Mustapha on Jehangir.
The match was very fast from the beginning, and the ball was all over the field before a few minutes had gone. The audience was very much worked up, and the Sikhs were howling in Punjabi to encourage their men.
At half-time there was still no score: the barging had been a trifle wild, but it had been perfectly clean. After the change-over the game was still faster, and presently Abd’allah, the left half, took the ball from one of the Sikhs, and ran up the field with it. He tricked three men very neatly, and he had just swung the ball in to the waiting centre forward when one of the backs charged him very heavily. He had already passed the ball when he was knocked flying; the Sikh had used his elbow, and Abd’allah was carried off the field. A penalty was awarded against the soldiers, and immediately afterwards the PWD side scored. The penalty was unpopular with the non-Moslem part of the crowd, and the goal made it even more so. The Sikhs began playing rather wildly, and their opponents met them fully half-way.
Before long a Sikh was knocked out practically in the goal mouth; his turban came off, showing his long hair — a great shame for a Sikh. But the game went on and no penalty was awarded, although half the crowd howled for one.
Then the outside left of the PWD team broke away, running right up the touch-line with the ball. The inside left was backing him up. They were on the side away from their supporters; two men converged on the outside left, but he tricked them both, and passed the ball to the inside left, who had gone ahead. Instantly all the Sikhs shouted ‘Offside!’ but the referee did not blow his whistle.
No one quite saw what happened next, but there was a scuffle as some of the onlookers surged on to the ground, and when they went back the inside left was lying unconscious over the ball.
Then someone knocked a Sikh’s turban off, and pulled his long hair. A Sikh hurled his knife-edged steel turban-quoit at the referee, cutting his head open. Then all the Mohammedans rushed as one man from their side on to the ground, and the Sikhs met them in mid-field. Their elephants were a tower of strength to the mahouts, and although they were outnumbered, the PWD team were collected, and carried off to safety by their supporters.
The Hindus in the crowd joined with the Sikhs against the Mohammedans, and soon a budding riot was growing on the football-ground.
Fortunately some of the senior officers had guessed what would happen a little after half-time, and they had called out the guard from the barracks. The Sikhs’ discipline soon re-asserted itself, and what might have been a very ugly riot fizzled out after a round of blank cartridge. Nevertheless, three people had managed to get killed, and a great deal of religious fanaticism had been stirred up, which meant an anxious month for the Indian Police. The unfortunate young men who had organised the game were given exceedingly undesirable posts. The PWD man was sent out to investigate wells in the Bikaneer desert villages, and the Sikhs’ officer was attached to a Madrassi regiment of infantry. The mahouts were moved, with the elephants, to a place right away in the Deccan, where they were building a road. The elephants, with their mahouts, travelled with the baggage-train of a south-bound regiment.
They marched all the way, as there was no urgent need for them. The journey took several weeks; Hussein and Mustapha stayed with Jehangir, and on the way Mustapha recited long suras, in a high chanting voice, so as to improve Hussein’s mind. Sometimes, when Mustapha dozed on Jehangir’s neck, Hussein would slip off, and go back through the dust to the slow bullock carts where Zeinab sat among the pots and bundles. At each stopping-place she made a little fire, and prepared kebabs, which she wrapped in cool leaves for Hussein to eat on the way. Every day was like the one before. They marched, with halts, from dawn until sunset, when the soldiers pitched their tents, and a complete camp sprang up within an hour. Hussein and his cousins slept on a great soft pile of fodder that smelt sweet and fresh, like new-mown hay.
Before dawn the bugles went, and the tents disappeared like snow in summer. By sunrise they would be on the march again.
It was a splendid journey from Hussein’s point of view — there were always new things to be seen, and new people to talk to. On one memorable evening some villagers tried to creep into the camp and steal a rack of rifles, but they were caught, amid great tumult and shouting; once a leopard took a straggling