When I again reached the village in which my followers had taken up their quarters for the night, I did not hesitate to wake them; and, at least a couple of hours before sunrise, the caravan was on its way.

On the twelfth day, about the hour of noon, we reached a very charming valley in the wooded region of the Vedisas. A small river, clear as crystal, wound slowly through the green meadows; the gentle slopes were timbered with blossoming underwood which spread an aromatic odour all around; somewhere about the middle of the extended valley bottom, and not far from the little river, there stood a nyagrodha tree, whose impenetrable leafy dome cast a black shadow on the emerald mead beneath, and which, supported by its thousand secondary trunks, formed a grove, wherein ten caravans like mine could easily have found shelter.

I remembered the spot perfectly from our journey out, and had already decided on it as a camping-place. So a halt was made. The tired oxen waded out into the stream and drank greedily of the cooling waters, the better, by and by, to enjoy the tender grass on the banks. The men refreshed themselves with a bath, and, collecting some withered branches, proceeded to light a fire at which to cook their rice; whilst I—also reanimated by a bath—flung myself down at full length where the shadows lay deepest, with a root of the chief trunk as head-rest, in order to think of Vasitthi, and soon, in very truth, to dream of her. Led by the hand of my beloved, I floated away through the fields of Paradise.

A great outcry brought me abruptly back to rude reality. As though a wicked magician had suffered them to grow up out of the soil, armed men swarmed about us, and the neighbouring thickets added constantly to their numbers. They were already at the wagons, which I had ordered to be drawn up in a circle round the tree, and had begun to fight with my people, who were practised in the handling of arms, and defended themselves bravely. I was soon in the thick of the fight. Several robbers fell by my hand. Suddenly, I saw before me a tall, bearded man of horrible aspect, the upper part of his body naked, and about his neck a triple row of human thumbs. Like a flash, the knowledge came to me: "This is Angulimala, the cruel, bloodthirsty robber, who makes of the villages blackened roof-trees; of the towns, heaps of smoking ruins; of the wide lands, desert wastes; who does away with innocent people and hangs their thumbs about his neck." And I believed my last hour was come. As a matter of fact, the monster at once struck my sword out of my hand—a feat with which I would have credited no being of flesh and blood. Soon I lay on the ground, fettered hand and foot. Round about me all my people were killed save one, an old servant of my father's, who was overpowered by numbers, and, like myself, had been made prisoner without a wound. Gathered in groups round about us, under the shady roof of the gigantic tree, the robbers indulged themselves to their hearts' content. The crystal chain with the tiger's eye, which, as I have already mentioned to thee, was torn apart in the struggle with Satagira—the chain which my good mother had at parting hung round my neck as an amulet—was rent from me by Angulimala's murderous hand. But much more distressing was the loss of the asoka flower, which I had constantly carried over my heart since that night on the terrace. Not far from me, I believed I could see it, a little red flame in the trampled grass, on the very spot where the youngest robbers ran hither and thither, carrying to the revellers the streaming flesh of beeves which had been hastily slaughtered and roasted, and, what was even more agreeable to the thirsty passions of that bestial throng, calabashes filled with spirits. It was to me as though they trampled on my heart every time I saw my poor asoka flower disappear under their foul feet, to reappear a moment later less luminous than before, till at length I could see it no longer. And I wondered whether Vasitthi now stood beneath the sorrowless tree, pleading for news. How good, if she were, that it could not tell her where I then was, for she would certainly have yielded up her tender soul could she have seen me in such surroundings. Not more than a dozen paces away, the formidable Angulimala himself caroused with several of his cronies. The bottle coursed freely, and the faces of the robbers—with the exception of one, of whom I will speak later—became more and more flushed, while they carried on conversations full of noisy animation and excitement, and now and again broke into open quarrel.

At that time, unfortunately, the jargon of the robbers had not been added to my many accomplishments—from which one may see how little human beings can discern what acquirements are likely to be of most service to them. How more than glad I should have been to be able to comprehend the gist of their loud talk, for I could not doubt that it concerned me and my fate! Their faces and gestures showed me so much, with gruesome plainness; and veritable tongues of flame, which from time to time flashed over to me from beneath the thick, bushy brows of the robber captain, brought home with much bitterness the loss of my amulet against the evil eye, which I could now see gleaming on the shaggy breast of the monster himself. My feeling was not at fault, for, as I later learned, I had cut down a pet of Angulimala's—one who was, moreover, the best swordsman in the whole band—before his very eyes, and the captain had only refrained from killing me on the spot, for the reason that he wanted to still his thirst for vengeance, by seeing me slowly tortured to death. But the others were not inclined to see a rich prize, which belonged of right to the whole band, uselessly squandered in any such way. A bald-headed, smooth-shaven robber, who looked as though he might be a priest, struck me as the man who chiefly differed from Angulimala, and the only one who understood how to curb the savage. He was also the only one whose face during the drinking retained its paleness. After a long dispute, in the course of which Angulimala sprang up a couple of times and reached for his sword, victory fell—fortunately for me—to the professional aspect of the case.

It should be mentioned that Angulimala's band belonged to the "Senders," so called because it was one of their rules that, of two prisoners, one should be sent to raise the money required for the ransom they demanded. If they took a father and son prisoner, they bade the father go and bring the ransom for the son; of two brothers, they sent the elder; if a teacher with his disciple had fallen into their hands, then the disciple was sent; had a master and his servant been caught, then the servant was obliged to go—for which reason they were known as the "Senders." To this end they had, as was usual with them, spared my father's old servant when they butchered all the rest of my people; for, although somewhat up in years, he was still very active, and looked intelligent and experienced—which indeed he had proved himself to be, seeing that he had already successfully conducted several caravans.

He was now freed from his fetters and sent away that same evening, after I had given him a confidential message to my parents, from which they would be able to see that there was no deception about the matter. But before he set out, Angulimala scratched some marks on a palm-leaf and handed it to him. It was a kind of safe-conduct, in case, on the way back with the money, he should fall into the hands of other robbers. For Angulimala's name was so feared, that robbers who dared to steal royal presents from the king's highway would never have had the audacity even to touch anything that was his.

My chains were also soon taken off, as they well knew that I would not be so foolish as attempt to fly. The first use to which I put my freedom was to fling myself down on the spot where I had seen the asoka flower disappear. But alas! not even a remnant of it could I discover. The delicate bit of flaming flower seemed under the coarse feet of the robbers to have been stamped to very dust. Was it a symbol of our life-happiness?

Comparatively free, I now lived with and moved about among those dangerous fellows, awaiting the arrival of the ransom which must come within two months.

As we were at that time in the dark half of the month, thefts and robberies followed upon one another in rapid succession. For this season, which stands under the auspices of the terrible goddess Kali, was devoted almost exclusively to regular business, so that no night passed without a surprise attack being carried out, or a house broken into. Several times whole villages were plundered. On the fifteenth night of the waning moon, Kali's festival was celebrated with ghastly solemnity. Not only were bulls and countless black goats slaughtered before her image, but several unhappy prisoners as well; the victim being placed before the altar, and having an artery so opened that the blood spouted directly into the mouth of the loathsome figure hung round with its necklaces and pendants of human skulls. Thereafter followed a frantic orgy, in the course of which the robbers swilled intoxicating drink with utter abandon till quite senseless, all the while amusing themselves with the Bajaderes who had been, with unparalleled audacity, carried off for that purpose from a great temple.

Angulimala, who in his cups became magnanimous, wanted to make me also happy with a young and handsome Bajadere. But when I, with my heart full of Vasitthi, spurned the maiden, and she, overwhelmed by the slight put upon her, burst into tears, Angulimala flew into a frightful rage, seized, and would have strangled me then and there, but that the bald, smooth-faced robber came to my help. A few words from him sufficed to make the iron grip of the chief relax, and to send him away growling like a scarcely tamed brute.

This remarkable man, who thus for the second time became my rescuer,—his hands yet bloody from the hideous Kali sacrifice he had conducted,—was the son of a Brahman. But because he had been born under the Robber Constellation he had taken to the trade of the robber. At first he had belonged to the "Thugs," but went over for scientific reasons to the "Senders." From his father's family he had inherited, as he told me, a leaning to religious meditation. So, on the one hand, he conducted the sacrificial service as priest,—and people ascribed the unusual luck of the band nearly as much to his priestly knowledge as to Angulimala's able leadership,—and, on the other hand, he lectured on the metaphysics of the robber-nature, in systematic form,—and not only on the technical side of it, but on its ethical side also; for I observed, to my amazement, that the robbers did have a morality of their own, and by no means considered themselves worse than other men.

These lectures were delivered chiefly at night, during the clear half of the month, at which time—apart from chance occurrences—business was quiet. In a forest clearing, the hearers squatted in several semicircular rows about the worshipful Vajaçravas, who sat with his legs crossed under him. His powerful head, barren of all hair, shone in the moonlight, and his whole appearance was not unlike that of a Vedic teacher who, in the quiet of a starlit night, imparts the Esoteric or Secret Doctrine to the inmates of a forest hermitage; but, on the other hand, many an unholy and bestial face, aye, and that of many a gallows-bird, was to be seen in that circle. It really seems to me as though I see them at this moment—as though I hear again the seething of the sounds in that gigantic forest, now swelling to the long sough of the far-off storm, anon sinking to the gentle sigh of the night wind as it goes to rest amid the lonely tree-tops—at intervals, the distant growl of a tiger or the hoarser bellow of a panther—and above it all, clear, penetrating, marvellously quiet, the voice of Vajaçravas—a deep, full-toned bass, the priceless inheritance of countless generations of Udgatars.[1]

To these lectures I was admitted because Vajaçravas had conceived a liking for me. He even went so far as to assert that I, like himself, had been born under a robber star, and that I would one day join myself to the servants of Kali, for which reason it would be of value to listen to his addresses, as they would unquestionably waken to active life the instincts slumbering within me. I have on such occasions heard very remarkable lectures from him on the different "Sects of Kali"—usually called thieves and robbers—and on the usages which severally distinguish them. No less instructive than entertaining were his excursive remarks on themes like "The value of courtesans in hoodwinking the police," or "Characteristics of officials of the upper and lower ranks, open to bribery, with reliable notes as to each man's price." To his particularly keen observation of mankind, as well as to his severe logicality in drawing conclusions, irreproachable testimony was borne by his treatment of the question, "How and why do rascals recognise one another at the first glance, while honest men do not; and what advantages accrue to the former from this circumstance?" not to speak of his brilliant remarks on "The stupidity of night-watchmen in general, a stimulating reflection for beginners," when the sleeping forest rang again to such a chorus of laughter that the robbers flocked together from all sides of the camp, in order to hear what was going on.

But dry technical questions also, the master understood how to handle in an interesting fashion, and I recollect really fascinating dissertations on "How to make a breach in a wall without noise," or, "How to excavate a subterranean passage with technical accuracy." The proper construction of different kinds of crowbars, particularly of the so-called "snake-jaw," and of the "cancriform" hook, was most graphically described; the use of soft-stringed instruments to discover whether people are awake, and of the wooden head of a man thrust in at the door or window to ascertain whether the supposed burglar will be observed,—all such things were thoroughly discussed. His development of the theory that a man, when carrying out a theft, must unquestionably take the life of every one who might later bear witness against him, as also his general consideration of the statement that a thief should not be afflicted with a moral walk and conversation, but, on the contrary, be coarse and violent, occasionally abandoning himself to drunkenness and immorality, I count among the most learned and witty lectures I have ever heard.

In order, however, to give thee a better idea of the profound mind of this truly original man, I must repeat to thee the most famous passage from his "Commentary on the Ancient Kali-Sutras, the Esoteric Doctrine of the Thieves"[2]—a commentary of all but canonical importance.



[1] Vedic sacrificial singers.

[2] With regard to the style of the Indian Sutras and their connection with the next chapter, see the note at the end of this book.