Indianapolis Times, Volume 48, Number 1, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 March 1936 — Page 25

MARCH 12,1936

By . . . P. C. WREN who has lived a life of thrills as a Major in the French Foreign Legion and has put many of those thrills into print. Is most famous for “Beau Geste” and ’ Bgau Sabreaur" which, as most of his fiction, were based on experiences he has encountered.

SAVED BY A TIGER

NOVELISTS write thrillers, but Fate writes far more exciting- ones, and frequently in blood. No story-teller would dare to invent and publish fiction as far-fetched and strange, as weird and impossible, as the facts of Truth frequently are. Take the following as an example of a fact stranger than any fiction—tl, true story of a murderer, a prophet, a girl and a man-eater . . .

Soni was one of the prettiest things you ever saw—so graceful, slender, sweet and smiling, with a perfect figure to match her lovely face and the carriage of a goddess. Tills she had inherited and perfected by her daily walk from her father’s house to the river bank with a large and heavy brass lotah of water balanced on her head. One majvelod that so slender a neck could bear so heavy a weight; but Soni strode unconcernedly along the Jungle path straight as a lance and as upright as though she bore feathers on her head. When she passed the spot where I was encamped I always followed her with my eyes, for she was the poefry of motion incarnate, and in her colored sari a moving picture .. . very moving . . tt tt it this same path that led •*- from the village to the ford, sat a being as different from Soni as one person cftn be from another. He was old, he was ugly, and he was very, very wise. Unlike Soni again, he did net move w-ith perfect grace and poise, for he did not move at all—apparently. No one had ever seen him stand up, much less walk; and he had been seated beneath that same pipal tree for as long as the oldest villager couid remember. He was a faquir, a Holy Man, and a genuine one. And just as no one had ever seen Tulsiram Jagganath walk, so no one had ever seen him do anything wrong, or heard him say anything evil. He Just was. And, to the simple villagers, any one who renounces the world, and neither does, possesses, nor desires anything, is ipso facto holy, venerable and to be cherished and worshiped. I had many long conversations with Tulsiram Jagganath, a man of profound intellect and wide erudition, but with a point of view so different from mine that we were, mentally, poles asunder. But his knowledge and his powers impressed me deeply—so much so that I staked my life on his veracity, or rather on my belief in the truth and accuracy of his claiiwoyance and prophetic powers. n it tt I MADE a tour through the district, a sportman’s paradise, fishing for mahsfer, watchirg animals by moonlight at the jr .gle drinking places, and calcula .ng, with the help of my shikaris, the shy aboriginals, difficult to approach as the wild beasts of the forest. And when I returned to my camp I found that stark tragedy stalked the hitherto happy village. Beautiful Soni and five other women had been killed. So had a boy and two grown men, wood-cutters who worked in the jungle. Terror reigned; no-one dared go abroad after dark, and few cared to do so by day, for the maneating tiger that had so suddenly appeared and so quickly wrought this terrible havoc, had taken three of his victims at high noon. And beautiful Soni was dead . . . killed horribly. Her father, her brothers and the young man who hoped to be her husband and was her lover, had seen a mangled mess that had been Soni; a crushed skull, a cage-work of exposed ribs, a bared thigh bone; a sight to drive the beholder insane and all the men who saw it had loved Soni. So, I think, had I.

MY blood boiled ''hen I thought of her, mangled and torn' and tortured by that foul brute, too lazy, too cunning, or too old to hunt his natural prey. Was there nothing else for his great claws and cruel fangs to tear but my sweet dainty Soni? That night I dreamed of her; I heard her dreadful screams; and I saw (hat which, to my infinite relief, awakened me, trembling, sweating, and sick with terror and disgust. And. while I slept, the tiger took toll of that poor village community again. It was a man this time—a man indeed—for he had gone out, armed with nothing but his woodman's ax, to look for the man-eater, and to avenge his sweetheart. It was Soni's lover. A village woodman’s ax is a terrible weapon in the hands of those experts, and can inflict ghastly wound?. But this of the odds; a naked man, armed with a small ' short ax. against a Bengal tiger. And poor Bagu had never struck a blow, for the tiger had sprung 1 upon him from behind, as all the signs quite clearly showed. * WHILE I sat, angry and miserable, at the door of my tent, the chela (servant and disciple) of Tulsiram Jagganath, the holy sannyasi, approached, salaamed and begged that I would honor his master with a visit, as he had something most important to say to me. I went at once. Our conversation, which I remember almost verbatim to this day.' went as follows; ’ Sahib, you must slay this tiger. i It is a devil-tiger and no villager can kill it.’’ “Holy One, I would give anything j to be able to kill it. But how can 1 1 sit up for a tiger that will not take cattle, and that does not return to Its human kill. The villagers tell my shikari that it seizes a human ; being, eats a hearty meal at once, and does not return. It is indeed a devil-tiger—and a devil of a tiger, too. . . . What can I do? Where can! I watch for it?” “You can’t. It would be useless. You must go and look for it in the Jungle.” “The Jungle is a very big place! And the tiger may be a hundred miles away by now. They travel far and fast.” “It is not a hundred miles away; and you must look for it in the Jungle. At night, too, when it prowls. You will never find it while it sleeps by day In some cave, or under thick bushes in the shadow of a great rock. You must be a real hunter, and hunt for it, by night, and not sit and wait for it to come U> you, a thing it will never do ,, # "

NOW this was all very fine. Also arrant nonsense. No one goes looking for a tiger on foot in broad daylight, for two good reasons. He would never see the tiger; and, if he did, it would almost certainly kill him. No, either he sits up in a tree, or on a machine, and hundreds of beaters drive the tiger toward him with hideous noise and commotion; or else he waits by night in a tree or machan, close to a tiger’s half-eaten kill or a live calf until the beast comes for his second meal from the kill, or is attracted by the bleating of the calf. As for looking for a tiger on foot in the jungle by night it would be one of two things—an idiotic waste of time or else suicile, according to whether one met tlm tiger or not. “You must go and find it in the Jungle, as it prowls near the village, and slay it, Sahib,” repeated the holy man, “and the villagers will bless your narqe forever, and the spirits of Soni and the other victims of this devil-tiger will rest in peace. “I cant do that, swamipji,” I said. "I haven’t the pluck. And I have more sense. I shouldn’t meet this tiger; and, if I did it would kill me—probably before I even saw it.” “You will meet the tiger; and it will not kill you,” replied the holy man, speaking with the utmost assurance. “On the contrary, it will save your life. Yea, verily ... If you kill it, it shall save your life.” His reverence was “going it” with a vengeance! And yet he had a reputation for absolute veracity, and for infallible accuracy of prophecy. “Riddles and parables, Holy One!” I smiled. “‘Who shall lose his life, shall save it,’ eh? ...” “There will be bright moonlight,” replied the sannyasi, “and I have been talking to the Tiger-King.” u a a 1 SHOULD have said he had been drinking, too, did I not know that he had never tasted alcohol in his life, and lived on rice, fruit and water. “Who is he, Swami-ji?” I asked, and suddenly remembered that I had heard before of Bhil or Gond or Sonthal wizards, aged aborigines, who were supposed to hold communication with a tiger god, and to be able to turn themselves into tigers! “One whom you would call an ignorant savage, and who knows things that your wisest and most learned scientists do not know,” replied the holy man. “I sent for him and talked with him. And I tell you again, if you will go forth this night and look for the tiger, you will meet it, approaching the village. If you have faith and courage, you will kill it—and it will save your life.” Was the holy fakir a humbug, a fraud and a liar, anxious for his own safety, or was he a clairvoyant? Or, again, had he occult knowledge and power of prophecy? Anyway, whether for Soni’s sake, for fear of being thought a coward, or for common humanity and for the hope of putting an end to this ghastly slaughter, I took my heavy 12-boie rifle and strolled out after dinner along the path from the village into the jungle, intending to stay out all night. I KNEW that I was on a fool’s errand; that I was wasting my time, but there was the tiger! There he was, standing staring at me, in a patch of bright moonlight in the little open glade across which the path led. I hadn’t time to be frightened, nor the tiger time to do more than lash his tail, lower his head, crouch, quiver as he gathered himself for the spring, for I threw up my rifle, saw him over the ivory moonlight foresight—and fired. . . . And again. . . . And what should have been a mighty spring became a lurch and a sprawl, a terrific, convulsive struggle, and quivering death. tt tt tt ABOUT a year later I sat, late one night, in my bungalow 1000 miles from where Tulsiram Jannagath the holy man sat and contemplated nothingness. Hearing a sound, I looked up. and my heart missed a beat. Imagination made me a coward once again. ... I could feel that terrible great knife crashing through my ribs; slashed across my throat; ripping open my stomach. . . . For, between me and the door, stood a great, gaunt, silent-footed ghazi, huge Khvber knife in hand. He had come to earn remission of his sins and a place in paradise by slaying an infidel—and I was alone in the bungalow, the servants having returned to their huts at the bottom of the compound long ago. I was in for it. I had no weapon of any sort, and the ghazi, bigger and stronger than I. a mountaineer of wire and whipcord, had the great razor-edged knife with which he could lop off a hand, an arm, a head, almost at a stroke. As I rose to my feet, almost paralyzed with terror, the murderous fiend bounded forward, rushed head-long at me, tripped over the stuffed head and skin of the man-eating tiger, slipped, lurched, staggered, and fell as I caught him a priceless straightleft on the point of the jaw. Almost before he touched the floor I did what I had never done to any opponent before—kicked. With all my might I kicked him under the chin, and then snaiched the knife that had flown from his hand as the tigerskin tripped him and I hit him. BUT I had no* need of it. He was out—and all I needed was the cord of my dressing gown to bind round his ankles, and my belt to buckle round his body with his arms inside the belt. He was very satisfactorily trussed before he showed the least sign of life ... And then I remembered the words of Tulsiram Jagganath—and I thought I could hear his actual voice: “If you kill the man-eater, it will save your life.” It's a queer world —and truth Is far stranger than fiction . , , (THE I

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—

•TAKE THIS KID HE CLAIMED HE WAS 1 IN CTIHER u*RDS,THE l )s*" -[HAT WAS THE MATdr! HIS \r ' AWAY. KELLY ! If BUT 1 ) RUNWING AFTER THE CAR HE SAW TfeS...Y£S...OH, WIFE PNOWED HIM AND SAID V 1 HOTDIGGETY.. Jg HE broke A j didn't! ' rES - SIB - V/EU - If SHE BARKED HER CAR TO DO \ LETS ■ WINDOW IN ADO IT Jjy NUMBER WHEN HE TUF LOOK I NT6 17 K SOME SHOPPING, AND TT /ME OUT.'-' || stoops' jewelryJ ii f%. was PICKED up! and vw aS> ! Xs7 ***■ ! STOLEN / / ******** TW KR A |

WASHINGTON TUBBS II

Y HEV/ didn't ( dang mv hide an' bust my buttons^ WHEREHE GOT [“">=^7^ll^77 WAGl^Elwp||piT

ALLEY OOP

HEY, SAR6E - CALL OUT TW' ARMY f N TkOT ALLEY OOP CANT BE FOUND, SO IT'S ) UP TO US T'GIT WIS DINOSAUR / AWAY FROM THAT CAVE, SO TH' f VJ H CANGrTCijT/^^-A

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

i CANT VMVOE YVM SURROLMOEOI f I COOLO OVoGOVbE MY VJOICE Pj MO WEN ,\N> \Y\E 9AR\< THAT AViO PV\ONE V\\VA —OR DROP r LhOOLU TOO CRUDE AMO H\M A NOTE , ASW\N6 H\V\ TO cf he VOOULON'T l\ye \T’L most. meet me someoohlre. ,eot ~ : AT ALL COSTS. AOO\D A SCENE _ „ i :

THE TARZAN TWINS

Ukundo, the pygmy, cocked his ear again toward the strange sound. “Demon —or man!” he said. Presently a low “S-s-t!” sounded from the shadows. “Who are you?” Doc demanded. “I am Paabu,” whispered a voice. The black boy came nearer and crouched against the hut.

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES’

“You saved my life,” he said; “so I come to warn you. Intamo put poison in food. I tell you so you can live a little longer and make strong magic to get away. In two, three days they kill you. Tonight they take Bulala and eat him when moon comes up. That is all. I go.”

—By Ahem

/ LOTS f THERE'S A \ ,* GOAT, A CCA/, OR A \ 4 WORSE IN EVERY \ ONE OF THEM - I > P AND ALL WITH \Y'f n m ROPES OKI, UONO N ENOUGH TO lEA/E [if; " TW£VI , . p^Tl^L i^i /^rv> s <VY ; -r ■'“" , l!l Jsff^|Nlit - .•* \ , l l':i'% %'• ™ ' SSE^S-^ r “^ ,c BCRS) thirty y=ARS -TOO j

K)0 . TKAT TOO QVSViY, AKiO L CAbVT F\N>o OGT \\\\ WEK>R.\ APPORO TO TAV.E ANW CPAAiCte,KOU). l YU<oAF ' HLiKYE \ TV-V& P'vRST PLACE , L OOtU’T GREGORY ‘ \ GLORGE-G 1 wwow VMLK w mM,

“Wait! If we were poisoned, they couldn’t eat as without dying themselves,” objected the everlogical Dick. “No matter,” Paabu replied; “Intamo like to see everybody at feast die. Then he take everything belong to tribe and be very rich. Witchdoctor is very bad man.”

OUT OUR WAY

/WHY, ALL THREE OP US WA9j — /1 CANT Y AN’ ME FER 7 YEARS A) HUM/ THAT'S FUNNY> RIGHT HERE, A PUMPIN'/“''HE \ UNDERSTAND^.CRACK SHOT IN A / I CAN'T FIND ANY OUR REVOLVERS \ BAH/ A. BULLET HOLE£.

f ySIRrrTS, AWRIGHT, YOU MEM - BREAK. RANKS AN' GRAB ( DETAIL ISN HOLT OF THAT ©LASTED DINOSAUR'S V CORRECT/) TAIL-WE'RE GONNA DRAG HIM MtA SERVICE INC. T. M. (L U, S. pTpifc- ir~-

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Doc was uninterested, for nova desperate plan was forming in his mind. “Paabu,” he whispered; “can you bring us weapons—spears, bows and arrows, long knives?” He awaited the answer breathlessly, for in it depended their only hope. “No,” said Paabu, “can not bring!”

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