The Hut at the Foot of the Pass

“It is a poor little hut at the foot of the Rajasimla pass. Omed and his wife have made it of bamboos and grass, clearing a place for it in the jungle on the banks of a stream. They are quite alone. Wild beasts prowl around at night. The dark mountain looms up behind, black as jet, with jagged edge, clear against the sky. The moon rises on the other side, but takes a long time to top the edge. But lustrous stars hang over and shed soft radiance down upon the open space and the little hut. The waters of the stream catch it as they go gliding by. In the hut the man and wife are sleeping; now and then they start in their dreams. What has happened, and why are they here?

“Six months have passed since they first went up to Watrepara. They stayed there as long as they could, working from that center to the villages near, talking, preaching, persuading. They were ridiculed and reproached. At last they were driven away. The cholera did that: there were eight deaths within two or three days. Their own child was taken. The neighbors said it was a judgment; a judgment on the village for harboring their presence, and on them for their disbelief. They turned their steps sorrowfully away, the few of whom they had hopes now deserting them, and came down to the foot of the pass. For three weeks they slept under a tree, taking turns at watching while they were cutting the jungle and building their little hut.

“Have they abandoned their purpose? Not at all. On the contrary this spot has been chosen skillfully to further their plan of campaign. The little hut stands in the angle on an elevation of ground overlooking the point where two paths meet, as the two valleys cross, and the Garos pass and repass on either side as they visit the markets on the plains. Omed can hear them coming and, if he pleases, join them as they go by, or wait and watch for their return. He has calculated well. It is pleasant to have a resting-place, where one can put down one’s load, for a chat or a smoke, sure of being kindly entertained. The hut is already a ‘house of call,’ where everything is free, and everyone made welcome. The gleam of its tiny light can be seen through the jungle, and belated home-goers hasten on less afraid. Round its cheery fire, blazing in the open, savage groups come often to squat, men and women sitting far into the night, while the talk runs deep.

“The little hut is also a house of prayer. It stands a silent witness to the simple, satisfying faith. There are no bamboos stuck around it sprinkled with blood. No priest of the demons goes there to practice his magic spells. No drink is brewed. But there is much reading of a sacred book that sounds good to hear, and much reverent yet familiar speech with the Good Spirit, such as falls, even upon a wild man’s heart, like a whisper of peace. All this must needs be explained, and Omed loves nothing better than to tell and commend his trust. His wife is one with him no; bravely and without complaint, she is sharing his life. Still it is very lonely; but a soldier on picket duty must not think of that.

“A year goes by. The little grass hut has grown, and four more stand by it. A larger clearing has been made and the banks of the stream are sown with crops. One by one, seven of Omed’s people have cast their lot with him. They have ceased the worship of demons. They are learning the new religion. But this has angered their friends, and there is a ferment in the village above.

“The excitemenet is increased by a failure of the rains. The hill crops are beginning to burn. The streams are running dry. Weeks have passed and still no showers have fallen. Sacrifices are offered, doubled, multiplied, but the demons pay no heed. They have shut up the rains. The priests say it is because of the new religion. The feeling thus aroused is intense and spreading. The settlement is regarded with evil eyes. The temper of the people is dangerous. A single spark would set the whole neighborhood in a blaze.

“The spark is lighted by Omed, whether unwillingly or of set purpose, it is difficult to say. He is bold enough to do it on purpose. Perhaps it is his answer to all this cringing talk of the demon’s power. At all events there is a Samson-like grotesqueness and contemptuousness to what he does. ‘I have told you there are no demons. You say they have shut up the rains. Bah! I will show you what I think of them. You shall see for yourselves what bogeys they are.’

“All this and much more may be the meaning of what he is about to do. He will put the demons to open shame, and he will choose a conspicuous mark. East of Rajasimla and towering above it, wreathed in the mists of the morning, is a black peak that rises nearly two thousand feet. Its name is Koasi, perhaps from a root meaning mist or fog. The mist spells mystery to the savage mind. A powerful demon haunts the mountain. His seat is on the summit. He is greatly feared. A rude stairway leads up the steep ascent. It is strewn on occasion with little cages, in which puppies and poultry have been taken up to be sacrificed. Dark stains smear the steps and spatter the little bunches of leaves set up here and there at the sides. It is an ascent of blood. At certain seasons there is a constant succession of pilgrims toiling up. The trees on the summit are sacred, and sacred stones lie at their roots, which have been watered with blood. A litter of sacrificial relics lies all about – egg-shells, feathers, tufts of bamboo, blood. The worship of this demon dominates the country round. No mere godling of the glen, or sprite of the wood and the stream is he, but a powerful fiend whose voice is thunder, whose tread shakes the earth. Not a bamboo may be cut on all his sacred hill. Omed deliberately goes up and one or two with him. Scornfully, scoffingly, they ascend the steps, not deigning to kick aside the empty baskets on their way, their eyes fixed on the summit, their swords held firmly in hand. They gain the top, seize the stones and scatter them about. They plant their feet where the stones lay, slash the trees that overshadow them, and cut a bundle of bamboos as trophies from the grove. The Garos come out of their villages like hornets, whose nest is disturbed, with an angry buzz and ready to strike. Some visit the desecrated spot. Others hold a council of vengeance. The offended demon must be quickly appeased, or their lives, as well as their crops, will perish. They determine to kill the Christians.

“Plotting begins. Plans must be carefully laid. Responsibility must be shared. The villages concerned must be sworn to secrecy and must act with caution. For these men are known to Government. Their massacre would be avenged. An expedition would be sent, the murderers demanded, and, if not given up, hunted, and their villages burned. The sahib at Goalpara, Captain Morton, had already hunted many, and they were caught and hanged. There are conflicting counsels, and it will take time to arrange all.

“It is market-day at Rongjuli. Omed and others of the Christians are there. Some of the wilder bloods, maddened at the sight of them, suddenly make a furious attack. The police rush to the rescue, and arrest the ringleaders, but Garos from many parts interfere, and many run away, for they have no fancy of being shot down in the open. There is a fierce altercation, a rough scrimmage, and the market breaks up in confusion.

“The Christians have escaped with a few knocks and bruises. But they know now that their lives are in jeopardy, and secret information is obtained that a raid on Rajasimla has been planned. They go back to the settlement with anxious hearts. Those who have been left behind are trembling with fear, for they have heard alarming accounts from passing Garos going back to the hills. Some have cursed them and cast evil looks. Others have called out, ‘You can’t escape, you will soon be killed, and we shall have your heads.’

“The danger is imminenet. They know what a raid means; the stealthy approach at dead of night, the sudden shout and swoop, the firing [burning] of the houses, the prod of the spear and the hack of the sword, before the victims are half awake, and the ghastly sawing at the throat. They know that no one is spared, man, woman, or little child. So they set a watch both day and night. Fires are lighted all around the small circle of huts. Every precaution is taken. But how few they are, how feeble and defenseless! If the Garos attack in force they will be overwhelmed in a moment. For three days no one can sleep. All night they watch and listen. Every sound makes them start. The strain on body and mind is great.

“Meanwhile, news of the affair has reached Goalpara. The Rongjuli head constable has sent in his report. A messenger from Omed has summoned Ramke from Damra, and gone on to Captain Morton, with a letter from Ramke. The captain takes instant action. He starts for Rongjuli with fifty men of the frontier police.

“Ramke is at Rajasimla. Omed had told him what had happened. He understands the deed done on Koasi Hill. But it seems to him an indiscretion. Omed too, perhaps, regrets now having put all their lives to such needless hazard. But all trust him, and all admire the boldness and challenge of the deed. It is not like him to be incautious. He says it was an impulse; he could not do otherwise and good is bound to result. But at present all is at stake. They wait for the expected attack. They are nervous, uneasy, and much afraid. They take turns to watch, and do not forget to pray. Ramke says, in telling the story, ‘We watched through the nights for a week, without sleep.’ One thing cheers them. No one who joined the settlement before the outbreak now runs away. During this very week others come, regardless of what may happen.

“Again it is market-day at Rongjuli. The deputy commissioner is present. The chiefs of the neighboring villages are called to stand before the sahib. A ring of spectators is formed.

“‘Do you want to kill these men?’ he asks.

“‘Yes,’ comes the answer, while a murmur of approval goes round.

“‘For what reason?’

“‘Because they are Christians and do not fear the demons.’

“‘What reason is that? I am a Christian too. Do you want to kill me?’

“‘They have brought this name into our country. We have never heard it before. We do not want it.’

‘“It is not good to be ignorant. Consider what they say. They also are Garos.’

“‘We will not consider. The demons are angry. They will wreak vengeance upon us.’

“‘Be it so then. But why interfere with these men? They live apart. Let them alone.’

‘“It is they who have angered the demons. Their coming has brought cholera and shut up the rains. As long as they live we shall suffer. They must certainly die. The demons will see to that.’

“‘Well, let the demons settle it. They have done nothing yet, have they, though Omed defied them? But mind you keep your hands off, or I shall have to settle with you. You have made a mistake. You think there are only two Christians in the world. There are thousands. They will come and punish you if you touch these men. Demons or no demons, we’ll not have murder.’

“A silence.

“‘You clearly understand?’

“‘We understand.’

“‘Then remember and obey.’

“The chiefs are dismissed. The gong sounds. The market is open. The sahib’s words are carried from mouth to mouth, and from stall to stall. They are quoted a hundred times, turned over, discussed, and retold, as the people file off from the grounds. They are carried far up into the hills, and told again in a dozen villages by the evening fire.

“Thanksgiving is offered around the hut at the foot of the pass. The litte settlement is still anxious but less afraid. Captain Morton has saved them for the time. But it remains to be seen whether his word will be obeyed. Rajasimla is not in British territory; it is just over the line. The Garos may yet carry out their threat. The have raided often; they may raid again. But the chiefs are tributary. They acknowledge fealty to Government, and know that the sahib keeps his word. Moreover the fifty sepoys will stay at Rongjuli until the danger is past.

“Suddenly there is an abundance of rain. The surprise of this turns the current of the people’s thoughts. The demons must be less powerful or less angry than they feared. It is a token to be taken note of, a sign that the sahib’s words are approved. The idea of a raid is abandoned, and the settlement is safe. The litte hut becomes more than ever a star of hope and a standard of victory.” (p. 87-94)