Waiting for the Monsoon by Threes Anna Read Free Book Online Page B

puts his glass down on the silver plate with slightly more force than necessary. It is clear that the subject is closed. “Are you fond of hunting?”
    The viceroy’s eyes take on a gleam. “I’ve been told that you have the largest continuous hunting ground in all of India.”
    The maharaja smiles deprecatingly. “I believe there are some four thousand tigers in my area.”
    The viceroy emits a good-natured grunt of approval. “Do you shoot elephants, too?”
    â€œOnly when they attack one of the villages.”
    â€œLike that elephant in the hall?”
    â€œThat one didn’t die during the hunt. It was my grandfather’s favourite elephant.” The husky voice of the maharaja becomes still softer. “That’s the elephant he rode when he went hunting. Nowadays I use horses. Elephants make it difficult to take immediate action. Hunting is speed, don’t you agree?” He begins to cough.
    The servant quickly exchanges his glass for one containing a brown liquid. The maharaja takes a sip and swallows with difficulty, but his fit of coughing does not abate. The viceroy is concerned and looks around him. The servants, a number of whom are standing against the wall, look straight ahead, except for the man in the green turban, who is positioned behind and to one side of the maharaja. Now the servant steps forward and hands the maharaja something from a small box, which he deposits behind a back tooth. Slowly the coughing subsides. The maharaja is wheezing and his eyes are moist.
    â€œShall I ask the throat specialist to drop by sometime?”
    They hear screams from outside. An elephant trumpets. The man in the green turban runs to the window and then hurries back to the maharaja. He whispers something in his ear. Maharaja Man Singh stops coughing. After a quick glance to identify the source of the shrieks, he looks at the viceroy. Then he leans toward the man in the green turban and says something in a language the viceroy does not understand. The maharaja begins to cough again. As he struggles to suppress the coughing, he wheezes, “Would you like to shoot an elephant?”
    The viceroy swallows. “An elephant?”
    The maharaja motions toward the window, which is immediately thrown open. The sound of screaming enters the hall. From all directions men rush in, some of them carrying guns. The disciplined order that reigned supreme only a short time ago has disappeared, and servants are running and calling out. Still coughing, the maharaja motions to the viceroy to come outside with him. In the square in front of the palace an elephant is lashing about with his head and trunk. He is surrounded by men with sticks and ropes. The chair on his back has slipped to one side and a man in a long purple coat is trying desperately to hang on to one side as the elephant lithely flings his trunk backwards. Maharaja Man Singh is handed a spanking new hunting rifle, which he immediately passes on to the dumbfounded viceroy.
    Victor Alexander John Hope, the second marquess of Linlithgow and viceroy of India, regularly hunts in England, and has even taken part in the royal hunt. He considers himself a brilliant horseman and he is much enamoured of pheasants and hares. But the mad elephant fills him with fear.
    The maharaja begins to cough again. This time he seems about to choke. The viceroy grabs the gun.
    â€œBetween the eyes,” the maharaja groans.
    â€œBut the men around him?”
    â€œAim between the eyes,” he pants, in between bouts of coughing.
    The viceroy looks through the sight. The man atop the elephant falls to the ground, and the elephant tries to trample him underfoot. The man’s long purple robe prevents him from rolling away. A small boy with a stick jumps in front of the animal, but he receives such a hard blow from the trunk that he flies through the air. The elephant turns around and flexes his trunk. Then he scrapes the ground with