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Updated: May 26, 2025
Buldeo was explaining how the tiger that had carried away Messua's son was a ghost-tiger, and his body was inhabited by the ghost of a wicked, old money-lender, who had died some years ago.
Messua's husband was on his hands and knees digging up the earth in one corner of the hut. "It is his little money," said Messua. "We can take nothing else." "Ah, yes. The stuff that passes from hand to hand and never grows warmer. Do they need it outside this place also?" said Mowgli. The man stared angrily. "He is a fool, and no devil," he muttered. "With the money I can buy a horse.
To-morrow, and for very many nights after, it will be Mowgli's turn again." He crept along outside the wall till he came to Messua's hut, and looked through the window into the room. There lay Messua, gagged, and bound hand and foot, breathing hard, and groaning: her husband was tied to the gaily-painted bedstead.
There was a difficulty at bedtime, because Mowgli would not sleep under anything that looked so like a panther-trap as that hut, and when they shut the door he went through the window. 'Give him his will, said Messua's husband. 'Remember he can never till now have slept on a bed. If he is indeed sent in the place of our son he will not run away.
The long, low howl rose and fell, and Mowgli saw Messua's husband flinch and turn, half minded to run back to the hut. "Go on," Mowgli called cheerfully. "I said there might be singing. That call will follow up to Khanhiwara. It is Favour of the Jungle."
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