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Updated: May 10, 2025
Mitha Baba was not climbing any more; moving smoothly, on what felt like firm soil, she seemed to turn and turn again. It was fathoms deep in rayless night the place that never knew the light of day! Carlin clung tight to Mitha Baba's neck and remembered everything actual, everything definite, everything sound and sensible she knew.
It might be on another planet. And that thought touched the root of the difference this was not on, this was in. Everything felt in deep in. Here Mitha Baba changed her voice again. But there was a cooing roll in it away and away the most enticing thing human ears ever listened to.
This meant the Blue God, the leader of the caravan; and signified the lordliest elephant in all India. . . . The Deputy, after a slight pause, answered himself: "But Neela Deo is away with the chief commissioner. . . . Mitha Baba " There was another lilting pause. This referred to a female elephant, the meaning of whose name was "Sweet Baby."
She remembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephant fight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport. . . . A soft, feeling thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder along down her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba's neck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at the stranger with her head.
They found four very disconsolate mahouts on the bank of the river beside the great pile of nicely arranged stuff. "I want the smallest howdah you have!" called the Gul Moti, as the men sprang in front of Mitha Baba. "But, Hakima-ji," they protested, "by getting down we were left behind!"
The mahouts worked fast stripping her. Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny fingers, and plunged into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Moti a little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke. Day went by and no elephants in sight. Night came on and no elephants in sight.
Mitha Baba had been leading her catch to her own stockades being in no wise responsible that they were not trap-stockades! Now, the home elephants having come to receive it, she had rushed it in exactly as she would have rushed it into a trap. But Mitha Baba was not satisfied. With a curious little call she wheeled, coming back to face the wild herd from her own side.
Mitha Baba's station in the circle was close to where the Gul Moti sat; her new housings had been specially designed to recognise her devotion to the Gul Moti, whose low 'cello tones were now soothing the great creature and restraining her. But when the Chief Commissioner approached, Mitha Baba started, flinging herself forward and the Gul Moti was suddenly at the edge of the stand.
Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident of her way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began to climb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if she were coming in to her own stockades. The Gul Moti took up her call again thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba was not thinking of the caravan.
"Well done for those mahouts!" the Gul Moti cried out in relief. "The caparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?" "It was well done, Hakima-ji," the old man exulted. "The masters were listening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river space of six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is no easiness unfastening everything from top of an elephant. You shall see."
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