During the morning they moved quickly. Sar Bahadur sat in the sun in the bottom of the boat, the gentle breeze of their passage making him sleepy, wondering idly how far the rupee would take him. There were sacks of rice in the boat, so obviously the boatman was heading for a definite destination.
At noon the boatman headed over toward a small sheltered bay at the side of the river. He ran the boat against the shore and squatted in the bottom of the boat next to Sar Bahadur. He glanced around and then reached inside his shirt. Sar Bahadur imagined the man was reaching for a packet of food. Instead, the man’s brown hand flashed out and up, the sun catching on the blade of a short knife when he paused before striking at the sitting form of the Gurkha. The boatman had no doubts of his ability to stab the little one-armed Gurkha, remove his money and roll the body into the river.
Sar Bahadur wrenched his body convulsively to one side, and the little knife sunk into one of the rice sacks. The man lifted the blade again, but the Gurkha already had his hand on the hilt of the kukhri. As the little knife started the second stroke there was a wide silver flash through the air, and the little knife, with the boatman’s hand still clenching it, tumbled into the muddy river. Sar Bahadur scrambled back away from the gush of blood, scrambled over the sacks and jumped out onto the bank. He stood for a second looking down at the squatting figure of the boatman, who had his fingers clenched around the severed forearm, who stared with unbelieving eyes at the quick and deadly catastrophe that had befallen him. Sar Bahadur turned and started to walk once more down the bank of the river. Before he got out of earshot he heard the boatman begin to scream with dim hoarse regularity.
Without proper knowledge of the languages of Burma, and with a shy reluctance to speak to any white men with his few words of English, Sar Bahadur wandered with apparent aimlessness, always getting closer to the border of India. At last he came to Chittagong, a place he remembered. From there he worked his way slowly west and south. Many persons looked with contempt and amusement at the tiny one-handed Gurkha, and many thought of robbing him. But there was something about the look in his eyes, and the small muscular hand which could reach so quickly over to the grip of the heavy knife that deterred them. He spent his money carefully, buying small amounts of food when he began to weaken from hunger, knowing all the time that his search for Sehni Bahadur might be long, and that he could not work or rest until the man had been found and punished.
At last he entered the sultry swarming city of Calcutta, a lonely plodding figure, carrying in his heart a hundred imagined ways of slow and painful death. On the outskirts a few stared curiously at the little man in the soiled, torn uniform of the Gurkha troops. In the city he was unnoticed in the broiling clots of people and confusion of the big city. He started his search. He based his reasoning on the fact that if he, Sar Bahadur, were in great trouble, he would lose himself in the city. He sensed that Sehni Bahadur would have also sought sanctuary in Calcutta.
An unnoticed grim little man searched the city. He walked at night through the filthy winding alleys off Chitpore Road. He stood for hours watching customers leaving the chandoo-cellars where Gurkhas sometimes found the Nibhan of opium. He walked in the Gurkha bazaar in Colootollah. He frequented all tea houses where Gurkhas might conceivably go. Many a Gurkha was surprised by a little man with one arm who would walk up to him and ask the whereabouts of a large Gurkha called Sehni Bahadur. None could give the little man any satisfaction. He found a few who had heard of the man, and one who knew him. But he found no one who had seen the large man within the year. Gradually, as his store of rupees decreased, he began to have doubts, began to think that maybe he would be unable to find the man. But each time the thought came upon him that he would fail, he felt such a sinking feeling in his heart that he was forced to redouble his efforts. He walked countless miles in Calcutta, sleeping in alleys and doorways and under bridges... eating sparingly and seldom. He lost weight and his eyes shone with the violence of his determination.
At last he had only five rupees left. If he stretched his search to the limit of his endurance and money, he estimated that he could last for fifteen days, but at the end of that time he would be jobless and weak with hunger. He squatted at the comer of a busy street and stared up into the faces of the passersby, wondering whether he should return to Bhatgaon. It was then that he saw the face of a Gurkha, a man dressed in white, striding boldly along the crowded sidewalk. Sar Bahadur sprang to his feet and hurried until he was walking beside the larger man.
The stranger looked down and said, “Is there something you wish, wounded cousin?”
“I try to find a Gurkha named Sehni Bahadur. I have searched for him for long weary weeks. There is a matter of importance of which I must speak to him. Do you know him?”
“It is possible. What is this matter of importance?”
“That is between the two of us. Where can I find him?”
“He works, as I do, as the bearer and body servant of a powerful white man. I am bound by him not to disclose his location or his new name, as there are matters of the past which trouble him.”
The little Gurkha walked silently, wondering how he could force this haughty man to give him the information he needed. He said, “I am a comrade who borrowed a small amount of money several years ago. It is a matter of honor that I find him and pay my debt. But, without washing to quarrel with you, it seems strange to me for Gurkhas to become servants. It is not an occupation in which one can take pride.”
“Foolish little cousin, many of our brothers have become servants. It is difficult to live on the land, and many of us are weary of the army. It has become a matter of pride for the white men to have warlike Gurkhas as servants. The pay is good. The work is not difficult. There is a chance to travel widely. You should consider it.”
“Never! I will keep to the ways of my fathers. But where can I find Sehni Bahadur?”
“You can pay the money to me and you have my word that he will receive it.”
“I would trust you to do that were it not for the fact that there are other things I must discuss with Sehni Bahadur. Things of profit to both of us.”
For many minutes they walked silently together, the face of the bigger man misted with thought. At last he looked down again and said, “Come with me while I make certain purchases, and then you can return with me to a hotel where I will show you where you can find Sehni Bahadur.”
Sar Bahadur thanked him and continued at his side. They went to a bazaar while the big man, who disclosed that his name was Joodha Bahadur, made certain purchases. Then they walked a long distance back to a large hotel. The big man walked around and through a small foul alley to a rear door. At the top of a flight of narrow stairs he instructed Sar Bahadur to wait. The little man squatted in silent patience for nearly an hour until Joodha Bahadur returned.
He looked up expectantly, and the man said, “The one who was called Sehni Bahadur is not here. Maybe he will return by evening. Can you wait?”
“Yes, but must I stay here? Is there not a better place?” The big man stood in thought, and then beckoned to him and went back into the hotel. He motioned the little man to hurry. They went quickly along a wide clean corridor; the big man stopped at a door and unlocked it and they went quickly in. It was a large, light room with slowly revolving fans and a huge bed with white mosquito netting.
“This is the room of my sahib, who will not return until late. You can wait here and we will talk while I do my work.”
The little man perched gingerly on the edge of a straight chair while the big man cleaned and dusted. He watched the activity with an expression of faint disgust Also he felt troubled. Now that the end of the search was near he felt weary and thought without pleasure of the task ahead. It was something which had to be done. Joodha Bahadur bustled around, pointing with pride at the costly possessions of his sahib. When his work was done the afternoon was half over. Then he opened a large box and took out a dark square bottle. He held it up and said, “Have you ever tasted this, cousin? It is called scotch, and is frequently drunk by the sahibs.”