5

Thanks to Shankar’s devoted nursing, Diego Alvarez recovered from his illness, and for another fifteen days or so, Shankar kept him by his side. But for a man who had spent his entire life on the road, his heart could not settle indoors. One day, he grew restless to leave. Shankar had already decided on his course of action. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘do you remember what you told me when you were ill? About the mine of yellow diamonds?’

During the grip of his illness, Alvarez had said many things, but now the old man would not utter another word on the subject. Most of the time he would remain silent, as if lost in thought. In response to Shankar’s question, the old man said, ‘Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But do you have the courage to chase a will-o’-the-wisp?’

Shankar replied, ‘What’s the harm in seeing if I do? If you agree today, I’ll send a wire to Mavo Station this very day and ask them to send a replacement for me.’

Without a moment’s thought, Alvarez said, ‘Send the wire. But understand this first. Those who go searching for gold or diamonds do not always find them. I knew an old man of eighty who never found a thing, yet every time he would say, “This time I’ve got the right lead, this time I’ll find it!” He spent his entire life prospecting in the deserts of Australia and the veld of Africa.’

Some ten days later, the two decided they would go to Kisumu, board a steamer on Lake Victoria Nyanza, and head south towards Mwanza.

Along the way, in a vast, open plain, Shankar was astonished to see thousands of zebras, giraffes, and deer grazing. He had never seen such a sight. The giraffes showed no fear of man at all; they stood fifty yards away, simply staring at them.

Alvarez explained, ‘To hunt giraffe in Africa, you need a special license from the government. Not just anyone can kill them. That’s why they have so little fear of men.’

The herds of deer, however, were extremely timid. Two or three hundred were grazing in a single herd; upon seeing the men, they stopped eating, looked up for a moment, and in the next instant, the entire herd took off at a full gallop towards the far edge of the plain.

The steamer departed from Kisumu—it was a British vessel, and as they had little money, they were travelling on the deck. Negro women with infants tied to their backs had boarded with chickens. Masai labourers, on leave, were returning to their homes, carrying with them glass beads, cheap, tawdry mirrors, knives, and other trifles from the city of Nairobi.

After disembarking from the steamer, they set out again on foot. The port on Lake Victoria where they landed was called Mwanza. Three hundred miles from there lay Tabora, where they would rest for a few days before proceeding to the port of Ujiji, on the shores of Lake Tanganyika.

On this leg of the journey, Alvarez said, ‘Travelling through Tanganyika is a very dangerous business. There’s a type of fly here whose bite causes sleeping sickness. Epidemics of sleeping sickness have left Tanganyika depopulated. On the road from Mwanza to Tabora, the danger from lions is also very great. In fact, this region of Africa could well be called the kingdom of the lions.’

Ten miles out of town, by the side of the road, stood a small thatched bungalow. A Eurasian hunter had taken shelter there. He treated Alvarez with great respect. Seeing Shankar, he asked, ‘Where did you find this one? He’s a Hindu!’

‘Is he your coolie?’

‘He is my son,’ Alvarez replied.

The man said in astonishment, ‘How do you mean?’

Alvarez recounted the whole story from beginning to end—of his illness and of Shankar’s devoted nursing. The only thing he did not mention was where they were going and for what purpose.

The man smiled and said, ‘Excellent. Looking at his face, I can tell he has both courage and kindness in him. The Hindus from East India are good people, it’s true. Once, in Uganda, a Sikh showed me such fine hospitality, I shall never be able to forget it. Come, night is falling; you must spend it here with me. This is a government dak bungalow. I, like you, have been walking all day and only just arrived this afternoon.’

The man had a small gramophone. After the evening meal—tinned English tomato soup and sardines—was finished, they all lay back on camp chairs outside the bungalow, listening to records, when the roar of a lion was heard a short distance away. It sounded as if the lion were roaring with its mouth to the ground, for the very earth seemed to tremble. The man said, ‘The lions in Tanganyika are a terrible nuisance, and they are incredibly fierce. Most of them are man-eaters. They have had a taste of human blood, and now they want nothing else.’

This is fine news indeed, Shankar thought. During the construction of the Uganda Railway, he had seen all too well what a nuisance lions could be.

The next morning, they set off again. The man warned them to be extremely careful once the sun was up. The sleeping-sickness flies awaken with the heat. They must not let them land on their skin.

A narrow track wound its way through forests of tall grass. ‘Be very careful,’ Alvarez said. ‘These grassy plains are the lions’ domain. Don’t fall too far behind.’

Alvarez had a gun—that was one comfort. Another was that Alvarez was what is known as a ‘crack shot’; that is, his bullet rarely missed its mark. And yet, even in the company of such an unerring marksman, Shankar felt little reassurance, for he knew from his experience in Uganda that when a lion decides to take a man, it does so with such utter surprise that its victim does not even have time to unshoulder the rifle on his back.

That day, an hour or so before sunset, they had to choose a place to rest for the night in the middle of a vast plain. ‘There are no villages ahead,’ Alvarez said. ‘It isn’t wise to travel here after dark.’

Beneath a gigantic baobab tree, they hung two pieces of canvas to fashion a small tent. Shankar gathered twigs and sticks, lit a fire, and began to prepare their supper. Afterwards, exhausted from the day’s labour, they both lay down and fell asleep.

Late in the night, Alvarez called out, ‘Shankar, get up.’

Shankar sat bolt upright in his bedding.

‘There’s some animal circling the tent,’ Alvarez said. ‘Keep your rifle ready.’

And it was true—just outside the thin canvas wall of the tent, he could hear the breathing of some large, unknown creature. In the faint light of the fire they had lit that evening, the great baobab tree looked like a dreadful, monstrous giant. As Shankar tried to get up from his bedding with his rifle, the old man stopped him.

The next moment, the animal tried to force its way into the tent with a great crash, and from inside the tent Alvarez fired his rifle twice in succession. Aiming at the sound, Shankar raised his own gun at that same instant. But before Shankar could pull the trigger, Alvarez’s rifle roared once more.

Then, all was silent.

Lighting a torch, they crept cautiously outside. There, on the eastern side of the tent, a huge lion had pushed the canvas partway in.

It was not yet dead, but it was grievously wounded. After two more shots, it breathed its last.

Alvarez looked up at the stars and said, ‘It is still early in the night. Let it lie there. Come, let us finish our sleep.’

They both came back and lay down. A short while later, Shankar noted with astonishment that Alvarez’s snores had begun to rumble. Sleep would not come to Shankar’s eyes.

Half an hour later, it seemed to Shankar that, as if to compete with Alvarez’s snoring, all the lions of the Tanganyika region had roared in unison. What a terrible sound it was! Shankar had heard lions roar many times before, but the dreadful, colossal sound of that night would remain with him for the rest of his life. And what’s more, the roars were coming from no more than twenty yards from the tent.

Alvarez woke up again. ‘Well, it seems they won’t let a man get any sleep tonight,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s the first lion’s mate. Stay alert. It’s a vicious beast.’

What an ordeal of a night! The fire outside the tent was now dying down. Outside, the darkness was absolute. Only a thin canvas sheet separated them from the bereft animal on the other side. Roaring mightily, it would sometimes move away from the tent, then come close again, at times circling it completely.

A little before dawn, the lion moved away. They, too, struck their tent and resumed their journey.