Srikanta
begin, with our fifteen guns. I saw a few doves on some of the silk-cotton trees, and a couple of creatures, probably Brahminy ducks, swimming in the moribund stream close by.
A lively discussion followed as to which direction each gun should take, in the course of which all took the opportunity of infusing fresh vigour into their systems by quaffling a glass or two of drink. I put my gun down on the ground. The baiji's taunt had already made my mind uneasy and now the scene of our sport aroused my profound disgust.
'What a dull fellow you are to-day, Kanta, to be sure,' said the prince. 'What are you doing? Why do you put your gun down?'
'I don't kill birds.'
'What's that? But why, why don't you?'
'I haven't handled a shot-gun since I grew a moustache: I have forgotten how to use it.'
His highness the prince was convulsed with laughter. How much of his glee was due to drink is hard to say.
Saraju was the leader of the shikar-party that day and the chief ornament of the prince's scarlet retinue. I had heard, soon after my arrival, of his unerring marksmanship. He asked me angrily, 'Is there any shame in shooting birds?'
My temper was not quite under control, so I replied, 'Not to everyone, but to me there is.' I said hurriedly to the prince, 'Your highness, I don't feel very well', and returned to the tent without caring to notice who smiled or grimaced behind my back.
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