But still none of us were willing; and the gratitude of
the repentant criminal found issue in great volubility.
The owl is sacred to Bhavani Kali, and as soon as a band of Thugs,
awaiting their victims, had been signalled by the conventional
hooting, each of the travelers, let them be twenty and more, had
a Thug behind his shoulders. One second more, and the rumal was
on the neck of the victim, the well-trained iron fingers of the
Thug tightly holding the ends of the sacred handkerchief; another
second, the joints of the fingers performed their artistic twist,
pressing the larynx, and the victim fell down lifeless. Not a
sound, not a shriek! The Thugs worked, as swiftly as lightning.
The strangled man was immediately carried to a grave prepared in
some thick forest, usually under the bed of some brook or rivulet
in their periodical state of drought. Every vestige of the victim
disappeared. Who cared to know about him, except his own family
and his very intimate friends? The inquests were especially
difficult, if not impossible, thirty years ago [1879], when there
were no regular railway communications, and no regular Government
system. Besides, the country is full of tigers, whose sad fate
it is to be responsible for every one else's sins as well as for
their own. Whoever it was who happened to disappear, be it
Hindu or Mussulman, the answer was invariably the same:
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