BY TAMARIND AND MHOWA 



A THOUGH all the signs of an Indian "hot 

 weather " surround us, the sun is not yet high 

 enough to assert his stern authority, and long 

 shadows still lie across the stretch of withered 

 jungle-grass which now clothes the deserted fields sur- 

 rounding the ruins of Pipalda. 



On that knoll once stood the village, under its shady 

 tamarind trees. The great trees are still there, but the 

 crumbled mud walls and the track of the path leading past 

 the old mhowa tree to the waterhole in the neighbouring 

 ndla, whence the inhabitants drew their scanty summer 

 supply of the precious fluid, have long since disappeared ; 

 for it is many years since Pipalda, together with three or 

 four other hamlets, was declared ujdr, deserted, to make 

 way for the growth of this little bandi, or forest reserve, 

 some eight or nine square miles in extent, set apart by 

 the Sarkdr for the supply of grass and small timber to 

 the surrounding cultivated tracts. 



These little bandis lie scattered about a certain district 

 not very far from Nagpur shall we say? and in years 

 past have yielded the most extraordinary amount of game, 

 chiefly tigers and spotted deer, for the sheltering of which 

 they are ideally adapted. 



Whether they will ever recover from the terrible famine 

 year of 1900 when the ungulata actually invaded villages 

 in search of fodder and water, and were knocked on the 

 head in great numbers by the famishing country-people 



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