MEMORIES OF MAHSEER 



far. At any rate, the result warranted the experiment, for I 

 had not been fishing more than ten minutes when the jerk 

 came and the mahseer was off in its proverbial non-stop rush, 

 fortunately upstream and in the slacker current above the 

 tributary. I could form no estimate of its size, but I knew 

 that I had never felt anything like it before. It was absolutely 

 beyond control, though I could plainly see that if the fish once 

 got out in the mainstream, it would be all over in a moment. 

 Up and down the water it raced, backwards and forwards, 

 with nearly all my line out, alarmingly close to the main current, 

 yet mercifully turning just at the crucial spot, wholly of its 

 own sweet will, for I had no control over its movements what- 

 ever. Ten minutes of this followed, and then the fish suddenly 

 determined to go downstream. It showed no sign of tiring, 

 and of course I was brought up all standing by the tributary 

 stream, too deep to be crossed except by swimming. This 

 was out of the question, as I could never have got across while 

 holding on to the rod with such a fish at the other end. Then 

 it was that my young attendant, whom I had so far overlooked, 

 had an inspiration. 



" Give me the rod, Sahib," he said. " I can easily take 

 it over, while you run round by the bridge." 



This suggested a happy solution of the difficulty, and, 

 after warning the youngster to hold on like grim death, I raced 

 for the bridge. The young fellow swam like a duck, and the 

 mahseer behaved just as I could have wished. Feeling it once 

 again at the end of the rod, when I took it from the native, 

 I all but laughed aloud in the certainty of success. Alas ! 



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