THE aiAHADEO HILLS 81 



rich, harvest from the taxation of pilgrims to Mahadeo's 

 shrine they thought was in danger ; and they would have 

 none of us. They promised, however, to send me a gang 

 of men to start wood and grass cutting next morning. Of 

 course they did not come ; and the Thakiir I found had 

 gone off to a village he had below the hill, and quite out of 

 reach of my camp ; and he did not return to Puchmurree, 

 except when I sent for him, all the time I was there. 

 Luckily I had a friend in council in the shape of the younger 

 brother, who had shown me the lions of the place. Not 

 being a chief he had little to live on, and was, in fact, 

 scarcely to be distinguished in position or worldly wealth 

 from the common Korkus about. He promised to use his 

 influence to get them to come and work for me, and went 

 off on a visit to the neighbouring hamlets, partly with 

 this object, and partly to look for traces of any bison or 

 other larger game there might be on the hills, as I con- 

 templated a grand hunting party at which I hoped to 

 overcome the shyness of the jungle population. 



They were really in great distress owing to the failure 

 of the previous harvest, on which great part of their sub- 

 sistence for the year depends. The system of cultivation 

 of all the wild tribes of these provinces is much the same, 

 and is, in fact, almost identical with the method followed 

 by all the imreclaimed aboriginal races throughout India. 

 Though large tracts of splendid level land lie imtilled on 

 the Puchmurree plateau, and in the valleys below, the 

 Korkii has no cattle or ploughs with which to break it up. 

 He has nothing in the way of implements but his axe. 

 This is enough, however, for his wants. He selects a hill- 

 side where there is a little soil, and a plentiful growth of 

 grass, timber, and bamboos. He prefers a place where 

 young straight teak poles grow thick and strong, as they 

 are easiest to cut, and produce most ashes when burnt. 

 He cuts every stick that stands on the selected plot, 

 except the largest trunks, which he lops of their branches 

 and girdles so that they may shortly die. This he does 

 early in the dry season (January to March), and leaves 

 the timber thickly piled on the ground to dry in the torrid 

 sun of the hot season. By the end of May it will be just 



