I had on my estate near Ootacamund a gang of young Badagas, some 30
young men, whom I had had in my service since they were children, and
who had become most useful handy fellows. From week to week I missed
one or another of them, and on inquiry was told they had been sick and
were dead!
One market-day I met the Moneghar of the village to which my gang
belonged and some of his men, returning home laden with their purchases.
The moment he saw me he stopped, and coming up to me, said, "Mother, I
am in great sorrow and trouble, tell me what I can do!" "Why, what is
wrong?" I asked. "All my young men are dying, and I cannot help them,
nor prevent it; they are under a spell of the wicked Curumbers who are
killing them, and I am powerless." "Pray explain," I said; "why do the
Curumbers behave in this way, and what do they do to your people?" "Oh,
Madam, they are vile extortioners, always asking for money; we have
given and given till we have no more to give. I told them we had no
more money and then they said,--All right--as you please; we shall see.
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