Work Text:
In the Seoni hills, a young forest guard grumbled as his wife straightened his dress shirt.
“I do not see the point of this,” he complained.
“That is because you are being stubborn,” she chided, circling him to make certain all was in order.
“Muller never cares what I wear to do my job. Gisborne never cared either.”
Sadly, she shook her head. “It is not the honourable Muller, or Gisborne, who you are to meet, but some English lord and his family that wish to traipse through your lovely forest. If you want them to listen to you when you tell them not to touch something, you must look respectable in a way they will understand. Not like some savage.”
The man smiled. “You did not mind me looking like a savage when we were courting.”
Playfully, she batted her hand against his shoulder. “I do not mind you looking like a savage now. But I mind whether people give you the respect you deserve. I love you, Mowgli.”
“And I love you, Nila. For your sake, I will dress nicely and play host to these silly Englishmen.”
An hour later saw Forest-Guard Mowgli Seeonee waiting patiently with his lady wife Nila outside the lodge granted to him by the Department of Woods and Forests. He did not like walls and so rarely spent any time in the place, but it was along the road and a good meeting landmark. His wife could stay inside with the other wives of the Englishmen, and entertain them. He would entertain the men, and hopefully keep them from disturbing the peace of his home too deeply. The missive Gisborne sent said that they expected to stay in the woods for a week. From what little he knew of English lords and ladies, he suspected the wives would have them back to the cities within two days. The English did not belong in jungles.
Soon, the carriage arrived, and Mowgli got his first look at the four visitors. The women were dressed as ridiculously as he expected, with frills and petticoats and bonnets. The men were more of a surprise. While they did wear expensive suits, as he expected, they were tailored to let them move easily. It was nice to see that English money could be spent on practicality, as well as fashion. He had doubted.
Leaving his wife to her charges, he approached the older of the men, nodding in greeting. “Sahib Greystoke?”
The man nodded in return. “You can address me as John. My son here is Jack. Elsewise, this will get very confusing.”
Nodding, Mowgli repeated, “Sahib John. Sahib Jack. Is there anywhere in particular you would like to see? The forest is vast and wandering without a destination will get you… nowhere.”
To his surprise, Jack laughed. “What?” Jack defended himself to his father. “It was both funny and true.”
“Indeed,” John said. Then turning to their guide, added, “Take us wherever you would like.”
Internally, Mowgli cringed. Out of my jungles. That is where you belong. Gone. Then stopped. And really looked. And realized that both of his charges were watching him just as closely.
“There is a watering hole just a few hours in from here.” I would like to see how many locals you spot on the way.
“I say!” Jack declared, grin as wide as his face could manage.
Korak, hush. You are being too loud. “That sounds delightful,” Sahib John added, aloud.
Who are you? Mowgli asked the two of them, shocked. And who taught you to talk. You sound like Bandar-log.
Meanwhile, inside the lodge, three women were sitting down to tea.
“Memsahib Greystoke, I assure you, my husband will keep yours quite safe.”
Jane smiled, and half laughed. “It is not safety I am worried about, dear. Your woods look like they will suit him and our boy quite well. I just dread being told our visit is being extended.”
“I do wish you had let me go with them,” Meriem grumbled. “I could have talked sense into Jack at least. And I would not have to be wearing all these layers. They itch.”
Nila hid her smile behind her hand. They were both dressed ridiculously fine for a lodge in wild India. She was glad one of them saw it. Her own sari was much more practical for the heat and for movement.
At that moment, a young boy burst in from the doorway, crying.
Nila quickly knelt to sweep him into her arms, asking, “Nathoo, whatever in the matter?”
She was not shocked to see Memsahib Jane turn pale as a sheet upon seeing a naked child, barely old enough to walk, had been unmonitored outside. She was, however, amazed when Memsahib Meriem rose from her seat and demanded, “Who is his uncle?”
“What?” Nila and the proper Englishwoman found themselves asking at the same moment.
Rolling her eyes, Meriem said slowly, “He says his uncle’s… foot? front foot?... is hurt. Trapped by heavy things. Who is his uncle?”
Shocked, Nila replied, “That would likely be his father's Grey Brother. You speak wolf?”
“I speak ape.”
Quickly the women gathered supplies, and followed the young boy to a small rock slide where an old grey wolf struggled with a pinned front paw. After a series of growls, shrugs, and guttural huffs, it was agreed by all that even the strangers were here to assist, and help was quickly given.
Back at the lodge, while washing up, Meriem answered Nila’s questions. “No, I wasn't raised wild. Jack and I both came to it when we were children, but a good deal older than your boy. We had a good teacher, though. Lord Greystoke is the one who was raised “wild” as you call it.”
Nila found herself gently laughing.
“You find my husband's situation funny,” snapped Jane, who had been silent for much of the afternoon, rescue through clean up.
“No,” Nila shook her head. “I find it funny that I spent hours trying to get Mowgli into that dress uniform, when he would have much rather worn a loincloth or trousers. I was so convinced that no English lord would recognize that he knew what he was talking about without the right clothes.”