Throttling Down

THE STRANGLERS by George Bruce. 234 pages. Harcourt, Brace & World. $5.95.

In 1812, about 40,000 travelers died of "misadventure" on the lonely, dusty roads of India. Cholera, smallpox and snakebite were among the popular certified causes of death. The actual cause, in more cases than not: death by strangling at the well-muscled hands of murderous religious fanatics called Thugs, who perversely justified their killing in the name of the Hindu goddess Kali but robbed for the immense benefit of themselves. George Bruce, journalist and Orientalist, examines these remarkable evildoers and with British understatement measures their crime and eventual punishment.

For generations the Thugs went almost completely unchecked. The British government, calmly tallying "misadventures," remained totally unconcerned because Thugs killed almost no Europeans. As for the natives themselves, Thugs terrorized the peasants and bribed the rajahs and landowners to ignore them or protect them. Thugs were often of the Brahman caste. When they were arrested, they were almost invariably released for "lack of evidence." It was as if the Thugs (corrupted from thags, Hindustani for "deceivers") had managed to keep a whole country hypnotized.

Wages of Sin. The Thug modus operandi was to assume the guise of peaceful travelers. Joining parties with their victims, they would charm them right up to the moment at which one designated Thug would seize a doomed man's wrists while another Thug would strangle him from behind with a noose of white or yellow silk--Kali's favorite colors. Sometimes talented Thugs would play the sitar and coax their victims into singing, the better to expose their throats for throttling.

Not only did the Thugs kill without remorse but "with pleasure," as they confessed, sanctified by omens before and prayers afterward. Thug son succeeded Thug father in the family business as a matter of course. But even after as many as eleven generations had accumulated fortunes, Thugs and scions of Thugs went on doing their thing. Shrewd appraisers of rich victims, they carefully scouted out their targets. But they had no objection to the impromptu murder of a party of four--for as little as 20 gold pieces and a handful of rupees. Whatever drove the Thugs--probably a mixture of greed, blood lust and corrupted religious fervor--their energy and enterprise were astonishing. One boasted of 931 murders in a fruitful 40-year career.

The Thug version of Cosa Nostra might have gone on for more generations had it not been confronted by William Sleeman, who came out to India as a Bengal army officer in 1809 at age 21. He didn't smoke, and he soon became a teetotaler. His only known thirst was for work, and that was regarded by his compatriots as unquenchable. In that wilting climate there was something of the untemptable Anglo-Saxon saint about Sleeman, as well as "something near to ruthlessness."

"Weary, So Weary." At first he couldn't even obtain official recognition that the cult, known as Thuggee, really existed. But by 1830 he had succeeded in having himself appointed superintendent for the suppression of Thugs. At that time he estimated the enemy strength at between 4,000 and 5,000. His own troops, given an area to patrol almost twice as large as England, Scotland and Wales, numbered less than 100. Sleeman's unexpected advantage lay in a fundamental weakness in Thug character. Unlike the modern underworld figures who acquired their name, India's original Thugs had absolutely no scruples about betraying one another. Giving his informers the more dignified name of "approvers," Sleeman patiently let one captured Thug lead him to ten others. By 1837, more than 3,000 Thugs had been apprehended and had then been tried. By 1841, the cult of Thuggee had been "practically destroyed." Prison trade schools with a surprising degree of success were converting generations of stranglers into carpet weavers and tentmakers.

"Weary, so weary of Indian customs," Sleeman sailed for England in 1856, a month after he had been belatedly recommended for knighthood. But he had worn himself out. He got no further than the coast of Ceylon, where he died of a heart attack. A 19th century man with a simple, unwavering sense of duty, Sleeman was one of those thoroughgoing heroes who today seems even more remarkable than the Thugs he pursued.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.