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diff --git a/old/69721-h/69721-h.htm b/old/69721-h/69721-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 5ac097c..0000000 --- a/old/69721-h/69721-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14803 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Flame-gatherers, by Margaret Horton Potter—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -.half-title { - margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - font-weight: normal; - line-height: 1.6; - } - -p { text-indent: 1em; - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} -.space-above {margin-top: 3em;} -.spaced {margin-top: 5em; margin-bottom: 5em;} -.nind {text-indent:0;} -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -hr.small {width: 10%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} -table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } -table.autotable td, - - -.tdl {text-align: left;} -.tdr {text-align: right;} -.tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} /* page numbers */ - - -.gap {padding-left: 4em; padding-right: 4em;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.fs2 {font-size: 70%;} -.fs4 {font-size: 120%;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - - -/* Footnotes */ - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry in browsers */ -/* .poetry {display: inline-block;} */ -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0em;} -.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 6em;} -.poetry .indent20 {text-indent: 12em;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp30 {width: 30%;} - - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Flame-Gatherers, by Margaret Horton Potter</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Flame-Gatherers</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Margaret Horton Potter</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 7, 2023 [eBook #69721]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause, Charlene Taylor, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAME-GATHERERS ***</div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h3>Transcriber’s Notes</h3> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. -Variations in hyphenation and accents remain.</p> - -<p>The cover was prepared by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div> - - - -<p class="half-title">THE FLAME-GATHERERS</p> - - -<div class="figcenter illowp30" id="device" style="max-width: 15.625em;"> - <img src="images/device.png" alt="Publisher’s monogram" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h1>THE FLAME-GATHERERS</h1> - -<p class="center">BY<br /> -<br /> -MARGARET HORTON POTTER</p> - -<p class="center space-above"> -New York<br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="fs2">LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span></span><br /> -1904<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved</i><br /> -</p> - - -<p class="center space-above fs2"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1904,<br /> -By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.<br /> -<br /> -Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1904. Reprinted -September, 1904.</p> - - -<p class="center space-above fs2"> -Norwood Press<br /> -J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> -Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">TO<br /> - -<span class="fs4">Gerhardt Hauptmann</span><br /> - -WITH THE PROFOUND ADMIRATION<br /> - -OF THE AUTHOR</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PRELUDE">PRELUDE</h2> -</div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“UP FROM EARTH’S CENTRE THROUGH THE SEVENTH GATE</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I ROSE, AND ON THE THRONE OF SATURN SATE;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">AND MANY A KNOT UNRAVELLED BY THE ROAD,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">BUT NOT THE MASTER KNOT OF HUMAN FATE.”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">GREAT OMAR, THIS VAGUE TALE RETOLD CONTAINS</div> - <div class="verse indent0">PART ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE. ALLAH DEIGNS</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A LITTLE WISDOM THROUGH THE MOST UNWISE:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">THE SECRET OF THE UNIVERSE IN CHAINS.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">BEHOLD IT, WRITTEN FOR THE OCCIDENT.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">AH! WILL THEY SEE, ALTHOUGH THE VEIL IS RENT?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">OR WILL NOT ONE BELIEVER PAUSE BEFORE</div> - <div class="verse indent0">THE TATTERED GLORIES OF THE ORIENT?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent20">M. H. P.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,” Ed. Fitzgerald, trans.</p> - -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - - - -<table class="autotable"> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2">BOOK I</td> -<td> </td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2">FLESH-FIRE</td> -<td> </td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Conqueror</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Inception of a Flame</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ahalya</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Asra Ruby</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Poppies</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Churi</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Power of the Flame</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Curse</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Asra fights again</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Song of Narmáda</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2">BOOK II</td> -<td> </td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2">SOUL-FIRE</td> -<td> </td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Son of Gokama</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Oman the Child</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">His Solitude</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hushka in the Market-place</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Yellow-robed</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Vihara of Truth</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_240">240</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Wheel of the Law</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Outcast</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Struggle on the Height</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Wanderer</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sunrise</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mandu in Malwa</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Brother of the Soul</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Ancient Flame</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The River Temple</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVI.</td> -<td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">La-Ilaha-il-lal-Laha</span>”</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Sign of the Ruby</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sunset</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I">BOOK I<br /> - - -<small>FLESH-FIRE</small></h2> -</div> -“ -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Daily walked, in radiant beauty,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To and fro, the Sultan’s daughter;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the twilight, where the fountain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ripples o’er with crystal water.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Day by day the youthful slave stood</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the twilight, where the fountain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ripples o’er with crystal water.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Daily he grew pale and paler.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Once at evening came the Princess</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To his side, with hurried accents:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Tell thy name, for I would know it;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And thy home, thy sire, and kindred.’</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And the slave replied:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">‘My name is Mahomet. I come from Yemen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And my race is the race of Asra,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who must die if love they cherish!’”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">—<span class="smcap">Heinrich Heine</span>, “The Asra.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> -<p class="half-title">THE FLAME-GATHERERS</p> - - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<small>THE CONQUEROR</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The sun was setting over the Narmáda plain. In -the midst of long stretches of sunburnt farm land -the waters of the great river rolled and flashed with -light. The barren millet-fields were illumined with -long streaks of yellow sunshine that ran to the base of -Mandu, an immense plateau, rising sheer from the lowlands -to a height of some three or four hundred feet. -Between it and the nearest of the Vindhyas is a deep -chasm, a quarter of a mile or more in width, bridged -over by a miracle of man, a stone causeway, many -centuries old even on the day of September 6, in the -year of the Christian Lord 1205, and of the Hejira -601.</p> - -<p>This causeway, a vast, stone bridge, supported on -piers built up from the rocks below, balustraded to -a height of five feet, and finished on each corner by -watch-towers in which lookouts were always stationed, -made the single approach to the otherwise impregnable -plateau which formed in itself the entire principality of -Mandu. Remarkable among Indian ruins to-day are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -those that crown the deserted height of this unique -spot: temples, houses, and vast palaces of the most -ancient times; and at the period of which we speak, -the opening years of the thirteenth century, Mandu was -in the heyday of its Indian glory, renowned throughout -the West for its wealth, its power, and the righteousness -of its rulers.</p> - -<p>The rice harvest was just beginning, and the inhabitants -of Mandu—Brahman, Vaisya, Sudra, and Pariah -alike—were busily engaged in this toil of peace. The -Kshatriyas, or warrior part of the population, were not -in the minds of their fellows to-day; for at the end of -the rains they had marched to the north on an expedition -against an army of Mohammedans by whom their -neighbors of Dhár were beset.</p> - -<p>The great causeway was deserted save for its lookouts -and a fakir who had chosen to light a harvest -Ishti on the stones near the southwest tower. As the -sun neared the horizon, however, the silence was broken -by a sudden screaming of birds and monkeys in the -wooded mountain gorge beyond the bridge. Two of -the guards stretched themselves and looked out along -the pass—looked, and were transfixed. Shrill trumpet-notes -and the faint beating of hoofs along a rocky road -became suddenly audible. The glint of spear-heads -shone among the trees. Lastly came the tapping of the -tiny saddle-drums. Two of the soldiers shouted together: -“Avalu! They are coming!” and, leaping -down to the bridge, started at breakneck pace toward -the fields, crying as they ran: “The army! The soldiers!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -Lord Rajah! They are here! They have -returned!”</p> - -<p>The other two guards made no move to leave their -advantageous posts. The Brahman, also, abandoning -his invocation to Agni, mounted the nearest tower, to -watch the arrival of his earthly ruler. He had scarcely -taken up his position when the vanguard of returning -warriors rode out upon the bridge, a glittering company, -headed by the stateliest of figures, at whose -approach the guards all but knelt in salute to their -ruler, Rai-Khizar-Pál, Rajah of Mandu in the country -of Malwa, a brave and noble king. Slightly behind -him rode two other richly dressed men, mounted on -beautiful horses, each of whom came in for some share -of the acknowledgments of the guards,—Puran, captain -of the troops, and Ragunáth, confidential adviser -of the Rajah. Slowly, for the horses were fagged with -long marching, the three passed over the bridge, followed -by a lengthening train of officers and men, horse -and foot, over whose robes of crimson and white and -green played the last beams of the setting sun, sending -off a dazzle of light from the rubies that fastened a long -spray of white feathers to the turban of the Rajah.</p> - -<p>By the time the first of the cavalcade had entered the -broad road leading straight across the plateau to the -palaces at its eastern end, throngs of field-workers and -people of the town had begun to line the edges of the -route; for the news of the army’s return had spread -from one end of the plateau to the other, and men and -women left their work and, stained and disordered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -with toil, rushed to the road to greet their ruler -and their defenders. A well-built lot of people they -were, by far the greater number of the men invested -with the cord of the twice-born. And their king’s -popularity was very evident from the welcome they -were giving him. Men of the Brahman caste lifted their -hands to him, Vaisyas fell upon their knees, and Sudras -and Pariahs prostrated themselves upon the earth till -he had passed. Then all stood gazing eagerly at the -slow-moving file of troops. Jests, salutations, and -words of welcome passed between the onlookers and -the returning warriors; and the general spirit of joy -was redoubled when it was found that the campaign, -short as it had been, was also a victorious one. Evidences -of victory presently became visible; for, at the -end of the lines of foot-soldiers, came a long string of -captives, many on foot, a few mounted upon mules, -these last with their feet bound together by thongs -passed round the animals, their arms tied behind them -with ropes of hide, and the beasts themselves fastened -together in a long chain. Beside this mounted company, -who represented captives of station, rode a soldier -armed with a triple-lashed whip, which he used with -no great degree of compassion upon the backs of his -charges.</p> - -<p>These captives were greeted by the onlookers with -shouts of triumph, but with no insults or even unfriendly -remarks. The followers of the Prophet were -still rather mythical enemies to these dwellers of the -Dekhan. Mahmoud of Ghazni was a name they recognized;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> -but Aybek, the great slave, who had just -mounted the throne of Delhi, was as unreal to them as -their own kings who had died three thousand years ago, -in the first conquest of India. These captives now -among them were tangible enough, but they presented -too abject an appearance to give any idea of their force -in battle. The chagrin of captivity, the many days of -riding and walking, the intolerable suffering occasioned -by their bonds, had broken the spirit of all save one, -who rode at the head of the pitiable procession. He -was young, this man, good to look on even in his -unkempt state, and his clothes, through the stains of -war and woe, showed their richness. He sat straight -on his unsaddled mule, and his head was not bent -down. He seemed to notice nothing of what passed -around him, but kept his eyes fixed far ahead on the -long, curving range of blackened mountains, lighted by -the glow of the sunset sky that blazed behind them. -His dignity and his unconsciousness made him a continual -object of interest to the crowd, and the slave-master -was under a running fire of questions which he -was not slow to answer.</p> - -<p>“He is a prince, a son of the enemy’s leader. He -will bring a great ransom,” he repeated again and -again, proudly.</p> - -<p>Cheers never failed to follow the explanation; and, -after some twenty minutes of this trial, the Arab’s -head for the first time drooped, and a deep sigh broke -from him.</p> - -<p>“Let not my lord grieve,” whispered the person<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -riding next behind him, a boy, scarcely more than -fifteen years in age. “My lord will be ransomed.”</p> - -<p>But the Mohammedan sighed again, making no -answer; and the slave-master, overhearing the whisper, -cut off the conversation with a quick stroke of his whip -on the back of the boy, who bore it, as he bore all -things for his Prince, without a sound.</p> - -<p>By this time the road, which had hitherto run -through grain-fields, approached a building set, as was -the custom with many Indian temples and palaces, in -the midst of a square pool of water. The structure was -built of white stone, in the usual massive and grotesque -Indian style, and seemed only approachable by a narrow -path between two glassy sheets of water, which reflected -in their mirror-depths the clumps of wild cotton -trees, graceful bamboos, and feathery tamarinds by -which they were surrounded. The eyes of the captives, -turned from this structure only when it lay -behind them, were instantly fixed upon another, infinitely -greater, which a new bend in the road disclosed a -few hundred yards beyond. The entrance to this new -building was filled with a bustling throng, for here the -soldiers were dismounting. It was the dwelling of the -rulers of Mandu; and in five minutes more the captives -themselves had halted in the huge, unpaved -courtyard round which the palace was built.</p> - -<p>The sun had now set and the brief twilight sunk -into darkness. A bonfire burned already in the centre -of the courtyard, and its fitful, wavering light accentuated -the activity of the scene. The Rajah and a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -of the officials had disappeared into the palace; but it -seemed as if all the rest of the little army, together -with a hundred attendants, were crowded into the -courtyard:—soldiers, slaves, eunuchs, page-boys, villagers, -and women,—women unveiled, unabashed, -openly interested in their fellow-creatures. Finally, in -the portal of the north wing, quiet, calm, betraying -no sign of weariness, stood Ragunáth, the right hand -of the Rajah, that small, slender, well-favored man, -with the eyes of the lynx, an intellect keen as a steel -blade, and a constitution that was superior to time -and disease. He was still clad in his crimson riding-costume. -The turban had not been lifted from his -head; but he carried in his hand a thin, ebony staff. -He was engaged in directing the dismount and disposal -of the captives. Already those that had come on foot -had been led away by guards into the south wing; and -now, under his low-voiced commands, two men were -lifting the riders from their mules and, as soon as they -could stand, sending them after the others. One of -these, only, made any resistance to this plan. He was -the boy who had ridden second in the line, behind his -leader. Spent as he was, this child struggled violently -against separation from his master, at whose commands -only he finally consented to be led away. And now -this master remained alone, upon his mule, his face -turned to Ragunáth, and in his eyes the faintest expression -of dislike.</p> - -<p>“What is thy name, captive?” demanded the Indian, -in a flat, low tone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> - -<p>“Fidá Ibn-Mahmud Ibn-Hassan el-Asra,” returned -the captive.</p> - -<p>“The son of the Mohammedan leader?”</p> - -<p>“His brother’s son.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! then you are not a prince?”</p> - -<p>“I am the head of our race. My father is dead.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!—Partha, let him be taken down and brought -to my apartment. Then go tell the Lord Rajah that -the work is done.” And, turning upon his heel, the -minister disappeared into the corridor behind him.</p> - -<p>Immediately the two men beside him cut the thongs -that bound Fidá’s feet to the mule; and they also -unfastened his arms. He was lifted from the animal, -and set upon his feet, at the same time supported on -either side. It was some moments before his numb -and stiffened limbs would bear him; but at length he -straightened, and followed his guides into the palace. -They proceeded for some distance down a hall hung -at regular distances with finely wrought lamps, and at -length turned into a narrower passage that ended, Fidá -could see, in another courtyard. Before this was -reached, however, they halted at a doorway closed by a -hanging; and here Fidá was bidden to enter and pass -through into the farthest room. Then he was left -alone.</p> - -<p>The captive gave a sigh of relief. After the long -strain, just ended, silence and semi-darkness seemed to -him unspeakable boons. He longed to lie down here -upon the ground and sleep. That being impossible, -however, he took the only practicable advantage of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -respite. Facing toward what he believed to be the -west,—and Mecca,—he threw himself into the devout -attitude and repeated the sunset prayers. Then, relieved -in mind and heart, he pushed aside the hanging, -and entered the apartment of Ragunáth. The first -room was empty, illumined by a single lamp, the light -of which gave some indication of the richness of the furnishings. -Through this and another room Fidá passed, -and then halted on the threshold of the third, the living-room -of a fortunate man.</p> - -<p>Here, reclining on a great pile of cushions, was the -adviser and confidant of the Rajah. Beside him, on a -low stand, were a dish of rice and a chased goblet containing -wine. Two attendants were bathing his feet -with perfumed water; and at the opposite side of the -room, under a hideous image of Krishna, a Brahman -was making the evening sacrifice of meal and ghee, -over two or three sticks of burning wood. Fidá forgot -himself in gazing at this scene, till Ragunáth, opening -his eyes, which were shut under the soothing influence -of rest and quiet, cried out, rather harshly:</p> - -<p>“Come! Enter, slave! To thy knees!”</p> - -<p>Fidá walked slowly forward, made a respectful salutation -to the master of the room, and then stood upright -again. Ragunáth shrugged his shoulders, but -did not attempt to enforce his command, which was, -indeed, contrary to the etiquette of captivity, he being -in no way Fidá’s overlord. It was some moments -before he would speak; and, during the interval, the -Brahman, his task over, turned to him, announcing:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -“The evening Agnihotra is accomplished. Krishna -and the gods are appeased. I will depart,” and forthwith -left the room. Then Ragunáth, once more master -of his tones, said smoothly:</p> - -<p>“You are here, Asra, to choose the life of your captivity. -Will you wait imprisoned and guarded till -there come members of your race to treat for ransom; -or will you take the clothing of the Rajah’s household -and become the servant of our lord, his cup-bearer, -till the time of your freedom?”</p> - -<p>“Will not Rai-Khizar-Pál send messengers to treat -with Omar for my ransom?” cried Fidá, in amazement.</p> - -<p>“The way is long and difficult. We are but just -returned from a dangerous campaign. The Rajah is -satisfied with his victories.”</p> - -<p>For some moments Fidá stared hopelessly at Ragunáth’s -impenetrable face. Then he bent his head beneath -the tumultuous wave of bitterness that overswept -him. Finally, controlling himself, as all Arabs are -taught to do, he looked up again, and answered in an -unnatural voice: “I will enter the household of the -Rajah. I will serve him as his cup-bearer.”</p> - -<p>Ragunáth nodded, and touched a gong beside his -couch. After a moment’s waiting a slave ran into -the room, knelt before his master, and bent his head to -the floor.</p> - -<p>“Radai, take this man to the house of slaves, and -let him be clothed in the fashion of the Rajah’s servants. -He will serve to-night, at the feast, as cup-bearer -to the Lord Rai-Khizar-Pál. Go!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> - -<p>The slave rose, took Fidá by the hand, and turned -to leave the room, when they perceived that a newcomer -was standing in the doorway: a eunuch of high -office. Ragunáth, seeing him, gave an exclamation.</p> - -<p>“Kasya! Enter! enter!”</p> - -<p>“My lord summoned me?” The man did not -move from the doorway, and Fidá and his companion -stood aside.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I summoned thee. How goes thy office? -Enter, Kasya. All thy work is well?”</p> - -<p>“The Lady Ahalya—is well.”</p> - -<p>The answer was made in such a tone as brought -Fidá’s eyes to the face of the man that uttered it. -Kasya’s eyes were bright, Kasya’s lip was curled, and -Fidá perceived that the sarcasm, the almost insult, in -the eunuch’s tone had been fully intentional. In another -moment Fidá was drawn from the room, but not -before he heard Ragunáth utter a smothered oath, and -had perceived a light of satisfaction in the eunuch’s -eyes. It was an incident unusual enough to impress -itself on the mind of the new-made slave; for he was -sometimes a student of men. But there seemed no -adequate reason why one word, the name that Kasya -had spoken, should so have fixed itself in Fidá’s brain -that, for the next hour or two, it beat upon him with -a constant rhythm, “Ahalya—Ahalya—Ahalya,” till -it seemed fuller of import than the great battle-cry the -syllables of which so much resembled it. And, in the -end, Fidá accepted it as an omen of all that afterward -came upon him in this new land.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> - -<p>In the meantime the whole palace, and especially the -great central portion of it, had been humming with life. -Manava, the regent-minister, and all his staff of servants, -were preparing an unexpected welcome for the -return of the Rajah and his victorious troops. By -half-past eight in the evening, the vast audience-hall -presented a gala appearance; and shortly after -that hour Rai-Khizar-Pál, with Purán on his right -hand, Ragunáth on his left, and a great company -bringing up the rear, entered and was received at -the foot of the daïs by Manava, who, with this act -of reception, discharged himself of his three months’ -regency.</p> - -<p>The hall, which was the largest in the palace, and -opened immediately from the central courtyard, was a -remarkable example of the massive, clumsy, and inartistic -architecture of uninvaded India. Stone pillars, -of unequal size and design, supported the roof. The -walls were covered with multicolored hangings, and -furthermore were to-night covered with ropes of flowers. -A hundred lamps of wrought bronze and silver -hung from the ceiling, and torches were fastened to -the pillars. At the head of the room, opposite the -entrance, was the daïs, on which stood a broad divan -overhung with a canopy. This was the judgment -seat of Mandu, to be used to-night in a lighter -cause. As the Rajah laid himself in his place, the -three high officials squatted on cushions near the -royal couch, each with a low, round stand before him. -Below, in the hall, stood three long, low tables, raised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -not more than eight inches from the floor, beside -which were rows of woven mats, on which the feasters -squatted in customary fashion. In three minutes every -seat was taken, and immediately a throng of slaves -came hurrying in, each bearing his burden of food or -wine or metal bowls filled with water for the washing -of hands. Among these ministers of the feast was -Fidá, who came halting along in the rear, side by side -with the young Ahmed, now perfectly content by reason -of the nearness of his lord. Fidá was dressed in -a loose white cotton vestment that hung to his ankles, -and was confined about his waist with a broad, red -scarf. The sleeves were wide and short, and the -tunic opened loosely in the front, disclosing his bare, -bronzed chest. His feet were unshod; but his head -was bound round with a brass circlet, the sign of -slavery. In his hands he carried a jar of the liquor -forbidden to his creed. As he neared the royal divan -many eyes were turned to him, and he was pointed out, -here and there, as a prince of the enemy; and if the -feasters gazed at him once for his station, they looked -a second time at his beauty, for Fidá was worthy of his -birth. Taller in stature, better shaped as to limb, -cleaner-cut in feature than any Indian, he gave ample -evidence of the higher civilization and keener intellect -of his race. For at this time the men of Arabia were -at the zenith of their power; and were bearing the religion -of their Prophet at the point of their swords into -every nation of the known world.</p> - -<p>Fidá went up and bent the knee before his master;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -and Rai-Khizar-Pál turned upon him a gentle and -kindly glance. “Come up, young man. Let me behold -thee. So. Thou art named master of my drink. -Fill, then, this cup, and Indra grant it may be full -forever!”</p> - -<p>Fidá obeying this command, the Rajah lifted the -golden vessel to his lips, and instantly all those in the -room sprang to their feet. He drank deeply, replaced -the cup on the stand before him, waved one hand to -his people, and the feast was opened.</p> - -<p>To Fidá, tired, dreary, and, above all, famishing -with hunger, the meal seemed endless. It was not, -indeed, a refined sight to one suffering as he suffered. -Flagon after flagon of wine he poured into the Rajah’s -bowl, dish after dish of the richest food was presented -at the royal stand, mountain after mountain of meat, -river on river of drink, disappeared under the attacks of -the feasters below; and still there was no end. One -man alone, of all the number, displayed some fastidiousness -in his taste. Ragunáth, after a moderate -meal, ceased to eat, and sat cross-legged on his cushion, -silent, motionless, oblivious, seemingly, of the sights -and sounds around him: untempted by any viand or -wine to exceed his capacity. In spite of this fact Fidá -could not regard the man with admiration or even -with respect. For to the prejudiced eyes of the slave, -delicacy in Ragunáth only assumed a guise of affectation.</p> - -<p>Time went on, hours apparently had passed, and -still Fidá’s ministrations as cup-bearer showed no sign<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -of diminishing. Finally, however, relief came from an -unexpected source. Kasya, the head eunuch, whom -Fidá had already seen, glided into the room through -a small door to the right of the daïs, connecting the -audience hall with the Rajah’s private apartments. -Kasya knelt before Rai-Khizar and murmured a few -words which brought the royal master to his feet, exclaiming -to those near him:</p> - -<p>“Come, my friends, let us go. There is to be -dancing.”</p> - -<p>Purán and Manava rose at once from their cushions, -Ragunáth emerged from his spell, and the three of -them, with Kasya and one or two slaves, followed the -Rajah from the room, unnoticed by the rabble below.</p> - -<p>Fidá, to his infinite relief, found himself left behind. -He realized, indeed, that he was at the end of his -endurance; and this fact made him bold. Going to -Ragunáth’s place, he sat down and set to work upon the -untouched food left there. Never had slave been so -daring before; but, also, never before had a meal been -so direfully needed. As he ate, he regarded the crowd -below apprehensively; for he did not know what discovery -might bring. But the great feast was nearly -at an end. Half the company had gone straggling off -to their beds. Of those that remained, few were in -condition to observe anything; and, to his reassurance, -Fidá presently perceived that slaves and servitors had -begun to slip into empty places, and to begin their part -of the meal. Among this number was Ahmed; and -when presently the eyes of the two met, Fidá nodded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -slightly, and the other came running to the daïs, and -stood before his master.</p> - -<p>“Sit here by me, and eat, Ahmed,” commanded the -young man.</p> - -<p>“My lord! It is not fitting—”</p> - -<p>“Sit here. Am I not a slave also? There! Here -is lamb roasted with cinnamon and stuffed with -raisins and sugar. Excellent! Eat of it. And this -is deer flesh. And here is sesame, and rice, and a duck -fried in oil. They do not starve in Mandu; but I -have seen no water in this room.”</p> - -<p>“I will fetch it!” and Ahmed darted away, to return -presently with the prescribed liquid in a large, porous -bottle.</p> - -<p>Fidá drank gratefully, and then the two ate in -silence, while below them, minute by minute, the great -hall grew quieter. The meal was almost finished, and -Fidá was smiling at the contentment of his devoted -little servitor, when suddenly a eunuch came running -through the Rajah’s door, and, seeing Fidá seated tranquilly -on the daïs, gave him a violent cuff on the head, -crying out:</p> - -<p>“Dog! Leave thy gluttony and come to the King. -He calls for his ‘cup-bearer’.—Faithful cup-bearer -thou! Come!”</p> - -<p>At the blow, both Mohammedans leaped to their -feet; and the Asra stared upon the eunuch, his face -flaming with anger. Ahmed, indeed, would have -thrown himself upon the man, but that Fidá fortunately -regained his temper, and, restraining the lad’s arm,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> -bent his head before the messenger, and with a slight -smile at Ahmed’s outraged expression, followed his -guide from the room.</p> - -<p>They passed through a hallway more richly furnished -than any Fidá himself had ever seen; and then, crossing -a corridor, turned down a narrow passage into the -open doorway of the “theatre”—a large, irregular -room, with a slightly elevated platform at one end, and -the usual daïs at the other.</p> - -<p>The place was brilliantly lighted. Rai-Khizar-Pál -lay upon a divan; and disposed about him were his -usual companions, together with one or two new officials, -and a dozen or more slaves, who crouched back in -the shadow of the hangings. In one corner of the room, -below the stage, sat three musicians, playing, upon -their strange-shaped instruments, a rhythmical minor -air. The stage was occupied by six nautch-dancers, -gayly and scantily clad, of their type good-looking, -perhaps. They were performing a dance with which -Fidá was familiar enough, having seen it many times -at Delhi. It was called the “serpent”, and appeared -to be highly acceptable to the spectators. The Rajah -was laughing and talking genially, and even Ragunáth’s -face wore a smile. At the entrance of Fidá, -Rai-Khizar called him to the couch and good-naturedly -abused him for deserting his post. The Arab offered -no excuse, and was finally ordered to his task of pouring -wine. Cups and jar stood close at hand; and from -time to time the whole company drank a toast to -some favorite performer. Fidá, refreshed by food<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -and encouraged by the leniency of his master, watched -the stage with some interest. In the course of an hour -many dancers came and went. There were sometimes -six, again two, occasionally one, on the stage; and all the -time the low, droning, monotonous music never ceased.</p> - -<p>In time the audience began to grow drowsy under -the effects of light, wine, and unceasing sound. Rai-Khizar -had nodded on his pillows, and Ragunáth -yawned openly. By and by all the dancers left the -stage, and the musicians’ tune died away. The Rajah -started up, demanding to know why the dance stopped -without his command. But, while he spoke, the music -began again, this time with a different air, a swinging, -graceful melody, new to its hearers. A little murmur -of approval came from Manava and Purán. The rest -waited. Then Fidá, his curiosity awakened, saw a -woman run on to the stage:—a woman fair-skinned, -dark-eyed, with a wreath of poppies woven into her hair, -and garments of scarlet gauze flying about her slender, -beautifully shaped figure. For an instant he shut his -eyes; and, before he could open them again, there burst -from two throats the same hoarse cry:</p> - -<p>“Ahalya!”</p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar-Pál and Ragunáth together had started -to their feet; but she who danced only smiled and half -lowered the lids of her dark and lustrous eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ahalya!” shouted the Rajah, in a frenzy of excitement. -“Ahalya! Get thee from this room! How -darest thou appear—in this place? Kasya—take her -away!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<p>As the enormity of his wife’s offence grew upon him, -Rai-Khizar’s wrath waxed hotter till he stood panting -with emotion as Kasya dashed upon the stage. -Ragunáth, entirely forgetting himself, stood still, -gazing upon the charming figure of the young woman, -with a light in his eyes that was all too easy to read. -Of the rest, slaves and officials alike watched the scene -with impartial interest, all but Fidá, who, even after -Ahalya, rebellious and laughing at her escapade, had -left the room, still crouched in the shadow of the -canopy, the blood pounding at his temples, his heart -literally standing still, his brilliant eyes staring as at -the vision of the wonderful red and white beauty of -Ahalya, youngest wife of Rai-Khizar-Pál of Mandu in -Malwa.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> - - -<small>THE INCEPTION OF A FLAME</small></h3> -</div> - -<p>Fidá slept that night on a divan in an antechamber -of the Rajah’s suite, instead of in his lawful place, the -house of slaves behind the palace. This breach of duty -came about simply enough. After the tumultuous -breaking-up of the party in the theatre, the slaves in -attendance on the Rajah and his officials seized the opportunity -for retiring, and disappeared with such quiet -zeal that, three minutes after Ahalya’s departure from -the stage, Fidá found himself alone on the daïs in the -empty room. Rai-Khizar had rushed away to his delinquent -wife; and the officials, tired out, lost no time -in betaking themselves to their own apartments. Fidá -was perfectly well aware of the situation of the house -of slaves. He had dressed there in the early evening. -But the Asra had no intention of passing the night -in that uninviting spot if it could be helped. After a -moment’s consideration, therefore, he left the theatre -and wandered through the tangled web of little rooms -constituting the royal suite, till he came upon one room -which promised comparative safety for the night. It -was unlighted. He believed it to be out of the way of -the more inhabited part. And all round it ran a divan<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -well covered with cushions. So, without stopping to -consider consequences, Fidá lay down upon the pleasant -couch, buried his tired head in a pillow, and in five -minutes was sleeping the sleep of the slave.</p> - -<p>He woke by degrees. First there was the consciousness -of light; secondly of a weight upon his heart; -thirdly it was extraordinarily still. Evidently he was -not in camp. Was it Delhi—the palace? He opened -his eyes to see—and he saw. Memory brought a groan -to his lips; but he stifled it, half-uttered, and lay still to -consider his situation. The first thing that occurred -to him was that it must be past the hour of morning -prayer. Rising, then, he turned his back to the sunlight -that streamed in through a half-screened window, -and, having gone through the form of ablution permitted -when water is not at hand, he began the <i>Niyyat</i>, speaking -in Arabic. The syllables fell lovingly from his -lips, and his heart swelled with the comfort of his religion. -Except the moment at Ragunáth’s door on the -previous evening, this was the first solitude that had -been his since the day of battle in which he had been -taken captive by the Rajah. During the succeeding -days he had stumbled through his prayers as he lay -bound in tents, or rode, strapped to the mule, along -rough paths through the hills. At last he was alone, -unhampered, free to take the attitudes of prayer, free -also to whisper the words of his own tongue, which of -late years he had seldom used in ordinary intercourse -with men.</p> - -<p>Yet Fidá was not to end his devotions as he had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -begun them. He was standing with eyes cast down, -repeating the <i>Subhán</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Holiness to thee, O God!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And praise be to thee!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Great is thy name,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Great is thy greatness;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">There is no deity but thee!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">when a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, and -the captive’s words were stopped short as he met the -eyes of Rai-Khizar-Pál, his conqueror.</p> - -<p>So amazed was he that Fidá forgot to kneel or to -give any sign of abasement. Thus they stood, gazing -each at the other. Perhaps some mute message was -carried from the slave to the master; for the Rajah’s -expression little by little softened, till at length he -asked quietly:</p> - -<p>“What is it thou doest here, Asra?”</p> - -<p>Fidá bent his head. “Mighty lord, I prayed.”</p> - -<p>The Rajah smiled slightly, lifted one of his hands to -the curtain beside him, grasped it, and settled into an -easier position. “Thou art not a good servant, Asra,” -he observed at last.</p> - -<p>“It has not hitherto been my place to serve, O King.”</p> - -<p>There was another pause, while the Rajah’s eyes -travelled around the room. “Thou hast slept here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And why? Knowest thou not the house of -slaves?”</p> - -<p>For a second Fidá hesitated. Then he answered, -“Too well I knew it, Lord Rajah.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> - -<p>“What sayest thou?”</p> - -<p>“Thou, O King—wouldst thou lie among the base -born?”</p> - -<p>“<i>I!</i>—I am Kshatriya! Among you there is no -caste.”</p> - -<p>“There is pride.”</p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar laughed. “Thou’st a tongue, slave. It -were my duty to have thee whipped. But this day is a -day devoted to the gods. Begone, then. Get thee a -morning meal and wait for a message from me. Yet -remember this, my Asra: here there is no prince but -me. If thou anger me, I shall have thee killed.”</p> - -<p>“You dare not!” rose to Fidá’s lips, but he checked -the words; for it was indeed time that he learned his -place. And he stood with lowered head as the Rajah -turned away and left him.</p> - -<p>This encounter strongly affected Fidá’s state of mind. -Reconsidering the conversation, he perceived that he -stood the debtor of the man whose slave he had become—an -infidel dog, a worshipper of images and Jinn. It -could not be denied that Rai-Khizar’s toleration was -greater than that of any Arab chief; and Fidá felt -bitterly the humiliation of his leniency. Yet in all the -Rajah’s mildness there had been a dignity that inspired -in the Mohammedan an unwilling admiration and -respect.</p> - -<p>Perfunctorily, Fidá finished his prayers, and then -acted upon the first of the two commands of his master:—he -left the palace in search of food. It was some -time, however, before he found it, and then only in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -house of slaves, where a number of his fellows were beginning -the morning meal. Among them was Ahmed, -who sat a little apart from the chattering herd, apparently -watching for some one. At sight of Fidá he -rose eagerly and ran forward, greeting him with marks -of respect which the Asra reproved. Then the boy -led the way into the interior of the dirty, barren house, -in the centre of which was a wood fire, overhung by a -large iron pot filled with a bubbling mass of millet. -Near by, on a stand, was an immense bowl of clarified -butter, or “ghee”, which, mixed with the meal, formed -the staple as well as the sacrificial food of the low-caste -Hindoo throughout India. Fidá waited in silence while -Ahmed handily procured him a dish of the none too -appetizing mess. And then, eager to escape the vile and -smoky air of the interior, the two hurried out into the -shaded veranda, while the other slaves were eating.</p> - -<p>It was now a not unpleasant scene that the captives -looked upon. The day was hot, gay with sunshine and -the chatter of birds, sweet with the perfume of the -jessamine vines, which were still covered with flowers. -The slave-house faced the angle of the palace formed -by the juncture of the central building and the south -wing. Directly opposite them was a long, wooden-pillared -arcade called the veranda, running the length -of the wing. It was covered with flowering vines, and -furnished like a great room, with cushions and stands -and hangings in place of more customary frescoes. In -the end that faced the central courtyard, invisible from -without, was a temple room, the priests of which seemed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -to spend the greater part of their lives lounging on -mats in the fragrant veranda. In this same side of the -palace lodged Manava’s suite and Purán’s; and at the -end of all was a wooden barracks, where the soldiers -were now just waking from the sleep induced by last -night’s festivity. A group of these hung about the -well, which stood between the house of slaves and their -domicile, waiting their turn for water. There was a -general splashing and shouting, little laughter, but also -no swearing, for the Hindoo is always clean-mouthed.</p> - -<p>From their vantage-point, Ahmed and Fidá, observing -this life, found themselves entertained; for all the -human nature of the palace found vent here. The two -captives lingered over their meal, talking generally; -and presently Fidá remarked on the number of slaves -who had been passing and repassing near them. -Ahmed answered him at once:</p> - -<p>“There are more than three hundred employed here—including -eunuchs, who do not sleep in this house. -I have been made a sweeper. This morning the slave-master, -Kanava, roused me at dawn, gave me a broom -of dried kusa grass and sent me, with nine others, to -sweep the corridors of the north wing.”</p> - -<p>“Then thou hast had little enough sleep. Go, therefore, -lie down and rest while I sit here. By my life, -I would I knew what my duties are to be. No one -orders me about. I am given no instructions. I have -not even seen this Kanava.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear lord, to think that thou must serve! He—Look. -There is a stir opposite.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> - -<p>Two slaves had entered the veranda of the south wing, -and went running down it, shouting, as they went, -some unintelligible words. At the sound, men came -pouring out of the interior rooms, and turned in the -direction of the courtyard, whither, in a moment or -two, there moved a long procession of priests, soldiers, -and petty officials. The last of these had not yet -disappeared when every rear doorway and opening in -the main building near by began to let forth slaves, -who came toward their particular house in a straggling -group of almost two hundred.</p> - -<p>“It is a big sacrifice,” observed Fidá, who was familiar -enough with Indian customs to know that no Sudra -can participate in the service of the gods.</p> - -<p>“Yes, early this morning there stood erected in the -courtyard a great altar, to which many men were -bringing fagots and flowers. It will be an animal -sacrifice also; for a dozen sacred cows were tethered in -an enclosure there when I passed through.”</p> - -<p>“The animal sacrifice is not common. I have never -seen one. It must be in honor of victory.”</p> - -<p>Ahmed did not answer. His eyes were fixed on a -man who had come out of the palace alone and was -running toward the slave-house. “That is Kanava,” -he whispered, as the man drew near. Fidá beheld a -cruel face, marked with lines of habitual ill-temper -and impatience, and rendered doubly unpleasant by the -deep pock-marks which pitted it everywhere. His -dress was that of the common slaves; but the band -about his head was of beaten silver. At his appearance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -the clamor in the slave-house suddenly ceased. -Ahmed jumped to his feet, but Fidá remained seated, -his empty bowl in his lap. Kanava scowled at the -breach of respect, and shouted:</p> - -<p>“Up, slave! Up! You are summoned. Come!”</p> - -<p>Fidá rose obediently, went to the first opening in the -trellis, and stepped to Kanava’s side. Together they -started toward the palace, and the groups left behind -looked after Fidá, with new respect; for, though he had -been rash, Kanava had neither struck nor abused him, -and was now, moreover, walking not in front of him, -but at his side.</p> - -<p>As they neared the palace, Fidá’s curiosity as to their -errand rose. But he would ask no questions, and Kanava -did not offer information. So in silence they entered -the palace, walked down long corridors to the audience -hall, now cleared of every trace of last night’s festivity, -and finally to the threshold of the outer door, where, -without a word, Kanava turned and left the Asra standing -stock-still before a remarkable scene.</p> - -<p>He had but an instant’s view of the thing in its -entirety:—a vast, close-packed sea of people, garlanded, -decked, nay robed, in the brightest flowers; in -the centre of the living mass a high, square altar, piled -with firewood; and surrounding the altar, ranged in -symmetrical order, twelve sacred cows, twelve accompanying -priests, and twelve huge, earthen jars. All -this Fidá took in at one, swift glance. The next instant -a universal shout arose, and he was seized and drawn -through the crowd, which opened for him, by two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -young Brahmans, naked except for loin-cloths and the -sacred cord. In a moment Fidá was beside the altar, -where stood the Rajah, flaming with jewels, and -Ragunáth, scarcely less magnificent. Here, without a -moment’s delay, the bewildered captive was taken in -hand by two snatakas, and bound, hand and foot, with -ropes. Then, as at some signal, the twelve priests -began to chant those verses of the Rig-Veda that are -designed for the great Srahda sacrifice. The crowd -was silent now. There was not a whisper; there was -scarcely a movement among them all. The twelve -gray cows stood, as if long accustomed to such sights, -mildly surveying the people. Fidá felt himself like -them. He was stunned into perfect tranquillity. His -eyes wandered aimlessly; he listened without interest -to the words of the chant. He counted the number -of flowers in the garland round the neck of the nearest -cow. And all the time his mind was really circling -about one idea, too horrible to be faced. For he had -no doubt that he was to be the first offering in that -triumphal sacrifice. This was the reason for Ragunáth’s -evasion about his ransom. This was the -explanation of Rai-Khizar’s mildness. Fidá looked -toward the Rajah, whose eyes were fixed reverently on -the ground. The next instant, however, he had caught -Ragunáth’s glance, and the minister was smiling at him—a -small, cruel, white-toothed smile, a smile like a -grimace, that sent a sudden bolt through Fidá’s heart. -Ragunáth could smile upon him in his death-hour! In -that moment hatred was born in the Arab:—a hatred<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -for this man, which, through all their future intercourse, -never lessened and was never still.</p> - -<p>At length the chant came to an end. Fidá felt a -breath of relief; for self-control was becoming difficult. -Now, at last, he was seized by the stalwart young -Brahmans and lifted, like a log of wood, up and up -till he was laid on his back on top of the great heap -of unlit firewood. A hoarse shout went up from -the people gathered below. Fidá’s heart throbbed -to suffocation. His hair was literally rising on his -head; but he made no movement, nor did he utter -any sound. Even in his horror he remembered the -behavior of women enduring the suttee, and the -memory shamed him into stillness. Under the fierce -rays of the sun, now in mid-sky, he closed his eyes -and waited—waited for the first crackling flame -to leap upon his flesh. Evidently the time for this -had not yet come. Again the priests were praying -those endless, senseless, Vedic prayers, to Indra, to -Vishnu, to Agni—Agni, the fire-god. How long he -lay upon the pyre Fidá did not know. It was at -once a century and a second. Then the voices of -the priests were still. Once more he was seized by -the head and the feet and lifted to the ground. There -his ropes were cut. He was free again. Trembling -and faint, he found himself facing the King’s minister, -who was smiling at him still.</p> - -<p>“The captive did not know,” he murmured, “that -our sacrifices are bloodless.”</p> - -<p>Fidá felt himself redden, and the next instant met<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> -the eyes of the Rajah, who was staring at him in -amazement: “Knew you not? told they you not? -Didst fear such a death? It was a needless fear. -Human blood stains not the altars of our gods. You, -the foremost of our captives, were laid upon the altar -of Indra as a sign that we attribute all our victories -to him. That ceremony is over. You are free to depart -from the sacrifice.” And, with a friendly gesture, -the Rajah turned away again, and Fidá knew himself -dismissed.</p> - -<p>It was not now so easy a task to force his way -through the dense crowd; for this time they did not -voluntarily make way for him. He was fiercely possessed -with the desire, however, to escape from this -mob who had been unconscious witnesses of what he felt -to be his cowardice. And, after a persistent pushing -and edging, he found himself beyond the people and in -front of that doorway where he had dismounted the -night before. Here Ragunáth had stood and watched -him, but had not then read his soul; or, if he had, -had found there nothing of which an Asra might be -ashamed. Now!—Coward or not, that Asra was leaning -up against the palace wall, gone very faint, even -his knees trembling with the reaction of a strain that -had been greater than he realized.</p> - -<p>He remained standing here for a long time, regaining -command of himself, and, afterward, attracted by -the spectacle before him. The wood on the altar had -been lighted, and a hot, wavering flame leaped high -in the centre of the garland-strewn multitude. Into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -this fire went the contents of the jars that had stood -at the base of the altar:—four of fine, ground meal, -four of ghee, and four of strained honey. From this -sacrificial mess arose a thick smoke; but the odor -that came from it was, surprisingly enough, decidedly -agreeable; for the meal and butter had been so skilfully -treated with aromatics that the natural smell -of burning vegetable and grease had been overcome. -The sacrifice was of course accompanied by a continuous -high and musical chant from the priests. -Chapter after chapter of the Vedas they repeated -without halt or break. Prayers were sent up to every -Vedic god: to Vishvakarma, the all-maker, to Varuna -and Mitra, to Agni, to Surya, to Yama, to the Ashvins, -brothers of dawn and twilight, to Rudra, the storm-god, -and Vivasat, the father of death. The sacred -cattle were offered to Prishni, the holy cow of heaven; -and, their spirits being accepted by a sign in the flame, -they were led away to resume their duties in the great -temple at the other end of the plateau. Finally, at -the conclusion of the ceremony, the last god was introduced: -he who, for many centuries, had played the -great rôle in this ceremonial: Soma, lord of the moon, -and lord of drunkennesses, whose name is that of the -plant from which the powerful, sacred liquor is distilled. -And at the first pronouncing of this name, the -sacrifice was interrupted by the arrival of fifty slaves, -who made their appearance from the great hall, bearing -on their heads jars of the liquid to be quaffed to the -great ones above. They were greeted by a long, loud<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -murmur of anticipatory joy, such as no lavish display -of meal or cattle could ever call forth from the crowd. -And now at last Fidá, too well aware of what was to -follow, turned from the courtyard down the corridor -through which he had passed on the previous night, on -his way to Ragunáth’s rooms.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly along the cool, dim hall, the -silence of which was refreshing. Evidently there was -not a single soul in this part of the palace; and for an -instant there rose in the mind of the captive a wild -idea of escape. He was here, alone, unseen—and -hundreds of miles away from his uncle’s army, hundreds -of miles from any possible safety. Sanity returned -as quickly as it had left him, but bringing a -new heaviness on his spirit. He came presently to the -passage that led to Ragunáth’s rooms; and, looking -down it, perceived that it ended in a bright patch of -sunlight, marking an inner court. Instinctively he -turned thither, finding himself presently on the edge of -a charming little three-cornered courtyard, shut in on -every side by vine-clad walls. Opposite the passage -ran a veranda, overrun with passion-flowers; and in a -corner near by rose a group of small tamarinds. The -courtyard was unpaved, but in the centre of it stood a -little fountain of clear, bubbling spring-water. This -place, like the corridor, was without a sign of life; -but, pleased with its homelike, pleasant air, Fidá entered -it, suddenly seized with a sense of unfamiliar delight.</p> - -<p>As if in answer to his appearance, a door across from -him was opened, and out upon the veranda, and thence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -into the court, came a young woman, unveiled, dressed -in pale, flowing silk, her hips bound with a striped sash, -of the broad Indian fashion, her dark hair twined with -purple clematis. She was humming to herself a little -tune; and as she hummed, she swayed her lithe body -from side to side and stepped as a dancer does. Fidá -drew a sharp breath. She was the woman who had -danced the night before. She was Ahalya, youngest -wife of Rai-Khizar-Pál. She was—the fairest creature -that Fidá’s eyes had ever looked upon. As he -drew quickly back into the shadow of the doorway, he -knew, as one knows things in dreams and visions, that -it was her spirit filling this place that had made it dear -to him. Oblivious of himself, he stood gazing at her -while she came to the fountain, sat down upon its -brim, and dabbled her hands in the cool water, smiling -to herself the while, reminiscently.</p> - -<p>Presently, lifting her eyes, she looked full upon Fidá, -and, startled out of her composure, jumped to her -feet, and then stood still again, uncertain whether she -wished to run or not. Fidá advanced matters by -walking forward into the courtyard again and performing -a deep salaam before her. She saw the metal -circlet on his head, knew him for a slave, and yet lifted -up her voice and spoke to him. What manner of -woman could she be!</p> - -<p>“Who art thou? What is thy name?” she asked, -surprising herself by her unpremeditated boldness. -The beauty of her voice, however, made the slave’s -senses swim anew.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> - -<p>“My name is Fidá. I come from Yemen. And my -race is the race of Asra—” he looked into her eyes, and -his voice sank to a whisper, as he added involuntarily, -“who must die if they cherish love!”</p> - -<p>The girl started slightly; but she did not move while -he looked at her, her white face, her deep, heavy-lidded -eyes with their long, black fringes, and the -slender white throat left uncovered by her dress. -Presently she spoke again, more timidly: “Thou’rt a -captive—brought home from war by my lord?”</p> - -<p>“I am a captive. I am the slave of thy lord. May -Allah pity me!” And this last was drawn from him not -by the thought of his captivity, but by the sight of her -surpassing loveliness.</p> - -<p>Ahalya’s expression softened and grew wistful. “I -am a captive too,” she said. “I was born in Iran.”</p> - -<p>“The land of roses! I have been in Iran. We -passed through it on our long march from Yemen. -And we rested in Teheran, where our people have -made treaties with the Shah.”</p> - -<p>He hoped to see her eyes brighten when he spoke of -her country. But she only gazed dreamily beyond him -and answered: “I do not remember it—Teheran. I -was a baby when my mother brought me into this land. -She was in the house of the King of Dhár, and from there -I was married to the King of Mandu.—But thou must -go, Asra! Thou’lt be—killed if they find thee here.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, lady!” Fidá suddenly fell upon one knee. -“Let me stay but another moment. Thou—thou hast -made captivity so fair to me!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<p>“Hush, Asra! Go quickly. Indeed, indeed, I -would not have thee harmed.”</p> - -<p>She drew back from him, and he, coming suddenly -to his senses, rose and turned away. Yet before he -reached the doorway he had twice looked back at her, -and each time found her facing him, her great eyes -shining, a half smile trembling round her lips.</p> - -<p>Fidá reached the corridor on fire. It was as if he -had been drinking Soma. His blood raced in his -veins. His heart pounded. His hands were cold. -Yet he was not too much distraught to hear the sound -of some one approaching in the corridor; and, with a -quick sense of self-protection, he slipped into the -nearest doorway, and concealed himself behind the -hangings of Ragunáth’s antechamber.</p> - -<p>The newcomer had come down the passage; and -Fidá, peering cautiously out, perceived, with a start, -that it was Ragunáth who was approaching—Ragunáth, -the mild, the temperate, who had left the Soma -sacrifice and come hither alone, to seek—quiet? To -Fidá’s surprise and momentary relief, he passed his -own doorway, and went on toward the little courtyard. -And now the slave, suddenly forgetting himself -in his interest in the movements of the man he -hated, stepped full into the passage and watched. In -the courtyard Ahalya was still seated beside the fountain; -but at sight of Ragunáth she rose hastily.</p> - -<p>“She was here to watch for him!” thought Fidá; -and he clenched his hands at the thought.</p> - -<p>Ragunáth went up to the princess and bowed before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -her as profoundly as Fidá himself had bowed. Evidently, -at the same time, he spoke. Ahalya, however, -began at once to move backward, away from him, he -following her by degrees, till they had proceeded clear -across the court. And then, suddenly, at the veranda -step, the young woman turned around, and literally -ran into the women’s apartments, whither none could -follow her.</p> - -<p>Ragunáth would be coming back now, and Fidá perceived -the necessity for a quick escape. In a moment -or two he was back in the broad corridor; and, looking -round the angle into the passage, saw Ragunáth come -slowly in from the court and enter his own rooms. -From the man’s walk Fidá read enough to satisfy him. -“She was not waiting,” he thought; and at the idea -his spirits rose dizzily. Yet, after all, in this last -pleasant surmise he was wrong.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<small>AHALYA</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Short of breath, flushed of face, and discomposed -in temper, the Ranee Ahalya entered her day-room -after the brief interview with Ragunáth. As she -appeared, a girl, who sat on some cushions at the side -of the room, working at a piece of embroidery, rose -and bowed, and then asked eagerly:</p> - -<p>“Did he come?”</p> - -<p>Ahalya flung herself down on the broad divan that -ran across the end of the room under the screened -windows. “Yes, he came,” she said, petulantly. -Then, after a moment’s reflection, she added: “I -hate him, Neila.”</p> - -<p>“Did he—what did he say?” asked the handmaid, -forgetting her work as she watched her mistress.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what he said. How should I? I -did not think of him. But I think he dishonors the -gods. They were all at sacrifice, and he stole away -because he does not like Soma. Nor is it good,” she -added, with a touch of sympathy.</p> - -<p>“But he is a man, and should have a man’s tastes.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya shrugged her shoulders, and the two of -them were silent for a few minutes, Neila waiting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -patiently for the mystery that she knew her lady would -reveal—in time. Presently, indeed, the Ranee began -to speak, in a low, reflective tone as if she were merely -thinking aloud. “In all those months when my lord -and the rest were away, fighting, I have thought many -times of Ragunáth, who was kind to me at my first -coming here. I thought I should be happy when he -came again. I wanted him to come. And oh, Neila, -thou knowest the days have been long and lonely, -and I have been sick for Dhár and for my mother. -My lord is very tender of me, and I know that he is -good. But he is not young and beautiful to look on. -His eyes are not bright nor do his lips smile when he -sees me. And Ragunáth seemed younger and more -in love with life. Last night, when I danced the poppy -dance, it was for him. But, Neila, I have perceived -that he is not a man. He makes me think of a snake, -with his shiny eyes and his long, still hands. He does -not burn with an honest fire.—Ugh, I hate him! So -will I tell my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Thou wilt not, Lady Ahalya! Thou darest not tell -the Rajah you have seen this man! We should all be -killed!” Neila sprang to her feet, her work dropping -unheeded, while she stared at her mistress, who lay, -hands clasped above her head, staring off into space, -nor gave the slightest heed to her companion’s fear. -Thus Neila presently returned to her place and took -up her work again, not without anxiety in her eyes; -for the service of the youngest wife of the Lord -of Mandu was, to say the least, no monotonous life.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -Ahalya was as erratic and as reckless as an existence -of stifled loneliness can make a young, brilliant, and -impulsive nature. And this very careless openness, -mingled as it was with a singularly pure and unsuspicious -nature, had won a place for her with every one, -from the King of Mandu down to the humblest eunuch -of the zenana. She was even tolerated by Malati, the -oldest wife, who had been born a Brahman. And than -this nothing more can be said.</p> - -<p>For some moments Ahalya continued to smile into -space; which smile, considering her just-avowed aversion -to Ragunáth, Neila was decidedly at a loss to -interpret. Then Ahalya asked:</p> - -<p>“Neila, have any of the slaves told thee anything -concerning the captives brought home in the Rajah’s -train?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Kasya spoke to me of one of them, who has -been made the King’s cup-bearer. He presumes -greatly on his station; for last night he would not even -sleep in the slave-house, but lay on the divan in one of -the Rajah’s antechambers, sleeping like a god. This -man was a prince of his race:—At—Ak—I cannot -remember—”</p> - -<p>“Asra,” put in Ahalya, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Asra! ’Tis that!”</p> - -<p>Ahalya sat suddenly up and leaned forward a little. -“Kasya told you this! Said he more? What will -they do with him? Will he be ransomed?”</p> - -<p>“The captive, madam?” Neila, so used to her -mistress’s whims, was still surprised at this one. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -do not know what they will do with him. Kasya did -not tell me. He was offered on Indra’s altar to-day—being -by birth Kshatriya, and the chief of the -captives.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He is a prince. Neila, I have seen this -man.”</p> - -<p>“Seen him! Oh, Ranee, Ranee, be careful! Why, -he is a slave! If he were seen speaking with thee—they -would burn him!”</p> - -<p>Ahalya laughed joyously. “None saw him but me. -He came before Ragunáth. And, Neila, he told me -a strange thing. He said: ‘I come from Yemen; and -my race is the race of Asra, who must die if they -cherish love!’ What could he mean by that? To die -because one loved! I should not die, I think. Neila, -Neila, <i>he</i> was young, and his eyes shone. Neila! I -am lonely! Go bring to me the young Bhavani. Say -to him that I will tell him the tale he loves most to -hear: of Prince Arjuna and the great bow and the -beautiful Princess Draupadi.” Ahalya smiled. “Go -tell him, Neila, and put away that endless work of -thine.”</p> - -<p>Obediently the girl rose, left her embroidery lying -on the cushions, and went out of the room. When she -was gone, Ahalya stretched herself still more lazily on -her divan, closed her eyes to the light, and, as if she -saw with her mind things more beautiful than real, -smiled slightly, and began to sing the swaying melody -of the poppy dance. About her was a perfect stillness. -Not a sound, not so much as the tones of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -women’s voices from the interior of the zenana, penetrated -to her solitude. Perhaps her reverie was broken -by the silence, but she only smiled the more; for it -had come to be an uncanny habit with her to smile -through her loneliest and saddest hours. Only at those -rare times when joy or interest lifted her out of herself -did her face show all the strength and purity of its -melancholy beauty. Her heritage from her mother -was a self-defence of constant concealment, and a kind -of inward cynicism, which, never revealed on the -surface, was nevertheless constantly nourished and -strengthened by the many humiliations of her existence. -Just now she was considering her performance -of the evening before, and the results of it, when, after -she had left the theatre, her lord had come to her in -great anger, expecting tears, repentance, and abasement -from her, and had got only petulance, rebellion, -and remorseless laughter, so that finally, worked into -a fierce rage, he had left her alone to wake to a realization -of her offence. This realization had by no means -come; and she fully expected the Rajah to appear before -her that evening humbly craving favor; for experience -had taught her that she need never be the first to -surrender. Rai-Khizar-Pál loved her far more dearly -than she, unhappy child, cared for him, grave, honorable, -and just as he was; and it was to her carelessness of -favor and the consummate skill with which she let that -carelessness be known, that the Lady Ahalya owed the -favoritism she enjoyed and the rooms she lived in.</p> - -<p>These rooms were the choicest in the zenana. They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -consisted of a tiny suite of three, opening from a passage -that led directly into the main palace. The first of them -was an antechamber, heavily spread with rugs, walled -with carved wood brought from Ceylon, and lighted day -and night by a single crimson lamp suspended from -the ceiling. The second room, in which Ahalya now -lay, was a light and pleasant place, its floors covered -with silken rugs, the walls frescoed gayly with birds -and flowers, the furniture and the thousand ornaments -it contained all of the costliest variety, and, at the end -farthest from the windows, a little shrine to Rahda, the -Lady of Love. The last room, accessible only through -the other two, was the sleeping-room, its walls hidden -by silken hangings of pale purple and gold; its couch -covered with cloth of gold; the chests to hold the -Ranee’s garments, of precious woods inlaid with ivory -and pearl, lined with sandal-wood; and teak-wood toiletstands -displaying mirrors, brushes, perfumes, and cosmetics -wherewith a woman might be beautified:—a -heavily gilded room indeed, and one in which Ahalya -spent little time.</p> - -<p>Beyond these apartments of the favorite wife, across -the whole length of this inner palace wing, stretched -a long, narrow room, furnished with every luxury that -Indian ingenuity could devise. This was the women’s -day-room,—their common lounging-place,—where wife -and slave met together in free converse. Around it -were ranged the rooms of the other wives: Malati’s, -where the young Bhavani, Rai-Khizar-Pál’s only son, -the heir of Mandu, lodged with his mother; Bhimeg’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -the Kshatriya woman’s; and those of Chundoor, the -despised Sudra wife. At the end of the wing, farthest -from the palace, lived the women slaves; and beyond -was a separate house for the eunuchs. Such was the -zenana, in the days of Indian rule in Mandu: a place -full of life and color and sound; of interminable jealousy, -strife, and bitterness; a place which only one man -ever entered; he on whom all these women must expend -the human love and fidelity that lay seething in their -hearts.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, to Ahalya, waiting on her couch, -came Neila, bringing with her a lad ten years old, -shaggy-headed, with big, black eyes, and a sturdy -figure, who went up and kissed the Ranee affectionately. -His eyes were bright with excitement as he cried to -her: “Alaha! Alaha!” (it was his name for her), “I -have been riding to-day! Kasya put me upon a horse, -and we went almost to the old temple and back. And—and -I am to go every day now!” Trained studiously -to the dignity of his birth, he gave little active sign -of his pleasure; but his face expressed his delight, and -Ahalya, more demonstrative than he, threw her arms -about him and laughed in sympathy.</p> - -<p>“Beautiful, Bhavani! Beautiful! Now thou wilt -soon be given a bow; and then—”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall really go and contend in the games -before the beautiful Draupadi!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Shall we play it now? You will be Arjuna, -and these cushions your horse. Pile them up! Pile -them up!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, and you are Draupadi, there on the divan, and -I will ride before you and contend with—with—”</p> - -<p>“Neila!” cried Ahalya: “Neila! Where are you? -There,” as the girl came in at the door, “Neila, if you -please, you are all the other princes contending for my -hand in the royal games. You are four of the sons of -Pandu, and the hundred sons of Hastinapura, and—”</p> - -<p>“And I am to wrestle with you, and shoot you, and -kill all of you, Neila! And it will be splendid!”</p> - -<p>And, Neila smilingly consenting to the slaughter, -the game began. For half an hour the contest raged -fiercely; and finally Ahalya herself came down from her -throne to be killed by the all-conquering one. But -at last, when the little room looked as if a devastating -army had passed through it, the sport came to an end, -and Ahalya and the little boy sat down together to -rest, while the untiring Neila began the task of setting -things to rights. It was then that Ahalya’s turn came, -and she lost no time in beginning:—</p> - -<p>“Bhavani, hast seen thy father to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Yes! Oh, yes! He left the Soma sacrifice to see -me ride!”</p> - -<p>“Was he—was he in a glad humor? Asked he of -me?”</p> - -<p>Neila paused in her labors to hear the answer to this -question.</p> - -<p>“He was very glad and gay. He gave me a piece of -silver for sitting straight on my horse. But—dear -’Laha, I think he did not ask for you.”</p> - -<p>“And said he naught of any one else?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> - -<p>“Of whom? Oh, but he just talked about me, and -my riding, and how in a few years I should go to war -with him.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya laughed, but not with her eyes. “Well, I -am tired now. I am going to sleep, Bhavani. Therefore -run away. See what a mess we have made of the -room! Run away.”</p> - -<p>“But—I may come again soon, to play Arjuna?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow?” wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Yes. But go now, Bhavani.”</p> - -<p>Obediently and reluctantly, Bhavani went.</p> - -<p>When he was gone, Neila and Ahalya found themselves -looking at each other intently. “He will surely -come this evening,” said the slave. “He cannot stay -away longer.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya flushed and frowned. “I do not want him -to come,” she said. “I am tired. I am going to sleep -now. Do not wake me till the evening meal is ready.” -And the Ranee forthwith disappeared into her bedroom, -pulling the purple hangings across the doorway -behind her so that Neila could not see, as she lay on -her bed, whether she slept or not.</p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar-Pál did not come that evening, nor the -next day, nor the next. And by the third afternoon -Ahalya was secretly very anxious. Nothing ever went -unknown for twenty-four hours in the zenana: that -place whose inmates had nothing to do all day long -but discuss each other; and for two days now nothing -had been talked of in the common day-room but the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -favorite’s fall from favor. The Lord Rajah had been -at home from his campaign nearly four days and had -seen Ahalya in that time only once! Glory to Krishna! -Who would get her place? On the afternoon of the -fourth day Ahalya, braving the worst, appeared in the -day-room. The chill of humiliation that met her was -expected, but none the less hard to endure. Malati, -when profoundly saluted, set the example for the room -by barely noticing the Ranee. The very slave-girls -laughed at her as she passed them; and only Chundoor, -the Sudra woman, offered to make room for her. Ahalya, -however, had not yet come to passing a whole morning -with a person of low caste; nor yet was she to be driven -from the day-room because Rai-Khizar-Pál was offended -with her for the poppy dance. After her one bow to -Malati, who, as oldest wife, was entitled to it, she -walked once round the room, leisurely chose out a pile -of cushions apart from the general groups, settled herself -with inimitable, lazy grace, despatched one eunuch -for sweetened rose-water, commanded another to fan -her, gave orders to three or four more, and, when she -had made herself important enough, caused Neila to -bring in a tray of toilet articles and begin to shape -and polish her nails. While Neila worked, she lay perfectly -still, surveying the company near by in a supercilious -manner, and giving her rivals ample opportunity -to realize that, try as they would, not one of them -could ever approach her in beauty, in grace, or in -charm.</p> - -<p>By this time the whole room was in a ferment of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -disdain and concealed envy. Suddenly, as if the -excitement had not been already great enough for one -morning, Rai-Khizar-Pál appeared on the threshold, -and looked eagerly down the room. Every head was -turned to him: Ahalya’s too, but leisurely, and with an -indifference that was noticeable. Scarcely did she -take the trouble to lift her eyelids, as the Rajah came -slowly forward. Her husband’s eyes were busy, however, -during his ceremonious progress; and he read a -deal of history in that walk. It would have been impossible -for him not to have made the comparison between -Ahalya and those from whom she had so studiously -withdrawn herself. Beside their dark, heavy, sensual -faces, hers, in its clear-cut, Persian fairness, stood out -as a rose among thistles, as gold beside brass. This -morning, after three days without her, the Rajah -appreciated her more keenly than usual; and, before -her indifference, his displeasure melted like mist in the -sun. Stopping to speak with no one else, he went to -her, amid a sensible but scarcely audible murmur of -disappointment. Ahalya looked up only when he bent -over her; but she smiled at him for greeting, and he -asked nothing better.</p> - -<p>“My lotus-flower! My heart’s delight!” he said, -gazing thirstily at her fair face. “Ahalya! Thou wilt -dance no more nautch dances at the theatre?”</p> - -<p>For a moment she seemed to hesitate. Then, -because she had had enough of playing for the time, -she answered, truthfully enough: “Nay, lord. I—am -sorry that I danced the poppy dance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar longed to take her in his arms; but this, -in the face of all the zenana, even he scarcely ventured -to do. So, bending low over her, he whispered:</p> - -<p>“In two hours come to the marble bath, and we will -eat together, alone, by the fountain there. Make thyself -beautiful for me, rose of Iran!—my treasure!—my -child!” Then, with the smile that he gave only to -her, the Rajah turned away, and left the room without -speaking to any other in it.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes after he had gone Ahalya also departed, -running the new gantlet of hurt and angry glances with -less indifference than she had borne her humiliation an -hour before. Her pride served her well in trouble; but -ill-natured jealousy always cut her to the quick; and -she had found but light armor against it.</p> - -<p>Returning to her own room, she bathed, and let -Neila dress her as the Rajah commanded. Her garments -were silken tissues of palest pink, delicate as -rose-petals. Her waist was girdled with gold and -pearls; and her hair braided and bound up with golden -threads. When Neila had finished her she was a picture, -and she knew it, perhaps, though she took small -delight in it; for the unexpressed thought in her heart -was that she would have matched her raiment with her -love; and Rai-Khizar-Pál she loved as a father, as a -venerable and powerful man; her master, but never the -lord of her heart.</p> - -<p>The Rajah, however, was waiting her coming with -very different feelings; for he loved Ahalya as most -men love only in early youth. His delight in her was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -out of all proportion to his reserved and conservative -nature. On her he lavished the wealth of his treasury. -For her he would have sacrificed, without a thought, -every other woman in his zenana. And while her escapades -and her insubordination never failed to startle -and hurt him, they only served, in the end, to bind her -more strongly to him by the chains of fascination and -elusiveness.</p> - -<p>The place where the two were to sup together was -the Rajah’s favorite retreat:—an open-roofed, white-colonnaded -room, in the centre of which was a broad, -marble bathing-pool. Beside the water grew grasses -and flowers, carefully tended; and near at hand, on -the marble pavement, were piles of cushions, low -stands, and all the articles of Oriental furniture necessary -to a retreat where even slaves were not allowed -to come without command. By night the marble terrace -was lighted with lamps placed on stands; and now, -in a soft glow of rosy light, beside an ebony table spread -with choice dishes and rare wines, the Rajah lay, appreciating -the change of this miniature fairy-land from -the rough existence of camps and battle-fields; and -waiting for that which should put a finishing touch to -his deep content.</p> - -<p>She came, the Ranee of his soul, unattended, her -delicate garments floating about her like a cloud. At -sight of her he exclaimed, and she went to him, smiling -and holding out her hands, secretly desirous that he -should not kiss her face. She had her wish. Scarcely -daring to touch her in her delicacy, he put her off at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -arm’s length, and gazed at her in a kind of wonder -that such a thing should be human.</p> - -<p>“Beautiful one! My princess! Sit there and let -me look at thee. Most exquisite one! Art thou too -frail to eat?” He smiled at his fears, and began to lay -before her the various dishes. “See, here are mangoes, -and figs, and tamarinds, and little custard apples. -And here is a kid cooked in sugar. And rice—and -all these sauces. And there is a cup of the wine of -Iran, from thy mother’s land, beautiful one.”</p> - -<p>With his own hands he served her, talking inconsequently, -content just to gaze upon her roseate presence. -And Ahalya, who had been wont to enjoy this patent -adoration, sat wondering at herself that it had become -painful to her. She strove well to conceal her feeling, -not knowing what to make of it. And she ate, -smiled, and praised the food and wine, but could think -of nothing else to say. She was dreading the time -that was coming; but she could not put it off. When -both had eaten enough, and when another jar of Persian -wine had been opened for the Rajah’s use, and Ahalya -had washed her hands in a silver basin filled with rose-water, -Rai-Khizar lay back on his cushions, called the -Ranee to his side, and began tenderly:</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt glad, beloved of mine, that I am returned -to Mandu?”</p> - -<p>Ahalya sighed. “I am glad,” she answered. “Oh—the -days have been dreary! The weeks would not -pass. Loneliness hath killed my soul. Hath my lord -ever dreamed of the sadness of women’s lives when -they are left alone in the zenana?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar laughed, misunderstanding her words; but -Ahalya flushed with anger that he mocked her earnestness. -Seeing her expression, his changed at once. -Laying one hand on hers, he said, gently:</p> - -<p>“Thou hast been lonely, beautiful one? Tell me of -it.”</p> - -<p>“How can I tell thee, who hast not been a woman? -There are we left, day after day, hating and hated -by those with whom we live. And we must dress and -powder and perfume, eat, drink, sew, and be content -that we have beds to sleep on by night and a prison -to house us by day. If I leave the palace and wander -abroad in the fields, under the bright sun, the women -chatter and the slaves stare, and bearers must be at my -heels to carry me if I tire. I cannot sleep away my -days. Rather I would live like the Vaisya women, who -are free to labor, and laugh, and grow hungry and -weary with their toil. The monotony, the idleness of -my life, kills my soul! It is for this I danced the poppy -dance. It is for this I sometimes sit for hours in the -old, ruined temple of Surya, watching the monkeys -play in the cotton trees. It is for this I shout and sing -and tear to pieces my silken garments, and break the -ivories you bring me from the south. For I am not of -Hindoo blood. My mother came from free Iran, and I -am also of that race. And here, in this sleepy indolence, -I suffer—I stifle—I die! There! Is it enough? -Have I told thee?”</p> - -<p>She stopped, hot and eager with the feeling of her -speech, to find Rai-Khizar staring at her with troubled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -eyes. He gave her a long and close scrutiny; and -when he spoke it was only to say, in a quiet tone: -“Thou wilt do well to crush this spirit, Ahalya. I -cannot make thee a man;—nor would I if I could. -Therefore, being a woman, thou must be protected as -one. Speak of this no more. Nay, listen, and I will -tell thee of our campaign, of the battle on the plain of -Dhár, and of these men of the west that are worthy -warriors. Thou knowest, Ahalya, that, hundreds of -seasons ago, there came, over the snow-clad mountains -of the north, a great host, led by one called Mahmoud -of Ghazni. They came, in the name of their one God, -to conquer our country; and though many hundreds -of times Indians and Rajputs drove them back, they -have persevered, and are now masters of the north and -east. In Lahore, their kings have ruled for generations; -and now a slave sits on the throne of the new -Kingdom of Delhi.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> And out of Delhi a fresh horde -has come for the conquest of Malwa. Beyond the walls -of Dhár we met them in battle; and, by Indra and -Vishnu, we routed them well! I have brought back in -my train the nephew of their leader; and I think it -will be long ere Omar crosses the Vindhyas to get him -back!”</p> - -<p>“Thou hast brought home the nephew of their -leader! What glory for thee! Is he to be ransomed?”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Aybek, a slave of Mahommad-Ghori, founded the present Kingdom -of Delhi.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> - -<p>“No, by my life! I like the fellow, and I have made -him my cup-bearer. He pleases me with his manner. -He is like thee:—rebellious. Why, look you, on the -first night of his captivity he slept in one of my -rooms here—would not go into the house of slaves, -and so put me to the blush for asking a prince to demean -himself, that I have granted him a bed in one -of the antechambers near my sleeping-room. Also, -yesterday, at the noon meal, he ceased to fill my cup -after the second jar was empty. I asked him why he -failed in his duty, and he answered that he did not fail, -but was, rather, careful of my welfare:—that the gods -had made kings to be examples to their people; and -that a drunken king bred drunkenness in his subjects!”</p> - -<p>Ahalya’s eyes shone. “And thou—what didst thou, -my lord?”</p> - -<p>“I gave the fellow ten lashes for his impertinence. -But I like him, and I shall keep him in my service.”</p> - -<p>“Keep a prince for thy slave, lord?”</p> - -<p>“Whoorroo, Ahalya! Thou hast his tongue to-night. -Come; I am weary of talking. Dance for me—the -poppy dance, if thou wilt, now we are alone.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya rose submissively, and poised herself, while -the Rajah lay back in deep comfort on his pillows. -She was a beautiful dancer when she chose to dance; -and she could hum her own music, beating the rhythm -with her feet as she swayed slowly from one posture to -another. But she did not dance the poppy dance to-night. -She only made a series of tableaux that would -have delighted the soul of an artist, and which fully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -satisfied the eyes of the Rajah. Ahalya circled round -him like some broad-winged bird, moving more and -more lightly, becoming more and more cloudlike to his -stilling senses. And presently when, out of her gauzy -mist, the Ranee looked at him, she perceived that his -eyes were closed and that his breath was coming deeply -and regularly.</p> - -<p>Ahalya experienced a sudden feeling of relief. He -slept. His sleep would wear the night away. She was -free to go. Joyously, softly, swiftly, she passed out of -that room and the next; but in the antechamber beyond -she paused. Three or four rooms and a passage lay -between her and the zenana. These she appeared to -be in no haste to traverse. Halting indecisively, she -stood looking about her as if in search of something—or -some one; and her brow was drawn in meditation. -Then, all at once, she started, not in the direction of her -apartments, but through another door that led off into -a long range of rooms, little used, in one of which the -captive slave of Rai-Khizar-Pál had had the audacity -to sleep on the first night of his coming to Mandu; -and the use of which the lenient Rajah had afterward -granted him. As she continued on her way, Ahalya’s -excitement and her speed increased until she was -fairly running along, her eyes, meantime, swiftly examining -each room as soon as she entered it. At last, -when her breath had become panting, and her color unnaturally -brilliant; when, as it would seem, she began -to realize what she was doing, she reached, by her devious -route, the antechamber to the zenana, where an eunuch<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -stood on guard. And he stared in amazement at -her flushed and frowning face as she hurried past him -into her voluntary captivity.</p> - -<p>It was as well that the Ranee Ahalya sought her sleep -that night without having peered out of her screened -windows into the inner court; for had she done so, -she might have found by accident that which she had -unsuccessfully sought. For, till a very late hour that -night, Fidá, the slave, risking his life, crouched in the -shadow of the fountain of that court, watching, with -burning eyes, the glow of a single lamp that shone in -the Lady Ahalya’s rooms: a lamp which, though he -knew it not, was never extinguished. And so, when -weariness finally overcame him, he crept away without -learning whether or not the lady of his dreams was -sleeping behind her imprisoning walls.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<small>THE ASRA RUBY</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was some time past midnight when Fidá, baffled -and exhausted, returned to his antechamber, and, -wrapping himself in his white cloak, lay down on the -floor. Weary as he was, he could not sleep at once, -but lay for a little while thinking profitlessly on what -he had done. Fate had twice given him that which he -had not sought. But now, trying to circumvent Fate, -he had been doubly defeated; for, had he been where -he should that evening, Ahalya, in her reckless search, -must have come upon him. This, happily, he did not -know; but he was none the less unrighteously angry -at his failure to find out something, even the smallest, -of her habits. <i>Her</i> habits! Reason, which he had -persistently smothered, rose up against him, and began -to lay before him certain grim truths. This woman, -of whom his nearly every waking thought was now -composed, was a Ranee—a queen, a wife. To her -he was an outcast, and yet he had dared to lift his -thoughts to her. Fool that he was, he had got himself -into a state men called love! What love could be -more unholy than his? She was a Ranee. But, -argued his other self, he was himself a prince by birth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -and the actual head of a great race. Nevertheless, this -race of his was a strangely unhappy one; and he, Fidá, -had, all his life till now, persistently avoided women; -for to his family women were fatal. He had taken -the highest pride in his reputation for coldness, for -chastity, for temperance. At sixteen he had left Yemen -to put himself under the guardianship of his uncle,—a -power at the court of Delhi; and, upon his departure for -India, he had vowed lifelong devotion to the extension -of the Prophet’s power; and had determined to allow -no human temptation to conquer him. This present -matter, however, he protested, was no temptation. It -was even most unlikely that he should see the woman -again, considering the difference in their present -stations. Nevertheless, after a little more chaotic -thinking, Fidá took from a certain secure hiding-place -in his vestment a tiny golden box, scarcely half an inch -square, fastened by a minute spring. Without opening -it, he clasped this box closely to his breast; and, as if it -held some magic power, under its pressure he grew -calm again, his brain ceased to throb, sleep stole upon -him, and little by little his hold on it relaxed, till at -last his hand fell from his breast and his treasure rolled -upon the floor.</p> - -<p>Fidá’s awakening was sudden. The tones of a loud -voice, calling confusedly, mingled themselves with his -dreams. Then he sprang to his feet to find the Rajah -standing over him, in a most dishevelled state, crying -to him to bring drinking-water, instantly. And Fidá, -startled and sleepy, hurried away on his errand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> - -<p>When he returned with the desired drink, he found -his master in his bedroom, surrounded by half a dozen -attendants, each ministering to him in some way. -Way was made with alacrity for the cup-bearer, however; -for Rai-Khizar greeted the appearance of water -with a positive roar of eagerness. After three brimming -gobletfuls had been quaffed without pause, the -Rajah gave a great sigh and sank back on his cushions. -“By the fingers of Ushas,” said he, “that is the best -liquor ever brought me! Fidá, thou abstainer, where -learned thy people their wisdom?—Now I bathe. Let -a meal be ready when I return, and summon Lord -Ragunáth to eat with me. Sacharman, go rouse him. -Thou, Asra, say thy prayers, and then come and wait -at my table. Away! Out of my sight!”</p> - -<p>There was a general scurrying, in the midst of which -Rai-Khizar, restored to tranquillity, walked away to his -bath, leaving the room free for other slaves to prepare -in it the morning meal. In half an hour, when the -King reappeared, all was in readiness, and Fidá stood -alone behind his master’s seat. The Rajah seated himself -at once; but, not greatly disposed toward food, -sat waiting for Ragunáth before beginning his meal. -The official did not long delay, though he made his -appearance in no way hurriedly. He was carefully -dressed, fresh-colored and smiling; and in his hand he -carried a tiny, golden box. Fidá perceived it at once, -and his heart throbbed with anxiety, but he did not -speak. Greetings passed between Rajah and minister, -and then Ragunáth took his place opposite Rai-Khizar,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -and laid Fidá’s box on the low brass table in front of -him.</p> - -<p>“This was upon the floor in the second antechamber,” -he observed.</p> - -<p>The Rajah took it up and examined it, Fidá still -silently watching. For a moment Rai-Khizar seemed -to consider. Then, suddenly turning to his slave, he -exclaimed: “’Tis thine, Asra! I remember they found -it on thee in my tent in the plain of Dhár, and returned -it to thee again, it being a charm of thy god.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is mine, O King.”</p> - -<p>Rai-Khizar-Pál examined it further, with curiosity. -“Doth the box open? What is its power?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“It contains a charm, great Rajah, the charm of my -race.”</p> - -<p>“Show us this charm,” demanded the master, handing -the box to his slave.</p> - -<p>Fidá’s hand closed upon it with visible eagerness; -but he was very loath to open it. However, there -was no choice. Touching the delicate spring, that -was almost undiscoverable, the golden lid flew open, -and Fidá turned the box upward on his palm. When -he lifted it, there lay in his hand a stone, red and -brilliant: a ruby, as magnificent a gem as the Rajah -had ever looked on. It was cut and polished, and -from its prismatic sides shone an inward fire of palest -crimson. This stone Fidá placed in the Rajah’s hand, -who received it with an exclamation of wonder.</p> - -<p>“Whoorroo! There is not, in all Mandu, a gem so -wonderful! Thy family, Asra, must be powerful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -indeed! Come, as the price of keeping thy treasure, -relate to us its merits as a charm, and how it -came to be thine.”</p> - -<p>Fidá was deeply troubled. He gazed at Ragunáth, -who, forgetting himself, was leaning over the tray, his -eyes fixed—was it hungrily?—upon that gleaming -stone. There was an eagerness in the clear-cut face -that was too easy to read; and as he watched, Fidá -saw the man’s hands fairly tremble for the gem. -Rai-Khizar-Pál was wholly different. His face, as -he examined the stone, expressed pleasure; but there -was not a hint of avarice in his large, quiet eyes. -After three or four minutes of hesitation and inward -struggle on the part of Fidá, the King exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Thy tale, Fidá! Or wouldst really lose the jewel -to me?”</p> - -<p>“The jewel,” cut in Ragunáth, in a smooth, quiet -voice, “belongs by right of war to the Rajah. No slave -should possess such a fortune as this.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, good counsellor, there thou’rt wrong. This -Mohammedan is not a Sudra. Moreover, he does not -carry the ruby as riches, but for a reason that we wait -to hear. Come, Fidá, speak!”</p> - -<p>The King laid the ruby on the tray before him, -and began to eat, slowly. At the same time Fidá, -overpressed, entered upon his tale; and during the -whole of the recital his eyes never once rested on the -jewel, but were fixed unwinkingly on Ragunáth’s -æsthetic profile.</p> - -<p>“O conqueror, the story of this jewel that you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -bid me tell is stranger than you think. ’Tis such a -story as is scarcely to be found outside of fairy lore. -And yet I stand here to prove that it is true.</p> - -<p>“Know that my race, the Asra, are an ancient and -powerful family, that have dwelt for many centuries in -Yemen, the holy land. We are of high descent, and -among us, at the time of the Hejira, was a follower -of Mohammad, afterward one of the writers of the -Koran, a venerable and a holy man, accounted a sage: -by name, Hussen el-Asra. At the same time there -lived in Mecca the high and holy Osman, compiler -of the Koran, worshipped throughout the city as a -saint. Now Hussen had a son, a young man of great -beauty of face and form, and of highly virtuous mind, -called Abdullah. One day this young man, by an -unhappy accident, chanced to see a maiden, the daughter -of a wealthy nobleman of Mecca, Said ibn-Alnas; -and in the first sight of her he loved the maiden, -and, going to her father, asked her hand in marriage. -Said received Abdullah in the most courteous manner, -but was distressed by the object of his visit, in that -his daughter had already a suitor in old Osman, who, -though four times married to virtuous women, had -become so enamored of the beautiful Zenora that he -purposed divorcing himself of one of his wives in -order to marry her. Abdullah, however, was unmarried; -and the venerable Said preferred to make -his child the first wife of an honorable man, to bringing -dishonor on the head of another woman by marrying -her to Osman. Zenora, likewise, when the matter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> -was laid before her, as is our custom with our women, -begged earnestly to become the wife of the younger -man, whom she already loved. Thereupon, before -Osman was made aware of the matter, Zenora and -Abdullah were safely married, and she had taken up -her abode in the house of her husband and her husband’s -father.</p> - -<p>“When news of this wedding was brought to the -saint Osman, he fell into a violent rage of despair. -Praying to the Prophet for vengeance, the Prophet -listened to his prayer, and put into his mouth a curse. -And so Osman went into the market-place and waited; -and when Abdullah came thither, Osman went up to -him and cursed him and his love, and the loves of his -children and his children’s children, that whosoever of -his race should truly love a woman should die of it, -having by her no more than one son. And though an -Asra should, in his heart, cherish love for a woman and -not marry her, the curse should yet be upon him, till -in a short time their whole race should perish from the -face of the earth.”</p> - -<p>“It was an unholy curse,” observed the Rajah, -deeply interested. And Fidá rejoined:</p> - -<p>“So thought all that heard it; and no man looked -for it to come to pass. Yet it happened that Abdullah -and Zenora had not been wedded a month when the -husband sickened. Though he grew constantly worse, -he but clung the more to his wife, and she to him, -until it seemed that he must surely die. Then, in her -bitterness and grief, Zenora called upon her father and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -her husband’s father for aid; and the nobleman and -the learned and holy one took counsel together, -and prayed to Allah and the Archangels. And their -prayer was answered. A voice from heaven addressed -them, bidding Said bring forth the richest treasure of his -house, and then Hussen to bless it and then take it to -Abdullah for a charm against the evil of the curse; and, -while he carried it, it would give him health and bring -him children. So Said went and got this ruby, which -was renowned throughout Yemen for its size and perfection. -And Hussen, performing his part of the task, -blessed the gem and consecrated it to Allah, and took -it to his son, who by it was miraculously restored to -health. Abdullah and Zenora lived happily, and had -many daughters, but only one son, to whom the ruby was -given at his father’s death, with the word that it should -descend in time to his first-born, and so on down. In -time it was found that only those children born of -deep and lasting love were subject to the curse; but -upon these, since the time of Abdullah and Osman, the -evil has never failed to take effect when the ruby is -not worn as a protective charm. It was my father’s, -and given me by him according to the custom; wherefore -my uncle, though he married and has a son, has -devoted his life to pursuits of war and hunting, knowing -that the gentler pleasures of life are not for -him.”</p> - -<p>“And hast thou never put thy stone to the test? -Hast never loved?” inquired Ragunáth, with a faintly -curling smile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> - -<p>“No,” answered Fidá, shortly. But the Rajah broke -in:</p> - -<p>“By Surya, ’tis a tale worth the price of the gem! -Take it, Asra; and I think it were well for thee to -keep it idle while thou remainest in this palace.”</p> - -<p>Fidá gave a little, imperceptible start, and stared -quickly into his conqueror’s face. There was nothing -to be read in it; and surely it was impossible that the -words could have had any under-meaning. Greatly -relieved at receiving back his treasure, the Asra replaced -it in its box, which he fastened again in his -garment. As he did this he was aware that Ragunáth’s -eyes were still upon him; but Ragunáth’s -glances had annoyed him so often, that he failed especially -to note this. He had recovered his jewel; and -now the meal was coming to an end and for an hour -he would be released from duty.</p> - -<p>When he was again summoned to the Rajah’s side, it -was in the great audience hall, where Rai-Khizar-Pál -officiated in his judicial state. The Mohammedan was -not a little interested in the proceedings of the long -morning; and his respect for the ability of his master -increased not a little as he watched him settle, one -after another, with ease, rapidity, and remarkable -insight, the great number of quarrels and suits brought -before him by his subjects. At the second hour after -noon, however, the court rose, and those natives -whose cases had not come up that day were told to -return on the morrow; whereupon they got up, without -comment, from where they had been sitting in rows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> -around the wall, and departed to their various pursuits. -The Rajah, accompanied by Manava, retired -to eat his second meal, which Fidá served. When -it was over, he stood waiting to be dismissed; for it -was the time of day when Rai-Khizar usually slept and -the slave was accustomed to enjoy a period of idleness. -Left alone with the captive, however, the King turned -to him, and, after a few moments’ consideration, said -gravely:</p> - -<p>“Asra, I have said that I would not ransom thee; -liking too well thy presence and thy service. Yet -this I have in my heart reconsidered until, though I -shall grieve to let thee go, I am willing to send envoys -to thy uncle to treat for thy ransom. Doth this -rejoice thee?”</p> - -<p>Fidá fell upon one knee and pressed the Rajah’s -hand to his head. “Thanks to my lord!” said he, in -a voice muffled with emotion.</p> - -<p>“Ah, thou’lt be glad to be in thine own estate -again! I send the envoys forth to-day. It should be -not more than three weeks ere thy freedom cometh. -On my life, I shall be loath to part with thee. But now -I can keep thee no longer in this servant’s garb. Thou -shalt be habited like a prince again, and wait here, my -guest, till thou goest forth.”</p> - -<p>“Let the King pardon my boldness. What is the -ransom thou wouldst free me for?”</p> - -<p>“Far less than thou art worth, my Asra: five -thousand pieces of copper, jewels to the worth of an -hundred cows, and the oath that the Rajah of Mandu<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> -and the mighty Aybek of Delhi be henceforth as -brothers.”</p> - -<p>Fidá had risen to his feet; but he stood with his head -so bent that the Rajah could not see his face. “I have -a favor to ask my lord,” he said, still in the muffled -tone that could not be interpreted.</p> - -<p>“Speak.”</p> - -<p>“Will the Rajah permit that, till the time of my -freedom, I may remain as I am now:—the cup-bearer -of my lord?”</p> - -<p>“What! Art not a prince? Wouldst thou remain -a slave?”</p> - -<p>“I asked a favor of my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Then it is granted, Asra. But, by the bolt of Indra, -I understand thee not!” And, displeased with his captive’s -request, he got up and strode out of the room. -Fidá stood there alone, staring at the floor, with a curling, -sorrowful smile on his lips, and a deep melancholy in -his eyes. For Fidá knew his race well; and he was -perfectly aware that, though an army of twenty thousand -Mohammedans might storm the plateau of Mandu -for the simple purpose of taking him out of captivity, -yet they would never pay one-half of the ransom demanded; -and, should they take the oath of brotherhood -with an infidel, it would be for the purpose of plundering -him at the first opportunity. Entertaining, then, -from the first, no false hope of freedom, Fidá preferred -remaining in his present state as personal servant of -a king, to mutilation and degradation when the answer -that his uncle would send should reach the ears<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -of Rai-Khizar-Pál. Understanding all this, and having -the courage to face it from the first, Fidá was none the -less bitter at heart at the thought of it. And it was -with dragging steps and a darkened face that he finally -set off toward the house of slaves.</p> - -<p>There, as he had hoped, he found Ahmed, unoccupied -and awake. The brightness of the boy’s face at sight -of his master roused Fidá a little from his mood, and his -eyes had lost their sombreness when, side by side with -his young companion, he left the chattering veranda, -and walked in the direction of the great courtyard. -As they went, they talked in their native tongue, and -Ahmed, his boyish spirits always light, recounted all -the gossip of under-life in the great palace which had -not come to Fidá’s ears. The Mohammedan boy had -made himself very popular even among the Indian -slaves; and he, like all servants, was in possession of intimate -details of the higher life that would have astonished -and nonplussed certain august personages. His -chatter was innocent enough, however. One of the -slave-women in the zenana had had a quarrel with -Bhimeg, the second wife, over a pet paroquet. Purán -and Kanava had had a trial of strength in wrestling, -and Kanava had come out victor. Two of the eunuchs -of the zenana were just dead of a fever. And so on, -infinitely, till Fidá had ceased to listen, and was occupied -with his own thoughts, which had suddenly turned -in another direction. After all, did he really wish to -leave Mandu? Was there not something here that -could not be taken away; something that was not to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -be found in any other country of the earth? Dwelt not -the fairest woman in the world here, in the place of his -captivity? Did he really desire to leave her land even -for princely honors? Nay. It might be impossible -that he should see her again; yet always she was here, -and here only, the lady of his secret heart.</p> - -<p>The two companions, loitering through the great -courtyard, finally entered the temple room of Vishnu, -that began the south wing of the palace. A curious -place, this temple, devoted to that species of half-formed -Hindooism that was at this time the prevailing -religion of India. Into this religion, as into a -gigantic pie, had been thrown pell-mell the doctrines -of ancient Vedic worship, the religion of the great -Triad, the worst side of dying Buddhism, and the Philosophies, -insulted by their anthropomorphitic company. -This temple room was a fair specimen of the mingled -faiths. On one side, decked and carved with the -symbols of fifty other gods, the images of Vishnu -and Lakshmi reclined upon a throne about which was -entwined the great serpent Sesha, symbol of eternity, -in whose coils was caught a golden lotus, from which -Brahma and the demigods had, in the beginning, come -forth. Over the head of Vishnu hung a wooden -monkey, representing Hanuman, the friend of Vishnu; -and three or four living members of the chattering tribe -dwelt in the room. Around the three other walls were -images of different gods, all comparatively insignificant, -but each with his priest and a sect, however small, of -worshippers. At any hour of the day, indeed, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> -especially in the morning and in the evening, there were -to be found from one to twenty worshippers seated on -the floor before the various deities, engaged in performing -an Agnihotra or an Ishti for prosperity and good -fortune.</p> - -<p>In the dusk of this holy place, lighted by its fires, -Fidá and Ahmed continued their low-voiced talk, which -had now turned upon the long-standing feud between -Kasya, chief of the eunuchs, and Kanava, the slavemaster. -Kanava was high in the favor of Ragunáth; -but Kasya, heart and soul devoted to his Rajah, found -little favor in Ragunáth’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“Kanava,” Ahmed said, “is Ragunáth’s spy; and he -can go anywhere in the palace except into the zenana. -Kasya watches his eunuchs, so that Kanava has never -been able to get in there; and I have heard one of the -eunuchs say that he has tried to bribe every one of -them to let him in. They say that Ragunáth is in love -with one of the women—”</p> - -<p>“What woman?” demanded Fidá, sharply.</p> - -<p>“The youngest wife. They call her Ahalya.”</p> - -<p>Fidá’s eyes blazed with anger. “Why is not the -Rajah told of this?”</p> - -<p>“Great Allah! Every one would be killed, I suppose,” -returned the boy; and the subject was dropped.</p> - -<p>In the midst of all this gossip Fidá had not told his -companion anything of the chief event of the day:—the -matter of his ransom. And, on reflection, he decided -to say nothing about it. Ahmed’s young buoyancy -could never be made to understand Fidá’s own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -view of the incident; and he could do nothing but -raise hopes that would not be fulfilled. So, after a -while, each returned to his duties, insensibly lightened -at heart by the taste of intimate and affectionate -companionship.</p> - -<p>Fidá lay down in his corner, that night, tired out. -According to old habit he slipped his hand inside his -tunic and made sure that his little box was in its -place, in a pocket that he had made for it himself, -after his other clothes had been taken from him. Finding -his treasure safe, he offered up a prayer, wondered -where his uncle slept that night, still more wondered -whether the Lady Ahalya was asleep, and, with her -name on his lips, drifted off into unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>He was awakened by the sense that some one was -bending over him. Next he felt the lightest touch -upon his body. A hand was slipping along him so -softly that only an acute sense could have felt it. -Then Fidá opened his eyes. Ten brown, sinewy fingers -were working at his sash. Quietly the Asra laid his -own hands on those of the marauder, and, while the -blood rushed to his heart, gripped them with the -strength of a giant. The intruder gave a soft exclamation; -and Fidá found himself looking into the eyes of -Kanava.</p> - -<p>The gaze continued till the slave-master was beaten. -He turned his eyes away. Then Fidá’s lip curled, -and he spoke, his voice soft with scorn.</p> - -<p>“Go back, Kanava, and tell thy master that the Asra -ruby is not for him.” And, with a violent gesture, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -flung the man away from him as one would fling a bag -of meal.</p> - -<p>Without a word Kanava got up and crept out of the -room. After he was gone again Fidá relaxed, and, -curiously enough, found no difficulty in going back to -sleep. Nor did he afterward waste much time in -thinking of the mortal enemy he had made by that -night’s work.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<small>POPPIES</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>ON the night after the reconciliation with her husband, -the night also after her search for a slave in -the palace, the Lady Ahalya went to bed in a temper, -without having roused Neila, her maid. During -the night, while she slept, some subtle change surely -worked upon the brain and heart of the Ranee; for she -herself, and Neila too, knew afterward that this night -was, with her, the beginning and the end of all things. -For the next three or four days Neila’s life was made -miserable; but Ahalya did not attempt to account even -to herself for the freaks, moods, and whims which -changed with such rapidity that, before human power -could gratify one, the next had made the work all to -do over again. Not for an entire week did the long-suffering -attendant get an inkling of what was really -the trouble; and then she went into a state of consternation -that Ahalya made no attempt to lessen. For -the Ranee’s secret mind was running continually now, -perhaps without her own volition, on the most dangerous -of topics:—how she might see the Asra again. -This was not a matter so absolutely impossible as -Fidá deemed it. Life in the Indian zenanas was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> -quite that of the harems of Arabia; though, as Ragunáth -knew, this one was certainly well guarded. By -degrees, however, Ahalya approached her end. How -it came about, who could say? But Neila found herself -presently acting in the character of a spy. This -eunuch and that she questioned; now and then she -ventured into the great courtyard or, more warily, into -the palace itself: observing, listening, asking a question -of one slave or another, till Fidá’s daily habits had -become familiar to her. Then, after so much patience, -opportunity arrived. One afternoon at the very end of -the month, after the Rajah had partaken of his afternoon -meal and gone to rest, Neila herself saw the slave -Fidá set out alone into the fields, along the old temple -road. This incident being duly reported to her mistress, -Ahalya’s face lighted like a child’s.</p> - -<p>“I, too, am going to walk on the temple road! Yes, -yes, Neila, I am going! Seek not to detain me. I am -going to gather the late poppies in the temple field to -make a rouge for my face. Come, prepare me!”</p> - -<p>The unhappy Neila protested violently, all her courage -failing. Gradually she had been drawn into Ahalya’s -madness; but now, brought face to face with possible -consequences, she rebelled. There was a scene between -her and her mistress such as had never been known before. -But while Neila wept on the border of hysterics, -Ahalya, the power of her great malady holding her -above such things, remained dry-eyed, firm, commanding. -What wonder that Neila in the end submitted? -Nevertheless, one thing the maid insisted on. She and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> -Kasya must follow their lady, as indeed many times -before they had followed her unconventional rambles; -or Ahalya should leave the zenana only over her, -Neila’s, body.</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later the three set out along the -temple road, Neila bearing with her certain fiercely -given instructions that had caused her heart to grow -leaden in her breast. Kasya, as they proceeded, wondered -more and more about the relations between his -mistress and her maiden; for Ahalya was walking with -a rapidity that sent the blood into her cheeks and her -heart pounding; while the traces of tears on the other’s -face were fresh enough to denote some unusual incident -before the expedition. A little more and his suspicions, -ever ready because ever needed, would have been -aroused. But, at this juncture, Fate, more powerful -even than Love, stepped in and took command of the -day. The three had not proceeded half a mile from -the palace when there came running to them a little -slave-boy, who, halting beside Kasya, spoke a few rapid -words in his ear that turned the eunuch’s mind from -all thought of the Lady Ahalya and her walk. The -Ranee Malati, it seemed, had called for her son to be -brought to her; and the young Bhavani, the most -important person in Mandu after the Rajah, was not -to be found. For a moment or two Kasya hesitated. -He had no choice but to go.</p> - -<p>“I beseech the pardon of the Lady Ahalya. I must -return to the zenana.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya’s face brightened. “Go then,” said she.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></p> - -<p>“I will send after thee another of the eunuchs.”</p> - -<p>“It is not necessary.”</p> - -<p>“Lady—thy lord would be angry. I dare not—”</p> - -<p>“Then send Churi after us; but let him not intrude -on me.” And Ahalya, now a little angry, started on -again, Neila perforce following her. Kasya, troubled -in his mind, turned away, and set off at a run for the -palace, nor did he neglect to despatch Churi, “the -doctor,” Ahalya’s favorite slave, after the errant Ranee. -But Churi, who was more an individual than a slave, -had ideas of his own about Ahalya, and did not hurry -to follow her. He arrived, indeed, at the temple ruin, -to find Neila stationed at its entrance as if on guard. -And he had the immense self-restraint to join her -without asking any questions.</p> - -<p>Fidá, in the meantime, unconscious of the little -sensation he was stirring up, was occupied in making -an exploration of one corner of the plateau. As soon -as the Rajah dismissed him he had started off by himself, -having a great desire for solitude in which to -meditate on a situation that was becoming every day -more galling to him. Two weeks had passed since the -departure of the embassy to his uncle’s camp; and he -found himself gradually beginning to hope against -hope that he would, after all, be rescued from his -slavery. For this captivity which, for a few days, had -been tinged with the glamour of adventure and romance, -had now become the most irksome, the most unendurable -of degradations. He walked for a long time, -thinking deeply, paying little heed to his way till the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -scene became too remarkable to go unnoticed. He was -two miles away from the palace when the road, which, -some distance back, had turned sharply to the left, ran -out of the flat, cultivated fields, and entered a wood -which shortly became a little jungle, the road being -cut through the heaviest undergrowth of bushes, trees, -and sinuous vines. Around him, monkeys and paroquets -chattered and screamed. The foliage was brilliant -as with a second summer; for with autumn and -the first suggestion of the second rains, summer leaps -up again over all the northwest country; and Fidá -was gazing about him delighted with the color and the -life, the trouble of his heart banished by the beauty -of nature, when suddenly his road turned again, and—ended.</p> - -<p>Before him, to the precipitous edge of the plateau, -stretched a naturally clear space, in the centre of which -stood a giant building, gone all to ruin. Its huge -sandstone blocks were black with age and green with -moss and growing plants. Its veranda and great doors -were open to the daylight; and within, through openings -in the roof, bright sunlight shone. The architecture -was crude and heavy; but Fidá recognized, -without difficulty, the style of the oldest Buddhism. -And he divined correctly the history of this building, -which he had started out to find: that it had once been -a Vihara, later converted to the uses of Surya, one of -the Brahman gods.</p> - -<p>The place was, like the religion it still symbolized, a -magnificent ruin. And its setting was worthy of it;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -for the fields on either side were overrun with flaming -poppies, blooming for the second time in the year, -and filling the whole air with the somnolence of their -burden of opium. Beyond the fields, a fitting frame -for the picture, the jungle commenced again: a high -wall of subdued color, green and brown, splashed with -the scarlet of the wild-cotton flowers. Fidá, halting -in wonder, felt his heart suddenly grow light. Here -were poppies—her flowers. It was a propitious omen. -In his trouble, he had come upon a place devoted -to her symbols. Was it a sign to him to remain in -Mandu, hoping, however vainly, sometime to find a -way to her? Smiling a little at the Indian superstition -of his thoughts, he moved on, rambled for a time round -the rock-strewn rooms within the temple, and finally -out into the fields, where the flowers took effect on -him again and set his mind running hotly upon Ahalya, -the one woman of his world.</p> - -<p>An hour had passed since he left the palace, and he -knew that in a little time he must turn his steps again -toward slavery. This thought intensified the delight -of lingering here, held by the fascination of the wild flowers. -And it was now, at the most beautiful hour, in this -enchanted spot, that she herself, Ahalya, came to him. -Fidá saw two figures appear from the trees by the -temple. Both were women. He got to his feet, -trembling a little. Only one was advancing:—dressed -all in white, the head-veil thrown back from her face, -under one arm a broad, flat basket. Yes; it was -Ahalya. Fidá perceived that he was neither blind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -nor mad. She, the Ranee, was here, with him. Hesitatingly -he advanced toward her, two or three steps, -and their eyes met.</p> - -<p>Ahalya crimsoned violently; and seeing this, Fidá -grew bold. Not thinking of the enormity of his -daring, with only the memory of two empty weeks upon -him, he went straight toward her, and when he was -at her side began, passionately: “Most beautiful of -women! Lotus-lidded! Lily-faced! I behold thee, and -thou art not a dream!” And then abruptly he paused, -overcome by the situation.</p> - -<p>Ahalya turned to look behind her, and Fidá’s eyes -followed hers. Churi had arrived at the ruin, but he -and Neila stood leaning against a fallen stone, their -backs to the poppy-field, evidently talking together. -The Ranee, seeing herself safe enough, became confused; -and, still half turned away from the slave, -murmured, with an embarrassed manner:</p> - -<p>“I came—to gather poppies. Did my lord send -you hither?”</p> - -<p>“Thy lord—sleeps,” muttered Fidá.</p> - -<p>Ahalya gave a nervous start. Now that she had -attained her end, the Ranee began to wish herself -a thousand miles away, so confused was she by the -presence of this man. Fidá saw how her hands -trembled; and, emboldened by the flush of her half-averted -cheek, his heart beating furiously with a -sudden hope, he took her by the hand and gently, persuasively, -led her to the stone from which he had just -risen. Here, though she would have protested, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -caused her to sit down. “I must have the poppies,” -she found courage to say, lifting up her basket, and -suddenly smiling. “Neila and Churi may come at any -moment.” And she turned again to look at the ruin. -This time the two figures had disappeared entirely.</p> - -<p>“I will get poppies for you. Wait.” And, taking -the basket, Fidá darted forward and began plucking -the tough-stemmed flowers. In five minutes the -basket was heaping full, though the assortment was -anything but select. But while he worked, his back -turned to Ahalya, all his new-born audacity suddenly -ran out at his finger-tips, and when he returned to her -with the narcotic burden, his eyes were fixed on the -ground, and he was more confused than she. He laid -the basket at her feet, and then stood, like a culprit, -before her.</p> - -<p>“Let the Ranee pardon me!” he whispered.</p> - -<p>“Pardon thee?” she asked, wondering.</p> - -<p>“Ah, I have dared to lift my eyes to thee, and now—and -now—” his voice, unpent, rang clear.</p> - -<p>“And now,” she breathed, most softly.</p> - -<p>“Now,” his heart throbbed, “I cannot lower them -again!”</p> - -<p>Her eyes lifted themselves to his, and she smiled -at him, half shyly, half with a beautiful pride. Seeing -that smile, Fidá’s senses deserted him. He fell -upon his knees before her, and lifted up his hands, -crying:</p> - -<p>“Ahalya! I love you! I love you! I love -you!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> - -<p>The princess shivered, half in terror, half in—something -else. But she could not speak. Slowly, therefore, -the fire died out of Fidá’s face. His dark head, -bound with its slave’s circlet, drooped lower and -lower, till at length it rested on a stone at the edge -of her silken garment, and his face was buried in his -arms. So they remained for a long time, taking no -account of the moments as they passed, neither of them -happy, both afraid of what they had done, of the -astonishing betrayal. Fidá was sick and shaken with -his inward tumult. Ahalya sat in a rigid calm, -thinking, after a desultory fashion, of many ordinary -things that now seemed infinitely far removed from -her. The bitter weariness of her life had suddenly -disappeared; but that which replaced it, she could -not just now consider. The revolution was too absolute. -How should she readjust herself so soon? -Yet, since they were here together, free and alone, -she wished to speak; and so, in a sweet, monotonous -tone, she gave voice to many fragments that were in -both their minds.</p> - -<p>“I love you. Is it not right, and holy? I love -young things, and youth, and beauty. Krishna and -Radha loved thus. Who knows how it comes? I -loved you by the well. Your eyes shone into mine, -and you smiled at me, and you were not afraid. I -loved to think of you, a captive, and a prince. Most -of all I love you here, because, Fidá—because—ah, -look!”</p> - -<p>At the change in her voice the slave roused himself,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -as one wakes, with an effort, from some wondrous -dream. Ahalya also had risen, and was staring fearfully -at a figure that approached them out of the -shadow of the trees.</p> - -<p>“Ragunáth!” muttered Fidá. “Name of the -prophet! how comes he here?”</p> - -<p>“Where I am, there he is also,” murmured the -Ranee. “Ah, Fidá, run, run, and bring Neila and -Churi! I fear this man. He must not see you.”</p> - -<p>“He has already seen me. I cannot go.”</p> - -<p>This much they had time to say, as the Rajah’s counsellor -came slowly toward them, his arms folded across -his breast, his eyes aflame with angry suspicion. -Ahalya, trembling though she was, still straightened -up to receive him, and Fidá fell slightly behind -her, to one side, as became a slave. But there was, -in his attitude, small suggestion of respect for him -who approached. At a little distance Ragunáth -halted and looked at them:—looked as only he could -look, from one to the other and back again. To-day, -however, his lips did not smile, but wore the hard -line of jealousy. Under this gaze Ahalya quivered -anew; and Fidá heard her catch her breath. Instinctively -he stepped forward. But, just at that moment, -Ragunáth raised his upper lip a little off his teeth, -and spoke:</p> - -<p>“The Lady Ahalya has found a new slave.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya turned white, but remained silent. Fidá -gazed steadily and scornfully at the eavesdropper, -who, after waiting a moment, said again:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> - -<p>“Is there a new law of the Lord Rajah’s, that his -slaves shall walk with his women—picking poppies, -in the fields?”</p> - -<p>Ahalya, angered beyond her dread, opened her lips -to speak; but Fidá was before her.</p> - -<p>“The Lady Ahalya, attended by Churi, and Neila, -her woman, came to this field to gather poppies. I, -unknowing, was here before her. When the Lady -Ahalya perceived me, she allowed me to pluck the -flowers for her and to lay them at her feet.”</p> - -<p>“Churi and the woman, then,—am I blinded? I do -not see them here,” and he peered about the field like -a man looking for a lost gem.</p> - -<p>Fidá’s hands itched for his throat; but now, suddenly, -Ahalya assumed the height of her position, and, -actually stamping her foot with outraged dignity, -cried: “Does Lord Ragunáth presume—<i>dare</i>—to -doubt my word? I say that Neila and Churi brought -me hither; and, coming here, we found this trusted -slave of my lord, whom I commanded to pluck the -poppies for me. But my Lord Ragunáth—came he -hither also to get flowers to make a rouge for his -face?” The last words she all but spat at him.</p> - -<p>Ragunáth was silenced, but very far from being suppressed. -Indeed, the slight lifting of his eyebrows and -the shrugging of his shoulders spoke as words could not -speak; and Fidá was perilously near an outbreak. At -this juncture, however, by intervention of a dilatory -providence, Neila, and with her Churi, made their appearance -from the temple. At sight of three figures in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -the field where they had thought to find one, or, at -worst, but two, they came hurriedly forward to their -lady, who stood awaiting them in silence. Ragunáth’s -eyes were now fixed upon the face of Churi, who endured -the look very well; for in his own way he was -much interested in the situation. No words passed till -Ahalya, indicating her slaves with a gesture, said -icily: “Attend me.” And then, without looking again -at the minister, but with the barest, fleeting glance at -Fidá, she moved away toward the road, and was presently -lost to sight among the trees near the ruin.</p> - -<p>The Arab and the Hindoo were left alone, face to -face. Fidá’s eyes were fixed unwinkingly on Ragunáth’s. -On the counsellor’s lips a half-smile hovered, -and his expression had in it more of mockery than -anger. When Ahalya was quite out of sight, he spoke, -slowly:</p> - -<p>“So—slave. Art thou prepared to greet thy god in -death?”</p> - -<p>Now Fidá’s lip curled. “May Allah receive me at -the appointed time,” said he.</p> - -<p>“That time is near.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, Lord Ragunáth.”</p> - -<p>“‘Nay’? ‘Nay’? Knowest thou not that Rai-Khizar-Pál, -hearing of this adventure of thine, will not -leave thee an hour alive?”</p> - -<p>“Even that I do not know, Ragunáth. But, were it -true, still, who shall tell the Rajah of the incident of -the day?”</p> - -<p>“I, dog, shall tell him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<p>“Am I indeed a dog? Be it so, I am a dog that -speaks. And I am not a thief.—Does thy master -know thy taste in rubies, lord?”</p> - -<p>Ragunáth flushed scarlet. “Thou speakest like a -madman!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, it is rather thou that art mad. Thou hast -walked on dangerous ground before, thou traitor to -honor; but never so near destruction as now. Hast -thou told thy master of thy visit to the zenana courtyard -on the day of the great sacrifice? Did he despatch -thee to-day to the poppy field? Hath he ever -trusted the honor of his lady in <i>thy</i> hand? Oh, though -thou couldst hush the mouths of all the eunuchs in the -zenana, the story of thy bribes and treachery would be -shouted aloud by every slave in Mandu.—Thus, the -Lord Ragunáth is the madman.—A slave picks poppies -in the field. A slave is near a lady when Ragunáth -would speak with her. The slave has eyes, ears, and a -tongue. Moreover, this slave understands honor, for he -was born a prince. Speak, then, to the Rajah concerning -this day’s incident. It were fitting he should know—”</p> - -<p>“Be silent, man!”</p> - -<p>“It seems I am become a man!”</p> - -<p>“Be silent,—or thou diest.”</p> - -<p>Fidá shrugged, but let the threat go. “<i>If</i> I am -silent, then?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“If thou art silent, fool,” Ragunáth made an effort, -“if thou art silent, I will let time and thine own folly -betray thee; for it is not fitting that I should soil myself -with the affairs of infidels and slaves.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<p>And this last insult also, though he was obviously in -the position to command, Fidá passed over. Was it -because he knew that, for all his bravado, he was not -himself innocent of treachery to his conqueror?</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<small>CHURI</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Fidá had lived in the palace of Mandu for nearly a -month before he had his first glimpse of one of the -most important persons in the lower stratum of its -life, a man with whom he was later to become but too -familiar:—Churi, the eunuch. They beheld each -other first, distantly, in the poppy field. On the evening -of that same day they met again. It was about -sunset, and Fidá was at the well in front of the house -of slaves, washing out certain of the Rajah’s drinking -vessels, when he became aware of a white-robed figure -standing at his side, and, turning, gave a sudden start -to find himself gazing into a pair of eyes one of which -was of a lustrous brown, the other of a pale, greenish -hue. The owner of the eyes smiled slightly; and then -Fidá recalled Ahmed’s description of the doctor, he -whose position ranked next to that of Kasya among the -guardians of the zenana.</p> - -<p>“Thou art Churi,” observed Fidá, wondering if the -man had seen him start.</p> - -<p>Churi nodded, and took thoughtful survey of the -Mohammedan. During this look Fidá felt, uncomfortably, -that his secret soul had been penetrated by those<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> -singular eyes. Churi’s words, however, when he spoke -again, were simple enough: “Did Ragunáth trouble -thee to-day?”</p> - -<p>Fidá smiled. “Nay. Why dost thou ask?”</p> - -<p>“His face boded thee no good when I saw it. He is -a man scrupling not to lie.”</p> - -<p>“Have I lived a month in Mandu and know not -that?”</p> - -<p>Churi chuckled. “Thou hast no need of help?” -said he.</p> - -<p>“None.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will delay thee no longer. Yet remember -that no slave in this palace need have any fear of that -mighty counsellor.”</p> - -<p>Fidá shrugged. He felt himself suddenly put upon -the status of a servant who discusses the persons whom -he serves; and, furthermore, Churi’s words seemed to -dispel the secret satisfaction he had felt in having outwitted -Ragunáth that afternoon. Even these thoughts -it is possible that Churi robbed him of; for, as the -latter turned away, the smile was still upon his lips; -nor did it wholly fade as he went back to his quarters, -which were at the other end of the palace, beyond the -zenana wing.</p> - -<p>In his own sphere, Churi was a privileged person, -commanding a respect and an interest above that of -Kasya, the incorruptible. Like Kasya, Churi had a -room of his own; though he by no means always occupied -it alone. So great was his skill in medicine and -surgery that he took the place of first official physician<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -in the palace, though he had had many rivals for the -place, and the Rajah was still obliged to employ a corps -of priests who strove, by means of spells and charms, -to prove their methods superior to those of the eunuch -with his herbs, simples, and tourniquets. Churi’s -opponents troubled him little, however. He appreciated -his gift; and generally cared for the sick among the -slaves and eunuchs in his own room. Two of his fellows -had, in spite of his care, recently died there of the -malignant fever so common at this season of the year. -And to-night, having no desire to eat alone, Churi took -his evening meal of millet and ghee with the other -eunuchs in the common room. While he was still there, -chatting with a companion or two, Kasya invaded the -apartment, evidently in search of some one; and, finding -Churi, seized upon him, and drew him back to his own -room, where they could be alone. As they went, Churi -broke silence:</p> - -<p>“The young lord was safely found to-day?”</p> - -<p>They were out of possible ear-shot before Kasya answered: -“Too safely. He was in the rooms of Ragunáth. -But my lord himself was not there. Kanava had the -child, and I do not understand the alarm. Tell me, didst -thou overtake the Ranee before she reached the ruin?”</p> - -<p>During this last question Churi had begun to laugh. -“Oho! I perceive! Mine eyes are enlightened!”</p> - -<p>“What sayest thou?”</p> - -<p>“Oho! The faithful Kasya walks out with the Ranee. -My lord councillor is disappointed, captures the child, -amuses him in his rooms with toys, spreads the alarm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -that he is lost, brings back the faithful Kasya to the -search, and then goes to join the Ranee in the poppy -field! Oho!”</p> - -<p>“Ragunáth! He <i>dared</i>!”</p> - -<p>Churi laughed again. “Dared he not? The Lady -Ahalya was in the middle of the poppy field. Neila -and I stood, by command, near the ruin. Then the -councillor appeared. He had come through a path in -the little jungle. At very sight of him the Ranee -fairly fled to us, whereupon we set out again for the -palace. Nor have I seen him since.” Churi stopped -rather abruptly, wondering how this ingenious version -of the truth had ever come out of him. Was it worth -while to add the important details? There was no time -to consider. Kasya was furious.</p> - -<p>“This—this, at last, shall go to the King! This -even I cannot countenance from the man—”</p> - -<p>“Not so fast, comrade. What hast thou to carry to -the King? Young Bhavani wanders by accident into -Ragunáth’s rooms. My lord himself goes for a walk. -By accident he meets the Ranee Ahalya in the poppy -field. They scarcely speak. She returns home with -her woman and me;—my lord remains there on whatever -business is his. Bah, Kasya! The fool is punished -now. Doubt it not. The Ranee can lash a man with -her eyes, an she will; and Ragunáth was not favored -to-day. I swear that by Lakshmi. A turmoil is never -the result of wisdom. Let it rest, Kasya.”</p> - -<p>Churi was committed in good earnest, now. For his -own sake the affair must not go up to the Rajah.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> - -<p>“I thought—” Kasya bent his brows, “I feared -the Ranee did not disdain him wholly. If you speak -truth, however—”</p> - -<p>Churi shrugged.</p> - -<p>“Then let it pass. In time we shall show him that -the Rajah’s will is done in Mandu.” And, with a sigh, -Kasya turned and departed.</p> - -<p>Churi’s desire for company had gone, apparently; for -he made no move to return to the common room. For -a few moments he stood in his own doorway, brows -drawn, head bent, meditating. Then he turned inside, -and dropped the hanging across the open space, to prevent -interruption. Stretching himself out on an improvised -but remarkably comfortable divan, he gave -himself up to a more critical consideration of the drama -that had been revealed to him that afternoon. It was -a thing that he had never dreamed of. A day before, -he would not have believed that he could be so calmly -reviewing the situation that evidently existed between -the one thing he cared for in Mandu—Ahalya—and -the Mohammedan captive. If it piqued him -that he had had no knowledge of its beginnings,—he, -to whom every intrigue enacted in the palace during the -last ten years had been an open book,—he could console -himself with the reflection that he was still the only -one that knew of it at all. But he wished especially to -understand himself with regard to Fidá, toward whom, -as yet, he felt no animosity. Fidá, however, continued -to baffle him. He could come to no satisfactory opinion. -His concealment of what he knew from Kasya,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -though it had come about accidentally, gave him little -anxiety; for it was perfectly consistent with his usual -methods: those plots and plans and hopes in which he, -even he, the eunuch, constantly indulged.</p> - -<p>Doctor Churi was, in fact, a person out of the ordinary. -He had been the child of a Rajput woman and an -Arab. For his birth, his mother had been put to -death, and he himself, in his babyhood, sold into slavery. -Before he was even aware of the existence of right and -wrong, he had been made a creature apart from ordinary -men. And when he was old enough to understand this, -his soul rose up in revolt. From that time, his whole -nature was warped; and he became an iconoclast in -his every thought. His brain was unquestionably fine. -His talent for medicine was manifested at an early -age, when he tried to poison himself with opium, -and was only saved by the quick skill of the doctor -in whose charge he was still living. Under this man’s -tuition, he gained his knowledge of anatomy and the -power of herbs. At the age of eighteen he was sold -to Rai-Khizar-Pál, his education having trebled his -value. At the time of the transaction, Churi was made -aware of the sum paid for him; and it was then that -his great idea came: which was, by some means to -obtain the equivalent of the amount, and with it buy -himself into liberty.</p> - -<p>Since that day, twelve years had passed away. Churi -was thirty years old; and the little hoard of copper -pieces which he had been able to store up, was still -pitiably small. Meantime his heart had grown bitter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -and his mind had taken to winding through tortuous -ways of perception and imagination. He was known -to many evil thoughts, but to few evil practices. And -there was in him a volcanic passion of humanness kept -relentlessly in check, that occasionally betrayed itself -above the surface in some eccentric outburst.</p> - -<p>The man led a solitary and loveless existence; yet -as all human things must know some softening of the -heart toward some one, so Churi had, by degrees, come -to feel a strong interest, a more than interest, in the -Ranee Ahalya, the universally beloved. She was very -different from the other women in the zenana; and -Churi had been first attracted to her by the quality -rarest in women: that quality which she had in marked -degree, and he not at all—disinterestedness. Because -she had never had ends to gain, because she curried favor -with none, he gave her the only genuine devotion that -he had ever felt for any one; and, where her interests -were concerned, was accustomed to waive his own. -Perhaps it was this instinct in him that had suggested -the lie to Kasya; and thereby, probably, he saved the life -of Fidá. But it was quite for his own amusement that -Churi now lay on his divan considering the incidents of -the afternoon. All the result of these thoughts was, -that he decided to see something of the Asra in the -near future, and that the Lady Ahalya would perhaps -bear a little watching also.</p> - -<p>Fortune favored Churi’s first decision in a very -simple way. Two or three nights later Fidá, who had -not been in the house of slaves for forty-eight hours,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -went there to find his young comrade, Ahmed, lying in -one corner of the porch, uncovered to the evil air of -night, and burning with fever. Another slave, also -Arabian, stood near by, regarding the sick boy helplessly. -When Fidá appeared, Ahmed, who had lain -with closed eyes, heeding nothing, sat up, stretching -out his hands to his master. Fidá took them tenderly -into his own, and was frightened to feel how hot -they were. Wrapping the boy in his cloak, he bent -over him, keeping off the swarm of little flies and insects -that hovered around, and listening with alarm to -the boy’s half-delirious murmurings. Something must -be done. He was not to be left in this state. Surely -even slaves were given help. And as he cast about, -anxiously, for means of assistance, he was addressed -by one Chakra, a soldier, who stood looking into the -veranda:</p> - -<p>“If thou couldst bring Churi to the sick boy, he -would not die.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Churi! Where is he?” cried Fidá.</p> - -<p>“I will show thee where he lives.”</p> - -<p>“Come, then!—Nay, better, I will take the boy to -him.”</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later the physician, squatting comfortably -in the doorway of his own room, perceived a small -group approaching out of the darkness. First came -the soldier, quite subdued by Fidá’s peremptory manner; -and then Fidá himself, with Ahmed in his arms. -Churi got up and went toward them a step or two, peering -with his strange eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> - -<p>“Thou, Chakra?” said he.</p> - -<p>“I come with a slave who brings you a boy sick of a -fever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Churi, recognizing Fidá. “Come into this -room.—Is the boy thy son?” he demanded, sharply, of -the Asra.</p> - -<p>“Nay, I have no son,” answered Fidá, calmly. “But -this boy is my friend, who followed me into captivity. -And he is sick. I fear he is very sick.”</p> - -<p>They were now inside the room, where two lamps -burned. Fidá laid his burden down in a corner, and -then, as Ahmed clung to him, sat down beside the -boy, who gave a faint moan of satisfaction. The -soldier had already gone; and Churi, after a moment’s -survey of his two self-invited guests, came over and -made a speedy examination. It took little astuteness -to perceive that the boy was dangerously ill, with a -fever that was common enough at that season of the -year. When he was assured of its nature, Churi turned -to Fidá, saying:</p> - -<p>“Let him remain here. I will care for him. But it -is not well that thou shouldst also stay. Go, then, and -fear not.”</p> - -<p>Fidá made two or three attempts to release himself -from the boy’s hold, Churi watching him. Then Fidá -shook his head. “He will not suffer me to leave him.”</p> - -<p>“I will do it. See.” Churi placed himself immediately -in front of the Asra, and laid his hands, with -great gentleness, where those of the Mohammedan had -been. Ahmed, drowsy with fever, did not notice the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -change. “Now go, softly,” commanded Churi, in a -whisper, and Fidá obeyed.</p> - -<p>Such was the beginning of Ahmed’s sickness. It -endured for more than five weeks, and, but for Churi’s -unceasing care and skill, had lasted scarcely three -days. It was, moreover, the beginning of an intimacy -between the eunuch and Fidá, which developed with a -rapidity and a completeness that surprised them both. -During the first few days, when the danger was -extreme, no one was allowed to see the sick boy. But -after that Fidá was admitted regularly; and, first for -the sake of Ahmed, then on his own account, he spent -three quarters of his spare time in the sick room. -Churi having a private interest in Fidá, he succeeded -in making himself so interesting that the slave, though -suffering doubly from captivity and from hopeless love, -was drawn out of himself by the strength of the other’s -personality.</p> - -<p>Ahmed’s convalescence was a fruitful period. Churi -had returned to the regular zenana duties, modified -when there were any sick whom he must attend; and -so the hours in which he saw the captive were much -fewer, but thereby more prized. Churi early disclosed -the fact that he had Arabian blood in his veins; and -Fidá, in a passion of yearning for his people, made this -almost a symbol of brotherhood, and poured out to his -new-found confidant all his life-story, with its fury of -battle and its dulness of peace. Churi studied the -young man keenly; for just at this time pressure was -being brought to bear on him from another quarter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -and amazing possibilities began to shape themselves -in his imagination. Ahalya, chafing with impatience, -longing, and bitterness, in her pretty prison-house, had -become imprudent, and told him half of what he already -knew.</p> - -<p>Churi had high responsibilities when he served the -zenana. His duties during the day were light enough; -but by night, his was the task to fasten every door -and window looking out upon the unguarded court -of the zenana; and his night-watch at the inner -entrance, in the antechamber connecting the women’s -wing with the palace, was between the hours of twelve -and two. Here was the trust which he had never -betrayed. And here, also, were possibilities which he -had never considered. The problem was before him -now, however; for his feeling for Fidá grew daily -stronger. He was beginning to consider things -which, had they been suspected by a single soul in -Mandu, would have sent him, and with him Fidá, on -the quickest road to death.</p> - -<p>Meantime, weeks had gone by. The autumn rains -were at hand, and it was more than a month since the -Rajah’s men had left for the north on Fidá’s behalf. -Daily now their return was looked for; and, with every -twelve hours of delay, Fidá grew more wretched. His -mind was full of fear. It was not at all out of the -nature of his uncle to have murdered the ambassadors -for the money they might have with them, or for any -fancied disrespect in their demeanor. Had this thing -been done, Rai-Khizar-Pál must know it ere long, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -then even the meagre joys of captivity would end for -him. And at this time Fidá did not want to die. -The existence of Ahalya made slavery more than bearable; -for while he lived in the same building with her, -the hope of seeing her again never quite left him. He -loved her. He had told her that he loved her. That -fact never failed to bring exhilaration upon him. Even -the hope of freedom could not reconcile him to the idea -of losing her forever. In his sanguine moments there -flitted through his head the wildest plans:—storming -the palace at the head of an army, bearing her forth in -triumph, and carrying her home with him to Yemen, -where they should live together forever in the house of -his fathers, in the holy city.</p> - -<p>But, in time, these dreams were brought to an end by -the return of the messengers from their long journey. -On the night of the twenty-fifth of October, Fidá lay -asleep in the little box of a room that had been made -his own. He had gone to bed early that night, for the -Rajah was hunting in the hills, and his services were -dispensed with. It was nearly midnight when the slave -opened his eyes to find a soldier of the guard standing -over him. He started up, and was presently following -the man stupidly through rooms and passages till they -had come to the audience hall, where the Rajah, dressed -in dusty hunting-garb, sat on his daïs, a frown of -deepest anger on his brow. In front of him were five -men, worn, dishevelled, heavy with sleep. Save for -this little group, the vast room was empty. The -torches flickered, ghost-like, into shadowy corners.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -The deep night-stillness was only broken by the rattling -of the soldier’s armor and weapons as he walked.</p> - -<p>In his first glance at the scene in the hall Fidá, now -fully awake, recognized the situation. As his guide -stood aside, he walked alone to the foot of the royal -divan, and prostrated himself there, kissing the ground -before him, in the deepest reverence a Moslem can do. -When he had risen again, he lifted his eyes to the conqueror’s -face and found the Rajah regarding him solemnly, -with something like compassion.</p> - -<p>“O King, live forever! Thou hast summoned me.”</p> - -<p>“I summoned thee, Fidá ibn-Mahmud ibn-Hassan el-Asra, -to hear thine uncle’s message to me. Thou seest -my men are returned.”</p> - -<p>Fidá, gone white to the lips, looked into the Rajah’s -eyes, and, albeit his voice was unsteady, said quietly: -“Let them speak.”</p> - -<p>“Radai Sriyarman, repeat the message of Omar el-Asra.”</p> - -<p>The soldier nearest Fidá turned slightly toward -him, and began, speaking as if by rote: “Omar the -Mohammedan, answering our demand of five thousand -copper pieces,<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> specified jewels, and treaty of eternal -peace with Mandu as the price of the freedom of Fidá -el-Asra, spake thus: That what was demanded was -greater than the value of any man. That he would -give, with the permission of the Lord Aybek of Delhi, -the large price of five hundred dirhems for his nephew;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -and, we refusing the offer, he then returned this message -to Rai-Khizar-Pál, Maharaj’ of Mandu: ‘Let the -King beware that he touch not one hair of the head of -Prince Fidá. The sword of the great Prophet is ablaze -over the land, and, in a year’s time, all the country from -Lahore to the great Ghats will be under the rule of the -faithful. Let Fidá, my nephew, be of good heart. -Let him be assured that any injury to him will be -avenged a thousand-fold upon the people of Mandu, -and that the King himself shall answer for his daring -with his life. Thus speaks Omar of the Asra, a -follower of Mohammed, in the name of Allah, the one -God, the compassionate, the merciful.’”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Before the Mohammedan conquest, copper was the standard of -currency in India.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Thou hearest it! Thou hearest this message of -thy kinsman?” shouted Rai-Khizar, stirred anew to -wrath with the rehearing of the insolent message.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Dost thou not perceive? My uncle desires -my death—longs for my death, that he may know -himself the head of his race!” Fidá cried, in an agony -of bitterness. Then, while the Rajah gazed down upon -him in astonishment, the slave once more fell upon his -face before the conqueror: “O King, live forever! Let -the King show mercy to his slave! Let him remember -how I refused to assume the state of the ransomed when -the messengers left Mandu. Let Rai-Khizar-Pál remember -that I am his slave, defenceless. Let him show -himself more merciful than my own people!”</p> - -<p>Fidá pled passionately, scarce knowing why it was -that life had suddenly become so precious to him. To -the surprise of the soldiers, and, perhaps, to his own, his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -words served. The Rajah sat silent for some moments, -his pride and anger struggling with his sense of justice. -In the end the good triumphed. His frown softened, -and he rose to his feet, saying:</p> - -<p>“Thou shalt live, then, Asra, by my mercy. -Return to thy kennel! But, by Indra, the Mohammedan -hath not yet seen the last of Rai-Khizar-Pál!”</p> - -<p>Fidá, scarcely believing in his own deliverance, -scarcely able to grasp the scene that had just passed, -stumbled from the room, and returned to the place that -the King had called his kennel. All that night he -tossed and turned on his uneasy bed, sleeping fitfully, -glad when he woke out of his dreams. Relief at his -scarce-hoped-for escape for a time prevented his facing -the future. But at last he began to realize the fact -that the hope, so slight and so desperately clung to, of -release, was gone: that henceforth he faced a life of -unremitting toil, of thankless servitude. Years—centuries, -perhaps—must elapse before the Mohammedan -rule could spread through Malwa. Nay, India might -rise and drive the invaders back across her cruel mountains -before the prophet’s followers had looked upon -the Dekhan. And as Fidá grimly strangled his new-springing, -infant hope, his cup of misery seemed full. -Despair gripped him; and in its iron arms he slept.</p> - -<p>Two days passed before Fidá again visited Ahmed. -There was some excuse for his absence, perhaps, for -he was now become a slave indeed, and had been -given new tasks, one of which might, perhaps, have -been regarded as something of a favor. The charge of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -young Bhavani’s horsemanship was placed with him; -and every afternoon, for an hour, he was commanded to -lead the young prince up and down the road beside the -water palace, instructing him as to his seat, the carrying -of weapons, and the management of his animal. -Although the spirit of his new work made Fidá ache -with the memory of his free warrior days, still he was -proud of the confidence reposed in him; and he and the -young prince soon took a fancy for each other. At -first Rai-Khizar-Pál frequently appeared at some period -of the lesson; and, having convinced himself that his -slave was really fitted to instil the knightly spirit into -his son, Fidá found himself restored to a part of his -former favor.</p> - -<p>The matter of the riding lessons and the companionship -with Bhavani were not given up while Fidá lived in -Mandu; and, long before he left it, despair over his captivity -had been driven from his heart. For forty-eight -hours after the return of the ambassadors of ransom, -he hugged misery close, and the future was veiled in -black. But on the third day his lonely fortitude gave -way, and, when Bhavani’s lesson was over, he stole -down to the house of eunuchs and into Churi’s -familiar room. Ahmed, convalescent now, lay sound -asleep upon his bed. But upon Fidá’s appearance, -Churi came forth from a shadowy corner, and took him -by the hand.</p> - -<p>“Come, let us sit here, Asra,” he said, in a low voice, -at the same time leading his visitor to the place where -he had been sitting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> - -<p>Fidá, mildly surprised at his manner, settled himself. -Churi sat down at his side, and stared at him, meditatively, -for some minutes. Then a distorted smile -broke over his face. “I was waiting for thee, prince -of the Asra.”</p> - -<p>“I am no prince,” returned Fidá, savagely. “I—”</p> - -<p>“Yet,” broke in Churi, “I bring a message to you -from a—princess.” He paused. Fidá sat staring at -him, incredulous of his ears.</p> - -<p>“I have a message for Fidá, Prince of the Asra,” repeated -Churi, at length, with emphasis. “Wouldst -hear it?”</p> - -<p>“Speak!” answered the slave, hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“These, then, are the words I was told to say to -thee: ‘Why comes not the Asra to her that waits? -The way shall be easy to one greatly aspiring’.” -Churi spoke in the lowest voice; and Fidá strained -forward to catch the words.</p> - -<p>“‘Why comes he not to her that waits? The way -shall be easy—to one greatly aspiring’,” he repeated, -trying to grasp all that it meant.</p> - -<p>“And there was this to be given,” continued Churi, -taking from his girdle, and handing to Fidá, a faded -and wilted poppy.</p> - -<p>Fidá grasped the flower in his hand, and started -wildly to his feet. “Take me to her!” cried he. -“Take me to her, Churi! Allah give thee life!”</p> - -<p>“Quiet! Quiet! Shall the whole palace hear thee?” -Churi glared at him, without moving from where he -sat. In his face there was no sign of life. And,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -at his words, and still more by the cold indifference -into which his expression had relapsed, Fidá’s flaming -eagerness was chilled. His face grew questioning. -The hand holding the poppy dropped to his side. -Then Churi spoke, slowly:</p> - -<p>“I have delivered to thee the message. Find thou -the way.”</p> - -<p>“Churi!”</p> - -<p>The eunuch smiled, vaguely.</p> - -<p>The smile accomplished much. Fidá’s impatience -gave way. Determination took its place. He sat -down again beside his tormentor, placed the poppy -carefully in his own sash, and then leaned persuasively -toward his expressionless companion. “Tell me, Churi, -wherein I am wrong,” he said, sweetly.</p> - -<p>Now, Churi had got himself into an anomalous position. -He had, as a matter of fact, accepted a gift from -Ahalya for the transmission of her message; and he was -perfectly well aware that she expected him to go much -farther in the betrayal of his office than she had asked -in words. But Churi was not quite prepared for these -lengths. His actions during the last few moments -had been instinctive. He was trusting to chance to -show him a method of procedure. After some little -thought, he answered Fidá as truthfully as he could.</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt wrong in this, Asra, that thou acceptest -this message for truth when it says: ‘the way is easy -to one greatly aspiring’. The way is not easy, but, -rather, so difficult that I see no means of traversing -it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> - -<p>“Dost thou not, indeed? Ah, but thou aspirest not, -Churi. That is the difference.”</p> - -<p>Churi shrugged.</p> - -<p>“Now I already see the feat performed. Shall I -explain it to thee?”</p> - -<p>“I am a listener, Asra.”</p> - -<p>“Then hark. Between the hours of twelve and two, -the zenana is guarded by one that is a kindly man. -At the hour of his watch this fellow, for just the -shadow of an instant, falls asleep. Lo! The way is -open!” Fidá smiled delightedly.</p> - -<p>Churi, however, turned on him a solemn look. -“Truly thou hast little regard for the life of the -‘kindly one’. Knowest thou not the penalty for a -guardian that sleeps?”</p> - -<p>Once again Fidá sprang to his feet. “Name of -Allah, man, why hast thou brought this message then? -Was it to drive me mad? Am I a fool to be mocked -at? What meanest thou?”</p> - -<p>Churi’s color changed perceptibly. “I mock thee -not,” he said, in a voice that rang untrue. “I mock -thee not. Behold, thou demandest of me my safety, -my fidelity, my life. Is that so small a thing to ask—as -a gift?”</p> - -<p>“A gift! Ah! I see.” Fidá’s head sank upon -his breast, and, for a moment, he was lost in thought. -Then, looking Churi straight in the eyes, he said: “I -am a slave—thou knowest that. What wilt thou have -of me? Wilt thou take my life when once I have done -the bidding of—the beloved?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> - -<p>“Thy life is useless to me.”</p> - -<p>“Killing me, thou couldst save thine honor.”</p> - -<p>“I am no murderer.”</p> - -<p>“Then—wait! Wait.” Fidá’s hand flew to his -sash. He was not treasureless. Nay, at this moment -there was, on his body, a fortune greater than that -asked as his ransom. True, it was worth more to him -than his freedom. He had been willing to suffer slavery -rather than deliver up his race to death. But love!—Ah, -the Asra had always held that greater than life. -Love was beyond price. Should not the Asra ruby -buy him the love that must eventually kill him? Instantly -impulse answered that death, after the love of -Ahalya, would be as nothing. Yet he waited to weigh the -question further; and was met on every hand by reason -flanked with love. What promise did life hold out to -him:—the dry, lonely, lowering life of the slave? At -the end death would come, and the ruby be buried with -him, or pass to the conqueror of the alien race. Let -him, then, buy a great, brief joy with it, and afterwards -a speedy exit from his slavery.</p> - -<p>Fidá drew forth the golden box, Churi watching -him with surprise and interest. Pressing the hidden -spring, he let the ruby roll into his palm, and held -it out to Churi.</p> - -<p>“Look,” said he. “Take it into thy hand and -look.”</p> - -<p>The eunuch complied; and, seeing how the wonderful -stone gleamed and glowed even here in the shadows, -his eyes brightened and his lips twitched.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> - -<p>“This is the key to the zenana. Take it, Churi, and -unlock the door for me—to-night.”</p> - -<p>Churi looked up into Fidá’s face, and found there -sincerity and earnestness. For a moment he hesitated, -considering, counting the cost. At last his eyes fell. -“How much is this ruby worth?” he asked, in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>“More than was asked for my ransom.”</p> - -<p>“Why, then, didst thou not ransom thyself with it?”</p> - -<p>“It holds in it the fate of the Asra. For her, only, -would I surrender it.”</p> - -<p>“Hath the Rajah seen it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and suffered it to remain with me for the sake -of my people.”</p> - -<p>“How, then, shall I take it from thee?”</p> - -<p>“Because I give it—freely.”</p> - -<p>Churi’s hand closed slowly on the stone. His eyes -were glittering as he rose at last. “Come, then, to the -antechamber, to-night,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>Fidá’s face grew radiant. “Wilt thou tell her?”</p> - -<p>“I will tell her.”</p> - -<p>“At midnight to-night—oh, my beloved!”</p> - -<p>Churi stared at him still. “Truly thou aspirest -greatly,” he said, with envy in his heart.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<small>THE POWER OF THE FLAME</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>After his arrangement with Churi, and the delivery -of the ruby, the remaining hours of daylight -passed for Fidá in swift chaos. Ahmed woke before -he could leave the room; and he sat beside the boy -trying to talk to him for a few minutes, though he -had little notion of what he was saying. Then he -returned to his duties beside the Rajah, and for the -next three hours was fully occupied, though his mind -wandered far from his hands, and he drifted through -mists of thought. It was not till later that there came -an idea that filled him with terror. Might not the -King himself guard the zenana to-night? Happily this -dread was of short duration. The King sat late over -his wine with Manava; and Fidá himself saw him -in bed and beyond apprehension. Then, at last alone, -Fidá betook himself to his diminutive room, and there -prepared to wait through two eternal hours.</p> - -<p>How long the time was; and how short! He would -not look back; he dared not look forward. He existed -only in a consciousness that she, she, the one, was waiting -for him; that to-night, at last, he should be alone with -her, fearing no intrusion. This unexpressed thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -he had lived with all day; and it became keener, now, -till he could not be still. It grew late. The palace -was quiet; but Fidá was beyond passiveness. He -rose, walked swiftly through the maze of rooms and -passages, and entered the silent courtyard. The moon, -a little past the full, had come up from the east, and -swung, like a great, yellow lantern, above the dark -outlines of the palace roof. The world shone softly in -the mellow light. The night air from the hills was -cold; but the earth was sweet. Fidá loitered near a -doorway, wrapped in his cloak. The great courtyard -was empty save for the two motionless soldiers -that guarded its entrance. Apparently not another -soul was abroad in the palace to-night. Fidá moved -languidly across and looked into the temple room of -Vishnu. Darkness and silence here. The gods also -slept. A great excitement, a great terror, a high -ecstasy were drawing over him. Surely now it was time—time -to claim the price of the ruby. Surely by this -time Churi stood on guard in the antechamber. Yet -nothing must be risked. If he were too early?—The -thought was impossible. He waited, therefore, till the -moon was halfway to mid-heaven, and then, when he -could endure no more, left the outer world. A moment -later he stood at the door of the antechamber.</p> - -<p>“Is it thou?” came, in the faintest breath, from -Churi, within.</p> - -<p>In an instant Fidá was at his side, and had seized -him by the arm. “Now! Now!” said he, gazing -fiercely, eagerly, into the eunuch’s unmatched eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - -<p>“Enter then, and turn to the left hand. The way -is short. It is not to be missed.”</p> - -<p>Fidá grasped Churi by the shoulders, clasped him -for a second like a madman, and then ran across the -forbidden threshold—where man not of the royal -house of Mandu had never set foot before. Swiftly -he traversed the short, dark passage opening on his -left, and presently found himself in an oblong room, -lighted by a single crimson lamp that glowed through -a mist of incense smoke pouring up from a metal jar -on a stand, near by. Dazed by the overpowering sweetness, -he shut his eyes for an instant. When he opened -them again, he had a swift impression of rich tapestries, -thick rugs, many cushions, and then—and then -he beheld, lying on a divan at the end of the room, a -slight figure, all clad in red and gold, lying asleep in -the heavy air.</p> - -<p>His heart pounded against his sides. His throat -tightened till he could have uttered no sound; and he -went to her, softly, and knelt at her side, and gazed at -her. She was here—waiting for him. Her white -lids were shut over her eyes, and the long, silky lashes -curved outward a little from her cheek. Her heavy -hair was pushed back from her brows; and one of her -little hands lay in a mass of it above her head. Fidá -studied her, hungrily, eagerly, silently. He had never -seen her like this before—had, indeed, never dreamed -of seeing her so. She was his, for his eyes to feast on. -And oh—how fair! how fair! In that moment he -dreaded to have her wake; for then she would surely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -send him from her. It seemed to him impossible that -she could love him, could suffer him to kneel beside her. -Yet, with an effort, after two attempts, he whispered -her name, hoarsely: “Ahalya!” Then again, after a -moment, “Ahalya!”</p> - -<p>She sighed, and her eyes opened. Shivering slightly, -she stared, and sat up, crying: “Thou art come! Ah, -thou art come at last!”</p> - -<p>That was all. It was more than mortal flesh could -bear. He had touched, he had clasped her. She was -lying in his arms.</p> - -<p>Nearly two hours went by; and then Neila appeared -from an inner room. Ahalya was still upon the divan, -her head pillowed on the breast of Fidá, who sat -upright. It seemed almost as if they slept, so motionless -they were. Neila halted in the doorway, staring -at them, till she encountered the glittering eyes of the -Asra.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thou must go! It is time,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>“No!” Ahalya, feeling the intruding presence, -roused herself, and convulsively tightened the clasp of -her arms about Fidá’s neck.</p> - -<p>“Krishna!” mourned Neila, “we shall all be -killed!”</p> - -<p>Fidá, however, conquered himself, and loosened the -Ranee’s arms. “Beloved, I must go—that I may -return,” he whispered.</p> - -<p>Trembling, Ahalya submitted; and, as Fidá rose, -she sank upon the divan, face downward, nor could any -intreaty induce her to lift her head again. So they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -parted, without a word; and, at the zenana door, Fidá -found Churi, excited and uneasy. He hailed the Asra’s -appearance with infinite relief.</p> - -<p>“Mahendra will be here in a breath. I had nearly -come for thee.”</p> - -<p>Fidá smiled at him out of shining eyes. “Ah, -Churi, had I a thousand rubies, they should all be -thine!”</p> - -<p>“Thou fool!” rose to Churi’s lips. But he only -said: “Verily, the danger is worth rubies, even of the -value of thine. Is this thing to be done again?”</p> - -<p>“Again and yet again! until—” Fidá’s face -darkened, “until I pay my price—of death.”</p> - -<p>But Fidá as yet was far from death. Overcome -with weariness he returned to his bed, and slept for -nearly six hours before he woke to the new joy of light -and living. That day he was as a man drunk. His -exhilaration was boundless. He walked upon air. -His eyes shone, his voice rang triumphant with love. -The world was at its climax. She was his. What -mattered dishonor? What mattered treachery, slavery, -or the old, forgotten curse? Love, youth, the world, -were his. Should he ask more?</p> - -<p>With the evening came his answer. With all this, -he had still little enough; for the King ruled in his -zenana, and Fidá began to know something of the -sinner’s suffering. She was beyond the protection of -him to whom by right of soul she belonged. She was -beyond him; and yet, second by second, he must suffer -for and with her. He wept and raved and clenched his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -shaking hands in the madness of jealousy at this retribution -of the wrong he had done. In the new day, as he -came to gaze upon the tranquil face of his conqueror, -his whole being was stirred with wonder that such -things as were in his heart could lie there unsuspected. -But Rai-Khizar-Pál could not know the heart of his -slave, nor how, with night, hope came again.</p> - -<p>As soon as Churi went on guard at midnight, Fidá -appeared in the antechamber, unstrung and reckless. -He would have rushed past the eunuch without a -word, but that he was forcibly restrained. This action, -on the part of his one ally, goaded Fidá fairly to madness; -and, without speaking, he flung himself into a -fierce struggle with the eunuch, whose strength, however, -he presently discovered to be very great. When -both of them were all but exhausted, the Asra, coming -to himself, fell back, staring hopelessly at his opponent, -and murmuring, more to himself than to Churi:</p> - -<p>“Thou traitor! Oh, miserable! Have I sold my -birthright for this!”</p> - -<p>“Madman!” retorted Churi, “thinkest thou there -is no reason in what I do? I serve our lady. She -bade me deny thee entrance.”</p> - -<p>“It is not true!”</p> - -<p>“By Krishna, I swear it.”</p> - -<p>“Ahalya!” Fidá’s face grew deathlike.</p> - -<p>“Neila came to me at dusk. The Ranee is sick and -shaken with grief and fear. Thou canst not see her—yet.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Yet!</i>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> - -<p>Churi smiled cynically. “Thou boy! Verily thou -knowest little of women. Wait in patience, Asra. -I think thou shalt see her again. I will not prevent -thee. But now, leave this place, if you court not -death.”</p> - -<p>Without further words, Fidá turned and left the -room. When he reached his bed again, he flung himself -upon it, and lay for a long time staring into the -dark. Then, gradually, he fell to weeping; and while -he wept, Allah had pity on his weakness, and sent him -sleep.</p> - -<p>But Ahalya! Poor Ahalya! While her lover’s -heart accused her of all faithlessness, she suffered not -one whit less than he. She loved Fidá, indeed, wholly. -Their meeting had been of her own desire and arrangement. -But she was young in intrigue, new to dishonor. -And when solitude brought her face to face -with what she had done, she was plunged into despair. -Her mind distorted all things. Fidá seemed infinitely -remote from her. Their love had been a thing of such -magical growth that, having been half the time unconscious -of the workings of her own senses, she, in the -first reaction, began to disbelieve altogether in her -love. She was in a labyrinth of warped emotion, -shame, and remorse; and, till she found herself again, -the very name of Fidá was abhorrent to her.</p> - -<p>All through the day that followed their first meeting -the Ranee lay on her bed, wide-eyed, tearless, and -unapproachable. Neila wondered and watched, but -dared not intrude upon her. On the evening of that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> -day came Rai-Khizar-Pál, all unconsciously bringing -her punishment for her sin. For two days after -this she remained in seclusion, while Neila and -Churi vainly took counsel together on behalf of the -slave, for whom each felt some sort of unselfish concern. -But, though Fidá was on the verge of madness, -not a word could be got out of Ahalya concerning him: -not one message would she send. Churi began to -doubt his theory of the fallibility of women; and Neila -would not have been surprised at a full confession of -everything to Rai-Khizar-Pál. But at last, miraculously, -came an incident from an unexpected quarter -that did what no amount of pleading and persuasion -could have accomplished.</p> - -<p>In the hidden drama that had, in the past few days, -been enacted in Mandu, there was a certain personage, -long since accustomed to play an important rôle in -every game of intrigue, who had had no part at all. -Nevertheless, Lord Ragunáth was not going to be discounted -forever; and it was at this stage of events that -he appeared upon the scene. Perhaps a scent of hidden -things was in the air. Perhaps his sensibilities, -attuned to all that was secret, caught some vibration -of treachery; though the nature of that treachery remained -undreamed-of. At any rate, it was just at the -time when the object of his furtive desires was torn and -riven with a struggle in which he was not concerned, -that Ragunáth suffered one of his periodic fits of madness, -and hit upon a new and, at last, successful -method of gaining one of his ends.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> - -<p>The two eunuchs who had recently died of fever in -the palace had been men of experience and importance in -their station; and they had been replaced by two others, -supposedly responsible, from Bágh. Kasya had satisfied -himself that both were trustworthy; but Kanava, -sounding them from another quarter, found in one of -them a long-sought weakness. On the afternoon of the -fourth day of Fidá’s misery, when the Rajah was attending -ceremonial in the village at the other end of -the plateau, one of these men, Kripa by name, stood on -guard in the zenana antechamber. Kripa was tired, -and Kripa was bored with the prospect of two stifling -hours of solitary watching. He was, then, undisposed -to be short with any one that came to break his dull -thoughts. And when Lord Ragunáth unexpectedly -appeared before him, he greeted the minister with a -mixture of curiosity and reverence that Ragunáth -found propitious to his purpose. He had come well -prepared and fortified with the corrupter of prudence, -the breaker of faith, the power of the evil-minded—a -goodly sum of money. For a few moments he applied -himself to his task with all his considerable mind and -tact; and, at the end of that time, Kripa stood before -him a newly enlisted mercenary. It had been -arranged between them that Ragunáth was to stay -in the anteroom and there have a brief interview -with the Lady of his Desire; provided of course that, -what he did not for a moment doubt, she would see -him.</p> - -<p>Quite tremulous with eagerness, Ragunáth pushed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -his minion into the zenana, bearing a blind message -to the Lady Ahalya to come at once, if it were her -pleasure, to the antechamber. Kripa reappeared in -a very short space of time, smiling the word that -the Ranee would follow him. And Ragunáth, drunk -with high success, commanded the fallen one to remain -away for at least an hour. Promising nothing, but -very well satisfied to be free for a little while, though -he dared not join his companions, Kripa, drowsy with -the dusk and quiet of his watch, wandered off into the -maze of rooms around the audience hall, lay down upon -a convenient divan, and was shortly sound asleep.</p> - -<p>Ragunáth, meantime, had grown as nervous and eager -as a youth while he waited the coming of the Ranee. -She did not keep him long. As he stood watching the -curtained doorway, she appeared, her young face pale -and strained, but with expectation in it; her form all -swathed in crimson silks. At sight of her, Ragunáth -gave a low cry of emotion; but, in the same instant, -Ahalya’s face changed utterly.</p> - -<p>“Thou!” she said, half wondering, half sobbing.</p> - -<p>“I, rose of heaven! I, star among women, whose -hair holds the fragrance of the jessamine, whose -breath is perfumed like the almond blossom. I, I, -Ragunáth, have sought thee, and beseech thy favor; -for, indeed, I am gone mad for love of thee!” And, -throwing himself before her, Ragunáth lifted the filmy -hem of her garment to his lips.</p> - -<p>Ahalya still stood in the doorway, clinging to the -curtains on either side of her, her face expressing a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> -mixture of repulsion and disappointment. As Ragunáth -would have clasped her feet, she drew back, -sharply:</p> - -<p>“Away from me, dishonorable one!” she said, in a -low, angry voice. “If you would not have me expose -this treachery to Rai-Khizar-Pál,—begone!”</p> - -<p>Ragunáth did not rise. Rather, he lay writhing -at her feet, like one possessed of a frenzy—as indeed -he was. But it was a resolving frenzy. After the -period of madness, he was coming to himself again. -Pride returned to him, and, with it, something of his -usual cunning, as he remembered how willing Ahalya -had been to come before him. It was then that he got -to his feet; then that he turned on the woman, asking, -softly, through shame of the display he had made:</p> - -<p>“O, Ranee, it was not I, then, that you came to -greet? It was not for Ragunáth that you are decked -out in crimson and gold? And for whom? for whom? -Not Rai-Khizar. He waits not in antechambers for -thy greeting. Ah, will it be wise, Ranee, to ‘expose’ -me to thy lord? There are things—”</p> - -<p>“Be still! thou shameless, treacherous, hateful one! -I hate you! Know that. I hate—I hate—I hate -you!” And, her voice on the last word rising to a shrill -cry, the young woman, white faced and burning eyed, -turned from him and fled into the inaccessible rooms -beyond. There, panting, sobbing, angry, and, in her -heart of hearts, greatly terrified, she flung herself upon -a couch and gave herself up unreservedly to acknowledgment -of her hidden love and woe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> - -<p>Now, during the few moments of this interview, -Neila, astonished and frightened at what she, like -Ahalya, believed to be Fidá’s appearance at this hour, -had, as soon as her mistress left her, run to seek out -Churi, whom she brought back more disturbed than she, -just as the Ranee returned to her rooms. Churi did -not enter there, but proceeded at once to the antechamber. -Parting the curtains that hung before the -door, he started, and stood stock-still to find himself -face to face with the one man he had had no thought -of. Ragunáth was still standing where Ahalya had left -him, and, at this new appearance, he was too much -taken aback to note the newcomer’s discomposure.</p> - -<p>“Churi!” he muttered, half in alarm, half angrily.</p> - -<p>“Even so, Lord Ragunáth.” At once Churi was -himself again.</p> - -<p>“Dog! who sent thee here?”</p> - -<p>“The Puissant One speaks the same words that had -lain on my humble lips.”</p> - -<p>“Strangely indeed is the King’s zenana conducted! -I pass the antechamber and see no guard therein. I -enter the antechamber that I may see if the guard be -perhaps concealed from view; and, as I look, there -appears a pariah, who sees fit to insult me. By Indra, -thou doctor of dogs, thou shalt be whipped for it!”</p> - -<p>There came a little pause, during which Churi, with -his disturbing eyes, gazed steadily, smoothly, quietly -upon the man that faced him, till Ragunáth fairly -writhed under the look. Then Churi said: “It -pleases the high lord to speak these words. Since it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> -pleases him, it is well. But,” and the tone changed, -“let him take care that he act not as he speaks. There -are things more strange than unguarded antechambers -that may come to the ears of the Rajah.” Churi’s eyes -menaced now.</p> - -<p>Ragunáth gave some sort of hoarse ejaculation; and -then, after wavering for a moment, he turned and -walked swiftly away, nor halted till he was safe in his -own rooms, with a personal slave or two on whom to -wreak his wrath and his double mortification.</p> - -<p>Churi, left alone, was well pleased with himself. -Luckily the self-satisfaction was not too great to prevent -his having his wits still about him. He knew -that this was Kripa’s watch, and in three minutes he -had hunted out the deserter’s retreat, kicked him -awake, and despatched him to his post thoroughly -frightened. Yet Kripa was allowed to remain in possession -of his gold; for Churi was in no position to -expose the acts of the man he hated.</p> - -<p>Unlucky as it had already proved to its two principal -actors, the little drama of the afternoon had further -results. Ahalya, even in the anger of revulsion against -Ragunáth, knew that there was another feeling in her -heart: dared, after a time, admit to herself her disappointment -that it had not been Fidá who thus boldly -summoned her to him; for indeed she had gone to the -anteroom, on Kripa’s summons, thinking to find her -lover there. Before nightfall she knew that she longed -to see Fidá again; and the more she repudiated the -thought, the more insistent it became, until she yielded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -to it. In the early darkness Churi was despatched to -bid him come to her that night.</p> - -<p>When Churi managed to waylay the slave, Fidá was -on his way to the rooms where wine was stored, to fill -a jar for his lord’s evening meal. It needed only a -look between the two for the eunuch’s errand to be -understood. Fidá laid a hand on Churi’s arm, and said, -softly: “In the name of Allah, Churi, speak to me!”</p> - -<p>“There is no need,” answered the other, looking at -him in a quizzical but not unkindly manner.</p> - -<p>“She will see me? I shall go to her again?”</p> - -<p>“To-night. As before.”</p> - -<p>In a single instant the accumulated anger and anguish -of the past four days melted and ran away from the -youth’s heart. His load of unhappiness was lifted. -Once more he walked on air. It seemed to him that he -radiated life. But the few hours that still separated -them brought him much that was new in the way of -thought. Since she had forgiven him, he perceived -that his banishment had been, in large measure, brought -on by himself. He had not sufficiently considered her, -her woman’s delicacy and hesitation. He had acted as -his youth and his manhood prompted him. But he -resolved that there should be no such mistake again. -The thought of her now brought a deep tenderness, -which, indeed, might have surprised Ahalya could she -have read it. Nor were the six hours of the evening -long or heavy. He had a foundation on which to -build his castle of dreams; and his heart was full of -thankfulness and relief. It was five minutes after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -midnight when he entered the little room where Churi -stood.</p> - -<p>“All is well?” asked Fidá, his mouth dry.</p> - -<p>“All is well. No one is stirring. Enter.”</p> - -<p>Fidá’s bright eyes grew brighter still; and he ran -boyishly through the doorway into the little passage -where, this time, Neila awaited him. He followed her, -in silence, down the short hall, through the memorable -room at the end of it, which was empty to-night, and -across the next one, that he had never seen, to a door -at which Neila knocked. A moment’s suspense, and -then a muffled voice said, “Open!” The maid pushed -it, and motioned to Fidá, who passed swiftly within. -The door closed behind him. He was gazing upon -the figure of Ahalya, who stood a few feet away, looking -at him, doubtfully, longingly, half sadly. His -heart throbbed with many emotions. He took a hesitating -step or two toward her, pleading with his eyes. -Then, all at once, there was a quick, low cry, and -Ahalya had flung herself into his arms.</p> - -<p>What passed between them now were difficult to -relate. Afterwards they themselves had but a confused -idea. It was very certain that Ahalya loved -him; for she delivered herself up entirely to his will. -Yet, with each of them, passion was mingled with something -better: a deep tenderness, a high companionship, -the mutual compassion of the unhappy. She laid upon -him a great responsibility, telling him over and over -again that without him she should not try to live; explaining -the torture of her self-hatred: the shame that,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -loving him, she must still submit to another; wetting -his eyes with her tears while she demanded from him -a solution of her miserable problem. Pitying while -he loved, Fidá read what her warped life had been, -and all the history of her loneliness. Nor did he fail -her in a certain sort of comfort, of a philosophical -nature, for which she cared little, save that it came -from his lips. But she listened eagerly to all that -he told her of himself, of his country and his life; -though he withheld the story of the curse, of which, -at their first meeting, he had given her a suggestion -that she seemed to have forgotten. They talked long, -but the talk was finally hushed. Fidá extinguished -the single lamp that burned. And later, Neila, come -to warn them of the time, found them there in the -darkness, Ahalya weeping in his arms.</p> - -<p>This time it was the woman that bade her lover leave -her; for Fidá had not the strength to put her from him. -When at last he reached the anteroom, only three or -four minutes before the appearance of Churi’s relief, -the latter’s heart was in his throat, and he was ready to -declare that he would never again run the risk of -disaster and discovery through the slave’s rashness. -Later in the night he sought Fidá in his own room, and -the two had a long talk together. The eunuch had -come with the purpose of protesting against the present -arrangement, with which he was in a high state of -dissatisfaction. But he ended by allowing himself to be, -to some extent, overpowered by the earnestness and the -logic of love; though after he had departed, Fidá lay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -awake for a long time, anxiously considering the risks -that he ran in placing all his dependence on this one -person, whom he knew very well to be in some ways -entirely unreliable.</p> - -<p>Churi, indeed, was playing a part very different from -the one he had imagined for himself. He had entered -upon the affair rather blindly, and with the belief that a -few weeks, perhaps days even, would convert his ruby -into money; upon which his freedom would quickly -follow. A little time had shown him his mistake. -The ruby was not a gem easily to be sold; for the -simple reason that no one in Mandu save the Rajah -himself was wealthy enough to buy it; and Rai-Khizar-Pál -knew the stone, and to whom it belonged. Questions -were not to be risked. Churi soon realized that he -must wait until the spring, when the travelling merchants -from Rajputana would come down from the -north with the rich wares that made their arduous -journeys profitable. One of these, the eunuch knew -very well, would take his stone, without questions. -Meantime, what was his course to be? It was true -that he was genuinely attached to Ahalya, and had -some feeling for Fidá. Moreover, his natural talent -for intrigue rejoiced at the risk of the present affair. -Nevertheless, that risk, as matters stood at present, was -too great. Soon, then, he found his mind at work -reconstructing, building up new safeguards against -that bombshell which, one day, no caution could keep -from an explosion that must betray its existence to -Mandu in ruin and destruction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> - -<p>Churi, evil-thinking, evil-doing, was nevertheless -faithful to his better instincts. It was not for his -own gain that he set his mind to work at new plans of -entrance to the zenana; and at finding therefrom new -exits, to be used in case of need. These plans materialized -well; and, by the bedside of the now almost recovered -Ahmed, he expounded his ideas to Fidá. The Asra -was already aware that the zenana was accessible by -other ways than the central portion of the palace. The -passage from the north wing to the little court was -left unguarded for the simple reason that, by day, no -one could enter there without risk of being seen by -half a hundred eyes; and by night the face of the -zenana itself was made, by means of chains and locks, a -perfectly impenetrable wall, by which the high Lord -Ragunáth himself had more than once been baffled. -For Fidá, however, this difficulty did not exist. On -the other side of that wall there were willing hands to -work for him; for Churi himself had the task of fastening -doors and wooden window-screens at nightfall. -Who was there to discover that one of these, in the -inner room of the Ranee Ahalya, was left unlocked? -Who was there to note the tiny hinge which deft-handed -Churi substituted for a bolt? Rai-Khizar-Pál -never perceived these things; and, beside him, Neila -was the only soul that entered the Ranee’s bedroom. -Shortly, then, Fidá had ceased to be dependent on -the antechamber for access to his lady; and he and -Churi both wondered how so obvious a means had -slipped their first consideration. But passion soon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -began to get the better of the Arabian. His gracelessness -no longer stopped with the night. Hairbrained -were the risks he ran, wild the chances that he -took, though all the time it seemed that he was protected -by a scandalous providence. Churi and Neila -spent days and nights of dread; but Ahalya was as -blind to caution as the Asra; and together they overran -advice or pleadings; and recklessly they laughed with -Fate.</p> - -<p>Two months—a little more—went by: to the lovers, -months of ecstasy and despair, of joy inexpressible, and -keenest agony; for love like theirs carries constantly its -own punishment. But the man and the woman were -young, of Oriental blood, the desire for affection in -each rendered abnormal by the restraint to which both -had been subject. Fidá went without sleep and without -food, and yet seemed to suffer no untoward effects -from his nerve-destroying existence. Indeed, so remarkable -was his vitality, so strong his power of recuperation -after the longest service and watchfulness, -that he, and Churi also, began in their minds to scoff at -the Asra curse, and wonder whence the quaint legend -had originated. Ahalya, who had little to do, save in -so far as Rai-Khizar-Pál demanded her companionship, -spent all the hours in which she and Fidá were apart, -in dreaming of their next meeting. Never had she been -so beautiful as now. Every line of weariness and discontent -had disappeared from her face. Her eyes, -under the light of their new knowledge, shone like -stars. Her face took on a new glow of color, more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> -clear, more pure, more rose-and-white than ever. Her -voice had gained a new and tender richness; and, as she -dreamed over the Persian harp that she loved to play, -Neila used to listen in amazement to the beauty of her -singing. Her increased charm had its penalty, however; -for the Rajah was not slow in perception, and seemed -more and more to delight in her, keeping her at his side -oftener than of old. And the suffering entailed by this -was nearly enough to drive the loveliness away.</p> - -<p>Varied as were the duties of Fidá’s life, pleasant, or -dull, or interesting as they might otherwise have been, -he performed all save one apathetically, as so much dull -labor to be got through willy-nilly. Everything in him, -every thought, every wish, was under Ahalya’s sway. -Body and heart and brain she ruled him, as, indeed, -he ruled her. There was now scarcely a suggestion -of remorse or regret in either of them. The lower -natures of both were in the ascendant; and there were -numberless hours when the flesh reigned supreme. In -his saner moments Fidá sometimes paused to analyze -himself, doubtfully, wondering if he could be the Fidá -of Delhi and of Yemen. But during the last month he -was not often sane; and when, with the glare of the -day, other thoughts, truths, reproaches, came to him, -he fought them off, refusing to consider, not daring to -remember, his code.</p> - -<p>El-Islam, life to the true Arabian, was, by degrees, -deserting the captive. How should he maintain a religion -that taught moderation in all things, duty to the -master, forbearance from intoxication? Ahalya, whose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -mother, in her long captivity, had lost her own beautiful -Magian religion, and who had herself been brought up -a Hindoo, had, like many Indian women of station, -taken the god Krishna, lord of beauty, romance, and -love, for her special deity. And some of the pretty -ceremony and graceful superstition of her half-doubtful -beliefs had woven themselves like an evil web -around Fidá’s brain. Often, during their quiet hours, -Ahalya used to sing to her lover parts of the great -Indian Song of Songs—the wooing of Krishna and -Radha. And her voice, and the smooth-flowing poetry -of the words, charmed him into new forgetfulness of -the sterner western creed. The story was well fitted -to their state. As Ahalya sang, he loved to call her -Radha; and if she delighted in him as the incarnation -of her too well worshipped god, her lover saw in it no -sacrilege. But in this way his prayers grew strange -to him; and he became in some sort a pagan, unworthy -of any god.</p> - -<p>There was but one pursuit left in which they found -an honest pleasure. Both of them loved the boy, -Bhavani, whom, in different ways, each was instructing -in a primitive code of manhood and chivalry. -The child had taken so strong a fancy to Fidá that -his father, perfectly confident of the Asra’s fitness -for the position, began more and more to surrender -him as cup-bearer in order that he might attend his -son. And Fidá, finding the child truthful, obedient, -and affectionate, took a genuine pride in instructing -him in all that he knew. There were times, indeed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> -when the man, brought into close contact with young -innocence and instinctive honor, was drawn to a certain -unavoidable sense of guilt; and this same thing Ahalya -felt, when, in accordance with the young prince’s -wishes, she rehearsed with him, in their old way, the -dramatic epics of ancient Indian heroism and self-sacrifice. -And so much alike had the minds of the -lovers become, that the young Bhavani, imbibing from -each the same often identically expressed principles, -came by degrees to connect the two in his mind; perhaps -even, with a child’s intuition, guessing something -of their position, though unconscious of its sin.</p> - -<p>The momentary and fleeting suggestions of remorse -were very slight, however, even with Ahalya. Neila, -who knew all, watched her mistress in perpetual wonder; -for she had changed utterly. She was a gazelle -transformed to a tigress; and the handmaid, who worshipped -her with the worship of a slave for a queen, -now feared her while she loved her, and because she -loved her, also feared. Neila, never told anything in -words, had known all from the first, and from that first -had acted as go-between. In spite of the cynicism of -Fidá, who, after the Mohammedan fashion, trusted no -woman, she had proved faithful to both of them, and -had held the interests of both at heart. For, if Ahalya -were her princess, Fidá was a captive prince, a man -rarely beautiful in form, and, moreover, the very first -that, to her knowledge, had ever succeeded in doing -what he had done. He had risen to great heights in -her eyes; and if Ahalya sometimes called her lover by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> -the name of her wooden god, Neila carried the matter -farther yet, and half believed that Fidá was really -more than human.</p> - -<p>In this different-wise ten weeks passed, and it came -to be the third Ashtaka<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> of Magghar Poh (December). -This sacrifice and festival, begun at noon, was wont to -continue till midnight; and the Rajah, jealous of Brahman -prerogatives, never failed to take a chief place in -such rites. Fidá, an outcast according to Hindoo -codes, was, during this holy ceremony, not allowed on -sacred ground; and he therefore gave himself up to -the propitious time, and spent eight of the twelve -hours at Ahalya’s side. It wanted ten minutes to two -when he left her, by the now usual means of the low -window in her room. Wrapping himself closely in the -long, white cloak of thin woollen stuff that made part -of his winter clothing, he started across the little, dark -courtyard.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> On every eighth day through December and January there is a -special Brahman sacrifice called the “Ashtaka.” (See Grihya-Sutras, -Vol. I, p. 203, M. Müller edit.)</p> - -</div> - -<p>The noise of the revellers in the great court had -not yet died away; and Fidá debated whether he -dared pass through them on his way to bed. For -the first time in many weeks he was thoroughly exhausted; -and the chilly night air swept over his -parched and burning body with grateful effect. All -at once he felt that he dreaded to be alone because of -the thoughts that might come upon him. Entering -the north wing, he rapidly traversed the narrow passage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -leading past Ragunáth’s rooms, turned instinctively -in the usual direction, and presently emerged at the -court, where the ceremonial was over, the fires burning -low, and the soma revellers lying or standing about -in various degrees of intoxication. Near the door of -the audience hall stood a little group of priests and -officials, among whom were the Rajah and Ragunáth. -Not daring to approach these, and giving not more than -a passing thought to the matter, gradually overcome -by vague, chaotic ideas that were rising in his mind, -Fidá went on, out into the road, and along it till he -came to the water palace that stood on the edge of the -plateau, overlooking the south plain, through which -the great Narmáda rushed. Here, in the stillness, -Fidá halted, looking around him. He was beside one -of the smooth water-basins overhung with slender -bamboos and tamarind shrubs, with tangles of lotus-plants -floating, brown and dead, upon its mirror-like -surface. Before him rose the low, level walls of this -charming accident of Indian architecture. On high, -overhead, hung a late moon, wreathed in a feathery -mist of night clouds, and throwing a faint light over -the plain and the distant river. To the right, in the -distance, a long, black, irregular shadow, rose the -giant barrier of the Vindhyas, beyond whose mystic -recesses, far northward, lay distant Delhi, the city of -the slow-conquering race, the people of the captive -now standing here alone with the night. Gradually, -as Fidá looked, a great awe stole upon him. His -body had grown cold with the night chill; but his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> -mind took no heed of the flesh. A change was upon him. -His chaotic thoughts were shaping themselves. Gradually, -before the vastness, the high dignity of nature, the -ugliness of his last weeks became clear to him, and he -trembled with horror of himself. Slow tears ran down -his cold, set face. He locked his hands together, and -rocked his stiffened body to and fro. A cry was welling -up in the heart of him, standing there in the face of -Allah’s creation: the high-reaching hills, the wide, moonlit -plain. To his overstrained nerves it seemed that they -judged him, in their immense incorruptibleness:—him, -the corrupt. And presently the mountains lifted up -their voices and spake. Plainly to his ears, out of the -dim, black recesses, came low, deep tones, uttering first -his name: “<i>Fidá ibn-Mahmud ibn-Hassan el-Asra</i>,” and -then, after a long pause, the words, old and familiar -to him since childhood, the tradition of his race:</p> - -<p>“Cursed be the Asra by Osman: cursed this day -and forevermore any man of them that loveth woman -as I have loved Zenora. Let him die in the first year -of his loving, though from east to west he seek a cure. -And to him that taketh from another a promised wife, -may the curse of Allah the Avenger seek him out till -he be hidden in the depth of Hell. Thus I, Osman, -curse thy race!”</p> - -<p>Down from far generations rolled these words into -the ears of the youngest of the Asra, who, hearing -them, uttered a deep cry, and, swaying for a moment -where he stood, presently fell, face down, into the -dead grass beside the pool.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<small>THE CURSE</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The night moved quietly on, the moon dropped westward, -and still Fidá, lying there on the dead kusa grass, -did not stir. From his swoon he had fallen into a -heavy sleep which was unmoved by the slow passing -of the night. The far mountains, oblivious of the -havoc they had wrought upon a human mind, reared -themselves grimly toward the stars, and out of their -fringing forests came now and then the roar of some -king animal, or the melting cry of a night-bird. Little -by little the moon paled and the stars grew dim, and a -white mist rose over the far-flowing river. The cold -breath of dawn was upon the world, and in its inimitable -stillness the slave, wakened perhaps by the throbbing -of his own pulses, opened his eyes dully, and -shivered and then rose and stood staring down into the -pool, struggling to free himself from the bonds of -oblivion and of sleep. When the memory of the past -night opened before him, it was as if he contemplated -the undoing of another man. He made no attempt, he -had no wish, to think or to reflect upon himself. The -dawn was upon him—the sacred hour. Already, in -the east, a pale, clear light had lifted itself upon the -horizon. One or two silent birds—kites—floated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -over the walls of the water palace and began to sink -slowly into the depth of the plain. In the village a -dog howled, an ass brayed. Instinctively the spectator -inclined his ear for the muezzin’s call to prayer. But -there was audible only the flutelike note of the newly -wakened koïl. The east brightened. The clouds -over the Vindhyas grew rosy, and the river mist was -tinged with gold. In the fresh morning air Fidá could -perceive how his brain burned, how his head throbbed. -His body was racked with misery, but there was a great -clearness in his mind:—no searching, no thinking, only -a sudden upliftment and a simple sense of gratitude to -nature for this, her hour. Prayer was not upon his -lips; but at last it lay in his heart:—the great natural -prayer that the first Hindoo, waking on his world two -thousand years before, had felt and could not utter.</p> - -<p>The hour was advancing. The line of clouds above -the northeast hills changed from pale pink to a fiery -rose-color that shed a glow over the whole plateau, and -haloed the man who stood, with his white-clothed arms -upraised, drinking in the purity around him. When -at last the sun pushed its edge over the horizon, it was -invisible to Fidá; but he knew, from the gradual disappearance -of the delicate vapors, from the sudden -quieting of the birds, the <i>sense</i> of day, that the mystic -dawn was over. Then, at last, Fidá realized suddenly -that he was faint with weariness and parched -with thirst. Slowly he took his way back to the -palace, thinking not at all, only passively longing for -rest. His walk over, he stopped for a moment at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -well, then went at once to his own room, and, thankfully -remembering that every one would rise late to-day, -threw himself on his bed and sank into another stupor-like -sleep. How long it was before he regained a vague -consciousness, he did not know; but he found two -men standing over him, and one he recognized as the -Rajah. The sight of his face caused Fidá a dull -surprise; but he returned into the stupor without -having uttered a word. After that his rest seemed to -be broken by various dire sensations and many monstrous -dreams. When his eyes opened, he always found -Ahmed, and sometimes Churi, near at hand; and, comforted -by their presence, realizing that, with them, -delirium would be safe, he resigned himself. He -knew that he was very ill. Every one else knew it. -Churi was exerting his utmost skill; though he never -once thought of the ruby. It did not remotely occur -to him to try that as a remedy. Three or four weeks -passed away, and then the fever abated a little, and gradually -it came to be understood that the Rajah’s favorite -slave would live. By degrees his strength, wofully -depleted by the reckless strain he had put upon it for -so long, came back; and by the end of January he made -a feeble appearance again. He soon discovered that -his sickness had not been thought unusual by any one, -since in his ravings he had betrayed the fact that he -had spent a night on the ground near the water palace. -Indeed, it would have been strange if the fever that -lurks in all damp night mists in western India had -not made him a victim of his own imprudence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> - -<p>This view of the matter brought a great relief to Fidá. -Perhaps, after all, the incident of the curse had been just -the wild dream of a sick man. Perhaps those sinister -words had been spoken by his own heart. Perhaps.—Perhaps.—Perhaps. -But, unnaturally, after Fidá was -up and about again, he did not get well. There were -days when it seemed as if his old-time vitality were -returning to him; but there were many more when he -felt as if, by no possibility, could he bear the weight of -his limbs: when, racked with an inward fever that penetrated -to the very bone, he dragged himself about only -by a superhuman effort. Yet, unspeakably dreading -that time when he must face the end, the slave made -every effort to conceal his illness, forcing himself to -much that seemed impossible for a man in his condition. -One thing only he could not do. He could -not see Ahalya. Now, in the light of their past vital -relationship, he realized that he could no longer attempt -his former rôle. Day and night, it is true, he longed -for her sympathy, her tenderness, the touch of her -gentle hands. But in return for her ministrations he -could give her nothing—nothing but the weary plaints -of a sick man. And so, steeling his heart to loneliness, -he went his way, blindly and dumbly, yet still, after -the pathetic human custom, hoping that life held yet -a few empty years for him.</p> - -<p>When, with mid-February, the spring appeared, -Ahalya could no longer bear her unhappiness, and -one evening sent Churi to Fidá, bidding him come to -her. It was a summons that could not be refused; and,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -in the early darkness, he stole to her rooms by the little -courtyard. Alas! How many, many times had he -come to her thus in highest joy! How differently -to-night he came! In each heart there was dread, and -fear:—in hers that he long since tired of her, in his that -she could no longer care for him. When he appeared -she was alone, standing at the end of the room by her -narrow bed, her face turned to the window through -which he entered. Seeing him, she did not move, but -her eyes grew big with inquiry, and her mouth drooped -a little. Fidá, who could not look upon her without -deep emotion, also stood silent till he could command -his voice. Then he said, gently, but without much -expression:</p> - -<p>“Thou hast sent for me. I have come.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya’s lip quivered, pitiably; and she lowered her -head, without replying.</p> - -<p>Fidá, watching her, moved forward a step or two. -“Ranee—what is thy grief?” he asked, putting her, -by his appellation, infinitely far away.</p> - -<p>Ahalya gave a sob that was like a scream, and, flinging -herself face down upon the divan, laughed and wept -hysterically, but still without speaking. Fidá, bewildered, -miserable, yet hoping something that he dared -not voice, knelt at her side and longed to give her comfort; -restraining himself only by a great effort. She -wept as long as she would, and then suddenly ceased, -lifted herself, and turned a burning gaze on him.</p> - -<p>“Faithless one,” she said, in a low, monotonous tone: -“thou faithless, infinitely despised! Did I not give<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -myself to thee, for thee committing the greatest sin? I -loved thee, and my heart was true, and in thy long sickness -by day and night I prayed to the gods for thee, -vowing that, shouldst thou die, I would follow thee as becomes -a widow; for in all ways I have considered myself -thy true wife. And after thine illness, when I yearned -unspeakably to comfort thee, didst thou come hither? -didst send one word to me, that still live only in the -thought of thee? Oh, tell me,” and her voice rose -passionately, “who is thy new love? What is the -name of her on whom thy traitor kisses fall? O thou -wretched one—” her tone became a long, ungovernable -wail, “O captive—O Fidá—hast thou forgotten -me?”</p> - -<p>“For the soul of Allah, Ahalya, do not torture me! -Ahalya, Ahalya—I am true to thee! Look at me!”</p> - -<p>Dropping his concealing cloak upon the floor, he -stepped into the glow of light under the hanging-lamp, -the pitiless rays of which fell directly across his emaciated -and deathly face, out of which shone his eyes, glittering -with fever. Ahalya gave a low exclamation, which -he answered. “Yea, look upon my face. It is that of -one that hath not much longer here. I have not told -thee, thou beloved of my soul, of the curse that lies -upon my race. That curse was given me by the -Vindhyas on the last night that we loved. In my heart -I know well that I am doomed. My strength is gone, -and the weakness grows daily greater. Shall I bring -this misery upon thee? Shall I—”</p> - -<p>But here he was stopped. Comprehending him at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -last, Ahalya, her eyes shining with new-found peace, -went to him and put her arms about his wasted frame; -and he, feeling no desire to resist, let himself be drawn -down upon the divan, his head pillowed on her breast, -her strong, young arms around him. “Beloved,” she -murmured over him, and Fidá gave himself up to her. -As he lay, passive, motionless, one of his hands wound -in her curling hair, they talked together, scatteringly, -of many things. Both of them understood that their -burning days were forever at an end; that indeed of -the quiet ones there were left not many. But, for the -moment, Fidá could look upon the future without dread; -and Ahalya was under the spell of too great a relief to -face new calamity at once. Both knew, indeed, that -the situation might have been infinitely worse. There -might have come sudden parting:—death for one, for -the other the torture of long waiting. Instead, the -future was to be to them but a golden repetition of -the golden past. And even now their companionship -could be resumed, their love only growing the stronger -as Fidá’s body became weak, since they were now bound -by ties of truth and unselfishness that no misrepresentation -or sorrow or suffering could break.</p> - -<p>Thereafter ensued a quiet period of nearly four -weeks. The spring was advanced. The planting was -over, and Mandu abloom. The sun’s rays grew daily -hotter, though as yet there was little discomfort from -heat. It was the time of year when all growing and -living things love and mate; but for Ahalya and Fidá -it was the autumn of love. Their days were filled with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -misgiving; for, as the inevitable end drew near, both -came to suffer a great anxiety about the manner of -that end.</p> - -<p>Nor did the late spring bring joy and peace to -Mandu. With the advent of gay birds from Ceylon, -came also messengers from Dhár, in the north, bringing -word that Omar the Asra, with a Mohammedan -army, had come out of Delhi and was sweeping victoriously -southward on his way to Mandu. To this warning -and covert appeal for aid, Rai-Khizar-Pál could -not but reply by gathering together his fighting men, -and preparing to march. Mandu was in a state of -excitement; but there was no rejoicing that their well-loved -King must prepare to set out on a new campaign. -The ministers that were to be left to rule were unpopular; -for this time Ragunáth was not to accompany -the army, but left co-regent with Manava over the -people. For many days these matters kept all the -plateau in a state of ferment; and there was perhaps -only one person among them all that viewed the proceedings -with apathy. He, indeed, was one to whom -events might have been considered to be most important. -Fidá might not unreasonably have entertained -some idea of being taken upon the expedition in his -position as King’s cup-bearer. But this hope, or fear, -was quickly killed; for Rai-Khizar-Pál valued his slave -too highly to run the risk of losing him by allowing -him to come into actual contact with his own people. -Nor could Oriental flesh and blood have been expected -to withstand such temptation to escape.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> - -<p>It was on the twelfth of March that the Rajah, with -his army, was to set out upon his second campaign -against the Mohammedans. On the afternoon of the -eleventh, Fidá was with young Bhavani when the -Rajah summoned him. It had been one of the slave’s -most miserable days. During his morning service he -had taken care to keep himself as much as possible -behind his master; and now he dreaded the interview -extremely. There was, however, nothing for it but to -obey the call; and, resigning Bhavani to his attendants, -he hurried away to the King’s private room, where -he found Manava and Kasya standing one on either -side of the royal divan. At the door Fidá performed -his usual deep salaam, and was motioned to come -forward.</p> - -<p>“Enter, Asra. I sent for thee. By the flocks of -heaven, thou’rt sick to-day! Hast no care for thyself, -good slave?”</p> - -<p>Fidá smiled, slightly and bitterly. “I have no need -for care. I am in health, O King,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Tell me not that any man with visage so deathly is -in health. Thine appearance troubles me, for I repose -great trust in thee, and I dare not depart in fear of thy -death. Speak, Manava,—what thinkest thou of him?”</p> - -<p>“He hath the appearance of a man very ill,” answered -the minister, thoughtfully regarding the slave.</p> - -<p>“Fidá, for the space of a week keep to thy room, and -let Churi and the priests attend thee and bring thee -back to strength again. Thou must accept so much of -aid, for thy look troubles me sorely.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> - -<p>The Asra threw himself on the floor at the King’s -feet, and once more protested that his looks belied -him, that he was perfectly able to perform his usual -tasks. And the Rajah, whose projects were upset by -the prospect of this slave’s illness, allowed himself to -be persuaded against his own judgment, and proceeded -to the object of the audience.</p> - -<p>“Fidá el-Asra, thou hast been in Mandu, in my -service, scarce half a year as yet; but because thou art -of high birth and noble training, I repose confidence in -thee. I cannot take thee with me upon my campaign, -because I should fear to lose thee in the north. But, -in leaving thee behind, I am about to place thee in a -position of great trust. Manava, whom thou seest -standing upon my right hand, is, in my absence, to -be part ruler of Mandu. To Kasya here, my faithful -eunuch, I intrust the guardianship of my women. To -thee I give the last of my treasures, the hope of Mandu: -my son, Bhavani, the flower of my heart; to be taught -and guarded till my return. Thou shalt have full -direction over him, save only in those times when the -Lady Malati, his mother, desires his presence. Already -Bhavani loves thee, Asra; and thy training makes -thee fitted to be his companion and his master in my -absence. For this trust that I repose in thee, give me -thy fealty.”</p> - -<p>Deeply touched by a mark of favor so little deserved, -Fidá fell upon his knees and pressed the Rajah’s foot -with his brow. In that moment of abasement he was -very near to confession; and, had it not been for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> -presence of the other two, Fidá might, at that moment, -have opened up his heart and told his lord all the story -of his treachery and crime. A moment’s swift reflection, -however, brought with it the remembrance of Ahalya; -and in dread for her the impulse passed away, and he -found himself protesting incoherently his gratitude, his -fidelity, and his sorrow at the departure of the Rajah. -Once more, before he was dismissed, Rai-Khizar-Pál, -noting anew his gaunt and pallid face, expressed some -concern for his health; and then, giving his hand to -his slave’s lips, sent him away. Fidá, his nature -suddenly revolting against himself, sought his room, -flung himself face down upon his bed, and there, in -guilty misery, poured out some sort of inchoate prayer -of remorse.</p> - -<p>After an hour or two of meditation and quiet, the -Asra took resolution on a certain matter which he had -been pondering for a long while. Ever since he had -become certain that the curse was actually on him, he -had wondered whether or not Churi had yet disposed -of the ruby. It was Churi’s place to have thought of -the stone for him; and he hated himself for the desire -he had to touch it again. But it had apparently never -occurred to the eunuch to use the blessed jewel as a -remedy; and, as often as the thought came to Fidá, he -put it resolutely from him in shame. By this time, -however, his hunger to gaze upon the charm had grown -great and fierce. He felt an intense desire to live; -and, believing the means of health to be within easiest -reach, what wonder that his temptation came again<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -and again? This evening, in view of the new trust, -which he had the strongest desire honorably to keep, -the temptation suddenly overcame him, and, putting -away his pride, perhaps even his self-respect, he went -to seek out the doctor.</p> - -<p>Churi was in his own room, eating. Looking up -from his food, he gave Fidá his usual easy salute:</p> - -<p>“Vishnu favor thee! I am told that thou’rt to be -given sole charge of the young prince. Truly, Asra, -the King loves thee as well as his wife. Wilt deign -to eat with me?”</p> - -<p>Fidá did not respond to the ill-timed raillery. He -stood leaning against the wall, gazing at the eunuch -with so strange an expression that Churi changed his -mood.</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt ill to-night,” said he, more gently.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am ill,” answered the Asra, in a low, harsh -tone. “I am dying, Churi.”</p> - -<p>“Dying! Why shouldst thou die, lover?”</p> - -<p>“Allah! Thou knowest why.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! The old legend. Dost really believe—that—”</p> - -<p>“Canst thou doubt that I am cursed?”</p> - -<p>They remained facing each other, silent, staring. -No further words were necessary. Churi knew very -well now why he had come; but he sat struggling with -himself, for he was disturbed. Nevertheless Fidá’s -ghastly face pled strongly. After a few moments, -during which the slave suffered under his degradation, -Churi rose, walked to the shadowy corner of the room,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> -bent over for a moment or two, working in the earth -of the floor, and then came back to Fidá with the gold -box in his hand. Fidá, looking into the unmatched -eyes, saw animosity in one and scorn in the other.</p> - -<p>“There. Take back thy gift.” Churi held the box -out to him.</p> - -<p>To the eunuch’s astonishment, Fidá deliberately -accepted it, rolled the ruby out into his hand, and for a -moment feasted his eyes on it. Then he pressed it to -his breast, shut his eyes, and moved his lips in prayer. -When the prayer ended, he replaced the jewel in its -case, and once more held it out to Churi, who had stood -in silence, watching him.</p> - -<p>“I thank thee,” said Fidá, simply.</p> - -<p>Churi looked surprised anew. “Wilt thou not keep -it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Thou thinkest me such a dog?”</p> - -<p>“Will that help thee—just the moment of it?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know; yet it seems to me that the very -sight of it hath helped me.”</p> - -<p>A second time Churi held out the box, this time -voluntarily. “Take it and keep it on thy person for -a week.”</p> - -<p>Fidá drew back.</p> - -<p>“Nay, I wish it. I trust thee.”</p> - -<p>“But it is thine. How hast thou not already sold -it?”</p> - -<p>“That is not easy. I dare not show it in Mandu. -But in the month of April will come a man from the -north, a travelling merchant of Rajputana, that comes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> -each year, bringing with him silks, rugs, gold work, and -gems of the costliest kind. I know him well, and he -will take the ruby and give me my freedom. Therefore -thou seest there is time for thee to recover. Take -the stone at least for the space of a week; and then if -thou art better, thou shalt keep it till the merchant -comes.”</p> - -<p>There was only friendliness in Churi’s tone. Fidá’s -simplicity had disarmed him. Seeing that the favor -was done willingly, Fidá accepted it; and, when he -walked away from the eunuch’s house, the little golden -box lay in its old place in his girdle.</p> - -<p>Next day, at noon, all Mandu thronged about the -palace and along the old road to witness the departure -of the Rajah and his army. It was indeed a brilliant -pageant that set forth upon the long and dangerous -journey to the north. Fidá, in a throng of slaves, -stood against the south wall of the great courtyard, -and watched the companies form. At high noon Rai-Khizar-Pál, -attended by his two ministers, who walked -one on either side of him, came out of the palace, and -was greeted with tumultuous acclamations by the throng -of soldiers and people. And the Lord of Mandu was -unquestionably worthy of admiration. Never had -Fidá seen him more magnificent. His large, well-proportioned -body was clad in half-armor, of a purely -ornamental type, under which he wore a fine, white -garment heavy with red and silver embroidery. On -his head was a white turban from which rose a black -aigrette fastened with a pin glittering with rubies.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -His horse, a magnificent animal, in trappings of black, -red, and silver, with the small double-drum rimmed in -silver placed before his saddle to mark his rank, was -held in waiting. After a few inaudible words with the -regents, and an effective parting from each, he walked -swiftly to his steed, sprang upon it without aid, caught -up his bridle, swept an arm toward his body-guard -which immediately galloped up and surrounded him, -and then, amid the renewed shouts of his people, rode -rapidly out of the courtyard, and began the march. -He was followed by Purán, in more serviceable costume, -surrounded by a group of what might be called -aides; and then by the army itself:—first, two hundred -horse, and then five hundred foot, the whole of -the forces of Mandu. Slowly, line by line, they formed -in the limited space, and wound away after their -leaders, spear-heads and head-pieces flashing in the -sunshine, men and animals alike fresh and vigorous—eager -for what lay before them.</p> - -<p>To Fidá, still leaning against the courtyard wall, this -sight of armed and armored men passing out to honorable -combat, was bitter indeed. All the warrior in him -rose and struggled for place in his enfeebled frame. -He was sick with the servility of his life. He loathed -the despicable part he had played. Every soldier that -passed him seemed to him to walk over his heart, -bringing back vivid pictures of what had been, when -the smell of battle was sweet to his nostrils, and the -battle-cry the fairest music his ears could know. Once -he had been a man! Now—now—he would not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -answer the question of his conscience. When the hour -was over, when the last foot-soldier had passed out of -the courtyard and was lost in the winding road, he drew -a long, heavy sigh, and moved his eyes. The first thing -they encountered was the figure of Ragunáth, standing -near him, gazing fixedly in the direction of the departed -host; and Fidá saw with wonder the expression on his -face: an expression of deep-seated relief, joy,—nay, -rather, triumph. The Asra stared yet more earnestly, -a sudden apprehension striking home. Was it possible -that, at last, Rai-Khizar-Pál being gone, Ragunáth -meant to taste the well-guarded fruit? Fidá’s lips -shut tight. Was there finally to be an open struggle -between them? Was it to be his happiness once to -perform a real service for the King? Wondering, -hoping, hating, he stood there, nor heeded how he was -grinding the golden box deep into the flesh of his left -side.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<small>ASRA FIGHTS AGAIN</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The departure of the Rajah and his army wrought, -at first, little visible change in the life of the palace at -Mandu. The zenana was a little duller, the ceremonies -less formal, the work of the royal court less arduous;—for -Manava, though a just man, had not his over-lord’s -popularity as a judge. To Fidá, however, the absence -of Rai-Khizar-Pál made a marked difference; and his -life was almost entirely changed. He had a new -sense of freedom; and he saw Ahalya oftener than ever. -Since she was no longer subject to her husband’s will, -both she and Fidá had a much greater feeling of confidence, -but also a greater sense of dishonor than when -he was at hand. The duties of the Asra, meantime, -were light, and less uncertain than they had been. -All the morning, and, indeed, nearly to mid-afternoon, -he was with Bhavani. But when their various tasks and -pursuits were over, the young prince generally elected -to spend the rest of his time in the zenana, where he -was the spoiled pet of twenty or thirty women. In -this way many hours were unquestioningly open for the -slave and Ahalya; but Fidá was shortly made aware -that most of them must be hours of sadness. One week<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -from the evening on which he had had his last talk with -Churi, he reappeared in the room of the eunuch, who, -as usual at that hour, was within. The Asra walked -up to him, and silently tendered him the golden box. -Churi looked quickly into his face—and his eyes remained -fixed there.</p> - -<p>“The charm—hath not worked?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Fidá, shortly.</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt not better?—Thou’rt worse?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“But the reason of it?” Churi looked down at the -treasure now lying in his own hand, and a faint smile -stole across his lips. “The charm—is gone?”</p> - -<p>“I sold it. I sold the birthright of the Asra. I -have doubly cursed my race. It is fitting, indeed, that -I should expiate the sin by death!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, despairing one. We shall cure thee yet. ’Tis -but a lingering fever. I shall try to help thee. There -is a certain draught of herbs—”</p> - -<p>Fidá interrupted him with a sort of laugh. “Nay, -Churi, spare thy skill. Fever-draughts will not avail -against the curse of the Saint. There. I thank thy -generosity. I thank thee, also, Churi, for all the rest -thou hast done for me. I tell thee now in the face of -death, that, were all to do over, I would face a thousand -ends for half the glory I have known in her. And all -this, I owe to thee. Had I mine uncle’s riches in addition -to the ruby, they should be thine. And yet—Allah -comfort her when I am gone! That—that, -Churi, makes me suffer. Oh, I talk folly in my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> -weakness. Heed me not. A peaceful rest to thee!” -And, turning on his heel, Fidá was gone.</p> - -<p>Time crept slowly along, and the Asra, absorbed in -his duties and in his increasing weakness, took little -note of the many things that passed about him. Ragunáth, -busied with his share of government, was now -doubly occupied with certain plans and desires of a -private nature. It was a strange thing that Rai-Khizar-Pál -had never seemed to suspect what all the rest of -the palace knew: that Ragunáth was, and for a long -time had been, deeply enamoured of Ahalya, who, six -months before, had been almost at the stage of returning -his affection. But for the past four months, indeed -since the sharp repulse he had met with from the lady -herself, Ragunáth had had the wisdom to make no -attempt to see her. Now, at last, however, the time -seemed favorable for a renewal of his efforts; and the -mere possibility of success roused the man’s long-stifled -passion with unconquerable fierceness. Rai-Khizar -being well out of reach, Ragunáth was now a great -power in the government. Manava he considered -almost unimportant, but pliable. And so did he turn -over matters in his mind, that he finally arrived at a -casual, well-arranged talk with his fellow-minister, -begun about servants in general, and continuing to -Kasya in particular, who was getting old, who would be -well replaced by some younger, more vigorous man:—Kripa, -perhaps? He, Ragunáth, felt that the whole -matter might be adjusted very simply, and would -himself undertake it and its responsibility. Manava<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -listened to him, seemed struck with the idea, considered -it for a little, in his grave, inscrutable way, and then said -some pleasant things to his coadjutor. Nevertheless, -Ragunáth, on retiring, found that his point had not -been gained; found that he had an impression that -Manava considered the whole affair absurd; but was -able to lay his memory on not one single unpleasant word -that the other had spoken. He began then to perceive -that he had underestimated his companion in office.</p> - -<p>The failure of his scheme was a serious disappointment, -and proved for a time a check upon his plans. -Review the situation as he would, he could see no point -in Ahalya’s guardianship that had not already been -tried and found invincible. Considerably involved in -other matters, he was forced to leave this, that was -nearest his heart, alone for a little; though her image -was scarcely out of his mind by day or night. And -with all his brain’s ferment, Ragunáth found no hope -of action until, for her own reasons, Chance, the great -goddess, stepped scornfully in, and gave him what no -scheming could have brought about.</p> - -<p>Spring was now far along, and March at an end. It -was the time of year when all young things were at -the fulness of their vitality; for in India the late spring, -before the coming of intolerable heat, is the real summer -of the growing world. All nature was filled with -vivid life. Each lightest thread of zephyr carried with -it a shower of golden pollen, blown for floral marriage-beds. -Birds and beasts had long since mated. And by -night the bulbul in the champak bushes sang to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -mate throbbing songs of the children that were coming -to them from the eggs over which she brooded. Lutes -in the hands of poets attuned themselves to the triumph -of love; and, under the universal spell, only Fidá could -not rise to it. On the afternoon of the third of April, -the Arab had been with Ahalya for a moment only, -showing himself too miserable to linger at her side; and -she had sent him sadly away to rest alone, and perhaps -sleep back into a semblance of life. Left to herself, -Ahalya found it impossible to be still. She was young, -and there was no curse on her to keep the summer -from flowing in her veins. Neila was asleep somewhere -in the zenana. She must have some one to speak to; -and, even as she pondered, the young Bhavani bounded -in to her with a fascinating and unwise proposal. Some -slave, he said, had told him that this year, in the water-palace -pool, there was a blossom of blue lotos, the flower -said to be found only in paradise. Would she not go -out with him to see if it were really there? Ahalya -seized on the idea with alacrity. She longed to get -into the living world; and Bhavani was delighted with -her enthusiasm. The Ranee veiled herself, and then, -calling no one to attend them, they hurried into the -little courtyard, out of it into the north wing, and -so across a corner of the great court and into the road -to the water palace. And, as Fate had decreed, Ragunáth, -sitting at council in the great audience chamber, -caught, through its open doorway, one fleeting glimpse -of Ahalya’s veiled figure, recognized it instantly with -the divining eyes of desire, and began to calculate how -soon he should be able to follow her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> - -<p>Unconscious of the ill-omened gaze, careless of the -recklessness and the indecorum of walking abroad -unattended, Ahalya went on, hand in hand with the -worshipful boy, joyously drinking in the exquisite air -of the late afternoon. The sun almost touched the -river in the west, and the air was suffused with rosy -gold. From the south came a fragrant breeze, laden -with the spicy breath of far Ceylon. There was a -twittering chorus of birds. The trees and shrubs on -every side were clad in foliage in the highest stage of -fresh beauty. The tamarind and the willow vied with -each other in grace. The bamboo was tufted with -palest silver-green. The almond trees had finished -blossoming, and the grass beneath their branches was -strewn with pinkish petals. Here and there was a -lilac shrub, heavy with clusters of pale purple flowers—emblems -of Persia. And in sunny places the grass -was strewn with white and golden gillyflowers, with -occasional starry narcissi and daffodils. The whole -world was abloom, and the air heavy with perfume.</p> - -<p>As she proceeded, Ahalya’s languid delight increased -to a species of intoxication. She was bewildered by -the beauty of the world, enchanted by the high, pure -notes of the birds, by the whisper of winds in the trees, -by the heavy hum of drunken bees, by the murmur of -distant, rushing water. Bhavani, a little overcome by -her manner, presently broke away from her to run after -a new-come butterfly; and Ahalya walked on alone to -the water palace. Arrived there, and seeing Bhavani -happily racing away at a little distance, the Ranee<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -seated herself beside the pool, almost in the very spot -where, months before, Fidá had stood and listened to -the curse that welled from out the mountains, whose -sides were now swathed in a bluish haze, that grew -gradually golden in the light of the setting sun. Here, -in the shade of the willows and bamboos that overhung -the basin, Ahalya’s mood changed, and her thoughts -were no longer of the joy of the young summer.</p> - -<p>She thought on darker things: of the plight in which -she was, of the worse one that was shortly to come to -her. In her love of Fidá Ahalya was now, and, after -the first day, had been, remorseless and surprisingly -careless of discovery. This was all in accordance with -the training of the child-woman, who, though she did -not know it, had loved the Rajah as a daughter only, -and had turned from him to the young Arab with -all the truth and all the womanhood in her. There -could never be for her another like Fidá. And she -knew now that the end of love was very near. She -had been denied its expression for a long time; but -while its object lived she did not care. Now, however, -in the midst of this brilliant scene, she suddenly perceived -how weak, how worn he was. And it was -borne in upon her that the pallor of his face was -the pallor of death. How soon would the end come? -How would it come? Could she show her love -for him in performing the suttee? Would there be -opportunity? or would he be burned, like a dog, on a -handful of sticks, in the city of the dead at the other -end of the plateau, far from her reach? The thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -was too hideous to be maintained; but the shadow of it -darkened over her heart. How was it possible that -such dreadful things could be? How—</p> - -<p>She was interrupted in her morbid revery by Bhavani, -who, tired of butterflies, came to drag her round the -pools in search of the blue lily. Ahalya was not now -in the humor for this amusement; and Bhavani became -slightly peremptory in his demands. So, finally, she -released herself from him, and, while he ran on, to the -other side of the building, she, desirous of returning -to her meditation, melancholy though it was, began -slowly to pace up and down the flowery turf. Bhavani -was quite out of sight; and Ahalya herself, her back -toward the road, stood gazing out over the sunset -plain below, when there was a sudden step behind her, -and a voice exclaimed in her ear:</p> - -<p>“Can it be that I have found the embodied spirit of -the summer?”</p> - -<p>She turned sharply, and found herself face to face -with Ragunáth. Her first impression was one of -disgust at the expression on his face; her first -instinct to escape as quickly as possible from his presence.</p> - -<p>“I am not a spirit at all. I have lingered here too -long and must go at once. Your favor, sir. Let me -pass!” She motioned him imperiously out of her way; -but, to her amazement, he only moved as she did, so as -to be always in her path.</p> - -<p>He smiled, regarding her half-admiringly, half-respectfully, -but kept his position till, stamping one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -small foot upon the ground, she cried, angrily: “Out -of my path, my Lord Ragunáth!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, be not so hurried, Ranee,” he returned, -mildly.</p> - -<p>Annoyed by the presumption which his tone belied, -she lifted her eyes and looked him fairly in the face. -A shudder ran through her frame. At last she realized -that he did not intend to let her go: that her wishes -were now of no consequence. Instantly she was alive -to her situation. She looked around her, terrified, -desperate, and perceived, at a little distance along the -wall of the palace young Bhavani, standing quite still, -staring at the figure of the newcomer. Immediately -Ahalya began waving her hand to him:</p> - -<p>“Bhavani! Bhavani! Run quickly! Seek thy -master!”</p> - -<p>Ragunáth grasped her roughly by the arm. “Silence!” -he cried. And indeed she was silent, for, even -as her tormentor spoke, she saw Bhavani turn and start -like a deer in the direction of the palace. And Ahalya -knew well to whom he would go first of all.</p> - -<p>In a measure relieved, understanding that now she -had only to gain time, her wits rose to the situation, and -she turned her face to Ragunáth’s frown, and laughed. -“Art thou so angry that I have sent the boy away? -Wouldst thou have had him stand there gazing at us? -Even Radha despatched her maidens ere she let -Krishna look upon her face unveiled. Hast thou not -heard that tale, my lord?” She smiled on him incomparably.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> - -<p>Ragunáth’s reply was a laugh. He, who trusted no -living man, was in an instant thrown off his guard by -a woman’s trembling coquetry. “I have heard the -tale.—What lover hath not? Yet it hath never been -sung to me in the young summer, and by one resembling -Radha as thou dost. Sing to me, then, beautiful -one, of the loves of Radha and Krishna.”</p> - -<p>“But I have neither lute nor harp.”</p> - -<p>“It matters not. There is no instrument that would -dare accompany thy voice.”</p> - -<p>So Ahalya, her heart throbbing with fright, her -whole body quivering with loathing of the man who -walked so closely at her side, began to sing. And as she -sang, the daylight sank from the sky; for the sun had -set, and darkness, most terrible to her plight, was upon -the land. She sang the eleventh Sarga of the great -epic: that of the union of Krishna and Radha, which -she had so often poured into the ears of him she delighted -to call her god. And even now, at the joyous -triumph in the words, her heart was sighing at the -emptiness of her love. This, to the music Vasanta -and the mode Yati, is what she sang:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“‘Follow, happy Radha, follow,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In the quiet falling twilight,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The steps of him who followed thee</div> - <div class="verse indent2">So steadfastly and far—’”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“That is true, most beautiful Radha. Let thy fair -feet henceforth follow me through the land of delight,” -murmured Ragunáth, in her ear.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<p>Her voice shook as, without replying, she went on:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“‘Let us bring thee where the banjulas</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Have spread a roof of crimson</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lit up by many a marriage lamp</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of planet, sun, and star.’</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“‘For the hours of doubt are over</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And thy glad and faithful lover</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hath found the road by tears and prayers</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To thy divinest side—’”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">“‘And thou wilt not deny him,’”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>broke in Ragunáth, whispering,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">“‘One delight of all thy beauty;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But yield up open-hearted</div> - <div class="verse indent2">His pearl, his prize, his bride!’”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Ahalya shuddered again and was silent, wondering -what evil genius had made her begin that song. She -began to fear, desperately, that Bhavani had not understood: -that she was really left alone, at the mercy of -this man whom she feared as much as she hated. Therefore, -filled with terror at what she had made herself do, -she suddenly determined to attempt escape; and, on the -instant darting from Ragunáth’s side, she started, at the -top of her speed, across the grass, in the direction of -the road. Ragunáth, taken wholly by surprise, stood -for a second staring after her, and then hurried in -pursuit. Unhampered by his garments, and far more -used to swift exercise than she, he overtook her halfway -to the road, and caught her round the waist in an iron -clasp.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> - -<p>She gave a faint cry, and, at his touch, strove wildly -to escape it. But Ragunáth was not now in a mood to -let her go. Grasping her yet more firmly, he lifted -her, and, in the starry darkness, carried her across the -open space and into a little copse of champaks and wild -cotton trees at one side of the empty lawn. Here -began a fierce struggle. Ahalya fought like one possessed -of a demon; and Ragunáth was a little aghast -at the strength of her fury. Fearing to hurt her, and -realizing that at this rate her strength could not last, -he devoted himself only to defence and the prevention -of her escape, reserving his force for the time of her -exhaustion. And indeed Ahalya presently found herself -in a sad plight. Her strength would not last -above a minute more. Only one hope was left now; -and that was desperate enough. Lifting her head, -she uttered two piercing screams. And—to Ragunáth’s -consternation—she was answered by a fierce cry, as a -man’s figure dashed through the trees to where they -stood.</p> - -<p>Ahalya had only an instant in which to recognize the -gaunt form of Fidá. She caught one view of his face -in the gloom, alight with such fury as she had never -dreamed he possessed. Then the two men were locked -together in mortal struggle.</p> - -<p>Broken and weak with the strain and terror of the -last half-hour, horror-stricken at what was happening -now, Ahalya stood like one entranced, watching without -sound or movement the combat going on before her. -She could not, in the darkness, distinguish between the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -two forms rolling together on the ground. The men -fought without a sound:—Ragunáth with the strength -of passion, Fidá with a final fury of jealousy and -despair. It lasted only three or four minutes. Then -the woman, who, in her terror, stood rocking her body -back and forward, holding both hands to the sides of -her head as if that helped her to suppress the wild -screams on her lips, saw one figure suddenly rise above -the other, draw a weapon from his girdle and plunge it -once, twice, thrice, into the breast of the other who was -struggling to lift himself from the ground. Instantly, -with a low, gurgling cry, the body fell back. And -Ahalya, peering like a mad-woman into the dusk at the -living man, whispered hoarsely:</p> - -<p>“Fidá—Fidá—is it thou?”</p> - -<p>And he, who was standing straight and still, his arms -hanging at his sides, answered quietly: “Yes, Ahalya. -I am here. I have killed him.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<small>THE SONG OF NARMÁDA</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>For a long time they stood there, in the stillness -of the night, looking at each other in a kind of -lethargy; while between them, on the ground, lay -the body of Ragunáth, gradually chilling, the blood -from its three wounds still running thinly down into -the pool beside it. Around and over all three of -them myriad fireflies fluttered, like stars of the -under-world, setting a ghastly glow over the ghastly -scene. Fidá’s heart was beating very faintly now. -He was obliged to breathe in little gasps. But he -was not thinking of this. His mind was groping. -He was still in a great darkness when Ahalya came -over to him, walking carefully to avoid the blood, -and laid both hands on his arm.</p> - -<p>“Let us go back to the palace,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>Fidá shook his head. “I think I shall not go back -to the palace. I think I shall go on,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“On! Whither?”</p> - -<p>“Up. Up to be judged.”</p> - -<p>“Fidá! Beloved! You will come with me.”</p> - -<p>But the man was not to be moved by her tone, which -was such a one as is used to a sick child. Possibly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> -Fidá was mad, or very near it; but it was a quiet -madness, and he was sure of his desires.</p> - -<p>“Alas, Ahalya, what wrong I have done thee! All -the wickedness that man can accomplish I have accomplished. -Wherefore I am going up before Allah. -But thou must not grieve for me, thou fairest of all -women. Thou knowest well that I was very near -the end. Most beautiful—most sweet—lotos-lidded, -fear not lest I should not take upon my soul the -double crime. Thou shalt be freed from all sin in -the eyes of Allah and Mohammed. It is the last joy -of love that I can perform for thee.”</p> - -<p>He spoke in a quiet, solemn tone that frightened -the woman inexpressibly. As he paused, she threw -herself before him, clasping his knees.</p> - -<p>“O my lord—O beloved of my heart—thou -Krishna—whither thou goest permit that I go also! -If thou art to appear before thy great god, suffer me -to remain at thy side. Spurn me not for that I am -a woman. Did I not vow to thee long since that, -since thou wast my true husband, I, thy faithful one, -would not suffer thee to die alone, but, performing -the suttee with mine own hand, would accompany -thy spirit to its blest abode? And I swear now by -the faithfulness of Radha, and by Lakshmi and Devi -and the divine Ushas, that, if thou goest forth alone -into the presence of the gods, I will surely follow -thee. Wherefore, thou, who hast loved me well, grant -me a last boon. Let me go forth and die with thee, -that we may be judged together, and, if thou lovest -me still, together endure our punishment.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> - -<p>“Consider thy words, Ahalya. Just now thou’rt -not thyself. Return to the palace and dwell there -quietly, and let peace come into thy heart. I absolve -thee from that old vow of love. There is no one -that could suspect thee of this murder. I have done -it; and this my absence will proclaim. Bhavani knows -nothing. He is now with Churi, and thou canst tell -the child what thou wilt. Return, then, to the house -of the Rajah, and forget—and forgive—my sins.”</p> - -<p>“Nay! Nay, nay, nay!” It was the first time -that either of their voices had been raised. “I will -not be absolved from my oath! I will not be left alone -to face the terrors of Kutashala Máli! Take me with -thee, else, by mine own hand, I die alone. Oh consider -the sweetness of death together! Consider the terror -of death alone!”</p> - -<p>“Again—I plead with thee!”</p> - -<p>“No, no. If thou diest, I also will die.”</p> - -<p>“But thou knowest, Ahalya, that I cannot live. Thou -knowest that to wait will mean either execution by -torture for the murder of a Brahman-Kshatriya, or a -long and agonizing death through my curse. And I, -coward-like, perhaps, choose here a swifter and more -merciful end. Yet, if thou wilt, I will return with -thee to the palace and wait there for what may come.”</p> - -<p>For an instant Ahalya considered. Then she answered: -“Nay, beloved, I will not have thee return to -the palace. Only take me with thee that I may not -die alone.”</p> - -<p>“And if I took thee with me? How should we die?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> - -<p>“What was it that thou wouldst have done, going -up alone?”</p> - -<p>“I have here the dagger that slew Ragunáth.”</p> - -<p>Ahalya shuddered. “Not that! Listen. Thou -knowest that by my people there are certain waters -held sacred to the gods, so that those that die in them -are cleansed of many sins. Such a stream is the broad -Narmáda, which to us is the little Gunga, the promised -sacred flood. Let us, then, under cover of night, go -down to the river and there, in the same moment, die -together—thou in my arms, I in thine.”</p> - -<p>Fidá reflected. “How shall we reach the river?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“I have heard that there is a way down the rocks of -the plateau at this end. When the plain is reached, it -is an easy walk to the river. By dawn we should be -there if—if only—thou hast the strength.”</p> - -<p>“I shall have the strength. Did I not slay this -man?” Fidá’s pride was touched; and perhaps, after -all, just this little, human vanity, decided them. “I -have the strength. But thou, most beautiful, canst -thou endure this long and painful journey now? -Faintest thou not for food? Will my arm be enough -to uphold thee by the way?”</p> - -<p>“If I fall, Fidá, thou shalt kill me where I lie and -thyself proceed. Nay, I shall not fail thee. Come. -Let us seek the path down the cliff.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment or two of delay while the knife -was plucked from the body of the dead man, and -Ahalya removed a part of her hampering drapery.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> -Then, after one solemn embrace, they started. It was -the time of the month when there was no moon; but -the stars, nowhere in the world more brilliant than -here, shed a faint, steady light over the quiet earth. -The descent of the great cliff was begun at a point -almost immediately behind the water-palace; and they -soon found themselves occupied enough to forget the -tragic circumstances of the journey, as they picked a -fearful and uncertain way from point to point, from -rock to rock, down, through the night, from high Mandu -to the plain. What chance it was that stayed their -destruction, they scarcely knew. But certainly it was -a miracle that, in the first five minutes, they were not -dashed headlong down the whole depth. Fidá’s knees -shook under him. Had it not been for Ahalya, he -would have ended all just here, swiftly. But, with an -effort that he felt to be the final summing up of all his -forces, he went on, the woman following uncomplainingly, -fleetly, silently. It lacked an hour to midnight -when they reached the plain, and, looking back and -up, wondered at what they had accomplished.</p> - -<p>Now they threw themselves upon the ground, for a -few moments of necessary recuperation. Ahalya was -drooping with sleep, which Fidá dared not permit her -to indulge. He realized, vaguely, that the unnatural -strength on which he was enduring must break soon; -and by the time it was gone, they must be at the river-bank—the -borderland of eternity. So, after a few -moments, he bent over her, whispering:</p> - -<p>“Up, beloved—up, and on! We must reach the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -river by dawn. There, my Ahalya, thou mayest sleep—we -may both sleep—long and undisturbed.”</p> - -<p>And Ahalya, heeding him in all things, rose and put -her hand in his, and they passed into the night again, -over the plain, toward the distant river.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dawn, white, mistlike, broke slowly upon the world, -over the plains of Dhár, where, to the south of the city, -two armies were encamped: one, that which guarded the -city walls, the joined forces of the Lords of Dhár and of -Mandu; the other, Omar el-Asra, with five thousand -Mohammedan warriors out of Delhi. In the earliest -dim shadow of daylight these two armies stirred, woke, -and swiftly prepared them for the day; till, when the -first shafts of the sun tipped the Indian spear-heads -with red fire, there rose from either line a low, deep -battle-cry,—from the Indian ranks the oath of the -gods: “May the bright bolts of Indra, the discus of -Vishnu, the lingam of Siva protect us to-day!” and from -the other side the cry that was echoing over all the -civilized world, from Granada to Benares, the great -shibboleth of conquest and carnage, before which the -earth bowed: “La-Ilaha-il-lal-laha!” “There is no god -but Allah!” a god of violence and death. And while -these shouts still echoed to the sky, the two lines began -a slow advance, till, ere they met, a great cloud of sun-bright -dust whirled up and around them, and the -haze of impending battle closed them in from mortal -sight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Light lifted itself also over the swift-flowing, holy -Narmáda, on the north bank of which stood the man -and the woman, hand in hand, silently watching the -coming of the day. They were exhausted with the -horror and the travail of the long night; but their -minds were now above the physical state. That no -longer mattered. Fidá stood staring at the slowly -lightening waters, his face fixed and very stern. -Ahalya also was still, leaning on the arm of her lover, -her eyes closed. She was not praying, nor did she -even think. Of what was there to think? The past -lay behind them, ended. Of the future there was -none. The present was painless. Like Fidá, she was -tacitly waiting for the first rays of the sun to mark -that spot in the water where It must come.</p> - -<p>Just before the first finger of gold was raised over -the Vindhyas, just before the armies in distant Dhár -began their advance, Fidá turned to Ahalya beside -him, and murmured, softly:</p> - -<p>“Beloved, it is too terrible for thee. I cannot let -thee die here, thus. See, it is cold, this mountain -water. It comes from far above.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Fidá. We are to go up together. Thou -hast promised it,” she replied quietly, her lips barely -moving.</p> - -<p>Fidá uttered a groan. “It is not I—it is not for -myself I falter. But thou—there is no sickness upon -thee—”</p> - -<p>“Look! look, beloved, it is the sun! See where it -makes a bed of gold upon the stream! Lift me up,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -Fidá—carry me out—carry me out and lay me -there—upon our golden bed.”</p> - -<p>She turned to him, and he, looking into her upraised -face, could urge no more. Lifting her, with a -last effort, gazing the while deep into her unrepentant -eyes, he sought for the last time her lips, and then—with -a setting of all his muscles—stepped forward -into the stream. The rush of water, even near the -shore, was very swift. It was scarce up to his waist, -no more than covering Ahalya’s ankles, when, suddenly, -he knew that he could not breast the current. -There was a second of agonized realization—a scream -from the woman as she was plunged into the icy flood. -Then came a moment’s struggle with the resistless, -irresistible force, which at one time covered the whirling -bodies and again exposed them to the air. Suddenly -Ahalya was swept into the arms of Fidá. With -the last instinct of life, the hold of each tightened about -the other. Then, in the tumult of the running river, -came a mighty stillness. The current might toss them -as it would. They were alone and one, and there was -for them a moment of indissoluble peace before they -were called up to answer for their deed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And now, upon the plain of Dhár, the battle-lines -had met, and were mingled in an inextricable mass. -Those watching from on high—Brahma, Vishnu, -Siva, and Allah—might, in the hideous mêlée, have -been able to distinguish one single combat, short, swift, -decisive. There, in the midst of the shouts, shrieks,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -and yells, encompassed by flashing weapons and life-streams -running red, two men, Omar el-Asra and Rai-Khizar-Pál -of Mandu, met together, fighting mace and -mace, and, later, sword and sword. One moment, only, -in that chaos of duels, did this endure. Then the -great Rajah, husband of Ahalya the beautiful, conqueror -of an Asra prince, plunged forward from his -saddle, his skull cloven in two by the keen blade of -the Mohammedan warrior.</p> - -<p>Thus, in that fair April morning, by devious ways, -four souls that had been closely bound in their earth-life, -went up and met together at the throne of the dread -judge:—Rai-Khizar-Pál, his sceptre laid down forever; -Ragunáth, his faithless minister, passion-spent at last; -and finally, still hand-in-hand, still unrepentant of their -love, Fidá of Yemen and the Ranee Ahalya, not now -flushed with the sweet rose-hue of her Iran.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II">BOOK II<br /> - -<small>SOUL-FIRE</small></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“‘... Yes, who am I? God wot!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How often have I prayed to Heaven to tell me!—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who am I, God?—But Heaven itself is mute.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet this I do know: whatsoe’er I be,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hero or weakling, demigod or beast,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I am the outcast child of the bright Sun</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That longs for home!—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A bundle of sorrow, weeping for the light</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That stretches out its radiant arms in vain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And yearns for me!’”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">—<span class="smcap">Gerhardt Hauptmann</span>, “The Sunken Bell,” Act V.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_Ib">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<small>THE SON OF GOKARNA</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was July; and in Bul-Ruknu, Vindhya-sheltered, -the rains were over. From now till September one -could but avoid the open sunlight and sleep as much as -the human system would permit. This afternoon the -heat poured blindly over the mud and bamboo village, -and even animals and children had deserted the streets -and sought shelter from the molten sky. One woman, -her head and body wrapped round in bright-colored -cotton, darted out of the close veranda of her own -dwelling and hurried swiftly down the street toward -the spot where, set a little off by itself, stood the -largest and best-built house in the town. Entering -the veranda of this she found seated there, on a pile of -straw cushions, her half-sister, Kota, wife of Gokarna, -the head-man, and at the same time, which was unusual, -chief priest of Siva, the village deity.</p> - -<p>Greetings passed between the two; and Kota, causing -her sister to sit beside her, clapped her hands for a -slave who presently appeared in the doorway, a timid, -unkempt girl of fifteen.</p> - -<p>“Bring us fruits, Jensa,” commanded her mistress. -Then, as the girl disappeared, she turned to Hilka:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -“’Tis six days since I have seen thee. Are thy gods -propitious?”</p> - -<p>“Yesterday, at sacrifice, the omens for the harvest -were bad. But Gokarna has told thee that. How -art thou?”</p> - -<p>Kota stirred a little, uncomfortably, and lifted her -languorous eyes to her sister’s face. Just then the -slave came back with custard-apples, early mangoes, -and pomegranates in a basket. Kota took them from -her, proffered the dish to her visitor, who accepted one of -the mangoes, and then, while both began to eat, Kota -said slowly: “I am not happy, my sister. My mind is -troubled. I am filled with melancholy and foreboding -concerning the child. I see many strange visions in -my sleep. The gods refuse me peace.”</p> - -<p>“Art thou thus, Kota? That is not right. Yes, I -can see thou art not well. Let Gokarna offer special -sacrifice for thee.”</p> - -<p>“He hath done so twice already since the <i>Pumsavana</i>. -But ah, Hilka, I cannot speak my heart to him. -It seems to me as if my thoughts were not my own. -They are put into my mind by evil spirits. I fear -them, and I fear the end. Alas, shall the soul of -this child be evil? I fear it! I fear it!” She spoke -with a nervous intensity that made a strong impression -upon Hilka, who knew well her sister’s lazy, thoughtless -temperament. It was the first time she had ever -perceived any strong feeling in her. Now she said -anxiously: “Go to Naka, at the end of the village, and -get a charm from him to ward off the <i>Devas</i>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> - -<p>“Hush! Gokarna is coming! Do not speak before -him of charms, or he would scold us both.”</p> - -<p>Hilka, who had been sitting with her back to the -street, turned hastily, as Kota’s husband appeared in -the veranda entrance:—a tall and austere-looking Brahman, -clad in a long, white garment. He came forward -at once to greet his wife, giving Hilka but a careless -recognition; for, to the head of the village, even his -wife’s relatives were scarcely worthy of attention from -him. And Hilka’s visit was brought to a sudden close; -for no woman of Bul-Ruknu would, from choice, have -stayed long in the proximity of the Priest of Siva.</p> - -<p>Kota bade her sister a quiet farewell, not asking her -to come again—rather taking that for granted. And -when the visitor was gone, she turned immediately to -her husband, who touched her on the forehead, answered -briefly her questions concerning the day’s auguries, -and presently left her and went into the house.</p> - -<p>Kota, knowing that it would be useless to follow him, -too dreary at heart to care whether or not he talked -with her, returned to her cushions and sat down again -to gaze off into space at the swirling, white heat-waves, -and to dream, vaguely, of days that had never been.</p> - -<p>For an Indian, Kota was a pretty woman, her eyes -being very large and soft, and her black hair, just now -woven with yellow champak flowers, thick and long. -She was seventeen years old, and had been married for -three years. Moreover, she had been born a Brahman, -and, in her married life, had been highly honored; for, -though until now she had been childless, her husband<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> -had not taken another wife. Above all, Gokarna’s -parents had died in his early youth; so that Kota, at -her marriage made mistress of the finest house in Bul-Ruknu, -had been also spared that terror and curse of -all young Indian women—the mother-in-law, whose -traditional duty it was to make the life of the young -wife one of perpetual misery.</p> - -<p>At the time of her marriage, the girl Kota had been -envied by every woman in the village. Later, despite -the unheard-of advantages of her position, she had not -been so much looked up to, for the reason that she was -childless. But, just now, her star was again in the -ascendant, since, in the winter, she was to present -Gokarna’s house with a much-prayed-for heir.</p> - -<p>In spite of the fact that she was to have what she -herself had most longed for, Kota, as she had just -explained to her sister, was not happy. Her mind was -in an abnormal state; and was seriously affected by the -slightest incident. Highly imaginative, like all her race, -she had always been more or less given to visions and -presentiments; though never so much as now. She would -sit for hours motionless, wrapped in unhappy dreams, or, -as the result of some slight accident, a prey to the keenest -forebodings of evil. These things she did not often -confide to her husband. Nor did she see enough of the -members of her own family to get much comfort from -them. Thus the naturally morbid state of her mind -was fostered and increased by her loneliness and her -secret broodings, till her nights were filled with terror, -and her days were of the length of years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<p>The hot months passed slowly; and when, after the -early harvest, the fall monsoon came on, Kota grew more -than ever listless and unhappy. Her time was now -much occupied, however, with religious ceremonial; -and, in this respect, probably no woman was ever better -cared for than Kota. The <i>Simontonnayana</i> was made -the occasion of a special festival, which was attended -by the whole village. According to the commands of -the Vedic ritual, the mother was magnificently dressed, -and adorned with gold and jewels. Gokarna sacrificed -a bull to Indra, the flesh of which, after an offering to -the gods, was partaken by everybody. Then the ceremony -of the parting of the hair was performed, and -texts were chanted by all the Brahmans. Only one -event marred the general gayety of the night. At -the end of the prescribed ceremony, and before the -beginning of the feast, Gokarna, following custom, bade -his wife sing the merry festival song: “Taza ba Taza”. -Kota, who had sat silent and solemn through the entire -ceremony, looked up at her husband pleadingly, then -opened her lips, uttered the first words of the song in a -hoarse and trembling tone, and suddenly burst into a -torrent of tears that no entreaty of her friends nor -stern command of her husband could still. This incident -was considered an evil omen; but, in the subsequent -feast and merrymaking, it was quickly forgotten -by all save the poor little mother herself.</p> - -<p>After this, Kota did not appear again in public. -Indeed, for the next two moons she spent her time -almost wholly on her bed, attended by Jensa, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -sometimes by Hilka, till, at length, January came. In -the last days, Gokarna suddenly became attentive, -nay, almost tender, to his wife. He was by nature -neither demonstrative nor affectionate. But the matter -of his child touched the dominating note of his nature:—pride. -And he could not but be interested in the -person who had power to present him with sons to whom -he could hand down his state and dignity. Gokarna -was inordinately anxious for a son. Though his dispassionate -nature rebelled bitterly at the thought, he -was determined that, should this child prove to be a -girl, he would take another wife. Meantime, however, -Kota was the object of his highest interest; and not a -little was she astonished when he left the conducting of -the full-moon sacrifices to an under-priest, that he -might stay beside her. He wished to talk with her of -the child. But Kota’s three years of wedded life had -not prepared her to confide her secret thoughts to her -husband, and he got surprisingly little from her on the -subject nearest both of them. His conclusion was that -she was like all women:—too stupid to think. But -had Kota chosen, she could have disclosed to him a -little wonder-world of motherhood that would have -opened his eyes anew to womankind. Melancholy she -had been. Now she was full of dread. Nevertheless, -the sacred love was in her; and, in her brighter hours, -she had given her child all the tenderness of hope, all -the ambitions and desires for its welfare, that her -stunted womanhood could conjure up. For the first -years of its life, at least, the baby would be her own to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> -love and to rule. Her heart would have something to -cling to. The dry dust of her existence was about -to put forth flowers and foliage at last. But of such -thoughts, and the joy in them, she could tell Gokarna -nothing, as he sat beside her mat-bed in mid-January -of that year 1207. He could only make ceaseless -inquiries as to her welfare; and, toward nightfall, he was -rewarded by her suddenly sitting up, and crying to him -to send at once for the low-caste nurse who was to -attend her in the coming hours.</p> - -<p>These hours were terrible enough, even to the emotionless -Gokarna. Religion forbade his remaining -with his wife, or allowing any but the woman of special -caste to behold her. All he could do was to sit in -the room next to that in which she lay, kindle a sacrificial -fire, repeat over it certain prescribed Vedic texts, -and listen anxiously to the sounds issuing from the -neighboring room. This lasted an unconscionable -time. Then, when the night was at its most solemn -ebb, the moaning and sobbing suddenly ceased, -and silence fell on the priest’s house. This stillness -was far more terrible than the noise had been. Gokarna’s -unemotional nature was stirred to its very -depths. Should he brave the Vedas—and go to her? -While he waited, straining his ears, a new sound came:—a -faint, baby wail that pierced the heart of the man -and caused him to start joyously to his feet. A moment -later the hanging before the doorway was pushed aside, -and the nurse appeared, holding in her arms the child, -wrapped in a piece of cotton cloth. For a second,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> -Gokarna stood still, choking with hope. Then he ran -forward, and put his hands on the tiny form:</p> - -<p>“Is it—is it a boy? Speak!” he said.</p> - -<p>The nurse answered not a word, but laid the child -in his arms.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Not until noon the next day did Gokarna enter the -room where his wife lay. Kota, on the bed, with the -baby beside her, started up as he entered. But the words -on her lips were stopped by his look.</p> - -<p>“In the name of the gods, Kota, I give greeting to -thee—and to my son. My son,” he repeated, slowly, -his eyes fixed upon the face of his wife, whose frightened -expression did not diminish. “And thou,” he -continued, turning to the nurse who stood at hand, listening -intently, “see that, on penalty of banishment, -thou prate to none concerning the matters of this -house. I am now come to perform the ceremony of the -breathing and the secret name. Therefore depart, -woman, from the room, nor return until I summon -thee.”</p> - -<p>The nurse, alarmed at his tone, made a hasty exit; -and Gokarna turned again to his wife. Nor did he say -another word on the subject nearest both their hearts. -Immediately he took the child from its mother’s arms, -at which it protested, with lusty voice, Kota watching -it the while with tenderest mother-eyes. Gokarna, -holding the child up before him, breathed three times -upon it, and murmured: “Draw in thy breath with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -<i>Rik</i>, breathe within the <i>Yagus</i>, breathe forth with the -<i>Saman</i>.”</p> - -<p>Then, handing the babe for a moment back to its -mother, he left the room, shortly returning with the -articles of daily sacrifice:—honey, melted butter, and -barley mixed together in a small earthen dish, in which -stood also a spoon of beaten silver. Placing these on -the floor beside the bed, he seated himself, took the -child again, and looked up to Kota. “The name,” he -said. “Find thou the omen for our name for him.”</p> - -<p>Kota stirred uneasily. “Hark!” she said, listening, -“what do they sing there without:—what song?”</p> - -<p>Somewhere in the village a chant was sounding, the -words as yet indistinct, but becoming gradually louder, -till a little procession passed Gokarna’s house, uttering -these words, over their heavy and sorrowful burden:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Call on Rama! Call to Rama!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, my Brothers, call on Rama!</div> - <div class="verse indent6">For this dead</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Whom we bring,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Call aloud to mighty Rama!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Rama!” echoed Kota, tremulously. “God of -death!—Alas! Alas! That is the omen.”</p> - -<p>“It is surely an evil omen that a funeral should pass -the house of the new-born. Yet Rama is a god. He -must be honored. Let the secret name of the child be -‘Ramasarman.’ There are the four, holy Brahmanic -syllables. ‘Ramasarman.’ Say it with me, Kota.”</p> - -<p>And the mother, with tears in her eyes and in her -voice, repeated with her husband the words that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -gave her first-born a secret name of death. And -when this ceremony was over, receiving the baby -once more into her arms, she wept over it, quietly and -persistently, throughout the afternoon.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IIb">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<small>OMAN THE CHILD</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was thus that the child of the head-man and high -priest of Bul-Ruknu entered the world and found his -place there. But his subsequent baby days did not -bear out the dreary omens of the first. The whole -town, and a throng of farmers from the rice-fields to -the north, were present at the ceremony of the public -christening of the child, who was named Oman, and was -thenceforward regarded by the village as their prospective -head and ruler. As such he became at once an -important little person, both in the community and in -his father’s house.</p> - -<p>Having been born a Brahman, Oman’s first year -was punctuated with ceremonies prescribed for every -minutest change in his little existence. In his sixth -month, at the first feeding with solid food, upon which -the character of his future career was supposed to -depend, he was given, not rice, to bring him splendor; -nor beef, to bring him power; nor fish, to bring him -swiftness; nor goat’s flesh, for a fine physique; but -a bit of white partridge breast, which is said to confer -upon a child the gift of mental purity. And from this -time on, every step in his education was for the purpose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -of making him a worthy successor to his ascetic father. -From his earliest babyhood he was trained in rigorous -ways of propriety and grave conduct. Much -speech, inarticulate or otherwise, was not sanctioned in -Gokarna’s presence; nor did the father sympathetically -regard the manufacture of mud-pies, or even the -jingling of Kota’s ankle-bells and bracelets. The -delights of babyhood were indulged in secret, at times -when Kota’s warm-hearted motherhood overcame the -unceasing dread of her husband; and she and the baby -found amusements that delighted them equally.</p> - -<p>During the first three years of his life, Oman certainly -gave no evidence of unusual characteristics. When he -was two, and his mother nineteen, a girl was born into -the family of the high priest, which fact, however, in -no way diminished Oman’s importance. He was now -at a delightful age; and even Gokarna sometimes fell -from dignity and allowed his son to drag himself to -his feet by aid of the paternal leg, and then, by means -of the same member, permitted himself to be urged -out to witness the antics of some badgered kitten, or -peep into the first home of half a dozen tumbling -puppies; which creatures the child never molested, but -would watch by the hour with solemn delight.</p> - -<p>In his third year, little Oman underwent the ceremony -of the <i>Kudakarman</i>, or tonsure, by which his rough and -tumbly black hair was clipped close to his head, and -thenceforth kept so:—a very comfortable bit of religion, -considering the climate of Bul-Ruknu. This concluded -the ceremonies of babyhood, and was the last he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -should have to undergo till the day of the great initiation, -or second birth, when he would become a true -Brahman, a student of the Vedas.</p> - -<p>This period, from his third to his eighth year, was -the happiest and freest of his life. He was now emancipated -from the close supervision of his mother, and -allowed to go forth alone to explore the wonders and -the glories of the town. All the simple and unfathomable -joys of childhood were there, awaiting his pleasure. -First of all were the children; for Bul-Ruknu -swarmed with them; and, boy and girl, Brahman or -Sudra, they were turned out to live in the streets till it -came time for them to take up the duties of life:—the -boys, from seven to twelve, to begin their Vedic studies -or their slavery; the girls, from ten to fourteen, to -marry. Little Oman, so far brought up to the most rigid -solitude, now entered the world, and found hordes of his -own kind awaiting him. Forthwith he offered himself -to them. They accepted him readily into their -numbers, and let him find his own place there. They -ranked him nowhere, for their spirit was entirely democratic. -They were the only species of Indian humanity -that did not, openly or secretly, recognize caste. With -them, it was not a Brahman who must lead, but the boy -who could fight best; it was not the girl of wealthiest -parents that was most popular, but she that had greatest -talent for making dolls out of straw and rags.</p> - -<p>Among his kind Oman did not make astonishing progress. -He proved gentle and quiet, and made friends, -in a mute sort of way, with those of his own age or a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> -little younger. He never attempted leadership. As -a matter of fact, such an idea did not occur to -him. But he was thoroughly intolerant of any sort -of ruling. The boy that tried to command his occupations, -he regarded with astonished disapproval, immediately -renouncing the acquaintance of the would-be -general. He never fought,—had, indeed, been known -to run away from the scene of a struggle, and hide himself -till it was over. Yet his spirit was not generally -considered cowardly. The result of this course was that, -gradually, Oman gathered around him a handful of little -folk like himself, among whom he always felt at liberty -to do what he liked. They were an odd little band. -Among them were no concerted plans of action, no organized -raids, hardly even general games. Each child, -occupied with some pursuit of his or her own, would -simply carry it on in the proximity of others, because -the feeling of companionship was pleasant. Oman, -indeed, after the first novelty of it had worn off, did -not always remain with his fellows. There were -many things that he found it eminently pleasant to -do alone. For him the town held ever fresh delights. -He knew every donkey that came to the weekly bazaar. -He was also on friendly terms with the troops of dogs, -the cats, and the chickens of his immediate neighborhood. -Animals liked him, and he returned their affection -with warm appreciation. Nor was he ever known -to harm, or even so much as startle, any living thing. -And this extreme gentleness was perhaps his most distinguishing -characteristic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> - -<p>In due time this child of high future approached his -eighth birthday, and, at that early age, entered upon the -rigorous life of the Snataka, or student of the Vedas. -The ceremony of second birth, investiture with the -sacred cord of the Brahman, was the most important -event of his life, since he was universally looked upon -as the successor of his father, the future high priest of -the village. The girdle of Menga grass was fastened -round his waist and the cord knotted over his left -shoulder. Into his hand they put a staff made of the -polished bilva wood prescribed for the Brahman student. -Aside from these things, and the single cotton -garment that he wore, all the possessions that had been -his in the world were supposed to belong to his teacher, -who was a priest under Gokarna, a man named Asvarman, -who had taken four pupils, of whom Oman was -the youngest.</p> - -<p>It was at this time of the first separation from her -oldest child that Kota brought into the world a new -son, who, for the time being, took up all her thoughts. -And from the hour of this boy’s birth, Oman’s prospects, -though he was unaware of the fact, assumed a -different aspect. His career depended now upon his -own abilities; for he was no longer indispensable to the -ambitions of his father.</p> - -<p>When a Hindoo boy begins his studentship, which -lasts for an indeterminate number of years, he is no -longer regarded as an inmate of his father’s house, but -is wholly under the supervision of his instructor, and -is supposed to beg his food and lodging from persons<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -charitably inclined. As a general rule, the boy still -eats at home; but his meals are given him not in the -name of relationship, but as a charity asked for the -sake of the gods. Beside this quasi-exile, Oman found -his life a very different matter from the former free -and comfortable existence. No longer could he call -a single hour of the day his own. His initiation as a -student had taken place in the early spring of the -year 1215, and was immediately followed by the great -<i>Sravana</i> festival for the planting of crops and the -<i>Adhya-Yopa-Karman</i>, or opening of the course of -study. His part in the religious ceremonies lasted for -a week, during which time there was much fasting and -little sleep. Then, on the new-moon day of the month -of March, began the routine that was to last, almost -unbroken, for five years.</p> - -<p>Every morning, between dawn and sunrise, Oman -and his three fellow-students assembled in the broad, -sandy square near the apology of a temple to Siva, and -there replenished the sacrificial fires, which were never -extinguished. When the blaze was high and the sun -had reached the horizon, Asvarman would make his -appearance, and, seating himself before a fire with his -face to the east, his pupils opposite him on the other -side of the blaze, would begin the morning recitation -of prayers—a dozen verses of the Rig-Veda, already -familiar to the boys. After this, the students were -instructed in Pâli texts, generally committing to heart -each sentence as it was read. At noon they were dismissed -to beg a meal in the village; and, early in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> -afternoon, they returned to continue their study, which -lasted till sunset, when the evening Agnihotra was performed -and they were dismissed for the night, burdened -with an endless list of rules which they must not -break on pain of penance. The only relief from this -monotonous existence came on Uposatha days:—days -of sacrifice to the new or the full moon; and certain -sacred festival days, when ceremonial took the place of -the usual study.</p> - -<p>In a year, by means of this persistent application, -the boys were able to read with tolerable fluency, -both in Pâli and in Sanscrit. But the rigor of their -labors was not lessened thereby. Rather, instruction -now took a severer turn; for, young as they were, the -little students were of Brahman birth, and, therefore, -entitled to the highest education. According to -the law, Asvarman now began to expound to these -pathetic children the doctrines of the three mystic philosophies:—the -Sankhya, the Vedanta, and the Yoga—speculations -of such profound abstraction and such absolute -intellectuality, that their effect on these childish -minds would have been amusing had it not been pitiable. -Solemnly, with his wide, unfathomable eyes fixed -on the dull orbs of the priest, Oman, now at the age of -nine, informed his master that Nature was created in -order that the world-soul might become united with -itself; that contemplation is the soul’s highest duty till -its time of liberation from material fetters; and that -only essence is infinite.</p> - -<p>Just how much of this found some sort of home in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> -the boy’s young mind, to reappear long years afterward -with new meaning attached to it, it were difficult to -say. Probably it was at this time, and through the -agency of those vast philosophisms, that Oman’s double -self began dimly to be shadowed forth. By the time -he was eleven, and had been for three years a Snataka, -he commenced in his own fashion to meditate, and, also -in his own fashion, to suffer. Much that had hitherto -lain dormant within him began to stir. He realized -that he could scarcely fathom his own state. There -seemed to lie within him two distinct natures: the one -strong, non-combative, but self-rebellious; the other -gentle, and weak, and shrinking. Until now he had -had no clear idea of this. He had been all things at -once. But the elements were beginning to resolve themselves. -He had moods, of longer or shorter duration, -during which one set of characteristics or the other -seemed to dominate him. Half the time he wondered -at himself angrily for his indecisiveness. The other -half he shrank from self-analysis, and from any effort -at study as well.</p> - -<p>Immersed as he was in a self-conflict which he believed -to be part of everybody’s ordinary life, his -attempts at understanding himself tinctured all his -thoughts, and his questions as to the philosophies and -their significance always bore a personal relation to -himself and his needs. Here he found not a little -assistance. But with the Vedas it was different. -There was nothing there to apply in any way to the -inner life. The formal ritual, the Sutras, the Mantras,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> -were all mere objective texts. And, gradually, as he -strove in vain to find in them something personal, their -meaningless intricacy impressed itself more and more -upon him.</p> - -<p>His life, at this time, was far from happy. He was -closely bound, even as to his thoughts; and he had -really no freedom. His state was almost constantly -one of melancholy; but he was subject to violently -changeable points of view; and, in his continual secret -analysis and meditation, he endured the first pangs of -loneliness. How strongly he felt all this, it would be -difficult to say. At the time, his existence seemed to -him overwhelming. Later on, he could remember it -with yearning, as holding a peace and a contentment -that would never come for him again.</p> - -<p>The years passed over the head of the boy, slowly -for him, swiftly for many around him; and when he -was thirteen years old, and had been for five years a -Snataka, a heavy sickness came, and he was taken -to the home of his father, to be cared for there. He -alone knew how, for many days, his body and his -mind were torn with strangest anguish. Dimly he -understood that the souls imprisoned in him were -struggling mightily to burst the bonds of flesh, and -free themselves. Finally came the evening that was -always most vivid in his memory.</p> - -<p>Toward sunset he was carried out into the vine-walled -veranda of the house; and he felt that people—two, -three, four—stood around him, looking upon him. -He heard murmurings and exclamations, which gradually<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> -melted away; and then only his father and mother -were there, standing on either side of him; and he felt -afraid, and wept, in misery.</p> - -<p>There, indeed, through the whole night, the man -and the woman who had brought him into the world -stood over him in the agony of the crisis, Kota shaken -with sobs of affliction, Gokarna stiff and straight, -hands clenched, skin damp with sweat. There the -father gave up his son, the priest renounced his hope -and his ambition. Lifting up his voice he prayed -Siva to take the life of Ramasarman; and this prayer -the child, and the mother of the child, dumbly echoed -in their hearts. Yet, in the clear, red light of dawn, -the agony left Oman’s body, and his mind, exhausted -with a weight too terrible to bear, grew gradually -quieter. Kota and Gokarna, knowing nothing more to -do, spent with weariness and emotion, returned together -in silence into the house, leaving Oman alone in the -half-light of early day.</p> - -<p>The child’s first sensation was one of extreme -peace. Pain had left him; and the eyes, half curious, -half horrified, that had watched him through the night, -were gone. The early air came fresh and sweet to -his dry lips; and it seemed to act on him as a powerful -narcotic. He grew languorous and drowsy. The -spirit within him was still; yet, somewhere, there was a -tension. He could not quite give himself up to insensibility. -Was it habit:—the old sense of rising at this -hour to prepare the sacrifice? Not that. The Vedic -ritual, and all its infinite detail, lay quite outside his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> -path just now. No; it was rather a curious sense of -expectation, of waiting for something to come—what, -he neither knew nor asked. But the waiting was not -long. From out of that clear, vermilion dawn-light, -came flying a tiny, gray bird,—Spirit-bird, Hindoos -call it,—slender-necked, clean-winged. This, hovering -for an instant about the entrance to the veranda, darted -suddenly in and plunged, quivering, into Oman’s -breast.</p> - -<p>The boy gave a faint cry—expressive of unutterable -things—and laid his two hands with greatest gentleness -upon the soft feathers, caressing the creature, -and uttering to it little, inarticulate sounds. With -the coming of this bird it was as if his being was -suddenly complete. Now, for the moment, happy with -a happiness that is beyond mortals, still clasping to his -breast the feathered thing, which, under his touch, lay -perfectly still, he closed his hot and aching eyes and -slept.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IIIb">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<small>HIS SOLITUDE</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>When Oman woke, the sun was high in the heavens, -and the bird had gone. During his sleep some one—his -mother, doubtless—had covered him with a pliable -mat, and had placed something soft under his head. -Full consciousness returned by degrees. A sense of -physical discomfort was the first thing he knew. Then -came a faint memory of what had happened before the -dawn. Sunrise and the bird were inextricably mingled -in his mind. In his heart he believed that the bird and -the peace it brought had been a dream. Now that he -was fully awake, there was no peace. He was hot with -fever; and soon his body began to ache again, with a -dull, numb pain that was hard to bear in silence. -Moreover, he panted for water. It was not long, however, -before Kota came out into the veranda, her little -boy clinging to her skirts and retarding her progress. -Disengaging the child, who fell backward disconsolately, -she bent over the sick one, felt the burning of -his hands and head, drew from him confession of his -pain and also of his hunger and thirst, and at once -retired into the house, to return in a few moments -with a bowl of millet and milk. She found the baby<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -sitting beside Oman, who was talking to it in his -mellow, gentle voice. Kota hastily set the bowl upon -the ground, picked up the baby, carried him inside, -and, on coming back once more, found Oman lying on -his face, shaken with sobs; nor could she, for a long -time, persuade him to turn his face to the light and -take the nourishment he needed.</p> - -<p>Despite his mother’s furtively loving care, and the -cessation of his exacting duties, Oman did not grow -better of his sickness. Instead, his fever increased -till delirium came, and for days he was out of his -mind. In his times of pain he would become violent, -screaming and struggling when any one approached -him. He talked much. Snatches of Vedic text, old -Sutras and Mantras, philosophical premises, and suggestions -of his own self-struggle were jumbled together -in wildest chaos. Gokarna, dreading to have a woman’s -ears hear the holy words that are forbidden to women, -dreading still more the alternative of a masculine Sudra -nurse, sure to carry gossip, had Oman carefully guarded -and tended within the house. In his heart, the father, -bitter with grief and worse than grief at the outcome -of Oman’s student-life, repeated many times his prayer -for the child’s death; and had he been in a state to -realize anything, Oman would have echoed that prayer -with all his heart.</p> - -<p>Desire, however, was vain. For four weeks Oman -lay fever-stricken, and then, suddenly, began to convalesce, -and in a fortnight more was about as usual. -Spring was now nearly gone, and summer, with its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -murderous heat, upon the town again. The crops -were up, and the business of irrigation begun in the -fields; for all the luxuriant foliage of the wild was -withered and dry, parched for the rains that were not -yet to come for a month or more. Among the townsfolk, -in the evening, the great subject of gossip was -always: “The Child of Gokarna—called Oman.” “He -has given up the life of the Snataka.” “No more does -he study the sacred books.” “Yet the ceremony of -the cessation of study has not taken place.” “Ah, yes, -something is wrong. It is very strange.”</p> - -<p>Oman still wore the sacred cord of the Brahman. -How should he, knowing so much of the holy Vedas, -remove it? But he moved through his native town a -wanderer, an outcast, addressing none of the townspeople, -who would scarcely have answered him for fear -of defiling their caste. How this situation had come -about, Oman could not have told. It had been a -gradual and natural growth. During his convalescence -it had occurred to him that his father and -mother were ashamed of him. This idea he tested in -various ways, and found it to be true. Up to that -time he had been ashamed of himself: furiously, bitterly -rebellious concerning his weakness. But now, at -once, the spirit of self-protection rose hot within him. -Others, his own parents, were ashamed of him. Should -he turn against himself? Never. The masculine instinct -of self-defence turned inward toward that other -timid, shrinking nature that he longed so to conceal. -And when, at length, he was about again, his parents<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -found him wrapped in an impenetrable mantle of—was -it pride?—was it stupidity?—was it temper?—arrogance? -He was unapproachable and unsociable. -He took not the slightest notice of those around him, -never speaking of his own accord, and doing his best to -prevent the address of others.</p> - -<p>Gokarna held many periods of self-communion with -himself as to his duty toward this child, and especially -about the matter of the sacred cord. But time passed, -and no special action was taken. Oman seemed to -have marked out his life for himself; and the father, -bewildered, let him pursue the course he would, and -finally ceased to torment himself with questions.</p> - -<p>Through the rainy season, Oman spent most of his -time close to his father’s house. There was a place -for him there, such as it was, where he was never molested. -In the first weeks of his recovery, his over-worked -mind found some delight in simple freedom -from burdensome tasks. Idleness, silence, absence of -rules and binding regulations, were sweet to him. He -had the true Hindoo faculty for dreams, and would sit -for hours lost in contemplation of unknowable and -unfathomable things. Little objects—the bluish curl -of smoke over a house-roof, the distant, flickering flame -of sacrificial fires at dusk, a flight of heron toward the -southern hills, the notes of the bulbul or the koïl—such -things brought him infinite pleasure, and formed subjects -for long contemplation. These were the periods -when his mind was freest from its burden. But there -were hours—days—weeks, when the world gave<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> -nothing to him; when melancholy held him for her -own. At these times life seemed a burden too terrible -for any mortal, and the continuance of such suffering -as his, a thing beyond the endurance of spirits of the -blessed.</p> - -<p>When the rains were over, and August came in, -Oman began to spend much time wandering through -the countryside, returning to the village only to eat -and sleep:—sometimes not that. The country around -Bul-Ruknu was broken, fertile, and unusually picturesque -for India. To the east and southeast, at a -distance of three or four miles, rose the northernmost -hills of the Vindhya range, which extended thence, -southward, to the Narmáda plain, fifty miles away. -To the north and west were stretches of fertile fields, -fringed with woods, and watered by a little stream fed -by mountain brooks and springs, that went meandering -through bottom-lands, and was used by farmers for -purposes of irrigation. Very early in the course of his -wanderings, Oman came upon this little river. During -his childhood he had exhibited the curious trait of -marked aversion to running water; but he found now -that the old dread of it lingered only in a half-fascinating -fear lest some day, out of very wantonness, he -should plunge into the little stream and resistlessly let -himself be overwhelmed in its lucent depths. This -fascination did not diminish with time. He loved to -explore its windings through the countryside, and -follow it up a little way into its mountain fastnesses. -In the hills, one day, he came upon a shadowy glade,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -turfed with kusa-grass and canopied with a giant banyan -grove, a tree of a hundred trunks, that overspread -two acres of ground. Here, in the green twilight, in a -spot to which human beings never penetrated, Oman -found his haven:—a haven of solitude where, for three -or four years, he spent the greater part of his time.</p> - -<p>Of the struggles, the wretched inward conflicts of -this isolated mortal developing alone, unaided, avoided -by humankind, it were terrible to speak. Physical -maturity had come before the mental; and it was here, -in this scene of lonely beauty, that he passed through -the first, fierce stages of the new awakening. He was -most miserably human; and all the faults of humanity -raged within him, unrestrained and uncomprehended. -He yearned constantly for that of which he could know -nothing; and, helpless and half-mad, he was tossed -upon a sea of morbid and lonely imaginings. At such -times, the fact that he was an outcast seemed to him -hideous and impossible. Rebelling, he would rise up -and curse himself and the God of his creation. Then, -when he had spent himself in tragical invective, the -other side of him would take possession of his mind, -and he would melt into tremulous weeping: weeping -so piteous, so forlorn, that it would have melted -the heart of any woman hearing it. Again, Oman was -filled with a gentle and eager desire for something on -which to expend affection:—a dog, a kitten, a bird,—any -living thing that would accept his love. But -nothing came to him. It seemed as if the very beasts -avoided his haunts. A few apes were occasionally seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -within the banyan grove; but no other living thing -passed through there, nor even a snake slept in the -shadow of its stones. Yet the hills beyond were alive -with wild creatures. By night lions cried through the -great darkness. Immense troops of monkeys chattered -in the trees. Both the tiger and the bear dwelt in the -ravines; and the buffalo and antelope found pasturage -on sunny hillsides. The steepest crags were the resort -of myriad wild goats, and birds of all kinds winged -their way over the heights and found their nests by -hundreds in the jungle trees. But in the midst of all -this wild, free life, Oman dwelt alone, unsought, lost in -the wilderness of his solitude.</p> - -<p>How, through three long years, he managed so to -occupy his mind as to keep at bay the madness that -besets the absolutely solitary, he himself knew best. -Probably the first months seemed longest. The hours -were dismissed, one by one, while he busied himself -over little things; for, at his age, he was not able -to create a systematic pursuit. His mind worked -in unaccustomed spheres, conning, vaguely and indefinitely, -problems that put him at a more or less -safe distance from himself. In time, the atmosphere -of the deep banyan shade, with the near tinkling -and flashing of the brook, and the dim, greenish sunlight -that slipped through the interwoven foliage, -became so beautifully familiar that it was home to -him. He bathed and floated in the chilly water, and -afterwards kindled a sacrificial fire and sat before -it on his knees, delighting in the high-leaping flames,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -feeling that the play of the two elements satisfied his -bent of mind. And during this time, by unconscious -cerebration, what Oman had learned in his five years -of studentship, all that mass of inert, half-decayed -knowledge, concentrated into living truths that fixed -themselves firmly in his brain and lay waiting to be -used. Something further still came out of the solitude:—a -self-dependence, a strength, and a fortitude -without which, at a later period, he could not have -lived.</p> - -<p>Thus, until his sixteenth year, Oman spent his days. -Then a change came upon him, and he felt this life -unendurable. Insensibly, a scene from one of the old, -heroic epics that he had read in his student days, came -to him, fastened itself in his mind, and would not -be dislodged. It was the picture of the “Sinner’s -Road”, described with ghastly vividness by a long-dead -writer:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A burning forest shut the roadside in</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On either hand; and mid its crackling boughs</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Perched ghastly birds—or flapped among the flames—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Vultures and kites and crows, with brazen plumes</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And beaks of iron; and these grisly fowl</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Screamed to the shrieks of Prets, lean, famished ghosts,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Featureless, eyeless, having pin-point mouths</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That hungered, but were never full.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Here, in the land where these dim spirits dwelt, -Oman, in perilous despair, beheld himself. He must -die as he had lived, and live in death as he had lived -in life—miserable, desolate, desperate, without hope of -betterment. And then, as the days scourged him, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> -was finally driven to take a stand, for sanity’s sake. -Thus, one noontide, he girded himself up and returned -to Bul-Ruknu, and there, within his father’s house, -sought an interview with Gokarna.</p> - -<p>It was a long and solemn talk. Since the days of his -sickness, three years before, Oman and his father had -spoken scarcely a dozen words together. True, he -usually slept at home, and his mother always left him -food for the day in a corner of the veranda. But he -was not of his family. In the village he had come to -be looked on as a recluse, almost a hermit; and as such -was in some measure respected. Now, however, Oman -had come to demand one of two things: speedy death, -or a place in the world. Gokarna was taken aback, -demurred, finally offered his son a menial position -among the priests, which Oman straightway refused.</p> - -<p>“My brain is sick of religion and the gods. My -power of worship is spent. Let me work.”</p> - -<p>“Work! You are a Brahman.”</p> - -<p>“Thou knowest I am not—cannot be.”</p> - -<p>Gokarna glared at him, and muttered some sort of -insult; whereupon Oman rose and left his father, and -within twelve hours apprenticed himself to a weaver in -the town, thereby renouncing caste and becoming one -of the Vaisyas, the lowest order to whom was granted -the right of re-birth and investiture with the sacred -cord. Yet, in the village, Oman was now regarded as a -privileged being; and, after a week of banishment from -his home, during which time he worked steadily and -well, Kota went to him, and begged him to return to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> -his father’s house, to sleep and eat as he had been wont -to do; and when Gokarna sent a message to the same -effect, Oman, for his mother’s sake, consented, and -resumed the old relations with his people. He could -not, of course, eat in their presence, nor sleep in the -same room with one of them, nor take part in the Agnihotra. -But at night he was there, in the veranda, as -of old; and the heart of his mother was at peace.</p> - -<p>Now, in the endless sunshine, Oman Ramasarman -worked at his trade: first combing and carding the -wool, later dyeing it, then learning how to mix the different -threads for warp and woof, and finally sitting -down to the loom, where, under his skilful manipulation, -the cloth was turned off, smooth and strong and -useful. And now, at last, Oman’s thoughts were taken -from himself, and he was like a busy child, playing at -work, working at play, till two swift years had rolled -round again, and it was the spring of the year 1224, -with Oman in his eighteenth year of expiative life.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IVb">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<small>HUSHKA IN THE MARKET-PLACE</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was spring. The Sravana sacrifices were over. -Farmers had finished their planting, and the world ran -with life. As yet, there was no presage of summer -heat. The nights were cool, and the mornings soft as -in winter. But the new foliage was delicately bright, -and more tender flowers had come to join the perpetual -blossoms. Almond and apricot trees were in bloom; -and the breeze was perfumed with orchard breaths. -The mongoose and the turtle began their rovings. -There was an air of love and liberty in all things; and -the heart of Oman was filled with suppressed yearning. -He worked as steadily as usual; but his thoughts went -wandering. For the first time since the day he had -left the banyan grove, he desired solitude. But it was -solitude in a new form. He felt in him the longing to -wander, to roam the land, to penetrate distant places -that he had heard of:—great cities and fair plains, -where historic men had dwelt.</p> - -<p>Gradually he fell into the habit of dreaming over -this new ambition; and by degrees strange pictures -rose up before him:—pictures of places that he had -seen and known, somewhere, somehow, perhaps only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -as myths in an epic, perhaps actually, in an old life. -And with these pictures was always the unattainable—a -golden thread, running in and out of all his dreams: -the thought of that which he already had perceived to -soften the whole world,—love—the love of man for -woman, the love of woman for man. And dangerous -as this brooding was, it grew so dear to him that he -could not relinquish it, but cherished it, secretly, as a -gift from the high gods.</p> - -<p>There came an evening when he betrayed his -thoughts, involuntarily, resistlessly, to the one being -in the world who would try to understand them. And -forever after he rejoiced that he had done so. He -was sitting alone in the veranda of Gokarna’s house, -waiting for his meal of millet-cakes and milk, which -Kota presently brought. Then, when she had laid it -before him, she walked slowly over to the veranda -entrance and seated herself there, and looked off upon -the swift-falling dusk. In the misty radiance of the -sunset, still more under the spell of the rising night, -spangled with white stars, the little village of mud -and straw lost its marks of poverty and squalor, and -was softened into a dream-city, of ineffable delicacy. -As they sat looking out upon it now, the -thoughts of mother and son were alike, except that -Oman was regretting what he could never have, and -Kota that which had not been given her, for Gokarna -was not such a man as the springtime loves. But -mother and son felt a sympathy with each other, and, -under this sense, the nature of each expanded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> - -<p>“Ah, it is one of Krishna’s nights,” murmured Kota, -dreamily.</p> - -<p>For answer, Oman sighed; and the sigh came from -his soul.</p> - -<p>Kota turned and looked at the young man. -Hitherto, Oman’s heart had been strange to her; she -had never thought of questioning the workings of his -brain. Now, suddenly, his humanity was apparent; -and her heart went out to his human sorrow as she -asked, gently: “Dost thou mourn, Oman?”</p> - -<p>Oman, for whom no human voice had ever taken -on this tone, felt a throb of gratitude. But he answered: -“I do not mourn, mother. I do not mourn. -And yet it is the time of love; and for me there is no -love.”</p> - -<p>Though caste forbade it, she went over and sat down -at his side, and took his two hands in hers. “Thinkest -thou there is none to love thee?” she asked, tenderly.</p> - -<p>Oman’s head drooped to his knees; and, resting it -there, he let some part of his sorrow find expression for -the woman, and her tears rained down with his, while, -forgetting all but her motherhood, she clasped him to -her heart.</p> - -<p>After Oman’s emotion had spent itself, and he had -become quiet, Kota remained at his side, and together -they looked off upon the village, over which the half-grown -moon was now shedding a bluish silver light. -The two sat silent, watching, till the moon was past -mid-heaven, and halfway down the sky. Gokarna -had not returned. He would evidently sleep that night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -with the snatakas and priests in the square of sacrifice. -But at last Kota, rising reluctantly, left the night -behind, and sought her rest in the house, while Oman -lay down in his accustomed corner of the veranda, and, -after a little, slept.</p> - -<p>When he opened his eyes again, the sun was nearly -in mid-sky. He would unquestionably get a beating -from the master weaver, when he reached his loom. -However, it must be faced; and, without pausing for -food, he rose, thinking to make his ablutions at a fountain -on the way. Reaching the veranda step, however, -he paused. A man was standing there, silently: a -man clad in mud-stained yellow robes, holding in his -hand a wooden bowl. Oman looked at him with some -curiosity. A century or two before, such men had -overrun all India. Now, so rarely was one seen that -he was an object of interest to every beholder. In the -days when the wild Brahmanic leader, Kumarila Bhatta, -had raised his brethren against the Buddhists, it had -been death to this man to stand thus at a Brahman’s -door; for, unquestionably, he was a Bhikkhu, a Buddhist -mendicant monk, come out of Bágh, the one -remaining stronghold of Buddhism in Malwa, one of -the few left in all India. And the man stood here, -quite still, silently asking alms. Pity and curiosity -were nowadays the only sentiments with which even -Brahmans regarded these harmless men. And Oman, -after a moment’s halt, would have hurried on, but that -he caught the expression in the wanderer’s eyes, and -paused to look again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> - -<p>Certainly it was a remarkable face. The eyes were -very large, and dark, and long-lashed; and the look -in them was such as one finds in oxen. The man’s -body was lean to emaciation; but his face, owing to the -round-cut hair, had more or less of a full appearance. -His robes—which he wore in the regular Buddhist -manner, over the left shoulder, under the right, and -reaching to the heels,—were well worn, as were his -sandals, and the knotty, wooden staff in his hand. On -his back was a small bundle, fastened with a rope; and -this, with an alms-bowl, completed his equipment for -the eight months’ yearly pilgrimage prescribed for -every Bhikkhu.</p> - -<p>When his swift scrutiny was ended, Oman, following -a sudden impulse, went a little closer to the man, and -said, gently: “Peace to your heart, reverend sir. Let -me fill your bowl with food.”</p> - -<p>The Bhikkhu bowed, and silently handed his dish to -the young man, regarding him the while with grave -scrutiny. Oman carried the bowl inside, and requested -his mother to fill it with whatever was at hand. Kota, -decidedly taken aback, complied with the request, -albeit it was the first Buddhist bowl ever filled in that -Brahman household. Kota prepared a dish for her son -at the same time; and Oman carried them both outside. -The monk received his with humble thanks; and, -squatting on the ground where he was, without prayer -or ceremony began his meal. Oman watched him for -a moment, and concluded that, since he was already -half a day late, another hour would make little difference.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> -So he sat down at some distance from the -stranger, and himself began to eat. They finished at -the same time, and, rising, faced each other inquiringly. -This time it was the monk who spoke.</p> - -<p>“For thine alms, I give thee thanks. One favor more -I will ask of thee. Tell me in what direction lies the -bazaar; for thither I must go to preach Dharma<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> to -the people.”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Dharma: Truth, the Word, the Law.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“O Bhikkhu, on my way to work I shall pass through -the bazaar. If you will walk with me, I will lead you -thither.”</p> - -<p>The monk looked astonished at this civility, but -agreed at once to the proposal; and, Oman having left -his dish on the veranda, they started down the winding -street in the direction of the market-place. As they -went, they talked, scatteringly, and Oman found himself -listening with delight to the low, mellow tones of -his companion’s voice. The Bhikkhu’s name, he found, -was Hushka. He was now returning from his pilgrimage -and on his way to Bágh, where he was to -spend the summer months, the Yassa season, in one of -the Viharas there.</p> - -<p>When they reached the bazaar, they found in it a busy -throng of men and women, buying, selling, shouting, -laughing, wrangling, gossiping together, each contributing -in some way to the general tumult. Oman wondered -not a little how his companion was going to obtain hearing -here. Hushka, however, appeared as untroubled -as if he had mounted a platform before a respectfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> -attentive multitude; and Oman, interested in the prospect, -still lingered, watching his chance acquaintance.</p> - -<p>First, the Bhikkhu reminded Oman of his own personal -neglect, by going to the fountain in the middle -of the square, and carefully washing out his alms-bowl. -When it was cleaned and dried, he still stood, resting -one hand upon the stone, looking thoughtfully around -him. One or two people, passing, caught his eye, and -halted, uncertainly. Then three or four middle-aged -and old men drew out of the throng and stood still, -close at hand. They were those that had a curiosity -concerning the dying faith: perhaps even, in their -secret hearts, leaned a little toward it; and usually -availed themselves of each rare opportunity of listening -to the Dharma.</p> - -<p>Having now before him the nucleus of an audience, -Hushka faced them, his back to the fountain. Absently -he stuck his flat bowl into the pouch depending from -his leathern girdle, fixing his eyes, the while, upon -Oman, who, fascinated by the man’s simplicity, still -stood, apart from the others, watching and waiting. -And now the Buddhist lifted both hands, clasped them -high before him, and repeated, in tones of greatest -reverence, the Buddhist profession of faith, with which -all mendicant preachers were accustomed to begin -their discourse:</p> - -<p>“‘Of all things proceeding from cause, their causes -hath the Tathagata (Buddha) explained. The great -Sramana (Buddha) hath likewise explained the causes -of the cessation of existence.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> - -<p>At these words, spoken in a low, melodious, monotonous -voice, addressed, not to the people, but, apparently, -to Heaven, Oman, unconscious of himself, took -a step nearer to the speaker. After a slight pause, -Hushka, now removing his eyes from Oman’s face and -using them at discretion, began his sermon, choosing language -that was clear and simple, using figures calculated -to appeal to the people, carrying his hearers with him by -means of his own personal magnetism, which was never -at so high a pitch as when he was engaged in this kind -of speaking. Gradually, his audience increased in -numbers. The little group of half a dozen became -twelve, and then twenty, and then forty, till the clamor -in the market-place was strangely diminished, and -buyers and sellers alike stood still before the power of -this wanderer of alien and dying faith, surnamed, by -his brethren of the Vihara, “honey-throated”, and -“golden-tongued”.</p> - -<p>And this was the nature of his address; these the -words that he spoke:</p> - -<p>“Have you considered, O people, how all that we are -is the result of what we have thought? Our life is -founded on our thoughts, made up of our thoughts. -If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain -follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of the ox -that draws the vehicle.</p> - -<p>“‘I am abused, miserable, receive not my due in -the world.’ For him who constantly harbors such -thoughts, there is unending discontent. But for him -who reflects: ‘I am happy in living, for the world is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> -spot of joy and beauty,’ discontent will cease forever. -And so, also, hatred will never cease by hatred. Hatred -ceases through love. This is an old rule. Again, he -who lives seeking pleasures only, his senses unbridled, -his nature through indulgence growing idle and weak, -him will Mara (the tempter) overthrow, as the wind -blows down a rotten tree. But for him who lives to -labor and to love his fellows, his senses controlled, his -appetites moderate, faithful and strong in his work, -him Mara can no more overthrow than the wind blows -down a rocky mountain-peak.</p> - -<p>“Now I declare to you that truth is an image clearly -to be seen only by the pure in heart. And those that -follow vain desires, imagine that truth is untruth and -see untruth in truth, and never arrive at truth. But -those whose aims are high, whose minds are unpolluted -with vanity, are able to distinguish between the false -and the true, and delight in truth. Therefore follow -not after vanity nor the enjoyment of lusts; for when -ye have known truth for yourselves, therein will ye -find great joy.</p> - -<p>“Earnestness and meditation bring in their train -serenity and happiness. By earnestness did Indra -rise to the lordship of the gods. And he who delights -in sincerity, who looks with fear upon hypocrisy, moves -about like fire, burning all his fetters; and he that has -conquered himself by reflection, is close upon Nirvana.</p> - -<p>“I would speak with you also concerning the tyranny -of passion. For as rain breaks through an ill-thatched -house, so passion breaks through the unfortified mind.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> -Therefore it is necessary carefully to train the mind, -which is difficult to check and constantly rebellious, -rushing where it listeth. Yet, only a trained mind will -bring happiness. Let the wise man guard his thoughts, -lest the torrent of passion, rushing upon him, overwhelm -him in its depths. The mind travels far, moves -about alone, without a body; and, to be freed from -Mara, must often hide in the chamber of the heart. -But so long as man is under the bondage of passion, so -long is he exposed to the persuasions of Mara. And -so long as the desire of man toward woman, even the -smallest, is not destroyed, so long is his mind in bondage. -Thou shalt also cut out the love of thyself with -thine own hand; for it is the greatest tree in the forest -of dangers. From its root springs desire. Its foliage -is wanton. From lust spring fear and grief; but he -who is free from lust knows not grief nor fear. Yet no -man can free another from these things. As by one’s -self the evil is done, so by one’s self is one purified. Is -the struggle long? Is it lonely? Is it exceedingly -difficult? Fear not. By such measures only is serenity -attained. Well-makers lead the water where they -will. Fletchers bend the arrow; carpenters split a log -of wood; but a good man doeth the greatest thing of -all, for he can fashion himself.”</p> - -<p>Hushka concluded his discourse quietly, with a -benign smile flickering from his eyes and just touching -his lips. The holy law that he preached to men -never failed to affect himself, and to uplift him. And -this, probably, was the secret of his power. Certainly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> -if it took some courage nowadays to preach the word of -the Buddha in India, the preacher found his reward; -for his audiences were held fairly spellbound during -the ten or fifteen minutes of the discourse; and, under -the magic smoothness of the golden voice, the disjointed -nature of his preachment had passed unnoticed. -After a moment or two of silence, more complimentary -than any applause, the little throng began to break up, -and, five minutes later, the noise of the market-place -was as deafening as before. The Bhikkhu, his work -here finished, was turning to depart, when he perceived -his companion of the noontide still standing near, -apparently watching a chance to speak to him again. -Hushka gazed at him inquiringly, and Oman came up, -but stood silent and a little confused before him.</p> - -<p>“Is there any service that I can perform for thee?” -asked Hushka, after regarding him for a moment -attentively.</p> - -<p>Oman again gazed deep into the large, gentle eyes; -and with the look, a thrill of joy ran through him. -“Tell me, if you will, O Bhikkhu, if your order practises -this Dharma? Are all Buddhist brethren free -from desire and from the pain of discontent?”</p> - -<p>“It is our endeavor thus to free ourselves. We follow -the teachings of the great Master.”</p> - -<p>“Sramana-Gautama?”</p> - -<p>The Bhikkhu bowed his head.</p> - -<p>“There are many Jainists that come here, saying -that they also worship the Buddha truly—”</p> - -<p>“Jainists! Hypocrites!” for an instant, Hushka’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> -eyes flashed fire; but he pressed his lips tightly together, -and when he spoke again it was quite calmly: -“The Jainists are false Buddhists. The world has -been sadly overrun with hypocrisy; and they have been -its devotees. They do not follow Buddha, but Buddhaghosa; -and their law is not our law, for they do not -possess the manuscripts of truth.”</p> - -<p>Oman nodded, and there was a pause. Then the -youth, his heart beating rapidly, his throat quite dry, -asked: “What is required of those that would join -your order?”</p> - -<p>Hushka looked at him penetratingly, and said: -“Come. Let us proceed out of ear-shot of this tumult, -where we may talk together in peace.”</p> - -<p>Willingly Oman complied; nor did either speak again -till they were in one of the least frequented of the -village streets. Even then, Oman hesitated to begin. -He was in such an inward turmoil that he could not -think of words in which to express himself. After a -little waiting, Hushka spoke for him:</p> - -<p>“You have asked me, young man, what is required -of one that wishes to join our order. I answer you -that nothing is required save the wish.”</p> - -<p>“But Sudras—outcasts—the once-born—do you -accept these into the brotherhood?”</p> - -<p>“In the eyes of the Sramana, any man and any -woman may attain to Arahatship.”</p> - -<p>“Women! Then there is no caste among you?”</p> - -<p>“Thus it is written in one of our sacred books: ‘A -man does not become a Brahmana by his family or by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> -his birth. In whom there is truth and righteousness, he -is blessed, he is a Brahmana.’”</p> - -<p>It was the first time that Oman had dreamed of such -a thing as a social order without caste; and the idea -was so overwhelming that for some moments he was -silent out of sheer amazement. All his preconceived -notions went whirling in his head while he strove to -adjust himself to this. Never, until this Bhikkhu had -spoken in the market-place, had he had any idea of a religion -built solely for the help of human frailty, and for -the consolation of human sorrow. Now, what a vista -was suddenly opened before him! Small wonder that -he shut his eyes to the first radiant flood of light. -That he could see anything at all of the possibilities -carried in Hushka’s words, was due to the fact of his -three years of bitter solitude and lonely meditation. -After a few moments, during which Hushka kept a -wise silence, Oman asked slowly, with a trembling that -betrayed itself on his very lips:</p> - -<p>“Could—a weaver—a Vaisya—become one of -you? Could I become a Bhikkhu?”</p> - -<p>“Art thou a weaver? I had thought thee Brahman -born.”</p> - -<p>“That also is true. I was born a Brahman.”</p> - -<p>There was a short silence. Oman was sick now with -dread of a next question,—that never came. Hushka -was turning certain matters rapidly over in his mind. -From the first, Oman’s intense interest in his words had -been a mystery to him. Converts to Buddhism were -seldom made, in this day. It was now most rarely that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> -the Bhikkhus brought novices back with them for the -Vassa; and the few that came were almost always of -Sudra caste. Oman, on the other hand, was apparently -of high breeding; and only some unusual fact could -have brought him into his present situation. Hushka -scented some misdeed, crime, perhaps, that had put the -youth into present bad standing. But the misdeed of -a Brahman was no Buddhist’s affair. To make him a -convert was the chief consideration; for had not the -great Buddha received into his order men of dark past? -There was excellent precedent for what Hushka wished -to do.</p> - -<p>Later in his companionship with Oman, Hushka’s -first suspicion of crime was completely laid by the -openness of his pupil’s behavior. But, in justice to -the Bhikkhu be it said, he had never, until the end, -the faintest suspicion of the real nature of Oman’s -trouble.</p> - -<p>Many thoughts and much reasoning passed rapidly -through Hushka’s mind; and then he turned again to -the youth, and said to him: “Thou hast asked me if -thou canst become a Bhikkhu. I answer thee—yes. -But first you must know something of our lives, and -the purpose of them. Then, understanding all that is -to be renounced, if you would still join us, I will myself -give you the first ordination, the Pabbagga, and -will take you as my pupil. I will be your master, your -Upagghaya; for I have instructed many youths through -their novitiate. Later, you will be given the second, -the highest ordination, Upasampada, and so become a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> -Bhikkhu. But first you must understand whither I -would lead you.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me! Tell me,” besought Oman, looking into -Hushka’s eyes, before whose steady orbs his own suddenly -fell.</p> - -<p>And so, while they walked, the Buddhist expounded -to the lonely youth the simple doctrines of the great -religion: the renunciation of desire, of pleasure, of indulgence -in the flesh, and the growth of that serenity -that leads gradually to Nirvana, the great extinction. -And the plan of it all, the eightfold abstinence, the -fourfold path, seemed to Oman a perfect conception. -The whole doctrine was, to his troubled soul, like balm -on a deep wound, a draught of water to one perishing -in the desert. And in his delight, he was freed from -traditional prejudice, and gave himself up entirely to -the new companionship.</p> - -<p>Thus, through the whole afternoon, the two walked -together, communing, until, as the sun slipped under -the western horizon, they paused once more before the -house of Gokarna. Hushka had reminded the young -man that his father and mother must be told of his -wish to become a Buddhist. Indeed, in the depths of -his quiet mind, the Bhikkhu apprehended insuperable -difficulty here, yet knew that the matter must be -faced; and he let Oman decide the manner of its -presentation. To Hushka’s astonishment, Oman took -it unquestioningly on himself, asking Hushka to wait -in the veranda while he went within to inform his -parents, or, in case Gokarna were absent, at least<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> -his mother, of his great decision. Hushka made no -protest, nor suggested his own fitness to give a favorable -impression concerning the Bhikkhu’s life. Remembering -Oman’s new-born enthusiasm and seeing -in him no sign of nervousness about approaching his -guardians, Hushka reflected that Oman might have been -divinely fitted for this task. So, after a short colloquy -at the veranda step, the monk sat down in the vine-covered -retreat, and Oman went on into the house, -where, contrary to his expectation, he found both his -father and his mother.</p> - -<p>For a long time Hushka sat there in the falling -night, cross-legged, in the manner of the Sakyamuni, -his hands on his knees, his head resting against the -wall of the house, meditating. And while he indulged -himself in hope, there came, through the open doorway, -the low, monotonous murmur of voices. They were -never raised above the ordinary pitch; and this Hushka -perceived with increasing satisfaction. Once or twice -there were to be heard a woman’s tones, followed -always by the musical voice of Oman, and the heavier -baritone of Gokarna. But the discussion, if discussion -there were, was carried on in an entirely matter-of-fact -manner.</p> - -<p>During this time, outside, the hands of Nature had -been at work, and now the whole sky was robed in -luminous, fleecy gray, strewn with white stars, and -crowned with the radiant half-moon, which shed silver -beams over the whole earth. The air was warm and -fragrant with the breath of spring. It was a night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> -when the very atmosphere brought intoxication. And -gradually the expression of him sitting alone in the -veranda changed, and grew very sad; and a new light, -one of sorrow and yearning, shone in the depths of his -large eyes.</p> - -<p>Now the murmur of voices inside the house ceased. -Oman’s task was accomplished. After a moment of -silence the three came out of the firelit room, into -the cool and shadowy veranda. It was a second or -two before any one of them could see Hushka, who -had risen, and slowly moved forward to them. Then -Gokarna also advanced, and spoke:</p> - -<p>“O Bhikkhu, Oman, my son, has told me that -which my heart is sad to hear. He wishes to receive -from you Buddhist ordination and go forth as -your pupil.”</p> - -<p>Hushka bent his head once. “That is true. The -young man came to me after I had discoursed upon -the Dharma in the market-place, and asked that he -might become my Saddhiviharika, to listen daily to the -Dharma and become versed in the way of the great life.”</p> - -<p>“So says my son; and, O Bhikkhu, so fervently -doth he desire to enter upon this life, that he hath -won consent from us. So I bid you take him for a -pupil, and treat him with that forbearance that is a -law of all religions.”</p> - -<p>Hushka bent his head again. “Let it be thus,” he -said solemnly.</p> - -<p>There was a stifled sob from Kota, who stood in the -background, behind her husband; and then Oman, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> -had embraced her, went forward to his master, asking: -“When shall I receive the ordination?”</p> - -<p>“When thou wilt. Any time is a proper time for -the Pabbagga.”</p> - -<p>“Then let me be at once ordained, that we may set -forth at an early hour on the morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Come then into the moonlight here before the step, -that each may look upon the face of the other. Yet,”—he -glanced toward Kota and Gokarna, who still -stood close at hand,—“yet we should not act in the -presence of any but followers of Gautama.”</p> - -<p>At this, the father and mother embraced Oman, and -then, when Kota had murmured to him that she -should see him again in the morning, the two retired -for the night, leaving Oman and Hushka alone in the -veranda. Hushka was struggling with the bundle on -his back, which Oman helped him to remove. In it, -wrapped in the mat used by Buddhists for many purposes, -lay a set of yellow robes, apparently new, yet -mudstained to a height of a foot above the hem.</p> - -<p>“Whence come the stains? And how dost thou -carry this set of garments?” queried Oman, delighted -that he was at once to assume the dress of his new -faith.</p> - -<p>“Thus is it decreed that, in such emergencies as -this, when we take a pupil, we should have a robe -for him. And the robes are stained with earth, that -no Bhikkhu or student shall vainly rejoice in his new -garment.”</p> - -<p>Laying aside the yellow robes, Hushka bound up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> -his mat again, this time putting the little bundle to one -side, on the veranda. Then he said to Oman:</p> - -<p>“Now must thou don this garb. It is our rule -that the brethren shall not look upon one another -in the act of robing or disrobing; so I turn my face -from thee. Yet it will be necessary that I show thee -the required manner of passing the cloth about the -upper part of the body and over the left shoulder. -Therefore, when the skirt is adjusted, call me to thine -assistance.”</p> - -<p>Oman nodded; but, as Hushka turned toward the -other end of the veranda, Oman, who, in loosening -his usual tunic, had accidentally touched the cord that -he always wore, called out to Hushka: “The cord—the -Brahman cord—must it be put off?”</p> - -<p>“Let it remain,” answered Hushka, without turning -around; and Oman in his heart rejoiced.</p> - -<p>When he was dressed and Hushka had taught him the -trick of fastening the end of the yellow cloth under his -arm, Oman declared himself ready for the ordination. -Thereupon Hushka, in a solemn tone, once more repeated -to him the laws of abstinence for a novice; -and then, Oman having faithfully promised to observe -them all, Hushka bade him sit down, cross-legged, -somewhat after the manner of a Yogi, and, when he -had raised his clasped hands to a level with his eyes, -caused him to repeat slowly, three times, these words:</p> - -<p>“I take my refuge in the Buddha. I take my refuge -in the Dharma. I take my refuge in the Samgha (the -community of brethren).”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> - -<p>This said, Oman repeated after his preceptor the -creed that he had heard for the first time that morning: -“Of all things proceeding from cause, their causes hath -the Tathagata explained. The Great Sramana hath -likewise explained the causes of the cessation of existence. -Let him be forever worshipped.”</p> - -<p>With these simple words, the ordination was completed; -but Oman still remained in the half-kneeling, -half-sitting position, motionless, silent, a little pale. It -was as if the repetition of the creed had wrought a -change in his whole being. He experienced an inexplicably -strong emotion, an emotion amazing to himself, -perhaps not so much so to Hushka, who stood looking -down on him with the silver moonlight in his gentle, -dark eyes. Oman found himself gazing into those -eyes as if they had been of the Buddha himself. After -a little, however, Hushka broke the spell, saying, -quietly:</p> - -<p>“Come, my pupil, let us seek our rest. On the -morrow we must proceed upon our way.”</p> - -<p>Oman rose at once, and followed his master to that -end of the veranda where he was wont to sleep. Here, -dressed as they were, the two lay down, some distance -apart, with no covering but their yellow garments and -the sweet night air. Very soon Hushka’s breath came -evenly and long; and the other knew that he slept. -But Oman closed his eyes in vain. He could not -sleep; nor, indeed, did he desire to. His heart was full. -It had come, at last, all that he had dreamed of. The -impossible was come to pass. On the morrow he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> -going out into the world,—out into the broad, shining -world, in the companionship of a man that did not -scorn him, with a faith in his heart that he loved, that -loved him, that had been decreed for him and all the -scattered brethren of the lonely life.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_Vb">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<small>YELLOW-ROBED</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The moon had set before Oman finally lost himself in -sleep. It seemed to him that an hour could not possibly -have passed when he felt a touch on his brow, -and, looking up, beheld Hushka bending over him.</p> - -<p>“Up—up—my Saddhiviharika! The new day is -here. Let us renew our faith.”</p> - -<p>Oman, sleepy and confused, rose, and, following his -master’s example, knelt on one knee, lifted both his -clasped hands, and repeated after Hushka the short -creed that he already knew by heart. Then the -Bhikkhu, rising, said:</p> - -<p>“Let us now go and cleanse ourselves at a fountain. -Is that in the market-place the nearest?”</p> - -<p>“No, my master. I will lead you to another, close -at hand.”</p> - -<p>“Come, then. And, as we walk, see that thou -meditate upon this thought, which should now be with -thee constantly: the extermination of desire for earthly -things. For it is written in the book of the law: -‘Leaving all pleasures behind, calling nothing his own, -let the wise man purge himself of troubles of the -mind’.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> - -<p>It was a fair morning. The sun was not yet above -the horizon, but the whole eastern sky glowed fiery -crimson in the clear atmosphere. Gay bird-notes filled -the air; and a vagrant breeze shook the fragrance from -every jessamine and honeysuckle vine in Bul-Ruknu. -It was an ecstatic hour; and Hushka’s eyes were bright -with the beauty of it when he and Oman reached the -well. As the young man filled Hushka’s bowl with -water, he turned to his master and said:</p> - -<p>“The day, sir, is very fair. Does the Dharma forbid -us to rejoice in the beauty of the dawn?”</p> - -<p>Hushka lowered his eyes, and answered softly: “We -are told that the extinction of feeling is the most desirable -of all things. But, until that comes, I think it can -hurt no man to rejoice at the sight of a sunrise sky.”</p> - -<p>Their ablutions over, the two returned to the house -of Gokarna, and found Kota standing in the veranda, -anxiously awaiting them. She had prepared two large -dishes of rice—a great luxury—and, as soon as they -came up, bade them sit and eat. Oman helped his -master to the fullest portion, and then ate his own from -the wooden bowl in which it had been prepared. This -dish Kota offered to her son, to be used for his alms; -and Hushka himself thanked her for the gift to his -pupil.</p> - -<p>Oman, to his own surprise, found himself delaying -the meal out of sorrow at thought of leaving this home. -He had never in his life been more than twenty miles -from Bul-Ruknu. Now, very probably, he should -never see the town again: never again look on his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> -mother, his father, or any of the familiar people among -whom he had grown up. As he reflected on this, the -spoon dropped from his hand, and he bent his head, -conscious all the while that Hushka’s eyes were fixed -on him. He was blind with tears which he was struggling -furiously not to shed, when some one knelt beside -him, and he felt two twining arms around his neck, and -a long kiss on his cheek. A thrill ran through his -heart. With passionate grief he returned his mother’s -embrace. Then, breaking suddenly from her clasp, a -“Farewell!” choking in his throat, he ran out of the -veranda, down the street, and then halted, with -clenched hands, till Hushka should come.</p> - -<p>Presently the Bhikkhu joined him, walking rapidly; -and Oman perceived that in his face there was no ridicule; -only a mute sympathy. He carried with him -the two bowls, each of which contained some rice -which, he explained, they would keep for their midday -meal. Oman took his own dish, asking to carry both, -which he was not permitted to do. Side by side they -went, through the narrow and ill-kept streets of the -town, till at length they came to its outer wall, and -passed out by the gate called after the street along -which they had come: the street which, outside of Bul-Ruknu, -became a public highway leading straight up -into the Vindhyas.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Go we up into the hills?” asked Oman, a -note of joy in his voice.</p> - -<p>“From now till we reach Bágh we shall be almost -constantly in the hills. And there are nearly three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> -months of journeying before the Vassa<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> can be begun.”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Vassa: the customary sojourn in Viharas, or monasteries, from -June to October.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“I am glad. The hills are a delight to me!”</p> - -<p>But no sooner had this simple thought escaped -Oman’s lips, than he repented of it; for he imagined -that he should bring upon himself a text commending -the beauty of indifference to all things. But Hushka, -in the interval, had read his mind, and, smiling faintly, -said: “Be not afraid, Oman, that this religion will -take from thee all thy delights. Our lives, free from -care, free from dread of the morrow, of any concern -for to-day, free from loneliness or the burdens of poverty, -want, and suffering, are almost wholly without -pain; and this was the great wish of the Buddha. -We are taught to look charitably and kindly on all -living things, allowing each its place. And if, in our -hearts, we have cherished any evil thought toward any -man, we are allowed the relief of confessing it before -the assembled Samgha. This frame of mind is conducive -to the greatest serenity. And you, O Oman, will -find, in one year’s time, that your whole attitude of -mind is changed. You will regard meditation on holy -things, and the study of the Dharma, as the highest -privileges of life.”</p> - -<p>Hushka paused, and Oman found in his words -enough food for thought to be glad of silence. They -proceeded for a long time without speech. And gradually, -as Oman came out of his revery, he found his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> -spirits growing lighter. A sense of freedom had taken -possession of him; and now every step that increased -the distance between himself and the home of his unnatural -and unhappy youth, increased also his delight.</p> - -<p>When the sun hung in mid-sky, and they had reached -the end of the first pass and stood in a little valley, -through which ran a stream of fresh water, the two sat -down to eat and take an hour’s rest. They seated -themselves on the thick grass, careful to disturb no -insect visible to the eye; and then, without any preliminary -grace or offering to any god, a matter as -natural to Oman as eating, began their meal. They -faced each other, and Hushka kept an eye on his pupil -to see that he transgressed none of those rules of polite -eating so minutely set forth in the <i>Kullavagga</i>. But -there was no fault to be found with the student on this -point. On the contrary, Oman ate as delicately as a -woman; and Hushka, after watching him for a moment -or two, exclaimed pleasantly:</p> - -<p>“By the word of the Samgha, Oman, thou hast the -look as well as the way of a woman about thee, -sometimes.”</p> - -<p>Oman lifted his head, a gleam of terror in his eyes. -“I am not a woman. How, then, should I resemble -one?” he demanded fiercely.</p> - -<p>Hushka, still contemplating him, smiled, but did not -answer the question. Then Oman, distressed and angry, -sprang to his feet, and began to pace up and down the -bank of the stream; and it was five minutes before he -could return to his meal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> - -<p>At this time of his life, perhaps what Hushka said -about Oman’s appearance was more or less true. His -slender figure, dreaming dark eyes, face guiltless of -any beard, and hair flowing to his shoulders, might, -indeed, have belonged to a woman of high caste. But -there was also something about him that was decisively -masculine:—whether his manner of carrying himself, -the habit of looking any one piercingly in the eye, or -his taciturnity, it would be hard to say. But it is -very certain that the mingling of two elements in -him had produced no weak and vacillating creature, -of meagre intellect and silly tongue. Freed from the -unhappy surroundings of his youth, Oman was likely -henceforth to command both interest and respect; -and Hushka’s foregoing remark had been nothing -more than a thoughtless and haphazard jest.</p> - -<p>Oman recovered himself before he sat down again; -and, his rice finished, he washed both bowls, and dried -them with leaves. Then he rose, supposing that they -were to proceed. It seemed, however, that this was -the hour for meditation. In imitation of the Sramana, -who was wont to sit in concentrated thought -for days at a time at the foot of some forest tree, -Hushka and his pupil, obeying one of the few rules -of “hours,” seated themselves, cross-legged, under different -trees, and remained there for a long time, motionless, -wrapped in contemplation of Nirvâna—the bliss of -emancipation. It was the first time that Oman had -ever performed this especial act of worship, which -is common to all the higher Indian religions. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> -found it more interesting than he had imagined it -could be; and was glad to think that, at Bágh, much -of it would be required in his studies.</p> - -<p>By two o’clock the wanderers were on their way -again, and Hushka told his pupil where they were to -pass the night. Some miles farther on, in a valley, -was a large banyan grove, inhabited by hermits of -various sects, among whom were half a dozen Buddhists, -who passed their lives in rigid asceticism, but -had abandoned the routine of pilgrimage and Vassa.</p> - -<p>For a long time they proceeded on their way, following -the track of the sun into the southwest, each -wrapped in his own thoughts. Then Oman, as much -out of desire to listen to Hushka’s melodious voice as -to learn something of the Being both were worshipping, -began to question his master concerning the holy life. -And Hushka, taking up his duty, recited to his companion -the history of the life of Gautama Sramana, -from the hour of his birth in the forest of Kapila-Vastu, -until that of his death in the forest of Tirhut, -where he fell back into the arms of his disciples, murmuring: -“I am exhorting you for the last time. -Transitory things are perishable. Without delay, -qualify yourselves for Nirvâna.”</p> - -<p>The life-story, told simply, but with an eloquence -born of reverent love, moved Oman powerfully. Here, -indeed, was a man!—a man who had lived a comprehensible -life and had died naturally. To his mind, crammed -with legendary tales of Vedic demigods and monsters, -with all their meaningless miracles and overinterpreted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> -allegorical deeds, there was something in this remarkable, -but perfectly credible history, that brought conviction -of the truth of the Buddha’s doctrines. The -life he had lived was enviable. Evidently he had -seen clearly from the very beginning; had known his -course and had run it, gathering strength as he went -on. True, the Buddha had been born into honor and -riches, and had never had the terrible struggles of loneliness -forced on him. But he had chosen these for -himself; and he had voluntarily made himself outcast -from men.</p> - -<p>These musings occupied Oman till the sun was setting -on their first day’s journey. They were now -descending the slope that led into the valley of the -banyan tree. When they reached its level, and could -look down the long aisle of trunks into the green twilight -of this natural temple, Oman felt a throb of -pleasure, as one at home. They entered in silence, and -had not walked far before the light of a fire became -visible among the trees in the distance. Thither -they bent their steps, and, reaching it, found that -it burned before the entrance of a small building, built -around the tree trunks. Beside this shrine and before -the fire were half a dozen naked men, their black hair -wild and dishevelled, their bodies caked with dirt and -disfigured with scars of flagellation.</p> - -<p>“These are Agivakas. We do not stop here,” murmured -Hushka, as they approached.</p> - -<p>Oman looked at the repulsive creatures curiously. -They were passed, however, without any salutation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> -with not even a look, so far as the ascetics were concerned; -and presently the yellow-robed were out of -sight of their dancing fire. The green interior of the -grove was now nearly dark. Hushka quickened his -steps; and Oman, spent though he was with unwonted -exercise, followed bravely, knowing that they must reach -protection that night, since to sleep in the open, in this -mountain region, was a danger not lightly to be undergone. -However, further firelight among the trees -presently reached them, and they proceeded with new -heart, soon arriving at the Buddhist retreat. Here -was no temple. Five tonsured men, clean-shaven, clad -in worn yellow robes, sat round their fire, partaking of -a supper of millet-seed and water. This meal the -Upagghaya and his pupil received a cordial invitation -to join; and it was taken for granted that -they would also sleep there. To Oman, weary as he -was, the mere fact of eating, of being near a shining -fire, of seeing around him friendly faces, of listening -to talk from which he was not excluded, brought an -almost overpowering sense of happiness. Here was -such companionship as he had not known since his -baby days. Here were no curious, repellent eyes -upon him. And, suddenly, the feminine in him rose, -bringing to his eyes tears which it took all his angry -self-control to keep from falling.</p> - -<p>That night Oman slept the sweet sleep of healthy -fatigue; but he wakened early, and in a new world. -The fire had died. Far overhead the first glimmer of -dawn shone down in a veil of translucent, deep green<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> -light—like the light in the sea. The air was vibrating -softly with the twittering chorus of myriad birds -that made their home in the banyan tree. Otherwise, -there was a great, morning silence. Oman, drowsy, -and unwilling to move, lay like one in a trance, looking, -listening, wondering, at the beauty around him. -Presently it was transformed. Every one was awake, -and up and moving about; but the past half hour lay -deep in his heart, and the pureness of it remained with -him always.</p> - -<p>The morning repast was hastier than had been that -of the evening; and about sunrise the pilgrims, after -many good wishes and farewells from those they were -leaving, set forth again on their way. This time they -took no food with them in their bowls; for in the early -afternoon they should reach a mountain village where, -after Hushka had preached in the bazaar, they were -sure to obtain at least one meal. This morning’s walk -was difficult, for it lay steadily uphill. Hushka, however, -kept the mind of his pupil too much occupied for -him to feel the weariness of the road. The master -talked to him of religion, explained the canon of -Buddhist law in its simple form, and repeated long -passages from holy books. Oman listened intently to -everything. His new religion delighted him anew. -The laws that he heard seemed to him divinely wise, -so well were they adapted to human weakness. And -all the time, in his subconsciousness, he had another -joy: that to-day he should again hear Hushka -speak to many people. The Bhikkhu’s conversation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> -was precious; but Oman, thirsting for a broader triumph, -was waiting to watch his magnetism again gather -up an antagonistic audience and draw them to his feet.</p> - -<p>And Oman came to taste the fulness of this delight; -for, wherever they went, success followed Hushka’s -preaching. What it was—the expression of his great -eyes, the low, musical, leisurely tones of his admirably -managed voice, or perhaps just the words he spoke—his -pupil could not determine: probably a measure of -all three. At any rate, even in this day of the fall -of the great faith, in many towns from Bágh to Dhár -and even farther to the north, the annual coming of -the Bhikkhu Hushka was awaited as an event; and -where he stopped for the first time, he was remembered -with delight, and his return hoped for. Nor, -after one of his discourses, was there to be found even -a Brahman, that had heard him, who had anything -but words of praise for his eloquence.</p> - -<p>March passed away and April followed, and still the -two fought their way through the mighty hills, surrounded -by possible dangers, but encountering none. -The days were growing hot; and, when the moon -was full they sometimes travelled by night, but this -not often, because of the wild creatures that loved -to roam abroad during the quiet hours. The time -passed too quickly. Oman, now inured to constant exercise, -throve on it and grew strong. His limbs began -to show muscle, and his body renewed its vigor, till he -looked a straight and handsome youth. And as his -physique developed, so also his mind. Hushka never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> -ceased his instructions in the Dharma, nor did Oman -fail to treasure his master’s lightest precept. He was -familiar now with what lay before him during the -Vassa season. He learned the mode of daily life; -the rules of procedure in the Samgha, or community of -brethren; and also the ritual of the general confession, -the Patimokkha, held fortnightly, on new and full -moon days during the Vassa. But the multitude and -minuteness of the laws, and the petty tyranny they -exercised, remained happily unguessed by him; for -Hushka was too wise to burden his mind in the beginning -with what would soon become a natural part -of existence.</p> - -<p>Oman’s present life was beautiful to him. The magnificence -of the scenery amid which they lived, the -season of the year, when the earth was at its height -of joy, still more, perhaps, the beautiful influence of -Hushka’s companionship and the spirituality of what -he taught, combined to waken in Oman a buoyancy of -spirit, a sense of hope and of ideality, that furnished -him strength to sustain the years of bitter tribulation -and trial that were still to be his.</p> - -<p>At length one day Oman and Hushka, side by side, -staves in hand, reached the treeless summit of a high -hill, up the side of which they had toiled throughout -the morning, Hushka for a purpose, Oman following -unquestioningly. When they stood upon the crest, -there spread before them a mighty prospect, fair and -far-reaching in the clear light of noon. In the distance, -a mere sinuous, sparkling thread, was a river,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> -bordered by a strip of green plain. Nearer yet, a -deep-hued patch of foliage marked a jungle, dwindled -by height and distance. Then came foothills, curving -round and out, like a rough causeway, toward that fast-flowing -river; and, in the midst of rocky cliffs and -sudden tufts of foliage, were to be seen the low roofs -and white walls of many buildings.</p> - -<p>“Look,” said Hushka, gently: “yonder is Bágh. -Our pilgrimage is over. We have crossed the Vindhyas. -June is here, and it is the Vassa season. Art -thou ready, Oman?” And he turned to examine his -pupil’s face.</p> - -<p>Oman neither spoke nor answered the look. He -was beyond himself. Suddenly, out of the dark fastnesses -of the past, shot a gleam of light. A new vista -was opening before his eyes. Memory—fleeting, evanescent—hovered -over him. His mind was struggling -to penetrate the land of forgetfulness. The gates -seemed still barred; and yet—here was a key. That -river—that shining river, yonder, in the light—he -knew it well,—so well that he was shuddering at -sight of it.</p> - -<p>“Oman,” repeated Hushka, disturbed at the look in -his pupil’s eyes.</p> - -<p>With that one word, the dream broke. Oman turned -sharply, stared for a second into his Master’s face, and -then, in a voice of the far away, answered: “Yes, I -am ready, master. Let us descend. Let us enter the -Vihara of Truth.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIb">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<small>THE VIHARA OF TRUTH</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The town of Bágh, begun in a little valley, had -gradually spread, up an open hillside looking toward -the southeast, and over and beyond the jungle, to -the Narmáda plain. The great Viharas were two or -three miles south of the village, built, all nine of them, -in the flat of a ravine, with wooded hillsides rising -abruptly on either side. It was not until the morning -after their view from the hilltop that Hushka and -Oman made their appearance here. They had arrived -in Bágh at dusk the evening before, unusually wearied -by an unusual day’s toil. Now, after passing the -night in Bágh, they had come, in the glow of a June -morning, fiercely hot, but filled with that glorifying -sense of summer that cannot be burnt away even by -the deadly rays of an Indian sun, to begin the Vassa -season.</p> - -<p>Along the path from the town, and through the -ravine itself, they met with what seemed to Oman, -brought up to regard Buddhism as a dead faith, a surprising -number of Bhikkhus, all, apparently, like themselves, -returning from the pilgrimage. And Oman -further wondered by what feat of perfect calculation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> -they had managed to arrive from their wanderings on -this particular day. As a matter of fact, some that -they passed had been in the neighborhood for a week -or more; and others would continue to arrive through -the next week. There were perhaps a hundred and -fifty men in all, including fourteen or fifteen novices; -and there were few here who could remember a time -when there had been more in the valley. Yet tradition -told a great tale. For, whereas now, all these men -lived in a single Vihara, the last in the row of the -great buildings, in the days of the past every one of -the nine huge monasteries had been filled to overflowing, -and twenty-five hundred men had passed their -Vassa in the ravine.</p> - -<p>Happily, to-day, none cared to dwell on the memory -of old glories. The Brethren were all busy greeting -one another, and giving hasty account of incidents -of their various pilgrimages; for, through the winter -months, the Buddhists of Bágh were scattered over all -Malwa, as far north as Rajputana, and southward, -through the plains, nearly to the great ghats. Hushka -was never alone, for he was one of the most important -and also one of the most popular monks of -the Samgha. Oman, indeed, following at his master’s -heels, felt aggrieved and neglected. He occupied -himself in observation, finding high cause for wonder -in the vast, empty buildings lining the valley. They -were immensely long, narrow for their width, and built -entirely of stone cut from the great quarries near -the river. Their verandas were wide, roofed and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> -pillared with stone; but the shade-mats of straw had -long since rotted and fallen away, and the interior of -the mighty monuments stood open and empty, deserted -by their builders and their faith.</p> - -<p>Gradually the two approached the last of the line of -monasteries, which, as Hushka had told him, was called -the Vihara of Truth, and was the only one still inhabited. -This place presented a very different appearance -from that of its silent neighbors. As they came near -the central doorway, Hushka left off his conversation -with a friend, and turned to Oman. Taking him by -the hand, he led him up the step, to the spot where -stood a large man, wearing a white cloak over his -yellow robes, and further marked by an air of extreme -dignity and condescension. Oman had observed his -statuesque figure some moments previously, and saw -that, though he never moved from his place, every -Bhikkhu that approached made haste to go to him, to -bow and receive his greeting.</p> - -<p>“That is the Sugata, the master of the Vihara, who -has almost attained to Arahatship, and remains in meditation -throughout the period of pilgrimage,” murmured -Hushka in Oman’s ear, just before they reached the -great man.</p> - -<p>Oman felt a thrill of reverence, and looked again, -hoping to perceive new marks of holiness. All that his -eyes could see, however, was a tall, stout person, with -a round, benign-looking face, plump and smooth-shaven. -The Sugata was smiling, and Oman, hungrily as he -searched, could find in that countenance no traces of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> -divine spirituality. However, the great One’s eight -months of meditation seemed to have agreed with him -uncommonly well.</p> - -<p>Before this irreverent thought had taken root in -Oman’s mind, he was led up by Hushka and presented -to the mighty one as a Saddhiviharika who had received -first ordination three months before. The Sugata -fixed his eyes upon the young man, who ingenuously -returned the look, as the master addressed Hushka:</p> - -<p>“He appears young. Is he of age?”</p> - -<p>“Of eighteen years, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Let him study well the Dharma, that, in a year, he -may receive Upasampada.”</p> - -<p>With this, Oman’s audience appeared to be at an -end; and, a little relieved to be out of the neighborhood -of such holiness, he followed Hushka across the -veranda to a square, arcaded cloister, where, directly in -front of the entrance, stood a man with an open bag -before him, containing coins. Hushka took from his -girdle the alms-purse that he had worn for eight months, -and emptied its contents into the receptacle, at the same -time exchanging greetings with the almoner. Oman, -looking on, understood that it was upon this money, -received on the pilgrimages, that the Bhikkhus lived -in their monastery through the Vassa season.</p> - -<p>Hushka’s exchange of courtesies ended in the question -as to where he should find one Mahapra. Informed that -he was in the Uposatha hall, the monk went back, Oman -still at his side, and, passing into the veranda again, -turned down it to the right, and, some distance farther<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> -on, entered a room so vast that Oman stopped upon its -threshold, staring. Here, near the door, was gathered -quite a throng, engaged in lively altercation with one -of their number, whose lean face wore a perturbed and -strained look. At sight of him Hushka began to -laugh.</p> - -<p>“It is, this year, Mahapra’s lot to assign the cells,” -he explained to Oman. And, leaving the young man -where he was, Hushka himself plunged into the crowd.</p> - -<p>So long a time elapsed before he emerged, that -Oman, tired and bewildered by so much that was new, -squatted down on the floor, to the left of the entrance, -to wait. Finally Hushka returned to him, a look of -satisfaction on his face; and, signing Oman to follow, -walked rapidly across the hall, through a small door at -the end into the cloister, across this open space, and -finally down a narrow passage that ended in another -open square surrounded by small doors. Here Hushka -stopped, looking round him till he found a door inscribed -with a certain letter. This he threw open.</p> - -<p>“Behold, Oman,” said he, “here is your home. This -is the square of novices, and I have got you a cell with -an outer window. It will be well that you should -remain here for a time. The Vihara will be all confusion -to-day. But, if you come forth, do not forget the -letter of your door.”</p> - -<p>Then, without further ado, Hushka turned and hurried -away, having himself much to accomplish before -nightfall. Oman, peremptorily left alone, looked -around him, at his new abiding-place. The room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> -was extremely small, considering the size of the Vihara. -Opposite the door was a small window, with a straw -shade rolled up from it and bound round with a -string. From the window could be seen a strip of hillside, -where the light of noon glared over shadowless -gray earth, dotted here and there with clumps of -stunted bushes. This, with a bit of deep blue sky, -was his view. The furniture of the room consisted of -a straw bed with a sleeping-mat, an earthen water-jug, -another jar, and, under the window, on a low, stone -platform a foot square, a small bronze image of the -Buddha. The stone walls of the cell were nearly covered -with carvings and bright-colored frescoes, which, -crude as they were, gave the room an air of comfort -and furnishing.</p> - -<p>Oman, accustomed to absolute simplicity, looked -around him highly satisfied with his dwelling-place. -He was not, however, so well pleased at the prospect -of spending the whole afternoon without food; -for his breakfast had been scanty, and the morning -long. Nevertheless, Hushka had bidden him remain -here, and Hushka’s slightest wish was law. So, calling -up some of the Vedic fortitude of his childhood’s -fasts, he remained for an hour or more gazing out of -the window, considering some of the features of the new -life; and then, since there seemed nothing better to do, -let down the curtain over his window, threw himself -upon his bed, and, in a few moments, had lost himself -in sleep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The first week of the Vassa life passed without -order, in a jumbling way. Then, suddenly, as if by -magic, everything changed, and existence ran as if by -clockwork. Without knowing how it had all come -about, the novices found their studies begun, and -perceived that they were living under stringent laws. -Only Oman, among the twenty youths that had received -the Pabbagga ordination, found nothing to chafe -him in the rules of the day, which were enforced with -a rigor that defied disobedience. It was a long time, -indeed, before the young Brahman, occupied with the -unusual joys of companionship and congenial work, -awoke to the fact of how much was being accomplished -by himself and by those around him.</p> - -<p>At dawn—which was early enough at this time of -year—the whole Vihara was roused by the clanging -of a bell, which rang till the most persistent sleeper -could no longer retain his drowsiness. Then monks -and novices alike made the prescribed ablutions and -put on the outer robe. After this came half an hour of -meditation, each one sitting alone in his open cell, while -masters of the day passed through the corridors at -irregular intervals to make sure that meditation did -not lapse into sleep. This over, the whole company -repaired to the Uposatha hall, and, seating themselves -on the floor in orderly rows, repeated in concert the -creed and prayers for the day. Now came a scramble -to the refectory, where a meal was served:—a meal -such as could scarcely have been duplicated in any -Rajah’s palace. For if the Bhikkhus were accustomed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> -to begin the Vassa with yellow robes hanging on their -emaciated frames, they were sure of setting forth on -their pilgrimage in October well fortified for the rigors -of the fasting season.</p> - -<p>The morning meal at an end, monks and novices -separated, and the succeeding hours were occupied with -varying tasks. The novices repaired to the smaller -audience hall, where they were taken in charge by one -of the four masters. Squatting in an orderly row -on the floor, they listened in decorous silence to the -reading of passages of the law, and then to a long -lecture expounding all that had been read, with paraphrases -by certain of the more notable commentators. -This ordinarily occupied from two to three hours, -after which followed lessons in the Dharma, the novices -themselves being called upon to interpret chapters previously -learned by rote. Then came a period of silent -contemplation of the longed-for state: the cessation of -desire and the extinction of feeling. This over, the -second meal was served, and after it came relaxation, -the novices being allowed to watch the distribution of the -remains of the meal among the poor of the village who, -at this hour, came crowding to the Vihara gates. This -was the one period of unrestrained liberty in the day; -and novices were permitted to indulge themselves in -games and amusements forbidden to the doubly ordained.</p> - -<p>By three o’clock this was over; and the two following -hours were spent in the library, in the perusal of sacred -manuscripts, of which the Vihara of Truth owned a -large number. Of all the day’s occupations this was,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> -to Oman, the most deeply engrossing. He had a great -advantage over most of his companions, in being able to -read easily both in Sanscrit and the older Pâli; for the -scholarship of his youth had not left him. The working -day was ended by the most difficult task of all:—three -hours of silent meditation on some tenet -announced at the time. At first, to those unaccustomed -to it, these three hours seemed as long as the -eight months of the Sugata’s retirement; and the -novices whispered, and yawned, and eyed each other, -and let their minds wander, till the length of their -penances became startling. But gradually the time -seemed shorter, the habit of abstract thought more -fixed, until it was sometimes a surprise to hear the -great bell ringing out the close of day, when all save -penitents were commended to seek a needed rest.</p> - -<p>This daily program was varied every two weeks, on -Uposatha days, by the ceremony of the recitation of -the Patimokkha; which meant the reading of lists of -misdeeds punishable, the special penance for each -offence, and, finally, a general confession and fixing of -penances. The whole thing usually lasted from six to -eight hours, and was very tiresome. But the remainder -of the day was a holiday, when rules were abandoned, -and monks and novices allowed to mix indiscriminately.</p> - -<p>Such was the outline of Vihara life, which, in the -beginning of the thirteenth century, differed little -from that maintained in the first Buddhist monastery -eighteen hundred years before. The circumstances of -the day were unvaried; but the details, for the individuals<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span> -living the life, were never the same. The -occupations held infinite possibilities, being perfectly -adaptable to moods. The meditation that one day -seemed to stretch out into infinity, passed rapidly on -the next. If the incidents of the life of Gautama set -forth in one day’s reading were dull and dreary, on the -next the excerpt might sound like a fairy story, and the -reading-hour prove all too short. For those of dull, -phlegmatic temperament, perhaps there was not, after -all, much difference. But Oman Ramasarman was -everything but phlegmatic. A creature of strange -moods, stirred by many feelings incomprehensible to -the multitude, devoted to the working out of a mighty -expiation, as unknown to himself as it was to his companions, -his four months of Vihara life were a momentous -period with him. He very soon came to an understanding -of what this wisely regulated existence might -hold for him. He perceived that here he might build -a foundation for that resignation to the actual that -he needed so terribly to attain; and forthwith he set -himself, with all the determination of which he was -capable, to attain to a full appreciation of the worth of -the Buddhist teaching.</p> - -<p>From the books of his religion Oman extracted much -food for thought, on which he dwelt during the hours -of meditation. From the very first, these periods of -silence had been pregnant. In them, now, he found -answers to his infinite, unasked questions. They, first -of all, had awakened him to the import of the days. -Perhaps, since Gautama’s first conceptions of his great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> -creed, there had been no proselyte so apt for the faith -as this poor, bewildered subject of a pitiless judgment. -Within Oman’s body two natures, both human, both filled -with direst cravings of humanity, had long struggled for -supremacy. Now he had been removed from the old -life, where he beheld sense worshipped on every side, -and found himself in a community which taught, as an -inviolable law, the renunciation of all sense gratification -as the only road to happiness. A sudden austerity, -born of the brain, began to work in Oman’s heart. -Self-denial and abnegation became a passion with him. -It was with deep delight that he graved upon his mind -such verses as these:</p> - -<p>“That middle path of knowledge which the Tathagata -has gained, which leads to wisdom and conduces -to calm, is the holy eightfold path: right belief, right -aspiration, right speech, right conduct, right means of -livelihood, right endeavor, right memory, right meditation. -This is the path that conduces to Nirvâna.”</p> - -<p>“And this is the noble truth of suffering: birth is -suffering, decay is suffering, illness is suffering, death -is suffering. Presence of objects we hate, separation -from objects we love, not to obtain what we desire—all -these are suffering. Briefly, the clinging to existence -is suffering.”</p> - -<p>“Now hear the truth of the cessation of suffering: -it will cease with the cessation of thirst—a cessation -which consists in the abandonment of every passion. -With deliverance from this thirst comes the destruction -of desire, the cessation of suffering.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> - -<p>This was the subject on which, in his hours of contemplation, -Oman insistently dwelt. In his heart he -knew that here lay his help; and he felt it no wrong -that he clung to one topic, disregarding many of the -others prescribed. The process of enforced and long-continued -meditation is a curious thing, and productive -of strange results. Thought is hardly governable, as -volatile as a gas; and to keep it fixed for any length -of time upon a single point, requires a power difficult -of attainment. When it is gained, however, and then -persistently made use of, the character of the thinker is -sure to change in one of several ways; and it is axiomatic -that, in a meditative community, the individuals -are never quite normal.</p> - -<p>In Oman’s case, the effect of the silent hours, which -began to be visible after two months of Vihara life, was -one of increasing dignity and age. He had entered the -Vihara a youth, of extremely boyish appearance, with -shyest manners. He had been thoroughly crude, and -so awkward before older men that he had given an -early impression of stupidity. Now all this was altered. -He was quiet, grave-eyed, thoughtful-looking; but his -manner, filled with self-control, was almost impressive. -His grasp of the teachings of the Dharma had been quick, -his questions keen and pointed. Moreover, during the -periods of relaxation, he began to keep himself apart -from his fellows, but was often to be seen talking with -his master, Hushka, or some one of the older monks of -Hushka’s faction. And it was among the novices, who -began to look up to him, that the idea first originated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> -that Oman was to receive his Upasampada at the end -of the Vassa season, instead of waiting the full year of -novitiate.</p> - -<p>By the first of August, with the Vassa half gone, -Oman began to perceive that he was happy:—happy -as he had never believed happiness itself could be. It -seemed to him that he lacked no earthly joy. Hushka, -his Saint, the man he looked up to as the perfect model -of virtue and unselfishness, was one of his four masters; -and Oman was much with him. Apart from this -companionship, he found that he desired nothing. -Solitude was not now loneliness. But though, with -the ineradicable instinct of the Brahman born, he kept -himself aloof from his fellow-novices, they seemed -never to resent this, but rather looked up to him as one -of higher caste than they, and one that had, consequently, -a right to exclusiveness. Moreover, through -the whole Vihara, even by Sugata himself, Oman was -spoken of as a scholar of high promise, such a one as -their decadent community now rarely saw. Treated with -respect on every hand, the memory of his old, marked -days growing dim within him, it seemed to Oman that -his cup of happiness was full. He was mastering the -primal, the greatest difficulties of a religion which, as it -opened, became more and more beautiful to him. In -certain ecstatic hours he saw himself attaining to the -highest state, Arahatship, where pale Nirvana gleamed -like a silver armor of repose around the passionate soul. -His nature was already under subjection; and he no -longer doubted that it was wholly conquerable. The way<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> -was stretching out before him straight and smooth, the -last boulder lifted away, when, suddenly, out of the clear -sky, came a thunder-bolt that laid waste the fair country -of his life, and left him standing alone, terrified, a -yawning chasm at his feet, the wilderness on either hand.</p> - -<p>It happened very simply, and without any sort of -preparation. He sat one afternoon in the library, -among a throng of monks and novices, before him one -of the Vinaya texts, the Mahavagga, a manuscript of -law rigidly adhered to by Buddhist and even by Jainist -communities. There, in the list of those creatures -unfit to receive ordination, and commanded to be -driven from the Samgha if, unknowing, they had been -already ordained, he came upon the sixty-eighth section, -wherein all such as he were declared unfit for holiness, -ineligible for Buddhism, and therefore outlawed, absolutely, -from the blessed life.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>He read the passage once, and then again, slowly. -After that he leaned a little farther over his book, no -longer seeing the writing, hoping only that none -observed him. Stupidly he sat there, for an hour or -more, neither reading nor thinking, only conning over -and over again the two simple verses that had undone -him. And when he had been quiet for a very long time, -an idea came, and he whispered it over, lingeringly, -wistfully, to himself: “I shall not confess. I shall not -confess; and so—they can never know.”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> “Sacred Books of the East,” Max Müller edition, Vol. XIII, -Vinaya texts, Part I. Mahavagga, p. 222. (Trans. W. Rhys-Davids -and H. Oldenburg.)</p> - -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIIb">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<small>THE WHEEL OF THE LAW</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Four weeks passed, and Oman realized, dully, that -September had come. For him, Time had lost the -power of flight. He took little note now of the incidents -in the life around him. He was in the grip of -his conscience, wholly absorbed in the pangs of a new -suffering. The consciousness that he was an outcast -never left him for a single moment. The All-knowing, -the master, the Buddha, had declared him ineligible -for the serene life, had tacitly denoted him a creature -unfit to attain to any degree of peace. This, after the -first shock of discovery, was his chief thought. Instinctively, -also, he clung to another: the passionate -decision that he should stand alone in his knowledge. -The broad inconsistency between these two points -formed the land of his misery. He dared not reflect on -the workings of the Dharma. He was forbidden, by -every tenet of religion, to use his higher reason in the -criticism of religion. But he knew that he was, by -decision of the law, unfit for the Samgha; and that in -the Samgha he intended, bitterly, to stay.</p> - -<p>For long periods his brain went numb with the pressure -of thought refused. Gradually his behavior took<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> -on an aspect of guilt; and he slunk among his fellows -like one who had committed far worse than a Dukata -offence. He fell off, wofully, in his work, in his comprehension -of the Dharma. He went through his meditations -dull-eyed, palpably unthinking; and the masters -of the novices began to comment on his behavior. -Finally, he got into the habit of torturing himself, daily, -after the last meditation was over, by waiting till every -one had left the hall, and then getting out the manuscript -of the Mahavagga and reading his death-sentence -over again, to make sure of every keenest pang that -lay in it, every drop of poison hidden in its innocent -characters. And after he had seen it, and found that it -was real, that he had not been under the influence of some -baleful misapprehension, he would steal silently to his -cell, and wear the night away in woman’s tears or fierce -rages of rebellion that left him, at dawn, a bundle of -trembling nerves.</p> - -<p>The load that he carried became nearly unendurable. -It was lightened by only one thing: when, occasionally -dragging his mind from himself, he looked around him -at his high superiors, the doubly ordained. These, in -their dignity, their approachment to Arahatship, gave -cause for highest wonder at and admiration of their -freedom from all worldly concern. He envied, indeed, -the lowest of the novices. But it seemed to him that, -if he could only receive the Upasampada ordination, he -might, in some way, cheat both himself and his god -into believing in his fitness for the honors of the holy -life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> - -<p>Poor Oman! It had been infinitely easier for him -had he known to how little serenity those envied men -had actually attained! In the strangeness and isolation -of his lot, it was not given him to understand that -there is never a creature that must not bear its burden -and suffer under it, believing it a little heavier, a little -less adaptable, than that of any one else.</p> - -<p>The poor novice thought that Upasampada opened -the door upon a life in which a tranquil and scholarly -mounting to perfection, untroubled by a single jarring -incident from the outer world, was a natural sequence. -Those high beings, advancing with rapid paces toward -Nirvâna—surely their hearts and minds knew nothing -of the battles, the uprisings of self, the human desires -and yearnings that he was forever struggling against! -Perhaps, indeed, the monks of the Samgha knew no -such troubles as these. Their difficulties were usually -of a more ignoble kind. As in the monasteries of -another faith, in the far west, the Buddhist Viharas, -even during their pathetic decadence, were too often -seething hot-beds of rivalry and inward strife, thinly -whitewashed with an outer coat of obedience to precept -and renunciation of the fivefold clinging to the -world. In the Vihara, a man desirous of attaining to -Nirvâna had not only his own weakness to conquer, his -own nature to strengthen; but he had before him the -long battle of rivalry with those who, for every step he -advanced, strove to make him take two backward. The -result was, that the Samgha became a place of inner -plots and counter-plots, intrigues worthy of a royal court,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> -stealthy meetings and conversings of one faction or -another, where obstacles innumerable were devised for -any man who desired to mount to a higher and holier -estate.</p> - -<p>Of all the men in the Vihara of Truth, probably no -one had received more of the miserable stabs of envy -and jealousy than had Hushka, the honey-throated. -Greatly beloved—by more than Oman—he was also -passionately hated. It was now twenty years since -his Upasampada ordination; and in all that time he -had known scarcely an hour when he was not enduring -the malicious jealousy of a rival. For a long -time now his opposing faction had been led by Mahapra, -a man who had passed his Upasampada a year -earlier than Hushka, and who had caused him more -and bitterer disappointments and humiliations than any -dozen of his other enemies. And there were those of -his friends who whispered that, had Mahapra been out -of the way, it had not been Sugata who stood now -an Arahat, at the head of the Samgha. Never came -there a Pavarana, scarcely even an Uposatha day, that -Hushka was not made to taste the venom of his enemy; -and there was surely no heart-sickness that he had not -endured. He had suffered as few of his companions -could suffer; for his nature was delicately organized, -and he was sensible to the most refined stings of -misery. With all this, Mahapra himself rarely caught a -glimpse of the wounds he inflicted; for Hushka had the -power of concealment, and the wisdom never to burden -any one with a recital of his own unhappiness. It was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> -thus that, to an outsider, his life could scarcely seem -other than beautiful.</p> - -<p>During the last weeks of the Vassa season the constant, -hidden strife that went on in the Samgha centred -itself, curiously enough, around the figure of Oman. In -the early months Hushka, through Oman, had enjoyed -a triumph, for having brought from the pilgrimage a -novice, of Brahman caste, and, moreover, a pupil of such -high intelligence and one so devoted to the Dharma. -The Sugata himself had complimented Hushka on his -pupil’s progress; and at this point Mahapra’s bitterest -ire and fear were roused. Too soon Oman began -to give opening enough for criticism and belittlement. -His laxity in effort and the falling off in his work and -behavior became grossly apparent during the latter -half of August, while whispers and comments from -the adverse faction penetrated even to the Chaitya -hall. From day to day Oman, absorbed in his own -misery, pursued his course unconscious of notice. And -day by day Hushka’s eyes followed him, in doubt and -dread.</p> - -<p>Long Hushka forbore to speak; though through the -demeanor of his pupil he suffered as he would scarcely -have believed it possible that he still could suffer. The -Bhikkhu had lately been allowing himself to believe -that the thankless labor of years was about to find its -reward. And now as, little by little, that belief was -broken down, it seemed to carry with it his very vitality, -till he had lost courage to engage with Mahapra any -more in the slightest controversy over the commentators<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> -or the higher criticism of the holy books. Indeed, -the honey-throated was aging, visibly; and this Oman -woke at last to see.</p> - -<p>On the 3d of September the last meditation of -the novices ended rather earlier than usual, at about -seven o’clock. Hushka, who was master of the day, -came in to dismiss them. He stood leaning against a -pillar, near the door, wearily watching them file by, -till the last had gone. Then Hushka turned to glance -over the room, and beheld Oman still standing at -its far end, his face gleaming pale in the waning light. -Hushka gazed at him for a moment or two, and then -moved slowly toward his pupil. Oman stood perfectly -still, trembling a little, till the other halted within a -foot of him. The two looked at each other till the -novice dropped his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oman,” said Hushka, after a heavy pause; “Oman,” -and he paused again, while the guilt-laden one grew -cold, “art thou ill?”</p> - -<p>For one, swift instant Oman looked at his master. -“No, reverend sir, I am not ill,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“Oman! Oman! Repentest thou of thy faith?”</p> - -<p>Oman gave a quick cry. “No!” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Yet something troubles thee. Canst thou not -confide in me? Shall not I, thy master, give thee -help? Tell me, Oman, tell me what it is that lies in -thy heart. Do not fear. I have suffered too long, too -well, not to know compassion.”</p> - -<p>Oman’s head drooped low. He clasped his two -hands tightly over his breast, and then suddenly threw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> -them out as if in supplication. Hushka, not understanding -that Oman would have warded him off, took -the hands gently in his own. The warm, living clasp -suddenly broke through Oman’s carefully built barrier -of concealment. He sank to his knees upon the stone -pavement, and his brain burned with the fire of his -knowledge. He was losing his self-control. As tears -fell from his eyes, his thoughts also flowed, till he was -overwhelmed in the torrent of his wretchedness, and -crouched, rent with emotion, at the feet of the troubled -man who supported him.</p> - -<p>The dusk deepened. Through the long, carven hall, -eerie shadows fell, and the orange light of the west -melted to purple and then to black, till the two were -alone in darkness. Hushka now knelt by Oman’s side, -and soothed the youth with fragmentary words, till he -was quieter in his grief. There followed silence, -pregnant and foreboding. Hushka would not break it. -Heavy-hearted, dreading unknown things, he bowed -his head, waiting. And gradually it was borne in -upon Oman that there was no longer any way of concealment. -He must give utterance to the truth: his -tragedy. How he began, how he told it, he could not -afterwards remember. At first the words choked him, -then they came faster, finally in fury, till the pent-up -emotions of years were finding expression beside that -of the remorse of yesterday. Hushka remained at his -side, silent, stunned, at first, by the feeling displayed -by this youth, this child to life. It was the first thing -that impressed him:—the silent suffering that Oman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> -must have known. Hushka could understand him -there so entirely! He knew each smallest phase, each -bitter turn of the wheel of solitary misery! In his -heart, as yet, was only pity.</p> - -<p>Oman came at last to the end of his strength and -his confession. Crouching there, numb, blind with -tears, swollen-lipped, breathing thickly and in gasps, -he found himself, like one groping in a fog, uttering -vague questions—doubts—hopes.</p> - -<p>“But it is true? Those words—are they the law, -then? Must Oman follow them? Must I be thrust -forth? Master!—Help me!—Master!” And Hushka -felt the wretched creature clasping his knees in the -darkness.</p> - -<p>Then silence fell. Only Oman’s breath could be -heard, rushing in and out, like that of a dying dog. -At this sound, Hushka felt a sudden revulsion, a sudden -despairing anger with him. Was Oman to be -pitied:—Oman, who had wrecked his, Hushka’s life, -as well as his own? The monk rose from his knees, -walked across the hall, and stood at one of the unscreened -openings, staring out into the starlit night. -Here, silently, he struggled with himself:—struggled -for justice toward Oman, justice toward the Samgha, -toward himself. Oman had not moved from the place -where he was at first. Only now he lay prone on the -floor, and his breathing was quiet. He was waiting, -without any feeling, without any emotion, for his -sentence.</p> - -<p>The suspense continued for a long time. Hushka’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> -heart was full, and his brain reeling. Now he addressed -himself passionately to Gautama, now he turned to his -own judgment. Prayer and reasoning, however, led -him alike to one conclusion—a conclusion pitiless to -himself, pitiless to Oman. Nay, the cruel result was -inevitable. Oman had dared formulate nothing to -himself; but Hushka was obliged to face the situation.</p> - -<p>After a long time, then, the monk went back to his -pupil, sat down beside him, laid a trembling hand on -the prostrate shoulder, and began to speak, softly, as a -mother might:</p> - -<p>“Thou knowest, Oman, that the word of the Mahavagga -is our law. If the Samgha knew this thing that -thou hast told me, thou wouldst suffer public exposition -and expulsion. I, knowing, dare not let thee remain -here. Thou must escape to-night, quietly; and I will -be here to—to accept the consequences of thy going. -I can do no more for thee. But the blessed Buddha, -the Sakya—”</p> - -<p>He broke off, suddenly, for Oman, raising himself -halfway from the floor, had begun to laugh. Hushka -shuddered as he listened. It was so high, so harsh, so -quavering, that it seemed as if it must go on forever. -But suddenly it broke, and melted into a long, heart-broken -wail. Oman was going to pieces; and Hushka -sanely set to work to stop it. How it was accomplished -he scarcely knew. Under sharp command and -gentlest soothing Oman was presently quiet again, save -for the trembling of his body, and the little, broken -moans that involuntarily escaped him. Now that he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> -had pulled himself together, Hushka left him for a -quarter of an hour, and then reappeared, carrying over -one arm an old and much-worn garment that was not -yellow. In the other hand he had a small millet loaf.</p> - -<p>Oman was dimly aware of being stripped of his robes, -of having the other garments put upon him. Then -he received into his hand the food. After that he -followed his preceptor quietly out into the empty -veranda. Behind them the monastery was still. Over -the great world beyond, the golden moon was slowly -rising. In its light, Oman turned a dumb face to the -man he had so worshipped. He saw that Hushka was -suffering—suffering as perhaps high Sakyamuni had -not suffered. Neither one of them, however, could -speak. Hushka, with an air of benediction, pressed -his fingers, once, to the cold brow of the outcast. Then,—he -was gone. Oman was alone on the brink of -the world, irrevocably and forever shut out from the -protecting walls behind him. Outcast of men, he -stood, facing life. And, since he had already drunk -the dregs of feeling, mercifully his heart was numb. -After a little he moved off, unsteadily, into the faint-starred -blackness of the ravine: halted, went on again -to the edge of moonlight, and then paused once more, -struck by some new thought, expectant, his head uplifted. -Out of the night came the sound of whirring -wings. He opened wide his arms, and into them flew -a small, gray bird that nestled to his breast as if it had -been at home. Holding the mysterious creature close, -Oman proceeded, staggering, through the night, down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> -and down the ravine, till all the Viharas were passed, -and a few lights, twinkling in the distance, showed him -the town of Bágh. Then, utterly exhausted in body -and mind, he crawled, on his hands and knees, under a -spreading bush, and, with the bird still warm in his -bosom, gave himself up to merciful sleep.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIIIb">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<small>THE OUTCAST</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Blank hours passed. The glimmer of false dawn -came and went again. At last the day, inevitable, -rose, like an opal, out of the East. The silent world -was overspread with clear light; and, in its first -moments, the bird, which till now had lain motionless -on Oman’s breast, fluttered up, hovered for a second -over the quiet form, and then took flight, winging -away into the invisible. Oman was still sleeping: a -heavy, transitional sleep.</p> - -<p>Day swept up the sky, and the blazoning sun whirled -from the heart of the hills. Now, at last, Oman opened -his eyes, sat up, looked around—stared, indeed, -and all at once remembered fully. For the moment -memory unnerved him. Then the strain proved again -too great; and, with a renewed sense of dulness, he -rose. The bird was gone. He seemed to have known -that before. He wished now to discover his whereabouts. -In the darkness he had reached the end of the -ravine, and was at the edge of a long, barren slope, to -the west of Bágh. The houses of the town began not -far away. He could see people moving about there; -and the sight of them reminded him that he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -hungry. He felt faint, a little weak, and shaken, with -the after effects of last night’s tumult. He determined -not to enter Bágh. With an undefined weight of grief -and ruin upon him, he began to toil upward along the -slope, turning his face to the north, where the high hills -rose. And, as he went, he ate the millet-loaf that -Hushka had put into his hand.</p> - -<p>It was a fair morning, hot, cloudless, blazing. Oman -wilted in the heat, but his steps went on, mechanically. -He had already determined in his mind to reach the -hills that day. As he went, he found his thoughts -groping vaguely in once-accustomed ways: loneliness—fear -of people—hatred of those that shunned -him—hunger—physical discomfort—all the old details -of that solitude that he knew so well. And still his -feet did not falter. It was his masculine nature that -upheld him now; but, adding to his dread, he felt the -feminine, knocking—knocking at his heart, at his -brain; and he fought desperately against admittance, -knowing that, when it came, his suffering would be -trebly increased.</p> - -<p>His old training with Hushka stood him in good -stead to-day. He made progress. By noon, seven -miles stretched between him and Bágh, and he was -now among the foothills of the great Vindhyas, which, -so far as he knew, stretched eastward before him into -infinity. In this thought there was something like -comfort. Those dark-wooded wilds meant refuge from -men and the haunts of men. There should be no day -in his life to come when he would not be able to plunge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> -into some deep ravine, or mount some thickly jungled -steep, knowing, in his heart, that whither he went no -curious, human eyes could rest on him, no living creature -follow. He felt just now that never again, while -he was doomed to remain on earth, would he suffer a -glance from human eyes.</p> - -<p>At noon, after a few moments’ rest, Oman plunged -into the woods and began to move upward to the -heights. The underbrush was not too thick to prevent -progress; and the trunks of young trees afforded grasping-places -for his hands. In this sort of country snakes -were supposed to abound; but he moved on without -any fear of them. No wild thing would molest him. -Only man he feared.</p> - -<p>After a while he found refreshment. In the dense -undergrowth were bushes and trees bearing fruits; and -many of these were at their ripening season. Mangoes -and custard apples there were in plenty, and -tamarinds and a few bananas. He was also presented -with a cocoanut, delivered by an interested monkey, -who first flung it at him, and then came hurrying to -the ground to see what had happened. The incident -proved unfortunate, however. The suggestion of fellowship -about the little, bright-eyed thing, unnerved -Oman for the space of a second. In that second he -was undone. The door opened to the woman. Tears -flooded his eyes, and, throwing himself upon the -ground, he yielded to an outburst of the wildest -grief. The monkey, who had seated himself near -at hand, scratching his black head and chattering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> -volubly to the stranger, now looked on sorrowfully, -and shed a few tears himself:—wherefore, who can -say? After a time, when Oman had recovered again, -the grotesque little creature broke the cocoanut against -the tree trunk, and solemnly offered half of it to his -new friend. There in the jungle they ate together; -and presently, when the monkey had run off to rejoin -his tribe, Oman rose and moved on, comforted and -fortified.</p> - -<p>The incident had turned his thoughts away from -himself; and the afternoon passed rapidly. At nightfall -he halted once more, near the summit of a hill, ate -again of the fruits of Mother Earth, and lay down in -the solemn stillness, not to sleep very readily this time. -Physically, he was very tired. Mentally, he was waking. -He must now—alas!—begin to weigh his loss, and -face the future. His thoughts travelled back through -the few intervening months to the spring, when he had -wandered southward with Hushka. Then he reviewed -the early part of the Vassa, and began to see how his -life had broadened before him. There had taken -place his first struggles against himself; and there -could be marked his first victories. He recalled to -mind passages of the Dharma, which he had loved -to think were made for him alone. And, with this -memory, the bitterness became intolerable. He lifted -his arms toward the stars and wailed his woe. And -passively the stars shone on, nor heeded him. The -parts of nature, so imperturbable, so enduring, so -changeless,—were they satisfied? Had they received<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> -enough of God? Oh, surely, yes! On all save him had -the Creator showered blessings, to all given gifts and -mercies. He, only, was marked out for constant woe, -constant disappointment, constant misery. Having -thus grieved through long hours, the outcast finally -closed his eyes upon his first day of probation, and -once more slept.</p> - -<p>On the morrow he found himself able to make less -progress. His nature, lately accustomed to over-nourishment, -demanded something more substantial than -fruit and nuts. He began to realize that, until he -became inured to this life, he must occasionally have a -little grain, or meat. Also, the utter loneliness of the -vast jungle through which he travelled, began to appall -him. He had so lately known the constant companionship -of many men, that there hung over him a sense -of direst oppression, in this uninhabited wilderness. -His recently engendered dread and hatred of humankind -was already giving way to an unconquerable longing -for the sight of a human face.</p> - -<p>On the third morning he woke almost to desperation. -Should nothing happen to him to-day, he felt that he -must break under the strain of thought:—that empty, -beating thought—of nothing. Meantime, there crept -upon him the insidious desire to try again, only once -again, if men would not accept him; if, knowing nothing -of him, his mark must be apparent to a point of instinctive -aversion. And, at the same time with this, he -was coming to something that he had not had to endure -before. He was beginning to hate himself for what he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> -was. His restless longing to be respected among men -turned him away from that rebellion against them -which had long possessed him; and, in the revulsion, -he went to the other extreme: hating himself because -he could not be as others.</p> - -<p>The whole afternoon of the third day he spent in -toiling up a great hill, the summit of which was reached -at sunset; and from this height he gained recompense -for the long travail. Around him—to the south—to -the east—to the west, rolled great hills, verdure-clad. -No sign of plain or level land was visible. On three -sides of him the hills stretched away, a little lower -than that on which he stood. But in front, to the -north, rose a series of gigantic, rocky heights, which -towered infinitely upward, bringing him a realizing -sense of his own pygmy unimportance. And now his -eyes, travelling downward, perceived the deep ravine -that separated him from the first of the high mountains; -and, looking, his heart leaped within his breast. -For there, in that gulf, were houses:—mud huts, -wooden ones—two, three, a score; and beside them -ran a swift mountain stream, the murmur of which rose -up to him through the stillness.</p> - -<p>“I will go down! I will go down to them, for -they are built of men!” he said to himself, eagerly, -like a child. And forthwith he began his descent, -walking with a new buoyance. As he proceeded, his -way grew difficult. The houses, far below, were hidden -from his view in the thickness of the undergrowth. -The light was melting away; for the sun lay on the edge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> -of the horizon, behind the hills. Still he pressed on, a -tempered joy in his heart that was not to be stilled by -reason.</p> - -<p>Though he hurried, darkness was on him before he -reached the level; and then, indeed, it seemed as if -he must resign himself to another night of solitude. -Nevertheless he fought, still refusing to abandon his -hope. And suddenly, from a more open space on the -slope, he looked down and saw, but a little way below, -half a dozen shining lights—flames of sacrificial fires. -And after that no falls, no bruises, no difficulties of -the precipitous way, could keep him back. An hour -after sunset he stood at the edge of the clearing where -the village was.</p> - -<p>The first hut was near at hand: a square one, tiny, -tumble-down, even squalid. Yet it was roofed over with -wood, and within the open doorway firelight shone. -There must be human creatures there; and there -Oman was determined to enter. He approached, almost -reverently, and halted before the door. Within, was -only one person—a woman, or girl, of perhaps sixteen. -Her dress proclaimed her widowhood, and her -caste was too easily recognizable. Oman, however, -accustomed to such matters, thought of nothing but -that she was a woman—kneading barley-cakes before -her fire; and, as he watched her, his heart warmed -with humanness, and he smiled. After a moment she, -lifting her head, perceived him, dimly outlined near -the doorway. At once she rose, though without any -welcome in her eyes, and advanced, with respectful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> -salute, saying, in a voice that was pleasantly modulated:</p> - -<p>“Enter, sir, enter. I have entertainment for him -that desires it.”</p> - -<p>Oman shook his head. “I come from out of the hills. -Nor have I any money,” he added, suddenly aware of -his destitution.</p> - -<p>But the girl only saluted him again: “The reverend -One is a Brahmana.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Enter, then, in the name of the -gods.”</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Wandering fakirs of any religion were called “Brahmanas,” a -word to be distinguished from “Brahmans.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Once more, though slowly and with deep reluctance, -Oman shook his head. “I am neither Bhikkhu nor -Brahmana,” he answered. “I am—an outcast.”</p> - -<p>For a moment the woman turned away her head, -and Oman’s heart sank. But, all of a sudden, she -ran to him, taking him by the hand, and looking at -him so that he perceived the gentleness of her face and -eyes. “Enter,” she whispered. “I am lonely. I will -share my cakes with you. And there is milk.—But -my husband’s brother must not know this thing. He -is of the weaver caste; and he is very proud.”</p> - -<p>Chattering in a subdued voice, she led him in, and -placed him before the crackling fire, the smoke of -which escaped through a hole in the roof. The cakes -which she had just kneaded and shaped lay on a board -before the fire, baking questionably. Now she ran to -a cupboard in the corner and took therefrom a large -jar of meal, a little of which she put into an earthen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> -pot, near at hand. Water, from another jar, was -poured over the grain; and then she set the dish in the -fire, where the simple porridge was soon steaming -pleasantly.</p> - -<p>Oman sat silent on the floor, looking on with rising -emotions. It was such an unspeakable luxury to -watch her, low-caste and poverty-stricken as she was, -moving about in the one-roomed hut which was none -too tidy in its simple arrangements, that he could not -be ashamed of his beggary. The meal was soon ready; -but, before he ate, the wanderer, suddenly realizing -what his appearance must be, took occasion to make -use of some of the contents of the water-jar for his face -and hands. The girl brought him a piece of cloth on -which he dried himself; and, when he turned to the fire -again, she cried out:</p> - -<p>“Why! Thou art beautiful! And—ah! You -are not an outcast!” And, leaning over, she laid her -hand on the Brahman cord still fastened over his left -shoulder.</p> - -<p>Oman looked at it—and flushed. He had a momentary -impulse to tear the thong away. But the -impulse passed, and it was not done. His father had -not removed it. Why should he? So, without answering -the girl’s exclamatory question, he turned -again to the fire, and she, with great forbearance, refrained -from pursuing the subject.</p> - -<p>It was a pleasant meal,—the pleasantest, perhaps, -that Oman had ever known. The girl, who gave her -name as Poussa, chattered to him unrestrainedly:—of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> -her life; of her brother-in-law, who took most of her -wages, and beat her when these were too little; of the -doings of the little village; and a thousand details of -the people therein, that brought new warmth to Oman’s -heart. In return he told her something of himself:—that -he had been a weaver, but had gone to join the -Bhikkhus, with whom he had now tired of living. -She seemed satisfied with what he said, and they -talked, comfortably, while she cleared away the remains -of their meal, and then, returning, seated herself -in front of him, and took his two hands and kissed -them.</p> - -<p>“See how my heart inclines to my lord. I love -him,” she said, simply.</p> - -<p>Oman started to his feet, shaking her from him -violently. Then he strode to the doorway, and stood -there, staring into the night, till Poussa, frightened, -crept to him again, and, kneeling at his feet, timidly -sought his pardon.</p> - -<p>“Nay, Poussa, nay, there is no fault. But I must -not remain with thee, for I am not of thy kind—not -like other men.”</p> - -<p>“Lord, I know it well. Thou art far above me; yet -I beseech thee to remain, and I will trouble thee no -more. Ah, let my lord incline himself to my forgiveness!” -And so prettily did she entreat, and so weak -was he with the yearning for sympathy, that, in the -end, he did as she asked, and returned into the hut, -where they fell to talking again.</p> - -<p>Before he slept that night, however, Oman learned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> -something of the personal life of his pathetic little -hostess. They were still before the fire, but their talk -had grown fitful and full of pauses, when, out of the -blackness beyond the open door appeared a man, lean, -ill shapen, but well clothed. His face was not good -to look upon, and his expression made it worse. In -the doorway he halted, apparently not intending to -come in, after he had seen Oman. Nor did he speak; -but stood still for a moment, looking hard at Poussa. -Words from him were unnecessary. Oman and the -girl saw him at the same moment, and she, her face -instantly losing its tranquil look, sprang to her feet, -and, running to the door, saluted the newcomer with -profoundest respect. The man snarled some words -at her, the purport of which Oman caught. They -related to money—apparently a demand to see what -she had earned during the day. Poussa fell upon her -knees, pleading, in a low tone, that her guardian would -refrain from altercation in Oman’s presence. The -man seemed to accede to her request, and, after a few -words more, the lowered tone of which did not lessen -their ugliness, strode off again into the darkness.</p> - -<p>Oman, relieved at the departure, looked up, prepared -to find Poussa smiling again. He was disappointed. -The girl finally rose from her knees and came back -again. But her head was bent, and her whole attitude -one of deep dejection. Indeed, by the glow of the low -fire, Oman perceived that slow tears were rolling from -her eyes, and that her hands were clasped as if in -pain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> - -<p>“Why do you weep? He is gone. You are safe,” -he began, half timidly.</p> - -<p>Poussa looked up at him with eyes full of misery. -“Early to-morrow he will come again. And then—I -shall be beaten. Oh, I shall be beaten!”</p> - -<p>“But why—why will he beat you?” he demanded, -in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Because—no, it is nothing.” She would not speak.</p> - -<p>Oman took her by the shoulders. “Why will he -beat you?” he asked, stupidly.</p> - -<p>“He is my brother-in-law,” she responded, as if that -were quite sufficient to explain any cruelty.</p> - -<p>“He desired money,” muttered Oman to himself. -“Ah—ah—I see! <i>I</i> have no money for you! <i>I!</i>”</p> - -<p>Poussa quivered under his touch, and her answer -was only a faint moan.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Oh! It is unendurable! Do you hear? It -is unendurable! Let me go after him! I will tell -him.”</p> - -<p>“No.” The word was firm. “No. He would only -beat you. He is master in this village. I am used -to it. See, I will not weep—I weep no more. Come, -we will sleep now. Let us sleep.”</p> - -<p>But Oman was not satisfied. He had too much of -the woman in him to be indifferent to the prospect of a -woman’s suffering. Because of charity to him, a woman -was to be beaten! The thought was too much. In his -agitation, he began to pace up and down the little room, -thinking—suffering—once again cursing his fate. Suddenly -something caught his attention. In the dark<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> -corner of the room, beside the unshuttered window, was -a rough hand-loom, half filled with a piece of badly -woven cloth. Before this Oman paused, considering.</p> - -<p>“Thou sayest thy husband’s brother is a weaver?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes. He is a weaver. He caused this loom to be -built in my house, that I might occupy my idle hours -in working at it. But I cannot weave evenly enough -for him to sell the cloth I make. Therefore only my -own garments can be fashioned from what I do,” she -explained, in a dreary tone.</p> - -<p>Oman, however, had suddenly recovered himself. -“It is well, Poussa. I shall repay thy brother for thy -charity. Come, I beseech thee, do not weep.” He -laid a hand upon her shoulder, smiled into her eyes, -and presently, in spite of herself, she was comforted; -and, through Oman’s gentle words, forgot her trouble. -In a little time they went to rest, Poussa lying upon -her accustomed bed, Oman on the floor near the door. -And both of them being weary with the day, they -shortly slept.</p> - -<p>In the first gray of morning, however, Oman was -astir. While the light in the hut was still too faint -for him to see clearly, he took the empty water-jar -from its place, ran down through the still, shadowy -hamlet to the edge of the mountain stream, into which -he first plunged himself, coming out shivering and -gasping, but refreshed; and then, after drying himself -in the air, he replaced his tattered garments, filled -his jar with water, and returned to Poussa’s hut,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> -where a bright daylight now threw the meagre furniture -into bold relief. Poussa herself still lay upon the -pallet, sleeping like a child. And Oman, after looking -at her for a moment with a sudden tenderness in his -heart, sat himself down at the loom, and, with a thrill -of independence and pleasure, set to work, first remedying -and straightening the knotted and uneven warp -already stretched; and then, seeing that there was -plenty of yarn left for the weft, began to throw it on.</p> - -<p>A full hour later Poussa woke to the “hock-hock-hock” -of the loom, before which sat her guest of the -previous evening. The shuttle was flying fast over -the straight and even threads, and, under Oman’s fingers, -which had lost none of their skill of five months -before, the finished cloth was slowly gathering in the -frame: as fine a bit of work as her brother himself -could have put forth. After a moment’s staring, to -wake herself from a supposed dream, Poussa, with a -little cry, ran to the loom and gazed into Oman’s face.</p> - -<p>“Thou! Thou an outcast! Thou’rt even Krishna -himself!” she cried, throwing herself on her knees -before him, while he ceased his work and bent over -her, smiling and protesting.</p> - -<p>“In this way I pay my debt to thee. Tell me! -When I have worked all day, and have produced a -piece of cloth that will bring twenty copper pieces, -will he then forbear to beat thee?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Poussa stooped over the loom, examining the work -at first anxiously, then with delight. “Yes—ah -yes! It is more than enough. Thou hast saved me!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> -and, throwing herself on the floor, she touched Oman’s -feet with her brow. Then, when he had raised her -up, she began, joyously, the more useful task of preparing -breakfast.</p> - -<p>Oman was true to his word. All the morning, -barring the half hour in which he and Poussa broke -their fast, he toiled at the loom, till Poussa’s guardian -came for the expected money. The interview with him -Oman undertook, making as much explanation as he -saw fit, and allowing Salivan to examine his handiwork -critically. Salivan was satisfied. His own vanity -could not deny that the work was good. Though -the man’s words were few and not overgracious, Poussa’s -face, after his departure, all radiant as it was with relief -and pride, doubled Oman’s reward, and he toiled -from pure pleasure to the last moment of the light.</p> - -<p>In the early afternoon Poussa, whose work began -late in the day, went to the forest to gather firewood; -and Oman, left alone at the loom, began to meditate. -His first musings were vague: instinctive impressions -rather than definite ideas; but he was too much master -of this art of thought to leave them, as most Hindoos -would, in embryo. As his shuttle flew in and -out of the warp on the loom, so were his thoughts -busy weaving a new pattern on his fabric of life. But, -in his imagination, there grew two distinct possibilities, -one of which must soon be made a fact, the other discarded. -One was the natural existence of a man -among his fellows—himself, settling quietly down -in this world-sheltered spot, to weave away his life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> -in tranquil monotony. The other presented to him -a strange aspect, beginning in hardship, in loneliness, -in unceasing trial and probation, and ending in—he -knew not what. And perhaps just in this uncertainty -lay the fascination that, from the beginning, -made the harder course seem so much more attractive -than the other. After all, he was not as other men; -and, by the arrangement of inscrutable providence, -life could never look to him as it looked to those who -had been given individual lives and individual chances.</p> - -<p>For many hours Oman’s fancy played thus with -destiny; and all the while, in his inmost heart, he -knew that, when the choice came, he should not hesitate. -He knew that Fate enwrapped him, grim, unconquerable. -And he knew that he should run the -course prescribed by her, though all the temptations -of humankind were placed in his way. For so much -of the scheme of his life disclosed itself to him.</p> - -<p>At dusk, Poussa returned, staggering under a -weight of boughs. Oman met her at the door, and -took half of her load from her, as a woman might, she -standing by the while, wondering what manner of -man it was that would help her at such a task. When -the Agnihotra was burning the two sat down, cross-legged, -beside the fire; and she, assuming for a moment, -unconsciously, a rôle of Fate, began to try him, -tempting:</p> - -<p>“O High-born, listen! It has been spread about -through the village that thou, a master weaver, art -come among us. Soon my brother-in-law will ask<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> -you to take up your abode with him, that you may -jointly ply the trade. My master, say not again that -thou art outcast of men. Come thou and dwell near -me, and let me serve thee, who will then have the -happiness of thy nearness. As Krishna pities women -and protects them, so do thou!”</p> - -<p>It was thus that she brought up a new battle in -Oman’s soul. Two forces struggled again within -him: one, man’s natural need; the other—what? -The summoning of the higher law? The half-conscious -necessity for the fulfilment of his mission? -Something of these. Something that would not yield -the battle. Something that had taken possession of -Oman’s mind, and would not lessen its hold, but -forced from him words that were scarcely his own. -Yet even secretly rebelling, he recognized the power -that had hitherto held him. He perceived that it was -the first choice that had been given him:—his first -glimpse of the two roads that stretch before every -living thing. And, in gratitude for this new trust, -he yielded to the power, and spoke as Prophets speak:</p> - -<p>“Nay, Poussa. I may not dwell among you. My -way lies upward and on. My destiny cannot be the -destiny of men; for I travel the road of those that -have sinned. ‘A burning forest shuts my roadside -in.’ One more night I shall remain with you, and -then I set out again—up—to the heights above, -there to finish my soul’s travail. Yet I shall see thee -again; for, in my weakness, I must return to thee for -help. Do not grieve. For what I do has been already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> -decreed, and is now turning from the wheel of present -time. Let us speak of it no more.”</p> - -<p>Poussa obeyed him. Nor was he to be moved by -the suave arguments of Salivan, who returned, that -evening, to examine his work, and to lay the proposition -of partnership before him. Yet, in the silent -watches of the night, doubts came, and he wondered -at himself for his choice. The morning scarcely -brought comfort; and how it was that he fulfilled -his word, it would be hard to say. But it is true -that, while the day was young, he withdrew himself -from Poussa’s clasp and set out, alone once more, -into the world, up, toward the great mountain that -overhung the village to the north, and was called of -men the “Silver Peak”. Thither went Oman, driven -by destiny, to attain to the heights that held for him, -though he knew it not, on the one hand the scourge -of suffering and blind wandering for the soul; on the -other the crown of victory and life.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IXb">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<small>THE STRUGGLE ON THE HEIGHT</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>In all great mountain ranges there are what might -be called heights of man and heights of nature. -There are always hills that seem to invite the puny -human agility: that hold at their summits resting-places -whence men may obtain their “view” and -begin their descent again, filled with pride at the conquest -of inconsequent difficulties. But there are other -heights that were not made for such: places which, -even should man attain to them, refuse him his vain -reward, bind him about with a spell of bewildered awe, -and, if he safely reach his earth-kennel once more, leave -him with the sense that he has been refused his due.</p> - -<p>Heights such as these owe nothing to humanity. -They are the retreating-places of defeated nature. To -man they are not natural. Their high glory is not -for him. Towering into regions above slow-drifting -clouds, where sun and stars and moon lean close on -high, they are in communion with eternity. Nor is their -secret of the ages to be borne away and exploited in -the depths below.</p> - -<p>Such a height as this rose up beyond the little hamlet -of the mountain stream. Its peak, a spirelike pinnacle,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> -not so lofty when compared with Himalayan or even -Alpine heights, rose up from a high, rounded plateau -which itself lay above the tops of the surrounding -hills. On the far side of the mountain the slope -ran gradually down to the basin of a tiny mountain -lake, that lay five hundred feet above the valley level. -But on the south end of this heavenly plateau, rocks -jutted down in a vast, tumbling mass, to a depth of three -thousand feet. Alone in its far summit, sunlit, glorious, -the strange mountain top might have been hailed -king of the whole range. And, indeed, it was one of -the few mountains of the Vindhyas distinctive enough -to possess a name. The valley dwellers called it -the “Silver Peak”; and its name fitted it well. The -eastern slope was densely wooded. The rocks at -the base of the peak on the plateau were filled -with caves; yet animals and reptiles shunned these -easy abodes. Only sure-flying birds, eagles and falcons -and kingfishers and floriken, swept through its forests -and over its height, unawed by the inviolable stillness. -But this stillness, unbroken since the day the -mountain rose from the earth’s seething surface, was -something to be feared. Here man had been defeated -in the moment of his triumph. His blatant voice, lifted -upon this royal height, had shrunk to a faint whisper; -and he had fled his sacrilege in shame.</p> - -<p>It was midday on the height. Overhead blazed -a September sun, infinitely brilliant. The plateau, -bathed in gold, lay drowsy in the noontide. Below, -a few shreds of silvery cloud clung about the rocks,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> -veiling higher mysteries from the lower world. The -loneliness was absolute. Neither eagle nor cormorant -dared the sun at this hour; and it seemed as if -living things had never existed here. Not one world-murmur -sent its vibration through the tranquil atmosphere. -Man and the works of man were forgotten -or undreamed-of. Here was such peace as the flesh-clothed -spirit cannot know: the peace that terrifies, -because it was declared primevally of God.</p> - -<p>Up to this height from the depths below came -Oman, mounting slowly, all but overcome with the -long toil of nearly twenty hours. From the torrent, -through cloud fringes, out of forest darkness came -he, upborne by his strange will. Reaching at last the -level, he walked on it till he emerged from the trees -into an open space, on one side of which rose the rocky -wall of the peak, pierced with its little caves. Far to -the east, down the long, slow slope, twenty-five hundred -feet below, the lake lay glittering with golden -ripples. Beyond it hills rolled, on and on, till, in the -far morning-land, they ended in a deep, violet mist.</p> - -<p>Here, in the open, Oman paused and looked. As he -stood, gaunt and tall, clad in the floating, tattered raiment -of some long-dead Bhikkhu, in his right hand a -stout staff, in his left a small bag of millet—Poussa’s -gift, the two spirits in him looking out through his -great eyes, there was no suggestion of triumph about -him. He was overcome by the wonderful beauty -of the surrounding scene; but he also betrayed a terrible -fatigue, the fatigue of mind, as well as of body.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> -The mountain lazily surveyed him as he stood, and -perceived that he carried the key to the gate of solitude. -He was not to be denied admittance. Deserted -of mankind he had come unto Nature, asking shelter -from the world; and Nature, pitying, could not refuse.</p> - -<p>Still actuated by the spirit that seemed distinct from -himself, Oman moved slowly toward the rocky ridge, -and entered one of the caves that pierced it. Here -was a place that would shelter him from storms; and -here, should nights prove cold, a fire would always -live. In the cave’s mouth he sat, for a long time, -musing on the possibilities of making an abode in -this strange place. There seemed to be only one vital -lack. There was no sign of water anywhere about. -Should that not exist, he must descend again. This -thought caused his heart fairly to sink. Obeying -a quick impulse, he set out in search of water; and it -was nearly an hour before, fifty feet down the eastern -slope, he found a spring that sent a tiny, falling thread -down in the direction of the lake, till it was lost under -the earth, a long way below.</p> - -<p>The last obstacle was gone now. This place was -fitted to be his abode. Here, far from the reach of his -kind, he would dwell, till he had fashioned for himself -a life that should be impervious to the shafts -of wanton injustice and cruelty. Here he must fight -the great battle of his dual nature, the outcome of -which he himself could not foresee.</p> - -<p>This much settled, he turned to practical needs. -After a long draught of water, he went back to his cave,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> -and began the tedious process of building a fire after the -fashion of the woodsman:—twirling a small, pointed -stick, like a drill, into a close-fitting hole made in a piece -of harder wood; feeding the heat with fine dust particles -and crumbled dead leaves, till at last a flame appeared. -It was a matter of an hour or more before his fire was -ready; and by this time Oman was famished with hunger. -He parched some of his millet on a flat stone, ate it with -eagerness, and finished the meal with some mangoes -gathered on the mountain side. Then, his faintness relieved, -though his hunger was not wholly satisfied, he lay -down and slept, waking again just as the sun was setting.</p> - -<p>The wonder of the following hour made an impression -on him that was indelible: that bound him about -with a spell which lasted as long as he dwelt upon the -mountain top. Far away in the great west, from the -palpitating flame in which the sun had set, spread a -vast cloud of deepening crimson that slowly broadened, -through the air and over the hills, clothing peak after -peak with rose-gold, its misty glow shimmering over -the whole earth, till every crag, every tree-top, every -eagle’s wing, was transcended with the light. Gradually -the color shifted, changed, sunk to a paler pink, -encompassed with gray and violet shadows that -shrouded the form of Night, who presently set on -high her beacon: the diamond-pointed evening star, -hanging, tremulous, in the deep-tinted west. And -lo! as the swift Indian twilight died, the sister stars -one by one flashed into view, till the sky was crowned -with them, and the day lay dead under a velvet pall.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> - -<p>Slowly Oman turned and walked back into his cave, -his sense of exaltation changing into oppression: a -realization of his infinite littleness before the immensity -of the changeless world. Night after night -such a scene as he had just witnessed was unfolded -here, where no mortal eye was supposed to look on it. -He felt himself an intruder in a holy shrine. His -presence was the sacrilege of an inviolate fane, the retreating-place -of God. And the loneliness, the oppression -of his senses, was like the weight of the whole -mountain on his soul. Still, through it all, was a joy: -the joy of the knowledge of those things that no man -knoweth, the splendor that man cannot parallel.</p> - -<p>All that night Oman scarcely slept; and yet the hours -were not long. His mind wandered unrestrained -through space. His thoughts were of a great and solemn -beauty, of which he was scarcely conscious. In -the first glimmer of dawn he left his rocky bed, -and went out again into the open, this time turning -his face to the east. And there was enacted before -him another indescribable drama, which lasted till the -sun was high in the heavens. Then he returned to -eat another meagre meal of parched grain, supplemented -with water. That bare sustenance seemed the -only permissible food in the face of the ascetic splendors -of sky and mountain-top. All through the day -he moved quietly about the plateau, feeling more and -more that it would be impossible now for him to leave -the enchanted place. And the mountain, still watching -how he moved and communed, humbly, within<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> -himself, sanctioned his presence, and bade him welcome -to her undisciplined heights.</p> - -<p>Such was the beginning of his sojourn on the Silver -Peak, which lasted not weeks nor months, but years—how -many years, Oman never knew. The tale of this -life might be compassed in a line, if one dealt only with -events; but the mental phases through which he passed -are scarcely to be transcribed. Life was sustained in -him by the meagrest food. He lived as the Chelahs -live: upon his soul; and was satisfied therewith. -In the beginning, he was forced to return some dozen -times to the hamlet in the valley, where he wove on -Poussa’s loom, to earn grain enough to live on. But, -early in his hermit’s life, he ploughed himself a field -on the plateau, planted millet-seed therein, and, after -that, reaped two scanty crops a year:—enough to live -on. And from the period of his first harvest, he descended -no more into the valley, where Poussa mourned -for him as dead.</p> - -<p>To one choosing, or chosen for, the life Oman had -elected, dwelling in utter solitude from year to year, -two courses are open. If the physical in him predominates, -he draws out of the nature around him -all that is animal, savage, or untamed, gradually -loses his powers of thought and articulation, finally, -the very habits of man, becoming a creature wilder -than the wild things themselves. But, if he be of the -spiritual type, a dreamer or religious fanatic, he draws -toward him the soul of Nature; his mind expands as -his body dwindles; and it is said that strange psychical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> -powers come to him. With Oman, in the beginning, -it seemed doubtful which he was to become: -beast or angel. Buddhism had not uprooted the -passion and the animal instincts of his dual spirit; -but it had at least opened his eyes to the spiritual life. -For many months—two, or perhaps three years, even—the -battle of the two forces raged within him. And -probably it was the mere fact that he was able for so -long a time to retain spiritual remembrance, that gave -him victory in the end. At first his moods alternated. -For days at a time he would sit wrapped in a state of -impenetrable calm, meditating as Gautama had meditated. -Then, without any warning, the brute in him -would rise, and, driven by it, he would range through -the mountain woods like a demon, climbing, goat-like, -over crags and precipices, and performing feats -of physical strength that were almost superhuman. -Again, suddenly, in one breath, he would break into -a tempest of tears and cries, and, flinging himself -on the ground, wherever he happened to be, would -lie there, shaken with sobs, till sheer exhaustion -brought quiet. Reaction never failed him, however; -and it was always the same. Quietly, like a numb, -dazed creature, he would rise and drag himself back -to the open summit and his cave, and there would sleep, -for an uncalculated period. When he woke he ate; -and, in the torpor that followed, the great calm would -descend on him again.</p> - -<p>His tempests were always a source of deep trouble -and dejection to him. That incomprehensible womanishness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> -that lived within him he half despised and half -deplored. When she was uppermost, she was pitiable -enough. Her high, wailing voice roused the dreariest -echoes among the surrounding rocks; and one hearing -them might have fancied himself listening to a chorus -of damned souls wandering along the road to Kutashala -Mali. This weaker spirit used, in the beginning, to -be roused by the thunderstorms which, from time to -time, raged across the heights. With the first hissing -fire-streak that crossed the sky, Oman’s frame would -be shaken by a quiver of terror, and he would cower -away into his rude habitation, and, covering his face, -remain moaning and trembling with every crash, every -blaze of lightning, every fresh onslaught of cold rain. -To him it was as if these phenomena brought back some -experience of the dimly veiled past, when, in words that -smote his ears like the near thunder itself, he had heard -pronounced on him a doom, and had thenceforth been -plunged into deepest night.</p> - -<p>After the passing of the storm, when the stars came -radiantly forth upon the newly refreshed sky, or the -sun shone through an upstretched, radiant bow, there -would steal upon the stricken creature of the cave a -sense of comfort and consolation almost repaying the -evil hour of fear. At such times, Oman would put -away his sense of wretchedness and shame; and his -heart would open out in praise. What he should -praise, whom, which of the gods his life had known, -he could not tell. None of them all—Siva, Vishnu, -Indra, not the Buddha himself—could satisfy his new,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> -groping sense. But the searching, seeking, wondering -after the unknown, the greatly desired, usually led him -back into his state of meditation, where he could claim -himself again a man.</p> - -<p>In the end, it was this search that brought him into -the kingdom. Brahman born, a Vedic student, instructed -also in the three great philosophic systems, -and, later, introduced to Buddhism, he had at hand a -great fund of religion, and a variety of hypotheses on -which to meditate. As soon as he began to perceive -that he must find some creed to lean upon, he set -to work consistently to analyze and compare these -different systems. And from that time, when he -felt himself occupied with a real work, the tempests -of his unconquered self came less often, and were far -less fierce, till, by degrees, they ceased entirely, and he -found himself master of his solitude. Now, truth began -to disclose herself to him. Gradually he discovered -that he understood a few things. He perceived -life to be a period of trial and probation. The beginning -and the end are good. One comes into the -world innocent, pure at heart, untroubled by sordid -doubts and fears. One leaves it calmly, having ceased -to desire the things of life. In the interval many -phases hold possession of the soul: ambitions of various -kinds (lusts and loves, for which one pays with -blood and tears), and the worshipping of many idols. -But one by one these break and crumble away. Men perceive -that they are false, and cease to search for them; -and their lack—the loss of riches, power, even love,—are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> -not to be felt as evils. The soul is self-sufficient -if it know its god. This is the story of life.</p> - -<p>Afterwards came higher considerations:—cause, purpose, -natural law, finality. Deep were Oman’s meditations -on these matters, and strange the answers that -he found. The twenty-five principles of the philosophy -of Kapila he reduced to two—matter and essence. -From the combination of these the universe has -risen. The great fountain of Spirit, situate in the -heart of the rolling worlds, sends forth a constant -spray, each drop of which is a soul, which, entering a -material form, begins its long pilgrimage back, through -imprisoning matter, into the fountain-head again. Into -such form, after long and troubled study, did Oman -work his truths; and then, still unsatisfied with the -infinitude of existence involved in the idea, sought -further solution to unsolvable things.</p> - -<p>Six, seven, eight years went by; and Oman was -no longer young. Yet his appearance was still not -that of a man. His face was without any trace of -beard; nor was his expression one borne by world-dwellers. -His eyes glowed with an inward fire. -There were certain lines about his mouth and eyes -that gave his features the droop of constant melancholy. -His form was tall and gaunt; but his fine skin -was still untoughened by exposure to sun and wind. -Save for a cloth about the loins, he now went unclothed, -unconscious of nakedness, exposed to no -observing eyes. His muscles stood well up on his -lean body, for he was a tiller of the soil. In his whole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span> -life there on the mountain he had never known one -day’s sickness; nor did it occur to him to consider -health in the light of good or evil. His solitude had -effect on him in infinite ways; but he kept himself -from forgetting speech by frequently talking aloud. -His thoughts, however, were not at all those of -men. He made companions out of the natural objects -round him, and regarded the phenomena of nature -as beautiful scenes in which he himself had a part. -He called greetings to the rising sun and to the moon, -which looked on him with jovial, distorted face. -Wild creatures that lived in the lower woods—bears, -small, burrowing animals, even snakes, moved near -him without fear and without any threat of battle. During -his long residence in the open, he had never knowingly -injured a single sentient thing; and for this his -reward came in the shape of companionship with the -wild. The tenth year of his mountain solitude had -passed, when, suddenly, all things were changed for -him.</p> - -<p>In some mysterious way, how, cannot be explained, -for the rumor could have had no other origin than the -wind, it was spread among the scattering mountain -villages that, on the summit of the Silver Peak, there -dwelt a Chelah, or hermit, of great holiness and wonderful -powers. And thereupon pilgrimages thither began.</p> - -<p>The meeting of Oman and the first stranger that -penetrated his solitude was unique. It was more -than ten years since Oman had looked upon the face -of one of his kind or heard the sound of any voice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> -other than his own. He had for a long time felt -neither need nor desire for companionship; and his -mind had become quite deadened to the necessity of -reëntering the world. One afternoon, returning from -a short walk down the eastern slope after fruit, he -found himself face to face with a man, standing near -the entrance of his cave, who, seeing him, began to -prostrate himself rapidly. Oman stopped perfectly still, -looking at him with wonderment in his face. After -a while, seeing that the holy one did not speak, the -man began:</p> - -<p>“O most excellent, reverend sir, accept my worshipful -homage of your learning and holiness. I am -come to ask of you the fate of my wife, who is sick of -the white plague. All doctors I have rejected, and -come to you, on the top of this amazingly high mountain, -to ask your aid. And, that I may not seem -to be wanting in reverence, I bring with me a jade -anklet,—which may the reverend One accept!” and -forthwith he proffered his gift.</p> - -<p>Oman looked at him long and steadfastly, striving -to master the emotions that were welling up within -him, the foremost of which seemed to be acute displeasure. -He hesitated also to speak; for he realized, -on listening to the speech of the man, that his own -articulation had become almost unrecognizably altered. -An answer seemed, however, to be a necessity; so, presently, -he nerved himself to the effort, and said, slowly, -with great difficulty:</p> - -<p>“Do not bow down before me, O man, nor before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> -any being like yourself. Return to your wife and -keep your place beside her bed; nor neglect to obtain -doctors for her in her sickness. I will not take your -gift, for what need have I of jade? Return to your -dwelling and trouble me no more.”</p> - -<p>Vainly the man protested, tried propitiation, prayer, -demand. Oman would pretend to no knowledge -concerning the sickness of his wife. But when the -stranger asked for food before beginning his arduous -homeward journey, Oman could not refuse him, but -offered what he had; and, when they had eaten together, -the man continually exclaiming that he was -not worthy of the honor, he departed, unsatisfied, -carrying with him his jade anklet.</p> - -<p>Oman was left in a state of great agitation. The -single hour of human companionship had brought -down on him, in a torrent, all the old desires, fears, -worries, hopes, in fine the inevitable emotions of human -life; and he was whirled into the stream of the -old problem. That day, and the next, and three or -four nights, were filled with restlessness. Then, as -time passed, and he found himself unmolested, calm -returned, and the thoughts of the other life faded -again.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the spell had been broken, and he was -not destined to a much longer period of solitude. -Less than a month had passed when another visitor -appeared upon the Silver Peak, this one with no -higher purpose than a desire to look upon the hermit. -He also, however, brought with him a gift, and remained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> -and ate with Oman, who conversed with him -without much constraint, out of a kind of eager desire -to convince himself that the life of men was really as -troublous as of old. This fellow departed, carrying -with him a glowing report of the tractability of the -holy man, and the great wisdom he had gained from -conversing with him. And this tale destroyed Oman’s -peace; for it brought upon him a perfect deluge of -visitors, of every degree, male and female, whom, in -the beginning, he helplessly received, and gave of -his store of wisdom, replying to their innumerable -questions with the patience of a child. Among these -pilgrims to his shrine were Poussa and her guardian, -who, when they learned that he still dwelt so close -above them, lost no time in seeking him. And Poussa, -indeed, Oman greeted with real pleasure; providing -her with the choicest of his fare, of which he by now -had some variety; for many of his visitors brought -gifts of food, which, his stock of grain running low -under the demand, he perforce accepted. Moreover, -he was now clad in a new robe, finer of texture and -richer as to border than any he had ever worn. From -Poussa, however, he would accept nothing, reminding -her that she had long since made him her debtor for -what he could never repay. And the girl and her -guardian left the mountain top after promising to -repeat their visit.</p> - -<p>For some weeks, buoyed up by the thought of -genuine friendship, Oman continued to let himself be -seen, treated his visitors with courtesy, and occasionally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> -accepted some of their gifts. But after another month -of it, he grew sick of the servility of his visitors and -the transparent curiosity with which they regarded -him; and, taking with him only a pouch full of grain -from his small store, he disappeared into the forest of -the east slope, and remained there for a fortnight, till -hunger drove him home again. It was sunset of an -October day when he reappeared upon the height, and, -arriving at his cave, found it already tenanted. Across -the threshold, motionless, unconscious, lay the body of -an old man, shrunken and pitiably emaciated, clad in a -tattered robe, a much-used staff lying at his side.</p> - -<p>Oman’s anger at sight of the intruder quickly melted -to pity. Kneeling beside the prostrate body, he lifted -one of the limp hands and began to chafe it back to -warmth. This being of no avail, he hurried to the -spring, returning with a wooden vessel full of water, -which he sprinkled upon the worn face and poured -down the parched throat. It had its effect. The -stranger stirred uneasily, muttered a few words, and -suddenly opened his eyes. Oman, with a momentary -throb of memory, perceived that one of these eyes was -brown, and the other a faded blue.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_Xb">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<small>THE WANDERER</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>For a long moment Oman bent close over the intruder, -staring into those strange orbs, his mind groping -back, back, into the dim past, wondering where it -was that he had known them before. Then, as the old -man uttered a faint moan, he started to himself again, -asking anxiously:</p> - -<p>“You are better? You can speak?”</p> - -<p>“I am better. Help me—to rise,” answered the -other, feebly.</p> - -<p>Oman, newly compassionate, lifted the light form in -his arms, carried it farther into the cave, and laid the -unbidden guest upon his own grass bed in the far corner. -Then he set about the tedious task of making a -fire. Before his sticks were ready, however, the newcomer, -summoning him, in a high and querulous voice, -to the bed, gave him a flint and steel, and a piece of -inflammable substance that he carried in his pouch. -These Oman thankfully made use of, and presently -a fire burned again in the rude habitation. Then, -out of his stores, the hermit prepared a meal for both -of them: rice and dried fruits, which, with fresh water, -formed a repast that seemed luxurious enough in Oman’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> -eyes. When it was ready he approached the stranger, -and asked gently if he desired to be fed. For answer -the old man drew himself into a sitting posture, and -then, after a moment’s effort, rose to his feet, walked -to the fire, and sat down; but before Oman had placed -his portion of the meal before him, he looked into the -young man’s face, and said, in a harsh and trembling -tone:</p> - -<p>“This is charity that you give. I cannot repay you -for the shelter. I am a mendicant, old, feeble, very -near to death.”</p> - -<p>“And I am a hermit. The lonely have need of little. -What I possess, therefore, I will share with you.”</p> - -<p>So they began their meal. It was a silent one. The -stranger did not make any effort to talk; and Oman, -watching him, sank by degrees into a fit of abstraction -in which his memory moved, groping, searching, wandering -back through time to find the clew to his -recognition of this man. The stranger himself, though -probably he had been in a half-starved condition, -showed no great eagerness for his food. He ate slowly -and little, and seemed to droop forward, while he sat, -with the weariness of age; and Oman began to wonder -how he had ever reached such a height as the Silver Peak.</p> - -<p>While they sat there at their meal, the sun set, and the -swift twilight faded. And when the old man rose and -moved toward the mouth of the cave, the stars were -shining, close overhead. After gazing for a moment at -the shadowy lines of hills stretching away to the east -and west, the old man turned to his host, and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> - -<p>“I will go out now and spend the night upon the -mountain. For the hospitality you have given me, I -thank you, in the name of Siva.”</p> - -<p>“Out upon the mountain! Why, thou wilt perish -there! The nights are cold at this height. Nay, -surely my cave is large enough for two. Remain here -till dawn, at least, O stranger.”</p> - -<p>The old man turned on him those peculiar eyes, in -which there now lurked an expression of suspicion, of -craftiness, of secrecy:—the expression of a dotard; -and there was an evil smile upon the old, trembling lips -as he said: “No, no. I shall sleep alone. There is no -one to prevent me. Hermit, it is thirty years since I -slept in a human habitation. No, no. No one shall -get the better of me in my sleep. No, no. And look -you,” his tone grew querulously savage, “look you -that you do not try to seek out my bed!” As he -spoke these last words, one hand crept up to a string -that was about his throat, its end lost under his robe, -and the other went to his girdle, wherein a knife was -stuck.</p> - -<p>Believing him now to be insane, Oman made no -further protest; and the man, with another look at him, -went out into the darkness of the eastern slope, with a -step that tottered with weakness.</p> - -<p>Amazed by the strange incident, Oman turned into -his cave again, and, worn out with many days of privation -and discomfort, lay down to sleep. All night his -dreams were troubled. The personality of the old man -had laid strong hold upon him, and he appeared in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> -sleep: now in the guise of some grewsome spirit of evil, -now as a guardian angel shielding him from mysterious -dangers. Oman woke at dawn, troubled and scarcely -refreshed, the old man still uppermost in his thoughts. -Possibly he had been feverish through the night; for his -mouth was parched, and he longed for water. In the -cool twilight of new day he rose, crossed the open plateau, -and went a little down the eastern slope to the -spring. As he reached his destination, his ear caught -a faint sound that came from some distance to the -right:—the sound of a human voice, moaning, as if -from pain.</p> - -<p>Oman hurriedly started toward it; and, after some -moments’ search, came upon the body of the wanderer, -lying in a smooth space surrounded by trees. His -eyes were closed, his color ghastly, and, from his parted -lips there came, with every breath, the deep moan that -had drawn Oman thither. The hermit knelt beside -his strange visitor and lifted one of the cold hands. -At the touch, the prostrate one opened his eyes, as it -were with an effort. Seeing Oman beside him, he -murmured, with a suggestion of relief in his tone:</p> - -<p>“Hermit—is it thou?” and immediately relapsed -into a state of semi-consciousness.</p> - -<p>Oman did, at once, the only thing to be done. Lifting -the body in his arms again, he carried it up the -slope and back into the cave, where the fire still smouldered; -and, laying the old man again on his grass bed, -began to work over him.</p> - -<p>The day passed without his returning to a normal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> -state. Oman knew that he was very ill, but whether -with some disease, or simply as the result of old age -and exposure, he could not tell. He warmed him, fed -him, bathed his brows with water, and sometimes caught -what he took to be a murmur of gratitude from the -feeble lips. As night came on, he began to fear lest the -stranger should make some attempt to leave him again; -but the fear proved groundless. With the setting of -the sun, a hot fever rose in the aged and world-weary -body. The sick one’s mind wandered through far-off -regions, and he talked, loudly, of fragmentary things. -For Oman there was no sleep that night. With a great -pity for the helplessness of his guest, he watched over -him tenderly, doing for him those things that only a -woman would have thought of. During that night of -anxiety, there rose up in the heart of the hermit something -that for many years he had been striving vainly -to kill. It was the hunger for human love and affection, -a desire for something to care for. Suddenly, this -last had been given him. This old man, querulous, -evil-eyed, unlovable bodily and mentally, had become -sacred in his eyes, an object of trust for which he -should be answerable; and, in this thought, all the -starved affection in Oman’s nature welled up within -him, till his heart was full and overflowing with pain -and joy.</p> - -<p>On the evening of the second day of the stranger’s -illness came the rains; and Oman knew that now, for -the space of a month, at least, they were safe from -intrusion. He and his charge were alone at the mercy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> -of Nature; and, far from being dismayed at the prospect, -Oman hailed it with joy. For him, who was now -become veritably the mountain’s child, the old fear of -the tempest was quite gone. Lightning and wind and -rain were his brothers, when they sported across the -peaks; and, since they brought him security against the -impertinence of the people of the valleys, he blessed -them anew for their presence. Thus, relieved from -any untoward anxiety, he turned with all his strength -and all his will to the assistance of the worn and -world-weary creature whom chance or God had sent -him to be his charge.</p> - -<p>In the beginning, Oman always hoped that a few -days would see the old man recovering, in some measure, -his strength. But little by little that hope faded -away. The illness, however, was never very alarming. -By night there was always low fever, by day sometimes -an abnormal chilliness, which Oman frequently strove -to overcome by the heat of his own body. He would -lie by the hour stretched along the bed, clasping the -old form to his own, literally feeding his strength into -the other. The stranger never tried his patience, at -least. He was perfectly passive, obeyed every suggestion -of his guardian, ate and drank whatever was -given him, and never asked for more. Much of the -time, indeed, Oman was in doubt as to whether he knew -what was going on around him. By night his mind -wandered, and he talked in his dreams; but by day he -generally lay like one in a stupor, heeding nothing that -passed. The one hour when he seemed to regain possession<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> -of his faculties, was at sunset. Usually, at this -time, he would open his eyes, and, if Oman were not -already beside him, would call for him, and ask a few -questions, or address him on topics of interest to himself, -the significance of which was lost on his listener. -For a few days, just at first, he would often ask to sleep -apart from his companion, would suggest vague dangers -that were surrounding him, and certain suspicious circumstances -that he believed himself to have noticed. -From the general tenor of this talk, Oman gathered that -he was in constant fear of being robbed; and, from -watching the hands that were forever fumbling and -playing with the string about his neck, he guessed that -this string must be attached to the object of his anxiety. -He was, therefore, scrupulously careful never to mention, -and, so far as was possible, not even to look at this -string; and the result of his consideration was what he -hoped for:—very soon the old man dropped his suspicions, -and seemed to feel for Oman a spirit of friendliness, -almost affection.</p> - -<p>The latter half of October and the first fortnight in -November were wild weeks on the mountain top. It -seemed as if the very elements were struggling over -that soul in the cave. Never had such storms of hail, -rain, wind, and snow raged round the Silver Peak. In -all that time, however, Oman’s weaker nature never -once manifested itself. He was using all the man and -all the strength in him for the wanderer, whom the -wild weather greatly disturbed. Indeed, often, during -the storms, he would lie cowering with terror in his far<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span> -corner of the shelter, talking deliriously of strange -things, or uttering wild and terrified cries that wrung -Oman’s very heart.</p> - -<p>It was early in the afternoon of a mid-November day -that one of the fiercest of these storms began, and -lasted till early evening, when a great and unexpected -peace descended upon the earth. Remarkably, the -working of Nature was paralleled within the cave by -an inexplicable scene. All through the morning the -stranger had been conscious, sane, and unusually tranquil. -After the noon meal he lay back on his bed with -the avowed intention of sleeping; and Oman seated -himself in the doorway of the hut, to watch the clouds -roll up from the west and swirl close round the -peak, in moisture-laden mists. For some moments the -storm had been imminent; and Oman’s nerves were -keyed for the first rush of the wind. His back was -toward the bed. He could not know that the figure of -the old man was suddenly upright. He could not see -the fire of madness burning in the weird eyes, nor perceive -that the shrunken muscles were as tense as those -of a panther about to spring. But, in the first roar of -the blast, with the first, fierce sweep of hail across -the mountain top, the storm within also broke. Oman -felt himself seized about the throat in an iron grip, -and heard the shouting of the madman above the fury -of the gale.</p> - -<p>The half hour that followed he never clearly remembered. -There was a fierce, almost mortal struggle. -Locked in each other’s arms, the two reeled and rolled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> -about the cave, like animals. Oman fought simply to -preserve himself; but he was pitted against a madman’s -strength. Blinded and half-stunned by the suddenness -of the attack, it was many minutes before he got -full control of his own forces. He soon became aware -that a flood of wild ravings was pouring from the old -man’s lips; and finally, at the very climax of the battle, -when Oman felt his strength giving way, the wanderer -suddenly dropped his arms, and his maniacal force -seemed to throw itself into words, which he screamed -out till they sounded high above the gush and clamor -of the storm:</p> - -<p>“Thou shalt not have it—thou shalt not, dog! -Nor thou! Nor thou!—It is mine! The Asra ruby -is mine own, given me in payment for work.—Ah—ye -shall not take it from me! Faces—faces—faces!”</p> - -<p>The last words sank, grewsomely, to a whisper, as -he struck out once and again into the air at the phantom -forms that closed him round. Then, suddenly, -without any warning, he flung both hands over his head, -reeled, and dropped in a heap at Oman’s side.</p> - -<p>For a moment or two the hermit stood perfectly still, -exhausted by the struggle that had passed. Then he -took the unconscious man by the arms, and dragged and -pulled him back to the bed, on which he placed him, -limp and unresisting. Afterwards he went to replenish -the fire, over which he busied himself for some minutes. -Finally he returned to the doorway, and seated -himself so that he could watch both the bed and the -world without.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> - -<p>He was thoroughly tired. He could not remember -ever experiencing such a battle as the one just passed; -and it had taken all his strength. In the corner, the -stranger had now begun to moan, faintly; but Oman -made no move to go to him. Just now he felt no desire -to help a creature who had so lately attempted his life. -Rather, there was a new bitterness in him. Had it not -been always thus—a return of evil for good? This -was all that unselfishness or self-sacrifice had ever -brought him. Where was the divine justice to be -found? Where was that universal law of compensation? -Alas! Experience was once more accomplishing -its work, narrowing its victim down to the little -present, blotting out all the breadth of view that reflection -and solitude had brought.</p> - -<p>For many hours Oman sat there, musing bitterly, till -the cloud-veiled sun was down, and night, still filled -with the rush of tempest, advanced. Then, at last, he -turned within, replenished his fire, and cooked himself -a meal of rice. As he ate, he glanced over toward the -stranger, who, however, made no sign. When he had -finished, Oman crept quietly to the bed, and looked -down at his charge, to see if he had need of anything. -But he found the old man fast asleep.</p> - -<p>After a time he returned to his post in the doorway. -He found the night changed. Through torn and shimmering -mists, the golden moon came rolling up out of -the hills, bringing with her a court of stars, and driving -the heavier clouds away down the western slope of the -sky. Peace had come upon the height. The ruin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span> -wrought by the storm was being atoned for now. It -was the hour of Nature’s repentance. Oman looked, -and his own soul grew calm. This scene was so familiar -to him! How many times, in his long sojourn on -the height, had he not gazed upon it thus, gloried in it, -loved it? But to-night, when its mission had been accomplished, -and he had been restored to tranquillity, he -turned his thought to other things—one other thing:—a -strange, foreboding sense of recognition of some of -the words spoken by the wanderer: “The Asra ruby -is mine own—given me in payment—” And it was -Oman himself who involuntarily added, in thought, -the last words that his charge had uttered: “Faces! -Faces! Faces!” What were the faces rising round -him here, in the firelit night? What pale ghosts of -the long ago were taking shape? What was it now -burning behind his brain, struggling to break the barrier -of the past? Oman bent his head, and clasped it in his -two hands, thinking in vain, yet ever with the sense -that remembrance was imminent. He was at a high -pitch of nervousness when the unwelcome voice reached -his ears:—a voice faint, and weak, and low, as if it -came out of the depths of the bygone years:</p> - -<p>“Hermit—art thou there?”</p> - -<p>With a passing shiver, Oman rose and went to the -bed where the old man lay. As he approached, the -stranger lifted one hand slightly, and murmured:</p> - -<p>“Fear not, hermit. I am not now mad. Nay—all -things are clear before me, for I am approached by -Rama.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span></p> - -<p>Oman knelt beside him, and gazed earnestly into the -gaunt, white-bearded face, across which the fire cast a -flickering light that brought out every smallest line -and wrinkle. An ashen pallor pinched his features, -giving them the unmistakable, waxen look that comes -only to those whose souls are poised for flight. Oman -saw at once that death was near; and his heart contracted, -painfully:</p> - -<p>“Yes,—thou seest it,” said the wanderer, quietly, as -he looked into Oman’s eyes. “It is time. My spirit -is glad of its release.”</p> - -<p>He lapsed into silence again; nor had Oman any -desire to break the stillness over which, as he knew, -Rama brooded. The wanderer retained his consciousness: -seemed, indeed, to be lost in a revery, while -Oman sat watching him. After a time, in the course -of his musing, the dying man’s hand crept up to that -string which was about his neck; nor, this time, did his -touch stop with the string. With an air of delivering -himself of a heavy secret, he drew, from beneath his -loose garment, a tiny, golden box. Lifting this in his -thumb and first finger, he turned his face to Oman, and -began to speak, disjointedly, at first, as if he were -thinking aloud; then, by degrees, launching into narrative -form, with a story that held Oman spell-bound at -his side.</p> - -<p>“Look—it is here,” he observed, quietly. “Here is -the Asra ruby; the great stone that I have kept my own -for thirty years. Here it is, in this box, safe to the end. -And Fidá is gone—and I cannot—See, hermit! It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> -lies in this little box, that treasure. Thou hast never -made move to take it from me since I have dwelt with -thee; and therefore it shall be thine after my death. Yes, -I have said it. Thine. But take it not from me until -I have passed. Dost thou hear, hermit?” His tone -grew threatening and harsh. “I am dying, and thou -mayest take it from me dead.” He glared again into -Oman’s face; but, seeing the gentle expression there, -lost his sudden angry fear, and dropped again into the -lighter tone.</p> - -<p>“The years—the years are many since it came to -me. I was not then a young man; and I had done -much wrong in the world. My name—no one knows -it now. I have never told it since that night. But -I may speak it at last. My name is Churi, and I was -a slave, a doctor, in the palace of Mandu.”</p> - -<p>“Mandu!” echoed Oman, quickly, in a strange -tone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I was a doctor there, as well as a slave; and -I was valued and trusted by my Rajah. But I wanted -my freedom. I planned to buy my freedom, that I -might no longer be called ‘slave’. And then Fidá -was brought thither. The Rajah, returning from war -in the north, brought back a noble captive who was -made royal cup-bearer, and afterwards raised to high -favor in the palace. But Fidá loved. Ha! He -loved a woman of the zenana—not a slave, mind, but -a wife, and the <i>favorite</i> wife. And she loved him also. -And because I guarded a door of the zenana by night, -he gave me the ruby to open the door to him. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span> -I, hoping by it to buy my freedom, accepted it, knowing -that it was the life of his race.”</p> - -<p>“This man—his name,” suggested Oman, trembling -a little.</p> - -<p>“His name?—I have said it,—Fidá el-Asra. That -was his name; and the gem was the gem of the Asra. -When he gave it away, he became cursed; and the evil -fell on all of us. For many weeks I sanctioned the -crime in the zenana: for months played I traitor to my -Rajah, for the sake of the ruby, and because I loved -Fidá and Ahalya, and because they were happy together. -Then at last the slave fell sick of a sickness -that would not be cured, though I even returned the -ruby to him to be worn, in order that he might be well -again. But it could not help him then; and he gave -it back to me.</p> - -<p>“It was spring. I hoped daily for the coming -of a certain merchant to whom I would sell the ruby -for the price of my freedom. But alas! freedom and -vengeance came upon me together, without the selling -of the stone. There was a new war. Rai-Khizar-Pál -marched away, leaving his favorite slave to be guardian -of the young lord Bhavani, his son. Then, in the -fair April, it fell upon us:—death! death! death!</p> - -<p>“We found it in the early dawn,—Kasya and I. -We found the body of Ragunáth, dead, in the champak -bushes, by the water-palace. He was lying in his -blood.—And Ahalya and Fidá had not come back from -him. They were gone. Soon everything must be -known; and I should surely be betrayed to my death<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> -when Kasya learned the things that I had done; for -there was a little Arab slave—Ahmed—who also -knew. Therefore, by night, I stole away from Mandu, -and out—out—into the hills, carrying the ruby with -me. Blood was upon it. Blood it had brought, and -with the fire of blood it gleamed. I dared not part -with it. It ate into my flesh, and yet I could not sell -it. I suffered from heat and from cold, from hunger -and thirst and nakedness, while I bore on my body -this great wealth. For thirty years, hermit, I have -wandered over the earth, carrying fear with me. Each -man has worn for me the mask of Rama. Each bite of -food has had for me the flavor of poison. I have -wandered the Vindhyas over, from east to west, from -Dumoh to Khambot. And ever Mandu has drawn -me back toward her. Terror and death have dogged -my footsteps; yet have I lived long, till I am very old. -Suffering, hardship, sickness, most hideous remorse—all -these I have known, and still have clung to life. -My spirit was broken long ago; but I have not wanted -to die. I should have fought with any that threatened -to take life from me. Tell me, Wise One, what is this -love of living? Why have I, most miserable of creatures, -clung so long to it?</p> - -<p>“But behold—behold—the face of Rama stares at -me, from the shadow yonder! Back, Rama! Back -yet for a little! Back!” For a second, the old man -lifted himself from the bed, and levelled a tremulous -hand at the haunting visage. Then he fell, weakly, -and for a long time was still. Oman, sitting beside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> -him, still under the spell, could not speak. Finally -Churi himself broke the silence again, this time in a -voice that had faded to a thin whisper:</p> - -<p>“I am dying, hermit. Rama’s face grows brighter -in the gloom. The visage is less fearful, now. My -madness is gone. I see clearly. But for many years -I have been mad. It is the ruby. It holds evil in it for -all but the race of Asra. I had dreamed of returning -it to them. But thou, who hast sheltered me and fed -me, to thee I say: the ruby is cursed. I warn thee of -it. Better burn it on my body.—Hark!—hark!—the -drums of Rama! I am dying, hermit. Take me -by the hand!”</p> - -<p>Feebly he held out his shrunken fingers, and Oman -clasped them close and steadied him. Then Rama and -his hosts came by, and halted for a moment at the cave -till their number was joined by one. Thereafter they -moved on again, beating their muffled drums. And -Oman was left alone on the Silver Peak, with the body -of Churi, the dying fire, and the gem, enclosed in its -golden box. Long Oman sat there, beside the body of -the vagabond, thinking. Finally, when the dawn was -still three hours away, he rose and made ready for his -task. But first, perhaps unconscious of what he did, -he loosened the treasure from the stiffening fingers of -the dead, and slipped the string, with its yellow box, -about his own neck.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIb">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<small>SUNRISE</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>By night, on the eastern slope, Oman, under the light -of the stars and moon, built a great funeral pyre of dry -wood, brought from his store in the cave. There was in -it neither sandal nor aloes, nor yet frankincense, nor any -fragrant spice to cover the stench of burning human -flesh. But the dry fagots would blaze high and fast; -and the gay flames would quickly purify the long-tenanted -body. When all was ready, Oman returned to -the cave, and, lifting the still form of the old man, bore -it out into the air of heaven and laid it on the pyre, its -face turned toward the west, where the moon was now -quietly sinking. Then, with a blazing stick brought -from the cave, he lighted the funeral pyre and stood -watching the flame-wreath that rose in a halo round the -hoary head.</p> - -<p>To an Indian, this purification by fire is no infamy, -nor is there anything horrible in it. It is his sacred -ceremony for the beloved dead. While Oman made his -preparations for it, he had suffered no repulsion. And -yet now, as he watched the dead form—so pinched, so -pallid, so unreal, lying complacently on the great fire-bed, -with the flames curling around the flesh: now, as -the long beard and white hair were singed away,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span> -and the blackened visage grinned in horrid baldness, a -thrill shot through Oman’s breast, and, stifling a cry, he -turned and ran from the spot, up, up, through the wood, -and into the open, on the height. There he threw -himself down, beside a giant boulder, and, burying his -head in his arms, gave himself up to a new repulsion and -a new heart-sickness.</p> - -<p>The moon had set; and the world was very still. The -crackling of the fire and the hiss that went with it were -the only audible sounds. Animal noises had ceased. -A far, faint breeze stirred the tree-tops; but there was -no suggestion of the fierce rains of the previous day. -The whole sky was softly luminous with waning moon- -light and the redoubled splendor of stars. Far below, -the valleys and the base of the hills were lightly swathed -in mist. Peace brooded over the great Vindhyas; and -gradually Oman’s horror was swept away. The sweet -night air cooled his frame and dried the tears that -had wet his face. Weariness overcame his excitement -at the events of the day and night; and he fell into a -kind of stupor. He was not asleep, for he was still -conscious of the workings of nature:—the setting of -the moon, the dark hour, the dying glow of the fire, -whose work was done, and the heavy wheeling through -the sky of two or three night birds. His brain, however, -was numb. He neither thought, nor felt the desire -to think. His head rested against the rock, and his eyes -closed. An hour passed; and, by degrees, the darkness -gave way to a faint, shadowy light. The night was -over. Day was at hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span></p> - -<p>In this first grayness, Oman lifted his head and opened -his eyes. Then he rose and looked down to the wood, -where the fire had been. For a moment he hesitated, -but finally turned away. He could not go there yet. -For a few moments he paced up and down the broad, -treeless space on the height, and then returned to his -rock, and set his face to the wondrous east.</p> - -<p>The far horizon was streaked with palest rose and -yellow, melting into a shadowy sky. Above this bed -of color, the starry rushlights one by one melted away. -Only the morning star, the jewel in Ushas’ frontlet, -remained, flashing in the now deepening crimson, till -Ushas herself, having opened the sun-gates, passed from -the sky and returned into the land of the gods. The -colors were intensified as new light crept up the heavens; -and above the gold was a band of pale, clear green -that merged softly into the upper blue. Now, down the -slope, and over all the wooded hillsides, rose a musical -murmur, the song of waking things: birds, and insects. -And fearlessly they performed the morning hymn, undisturbed -by any thought of man. By now the creatures -of the jungle had returned to their lairs, the -night’s prowling ended; and the world was waking -from dread to the joy of new day.</p> - -<p>There was a long, still pause. The clear light grew -clearer, the crimson deepened with inner fire, two or -three little cloud-boats near the horizon were gay with -rosy glow; but the shimmering valley mists had passed -quietly away. The world was ready and waiting. -Yet still Surya, rejoicing in the magnificence of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> -pageantry, delayed his coming, till the man upon the -mountain top, impatient of the time, bethought him of -his treasure, pulled the golden box from beneath his robe, -opened it, and let the contents fall into his hand. The -ruby seemed a talisman; for, as Oman held the clear -stone against the sky, the first fire-beam shot above the -horizon, and the great, flaming wheel rolled up from -behind a far-off hill. The world broke into the climax -of its morning song; and, in his heart, Oman also sang: -strange words, fitted to a wondrous melody. Then, -by degrees, he was silent again, his eyes, lowered from -the too dazzling light, fixed upon the fiery heart of -Churi’s legacy—the Asra ruby.</p> - -<p>As Oman gazed into the scintillating depths of this -rare and wonderful stone, he was thrown into a kind of -waking slumber, a trance, in which scenes of a dim-lit -past crowded upon him. Churi’s tale returned:—the -young prince in captivity, who had bought his love -with this stone:—Fidá el-Asra. Oman saw him, clearly, -standing in a small and richly furnished room, beside a -woman clad in clinging, scarlet draperies, a wreath of -poppies woven in her heavy hair. This woman’s face -grew more distinct, and shone almost transparent, till, -as she gazed into the face of the man, a faint smile -lighted her lips. But there was a mournful sadness in -her lustrous eyes; and, seeing these eyes, Oman’s heart -throbbed with understanding.</p> - -<p>This man and this woman, burning in the depths -of the ruby, were no vision. Nay, he knew them -both: <i>he</i>, Oman, the outcast, the hermit. But how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> -explain the reality of the dream? Had he sheltered the -twain in his own breast? How else came he to know -their suffering: to suffer with them? How else was it -that he saw the dark shadow of crime lying on both -their hearts? How else that a gurgle and rush of -water sounded in his ears, and that he shuddered as -he felt the chilly contact? How else could he realize -the terror of helplessness that had been upon these two -souls, as they rose together from the embracing waters, -to that space where water could not hide their deed? -How, finally, was it that, straightway after this, he was -himself again, standing upon the height where his battle -had been fought and won, and where the vision had appeared? -The jewel was still glowing in his fingers; the -sun was only just upon the edge of the horizon;—but he -had lived a year in three minutes. Did this mendicant’s -gem hold within it some baleful magic? With a sudden -sense of revulsion he dropped the ruby back into -its box, thrust it out of sight under his robe, and, shaking -away the still clinging dream, walked slowly back -into his cave.</p> - -<p>Fortunately his fire had not quite gone out; and, with -a little effort, he revived it. Then he cooked himself -some food, ate, threw himself upon the bed where -Churi had died, and fell into a deep sleep.</p> - -<p>When he awoke, it was afternoon. Clouds were -rolling up the west, and there was promise of more -rain. Oman went slowly out of his cave, with a new -sense of desolation on him. The air was cold. The -surrounding hills lay wrapped in still, gray shadows.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span> -All the morning joy had left the world. Reluctantly, -with dread in his heart, Oman made his way down the -eastern slope to the place of the funeral pyre. There -lay a heap of wood ashes, mingled with white bones, -a few scraps of cloth, and some pieces of charred and -blackened flesh. That was all. The fire had done its -work well. A week of rains and wind, and no trace -would remain of him who had ascended the Silver Peak -to die. The sight was less dreadful than Oman had -feared; and he returned to his cave with a lighter heart.</p> - -<p>During the remainder of the daylight, Oman occupied -himself in a desultory way by reviewing his depleted resources. -His fire-wood was nearly gone; and, the woods -around being soaked with rains, it would be a month or -more before a new stock could be gathered and sufficiently -dried to burn. His food supply was also very -low. This fall he had neglected to care for his grain -field; and the crop, which, by this time, should have been -harvested, still lay in the soil, draggled with mud and -mildewed with wet. He had yet a little millet from -the last season, and some rice and dried dates brought -by visitors, before the rains. But, fast as he might, these -could not suffice for the winter. Tired and heavy-hearted, -he sat in the doorway of his cave and watched -night and the storm come on together. Then, while -the rain beat into his shelter, and a fierce wind raged -without, he rekindled his fire in the farthest corner of -the cave, and lay down upon his grass bed, thinking -to sleep.</p> - -<p>But rest was not yet for him. By degrees he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span> -seized with a great restlessness of mind and body. He -tossed and turned, nor was able to shut his eyes, which -stared wide into the light-streaked gloom. His brain -burned, and was filled with chaotic visions. The spirit -of Churi moved close beside him; and he chilled with -dread. Where was the calm of his former high estate? -Alas! It had of late become a mockery. On his breast -the ruby burned; and at length he took it out and -gazed at it by the light of the fire. Again it brought -upon him strange thoughts, bathed him in a stream of -remembrances so vivid that he felt himself of another -life. Under this influence, after a long time, he fell -asleep, only to find his dreams taking the same direction -as his waking visions. He found himself standing on -a great eminence, a vast plateau, rising sheer out of -a fertile plain. Behind him were rice-fields, trees, -running water, and vast buildings. He was standing -with his back to one of these buildings, which was -half hidden in clustering tamarinds and bamboo; and -the structure was called, in his dream, the water-palace. -In the dying light of day he stood there, looking down -over the far plain, to a broad river that rushed through -the fields. His old calm was upon him, for he was at -home. This, he perceived, was the land of his desire, -the place where he should find welcome and rest. And -so the vision faded and his sleep became dreamless.</p> - -<p>When he awoke, the morning was well along. He -found that he still clasped the ruby in his right hand; -and, returning it to its box, he prepared to go about the -duties of his day. He was determined now to force<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> -himself to a long period of reflection, as a remedy for -the restlessness brought about by recent happenings. -But, to his great disturbance, he found his determination -easier made than carried out. True, he meditated. Long -habit had not so basely deserted him. But his meditations -were no longer satisfying, and, when they were -over, the dreaded mood, a restless loneliness, an unquenchable -yearning, crept upon him again, till he -soothed himself anew with thoughts of the ruby, the -power of which never failed.</p> - -<p>All this could end only in one way. For three weeks -longer he dwelt on his height; and then, suddenly abandoning -a useless battle, made ready to leave the mountain -top. At dawn of a December day he stood for the -last time on the summit where he had dwelt for so -many years; and then, at last, not without a pang of -regret, he turned his steps downward, toward the haunts -of men.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIIb">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<small>MANDU IN MALWA</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Late in the evening of the same day that he had left -the height, Oman appeared at the door of Poussa’s hut; -and found that the years had changed it little. Poussa, -now a woman of some authority in the village, though -she was not yet thirty, received him with joyful acclaim, -and with a reverence that she gave neither to the -head-man nor to the priest of her community. She -feasted him on rice and curry, millet bread, dried fruits, -and sweetmeats, and gave him to drink out of a jar of -mellow (not too precious) wine. They ate alone, he -and she; and he slept the whole night in her hut before -she deigned to acquaint the village that the great hermit -was among them.</p> - -<p>Oman, who had expected to spend the next day at -the loom, to pay his debt of food to Poussa, found himself, -instead, a centre of attraction to the whole village, -and was obliged to submit, for a matter of twelve hours, -to the entertainment of the chief citizens of the hamlet, -and as many visitors as had time to reach him that day. -At dusk he was borne to the room of the gods in an old -palanquin, carried on the shoulders of eager Vaisyas. -And there a sacrifice was conducted, and Soma was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> -drunk, and fires were lighted in the council square. -They also demanded of him an address; and Oman -talked, preaching a little of his own creed, couched in -the simplest language. His audience, accustomed, like -all Hindoos, to thoughts of the broadest abstraction, gave -close attention, and, getting his meaning, approved it, -because of the novelty of his ideas. Later he was borne -back, triumphant, to Poussa’s hut.</p> - -<p>That night Oman could not sleep for very joy. Here -at last was—success. At last men had given him free -right of brotherhood, and more. He had known the -respect, the reverence, of his own kind. By a miracle, -the outcast was become the acclaimed among men. -The cost of it, those bitter years of loneliness and -despair, was not counted now. Oman knew only that -he was welcome, was honored among the people; and -his heart went out to them in praise and thanksgiving.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he stayed only a day longer in this -mountain hamlet. His departure was not easy. -Through Poussa it had become known that he was -Brahman-born; and immediately a post as second priest -was offered him by Nala himself. Here Oman might -have ended his days, universally revered and beloved. -But Fate was pulling at his sleeve. The yearning for -the dreamland, the land of the Ruby, had not left him; -and his heart told him that it actually existed, while -Fate whispered in his ear, bidding him go find it. -Thus, obedient to the voice, he said farewell to his new -friends, detached Poussa’s clinging hands from his -knees, smoothed the rough hair back from her face,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> -pressed his lips to her brow, and then set off, alone, into -the jungle.</p> - -<p>Now began his period of wandering:—the long -progress through the Vindhyas, which occupied many -months. It was not a time of suffering. Long inured -to the greatest hardships of the body, neither fatigue -nor hunger dismayed him, nor did the mountain woods -and ravines hold for him any terror. The animals of -the wild would not molest him. Indeed, he encountered -singularly few. The winter weather was pleasant; the -sun’s rays mild. With a stout wooden staff in his hand, -he journeyed leisurely, halting at any villages he came -to, finding welcome and acclaim wherever he arrived; -for his appearance proclaimed his estate. It became his -regular custom to preach in the market-place; and he -never lacked an audience. Perhaps from the memory -of Hushka, perhaps out of the depths of his own solitude, -he had drawn a kind of picturesque eloquence -that rushed upon him as he began his talks, and drew -his listeners to him like a magnet. An Indian will -listen to any fantastic creed, interest himself in any -philosophy, nor deem it heresy to his million gods. It -is, with him, either the instinctive knowledge that Truth -in any form is good; or else, and more probably, a kind -of inconsequential, dreamer’s grasping of all happily -expressed maxims that bear the stamp of understanding. -At this time, Oman made no attempt to get to the root -of his success. It was enough for him that it existed. -Joy walked with him on the road; and the stimulus of -his popularity seemed to know no reaction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span></p> - -<p>Fortunately, he never felt any desire to take up a -permanent abode in these mountain towns. Some of -them were of fair size, boasted of a petty ruler, and -had some military force. Many had open offices for -such as he, where he might have taken a place of rank. -Almost all were set in surroundings of great natural -beauty, calculated to appeal strongly to Oman’s inbred -love of nature. But he never entertained the least idea -of settling in one of them. His early purpose, vague as -it was, lay enshrined in his heart. He was a pilgrim to -the land of vision and memory: a high and holy place, -peopled with ghosts of beloved dead, a shrine that all -twice-born love to carry in their hearts. For months -he hid his desire. He longed constantly to make inquiry -of the men among whom he passed, but he -always hesitated, fearing to be taken for a fool should -he speak of a country the name of which he could not -tell, and no part of which he could definitely describe.</p> - -<p>The winter months drew along pleasantly; but, with -the coming of spring and the thought of the hot weather, -his restlessness and the vision in his heart grew, till -one day he was driven to speech. He was walking -through a narrow valley, a long strip of which had -been recently ploughed for the first time; and a man -was at work there, sowing millet. On the edge of the -field Oman paused, till the farmer, bag at belt, right arm -working mechanically in and out, came slowly toward -him, and then halted.</p> - -<p>“Fair spring and a rich crop to thee!” said Oman.</p> - -<p>“Alas! It is too late in the year for a heavy crop!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span> -But a peaceful journey to thee, reverend sir,” returned -the man, civilly.</p> - -<p>Then Oman, resolutely putting away his fears, began, -in haste: “Friend, I am seeking a far country:—a -kingdom that lies on the edge of the hills, high in the -sunlight, while below it are a broad plain and a great -river. Canst thou tell me the name of such a place?”</p> - -<p>The man looked at him, first surprised, and then -puzzled, but not asking a closer description. “A high -kingdom,” he muttered, knitting his brow. Oman’s -chance words had caught his imagination. “Ah! Perhaps—there -is a plateau, lying five days’ journey to -the west and south, that is called Mandu—”</p> - -<p>“Mandu! Mandu! It is the name! Churi said it! -Tell me, stranger, tell me again! The place lies west -and south? A plateau! Thou hast been there?”</p> - -<p>The farmer shook his head. “Nay, I am newly come -from the north. But traders and mendicants have -spoken of it. It is well known:—a Rajah’s land. South -of it, below, is the Narmáda, the holy stream. Doubtless -thou wouldst bathe there. But Mandu, I have -been told, is to be reached from the mountains by a -causeway. Yes, I have heard much of that place.”</p> - -<p>Oman’s face was alight, and he longed for money -wherewith to repay the man for his information. The -farmer, however, expected no such unusual thing as -money out of a mendicant, and hoped for no more than -a blessing from this one, which he got. Then Oman -passed on, his face turned to the southwest.</p> - -<p>For five days, and more than five, he journeyed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span> -toward the sunset. He was all aflame with eagerness -and delight; but he would ask his way no more. He -had a strange notion that it would be a shame to him -were he unable, now, to find the country of his heart’s -desire; and he kept his eagerness within himself, never -allowing himself to say to any one the words that burned -on his lips: “I go south, to Mandu! To the plateau -of Mandu!” though the pride in him was almost too -great to be restrained.</p> - -<p>It had served him better, indeed, if he had put away -his hesitancy. For he was now in the region where all -men knew Mandu, and he might have saved himself a -weary walk. At the end of six days’ journeying, -about the full-moon day of the Sravana month (March), -he came to the southern boundary of the Vindhyas, and, -through an opening on the slope, looked out over the -Dekkhan. It was the first time in eleven years that he -had seen the plain; and there was joy in the sight,—but -anxiety also. For where was Mandu, high Mandu, -“that stands on the edge of the plain”? Had he -come too far to the west, or was he yet too near the -rising sun? Fortunately, a little below him, on the -hillside above the flat land, he perceived a town, whither -he directed his steps, and there, because it was become -a necessity, asked his way. He was answered, readily, -that Mandu was still a day’s journey to the east; and -he was furthermore given directions so minute, that, -pausing only to eat a piece of bread and drink some -goat’s milk offered by a hospitable peasant, he started -again that same night, under the light of the radiant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span> -moon. Again he took his way up into the hills, following -the course laid out for him, until, about dawn, he -found a well-kept roadway such as he had not before -seen in the Vindhyas. And now, his uncertainty banished -at last, he lay down beside the road, in the shadow -of a pipal tree, to sleep.</p> - -<p>When he awoke, it was noon. For a little while he -lay still, puzzled and thinking, for he had slept heavily. -Suddenly it rushed upon him, the great sense of finality. -And, with a prayer in his heart, he rose up, and -took the road, starting southward at a rapid pace. -The way wound round and down, through a rocky gorge -which he had a vague sense of having passed through -before. Then it began to re-ascend, and Oman’s excitement -grew. He felt that he was nearing the climax -of his life. It was just this that he had unconsciously -waited for through the years. And now it had come! -At the top of the eminence the veiling trees suddenly -parted, and, in the flooding light of afternoon, he found -himself looking along the stone-built causeway that -Rai-Khizar-Pál, returning from triumphant war in the -north, had crossed, with his captives, thirty-one years -before.</p> - -<p>Faint, quick-breathing, Oman halted, leaning on -his staff, to gaze upon the scene. It appeared to him -most natural, most right, that, at this moment, with -its familiar little whirring sound, a slender-winged -gray bird should come hovering up from the wood and -seek shelter in his breast. With the advent of this -companion creature, his vision was doubled. Twice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span> -before had he known this road. There had been a -bride of Dhár, and a captive from Delhi. The feelings -of both were mingled in him:—bitter pain, veiled joy, -curiosity, hope, weariness. He saw the bright pageants -pass slowly before him; and then, leisurely, he moved -downward to the bridge.</p> - -<p>All was exactly as it had been, thirty years before. -From the watch-towers the soldiers looked out and up -into the hills, taking no notice of the solitary, toil-worn -mendicant who passed toward the plateau. If they -perceived the bird in his bosom, they only thought him -some dealer in magic who had trained the creature to -be his oracle. Nor, indeed, did Oman notice them. -They were part of the whole scene, but not to be -singled out. His eyes rested on the fields that stretched -along beside two roads that wound, one to the right, -the other to the left, along the plateau. Which of the -roads to choose, he scarcely knew. Memory did not -serve. The fields, already planted, were empty; and he -bethought himself that it was the time of the Sravana -ceremony, when all the people would be in the town, -sacrificing and celebrating in temple and bazaar. At a -venture, he turned to the left, and walked for some -time past fertile rice-fields, and through a patch of -woodland; and all the while, as he went, his heart was -full to bursting, and his eyes were bright with tears. -For he had come home—home. This land was home. -He knew the feel of it. The very air was familiar to -his cheek. The little sounds of animal and bird life -were as the sounds of childhood heard again after many<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span> -years. A great restfulness pervaded him. The tears -that were in his eyes fell, slowly. Then his heart -swelled with a mighty prayer of joy and thanksgiving. -His way had been very long, very dark and dreary; but -it was traversed now. His struggle and his loneliness -were over. Behind him lay the wilderness, and all -about him was the promised land.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIIIb">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<small>A BROTHER OF THE SOUL</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>Thirty years had passed over Mandu since that -strange time of death, when, in a single day and -night, a Rajah, his minister, his Ranee, and his favorite -slave had perished, each in his own way. During those -thirty years Bhavani, the only son of Rai-Khizar-Pál, -had been nominal ruler of Mandu. A boy of eleven -at the time of his father’s death, he had of his own -will placed himself and Mandu under the guardianship -of Manava, a minister grown old in service, who -acted as regent till, on his twentieth birthday, the -young man took the cares of government upon his -own shoulders. So well did Manava acquit himself -during the nine years of his regency, that, at the -end of that time, had he chosen to take the throne -from Bhavani and install himself thereon, Mandu -would willingly have hailed him Rajah. But if Manava -had been capable of such an act, he would not have -been the ruler he proved himself to be; and he had his -reward for faithful labor in seeing, before he died, -his young charge come to be called “beloved” by -his people.</p> - -<p>Bhavani, indeed, spite of many evil influences that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span> -surrounded his youth, had grown into a beautiful manhood. -From some unknown source he had gained that -kind of spirituality that is not inherited, and yet is -scarcely to be acquired. His father before him had -been high judge of his people. Bhavani was their -friend. If Rai-Khizar-Pál had been absolutely just, -Bhavani was more than that: he was charitable. The -old Rajah had been most of all a warrior, loving the -sound of battle, first for himself, and afterward for -the glory it would bring his people. Bhavani hated -war, because it carried with it death; and for death he -cherished a horror of which he never spoke. It had -been born in the moment when, stealthily following -Kasya and Churi in their dread morning’s search, he -had looked on the body of Ragunáth, stiff and bloody, -under the champaks near the water-palace, where he had -himself left the Lady Ahalya the evening before. No -one had ever got Bhavani to tell what he knew of -the happenings of that night. In the beginning, he did -not himself understand the part he had played in the -tragedy; but the horror of it was rooted deep in his -secret soul. And, little by little, as he came to manhood, -he began to realize something of the drama -that had been played before his childlike innocence; -though, with strange perversity, his interpretation did -injustice to the slave. And the memory of the two -he had loved, Ahalya and Fidá, became embittered; -for he endured for them all the shame that they had -never known themselves.</p> - -<p>The influence of this dreadful incident of his childhood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span> -had had an incalculable effect on his character. -To it Mandu owed the fastidiousness of this beloved -ruler. There was but one misdeed in the calendar of -crime toward which Bhavani was immovably severe. -By him adulterers were punished to the fullest extent -of the law. Nor had he ever been known to consider -an extenuating circumstance. He was himself -a man of the most rigid chastity; and, though he conformed -so much to custom as to marry while still very -young, he had but one wife, attended by women only. -And, there being no zenana in his palace, he employed -no eunuchs elsewhere.</p> - -<p>These things considered, one strange act of his -extreme youth must also be recorded. When, after -three or four days of expectancy and dread, the bodies -of those two who had drowned themselves together were -washed ashore, by Narmáda waters, many miles to the -west, Manava, following the old Hindoo superstition, -prepared to burn the body of the Ranee there on the -shore, and to erect over her a fitting tomb, where, on -the anniversary of her death, a sacrifice might take -place for the salvation of her soul. Young Bhavani, -then under the close supervision of instructors, heard, in -some way, of this plan of the regent, went to him in -the council hall, and commanded, by the blood of his -father that flowed in his veins, that the body of Fidá -should be burned with that of Ahalya, and their -ashes buried together. Manava heard him in shocked -silence; and then explained that a Ranee might not -be so dishonored. Useless objection. Bhavani insisted.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span> -And, after a time, he won his way. Thus, now, for -thirty years, the two had slept in a little stone temple, -by the bank of the river which still chanted in their -dead ears its plashing song.</p> - -<p>Since the death of Rai-Khizar there had been no -war in Mandu. After the battle on the plain of Dhár, -in which, in spite of the fall of one of the Indian -leaders, the Mohammedans had sustained a heavy defeat, -the invaders had not again penetrated so far into -Malwa. They were still within their northern strongholds; -and the Dekkhan, hearing naught of the crossing -of the Gunga, nor of Agra, nor Benares, the merciless -conquest of the holy of holies, went its way placidly, -catching not so much as an echo of the far-ringing warcry -of the men of Yemen with their Prophet’s sword. -The relations between Dhár and Mandu, always of the -friendliest, had been further cemented by the marriage -of Bhavani with a daughter of the neighboring province. -But, happily for Bhavani’s views, the brother state had -no enemy against whom Mandu was supposed to take -part.</p> - -<p>The years passed in peace and well-doing until the -Rajah attained his five and thirtieth year. Then came -an event which, for a long time, seemed to have turned -the severely upright ruler quite out of his course, and -to have made him a man of men, erring and weak. From -some distant land, none knew where, there came to -Mandu one of those purely Indian characters, known long -before the time of the great Buddha: a religious courtesan, -a woman of supreme beauty and magnetic power,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span> -by name Zenaide. How, by what means, she got her -first audience of Bhavani, no one knew. But within -a month after that, she was installed in the long empty -water-palace, where she dwelt as a queen among men, -or, as men whispered, the Queen of a King. That -whisper was an ugly one, but it found ear for a long -time. Bhavani, immovable by wiles, impervious to -temptation, adamant against force, seemed voluntarily -to have fallen to this woman; and it was not till after -his death that his people perceived how their Rajah, -unconquered by her, had been her conqueror, ruling her -beauty and her will by the inviolable purity of his mind. -But, at the time when Oman came to Mandu, in the -Rajah’s forty-second year, no one understood what were -the relations between the mistress of the beautiful little -palace, and the King of the great building near by. -They were much together. Zenaide, indeed, was with -no one else. How, then, should men not wonder, and -watch, and whisper together?</p> - -<p>It was March, and the half-dead world had been undergoing -its annual rejuvenescence. In the late afternoon, -when the shadows are long, and bird-calls are beginning -again, Bhavani, the day’s state at an end, went walking -slowly down the open garden that bordered the road -between the two palaces, and finally halted at the stone -parapet built along the edge of the plateau. Two slaves -followed the King, but halted at a respectful distance as -he paused, gazing down over the green plain and its shining -river. After a few seconds he noticed that another -than he stood near by, also leaning upon the parapet:—<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> -a man, tall and gaunt, clad in a much-worn garment, his -head and feet bare. Something about the figure drew -Bhavani’s attention, and, looking farther, he suddenly -caught the man’s eyes—great, limpid eyes, laden with -the sorrow of the world. A significant look passed between -the two. Oman had also swept the figure before -him, upward, from the embroidered shoes, over the rich -dress, to the face, finely chiselled, but cast in a mould of -melancholy. There he who had won purity through -the flames of hell, gazed upon him to whom birth had -given all good, and who had taken upon his slender -shoulders some of the burden of the world. In the -first instant of the meeting eyes, each found kinship in -the other.</p> - -<p>Bhavani moved a little toward the stranger, and -asked, in a suppressed voice:</p> - -<p>“Thou art newly come to Mandu?”</p> - -<p>“I crossed the causeway two days since.”</p> - -<p>“Whence art thou come?”</p> - -<p>“Out of the hills.”</p> - -<p>“And whither—art thou going?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know, Lord Rajah.”</p> - -<p>“Thou knowest me!”</p> - -<p>“Thou—art Bhavani,” muttered Oman, softly, to -himself.</p> - -<p>The Rajah recoiled a step or two, gazing at Oman -earnestly. Then he asked, in a new voice: “<i>Who art -thou?</i>”</p> - -<p>Oman had now recovered himself enough to reply -to Bhavani’s question literally. “I am called Oman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span> -Ramasarman. I was born a Brahman.—I have been a -Bhikkhu, and a hermit, dwelling in the hills, whence I -descended to Mandu.”</p> - -<p>For a moment, Bhavani’s expression was puzzled. -Then he shook himself, slightly, woke from his dream, -and observed: “Thou lookest younger than I. What -is thine age?”</p> - -<p>Oman shook his head. “My lord, I do not know. -When I went up to dwell on the Silver Peak, my age -was nineteen years. But how long I lived there—fifteen, -twenty years, perhaps,—I cannot say. It is a -lifetime, and yet again it seems to me as if I had not -lived there at all: as if I had only known a great vision, -that has faded away.”</p> - -<p>“Thou wast young, very young, to go up into the -hills alone. And, from thy face, it was indeed many -years before thou camest down. Then tell me, Oman: -was that solitude very terrible to endure?”</p> - -<p>Oman’s eyes grew vague. It was as if he looked into -the infinite as he replied: “Yes, it was terrible. I am -told that not many can live as did I, in utter solitude, -and, at the end of five years, still retain reason and -speech. The Chelahs that go up into the fastnesses, for -prayer and the study of sacred manuscripts, go two -together, and, by companionship, preserve their minds. -But I had no companion. I was outcast of men.”</p> - -<p>“Outcast! Thou? A Brahman?”</p> - -<p>“Outcast! Of what do ye speak?” came a woman’s -voice, from behind them.</p> - -<p>Both men turned, instantly; and Oman drew in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span> -breath. Before him stood the most beautiful woman -that he had ever dreamed of. She was tall and voluptuously -built; and her coloring was radiant. According -to the privilege of her class, she wore no veil over -her face; and as a covering for her heavy, red-gold hair, -she had only an openwork cap of turquoise-studded gold, -bordered with a broad band of the polished stones. Her -dress was of blue, heavily embroidered; and a wide sash, -of palest willow-green, spread smoothly over her hips, -and was clasped low in front with a turquoise crescent.</p> - -<p>The two gazed at her in involuntary, silent admiration; -and she bore the look easily, as one accustomed -to it. Presently, however, Bhavani returned to himself, -and addressed her:</p> - -<p>“Thou art well come, Zenaide. Behold, here is -Oman Ramasarman, a sage, who has come out of the -hill fastnesses, to dwell in Mandu.”</p> - -<p>Then, turning to Oman, he added: “This is the Lady -Zenaide, most beautiful, most wise: my friend.”</p> - -<p>Oman looked at her again, and made his salutation. -It was not necessary that he should be told her estate:—that -she belonged to the only educated class of women -in India. And, in spite of himself, the sight of her -gave him a strong feeling of mingled pleasure and of -pain, that had in it a further reminiscence of this land. -There had been a time when looks like hers had been -for him.—But how?—and where?</p> - -<p>If the two men were preoccupied, Bhavani with -Oman, Oman with his own thoughts, not so Zenaide. -She was in the lightest of her moods, and she talked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span> -rapidly, her musical voice sounding like running water -in Oman’s ears, as she addressed now one, now the -other, now neither or both of them. To the wanderer, -she had added the crowning touch to the scene:—the -long, shadowy valley, far below, over which the crimson -dusk was stealing; and, behind them, the delicate -structure of the water-palace, its clear outlines softened -by high-climbing vines and great clumps of -feathery tamarind and bamboo. It was the land of -enchanted dreams, and with him were its King and -Queen:—this royal man with the quiet eyes, and the -superb woman, crowned with her glory of hair—the -henna-dyed locks that Oman had never seen before. -But the hour passed like a breath. He remembered -little of her careless talk; but he listened with intense -interest when she fell into a discussion with Bhavani. -She had been speaking lightly of the beauty of the -evening, when, suddenly, without any reason, she -made an abrupt transition to a matter in which the -Rajah was deeply interested.</p> - -<p>“My lord, I have been thinking all day of the -matter of Lona, the woman, and her child; and it is -my wish that thou send the child to me. He shall -become one of my household. Because he was taught -theft from his infancy, shall he be punished for it? -Let the woman meet what fate my lord wills. But send -the boy to me. Is not this a solution of thy trouble?” -and she smiled upon the King.</p> - -<p>“It is well thought, Zenaide. I will send him to -thee. And yet the woman troubles me more.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span></p> - -<p>“And wherefore? Did she not sin knowingly? -Disobeyed she not the law?” answered Zenaide, with -a little shrug of indifference that was almost scorn.</p> - -<p>Bhavani’s expression grew sad. “She sinned, but -she knew also that her suffering could only be saved -by sin. She stole first of all for her child. To her -it meant that they should know hunger and nakedness -no more. She had been brought into the world, -and, in her turn, bore a boy. But the world refused -her sustenance. Had she no right to take it, then? -Listen, sage, to what I say; and tell me which is -right: the woman, or the law? If a creature starve, -and so steals bread from one that does not starve, shall -she receive the ten lashes that the law provides?”</p> - -<p>Oman bent his head a little. “Could she not work?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“She is a widow. There is but one vocation open -to her; and that I have forbidden in Mandu.”</p> - -<p>“Then is it not the duty of the Lord Rajah to provide -for those whom he has deprived of a means of -livelihood?”</p> - -<p>Bhavani flushed, deeply; and Zenaide burst into a -ringing laugh. “My lord, thou art reproved!” she -said, looking at Oman for the first time with interest.</p> - -<p>“Yea, I am reproved, and deservedly. Hermit, thou -art wise and just also. Alas! all my life of training -hath never led me to this simple perception of the -truth. But it shall be as thou hast said. Henceforth, -every one that hath been deprived of his means -of livelihood through me, shall by me be provided for.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span> -This mother and child shall be pardoned, and shall live -together.”</p> - -<p>“But have I not said that the boy should enter my -service?” demanded Zenaide, suddenly displeased.</p> - -<p>Oman opened his lips to speak, but Bhavani was -before him: “This man, Zenaide, hath shown more -wisdom than either thou or I. Let us acknowledge the -truth of his words without any anger or false pride. -Thus it seems good to me.” He turned a gentle look -on Oman as he spoke; but the woman, her face obstinately -set, turned away and walked to the parapet at -some little distance, and stood leaning upon it, staring -moodily off upon the darkening world. A faint, half-anxious -smile curled Bhavani’s lips; but Oman, who -was far from smiling, felt moved to say:</p> - -<p>“Lord Rajah, you do me too much honor. My word -should not be accepted at once against that of the beautiful -woman. Least of mortals am I.”</p> - -<p>“Most humble, but most wise!” exclaimed Bhavani. -Then, after an instant, he added: “Fruitful hath been -my walk to-night. Thou shalt be my guest at the -palace, Oman, and later I will come to thee and we will -talk. For I would know much more of this life of thine.” -Then, with a little gesture that put Oman from him, he -went to Zenaide and stood beside her for a moment, -speaking to her; though what he said and whether she -spoke at all, Oman could not tell. Finally Bhavani -drew Oman to him again, and the two moved slowly -away, through the star-spangled dusk, to the palace.</p> - -<p>The next half hour was to Oman a dream. How<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> -much of what he felt was memory and how much -revelation, he had no means of knowing; but there -seemed to be no unfamiliar corner in this great building. -They entered the central courtyard, where, as of old, -a fire burned by night. Before them was the open -entrance to the carved and pillared audience hall. To -the left, rose the north wing, with its long corridor and -tiny entrance to the triangular zenana courtyard; and, -on the right, the south wing, with its temple room, official -suites, and barracks. Behind it, Oman knew, without -any doubt, lay the slave-house. Bhavani, guessing nothing -of what his companion was undergoing, presently -left him, with a slave to whom he had given directions -concerning Oman’s lodging and entertainment.</p> - -<p>It was with a feeling of tremulous awe at his profound -sensations that Oman followed his guide into -the north wing, down the broad hall, and up the old, -familiar passage, till they halted before what had once -been the apartments of Ragunáth. The doorway was -still heavily curtained. But within, all was changed. -The room that had been an antechamber, was now cut -off from the others of the suite, and was evidently -where Oman was to lodge. The little place was richly -furnished. Around two sides ran a low, broad divan, -many-cushioned. Walls and floor alike were covered -with heavy rugs. Round stands, piles of pillows, a tall -incense burner, a huqua, and a little shrine containing -an image of Vishnu, completed the furniture; and the -whole place, which was windowless, was lighted night -and day by three swinging lamps.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span></p> - -<p>Once in this room, the slave demanded of Oman -whether he had any commands to give; and, receiving a -negative, speedily retired. For some moments Oman -stood quite still, gazing around him, his mind filled with -wonder. He was back in the present now, realizing -that never in his life had he thought to see a room like -this. He had always regarded his childhood as the most -comfortable and luxurious period of his life; and now, -to him coming out of the long years of hardship and -privation when he had looked for no better provision -than a meal of parched grain and a bed of grass in a -cave, this luxury was scarcely to be believed.</p> - -<p>After a little, Oman began to move slowly around the -room, feasting his eyes on every passing phase of richness. -And finally, with a hesitation born of timidity, -he ventured to lie down on the divan, resting his head -and shoulders on cushions, and drawing up his knees, -after the universal custom of the Orient. Then, all at -once, a feeling of naturalness came. Luxury was no -longer strange. The glowing lights, the subdued color, -the faint aroma of stale incense, induced ghostlike -dreams of what had been, of things to come. His eyes -were half closed. Languor and drowsiness stole on him. -It was the most delicious hour he had ever known.</p> - -<p>After a time, Oman had no idea of how long, a slave -entered, carrying a tray on which was such a meal as -the wanderer had not seen since he left the Vihara of -Truth. Without making the least sound, the white-robed -servitor placed one of the low, round stands beside -the divan, laid the meal thereon, and disappeared for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span> -moment, to return with a silver basin and ewer, and a -broad, fringed napkin. Oman held his hands over the -bowl. Perfumed water was poured over them. He -dried them on the cloth, and then, with a look, dismissed -the slave. For a few seconds more he lay quiet, hesitating -to eat. Then he turned upon his elbow and began -the lazy meal, not like a hungry man—which he was—but -after the fashion of palace dwellers, who feast five -times a day. When he was satisfied, he lay back again, -and the slave reappeared with sherbet and a jar of wine. -Leaving these on the stand, he removed the remnants of -the meal, and departed again, this time for good.</p> - -<p>Oman touched neither the sherbet nor the liquor, but -stretched himself out on the couch, clasped his hands -over his head, and gave himself up to the dreams that -were still haunting him. That he had been in Mandu -before was certain. But how, and where? The tale -that Churi had told upon his death-night, of the slave -prince and the young Ranee, seemed in some way to -have taken root in his heart, until their story and his -own dreams of this place had become inextricably -intertwined. Why were they so close to him? What -vaguest suspicion was fluttering through his mind? -Above all, how came he to be so familiar with the plan -of the palace? Questions—questions—questions! -They crowded upon him till he could no longer think: -till his brain was fairly numb.</p> - -<p>Then, gradually, under the influence of the quiet and -solitude, he fell into that stupor of profound meditation -which is natural to the Hindoo only. His head rested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span> -on the cushions. His knees were drawn up under him. -His eyes burned brilliantly under their half-closed lids. -And his mind, once more under control, wandered -far, through unfathomable space. Time passed. The -hour grew late, and the busy life of the palace was -stilled. Oman heeded nothing, nor remembered what -surrounded him. He had forgotten Mandu, the day, -the woman of gold, the beauty of Bhavani—everything; -and had slipped back into the old freedom of his -days on the Silver Peak. Humankind was infinitely -far from his thoughts. But humankind had not forgotten -him. Suddenly the curtain of his doorway was -thrust aside, and Bhavani came quietly into the room.</p> - -<p>The Rajah was not now in royal raiment, but clad -from head to heels in spotless white, the purity of which -seemed a fitting frame for his fine physique and the -spiritual dignity of his face. At sight of the figure on -the divan before him, he paused for a few seconds, and -then spoke, gently:</p> - -<p>“Oman Ramasarman, I am come hither—thine -host.”</p> - -<p>For a moment, Oman seemed not to have heard. -Then, with an effort, he rose, and stood submissively -before the Rajah, evidently waiting for him to speak -again. This Bhavani did.</p> - -<p>“O stranger, I have come to talk with you on the -subject of wisdom; for this is the only time at my disposal -for the pursuit of those things that I have most -at heart. And it is for this reason that I break in on -thy revery. Sit there, then; and I will place myself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span> -thus, that we may look into each other’s eyes. Ah—now -we may talk together freely.”</p> - -<p>Obedient to the request, which was really a command, -Oman seated himself, his knees crossed under him; and -Bhavani took his place on a pile of cushions three or -four feet away. There, for a time, they sat, looking at -each other silently. Bhavani had come into the room, -his brain teeming with thoughts and questions; but he -was quick to feel the chill of Oman’s mood. The -wanderer, indeed, was thoroughly disturbed at Bhavani’s -interruption of his meditation; and he showed his -displeasure by a silence that the Rajah found it impossible -to penetrate. After a little while, however, realizing -his ungraciousness, Oman forced himself out of his -stolidity, and said, in a muffled voice:</p> - -<p>“My lord hath sought me. What doth he require?”</p> - -<p>For a moment Bhavani looked at the immovable face, -and then replied, in a tone the gentleness of which -Oman had never heard equalled: “I have proffered -hospitality to the stranger, and now violate the privilege -of solitude. Let him forgive me!”</p> - -<p>“Do not say it! It is the right of the host at any -time to seek the presence of his guest! What wilt thou -of me, O King? Speak, and what I have is thine.”</p> - -<p>A faint smile shone for a moment in Bhavani’s eyes, -but was instantly succeeded by an expression of deep -thoughtfulness: “There is much, stranger, that thou -canst give me, who am a beggar of minds. Thou -saidst that thou wast come out of the hills. What -wealth hast brought with thee from them?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span></p> - -<p>“What wealth—of thought?”</p> - -<p>“Yea, of thought.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, much, great Rajah. Much. There, in the vast -wilderness, is peace. I ascended the height toil-worn, -weary of the world, outcast of men. And in the great -Silence was a balm for every wound. Peace I obtained, -and strength, and calm. And after a while came Truth -also. Creeds and philosophies of men I had studied -in my youth, in temple and Vihara. But it was there, -on the height, that my soul found itself, and gave me a -belief that had not come before.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me of this belief.”</p> - -<p>“It is a system, long and complex.”</p> - -<p>“There is time. The night is young. Tell me, I -beg of thee,—Oman.”</p> - -<p>Oman looked at Bhavani thoughtfully, and wondered. -For many months he had preached his creed to men, in -the market-place, and it had seemed good to him, and -high, and true. Yet now he was confronted by a ruler -of men:—a King, one who exercised over him a peculiar -fascination. Perhaps he felt a desire to open himself -entirely to this melodious-voiced Rajah; and yet, -on the other hand, a new sense urged him to prudence, -to silence, to secrecy in that which intimately concerned -himself. After a little he asked, almost humbly: “Tell -me then, noble One, why thou seekest of me my—faith?”</p> - -<p>“For many years it has been my delight and my desire -to learn all that I can of the many forms of Truth -that live in the minds of the thoughtful. I have also<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span> -a son, nearing manhood, for whom I have founded a -school here in my palace, which has been taught by very -learned men. This school I overlook myself; and I -have been accustomed to search among every class of -men for new thought that can be laid before the noble -youths of my kingdom. For them, and for myself, I -ask thee to expound to me thy creed.”</p> - -<p>“And likewise for Zenaide, the woman of red gold?” -demanded Oman, with a flash in his eye.</p> - -<p>But Bhavani did not wince. “For her also, who is -my sacred charge.”</p> - -<p>“Hear, then, O Rajah, the Dharma that came to me -in the wilderness:</p> - -<p>“In space are, and from the beginning have been, -two elements: one, that which we call spirit; the other, -matter. And spirit, which lives and feels and does not -change, struggles constantly after knowledge. In the -beginning, Spirit entered matter and ruled it, and out -of chaos brought form, and conceived and organized the -laws of Nature. But, having entered matter, Spirit -found itself encumbered and bound about by the inert -substance that is foreign to it; and it learned also that -its great Unity had been broken into various particles, -each of which was now enclosed in a form. And thereupon -perceiving itself caught by the encumbering mass, -it set itself to dominate matter, and so to rule it that in -time the fetters should disappear. But this was, and -still is, difficult. Matter is subject to change and to -decay. Moreover, it is the exact opposite of that which -has taken possession of it. And the spirit in the clay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span> -finds itself ever and again freed and ever and again -seized anew and enclosed in another form, until, after -infinite experience, certain units of spirit found themselves -actually dominant over the evil element, and free -to pursue their natural vocation of perfect power and -stainless happiness. And these, uniting together to give -what aid they might to their still unconquering brethren, -are the only God: that which we should all pray to -for strength.</p> - -<p>“We, Bhavani, are spirits still encompassed by matter; -and we struggle from life to life, from form to -form, still hoping, still aspiring, still achieving, still -advancing a little along the road to victory over the -evil element, till, in the end, we shall come into a state -of perfect dominion over our enemy.</p> - -<p>“This is the Dharma that I have found in the wilderness.”</p> - -<p>“And it is good. Yes, it is good. Yet thy creed is -pitiless, O sage. Tell me: what of those that yield -their lives to matter, that give themselves up wholly to -the evil influence? Is there no punishment for them?”</p> - -<p>“Those that travel backward along their road must, -with double pain and suffering, retrace their steps. -That is their punishment.”</p> - -<p>“But there is no Kutashala Máli—no place of everlasting -punishment?”</p> - -<p>“How can there be? Spirit is good. Spirit cannot -die. And the only power in matter is its inertia. Who -is there to decree such a place as that?”</p> - -<p>“Listen, Oman, while I tell thee the story of two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span> -that I knew and loved in my childhood, who sinned -together past forgiveness. Thou shalt tell me if they -yet strive toward happiness; whether they do not still -walk, helpless and despairing, along the Sinners’ Road. -For of such sin as theirs, thou surely canst know -naught.</p> - -<p>“My father had a wife, the fairest and the youngest -in his zenana, brought from Dhár, but of Persian blood, -so that her skin was pale, like the lotos petal. She was -called Ahalya; and every one that saw her, loved her. -She had been a bride for two years when my father -brought hither, out of the north, a noble captive of the -invading race:—by name, Fidá el-Asra. And my -father favored him greatly, and came in time to value -him above all his other slaves. And at last he was made -my master, my guardian in my father’s absence. By -some means that I do not know, this slave once saw -Ahalya, the lady of my father’s heart; and, like all -men, he loved her. Then, because he was young and a -captive, she loved him also, through pity. And here he -dwelt, for many months, deceiving the King who had so -trusted him. More than this, Ahalya, like all women, -weak, also gave herself up to wickedness. Thus these -two loved until they sinned themselves even unto -death. For they died together, at last, by drowning -in the Narmáda stream, after the slave had murdered -one of my father’s counsellors, who, I believe, died in -defending the honor of his King. Now tell me, Oman, -if thou canst, what these two found waiting for them -beyond the river of death?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span></p> - -<p>“They found,” answered Oman, slowly and distinctly, -“a life of the deepest woe, a constant suffering, -a shame that they can never escape. For those -two, unlawfully joined in one life, are, in the next, -inseparably united. Their two miserable souls inhabit -but one body, in which they have struggled vainly for -release. And,” here Oman rose and lifted his face, -straining upward as if the words he spoke were received -from some invisible source, “and thus they shall -exist till they have drunk the cup of retribution to the -very dregs. But, in the end, they shall escape their -bondage. In time they will complete the expiation and -know the blessed end:—freedom from travail and from -woe. For they will regain their right to move forward -alone, on the road to the Great Release.”</p> - -<p>With the last words, he sank back upon the divan, -and a silence followed. Bhavani sat amazed at the -absolute conviction with which this man had spoken; -and he was again seized with strange wonders and -suspicions concerning the stranger’s identity. After a -long pause the Rajah, groping for his words, asked, -hoarsely:</p> - -<p>“Wilt thou remain here in my kingdom and in my -palace, master, and lay the foundation of thy faith in -the heart of my son?”</p> - -<p>For answer, Oman solemnly bowed his head. He -knew it to be written that he should remain in Mandu.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIVb">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<small>THE ANCIENT FLAME</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>So Oman took up his abode in the palace; nor were -the circumstances of his settling there very surprising -to himself. From the first it had seemed as if, in the -natural course of things, this should become his home; -and the new duties and new habits of life were acquired -mechanically. His intuition of the link that bound -him to the past, however, though at times it was strong -on him, proved evanescent; so that there were weeks -when he lived wholly in the passing hour, without any -memories of bygone days. But he knew that Fate had -been kind to him. He was wrapped in impenetrable -serenity: the outcome, the reward, of his years of solitude; -and he felt that no mischance could disturb this -again.</p> - -<p>On the first morning after his arrival, the Rajah himself -introduced him to the palace school, held in that -room which, in the old Rajah’s day, had been a theatre:—the -place where the slave Fidá had first looked upon -poppy-crowned Ahalya. Whatever its former glories, -this room, on the morning that Oman first beheld it, -presented a pleasanter picture. Save for a great rug -upon the floor, and the teacher’s cushion on a daïs at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span> -one end of the room, the place was quite unfurnished. -On the floor sat an orderly company of young men, -between the ages of fifteen and twenty: all of them clad -in white, with scarlet sashes around their waists, and red -shoes on their otherwise bare feet. These youths were -engaged in a variety of occupations: some of them -studying manuscripts of various kinds, many simply -sitting in meditation, still others indulging, rather -surreptitiously, in games. Among them, without any -distinction as to dress or position, was Bhavani’s son, -Viradha, the heir of Mandu: a pleasant-faced youth, -but not remarkable for any special wit or wisdom; for -he had inherited the disposition of his grandfather, and -was fonder of the chase and the table than of reflection -on the doctrine of atoms<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> or the working of the primordial -soul.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> The foundation of the Nyaya system, originated by Kanada.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Up to to-day, the palace school had been conducted on -a very irregular plan, Bhavani bringing various men of -wisdom or holiness to lecture one or two days a week, -the rest of the time being occupied with indiscriminate -reading from philosophic or poetical manuscripts. -On this day, as soon as the youths had assembled, -Bhavani and Oman made their appearance together. -The Rajah offered a few words of introduction and -explanation: setting forth the fact that at last they were -to have a permanent master, who would reduce their -hours of study to some sort of system and order. During -his speech, every eye in the room was fixed upon -Oman’s tall, gaunt figure, clad in white garments,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span> -his serene face, with its deep-set eyes, and his broad, -lined brow, on each side of which fell masses of thick, -black hair. At the end of the introduction Oman came -forward a little and the young men advanced to him, -and, one by one, kissed his hand. Then they returned, -expectantly, to their places; and Bhavani, able to spare -no more time from matters of state, hurried away, -leaving Oman to his new task.</p> - -<p>It was the most difficult morning that Oman had ever -spent. He had had no preparation for his situation, no -time to arrange a course of work. Hitherto he had -preached in small towns, to mere handfuls of uneducated -men and women. Now he stood before a critical -assembly of young noblemen, all of whom had had considerable -instruction in abstract thinking and reasoning: -far more, no doubt, than he himself had ever known. -That he impressed them all, immediately, as a man of -dignity and wisdom, of wide knowledge of men and -high purity of mind, was again probably due to his -years of miracle-working solitude.</p> - -<p>To his own keen satisfaction, Oman felt that he had -begun well with his school; and he determined, in his -heart, that the end should be better still. For a month -or more, then, he was invisible to every one save his -pupils. He found that a full and detailed exposition of -his creed to thinking and sometimes sceptical men, -demanded a new labor of thought, a new working out of -little things that had hitherto been mere suggestions in -his own mind; the rejection of some ideas that proved -themselves impossible; and the admission of others<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span> -that he had not hitherto acknowledged. This work, -while difficult, gave him the keenest delight; for the -breadth and fulness of his logic was coming home to -him; and he perceived that this creation of his brain -was no puny shadow, but a thing finely formed, capable -of proper development. He, the seeker after Truth, -had found it; and from the heights was bringing it to -men. It was its own greatest reward.</p> - -<p>At the end of six weeks, his labors began to be less -exacting. He had reduced his own thinking to a -system; and he now began to introduce other studies -than philosophy into this school, where arithmetic of the -simplest kind, and writing in any living language, were -considered not as necessaries but as arts. Oman found -time now to see something of the palace and of its -Rajah, who eagerly sought his society. A few days -wrought great changes in his quiet existence; and -presently an incident, entirely unexpected, brought him -a revelation which, for some time to come, eclipsed -every other interest in his mind.</p> - -<p>During the six weeks of close work, the circumstances -attendant on his first meeting with Bhavani had slipped -from Oman’s mind. He no longer thought of the scene -by the parapet behind the water-palace, or of Zenaide, -the woman with wonderful hair. But now, in mid-May, -she was recalled to him. One noon, as he sat in his -room meditating through the hot hours, a slave-boy -broke in upon him and delivered to him a message to -the effect that the lady Zenaide desired the presence of -Oman the sage, that she might hear the creed he taught.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span></p> - -<p>Oman, taken by surprise, had an impulse to refuse -the request. A moment’s reflection, however, changed -his mind. She had asked for his creed. Believing as -he did, he had no right to refuse her the knowledge. -Besides, was she not under the special protection of -Bhavani? Bhavani was his patron, nay, his friend. -Whom Bhavani loved, Oman would not deny. So he -sent an answer by the little slave that he would come -that day; and the child departed, leaving him in chaos.</p> - -<p>Oman spent the next two hours in the greatest confusion -of mind. Never in his life had he been brought -into contact with such a woman as he knew this one to -be:—such a woman as the great Indian romances love -to concern themselves with. He thought of the incident -of the Buddha’s entertainment by the woman of -Vesali, the beloved of Ajuta-Satra, and of her conversion -to the faith. Had the Sakyamuni found danger -in her presence? Was her hair of golden red? And -then, suddenly, Oman started up, resolutely turning his -mind to other things. Hurriedly he bathed and clothed -himself in a fresh gown of white linen, girt himself with -a broad, yellow sash, and wound a white turban around -his head. Then, without pause, he set out for the -water-palace.</p> - -<p>The afternoon was late, and the shadows lay long -and golden across the road. Full summer was already -on the land, and Mandu was a riot of verdure. Oman’s -mood responded easily to the scene. Under the spell of -the surrounding beauty, his thoughts grew lighter, till, -when he paused before the open doors of the waterpalace,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span> -he no longer looked like an ascetic. The sombre -fires in his eyes had brightened, and his face was softened -with a smile.</p> - -<p>In the curtained doorway stood a tall slave, clad in -rich livery, who addressed Oman with an air of profound -respect, and at once made way for him to pass -within. Oman found himself following the slave -across a broad, square hall, in the centre of which was a -marble tank filled with clear water; and thence they -proceeded to the end of a short corridor, where, before -another curtained doorway, Oman was left alone.</p> - -<p>After a moment’s hesitation he lifted the curtain, -and crossed the threshold. He was facing a long, narrow -room, stone-paved, lighted from the top, the walls -hung with embroidered silks of delicate hues. There -was an air of unusual lightness and airiness about the -whole place; and Oman’s eyes wandered for some -seconds before he perceived that, at the far end of the -room, in front of a long, amber-colored divan, half hidden -by a screen, stood Zenaide. Oman uttered a short -exclamation, and started forward, observing, as he approached -her, that there was no smile on her lips. His -eyes estimated her again; and they found much that was -new. She was clad to-day in a long garment of silvery -green, that showed her more slender than he had thought. -She was also paler. Her hair was woven into a crown -upon her head, but was without ornament; and in her -dark eyes there was no expression of the voluptuary. -Oman found himself newly puzzled as he seated himself, -at her bidding, on the divan, while she sank upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span> -a low pile of cushions on the floor. They had not yet -spoken when a slave entered, with a tray of sherbets -and sweetmeats which Oman refused, and Zenaide, not -pressing him, herself waved away. When they were -alone again, she rose, impulsively, ran down the room, -and lowered a double hanging before the door. Then -she turned, slowly, facing Oman, who was watching -her. For some moments she neither advanced nor spoke. -Oman perceived that she was in a state of repressed -agitation, for her fingers twined and intertwined, and -her clinging garments betrayed a nervous quivering of -her body. It seemed as if it were impossible for her to -speak; yet, as Oman did not help her, she had, perforce, -to make a beginning. She had examined him -minutely, face and figure, before she exclaimed, -abruptly:</p> - -<p>“Art thou indeed as learned as they tell me, O -sage?”</p> - -<p>Oman’s expression changed. “Not in thy lore,” he -answered.</p> - -<p>“My lore? And what is that?”</p> - -<p>“Art thou not a woman? Thy lore is love.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” The expression escaped involuntarily. It -was a betrayal.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” echoed Oman. “It was for that you sent for -me! Know, then, that I am not a faquir, not a mag—”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” Reading the scorn in his tone, she came -forward swiftly and sank down in the cushions at his -feet. “Think not that of me. I know something of thy -creed. Bhavani has expounded it to me. I have considered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span> -it, carefully. But it is very pitiless. Thinkest -thou not it is pitiless to the weak? Wouldst thou leave -no sweetness in life?” Her eyes lifted themselves to -him searchingly, and he felt the spell of her magnetism.</p> - -<p>Shaking himself free from the impression, he looked -down upon her with a quizzical calmness that disconcerted -her. “What wouldst thou of me, Zenaide?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>Again, overcome by her nervousness, she rose and -began to pace up and down before him. “Nothing.—Nothing,” -she answered; but her words did not indicate -a pause. For a moment or two she walked, but finally -faced him, frankly. “Is love—true love—so ignoble, -then?”</p> - -<p>Oman, taken aback, did not immediately answer. -Then, many memories overcoming him, he cried out -painfully: “Unless it be lawful, yes. Surely yes!”</p> - -<p>“Lawful! Love hath no law save itself.”</p> - -<p>Oman’s lip curled. “Doubtless thou knowest more -of it than I. Wherein am I to help thee? Hast thou -left this love of thine? Return, then, to the land where -he dwells.”</p> - -<p>Zenaide listened, and a far-away look came into her -eyes. She was standing now with her back against a -stone pillar, and, as she began to speak, Oman felt himself -gradually fascinated by the perfection of her beauty -and by the abandon of her manner, which, in the beginning, -had been held in restraint, but grew more and -more impassioned as, carried out of herself by her own -emotion, she forgot everything but her theme.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span></p> - -<p>“The land of my love—lies here, Oman. I came -out of the east, seeking love, journeying through broad -countries. To many I brought happiness, but I found it -never for myself. Then came I to Mandu. And here, -in a breath, I knew that it awaited me. My soul was -lighted as by a torch; and I am still consumed by its -increasing flame. I love. And him I love rejects me. -I, the priestess of love, am unloved! Am I so ugly?—so -old?—so young?—so ignorant? Am I surpassed by -another? I, Zenaide, consumed with fire and tears, -pour out all my wealth on him, and he knows it not. -Daily he looks on my face, hears my voice, reads mine -eyes, and still I am not known. Oh, my beloved—adorable—transcendent—Bhavani—”</p> - -<p>She stopped short. Her passion had carried her -beyond herself. She had more than betrayed, she had -proclaimed, her secret. But now, suddenly brought -back to consequences, all her force died, and she stood -trembling, fearful, before Oman, whose face was stern -and angry. There was silence for a long, pulsating -moment, while Zenaide realized that the teacher of men -had become her judge. Oman, indeed, felt his anger -growing within him, and presently gave it voice:</p> - -<p>“Hast thou dared to defile the purest of men with -thy love? Hast thou known him, lived near him for -more than two years, seen all the strength of his white -soul, and still dreamed he could so dishonor himself -and thee? Shame to thee! Thou hast, moreover, -sullied him in the eyes of his people; for many say -what is false, that he yielded long ago to thine eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span> -and thy red-dyed hair. He has housed thee like a -queen. He has paid thee greater honor than if, indeed, -he loved thee. Shame, then, woman, for thy thoughts! -Shame to thee!—What—thou weepest!”</p> - -<p>For Zenaide, sinking slowly to her knees, bent her -head upon her hands, and Oman saw two or three -bright tears run through her fingers and fall to the -floor. Her frame was shaken and convulsed with ill-restrained -sobs. After gazing at her for a moment, -Oman, unable to judge of the sincerity of her pose, -went on more quietly:</p> - -<p>“Thou hast confessed to love the ruler of his people, -a man standing in the eyes of men for all that is upright—more -than upright. And now thou callest upon -me, his servant, a lover of truth, to condone thy sin. -How couldst thou think thus of me?”</p> - -<p>“No—no! Listen! Not to condone—” she lifted -her head, and he perceived that her face was stained -and distorted with real grief. “Not to condone. I sent -for thee because, despairing—” she gave a little convulsive -sob—“despairing of bringing his love to me, -I long to cure myself of the malady. Thou art wise. I -wish to learn wisdom of thee. Thou art good. So -I also would be. Bha—Bhavani has sought to teach -me wisdom, to teach me strength. But I—could never -learn but love from him. O stern—O wise one—cast -me not away! Help me, and I will honor thee all -my days!”</p> - -<p>Her pleading was eloquent because it was sincere. -Her voice was not smooth. The words were forced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span> -out like sobs; and in them Oman read the struggle -she had endured before she sent for him. Her -abandon showed this, indeed; for, had he not been -her final hope, she would never have laid her soul -bare before him in her stress. And seeing all these -things, his anger was softened, and he was moved to -some sort of feeling, less pity than sympathy. Kneeling -beside her as she still crouched upon the floor, he -soothed her a little, and raised her up, and led her, -unresisting, to the divan, where he caused her to sit -down. Then, himself taking her former place upon the -cushions, he began to talk. His voice was low and -smooth, and flowed along monotonously. At first he -cared not so much what he said, as that his manner should -quiet her. In this he succeeded. And when he saw -her, forgetful of her tears, sit up and lean forward, listening -to him, he took up a text on which he had never -spoken before—on which he had scarcely permitted -himself to meditate, yet concerning which all knowledge -seemed to be stored away in his heart and brain. -It was the ceaseless, rebellious yearning of woman for -man, of man for woman: that insistent, unreasoning -desire that has caused chaos in the world. Of himself -and his own abnormal struggles, he did not speak. But -it was from them that he drew his words:—the words -that Zenaide knew to be expressive of universal truth. -For some time Oman talked broadly on this theme; -and then, waiving generalities, he continued:</p> - -<p>“And it is thus that you have suffered in your soul, -desiring for a companion the noblest of men. But,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span> -because you would match your heart with such as him, -so you must become his equal, worthy of him. Let his -own nobility illumine you. It is unlawful, in the light -of the higher law, that you two should love. Show -yourself his peer, then, in quenching this desire, and, -dwelling near his brain, seek not to unlock the chamber -of his heart. Let it not be said that, through you, -his high nature has been weakened and defiled.</p> - -<p>“Nay—speak not yet. I see it in your eyes—how -cold my words are to you; how hard. It is true that I -feel within me no fire burning. I know little of that -restless pain. But, hearing many speak of it, I believe -in it; and yet, above, see plainly the great Dharma -shining. Receive, then, the truth. Be not defeated in -your struggle. Go your way knowing that the blessing -of Brahma is upon you for your keeping of the -law.”</p> - -<p>“But, in the end, what reward shall there be for this, -my sacrifice? What in the wide world could repay -me for the delight of one hour—of one moment, in the -strength of his arms?”</p> - -<p>“The reward is great:—greater, indeed, than any -that receive it not can fathom. It comes in the earthly -Nirvâna, the high, conscious strength, the calm, the -tranquillity, that permeates the soul as water permeates -and renews a parched and dying plant. With this -peace comes the death of yearning and desire. The -pursuits of man and the objects of his struggles—love, -power, wealth, fame—these are little to those that feel -their futility. And I assert this not as the Dharma, nor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span> -as what has been told me; but I speak of what I know. -For, Zenaide, that same reward is mine. Many years -I labored for it, fighting such battles as you could -scarcely understand. But in the end it came;—the -great Relief; and, knowing that at last I should be safe -to dwell among men, I returned to them, and shall remain -among them till my death. The reward is always -with me. It cannot leave me now.”</p> - -<p>“But—” Zenaide sat studying him, his seamed -face, his deep-set eyes, his black hair, shaded here and -there with a thread of white; and when she spoke, -there was a pathetic childishness in her tone: “But -thou art old. Thou hast seen life. Desire dies out of -the hearts of the aged.”</p> - -<p>Oman shook his head. “I am not an old man. I -was not twenty years old when I went up into the -mountains. I dwelt there for many years; but still I -am not more than five and thirty. I am younger than -Bhavani,” he added, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>To this the woman made no reply. Oman had expended -all his comfort; and now he sat waiting for her -to speak again. She remained quiet, however, her chin -resting on her clasped hands, her elbows on her knees, -her face thrust a little forward. Her brow was contracted, -and she seemed to be thinking, deeply. Her -cheeks bore the marks of tears. Her hair and dress -were disarranged. But she was oblivious of her appearance. -Oman sat studying her, and did not realize how -long the silence had lasted when, without changing her -attitude, she said slowly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span></p> - -<p>“It is a creed for men, only for men, that you preach, -O sage. It is cold. It is hard. It is relentless. What -need have I of tranquillity and calm? I am a woman of -red blood. Preach you to me resistance of the emotions? -Think you that bloodlessness, quietude, loneliness -seem beautiful to me?—Ah, yes—it is true! It -is true! He is like that, and I wish to be like him. I -will be like him, Oman Ramasarman! I will, I will—dost -hear? I will!”</p> - -<p>“What is it that thou wilt, Zenaide?”</p> - -<p>Oman and the woman sprang to their feet, as -Bhavani walked quietly into the room.</p> - -<p>“My lord!” cried Zenaide, faintly; and Oman -went hastily forward, with an irrelevant remark which -Bhavani answered, wondering. While this was in -progress, Zenaide’s hands were busy with her hair, -with her face, with her dress; and presently she -approached, mistress of herself again, so quiet, so -self-contained, that Oman could only marvel at her -power.</p> - -<p>Bhavani did not stay long, nor would he permit -Oman to depart before him, however much Zenaide -wished it. He seated himself beside the woman, and -talked with her about one or two personal matters; -while Oman, standing apart, covertly watched the two. -He tried hard to discover in Zenaide some sign of the -feeling she had so lately displayed. But, search as he -would, he could find nothing in her bearing that remotely -suggested her true state. If she was always -thus with Bhavani, there was surely little to fear.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span> -From her the hermit’s eyes moved to the Rajah. He -was talking as he would have talked to a man whose -friendship he valued. Seeing them both thus, Oman -took heart. Surely an unlawful emotion could not be -very strong in either heart.</p> - -<p>It was after sunset when Bhavani rose to go; and -he and Oman took leave together, Zenaide begging -Oman, in an undertone, to come again to her that she -might talk with him further. Oman promised readily; -and then, arm in arm, he and the Rajah set out into -the starry half-light. As they left the water-palace -behind them, there fell on both an unexpected silence:—such -a silence as, coming from the mind and will -of one, is not to be broken by his companion. It -settled over Oman oppressively; for where Bhavani -was concerned, he was quick to feel the slightest -change in mood. Encompassed by uneasiness, they -moved on in the evening light, and Oman perceived -that Bhavani’s steps lagged. It was as if he loitered -to get courage to speak. Oman had a sense that some -revelation was pending; but instinct told him that he -might not question, might not make the slightest -advance toward confidence. They proceeded till they -were within a few yards of the palace, and Oman -began to think his feeling a mistake, when suddenly -Bhavani halted, and, turning to his companion till, -even in the dim light, Oman could see how drawn and -pale was his face, he said, in a muffled voice:</p> - -<p>“Zenaide sent for thee to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span></p> - -<p>“And wherefore? Wherefore? What did she want -of thee?”</p> - -<p>For the shadow of an instant Oman hesitated. Then -he answered, quietly: “She had heard that I taught a -new creed. She desired to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“Is that all?” The words shot from Bhavani’s -lips.</p> - -<p>“That is all,” was the tranquil rejoinder.</p> - -<p>Bhavani found no reply to this, yet he did not move -on. Oman stood waiting, with fear in his heart. He -heard Bhavani say, in a voice that was monotonous -with repression: “She had been weeping. I could see -it. She had wept.” Then, all at once, he flung both -arms over his head, and cried out, in a voice deep with -long-endured anguish: “How long, O Brahma! How -long? My strength fails me at last. I can endure it -no more. I shall fall—I shall fall!”</p> - -<p>“Wherefore?” murmured Oman, at his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Can you not see? Do you not perceive?” whispered -Bhavani, hoarsely. “I love her. I love her, -Oman. I love Zenaide.”</p> - -<p>Then Oman began to laugh. He laughed till -Bhavani, seizing him by the shoulder, shook him like -a rat, crying to him the while to speak. And Oman -obeyed him, saying, in a tone of bitter mockery: -“Thou lovest her, Bhavani, thou, Rajah of Mandu! -Thou lovest her whose heart has been given in turn -to half a hundred; who loves thee to-day for thy gold, -who will love me to-morrow for my creed: <i>Thou</i>, son -of Rajahs, stoop to <i>such</i>?” And again he laughed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span></p> - -<p>Bhavani straightened up, and his face grew hard -and set. “Ah, thou speakest well. It is folly indeed -to talk to thee of love. But have no fear. I am -Bhavani, a prince, the son of princes. I have not -stooped, nor shall I.”</p> - -<p>With that speech his expression was not pleasant to -look upon. But Oman felt a sudden relief. He had -won a battle in behalf of the law. Yet, a few moments -later, as he shut himself into his room, he felt a new -confusion and a new bitterness in his heart; and he -repeated over and over to himself these words: “And -these—and these—the greatest and the best, know -still the struggle, still faint before it, still call on high -for the Reason that never comes. Was it so wonderful -that I—we—failed?”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVb">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<small>THE RIVER TEMPLE</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The events of that afternoon, which formed the unpremeditated -climax of two years of restraint on the -part of both man and woman, threatened consequences -that did not actually come. For some time after -Oman’s bitter reproach, Bhavani did not go at all to the -water-palace. And Mandu wondered and rejoiced. But -to Zenaide, these weeks were the most terrible she had -ever known. It was probably Oman who kept her -from suicide; for, little as Oman could understand her -or her passion, she seemed to cling to him, and to him -only, in her stress. He felt himself both cowardly and -hypocritical when she moaned to him of Bhavani’s -sudden hatred of her; but he nevertheless held to his -tenets as her one possible safeguard. At times, indeed, -when he could see clearly, he felt that these two creatures -had been given into his hands; that it was for -him to keep them both from a relationship which -would, in the end, shatter them morally and mentally. -With Zenaide he dealt tenderly, for she showed herself -to him in lights of unselfishness unsuspected by any one -else. But he never concealed from her the fact that -he would himself exert all his power to keep her true<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span> -feelings from becoming known to the Rajah. And the -woman after a time accepted, miserably, his view, and -acquiesced in all that he told her about the necessity -of constant struggle, constant watchfulness, constant -self-restraint.</p> - -<p>After some weeks it came about that Bhavani -recovered his strength and went again to the water-palace, -where, by degrees, the old relations were resumed. -For this was possible, in that neither of the -two entertained any suspicion of the other’s feeling. -In these new days Oman was, by common desire, much -with them. And nothing, probably, could have made -the lonely creature happier than this. With these two -people he found entire satisfaction. The two sides of -his nature got sustenance; and he experienced for the -first time the delights of true companionship:—a full -and complete companionship, such as few normal people -have the happiness to find. From the first it was plain -that there was little danger of betrayal between the -man and the woman. Oman watched their self-possession, -wondering. Zenaide was no less steady, no less -impenetrable, than the Rajah. Not a look, not a gesture, -not a tone, ever conveyed to Bhavani her feeling -for him. And Oman began to believe that she was -really conquering her nature. The three spent many -hours in the discussion of problems political, judicial, or -philosophical; and, their minds being in harmony each -with the others, these periods became the fullest in their -lives.</p> - -<p>To Oman, especially, had come the deep joy of unbreakable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span> -tranquillity. His life was flowing smoothly, -in chosen ways. He had the assurance that his living -was not in vain; and he knew also that he had succeeded -in conquering himself. Bhavani, loving and -honoring him, would have loaded him with gorgeousness. -But Oman’s sense of fitness did not desert him. -He had no desire to go unkempt; but he accepted only -the state that a lower official of the royal house was -entitled to hold. Gifts of precious metals or gems he -refused. But, early in his coming to Mandu, he took -the Asra ruby from its concealing box, and caused it to -be set in a thin, golden chain which, henceforth, he wore -about his neck; till it became known to all the plateau -as his badge. The story of how it had come to him—from -a mendicant who had died in his cave—he told, -readily enough, to Bhavani. But anything further, the -mendicant’s name, or the strange powers possessed by -the stone, he kept to himself. The matter of reawakened -memory, indeed, had come, little by little, to be -a constant part of the secret understanding that was -always with him. He knew that it had been decreed -that he should learn something of the vast scheme of -life and progress; but he knew also that this inner -knowledge must not be taught to men.</p> - -<p>Months passed quietly away. Summer came, with -furious rains; and then the hot autumn, when the -nights were cooled by winds from the hills. The late -monsoon followed, and the fields were green as with -spring. Mountain torrents plunged from the heights -and over the plain to join the turbulent Narmáda<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span> -stream. And winter was there again:—the mild, sunny -winter of the upper Dekkhan, the winter of flowers, the -winter of Eden. Great riches brought these seasons to -the man who had come, a year before, out of the hills to -Mandu. He was known now to every soul in the plateau; -and he viewed his adopted land with enchanted eyes. -He knew places and parts of Mandu that were not -known to men born on its soil. Often he walked alone -through the still palace, living amid scenes of the long -past, seeing in silent rooms faces of those long since -consigned to crematory flames. There were days when -memory was on him overpoweringly: when Rai-Khizar-Pál -and Ragunáth walked abroad through the corridors -and assembly halls; when the Ranee Ahalya, attended -by Neila, sat at her embroidery in the tiny room, dreaming -of him who was to come to her by night; when -Fidá, the slave, watched near the zenana door, waiting, -with trembling limbs, for the hour when he might seek -his love. These times of vision laid hold of Oman like -dreams that are not to be shaken off. But he pursued -his way quietly, in the face of the double life decreed -for him by his distorted Fates.</p> - -<p>The winter passed. Spring stole upon the land, and -grew, and proclaimed herself again, and got joyous welcome -from all the earth. And it was only now, when -he had been a year in Mandu, that Oman learned of -a strange custom of the new rule. Down upon the -shore of the Narmáda, five miles west of Mandu, at -the spot where, thirty-three years before, the bodies of -the Ranee Ahalya and Fidá had been washed ashore<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span> -close locked in each other’s arms, there had been raised a -little stone temple, whither, once in two years, on the anniversary -of the death, the Rajah of Mandu, his officers, -and the Brahmans repaired to serve the high gods for -the souls of the sinful twain. This custom, inaugurated -during the regency of Manava, had been continued -through his reign by Bhavani, in whom the act was -the one sign of countenance granted toward any one -guilty of the degrading sin. The alternating anniversaries -of the quadruple death were given to mourning -services at the magnificent tomb of Rai-Khizar in the -palace temple. And the incongruity of the two acts -was much whispered about, but never mentioned before -the Rajah.</p> - -<p>It was the year of the river pageant, for which preparations -were begun a week or more before the fourth -of April. On the morning of that day, the whole -palace was astir by dawn; and, in the early light, a large -company set out on foot to descend from the plateau; -for horses could only await them in the plain, below. -Oman found that the descent was easy enough, for, -directly behind the palace, where the slope was less -steep than anywhere else, a long flight of steps had been -cut in the rock, and the plain could be reached thereby -in less than half an hour. Oman and Bhavani started -first and were on level ground in advance of the rest of -the party. There, at the base of the plateau, they found -horses and donkeys assembled, all yellow-caparisoned, -and wearing high funeral plumes in their crests. Presently -there was a general mounting: priests, lords, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span> -officials, according to their rank, ranged two and two -on their steeds; and after them, on foot, a number of -villagers and country-folk, for whom the day was a -holiday. In the first hour of sunrise the cavalcade was -set in motion and began to wind across the plain to -the river bank:—a long, slow-moving line of pinkish -yellow, that saddest of Indian colors.</p> - -<p>To Oman, the sensation of riding was novel enough, -and far from unpleasant. Everything—the sweet, early -morning air, the silvery mist on the plain, the rushing -river-song, the rolling hills in the distance, and the grave-eyed, -silent man beside him, all worked themselves into -his mood, deepening the impression of the hour. By -nine o’clock the little temple was in sight. When it -first appeared, a dim, bluish blot in the flat distance, the -heart of Oman rose within him. His face grew very -white. On his breast the Asra ruby burned, and the -light of it, shining blood-red in the sunlight, or the fact -that he had gazed too long at the temple, or perhaps -some still more natural cause, made him suddenly dizzy -and faint. In the whirl of his feeling, he looked -toward Bhavani beside him. The Rajah sat stiffly in -his saddle, his yellow turban throwing into pale relief -his stern, set face and deeply glowing eyes. He gazed -unwinkingly forward, and Oman’s look followed his.</p> - -<p>Directly in front of them it lay now,—a small, square -building of grayish white stone cut in heavy blocks. -The top of the structure was flat and square, but from -the middle of it rose a conical, pagoda-like dome, also -of stone:—to the Indian eye a sufficiently symmetrical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span> -finish to the whole. The entire building was ornamented -with innumerable bas-reliefs, flutings, and carvings, -crude enough in themselves, but, taken in the -mass, giving an effect of considerable richness. Neither -wing, veranda, nor jut marred the straight lines of the -side walls; and for this, the temple was probably unique -in the jumbling architecture of its period. As it stood -here, silent, deserted, on the edge of the wild-rushing -stream, surrounded by shadowy plain and backed by -high-reaching hills, it gave an impression of loneliness -that no momentary spectacle of trooping horses and -men could shake off.</p> - -<p>It was some time before ten o’clock when the procession -halted and dismounted at its destination. There -was a pause, while the priests opened the long-locked -doors and kindled a fire inside, before the small, stone -image of the god. Then, Bhavani leading the way, -with Oman close behind him, the throng passed into -the stone-lined chamber. Oman entered with closed -eyes. There was an oppression on him that would not -be shaken off. He shook and shivered in the chill of -the little place. When he finally looked about him, the -chant of prayers had begun, and he was surrounded by -silent, motionless men. There were no windows, and -little light entered through the doorway, which was -occupied by villagers who strove to hear something of -the service. The audience, therefore, could see only by -means of the flickering firelight. Everything—roof, -walls, floor, and the image of the god, were of the same -grayish-white stone, polished, but not carved. In the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span> -centre of the floor, however, close to where Oman stood, -was the marble tomb that had been built over the -ashes of the two whom they came to mourn. The -whole of this sarcophagus was covered with inscriptions -and carvings gracefully arranged. And this was all -that the temple held. A single glance was enough -to take it in. Oman saw it so; and then he stood -listening dully to the meaningless words of the chant, -while the ruby burned upon his breast, and his brain -throbbed with the pain of memory.</p> - -<p>When the prayers were finished, every one left the -temple and went out into the open, where a meal was to -be served. But, while priests and people ate, in separate -groups, Oman and Bhavani, who were of one mind, -returned to the building, and silently reëntered it. -Advancing to the sarcophagus, they paused, one on -either side of it, Oman resting both hands on the chilly -marble. The eyes of the two met, and each found in -the other’s look what lay in his own:—bitterness and -sadness. When they had stood there for a long time, -each wrapped in his own thoughts, Bhavani murmured, -quietly, as if to himself:</p> - -<p>“I loved them—both. Ahalya, thou beautiful one,—lying -here,—what hath been thy Fate in death?”</p> - -<p>The last words were barely audible; for it required -courage to break the silence of that room. The stillness -of it seemed almost supernatural. It was scarcely -broken by the faint fluttering of a winged creature that -skimmed in through the half-open doorway. Oman -looked up and perceived a slender, gray bird, of peculiar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span> -shape, hovering under the roof above his head. It -was his companion, he knew at once. Bhavani seemed -not to have noticed the intrusion; and Oman did not -mention it. But the scene was suddenly complete for -him. He felt comforted. And he realized also that here, -some day, he should himself yield up his imprisoned -souls, and in this silent place enter upon his well-earned -rest. Looking into Bhavani’s eyes, he said, quietly:</p> - -<p>“Lord Rajah, let thy father’s ashes be some day laid -within this room. Many years have passed since these -two committed their sin against him. To their troubled -souls it would be forgiveness should he, whom they so -wronged in life, come to them in death, and lie beside -them, peacefully.”</p> - -<p>So gently did Oman say this, and with such conviction, -that Bhavani could not be shocked by the idea. -After a long, thoughtful silence, he only observed: -“Thinkest thou so, indeed?” And then he relapsed -again into thought. Shortly afterward, without further -speech between them, they passed out of the tomb, closing -the door behind them.</p> - -<p>A little later the company rode away from the lonely -place, their faces turned toward Mandu. It was a quieter -journey than that of the morning; for the service in the -temple-tomb had not failed to make its impression on -the most careless. Oman and Bhavani were again side -by side, still silent and thoughtful, gazing into the -cloudy east. When at last they left the river and -struck across the plain, Bhavani, leaning toward his -companion, said, in a muffled voice:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span></p> - -<p>“Thou hast spoken of peace to the twain were my -father laid beside them there by the river. Why, -rather, should not their ashes be carried up into Mandu, -and placed in the palace temple, where their Rajah -lies?”</p> - -<p>Oman hesitated for a moment, stroking his horse’s -mane. Then he answered, dreamily: “That is their -place there, by the river. It is a peaceful sleep. They -would not rest well near the palace of their treachery.”</p> - -<p>Bhavani bowed his head, and seemed as if about -to reply; but he closed his lips again without having -uttered any word.</p> - -<p>Thus ended Oman’s first visit to the tomb: an incident -that brought much into his life. It proved the -beginning of intangible things that carried changes in -their train. There was at first a new relaxation of -mind; for it seemed as if some final touch had been put -upon his own existence. Less than ten miles away was -his own resting-place, waiting his coming. He knew -this intuitively; and it seemed to him that, however -long he should still live, there could be no further -pilgrimage for him. His life at Mandu was not for a -mere Vassa season. He had attained his Arahatship; -and need not any longer dread the privation months -each year.</p> - -<p>During the following summer Oman went twice, -alone, to the tomb; each time spending the night there -and returning, next day, on foot. What he did in those -times, or why he went, no one knew. But he had been -given a key to the temple doors, and men might see, if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span> -they wished, that he carried it always in his girdle. -Zenaide once ventured to ask him of the purpose of his -journeys, and he smiled, and answered her:</p> - -<p>“I go there to pray to the great Brahma for two erring -souls.”</p> - -<p>“The souls of the Ranee and the slave who were -drowned together?”</p> - -<p>Oman bent his head.</p> - -<p>“And dost thou not think, O Oman, that for such -sinful ones there must be hundreds of reincarnations to -expiate their crimes?”</p> - -<p>“Was there happiness enough in their sin to repay a -thousand years of suffering?” he asked, bitterly. “Nay, -woman, I tell thee that thirty years of sorrow and -struggle hath more than paid—more than paid! There -is a strict justice over all things. The Divine Soul alone -knows the real measure of happiness and misery meted -out to each of us. He also knows in how much the -crime carries with it its punishment.”</p> - -<p>“Thou art a strange man, Oman,” she answered, -looking at him curiously. “Sometimes I could think -thee mad if thou wast not so—so assured. Whence -come these thoughts of thine? Art thou inspired?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, Zenaide. Knowledge must come to all who, by -bitterness and tears, have drawn near the infinite. Suffering -brings much beauty to the soul. I begin to think -that men shun it too much.” And then Oman smiled, -and went away, fearing lest he had spoken too plainly -to one who, through her nature, might understand.</p> - -<p>Much to Oman’s surprise, and to the amazement and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span> -consternation of the whole plateau, Bhavani, after six -months of deliberation, acted upon the impulsive suggestion -made by Oman, in the river temple on the anniversary -of the death of Ahalya and Fidá. In the -autumn of that year the ashes of Rai-Khizar-Pál were -removed from their tomb in the palace, and borne -down the river to a new grave. The act came -very near to causing a general uprising. Bhavani’s -own son pleaded with his father on his knees not to -dishonor the great warrior, his grandfather, and thus -bring infamy upon himself and the whole line. It -was in vain. Oman’s secret idea had taken root in -Bhavani’s heart; and a revolution would not have -turned him from his object. In the month of October, -just before the rains, Rai-Khizar’s ashes were laid beside -those of his dead wife, in a new marble tomb, the magnificence -of which a little consoled the people for the -disrespect to their warrior king.</p> - -<p>It was Oman who was charged with the matter of the -reinterment; and, when the priests had finished their -service after the burial, he went down to the river bank, -and at the risk of his life began to talk to the angry -mob that waited there. It was a dramatic scene. In -the beginning his voice was completely drowned by -the roars and cries that rose from the usually passive -and obedient people. Probably only the presence of -Bhavani saved the hermit, as he was called, from personal -violence. But Oman held doggedly to his -place; and, after a time his very appearance, as he stood -upon a block of stone twenty yards from the temple,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span> -silenced the noise, and brought the people, against their -will, to listen to him. As he began to speak, his voice -was like the melodious ripple of a summer stream. He -talked of wrong-doing and the forgiveness of sin; and -the doctrine that he preached had never been heard -in the east at all. One long before, in the west, had -spoken such words; but they had not lived truly in the -hearts of men. Before Oman paused, however, he had -brought all the throng literally to his feet, because of -the things he said and the way he said them. And, in -that hour, Oman won his place with the low castes of -Mandu, among whom, henceforth, he was privileged to -much that their priests could not obtain of them.</p> - -<p>By this unpremeditated act, Oman made possible -for himself something that he had desired long and -earnestly. It opened the way for him to go down -among the humbler people, and cause them to reveal -their souls to him, that he might give them his truths. -In the next months he studied, ardently, the nature of -mankind, in the hope of finding means of escape from -temptation for those too weak to resist it, and of giving -proper strength to those who could still struggle against -themselves. But, even while he labored, a new discouragement -came upon him. He succeeded only too well -in probing the natures of those who sought his help. -To him, whose severe and troubled life had been exempt -from the complicated wrong of living, the constant discoveries -made to him of selfishness, pettiness, deceit, of -warped and perverted notions of right and wrong, thrown -before him in all the chaotic tangle of actual existence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span> -brought revelations that overpowered him with their -barefacedness. All alone he wrestled with problems that -have neither beginning nor end; where, from the first, -all has been so wrong that there is no hope of setting -it right. He saw almost as the Almighty must see:—the -terrible falsity of each individual; and, the reason -for it, the reason for the fact of existence, being withheld -from him, he fainted under the burden of seemingly -irreparable wrong. It was no joy to him to reflect -that, compared with most men, he had lived the life of -a saint. Oblivious of himself since his victory was -won, he tried to take up the battle for others too ill-equipped -for resistance. And thus, after all, Oman -showed himself not very wise; for he had not learned -that, by the first law of creation, man works out his -destiny alone. But this new problem proved to be -also his last turning-point. He had ceased to live for -himself. Henceforth all his desire was for others. It -is the last lesson:—one that men are not often trusted -here to learn.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIb">CHAPTER XVI</h3> -</div> - -<p>“LA-ILAHA-IL-LAL-LAHA”</p> - - -<p>Ten years glided away. Oman was more than forty, -and Bhavani about fifty-five. To the worker among -men the time had seemed longer than that spent -on the Silver Peak. There he had, after a little, -won faith in himself. Here he came gradually to perceive -that he was accomplishing nothing of that which -he had set out to do. Little by little he was made to -realize that those who are wholly of the world can get no -help out of the great, abstract truths: the high standard -of religion. This at last he perceived. But he would -stoop to no creed petty enough to catch the belief of his -people. It was, indeed, only what is discovered by all men -who seek to bring high truths home to narrow minds:—that -the great, polluted religions have, by slow process -of retrograde development, been constituted by the -masses for the masses, who must thenceforth only be -left alone to peck over and over the heap of chaff from -which the last kernels of truth have been long since -snatched away.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, during this period of thankless labor, -Oman had not lost touch with a wider world. Bhavani -and Zenaide, the man and the woman, were still his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span> -refuge. To them he carried some of his weariness, and -from them got constant renewal and refreshment. -Their lives had become tranquil,—singularly so, indeed. -Only Bhavani, as he grew older, sometimes chafed at -the thought that he alone, of all Manduvian rulers, -had been peaceful, had brought no glories of conquest -and plunder home to his people. He fretted lest -Mandu’s prestige had been dimmed by his policy; -though he could not deny that he had trebled the -strength of his kingdom in wealth and in population.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” he would sometimes say, “at my death the -country will be fit for Viradha’s rule. He will find -her ready to give him soldiers and gold for his wars. -He will be what my father was. With all thy teachings, -Oman, thou hast never eradicated in him the warrior -spirit.”</p> - -<p>And Oman would shake his head, his eyes growing -sad; for he was not a lover of war.</p> - -<p>This matter of the long-continued peace in Mandu -was not wholly owing to the policy of its present -Rajah; for, during all the early part of his reign, there -had been quiet in the turbulent north. Now, however, -sinister rumors began to spread and grow. It -was, indeed, a time of universal disquiet; for this was -the middle of the constructive period of Indian history: -the time of the fusion of two great races. Conquest -had begun two hundred years before, under the -great lord of Ghazni. The second conqueror, Mohammed -Ghori, had been dead but forty years. And, -since then, the first line of slave kings, founded by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span> -Aybek, had been broken by another slave:—Balban, -the mighty minister of studious Mahmoud. Under -him began the first concerted campaigns into Gujerat -and Malwa, which were eventually to result in the -conquest of everything north of the Dekkhan. In -Delhi, now the capital of Moslem India, there dwelt -more than one powerful general of the Prophet’s faith. -Among these, Osman-ibn-Omar, the Asra, had won high -reputation for the courage and daring that were, indeed, -characteristic of his race. In his youth he had known -Lahore, even mountain-built Ghazni; and now, his -father long ago honorably dead in battle, the son, -himself more than sixty years old, dwelt in Delhi, -yearning for new wars. And it was eventually he, still -bearing in mind an old, disastrous campaign of Dhár in -the Vindhyas, who now, in the year 1249, swore to his -lord a mighty oath that in him Malwa should find its -conqueror. He would go down to the south, and learn -whether a cousin of his, whilom head of the Asra race, -were still, by any chance, alive and in captivity among -the unconquered natives. But of this matter the folk -of Mandu, peacefully engaged in the garnering of rice -and millet, knew nothing, and as little cared.</p> - -<p>Oman, perhaps, had some premonition of what was -about to come. At any rate, during this winter, his -spirit was restless. He had recourse to many long-abandoned -methods of tranquillizing himself. He felt -that he was becoming world-troubled. The still waters -of his nature had been disturbed and set into motion -by a too intimate knowledge of various matters. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</span> -all his efforts after calm brought him but temporary -relief.</p> - -<p>Part of his trouble lay in the sad knowledge of -Bhavani’s state. The beloved of Mandu was afflicted -with a mortal disease, slow in its fatal progress, but so -sure that no man knew of a single prayer, a single sacrifice, -that could prove efficacious. Zenaide and Oman, -much depending on each other, did not scruple to speak -of the inevitable: the shadow of death that hovered daily -over them. Zenaide grew strong, now. It was that -strength of despair that upholds us at the last. Even -Oman, knowing, as he did, her inmost heart, marvelled -sometimes at the calm that possessed her. She was no -longer young; but, unlike most of her race and class, -middle age had not made her ugly. She had lived too -well for that. Beauty of spirit, gathered during her -years of painful youth, the time of her sacrifice, brought -its reward, clothing her with a dignity and a serene -beauty that mere happiness cannot give. Bhavani’s wife -was dead: had died as she had lived, among her embroideries -and her trivialities, regretting to the last the -zenana life in which she had been brought up. Bhavani, -always reverent toward her in life, felt no acute sorrow -at her decease, and, after her burial, returned to his -usual way of life, affecting nothing. There were still -those in Mandu who wondered if he would not take to -wife the woman to whom he had been far more devoted -than ever he was to the daughter of Dhár. But Bhavani -never entertained a thought of marrying her who had -been the greatest courtesan in Malwa. Nor did Zenaide<span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</span> -herself regard marriage as a possibility. Youth had -passed both from her and from him who, all unknown -to her, had passionately loved her. The fire of youth, -quenched in its height, had found another life, had been -transmuted into a deep and holy affection that demanded -no closer bond than that of friendship. If the thought -of marriage ever came to the woman, it was only with -the wish that, in the suffering he endured almost -constantly, she might comfort him as only women can. -But Bhavani preferred to die as he had lived: austerely -and alone. If he was aware how closely his people -watched him, he gave no sign. Oman sometimes wondered -if the Rajah dreamed of the storm that his marriage -with Zenaide would have raised among the people. Only -Oman, from his constant intercourse with the lower -classes, knew how blindly and how bitterly the woman -of the water-palace was still hated. But Oman himself, -had the two chosen to unite themselves, would have -uttered not one word of remonstrance:—would, indeed, -have given his life in their defence. So had time -changed his earlier, rigid views.</p> - -<p>It was in this year 1249 that Viradha-Pál, the young -prince, began to take his place in the government -of Mandu as a person of importance. Indeed it was -time that he came into his own. Bhavani had kept him -too long in the background. Mandu was beginning -to whisper that he should have been at war for them -these five years past: that it behoved a Kshatriya to -follow his profession. And Viradha, allowed liberty of -action, proved himself worthy of his people by quickly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</span> -claiming his own. Bhavani let him go; for he knew -that the spirit of the old warrior kings was upon the -youth; and he knew also, still better, that the time -approached when a warrior would be sorely needed in -Mandu. For Bhavani, in his peacefulness, was by -no means blind to the outlook of India; and it was -no surprise when Viradha came to him with tales of -Mohammedan invasions in the north, and demands of -an army with which to march against the alien race. -Bhavani acceded to his demands, making, however, -one stipulation. Viradha must marry. <i>Then</i> he might -leave his wife and go forth to battle. Such was the -rule in the Orient.</p> - -<p>Thus it came about, after all, that there were marriage -feasts that year in Mandu. A princess was -brought from Mandaleshwar, on the north bank of the -Narmáda, far to the east. And there was a great -Brahman sacrifice, and the usual three days of ceremonial. -The deserted zenana was opened once more, -and a new woman installed there in her loneliness. -One week her husband tarried by her side. Then he -took his man’s privilege, and left her alone in her state, -while he marched away at the head of his little army—fifteen -hundred men—into the echoing north. The -benedictions and the adoration of all Mandu followed -him. Old Bhavani had been a good ruler, the kindest, -the most just of men. But, after all, men were made -for war, and it was better that the princes of men should -be generals than judges. Alas for Mandu! Rejoicing in -its newly raised standards, shouting itself hoarse with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</span> -its own battle-cries, deaf to presentiment, to rumor, to -the prophecies of the gods, what wonder that it heard -nothing of that faintly-echoing cry that was ringing -out over all the plains and heights of India? The cry -that had risen out of the black Kaaba of far Mecca, and -now rolled, in one continuous shout, from western Granada -to Benares, the holy city, transcending speech by -its sharp fanaticism, finding by force a home in every -land: “<i>La-ilaha-il-lal-laha!</i>” This was the cry that -Viradha had gone forth to oppose. It was the same cry -to which Viradha’s grandfather had answered with his -death.</p> - -<p>The young prince went away in the middle of the -Ashtaka month (December). His going made no -change in Mandu, save that it gave the people an added -interest outside their monotonous lives. The pleasant -winter passed slowly away. Bhavani had begun to depend -much on his appointed teacher of men; and Oman -left his unheeded labors among the lowly in order to -watch over his dearly loved lord. Bhavani was sad; -missed his son; suffered keenly, but did not complain. -Oman himself never suspected how much that royal -soul endured, silently. But, as the days passed, he -became more and more aware of a changing aspect in -many things. There was in him a sense of foreboding, -a feeling of finality, indefinable, omnipresent. Zenaide -also felt it, and her melancholy became unconquerable. -She knew what the outer senses could not tell her; and -even Oman’s quietly proffered sympathy was repelled. -Bhavani doubtless guessed all that passed in their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</span> -minds; but he could not take their burden from -them. He knew himself to be too near the end. He -could only spare them anxiety by the silent endurance -of pain.</p> - -<p>The end came sooner than even he, perhaps, had -expected. It was in February, about the middle of the -month; and early thrills of spring hung in the air. On -the eighteenth day, at noon, Oman, who was in his own -room after a long morning in the school, was roused -by Bhavani’s favorite slave and conducted swiftly -through the palace to Bhavani’s bedroom. Bhavani was -on his couch; and Oman, who had not seen him since -the previous evening, at once knew everything. The -room was in confusion. Evidently many people—doctors, -priests, slaves—had been there recently. -Why they were now gone, Oman could not surmise. -Bhavani lay breathing in long, heavy gasps, with intervals -of startling length. His face wore the gray hue -of death. His eyes were closed; but he felt Oman’s -entrance, for he put out his hand, and Oman took it -and fell upon his knees beside the bed.</p> - -<p>“Let me summon help for thee,” he said, in a low, -clear voice that suggested nothing of what he felt.</p> - -<p>“No,” gasped the dying one. Then, after an effort, -he added: “I hear Brahma’s voice. Shall I not—answer -it?”</p> - -<p>Oman could not speak. He buried his head near the -face of his friend. It seemed to him, at that moment, -that Fate had found a cruelty too great for passive -endurance. For Oman loved this man as he had never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</span> -hoped to love in life. It was like tearing his heart -in two to watch that inevitable, resistless advance of -death. Yet, with the heroism that was in him, he accepted -Bhavani’s own decree: feeling, indeed, that -there was no human help for his King.</p> - -<p>Moments passed:—an hour:—and still Oman knelt -by the bed. Suddenly it seemed as if the Rajah’s -breath was coming a little more easily, a little less -terribly. Quickly he lifted his head, and looked. -There was a change. Bhavani looked older, grayer, -more shrunken. But his eyes were half unclosed, and -he seemed to be in less pain. While Oman gazed, -unable to speak, scarcely to think, a shadowy smile -crossed the Rajah’s lips, and he began to murmur a few -unintelligible words. Oman bent to catch them, and -Bhavani’s eyes rested on his face.</p> - -<p>“Fidá,” he whispered, low, but distinctly: “we -played together—with Ahalya—”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Yes!” answered Oman, hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“Brave things. Let us play again. I always Arjuna. -Thou, O Fidá, Yudishthir, the King.—Ahalya, the -beautiful Draupadi. I have won her from all the rest. -But now—we are marching away—from Hastinapur. -We are seeking heaven. It is a long journey. We -reach the sea. Dost thou remember all the places, -Fidá? Agni stops us awhile; and then—we come -into the plain that leads to Himavan. I have read it -many times. See,—they are gone, all of them! -Nakula and Bhima and Draupadi are dead in the -desert. But I go on alone into the hills—and—yes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</span> -this time he is there!—Sakra—O God!—I come!—Behold, -I come!”</p> - -<p>Smiling, gasping out these words of one of his -childhood’s games, that was, in fact, an epic of the -pilgrimage of life, Bhavani, holy among men, slipped -away out of existence, perhaps ascending in Sakra’s -own chariot, that had so often awaited him in his -young imagination.</p> - -<p>Till long after he knew that Bhavani was gone from -him, Oman knelt there, by the bed, gazing blindly on -the still, waxen face. Presently he became aware that -there were others in the room. Slaves crept in and -out, and brought doctors and officials, and those who -were to care for the high dead. Then, dazed and -bowed down with his weight of grief, Oman rose and -passed out, through the palace, between little knots of -whispering men who made way for him and looked -after him, longing but not daring to question. He -left the palace behind and went on to the duty that -was his. The heart in him bled. There were no -thoughts of help or of comfort in his brain; yet he -knew that none but him could tell the woman of their -common woe. So he turned toward the water-palace, -where he was always admitted without delay.</p> - -<p>Zenaide was in the wide, central court of her dwelling, -lying on a pile of cushions placed beside the marble -pool. In her hand she held a piece of millet cake, -which she had been crumbling for the fishes in the -water. At Oman’s entrance, however, she rose, and -went to him, hastily. As she looked into his face, Oman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</span> -without speaking, watched her expression change from -gayety to wonder, and so to fear, till he knew that there -was not much to put into words. Now she reached -out both her hands, and Oman took them into his own.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” she said, faintly.</p> - -<p>“Dost thou not know?” he asked, his voice seeming -to him to come from another world.</p> - -<p>“Bhavani,—” she began; but her voice broke.</p> - -<p>“There is no longer a Bhavani,” he answered, wondering -at himself for the speech.</p> - -<p>She took it quietly, letting his hands drop from hers, -and turning away so that, for some seconds, he could -not see her face. Then she moved nearer him again, -and said, in tones not natural, but still well controlled: -“Come, let us go into a smaller room.”</p> - -<p>Oman assented in silence; and she led the way down a -short passage to that apartment in which they had held -their first interview, many years before. And there she -caused him to sit down upon the broad divan, while -she took her place at his knee. Again, in their woe, -their hands met. And then Zenaide, bowing her head, -let tears come. Oman could not weep. His grief was -deeper: far more terrible, indeed, than he had believed -it could be. His own great creed brought him no -comfort.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bhavani was entombed in the temple room of the -palace, in the place whence his father had been lately -removed. The ceremonial of cremation was magnificent;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</span> -but there was one grave lack in it. No willing -women accompanied him into the flames. There were -no blood relatives, no children, to mourn at his bier. -The spectators, who could remember his father’s entombment, -compared with this the wailing concourse -which had assembled about that funeral pyre, on which -lay the body that had been carried all the way back to -Mandu from the disastrous plain of Dhár. Here was -no terrible grief of dying concubines and dust-covered -widows: no deep-throated sobbing of warrior sons. Two -aliens, man and woman, stood together, hand in hand, -beside the frightened little bride of Viradha; and these -were all, beside the people, that mourned Bhavani’s -death. Truly, the royal line of Mandu was fading -away! The long ceremony brought to every heart a -feeling of emptiness, of forlornity, that was not easy to -overcome. The people felt it, and even the Brahmans; -and there were those who covertly wondered if young -Viradha, returning home, would find his own awaiting -him.</p> - -<p>Fortunately for himself, Oman had no time, in the -next few weeks, to grieve. Not knowing just how -it came about, he found himself in the position of -regent, all Mandu having voluntarily demanded their -government of him. There being no other hand ready -for the helm, he accepted the place, constituting himself -keeper of Viradha’s state, guardian of his honor, treasurer -of his heritage: holding himself ready at any -moment to deliver all these into the hands of the young -King. He clung closely to Bhavani’s methods, finding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</span> -himself little at a loss to fill a place the duties of which, -from constant observation, he had learned so well.</p> - -<p>Thus a month passed away. Oman, occupied almost -day and night, saw little of Zenaide, whose burden of -grief was hers to bear alone. Oman, even in his sadness, -had found consolation in an unexpected effect of -his labor of the past ten years. He perceived that what -he had hoped for against hope was true: the people -loved him. Through his years of work among them -they had treated him ill. They had been deaf to his -teachings; they had mocked at his laws; they had reviled -him for heresy to their faith. He had come to believe -that he had brought good to not one soul. And now, -suddenly, upon the accession of a little pomp, they went -to him, sought his counsel, obeyed and loved him more -than they had ever obeyed and loved even Bhavani. -Oman took their devotion for the best that it brought; -and rejoiced that his way was made easy for him. -Now he longed only for the return of Viradha, which -could not be much further delayed. He had gone away -in December. It was now the end of March. Surely -the thought of his young wife must draw the warrior -homeward soon. Nay, Oman had a presentiment that -the course of events would force him back.</p> - -<p>Oman was right. Viradha did return, shortly. It -was the last week in March, and the spring was in its -loveliest, early beauty. Was it right that this renewal -of youth, these ever-recurrent love-yearnings of nature, -should be broken by the harsh voices of war, an autumnal -woe of blood and death? Yet this came: so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</span> -swiftly, so overwhelmingly, that there was no time for -consideration or planning. Only action was necessary; -and only action was taken.</p> - -<p>The first premonition of disaster came upon the afternoon -of the second day of April, when two or three -wounded and exhausted fugitives reached the haven of -Mandu, bringing the startling news that Viradha and -his little army were close at hand, in full retreat before -a victorious Mohammedan horde, who had pursued them -clear across the mountains. It was a thunderbolt; for -none had ever dreamed that the plateau, defended by -the whole wide range of the Vindhyas, could be in -danger from the conquerors of Delhi. But the word -of the fugitives had to be accepted. Their plight was -unquestionable. Within twenty-four hours Viradha -and his men would be in Mandu, where something, no -man said what, must happen.</p> - -<p>Through the night, every soul on the plateau labored -as never before. Even the children were pressed into -service; and Brahman and Sudra worked side by side, -placing barriers along the causeway, which, when the -Manduvians had reached the plateau, could be thrown -across the narrow bridge, and the invaders shut away. -It was the only plan of defence that occurred to Oman as -feasible; and none of those that sat in council with him -could find a better. All was uncertain. They could -only busy themselves as best they could;—and wait.</p> - -<p>The waiting was not long. Through the whole of the -morning of the third, fugitive soldiers continued to pour -in from the mountains, bringing word of the valiant,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</span> -the desperate bravery of Viradha in his retreat, and of -the overwhelming force of the invaders. Oman sat in the -great audience hall, questioning every soldier that came -in, ordering, thinking, planning, till, about one o’clock -in the afternoon, there came to his ears the sounds of a -great, confused clamor:—the distant battle-din that proclaimed -the arrival of the Rajah and his army.</p> - -<p>Then, had any one been there to watch, he might -have thought that the Saint of Mandu had gone suddenly -mad. A spirit of fury had, indeed, rushed upon -Oman. He ran out of the palace into the courtyard, -where, by his command, a horse was waiting for him. -He sprang upon it. All the man, all the one-time Asra -bravery of Fidá, was seething in his blood, beating in his -brain. From a staring slave-boy he seized a shield and -spear, but waited for no armor. Clad in his accustomed -white garments, a white turban on his head, and, for his -one ornament, the great ruby hung about his neck, he -started away, at full gallop, down the road toward the -causeway. As he advanced, the sounds grew nearer: -the noise more hideous. And above it all, from time to -time, like a sentence of doom and death, came the -strange accents of that strangest of all battle-cries: -“<i>La-ilaha-il-lal-laha!</i>” which, twisted, means: “There -is no God but God.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIIb">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<small>THE SIGN OF THE RUBY</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>The galloping horse, with its white rider, dashed round -the curve in the road that opened upon the great stone -causeway; and Oman perceived that he was none too -soon. It was upon that narrow bridge that the long, -horrible retreat of the young Rajah of Mandu had -reached its climax. Here he made his last stand against -the invincible Prophet-horde. The scene on the causeway -was indescribable. Oman had one moment’s survey -of it: one moment, during which all his strength, all -the fury of race and loyalty that were in him, rushed -into his two arms, into his brain, into his eyes. Then, -without pause, he was carried down into the writhing, -struggling mass.</p> - -<p>The plan of defence prepared over night for Viradha’s -assistance had come to naught. The two armies -had fought their way, hand to hand, all down the rocky -defile that led to the plateau; and they reached the causeway -in an inseparable mass. It had taken the whole -morning for the Moslems to force the defenders from -the entrance of the pass, two miles above, to the bridge. -The men of Mandu, knowing well the consequence -of defeat, had fought as never men fought before; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</span> -now, on the threshold of their homes, they made the -supreme effort. The retreat was over. The fight on -the causeway was the death struggle. When it ended, -there would be no more resistance to the followers of -Mohammed.</p> - -<p>Like others on that bridge, Oman too had gone -mad. He did not think, he did not feel. He was -a machine. His horse, trained to war, had plunged -into the very thick of the battle. On every side men -were fighting together: man to man, two to one, three -to one, but always without concerted action, always -as in a series of duels. Of those in the mêlée, Oman -was the only one who wore no armor; and how, during -the first ten minutes, he escaped with his life, it would -be impossible to say. After that, his shield was omnipresent, -his sword all-pervading. Man after man went -down before him. Those of Mandu that saw him, -marvelled. Their Saint had become inspired by a demon. -The Mohammedans regarded him with suspicious -fear. Was this an angel, a Jin, come from heaven to -defend a chosen country? It seemed, for a few minutes, -as if his appearance might turn the tide of battle. But -victory was not for Mandu. Where the war-cry of the -Prophet now rose in India, it was not to be stilled by -any bravery, any heroism. Just now, no one looking at -that close-writhing mass of combatants could have told -which way the fight was going. But there was, for the -Indians, a very <i>sense</i> of defeat, a gradually increasing -fear, born of presentiment. Oman felt it with the rest; -but still he fought, with the fierceness of despair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</span></p> - -<p>Not yet, in the closely packed company, had he -caught a glimpse of the young Rajah. Dealing out -his blows and parries almost mechanically, Oman -found time to wonder in which of the heaps of dead and -dying piled against the high balustrades of the causeway, -the son of Bhavani lay. But presently the horror -of that thought was removed. Just before him, upreared -on a bleeding horse, helmetless, blood-smeared, -worn almost beyond recognition with the work of the -last week, was Viradha, closely beset by a powerful -Moslem, whose rich accoutrements and shining scimitar -proclaimed him of rank. In a kind of maze, Oman -watched the young man parry blow after blow, saw the -terrible weapon finally plunged down with undefensible -stroke, and, in the same instant, waking from his trance, -flung himself forward across the young man’s body and -lifted his face to that of the Mohammedan. There was -a strange shock. The Moslem recoiled from the blow -he had dealt, his eyes fixed in fascination on something -that shone on Oman’s uplifted breast:—the Asra ruby, -blazing in the sun.</p> - -<p>Oman recovered himself swiftly, and drew back from -the body beneath him. His attempt had been vain. -Viradha lay supine upon his horse, limp and motionless, -the bright life-blood gushing out of his very heart. -He was dead. Oman knew it before he looked. The -hope of Mandu was gone; and, in the same instant, -the battle was ended. Like one in a dream Oman -heard the din gradually fade into silence, and saw the -great Moslem chief lean over, draw his weapon from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</span> -the young body, and then straighten up and look -about him with a half smile. The Manduvians, those -that remained, had lowered their arms, and were piteously -begging for quarter. But Mohammed spares not -the unfaithful. Oman, perceiving what a hideous, -silent carnage was beginning, felt a new rush of fury, -and hurled himself at the Mohammedan leader, the -slayer of Viradha. At once two other Arabs fell upon -him, from the right and from the left, and Oman surrendered, -as the general gave two or three sharp orders, -and the soldiers, stopping short in their attack, seized -Oman by the arms, lifted him forcibly from the saddle, -and dragged him down till he stood on his feet. Then -they led him back along the causeway to one of the -empty watch-towers. Into this they climbed with him, -bound him fast, hand and foot, with his own sash and -two leathern straps from their accoutrements, and then, -with some words incomprehensible to him, they descended -to the bridge again, leaving him alone. For a -moment his thoughts swam through seas of blood. After -that, the deadly reaction of passion setting in, he mercifully -fainted.</p> - -<p>He was unconscious for a long time. When he came -to himself again, there was a singular stillness around -him:—the stillness of many dead, not to be broken by -the faint, indistinguishable sounds of the horde on the -plateau. It was late in the afternoon; for the sunlight -was pouring through an opening in the west wall of -the watch-tower. Oman looked into the yellow light -till he was half blinded. Then he closed his eyes. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</span> -was in great pain; and half of him was numb with lying -for so long in one position. Unknown to himself, he -had, in the battle, received one or two wounds, not -serious, unfelt, indeed, in the excitement, but which -now troubled him severely. This, and the ache of his -arms and ankles where the fetters held him, threw him -into a kind of stupor of pain. He could hear the flies -buzzing over his blood; but he could not think of anything. -Why should he? Everything was gone; and -the mass of fact was too overwhelming to be realized. -His brain, recently overactive, was as weary as his -body. He was aware only of the lengthening afternoon, -his own pain, and his rising thirst.</p> - -<p>After a while the sun set, the swift twilight passed, -and the young moon shone in the west, above the dead, -sunset colors. Oman was sleepy. It seemed fitting -that, with night, he should rest. He wondered a little if -he was to die in the watch-tower, forgotten, and raving -for water. To his dulled mind it made little difference, -just now. Wondering, stupidly, he fell asleep.</p> - -<p>Oman had, however, been by no means forgotten. -Shortly after moonset, which was very early that -night, he was waked by two men—soldiers—who, -penetrating his retreat, undid his bonds by the light of -a torch, and addressed certain sharp words to him in -their unknown tongue. Oman, obeying the instinct of -common sense, rose to his feet, swayed and reeled with -numbness, and was promptly pummelled into sensibility -by one of the men who seemed to understand what he -needed. So, presently, the three of them, Oman with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</span> -soldier on either side, descended the narrow stone steps -of the tower and came out upon the causeway. Here -was a sight to try the nerves of the Mohammedan conqueror -himself. All was deathly still, yet already men -were working by the light of torches, the sickly, flickering -glare of which cast streaks of light and shadow over -the horrid scene. The whole width of the bridge -reeked and steamed with blood; and here and there -separate bodies blocked the central path. Against the -high balustrades, on either hand, were great, inextricable -heaps of slain. At the sight, Oman’s gorge rose; -but, at the same time, there shot into his mind the question: -“Why am I not lying here? What was it that -preserved me from death?” He had seen Osman’s -look; but he could not account for it. He only knew -that quarter had been given him where nobody else was -spared; and, even before this scene of horror, he sighed; -for he had long since been ready to face the Unknown -Beyond.</p> - -<p>It was a long walk to the end of the plateau. Oman -wondered a little why the conquerors had made the -palace, instead of the town, their headquarters, never -dreaming that, in six hours, Osman and his army had -swept Mandu from one end to the other, after the -manner of a race long accustomed to conquest. When -the prisoner and his guides passed the water-palace, Oman -gazed sorrowfully upon its dark outline and its empty -door. Where was Zenaide, the Lady of Mandu? Alas! -Who could say? Finally, when the captive was on the -verge of exhaustion, they reached the palace courtyard,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</span> -and here, at last, found a scene of life. In the centre of -the court, where so many holy sacrifices had burned to -Agni and the Hindoo Trinity, was an immense bonfire, -at which torn and weary soldiers were cooking food. -Everywhere were men, talking, shouting, laughing in -their barbarous tongue. But nowhere could Oman find -a familiar face. Where were all the slaves that had -been wont to pass and repass through this court by -night and day? Where were the officials? Had they -followed the fate of their defenders? At the thought, -Oman trembled like a woman. However, he and his -guides crossed the square, and entered the audience -hall, where there was a scene indeed.</p> - -<p>The place was lighted by a hundred torches and hanging-lamps -that threw a yellow, smoky glare over the -confusion below. An impromptu feast had been prepared -for the general and his officers; and, the wine-cellars -found and rifled, these good Moslems for one -night waived the tenets of their creed and celebrated -the day’s carnage after the Delhi<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> fashion, by drinking -themselves either maudlin or insane. As Oman, in his -blood-stained robes, appeared upon the threshold, Osman, -the great general, not so drunk as his men, was walking -toward the daïs at the head of the room, where stood the -royal throne. Catching sight of the figure in the doorway, -however, the conqueror paused, with one foot on -the step and turned a little toward him. Oman got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</span> -a distinct picture of him there. The leonine head was -bare, and the heavy, whitish hair and beard framed -a face of fierce and vigorous strength. Most of his -armor had been removed; and he was clad in a crimson -robe, heavily embroidered and studded with jewels. -His undertunic was a vivid green; and in his belt was -stuck a dagger, the hilt of which flashed with emeralds -and blood-stones. This was Osman ibn-Omar el-Asra, -head of that perishable race; and he turned, in his hall -of conquest, to meet the deep-eyed gaze of him who -wore the lost charm of the Asra.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> The law against drunkenness was never strictly kept by the -Mohammedans during the conquest of India. The Delhi kings were -notorious for debauchery.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Lifting his voice above the general clamor, the conqueror -summoned Oman to him. The captive obeyed, -moving slowly forward till he could have touched the -hand of his captor, who still stood gazing at him. Again -their eyes met; and this time, before the penetrating -glance of the hermit, the eyes of the warrior fell. After -an instant, however, they were lifted again, and Osman, -speaking in perfect Hindustanee, said:</p> - -<p>“Thou art he whom they called, this afternoon, the -white Demon?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know what men called me.”</p> - -<p>“Thou wouldst have saved the young Rajah from my -scimitar?”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly,” answered Oman, scowling; and the -conqueror laughed.</p> - -<p>In a moment, however, he was serious again, and, -dropping all preliminaries, demanded: “That stone—the -ruby that you wear upon your neck—what is it -called? Where found you it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</span></p> - -<p>A sudden flash of understanding, of more than understanding, -rushed over Oman. Out of the long, long -ago came remembrance of this same man that now stood -before him; and he asked, suddenly, the involuntary -question:</p> - -<p>“Art thou Osman ibn-Omar el-Asra?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. By the Prophet, how knewest thou I was -ibn-Omar?”</p> - -<p>Oman did not answer. He took from his throat the -chain on which hung the great ruby; and, with an indescribable -gesture, he went forward and slipped it over -the head of the Mohammedan. “It is the Asra ruby,” -said he. “It has found its race again. My trust is -finished.”</p> - -<p>Then, without another word, he turned and walked -out of the room; nor did any one attempt to stop him. -Osman, confounded, dazed, indeed, by the assurance of -Oman’s act, remained motionless, staring after him. -The two guards who had brought him from the -tower, and had watched the scene with speechless -astonishment, seeing that their lord gave no commands -about his recapture, stepped aside to let him pass. And -the others in the room never noticed him at all.</p> - -<p>Heeding nothing of what lay behind, entirely fearless -of the conquerors, Oman left the hall in which Rai-Khizar-Pál, -and Bhavani, and lately he himself, had been -wont to sit in council, crossed the broad courtyard -where the slave Fidá had so often watched, and finally -reached the road, which was silent, and lighted only by -the stars. The palace of Mandu was behind him, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</span> -he had yet one other mission to fulfil. He went on to -the water-palace, which, a little while before, he had beheld, -still with the stillness of death. Was Zenaide -there? Or whither was she gone? He must know. -For she had now only him in the world to look to.</p> - -<p>When he came to the door of the building he found, -to his amazement and consternation, that it stood open. -No slave was on guard; but within, near the marble -pool, hung a burning lamp that cast a faint light -round about. Oman halted beneath it, and listened intently -for some sound. There was one:—the softest, -intermittent sighing:—a low cry, like the wailing of a -new-born child. Unhesitatingly Oman followed the -direction from which it came—followed through room -and passage, till he had reached the inner apartments of -Zenaide, and penetrated to the sanctum: her sleeping -chamber. Here he found her.</p> - -<p>All that he at first perceived was a long, narrow -room, the walls hung with palest blue, on which were -embroidered white flocks of doves. There were many -tiny lights round about, and against the walls knelt -half a dozen women, wailing and beating their breasts. -Beside these were one or two of the male slaves, standing -about dejectedly, but uttering no sound. This was -Oman’s first glance. Then he perceived something -else, which instantly swallowed up every other thought. -At the far end of the room stood a bier, hung with -blue embroideries; and upon it, quiet, peaceful, still as -a marble figure, lay the priestess of Radha, in her last -sleep. The great eyes were shut. The wonderful,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</span> -red-dyed hair was bound smoothly into a high crown -above her brow, and one or two white lotos flowers -were fastened above her ears. Her garments were -all white, her feet encased in white shoes. There -was but one spot of color anywhere. Over her heart, -beneath her left breast, was a stain of moist crimson, -that widened and spread a little, even as Oman gazed. -It told him all that he would have asked. He stood -silent over her, while the women and slaves crept close, -looking up to him with some sign of hope in their -heavy eyes. But, for the first time, perhaps, Oman had -no hope to give. His thoughts, indeed, were not here. -He was thinking of the slow order in which every one -that he had known and loved in his life had passed into -the other land. It was beginning to come home to him -that his own hour of liberation was near. His eyes -travelled slowly over Zenaide’s perfect form, from her -face, which now, in its repose, showed the marks of -time and sorrow, down her white arms, and to her -white-clothed feet. Then, suddenly lifting his hands -over her, he said, softly: “Rest thee, rest thee, in -peace!”</p> - -<p>Then he turned to go. But the living ones crowded -about him, demanding what they were to do.</p> - -<p>“The invaders cannot forbid the right of burial. -On the morrow let her be burned, and the ashes placed -in an urn. By night let one of ye convey this to the -palace temple and lay it upon the tomb of the Lord -Bhavani. Thus they shall meet in blessed death.”</p> - -<p>Then Oman would have gone, but that one of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</span> -women, Zenaide’s favorite attendant, ran to him and -laid her hand upon his arm, saying: “And thou, my -lord, whither art thou going?” Her voice sank to a -whisper, for she felt her presumption.</p> - -<p>“Whither I go ye know not. Sufficient it is that -ye see me for the last time. I commend your mistress -to your care. Farewell.”</p> - -<p>Then Oman, in his stained garments, with the marks -of fetters on his wrists and ankles, left the room of -mourning and passed through the house till he came -again to the central room. Here, the crises of the day -at last ended, his body was overcome with weariness; -and he lay down beside the marble pool, and slept.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIIIb">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<small>SUNSET</small></h3> -</div> - - -<p>When Oman opened his eyes again, red dawn was -just breaking upon a silent world. Kneeling at the -pool, he performed his ablutions, and then walked to -the open door. How fragrant the morning was! The -air was rich with the perfume of flowers. Even in the -early freshness there was a promise of heat; and drowsy -bird twitterings complained of it. But Oman, standing -quiet in the door of the water-palace, thought not of -nature. He was looking out across still Mandu, the -conquered land; and the heart in him bled and ached. -Yesterday he had fought for his people, his country, his -lord. To-day there remained only the bitterness of -irretrievable defeat. And Oman’s one thought now -was for the people:—the men and women of the fields, -who were left to bend beneath the conqueror’s yoke. -These lowly ones, for whom he had labored so long, he -could help no more. If he went among them to-day, -and listened to their plaints, he should have no comfort -for them, could counsel nothing but that which it were -best for them to learn for themselves:—submission.</p> - -<p>Oman, faint from long fasting, leaned his head against -the door, and looked out across the quiet fields. His<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</span> -thoughts were turned to strange things. He remembered -that it was the fourth day of April:—the day -when Mandu was accustomed to worship at the distant -tombs of Rai-Khizar-Pál, the Woman, and the Slave. -There would be no prayers offered there to-day. What -matter? What mattered anything? To the strange -one, leaning upon the dawn, came a great peace. Perhaps -he slept. Certainly he dreamed; for there passed -before him, in the faint light, a pageant of those whom -he had known. And they called to him, softly, and -welcomed him with greetings. First of all, from out of -the long ago, came Kota, his mother, who looked on -him with tender eyes, as one who had worshipped her -first-born; and, with gentle motions, she beckoned to -him. Next was Hushka, the Bhikkhu, clad in worn, -yellow robes, with a pale nimbus round his head. -There was peace in his shining eyes, and Oman knew -that he no longer dreaded the weary eight months’ -pilgrimage. He had won his eternal Arahatship. Then -followed Churi, madness no longer written in his -haggard face. He smiled upon Oman, and called a -greeting, in friendly voice. After him came Bhavani, -looking as in life, an expression of high dignity mingling -with the infinite affection in his face. Behind, -moved young Viradha, with many wounds; and Zenaide, -newly dead, with lilies in her hands. Slowly, -slowly they passed from sight: phantasms, perhaps, of -Oman’s brain. He thought them gone, when, out of -the gray mist, came two more, hand in hand, spirits -interlocked, faint, shadowy, as if they did not live even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</span> -in their ghostly land: a man and a woman. Seeing -them, Oman shuddered violently, and shut his eyes. -When he looked again upon the world, there was nothing -there. He felt only a great warmth in his heart, a -burning eagerness to answer the calling of his dead. -Thus he straightened up, and started forth, looking -neither to the right nor left, in the direction of the -great palace.</p> - -<p>His way was lonely. He met no one till he had -passed round the building where the Asra chieftain -lay asleep. Behind the palace sat a little group of -slaves, eating a meal of millet cakes and milk, which -they timidly offered to share with Oman. Oman sat -with them, and broke their bread, and drank of their -simple beverage; then, rising, he offered them a ring -which he wore in memory of Bhavani:—a circlet of plain -gold; all that he had upon him of any value. Wondering, -the simple creatures accepted it, not in payment -for what he had eaten, but because high lords walk -always abroad with gifts for the poor. And, proffering -thanks to Oman and to Vishnu indiscriminately, they -watched the hermit begin his descent of the plateau.</p> - -<p>It was nearly noon when he stood at last upon the -plain. He had been a long time coming down; for he -had been often obliged to pause and rest. He began to -realize that he was shattered by the struggle of yesterday. -Body and nerves played him false, and the result -of his many years of austere living suddenly threw itself -against him and broke his force. Nevertheless, he -proceeded, walking feebly across the plain toward the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</span> -river bank, wondering a little how, when he had reached -the river, he was going to finish his journey. None -seeing him would have believed that he could walk five -miles more. Yet that was what he had set out to do. -He wished to go to the river temple, to pray for the -three that were buried there.</p> - -<p>His passage across the plain was strangely solitary. -The rich fields, in which stood crops already a foot -high, the young spears calling for water, were deserted. -Here also was the trace of the invader. All the -people of the lowland, quickly getting news of Mandu’s -disaster, had driven together their herds of cattle and -buffalo and retreated with them into the jungle:—a -heedless, sheeplike retreat, that lost them their half-year’s -crops, but could not make encounter with the -soldiers of the Prophet less inevitable.</p> - -<p>An hour after noon, weary and faint, tottering, indeed, -as he moved, Oman reached the bank of the -bright-flowing Narmáda. Here he found that his providence -had not deserted him. On the shore, close at -hand, drawn a little up from the swift water, lay one -of the broad, flat-bottomed boats used occasionally by -peasants for ferrying the stream. The guiding-poles -lay in it—a fact that told much. Those that had used -the boat would not use it again, else they had taken -the poles with them. Oman stared at it for a few moments, -uncertainly. Then he waded into the water, -and dragged it, with great effort, after him. When -it was afloat, he threw himself upon it, took one of the -poles, pointed his barge down-stream, and then, as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</span> -current took it with a rush, lay down supine, folded his -arms across his breast, and shut his eyes.</p> - -<p>The afternoon of the first day of Mohammedan -Mandu was growing late. Yellow shadows lengthened -across the fields. To the south, the flat, alluvial plain -stretched away, dotted now and then with a mud town, -or fringed with the jungle into which, in the India of -that day, all civilization sooner or later resolved itself. -In the north, not very far distant, rose the great rock -of Mandu, crowned with her circle of stone palaces; -and back of that, a silent, threatening horde, stood the -dark Vindhyas, barriers of the Dekkhan.</p> - -<p>Of these things Oman saw none. He knew that -they were there, but his eyes were at rest, and the -troubles of life and of conquest had left his heart. He -was floating swiftly into the sunset. His boat, guided -as if by magic, swept on, down the rushing current, -till the tiny, dark blot of the temple-tomb grew, and -took shape, and drew near upon the right bank. -After a time Oman stood up to watch, waiting for -a moment when he could beach the boat beside the -building. But help was not demanded of his hands. -As they neared the destination, the river curved; and -suddenly, driven by some counter-current, the boat -whirled off and ran aground, exactly in front of the -tomb. It was, perhaps, the selfsame twist that had, -more than forty years before, thrown the bodies of the -man and woman up out of their grim refuge. To him -that was waiting to enter the temple, it was a miracle. -He felt that he had chosen a true way; that his act in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</span> -leaving Mandu had been approved by a higher mind -than his.</p> - -<p>Now, in the golden afternoon, he stood alone before -the tomb. A vast stillness encompassed him as -he moved forward and unlocked the heavy doors. -There, in the dim mustiness of the long-closed place, -stood the two sarcophagi; and, as always, when he -came alone hither, he had a feeling of intimacy -with the dead. But this sense had never been so -strong as now. He knelt beside the ashes of Ahalya -and Fidá, and prayed to the great Brahm; and, as he -prayed, there arose in his breast an overmastering desire:—the -desire to lay himself down in the shadows of -the little place and sleep. After a time he passed -over to the resting-place of the old Rajah, and dumbly -craved his forgiveness for the wrong done him by his -wife and his slave. Then, finally, he went outside -again, and stood upon the bank of the stream.</p> - -<p>Sunset had come. The Narmáda rushed by: a tempestuous -flood of crimson and gold. The world was -alight with fiery glory. It was the sign of the conqueror -in the land. Only the being who stood alone -in his surrounding solitude, the long years of his -expiation and atonement behind him now, could turn -his face fearlessly, without dread, toward that coppery -sky. As he gazed into it, the gray and violet shadows -came stealing out over the splendor. The day was -dying. It was again the prophecy of the India that -should, in time, conquer its conquerors.</p> - -<p>With a palpitating heart, Oman gazed about him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</span> -overcome by the strangest emotion. It was as if his -souls were straining at their fetters. Yet still there -was a sense of desolation, a lack of something that was -to come. Darkness was around him. Then suddenly, -out of the west, from the now hidden fires there, it -appeared:—the slender, gray-winged bird, the mysterious -complement of his souls. As of old, straight -to his breast it flew, trembling and warm. Clasping -it close, Oman lifted his head and murmured -softly:</p> - -<p>“Lord, it is finished. Let me now go.”</p> - -<p>Then he turned, and slowly, very slowly, walked -into the temple. One outside, looking in through the -shadows, might have perceived that he laid himself -down upon the tomb of the two that had sinned of -old; and that the bird upon his breast was still. A -little later, moved, perhaps, by the evening wind, the -doors swung gently to upon the body that had now -delivered up its long-imprisoned souls.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>What befell on High I do not know. But the hermit -of the Silver Peak, the Saint of Mandu, was gone. -Nor was he seen upon earth again.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="NEW_FICTION">NEW FICTION</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="center fs4">THE CROSSING</p> - -<p class="center">By WINSTON CHURCHILL<br> - -<i>Author of “The Crisis,” “Richard Carvel,” etc.</i><br /> - -With Illustrations in Colors by Sydney Adamson and Lilian Bayliss</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50<br /> -</p> - -<p>The theme of Mr. Churchill’s new novel is largely the peaceful conquest -of the great Louisiana Territory by American settlers during the years from -the purchase of Louisiana onward. The book’s timeliness is obvious; but -what is more to the point is that the story portrays the immigration of -Americans into the Louisiana Territory, their settlement therein, and the -gradual, sure way in which they brought the empire sold to us by France -under American rule, and implanted in it American social and political -ideas. Mr. Churchill also describes the life of that age in the States bordering -on the east bank of the Mississippi, and the ideals and standards -which actuated the people of those States, and puts into the form of fiction -the whole American spirit of the early years of the nation. This is the -second novel in point of time in the series of novels dealing with American -life which Mr. Churchill is writing. “Richard Carvel,” which dealt with -the Revolutionary War, was the first, and “The Crisis,” which dealt with -the Civil War, was the fourth.</p> - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">DAUGHTERS OF NIJO: A Romance of Japan</p> - -<p>By ONOTO WATANNA<br /> - -<i>Author of “A Japanese Nightingale,” “The Heart of Hyacinth,” etc.</i><br /> - -With Illustrations and Decorations in Colors by Kiyokichi Sano</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>Two delicate and dainty love stories woven into one narrative. The plot -turns on the marvellous resemblance between two step-sisters, the one a -royal princess, the other supposedly the daughter of middle-class people, -but really also a “Daughter of Nijo"—Nijo being a prince of Japan. By -an odd fatality each of the sisters loves the man to whom the other has -been betrothed by the relatives. The sisters meet one another for the first -time, and discover this. The happy inspiration occurs to them to exchange -clothes and places; but they are careful not to inform their respective lovers -until after a good many things have happened. It is a pure romantic -story, alive with genuine charm, and written in excellent English with just -a touch of naïve quaintness.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RÜGEN</p> - -<p class="center"><i>By the author of “Elizabeth and Her German Garden,” etc.</i><br /> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“Elizabeth in Rügen is well worth the time it takes to read it. Its -optimism, its wholesome outlook, its bubbling merriment, its frank joy of -living—all are so genuine."—<i>The Record-Herald</i>, Chicago.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">A LITTLE TRAITOR TO THE SOUTH</p> - -<p>A War-time Comedy with a Tragic Interlude<br /> - -<p class="center">By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY<br /> - -<p>With Illustrations in Colors by A. D. Rahn, and Decorations by C. E. Hooper</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“A charming story of war-time in Charleston, one in which is breathed -the atmosphere of the quaint old town, and from which is gleaned an -excellent conception of the spirit of her people.”—<i>Augusta Herald.</i></p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE SINGULAR MISS SMITH</p> - -<p class="center">By FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY<br /> - -<p><i>Author of “Titus: A Comrade of the Cross,” etc.</i><br /> - -<p>With Illustrations by Will Grefe</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.25</p> - -<p>This new story by Mrs. Kingsley is full of human interest. A rich young -orphan endeavors to find out how working women live. So she goes out -to service and has various adventures, during which she meets a foundryman -who seems to be above his station. Finding that she is falling in love -with him, she returns to her own social sphere. Afterwards she meets him -on board ship, and he turns out to be a teacher of sociology in Harvard; -and they begin life together with the joint determination to spend all of -her money in doing good.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE FAITH OF MEN, <span class="allsmcap">AND OTHER STORIES</span></p> - -<p class="center">By JACK LONDON<br /> - -<p><i>Author of “The Call of the Wild,” “The Children of the Frost,” etc.</i></p> - -<p>The inspiration to write came to Mr. London first on the Klondike trail. -His stories of miners and adventures in contact with Alaskan natives and -Esquimaux won him instant fame and popularity; and they rank among -the more enduring recent American fiction. Critics have said that Mr. -London’s short stories are among the most virile and artistic in the language.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE MERRY ANNE</p> - -<p class="center">By SAMUEL MERWIN<br /> - -<p><i>Joint author of “The Short Line War” and “Calumet ‘K’”</i><br /> - -<p>With Illustrations and Decorations in Colors by Thomas Fogarty<br /> - -<p>A story of action pure and simple, virile and vigorous in its movement. -As a bit of story telling, the book has decided grip and force.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE AMERICAN PRISONER</p> - -<p>A Romance of the West Country<br /> - -<p class="center">By EDEN PHILLPOTTS<br /> - -<p><i>Author of “Children of the Mist," “My Devon Year,” etc.</i><br /> - -<p>With Illustrations by Claude A. Shepperson</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“Intensely readable ... perfectly admirable in its elemental humor and -racy turns of speech.”—<i>The Spectator</i>, London.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY</p> - -<p class="center">By SARA ANDREW SHAFER</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“This is one of the pleasantest books of the year.... The story leaves an -impression of cleanness and coolness and sweet living on the memory."—<i>New -York Evening Post.</i></p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE STORY of KING SYLVAIN and QUEEN AIMÉE</p> - -<p class="center">By MARGARET SHERWOOD<br /> - -<p>With Illustrations and Decorations by Sarah S. Stillwell</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“All those who have a secret longing for the broad sky and the open -road, and at times rebel against stone walls and the ceremonies and restrictions -with which modern civilization has hedged itself in, will find a rare -charm in ‘The Story of King Sylvain and Queen Aimée.’”—<i>New York -Globe.</i></p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE FAT OF THE LAND</p> - -<p>The Story of an American Farm<br /> - -<p>BY JOHN WILLIAMS STREETER</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50 net</p> - -<p>“There is a cheerful spirit throughout, and the book strengthens our -love of the soil and of ‘getting close to nature.’”—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE PRICE OF YOUTH</p> - -<p class="center">By MARGERY WILLIAMS</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>“The story is markedly original ... and is admirably told, in a manner -that is really convincing.”—<i>The Louisville Post.</i></p> - - -<p class="center">NEW FICTION</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE QUEEN’S QUAIR</p> - -<p class="center">By MAURICE HEWLETT<br /> - -<p><i>Author of “Richard Yea-and-Nay,” “The Forest Lovers,” etc.</i></p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>The love story of Mary Queen of Scots has always fascinated. Probably -no other woman in the world has been so violently attacked or so stanchly -defended. Wonderful indeed her fascination and charm must have been. -Certainly no one can read the history of her times without realizing that -she exercised over men a sway that has hardly been rivalled by any other -woman since the world began. Three centuries after her death she still -sways men’s minds and hearts. It is the love story of this fascinating -woman which Mr. Hewlett has taken for the foundation of his new novel; -which opens while Mary, a widow of nineteen, is still at the Court of -Catherine de’ Medici, and continues through all the stormy era of her life -in Scotland. The story is vital with interest and alive with action; and -plot, intrigue, and counterplot mingle and cross and move toward the end. -Through it all walks Mary, magnetic, passionately alive, and very human -woman.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE COURT OF SACHARISSA</p> - -<p class="center">By HUGH T. SHERINGHAM and NEVILL MEAKIN</p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>This is a piece of gentle, delicate fooling; as the sub-title puts it, “a -midsummer idyl compiled out of the traditions of the Irresponsible Club.” -Purely fanciful, and light as air, the tale is instinct with the grace and -charm which make Henry Harland’s recent books so captivating. Besides, -it contains real humor.</p> - - -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center fs4">THE WOMAN ERRANT</p> - -<p><i>By the Author of “The Garden of a Commuter’s Wife” and -“People of the Whirlpool”</i></p> - -<p class="center"> -Cloth<span class="gap">12mo</span> $1.50</p> - -<p>The same unfailing charm pervades “The Woman Errant” which readers -of “The Garden of a Commuter’s Wife” and “People of the Whirlpool” -will so well remember. Less a garden book than its predecessors, -and more a novel, this new story reveals a growth in power that will delight -the admirers of the author’s preceding work, while it will also attract many -new friends. One of its phases touches on a curious social phenomenon -of the present day, which has become strongly marked, yet which is absolutely -untouched hitherto in fiction—the challenge of the woman domestic -by the woman errant.</p> - - -<p class="center"> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK<br /> -</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAME-GATHERERS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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