Caste Part 31

"Because it was said. And the Missie Baba's heart will be full of the Sahib, for he is like a G.o.d."

"Is the Gulab jealous of the Missie Baba?" Barlow asked mundanely, almost out of confusion.

"No, Sahib, because--because one is not jealous of a princess; because that is to question the ways of the G.o.ds. If I had been an Englay and he loved me, and the Missie Baba claimed him, Bootea would kill her."

This was said with the simple conviction of a child uttering a weird threat, but Barlow shivered.

"And now, Gulab," he persisted, "if you thought I loved you would you kill the Missie Baba?"

"No, Sahib, because it is Bootea's fault. It can't be. It is permitted to Bootea to love the Sahib, but at the shrine Omkar will take that sin and all the other sins away when she makes sacrifice--"

"What sacrifice, Gulab?"

"Such as we make to the G.o.ds, Sahib."

Then something curious happened. The girl broke, she clung to Barlow convulsively; sobs choked her.

He clasped her tight and laid his cheek against hers soothingly, and said, "Gulab, what is it? Don't go to the Shrine of Omkar. Come with me to your people at Chunda, and if you do not want to remain with them I will have it arranged, through the Resident, that the British will reward you with protection. You have done the British Raj a great service."

"No, Sahib." The girl drew herself erect, so that her eyes gazed into Barlow's, They were luminous with an intensity of resolve. "Let Bootea speak what is in her heart, and be not offended; it is necessary.

There is, at the end of the journey the place that is called _jahannam_ (h.e.l.l) for Bootea. The Nana Sahib waits like a tiger crouched by a pool at night for the coming of a stag to drink."

"The Resident will protect you against the Mahratta," Barlow declared.

"Bootea could do that," and in her small hand there gleamed in the moonlight the sheen of her dagger blade. She thrust it back into her belt.

"What then do you fear, Gulab?" he queried.

"The Sahib."

"_Me_, Gulab?"

"Yes, Khudawand. To see you and not be permitted to hear your voice, nor feel your hand upon my face, would be worse than sacrifice. Bootea would rather die, slip off into death with the goodness, the sweetness of to-night upon her soul. There, where the Sahib would be, Bootea's heart would be full of evil, the evil of craving for him. No, this is the end, and Bootea will make offering of thanks--marigolds and a cocoanut to Omkar, and sprinkle attar upon his shrine in thankfulness for the joy of the Sahib's presence. It is said!" and the girl nestled down against Barlow's breast again as though she had gone to sleep in content.

But he groaned inwardly: there was something of dread in his heart, her resignation was so deep--suggesting an utter giving up, a helplessness.

She had named sacrifice; the word rang ominously in his mind, beating at his fears. And yet, what she had said was philosophy--wise; a something that had been worded, perhaps differently, for a million years; the brave acceptance of Fate's decree--something that always triumphed over the weak longings of humans.

CHAPTER XXIX

Now they could see the wide silver ribbon of Mother Narbudda lying serene and placid in the moonlight, in the centre of the river's wide flow the gloomy rock embrasures of Mandhatta Island. Where it towered upward in cliffs and coned hills the summit showed the flickering lights of many temples, and like the sing of a storm through giant trees there floated on the night wind the sound of many voices, and the beating of drums, and the imperious call of horns and conch-sh.e.l.ls.

They came upon the _tonga_ waiting by the roadside, and Barlow, thrusting back the covering from the girl's face said: "Now, Gulab, I will lift you down. We must find a place in the village beyond for you to rest to-night; I, too, will remain there and in the morning we will make our salaams."

Then he drew her face to his and kissed her.

He slipped from the saddle and lifted the girl down, carrying her in his arms to the _tonga_.

As they neared the village that was situated on the flat land that swept back from the Narbudda in a wide plain, and nestled against the river bank, they were swept into a crowd such as would be encountered on a trip to the Derby. The road was thronged with people, and the village itself, from which a bridge reached to the Island of Mandhatta, was a town in holiday attire, for to the Hindus the _mela_ of Omkar was a union of festivity and devotion.

Both sides of the main street were lined with booths for the sale of everything; calicoes from Calicut, where these prints first got their name; hammered Benares ware; gold-threaded cotton puggris from Mewar; tulwars and khandas from Bhundi. In some of the little shops, bamboo structures that thrust an underlip out into the street, there was Mhowa liquor, and _julabis_, and _kabobs_ of goat meat. Open s.p.a.ces held tiny circuses--abnormal animals and performing goats, and a moon-bear on a ring and strap.

The street was full of gossiping men and women and children dodging here and there; it was an outing where the _ryot_ (farmer) had escaped from his crotched stick of wood that was a plough, and the village tradesmen had left his shop, and the servant his service, to feel the joyousness of a holiday. Mendicants were in abundance prowling in their ugliness like spirits in a nightmare; some naked, absolute, others with but a loin-cloth, their lean shrivelled bodies smeared with ashes--sometimes the ashes of the dead--and cow-dung, carrying on their arms and foreheads the red and white horizontal bars of Shiva--who was Omkar at Mandhatta. In their hands were either iron-tongs, with loose clattering ring, or a yak's tail, or the three-ribbed horn of a black-buck.

Some of the _yogis_, perhaps Goswamies that had come from the country where Eklinga was the tutelary deity, had their hair braided and woven around their foreheads, holding in its fold lotus seeds; beneath the tiara of hair a crescent of white on their foreheads. A flowing yellow robe half hid their ash-smeared limbs. A tall Sannyasi--the most ascetic of sects--his lean yellow-robed form supported by a long staff at the end of which swung a yellow bag, strode solemnly along with eyes fixed on a book, the Bhagavad Gita, muttering, "Aum, to the light of earth, the divine light that illumines our souls. Aum!"

To Barlow it was like a grotesque pantomime with no directing head.

Nautch girls tripped along laughing and chatting, bracelets jingling, and tiny bells at their ankles tinkling musically. It depressed him; it was such a terrible juxtaposition of frivolity and the gloomed shadow of idol worship that lay just the bridge's span of the sullen Narbudda: the gloomy, broken sc.r.a.ps of the long since deserted forts that cut with jagged lines the moonlit sky; and beyond them again the many temples with their scowling Brahmin priests, and the shrine wherein the G.o.d of destruction, Omkar, sat athirst for sacrifice. He shivered as though the white mist that veiled the river crept into his marrow.

The Gulab seemed at home amongst these gathered ones. Two or three times she had bade the driver stop his creeping pace, and looking out from beneath the curtain had questioned a man or woman. At last, as they were stopped by a wall of people watching the antics of some strolling players upon a platform, Bootea spoke to a stout woman who was pressed against the opening into the cart by the mob.

"_Lucker khan Bhaina, Bowree_," the Gulab said in a low voice, and the woman's eyes took on a startled look for it was a decoit pa.s.sword, and the Bowrees were a clan of decoits akin to the Bagrees. From the woman Bootea learned where she could find a good resting place with the family of a shop-keeper. There was no doubt about it, the Bowree woman a.s.sured her, for the _tonga_ would impress him, and he was one who profited from the loot of decoits.

The Gulab was given a place to sleep in the shopkeeper's house that extended back from his little shop. The driver was ordered to return in the morning to the Pindari camp. Barlow was for keeping the _tonga_, hoping that perhaps Bootea would change her mind and go on to Chunda, but the girl was firm in her determination to end it all at Mandhatta.

Before Barlow left her to seek some camping place in hut or serai, and food for himself and horse, the girl said: "If the Sahib will delay his going to-morrow for a little, Bootea will proceed early to the shrine to see the Swami--then she will return here, for she would want to see his face once more before the ending."

"I'll wait, Gulab," he acquiesced; "I'll be here at the tenth hour."

He felt even then an unaccountable chill of their parting, for, many being about, he could not take her in his arms to kiss her; but their eyes spoke, and the girl's were luminous, and sweet with a look of hunger, of pathetic longing, of sublime trust.

As Barlow turned away leading his horse, he muttered over and over, "Gad! it's incomprehensible that a Sahib should feel this over a--yes, a native woman; it's d.a.m.nable!"

He reviled himself, declaring that it was harder on the Gulab than on him--and he was actually suffering. It would be better if he swung to the saddle and fled from the misery that prolongation but intensified.

And the girl's brave resignation in giving him up was wonderful, was so like her.

Then the sight of Mahratta _sowars_, who, it being Sindhia's territory, were a guard to watch the pilgrim throng, flashed him back to a sense of duty, his own mission. But it had not suffered because of Bootea; it had benefitted through her; but for her the written message from the British would have been lost--stolen by Hunsa, and would have landed in Nana Sahib's hands; and he would have been slain as the Patan, killer of Amir Khan.

But the Gulab was right; from that time forward should she listen to him and go on to Poona, G.o.d alone knew where it would lead to--misery.

It would be utter ruin morally, officially, in a caste way; even in time pa.s.sionate enthusiasm, engendered by her lovableness, dulled, would bring utter debas.e.m.e.nt, degradation of spirit, of man fibre. It was the wisdom of G.o.d that entailed upon the union of the white and dark-skinned the bar sinister.

Until he slept, wrapped in his blankets on the sand beside his tethered horse, Barlow was tortured by this mental inquisition. Even in his troubled sleep there was a nightmare that waked him, panting and exhausted, and the remembrance was vivid--Bootea lay beneath the mighty paws of a tiger and he was beating hopelessly at the snarling brute with a clubbed rifle.

CHAPTER x.x.x

In the morning Captain Barlow underwent a sartorial metamorphosis; he attained to the sanct.i.ty of a Hindu pilgrim by the purchase of a tight-ankled pair of white trousers to replace the voluminous baggy ones of a Patan, and a blue shot-with-gold-thread Rajput turban. He shoved the Patan turban with its conical fez in his saddle-bags, and wound the many yards of blue material in a rakish criss-cross about his shapely head, running a fold or two beneath his chin. The Patan sheepskin coat was left with his horse.

When Bootea came at ten to where Barlow--who was now Jaswant Singh--paced up and down with the swagger of a Rajput in front of the _bunnia's_ shop, she stood for a little, her eyes searching the crowd for her Sahib. When he laughed, and called softly, "Gulab," her eyes almost wept for joy, for not seeing him at once, a dread that he had gone had chilled her.

"You see how easy it is, in a good cause, to change one's caste," he said.

"With you, Sahib, yes, because you can also change your skin."

There it was again, the indestructible barrier, the pigmented badge.