The Flower of Forgiveness Part 13

Feroza started to her feet. "For shame, Kareem, for shame! He says they are so good." And before they guessed what she would be at, the wicket-gate was open, and she was on the bare, indecent doorstep.

"_Salaam! mem sahib, salaam!_" rang her high-pitched, girlish voice.

"I, Feroza Begum of the house of Meer Ahmed Ali, barrister-at-law, am glad to see you."

Before Kareema, by hanging on to Mytab's scanty attire, lent weight enough to drag the offender back to seclusion, the English lady raised her veil, and Feroza Begum, Moguli, caught her first glimpse of a pair of mild blue eyes. She never forgot the introduction to Miss Julia Smith, spinster of Clapham. Perhaps she had reason to remember it.

"I might have believed it of Kareem," whimpered the duenna over a consolatory pipe, "but Feroz! To stand out in the world yelling like a hawker. _Ai, Ai!_ Give me your quiet ones for wickedness. _Phut!_ in a moment, like water from the skin-bag, spoiling everything."

"'Twas Kareem's laugh burst the _mashk_, nursie," laughed Feroza. She and her sister-in-law seemed to have changed places for the time, and she was flitting about gay as a wren, while the former sulked moodily on her bed.

Yet as the days pa.s.sed a new jealousy came like seven devils to possess poor Feroza utterly.

What was this wisdom which inspired so many well-turned periods in the Meer's somewhat prosy letters? Beauty was beyond her, but women even of her race had been wise; pa.s.sionate Nurjehan, and even pious Fatma--G.o.d forgive her for evening her chances with that saintly woman's! The thought led to such earnest study of the Koran that old Mytab's wrath was mollified into a hope of permanent penitence. And all the time the girl's heart was singing paeans of praise over the ease with which she remembered the long strings of meaningless words. Buoyed up by hope she confided her heart's desire to Kareema.

"Eat more b.u.t.ter and grow fat," replied that little coquette. "Dress in bright colours and redden thy lips. And thou mightest use that powder the _mems_ have to make their skins fair. Inaiyut saith he will buy me some in the bazaar. That is true wisdom; the other is for wrinkles."

Despite this cold water, the very next London post-mark brought matters to a crisis.

"Is that all?" asked Feroza dismally, when her father-in-law, the Moulvie, had duly intoned her husband's letter. "It looks, oh! it looks ever so much more on paper."

The old Mohammedan stared through his big horn-rimmed spectacles at her reluctant finger feeling its way along the crabbed writing.

"Quite enough for a good wife, daughter-in-law," he replied. "Bring my pipe, and thank G.o.d he is well."

As she sat fanning the old man duteously, her mind was full of suspicion. Could _she_ have compressed the desire and love of her heart into a few well-turned sentences? Ah! if she could only learn to read for herself. The thought found utterance in a tentative remark that it would save the Moulvie trouble if she were a scholar.

"'Tis not much trouble," said the old man courteously; "the letters are not long."

The effect of these words surprised him into taking off his spectacles, as if this new departure of quiet Feroza's could be better seen by the naked eye.

"So thou thinkest to learn all the Meer has learnt?" he asked scornfully, when her eloquence abated. "_Wah illah!_ What? Euclidus and Algebra, Political Economy and Justinian?"

The desire of the girl's heart was not this, but jealousy and shame combined prevented her declaring the real standard of her aims, so she replied defiantly, "Why not? I can learn the Koran fast--oh, ever so fast."

It was an unfortunate speech, since it brought down on her the inevitable reply that such knowledge was enough for those who, at best, must enter Paradise at a man's coat-tails. Driven into a corner, she felt the hopelessness of the struggle, until, flushed by success, the Moulvie forgot caution, and declaimed against his son's stupidity in desiring more.

Feroza seized on this slip swiftly. If it was as she feared, if her husband's wishes were kept from her ignorance, she must, she would learn. If she could not go to school, the _mems_ would come and teach her at home. They did such work at Delhi; why not here? As for the Moulvie's determination that no singing should be heard in his house, that was a righteous wish, and she would tell the _mems_ not to sing their hymns. Indeed, such a question seemed all too trivial for comparison with her future happiness. Therefore her disappointment when Mytaben brought back a peremptory refusal from the mission-ladies to teach on such condition was very keen. Her piteous, surprised tears roused Kareema's scornful wonder.

"I can't think why thou shouldst weep; it thickens the nose, and thine is over-broad as it is. Inaiyut offered once to teach me, but when I asked him if learning would make him love me better, he kissed me with a laugh. So I let it alone."

"Thou dost not understand," sobbed Feroza; "no one does. The Meer is wise, and I am different."

"_Wah!_ Thou art but a woman at best, and life is over for us with the first wrinkle, no matter what we learn. Ah, Feroz! let's enjoy youth whilst we have it. See! I have a rare bit of fun for thee if thou wilt not blab to Mytaben. Promise!"

Three days afterwards Feroza, escaping from the turmoil of a great marriage in a relative's house, found herself, much to her own surprise and bewilderment, forming one of a merry party of young women disguised in boy's clothes, and bound for an hour or so of high jinks in one of the walled orange gardens which lay on the outskirts of the quarter.

The idea, which had at first filled her with dismay, had next grown tempting, and then become irresistible with Kareema's artful suggestion that it would give occasion for a personal interview with the mission-ladies who had taken up their abode close by. So she had allowed her doubts and fears to be allayed; though inwardly she failed to see the vast difference on which her sister-in-law insisted, between the iniquity of standing on doorsteps in the full light of day, and sneaking out at night on the quiet.

"Verily," said Kareema in a pet, "thou art a real noodle, Feroz! I tell thee all the good-style women do thus, and my sister will be there with her boys. _Wah!_ were it not for my handsome Inaiyut, I should die in this dull old house where folk wish to be better than G.o.d made them."

So it came to pa.s.s that while Miss Julia Smith, spinster of Clapham, sat with her fellow-workers in the verandah resting after their labours, a boyish figure with a beating heart was creeping towards her as the goal of every hope.

The English mail was in; an event which by accentuating the severance from home ties is apt to raise the enthusiasm of the mission-house beyond normal.

"How very, very interesting it is about the young man Ahmed Ali,"

remarked Julia, in a voice tuned to superlatives. "Dearest Mrs.

Cranston writes that he spoke so sweetly about his ignorant child-wife.

As she says, there is something so--so--so comforting, you know, in the thought of work coming to us, as if--well, I can't quite express it, you know,--but from our own homes,--from dear, dear, old England!"

There was a large amount of confused good feeling in Julia Smith. A kindly soul she was, if a little over-sentimental. Perhaps a broken sixpence, stored side by side with a decayed vegetable in her desk, formed a creditable explanation of the latter weakness. Such things account for much in the lives of most women.

"I suppose," she continued, "we were right to refuse without hymns; but I shall never forget the sweet child's face as she popped from her prison. I am making up the incident for our magazine; it will be most touching. But now that dearest Mrs. Cranston has written, it seems like the finger of Providence--"

"A boy wanting a Miss," interrupted the nondescript familiar, inseparable from philanthropy in India. "The one with an umbrella, a big hat, and a bag of books."

A very womanly laugh with an undercurrent of militant pleasure, ran round the company. The description fitted one and all, and they were proud of the fact.

The moon shone bright behind the arches, the scent of orange blossoms drifted over the high garden wall, and every now and again a burst of laughter close at hand overbore the more distant noise of wedding drums and pipes.

"What do you want, my son?"

The soft voice with its strange inflections took away the last vestige of Feroza's courage. She stood dizzy with absolute fear, her tongue cleaving to her mouth. A repet.i.tion of the question roused her to the memory that here lay her one chance. She gave a despairing glance into the gloom in search of those pale blue eyes; then, suddenly, inheritance broke through her terror. She flung her hands up to heaven, and her young voice rose in the traditional cry for justice. "_Dohai!

Dohai!_"

"We do not keep justice here," was the soft answer. "You must go to the Courts for that. We are but women--"

"And I too am a woman! Listen!" The words which had lagged a moment before now crowded to her lips, and as she stepped closer her raised arm commanded attention. "You have taken my husband and left me; and I will not be left! You gave him scholarships and prizes, tempting him away; and when I also ask for learning, you say, 'You must sing.' What is singing when I am sad? Surely G.o.d will hear my tears and not your songs!"

Her pa.s.sion swayed her so that but for Julia Smith's supporting arm she would have fallen. "I don't understand," said the Englishwoman kindly.

"What have we done? Who are you?"

"I am the wife of Meer Ahmed Ali, barrister-at-law, and I want to be taught Euclidus, and Justinian, and the--the other things. You shall not take him away for always. Justice! I say, justice!"

"My dears! My dears!" cried Julia Smith, "didn't I tell you it was the finger of Providence--"

Half-an-hour afterwards little Feroza, flying back to rejoin her companions, felt as if Paradise had been opened to her by a promise.

But if Paradise was ajar, the orange garden was closed, the gate locked, the key gone. She peered through the bars, hoping it was a practical joke to alarm her. All was still and silent save for the creak of the well-wheel and a soft rustle from the burnished leaves where the moonlight glistened white.

"Kareem! let me in! for pity sake let me in!"

Then a wild, uncontrollable fear at finding herself alone in an unknown world claimed her body and soul, and she fled like a hare to the only refuge she knew. The _mems_ must protect her; for were they not the cause of her venturing forth at all? But for them, or their like, would she not have been well content at home? Yea! well content.

The verandah was empty, and from within came a monotonous voice. She peered into the dimly lit room to see a circle of kneeling figures, and hear her own name welded into the even flow of prayer. G.o.d and his Holy Prophet! They were praying that she might become apostate from the faith of her fathers! Tales of girls seized and baptised against their will leapt to her memory. She covered her eyes as if to shut out the horrid sight and fled; whither she neither knew nor cared.

"_Hai!_ have I found thee at last, graceless! scandalous!" scolded some one into whose arms she ran at full tilt.

"Mytab! oh, dear Mytab!" she cried, clinging frantically to the familiar figure. "Take me home, oh, please take me home! I will never go out again, no, never!"

That was the determination of ignorance. Eighteen months after wisdom had altered it and many other things, for during that time Julia Smith had sung hymns on the doorstep three days a week. Sometimes she had quite a large audience, and sometimes Feroza herself would listen at the lattice. On these occasions the thin voice had a ring in it; for, despite the fact that her pupil was taught all the truths of religion in prose and monotone, poor Julia used to wonder if this relegating of hymns to the doorstep was not a bowing in the house of Rimmon; nay, worse, a neglect of grace, for she loved her pupil dearly. Not one, but two pair of eyes glistened over the surprise in preparation for the absent husband. Wherefore a surprise no one knew, but surprise it was to be. Feroza said the idea originated in her teacher's sentimental brain; if so, it took root quickly in the girl's pa.s.sionate heart.

Thus, beyond the fact of her learning to read and write, the Meer knew nothing of the change wisdom was working in his wife. And meanwhile time brought other changes to the quiet courtyard. Handsome, dissipated Inaiyut died of cholera, and over him, and the boy-baby she lost, Kareema shed tears which did not dim her beauty. Three months after she was once more making the bare walls ring with her inconsequent laughter. She jeered at Feroza's diligence with increased scorn. No man, she said, was worth the losing of looks in books, and if the Meer really spoke of return, a course of cosmetics would be more advisable.