The Flower of Forgiveness Part 7

But one evening Sonny came home with no appet.i.te for dinner, and half an hour afterwards he was blue and shivering in the cold fit of ague.

"If the _Huzoor_ would take some of my pills," said Dhurm Singh wistfully; "look at me! nothing touches me, and, lo! am I not three times as near the grave as the _Baba-sahib_?"

There is no need to describe the scorn which this suggestion met. As for the pills, where would the old sinner be but for the quinine contained therein? This was nothing but a chill, an isolated attack. He would take an extra dose of the specific and be done with it.

But the third day, suddenly, in the very middle of an eloquent appeal he felt goose skin going in thrills down his back, and five minutes after the only sound he could make was the chattering of his teeth.

"If the _Huzoor_," began Dhurm Singh, but was checked by the frown on the master's face; for the lad had grit and fire in him.

Neither of these, however, avail much against a tertian ague, and it was not long before Sonny _baba_ in the half-querulous, half-hysterical stage before the hot fit merges into perspiration, confided with tears to the old swash-buckler that it was no use. He was an accursed being.

From the very beginning had it not been so? And then he retailed garrulously many and many an incident of the past three years, forgotten by his retainer, in which something had occurred to mar the smooth working of good luck. Something as often as not, it struck the listener, to be referred to his own share in the business. To the speaker it was otherwise. He was not fit for the work; he was of no account, and now when at long last the time had come, when he felt that his hand was on the plough--

"It is time the _Baba-sahib_ took his quinine," remarked Dhurm Singh sagely, unsympathetically. "If the _Huzoor_ will give the keys of the chest, this dust-like one will bring the medicine--_dhurm nal_." The last words came softly, half to himself, and an important, self-satisfied smile broadened the open face as he made his choice among the bottles. "Lo! there it is," he continued, laying two pills in the burning hand before pa.s.sing his one arm under the burning body, "but the _Huzoor_ must have faith. Without it medicine is but a bad taste in the mouth. He who believes shall be saved."

Perhaps Sonny _baba_ took his advice yet once again, perhaps the quinine got a fair hold of the enemy at last. Certain it is that from the time Dhurm Singh commenced to bring the pills _dhurm nal_, the ague began to abate. At the end of a week Sonny _baba_ was eating "_rose chicken_" once more with appet.i.te. That evening, as the sun was setting red over the thick brakes of sugar-cane, the old man sat pounding diligently with pestle and mortar while he intoned away at the _Adhee Grunt'h_--

"G.o.d asks no man of his birth, He asks him what he has done, Since all are the seed of G.o.d, Lo! what is the world but clay, Tho' the pots are of many moulds."

And Sonny _baba_ lying out in the shade blissfully conscious that he was getting better, nay, that he was better, raised himself on one arm and looked over with moist eyes to the old man.

"What are you doing, Dhurm Singh?"

"This slave makes pills. The _Huzoor_ hath eaten so many, and those of the dust-like one have given out also. Lo! I fill the bottles against the return of the _Baba-sahib_ to his medicine chest."

"But, I say! are you sure you have made them right?"

"The _Huzoor_ may rest satisfied. Five grains of the blessed medicine for the master, and the other as before. It is _dhurm nal, Huzoor_."

"So you call it a blessed medicine now, Dhurm Singh?"

"Wherefore not, since the master is better?"

"Well! the addition of that small quant.i.ty of ipecacuanha which I began--let me see--that day when I was so bad, certainly had a marvellous effect. I shall write and tell Taylor about it; he was inclined to sneer at the idea just because he didn't suggest it.

Doctors are awfully jealous of each other. That's the worst of them."

These remarks were made mostly for his own benefit, as he lay comfortably watching the stars come out one by one as the daylight died.

It was that same night that Dhurm Singh had his first go of ague. It shook him as a sharp attack of malarious fever does shake a native past his prime, and Sonny _baba_ amid his regrets, could not avoid a certain elation.

"So much for opium," he said, and yet in his heart of hearts a fear gained ground that perhaps he might have been over rapid in diminishing the dose. Now that the old man was actually ill, it seemed unkind to deny him comfort; so an addition was made to the number of pills, thus increasing the amount both of opium and quinine.

It was more than a month later that a small procession of two men carrying a string bed on their heads, and one man driving a pack mule, turned into the dispensary compound.

"It is the old man," said Sonny _baba_ to the doctor, "and I'm afraid--" he paused before the break in his own voice. "It was that _terai_ land. I was as bad as could be, and thought I should have to give up; but, under Providence, quinine and ipec. pulled me round to do the best work I have ever done in my life. But he--he would stick to the opium, and then I'm afraid that at first I hardly noticed--you see he went round as usual, bragging he was better. So I didn't think--the work was so absorbing, and I myself felt so fit. Otherwise, I might have gone to a healthier part, though, of course, the impression would not have been so good. Still--it came upon me quite by surprise three days ago--and--and I've brought him in by forced marches. You--" The voice failed again. Indeed, there was no need for more, the doctor being already on his knees by the bed, making his examination. Suddenly he looked up.

"Why the devil did you stop his opium, you young fool? Here, Boota Mull, the syringe and a disc of morphia--sharp. But, after all, what does anything matter so long as you save your own soul alive!"

Sonny _baba_ looking very white, drew himself up into dignity. "We can discuss that question by and by, Dr. Taylor. In the mean time, let me warn you, that the man has already had ten grains of opium in the last twenty-four hours."

The doctor's quick hands were at the closed eyelids. "Ten grains--bosh!

But, as you say, those questions can be settled by and by--when he is dead, if you like."

Sonny _baba's_ face had grown whiter still. "I tell you he has had the opium--I gave it to him myself--I was afraid--" he paused abruptly, and the doctor looking up shot a rapid glance of negation towards him.

"There's a mistake, or else-- It doesn't matter now, at any rate. The thing is done."

But Sonny _baba_ did not hear the latter words; he was beside the mule, fumbling hastily in the travelling dispensary, of which the old man had been so proud, for the medicine chest. His hands trembled as he brought it back; and Dr. Taylor, his face unseen, yet with its keenness shown in every movement of the capable hands busy over the morphia, heard an odd sound--something between a gasp and a cry--behind him. Then some one came and knelt down at the other side of the bed.

"Dhurm Singh!"

But there was no answer.

"Dhurm Singh, you can tell them it was _dhurm nal_, and that I killed you."

"Killed him--fudge! Though, upon my soul, it would serve you right if you had. So the old sinner changed the pills, and it wasn't the ipec.

after all. Most reprehensible practice, and, upon my soul, it would serve him right if he did die. Now--don't be a fool, man! I tell you he shan't die--I won't let him die. Besides, he can't die--it's impossible--absolutely impossible."

Despite his despair and dejection, the young man gave a wan smile at the other's vehemence.

"And why?"

"Because of you, naturally. You don't suppose that you're fit to be trusted alone with a medicine chest, do you? Boota Mull, if you don't hurry up with that turpentine and the brandy mixture I'll report you.

So it wasn't the ipec. after all! I'm glad of that."

In after years the young fellow used to deny strenuously that it had been the opium either. Plainly and palpably he had been cured of his fever "by faith." And as for Dhurm Singh? What the doctor said was true; he could not be spared as yet. How could he be spared when even now from the verandah came a woman's voice, soft, confident--

"Dhurm Singh, Sonny _baba_."

"_Huzoor! dhurm nal_."

And any one looking out might have seen a very old man, gorgeous in scarlet raiment, decked with golden lace and golden curls, as a child's head nestled up against a solitary arm, and a child's fingers played with the solitary medal, or tugged unavailingly at the hilt of the old sword.

"The _Huzoor_ is too young," would come the broad, arrogant voice, "but he will learn--he will learn. Even a Sikh is made, not born. He must wait till the years bring the Sacred Steel. Let the _Huzoor_ rest awhile peacefully, and old Dhurm will sing to him."

Then there would be a surrept.i.tious swallowing of a pill before the drowsy chant began.

"He is of the _Khalsa_[17]

Who combats in the van, Who gives in charity, Who loves the Poor.

He is of the _Khalsa_ Whose mind is set on G.o.d, Who never fears though often overcome, Knowing all men created of one G.o.d.

He is of the _Khalsa_ Who lives in arms, Who combats with the wrong, Who keeps--the--faith--"