The Hosts of the Lord Part 45

So it waited, ready to approve either, till those two, the Eastern and the Western sacerdotalisms, met face to face, within two yards of each other, in the centre of the courtyard, on the platform before the "_Teacher of Religion_."

Then, not till then, Pidar Narayan ceased his chant, shifted the pyx to his left hand, and with his right drew the rapier hidden till then by his long robes.

"_Aha, A-ha-a_," sighed the crowd approvingly. There would be a bodily as well as a spiritual fight, for _jogi-jee's_ chaplet of skulls swirled dangerously for both attack and defence; since a swinging blow from it would kill a man, and its circling sweep keep him beyond sword-point reach.

Which would be the better man--the better weapon?

But Pidar Narayan did not attack. He only stood, the pyx in one hand, the sword in the other--alternatives as it were--and called in a loud voice--

"Let me pa.s.s, _jogi_ Gorakh-nath!

"Let me pa.s.s I say!

"For I carry my G.o.d!"

Over the whole courtyard, waking now from shadow to light under the coming day, the claim echoed sharply; and the arrogance of it, the strength, the certainty of it, sank deep into the souls of those who heard it.

There was not a sound, not a movement; only a vast, breathless expectancy, and Pidar Narayan's fine old face set like the nether mill-stone. Everything that had ever been in him--love, pa.s.sion, faith, worldly wisdom, sympathy--the grit of the whole man--rose up and claimed the crowd.

"Let me pa.s.s!" he cried again, in absolute command, and this time the rapier, twisting like a snake, caught the chaplet of skulls in its upward swirl, a dexterous unexpected turn of the old fencer's wrist followed, sending it flying from the _jogi's_ hand.

The next instant (the rope on which they were strung severed by the strain, by the rapier's edge), the skulls were clattering, bounding like b.a.l.l.s, like useless toys, on the stone platform.

"_A-ha! A-ha!_" came from the crowd; but the sigh was but half content, and men looked at each other wonderingly. Since, no matter which priest was the better man, these were Mai Kali's drinking-cups.

The _jogi_, however, had fallen back a step, and Pidar Narayan was in his place by the old gun. Pidar Narayan and his strange G.o.d were now the "_Teachers of Religion_." What had they to say?

The crowd had not to wait long, for Father Ninian's voice, with that nameless ring in it which makes the orator and makes the audience, was already in its ears.

"Listen! Listen to me, for I carry in this cup the Blood of Sacrifice.

The Victim required by your G.o.d and mine, by all the G.o.ds, is here!

"We are free, brothers! you and I. The Eternal Womanhood hath had Her toll, in full. The Great Mother is appeased. There is no fear.

"Lift up your eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh your help, and follow me and my G.o.d, to find yours."

He pointed with the sword--as he paused a second for breath, for strength--to the mountains; to those far peaks which, now that the storm had ended, the earth-atoms returned to earth, had begun to show spectral in the dawn. To show shadowy, yet clear, with never a wreath of mist or a wandering cloud to hide the hollow whither the feet of millions had journeyed seeking righteousness, and journeyed in vain.

Faint and far they showed against the faint, far sky, but as Father Ninian pointed to them, a ray of light from the still unseen sun below the visible horizon of this world, a ray of light seeking perhaps another world among the stars, found the heights of the holy hills in its path, and dyed their snowdrifts red--blood red!

At the sight a roar rose from the crowd.

"_Jai Kali Ma!_ She gives a sign! The sacrifice is there! She is appeased! He speaks the truth. Let us follow him and his G.o.d!"

"Ay! as my father did," cried one.

"And mine!"

"And mine!" a.s.sented some, while others forgot all save pilgrimage in the shout--

"_Ram, Ram, Sita Ram!_"

"_Hara! Hari! Hari! Hara!_"

So, on that babel of sounds, Pidar Narayan's voice rose steadily as, preceded by that ambling figure--strangest of all acolytes--he walked on, chanting the 121st Psalm:--

"_Levavi oculos meos in montes; unde veniet auxilium mihi_."

The words were in an unknown tongue, the rhythm strange, but the spirit, the idea, were familiar. It was the song of someone seeking the "Cradle of the G.o.ds," as they were.

"He carries his G.o.d, and that means all," said an old man, pushing his way to follow. "The other had none: how could he lead the way?"

"That is true," a.s.sented many, following suit.

And some, shrugging their shoulders, said, "He is mad. G.o.d has touched his brain. Then he goes the way our fathers went. They lingered not beyond the second dawn. Why should we?"

"_Ram! Ram! Sita Ram!_"

Thus, swiftly, the footfalls gathered in strength behind the little procession, and no one dared to stop it; not even the Mahomedan sentry at the Fort gate, to whom some of the agitators ran in their disappointment. He only laughed contemptuously; though his gravity returned somewhat at his recognition of old Akbar Khan.

"Lo! that is a new walking for him!" he muttered, in an awed voice.

"Truly, folk are right when they say there is magic in these idolaters.

Who would have deemed him pilgrim? Well! let him go, he and his mummery. We soldiers can do without priests and Hindoos!"

He twirled his mustache fiercely, and wondered when his comrades would return victorious from the gaol, and give the word for plunder. That was all he cared for.

"Ay!" a.s.sented an angry voice, joining the group, "we can do without the fools. There be plenty of wise men left."

"Plenty," put in another; "but their mood is different. See how they wander!"

It was true. The crowd had broken into groups, and from these, pilgrims, singly, or in smaller groups, were drifting after the lessening sound of that chanting voice. Not so much from any belief in Pidar Narayan, not even because of his lead over, but because it was the old way; the way worn by the feet of their fathers, and their fathers' fathers.

So _jogi_ Gorakh-nath, who, now the coast was clear, had sprung aloft on the old gun, once more attempting to regain his empire, failed egregiously. The crowd pa.s.sed him by till a big countryman, with a lumbering jest, asked him if he was sure he had picked up the right skull to put on his own shoulders. Then it laughed uproariously.

"Best come on to the Pool of Immortality," suggested a conspirator, consolingly, as he hurried past. "'Tis no use here. The fools have followed after strange G.o.ds and men. But at the Pool there are tens of thousands to one here; and they are weary waiting. Besides, 'tis nearer the gaol. Between the two success will lie."

"Yea," added another, "that was the first plan--the soldiers and the Fort spoilt it. But the Pool and the gaol remain."

_Jogi_ Gorakh-nath, with a scowl, gathered up his skulls to a bundle and followed hastily. He would at least be out of hearing of that chanting voice.

It had reached the last verse of its Psalm now, and faltered a little over the words:--

"_Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum_: _ex hoc et usque in saeculum_."