Voices in the Night Part 18

Then, in the vague light, he stood up, with a vague light in his mind also. As he did so, something fell from his arm. It was his wife's shawl, which he had been carrying unconsciously all the time. As he picked it up, the coincidence of its faint pinkish colour banished the regret which came to him at having forgotten to give it her ere leaving. For this was _yogi_ colour, so called because it is worn by all ascetics.

His English wife had admired the delicate salmon-pink, and he had therefore had her white Rampore shawl dyed that tint. Strange indeed! A thousand times strange, that this should be close to his hand now!

The cue thus given was followed, and with a pa.s.sion which stifled his sense of bathos, he was the next instant throwing off his dress-clothes. So, with the thin, fine shawl about his nakedness, he pa.s.sed down the steps towards the river, towards the sacrament of his race and caste.

The chill touch of the water sent his hot blood to heart and brain. He could scarcely keep his voice to the orthodox whisper, as he began the secret ritual which he had not repeated for years--

'_Om! Earth! Air! Heaven! Om!_ Let us worship the supreme splendour of the Sun.

May his light lighten our darkness.'

The words blent with the silvery tinkle of the water falling back from his upraised hands, and at the familiar sound a stir came from the branches of the _pipal_ trees behind him; and from the shadowy water below them a couple of sh.e.l.ldrakes sailed out, with their echoing cry, to the lighter level before him.

The sound of that first libation to the G.o.ds had awakened the temple world.

As yet, however, he and nature had worship to themselves.

Therefore, waist deep in the water, he stood free to dream once more that he was twice born, regenerate, raised high above the herd.

Yet free also to return to the new ways if he chose, since there was none to see, as yet----

But ere he had finished the ritual, an old man, still half asleep, came yawning down the steps, carrying a tray of little platters filled with coloured powders. Having reached the water's very edge, he set these in a row, and kept an eye on Chris; for he was the _pujari_ of the temple, with the right, for a small fee, to re-mark the bathers with their proper caste marks.

'What race, my son?' he asked drowsily, as Chris came up out of the river.

The question sent a vast pride through the young man. With bare limbs scarce hidden by the dripping shawl, he stood hesitating for a brief second, and then squatted down beside the familiar earthen platters.

'Brahmin. _Shiv-bakht_,'[11] he said.

The old man _salaamed_ ere reaching for the sacred white gypsum, which is brought from the snows of Amar-nath; and once more that pride of race swept through the soul whose body awaited its sign of election.

But the swift cold touch on his forehead which followed woke Chris to realities, to the question 'Do I mean it?' And the whispering kiss of other bare feet upon the steps warned him that, if he wished time for deliberation, he must remove his tell-tale garments of civilisation before the light made them manifest. If these were hidden away, he himself, in his _yogi_ coloured shawl, could easily pa.s.s muster; especially if he retreated to the least-frequented part of the steps, where they ended in a ruined wall, split by the _pipal_ tree-roots.

Here, then, he found some convenient crevices for his clothes, and after spreading his shawl to dry in orthodox fashion, sat down beside it in the recognised att.i.tude of meditation, his arms crossed on his knees, his chin resting on them. He was not likely to be recognised, even by broad daylight; for the companions of his later years were not of those who worship.

He would have leisure therefore to think, to decide. But once more he reckoned without himself, without the swift response of his senses to the once familiar sights and sounds. The causeless laughter of women filling their water-pots, the tinkle of their anklets, the cries of the flower-sellers, the ceaseless splash of water falling on water, the very leapings and chatterings of the monkeys, putting off time in play till the bathings should end in offerings--all these made connected thought impossible, while eyes and ears were open.

In despair at last, he flung the half-dried shawl over his head, stuffed his fingers into his ears, and, leaning back against a tree-trunk, tried to forget where he was; tried not to feel those white bars on his forehead which seemed to burn into his brain. But, in the effort to answer that question, 'Shall I go or stay?'--the effort to remember and yet to forget, he fell into dreamland; finally into sleep.

And as he slept, Fate took the answer into her own hands, and turned his tragedy into comedy; for a small and curious monkey who had watched the secretion of those dress-clothes from afar, took advantage of his slumbers to creep down stealthily to a crevice, and make off with its contents--namely, a pair of trousers!

The monkey, however, being small, was soon dispossessed of his prize; a bigger one claimed it, and sent the first owner to whimper and gibber indignation from the topmost branches, and then grin fiendishly as a yet bigger one despoiled _his_ despoiler. And so, unerringly, the garment of culture pa.s.sed to the stronger, till the biggest old male of the lot, after inspecting every seam and trying to crack every b.u.t.ton, conceived that it _must_ be some kind of adornment, and, after hanging the legs, stolewise, in front, the seat, cloakwise, behind, crossed its arms over its stomach, feeling satisfied it had solved that problem.

Meanwhile, Chris had awakened to the impossibility of remaining where he was; for even his brief return to the normal in sleep had been sufficient to convince him of the hopelessness of attempting to return to that older standpoint. So, the day having advanced with the giant strides of an Indian dawn, he rose to retrieve his clothes, and sneak off with them to some quiet spot.

As he did so, however, the sight of some one standing just above him made him squat down again and cover himself once more with the shawl.

For it was his new foreman of works, John Ellison, who from the top of the steps was looking down affably, nodding to the old _pujari_ (who had by this time a circle of customers awaiting hall-mark), and humming the baptismal hymn which begins, 'In token that thou shalt not fear,'

between the salutations of '_Ram-ram_' (p.r.o.nounced with a short _a_) which he showered on the bathers as they pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed.

''Tis Jan-Ali-shan,' said one in answer to a question from a stranger.

'He feeds the monkeys.'

'And when Sri Hunuman's monkeys are fed by him, the feasting of Sri Yama's[12] crocodiles is not far off,' put in a listener, emphasising his allusion to the G.o.d of Death by a placid look towards a tinsel-bound corpse swung to a bamboo, which two men were carrying slantways across the steps to the burning place below the railway bridge.

More than one amongst the bathers, overhearing the remark, nodded a.s.sent, and looked with a vague fear at the loafer who had seated himself a few steps down, and taken off his battered billy-c.o.c.k; for being Sunday he was off duty and uniform.

'_Ram-ram_,' he said, with a general wave of the hand. So it's the old game still. Sunlight soap, monkey brand, and A1 copper-bottomed at Lloyd's doing a fire insurance! Lordy Lord! I might 'ave bin 'ere last Sunday, instead o' last year. An' 'ows Mr. 'Oneyman?'

The last word, intended for Hunuman, evidently conveyed a meaning to the whole remark, for many faces grinned, and the old _pujari_ salaamed with all the difficult gravity of a child who knows some time-worn jest is nigh.

'Sri Hunuman hath been well, since the _Huzoor_ fed him on quinine pills hid in Shiv-_jee's_ raisins last year. Ho! ho! ho! that was a spectacle!'

A priest with a trident on his forehead chuckled too. 'Yea! he is strong. He stole the sugar yesterday from Mai Kali's very lap. Lo! even the monkeys know that offerings should be left at Shiv-jee's feet!'

He spoke at a group of villagers who, in tow of a rival priest, were taking their offerings to the further temple.

John Ellison laughed.

'"'Ow 'appy could I be with either,"'

he chanted. 'Wot! Ain't Shiver and Kali settled that "_biz_" yet?

W'y don't they get a divorce for bigamy both sides? Not as I care a d--n,'--he went on in his vile lingo in which all was English save the nouns and verbs, the latter having but one tense--the imperative.

'Siree 'Oneyman's my fancy. He as 'its 'im 'its me, Jan-Ali-shan. An'

let me tell you that ain't no '_arnsiki bat_.[13] It's _zulm_ an'

_ficker_ an' _burra hurra affut_!'

These astounding equivalents for tyranny, trouble, and great misfortune, he used with intent; for he liked to trade on his reputation as a bird of ill-omen. 'Meanwhile,' he continued, chucking a _pice_ to the _pujari_ with that extreme affability which made even the most alarmed exclude him, personally, from any share in the coming evil, 'seeing as I was branded A1 as a babby I won't trouble you agin, sonny; but there's your fee all the same. So now for Siree 'Oneyman!'

He drew out a paper of sugar drops as he spoke, and, scattering some on the steps, began to sing

'Click, click!

Like a monkey on a stick.'

The effect was magical. Every leaf of the _pipals_ rustled as the monkeys, recognising his call, swung themselves downward from branch to branch.

The bathers paused, full of smiles for this common interest shown by one of the aliens who are so often far beyond their simplicity.

Even Chris could not help a smile, despite the anxiety he was in, as he watched the monkeys close in on the sugar drops, quarrelling, pouching, reaching round with all four paws: with the exception of one monkey, a very large male, which, coming lamentably last, only used three; the fourth, meanwhile, clutching convulsively at its stomach.

'W'y, 'Oneyman?' came John Ellison's mellow voice, full of sympathy, 'w'ot 's up, sonny? Got the cramps?--ate somethin' yer don't like?'--he paused, stared--'W'y! w'otever----' he paused again, and out of the fulness of his bewilderment wandered off helplessly into--

'She wore a wreath of roses.'