Voices in the Night Part 48

In the pause Chris clenched his hands; for he saw whither the wily lips were leading him, and in a flash realised his own impotence if this were true.

'It is a lie!' he muttered helplessly. 'I must--my mother must have known. And my father----' Then memory came to remind him that his father had been a champion of widow remarriage, and he broke off still more helplessly.

'Even so!' continued the Swami, not unkindly; 'thy father agreed with me (we of the temple have to keep touch with the world, Krishn). Yea!

he gave gold, since that is in thy thought! to hide the wrong. And if he were willing to give her to you, his only son, as wife, wherefore should I speak? No harm was done to others; no deception to ignorant honour. But it was different when he died and thy mother came to me, with heart split in twain between the dream and duty, to speak of another betrothal. So I said then--"Wait yet a while. The G.o.ds have mated these two. He may return." That was better, was it not, Krishn, than--than _widowhood_ for the girl?'

He leant towards the young man as he spoke the words, his sombre eyes fixed on Chris Davenant's shrinking face. Though the latter had known what was coming, the certainty of it overwhelmed him. He sat staring breathlessly, with such absolute paralysis of nerve and muscle that a damp sweat showed on his forehead, as on the foreheads of those who are in the grip of death.

And widowhood was worse than death. It would be a living death to Naraini--Naraini with her little rose-coloured, rose-scented casket.

'Which is it to be, my pupil?' came the Swami's voice, swift and keen as a knife-thrust. 'Widowhood, or marriage?'

Chris buried his face in his hands with a groan; then he looked up suddenly. 'Why?' he began, and ended. Appeal he knew was useless; but he might at least know why this choice was forced on him, for choice it was. His had been in the eye of the law a mixed marriage--his right as Hindoo remained in India.

The Swami's lean brown hand was on his wrist again, but it was no longer impa.s.sive; it seemed to hold and claim him almost pa.s.sionately.

'Because we of the temple need such as thou art, my son, in these new days when the old faith is a.s.sailed--ay! even by such as Ram Nath, low-born, with his talk of ancient wisdom, his cult of Western ways hidden in the old teachings, his cult of the East blazoned in the outside husks of truth--the husks that we of the inner life set at their proper value! But thou art of us! Deny it not--the blood in thee thrills to thy finger-tips even as I speak. Thou art of us! and thy voice trembled in that dawn over the _gayatri_ thou hadst not said for years--nay, start not! we of the temple know all---as it trembled, Krishn, when thou didst first learn it here, as thou art to-day, at my feet.'

In the silence that followed, Chris Davenant, who had so often ridden in a Hammersmith 'bus, was conscious of but two things in the wide world. That thrill to his finger-tips, and the scarlet stain of a woman's petticoat pa.s.sing templewards beyond the arches; the only sc.r.a.p of colour in the strange shadowless light which comes to India before the sun has risen over the level horizon.

So, once more, the Swami's voice came, still dignified, but with a trace of cunning in it now, of argument. 'Thou canst not do it unaided, Krishn; but with us behind thee--giving more freedom, remember, that the herd knows or dreams--thou couldst have thy wish--thou couldst teach the people.'

True. Chris, listening, saw this, even as he saw that scarlet streak; but all the while he was thinking idly that if Naraini were doomed to widowhood, the bridal scarlet would never be hers.

And yet he forgot even this when the Swami struck another string deftly. 'Our best disciples leave us'--the rhythm grew fateful, mournful.--'The new wisdom takes them soul and body ere they have learned to unhusk the old, and find its heart. But thou hast found it.

Come back to us and teach us! For day by day the husk hides more. Even on the river, Krishn, where the old sanctuaries of the G.o.dhead in Man and Woman stand side by side, the younger priests quarrel over Her power and His. As if the Man and the Woman were not, together, the Eternal Mind and Body! And the quarrel grows keen, like many another in those days; keener than ever since the golden paper fell, prophesying blood upon Her Altar. Lies, Krishn, lies! we know them so; but we are driven to them to keep our hold upon the people. What other hold have we but ignorance, if young wisdom leaves us?'

Chris gave a sort of inarticulate cry, and his hands rose pa.s.sionately to his ears as if to shut out the words which were enlisting all things that were good in him on the side of something which he still condemned. But, as he stopped his ears despairingly, a sound came which no hand could quite shut out.

It was the clang of the temple bell, proclaiming that the Eucharist of Hindooism was ready for communicants; that the Water of Life which had touched the G.o.ds was waiting for those who thirsted for it.

m.u.f.fled, half heard, it seemed to vibrate afresh on every tense nerve of his mind and body. He stood up dazed, half hypnotised by it, by the figure--a dim shadow of a man that had risen also, smiling softly, among the dim arches.

'Come, my son,' it said, 'so far thou _art_ with us! Let the rest be for a while. But this, stripped of its husk, is thine.--Come!'

And as it pa.s.sed silently into the courtyard, Chris pa.s.sed too, lost in the familiar unfamiliarity of all things. Of the cl.u.s.tering spikes of the temples seen against the primrose sky; of the drifting hint of incense shut in by the arcades; of the bare empty silence broken only by that clanging bell. The scarlet streak was pa.s.sing outwards, already sanctified, approved. Others would come, but for the moment there was solitude; save for that half-dozen of indifferent disciples droning over their devotions, and the officiating priest, unseen within the temple.

Unseen, because it was the Swami himself who, returning from the darkness of the sanctuary--into which he had pa.s.sed swiftly, leaving Chris hesitating on the lowest step--stood on the upper one, the _Churrun-amrit_ in his hands, and bending low, said--

'Drink, Krishn Davenund! and live.'

The words came like a command, making the slender brown hands curve themselves into a cup.

How cool the holy water was on those hot palms! Dear G.o.d! How cool, how restful! The man's whole soul was in his lips as he stooped and drank thirstily.

A dream! a dream! but what a heavenly dream!

Chris stood there, in that shadowless light of dawn, unable even to realise what the dream was. And then, suddenly, a great desire to be alone, and yet to find companionship--a shrinking from the routine around him, and a longing to find shelter in the hidden heart of things--came to him as the worshippers, answering the call of the bell, began to crowd about the temple. So--the Swami having kept his promise of asking no more of him for the time--he pa.s.sed out of the court into the bazaar beyond. But here the world was already chaffering over the needs of the body, and Chris, who was only conscious of his soul, stood bewildered in it, uncertain which way to go. Nothing seemed to claim him, not even his work; for it was Sunday morning.

And after that act of communion, the hope of companionship anywhere seemed, strangely enough, further from him than ever. So he stood idly watching the worshippers pa.s.s in and out of the arched entry to the temple court, leaving the world and coming back to it with businesslike faces, until he saw Ram Nath approaching him, and the sight made him pull himself together swiftly.

'The very man I want!' said Ram Nath in English, with such an elaborate lack of surprise at Chris's costume that the latter felt instantly that it was known, and had been discussed in Shark Lane. 'If you will wait a moment, I will walk--er--back with you.' The hesitancy showed that something else was known also, and Chris felt a faint resentment come to lessen his forlornness as he waited while Ram Nath disappeared towards the temple and reappeared again wiping his hands daintily with a hemst.i.tched pocket-handkerchief.

'We of the world,' he explained as he tucked his arm English fashion into Chris Davenant's, 'have to keep in touch with the priests. You disagree, I know; but I hold you wrong. We are driven to acquiesce in much we think untrue in order to keep our hold on the ma.s.ses. What other hold have we but their ignorance, if they deny our wisdom?'

The forlornness deepened again round poor Chris. Here was the Swami's argument upside down.

'What was it you wanted to see me about?' he asked resignedly, feeling that he could not go on with that subject.

'About this afternoon,' began Ram Nath, and Chris stared blankly.

What! was it possible! his companion continued; had he forgotten that the afternoon was to see the realisation of their long-cherished project of founding an Anglo-Vernacular College? It came back to Chris then, and he hastened to deny what had really been the case; whereupon Ram Nath went on, mollified. At the last moment, it seemed, some one had remembered that Lady Arbuthnot--who had kindly consented to lay the stone--ought to be presented with a bouquet; and Hafiz Ahmad had claimed the honour for his wife, thereby raising so much jealousy in Shark Lane that he, Ram Nath, thought the only solution of the difficulty was to intrust the giving to Mrs. Chris, as wife of the Vice-President of the Managing Committee (Chris heard himself so described with a sense of absolute bewilderment); only, of course, it might not, perhaps, be convenient now.

Chris came back to sudden perception of the other's meaning.

'She will be very glad,' he said quickly; 'I will tell her when I go home.'

It was done in a moment; but Chris felt his dream to be madder than ever as he realised that his afternoon's occupation would be standing in a frock-coat simpering, while Viva presented a bouquet. How prettily she would do it! How beautifully she would be dressed! Then in the evening? In the evening would the Swami come and ask for an answer?

Meanwhile, Ram Nath was full of relief. That would settle the difficulty; really a most serious one, since nothing must mar the harmony of the memorable occasion. It would be singularly appropriate too, because, in order to ensure a large attendance, it had been arranged to hold an Extraordinary Chapter of the 'National Guild for Encouraging Comradeship,' to which most of the English officials and their wives belonged. In fact, it was to be a memorable occasion, and one that would fully justify our popular Lieutenant-Governor in, for the nonce, waving his rule against Sunday ceremonials in order to allow all employees to be present. Having here cut in on the lines of the speech he had prepared for the afternoon, Ram Nath was fluency itself, and went on and on quite contentedly, while Chris, absorbed in that vision of himself in a frock-coat, listened without hearing. After all, which was the real Krishn Davenund, which the ideal? One was the older certainly; but change must come to all things.

They had reached the river steps by this time, and he paused--making Ram Nath pause also--to look down on a scene which had not changed a hair-breadth in essentials for thousands of years. Yet Chris Davenant's eye noted one change of detail, in a moment, as a woman pa.s.sed him on her way to fill her waterpot. There was a new sort of amulet on her wrist; an amulet made out of a bra.s.s cartridge casing. He glanced round quickly to see if other women were wearing it, and, by so doing, recognised rather a momentous fact; namely, that there were singularly few women to be seen, and that all who were, belonged to the working cla.s.s.

He turned to Ram Nath instantly and pointed out both signs, as to one who ought to know their value. 'What is up?' he said briefly. 'You must have seen these amulets being sold, as I did. Is it a trick? and who is doing it? and why?'

His companion shrugged his shoulders. 'The priests, I should say--it is on a par with the paper which fell from heaven. There is always something. You think we ought to protest; but why? Such manifestations of the temper of the ma.s.ses strengthen the hands of the Opposition by engendering a fear of resistance in the Government, and so making for the considerate treatment at which we aim. It is not as if such trivialities could do harm.'

'They might--there is some hope of mischief behind them--there must be----'

'Mischief!' echoed Ram Nath acutely; 'you know as well as I that there are many folk in Nushapore whose only hope lies in mischief, and here comes one of them.' He pointed to Burkut Ali, who, accompanied by a servant carrying a bundle of kites, was pa.s.sing towards the bastion beyond the bridge. He was followed by other claimants to the 'Sovereignty of Air,' which was due to be decided that evening after the kites had been chosen and entered for the compet.i.tion. Ram Nath looked after the faded brocades contemptuously. 'Poor devils!' he said--as an Englishman might have said it--'one cannot help pitying them, and yet, between ourselves, if we were in power we couldn't do anything else with them; though, of course, as the Opposition, it does not do to say so! But to return to our argument. Believe me, the ignorant ma.s.ses are helpless without a lead, and we, the educated party, will not give it towards anything unconst.i.tutional.'

'But others might. Burkut Ali, for instance.'

'Burkut Ali? Not to-day, at any rate! He will be occupied in the Sovereignty of Air--really an appropriate employment, is it not?'

replied Ram Nath lightly. 'And as we--and all Nushapore which carries any weight--will be otherwise engaged also, this affair of amulets--even if there is anything in it--will be like the heaven-sent paper by tomorrow. I, at any rate, know of no reason why this should not be so,' he added a trifle resentfully, seeing the look on his companion's face, 'and if I don't, who should? Well! good-bye, if you are not coming on.'

Chris felt doubly relieved; partly at the almost unhoped-for straightforwardness of Ram Nath's words, but mostly because he had been growing conscious during the conversation of the fact that, wherever he might find comradeship, it was not here. Still in that same weary bewilderment, therefore, he seated himself on the uppermost step and looked down to where, in the deep shadow of the archway of _Mai_ Kali's temple, he could just see--above the heads of a little crowd listening to a declaiming priest--a hint of the idol's red outstretched arms.

They brought back to him, in an instant, the sense of his own personal powerlessness. Gripped on either side by East and West, what could he do? In the afternoon a frock-coat! In the evening the Swami with his question! How should he, how _could_ he answer it? How could he condemn Naraini to a living death? How could he give up the past with its good and evil, the future with its evil and its good? Putting himself aside, for the truth's sake, what ought he to do? G.o.d! how powerless he was!

_Mai_ Kali's widespread arms seemed to close on him, to choke him.

Till suddenly, a swift vitality came back to him, as a whistle--mellow as a blackbird's--made itself heard behind him. He turned with a smile, with a sense of relief, knowing it was Jan-Ali-shan.

It was. Jan-Ali-shan coming to feed the monkeys. Jan-Ali-shan looking marvellously spruce, alert, self-respecting, seeing that most of his night's rest had been on a brick stair!

'Mornin', sir!' he said, touching his cap decorously; but his hand lingered to hide a smile, as he added with deep concern, 'Ain't lost nothin' more o' your wardrobe to-day, sir, I hope?' Then his recollections got the better of his politeness, and the laugh came openly. 'Beg pardin, sir, I'm sure, but wen I think o' 'ole 'Oneyman and them pants--oh! Lordy Lord!'

The recollection, however, brought more than amus.e.m.e.nt to poor Chris, who, in truth, felt as if he had lost everything. It brought a sense of grateful comradeship, and there was quite a tremble in his voice, a mist in his eyes, as he said, 'It's all very well to laugh, but you saved my life that day, Ellison; you know you did. I've often thought of it since----'