by Ruskin Bond
III
An hour later Laura was dressed, ready for departure. In a few minutes from now Célestine would be here to carry her bag to the car which the old Frenchwoman had procured to take her to the distant station where Julian Tireville had met her yesterday? It seemed aeons of time ago.
Suddenly there came a loud knock on the heavy door, and at once she walked across the room and opened it wide.
Nothing mattered to her now; and when Roger Delacourt strode into the room she felt scarcely any surprise, and that though she had believed him a thousand miles away.
‘Are you alone, Laura?’ he asked harshly.
There was a look of savage anger in his face. His vanity—the vanity of a man no longer young who has had a strong allure for women—felt bruised in its tenderest part.
As she said nothing, only looking at him with an air of tragic pain and defiance, he went on, jeeringly, ‘No doubt you are asking yourself how I found out where you were, and on what pretty business you were engaged? I will give you a clue, and you can guess the rest for yourself. I had to come back unexpectedly to England, and the one person to whom you gave this address—I presume so you might have news of the boy—unwittingly gave you away!’
She still said nothing, and he went on bitterly: ‘I thought you—fool that I was—a good woman. But from what I hear I now know that your lover, Julian Treville, is no new friend. But I do not care, I do enquire, how often you have been here—’
‘This is the first time,’ she said dully, ‘that I have been here.’
And then it was as if something outside herself impelled her to add the untrue words, ‘I am not, as you seem to think, Roger, alone—’ for with a sharp thrill of intense fear she had remembered her child.
‘Not alone?’ he repeated incredulously. And then he saw the tapestried curtain which hung over the door, opposite to where he stood, move, and he realized that someone was behind it, listening.
He took a few steps forward, and pulled the curtain roughly back. But the dimly illumined corridor was empty; whoever had been there eavesdropping had scurried away into shelter.
He came back to the spot where he had been standing before. Baffled, angry, still full of doubt, and yet, deep in his heart, unutterably relieved. Already, a half-suspicion that Laura was sheltering some woman friend engaged in an intrigue had flashed into his mind, and the suspicion crystallized into certainty as he looked loweringly into her pale, set face. She did not look as more than once, in the days of his good fortunes, he had seen a guilty wife look.
Yes, that must be the solution of this queer secret escapade! Laura, poor fool! had been the screen behind which hid a pair of guilty lovers. Thirty years ago a woman had played the same thankless part in an intrigue of his own.
‘Who is your friend?’ he asked roughly.
Her lips did not move, and he told himself, with a certain satisfaction, that she was paralysed with fear.
‘How long have you and your friend been here? That, at least, you can tell me.’
At last she whispered what sounded like the absurd answer, ‘.Just a hundred years.’
Then, turning quickly, she went through the door which gave into the dining-room, and shut it behind her.
Roger Delacourt began pacing about the room; he felt what he had very seldom come to feel in his long, hard, if till now fortunate, life, just a little foolish, but relieved—unutterably relieved—and glad.
The Folly? Well named indeed! The very setting for a secret love-affair. Beautiful, too, in its strange and romantic aloofness from everyday life.
He went and gazed up at the pastel, which was the only picture in the room. What an exquisite, flower-like face! It reminded him of a French girl he had known when he was a very young man. Her name had been Zelie Mignard, and she had been reader-companion to an old marquise with whose son he had spent a long summer and autumn on the Loire. From the first moment he had seen Zelie she had attracted him violently, and though little more than a boy, he had made up his mind to seduce her. But she had resisted him, and then, in spite of himself, he had come to love her with that ardent first love which returns no more.
Suddenly there fell on the air of the still room the sound of a long, deep sigh. He wheeled sharply round to see that between himself and the still uncurtained window there stood a slender young woman—Laura’s peccant friend, without a doubt!
He could not see her very clearly, yet of that he was not sorry, for he was not and he had never been—he told himself with an inward chuckle—the man to spoil sport.
Secretly he could afford to smile at the thought of his cold, passionless wife acting as duenna. Hard man as he was, his old heart warmed to the erring stranger, the more so that her sudden apparition had removed a last lingering doubt from his mind.
She threw out her slender hands with a gesture that again seemed to fill his mind with memories of his vanished youth, and there floated across the dark room the whispered words ‘Be not unkind.’ And then—did she say, ‘Remember Zelie?’
No, no—it was his heart, less atrophied than he had thought it to be, which had evoked, quickened into life, the name of his first love, the French girl who, if alive, must be—hateful, disturbing thought—an old woman today.
Then, as he gazed at her, the shadowy figure swiftly walked across the room, and so through the tapestry curtain.
He waited a moment, then slowly passed through the dining-room, and so into the firelit bedroom beyond.
His wife was standing by the window, looking as wraith-like as had done, just now, her friend. She was staring out into the darkness, her arms hanging by her side. She had not turned round when she had heard the door of the room open.
‘Laura!’ said her husband gruffly. And then she turned and cast on him a suffering alien glance.
‘I accept your explanation of your presence here. And, well, I apologise for my foolish suspicions. Still you’re not a child! The part you’re playing is not one any man would wish his wife to play. How long do you—and your friend—intend to stay here?’
‘We meant to stay ten days,’ she said listlessly, ‘but as you’re home, Roger, I’ll leave now, if you like.’
‘And your friend, Laura, what of her?’
‘I think she has already left The Folly.’
She waited a moment, then forced herself to add, ‘Julian Treville was killed today out hunting—as I suppose you know.’
‘Good God! How awful! Believe me, I did not know—’
Roger Delacourt was sincerely affected, as well he might be, for already he had arranged, in his own mind, to go to Leicestershire next week.
And, strange to say, as the two travelled up to town together, he was more considerate in his manner to his wife than he had been for many years. For one thing, he felt that this curious episode proved Laura to have more heart than he had given her credit for. But, being the manner of man and of husband he happened to be, he naturally did not approve of her having risked her spotless reputation in playing the part of duenna to a friend who had loved not wisely but too well. He trusted that what had just happened would prove a lesson to his wife and, for the matter of that, to himself.
THE PILLAR OF HELIODOROS
Anonymous
The only Yavana (Greek) king whose name has yet been found on an Indian monument is Antialcidas. At Besnagar, near Bhilra in the former Gwalior State is a stone column once crowned by a figure of Garuda. The inscription records that it was erected in honour of Krishna (Vasueleva) by a Greek named Heliodoros, son of Dion, who had come to Vidisa as an ambassador from Antialcidas, King of Taxila to King Kasiputra Bhagabhadra. The inscription is full of interest as proving that a Greek had adopted an Indian faith and as evidencing the contact which was then (2nd century BC) taking place between Malwa and the Greek kingdoms.
Eaxila’s great city wall stood boldly against the clear shining green sky of an early spring day in the year 140 BC. It was sunset and the doves, bulbuls, parakeets and crows were homi
ng to their nests in hundreds. Outside the western gate a small group of men were watching the road. A thick cloud of dust clearly marked the route. Apparently, a cavalcade was approaching. As it drew near, the watchers could distinguish a band of horsemen escorting an elephant on which sat a young lad, evidently a person of some importance. When the portal was reached the mahout touched the beast and rearing its trunk it saluted with loud trumpetings. Then with heavings to and fro it knelt and the boy descended. Immediately, an elderly man stepped forward from the waiting group. His countenance was grave yet kindly, dignified with refined features, and the respect shown to him by his companions indicated a position of authority. He was, in fact, Dion the royal chamberlain.
His voice was kindly as he greeted the young stranger. ‘Welcome, Prince Bhadrasena to our land. My master, great Antialcidas, has ordered me to see to thy comfort for tonight. Tomorrow, when thou hast rested he would talk with thee. This is my only son, Heliodoros, even now a student at the university,’ and turning, he presented a young man to the prince.
The company entered the city and mounting some gaily caparisoned horses were soon riding down the broad high street. Taxila was a town of great importance, the first large Indian city at which merchants who had come down the Kabul valley and crossed the Indus above Attock arrived. The streets were filled with a jostling crowd. Sturdy, vigorous men of the Hindu Kush, who had brought their highland-bred horses to sell in this city outside which stretched the wide, open plain where many a gay hawking party rode, rubbed shoulders with students from all corners of Hindustan. Taxila was famous as a centre of learning and to it scholars of all classes flocked for instruction.
As the little company passed along, Dion pointed out the various buildings of interest. Near the gate by which they had entered stood the king’s palace. A poor place for a sovereign, thought Bhadrasena. True, it was large, but of sombre grey stone and with little decoration it looked to him just the same as the buildings on either side of the wide street. Their flat roofs were of mud; only narrow, slit windows looked on to the street, most of the rooms facing inwards, towards the courtyard.
This was really the university quarters, Heliodoros explained. Here the prince would reside. The chamberlain’s house was farther down the street, near the great Buddhist temple. And there they dismounted.
The next morning Bhadra rose early. This strange, strong land interested him. His father, King of Vidisa, had sent him to study the Vedas but the lad felt that there were other things worth studying in this northern outpost of India. He dressed himself with care for the interview with King Antialcidas, then stepped to the verandah which faced northwards. What a wall of magic encircling the beautiful river valley was this white wonder of snow-capped hills!
Antialcidas received the prince with ceremonious kindness. A fine, upstanding man was this keeper of the country through which passed the great trade route from the ford at Und to the fertile south. His complexion was of the colour of ripe wheat. Full cheeks, straight nose and firm chin showed his descent from the Greeks. He alone wore a round, flat cap of vividly embroidered cloth.
For many months the fear of a northern invasion had hung over the king’s council. It was imperative to strengthen the army and what better unit than a strong elephant corps? These beasts were found at their best in Malwa and the father of this boy ruled in Vidisa, part of that land. It was wise to make friends with such a one.
Bhadrasena bent to the ground as he presented his father’s gifts to Taxila. The noblest was the huge animal, Moti, which he had ridden yesterday when he came to the town. She was outside in the palace courtyard, dressed in all the ornaments and housings for parade on occasions of state. A frontlet of gold and silver diaper with fringes of fish-shaped ornaments in thin beaten silver, necklaces of large silver hawkbells and hanging chains of silver cartouches decked her. Above towered the howdah glittering with gilded plates; all shone resplendently as the sun’s rays beat down. The interview over, Dion charged Heliodoros to show their guest the city’s sights.
‘Hast seen a tiger, a mighty little cat?’ he queried.
‘Many,’ was the astounding reply. ‘With my gracious father I often hunted the striped one.’
The grey-blue eyes of the northerner widened. One of Taxila’s great sights was the royal menagerie of wild beasts. Outside the northern gate deep pits had been dug and here behind strong bars the leopard, the tiger and even the lion paced the weary paths of captivity. But it would be no pleasure to show these beasts to a boy who knew them in their own haunts. Perhaps this dark-eyed, rather silent youth cared for old places. There were many such around.
‘Wouldst see a fire-sanctuary?’ Bhadra nodded and they proceeded toward the outskirts of the town. Suddenly the Hindu pulled the sleeve of the other’s coat.
‘What are these; what does this mean; why are these men chaffering?’
‘Oh, this is the square where dowerless maids are sold. No men will marry them. What luck to pass on a market day!’
‘Luck!’ The stranger shuddered. He could not openly condemn a practice of his hosts but he need not stand and watch. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
To Heliodoros so common a sight needed no remark and they wandered on through the flowering mustard fields, a lovely yellow scented carpet spread in all directions, till they reached the fire-temple. Taxila was a cosmopolitan city. Its faiths were cosmopolitan too. Buddhists, Jains, Brahmins and Fire worshippers dwelt together in amity. Dion was a Greek and faithful to his father’s gods but to his son, reared in an atmosphere of religious tolerance, all gods were much alike.
In the fire-temple’s priest he had a friend who allowed him at the close of day to climb the steps leading to the summit where in an ecstasy of delight Heliodoros watched the planets in their courses. Bhadrasena also loved the stars; he had visited Ujjain where astronomy and astrology were the chief studies of the pundits and so to him this shrine with its white shining walls and brazen tablets telling of the deeds of Porus and of Alexander were interesting enough.
As they turned homewards his heart gave a great leap. In the white dust of the roadside were some ascetics. How many had he seen in Vidisa! Naked, ash-coloured and motionless they sat. The cold biting winds sweeping across the plain in winter, the rays of summer sun so intense that bare feet scorched when they touched the stones were to them as nothing. Both youths made obeisance as they passed; such holiness all men held in reverence.
That evening when the sky was rose-red Bhadra said ‘Goodbye’ to his attendants. Only one remained with the prince who felt that he could never be happy in this dour land. To his eyes accustomed to the giant trees of Central India those around Taxila were stunted. Nowhere could he see the mango-twig so pink, so green unfolding; nowhere did the palas tree suddenly cover its black, snake-like branches with rich red blossoms, nowhere did the mischievous, chattering monkey charm the lonely hours. Alas! how true it was that only by painful discipline was wisdom attained.
Spring, lovely dainty spring passed rapidly but before the hot summer winds blew over the fields the young man and boy were friends. Heliodoros had entered manhood for he was twenty-two years old, but he still had much of the young spirit of Greece in his composition, whereas the mind of Bhadrasena was older than his fifteen years. The two found delight in each other’s company. The scanty rains broke in July and brought some relief from the pitiless heat. To slip out of the dark house at dawn, to run across the fields to where the deep river flowed, then to strip and plunge under the cool water was sheer delight. One day, however, the Hindu woke shivering and when his friend called him he could not rise. Dion’s family was devoted to the sick boy. Their own physician, the senior professor of the medical college, attended him and when the fever broke Dion’s wife carried him to her own house and nursed him back to health. It was now that the souls of gay Heliodoros and of quiet Bhadra became as one. The latter was playing one morning with some crested bulbuls when his friend, greatly excited, entered the room.
‘Guess, where I am going,’ he called.
‘To Greece.’
‘No, try again.’
‘I can’t, my head is all muzzy.’
‘Well, to your father’s court.’
‘What! am I returning. Do you go with me?’
‘No, my lad. I, yes I, go as ambassador,’ and he made a ludicrously solemn salute.
Tears filled the younger’s eyes. What bliss to go to Vidisa!
Why was it denied to him? But he conquered his bitter disappointment and replied ‘That’s good. My father, King Bhagabhadra will be honoured to have such a great ambassador at his court. But when and why?’
‘When? As soon as my things are ready. Why? I carry instructions in a letter for his majesty.’
‘Lucky you! Well, I must get some presents and write a letter for you to take to my home.’
A few weeks later another group of horsemen had gathered at the western gate; this time to speed the departing traveller. Dion wished to ride with his son as far as the narrow pass through which the road to Hindustan ran. There they halted, the father sad at heart as he looked on the weird, dun-coloured ravine country. A bad beginning for a journey into an unknown land, it seemed to him. Would the lad return safely? Alas! only the gods knew, for on their laps lay the future.
Heliodoros set out with his few soldier companions, faring on, day and night through forests, over deserts, across swamps and rivers. One evening, the muddy, swollen waters of the Lutudri (Sutlej) forced them to halt on its banks. A winter storm had broken the day before and it was impossible to ford the river. Whilst preparations were being made for the night’s camp the young leader wandered alone. The way was obscure and he almost stumbled over a huddled object which he saw, as it slowly and with many grunts unfolded itself, to be an old, old man.