by C. A. Frazer
CHAPTER XI.
Rajah Lal Singh arrived at Jummoo a few weeks later in much pomp andstate. No hidden or hazardous mission was his. His gorgeous train ofarmed attendants mounted on richly caparisoned horses traversed thepublic roads, winding like a brilliant serpent through the vales ofKashmir. He brought tidings of the daily increasing quiet and peace nowresting on the torn and war-spent Punjaub. Festivities were heightenedafter his arrival, and revelry held sway day and night.
Atma and Bertram in unconscious kinship drew to one another, forsakingfrequently the mirth and glare of the court to converse of things thatare hard to understand. They were one evening in a shady retreat at thefoot of the Rajah's terraced gardens.
"I confess," said Atma, "that the fixedness of fate engages my thoughtfrequently, though hitherto unprofitably. No doubt the teachers of yourland have spoken and written much on a subject so perplexing."
"They have," replied Bertram; "it has ever been a favourite whetstonefor the human reason. It has been frequently solved to the satisfactionof the performer, but no solution has yet won the universal acceptancethat is the badge of truth."
"It may be," said Atma, "that the answer lies not anywhere beneath oursky."
A rustle in the foliage behind them drew the attention of both. A gleamof vivid colour was visible when they quickly turned, and Atma was inthe act of parting the myrtle boughs, when, anticipating him, Lal Singhstepped forth from retreat. Silken attire and splendour of jewelledturban were insufficient to dignify his crestfallen demeanour, which,however, changed rapidly when he darted a glance of rage and hate atBertram, who had greeted his sudden appearance with a scornful laugh.
"No doubt," he said, "the English Sahib and Atma Singh have gravesecrets whose discussion calls for deep retirement."
"No doubt of it," laughed Bertram, "but, Rajah Lal, the yellow vestmentsof a noble Sikh," for the Rajah wore his state dress, "are so illfitted for ambuscade that I promptly refuse to admit you to ourcouncils."
What answer the Rajah, whose stealthy face grew livid at this sally,might have made, was stopped by Atma, who, well aware of the danger tohis companion from such an enemy, and all unknowing of his own place inthe Rajah's esteem, interposed with courteous speech.
"We are on our way," said he, "to the Moslem burial-place near by, thetombs of which have become interesting through the tales of Nawab Khan.Bertram Sahib jests, we will be gratified by Rajah Lal Singh joiningus."
The Rajah had regained self-possession and declined the profferedcourtesy in his usual cold and sneering manner, adding with a craftysmile and with covert meaning, which perplexed and startled Bertram:
"It is a wise man who familiarizes himself with the grave. For me; Imust deny myself, for I go tomorrow to take part in festivities thereverse of funereal. I commend the propriety and aptness of yourresearches, Atma Singh."
So saying he withdrew with a salaam that failed to cover the swiftscowl he bestowed on Bertram.
"There goes an enemy, Atma Singh," said Bertram, watching the retreatingfigure arrayed in barbaric splendour, the profusion of the enormousemeralds that adorned his yellow robe so subduing its hue that Bertram'sthrust was unmerited, as far as his attire was concerned at least. "Heis a foe to fear, unless I greatly mistake, an enemy of the serpentkind," he continued.
But they speedily forgot the craft of the serpent, and pursued theirwalk, conversing as they went.
Some tenets, they found, were familiar to the minds of both, and these,they observed, might be called historical. Such were the vaguewhisperings of things that occurred in the dawn of young Time before theearliest twilight of story--traditions that linger as shades among thenations, vague hints of former greatness and of a calamity, a crimewhose enormity is guessed by the magnitude of its shadow hovering overthe earth, shrouding men's cradles and darkening with a menace theirtombs. Such too were the joyful surmisings of a restoration, such theimaginings of
"That bright eternal day Of which we priests and poets say Such truths as we expect for happy men."
"Your story of the world's creation is strangely in accord with ours,"said Bertram. "Our narrative is more precise, but the things stated soclearly typify we know not what; and we and you are, I doubt not, wisestwhen we own ourselves ignorant. Who can tell what is implied in the taleof the birth of Time out of Eternity, ascending through seven gradationsto we know not what consummation when this seventh epoch of rest shallbe run?"
"The words of the wise," said Atma, "assign to all things perpetuity,which involves a repetition of the cycle of Seven. Does the week ofseven days repeating itself endlessly in time, image the seven epochswhich, returning again and again, may constitute eternity?"
Bertram paused before he replied--
"Your words move me, Atma Singh, for I have heard that on the first dayof a new week a Representative Man rose from the dead."
They reached the Burying Ground. It was a lovely spot. Fallen intodisuse, the bewitching grace of carelessness was added to thearchitectural beauty of the tombs. The verdure was rank, and luxurianttrees and marble tombs alike were festooned with clematis and jasmine.Here they were pleased to find Nawab Khan and the servant, whom hedismissed on their arrival, and himself guided them to an old tombsimpler in form than the rest, but more tenderly and beautifully clothedin moss and wild flowers than any. They sat down while the Nawab relatedthe story of the maiden whose goodness it commemorated.
"Sangita," said he, "was a princess of incomparable beauty andsurpassing gentleness. Her spirit was humble; and as the heavenlystreams of wisdom and virtue seek lowly places, her nature shone everyday with a purer lustre. She loved tenderly a gazelle which she hadreared, and which was the companion of her happy hours. It was not ofthe King's flocks but had been found in Sangita's own garden, and noneknew who had brought it there. The talkative people, noting the sagacityof the pretty creature and the tender solicitude of its mistress, whocrowned it anew with garlands every morning and fed it with sweetestmilk and the loveliest flower buds, whispered to one another of itsmysterious appearance, and alleged for it miraculous origin. One day asit fed among lilies, the princess near by, overcome by the heat,slumbered. She slept long and heavily, and when she awoke her favouritewas nowhere to be seen. Calling and weeping, she wandered through valeand glade, searching the hare's covert, but starting back, for shedescried a viper there; peering into the den of a wild beast andshuddering, for it was strewn with bones; hastening to a gorgeous clumpof bloom where she thought it might have rested, but the splendidblossoms were poisonous and she turned away. All the dark, damp,dangerous night she sought, and it was morning when she found the gentlecreature stretched on the moss, its piteous eyes glazed over with death,for it had been pursued and had sunk from exhaustion.
In delirious ravings Sangita told her people that when she knelt on themoss, and, wringing her hands, bewailed that it had not sought theshelter of a Secure Resting Place, the gazelle reproached her.
'I know not of that country,' it said, 'it is not here.'
And this, although the wild speech of a fevered brain, gained creditwith the populace, and the Wild Gazelle cherished by the good princessbecame a memory fraught with awe and superstition. For me, I believethat the devout and good heart utters wisdom unawares, and that thetongue habituated to golden speech may drop riches even when the lightof reason is withdrawn. The sickness of Sangita was mortal, but her mindcleared before she expired, and she then obtained from the King herfather a promise that over her ashes should be erected a lodge whosedoor, never fastened, might afford a Haven of Retreat such as herfevered dream desired!"
They looked on the tomb, its walls gleamed white through the foliagethat draped it. It was old and neglected. The door was nearly concealedfrom view by the luxuriant growth of many years, and when they examinedit closely they found that it hung on one rusty hinge.
"May we believe," asked Bertram, "that the tender fancy of the dyingprincess was ever verified by the actual shelter here of a fugi
tive?"
"The story is ancient," replied Nawab Khan, "and I cannot say. Thelesson she taught would forbid the finding anywhere a Place of Rest."
But it neared the hour of the devout man's prayers and he left them.
"Nawab Khan," said Atma, "speaks not as he believes, for many are theHavens of the Mohammedan."
"Ay," said Bertram, "and does not every creed too soon become a secureretreat to the spirit of man to which God has denied the repose ofcertainty. We crave knowledge which is withheld more earnestly than wedesire faith or hope, and we eagerly make even its semblance a foothold.It appears to me, my friend, with whom I am grown bold, that you and Imay find in our less material beliefs as false a haven as the pilgrimfinds in his Mecca."
"You say well," said Atma thoughtfully, "it is not new to me. Thoughtsfor which I cannot account have been borne in upon my soul, waking andsleeping, by riverside or on mountain height, and I know and believethat he who would find God must close his eyes and his ears."
"And the soul," said Bertram, "that knows an infallible guide, be itvoice of other man, or of his own reason, or volume of mystery, orwhatever it be, that soul walks not by faith. But why speak of a soulfinding God? The soul of man must be first found of Him, and it seems tome that until thus adopted no soul would prefer faith to knowledge--thusmuch might we learn of Nawab Khan."
And as they returned to the Palace, they continued this grave discourse,lamenting the sadness and sin of the world, and Atma, greatly moved,told that his life's purpose, of which he might not fully speak,involved the conquest of evil and the redemption of the world by meanswhose greatness was worthy of the end. And Bertram, sometimes assenting,often silent, hoped that at last, by each and all means employed by man,the whole world might be redeemed. He was a Christian and devout, buthe, too, desired to redeem the world. His dream was one with Atma's. Butthe highest dreams are soonest dissolved, for the dispelling ofillusions and breaking of idols is God's benison, and is given soonestto those whom He approves.