by C. A. Frazer
CHAPTER XIII.
The shrine of the Well of Purity was on a dainty islet which lay in thecentre of a small lake. The grotto was almost concealed from view, butmoving forms of worshippers were visible among the trees when Atma andBertram drew near to the water's edge. A band of laughing girls carryingladen baskets of corn, and rice, and flowers were leaving the shore in alight skiff. It was a lovely scene, the shining lake reflecting againthe gem-like mound of foliage which rested on its breast. Bertram gazedon the picture, whilst Atma, whose quick and expectant eyes haddiscerned the form of Nama near at hand, followed her unnoticed by hiscompanion. The Maharanee, Nama related, had sent to Atma Singh the goldwhich she carried, in token of her approval of her loyal servitor, andalso a box of onyx which she prayed him to open and read words containedtherein, retaining meanwhile possession of the casket and its contentsuntil further tidings. With many reverences Nama further informed himthat the Fairest of all the Lilies pined for him, was grieving at hisabsence, but was now to be gladdened by the prospect of his speedyreturn, which tidings the Maharanee had deputed her to convey forthwithto the household of Lehna Singh. Notwithstanding the joy of knowinghimself an object of tender solicitude, a vague foreboding once againfilled the soul of Atma. When the woman left him he consideredthoughtfully the messages he had just received, slowly meanwhile undoingthe claspings of the onyx box and raised the lid. Immediately a powerfulodour issued from it and almost overcame him. He reeled and gasped forbreath, nearly losing consciousness. However, having seated himself, hepresently recovered, and somewhat more cautiously opening the casket, hedrew from it a paper which contained a strangely worded commendation ofhimself, "The staunch and courageous friend of the Ranee, the Restorerof the Sapphire of Fate, the foe of whatever was inimical or false tothe Sikh interest." Thought Atma, "This praise is no doubt won by thegood report conveyed to her by Lal Singh, who, notwithstanding faults,can be generous as well as just to a Sikh brother."
He remained seated for some time, his head supported on his hand, for hestill felt giddy, thinking painfully and earnestly. The numbing effectsof the odour he had inhaled testified to its poisonous nature, but noprecautions, he reflected, had been taken to ensure its effect; on thecontrary, its immediate result was to alarm and warn the rash meddlerere mischief could be wrought. Nama also had hastened away, as notexpecting any such terrible issue, of which certain tidings would bedesired if murder such as he dreamed of had been contemplated. It couldnot be, he thought, and Rajah Lal would explain on his return what nowappeared so mysterious.
Returning the paper to its case he secured it about his attire andsought Bertram, who had wandered along the woody banks of the lake, andwhom he found at some distance away, listening to the rare song of aswan, distant and strange and sweet. Soon it glided into death at theopposite shore. It brought back to Atma's mind the morning when a noblebird had by his aid escaped its captors. He recalled its subsequentrestoration to its kind, and the sympathy and undefined aspirationsawakened in his breast.
They entered a boat and crossed the water, landing speedily on the soft,damp islet sward. The grotto was still clad in morning freshness, forthe strong beams of the sun had not yet penetrated to the heart of thesacred grove. The entrance was hung with garlands, votive offerings fromthe poorer pilgrims. More costly gifts lay near and all around kneltworshippers.
A new party arrived, bringing a snowy fleeced lamb to be offered insacrifice. It was decked with wreaths, and bleated piteously. Presentlyit was killed, and its blood was caught in vessels to be taken home andsmeared on doors and walls to drive away blight and pestilence from thedwellings of men. While this was being done, the crowd looked oncarelessly or curiously. But Bertram and Atma noticed that the man whohad made this offering looked upwards with famished eyes and despairing,and a groan escaped his lips, and to Bertram it seemed as if he said:
"Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannotperceive him."
They stood apart, watching the scene. Then Atma presented his gift forthe enriching of the shrine, and withdrawing aside he knelt on the grassand prayed,
"Bright God and Only God! Not to be understood! Illume the darkened twilight of thine earth; The dewdrop of so little worth Is garnished from the riches of the sun; Lead me from shadowy things to things that be, Lest, all undone, I lose in dreams my dream's reality; Thy Home is in the Fatherland of Light, Strong God and Bright! In still beatitude and boundless might! I veil mine eyes, Thy holy Quietness I seek with sighs."
Said Bertram, "The earth has not a spectacle more fraught with meaningthan this; the acknowledged monarch of terrestrial things bowing indread--a dread of what? of that voice in his breast which, being silent,is yet the loudest thing he knows? Why is the innocence of thatsacrificial lamb so pathetic to my sight? Why should religious rites inwhich I do not participate move me strangely and deeply?"
"These things are a shadow," said Atma, "and a shadow is created by afact."
"I join in your prayer," said Bertram. "'Lead me from shadowy things tothings that be.' Types are not for him who believes that the horizon ofhis sight bounds the possible."
"No," replied Atma, "better reject the image than accept it as the endof our desire. The faith of my fathers, which grasped after Truth,teaches me that if the outward semblance of divine verities lead captivenot only my senses, to which its appeal is made, but my heart'sallegiance, I am guilty of idolatry."
"How fair," said Bertram, "must be the thing imaged by earth's loveliestpageantry! What must be the song of whose melody broken snatches andstray notes reach us in the golden speech of those endowed with hearingto catch its echoes! What harmony of beatitude is taught by the mysteryof heavenly colour! How dull must be our faculties, or how distant thebliss for which our souls yearn as from behind a lattice, seeing only asin a mirror of burnished silver, which, though it be never so bright,reflects but dimly! How unutterable are our transitory glimpses ofeternal possibilities!"
"Therein," said Atma, "may lie the reason why evanescent beauty stirsus most. It may be more heavenly in meaning or affinity than things thatremain. This has sometimes perplexed me.
"For, ever most our love is given To glories whose decadence fleet Has more of changeful earth than heaven;
The heart's astir, And sympathies leap forth to greet The mingling fair Of heavenly hues limned in empyreal bow Aloft in dewy air, but ere we know Their place and method true they fade away, And fancy follows still, though things as beauteous stay.
What joyous note, Warbled in bliss of upper air, May with the one death-song compare That floats among the reeds, and blends With wild wind's plaint, till silence ends In haunt remote Sweet life and song; They float away the reeds among.
"I beware me of types," he continued, "though I know nothing real. I amsurrounded by images, my present state of being is a shadow, but Icrave reality. The symbol is fair, but Truth is fairer. To that verityall types must yield, how beautiful soever they be, or meet to expresstheir burden."
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And yet how dear the transient joys of time, Their purport not the Pearl of our desire. Loved are these confines as immortal clime, And dear the hearth-flame as the altar fire; When fate accomplished wins her utmost bourne, And fulness ousts for aye fair images, Will doting mem'ry from their funeral pyre Rise phoenix-wise and earth-sick spirits yearn For fragrant flower, and sward, and changeful trees, For storied rose, and sweet poetic morn, For sound of bird, and brook, and murmuring bees, For luckless fancies of illusion born, What time in dark we dwelt and framed our lore? Woe, woe, if then regretful we should mourn "What wisdom left we on that human shore!" For brooding kindness can a charm beget,
Not duly won, and from Heaven's parapet These terrene colours shine with starry gleam-- But this is all a fable and a dream; A fable, for this axiom it brings, Immortal loves must love immortal things; Dream is it, for uncurbed it took its flight, And roamed afar, a fancy of the Night.