Part 9 (1/2)
As they walked slowly into the open, listening to the voices of the child-people, the name ”Rana Jai” recurred often.
”I haven't heard what that word means yet,” Skag said.
”Rana Jai?” Cadman repeated. ”The exact translation is Prince of Victory; but Dhoop Ki Dhil made her meaning clear--Son of Power; a great deal more.”
After that, they had little to say. Certainly Cadman would never forget the length of time he had seen the looming head--less than two feet from Skag's face--the incredible power that flamed up out of the young man's eyes. Certainly Skag was full of content as to the safety of the people.
But all realisations were lost in a gnawing depression about Dhoop Ki Dhil.
When they came to Sehora, the station-man held out a letter in quaintly written English; it read:
_From the wayside Dhoop Ki Dhil sends greetings to Son of Power, most exalted; and to his guardian, most devoted._
_She pays votive offerings from this day, at sunrise and at sunset, for those men--incense and oils and seed--to safety from all evil, and fulfillment of their so-great destiny._
_The G.o.ds, all-beneficent, have preserved him--Jiwan Kawi, the man of men! He met her in the night-paths; and he goes now with her--to her own people. Jiwan Kawi, the man of men!_
_The Gra.s.s Jungles are in her heart, like dead rose-leaves; their perfume in her blood, is forever before the G.o.ds--remembering Son of Power and his guardian._
_Dhoop Ki Dhil touches their holy feet._
The two Americans looked into each other's eyes, without words--the Calcutta-bound train was alongside.
”Remember, I'm responsible for you from now on, son!” Cadman said, as he loosed Skag's hand.
CHAPTER IV
_The Monkey Glen_
Skag and Cadman were back in Hurda where d.i.c.kson Sahib lived, and the younger man was disconsolate at the thought of Cadman's leaving for England. During those few last days they were much together in the open jungle around the ancient unwalled city; and once as they walked, two strange silent native men pa.s.sed them going in toward the wilderness.
”The priests of Hanuman,” Cadman whispered.
Skag enquired. He had a new and enlarged place in his mind for everything about these men. Cadman explained that these priests serve the monkey people: to this purpose they are a separate priesthood.
Abandoning possessions and loves and hates of their kind, they live lives of austerity, mingling with the monkey people in their own jungles; eating, drinking with them; sleeping near; playing and mourning with them--in every possible way giving expression to good-will. All this they do very seriously, very earnestly, with reverence mingled with pity.
”The ma.s.ses here think these men wors.h.i.+p the monkeys,” Cadman added.
”It's not true. Most Europeans dismiss them as fanatics--equally absurd. I've been out with them.”
Skag had actually seen the faces of the two men just pa.s.sed. The impression had not left his mind. They were dark clean faces, grooved by much patient endurance, strong with self-mastery and those fainter lines that have light in them and only come from years of service for others.
Cadman certainly had no scorn for these men. He had pa.s.sed days and nights with their kind in one of the down-country districts. His tone was slow and gentle when he spoke of that period. It wasn't that Cadman actually spoke words of pathos and endearment. Indeed, he might have said more, except that two white men are cruelly repressed from each other in fear of being sentimental. They are almost as willing to show fear as an emotion of delicacy or tenderness.
”The more you know, the more you appreciate these forest men,” Cadman capitulated and laughed softly at the sudden interest in Skag's face as he added: ”I understand, my son. You want to go into the jungle with these masters of the monkey craft. You want to read their lives--far in, deep in yonder. Maybe they'll let you. They were singularly good to me. . . . It may be they will see that thing in your face which knocks upon their souls.”
”What is that?”
Cadman laughed again.