Part 37 (2/2)
”How can they return; seeing that He is Lord and Master? Changing the Day to Darkness, the Darkness into Day. Holding the unsupported skies, proving His existence by His existence, Omnipotent. High in Dignity, the Avenger of His Faithful people.”
The old editor waggled his head with delighted approval; the author fidgeted over an eloquence not his own; but Hafzan's high laugh rang cynically:
”That may be so, most learned divine; yet I, Hafzan, the harem scribe, write no orders nowadays for King or Queen without the proviso of 'writ by a slave in pursuance of lawful order and under fear of death'
in some quiet corner. For I have no fancy, see you, for hanging, even if it be in good company. But, go on with thy leading article, moonshee-jee, I will interrupt no more.”
”Thus by a single revolution of time the state of affairs is completely reversed,[4] and the great and memorable event which took place four days ago must be looked upon as a practical warning to the uninformed and careless, namely the British officers and those who never dreamed of the decline and fall of their government, but who have now convincing proof of what has been written in the Indelible Tablets by G.o.d. The following brief account, therefore, of the horrible and memorable events is given here solely for the sake of those still inclined to treat them as a dream. On Monday, the 16th of Rumzan, that holy month in which the Word of G.o.d came down to earth, and in which, for all time, lies the Great Night of Power, the courts being open early on account of the hot weather, the magistrate discharging his wonted duties, suddenly the bridge toll-keeper appeared, informing him that a few Toork troopers had first crossed the bridge----”
The dreamy-faced divine turned in sharp reproach. ”Not so, Syyed-jee.
The vision came first--the vision of the blessed Lord Ali seen by the muezzin. Wouldst make this time as other times, and deny the miracles by which it is attested as of G.o.d?”
”Miracles!” echoed Hafzan. ”I see no miracle in an old man on a camel.”
The divine frowned. ”Nor in a strange white bird with a golden crown, which hovered over the city giving the sacred cry? Nor in the fulfillment of Hussan Askuri's dream?”
Hafzan burst into shrill laughter. ”Hussan Askuri! Lo! Moulvie Mohammed Ismail, didst thou know the arch dreamer as I, thou wouldst not credit his miracles. He dreams to the Queen's orders as a bear dances to the whip. And as thou knowest, my mistress hath the knack of jerking the puppet strings. She hath been busy these days, and even the Princess Farkhoonda----”
”What of the Princess?” asked the newswriter, eagerly, nibbling his pen in antic.i.p.ation.
”Nay, not so!” retorted Hafzan. ”I give no news nowadays, since I cannot set 'spoken under fear of death' upon the words.”
She rose as she spoke, yet lingered, to stand a second beside the divine and say in a softer tone, ”Dreams are not safe, even to the pious, as thou, Moulvie-sahib. A bird is none the less a bird because it is strange to Delhi and hath been taught to speak. That it was seen all know; yet for all that, it may be one of Hussan Askuri's tricks.”
”Let it be so, woman,” retorted Mohammed Ismail almost fiercely, ”is there not miracle enough and to spare without it? Did not the sun rise four days ago upon infidels in power? Where are they now? Were there not two thousand of them in Meerut? Did they strike a blow? Did they strike one here? Where is their strength? Gone! I tell thee--gone!”
Hafzan laid a veiled clutch on his arm suddenly and her other hand, widening the folds of her shapeless form mysteriously, pointed into the blaze and s.h.i.+mmer of sunlight. ”It lies there, Moulvie-sahib, it lies there,” she said in a pa.s.sionate whisper, ”for G.o.d is on their side.”
It was a pitiful little group to which she pointed. A woman, her mixed blood showing in her face, her Christianity in her dress, being driven along like a sheep to the shambles across the courtyard. She clasped a year-old baby to her breast and a handsome little fellow of three toddled at her skirts. She paused in a sc.r.a.p of shade thrown by a tree which grew beside a small cistern or reservoir near the middle of the court, and s.h.i.+fted the heavy child in her arms, looking round, as she did so, with a sort of wild, fierce fear, like that of a hunted animal. The cl.u.s.ter of sepoys who had made their prisoner over to the Palace guard turned hastily from the sight; but the guard drove her on with coa.r.s.e jibes.
”The rope dangles close, Moulvie-jee,” came Hafzan's voice again.
”Ropes, said I? Gentle ropes? Nay! only as the wherewithal to tie writhing limbs as they roast. If thou hast a taste for visions, pious one, tell me what thou seest ahead for the murderers of such poor souls?”
”Murderers,” echoed Mohammed Ismail swiftly; ”there is no talk of murder. 'Tis against our religion. Have I not signed the edict against it? Have we not protested against the past iniquity of criminals, and ignorant beasts, and vile libertines like Prince Abool-Bukr, who take advantage----”
”He was too drunk for much evil, learned one!” sneered Hafzan. ”G.o.dly men do worse than he in their own homes, as I know to my cost. As for thine edict! Take it to the Princess Farkhoonda. She is a simple soul, though she holds the vilest liver of Delhi in a leash. But the Queen--the Queen is of different mettle, as you edict-signers will find. There are nigh fifty such prisoners in the old cook-room now.
Wherefore?”
”For safety. There are nigh forty in the city police station also.”
Hafzan gathered her folds closer, ”Truly thou art a simple soul, pious divine. Dost not think there is a difference, still, between the Palace and the city? But G.o.d save all women, black or white, say I!
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