Part 46 (2/2)
But many hundreds of women never saw their Shum-sha-deens again, or if they saw them, only saw something to weep over and bind in white swaddling clothes and gold thread.
So by dark on the 2d of August the sound of wailing women rose from every alley, and the men, wandering restlessly about the bazaars, listened to the sound of tattoo from the Ridge and looked at each other almost startled.
”Go-to-bed-Tom! Go-to-bed-Tom! Drunk-or-sober-go-to-bed-Tom!”
The Day of Sacrifice was over, and Tom was going to bed quietly as if nothing had happened! They did not know that three-quarters of the Toms had been in bed the night before, undisturbed by the martyrs'
supreme effort. If they had, they might have wondered still more persistently what Providence was about.
But in the big mosque, among the great white bars of moonlight slanting beneath the dome, one man knew. He stood, a tall white figure beneath a furled green banner, his arms outspread, his voice rising in fierce denunciation.
”Cursed[5] be they who did the deed, who killed jehad! Lo! I told you in my dream in the past and ye would not believe. I tell it again that ye may know. It was dawn. And the Lord Christ and the Lord Mohammed sat over the World striving each for His own according to the Will of the Most High who sets men's quarrels before the Saints in Heaven with a commander to each. And I saw the Lord Christ weep, knowing that justice was on our side. So the fiat for victory went forth, and I slept. But I dreamed again and lo! it was eve with a blood-red sunsetting westward. And the Lord Christ wept still, but the Lord Mohammed's voice rang loud and stern. 'Reverse the fiat. Give the victory to the women and the children.' So I woke. And it is true! is true! Cursed be they who killed jehad!”
The voice died away among the arches where, in delicate tracery, the attributes of the Great Creator were cut into changeless marble.
Truth, Justice, Mercy, all the virtues from which all religions make their G.o.d.
”He is mad,” said some; but for the most part men were silent as they drifted down the great Flights-of-Steps to the city, leaving Mohammed Ismail alone under the dome.
”Didst expect otherwise, my Queen?” said Bukht Khan hardily. ”So did not I! But the end is gained. Delhi was not ours in heart and soul before. It is now. When the a.s.sault comes those who fought for faith will fight for their skins. And at the worst there is Lucknow for good Sheeahs like the Queen and her slave. We have no tie here among these Sunnies who think only of their h.o.a.rds.”
Zeenut Maihl shrank from him with her first touch of fear, for she had eight or nine lakhs of rupees hidden in that very house. This man whom she had summoned to her aid bid fair to make flight necessary even for a woman. Had she ventured too much? Was there yet time to throw him over, throw everyone over and make her peace? She turned instinctively in her thoughts to one who loved money also, who also had h.o.a.rds to save. And so, within half an hour of Bukht Khan's departure, Ahsan-Oolah was closeted with the Queen, who after the excitement of the day needed a cooling draught.
Most people in the Palace needed one that night, for by this time almost all the possible permutations of confederacy had come about, with the result that--each combination's intrigue being known to the next--a general distrust had fallen upon all. In addition, there was now a fourth Commander-in-Chief; one Ghaus Khan, from Neemuch, who declared the rest were fools.
In truth the Dream was wearing thin indeed within the Palace.
But on that peaceful little housetop in the Mufti's quarter it seemed more profound than ever; it seemed as if Fate was determined to leave nothing wanting to the strange unreal life that was being lived in the very heart of the city. Jim Douglas was almost himself again. A little lame, a little uncertain still of his own strength; and so, remembering a piece of advice given him by the old Baharupa never to attempt using the Gift when he was not strong enough for it to be strong, he had been patient beyond Kate's hopes. But on this 2d of August, after lying awake all night listening to the roar and the din, he had insisted on going out when Soma did not turn up as usual to bring the news. He would not be long, he said, not more than an hour or two, and the attempt must be made some time. At no better one than now, perchance, since folk would be occupied in their own affairs.
”Besides,” he added with a smile, ”I'm ready to allow the convalescent home its due. While I've been kept quiet the very thought of concealed Europeans has died out.”
”I don't know!” she interrupted quickly. ”It isn't long since Prince Abool-Bukr chased that blue-eyed boy of the Mufti's over the roofs thinking he was one--don't you remember I was so afraid he might climb up here?”
”That's the advantage of being up-top,” he replied lightly. ”Now, if anything were to happen, you could scramble down. But the Prince was drunk, and I won't go near his haunts--there isn't any danger--really there isn't!”
”I shall have to get accustomed to it even if there is,” she replied in the same tone.
Jim Douglas paused at the door irresolutely. ”Shall I wait till Tara returns?”
”No, please don't. She is not coming back till late. She grows restless if she does not go--and I am all right.”
In truth Tara had been growing restless of late. Kate, looking up from the game of chess--at which her convalescent gave her half the pieces on the board and then beat her easily--used to find those dark eyes watching them furtively. Zora Begum had never played shatrnj with the master, had never read with him from books, had never treated him as an equal. And, strangely enough, the familiar companions.h.i.+p--inevitable under the circ.u.mstances--roused her jealousy more than the love-making on that other terraced roof had done. _That_ she understood. _That_ she could crush with her cry of suttee. But _this_--this which to her real devotion seemed so utterly desirable; what did it mean? So she crept away, when she could, to take up the saintly role as the only certain solace she knew for the ache in her heart.
Therefore Kate sat alone, darning Jim Douglas' white socks--which as a better-cla.s.s Afghan he was bound to wear--and thinking as she did so how incredibly domestic a task it was! Still socks had to be darned, and with Tara at hand to buy odds and ends, and Soma with his knowledge of the Huzoor's life ready to bring chessboards, and soap, and even a book or two, it seemed as if the roof would soon be a very fair imitation of home. So she sat peacefully till, about dusk, hearing a footfall on the stairs halting with long pauses between the steps; her vexation at her patient's evident fatigue overcame her usual caution; and without waiting for his signal knock she set the door wide and stepped out on to the stairs to give him a hand if need be. And then out of the shadow of the narrow brick ladder came a strange voice panting breathlessly:
”Salaam! mem-sahib.” She started back, but not in time to prevent a bent figure with a bundle on its back from stumbling past her on to the roof; where, as if exhausted, it leaned against the wall before slipping the bundle to the floor. It was an ordinary brown blanket bundle full of uncarded cotton, and the old woman who carried it was ragged and feeble. Emaciated too beyond belief, as if cotton-spinning had not been able to keep soul and body comfortably together. Not a very formidable foe this--if foe it was. Why! surely she knew the face.
”I have brought Sonny back, Huzoor,” came the breathless voice.
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