Part 47 (1/2)

And, in justice to Dyan Singh, it should be added that there was more than Aruna in his mind. There was India--increasingly at the mercy of Chandranath and his kind. The very blindness of his earlier obsession had intensified the effect of his awakening. Roy's devoted daring, his grandfather's mellow wisdom, had worked in his fiery soul more profoundly than they knew: and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, an act of expiation. At the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would unhesitatingly have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi--the sane, strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on the few occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law of G.o.d or man, then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this snake under his heel?

One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind. The son of a jackal should know who struck him. He should taste fear, before he tasted death. And then--the Lake, that would never give up its secret or its dead. Siri Chandranath would disappear from his world, like a stone flung into a river; and India would be a cleaner place without him.

He knew himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But--tcha! the man was a coward. Let the G.o.ds but deliver his victim into that one purposeful hand of his--and the end was sure.

Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered him securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted creature nuzzled against him, as who should say, 'What need of speech between me and thee'? Then--following Roy's directions--he made his way cautiously up the hillside, where the arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath had been injured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far.

His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed. The guardian G.o.ds of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For there, on the fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its head in its hands.

”Must have been stunned,” he thought. Patently the G.o.ds were with him.

Had he been an Englishman, the man's hurt would probably have baulked him of his purpose. But Dyan Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the sportman's code of morals. He was frankly out to kill. His brain worked swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed....

Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on its prey: the long knife gripped securely in his teeth. Before Chandranath came to his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his throat, stifling the yell of terror at Roy's supposed return....

The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes Dyan had his man down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful knees, that his one available hand might be free to strike. Then, in a low fierce rush, he spoke: ”Yes--it is I--Dyan Singh. You told me often--strike, for the Mother. 'Who kills the body kills naught.' I strike for the Mother _now_.”

Once--twice--the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing between his knees was still.

He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the sh.o.r.e of the Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp burden slung over his shoulder. But his imagination did not run riot, like Roy's: and no qualms of conscience perturbed his soul. He had avenged, tenfold, Aruna's injury. He had expiated, in drastic fas.h.i.+on, his own aberration from sanity. It was enough.

The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted with stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur, the Lake would utter no sound....

CHAPTER XVI.

”So let him journey through his earthly day: 'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way; Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride-- He, every moment, still unsatisfied.”

--FAUST.

Next morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on the edge of his bed; cautiously, circ.u.mstantially, telling him all. Roy, as he listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer impetus of the thing; and again he felt--as once or twice in Delhi--what centuries apart they were, though related, and almost of an age.

”This will be only between you and me, Roy--for always,” Dyan concluded gravely. ”Not because I have any shame for killing that snake; but--as I said ... because of Aruna----”

”Trust me,” said Roy. ”Amber Lake and I don't blab. There'll be a nine days' mystery over his disappearance. Then his lot will set up some other tin G.o.d--and promptly forget all about him.”

”Let us follow their example, in that at least!” Grim humour nickered in Dyan's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the proffered case. ”You gave me my chance. I have taken it--like a Rajput. Now we have other things to do.”

Roy smiled. ”That's about the size of it--from your sane, barbaric standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do. As soon as this blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to get at some of the thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay; educated Indian men and women, who honestly believe that India is moving towards a national unity that will transcend all antagonism of race and creed. I can't see it myself; but I've an open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur--'last, loneliest, loveliest, apart'--to knock my novel into shape before I go North. And _you_----?” He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin.

”Sure you're safe not to erupt again?”

”Safe as houses--thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can be orthodox Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I would like to join 'Servants of India' Society; and work for the Mother among those who accept British connection as India's G.o.d-given destiny. In no other way will I work again--to 'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps----”

he hesitated, averting his eyes--”to take vows of celibacy----”

”_Dyan_!” Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had almost forgotten that side of things. Right or wrong--a tribute to Tara indeed!

It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed him.

”Unfair on Grandfather,” he said with decision. ”For every reason, you ought to marry--an enlightened wife. Think--of Aruna.”

”I _do_ think of her. It is _she_ who ought to marry.”