Part 29 (1/2)
He temporised, saying; ”Well, we'll see, Gulab; perhaps at Mandhatta I could wait while you made an offering and a prayer to Omkar, and then you could journey on to Chunda.” To himself he muttered in English: ”By G.o.d! I'll not stand for that slimy brute, Nana Sahib's, possession of the girl--she's too good. I know enough now to denounce him.”
In council with himself, standing Captain Barlow firmly on his feet to face the realities, he realised the impossibility of being anything more to Bootea than just a Sahib who had by fate been thrown into her path temporarily. And then, feeling the sway, the compelling force of a fascinating femininity he almost trembled for himself. Weaker sahibs--gad! he knew several, one a Deputy Commissioner. A beautiful little Kashmiri girl had nursed him through cholera when even his own servants had fled. The Kashmiri, who had the dainty flower-like sweetness of a j.a.panese maid, and practically the same code, had lived in his protection before this. After the nursing incident he had married her, with benefit of clergy, and the result had been h.e.l.l, a living suicide, ostracism. A good officer, he still remained Deputy Commissioner, the highest official of the district, but the social excellence was wiped out--he was a pariah, an outcast. And the girl, who now could not remain just a native, could not attain to the dignity of a Deputy-Commissioner Memsahib.
Barlow knew several such. Of course of drifters he knew also, the white inland beach-combers--men who had come out to India to fill subordinate positions in the telegraph, or the railroad, or mills; and, as they sloughed off European caste, and possessed of the eternal longing for woman companions.h.i.+p, had married natives. Barlow shuddered at mentally rehea.r.s.ed visions of the degradation. Thus everything logical was on that side of the ledger--all against the Gulab. On the other side was the fierce compelling fascination that the girl held for him.
Yes, at Mandhatta they would both sacrifice to the G.o.ds. Curiously Elizabeth stood in the computation a cipher; probably he would marry her, but the escapement from disaster, from wreck, would not be because of any moral sustaining from her, any invisible thread of love binding him to the daughter of the Resident. He knew that until he parted from Bootea at Mandhatta his soul would be torn by a strife that was foolish, contemptible, that should never have originated.
CHAPTER XXVII
And next day when Barlow, sitting his horse, still riding as the Afghan, went forth, his going was somewhat like the departure of a Nawab. Chief Ka.s.sim and a dozen officers had clanked down the marble steps from the palace with him and stood lined up at the gates raising their deep voices in full-throated salaams and blessings of Allah upon his head.
The hors.e.m.e.n of the guard, spears to boot-leg, fierce-looking riders of the plain, were lined up four abreast. The _nakara_ in the open court of the palace was thundering a farewell like a salute of light artillery.
The _tonga_ with Bootea had gone on before with a guard of two out-riders.
All that day they travelled to the south, on their left, against the eastern sky, the lofty peaks of the Vindhya mountains holding the gold of the sun till they looked like a continuous chain of gilded temples and tapering paG.o.das. For hours the road lay over hard basaltic rocks and white limestone; then again it was a sea of white sand they traversed with its blinding eye-stinging glare.
At night, when they camped, Barlow had a fresh insight into the fine courtesy, the rough n.o.bility that breeds into the bone of men who live by the sword and ride where they will. The Pindaris built their camp-fires to one side, and two of them came to where the Sahib bad spread his blankets near the _tonga_ and built a circle of smudge-fires from chips of camel-dung to keep away the flies. Then they went back to their fellows, and when Barlow had pulled the blanket over himself to sleep the clamour of voices where the hors.e.m.e.n sat was hushed.
And Bootea had been treated like a princess. At each village that they pa.s.sed some would ride in and rejoin the cavalcade with fowl, and eggs, and fruit, and sugar cane, and fresh vegetables; and a mention of payment would only draw a frown, an exclamation of, ”_Shookur_! these are but gifts from Allah. There has been more than payment that we have not cut off the _kotwal's_ head, not even demanded a peep at the money chest. We are looked upon as men who confer favours.”
It was the second day one of the horses in the _tonga_ showing lameness, or perhaps even weariness, for the yoke of the _tonga_ across their backs did not ride with the ease of a man, the jamadar went into a village and came forth with his men leading two well-fed horses.
Again when Barlow spoke of pay for them the jamadar answered, ”We will leave these two with the unbelievers, and a message, in the name of Allah, that when we return if the horses we leave are not treated like those of the Sultan there will be throats slit. _Bismillah_! but it is a fair way of treating these unbelievers; they should be grateful.”
The road ran through the large towns of Bhopal and Seh.o.r.e, and at each place Jamadar Jemla explained to all and sundry of the officials that the Patan, meaning Barlow, was a trusted officer with Sindhia and they were escorting a favourite for Sindhia's harem. It was a plausible story, and avoided interference, for while the Pindaris might be turned back if there was a force handy, to interfere with a lady of the King's harem might bring a horde of cut-throat Mahrattas down on them with a snipping off of official heads.
On the fourth day, and now they were on a good trunk road that ran to Indore, and branching to the left, that crossed the Nerbudda River at Mandhatta, they were constantly pa.s.sing pilgrims on their way to the Temple of Omkar. In the affrighted eyes of the Hindus Barlow could read their dread of the Pindaris; they would cringe at the roadside and salaam, as fearful were they as if a wolf-pack swept down the highway.
The jamadar would laugh in his deep throat, and twist his black moustache with forefinger and thumb, and call the curse of Mahomet upon these wors.h.i.+ppers of stone images and foul G.o.ds. He loved to ride stirrup to stirrup with the Englishman, and Barlow found delight in the man's broad conception of life; the petty things seemed to have no resting place in his mind, unless perhaps as a matter for ridicule.
The sweep of a country with free rein and a sharp sword, and always the hazard of loot or death was an engrossing subject. Even the enemy who fought and bled and died, were like themselves--by Allah! men; but the merchants, the shop-keepers, and the money-lenders, who cringed and paid tribute when the Pindaris drove at them in a raid, were pigs, cowardly dogs who robbed the poor and gave only to the accursed Brahmins and their foul G.o.ds. He would dwell lovingly upon the feats of courage of the Rajputs, lamenting that such fine men should be excluded from heaven, dying as they did such glorious deaths, sword in hand, because of their mistaken infidelity; they were souls lost because of being led away from a true G.o.d, the one G.o.d, Allah, through false priests.
”Mark thou, Sahib,” Jemla said once, ”I do not hold that it is a merit in the sight of Allah to slay such except there is need, but when it is a _jihad_, a question of the supremacy of a true G.o.d, Allah, or the Sahib's G.o.d--which no doubt is one and the same--as against the evil G.o.ds of destruction and depravity such as s.h.i.+va and Kali, then it is a merit to slay the children of evil. Mahomet did much to put this matter right,” he declared; ”he made good Musselmen of thousands who would otherwise have been cast into _jehannum_ (h.e.l.l), at times holding the sword over their heads as argument. Therein Mahomet was a true prophet, a saver of souls rather than a destroyer of such.”
By noon they were drawing toward Mandhatta, and when they came to where the road from Indore to Mandhatta joined the one they were travelling, there was an increase in the stream of pilgrims and Barlow could see a look of uneasiness in the jamadar's eyes.
There was a grove of wild mango trees on the left, running from the road down to a stream that gurgled on its way from the hills to the Nerbudda river, and Jemla said, ”We might camp here, Sahib, for there is both good water and fire-wood.”
They could see, as they rested and ate, a party of Hindus down by the stream where there was a shrine to Krishna that nestled under a huge banyan that was like the roof of a cave from which dropped to earth to take roots hundreds of slender shoots, like stalact.i.tes, and whose roots, creeping from the earth like giant worms, crawled on to lave in the stream. When they had finished eating, Jemla said, ”That is a temple of the Preserver;” then he laughed a full-throated sneer: ”_Allah hafiz_! (G.o.d protect us), give me a fine-edged _tulwar_,--and mine own is not so dull--methinks yon grinning affair of stone would not preserve a dozen of these infidels had there been cause for anger.”
”What do the pilgrims there, for they go, it would seem, to Omkar?”
Barlow queried.
”There has been a death--perhaps it was even a year ago, and at a shrine of Krishna, especially this one that is on a water that is like a trickle of holy tears to the sacred Narbudda, _straddhas_ (prayers for the dead) are said. Come, Sahib, we will look upon this mummy, the only savour of grace about the infidel thing being that it perhaps brings to their hearts a restfulness, having the faith that they have helped the soul of the dead.”
Barlow rose from where he sat and they went down to where a party of a dozen were engaged in the service of an appeal to the G.o.d for rest for the soul of a dead relative. The devotees did not resent the appearance of the two who were garbed as Moslems. The shrine was one of those, of which there are many in India, that, curiously enough, is sacred to both Hindus and followers of the Prophet. On a flat rock, laved by the stream, was an imprint of a foot, a legendary foot-print of Krishna, perhaps left there as he crossed the stream to gambol with the milkmaids in the meadow beyond. And it was venerated by the Musselman because a disciple of Mohammed had attained to great sanct.i.ty by austerities up in the mountain behind, and had been buried there.
But Barlow was watching with deep interest the ceremonial form of the _straddha_. He saw the women place b.a.l.l.s of rice, milk, and leaves of the _tulsi_ plant in earthenware platters, then sprinkle over this flowers and kusa-gra.s.s; they added threads, plucked from their garments, to typify the presenting of the white death-sheet to the dead one; a priest all the time mumbling a prayer, at the end of the simple ceremony receiving a fee of five rupees.