A VISIT TO JUNG BAHADOOR
At Katmandu, the capital of Nepaul, Tom spent several days pleasantly.
He was delighted with the city, the quaintness of whose architecture
and the gay costumes and kindly ways of whose people gave him many new
and agreeable sensations; while the reception accorded to him, both at
the Residency and at the palace, which was presided over by that great
and enlightened prime minister, Jung Bahadoor, left him nothing to
desire.
Ever since he left Bareilly he had been thirsting for news; but news
travelled slowly in the days before the Mutiny, and no one in the
valleys had heard of the occurrence, which was looked upon by the
enlightened as the breaking of the storm. On February 28, when Tom,
with a light heart, was setting out to visit the English Resident at
the Court of' the King of Nepaul, the 19th Native Infantry, standing
trembling in their lines at Berhampore, were listening with dull hearts
to the harangue of their irritated colonel, and refusing point-blank to
receive the percussion-caps handed out to them.
From the wise and wily Jung Bahadoor Tom learned much concerning the
true state of Indian affairs. He was relieved to find that in spite of
the faults of the British raj--faults which this sagacious person was
not slow to criticise--he had a profound belief not only in its general
justice and beneficence, but that it was the only power which could
for the present guarantee the land against anarchy. As such he and his
people would support it.
At other times he spoke of the late rajah of Gumilcund, who had been
one of his most intimate friends, giving the young heir much valuable
information with regard to his character and aims. One evening, which
Tom remembered long afterwards, on account of the influence it was
destined to have upon his life, Jung Bahadoor invited him to a pavilion
in the palace where he often spent his evenings. To the young heir
their conversation was peculiarly interesting, although he did very
little of the talking. Over his long hookah, which induced a meditative
vein, the great minister recalled scene after scene out of the past--a
past in which the late rajah of Gumilcund's name often figured. Tom
heard of his cousin's wealth and magnificence, of his fine personality,
of the adoration felt for him by his people. 'I believe,' said Jung
Bahadoor, 'that they refuse to believe in his death.'
As he spoke he was looking at Tom absently. All at once his expression
became tense and significant. 'What is the exact relationship between
you and the late rajah?' he said.
Before that question could be answered Gambier Singh, captain of the
king's bodyguard, who was frequently the bearer of messages from
the court to the chief minister, and had the privilege of entering
unannounced, came out on the pavilion. Seeing the minister engaged in
conversation, he was about to deliver his missive and retire when,
catching a full view of Tom's face, he pulled up short.
'What ails my friend Gambier Singh?' said Jung Bahadoor.
Recovering his presence of mind in a moment the young Ghoorka captain
turned to Jung Bahadoor's guest, and saluted him reverently.
'The sahib must forgive the mistake of his servant,' he said; 'but by
my head it is a wonderful likeness. I thought the dead had come to
life.'
'My guest is the heir of our friend the good rajah of Gumilcund,' said
Jung Bahadoor. 'I was myself struck with the likeness, though, strange
to say'--turning to Tom--'I did not observe it till this moment.'
'The rajah was my friend and father. I salute his successor,' said
Gambier Singh, making another deep salaam as he withdrew.
But his curiosity and interest were too strongly aroused to be thus
easily satisfied. Late that evening, when Tom was resting in his tent,
he introduced himself, making many apologies for the intrusion. A long
conversation, of the deepest interest to them both, followed, and when
they parted, somewhere about the small hours of the morning, they shook
hands after the kindly English fashion, and exchanged promises of
undying friendship.
Tom spent a week in and about Katmandu, enjoying Gambier Singh's
friendship and the hospitality of the palace. Then he began to think
that he ought to be on the move. He was actually making arrangements
for a start, writing letters and studying maps by the light of a
lantern which swung from the pole of his tent, when one evening Gambier
Singh, whose invitation to an evening of revels he had just declined,
strode in. The flash in his eyes and the abruptness of his movements
showed that he was labouring under strong excitement. 'Have you heard
the news?' he said, before Tom could speak.
'No; I have heard nothing. What has happened?'
Gambier Singh answered with a question. 'I am told,' he said, 'that you
are leaving us?'
'Have I not told you so myself?' said Tom. 'I must go soon, or I shall
be tempted to stay with you for ever.'
The young Captain bowed himself and pressed his palms together. 'Sahib,
my friend and brother,' he said, 'if you are happy with us, as you say,
let me beseech you to remain. We are peaceful, and the Ghoorka soldier,
if savage to his foes, will be true to his salt. Over there,' and he
pointed across the mountains, 'there will be wild work soon.'
'What do you mean? What has happened?' cried Tom, springing to his feet.
'I mean, my brother, that the revolt has begun.'
'Revolt! When? Where? Speak to me plainly I entreat of you.'
He was pale to the very lips. In that instant of time, while the dim
mountain range which a few days before he had crossed so joyfully,
frowned down upon him like a fortress, a hundred torturing images
pressed upon his brain. The family-circle at Meerut, the General who
would trust his soldiers to the death, gentle Lady Elton and the girls,
Grace, wandering Heaven only knew where, reckless Vivien flinging
her defiance at the crowd of Asiatics, his friends of the voyage,
Mrs. Lyster, tender little Aglaia--what would become of them all if
this dreadful thing were true? Oh! for wings to carry him over the
mountains, that he might see with his own eyes what was going on! In
the meantime, Gambier Singh's voice, which was much calmer than it had
been, came to him as if from a great distance.
'Let my brother compose himself. It has only begun. The North and
North-West are at peace.'
'Thank God!'
'But,' went on the young Captain, 'it is a hollow peace. Of this my
master is assured. If your rulers are prompt, if they crush out the
insurrection with an iron hand, there may still be peace, for the
loyal will be strengthened, and the discontented will fear to rise. If
not, the torch of rebellion will flame out fiercely. From province to
province it will be carried, and the wild heart of the Asiatic, which
discipline has kept down but not subdued, will take fire and leap out
in rapine and murder.' Then, in a few words, he told the story of the
mutiny of Berhampore. It was ominous, but not nearly so dreadful as Tom
had imagined. He began to breathe more freely. 'Are you sure there is
nothing more?' he said. 'You are not keeping anything from me?'
'No, by my master's head! But is it not bad enough?'
'Yes, it is bad. Still it is a warning. The evil cannot have gone very
deeply yet. We have time before us.'
'Who knows?' said Gambier Singh, shaking his head; and he added, 'My
brother will stay with us till the storm blows over!'
Tom paused for a moment, then turned his face, which was as white as
death, to his companion. 'I cannot,' he said, 'a fire is consuming
me. What it is, or whence it comes, I cannot tell, but I know that it
will not let me rest. See, do not hold me back! I must recross the
mountains. I must know what is happening. I must see the terror with my
own eyes.' His voice sank, and then, in a moment, rose again, shrill
and penetrating, 'I must save my people,' he cried, and fell back
fainting into the arms of his friend.