|IT was at Colombo in Ceylon that we met with Ram Nad. I asked for him
in the market place, and found him. He was sitting on a cobblestone, and
leaning over his basket, asleep.
My acquaintance with Ram Nad began many years ago. Somewhere in my
indefinite and unmapped past, I once lived on the island of Ceylon, and
knew Ram Nad. He was by faith a Buddhist, by nature a painstaking liar,
by profession a medical practitioner, or quasi-physician,--not of the
allopathic school, nor of the homeopathic, but of the heteropathic
and absurd. But he practised sleight-of-hand tricks and mesmerism in a
manner that roused my profound respect. We exchanged informations, and I
had a great affection for him in those days.
Even then he looked like a mixture of Abraham and an early Christian
martyr, with some resemblance to a sheep.
I took him aboard the _Violetta_ in order to get his advice respecting
the orphan-asylums of his native land.
Ram Nad already knew himself to be more vertebrate and sagacious than I,
but he did not know Mrs. Ulswater.
The harbour at Colombo is no harbour, but an open roadstead, though
quiet at that time.
“ The spicy breezes blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
And every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.'
The hymnal says so, but I don't agree with it. Three-quarters of Ceylon
is an abomination of swamp, sand, and jungle, with a most pestilential
and vile climate; whereas the normal Cingalese person is the mildest,
most peaceful and pious agriculturist that's to be found.
Ram Nad wore a blue head cloth. The rest of his clothes were meant to
be white, like his beard. He squatted behind his basket. Mrs. Ulswater
rocked in her rocking-chair, knitting, looking at Ram Nad as if she did
not make out how to begin benefiting him. She examined Ram Nad, who
in turn examined Susannah, who in turn was, at that moment, playing
jackstraws.
Ram Nad said there were no orphan-asylums in Ceylon that he could truly
recommend, which sounded conscientious.
He continued: But for himself, he said, he was a lonely man; desolate
and empty was his house of the beautiful gardens; he was desirous
of children in his old age. The excellent Mrs. Ulswater--might her
benevolence be rewarded! the learned Dr. Ulswater--might his folly
and ignorance have been by time corrected!--he hoped these all would
understand his immaculate motives. For what said the Great Teacher?
“Let parents train their children, and their memories be honoured by
the same: let the husband give his wife kindness, together with suitable
ornaments and clothes, and let her be a thrifty housekeeper; finally,
let the pupils give attention, and the teacher instruct them in
knowledge.” The girl, he said, pleased him; therefore it was possible
that he might in righteous charity adopt her, instruct her. By a
singular accident he had but yesterday taken a solemn vow to adopt a
child to his old age; many had been witness to this vow.
Mrs. Ulswater looked thoughtful. She rather wanted Susannah brought up
Presbyterian. “He quotes Scripture very well,” she whispered to me. “It
sounds queer, but maybe it's his clothes.” But she seemed disturbed, and
looked away at Susannah, who played jackstraws.
I reflected vaguely about Ram Nad, on the different kinds of guile he
was equal to, and how if he went off with Susannah, the Indian Ocean
would seem less entertaining. Mrs. Ulswater appeared worried.
Ram Nad waived the point, or appeared to. He said he would, if we liked,
display some marvels for our instruction, while further considering.
Then he opened a few common tricks.
He took Mrs. Ulswater's sewing, threw it over the rail into the sea,
picked it out of the inner folds of his turban, and returned it. Then he
thrust Mrs. Ulswater's knitting needles down my throat and drew them one
by one from the pit of my diaphragm. It seemed so, sufficiently so. In
fact, it made me feel unwell. He induced Susannah to enter his enormous
conical basket, covered her and stirred inside with his hand, with a
violent circular motion, as one beats eggs with a spoon--took off the
cover, disclosed the interior, and shook it bottom up. No Susannah
there!
He covered it, stirred again--eggs and spoons--turned it over, lifted it
again. There sat Susannah on the deck, safe but indignant.
“You punched me!” she cried, and then turned distracted to clutch at the
small of her back. Mrs. Ulswater came to her help, and unbuttoning her
frock took out the jackstraws. They seemed to have been dropped down her
neck. Susannah was furious.
Ram Nad next seated himself opposite her, and fell to crooning and
spooning with both hands--two spoons, infinite eggs.
Mrs. Ulswater said, “Well, I never!” Even I may possibly have
ejaculated, “Ha!”
The eyes of Susannah became fixed, her form rigid. Ram Nad stroked his
beard, Susannah the front of her frock. He sighed, she sighed. “Roll!”
She rolled; she kept on rolling; she rolled across the deck and brought
up in the scuppers, where she struggled to continue rolling. “Roll
back!” She rolled back. “Sit up!” She sat up. He fell to crooning and
waving--reversed spoons and a reaching after dispersed eggs. Susannah
blinked, relapsed, awoke.
Remarkable maid, Susannah, strenuous, decided. She dashed at Ram Nad.
She snatched off his head cloth. She flung it in his face. She fled to
Mrs. Ulswater and wept loudly in her arms.
Ram Nad looked surprised and partly martyred.
“Nevertheless, I am not displeased,” he said, picking up his head cloth.
“I will take her to my house of beautiful gardens.”
“Indeed you won't!” cried Mrs. Ulswater. “You ought to be ashamed of
yourself.”
Ram Nad bowed his head, pulled his beard, and covered himself with
meekness. I suggested to Mrs. Ulswater that there was a Cingalese point
of view.
“Surely,” Ram Nad, ineffably mild. “We say no more, excellent
Mrs. Ulswater. Other orphans are elsewhere to be found and the vow
accomplished. But now, if permitted, I go, and return soon with gifts
of fruit plucked in the gardens of my house, that our happiness may be
complete as the meeting of long-parted friends, pleasant as to the bee
is the honey of the flower.”
It was all gammon about his house. He had no property except his trick
outfit in a basket, his moderate but amusing clothes, and a lien on a
cobblestone in the market. Mrs. Ulswater observed him quietly. I didn't
make out what she thought of his handsome remarks.
He was rowed ashore in the gig, and came back later in a misshaped
Cingalese canoe, kilted fore and aft, with two coolies for rowers, who
promptly departed. He fished pomegranates and pineapples out of his
basket, and was very pleasant. He begged to be allowed to sleep on a
deck rug beneath our palatial awning. He said it was the custom of the
country. So it was, granted a rug and awning were handy. He talked a
number of kinds of gammon, and he knew I knew it was gammon. But, then,
I allowed that a Cingalese of his age and acquirements had a right to be
mythological in his statements.
Oh, Ram Nad, friend of my earlier days! I'm free to admit your standards
of virtuous conduct were ever in some respects obscure, not to say too
much for me.