As Atmâ drew near to the confines of Kashmir he trod a secluded vale,
and followed the windings of a broad stream whose banks were thickly
wooded. As he pursued his way through a thicket he heard voices in gay
converse, and stayed his steps until, peering through the heavy foliage,
he descried below the overhanging river-bank two dark-eyed girls. They
were seated on a broad stone, and one laved her feet in the water and
bent over the swift current; but the head of the other, wreathed in
scarlet blossoms, was uplifted, and in the bright face half turned
towards him he recognized an attendant of Moti. She listened as if
suspecting his approach, but soon apparently satisfied, she resumed her
light chatter with her companion. Atmâ heard his own name, and gathered
that they sought him. He made himself known, and the elder, who was
Nama, the Maharanee's trusted servant, related how her mistress greatly
desiring a sprig of White Ak, a tree of great virtue in incantations,
had commissioned her to obtain it in the forest near by. She had also
been charged, she said, to meet Atmâ Singh, and bring her illustrious
mistress tidings of his welfare.
Although, as a true Sikh, Atmâ worshipped an Idea, and held in scorn all
material semblance of the supernatural, he knew that magic was largely
practised by professed adherents of the Khalsa, and so heard her errand
without surprise, though guessing that its timely performance had in
view some other purpose concerning himself. This became certain when
Nana made known to him that she was not then to return home, but to
linger here and in the neighbourhood of the Sacred Well, spoken of by
the Ranee, for an indefinite time, while the girl beside her at once
returning, would bear to Ferazpore as well as to the house of his uncle
tidings of his present safety. As Nama spoke, Atmâ fancied once that the
little maid standing by sought to engage his attention by a mute sign,
but, ere he could be sure, she desisted and became engrossed in the
adjustment of the crown of scarlet flowers with which she had bedecked
her head. A dim suspicion of treachery rose in his breast, a vague
misgiving. He rapidly recalled to mind the affectionate language of his
kinsman, the promises of the Ranee, and perhaps stronger than all rose
the dear vanity of royal youth, which cannot believe itself scorned.
Were not all the high hopes of his life at stake? It is not possible
that when youth hazards all, the venture should fail. But the foreboding
remained. It was akin to the shudder which tells us that some one steps
on the sod beneath which we are to lie. The analysis of these subtle
melancholies is hard to read. A breath may summon them and they linger
unbidden, and whether they point only to the dim shadows they invoke
from the past, or whether their warning be of the future, we cannot say.
Even as I write a sadness oppresses me, born of I know not what.
If any asked me whence it came,
This languor of my soul to-day,
And why I muse in piteous frame
While all the glowing world is gay,
I could not tell, I only mourn,
And wonder how to life it stirred,
The memory of that distant morn,
As then I wondered had I heard
That grief could ever sink to sleep
Nor aye that stony vigil keep.
Enter ye dreams of vanished woe,
The spectral griefs of long ago;
I fold my hands, in dreamlike trance,
I see their shadowy train advance--
Phantom forms like shades of eld,
Memory-prints or forms beheld,
I cannot know, they fade away;
Faintly their voices seem to say,
"You loved us not that distant day,"
And, lo, my foolish tears o'erflow.
Can this be I who fain would know
Those bitter griefs of long ago?
As Atmâ approached the city of Jummoo he found himself again by a
river-side, and seeing a small boat he entered it and was soon gliding
with the current. It was night when he floated among the trees of the
Palace gardens. Thousands of lights glittered through the foliage. The
air was burdened with perfume. High above the sombre umbrage rose
slender snowy spires, around which the moonbeams lingered lovingly. He
left the little skiff and trod the terraced ascent. A meandering
brooklet, tributary of the larger stream, was spanned by fairy-like
bridges. He hesitated among the intersecting ways, mazy, enchanting, and
flower-bordered. The living air was full of subdued sound. Bubbling
water, tinkling bells, and the mingling of many voices made music which
was borne on perfumed winds. This was the fairest spot in all sunny
Kashmir, where the nightingale sings perpetually in groves of citron,
magnolia, and pomegranate.
He reached the splendid portico which was the chief entrance of the
Palace. Its carven and gilded roof was supported by alabaster columns.
It had been a day of pomp and festival, and courtiers still in their
yellow robes of state reclined here, languidly enjoying the cool night
air. Atmâ ascended the broad steps where officers of state were
marshalled in lines, gold-hilted swords at their sides, and their
gorgeous attire glittering with jewels. Here he requested an audience of
the Rajah, and, preceded by a servant bearing his credentials, he passed
through lofty and magnificent chambers to an ante-room where he rested
until summoned to the presence of Golab Singh, whom he found in an inner
court lit by rose-hued lamps. The air was cool, delicious and fragrant,
the stillness and the softened light were in pleasing contrast to the
dazzling splendour of the halls and room he had traversed. Here in an
alcove were seated three or four men. The Maharajah received him with
affability, and made gravely courteous enquiries for the health and
well-being of Junda Kowr. He welcomed her envoy, and would know of the
difficulties and dangers of his journey thither, and added graceful
flattery to his commiseration. Then, after much courteous discourse, he
confided the young Sikh to the care of attendants, with many injunctions
regarding his comfort and refreshment. And Atmâ went out from the august
presence with heart elate, for he had instantly observed in the turban
of Golab Singh a gem which by its size and hue he knew must be none
other than the Sapphire of Fate, whose magical renown might yet in his
true hands rally a degenerate Khalsa until such time as the disciples of
Nanuk might again know good from evil, and reverence Truth alone.
An hour later, as he left the sumptuous baths where obsequious slaves
had attended him, an officer of state approached him with a message from
the Rajah.
"Atmâ Singh, there are within these walls Englishmen who hold command in
the British army. As a true friend and servitor to the Ranee, and the
Maharajah's esteemed guest, do not divulge nor let them suspect that
you had lately audience of her highness."
For Golab Singh, notwithstanding the cruelty of his administration, was
friend to all, Christian, Musselman, Brahmin, or Sikh, and did not love
to be suspected of an undue sympathy with any, not even when such
sympathy might wear the cloak of patriotic loyalty.