When the Nawab had concluded his tale, much discourse ensued regarding
the unusual occurrences he had related and their significance.
"And," said the Rajah, who was a lover of verse, "how true it is that
poetry lends an illusive charm to conceptions ordinary in themselves,
like a lovely screen which bestows a grace on the scantiness it only
half conceals. Poetry hath an advantage over prose."
"But an advantage compensated on the other hand by the elusiveness of
its lightsome spirit, its grace so easily lost," said a poet who wrote
songs for the pleasure of the Court. "The charm of poetry," he said
sadly, "is too ethereal to live in sordid company, and perishes oft in
the handling that had only proved the vigour of prose."
* * * * *
It is a primary characteristic of poetry that it cannot be translated.
The most that a translator can do is to express in another tongue the
main thought embodied, and enshrine it in a new poem. I have in
changing some dainty wind-blossom of song from one dialect to another of
the same language witnessed its instant transition into the realms of
prose, and regarded the metamorphosis with the guilty awe of one who
deals unwittingly in baleful magic.
* * * * *
And now they spoke of the marvellous properties of precious stones, a
topic suggested, no doubt, by the story-teller's mention of a gleaming
jewel, and probably still more by the unspoken anxiety with which many
noted the non-return of the party who had gone in quest of the Sapphire.
"The diamond is possessed of many occult powers," said a courtier.
"Ay," replied another, "among gems the diamond has greater subtlety than
all others."
"I would like," said one, "to wear a circlet of well-chosen stones to
serve as oracle and counsellor. The opal should assure me of my friend's
fealty, the invisible slaves of the diamond should guard my fortunes,
the serpent that cast its harmful eye on me would be blinded by my
emerald, for, in fine, I believe that vassal genii attend each gem, and
obey the behests of him who holds it."
"The diamond," said the poet, "guards the destinies of lovers."
"Love," said Atmâ smiling, "is its own security, for it makes no
unwilling captive."
The look of hatred and rage which Lal Singh darted at him startled the
onlookers.
"The worst of sorcerers," said he, "are those who disclaim the use of
enchantment. Success in love, Atmâ Singh, means sometimes to die like a
dog."
But the Nawab interposed with moderate speech. "It is," said he, "a wise
man who knows the omens of the future, and is thereby guided."
"The services of a skilful necromancer are greatly needed at the
present," whispered a courtier.
Many of the company were now standing, scanning with anxious gaze the
distant horizon. They looked far a-field, but high overhead the robber
looked down on them. There was the falcon mid-way between earth and sky.
Now it began to sink. Swiftly it fell, and a cry escaped the lips of the
few who observed it. The bird's keeper was off with the expedition, but
as it reached the earth, a very few yards from the Rajah's circle, a
dozen men were instantly upon it. Foremost was Atmâ Singh, his hand it
was that grasped it. It was tired, and stood on his left wrist with
anything but the air of a convicted thief, as with head bent sideways it
inspected the throng. Atmâ strode forward to the Rajah, and a dismayed
cry arose that the Sapphire was lost indeed. The bird no longer held it.
Atmâ took no heed, but advancing made obeisance before Golab Singh, and
extended to him his captive.
"Your clemency, Maharajah," he said, "for the truant."
"Had he brought back the Sapphire he might have gained mercy," said the
Rajah, with more anger, Bertram thought, than he had ever seen him
display. "Take away the knave out of my sight, and despatch a horseman
at once to the Palace with command that four hundred men forthwith
search all this plain, with every tree on it and every stream that
crosses it, until they find the jewel."
Lal Singh since his angry outburst had stood aside, his narrow face
contracted, and had not ceased to watch Atmâ from the moment when he
seized the falcon. His cunning eyes followed the young Sikh as he bowed
before the Ruler of Kashmir, and now gliding forward he cringed before
Golab Singh, as he hissed in a voice nearly inarticulate with triumph
and hate, "Maharajah, the plain is wide; before entering on so extensive
an undertaking, order someone more trusty than Atmâ Singh to recover the
stone by searching the leal descendant of the holy Nanuk! I, though less
lofty of sentiment and aspiration, am filled with horror and grief,
because I have perceived him to take the Sapphire from the bird the
moment it touched ground."
The effect of this charge can hardly be described: indignation on the
part of some, among whom were Atmâ's British friends, at what they felt
assured must be a groundless accusation; suspicion and anger on the part
of others. "Let him immediately be seized and searched," commanded the
Rajah.
The first part of his command was already obeyed, and almost before a
protest could be uttered, Atmâ's arms were bound behind him and Golab
Singh's servants proceeded zealously to search his person. In silence
and with lips compressed, Bertram and his brother officers looked on
whilst he submitted to this indignity, no syllable escaping him from
the moment when he fixed his accusing gaze on his foe. But when a tiny
onyx-box of curious workmanship was produced from the folds of his
girdle, and laid before the Rajah of Kashmir, he did not repeat the
look, although on its appearance Lal uttered an exulting exclamation.
The onyx-box was all that rewarded the scrutiny of the Rajah's servants.
"Open it!" he commanded, and forthwith the fatal casket was unclosed.
Golab Singh, bending over it, inhaled the strong and subtle odour that
had nearly overcome Atmâ the morning he received the box from the hands
of Nama at the sacred shrine. The Maharajah turned pale, and with
difficulty recovered his breath. "Miscreant!" cried the courtiers.
Now a paper was unfolded bearing the seal and superscription of the
Maharanee Junda Kowr, the dangerous foe of the British to whom Golab
Singh owed his throne.
"An emissary of the Ranee," cried some.
"A spy," shouted others, while Golab Singh had thoughts which it would
not have been prudent to utter aloud in that mixed assemblage.
"A despatch from the Ranee withheld by this traitor for who knows what
villainous purpose!"
"He shall pay the penalty," he thundered, "before the sun rise
to-morrow. Carry him bound to a dungeon!"
Now an Englishman who stood beside him touched the prisoner on the
shoulder. His face had grown stern, and he narrowly searched Atmâ's
countenance as he spoke gravely but gently enough. "Have you no word to
say, Atmâ Singh, when you are accused of playing so base a conspirator's
part against the life of your host and of your friends?"
Then Atmâ spoke and proudly, "No word, Sahib, which a Sikh may utter."
Excitement prevailed and great consternation. Englishmen exchanged
glances; plots, they believed, of an unguessed extent surrounded them.
Musselmen and Sikhs looked at one another with fierce suspicion.
"Where," their faces asked, "are his accomplices?" And no look of doubt
fell on his denouncer. The Rajah's rage increased every moment, adding
to the commotion which delayed the fulfilment of his commands. To
enhance the confusion, the party of horsemen now returned. They pressed
around, hearing and giving tidings. In the tumult Bertram reached
Atmâ's side, but before he could speak, Atmâ whispered in his ear, "Meet
me in the Moslem Burying ground to-morrow night." Then with a sudden and
strong effort, swift as a bird, he freed himself from the excited
uncertain grasp that held him, and springing upon a horse he was off on
the wings of the wind. A score of men scrambled to their saddles, but
they were in confusion, and their horses were tired, whilst Atmâ had
mounted a fresh horse just brought forward for his own safe escort to
prison. In the disorder, he gained a few priceless moments of time, and
threading well his way between the groves that dotted the plain, he was
soon lost to view.