FEAR IS DEATH
At a sign from the Gray Mahatma all the women except Yasmini left the
room. Yasmini seemed to be in a strange mood mixed of mischief and
amused anticipation.
The Mahatma sat down exactly in the middle of the carpet, and his method
was unique. It looked just as if an unseen hand had taken him by the
hair and lowered him gradually, for he crossed his legs and dropped to
the floor as evenly and slowly as one of those freight elevators that
disappear beneath the city side-walks.
He seemed to attach a great deal of importance to his exact position and
glanced repeatedly at the walls as if to make sure that he was not
sitting an inch or two too far to the right or left; however, he had
gauged his measurements exactly at the first attempt and did not move,
once he was seated.
"You two _sahibs_," he began, with a slight emphasis on the word
_sahib_, as if he wished to call attention to the fact that he was
according us due courtesy, "you two honorable gentlemen," he continued,
as if mere courtesy perhaps were not enough, "have been chosen unknown
to yourselves. For there is but one Chooser, whose choice is never known
until the hour comes. For the chosen there is no road back again. Even
if you should prefer death, your death could not now be of your own
choosing; for, having been chosen, there is no escape from service to
the Purpose, and though you would certainly die if courage failed you,
your death would be more terrible than life, since it would serve the
Purpose without benefiting you.
"You are both honest men," he continued, "for the one has resigned
honors and emoluments in the army for the sake of serving India; the
other has accepted toilsome service under a man who seeks, however
mistakenly, to serve the world. If you were not honest you would never
have been chosen. If you had made no sacrifices of your own free will,
you would not have been acceptable."
Yasmini clasped her hands and laid her chin on them among the cushions.
She was reveling in intellectual enjoyment, as sinfully I daresay as
some folk revel in more material delights. The Mahatma took no notice of
her, but continued.
"You have heard of the _Kali-Yug_, the age of darkness. It is at an end.
The nations presently begin to beat swords into plowshares because the
time has come. But there is yet much else to do, and the eyes of those
who have lived so long in darkness are but blinded for the present by
the light, so that guides are needed, who can see. You two shall see--a
little!"
It was becoming intolerably hot in the room with the curtains drawn and
all those lights burning, but I seemed to be the only one who minded it.
The candles in the chandelier were kept from collapsing by metal
sheaths, but the very flames seemed to feel the heat and to flicker like
living things that wilted.
"Corn is corn and grass is grass," said the Mahatma, "and neither one
can change the other. Yet the seed of grass that is selected can improve
all grass, as they understand who strive with problems of the field.
Therefore ye two, who have been chosen, shall be sent as the seeds of
grass to the United States to carry on the work that no Indian can
properly accomplish. Corn to corn, grass to grass. That is your
destiny."
He paused, as if waiting for the sand to run out of an hour-glass. There
was no hour-glass, but the suggestion was there just the same.
"Nevertheless," he went on presently, "there are some who fail their
destiny, even as some chosen seeds refuse to sprout. You will need
besides your honesty such courage as is committed to few.
"Once on a time before the _Kali-Yug_ began, when the Aryans, of whom
you people are descendants, lived in this ancient motherland, the whole
of all knowledge was the heritage of every man, and what to-day are
called miracles were understood as natural working of pure law. It was
nothing in those days for a man to walk through fire unscathed, for
there was very little difference between the gods and men, and men knew
themselves for masters of the universe, subject only to _Parabrahm_.
"Nevertheless, the sons of men grew blind, mistaking the shadow for the
substance. And because the least error when extended to infinity
produces chaos, the whole world became chaos, full of nothing but
rivalries, sickness, hate, confusion.
"Meanwhile, the sons of men, ever seeking the light they lost, have
spread around the earth, ever mistaking the shadow for the substance,
until they have imitated the very thunder and lightning, calling them
cannon; they have imitated all the forces of the universe and called
them steam, gasoline, electricity, chemistry and what not, so that now
they fly by machinery, who once could fly without effort and without
wings.
"And now they grow deathly weary, not understanding why. Now they hold
councils, one nation with another, seeking to substitute a lesser evil
for the greater.
"Once in every hundred years men have been sent forth to prove by public
demonstration that there is a greater science than all that are called
sciences. None knew when the end of the _Kali-Yug_ might be, and it was
thought that if men saw things they could not explain, perhaps they
would turn and seek the true mastery of the universe. But what happened?
You, who are from America; is there one village in all America where men
do not speak of Indians as fakirs and mock-magicians? For that there are
two reasons. One is that there are multitudes of Indians who are thieves
and liars, who know nothing and seek to conceal their ignorance beneath
a cloak of deceit and trickery. The other is, that men are so deep in
delusion, that when they do see the unexplainable they seek to explain
it away. Whereas the truth is that there are natural laws which, if
understood by all, would at once make all men masters of the universe.
"I will give you an example. To-day they are using wireless telephones,
who twenty years ago would have mocked whoever had suggested such a
thing. Yet it is common knowledge that forty years ago, for instance,
when Roberts the British general led an army into Afghanistan in
wintertime and fought a battle at Kandahar, the news of his victory was
known in Bombay, a thousand miles away, as soon as it had happened,
whereas the Government, possessing semaphores and the telegraph, had to
wait many days for the news.[1] How did that occur? Can you or any one
explain it?
[Footnote 1: This is incontestably historical fact. See Lord Robert's
book, _Forty-one Years in India_.]
"If I were to go forth and tell how it happened, the men who profit by
the telegraphs and the deep-sea cables, would desire to kill me.
"There is only one country in the world where such things can be
successfully explained, and that is India; but not even in India until
India is free. When the millions of India once grasp the fact of
freedom, they will forget superstition and understand. Then they will
claim their powers and use them. Then the world will see, and wonder.
And presently the world, too, will understand.
"Therefore, India must be free. These three hundred and fifty million
people who speak one hundred and forty-seven languages must be set free
to work out their own destiny.
"But there is only one way of doing that. The world, and India with it,
is held in the grip of delusion. And what is delusion? Nothing but
opinions. Therefore it is opinions that hold India in subjection, and
opinions must be changed. A beginning must be made where opinions are
least hidebound and are therefore easiest to change. That means America.
"Therefore you two _sahibs_ are chosen--one who knows and loves India;
one who knows and loves America. The duty laid on you is absolute. There
can be no flinching from it. You are to go to America and convince
Americans that India should be free to work out her own destiny.
"Therefore follow, and see what you shall see."
He rose, exactly as he had sat down, without apparent muscular effort.
It was as if a hand had taken him by the scalp and lifted him, except
that I noticed his feet were pressed so hard against the floor that the
blood left them, so that I think the secret of the trick was perfect
muscular control, although how to attain that is another matter.
The Princess Yasmini made no offer to come with us, but lounged among
the cushions reveling in mischievous enjoyment. Whatever the Gray
Mahatma's real motive, there was no possible doubt about hers; she was
looking forward to a tangible, material profit.
The Gray Mahatma led the way through the door by which we had entered,
stalking along in his saffron robe without the slightest effort to seem
dignified or solemn.
"Keep your wits about you," King whispered; and then again, presently:
"Don't be fooled into thinking that anything you see is supernatural.
Remember that whatever you see is simply the result of something that
they know and that we don't. Keep your hair on! We're going to see some
wonderful stuff or I'm a Dutchman."
We passed down the long corridor outside Yasmini's room, but instead of
continuing straight forward, the Gray Mahatma found an opening behind a
curtain in a wall whose thickness could be only guessed. Inside the wall
was a stairway six feet wide that descended to an echoing, unfurnished
hall below after making two turns inside solid masonry.
The lower hall was dark, but he found his way without difficulty,
picking up a lantern from a corner on his way and then opening a door
that gave, underneath the outer marble stairway, on to the court where
the pool and the flowering shrubs were. The lantern was not lighted when
he picked it up. I did not see how he lighted it. It was an ordinary oil
lantern, apparently, with a wire handle to carry it by, and after he had
carried it for half a minute it seemed to burn brightly of its own
accord. I called King's attention to it.
"I've seen that done before," he answered, but he did not say whether or
not he understood the trick of it.
Ismail came running to meet us the instant we showed ourselves, but
stopped when he saw the Mahatma and, kneeling, laid the palms of both
hands on his forehead on the stone flags. That was a strange thing for a
Moslem to do--especially toward a Hindu--but the Mahatma took not the
slightest notice of him and walked straight past as if he had not been
there. He could hear King's footsteps and mine behind him, of course,
and did not need to look back, but there was something almost comical in
the way he seemed to ignore our existence and go striding along alone as
if on business bent. He acted as little like a priest or a fakir or a
fanatic as any man I have ever seen, and no picture-gallery curator or
theater usher ever did the honors of the show with less attention to his
own importance.
He led the way through the same bronze gate that we had entered by and
never paused or glanced behind him until he came to the cage where the
old black panther snarled behind the bars; and then a remarkable thing
happened.
At first the panther began running backward and forward, as the caged
brutes usually do when they think they are going to be fed; for all his
age he looked as full of fight as a newly caught young one, and his long
yellow fangs flashed from under the curled lip--until the Mahatma spoke
to him. He only said one word that I could hear, and I could not catch
what the word was; but instantly the black brute slunk away to the
corner of its cage farthest from the iron door, and at that the Mahatma
opened the door without using any key that I detected. The padlock may
have been a trick one, but I know this;--it came away in his hands the
moment he touched it.
Then at last he took notice of King and me again. He stood aside, and
smiled, and motioned to us with his hand to enter the cage ahead of him.
I have been several sorts of rash idiot in my time, and I daresay that
King has too, for most of us have been young once; but I have also
hunted panthers, and so has King, and to walk unarmed or even with
weapons--into a black panther's cage is something that calls, I should
say, for inexperience. The more you know about panthers the less likely
you are to do it. It was almost pitch-dark; you could see the brute's
yellow eyes gleaming, but no other part of him now, because he matched
the shadows perfectly; but, being a cat, he could see us, and the odds
against a man who should walk into that cage were, as a rough guess, ten
trillion to one.
"Fear is the presence of death, and death is delusion. Follow me then,"
said the Mahatma.
He walked straight in, keeping the lighted lantern on the side of him
farthest from the panther, whose claws I could hear scratching on the
stone flags.
"Keep that light toward him for God's sake!" I urged, having myself had
to use a lantern more than a score of times for protection at night
against the big cats.
"Nay, it troubles his eyes. For God's sake I will hide it from him," the
Mahatma answered. "We must not wait here."
"Come on," said King, and strode in through the open door. So I went in
too, because I did not care to let King see me hesitate. Curiosity had
vanished. I was simply in a blue funk, and rather angry as well at the
absurdity of what we were doing.
The Gray Mahatma turned and shut the gate behind me, taking no notice at
all of the black brute that crouched in the other corner, grumbling and
moaning rather than growling.
Have you ever seen a panther spit and spring when a keeper shoved it out
of the way with the cleaning rake? There is no beast in the world with
whom it is more dangerous to play tricks. Yet in that dark corner, with
the lantern held purposely so that it should not dazzle the panther's
eyes, the Gray Mahatma stirred the beast with his toe and drove him away
as carelessly and incautiously as you might shove your favorite dog
aside! The panther crowded itself against the side of the cage and slunk
away behind us--to the front of the cage that is to say, close by the
padlocked gate--where he crouched again and moaned.
The dark, rear end of the cage was all masonry and formed part of the
building behind it. In the right-hand corner, almost invisible from
outside, was a narrow door of thick teak that opened very readily when
the Mahatma fumbled with it although I saw no lock, hasp or keyhole on
the side toward us. We followed him through into a stone vault.
"And now there is need to be careful," he said, his voice booming and
echoing along unseen corridors. "For though those here, who can harm you
if they will, are without evil intention, nevertheless injury begets
desire to injure. And do either of you know how to make acceptable
explanations to a she-cobra whose young have been trodden on? Therefore
walk with care, observing the lantern light and remembering that as long
as you injure none, none will injure you."
At that he turned on his heel abruptly and walked forward, swinging the
lantern so that its light swept to and fro. We were walking through the
heart of masonry whose blocks were nearly black with age; there was a
smell of ancient sepulchers, and in places the walls were damp enough to
be green and slippery. Presently we came to the top of a flight of stone
steps, each step being made of one enormous block and worn smooth by the
sandalled traffic of centuries. It grew damper as we descended, and
those great blocks were tricky things for a man in boots to walk on; yet
the Gray Mahatma, swinging his lantern several steps below us, kept
calling back:
"Have a care! Have a care! He who falls can do as much injury as he who
jumps! Shall the injured inquire into reasons?"
We descended forty or fifty steps and I, walking last, had just reached
the bottom, when something dashed between my feet, and another something
flicked like a whip-lash after it. As the Mahatma swung the lantern I
just caught sight of an enormous rat closely pursued by a six-foot
snake, and after that we might as well have been in hell for all the
difference it would have made to me.
I don't know how long that tunnel was, but I do know I am not going back
there to measure it. It was nearly as big as the New York Subway, only
built of huge stone blocks instead of concrete. It seemed to be an
inferno, in which cobras hunted rats perpetually; but we saw one swarm
of fiery-eyed rats eating a dead snake.
There were baby cobras by the hundred--savage, six-inch things, and even
smaller, that knew as much of evil, and could slay as surely, as the
full-grown mother-snake that raised her hood and hissed as we passed.
The snakes seemed afraid of the Mahatma, and yet not afraid of him--much
more careful to keep out from under his feet than ours, yet taking no
other apparent notice of him, whereas hundreds of them raised their
hoods and hissed at us. And though nothing touched him, at least fifty
times rats and snakes raced over King's feet and mine, or slipped
between our legs.
"This fellow has some use for us," King said over his shoulder. "He'll
neither be killed himself, nor let us be if he can help it. This is no
new trick. Lots of 'em can manage snakes."
The Gray Mahatma, twenty yards ahead, heard every word of that. He
stopped and let us come quite close up to him.
"Have you seen this?" he asked.
There was a cobra swinging its head about two and a half feet off the
ground within a yard of him. He passed the lantern to me, and holding
out both hands coaxed the venomous thing to come to him as you or I
might coax a stray dog. It obeyed. It laid its head on his hands,
lowered its hood, and climbed until, within six inches of his face, its
head rested on his left shoulder.
"Would you like to try that?" he asked. "You can do it if you wish."
We did not wish, and while we stood there the infernal reptiles were
swarming all around us, rising knee-high and swaying, with their forked
tongues flashing in and out, but showing no inclination to use their
fangs, although many of them raised their hoods. At that moment there
were certainly fifty of the filthy things close enough to strike; and
the bite of any one of them would have meant certain death within
fifteen minutes.
However, they did not bite. The Gray Mahatma set down very gently the
snake that had done his bidding, and then shooed the rest away; they
backed off like a flock of foolish geese, hissing and swaying pretty
much as geese do.
"Come!" he boomed. "Cobras are foolish people, and folly is infectious.
Come away!"