_Take to the garden thy carpet of prayer
Wait, and watch how at God's command
The daffodils girdles of green prepare,
How sentinel straight the cypresses stand.
Forget thyself in the Path-of-Life
Plunge for a second in God's own Sea,
And the Seven Tides of the Water of Strife
Will never encompass thee_.
--Hafiz.
"Lo! I have prayed," said Auntie Rosebody, captiously, "and I have
watched, but naught has come of it save a brow-ache. Truly Ummu, at my
age, piety is fatiguing and 'tis better to trust the senses God gave
than seek a new gift from him. Belike He is tired of old Gulbadan, and
would as lief she took her rest decently in death like the rest of her
generation. One cannot expect Him to count an old woman as worth so
much to the world as a young one."
Little Umm Kulsum looked shocked.
"Nay, Auntie," she began, "are we not taught----"
"Taught," echoed the old lady tartly, "aye, we are taught much that is
not true and more that is no use to us when we lose our way. But
there! it serves me right! None lose themselves on a straight path; so
mine--nay!--it is mine, child, not yours--hath been crooked, that is
the truth. But I have made up my mind. The diamond shall go back to
the jeweller from whom it was taken, for 'tis my belief that his
Majesty the King knows naught about it. When I came from morning
prayers and found him paying his respects to the Lady Mother, my
conscience was exalted to the edge of confession and I began, as one
does begin, to skirt round the subject--I never could abide, like my
revered father--on whom be peace--to go head foremost into cold water.
But the fount of my penitence soon ran dry in the parched desert of
his ignorance. 'Tis useless telling a blind man that you have stolen
his spectacles! So I gave over, came hither, and ordered a _do-piaza_
with double spice of onions to it, for I was sick with fasting. And it
hath cleared my brain. The diamond shall go back, and I will trust the
red madwoman as thou didst suggest last night. For his Highness the
Most-Auspicious spoke of her this morning to Lady Hamida, and bid us
all look out to see this Charan--forsooth!--at the Durbar to-morrow!
Truly my august nephew hath a wit like a camel's cantrip; it leaves
one uncertain whether to laugh or to weep! But he must hold her
faithful, so I will write a letter to the Feringhi in a feigned hand,
appointing time and place for restoration. This she shall take; and
afterward I will lay strict oaths on her, such as not even a woman
could evade, and she shall have the stone, and bring back receipt
therefore. So that settles it, and may God forgive silly old
Gulbadan!" She frowned fiercely. "Yea, grand-daughter, that is the
sting in the scorpion's tail! For once Khanzada Gulbadan Begum hath
been a fool! She hath acted without counting the cost."
So, secretly and in haste, Atma Devi was sent for and shewn into the
little corbeilled balcony overhanging the lofty outside wall of the
palace, where there could be no eavesdroppers save the purple pigeons
that cooed and strutted on the wide cornices.
"The diamond!" she said incredulously. "Oh! Beneficent Ones! it is not
stolen! Or rather it hath been given back. My lord Birbal must have
replaced it, for the King knows naught about it."
"'Tis my lord Birbal who knows naught about it, foolish one," said
Auntie Rosebody, peremptorily, "for he sent it back here safe sewn in
the Prince's turban. Lo! unbeliever, look, and see if I lie."
Her small henna-tinged palm went into her bosom, and there, like a
huge dewdrop among rose leaves, lay the gem.
"The King's Luck," murmured Atma in stupefaction, "the King's Luck!
And yet my lord Birbal knew--this slave knows that he knows, and the
King does not know--this slave knows that he does not know."
"Oh cloud not perspicacity with noes and not noes!" cried Aunt
Rosebody wrathfully and yet with a whimper in her voice. "If the
Most-Excellent is ignorant--as I, too, believe him to be, and as I
pray he may ever remain--that is the more reason why this should go
back at once."
"Aye!" assented Atma, her face scarcely less bewildered than little
Umm Kulsum's as she sate rocking herself to and fro, mechanically
repeating penitential verses of the Koran, "but my lord Birbal
knew--wherefore?"
"Wherefore," echoed Aunt Rosebody vehemently protesting. "Lo! if thou
wilt ask questions, I shall lose my way again. Remember the saying
'Ask not the road of twain
If one can make it plain.'
And for my part, I think the better of Birbal for his silence. If my
nephew knew that his heir had filched his Luck from him----" and then
suddenly she dissolved into tears, "Oh! Gulu! Gulu! beloved of thy
father! why didst not think of this before, thou silly--old--fool?"
Umm Kulsum joined her in tears, only Atma Devi sate calm, frowning.
"Aye," she assented gravely, "I see. The Most High must never know.
Therefore if the Beneficent Lady will give me the letter I will see it
delivered, and when dark comes I can take the King's Luck to the place
appointed."
Aunt Rosebody gave a sigh of relief. "Truly thou art not so bad,
good red-woman. Ummu! my pen and ink. And we--we three will swear
never to open our mouths concerning this again, least of all to the
Most-Auspicious. No! not even as dying confession to ease our
miserable souls."
"Lo! I promise," sobbed Umm Kulsum. "God gives the reward of silence."
"Yea! I promise," murmured Atma softly.
And so it came to pass that just as Birbal had almost given up hope of
coming even upon a trace of the lost diamond; when, thrown back upon
himself, he was meditating the possibility of a private audience with
the Beneficent Ladies, and a complete throwing of himself upon their
mercy, he received a message to come down without delay to the Hall of
Labour. He found William Leedes attempting to make out the meaning of
a little scented note in a brocaded bag, which had been left for him
at the outside door.
"A woman's writing for sure," said Birbal quickly at his first glance.
"See how the curves are clipped showing lack of decision." He read the
first words--"Ye Gods!" he muttered; so ran hastily through the few
lines which appointed a place for the due restoration of the missing
gem.
Then he refolded the letter, replaced it in its covering without a
word, and stood silent, all the confident vitality gone from face and
figure. Suddenly he sniffed at the brocaded bag. "Aye! violets!" he
murmured. "The Lady Umm Kulsum's favourite flower! By heaven and
earth, Birbal! thou art a fool!" He flung his arms out so recklessly
that it seemed as if he would strike himself. "'Tis my mistake after
all, sir jeweller! I must have confused the true and the false, for
this is from the palace." he said bitterly, "and all my searchings, my
chase after that vanishing quantity the harlot Siyah Yamin hath been
lost time! I am a fool!"
It was a few minutes ere his quick brain had regained sufficient
self-confidence to work; but then it worked rapidly. At nine
o'clock--it was now six--by the large flat stone at the Anup tank, not
only William Leedes must be in evidence, but he, Birbal, and a strong
guard of deaf and dumb slaves must be concealed close by so as to
prevent any possibility of treachery. For Birbal did not forget
Akbar's curious challenge to his courtiers that day, or that the safe
conduct given to the Englishman was a promise which an assassin's
dagger might easily break. Ralph Fitch and John Newbery were too far
away to be points of attack, but William Leedes must be guarded. Aye!
and endless other possibilities must be foreseen, and precautions
taken against defeat. For in this case defeat would mean a change in
the King's whole line of policy. It is true that it would also, in all
probability, mean his acceptance of practical politics and so bring
him round to Birbal's point of view--namely that Kingship must follow
certain definite and familiar lines; but Birbal's wholehearted love of
his master could not brook defeat for him. What action he took must be
free, not forced.
So in the interval between the time of receiving the notice of
appointment and the appointment itself Birbal set seriously to work in
consultation with Abulfazl.
"The hounds of hell will scour heaven and earth to find some pitiful
failure," he said finally, almost grinding his teeth with impotent
regret. "Lo! Shaikh-jee! What ails the King at times to give such
handle to his enemies?"
"It is his sense of strength," replied Abulfazl calmly. "He feels like
a God, and of a truth he is one." The Prime Minister's flattery had
grown to be part of himself; he really thought of Akbar as he wrote
about him.
"Perchance!" growled Birbal, "but he lives among men, and men know how
to trick their gods. I can think of no more promises; if thou dost,
guard against failure, for my leisure may be scant."
As he made his way to the appointment, he told himself that it might
be scant indeed; since, somehow, he must recover the diamond that
night. Despite his unbelief, his clear wit, his critical outlook on
all things, he could not escape from the feeling that the best
safeguard to his master would be the repossession of the lucky stone.
Yes! he must recover it.
The night was dark, dark enough to favour the posting of men unseen in
the shadow of the trees to the left of the big flat stone. So dark
that even the still levels of the tank lay unrevealed, save here and
there, where a feeble oil rushlight shone on the shore showing the
little platter of food for the dead on which it stood, the fading
chaplet of flowers twined around the offering.
So dark, so still, so quiet. No sign anywhere of movement.
Stay! up yonder where the steps might begin, a twinkling light. Was it
some other bereaved woman coming to place her remembrance on the
water's edge--or was it the messenger? By heaven! it bore to the
left--just a twinkling light, no more. Birbal held his breath. And
now, grown nearer, the faint circle of radiance showed a hand holding
a little platter of offerings, and on the wrist a fold not of white
but red drapery.
By all that was holy, Atma Devi! Then she was at the bottom of it,
after all!
The next minute he and his slaves were surrounding her and the dark
figure of William Leedes, who had risen from the large flat stone
where he had been waiting.
She stood quite still, apparently not much surprised, and her eyes met
Birbal's without fear.
"Yea, kill me when I have fulfilled my errand," she said quietly, "but
not till then. I have sworn to give it to none but the jeweller. Is he
here?"
"Take it from her, sir jeweller," came the quick order. "I can settle
with her afterward."
There was a pause as Atma Devi appraised the Feringhi's strange dress,
then from amongst the little pile of uncooked grain upon the platter
of the dead, produced the diamond. It shone with a faint lambent glow
in the flickering light of the oil lamp. A sigh of satisfaction came
from Birbal, but William Leedes bent closer to look at what he held
and his face as he raised his head showed ghastly gray.
"It also is false, master," he faltered. "See yonder is the scratch my
tool made on it----"
"False," Birbal stood transfixed, feeling, even amidst his
stupefaction, a quick sense of relief that after all he had made no
mistake. "False," he echoed, and turned on Atma Devi. She also stood
surprised, so surprised that Birbal realised in an instant that she
was innocent of all complicity in whatever had brought about this
astounding revelation. So without a word, he drew out the other false
gem which he had brought with him, and laid it beside its marrow on
the jeweller's palm.
"There be two false stones, sister," he said striving to be calm,
feeling that it was his only chance of getting any hint on which he
could work from her, "but where is the real one; dost know?"
Her great, wide eyes roved helplessly from the twin stones to the
jeweller's face, so back to his; then back again to the stones.
"Pooru must have made them," she said slowly, "but I wist not they
were even made."
Then suddenly she threw up her arms and clapped her hands together
high above her head. The platter of death offerings with its little
lamp falling from her hold, dashed itself to pieces on the stones, and
there was darkness. So from it came her wail--"Lo I have betrayed the
King, I, his Charan! Yet I know nothing." She sank huddled in a heap
upon the ground.
"There is no use wasting further time here," said Birbal roughly after
several vain attempts to rouse Atma Devi from ineffectual despair.
"Leave her to her own condemnation. This points to deeper plotting
than I dreamt of, and there is no moment to lose."
As he hurried off, he marshalled half a hundred theories before the
judgment seat of his brain....
The biggest villain--who was the biggest villain? Khodadad without
doubt, but he was dead. Could _he_ have had the diamond? It was
becoming plain to Birbal that in this scheme of theft some one had
played for the chance of the Great Diamond never coming again within
reach of a jeweller's lathe. Someone had kept the real stone, and
played off false ones upon the conspirators. He must search Khodadad's
house; aye even the corpse which still awaited the next dawn for
burial. Then there was Siyah Yamin; but that devil's limb had once
more disappeared. She would be found, of course--no power, not even
fear, could keep a woman of her kidney quiet for long. But this was
all in the future, and deep down in the cynical heart of the man
lurked a clamour that his King, his master, should have the benefit of
his luck stone within the next few hours. It must not be in the
keeping of his enemies. It must be secure in the safe custody of a
friend.
Yet he felt curiously helpless. Though he had ransacked Fatehpur
Sikri, aye and Agra also, in search of the so-called Sufi from
Isphahan--the mountebank, the juggler with men's senses, he had not
come upon a trace of him. William Leedes was of no use, and the only
other human being friendly to the King who knew of the diamond's loss,
was the half-crazy woman whom he had left crushed in despairing
remorse by the Anup tank. Most likely she would go home and kill
herself with the death-dagger of her race.
Well she was of no use. From beginning to end, she had been a
hindrance, not a help.
And Atma, meanwhile, was feeling that the Seven Tides of the Waters of
Strife had overwhelmed her.
What had she done? She had persuaded Diswunt to give the opportunity
for the theft of the diamond, it is true; but only that she might take
it--as she had taken it--to the keeping of the Beneficent Ladies. And
they had given it back to her. She sate unconscious of the passage of
Time, puzzling herself vainly to account for those twin stones which
had lain shining in the jeweller's palm.