'Sunni,' said Moti, as the two boys rode through the gates of the
courtyard a year later, 'a man of your race has come here, and my
father has permitted him to remain. My father has given him the
old empty jail to live in, behind the monkey temple. They say many
curious things are in his house. Let us ride past it.'
In his whole life Sunni had never heard such an interesting piece
of news before--even Tooni's, about the Maharajah's horseman, was
nothing to this. 'Why is he come?' he asked, putting his little
red Arab into a trot.
'To bring your gods to the Rajputs.'
'I have no gods,' declared Sunni. 'Kali is so ugly--I have no
heart for her. Ganesh makes me laugh, with his elephant's head;
and Tooni says that Allah is not my God.'
'Tooni says,' Sunni went on reflectively, 'that my God is in her
little black book. But I have never seen him.'
Perhaps this Englishman will show him to you,' suggested Moti.
'But His Highness, your father, will he allow strange gods to be
brought to the people?'
'No,' said Moti, 'the people will not look at them. Every one has
been warned. But the stranger is to remain, that he may teach me
English. I do not wish to learn English--or anything. It is
always so hot when the pundit comes. But my father wishes it.'
A pundit is a wise old man who generally has a long white beard,
and thinks nothing in the world is so enjoyable as Sanskrit or
Arabic. Sunni, too, found it hot when the pundit came. But an
English pundit--
'Moti-ji,' said Sunni, laying his arm around the little prince's
neck as they rode together, 'do you love me?'
Moti caught Sunni's hand as it dropped over his shoulder. 'You
know that in my heart there is only my father's face and yours,
Sahib's son,' he said.
'Will you do one thing, then, for love of me?' asked Sunni eagerly.
'Will you ask of the Maharajah, your father, that I also may learn
English from the stranger?'
'No,' said Moti mischievously, 'because it is already spoken,
Sunni-ji. I said that I would not learn unless you also were
compelled to learn, so that the time should not be lost between us.
Now let us gallop very fast past the jail, lest the Englishman
should think we wish to see him. He is to be brought to me
to-morrow at sundown.'
The Englishman at that moment was unpacking his books and his
bottles, and thinking about how he could best begin the work he had
come to Lalpore to do. He was a medical missionary, and as they
had every variety of disease in Lalpore, and the population was
entirely heathen, we may think it likely that he had too much on
his mind to run to the window to see such very young royalty ride
by.
'Sunni-ji,' said Moti that afternoon in the garden, 'I am very
tired of talking of this Englishman.'
'I could talk of him for nine moons,' said Sunni; and then
something occurred which changed the subject as completely as even
the little prince could desire. This was a garden for the pleasure
of the ladies of the court; they never came out in it, but their
apartments looked down upon it, and a very high wall screened it
from the rest of the world. The Maharajah and Moti and Sunni were
the only people who might ever walk there. As the boys turned at
the end of a path directly under the gratings, they heard a soft
voice say 'Moti!'
'That is Matiya,' said the little prince. 'I do not like Matiya.
What is it, Matiya?'
'It is not Matiya,' said the voice quickly, 'it is Tarra. Here is
a gift from the heart of Tarra, little parrot, a gift for you, and
a gift for the Sahib's son; also a sweet cake, but the cake is for
Moti.'
'I am sure it was Matiya,' said Moti, running to pick the packet
out of the rose-bush it had fallen into; 'but Matiya was never kind
before.'
The packet held a necklace and an armlet. The necklace was of
little pearls and big amethysts strung upon fine wire, three rows
of pearls, and then an amethyst, and was very lovely. The armlet
was of gold, with small rubies and turquoises set in a pattern.
The boys looked at them more or less indifferently. They had seen
so many jewels.
'Matiya--if you think it was Matiya--makes pretty gifts,' said
Sunni, 'and the Maharajah will keep your necklace for you for ever
in an iron box. But this armlet will get broken just as the other
two armlets that were given to me have got broken. I cannot wear
armlets and play polo, and I would rather play polo.'
'That is because you were clumsy,' Moti answered. Moti was peevish
that afternoon. The Maharajah had refused him a gun, and he
particularly wanted a gun, not to shoot anything, but to frighten
the crows with and perhaps the coolie-folk. To console himself
Moti had eaten twice as many sweetmeats as were good for him, and
was in a bad temper accordingly.
'Now they are certainly of Tarra, these jewels,' exclaimed Sunni,
'I remember that necklace upon her neck, for every time Tarra has
kissed me, that fifth stone which has been broken in the cutting
has scratched my face.'
'In one word,' said Moti imperiously, 'it was the voice of Matiya.
And this perplexes me, for Matiya, hating my mother, hates me also,
I think.'
'Why did she hate your mother?' asked Sunni.
'How stupid you are to-day! You have heard the story two hundred
times! Because she thought that she should have been chosen to be
queen instead of my mother. It is true that she was more
beautiful, but my mother was a pundita. And she was not chosen.
She is only second in the palace. And she has no children, while
my mother was the mother of a king.'
'No,' said Sunni, 'I never heard that before, Moti.'
'But I say you have! Two hundred times! And look, O thoughtless
one, you have gone between me and the sun, so that even now your
shadow falls upon my sugar-cake--my cake stuffed with almonds,
which is the kind I most love, and therefore I cannot eat it.
There,' cried Moti, contemptuously, 'take it yourself and eat
it--you have no caste to break.'
For a minute Sunni was as angry as possible. Then he reflected
that it was silly to be angry with a person who was not very well.
'Listen, Moti,' he said, 'that was indeed a fault. I should have
walked to the north. But I will not eat your cake--let us give it
to the red and gold fishes in the fountain.'
'Some of it,' said Moti, appeased, 'and some to my new little
monkey--my talking monkey.'
The fishes darted up for the crumbs greedily, but the monkey was
not as grateful for her share as she ought to have been. She took
it, smelt it, wiped it vigorously on the ground, smelt it again,
and chattered angrily at the boys; then she went nimbly hand over
hand to the very top of the banyan-tree she lived in; and then she
deliberately broke it into little pieces and pelted the givers with
them.
'She is not hungry to-day,' said Moti. 'Let us take out the
falcons.'
Next morning the Maharajah was very much annoyed by the
intelligence that all the little red-spotted fishes were floating
flabby and flat and dead among the lily pads of the fountain--there
were few things except Moti that the Maharajah loved better than
his little red-spotted fishes. He wanted very particularly to know
why they should have died in this unanimous and apparently
preconcerted way. The gods had probably killed them by lightning,
but the Maharajah wanted to know. So he sent for the Englishman,
who did not mind touching a dead thing, and the Englishman told him
that the little red-spotted fishes had undoubtedly been poisoned.
Moti was listening when the doctor said this.
'It could not have been the cake,' said Moti.
But when all was looked into, including one of the little fishes,
Dr. Roberts found that it undoubtedly had been the cake. Scraps of
it were still lying about the banyan-tree to help him to this
conclusion, and the monkey chattered as if she could give evidence,
too, if anybody would listen. But she gave evidence enough in not
eating it. Everybody, that is, everybody in Rajputana, knows that
you can never poison a monkey. The little prince maintained that
the voice he heard was the voice of Matiya, yet every one
recognised the jewels to be Tarra's. There was nothing else to go
upon, and the Maharajah decided that it was impossible to tell
which of the two had wickedly tried to poison his eldest son. He
arranged, however, that they should both disappear--he could not
possibly risk a mistake in the matter. And I wish that had been
the greatest of the Maharajah's injustices. When the truth came
out, later, that it was undoubtedly Matiya, the Maharajah said that
he had always been a good deal of that opinion, and built a
beautiful domed white marble tomb, partly in memory of Tarra and
partly, I fear, to commemorate his own sagacity, which may seem,
under the circumstances, a little odd.
The really curious thing was, however, that out of it all came
honour and glory for Sunni. For what, asked the Maharajah, had
prevented the poisoning of his son? What but the shadow of Sunni,
which fell upon the cake, so that Moti could not eat it!
Therefore, without doubt, Sunni had saved the life of a king; and
he could ask nothing that should not be granted to him; he should
stand always near the throne. Sunni felt very proud and important,
he did not know exactly why; but he could not think of anything he
wanted, except to learn his own language from the Englishman.
'Oh, foolish bargainer!' cried Moti, 'when you know that has been
given already!'