THE BABU AND THE BRAHMIN.
Rats are credited with instinct that enables them to leave a ship
some time before it sinks. Bamjee had perhaps evolved beyond that
animal characteristic without losing the desire to practice it. He
was as fearful and as fearless as a rat--as full of cunning and
as energetic--as suspicious and as keen on testing information for
himself. What he lacked in actual intuition was compensated by peculiar
alertness.
He was not at all afraid of venturing so near to a trap, or even into
one, that a sneeze or a sigh would have snapped the spring. But he was
difficult to catch. And being an incredulous, irreverent, observant rat
he understood the ways of temple Brahmins--which is more than quite
a number of the Brahmins do, since, like the rest of us, they are,
generally speaking, lazy and accept as truth much untruth as their
seniors believe it wise to tell them.
"My God!" said Bamjee to himself, when he had shed the palace finery
and once more held his silken pants-leg as he flitted through the
palace shrubbery in quest of secret foothold on the palace wall. "My
God! If she should order that cursed auditor to tell the truth about
me--Krishna! Women in authority are worse than men. They are more
cunning. They are willing to let themselves be cheated, so as to have
you by the short hair. And they hang on--dammit! Dammit! Dammit! On the
other hand, should she lose her throne, this _babu's_ job is gone. The
auditor would see to that; I should have paid that scoundrel a better
percentage--maybe--maybe--but beggars on horseback ride you down. To
hell with them. And if she wins this battle with the Brahmins she will
probably dismiss me anyhow and try to find an honest man for my job.
There aren't any. She will ruin herself learning that the honest men
are too big fools to be trusted. But that won't help poor Bamjee. This
_babu_ must climb on fence, part hair in middle for balancing purposes
and be ready to jump kerplunk into the arms of either side with
nuisance value well established."
For a beginning he climbed the palace wall in total darkness, leaving
his pants inside the palace grounds. He did not propose to go home yet,
partly from fear that his movements might be traced. It might not
matter if they were traced, but--
"If I should choose to qualify the truth a little, it might be awkward
if some liar knew where I actually went. I can do my own lying, thank
you. And it costs less."
So he found a small storekeeper who owed him money and who felt
flattered by being aroused from bed by such an important personage. To
him he told a long yarn about having been stripped by thieves--
"And if it were known that such bad thieves lurk in your neighborhood,
where there is only your shop and a few stables, you might find
yourself in bad with the police, who would come and search you--and you
know what that means! So you had better say nothing about it."
He bought several yards of cotton cloth and dressed himself native
style. He also bought a cotton turban, wrapping the silk one carefully
around his body underneath his shirt, and into that he tucked his
remaining money.
"Now perhaps I can venture homeward without being robbed," he remarked
to the storekeeper; and having started homeward because he was sure the
storekeeper would watch him out of sight, he made a circuit and went
hurrying in the opposite direction.
His goal now was the Pul-ke-Nichi--the long, narrow thoroughfare on the
far side of the city, that dipped down between two mounds, on which the
temples of Siva and Kali stood, connected by an ancient bridge. He had
no fear of not finding Brahmins awake.
"Two things would wake them anyhow," he told himself, "the chink of
money; and the least little whisper of smelly, secret news--they love
it."
* * * * *
He was tired to the bone, but he solved that problem. To the pious
horror of the temple Brahmins the Ranee had recently installed a modern
hospital in that part of town in charge of a young Sikh doctor, who
was nothing if not keen on getting cases. There was a motor cycle
ambulance, and a night bell.
Bamjee rang the bell, gave a false name and told circumstantial details
of an accident. He offered to show the way to where the victim was, and
the doctor decided to drive the ambulance himself; his presence on the
scene, instead of the ignorant ambulance man, might save the victim's
life.
So Bamjee lay in comfort in the ambulance while the doctor drove
at full tilt through the city, missing the legs of sleeping men by
inches, clearing the way with his horn and breaking all the rules of
even reckless driving with a confidence in destiny and disregard for
risk that would never occur to any one except a Sikh intent on winning
laurels for himself.
And in the dark trough of the Pul-ke-Nichi, where the bridge cast
pitch-black shadows and there were too many sleeping nondescripts for
even a Sikh to take that chance of killing some one, Bamjee stepped out
of the ambulance to find the supposititious victim--
"Compound fracture of both thigh bones, doctor, and the ribs of both
sides--one arm broken also, and perhaps internal injury--a very
interesting case."
That was the last the doctor saw of him. He slid into a shadow and
followed it beside the ponderous wall of Siva's temple.
There he was challenged. Two men in yellow robes ran out and blocked
his way. They scurrilously mocked his glib confession of sinfulness and
a desire to meditate on the omnipresence of death in life and life in
death. They called him a casteless miscreant, who might go and mock his
lady mother on a dung hill. So Bamjee was obliged to change his method.
"Business," he whispered, "with the high priest! You are undoubtedly
'twice born,' both of you, to make you twice as stupid as you look,
but you had better tell the high priest Bamjee is here. Yes, Bamjee!
Yes, Bamjee--the man who caused your temple to be defiled with
Johnson's Jubilee Germ Exterminator! Bamjee with a message for the high
priest--sounds important, doesn't it?"
There was whispered consultation. One man took the message and the
other stayed. There followed prickly silence for a space of fifteen
minutes, broken into irregular intervals by the impatient honking of
the Sikh doctor's horn, until the messenger returned.
Bamjee was to be admitted--not into the temple, but into the cell
across the courtyard in which virtually unclean visitors were sometimes
as an act of mercy, blessed through a hole in a wall of the temple
basement. So he was soused with water that had been treated by
incantation, hustled across the courtyard along a row of flagstones
that were also immunized against the tread of ritually unclean feet,
and thrust into a bare stone chamber. Bamjee shuddered as the door
slammed shut behind him and he heard the bolt slide home.
"Oh, my God!" he said. "What a man won't risk to save his neck!"
On three or four walls little lamps were burning, leaving the door in
shadow. In the wall that faced the door there was a round hole, showing
that the masonry was ten feet thick; the hole was trumpet-shaped, its
small end inward; Bamjee did not dare to examine that very closely
until he had blown out two of the three lamps and adjusted the wick of
the third.
"But they will hardly dare to kill me," he reflected. "Nobody knows I
was not seen to enter here. Phuh--death is an unpleasant topic--let me
think of something else."
* * * * *
He examined the stone chamber. There was no window. He could hear
nothing except his own blood surging in his veins. He crept close to
the wall and peered very cautiously into the trumpet-shaped hole, but
could see nothing; it appeared to be closed at the far end. However,
presently he heard a shutter slide in iron grooves at the end of the
hole in the wall. A voice spoke angrily, complaining that the lamps
were not properly lit in the chamber. Another voice offered to send an
attendant to light them.
"No, but discover whose fault it is. Impose a heavy penance. Go now.
Close the door."
"Is that the most holy and reverend twice-born confidant of gods and
treasurer of wisdom who presides over all the Brahmins of this temple
to be an example to men and a blessing to the world?" asked Bamjee.
"Humbly then I kiss feet. Humbly I ask blessing."
Through the hole came the mumbled perfunctory formula. Then:
"Who are you and what do you want?"
"All-wise, I am Bamjee bearing bad news."
"Because, for the sake of your pocket, you defiled this temple, you are
doomed for a thousand lives to be a blind worm in the belly of a dog!"
"I know it! I know it! I sinned and the sin is on my head. (_Dog of a
Brahmin! Humble am I? You shall pay for it!_) But may I not commence to
purge my sin? (_Purge your own, you old tyrant!_) This _babu_ has had
sudden change of heart. Some god has probably observed what wrong this
_babu_ did (_You old devil, I'd like to drown you in a tub of sewage!_)
and stirred an impulse to do better and to make amends. Oh, Most
Wise--_Muddle-head_--if this _babu_ has wrought evil, you yourself will
do worse evil unless you give him opportunity to make compensation for
his ill deeds! Am contrite! Am able to do valuable service. Am, above
all, ab-so-lutely bent on telling truth and nothing but truth. Pity me
and listen!"
"You shall be heard."
The shutter squealed back into place along its iron grooves and there
was silence again so almost absolute that Bamjee knew he would go mad
if it should last long. He could hear the noises in his head that are
so quiet and so intimate that we are unconscious of them until real
silence stimulates hearing and imagination invents mysterious reasons
for them. Silence is no sedative. It arouses self-analysis. But in
Bamjee it also aroused a saving sense of humor.
"Yes, am rogue undoubtedly. Am that sort of person. But it takes
_all_ sorts of persons to make a universe, and I did not create
myself--unfortunately. Had I done so this poor _babu_ would be
billionaire--most estimable personage, with lickspittles by the
dozen to say to him, 'Yes, _sahib_' and 'marvellous' and 'such
high-mindedness'! Instead of which, even these rascally Brahmins dare
to call me a low-minded nasty crook! No, this _babu_ did not build the
universe. Not guilty! And by Krishna, who is a legend, and by Ingersoll
and Bradlaugh, who lifted themselves by the seat of the pants in order
to prove there are no such things as miracles, these noises in my head
will give me religion unless I watch out! Ah!"
Somebody was coming. The door bolt rattled. Bamjee was himself again,
and by the time the door opened he looked like an idol made of hardened
india-rubber, squatting with his back against the wall.
"Such hospitality! Such courtesy!" he exclaimed. "You have a mat for
yourself, I see. Bring two mats. This stone floor is not salubrious to
sit on."
The partly opened door slammed shut again.
"High priest is one thing," Bamjee remarked to himself. "High priest's
deputy assistant walking alibi is camel of a different smell. Noose
that would neatly fit neck of high priest would not make finger-ring
for expert alibi. Must use ax--verbally that is--plus irritant. An
irritant deputy assistant alibi is good--as ginger under horse's
tail--will kick his master into difficulties. Now then--"
* * * * *
The bolt rattled again. A temple servant entered, threw a mat on the
floor and walked out. Bamjee spread the mat and sat on it, resuming his
look of molded impassivity.
A Brahmin entered, well-fed, rather athletic-looking, haughty, with the
self-esteem derived from a monopoly of wisdom, carrying his sacred mat
under his arm. He spread the mat as far away from Bamjee as he could
and sat down, muttering incantations calculated to preserve him from
contamination.
"I kiss feet," Bamjee murmured with almost as much perfunctory
insolence as the Brahmin conveyed with his answering, equally formal,
blessing.
"You are a spy," said the Brahmin.
"I am," said Bamjee. That admission rather took the Brahmin's breath
away. He blinked perceptibly. There was a long pause. Presently: "You
have the impudence to try to spy on us?"
"Have? No. Had? Yes. No further need. Have found out what is necessary.
Business of bargain now."
"Miscreant! Who would bargain with you?"
"Any sort of half-wise, sanctimonious sweeper of crumbs of sanctity who
did not want to pass up any wise bets."
"Do you know what happens to fools who are disrespectful to the
Brahmins?"
"I know what happens to Brahmins who shut their eyes to opportunity.
They are just like other people--only more so. Esteeming themselves
higher they fall harder and it hurts worse. This _babu_ is versed
in several theologies, including atheism and relativity--perfectly
familiar with theory that all is illusion and nothing provable. Am
possibly a hypothetical assemblage of imaginary atoms, saying nothing
to nobody in a vacuum abhorred by nonexistent nature. Nevertheless,
you kid yourself you are somebody very important. Self, am pragmatist
with positivistic tendencies that tell me your fall from your high
place would hurt your imaginary feelings more than my fall from my low
place could hurt mine. So you had better get down off that high place.
It is much more comfortable down here."
The Brahmin scowled. Special sanctity can endure all inflictions except
ridicule.
"Concerning what do you wish to drive a bargain?"
And now Bamjee showed genius. He knew he had pitted himself against
a system--a morass of metaphysical influence that could swamp any
individual as surely as stone age swamps yielded and smothered the
mastodons' strength. He who would prance upon swamps requires agility
and wit. Metaphysics must be met with metaphysics; bludgeons are no use
whatever.
"Lost in mazes of speculative philosophy, this _babu_ seeks something
to which to cling--something that somebody else thinks is solid,
even if it isn't. If we are all kidding ourselves, why not do it in
easiest possible way. You may be right. Your teachings may be right.
If they are wrong, it doesn't matter, and if they are right then the
sooner this _babu_ accepts them the better, not only for me but for
you also. If it is true that you have power to bless and curse, I buy
blessing! With money? No. Money is imaginary and evasive symbol of
gross materialism--much too difficult to get--and of no importance to
one of your sanctity. This _babu's_ services, however, are for sale,
also without money payment. In other words, with swap. My definite and
dangerous deeds in this world, against your hypothetical assistance in
the next!
"Am, like English Prime Minister Balfour, an honest doubter, doubting
own agnosticism and afraid of consequences--if any. Shamelessly,
therefore, will sell to you, in this world, now, if there is such a
thing as now, all secrets of Her Highness, the Ranee, insofar as they
are known to this _babu_, together with this _babu's_ allegiance--in
exchange for forgiveness of past offenses and recognition as eligible
candidate for preferment in after life, if, as, and when. Something for
nothing--maybe. But your nothing may be something after all. If so, I
want it."
"You speak like a man possessed by devils."
"Many devils. Mad ones. Some so devilish that if you refuse to accept
my repentance and to put me on favored waiting list of applicants for
spiritual bliss, I will certainly be much more devilish and instead of
working against the Ranee, I will work against you. Instead of telling
you what I know about her, I will tell her what I know about you. In
other words, if I can save my soul, I will; but if I am to be damned,
there shall be no more damnable enemy of sanctity, living or dead, than
myself. So now you know. Forgive me, bless me and use my services--or
look out!"
"Blessedness can make no bargains."
* * * * *
"Too bad. Blessedness will wish it were cussedness before I have
finished, in that case. I am not afraid of you in this world. It is the
next I am thinking about. You can, of course, detain me if you wish,
and I know there are dark dungeons somewhere, into which inconvenient
enemies of Brahmins vanish. Oh, yes, indeed. I even know where those
dungeons are. And I know the names of individuals who have vanished
into them. But I did not come here alone, and if I fail to reappear
within a certain time there will be reprisals."
"Liar! You came in an ambulance. You gave a false name to the doctor
who brought you. You are a servant of the Ranee and an accomplice of
that impostor Quorn, who calls himself the Gunga _sahib_. Quorn--even
at this minute--is meeting the fate he deserves. You? For you, what
evil destiny is bad enough?"
"Oh, well, no use talking to you. Let me go," said Bamjee, covering his
agony of fear under a very well-acted cloak of indifference. Cold sweat
was bursting out of every pore in his body and he felt sick at the
stomach, but he looked belligerently insolent.
The Brahmin rose, rolled up his mat and made a signal on the teak door,
rapping with his heavy finger-ring. The door opened and the Brahmin
stood back to let Bamjee precede him.
"To your doom!" he remarked in a strange, startling voice. "Never enter
this temple again!"
"Sanctity first!" said Bamjee with a mocking bow of abject reverence.
He waited. The Brahmin waited. At last the Brahmin shrugged his
shoulders, began murmuring a _mantram_ nasally, like an angry swarm of
hornets, and led the way out.
His signal, it appeared, was misinterpreted. A long stick, swung with
strong hands by a man who hid beside the wall on tiptoe, came down
like a pole-ax on his shaved crown. It broke the stick. It cracked his
skull. A second stick, from the opposite side of the door, descended on
him before the blood had time to burst through the broken skin or his
knees had time to give beneath him. Then he fell like a steer and his
blood went pouring on the paving-stones.
The apparition--the white, whirling specter that seized half the broken
stick, leaped over the body and dived into the darkest courtyard
shadow--was Bamjee. One of the men beside the door gave chase--until a
shadow leaped to life and the point of Bamjee's broken stick so nearly
disemboweled him that he rolled in silent agony, his knees on his
chest. Somebody shouted to the men on guard to close the outer gate.
There was a clash of chains, the hinges squealed and the gate shut with
a clang in Bamjee's face. But it was pitch-dark by the gate. None saw
him.
"Seize him!" a voice shouted.
"Too late--too late!" came the answer. "He escaped us."