THE FEAST OF THE GODDESS KALI
The Rains were nearing their end, and with them the Darjeeling Season was
drawing to a close. To Noreen Daleham it had lost its savour since Dermot's
departure. Her feelings towards Ida had undergone a radical change; her
admiration of and affection for her old schoolfellow had vanished. Her eyes
were opened, and she now saw plainly the true character of the woman whom
once she was proud to call her friend. The girl wondered that she could
have ever been deceived, for she now understood the many innuendoes that
had been made in her hearing against Mrs. Smith, as well as many things in
that lady's own behaviour that had perplexed her at the time.
But towards the man her feelings were frankly anger and contempt. He had
rudely awakened her from a beautiful dream; for that she could never
forgive him. Her idol was shattered, never again to be made whole, so she
vowed in the bitterness of her desolate soul. It was not friendship that
she had felt for him--she realised that now. It was love. She had given him
her whole heart in a girl's first, pure, ideal love. And he had despised
the gift and trampled it in the mire of unholy passion. She knew that it
was the love of her life. Never could any man be to her what he had been.
But what did it matter to Dermot? she thought bitterly. She had passed out
of his life. She had never been anything in it. He had been amused for an
idle moment by her simplicity, tool that she was. What he had done, had
risked for her, he would have done and risked for any other woman. Why did
he not write to her after his departure as he might have done? She almost
hoped that he would, so that she could answer him and pour out on him, if
only on paper, the scorn and disgust that filled her. But no; she would not
do that. The more dignified course would be to ignore his letter
altogether. If only she could hurt him she felt that she would accept any
other man's offer of marriage. But even then he wouldn't care. He had
always stood aside in Darjeeling and let others strive for her favour. And
she was put to the test, for first Charlesworth and then Melville had
proposed to her.
Though Noreen's heart was frozen towards her quondam friend, Ida never
perceived the fact. For the elder woman was so thoroughly satisfied with
herself that it never occurred to her that any one whom she honoured with
her liking could do aught but be devoted to her in return. And against the
granite of her self-sufficiency the iron of the girl's proud anger broke
until at length, baffled by the other's conceit, Noreen drifted back into
the semblance of her former friendliness. And Ida never remarked any
difference.
A hundred miles away Dermot roamed the hills and forest again. The
interdict of the Rains was lifted, and the game was afoot once more.
The portents of the coming storm were intensified. Much that the Divisional
Commander, General Heyland, had revealed to him in their confidential
interviews at Darjeeling was being corroborated by happenings in other
parts of the Peninsula, in Afghanistan, in China, and elsewhere. Signs were
not wanting on the border that Dermot had to guard. Messengers crossing and
re-crossing the Bhutan frontier were increasing in numbers and frequency;
and he had at length succeeded in tracking some of them to a destination
that first gave him a clue to the seat and identity of the organisers of
the conspiracy in Bengal.
For one or two Bhutanese had been traced to the capital of the Native State
of Lalpuri, and others, having got into Indian territory, had been met by
Hindus who were subsequently followed to the same ill-famed town. But once
inside the maze of its bazaars their trail was hopelessly lost. It was
useless to appeal to the authorities of the State. Their reputation and the
character of their ruler were so bad that it was highly probable that the
Rajah and all his counsellors were implicated in the plot. But how to bring
it home to them Dermot did not know. By his secret instructions several of
the messengers to and from Bhutan were the victims of apparent highway
robbery in the hills. But no search of them revealed anything compromising,
no treasonable correspondence between enemies within and without. The men
would not speak, and he could not sanction the proposals made to him by
which they should be induced so to do.
The planters began to report to him a marked increase in the mutinous
spirit exhibited by their coolies; arms were found in the possession of
these men, and there was reason to fear a combined rising of the labourers
on all the estates of the Duars. Dermot advised Rice to send his wife to
England, but the lady showed no desire to return to her loudly-regretted
London suburb.
Every time that the Major met Daleham he expected to be told of Noreen's
engagement, perhaps even her wedding. But he heard nothing. When he
found that Fred was beginning to arrange for her return to Malpura and
that--instigated by Chunerbutty--he refused to consider the advisability
of her remaining away until conditions were better in the Terai, Dermot
persuaded him to replace his untrustworthy Bengali house-servants by
reliable Mussulman domestics, warlike Punjaubis, whom the soldier
procured. They were men not unused to firearms, and capable of defending
the bungalow if necessary.
He and Badshah, who was happy to have his man with him again, kept
indefatigable watch and ward along the frontier. Sometimes Dermot assembled
the herd, which had learned to obey him almost like a pack of hounds, and,
concealed among them, penetrated across the border into Bhutan and explored
hidden spots where hostile troops might be concentrated. Only rarely a
wandering Bhuttia chanced to see him, and then the terrified man would veil
his eyes, fearing to behold the doings of the terrible Elephant God.
The constant work and preoccupation kept Dermot from dwelling much on
Noreen. Nevertheless, he thought often of the girl and hoped that she would
be happy when she married the man she was said to have chosen. He felt no
jealousy of Charlesworth; on the contrary, he admired him as a good
sportsman and a manly fellow, as well as he could judge from the little
that he had seen of him. The very fact that the girl who was his friend had
chosen the Rifleman as her husband, according to Mrs. Smith, made him ready
to like the man. He was not in love with the girl and had no desire to
marry, for he was wedded to his profession and had always held that a
soldier married was a soldier marred.
Thus while Dermot thought far seldomer of Noreen, whom he acknowledged to
himself he liked more than any other woman he had ever met, she, who
assured herself every day that she hated and despised him, could not keep
him out of her mind. And all the more so as she began to have doubts of the
truth of Ida's story. For the girl, who could not resist watching her
friend's post every day, much as she despised herself for doing it,
observed that no letter ever came to Mrs. Smith in Dermot's handwriting.
And, although Ida had talked much and sentimentally of him for days after
his departure, she appeared to forget him soon, and before long was
engrossed in a good-looking young civilian from Calcutta. Bain had long
since left Darjeeling.
Could it all have been a figment of the woman's imagination and
vanity?--for Noreen now realised how colossally vain she was. Had she
misunderstood or, worse still, misrepresented him? But that thought was
almost more painful to the girl than the certainty of his guilt. For if
it were true, how cruelly, how vilely unjust she had been to the man who
had saved her at the peril of his life, the man who had called her his
friend, who had trusted in her loyalty! No, no; better that he were
proved worthless, dishonourable. That thought were easier to bear.
Sometimes the girl almost wished that she could see him again so that she
might ask him the truth. She could learn nothing now from Ida, who calmly
ignored all attempts to extract information from her. Yet how could she
question him, Noreen asked herself. She could not even hint to him that she
had any knowledge of the affair, for her friend had divulged it to her in
confidence. If only she were back at Malpura! He might come to her again
there and perhaps of his own free will tell her what to believe of him. But
when in a letter she broached the subject of her return to her brother,
Fred bade her wait, for he hoped that he might be able to join her in
Darjeeling for a few days during the Puja holidays.
During the great festival of Durgá-Puja, or the Dússera, as it is variously
called, no Hindu works if he can help it, especially in Bengal. As all
Government and private offices in Calcutta are closed for it, every
European there, who can, escapes to Darjeeling, twenty-four hours away by
rail, and the Season in that hill-station dies in a final blaze of
splendour and gaiety in the mad rush of revelry of the Puja holidays. And
Fred hoped that he might he there to see its ending, if Parry would keep
sober long enough to let his assistant get away for a few days. When he
returned, Daleham wrote, he would bring Noreen back with him.
Dermot's activities on the frontier were not passing unmarked by the chief
conspirators in Lalpuri. His measures against their messengers focussed
attention on him. The _Dewan_, a far better judge of men and things than
Chunerbutty, did not make the mistake of despising him merely because he
was a soldier. The old man realised that it was not wise to count British
officers fools. He knew too well how efficient the Indian Military
Intelligence Department had proved itself. So he began to collect
information about this white man who might seriously inconvenience them or
derange their plans. And he came to the conclusion that the inquisitive
soldier must be put out of the way.
Assassination can be raised to a fine art in a Native State--where a man's
life is worth far less than a cow's if the State be a Hindu one--provided
that the prying eyes of British Political Officers are not turned that way.
True, Dermot was in British territory, but in such an uncivilised part of
it that his removal ought not to be difficult considering his habit of
wandering alone about the hills and jungle.
So thought the _Dewan_. But the old man found to his surprise that it
was very difficult to put his hand on any one willing to attempt
Dermot's life. No sum however large could tempt any Bhuttia on either
side of the border-line, or any Hindu in the Duars. Even the Brahmin
extremists acting as missionaries on the tea-gardens fought shy of him.
Superstition was his sure shield.
Then the _Dewan_ fell back on the bazaar of Lalpuri City. But in that den
of criminals there was not one cut-throat that did not know of the terrible
Elephant God-Man and the appalling vengeance that he had wreaked on the
Rajah's soldiers in the forest. The _Dewan_ might cajole or threaten, but
there was not one ruffian in the bazaar who did not prefer to risk his
anger to the certainty of the hideous fate awaiting the rash mortal that
crossed the path of this dread being who fed his magic elephants on the
living flesh of his foes.
The _Dewan_ was not baffled. If the local villains failed him an assassin
must be imported from elsewhere. So the extremist leaders in Calcutta,
being appealed to, sent more than one fanatical young Brahmin from that
city to Lalpuri, where they were put in the way to remove Dermot. But when
in bazaar or Palace his reputation reached their ears they drew back. One
was sent direct from Calcutta to the Terai, so that he would not be scared
by the foolish tales of the men of Lalpuri. But his first enquiries among
the countryfolk as to where to find Dermot brought him such illuminating
information that, not daring to return unsuccessful to those who had sent
him, he turned against his own breast the weapon that he had meant for the
British officer.
Then the _Dewan_ sent for Chunerbutty and took counsel with him, as being
more conversant with European ways. And the result was a cunning and
elaborate plot, such as from its very tortuousness and complexity would
appeal to the heart of an Oriental.
The Rajah of Lalpuri, being of Mahratta descent, tried to copy in many
things the great Mahratta chiefs in other parts of India, such as the
Gaekwar of Baroda and the Maharajah Holkar of Indore. He had long been
anxious to imitate Holkar's method of celebrating the Dússera or Durgá
Festival, particularly that part of it where a bull is sacrificed in public
by the Maharajah on the fourth day of the feast. The _Dewan_ had always
opposed it, but now he suddenly veered round and suggested that it should
be done. In Indore all the Europeans of the cantonment and many of the
ladies and officers from the neighbouring military station of Mhow were
always invited to be present on the fourth day. The old plotter proposed
that, similarly, some of the English community of the Duars, the Civil
Servants and planters, should receive invitations to Lalpuri. It would seem
only natural to include the Officer Commanding Ranga Duar. And to tempt
Dermot into the trap Chunerbutty suggested Noreen as a bait, undertaking to
persuade her brother to bring her.
The Rajah was delighted at the thought of her presence in the Palace. The
_Dewan_ smiled and quoted two Hindu proverbs:
"Where the honey is spread there will the flies gather," said he. "Any lure
is good that brings the bird to the net."
The consequence of the plotting was that Noreen Daleham, fretting in
Darjeeling at having to wait for her brother to come there for the Puja
holidays, received a letter from him saying that he had changed his mind
and had accepted an invitation from the Rajah of Lalpuri for her and
himself to be present at the celebrations of the great Hindu festival at
the Palace. She was to pack up and leave at once by rail to Jalpaiguri,
where he would meet her with a motor-car lent him for the purpose by the
Lalpuri Durbar, or State Council. If Mrs. Smith cared to accompany her an
invitation for her would be at once forthcoming. Fred added that he was
making up a party from their district which included Payne, Granger, and
the Rices. From Lalpuri Noreen would return with him to Malpura.
The girl was delighted at the thought of leaving Darjeeling sooner than she
had expected. To her surprise Ida announced her intention of accompanying
her to Lalpuri. But the fact that her Calcutta friend was returning to the
city on the Hoogly and that by going with Noreen she could travel with him
as far as Jalpaiguri explained it.
Chunerbutty, deputed by the Rajah to act as host to his European guests,
met Daleham's party when they arrived at the gates of Lalpuri and
conducted them to the Palace. They passed through the teeming city with
its thronged bazaar, its narrow, winding streets hemmed in by the
overhanging houses with their painted walls and closely-latticed windows
through which thousands of female eyes peered inquisitively at the white
women, the brightly dressed crowds flattening themselves against the
walls to get out of the way of the two cavalry soldiers of the Rajah's
Bodyguard who galloped recklessly ahead of the car. Soon they reached
the _Nila Mahal_, or Blue Palace, as His Highness's residence was
called, with its iron-studded gates, carved doors, and countless wooden
balconies. A swarm of retainers in magnificent, if soiled, gold-laced
liveries filled the courtyards, and bare-footed sepoys in red coats,
generally burst at the seams and lacking buttons, and old shakoes with
white cotton flaps hanging down behind, guarded the entrance.
A wing of the Palace had been cleared out and hastily furnished in an
attempt to suit European tastes. The guests were accommodated in rooms
floored with marble, generally badly stained or broken. Two large chambers
tiled and wainscoted with wonderfully carved blackwood panels were
apportioned as dining-hall and sitting-room for the English visitors. All
the windows of the wing, many of them closely screened, looked on an inner
courtyard which was bounded on two sides by other buildings of the Palace.
The fourth side was divided off from another courtyard by a high blank wall
pierced by a large gateway, the leaves of the gate hanging broken and
useless from the posts.
Ida and Noreen were given rooms beside each other and were amused at the
heterogeneous collection of odd pieces of furniture in them. The old
four-posted beds with funereal canopies and moth-eaten curtains had
probably been brought from England a hundred years before. In small
chambers off their rooms, with marble walls and floors, and windows
filled with thin slabs of alabaster carved in the most exquisite tracery
as delicate as lace, galvanised iron tubs to be used as baths looked
sadly out of place.
When they had freshened themselves up after their long motor drive they
went down to the dining-hall, where lunch was to be served. And when she
entered the room the first person that Noreen saw was Dermot, seated at a
small table with Payne and Granger.
On his return from a secret excursion across the Bhutan border the Major
had found awaiting him at Ranga Duar the official invitation of the Lalpuri
Durbar. He was very much surprised at it; for he knew that the State had
never encouraged visits from Europeans, and had, when possible, invariably
refused admission to all except important British officials, who could not
be denied. Such a thing as actually entertaining Englishmen of its own
accord was unknown in its annals. So he stared at the large card printed in
gold and embossed with the coat-of-arms of Lalpuri in colours, and wondered
what motive lay behind the invitation. That it betokened a fresh move in
the conspiracy he was certain; but be the motive what it might he was glad
of the unexpected opportunity of visiting Lalpuri and meeting those whom he
believed to be playing a leading part in the plot. So he promptly wrote an
acceptance.
He reached the Palace only half an hour before Daleham's party arrived from
another direction, and had just met his two planter friends when Noreen
entered the room. He had not known that she was to be at Lalpuri. The three
men rose and bowed to her, and Dermot looked to see if Charlesworth were
with her. But only the two women and Daleham followed Chunerbutty as he led
the way to a table at the far end of the room.
There were about twenty English guests altogether, eight or nine of whom
were from the district in which Malpura was situated, the Rices among them.
The rest were planters from other parts of the Duars, a few members of the
Indian Civil Service or Public Works Departments, and a young Deputy
Superintendent of Police from Jalpaiguri.
At Chunerbutty's table the party consisted of the Rices, one of the Civil
Servants, the Dalehams, and Noreen's friend. The planter's wife neglected
the man beside her to stare at Mrs. Smith, taking in every detail of her
dress, while Ida chattered gaily to Fred, whose good looks had attracted
her the moment that she first saw him on the platform of Jalpaiguri
station. She was already apparently quite consoled for the loss of her
Calcutta admirer.
Noreen sat pale and abstracted beside Chunerbutty, answering his remarks in
monosyllables, eating nothing, and alleging a headache as an explanation of
her mood. The unexpected sight of Dermot had shaken her, and she dreaded
the moment when she must greet him. Yet she was anxious to witness his
meeting with Ida, hoping that she might glean from it some idea of how
matters really stood between them.
After _tiffin_ a move was made into the long chamber arranged as the
guests' lounge. Here introductions between those who had not previously
known each other and meetings between old acquaintances took place; and
with an inward shrinking Noreen saw Dermot approaching. She was astonished
to observe that Ida's careless and indifferent greeting was responded to by
him in a coldly courteous manner almost indicative of strong dislike. The
girl wondered if they were both consummate actors. Dermot turned to her. He
spoke in his usual pleasant and friendly manner; but she seemed to detect a
trace of reserve that he had never showed before. She was almost too
confused to reply to him and turned with relief to shake hands with Payne
and Granger, who had come up with him.
Chunerbutty played the host well, introduced those who were strangers to
each other, and saw that the Palace servants, who were unused to European
habits, brought the coffee, liqueurs, and smokes to all the guests, where
they gathered under the long punkah that swung lazily from the painted
ceiling and barely stirred the heated air.
As soon as it was cool enough to drive out in the State carriages and
motor-cars that waited in the outer courtyard, the afternoon was devoted to
sight-seeing. Chunerbutty, in the leading car with Noreen and the District
Superintendent of Police, acted as guide and showed them about the city.
Dermot noted the lowering looks of many of the natives in the narrow
streets, and overhead more than one muttered insult to the English race
from men huddling against the houses to escape the carriages.
The visitors were invited by Chunerbutty to enter an ornate temple of
Kali, in which a number of Hindu women squatted on the ground before a
gigantic idol representing the goddess in whose honour the Puja festival
is held. The image was that of a fierce-looking woman with ten arms,
each hand holding a weapon, her right leg resting on a lion, her left on
a buffalo-demon.
"I say, Chunerbutty, who's the lady?" asked Granger. "I can't say I like
her looks."
"No, she certainly isn't a beauty," said the Brahmin with a contemptuous
laugh. "Yet these superstitious fools believe in her, ignorant people that
they are."
He indicated the female worshippers, who had been staring with malevolent
curiosity at the English ladies, the first that most of them had ever seen.
So these were the _mem-logue_, they whispered to each other, these
shameless white women who went about openly with men and met all the world
brazenly with unveiled countenances. And the whisperers modestly drew their
_saris_ before their own faces.
"She is the goddess Kali or Durgá, the wife of Shiva, one of the Hindu
Trinity. She is supposed to be the patron of smallpox and lots of other
unpleasant things, so no wonder she is ugly," continued Chunerbutty.
"Oh, you have goddesses then in the Hindu religion," observed Ida
carelessly.
"Yes, Mrs. Smith; but these are the sort we have in India," he answered
with an unpleasant leer. "The English people are more fortunate, for they
have you ladies."
The remark was one that would have gained him smiles and approbation from
his female acquaintances in the Bayswater boarding-house, but Ida glared
haughtily at him and most of the men longed to kick him.
Dreading a cutting and sarcastic speech from her friend, Noreen hurriedly
interposed.
"Isn't the Puja festival in her honour, Mr. Chunerbutty?"
"Yes, Miss Daleham, it is. It is another of these silly superstitions of
the Hindus that make one really ashamed of being an Indian. The festival is
meant to commemorate the old lady's victory over a buffalo-headed demon.
Hence the weird-looking beast under her left leg."
"And do these people really believe in that sort of rot?" asked Mrs. Rice.
"Oh, yes, lots of the ignorant, uneducated lower class do," replied the
atheistical Brahmin. "Durgá is the favourite deity. Her husband and Krishna
and old Brahma are back numbers. The fact is that the common people are
afraid of Kali. They think she can do them such a lot of harm."
"What does the festival consist of, old chap?" asked Daleham. "What do the
Hindus do?"
"Well, the image is worshipped for nine days and then chucked into the
water," replied the engineer. "Tomorrow, the fourth day, is the one on
which the sacrifices are made--sheep, buck goats, and buffaloes are used.
Their heads are cut off before this idol and their heads and blood are
offered to it. Tomorrow you'll see the Rajah kill the bull that is to be
the sacrifice. At least, he'll start the killing of it. Now, we'll go along
back to the Palace."
The visitors' dinner that night was quite a magnificent affair. The
catering for the time of their stay had been confided to an Italian firm
in Calcutta. The cooking was excellent, but the waiting by the awkward
Palace retainers was very bad. The food was eaten off the Rajah's State
silver service, made in London for his father for the entertainment of a
Viceroy. The wine was very good. So the guests enjoyed their meal, and
most of them were quite prepared to think the Rajah a most excellent
fellow when, at the conclusion of the meal, he entered the dining-room
and came to the long table to propose and drink the health of the
King-Emperor. He left the room immediately afterwards. This is the usual
procedure on the part of Hindu rulers in India, since they are precluded
by their religion and caste-customs from eating with Europeans.
After dinner the guests went to the lounge, where coffee was served. They
broke up into groups or pairs and sat or stood about the room chatting.
Mrs. Rice, who had been much impressed by Ida's appearance and expensive
gowns, secured a chair beside her and endeavoured to monopolise her,
despite many obvious snubs. At last Ida calmly turned her back on her and
called Daleham to talk to her. Then the planter's wife espied Dermot
sitting alone and pounced on him. He had tried to speak to Noreen after
dinner, but it was so apparent that she wished to avoid him that he gave up
the attempt. He endured Mrs. Rice's company with admirable resignation, but
was thankful when the time for "good-night" came at last.
The men stayed up an hour or two later, and then after a final "peg" went
off to bed. Dermot walked upstairs with Barclay, the young police officer,
who was his nearest neighbour, although the Major's room was at the end of
the building and separated from his by a long, narrow passage and several
empty chambers.