The three men, Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das, soon reached their place
of labour,—a rice-field which bordered on a great river. On the other
side of the broad waters they could see the bungalow to which Manton
Sahib had come but the week before. It was a large well-built bungalow
with white pillars, and was partly hidden by the mango-trees and the tall
palm-trees which grew in the compound around it.
“See!” cried Gunga Ram, pointing towards the river; “there is some one on
horseback trying to cross the waters.”
“It is a stranger; he knows not the ford,” said Isa Das.
“If he wish not to be carried away by the stream,” observed Ya’kub, “he
must turn his horse’s head more to the right.”
Isa Das lifted up his voice and shouted, “To the right—to the right!”
Perhaps the stranger did not hear him; or hearing, paid no heed to the
warning of a poor ryot.
“It is Manton Sahib himself,” exclaimed Gunga Ram; “I know him by the red
beard and long hair.”
“He will be drowned,” said Ya’kub. “See! his horse has lost his footing
already, and is plunging madly into the midst of the foaming waters. The
Sahib will be carried away by the current, and drowned!”
“Let us hasten to his help!” cried Isa Das; “we know the ford well, and
could find it even on a starless night.”
“And we can swim like ducks,” added Ya’kub.
“If we save the Sahib, we shall have a great reward!” cried Gunga Ram,
as he eagerly hurried after Isa Das, who had already plunged into the
swollen river.
All the three men battled with the waters; all three hastened to save
a drowning man; all three risked their lives to do so. The act was the
same, but the motive different. Gunga Ram thought of praise and reward;
Isa Das thought but of the words of the Lord—“Inasmuch as ye did it, ye
did it unto me.”
Before the three ryots could reach the spot where the horse had lost his
footing, the commissioner was almost drowned. The rush of waters had
borne him out of his saddle; only one of his feet was yet in the stirrup;
the rein had escaped from his hand; he was clinging for life to the mane
of the struggling horse, of which only the head could be seen above the
torrent. The Sahib had scarcely even power to shout for help; but in his
great need help was at hand. Ya’kub seized the rein of the horse; Gunga
Ram gave his powerful aid; while Isa Das supported the half-drowned man,
and assisted him to recover his seat in the saddle. With violent efforts,
and with both difficulty and risk, the three ryots succeeded in bringing
both the horse and his gasping rider safe back to the side of the river.
As the horse struggled up the bank, with clotted mane and streaming
flanks, Manton Sahib uttered a few words which were not addressed to the
ryots, and which they could not understand. Isa Das thought, and perhaps
thought rightly, that the Englishman, in his own language, was thanking
God for preservation from death. The Sahib shook the drops from his
dripping hair; his solah topee was floating far away down the river; he
had lost it in the desperate struggle for life. Manton patted the neck
of his trembling horse; then turning towards the ryots, addressed them in
their own tongue,—
“Brave men; you have done a good service, and shall not miss a reward.
Follow me to my own house.”
“As your highness commands,” replied the three ryots at once.
“This is a fortunate day for us,” exclaimed Gunga Ram, as the three men
followed the commissioner towards his handsome bungalow; “we shall be
poor ryots no longer; we shall no more have to earn our rice by the sweat
of our brows.”
“We will eat something better than rice,” cried the feast-loving Ya’kub.
“In hopes of good food, I seem already to feel myself growing fat as a
baboo!” and he patted his breast.
When the commissioner reached his house, he called aloud for his bearer,
and gave command that money should be brought. A bag of silver was
quickly placed in the Sahib’s hand; and before he dismounted from his
horse, Manton drew from it three rupees, and gave one to each of the men.
The ryots made low saláms as they took the pieces of silver, and then
together they turned from the commissioner’s house. But the worm of
discontent gnawed at the heart of Gunga Ram.
“Does the Sahib value his life but at three rupees?” he muttered. “One
rupee is not worth the wetting of my waist-cloth!”
Ya’kub laughed at the disappointment of his companion. “One rupee will
at least buy a right good dinner!” said he. “No work to-day for me. I
will hasten off to the bazaar, and have once more such a feast as that of
which I partook when my younger brother was married.”
“Oh, thou man without wisdom!” cried Gunga Ram, as he tied up his piece
of silver in the end of his waist-cloth; “thou wilt not surely spend all
thy rupee on one meal?”
But Ya’kub was already beyond hearing of the voice of his friend. It was
as if the savoury fragrance of the coming feast were drawing Ya’kub on
from afar. He hastened his steps, even as the thirsty camel doth in the
desert when he smelleth water, and rusheth towards the well.
“Thou wilt not spend thy money thus?” asked Gunga Ram of Isa Das.
Isa Das smiled as he made reply: “No; I will not thus spend my rupee upon
feasting;” and he thought, but he spake not his thought aloud,—“The Lord
hath already heard and answered my prayer. I, even I, a poor ryot, will
put one brick in that church.”