protest. The fellow had recovered his equanimity, and, knowing him as I
did from our few days of travel in company, I reflected that in mortal
combat he would be likely to give good account of himself. But there was
no time to indulge in surmises. Mirza Shah still claimed my attention.
"'My men will guard our guest here,' he continued. 'Food will be served
to him.'
"'And some wine, please,' growled Gholab Khan.
"'Wine, too, then, if you will,' assented Mirza Shah, contemptuously,
for he never by any chance used the fermented juice of the grape
forbidden by the Prophet, and now rendered doubly hateful to him by
reason of his son's excesses. 'At dawn weapons will be brought to you,
and six horses from among which you can make your choice. Meanwhile the
challenge will have gone forth. And once again, in the presence of this
witness, I pledge my word that if you return successful from the combat,
Gholab Khan, having killed your man, then will you be free to return
unscathed to your home at Talakabad, and with a lac of rupees for your
pains.'
"'Bismillah! I would fight any day and with any man for such a prize,'
cried Gholab Khan, his face all aglow, showing that, despite the
kidnapping trick played upon him, he was now well pleased.
"'That is good,' said Mirza Shah, coldly.
"Then he blew a shrill whistle, which straightway brought the guard
running to the tower.
"But my narrative must hasten. With the first morning light a messenger,
his mission announced by the blare of trumpets, went forth from the
citadel, daring Prince Hasan to single combat with a champion fighting
on behalf of Mirza Shah. There came back, as we expected, an exultant
acceptance of the challenge.
"The sun had mounted only spear-high when Gholab Khan, armed with lance
and sword, rode out through the gates of the citadel. For his reception
the whole host of our enemies had been drawn up, and in the middle of
the curved line was the massed troop of some forty elephants, their
howdahs crowded with spectators eager to witness the joust at arms.
"From my observation tower Mirza Shah and I watched the scene. Although
my mind was clouded with all manner of uncertainties, yet in my heart
was a faint flutter of hope. Would this mountain fighter break the spell
of the stars, and actually kill Prince Hasan, before the latter could
accomplish the portended crime of dealing death to his father? I was
torn by distracted arguments; at one moment I believed firmly as ever in
the stars, at the next my trust was in the lance of the burly freebooter
I had brought down with me from the mountains.
"With bated breath I watched the combat--first the riding at full tilt;
the thud of the galloping horses we could hear at this distance. But
both lances were successfully parried, and a moment later the combatants
had leaped with one impulse from horseback, and were rushing upon each
other with swords. We saw the mirror-like flash of the blades in the
morning sun.
"Then next I beheld one figure go down, and, while I was yet wondering
which of the twain had fallen, a mighty shout of triumph from the
beleaguering army told me, alas! that it was our champion who had been
worsted. And now a dissevered head raised high on sword-point by Prince
Hasan told the bloody tale with final certainty. Gholab Khan was not
only down but dead. At this display of the gruesome trophy of victory
there were further frantic yells of delight from the assembled hosts
across the valley. The sack of our citadel and town seemed now assured
to them.
"I just glanced at Mirza Shah. To my surprise his face wore a look of
perfect calm, and, on meeting my eyes, there came a gleam of triumph
into his.
"'The stars were right,' he exclaimed, in a low, tense voice. 'Praise be
to Allah! All is well. A base bibber of wine shall never rule over my
people and destroy their happiness, for now that he has fulfilled his
destiny Allah will assuredly deliver him into my hands.'
"I was perplexed. So far from Prince Hasan's destiny having been
fulfilled, it appeared to me that the dread tragedy foretold by the
stars was inexorably drawing nearer and nearer--the death of Mirza Shah
at the hands of his unworthy son, a bibber of wine, as he had
contemptuously called him.
"While this thought was passing through my mind, all of a sudden there
arose another mighty tumult, this time from our side--a shout of
astonishment, followed by cries of delight. But the roar of voices was
quickly drowned by the thunder of mighty hoofs and the excited
trumpeting of elephants. Turning round, I saw at a glance what had
happened. The elephants, frightened by the first wild huzzas of victory,
had stampeded, and were madly careering in a solid body across the
plain.
"Prince Hasan, as he held aloft the severed head of his adversary, saw
the oncoming danger. He made a dart for his horse, but the animal,
terrified by the noise and confusion, leaped forward, and was gone up
the valley like the wind.
"The youth made no attempt to run. It would have been useless. Yes, be
it admitted, he died like a man. Ere the elephants were upon him, he had
folded his arms across his breast, calmly prepared to meet his doom. In
another instant he was whirled through the air, like a straw caught up
by a tornado; then the living, irresistible billow swept over him.
"My eyes were still glued in frozen horror to the scene. The screaming
of the frightened troop of elephants had receded into the distance. Out
on the open, through a haze of dust, I saw the blot of coloured raiment
that showed where the body of Prince Hasan lay. And for the moment there
was naught but pity in my heart for the youth who had played by my side,
and gathered knowledge, if not wisdom, from my lips.
"But a hand was laid on my shoulder, and, turning round, I looked into
the face of Mirza Shah. It was lighted by a smile of stern satisfaction.
"'Syed Ali, as you have ever declared, even though I have detected that
your faith at times has wavered, the stars cannot speak falsely. He
died, that dog out there, but not until he had slain his own father.'
"'His own father!' I stammered. The truth began to break in upon my
dazed brain.
"'Yes. It is right that you at least should have the explanation, if for
no other reason than to confirm your trust in the stars. Beguiled to
wrong by the arguments of a serving woman, the sultana had a son. It is
a shameful story, yet do I know that she begot the child out of pure
love for me. Hasan was no son of mine. Enough! I have spoken. You can
guess the rest.'
"Mirza Shah paused. I could but drop my eyes and remain silent, for I
dared to make no comment.
"After a brief pause he resumed:
"'In the end she confessed everything to me, that night when you
revealed to us the full truth of what the stars had foretold. As for me,
I helped the stars to run their courses: that is why I sent for Gholab
Khan. Now, you who know my secret, travel away far from here. Respect
the confidence I have given you. There is a bag of gold for you in my
treasurer's charge. We part friends, Syed Ali. Fate, working through
you, its blind instrument, spared the child so that my shame might be
fully atoned. Now go, for I, too, must be up and doing. One timely sally
now from the citadel, and yonder disordered host will be swept back
whence it came.'
"The result was as Mirza Shah had predicted. The beleaguering army fled
at the first onslaught, leaving many hundreds of dead on the field to
keep the mangled corpse of their leader company.
"So, you see, my friends," commented the astrologer, concluding his
tale, "as Mirza Shah most truly said, the stars cannot speak falsely.
Never again have I doubted. The destiny read by me in the heavens that
night when the sultana's babe was born was fulfilled in every detail."
"And the faithless wife?" asked the Rajput. "What became of her?"
"Nay, do not presume to judge her," protested the astrologer. "Judgment
is for Allah. When Mirza Shah returned from his victorious charge, it
was to find his sultana dead on the roof of the women's quarters. She
had seen her son--yes, _her_ son, her own flesh and blood, although not
her husband's--pounded to death under the elephants' feet. So the
unhappy mother had pierced her breast with a dagger, and, by her side,
similarly self-slain, lay the serving woman who had miscounselled her to
wrongdoing, yet, as I could quite well comprehend, from motives of
sincere affection, to safeguard for her her husband's love and to give
her the joy of motherhood for which she craved.
"Mirza Shah lived and ruled well for five-and-twenty years longer. He
remained to the end a childless man: Allah had decreed it so. But he
ever revered the wife who had loved him so well, for she had sinned
because of her very love for him, nor had she persisted in her sin.
Mirza Shah built to her memory a splendid mosque, and these are the
words engraved on her tomb beneath the central dome, showing how her
virtues were esteemed and her one act of wrong was forgotten:
"'Before my tomb, O stranger, stay thy way,
Reflect on fate's inexorable decree;
But yestere'en I was as thou to-day,
What I am now to-morrow thou wilt be.
Right good the grave for those whom good deeds bless,
Gentle the rest of them who tried to spread
Around their lives the balm of gentleness.
Trustful in God repose the worthy dead.
For such as they the living need not weep--
Their death is only faith-abiding sleep.'
"By her side now lies her husband, at rest and in peace, for only death
brings true rest and peace. And even now, after many years, I am on my
way to pay a pilgrimage to the tombs of that truly noble man and his
good--aye, his worthy--spouse, for, as I have said, let no man take upon
himself to judge her. Allah alone can search the hearts of men."
IV. THE SPIRIT WAIL
TOLD BY THE MERCHANT
"Allah alone can search the hearts of men," said the hakeem, slowly and
reflectively repeating the words with which the astrologer had closed
his tale. He was a man of venerable appearance, with flowing, white
beard that descended to his waist. And yet, although his face was
furrowed with the lines of old age, his eyes were wonderfully youthful
in their contemplative calm.
"No truer words have been spoken to-night," he continued. "Yet must we
further reflect that, while a man cannot sit in judgment upon his
fellows, he can assuredly judge himself, which goes to show that within
the breast of every man there dwells the very spirit of God, the power
to search his own heart, whether in condemnation or for approval. Life
is a problem, and it requires a full lifetime to solve it. Only as we
grow older do we come to know our own souls--our strength and our
weakness, the measure of our true nobility of character and likewise the
measure of our inherent meanness, the temptations not merely from
without but from within that assail us, our power to conquer these or
our miserable yielding at times, with no one, perhaps, even guessing at
our degradation except the divine spark of conscience that inexorably
turns a searching ray on every thought and on every motive for action."
"So you would argue that man is God?" queried the Rajput.
"Not so, but that the soul of man is of the essence of God, the proof of
which is this very power of searching out our own hearts and sitting in
judgment on our own failings: for the judgment seat belongs to Allah
alone."
"A subtle philosophy which I do not presume fully to understand,"
interposed the merchant from Bombay.
During the night's entertainment he had shown himself to be a man of few
words, yet an attentive listener. He was of middle age, of a mild
dignity of mien, and of robust physique, as befitted one accustomed to
long journeys through regions infested with robbers or with beasts of
prey.
"But in my practical experience of life," he proceeded, "I have come to
realize that, while I may know myself, no other man can I know.
Therefore, if it be right to be sparing of condemnation for another, it
is also wise to be chary of undue commendation. The world too often
acclaims a deed as noble when the real motive prompting it is utterly
ignoble."
"A true philosopher, despite your bales of merchandise," murmured the
hakeem, with a smiling nod of approval for the sentiments expressed.
"Well, I suppose that every one who travels becomes a philosopher, more
or less," assented the trader. "Change of scene and of companionship
stimulates new ideas. Now will I relate an actual experience which aptly
illustrates that, in our dealings with those around us, we never really
penetrate their minds. Man knows himself; he knows no one else--friend
or intimate, the child of his heart or the very wife of his bosom."
"It is more easy to discover a white crow," muttered the fakir, "than
know what a woman has in her heart."
The merchant paid no heed to the interruption. He went on:
"Each of us is an inscrutable mystery to the other. Each soul is veiled
to every other soul, and is naked to itself alone."
"O prince of philosophers in pedlar's disguise!" murmured the hakeem.
"If our souls sat naked for the common gaze," commented the Rajput, "if
we could all read each other's hearts, then indeed would life be an
abomination--an utter misery, with the twin devils of shame and disgust
seated at our elbows all the time."
"Most true," concurred the trader. "For too much knowledge of another's
inmost thoughts brings only disillusionment and regret, as my tale will
show. The story takes us among humble people, but human nature is the
same everywhere--the same in the hut of the rayat as in the palace of
the rajah.
* * * * *
"Once in every two years it is my custom to travel from Bombay to
Benares, and invariably I break the journey at a certain village some
six or seven days from my final destination. Here dwells an old friend
and caste brother, formerly, like myself, a merchant in the Bombay
bazaar where silken stuffs are sold, but retired now to his own country
with modest savings sufficient for the rest of his days. Baji Lal, as he
is named, is all the closer to me because his wife Devaka is a sister of
my own wife, and the two are always eager to have news of each other's
welfare.
"At the house of this friend I rest for a day or two, enjoying his
companionship, the reminiscences of old times, and the gossip of the
hour. So, on my long and fatiguing journeyings, I have always looked
forward to these meetings with pleasurable anticipation and remembered
them with tranquil satisfaction.
"But on the occasion of one of my periodical visits judge of my surprise
when I was received in silence and with apathy that made no pretence at
disguise. Devaka did not rise from her cushions on the floor to bid me
welcome, and her husband, similarly irresponsive, returned my customary
cordial greeting with nothing better than a look of wearied dejection.
"Disturbed, I made inquiry:
"'Baji Lal, my friend, what is the matter? Are you ailing?'
"But he only shook his head, and turned away.
"To Devaka I then appealed.
"'What is the meaning of this?' I asked. 'Sadness and silence where
everything used to be joy.'
"She drew aside the sari that had concealed her face, and I was shocked
at its grief-stricken aspect. Her trembling lips parted to answer me,
but her husband checked her with a sharp word, such as I had never heard
him use to her before. Her eyes filled with tears, and I could see the
big drops rolling down her cheeks as she silently replaced the sari over
her head, and, bending low, rocked herself to and fro.
"For the moment I imagined that I had intruded on some scene of domestic
unhappiness which would be dissipated in an hour. So, hiding my
embarrassment, I turned to the door, intimating that I would seek some
other lodging for the night, and return on the morrow, when I hoped my
friends would be in fitter mood to receive me.
"At last Baji Lal spoke, raising his face but still remaining seated on
the divan we were wont in former times to share.
"'Go thy way, Chunda Das,' he said. 'The sword of fate has descended
upon this house. Come not again to a place accursed.'
"Then did I realize that the trouble was serious.
"'But, my friend and brother,' I protested, 'I cannot depart and leave
you thus. Let me at least understand what calamity has befallen you, so
that I may help toward its repair.'
"'Nothing can be done, so nothing need be said,' he answered, in a tone
and with a look of dignified resignation to the will of God. 'If you
must have the story of our misfortune, you have only to ask the first of
our neighbours you encounter.'
"And he, too, covered his face with his garment, leaving me no choice
but to withdraw without further attempt at this manifestly inopportune
time to probe the mystery.
"If I was to be of service to my friends, however, knowledge of what had
befallen was the first essential. So I took the road that would lead me
to the great pipul tree in the village square, close to the tank and to
the temple, where all day long there was coming and going, and where
therefore I would be most likely to glean the information I desired. By
a happy chance I found reclining under the pipul tree the village
barber, a loquacious fellow, who counted it as part of his business to
know the last detail about other people's affairs.
"After greetings, and a few remarks about the weather and the crops and
the season's epidemics, I carefully broached the real purpose of my
interview, for a prudent man will never divulge his thoughts to another
until he knows that other's thoughts.
"'I have just come from the house of Baji Lal,' I said, in a seemingly
casual way.
"The barber's face instantly lost the smile it had worn.
"'How did you find him?' he asked.
"'Strangely altered,' I replied.
"'And so does every one,' he concurred.
"'Why so?' I ventured.
"The barber looked at me squarely, and then said:
"'You and he were very good friends, Chunda Das.'
"'Yes, and are still, so far as I am concerned,' I answered.
"'I thought so. Well, I am his friend likewise. Many years I have known
him and his wife, Devaka. Both are good, kind people, always willing to
help their neighbours, and ready to give their last bowl of rice to a
vagrant beggar. Perhaps you can assist me to clear away the shadows that
have fallen around them and obscured the sunshine of their home. Let me
tell you the story. A few months ago a stranger came to this village. He
was on his way to Fathpur-Sikri, to witness the glories of the court of
the mighty Akbar. But on the road he had fallen ill, and, arriving here,
was too sick to proceed. I am ashamed to say that none of us were
willing to take him in, for sickness goes from one person to another. So
we have to be careful, especially in my calling, where I come into such
close contact with so many.
"'There was quite a little crowd just here by the tank, discussing the
situation, the sick man in their midst resting upon the ground, when
Baji Lal and his wife, who happened to be passing, came forward to see
what the commotion was all about. They listened to the story, and then
told the stranger he might come with them. He gratefully accepted, and,
after whispering some instructions to a servant by whom he was
accompanied, he motioned to Baji Lal to lead the way. The little group
moved off, the servant in the rear, leading the horses, which included a
pack animal laden with the traveller's bedding, cooking pots, and other
belongings.
"'After unloading the baggage at Baji Lal's home, the servant, as we
learned later in the day, had, in obedience to orders, straightway
mounted his horse, and ridden away. He had exchanged no words with any
of us.
"'For weeks Baji Lal and his wife attended to the wants of the invalid,
until at last he was able to move about the village, and talk with one
and another. From the first we had recognized the stranger as a man of
distinction. Now we learned his name--Sheikh Ahmed, a Moslem, I need not
say. But in these days of Akbar all religious feuds are to be set aside,
this by direct command of the Emperor himself--blessed be his name and
exalted his glory! So this follower of the prophet was made quite
welcome among us, a community of Hindus.
"'Day by day the Sheikh regained his strength, and often would he come
of an evening when the village folk gathered under this pipul tree,
listening to the chit-chat going on, sometimes joining in the
conversation. Soon he began to tell us stories of far lands, for he had
travelled to many distant places, even outside of Hindustan, so we grew
to like him, and to watch each evening for his coming.
"'But all of a sudden he disappeared from our midst. The day before he
had been with us, sitting almost on the very spot where you are seated
now. He did not say he was going away, nor even hint that he intended
doing so. When Baji Lal was questioned, he said that the servant had
returned during the night with saddle and pack horses, and that, after
conferring with Sheikh Ahmed, had gathered together his master's
belongings, and announced their immediate departure. Baji Lal had tried
to persuade his guest to wait until daylight, but this advice was
unheeded. The Sheikh promised, however, that he would come again to the
village when he passed that way on his homeward journey.
"'At this time Baji Lal's story seemed a perfectly natural one, and the
people only regretted that they had not had the opportunity of bidding
the Sheikh farewell. Still the prospect of soon seeing him again
softened this regretful feeling.
"'And now began the change in our friends. Baji Lal ceased to come to
our village meetings, and Devaka shunned every woman, even her most
intimate friends. For a while this strange behaviour did not attract
special attention, although noted and commented on afterwards. For just
a few days after Sheikh Ahmed had gone away the monsoon had burst, and
the stormy weather would account for Baji Lal and his wife remaining
much at home. But as time wore on, and their furtive ways grew more and
more pronounced, people began to talk, and from talking they took to
watching and spying. For, believe me, there is nothing so all-absorbing
as for once respected and well-thought-of people to be under a cloud. We
allow our imaginations to run riot, and our tongues do not rust for want
of wagging.
"'Thus suspicion gradually filled the air, and it was whispered that
Baji Lal and Devaka had murdered their guest for his money, and had
merely invented the story of his midnight departure to hide their
crime. Children who once used to run to them shrank back, or were called
away by their parents.
"'But, most extraordinary thing of all, and one that brought convincing
confirmation to what had at first been mere suspicion, at night there
could be heard heartbreaking cries and sobs coming from the house of
Baji Lal. The voice was not his, nor that of his wife; it was, in all
truth, the wail of a spirit, plaintive at times, then angry as if
shrieking aloud for vengeance. For I myself have heard these sounds with
mine own ears; twice in the darkness of the night I mustered courage to
steal forth as far as the hedge that hides the house from the roadway,
and, although the monsoon winds were still boisterous, above all other
noises again and again arose that wail of a soul in anguish. Others,
too, went to listen, and fled from the place in terror. And soon the
house of Baji Lal came to be shunned by every one as if it had been
plague-stricken.
"'Now you understand why your old friends greeted you with woe-begone
looks. The inner meaning of the story I do not know, but I have told you
the facts that are in my possession. And glad shall I be if you can
conceive any solution for the mystery, and free Baji Lal and his wife
from the terrible accusation of having murdered the man who was their
guest within the gate and had eaten of their salt. If you cannot, then
we must just say kismet, I suppose. Man cannot strive against fate.'
"'Is it your belief, Bimjee,' I asked, 'that the stranger was really
done to death in Baji Lal's home?'
"'No,' he answered decisively. 'But all the same, I have the evidence of
my own ears that a curse has fallen upon the place.'
"For the moment I made no further comment, but sat silent, revolving the
strange story in my mind. My reverie, however, was of short duration,
for all of a sudden Bimjee sprang to his feet in great excitement.