Next morning Swinton again rode alone, Lord Victor declaring he would
have enough exercise in the hunt that day.
As Shabaz came out of his loping canter and steadied to a leisurely gait
up the palace hill, Rada, the groom, overtook his master.
"Put a hand on the stirrup," Swinton commanded, "for the hill is long
and your legs are the legs of experience."
"As the sahib wishes; but I know little of her who rides the grey
stallion," Rada replied, grasping the iron. Swinton chuckled at the
naïve admission that the servant took it for granted he was to talk,
being thus favoured.
"It is the way of my people," Rada resumed, when his breath came easier,
"that when we make speech with a sahib we watch his eyes for a sign, and
if it is one of displeasure we then tell lies to avert his anger; but
with the captain sahib this may not be done."
"Why, Rada?"
"Sahib knows the karait--the snake with an eye that is all red?"
"Deadly as a cobra."
"Yes, sahib; and our people say that if one looks for a long time into
that red eye that never shifts nor blinks nor gives a sign, he will go
mad."
"Delightful! And mine are like that, Rada?"
"No, sahib; only so far as that they give no sign. So if I make speech
that is displeasing, the presence must command me to be still."
After a time Rada said: "The Missie Baba will not ride the grey stallion
to-day?"
"Why not?"
"I know not, except that she has reported that the stallion is lame; but
the groom says he is not lame."
Reaching the plateau, Swinton followed a road that swung around the
Place of Roses. Over the brick wall floated the sweet perfume of myriad
flowers, to give place presently to the tang of animal life as they came
to the tiger garden. A jungle clamour vibrated the morning air;
cockatoos and parrakeets called shrilly beyond the brick wall; a
hornbill sent forth his raucous screech; pigeons of all colours, green,
blue, grey, fluttered free in the air, waiting for the grain that would
presently be scattered by the keepers. The unpleasant, sputtering laugh
of a hyena, raucously grating, mingled with the full, rich-toned
monologue of leopards that paced restlessly their cages, eager for their
meal of blood-dripping meat.
Then the road crawled restfully into the cool of a noble sal forest. To
the right it branched presently, and he caught the glint of white marble
splitting the emerald green.
"The lady who rides the grey stallion lives yonder with the large sahib
who is her uncle," Rada explained; and as they came to a path on the
left a little beyond, he continued: "This leads to Jadoo Nala, wherein
is a pool."
Captain Swinton turned Shabaz into the path, following it to the edge of
the plateau and down its winding course to the pool.
Pointing to a machan in a pipal tree that overhung the pool, Rada said:
"That is the rajah's, but no one makes a kill here--it is but for the
pleasure of the eye. Knowing this, the dwellers of the jungle come to
drink of the waters that are sweet with salt, and depart in peace;
though it is said that at times a spirit, in the shape of an evil
leopard, creeps from yonder cave and makes the kill of a deer or a
sambar. In the cave yonder, Buddha, who was once of our faith, lamented
on the sins of the world till his tears made the stream sweet with salt,
and so it has remained. The cave is an abode of evil spirits; lights
have been seen, and deep noises heard such as the hill gods make."
"Who comes to the pool, Rada--for there is the machan?"
Rada lifted his small, black, twitching eyes to the placid, opaque ones
of Swinton. "The sahib knows what talk over a hookah is, each one trying
to show great knowledge; but it is whispered at such times that the
Missie Baba, who fears neither horse nor spirit, comes here at night."
"For what purpose--to meet some one?"
"Of that Rada knows nothing; that the evil gossips say it is the rajah
is perhaps a lie."
Swinton turned Shabaz up the path, and at the top rode a little tour of
inspection, following a road that circled above the winding stream.
Overlooking the Jadoo cave and the path that wound down the hillside was
a heavy wall built of stone that had been taken from the buried city.
"Most delightful place to plant a machine gun, or even a 'three-inch,'"
the captain muttered.
A reverberating tiger roar shook the earth as Swinton rounded the Place
of Roses on his way back, and past its wall he came suddenly upon Lord
Victor in active controversy with a lop-eared native horse he was more
or less astride of. Evidently the sudden tiger call had frightened the
horse, for he was whirling, with his long ewe neck stretched high in
air, his lop ears almost brushing the clinging rider's face. Lord Victor
had lost his stirrups; he was practically over the pommel of the saddle,
sitting the razor-bladed wither. A country bred's neck is like a piece
of rubber hose, and Anglo-Indians have learned to sit tight and let him
have his head; but Lord Victor climbed up the reins, pulling the brute's
head into his lap, and when to save himself he threw an arm around the
lean neck, down went the head and he was sent flying, to sprawl on his
back, where he lay eyeing the smiling captain.
Having unseated his rider, the country bred, forgetting all about the
tiger, stood looking with complacent vacuity at the groom, who now held
him by the rein.
"Thought you weren't riding this morning," Swinton remarked, as they
went down the hill.
"Changed my mind. You didn't happen to see a young lady on a grey
stallion this morning, did you, old chap?"
"I did not. And the earl expects you to ride away from spins, not after
them, out here."
"The governor is optimistic. This is only curiosity--to see the girl
Ananda is going to make his queen."
"Where did you hear that rot?"
"The usual source--my bearer."
"Bad form. It's all idle gossip, too; she's the niece of old Boelke."
"Oh, now I know why you ride up on the hill every morning. Did _your_
bearer tell you? Earl Craig expects _you_ to keep away from skirts
while----By Jove! What's the bally shindy--are they planting another
brass god in the temple?"
Lord Victor's sudden change in discourse had been caused by sounds of
strife that came from a Hindu village that lay between Maha Bodhi Hill
and Darpore City.
"The men of the temple and others who are followers of Mahadeo live
yonder in Chota Darpore," Rada said.
As eager as a boy at the clang of a fire bell, Lord Victor, his eyes
alight with sporting fervour, cried: "Come on, captain; every bally hour
in this land of the poppy has its spiffing thrill."
Arrived on the scene, a unique battle lay before their eyes. The centre
of the conflict was a silk-skinned, terrified little cow tied to a
stake. A fanatical Mussulman priest, ordained to the bloodletting,
waited with a sharp knife behind a battling line of Allah men for a
chance to slit the cow's throat. With the followers of Mohammed were
ranged the adherents of Buddha in a battle line that checked the Hindus,
who, with fierce cries of "_Maro, maro!_" fought to rescue the cow and
stop this offence against their gods--the slaying of a sacred animal.
Heads cracked beneath the fall of staves, and red blood spurted from a
knife thrust or the cut of a tulwar. Swinton smiled grimly as he saw
here and there a man in a green-and-gold jacket bring his baton down on
the neck of a Mussulman--always a Mussulman, for these men of the
green-and-gold jackets were the Hindu police of the maharajah.
Encouraged by their gaunt leader, the Hindus charged fiercely, and,
seizing the cow, bore it toward their village, fighting a rear-guard
action as the Mussulmans, with cries of "Allah! Allah!" charged over the
bodies of men who lay in the silent indifference of death, or writhed in
pain. There was a desperate mêlée, a maelstrom of fanatical fiends, out
of which the Mussulmans emerged with the sacrificial victim to fight
their way backward to the slaughter mound.
The tinkle of a bell, the "phrut-phrut" of an elephant, caused Swinton
to turn toward the road. It was Finnerty on Burra Moti.
The mahout, at a command from the major, drove Moti into the fray, where
she, with gentle, admonishing touches from the mahout's feet against her
ears, picked up one combatant after another, tossing them without
serious injury to one side. But the fanatics, religion-crazed, closed in
again in Moti's wake and smote as before. One Mussulman, whose red-dyed
beard bespoke one who had been to Mecca, threw a heavy Pathan knife at
Finnerty, just missing his mark.
Suddenly a shrill voice rose in a screaming command; there was terror in
the voice that came from the lips of a gigantic Tibetan priest, who
stood with extended arm pointing to the tinkling bell on Moti's neck. As
though strong wind had swept a field of grain, the Buddhists ceased the
combat and stood with bowed heads. Even the Mussulmans, realising from
the priest's attitude that it was something of holy import, rested from
warfare.
"It is the sacred elephant of the Zyaat of Buddha Gautama!" the priest
said, when the tumult had stilled.
Then spoke Finnerty, seizing upon this miraculous chance: "Cease from
strife! You who are of Chota Darpore, go back to your village; you who
are followers of the Prophet, the grace of Allah be upon you, go your
way, for even some of you are servants of mine at the keddah. As to the
disciples of Buddha, the bell on the sacred elephant recalls them to
peace. I will take away from strife the cow, so that there be no
killing."
He called to one of his Mussulmans, saying: "Come you, Amir Khan, and
take the cow to the keddah."
The scarlet-whiskered Pathan who had thrown the knife stepped forward,
and in his rough voice said: "Sahib, these infidels, these black men,
have desecrated the shrine of Sheik Farid by tying there a pig,
therefore it is injustice if we be not allowed to crack a few heads and
spill the blood of a cow on the doorstep of their village."
"You threw the knife, Hadjii; you're a poor marksman," Finnerty
answered.
"Yes, sahib, it was an unlucky throw; but a man fell against my elbow at
that point, or the sahib would have received my gift. Perhaps the next
time I will have better luck."
With a smile at the Pathan's grim humour, Finnerty said: "The spirit of
a saint like Sheik Farid is not disturbed by the acts of infidels. I
will speak to the rajah and have the village fined a matter of many
rupees to be paid to your people, Hadjii."
From the Buddhists, who stood in a semicircle eyeing Burra Moti with
reverence, a priest came forward, saying: "We have fought with the
idolators because the shrine rests on the 'Rock of Buddha,' and so is
sacred to us, too. The sahib has seen in the flat rock the footprint of
Prince Sakya Sinha where he stood and became Buddha?"
"But Buddha commanded peace, not strife," Finnerty reminded the priest.
At that instant Burra Moti, undoubtedly bored by inaction, reached back
with her trunk and tinkled the bell. It was like a voice crying out of
the temple. The Buddhists in silence went away; Amir Khan, at a command,
departed with the cow of discord.
Burra Moti was turned, and, with Lord Victor and Swinton riding at his
side, Finnerty swept regally down the road.
"Your elephant seems deuced happy, major; she's got a tooty little
gurgle that suggests it. Where did you find your sapphire bell clapper?"
Lord Victor queried.
"Oh, this isn't----" Finnerty caught the import of Swinton's gasping
cough in time to switch, adding: "This is a clapper the old goldsmith
fixed up for me, and it's doing beautifully. Moti is like a woman that
has found a necklace she had lost." This latter for Captain Swinton's
edification.
"Why doesn't Prince Ananda sit on these bally fire-eating
worshippers--why do you have to keep them in hand, major?" Lord Victor
wanted to know.
Finnerty pondered for a minute. He could have told the captain in a very
few words his idea of Ananda's reasons for keeping out of the matter,
but with Lord Victor he would have to answer cautiously.
"The rajah's police _wallahs_ were there," he answered; "but they're
never any good. As for my part in it, the Maha Bodhi Temple is really
under government supervision, being practically a national Buddhist
institution. The government never interferes with either Hindus or the
Buddhists there unless it might be in just such a case as this, to stop
a riot. To tell you the truth, I've rather exceeded my authority, acting
without an invitation from the maharajah or an order from the
government; however, as it was a drawn battle, nobody will appeal to the
powers. The keddah is something in the same way," Finnerty added, as
they jogged along; "it's in Darpore territory, but the government has an
arrangement with the maharajah, as this is an ideal spot as a centre for
our elephant catching all through the Siwalik Hills."
At the fork in the roads the major called back: "After you've had
breakfast, get your hunting kit all ready, captain. I'll meet you with
the elephants at the same place as yesterday, at one o'clock. We mustn't
keep the old Banjara waiting--we're to be on the ground at two--his
buffalo might stir up Stripes before we arrive."