It had been easy for Darna Singh to smuggle Swinton through the tiger
garden gate, for the guard were tribesmen of his own--rajputs who really
hated Ananda.
And now the two sat in a room of the palace, at Swinton's elbow a switch
that, at a shift, would send a current of eruptive force into the
magazine. Through a closed lattice they looked out upon the terrace
thronged with natives--Mussulmans, Hindus, Buddhists; and, gazing,
Swinton thought that it was like bringing together different
explosives--a spark would perhaps fan a sudden mental conflagration
among these fanatics. Silence reigned--a hush hung over the
many-coloured throng as if something of this held them on guard.
Darna Singh was explaining in a whisper:
"Ananda has called these chiefs to sign a blood pact against the sircar.
The two men of the big beards are from Khyber way--Pathans whose trade
is war; one is Ghazi Khan and the other is Dhera Ishmael. They will not
sign the blood pact unless Ananda shows them the paper wherein the
sircar is to force their young men to war. The maharajah will not be
here, but whether he is true to the sircar no man knows, and sometimes,
sahib, he does not know himself, because of the brandy."
They could see Burra Moti upon her bended legs on the marble-slabbed
terrace, a rich cloth, sparkling with jewels, draping her head and neck
and body. Huge gold rings had been driven upon her ivory tusks.
Darna Singh whispered:
"Look, sahib, at the two men that stand beside the elephant's neck; they
are my blood brothers, and when we entered at the teakwood gate I told
them of the sapphire bell. They have their mission."
Beyond, the Lake of the Golden Coin, rich in its gorgeous drape of
shadow and moon gold, lay serene, placid, undisturbed by the puny man
passion that throbbed like a ticking watch above its rim.
The droning hum of voices, like the buzz of bees, died to silence, and
foreheads were bowed to the marble floor as Prince Ananda, clothed in a
coarse yellow robe, came forth and strode like a Roman senator to table
at which sat with the two Pathans a dozen petty rajahs, nawabs, and
Mussulman chiefs.
"They are waiting to have the paper translated to them by a _moonshi_
and to see the sircar's seal upon it, for they all know that mark,"
Darna Singh said.
"What will happen if the paper does not come?" Swinton asked.
"They will not sign the blood bond; they will think that Rajah Ananda
has told them lies. Also the two men who are my brothers will place
another lie in the mouth of Ananda, if it is Kismet, and at that time
the sahib will blow up the mine."
From below the voice of Ananda came floating up to their ears as he
talked to the chiefs in impassioned words of hatred to the British raj.
He told them of the machine guns and ammunition he had below; that the
great German nation would send an army, for even now they had sent men
to train the soldiers of the revolt.
To Swinton it was simply the mad exhortation of a mind crazed by
ambition, but he knew that scores of revolts against the British had
originated in just this way; the untutored natives, taught hatred of the
British from their birth, would believe every word.
The voice of Ghazi Khan, rough as the bellow of a bull as it came
through an opening in his heavy, matted beard, was heard asking:
"Where is the paper, rajah, wherein is written that the sircar commands
our sons to cross the black water to fight against the caliph and to
destroy Mecca--even to destroy the faith of Mohammed, as thou hast
said?"
"We also, Rajah Darpore," the Nawab of Attabad said, "would see first
the sealed order of the sircar, that we, too, are forced to cross the
black water to the destruction of our caste--to fight battles that are
not the battle of India. Thou hast said, rajah, that it is so commanded
in a state paper that was to have been put in the Lord Sahib's hands as
he sat in council in Calcutta, and though no doubt it is true we would
see it, for war is not to be taken in words that are spoken."
Ananda explained that the paper would be brought soon by his German
officer, and he would show it to them before they signed the pact.
Then Ananda, lowering his voice to tragic intensity, said: "It is
written that if the three sacred sapphires come into the hand of a man
it is because the gods have bestowed upon him wisdom and goodness and
power; that he is to lead. It is also written that if, having the three
sapphires, he stand beside the Lake of the Golden Coin at midnight in
the full bloom of the mhowa tree King Jogendra will appear in his golden
boat if he be selected to lead. I will take the ordeal to-night, for the
mhowa is in bloom and the three sapphires have been sent."
Swinton saw Ananda throw open his yellow robe, disclosing two sapphires,
and heard him say: "The third is here on the neck of the sacred elephant
in a bell."
At that instant the booming note of a gong striking the midnight hour
came from somewhere in the palace.
A dead silence settled over the people on the terrace, and they turned
their eyes to the waters of the Lake of the Golden Coin.
Twelve times the gong throbbed as it quivered from a blow, and as the
last whimpering note died away in a forest echo a circling ripple spread
from the shadow of a pipal, and now the rippling waves came fast,
darting here and there like serpents of gold or silver in the moonlight.
Men gasped in awe; some touched their foreheads prone to the marble
floor as a boat of gold, its prow a serpent's head with gleaming ruby
eyes, came up out of the water and floated upon the surface.
King Jogendra clothed in a rich garment, his turban gleaming red and
blue and white and gold where the moon flashed upon jewels, rose from a
bier and lifted a hand as if to invoke the favour of the gods upon the
prince who had called him from his long sleep.
Even Swinton, knowing that it was but a trick of the German engineers,
shivered as if he caught a fragment of the spell that almost stilled the
beating of hearts below.
And then from the sal forest came floating to this stillness of death
the soft, sweet "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!" of the
sapphire bell.
Burra Moti threw up her trunk, uttering a cry that was like the sob of a
frightened child, and cocked her huge ears. As the bell called again,
"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!" she thrust her trunk beneath her neck cloth;
but her fingers found no bell; it had been stolen.
With a scream of rage she surged to her feet, and, trampling men,
throwing them to one side like bags of chaff with her ivory spears, she
crashed through the table and fled.
"Now, sahib!" Darna Singh cried.
In answer to Swinton's pull of the lever the plateau rose up, the palace
quivered, the waters of the Lake of the Golden Coin swept across the
terrace over a flattened, yellow-robed figure that had been Prince
Ananda, and then was sucked back to disappear through a yawning crevice.
"Come, sahib; there will be no revolt, for Ananda is dead," Darna Singh
said softly.
Sometimes when the mhowa tree is in full bloom the soft tinkle of the
sapphire bell is heard up in the sal-covered hills; then the natives
whisper:
"The spirit of Rajah Ananda rides forth on the Brown Elephant."
THE END