THE TEMPLE
In the blue of night the temple looked as though it had been sculptured
out of mist. Here and there the heavy dews, touched by the moon
lances, flung back flames of sapphire, cold and sharp. To Kathlyn the
temple was of marvelous beauty. She urged Rajah toward the crumbling
portico.
It was a temple in ruins, like many in Hind. Broken pillars,
exquisitely carved, lay about, and some of the tall windows of marble
lace were punctured, as if the fist of some angry god had beaten
through. Under the decayed portico stood an iron brazier. Near this
reposed a cracked stone sarcophagus: an unusual sight in this part of
the world. It was without its lid. But one god now brooded
hereabouts--Silence. Not a sound anywhere, not even from the near-by
trees. She saw a noiseless lizard slide jerkily across a patch of
moonshine and dissolve into the purple shadow beyond.
What was this temple? What gods had been worshiped here? And why was
it deserted? She had heard her father tell of the ruined city of
Chitor. Plague? . . . Kathlyn shuddered. Sometimes villages, to the
last soul in them, were brushed from existence and known no more to
man. And this might be one of them. Yet indications of a village were
nowhere to be seen. It was merely a temple, perhaps miles from the
nearest village, deserted save by prowling wild beasts, the winds, the
sunshine and the moonshine. She looked far and wide for any signs of
human habitation.
She commanded Rajah to kneel. So held by the enchanting picture was
Kathlyn that the elephant's renewed restlessness (and he had reason, as
will be seen) passed unobserved by her. He came to his knees, however,
and she got out of the howdah. Her legs trembled for a space, for her
nerves were in a pitiable condition. Suddenly Rajah's ears went
forward, he rose, and his trunk curled angrily. With a whuff he
wheeled and shuffled off toward the jungle out of which he had so
recently emerged.
"Halt!" cried Kathlyn. What had he heard? What had he seen? "Halt!"
But even as she called the tall grass closed in behind the elephant.
What water and food she had disappeared with him.
She paused by the brazier, catching hold of it for support. She
laughed hysterically: it was so funny; it was all so out of joint with
real things, with every-day life as she had known it. Weird laughter
returned to mock her astonished ears, a sinister echo. And then she
laughed at the echo, being in the grip of a species of madness. In the
purple caverns of the temple she suddenly became conscious of another
presence. A flash as of moonlight striking two chrysoberyls took the
madness out of her mind. This forsaken temple was the haunt of a
leopard or a tiger.
She was lost. That magnetism which ordinarily was hers was at its
nadir. She hesitated for a second, then climbed into the empty
sarcophagus, crouching low. Strangely enough, as she did so a calm
fell upon her; all the terrors of her position dropped away from her as
mists from the mountain peaks. She had, however, got into the
hiding-place none too soon.
She heard the familiar pad-pad, the whiff-whiff of a big cat.
Immediately into the moonlight came an African lion, as out of place
here as Kathlyn herself; his tail slashed, there was a long black
streak from his mane to his tail where the hair had risen. Kathlyn
crouched even lower. The lion trotted round the sarcophagus, sniffing.
Presently he lifted his head and roared. The echoes played battledore
and shuttlecock with the sound. The lion roared again, this time at
the insulting echoes. For a few minutes the noise was deafening. A
rumble as of distant thunder, and the storm died away.
By and by she peered out cautiously. She saw the lion crossing the
open space between the temple and the jungle. She saw him pause, bend
his head, then lope away in the direction taken by Rajah.
To Kathlyn it seemed that she had no longer anything to do with the
body of Kathlyn Hare. The soul of another had stepped into this
wearied flesh of hers and now directed its physical manifestations,
while her own spirit stood gratefully and passively aloof. Nothing
could happen now; the world had grown still and calm. The spirit drew
the sleeves of the robe snugly about her arms and laid Kathlyn's head
upon them and drew her down into a profound slumber.
Half a mile to the north of the ruined temple there lay, all
unsuspected by Kathlyn, a village--a village belonging solely to the
poor, mostly ryots or tillers of the soil. The poor in Asia know but
two periods of time--for rarely do they possess such a thing as a watch
or a clock--sunset and sunrise. Perhaps the man of the family may sit
a while at dusk on his mud door-sill, with his bubbling water pipe (if
he has one), and watch the stars slowly swing across the arch. A pinch
of very bad tobacco is slowly consumed; then he enters the hunt
[Transcriber's note: hut?], flings himself upon his matting (perhaps a
cotton rug, more likely a bundle of woven water reeds) and sleeps. No
one wakes him; habit rouses him at dawn. He scrubs his teeth with a
fibrous stick. It is a part of his religious belief to keep his teeth
clean. The East Indian (Hindu or Mohammedan) has the whitest, soundest
teeth in the world if the betel-nut is but temperately used.
Beyond this village lay a ruined city, now inhabited by cobras and
slinking jackals.
Dawn. A few dung fires smoldered. From the doorway of one of the mud
huts came a lean man, his naked torso streaked with wet ashes, his
matted hair hanging in knots and tangles on his emaciated shoulders.
His aspect was exceedingly filthy; he was a holy man, which in this mad
country signifies physical debasement, patience and fortitude such as
would have adorned any other use. A human lamprey, sticking himself
always at the thin and meager board of the poor, a vile parasite, but
holy!
The holy man directed his steps to the narrow beaten pathway which led
to the temple, where, every morning, he performed certain rites which
the poor benighted ryots believed would some day restore the ruined
city and the prosperity which attends fat harvests. The holy man had
solemnly declared that it would take no less than ten years to bring
about this miracle. And the villagers fell down with their foreheads
in the dust. He was a Brahmin; the caste string hung about his neck;
he was indeed holy, he who could have dwelt on the fat of the land, in
maharajahs' courts. The least that can be said is that he performed
his duties scrupulously.
So, then, the red rim of the March sun shouldered up above the rolling
jungle as he came into the beaten clay court which fronted the temple.
The lion stalked only at night, rarely appearing in the daytime. Once
a month he was given a bullock, for he kept tiger and leopard away, and
the villagers dwelt in peace. The lion had escaped from Allaha, where
the species were kept as an additional sport. Since he had taken up
his abode in the temple there had been fewer thefts from the cattle
sheds.
The holy man was about to assume his squatting posture in the center of
the court, as usual, when from out of the sarcophagus rose languidly a
form, shrouded in white. The form stretched its lovely arms, white as
alabaster, and presently the hands rubbed a pair of sleepy eyes. Then
the form sat down within the sarcophagus, laid its arms on the rim, and
wearily hid its face in them.
The watcher was the most dumfounded holy man in all India. For the
first time in his hypocritical life he found faith in himself, in his
puerile rites. He had conjured up yonder spirit, unaided, alone. He
rose, turned, and never a holy man ran faster. When he arrived,
panting and voiceless, at the village well, where natives were coming
and going with water in goatskins and jars and copper vessels, he fell
upon his face, rose to his knees, and poured hands full of dust upon
his head.
"Ai, ai!" he called. "It is almost done, my children. The first sign
has come from the gods. I have brought you in human form the ancient
priestess!" And he really believed he had. "O my children, my little
ones, my kids! I have brought her who will now attend to the sacred
fires; for these alone will restore the city as of old, the fat corn,
the plentitude of fruit. Since the coming of the lion two rains ago
the leopard and the striped one have forsaken their lairs. One bullock
a month is better than fire, together with the kids and the children.
Ai!" More dust.
Naturally the villagers set down their water skins and jars and copper
vessels and flocked about this exceptional holy man. They wanted to
believe him, but for years nothing had happened but the advent of the
lion, whence no one exactly knew, though the holy man had not been
backward in claiming it was due to his nearness to the god Vishnu.
They followed him eagerly to the temple. What they beheld transfixed
them. A woman with skin like the petals of the lotus and hair like
corn sat in the sacred sarcophagus and braided her hair, gazing the
while toward the bright sun.
The intake of many breaths produced a sound. Kathlyn turned instantly
toward this sound, for a moment expecting the return of the lion.
Immediately holy man and villagers threw themselves upon the ground,
striking their foreheads against the damp clay. The alien spirit still
ruled the substance; Kathlyn eyed them in mild astonishment, not at all
alarmed.
"Ai!" shrilled the holy man, springing to his feet. "Ai! She is our
ancient priestess, rising from her tomb of centuries! Ai, ai! O thou
unholy children, to doubt my word! Behold! Henceforth she shall share
the temple with the lion, and later she will give us prosperity, and my
name shall ever be in your households."
Having secured a priestess, he was now determined that he should not
lose her. The future was roseate indeed, and when he took his next
pilgrimage to holy Benares they would bestrew his pathway with lotus
flowers.
"Wood to start the sacred fires!" he commanded.
The villagers flew to obey his orders. He was indeed a holy man. Not
in the memory of the oldest had a miracle such as this happened. Upon
their return with wood and embers the holy man built the fire, handing
a lighted torch to Kathlyn and signifying for her to touch the tinder.
The spirit in Kathlyn told her that these people meant her no immediate
harm, so she stepped out of the sarcophagus and applied the torch. The
moment the flames began to crackle the villagers prostrated themselves
again and the holy man besmeared his bony chest with more ashes.
A second holy man appeared upon the scene, wanting in breath. His jaw
dropped and his eyes started to leave their sockets. Knowing his ilk
so thoroughly well, he flung himself down before the brazier and beat
his forehead upon the ground; not in any chastened spirit, but because
he had overslept that morning. This glory might have been his! Ai, ai!
Later the two conferred. During the day they should guard the
priestess, because, having taken human form, she might some day tire of
this particular temple. At night she would be well guarded by the lion.
Several awestricken women came forward with bowls of cooked rice and
fruits and a new copper drinking vessel. These they reverently placed
at Kathlyn's feet.
Gradually the spirit which had comforted Kathlyn withdrew, and at
length Kathlyn became keenly alive. It entered her mind clearly that
these poor foolish people really believed her a celestial being, and so
long as they laid no hand upon her she was not alarmed. She had
recently passed through too many terrors to be disturbed by a bit of
kindness, even if stirred into being by a religious fanaticism.
Kathlyn ate.
By pairs the villagers departed, and soon none remained save her
self-appointed guardians, the two holy men. Kathlyn felt a desire to
explore this wonderful temple. She discovered what must have been the
inner shrine. The chamber was filled with idols; here and there a bit
of gold leaf, centuries old, glistened upon the bronze, the clay, the
wood. The caste mark on the largest idol's head was a polished ruby,
overlooked doubtless during the loot. She swept the dust from the
jewel with the tip of her finger, and the dull fire sent a shiver of
delight over her. She was still a woman.
As she wandered farther in her foot touched something and she looked
down. It was a bone; in fact, the floor was strewn with bones. She
quickly discerned, much to her relief, that none of these bones was
human. This was, or had been, the den of the lion. There was an acrid
unpleasant odor, so she hurried back to the brazier. Vaguely she
comprehended that she must keep the fire replenished from time to time
in order to pacify the two holy men. At night it would fend off any
approach of the lion.
Where was Bruce? Would he ever find her? That philosophy which she
had inherited from her father, that quiet acceptance of the inevitable,
was the one thing which carried her through her trials sanely. An
ordinary woman would have died from mere exhaustion.
Bruce, indeed! At that very moment he was rushing out of the Kumor's
presence, wild to be off toward the road to Allaha, since Kathlyn had
not been seen upon it. He found where Rajah had veered off into the
jungle again, and followed the trail tirelessly. But it was to be his
misfortune always to arrive too late.
To Kathlyn the day passed with nothing more than the curiosity of the
natives to disturb her. They brought her cotton blankets which she
arranged in the sarcophagus. There were worse beds in the world than
this; at least it shielded her from the bitter night wind.
She ate again at sundown and builded high the sacred fire and tried to
plan some manner of escape; for she did not propose to be a
demi-goddess any longer than was necessary. From Pundita she had
learned many words and a few phrases in Hindustani, and she ventured to
speak them to the holy men, who seemed quite delighted. They could
understand her, but she on her part could make little or nothing of
their jabbering. Nevertheless, she pretended.
Finally the holy men departed, after having indicated the sacred fire
and the wood beside it. This fire pleased Kathlyn mightily. While it
burned brightly the lion would not prowl in her immediate vicinity.
She wondered where this huge cat had come from, since she knew her
natural history well enough to know that African lions did not inhabit
this part of the globe. Doubtless it had escaped from some private
menagerie.
The fire, then, giving her confidence, she did not get into the
sarcophagus, but wandered about, building in her fancy the temple as it
had stood in its prime. The ceilings had been magnificently carved, no
two subjects alike; and the walls were of marble and jasper and
porphyry. A magic continent this Asia in its heyday. When her
forefathers had been rude barbarians, sailing the north seas or
sacrificing in Druidical rites, there had been art and culture here
such as has never been surpassed. India, of splendid pageants, of
brave warriors and gallant kings! Alas, how the mighty had fallen!
About her, penury, meanness, hypocrisy, uncleanliness, thievery and
unbridled passions. . . . What was that? Her heart missed a beat.
That pad-pad; that sniffling noise!
She whirled about, knocking over an idol. It came down with a crash
and, being of clay, lay in shards at her feet. (Unfortunately it was
the holy of holies in this temple.) How she gained the shelter of the
sarcophagus she never knew, but gain it she did, and cowered down
within. She could hear the beast trotting round and round, sniffling
and rumbling in his throat. Then the roaring of the preceding night
was repeated. The old fellow evidently could not find those other
lions who roared back at him so valiantly. Evidently fire had no
terrors for him. For an hour or more he patrolled the portico, and all
this time Kathlyn did not stir, hardly daring to breathe for fear he
might undertake to peer into the sarcophagus.
Silence. A low roar from the inner shrine told her that for the
present she was safe. To-morrow she must fly, whither did not matter.
Toward four o'clock she fell into a doze and was finally awakened by
the sound of voices raised in anger.
Poor sheep! They had discovered the shattered idol. It did not matter
at all that the return of their ancient goddess was to bring back
prosperity. She had broken their favorite idol. Damnation would come
in a devil's wind that night.
The holy man who had missed the chance of claiming the miraculous
appearance of Kathlyn as a work of his own now saw an opportunity to
rehabilitate himself in the eyes of those who had made his holiness a
comfortable existence. With a piece of the idol in his hand, he roused
Kathlyn and shook the clay before her face, jabbering violently.
Kathlyn understood readily enough. She had unwittingly committed a
sacrilege.
The natives gathered about and menaced her. Kathlyn rose, standing in
the sarcophagus, and extended her hands for silence. She was
frightened, but it would never do to let them see it. What Hindustani
she knew would in this case be of no manner of use. But we human
beings can, by facial expression and gesture, make known our messages
with understandable clearness. From her gestures, then, the holy men
gathered that she could recreate the god. She pointed toward the sun
and counted on her fingers.
The premier holy man, satisfied that he understood Kathlyn's gestures,
turned to the justly angered villagers and explained that with his aid
their priestess would, in five suns, recreate Vishnu in all his beauty.
Instantly the villagers prostrated themselves.
"Poor things!" murmured Kathlyn.
The holy men sent the natives away, for it was not meet that they
should witness magic in the making. They then squatted in the clay
court and curiously waited for her to begin. There was a well in the
inner shrine. To this she went with caution. The lion was evidently
foraging in the jungle. Kathlyn filled the copper vessel with water
and returned. Next, she gathered up what pieces of the idol she could
find and pieced them together. Here was her model. She then
approached one of the fakirs and signified that she had need of his
knife. He demurred at first, but at length consented to part with it.
She dug up a square piece of clay. In fine, she felt more like the
Kathlyn of old than she had since completing the leopard in her outdoor
studio. It occupied her thoughts, at least part of them, for she
realized that mayhap her life depended upon her skill in reproducing
the hideous idol.
As the two old hypocrites saw the clay take form and shape and the
mocking face gradually appear, they were assured that Kathlyn was
indeed the ancient priestess; and deep down in their souls they
experienced something of the awe they had often inspired in the poor
trusting ryot.
Kathlyn had talent bordering on genius. The idol was an exact replica
of the original one; more, there was a subtle beauty now where before
there had been a frank repulsiveness. It satisfied the holy men, and
the unveiling was greeted by the villagers with such joy that Kathlyn
forgave them and could have wept over them. She had made a god for
them, and they fell down and worshiped it.
Five more days passed. On the afternoon of the fifth day Kathlyn was
feeding the fire. The holy men sat in the court at their devotions,
which consisted in merely remaining motionless. Kathlyn returned from
the fire to see them rise and flee in terror. She in turn fled, for
the lion stood between her and the sarcophagus! The lion paused,
lashing his tail. The many recent commotions within and without the
temple had finally roused his ire. He hesitated between the holy men
and Kathlyn, and finally concluded that she in the fluttering robes
would be the most desirable.
There was no particular hurry; besides, he was not hungry. The cat in
him wanted to play. He loped after Kathlyn easily. At any time he
chose a few swift bounds would bring him to her side.
Beyond the temple lay the same stream by which, miles away, Kathlyn had
seen the funeral pyre and about which she had so weird a fantasy. If
this stream was deep there was a chance for life.