THE WHITE GODDESS
The painted dancing girl in the house where Umballa had taken temporary
refuge began to gather her trinkets, her amber and turquoise necklaces,
bracelets and anklets. These she placed in a brass enameled box and
tucked it under her arm. Next she shook the sodden Umballa by the
sleeve.
"Come!" she cried.
"I would sleep," he muttered.
She seized a bowl containing some flowers and cast the contents into
his face. "Fire, fire and death!" she shrilled at him.
The douche brought the man out of his stupor.
"Fire?" he repeated.
"Come!"
This time he followed her docilely, wiping his face on his sleeve.
They heard a great shouting in the street, but did not tarry to learn
what had caused it.
One of Umballa's bearers, upon realizing what his master had done, had
run down the street for aid. He had had two objects in view--to save
the white goddess and to buy his freedom.
A few hundred yards away, in another street, the colonel, Bruce and
Ahmed were dragging a net for the purpose of laying it for a lion at
bay in a blind alley. Into their presence rushed the wild-eyed bearer.
"Save the white goddess!" he cried.
Bruce seized him by the shoulder. "What is that?"
"The white goddess, Sahib! She is on the roof of a burning house.
Durga Ram, my master, set fire to it. He is drunk and hiding in a
house near by."
"The man is mad," declared the colonel. "Kit would not have lost her
way this far. He is lying. He wants money."
Ahmed spoke. The bearer fell upon his knees.
Three shots, at intervals!
The colonel and Bruce stared into each other's eyes.
"God in Heaven!" gasped the colonel; "those are revolver shots!"
"Bring the net!" shouted Ahmed. To the trembling bearer he said: "Lead
us; we follow. And if you have spoken the truth you shall not only
have your freedom, but rupees for your old age."
A lion's net is a heavy affair, but with the aid of the keepers the men
ran as quickly and lightly as if burdenless. Smoke. There was a fire.
The hearts of the white men beat painfully. And the same thought
occurred to both of them; they should have gone to Ramabai's house
first, then turned their attention to the lions. And Umballa was
hiding in a house near by!
Well for them that they entered the doomed quarter as they did.
Kathlyn saw them, and the muzzle of the revolver which she was pressing
to her heart lowered, the weapon itself slipping from her hand to the
roof. God was not going to let her die like this.
"Spread out the net!" commanded Bruce. "Kathlyn, can you hear me?" he
shouted, cupping his hands before his mouth. Faintly he heard her
reply. "When I give the word, jump. Do not be afraid."
Kathlyn stepped upon the parapet. A great volume of smoke obscured her
for a moment. Out of the windows the vivid tongues of flame darted,
flashing upward. She summoned all her courage and waited for the call
of the man she loved. Inside a floor gave way with a crash and the
collateral walls of the building swayed ominously. A despairing roar
accompanied the thunder of falling beams. The lions had gone to their
death.
"Jump!"
Without hesitation Kathlyn flung herself into space. A murmur ran
through the crowd which had, for the moment, forgot its own danger in
the wonder of this spectacle. The men holding the net threw themselves
backward as Kathlyn struck the mesh. Even then her body touched the
street cobbles and she was bruised and shaken severely, but, oh, alive,
alive! There rose the great shouting which Umballa and the dancing
girl had heard.
Shortly after the house collapsed. The fire spread to the houses on
each side.
Bruce seized the bearer by the arm. "Now, the house which Umballa
entered?"
Eagerly enough the slave directed him. For all the abuse and beatings
the slave was to have his hour. But they found the house empty, except
for a chattering monkey and a screaming parrakeet, both attached to
pedestal perches. Bruce liberated them and returned to the colonel.
"Gone! Well, let him hide in the jungle, a prey to fear and hunger.
At least we are rid of him. But I shall die unhappy if in this life we
two fail to meet again. Kit!"
"John!" She withdrew from her father's arms and sought those of the
man who loved her and whom she loved, as youth will and must. "Let him
go. Why should we care? Take me to my sister."
Ahmed smiled as he and his men rolled the net. This was as it should
be. For what man was a better mate for his golden-haired Mem-sahib?
And then he thought of Lal Singh, and he choked a little. For Lal
Singh and he had spent many pleasant hours together. They had worked
together in play and in war, shared danger and bread and glory, all of
which was written in the books of the British Raj in Calcutta.
It was the will of Allah; there was but one God, and Mahomet was His
prophet. Then Ahmed dismissed Lal Singh and the past from his
thoughts, after the philosophical manner of the Asiatic, and turned to
the more vital affairs under hand.
At Ramabai's house there was a happy reunion; and on her knees Pundita
confessed to her lord how near she had been to Christian damnation.
She had fallen from grace; she had reverted to the old customs of her
race, to whom suicide was no sin, Ramabai took her in his arms and
touched the forehead with his lips.
"And now," said the colonel, "the king!"
Ramabai's head sank.
"What is the matter? Is he dead?"
"If I knew that," answered Ramabai, "I would rest content."
"But you searched the royal prison?"
"And found nothing, nothing!"
"What do you believe?"
"I believe that either the council or Umballa has forestalled us. We
shall visit the council at once, They are prisoners. If they have had
no hand in the disappearance of the king then we are facing a stone
wall over which we can not leap. For Umballa has fled, whither no one
knows, and with him has gone the secret. Come; we shall go at once to
the palace prison."
The council which had ruled so long in Allaha was very humble indeed.
They had imprisoned the king because he had given many evidences of
mental unbalance. Perhaps unwisely they had proclaimed his death.
Durga Ram had discovered what they had done and had held it over their
heads like a sword blade. That the king was not in his dungeon, why
and wherefor, was beyond their knowledge. They were in the power of
Ramabai; let him work his will upon them. They had told the truth.
And Ramabai, much as he detested them, believed them. But for the
present it was required that they remain incarcerated till the king was
found, dead or alive.
In the palace soldiers and servants alike had already forgot Umballa.
To them it was as if he had not existed. All in a few hours. There
was, however, one man who did not forget. Upon a certain day Umballa
had carelessly saved his life, and to his benefactor he was now
determined to devote that life. This man was the majordomo, the chief
servant in the king's household. It was not that he loved Umballa;
rather that he owed Umballa a debt and resolved to pay it.
Two days later, when the fires were extinguished and the populace had
settled back into its former habits, this majordomo betook himself to
Umballa's house. It was well guarded, and by men who had never been
close to Umballa, but had always belonged to the dissatisfied section,
the frankly and openly mutinous section. No bribery was possible here;
at least, nothing short of a fabulous sum of money would dislodge their
loyalty to Ramabai, now the constitutional regent. No one could leave
the house or enter it without scrutiny and question.
The servants and the women of the zenana remained undisturbed. Ramabai
would have it so. Things had been put in order. There had not been
much damage done by the looters on the day of the revolt. They had
looked for treasure merely, and only an occasional bit of vandalism had
marked their pathway.
On the pain of death no soldier might enter the house.
The majordomo was permitted to enter without question. He passed the
guards humbly. But once inside, beyond observation, he became a
different man. For in Umballa's house, as in Ramabai's, there were
secret chambers, and to-day the majordomo entered one of them--through
a panel concealed behind a hanging Ispahan rug.
On the night after the revolt, Umballa, sober and desperate, had slunk
back disguised as a candy seller. The house was not guarded then; so
he had no difficulty in gaining admittance. But he had to gain
entrance through a window in the zenana. He would not trust either his
servants, his slaves, or his chief eunuch. To the women of his own
zenana he had always been carelessly kind, and women are least bribable
of the two sexes.
Umballa entered at once his secret chamber and food and water were
brought, one of the women acting as bearer. On the morning after the
guards arrived, and Umballa knew not how long he might have to wait.
Through one of the women he sent a verbal message to the majordomo with
the result that each day he learned what was taking place in the
palace. So they hunted for the king.
He was very well satisfied. He had had his revenge; and more than
this, he was confident when the time came he would also gain his
liberty. He had a ransom to pay: the king himself!
Now then, Ramabai felt it incumbent on him to hold a banquet in the
palace, there to state to his friends, native and white, just what he
intended to do. And on the night of this sober occasion he sat in the
throne room before a desk littered with documents. As he finished
writing a note he summoned the majordomo.
"Have this delivered at once to Hare Sahib, whom you will find at his
bungalow outside the city. Tell him also that he must be present
to-night, he, his friend and his daughters. It is of vital importance."
Pundita, who was staring out of the window, turned and asked her lord
what he was sending the Colonel Sahib that he could not give him at the
banquet.
"A surprise, an agreeable surprise."
The majordomo cocked his ears; but Ramabai said nothing more.
At the colonel's bungalow there was rejoicing. Ramabai had written
that, since the king could not be found he would head the provisional
government as regent, search for and arrest Umballa, and at any time
the Colonel Sahib signified would furnish him with a trusty escort to
the railway, three days' journey away. He added, however, that he
hoped the Colonel Sahib would be good enough to remain till order was
established.
The majordomo contrived to tarry long enough to overhear as much of the
conversation as needed for he understood English--and then returned to
the city to carry the news to Umballa. To him Umballa gave a white
powder.
"To-night, you say, Ramabai gives a banquet?"
"Yes, Huzoor."
"Well, put this in his cup and your obligation to me is paid."
The majordomo stared a long time at that little packet of powder. A
cold sweat formed upon his brow under his turban.
"Well?" said Umballa ironically.
"Huzoor, it is murder!"
Umballa shrugged and held out his hand for the packet.
The majordomo swallowed a few times, and bowed his head. "It shall be
done, Huzoor. My life is yours to do with as you please. I have said
it."
"Begone, then, and bring me the news on the morrow that Ramabai is
dead. You alone know where the king is. Should they near the hut in
which I have hidden him, see that he is killed. He is also useless."
The majordomo departed with heavy heart. Ramabai was an honest man;
but Durga Ram had spoken.
At the banquet, with its quail and pheasant, its fruits and flowers,
its rare plates and its rarer goblets for the light wines high castes
permitted themselves occasionally to drink, Ramabai toyed idly with his
goblet and thoughtlessly pushed it toward Kathlyn, who sat at his right.
Imbued with a sense of gratitude for Ramabai's patience and kindness
and assistance through all her dreadful ordeals, Kathlyn sprang up
suddenly, and without looking reached for what she supposed to be her
own goblet, but inadvertently her hand came into contact with
Ramabai's. What she had in mind to say was never spoken.
The majordomo stood appalled. This wonderful white woman over whom the
gods watched as they watched the winds and the rains, of whom he had
not dared speak to Umballa. She? No! He saw that he himself must
die. He seized the goblet ere it reached her lips, drank and flung it
aside, empty. He was as good as dead, for there were no antidotes for
poisons Umballa gave. Those seated about the table were too astonished
to stir. The majordomo put his hands to his eyes, reeled, steadied
himself, and then Ramabai understood.
"Poison!" he gasped, springing up and catching the majordomo by the
shoulders. "Poison, and it was meant for me! Speak!"
"Lord, I will tell all. I am dying!"
It was a strange tale of misplaced loyalty and gratitude, but it was
peculiarly oriental. And when they learned that Umballa was hidden in
his own house and the king in a hut outside the city, they knew that
God was just, whatever His prophet's name might be. Before he died the
majordomo explained the method of entering the secret chamber.
The quail and pheasant, the fruits and wine remained untouched. The
hall became deserted almost immediately. To the king, first; to the
king! Then Umballa should pay his debt.
They found the poor king in the hut, in a pitiable condition. He
laughed and babbled and smiled and wept as they led him away. But in
the secret chamber which was to have held Umballa there was no living
thing.
For Umballa had, at the departure of the majordomo, conceived a plan
for rehabilitation so wide in its ramifications, so powerful and
whelming, that nothing could stay it; once it was set in motion. The
priests, the real rulers of Asia; the wise and patient gurus, who held
the most compelling of all scepters, superstition! Double fool that he
had been, not to have thought of this before! He knew that they hated
Ramabai, who in religion was an outcast and a pariah, who worshiped but
a single God whom none had ever seen, of whom no idol had been carved
and set up in a temple.
Superstition!
Umballa threw off his robes and donned his candy seller's tatters, left
the house without being questioned by the careless guard, and sought
the chief temple.
Superstition!
To cow the populace, to bring the troops to the mark, with threats of
curses, famine, plague, eternal damnation! Superstition! And this is
why Ramabai and his followers found an empty chamber.