"According to established precedent it is reported, under section so
and so, that one Buddha Singh of Kidderjana having died, his rightful
heirs inherit." The court-reader's voice hurried the liquid Urdu
syllables into long, sleepy cadences like the drone of a humble-bee
entangled in the swaying punkah overhead. Backwards and forwards,
rising and falling, the rhythm seemed to become part of me, until the
colourless reports were a monotonous lullaby, and each wave of sound
and motion bore me farther from earth, nearer to the land of dreams.
Ah! if the right people always inherited, and my old uncle received
ticket-of-leave from the gout, I might afford furlough, and stand once
more on that big boulder at the foot of the One-stone pool waiting for
a new ring of light to show on the dark eddy by the far side--a ring
with a swirl and a gleam of silver scales in the centre, a tightening
line under the finger, till the reel went whirr-rr-rr-rr! It was a
lovely dream while it lasted.
"According to established precedent, the canal-officer reports, under
section so-and-so, that certain rebellious persons in Chori-pani have
opened the sluices of the cut, and taken water that did not belong to
them." The heather-sweet breeze off the One-stone pool ceased to blow,
and I was back, with the punkah, in the humanity-laden atmosphere of
the court-house, where even the mosquitoes were glutted, and the
lizards, hanging head downwards on the wall, looked as if they had
congestion of the brain. Stealing water! Poor wretches, who could blame
them with their crops withering in the June sun and the sluice-doors
within reach? Even a juicy apple on a hot day is irresistible, despite
Farmer Smith's big dog watching from below, while you sit on the lower
branch, and Jerry sits on the upper, eating all the ripe fruit just to
pass the time, and thanking Providence meanwhile for making you
Christian children in a cider-country!
"According to established precedent it is reported, under section
so-and-so, that the devil was born three days ago in village
Hairan-wallah. Orders are requested. Meanwhile the _chowkidar_
[watchman] remains watching the same." Startled into wakefulness, I
looked sharply to see if the reader had not been nodding in his turn;
but my alertness merely produced a respectful iteration of the
paragraph, which showed all too clearly my subordinate's explanation of
the sudden display of attention.
The suspicion of sleep is always irritating. "_Sarishtadar!_" [clerk of
the Court] I began in English, "what, the devil?"
"Nossir," interrupted the reader suavely in the same language, "pardon
the suggestion, sir, but the devil is somewhat free translation, sir.
In Dictionary _bhut_ (the word used, sir,) equals an _indefinite_
devil, thus _a_ devil, _a_ fiend, _a_ imp--pardon the indiscretion,
sir! an imp."
A glow of proud humility at his own quick detection of these trivial
errors filled up the pause which followed, while the punkah went on
swinging, and I sat wondering if I were asleep or awake. Finally the
_sarishtadar_ dipped his pen in the ink, fluttered the superfluous
moisture on the carpet, and suggested deferentially that the
_chowkidar_ was waiting for orders. A sudden curiosity as to what his
self-complacent brain, surcharged with Western culture, would do with
the situation made me reply curtly, "The usual orders."
I managed to forbear laughing in the grave face raised to mine in
deprecating apology. "I am unable, sir," he said after a pause, "to
recall, at the present moment, any section, penal or civil, suitable to
occasion. Would you kindly jog memory, sir, by suggesting if it is
under judicial or administrative heads? Or perhaps," he added, as a
bright after-thought, "it is political job." Then, I regret to say, I
went off into yells of unseemly mirth, as most Englishmen have to do at
times over the portentous solemnity of the Aryan brother.
There was a stir in the verandah, a sudden waking to renewed effort on
the part of the punkah coolie, resulting in a general breeziness. Or
was it that Terence O'Reilly, our young Irish doctor, as he came into
the darkened Court, brought with him a thought of fresh air, a
remembrance of Nature in her sunniest, most lovable moods? He
invariably suggested such things to me at any rate, and as he paused in
astonishment at my indecorous occupation, I thought once more that it
was a pleasure simply to look at him. His face sympathised promptly
with the unknown joke. "Whwhat the divvle are ye laughing at--me?" he
asked in a rich brogue as he seated himself astride a chair, in which
equestrian position his dandy costume for polo showed to great
advantage.
Nero fiddling over the flames of Rome is sympathy itself compared to
the indifference with which we often speak the first lines of a coming
tragedy in every-day life. So it was with a jest that I introduced
Terence O'Reilly to the existence of the _bhut_-baby, and in so doing
became instantly aware that he surpassed me in other things besides
good looks. He could scarcely be said to become grave, for to lose
brightness would have been to lose the essence of the man, but his
expression grew to a still more vivid reflex of his mind. "'Twill be
one of those poor little craytures that come into this worrld God knows
why," he said with an infinite tenderness of voice. "Ten to wan 'tis
better it should die, fifty to wan I can do nothing to help it, but
I'll ride over and see annyhow."
The _sarishtadar_ laid aside his pen somewhat mournfully, the practical
being out of his line; while I, smitten by admiration into immediate
regret at my own indifference, murmured something about having thought
of going over next morning.
"There's no time loike the present, my dear fellow," he replied
buoyantly. "The pony's at the door, and sure I'm got up for riding
annyhow;" and as he spoke he stretched out his long legs, and surveyed
their immaculate boots and breeches critically.
"And what will your team do without their best forward?" I asked,
feeling a certain captiousness at his prompt decision.
"Get along with your blarney! Sure it's practising, and you can take my
place at that anny day; indeed 'twas to fetch you I ventured into the
dock, for whin I caught a glimpse of your face at the jail this morning
I said to meself, 'Terence, me bhoy, that's a case of polo, or blue
pill, for by the powers his liver's not acting.' So 'twas to hound you
into exercise I came annyhow."
A feverish desire to amend and excuse my own lukewarmness shot up
through the loophole his words afforded. "To tell the truth, I _was_
feeling a bit slack; but if you'll wait five minutes while I slip over
to the bungalow and change my clothes, I'll ride with you to
Hairan-wallah. It will be better for me than polo; I might get
over-heated, you know."
"'Tis over-_eating_, not over-_heating_ that's the matter with you, me
bhoy," he replied coolly; "but I'm proud,--and by the powers!" he
added, starting up in great excitement, "you shall ride my pony; I call
him Blue Pill, for he's better than wan anny day; and while you're
dressing I'll send me _syce_ round for the Lily of Killarney. I've a
bet on her at the _gymkhana_ next Monday, and we'll try her on the
quiet against the stable."
Half an hour afterwards I was enjoying plenteous exercise, and it
seemed to me, far behind, as if the Lily--a great black beast without a
single white hair on her--was trying to buck Terence over into the
saffron-coloured horizon, as she went along in a series of wild bounds.
He came back to me, however, after a time, as fresh as paint; but the
mare, with head down and heaving flanks, appeared to have had enough of
it.
"'Tis a pity the faymale sex is so narvous," he said casually. "Ye
can't hold 'em responsible for annything; but if it wasn't for hysteria
they'd be angels entirely. She has the paces of wan, annyhow."
Fourteen miles of constant canal cuts, that were a perpetual joy to the
doctor and a terror to me, brought us to Hairan-wallah, a large village
standing among irrigated fields. Here cautious inquiries for the devil
led us to a cluster of mud huts beyond the pale, where the low-caste
servants of the community dwelt apart. Before reaching it we were
joined by the head-men and their followers, all anxious to explain and
excuse the calamity which had befallen their reputation; but as the
fear of evil eye had prevented any of them from personally inspecting
the fiend, the accounts of its appearance were wildly conflicting. The
doctor, indeed, refused to listen to them, on the ground that it was
sheer waste of time, and rode along affably discussing the crops with
an aged patriarch. His manner changed, however, when we were requested
to dismount, and he led the way into the enclosure where, guarded by
the police _chowkidar_, the devil-baby lay awaiting Government orders.
The courtyard was hung round with coloured thread, old iron, and other
devices against witchcraft, and a group of low-caste men and women were
huddled up dejectedly in one corner. So far the crowd followed us; but
when some of the reputed relations showed us into a dark out-house
at the further end, even curiosity failed to prevent a visible
hanging-back. Blinded by the change from the glare outside, I could at
first see nothing but my companion's tall form bending over a bundle of
rags on a low stool, beside which a half-naked hag sat chanting a
guttural charm; and before I regained clearer sight his voice rang out
in tones of evident relief, "By the powers! 'tis only a black albino."
The bull was perfect, seeing that it conveyed succinctly a very
accurate description. The _bhut_-baby was a black, a very black albino,
for the abnormal colouring was confined to its hair, which was unusally
well developed, and grew in tight clustering curls over its head like a
coachman's wig. The faint eyebrows and eyelashes were also white, and
the result, if not devilish, was extremely startling. For the rest, it
was as fine a man-child as ever came to gladden a mother's heart. I
deemed it asleep till I saw the doctor bend closer, and then raise the
eyelid in keen professional scrutiny.
"Where's the mother?" he cried, turning like lightning on the nearest
male relative, and seizing him by the scruff of the neck in order to
emphasise his words. "Bring her at once, or I'll go inside and fetch
her myself. The child has been left to starve," he added rapidly in
English, "and it's nigh dead of neglect. You're a magistrate! Make them
bring the devil of a mother here at once, or it will die."
But they met my commands and remonstrances with frightened obstinacy,
asserting after some hesitation that the mother was dead, had died
virtuously of shame at bringing such disgrace to her people. I had
every reason to believe this statement was a lie, but no means of
proving it to be one, for of course the whole village favoured it.
Then there came to Terence O'Reilly's face a look that was good to see,
but not to endure. "And if the poor little creature has lost its own
mother," he cried in that strong, round voice of his, "are there no
other women among you all with the milk of kindness in their breasts
that will give it a drink for the sake of the time when they took suck
themselves? Look at it! What are you all frightened of? 'Tis as fine a
babe as a woman could bear. Only the white hair of it, and God knows we
shall all come to that if we are spared. Look at it, I say! Handle it,
and see for yourselves!"
Suiting the action to the word, he lifted the infant in his arms and
carried it out to the lingering light of day, among the crowd which
fell back in alarm from him and his burden. He did, indeed, look
somewhat of an avenging angel with his face ablaze with indignant
appeal. There was a scuttling from behind as some of the head-men tried
to force a sweeper-woman to the front, but ere they succeeded she had
promptly gone into hysterics, and so roused a murmur of disapprobation
and dismay among the rest. Her shrieks brought Terence back to earth;
and ceasing to hold the child at arm's length, as if offering it for
acceptance, he turned to me once more. "At least your magistracy can
make them bring me milk. If ye can't even do that, then God help the
British rule!"
Stung by the sarcasm, I exerted myself to such an extent, that three
separate head-men arrived breathless at the same moment with large
_lotahs_ full of nourishment for the devil, or any one else on whom the
Presence was foolish enough to bestow it. So much lay within their
conceptions of duty.
The scene which followed will linger in my memory until memory itself
ceases to be. Terence in polo-costume seated on a string bed under the
darkening skies with the devil on his lap, feeding it methodically with
the corner of his pocket-handkerchief moistened in the milk held by
three trembling _lambadars_. Beside him the Presence, with, thank God,
sufficient vitality left for admiration. And round about a cloud of
awestruck witnesses, wondering at his audacity, doubtful of its effect
on the future.
"Sure 'tis the firrst toime I ever did dhry-nurse," he remarked after a
long silence, during which I became absorbingly interested in the
little imp's growing desire for life. "Hark to that, now! The
ungrateful divvle's wanting to cry just because it's got something to
digest, as if that wasn't the firrst duty of a human stomach. Great
Moses! don't ye think it's time you stepped in as ripresentative of the
_Kaiser-i-Hind_, and took things in hand a bit? Ah, it's after having
dill-water ye are now, is it? Whist, whist, whist now!"
He walked up and down, the crowd swaying from him, as he dandled the
infant with what seemed to me marvellous skill, while I did my best to
argue sense into the dull brains of the villagers. I was quite
unsuccessful, of course, and after many words found myself, as before,
with two courses open to me; either to leave the _bhut_-baby where it
was, or give it in charge of the head-men--the one a swift, the other a
more tardy certainty of death from that mysterious disease called "by
the cause of not drinking milk properly," which figures so largely in
the records of infant mortality in India; the former for choice, since,
as Terence remarked, "It would save trouble to kill it at the beginning
instead of the end of its life."
"So the magistracy can do nothing," he said at last; "thin I will.
_Chowkidar!_ take this baby to the headquarters' hospital. I'm master
there, annyhow, and I'll make it anny case I please, and dye its hair,
an' no man shall say me nay!"
So the _chowkidar_ was ordered to carry the devil to hospital to be
cured of its devilry, and we rode home in frantic haste, because
Terence was engaged to sing "_Killaloe_" that evening in barracks. Some
of the relations ran about a mile after us yelling out blessings for
having removed the curse from them.
Six weeks after I saw an atrocious hag nursing a white-haired infant in
the doctor's own compound, and questioned him on the subject. "The fact
is," he said ruefully, "it gave fits to the patients. I tried shaving
its head, but it grew so fast and the white eyelashes of it betrayed
the cloven hoof. And dye wouldn't stick on; so I've hired a harridan on
two rupees a month to look after it under my own eye."
There was, no doubt, something of combativeness in this particular
instance of Terence O'Reilly's charity; but the _bhut_-baby was
by no means the only pensioner on his bounty. The row of mud houses
beyond the cook-room was filled with the halt, the maimed, and the
blind--especially the latter, for the fame of his infinite skill and
patience as an eye-doctor was spreading far and wide. Besides, he had
the secret, possessed by some Englishmen unconsciously, of inspiring
the natives with absolutely unbounded devotion, and many of his
patients would literally have laid down their lives for him; among
others his bearer, a high-caste Brahman. The man, who had originally
come to him for blindness of long standing, had, on recovery, made his
way straight from hospital to the doctor's house, and announced his
intention of serving him till death. "What are hands, and feet, or
brain," he answered calmly to all objections, "if they have not eyes to
guide them? Therefore are they all predestined since all time to be
servants to my Lord the Light-bringer for ever and ever."
Treated at first as a joke, Shivdeo's determination had outlived
opposition, and at the time of the _bhut_-baby's advent he had achieved
his intention of becoming trusted personal attendant to the "Light of
the World," for without some such allusion to the benefit he had
received at his hands he never spoke of his master. The introduction of
a baby, pariah to begin with and devil to follow, brought about a
temporary disturbance of his office; for he was haughty, with all the
pride of his race, and superstitious beyond belief. But after a week of
dismissal consequent on failing to provide the harridan with proper
milk for the bottle, Shivdeo, almost blind again with fruitless tears,
crept back to the Light-giver's feet and swore a big oath to feed the
low-caste demon himself if thereby he might return to the only life he
could live. He kept his promise of strict neutrality to the letter,
never by word or deed showing his aversion to the child; affecting
indeed not to see it with those mild, short-sighted eyes of his. Yet,
as it grew older, he must often have been brought into contact with the
child, for it would crawl after the doctor like a dog. Despite the
peculiarity of its silvery curls and pale blue eyes, it was really
pretty, and by the time it was two years old had picked up such a
variety of comical tricks and odd ways, that Boots, as we called it,
became quite an institution with the doctor's friends. We used to send
for it to the verandah and laugh at the silent agility with which it
tumbled for sweetmeats, and the equally silent quickness of its
mimicry; for to all intents and purposes the child was dumb. Beyond a
very rare repetition of the feeble wail I had first heard from it in
the doctor's arms at Hairan-wallah, it made no articulate sound
whatever; but once or twice when we tired of it and forgot its
presence, I have heard a purring noise like a cat, and looking down,
found that the little creature was curled up with its silver curls
resting on the doctor's foot in perfect content. He spent many hours in
demonstrating its full possession of all five senses, and always
declared it would speak in time; certainly if speech went by
intelligence it would have been the most eloquent of babies. As it was,
its unusual silence undoubtedly added to its uncanny appearance, and
helped to strengthen the still lingering belief in its devilish origin.
As long, however, as Terence O'Reilly's voice gave the orders for its
well-being, not a soul in his compound or elsewhere would have dreamt
of disobedience. Indeed, it often struck me that poor little Boots
lived by virtue of his exuberant vitality, and by nothing else.
I remember one evening we had been screaming with laughter over the
comical little creature's mimicry of Shivdeo's stately, short-sighted
way of bringing in whisky and soda-water. The applause seemed to get
into the baby's brain, and it took us off one after the other with such
deadly truth that we nearly rolled off our chairs. Then some one
suggested that we should ask it to imitate Terence, who happened to be
absent; and when it failed to respond, a young subaltern, thinking it
had not understood, came out with a fair copy of the doctor's round,
rich brogue. We were all startled at the result; the child made for the
speaker like a wild beast, stopped suddenly, then crept away with
silent tears brimming up into its eyes. I think we all felt a bit
ashamed, especially when Terence, coming in from a patient, found Boots
curled up asleep in a damp corner by the _tattie_, and, with a mild
rebuke that, "'Twas enough to give the poor little crayture fayver an'
ague," lifted the child in his arms, and proceeded to carry it across
the garden to its harridan. But he had hardly raised it before Shivdeo,
gliding in like a ghost from heaven knows where, came forward and took
the child from him with a rapid insistence that left me wondering. So,
when the man brought me my parting cheroot, I questioned him on his
interference. He looked startled for a moment; then replied gravely
that it was not meet for the Light of the Universe to bear a sweeper's
child in his bosom. "Nor is it meet for a Brahman either," I returned,
feeling sure he had some other reason. The man's eyes flashed before
they dropped submissively: "Nor is it meet for a Brahman to serve; but
the Presence knows that this slave cares not if he wakes as a dog so
that the Lord of Light remains to give sight to the blind."
Shortly after this Boots sickened for some childish complaint, in the
course of which pneumonia developed, making it hover for a day or two
between this world and the next. Once more Terence stood between the
_bhut_-baby and the shadow of death, and had it been the heir of
princes, the resources of modern science could not have been more
diligently ransacked for its benefit. Indeed the doctor looked quite
worn out when I met him one morning, going, as he said, to give himself
a freshener by taking the Lily round the steeple-chase course.
"You're over-working, Terence," said I, noting his fine-drawn clearness
of feature; "up all night after Boots (I'm glad to hear the little
fellow's better, by the way), and Blue Pill waiting for you day after
day till after dark at the hospital gates, to say nothing of
_gymkhanas_. It won't do for long; I'm serious about it, old chap."
"Are you? Well, it's kind of you to be that," he laughed; "though
mayhap 'twould be more of a change for your friends if you were the
t'other thing. Don't fret yourself about me, annyhow; I'm well enough.
Maybe 'tis having done dhry-nurse to him at first that makes me feel
Boots on me mind; but I think he's well through. And d'ye know! the
little beggar wouldn't touch a thing unless I gave it him. 'Tis a queer
place this worrld, annyhow."
His voice had a suspicion of a break in it, and his eyes were brighter
than ever; whence I augured that he felt worse than he cared to
confess. Next day he sent a note asking me to inspect the jail for him,
as he was going to try conclusions with his liver; the day after I
found him in bed, but lively. Then the deadly fever which kills so many
fine young fellows in India laid fast hold on him, and for three long
weeks we, who loved him, watched the struggle for life, helpless to do
aught save keep up his strength as best we might against the coming
crisis. It was as if a calamity had befallen the whole Station. Men
when they met each other asked first of all how _he_ was; and women
sent jellies and soups enough for a regiment to the bungalow where the
young doctor, who had soothed so many of their troubles, lay bravely
fighting out his own. Quite a crowd of natives gathered round the gate
by early dawn, waiting for news of the past night; and, so far as I
knew, Shivdeo never left the verandah during all those weary days. I
could see him from my post by the bed, sitting like a bronze statue
against a pillar, whence my slightest sign would rouse him. For I
assumed the office of head-nurse after Terence, full of gratitude for
the kindly offers of help showered upon him, had said with a wistful
gleam of the old mischief, "But I loike your sober face best, old man;
it makes me feel so pious." I sent in for leave that morning and never
left him again. It was the twenty-sixth day, about ten o'clock in the
evening, that the doctor in charge shook his head over my patient
sorrowfully. "He is terribly weak, but while there's life-- We shall
know by dawn."
The old formula fell on my ears--though I had been waiting for it--with
a sense of sickening failure, and unable to reply, I turned away from
the figure which lay so still and lifeless despite all my care. As I
did so I noticed Shivdeo listening with eyes and ears at the door. For
the last three days the man had been strangely restless, and more than
once I had discovered odd things disposed about the room, and even on
poor Terence's pillow--things used as talismans to keep away the evil
eye, such as I had seen in Hairan-wallah when the _bhut_-baby was born;
and I had smiled--good heavens, how ignorant we are in India!--smiled
at the silly superstition which evidently lingered in Shivdeo's mind.
He came to me when the doctor left to ask if he had understood rightly
that the great hour of hope or dread drew nigh. I told him we should
know by dawn, and that till then all must be quiet as the grave. His
face startled me by its intensity, as standing at the foot of the bed
he fixed his eyes on the unconscious face of his master and _salaamed_
to it with all the reverence he would have given to a god. But he spoke
calmly to me, saying that as I would doubtless be loth to leave the
room he would order the servants to bring me something to eat there. He
presently appeared, bearing the tray himself, giving as a reason for
this unusual service his desire to avoid any disturbance. It was just
upon twelve o'clock when, with Shivdeo's help, I gave Terence, who was
quite unconscious, a few drops of stimulant before sitting down with a
sinking heart to my anxious watch. It was early April, and the doors,
set wide open to let in the cool air, showed a stretch of moonlit grass
where shadows from the unseen trees above quivered and shifted as the
night-wind stirred the leaves. In the breathless silence I could hear
even the faint respiration of the sick man, and found myself counting
its rise and fall, until the last thing I remembered was Shivdeo's
immovable figure with the moonlight streaming full in his face.
When I awoke the rapid Eastern dawn had come. The sparrows were
twittering in the verandah, and Shivdeo stood by his master's bed
holding his finger to his lips. "Hush!" he whispered, as my eyes met
his; "the light has brought life to the Giver of Light."
It must have been the sound of wheels which woke me, for ere I had time
to reply the doctor entered the room, and after a glance at his patient
shook me silently by the hand. "I believe he's through," he said, when
he had cautiously examined the sleeping man; "fever gone, pulse
stronger. I scarcely dared to hope for it even with his splendid
constitution. Hullo! what's that?" It was only a tiny spot of blood on
the forehead just where the trident of Shiva is painted by his
worshippers, but it showed vividly against the pallor of the skin.
"There is a little spot by the Light-giver's feet also," remarked
Shivdeo quietly. "I noticed it yesterday just after the Presence cut
his hand with the soda-water bottle." And sure enough there was one.
"I can't think how I came to fall asleep," I said to him after the
doctor had gone; "just at the critical time, too, when I was most
wanted."
The man smiled. "We do not always guess aright when we are wanted,
_Huzoor_. You slept and the Light-giver got better. It is God's way; He
has refreshed you both."
"Refreshed!" I retorted crossly. "I feel as if I had been pounded in a
mortar. I had the most frightful dreams, but I can't recall what they
were."
"It is not well to try," replied Shivdeo, with rather an odd look. "If
I were the Presence I would forget them. There is enough evil to come
without recalling what is past and over for ever."
Perhaps involuntarily I followed his suggestion, for, though I chased
the fleeting memory more than once through my brain, I never overtook
it.
Terence O'Reilly made a quick recovery; but in view of the fast
approaching hot weather, the doctors put him on board ship as soon as
it could be done with safety. Hurry was the order of the day, so it was
not until my return from seeing him to Bombay that I found time for
outside affairs. Then it was that Shivdeo informed me of poor little
Boots' death in the interval. As the Presence was aware, he said, it
had been thought advisable when perfect quiet was necessary to the
Light-bringer to send the child away from the compound, because of the
difficulty experienced in keeping it out of the house. So it had gone
with its nurse to the cantonment-sweeper's hut, where it had caught
fresh cold and died. By the advice of the native doctor who had seen
it, he had kept the death secret at first, from fear of the news
delaying his master's recovery. I made every inquiry, but found nothing
of any kind to give rise to suspicion of foul play. The native doctor
had sent medicine three days running as for bronchitis, and on the
fourth he had seen the child's dead body. It had died, he thought, of
croup.
"You will write and tell the Light-bringer?" asked Shivdeo, when the
inquiry was over. "And you will say that I did my best, my very best,
for my lord's interest?"
"Certainly," I replied; "but he will be sorry, the child was so fond of
him."
"When people are beautiful as Krishna, like the Lord of Light, it is
easy to be fond of them."
I did not see Shivdeo again for over three months; and the bungalow in
the Civil Lines, which he kept swept and garnished against his master's
return, gradually assumed the soulless, empty appearance peculiar to
the dwelling-places of those who make holiday at the other side of the
world. Then a message came to say that he was ill, and wished to see me
on business. I found him, a mere wreck and shadow of his former self,
propped up against his old pillar in the verandah. He shook his head
over my suggestions of remedies. "I have taken many," he replied
quietly, "for the native doctor is my caste-brother. The hand of Shiva
is not to be turned aside, and am I not his sworn servant? What ails
me? Nay, who can say what ails the heart when it ceases to beat? Men
cannot live without the light, and it is night for me now. Perhaps that
is it, who knows? Yonder old man is my father come to see me die; yet
ere the last 'Ram-Ram' sounds in mine ears I want the Presence to
understand something, else would I not have vexed his quiet. It will be
hard for the _Huzoor_ to understand, because he is not of our race."
He paused so long that I asked what he wished me to understand,
thinking that in his weakness he had drifted away from his desire.
"Something new and strange," he answered, "yet old and true. See! I sit
here in the old place, and the Presence shall sit there as he used to
do, because old memories return in the old places, making us see and
remember things that are past or forgotten. Is it not so?"
Truly enough, as I humoured him by occupying the familiar chair, ready
placed half-way between the bed and the window, it seemed to me as if I
were once more watching Terence pass through the valley of the shadow.
"The Presence once slept in that chair," continued the weak voice, "and
he dreamed a dream. Let him recall it now, if he can."
How or wherefore I know not, but as he spoke a sudden certainty as to
what he wished me to know rushed in on me. "Great God," I cried,
starting up and seizing him roughly by the shoulder, "you killed poor
little Boots! You brought the child here! You killed it before his very
eyes and mine! I know it! I think--I think I saw it done!"
He set my hand aside with unexpected force and a strange dignity. "I am
the prisoner of Death, _Huzoor!_ There is no need to hold me; I cannot
escape him. For the rest, if I killed the child, what then? The Lord of
Light lives, and that is enough for me. What is a Sudra or two more or
less to the Brahman? But what if it was a devil sucking his heart's
blood because of his beauty? Shall I not have honour for saving him?
Thus both ways I am absolved; but not from my oath, the false oath
which I swore to my lord for my own sake. When I wander through the
shades waiting for Vishnu's decree, it will lead my blind steps to the
body of a foul thing. So I speak that the Presence may judge and say if
I were not justified, and confess that we people of the old knowledge
are not always wrong. _Huzoor!_ you have seen its eyes glisten, as its
body clung to his beauty; you know he sickened after it had lain night
and day in his arms; you know how it crept and crawled to get at him
while he lay helpless. Now listen! One day he was better, brighter in
all things, and bid you refresh yourself in the air. I sat here, and
like you I fell asleep; and when I woke the thing was at him, close to
his heart, its arms round his neck, its devilish lips at his throat,
crooning away like an accursed cat! And he was in the death-sleep that
lasted till the dawn came that you and I remember so well. Then I knew
it must be, and that my oath was as a reed in the flood. Yet would I
not be hasty. I took counsel with holy men, men of mighty wisdom, men
with such tenderness for life that they bid God speed to the flea which
keeps them wakeful; but they all said, 'Yea! one of the two must die.'
Did I stop to ask which? Not I. So I fasted, and prayed, and made clean
my heart, and waited patiently for the moment of fate; for so they bid
me. Even then, _Huzoor_, the holy men would do naught by chance or
without proof. It was a bright moonlight night, and the Presence slept
by reason of our arts and drugs; and so we put the accursed creature we
had brought from the sweeper's hut down at the gate, yonder by the
flowering oleanders, and hiding ourselves among them, watched it.
Straight, straight as a hawk or a bustard, until we found it there in
the old place! Devil of Hell! we made it vomit back the blood, we--"
My hand was on his mouth, my one thought to stop the horrible words
that somehow conjured up the still more horrible sight before my eyes.
"I know,--there is no need for more,--I cannot bear it."
And indeed, the vision of poor dumb little Boots in their relentless
hold froze my blood. As my hands fell away from him in sudden,
shrinking horror, he looked at me compassionately. "The Presence does
not understand aright. Let him remember the strange doctor's face when
he came in the dawn, thinking to find hope had fled. One of the two had
to die. If the Presence had thought as I did, as I _knew_, what would
he have done?"