On the afternoon of the same day Wenaston and his sister were at tea in
the verandah when a carriage drove up and stopped just beyond the
portico. Out of it stepped Sooba, Pantulu's brother. He was unknown
to the Principal, who took him for the parent of one of his pupils.
Wenaston rose at once, always courteous, although at times a little
stiff until he was certain that no favours were going to be asked. Too
often the visiting parent, after beating about the bush, would beg the
Principal to promote his son in the school without due justification.
Sometimes a bribe was offered. It required a great deal of patience
and self-control to deal with such people; and it was still more
difficult to persuade them that promotion by favour did not advance the
education of a boy but rather hindered it.
"You want to see me on business?" asked Wenaston, advancing to meet his
visitor. "Come in; I am disengaged for ten minutes, which is all I can
give you. At the end of that time I have an appointment in the
college."
"I have called to ask you a favour, sir," said Sooba, in his best
manner.
"You are the parent of one of my pupils?"
"I am sorry to have to admit the fact that I have no son. It is about
my nephew, Pantulu Iyer's son, Ananda, that I have come. You engaged
him as a master a short time ago. He stayed only one day."
"Ah! now I understand. I can't take him on the staff again, if that is
what you have come to ask."
"You are right, sir; it would be a mistake. He is unpopular in the
town."
"We have no time to lose," said Dr. Wenaston, looking at his watch.
"Will you explain what you want me to do?"
They were standing in the verandah facing each other. Sooba shuffled
his feet slightly. The action said much to the Englishman and put him
on his guard.
"Last night Ananda left his father's house and we don't know where he
is."
"Is there any reason why he should not leave Chirapore if he wishes to
do so?"
"It would be without his father's consent," said Sooba, boldly making
use of his brother's name.
Wenaston was slightly puzzled. Ananda's movements were not his affair.
"What do you want me to do?" he again asked, with a touch of impatience
this time.
"I thought that perhaps you might give us some assistance in our
search."
The Englishman regarded him with surprise as he answered in quick
decisive tones.
"I am afraid I cannot do anything of the kind. I am too busy to spare
the time. Besides, Ananda's movements really do not concern me or the
college."
"It was not my intention to ask you to leave your duties, sir."
"Then how can I help in the search for the lost man? He has probably
left the town, where as you yourself say he is unpopular. Under the
circumstances it is the best thing that he can do. Have you inquired
at the station if he were among the passengers who were travelling by
the mails last night?"
"He can't have taken either of the trains, north or south, as he was
seen in his room after their departure."
"Have you any suspicion where he can have gone?" asked Wenaston, trying
to get at what was at the back of his visitor's mind.
There was a definite pause before the reply was given.
"We have reason to think, sir, that Ananda is here."
"Here!" repeated Wenaston, astounded and not altogether pleased. "I
don't understand what you mean; what grounds you have for saying so.
Have you thoroughly searched his father's house?"
"We have hunted everywhere."
"And why do you think he is here?"
Sooba was unable to explain fully; there were too many facts that had
to be suppressed. One was the physical inability of the unfortunate
man to go far afield in his crippled condition. The college was the
only place within possible reach where the fugitive might have found a
refuge. Sooba had no reliable information to go upon; he was acting on
a suspicion arrived at by an exhaustive line of argument. It was
unlikely that Bopaul's people would offer an asylum; they would
hesitate to do anything that might cause a breach between the two
families. Bopaul himself might befriend him--if he could see his way
to do it without giving offence. As for the rest of the town not a
soul throughout would lift a finger to help an apostate to Hinduism, a
man of broken caste who refused the restitution rites, an outlaw and
outcaste deprived of all civil rights.
"You were so kind as to allow him to come here before, sir," said Sooba
smoothly. "We thought that he would be sure to come to you again."
"Then you are wrong," replied Wenaston brusquely.
He did not like the manner of his visitor in spite of the careful
deference put on with a little too much show, and he resented his too
ready assumption that the college would, after all that had passed
during the temporary mastership, offer a shelter and again receive the
'vert. It is due to Wenaston to say that he had no suspicion that
Ananda had been badly treated. Had it entered his head that there was
any possibility of his being injured by assault, he would have appealed
to the higher authorities of the State who would undoubtedly have
interfered to protect him. The verdict of outlawry was another matter.
"How can I assure Pantulu Iyer that his son is not here, sir?" asked
Sooba in humble anxiety.
"You have my word for it."
"As far as your knowledge goes, sir, I would not for a moment doubt it.
I venture to suggest that he may be in hiding on the premises without
your knowledge."
The school-bell rang and Dr. Wenaston made a movement.
"I must go; and as for you, search the place if you like, college
buildings, house and compound. I am positive that you will not find
him. Look everywhere while you are about it, for you don't come here a
second time. You can go."
Wenaston'a manner jarred; it was not what Sooba had anticipated. He
had assured himself that the accusation of harbouring Ananda would have
troubled the Principal; and that he would have exhibited anxiety to
clear himself of the charge and show that it was not true. Sooba's
experience of the ways of Englishmen was extremely limited, and he
found that he was mistaken. To be treated in this contemptuous way was
galling, and roused his spite. If the fugitive should happen to be
discovered on Wenaston's premises, he promised himself that he would
make it hot for the Englishman, and create a rupture between him and
the governing body of the college. At the command to go there was
nothing for it but to beat a retreat. He directed his steps towards
the class rooms where he intended to begin his search.
"Do you really mean to allow him to go through the house?" asked Eola,
who had listened in silence to the conversation.
"Certainly; Ramachetty!" The butler came at once at his master's call,
so quickly that Eola smiled, in spite of her annoyance. The gist of
what Sooba had said had been overheard by others besides herself. "One
of Pantulu Iyer's people----" he checked himself to ask a question--"Do
you know who he is?"
"His brother, sir."
"His brother, is he? He believes that his nephew Ananda is hidden
somewhere on the premises. I have given him permission to search every
corner of the class rooms and the house. You are to accompany him all
through and show him the servants' go-downs and the stables and garage."
"Is he to go through your rooms as well, sir?"
"Yes; and Miss Wenaston's and Mrs. Hulver's." He returned to Eola,
upon whose face was a most unusual frown. "I shall have something to
say to the Dewan about this visit."
"It is outrageous; and you would be quite justified in refusing to
allow him to enter a single room."
"I don't like it any more than you do; but I think it politic to
consent. What he believes, he can make the boys believe. I wish to
avoid a recurrence of the boycotting."
"I shall go out for a drive," said Eola.
"The best thing you can do," replied the harassed man heartily.
Wenaston returned to his class room in the nearest approach to a rage
that was possible for a man with so even a temperament. Sooba took
care to avoid further encounter; and before the Principal reached his
own lecture-room the search through that apartment had been completed.
It offered no cover whatever with its bare table and desks. A runaway
rat could not have hidden itself. As for a man or even a boy, the
first glance round would have revealed him.
The hunt through the college buildings lasted nearly an hour. A little
after five Sooba presented himself, at the house. The butler was
waiting for him; but being a pariah he was not at all to the taste of
the searcher. Sooba waived him aside with all the loathing and
contempt shown to a man of no caste. Ramachetty had received his
directions, however, and did not budge. He begged to inform his
excellency, the visitor, that he dared not disobey his master's orders;
whether his honourable excellency liked it or not he must accompany
him. After this there was nothing more to be said, and the searcher
began his work, leaving the butler to follow at a respectful distance.
It was with much curiosity that Sooba entered each room of the
Englishman's private dwelling. Never before had he been inside a
European's house. He peered under tables and chairs and looked behind
curtains. The piano puzzled him, and he was not satisfied till
Ramachetty had removed the front and exposed the strange wired interior
that gave shelter to nothing larger than a mouse or a scorpion. Eola's
rooms were also examined and drawn blank. There remained only Mrs.
Hulver's.
"The housekeeper's rooms only are left for your honour's eye. Is it
your excellency's wish to see them also?" asked Ramachetty.
"Decidedly; the master gave permission for me to search every corner."
"The housekeeper will not like it."
"Who cares what she likes or dislikes? She is his servant and must
obey his orders."
The butler knew his position better than to smile. He cast down his
eyes demurely in case a twinkle of amusement should betray him.
"Her son is with her. He is a soldier inclined to violence. Your
honour must not be angry with this slave if the soldier fights."
The inquisitive visitor hesitated. The British soldier in the present
day in India inherits a character that has been deeply impressed upon
the native mind by his predecessors. It is not a character for
gentleness. But the hesitation did not last long; the spirit of prying
gained the day.
"I am not afraid of a soldier. If he is violent his colonel will have
him punished," said Sooba, as he swaggered boldly up to the door of
Mrs. Hulver's room.
It stood open; apparently she had had notice of what she might expect,
for he found himself confronted by the ample figure of the wrathful
woman, who understood even better than her employers the great liberty
that was being taken. She glared at him with as much fire as her grey
eyes were capable of showing, and pretended not to know who he was nor
what he wanted.
"Who are you, and what business have you got in my back verandah?" she
asked unceremoniously, making use of the vernacular in such terms as
she would have addressed one of the gardeners. "I've got nothing for
you."
Sooba returned an angry glance. He understood the insult, but had no
means of making her smart for it.
"I have come by permission of the master of the house, the honourable
Principal of the College, to look for a relative who is lost," he
replied, with as much dignity as he could muster to his aid.
"Do you suppose I have him in my pocket?"
"No, woman; but I have reason to believe that he is hiding somewhere on
these premises, and I will not leave until I have thoroughly searched
them."
"Search away, then, and be quick about it. See for yourself who is
here. I am not going to help you if you can't take my word for it."
She turned her back on him and moved into the middle of the room. As
he did not follow immediately she called impatiently over her shoulder.
"Come along! Don't stand there all the evening. What are you waiting
for?"
His eyes were fixed with some anxiety on the figure extended upon the
bed and a woman close by who was preparing to make a fresh poultice.
She held a kettle of hot water in her hand.
"That's my son, William, a soldier on leave from Bangalore," remarked
Mrs. Hulver, half turning to him again. "His father was a soldier and
he takes after him--short in the temper and strong in the arm. You
need not be afraid of him. He's just recovering from a canteen fight
in which he made a man bigger than himself--a regular giant--swallow
all his front teeth; and they were his own, too."
There was a ring of unconscious pride in the mother's voice as she
exaggerated her son's exploits.
"I am not afraid of the soldier, woman," replied Sooba. "The law
protects me from violence. What I object to is the presence of that
sweeper by his cot. She is a pariah and her presence is defiling to
one of my caste."
"Oh! is it? All the same she is my servant and she is there by my
orders and there she will stay."
The woman glanced at him with fear, and showed a disposition to abandon
her work and retire in spite of "orders." Mrs. Hulver detected the
weakness. She picked up the sweeper's broom that was lying near and
pointed with it to the basin containing the bread.
"You stay where you are till I give you leave to go. Pour the hot
water on to the bread. Wring out those cloths and get them ready for
the poultice. As soon as I've seen this man through my rooms I'll take
the beef off my son's eye and bandage it with wet rags."
The visitor stepped gingerly into the room, sidling away from the
untouchable, and began to look round. Mrs. Hulver took no notice of
him. Her attention was devoted to her son. She leaned over him,
patting his pillow and touching the shawl in her solicitude for his
comfort.
"You lie quiet, William," she said in English, "and don't you mind the
visitor. You've got to get well in time to join your regiment at the
end of your leave or there'll be more trouble. You must be patient.
As William, your father, used to say: 'Time and patience will carry a
man through the roughest day.'"
She loosened the bandages slightly and removed a large slice of raw
beef which she contemplated with broad satisfaction as it lay on the
palm of her hand.
"That's done its work and taken down the swelling. I wish it had taken
out the colour as well. We'll see what cold water will do for you
next, with a little vinegar added." She turned to the intruder and
addressed him in his own tongue, although he knew English better than
Ramachetty the butler. "Well! why don't you get on with your hunt for
your lost cousin?"
She drifted towards the door by which he had entered, carrying the
broom in one hand and the beef in the other. Disgust and horror were
written on the face of the Hindu as he eyed the two loathsome objects,
and he slipped further away moving up the room. Whether unconsciously
or with deep design she had cut off his retreat completely, and there
was no chance of retiring if he wished to keep his distance from the
two caste-contaminating objects.
"I can't have you here all day," she cried, irritably. "Come! begin
your search. Go and look under that table."
She flourished the broom in the direction of a table covered with a
cloth of gaudy colours where she sat to write the menus for the
master's dinner. He hesitated, his zeal had evaporated; and the object
of his domiciliary visit was almost lost sight of in the contemplation
of the sweeper's broom and the flesh of the sacred cow.
"Come! get on!" continued Mrs. Hulver, moving towards him. "I want to
clear the room of strangers. It's not good for the sick man. My son
is not so bad but what he can get up if he chooses and turn you out.
Go and look under his bed. That's your next place. Dearie me!" she
said, lapsing into English again. "It seems as if this coolie expected
me to do his work! He began with impudence, but if he doesn't take
care he'll end with something else. As William--that was my
third--used to say: 'Dine on sauciness and you'll sup on sorrow.'"
She took a step or two forward in the direction of her visitor. He
retreated, carefully gauging the distance between his own precious
person and the various untouchable objects he had unwittingly
approached. The information that the hero of the canteen fight was
able to rise from his bed if he chose and act the part of chucker-out
was not reassuring. He was allowed no time for reflection.
"Go and look under the bed next. Lift the blanket that hangs down,"
she said to the sweeper. "Let the gentleman see that we haven't got
his grandmother hidden under my son's bed."
Again she flourished the broom, this time at the woman, and she waived
the raw beef at the seeker.
"Go on! Don't be afraid. William won't hurt you!"
She advanced, and Sooba, more perturbed than he had been for many a
day, avoided the bed and its attendant sweeper, and backed towards the
open door of the bedroom, the only available retreat afforded from this
awful person. She followed and the hunter became the hunted. Armed
with her terrible weapons she drove him from pillar to post, obliging
him to carry out his inquisition to its last detail, and look into
holes and corners with eyes that could see nothing but that
caste-destroying broom and beef. After chasing him round the bedroom
she forced him to enter the bathroom, where, in his confusion, he
knocked over the sweeper's basket; and she kept him there whilst she
explained that the place contained cover for nothing larger than a frog.
At last she let him go, and he beat an ignominious retreat, grazing his
shins in his haste against the furniture. He left the sitting-room at
a run, closely followed by Mrs. Hulver; and as he passed out of the
door the slab of raw meat that had relieved the warrior's wounds--flung
by the hand of the outraged woman--caught him in the small of his back.
The sweeper's broom, hurled after the beef, rattled on his naked
calves, inadvertently exposed as, in a hurry, he gathered up his
flowing muslin cloth.
William's shoulders shook. The sweeper woman hid her face in her cloth
and grinned, in fearful doubt lest she was committing blasphemy in
daring to smile at one of the twice-born. As for Mrs. Hulver she
dropped into her capacious cane chair and let herself go. She rocked
in helpless laughter, and the lounge creaked in sympathy with her
movements.
"That was a sight to make you feel better, sonnie!" she said, as soon
as she could speak. "The man ran like a bandicoot with its tail cut
off! I wish you could have sat up and looked at him, the impudent
budmash! He won't forget his visit to the college in a hurry, or my
name is not Maria Hulver! I'm glad I wasn't born to run away from a
bit of beef like that! He came in so proud and insolent, but he went
away with a flea in his ear. As William, your father, used to say:
'There are many who go out for wool but come back shorn.' Now we'll
attend to this eye."
She pulled herself together and rose from her chair. The poultice made
by the sweeper was thrown away, though it was still hot.
"That was only to pass the time and keep her there, the finest bogie to
frighten my lord with that I could have found! I was glad to see that
you could laugh with me, Bonnie. It shows you're mending."
She busied herself over his wounds with soft tender touch.
"Poor boy! Whichever side the victory lay you didn't get off without
some hard treatment; but we'll soon get you well."
"How good you are to me--mother!" replied the invalid gratefully.
"That's right. Don't you forget that I'm your mother. I would like to
get your enemy on his bended knees and make him pray for forgiveness
for knocking you about like this--a man twice your age, too! Shame on
him! But, there! as William--that was my third--said when the sergeant
locked him up, thinking he was the worse for liquor when he wasn't:
'Apologies make poor plaster.' The sergeant was a bit hasty and he
knew William's ways and leanings. But he was wrong that time. William
wasn't drunk; he was dazed with the sun; and the sergeant apologised
handsomely."
That evening Wenaston once more interviewed his housekeeper.
"You showed the man who called this afternoon over your rooms, I hope,
Mrs. Hulver?"
"Yes, sir; I took him all round and let him see everything; he was
quite satisfied that the person he wanted wasn't here. He didn't
mention any names."
"He was looking for his nephew, Ananda, the young man who has become a
Christian. He has disappeared, and it was thought that he might have
taken refuge with us."
"I don't know why he should do that when he has Mr. Alderbury to go
to," remarked Mrs. Hulver indifferently.
"If by any chance he should appear you must let me know at once."
"Would you refuse to give him shelter?" asked Mrs. Hulver, looking at
the Doctor with some curiosity. As he did not reply at once she
continued: "I should if I were you, sir, if you will excuse my speaking
out. There's no telling how these natives might take it if you
befriended him in any way."
"I shouldn't drive him away if he needed protection, Mrs. Hulver," said
Wenaston. "You must understand that as a Christian he has my warmest
sympathy; and that as far as I am able I will do what I can for him;
but as I pointed out to you before, I am not a free agent in this
matter. If he asks for assistance I will give it by sending him off at
once to Mr. Alderbury, who is willing to help. What I must not do is
to give him shelter in the college buildings or in the house, much as I
might wish. We have tried that experiment once and it was a complete
failure. Therefore I ask you to come to me immediately if Mr. Ananda
should present himself."
"Very good, sir. I don't think he is likely to turn up after the way
those boys treated him. I'm sure I have my hands full enough with
young William without bothering about Mr. Ananda's troubles. As
William--that was my third--used to say: 'Keep your eyes on your own
road and don't worry about the pitfalls of other people.' You may
depend upon me for doing the right thing and not decomposing either you
or Miss Eola."