Alderbury addressed a few words to his companion in the language of the
country and received monosyllabic replies which gave him no
encouragement to persevere in his efforts at making conversation or to
extract information. He concluded that she was a shy and frightened
member of a zenana where very little liberty was allowed. It would all
come right in time; she would lose the shy self-consciousness with
education.
From his companion his thoughts went to her brother. He distrusted
Bopaul's cynicism, mild and harmless though it might be; but he could
not help admiring the force of character in the man who had struck
whilst the iron was hot. If Bopaul had not handed her over personally
and assured him that all was well, Alderbury would never have ventured
to take the girl away. The parents had probably been urged to give a
consent, and before they could withdraw it their son had taken action
to carry out the intention. It was evident that he revolted against
the Hindu system of widowhood, and with his modern enlightenment
desired reform. This was his method of protest and it was to be
commended. It was also in its way a mark of the philanthropy that is
entering the Hinduism of the present day, one of the attributes of
Christianity which Brahmanism is ready to adopt into its system and
claim as its own.
More than two hours passed during which Mayita, shrouded in her saree,
nestled in the corner of the big motor car. Alderbury returned to the
perusal of his letters and forgot her very existence. So still and
silent was she that she might have been one of the leather cushions
instead of a human waif. They passed the boundary of the native State
and sped through British territory. In another half hour they entered
the little town that had been Christianised. Alderbury put away his
letters and kept his eyes on the road, that he might not miss the
smiles and nods of the villagers as they welcomed him back.
The mission house was a large rambling bungalow with thatched roof and
wide verandahs. In the same compound stood the school and orphanage.
At a little distance was the church shining with marble whiteness in
the afternoon sun.
As the car drew up under a porch made of rough square stone pillars and
palm-leaf roof, Alderbury thought of the handsome portico of the
college house, a very different building. He jumped out of the car
with his habitual impetuosity forgetting his companion. Mrs. Hulver's
words were in his mind. A house without a woman was only a house. It
was quite true although his careful servant had not forgotten to
prepare a late afternoon tea. He noted the table set in the verandah
with the earthen tea-pot and the thick cups that bore the mark of many
camping expeditions through his district. Very different, was the
table from the dainty arrangement in another verandah, where the figure
of the tea-maker was set in a background of ipomea and bignonia.
"Bring tea quickly, boy," he said as he passed on towards his
sitting-room in search of the letters that should have come by the
morning post.
The servant glanced after him and then held up his hand to arrest the
figure that followed.
"Wait, lady, until the master calls," he said respectfully; and Mayita
stood listening and trembling in the verandah.
As Alderbury entered his sitting-room a man rose from a chair and
advanced to meet him. He was dressed in European clothes although he
was a Hindu. Over his eye was a recently healed wound.
"Ananda!" cried Alderbury, astonished beyond measure.
"The same, sir," was the reply.
"How did you get here? We made so sure of your being still under your
father's roof that I can scarcely believe my eyes."
"By the help of friends. It is a long story----"
His words were checked by the sound of a cry. The widow refusing to be
detained any longer by the servant, rushed forward past Alderbury,
never stopping till she had fallen at Ananda's feet. In a moment he
was on his knees by her side forgetful of the missionary and all else.
"My wife! my pearl! my beloved! How did you manage to escape? how did
you get here? But what have they done to you my beautiful lotus? They
have cut off your hair! and this cloth! what does it mean?"
The words poured from his lips with a string of eager questions which
Dorama could only answer with sobs.
"Who do you say this woman is?" demanded Alderbury in some bewilderment.
"She is Dorama, my wife, sir! And see what they have done to her, poor
child! Not content with nearly beating the life out of me they have
widowed her! the brutes! This is my uncle's doing. I will be even
with him. He shall answer for it with his life! I will kill him as he
would have killed me; and I will widow his----"
"Gently, Ananda! The Hindu in you dies hard. You do well to be angry,
but don't mistake anger for revenge."
The hand that was laid upon his shoulder held in check the tempestuous
wrath.
"Forgive me, sir. Wrong done against myself I can forgive--but this!"
He looked down at his wife.
"They believed that you had drowned yourself, so successfully have you
been hidden," said Alderbury. "And they considered themselves
justified in their action."
Ananda lifted his drooping, but happy, wife to her feet and kept his
arm about her. His anger melted and he forgot his wrath in the
consciousness of her presence.
"How did she come here," he asked in calmer tones.
"I brought her," replied Alderbury.
"You, sir," repeated Ananda in surprise.
"Yes; your friend Bopaul must have interested himself in your affairs;
for it was he who met me on the road this afternoon and begged me to
take his widowed sister to the mission house and keep her there. He
deceived me and took me in completely."
A smile dispersed the frown of anger that had rested on Ananda's face.
"Ah, the clever Bopaul! It was well planned. He is a friend worth
having!" he said warmly.
"I'm afraid he is--a--a perverter of the truth!" blurted out the
missionary.
"A splendid liar!" agreed Ananda enthusiastically. "I know of no one
better. It is a great accomplishment in a Hindu to lie usefully and
successfully."
"But it is altogether wrong in a Christian."
"I know it is!" replied the 'vert with a sigh of contrition. "I am
afraid I have not been altogether straightforward myself of late."
"Tell me all about yourself and how you managed to escape," said
Alderbury kindly, knowing that it would be best for him to talk it out
instead of brooding over his wrongs, and perhaps being incited by his
wife to further ill-will in considering the persecution she had endured
for his sake. "When did you arrive?"
They seated themselves, Ananda retaining his hold on his wife as though
he still feared lest she should be snatched away from him again. She
sank upon the floor at his feet, resting an arm upon his knee with a
comfortable sense of security which went towards compensating her for
some of the unhappiness that had lately fallen to her lot. Alderbury
called for the tea to be brought into his sitting-room.
"I arrived this morning."
"By train?"
"No, sir; I came by bullock cart. Let me tell you the story from the
beginning. After your call at my father's house I was allowed to see
my wife in the presence of the guru, who paid us a visit to inquire why
the restitution ceremonies had not been performed. He tried to come
between myself and my wife; but I was determined not to permit anything
of the kind. Our interview was not pleasant. After it was over, and I
had returned to my room I resolved to put an end to the uncomfortable
state of affairs and leave my father's house."
"You were right in your intention."
"I made a mistake in not accepting your offer of help, sir. It was an
error of judgment. My intention was to right my own battle without
assistance."
"I understand; but how did you ultimately get away?"
"I was to all intents and purposes a prisoner in the house, and escape
was no easy matter. I found a friend in the pariah I despised so much.
By his advice I made the contents of my boxes into bundles and he
undertook to take them to Biddapet, a station about ten miles out of
Chirapore in this direction. I was coming here, of course. The
luggage was gone and I was spending what I hoped was my last night in
that miserable little room when I was awakened by a touch on my hand.
It was my wife. She came to me in great distress to tell me that our
son was dead."
There was a pause which Alderbury did not break. Ananda went on with
his story.
"I persuaded her to throw in her lot with mine. It was a long walk to
Biddapet, but she thought she could manage it if I gave her time. We
started off before it was light and reached the wall of the compound.
Unfortunately we disturbed a pariah dog. It barked and I threw a stone
at it. It shrieked and the noise must have been heard in the house;
for we were followed by our uncle and four other members of the family.
They caught us up and we were powerless in their hands. There was
nothing to be done but to go back, which we did; and when we reached
the house my wife and I were again separated. That night I was
severely beaten; and during the frightful ordeal my uncle never ceased
to call upon me to recant. How I lived through it I don't know. God
in his goodness gave me strength to bear the pain and to hold fast to
Christ. I did not take my punishment with the meekness of the Great
Master. I fought for my liberty. They were too many and too strong
for me, however. I was held down, and it seemed at the time as if they
must break every bone in my body."
Up to that point Ananda had used the English tongue. He laid his hand
on his wife's and asked in native speech whether she knew that he had
been beaten.
"Aiyoh! husband! I suffered and died with thee, beloved lord!"
Her eyes filled with tears and she kissed the hand passionately. He
continued in the vernacular which Alderbury understood.
"After they left me I fainted. I don't know how long I lay there, but
the next thing I remember was water being dashed into my face. I tried
to protect my eyes, but the movement gave me great pain, and I cried
out; I was so terribly bruised. Someone spoke to me in a whisper and
told me to be quiet. Once more my friend in need was the sweeper; the
man you saw, Mr. Alderbury, when you paid me a visit."
"You were too sick to think of caste any longer, I imagine."
"Indeed, I was! I let him do with me as he would; and I was grateful,
more grateful than I can express. He rubbed my wounds with some
soothing ointment and staunched the blood; for I was bleeding a good
deal. Then he gave me a draught with opium in it. It deadened the
pain and made me drowsy and indifferent to all that was happening to
me."
"Good man! worthy of the name of Christian though he is only a
heathen," commented Alderbury with warm approval.
Dorama did not take the same view.
"Husband, did you really accept the services of the sweeper?" she
asked, her wondering eyes lifted to his with concern for his welfare.
"Yes, my lotus flower, I did; and I owe him my life. I should have
died of exhaustion and starvation if I had been left untended all that
night and the following day."
"What happened next?" asked Alderbury as Ananda showed a disposition to
end his tale there.
"Before I continue my story I must ask you to keep my secret. I have
given a promise that it is to be told to no one but yourself; and I
pray you to respect our confidence."
"'Our confidence'?"
"Mine and Mrs. Hulver's."
There was a pause; and then, as enlightenment came, Alderbury said in a
low voice:
"So then, you were young William?"
"The sweeper carried me wrapped in a sheet; for I could neither walk
nor stand. It was between two and three o'clock in the morning when I
was hoisted on to his back in a half unconscious state, my senses too
stupefied to feel much pain, and I was taken to the college house.
Mrs. Hulver was roused from her sleep by the sweeper woman--who works
there, and is a relative of the man--and I was handed over to the
housekeeper. I have since called her mother, so good and kind has she
been to me. Under her care I recovered."
"And through her good offices you have come to me. How did you get
here? By train?"
"No, sir; I came in your own cart and brought my luggage with me,"
replied Ananda. He continued his story. "When the sweeper found that
I did not turn up as I promised at the little station, he carried the
bundles back to his own house and came hot-foot to learn the reason of
my failure to keep the appointment. There he found me in that sorry
plight."
"I am still puzzled," said Alderbury after a little thought. "Mrs.
Hulver's son was seen by Miss Wenaston lying on the cot in her
sitting-room; and he was wearing uniform, the uniform of the regiment."
"When I regained consciousness in her room, I found myself dressed in
the uniform that belonged to her son's father. She had kept it, and
though it was very old and a loose fit, it served as an excellent
disguise."
"She is a wonderful woman!"
"The kindest! the best!"
Ananda stopped with sudden emotion, his heart too full for words.
"I suppose this means that all communication between yourself and your
family comes to an end," remarked Alderbury.
"I think not, sir," replied Ananda in a decisive voice. "Why should I
be banished from my home like a criminal because I have changed my
religion? I shall not allow my wife to go back. There is no reason
why she should run any risk of insult; but I shall go back later on,
when the irritation against me has died down, and see my father and
mother."
"Don't put yourself in any unnecessary danger. Past experience should
make you careful," said Alderbury.
"It has been dearly bought and is not likely to be forgotten," replied
Ananda, with a touch of bitterness.
"And remember also that in Chirapore you, as an outcaste and Christian,
have no civil rights."
"I am not likely to forget what is the only stain upon its government
as a model native State. I should not think of returning to live
there; but I mean to go some time or other to see my mother."
The old obstinacy was still to the fore. Behind it stood no longer the
weakness and vacillation of youth, but the noble courage of a man who
had been tried in the fire of affliction and not found wanting.
"And now I want to know how your wife managed to get away and meet me
on the road."
"Tell your story, beloved. I, too, want to hear how you escaped and
who befriended you," said Ananda.
"The friend was the same Englishwoman who helped you," answered Dorama
timidly; but gaining courage she continued: "She arranged it all with
Bopaul. There was no difficulty; for since I have been thus"--she
touched her coarse cloth--"no one has cared how I spent my time nor
where I wandered. Mayita came every day to see me and we passed hours
in your little room, my lord, where I found this!" She pulled out his
glove and showed it to him. "At sunset yesterday Mayita brought me a
message from Bopaul to say that my husband was alive and safe on
British ground, out of reach of our uncle's spite. Oh, how I rejoiced
at the good news! but I was obliged to hide my feelings. Mayita told
me that if I wished to see him again, I was to keep my secret and
follow every direction sent by her, without asking any questions. This
morning as soon as I could leave the house I went to the little room
and there I found Mayita waiting for me. She said that I was to go at
once to Bopaul whom I should find in the compound. He was there.
Without a word he took my hand as he takes his sister's and together we
walked away. Any one seeing us from the house would have thought that
he was leading his sister home, for my saree was drawn over my head;
and Mayita has grown nearly as tall as I am."
"Did no one notice you, my pearl?"
"Who would let his eye rest on the unlucky widow any longer than he
could help? Those who might have seen turned their heads away."
"Your wife may thank your enemies for what they did," remarked
Alderbury. "Without her widow's dress she could never have escaped."
"Bopaul brought some food with him, for we had a long way to go. We
walked steadily for an hour. Then he made me sit down and rest.
Afterwards we walked again, and my heart beat fast when I heard the
call of the big fire carriage; but I grew quiet again when I sat by Mr.
Alderbury's side, and we flew along the road like the wind. I felt
that no one, not even our uncle, could catch me and take me back. Ah,
husband, how I suffered when they did this to me!"
She passed her hand over her bald head. Ananda stooped and kissed the
shaven crown.
"Beloved, it will soon grow again and be more beautiful than ever."
Alderbury slipped away unnoticed. He was full of sympathy for the two
poor souls who had passed through so much pain whilst for himself all
had been as he desired.