---------------------
[Footnote 30: Copyright, 1895, by Macmillan & Co.]
---------------------
"Dost forget, brother, that it is the Fast?" said Raheem, as with
gentle, determined hand he pushed the leaf-cup of sweets further from
the board on which his tools lay. There were not many of them, though
the inlaid work upon the sandal-wood comb he was making showed
delicate as lace. It suited the delicate hands employed upon it; in a
way also it suited the delicate brain behind the high narrow forehead,
which had a look of ill-health about the temples, where the thick,
coarse, black hair was also delicately streaked with silver; sure
sign, in a land where grayness is long deferred, of a troubled body or
mind. Raheem had barely touched middle age; in his case the trouble
seemed to be in both body and mind, to judge by his hollow eyes and
the expression in them as they rested on a younger man, who sat, as a
visitor, on the plinth of the combmaker's shop. His feet were in the
gutter, and his handsome head was nodding gaily to various
acquaintances in the steady stream of passers-by; for the odd little
shop was wedged into the outer angle of a sharp bend in the narrow
bazaar, so that as Raheem sat working at his scented combs he could
see both ways--could see all the world, coming and going, from dawn
till dark.
Hoshyar laughed, nodding his handsome head once more: "Yea! I forgot
that thou dost fast for both of us, and pray for both of us. Mayhap in
the end, brother, thou mayest have to go to Paradise for both of us,
despite all thy pains."
The busy hand ceased to work in a gesture of negation. "Say not such
things, Hoshyar. We go together, or go not at all. Thou knowest that
was my promise to the dead."
Hoshyar ate another comfit before replying with a shrug of the
shoulders: "'Twas not on stamped paper, though, and promises are
naught nowadays without it. 'Tis bad policy to be over-pious, brother.
As all know, the saint's beard goes in relics, and to tell truth, I
would be better pleased to leave Paradise to those who wish for it.
The world suits me. I was not born to be religious, as thou wert."
The comb-maker looked at him with a sort of perplexed patience. "God
knows His own work," he said in a low voice. "The Potter makes; the
World fills. I remember when thou first wentest to school, Hoshyar,
how thou didst weep because it prevented thee from prayer-time. And at
the festivals,--dost remember, brother, thou hadst a little coat of
brocade? Mother cut it from our father's old one she cherished so----"
"Old tales, old tales!" interrupted Hoshyar, rising with another shrug
of his shoulders. "If thou hadst wished me to continue in them, why
didst send me to school to learn new ones? Why didst not make me a
comb-carver instead of a clerk? Then might I have saved money, as thou
hast, gone on the great pilgrimage, as thou hast, and worn a green
turban like thine to show it, as thou dost----"
A sharp spasm of pain swept over the older man's face, but there was
anger also in his voice. "As thou wouldst have done also, clerk though
thou art, if----"
"Yea, I know, I know!" interrupted Hoshyar impatiently; "if I had not
emptied the bag so often. But 'tis a pity to let money lie idle. And
that time when thou hadst the sum needed for the journey, I would have
gone. I meant to have gone,--I swear it; but the leave failed, and
thou wouldst not, surely, have had me give up my post? Then, ere the
leave came, the money had gone instead. I can never keep it lying
idle, and so----"
Raheem's anger faded, leaving nothing but the pain. What use was there
in finishing the sentence, in reproaching the sinner with having done
far worse than let good money lie idle? The fact only made the
pilgrimage a greater necessity than ever, if Nakir and Munkir, the
recording angels, were to be bribed to leniency. "Thou shalt have the
green turban yet," he said quietly, "if thou wilt have patience. But
my combs are not like Peera's over the way: he makes a dozen to my
one; ay, and sells them, too, for folk buy ever the cheapest thing,
nowadays, even for an Eed-offering."[31]
---------------------
[Footnote 31: Equivalent to our Easter.]
---------------------
There was almost an incredulous wonder in his voice as he went on
working, while Hoshyar stood kicking one patent-leather shoe viciously
against a loose brick in the pavement. "And in the meantime the future
pilgrim must live," he remarked jestingly, as if, even to his
effrontery, it was easier to treat what he had to say thus, than in
earnest. "So if thou couldst spare a rupee or two from the bag,
Raheem----"
His brother's eyes looked up, full of reproach. "I know what thou
wouldst say," he went on pettishly. "I have had more than my share
this month; but I need it sorely. The skinflints at the office have
cut my pay for being late,--as if I could help the tram car passing
full five minutes before its time,--so I had to walk. And then the
mixed train, which is ever an hour late, chose to be punctual; so
there was none to receive the waybills." He paused, and seeing the
doubt on Raheem's face, continued: "As for the combs, if thou hast
difficulty in selling, I might try. That one thou madest last with
jasmine flowers in ivory,--'tis a deft piece of work, and I know one
who might buy it."
"Not Yasmeena?" asked Raheem, his face hardening, despite the
girl-like flush which came to it.
Hoshyar laughed uneasily. "Thou hast Yasmeena on thy brain, brother.
She is no worse than others of her trade, and that will last till all
men are of thy way of thinking. Yasmeena! Nay, thou knowest she hath
not the money to pay for such costly gew-gaws, for she is not as the
others, _now_; she is not to be bought or sold herself."
A man more of the world than Raheem, noting the change of tone in the
last words, would have augured much of Yasmeena's power over the
speaker; but the comb-maker was too simple for such wisdom. "If _she_
buys it not, well and good," he replied, relaxing his frown; "but I
will lend myself to no truck between thee and her. And as for the
rupees----" He sighed, yet there was no hesitation in the hands which
began to unlock a brass-bound box lying beside his board. "Thou
wouldst rise earlier, brother," he continued, almost tenderly, as he
counted three rupees from a little bag into the outstretched palm
awaiting the gift, "if thou wouldst sleep a little earlier also. Lo! I
sleep and wake with the birds, since my work must be of the light."
It streamed full upon him and his tools as he spoke, a pale gold flame
of sunshine, searching for each flaw, each failure.
"Couldst not make it five, Raheem?" came the sordid voice. "That is
bare bread."
The flame of the sunshine had found a resting-place in Raheem's eyes
as he looked at the beggar from head to foot. "And this is salvation,"
he replied, dropping the bag back into the box with a chink, and
turning the key upon it.
Salvation! Yes; that is what it really meant to Raheem. It meant
salvation for one soul; but for which? After his brother had gone he
asked himself this question for the hundredth time, asked it almost
feverishly. Ought he to trust to the chance? Was it likely that he
would have time ere his life ended--that life which had always been so
uncertain--to make provision for both himself and Hoshyar in death? It
would not do to trust Hoshyar with the money. He, Raheem, must make
the pilgrimage for him; and was it likely when the rupees came so
slowly and went so fast that the hoard in the bag would be complete
for years? Ought he not then to make over--as according to the canon,
he could do if he chose--the virtue of that past pilgrimage to his
brother, and take the risk of the coming one upon himself? Hoshyar
needed virtue sorely, and yet the very thought of going forth to
the Judgment-Seat without the panoply in which for long years he had
found peace and shelter was a terror to Raheem. Could he do it? Nay,
it was too much; and yet,--if that promise to the dead were broken
wilfully,--what good would imputed righteousness be before the Throne?
And meanwhile Hoshyar his brother, a clerk in the railway, sat smoking
a vile cigar at the feet of Yasmeena, who, lounging on a string bed,
was drawing the scented sandal-wood comb, inlaid with the flowers
whose name she bore, through her sleek hair. "Give it me, beloved,"
she said scornfully; "then thy promise to the saint will be secure. I
must have it; 'tis the prettiest in the bazaar; even Gulanari, with
all her airs, has not its marrow. See, I will sell it to her when I
tire of it, and then thou canst give back his three rupees to the
miser. Three rupees! I shall spend that in a day. And Monday is the
Eed. I must have a new gown for it, or----"
She did not finish her sentence, but her look was eloquent; and
Hoshyar, as he lay awake that night, her meaning driven home by hints
of coming coldness, racked his brains for some means of procuring the
dress. Raheem meanwhile lay awake also, thinking of a very different
costume; of a robe of righteousness, a wedding-garment. Those three
rupees given to Hoshyar had been meant for an Eed-offering, the Eed
which drew so near. There was no time to earn more. Should he go
empty-handed to give thanks for the added virtue of having been
granted life to keep the Great Fast, or should he offer up his
pilgrimage by making it over once and for all to his brother?
Hoshyar had been asleep for hours, and the sparrows were astir ere
Raheem found any answer. He would wait another day, he told himself,
before deciding; so he sat in the sunlight seeking perfection in his
delicate curves and lines, while the pale gold rays peeped and pryed
for flaws and failures.
"Have you a comb like that, finished?" asked a foreign voice, making
him raise his head and _salaam_ hopefully.
"None so good, _Huzoor_; but I have others." He took them from the
brass-bound box and waited; then noting the Englishman's look, said
wistfully: "I had one yesterday, but it,--it is gone. I could finish
this one quickly for the _Huzoor_ if,--if he pleased." There was a
catch in his breath. If he could sell something, surely he might keep
salvation a little longer.
"Can you finish it by Monday evening?"
It would mean working extra hours, mean working through the Festival
when all the world rested; but what was that in comparison with the
reward? Ten minutes afterwards Raheem was putting three rupees into
the bag. He had sold out his stock, and, still more wonderful, had a
promise of twenty rupees more on account for future work if he brought
the comb punctually on the Monday evening. He had not done such a
business for years. The Eed-offering was secure, and the chances of
his hoard reaching the necessary amount for a speedy pilgrimage
doubled.
The sun shone brighter and purer than ever on the crowds assembled in
the Eedgah,--a huge enclosure, set with trees and with a mere facade
of a mosque upon its western front, which lay beyond the city walls.
It shone on no more brilliant figure than Yasmeena's, who, in the
gayest of new dresses, was saying her prayers effusively; for if the
daily life be doubtful, there is all the more need to have the full
advantage of festivals; a theory which obtains all over the world. But
Raheem, despite his green turban of the Passed Pilgrim, despite the
three rupees given scrupulously in charity to his neighbour, felt
glad to escape, when prayers were over, to his work. And yet the sight
was one to stir most hearts: the long lines of men, women, and
children,--thousands and thousands and thousands of them,--half-seen
amid the shading trees; the boom of the firework-signal from the
eastern gate echoing like a cannon from the wide walls, and ending in
a silence like the grave; fifty thousand living, breathing beings
shoulder to shoulder, and not a sound, not a quiver; only the swish of
a bird's wings, only the hush of a breeze among the leaves. Then
suddenly came a great shout as from one throat, and the long lines
bent like a field of corn before a mighty wind. "God is great; there
is no god but God!"
And afterwards he had been used, wifeless, childless himself, to
wander with kindly eyes among the merry family parties picnicking
beneath the trees, watching the little ones' delight over their new
toys, the old men's delight over their grandchildren. Then, often, he
would hear folk say in a whisper: "Look at his turban! He is a Hajji;
he has been to Mecca. Look, children, he has found salvation. God
grant you to follow in his steps!" But on this Eed he took off the
sign of saintship ere he began work; yet as he worked he shivered as
if he were cold without it.
The weight of the twenty rupees, however, which, when the comb was
finished and taken to the sahib at the hotel, were duly paid into his
hand, seemed to make his heart feel lighter. It meant two months'
work, and that meant two months' food. Then Hoshyar must have at least
five rupees. Still enough would remain to bring the hoard in the
brass-bound box within measurable distance of salvation, to make
it possible perhaps for him to wear his green turban without a
heart-ache. His present lack of the distinguishing mark seemed to
strike even the Englishman's eye, making him say kindly: "I thought
you wore the green, and you look the sort certainly; if not I have
something which may interest you. Here, Baboo, one of those leaflets,
please. If you want to hear more, go to the address of the Agency. I'm
off to-night."
Raheem, with a _salaam_, tucked the little printed page into his
common-place white headgear and trudged homewards, tired and
dispirited. It was too dark to begin work again as a distraction,
and he had not had the heart, somehow, to prepare himself a feast as
on other Eeds; so, bethinking him of the leaflet in his turban, he
took it out and began to read. It was in the Arabic lettering of
the Holy Book he knew so well, and his eyes were keen; still
the wording puzzled him. A pilgrimage to Mecca,--exceptional
opportunity,--specially chartered vessel,--_Firman_,--absolute
orthodoxy guaranteed,--to start in a month's time,--a limited number
of tickets available at Moulvie Futtehdeen's, near the mosque,
Imambarah bazaar! Briefly, it was the prospectus of a pilgrimage,
which was being organised as a speculation by a well-known firm, whose
travelling agent combined the business with a private venture of his
own in all the artistic productions he could pick up by the way;
whence came the purchase of Raheem's combs.
"Thou hast the waybill, I see, Hajji," came a cracked, wistful voice,
as an old man who was passing paused at the plinth; an older man even
than his looks, for the sparse beard was palpably dyed, and his dress
still had a youthful jauntiness about it. His face, however, betrayed
him by its wrinkles. He carried a huge _dhol_ (a kind of drum) slung
by a cord about his neck, and as he spoke his lissom fingers slid and
curved over the stretched goat-skin making a muffled, trembling boom.
"Not that it means aught to thee," he went on in a grumble to match.
"Thou hast the ticket to Paradise already. Would I had it also! I go
no nearer it, yet, than damning myself by playing to profligates,
and so putting by a nest-egg against my desire. How else, since
drum-banging is my trade, and drums ever keep bad company? But I grow
old, I grow old. Thus the sin is greater to a soul which should have
learned wisdom; but the pay is less by reason of fingers growing
stiff. So I am wicked both ways, and ere next year's pilgrimage this
empty maw of a thing may have swallowed me up, body and soul." He gave
a more vicious knuckling to the drum, which hummed and boomed in
response.
"Next year's?" echoed Raheem.
"Ay; it comes every year, they say. There was a man at
Gulanari's,--God knows, neighbour, I must burn if I die in such
company, and I so old! 'Tis the drum drags me to it--seest thou! it
will play naught but dance-tunes, though I swear I am weary of them as
a lame squirrel with her nest in the sky. I would play hymns, but that
I am hindered; and a man's belly, Hajji Raheem, will not stay empty as
a drum and not shrink; so----"
"About the pilgrimage," suggested Raheem, knowing the drum-player's
talk of old.
"Ay, ay, for sure! The man--a saint for all his company--there, seest
thou, is the pull of it---- Had _I_ but the green turban, this devil
of a drum might take me where it would. But as I was saying, this man
said it was true, every word. He had been and returned comfortably for
the money."
"For so little," murmured Raheem, looking once more at the price
named. It was far less than what his previous experience told him
would be required.
"Little!" echoed the drum-banger, reproachfully. "That comes of making
decent combs. Didst thou try to wheedle salvation from a thing that
hath neither heart nor bowels of compassion, that is naught but a
devil of a noise that grows worse instead of better when 'tis whacked,
thou wouldst tell a different tale. Well, the cat, says the proverb,
killed seventy rats and went on a pilgrimage, so I must wait my turn,
though if I have not more than seventy sins, may I never play a
measure again. I swarm with them, neighbour, as flies on sugar." He
tucked the tempter further under his arm, and moved on, muttering to
himself: "And I have but half the money saved, so I am lost if I get
not virtue on a reduction."
Raheem sat looking at the paper stupidly, as the mingled growl of the
drum and its beater died away. Then suddenly those delicate hands of
his reached out swiftly to the brass-bound box. Surely he had so much,
or would have so much when those twenty rupees were earned!
So it came to pass in the following days that every minute of the
light found him at work on the scented combs, and whenever he finished
one, he spent some of his scanty rest in toiling over to the Imambarah
bazaar, and paying over its fairly earned price to swell the deposit
which secured to him one of the limited supply of tickets. Finally on
one night, the very night before the day of starting, he packed up the
combs complete, took the price of the last one over to the Moulvie,
and received in return a neat little booklet full of incomprehensible
printed papers. He felt almost afraid of his new possession, with its
gay tie to keep everything in its place within the cover. Supposing he
lost something and found himself stranded? He broke out at the thought
into a cold sweat, and hunted hurriedly for the extra ticket which the
Moulvie had told him was to be used to the junction, since the railway
which passed through the town was not on the direct line. He found it,
an ordinary third-class ticket, tucked away safely; but the fright
made him resolve on keeping it separate and hanging the precious
remainder in a bag round his neck. The empty money-bag would do; or
better still, there were some bits left yet of Hoshyar's little coat
of brocade, and the ticket deserved a fine holder.
As he sat stitching away at the familiar fragments, however, by the
flicker of the cresset, a certain remorse assailed him at having seen
so little of his brother during the past month. True, Hoshyar, for
various reasons, preferred coming to see him; but ever since the Eed,
Raheem had been dimly conscious that something seemed to have come
between him and the soul he meant to save. Was it that he knew in his
heart it ought to be already saved? There was no longer any need,
however, for such questions. So soon as the bag was finished he would
go over and find Hoshyar; would find and tell him the great secret,
the secret which even Raheem's small store of worldly wisdom had kept
jealously.
A sound at the plinth made him look up, and there was Hoshyar himself.
Something in his face made the sewer say quickly: "I set aside the
money for thee, Hoshyar, though thou camest not. It is here, five
rupees."
Hoshyar looked at the little pile with a queer expression, and leaving
the plinth came within the reach of a whisper. "That will not serve me
to-night," he said quietly. "I must have thirty."
"Thirty!" echoed Raheem. "I have it not."
"Thou hast it in the box. See here, brother, thou hast told me always
that the money was mine--for my salvation. Well, I need it; I must
have it." He spoke almost carelessly as one who has a certainty of
succeeding; and in truth he thought so. Once before Raheem had almost
emptied the bag to save him from ruin, and he had calculated
deliberately on its being emptied again when he had bought Yasmeena
her new dress out of office-funds which would have to be replaced at
the end of the month. Raheem would not have given a _pice_ for such a
purpose, of course; but with detection and disgrace staring his
brother in the face it would be different. Besides, the money was his,
for his salvation. "Listen, Raheem," he went on, summoning up a
penitential tone; but his brother interrupted him swiftly, a sort of
dread in his dark, hollow eyes. "There is naught in the box now,
brother," he said, with a catch of fear in his voice. "I have naught
but this;" he laid his hand lightly upon the booklet, and its very
touch seemed to bring comfort, for he smiled. "'Tis my salvation,
Hoshyar, for I have given thee my pilgrimage. See, I am making a
holder for it. Dost recognise the stuff? 'Tis a bit of the little
brocade coat, brother."
Hoshyar had caught up the booklet, glanced at it, and now flung it
down with a passionate oath. "Salvation,--fool, 'tis perdition!" Then
he laughed suddenly, a loud, bitter laugh. "That is an end," he said,
rising to go. "I only waste time here. Good-bye, Raheem; 'tis well
thou hast a keepsake of me; thou art not likely to see much of me
these seven years to come."
"What dost mean, brother?" began the comb-maker, fearfully; but
Hoshyar, without another word, turned back to the bazaar.
"'Tis thou that art the fool," said Yasmeena, with a yawn, after
Hoshyar had raged for a quarter of an hour of his ill-luck, of his
brother's foolery, of her extravagance. "Why didst not take the
ticket? It must be worth something, surely?" Then a sudden interest
came to her languid eyes, where vice itself seemed weary. "Seest thou,
beloved, I have an idea! Old Deena the drum-player is for ever talking
of second-hand salvation. He hath forty rupees saved for it; that
would leave me ten as commission. He need not know; I can say I got
it; we of the bazaar get most things at times in our profession. And
the money was thine,--for thy salvation, remember."
Hoshyar looked at her as a man looks at a venomous snake he has no
power to kill.
"Lo, Baboo-_ji!_" said a trollop of a girl, lounging in with a giggle.
"Thy brother Raheem asks for thee below. 'Tis the first time,
methinks, he hath entered such a house, for he stands like a child,
clasping a brocaded bag as if there were pests about, and it held
camphor."
Yasmeena sat up among her quilts and looked at Hoshyar. "Bid the good
creature to the courtyard at the back," she said in a level voice.
"Thou wilt like to see him alone, doubtless, Hoshyar. And, Merun, bid
some man take him a sherbet; he would be affrighted of a _houri_. Make
it of sandal-essence, girl, and bring it to me to see that it is
rightly flavoured. Thou likest not sandal-essence, Hoshyar, 'tis true,
but 'tis most refreshing to those who have walked, and thou needst not
touch it."
Hoshyar's look changed. It was the look now which a bird gives to the
snake.
Raheem was at the station next day in plenty of time, though, rather
to his surprise, he had slept later than usual that morning, and slept
heavily also; perhaps because he seemed not to have a care left in the
world after Hoshyar had retracted all his reproaches and bidden him go
in peace. Peace,--what else could remain in a man's heart after that
renunciation in the dark deserted mosque upon the homeward way, which
had left Raheem's conscience clear at last, left him without a
wedding-garment and yet content? And now, with his ticket to the
junction duly snipped, his bundle in one hand and the other assuring
itself of the booklet's safety in the brocade bag, he passed down the
platform in the rear of the rush from the waiting-shed, looking
diffidently for a seat in the close-packed carriages, which with their
iron bars and struggling occupants looked like cages of wild beasts.
"Here, neighbour Hajji, here!" cried a cracked, familiar voice full of
elation, full of importance. "Now that demon of a drum hath gone there
is room for a saint or two. He is Hajji already, my masters, and will
be a good companion. But 'tis done cheaper nowadays, and I, I swear,
have it cheaper than ye all. How much, is a secret; but the Lord kept
his eye on old Deena." So he went on boastfully, till even his voice
was drowned in the great shout which went up as the train moved on. He
was back on his own good fortune, however, when the hundred and fifty
and odd passengers in their carriage, separated into scores by iron
bars, had subsided into a mere babel of speaking voices. "No cover,
say you?" he replied resentfully to a captious criticism on his
ticket. "What good is a cover? Dew is pretty, but it don't quench
thirst; so I, being a pilgrim, drink plain water. My ticket will take
me as far as thine."
Raheem, crouched up between the drum-player and a fat butcher, heard
vaguely, and fingered the outline of his treasure in its bag of
brocade, feeling glad he had so honoured it; for it took him further
than Mecca, further than this world. The Gates of Pearl were set ajar
for him, and he could see through them to the glory and glitter of
Paradise. And so, after a rush through a long stretch of desert sand,
the train slackened, rousing him from a dream. This must be the
junction, and he must take out the other ticket; but not while a score
of folk were struggling over him in their rush to be out first. He was
out last, of course, and had barely time to snatch the booklet from
its bag, ere an official warned him to hurry up. So panting, confused,
his bundle in one hand, his treasure in the other, he sped over the
bridge to the next platform.
"Tickets, tickets, all tickets!" came another alien voice, and he
paused to obey, setting his bundle on the ground in order to have both
hands for his task. But the opening of the cover was to him as the
closing of the Book of Life; for it was empty.
"Pass on, pass on!" came the not unkindly voice of command once more.
"Out of the way, you there, and don't stand like a fool. You've
dropped it likely; run back and see; there's time yet."
So over the bridge again went Raheem, in frantic hope, back on his
steps again in frantic despair. "I had it, _Huzoor_, indeed I had it!
Here is the cover!"
The ticket-collector shook his head, and Raheem, with a dazed look,
turned away quietly.
"Trra!" came the voice of the drum-player sententiously and safely
from the window of a carriage. "He hath lost the inside; that comes of
a cover. Well, well, prayers are over; up with the carpet! But he is
Hajji already, my masters, so 'tis not as though it were one of us
sinners."
"Keep thy sins to thyself, chatterer," retorted his next neighbour
tartly, as the train moved on. "We be virtuous men enough."
"If you haven't money to go on, you must go back. The booking-office
is over there, and the up-mail will be in in a few hours."
This official view of the question, given by the authorities as they
gathered round the disappointed pilgrim, was simplicity itself, even
to Raheem. He never thought of connecting his ticketless cover with
Deena's coverless ticket. The fact that his chance was gone absorbed
him utterly; he had lost salvation, for the very thought of taking
back his gift to Hoshyar was impossible to him. That was the outcome
of it all. So he sat patiently waiting for his train to come in; sat
patiently, after he had found a place in it, waiting for it to go on,
so absolutely absorbed in his loss, that he did not even hear his
neighbours' comments on the delay.
"Line clear at last!" said the guard joyfully to the driver as he came
out of the telegraph-office, where but one instant before the welcome
signal had echoed. "Steam away all you know, sonny, and make up lost
time. I promised my girl to be punctual; there's a hop on at her
house."
So, with a shriek, they were off for a twenty-mile scamper across the
desert; out with a bump over the points, out with a whistle past the
last signal, out with a flash by the telegraph-posts. But something
else was flashing by the posts also; for a message came clicking
into the station they had left not a minute ago, "_Mistake--line
blocked--down-mail_."
"My God!" said the station-master in a thick voice, standing up
blindly. He was an old Mutiny man, but he was white as a sheet.
"It isn't our fault, father," began his son, a slim young fellow,
showing mixed blood.
"D----n it all, sir," shouted the other furiously, "what does it
matter whose fault it is? What's to be done?"
Nothing could be done, save to telegraph back quick as kind nature
could carry it: "_Line blocked--up-mail also_." Fateful words! The
line blocked both ways, and not a signal for twenty miles! Half an
hour of warning at the least, and nothing to be done; nothing save to
accept the disaster!
"Bring up the relief-engine sharp, Smith," said the Traffic
Superintendent at the terminus when, ere a minute was past, the
hopeless news reached him. "Graham, run over for Dr. Westlake, for
Harrison, too, if he's there; splints, bandages, dressers, and all
that. Davies, wire back to the other end to send what they can from
their reserve."
And so, swiftly as hands and brains could compass it, two more engines
fled shrieking into the growing dusk of evening behind those two, the
down-mail and the up-mail, coming nearer and nearer to each other on
the single line.
"Twenty minutes since they started, about," said one man, who was
standing with a watch in his hand, in curiously quiet tones. "It must
be soon now; and there is a curve about the middle. I hope to God
there is no friend of mine in either!"
"Royston's in the down," replied another studiously even voice. "He
was going to see his wife. But the firsts are well back; it's the
thirds, poor devils----" He paused, and the others nodded.
The thirds, doubtless! And in one of them, far forward, crouched
Raheem, staring out into the calm dusk, absorbed in the horror of
going back, going back to die before he had saved his own soul!
So, suddenly, through and above the rush and the roar and the rattle
that he scarcely heard, came a new sound forcing him to listen. It was
a quivering, clamorous, insistent whistle. It brought no recognition
to his ignorance, or to the ignorance of those around him, but far
back in the first-class carriages white faces peered out into
the gloom, and foreign voices called to each other: "Danger
whistle--what's up?" Still, it was a strange, disturbing sound with a
strange echo. And was that an echo of the rush, and the roar, and the
rattle? Raheem sat up quickly. Was it the end of all things? Why had
they struck him--Who--Hoshyar! Then thought ended in a scream of pain.
"There is a man caught by the feet under that wheel," said Dr.
Westlake not many minutes after, as he came out of the hideous pile of
wreckage all grimed and smirched. "He is breathing yet, so have him
out sharp. We may save him, but these others----" He passed on to seek
work significantly.
And so Raheem, stunned and with both feet crushed to a jelly, was dug
out; the only man left alive in the forward third-class carriage of
the up-mail. He was still unconscious when it came to be his turn for
the doctors in the crowded hospital. "Badly nourished," said Dr.
Westlake, "but it is his only chance. Harrison, the eucalyptus
sawdust, please; it is a good case for it, and we shall be short of
dressings."
So two days afterwards Raheem, recovering from a slight concussion of
the brain, found himself in a strangely comfortable bed with a curious
hump of a thing over his feet under the coverlet. He did not know that
there were no feet there; that they had both been amputated at the
ankle, and that he was a cripple for life. And there was no reason why
he should find it out, since the sawdust did its work without more
ado, much to the doctor's delight, who, as he took Raheem's
temperature, talked of first intents and septic dressings to his
assistant. In fact, they were both so pleased that it came upon them
by surprise one day, when Raheem, with clasped hands, asked when he
was to die.
"Die? Rubbish!" said Dr. Westlake, cheerfully. "Not from this, at any
rate, and we will do what we can for the lungs afterwards."
Raheem's face did not lose its anxiety. "And when, if the _Huzoor_
will say, shall I be able to walk again?" As he lay in the comfortable
bed he had been making up his mind to sacrifice all comfort, to leave
life behind him, and start on foot for death, with his face towards
Mecca.
"Walk?" echoed the doctor, with a significant look at his assistant.
Then he sat down on the edge of the cot, and told the truth.
Raheem heard it, looking incredulously at the cradle; and then
suddenly he interrupted a platitude about its being better to be a
cripple than to die, with an eager question: "Then the _Huzoor_ means
that I shall never be able to walk again?"
The doctor nodded.
"May God reward the _Huzoor_ for ever and ever," said Raheem in a
whisper, raising both hands in a salute; and his face was one radiant
smile.
Dr. Westlake looked at his assistant as they passed on to the next
cot. "They are an incomprehensible people," he said in rather an
injured tone. "I never expected to hear a man thank me rapturously for
cutting off both his feet."
He did not know that cripples are especially exempted from the duty of
pilgrimage, and that the patient was repeating his version of the
text: "It is better to enter halt into life, than, having two feet, to
be cast into hell."