The next morning Razat Sing, a tall old man, leading by the hand his
blind wife, presented himself at the Chandos verandah, and asked to see
the Mem Sahib.
"What would you?" she demanded, in her shrill voice.
"Great lady," and he salaamed to the ground, "protector of the poor,
it hath come to my knowledge that Abdul Buk--whose rope is round our
necks--will do much for a word from thee."
"Aré, what nonsense is this?" she screeched, in her fluent Hindustani.
"Art thou mad? What have I to do with such as thee?"
All her daughters were assembled in the verandah, listening to this
conversation; the servants, too, were, as usual, within earshot.
"It is true, O! lady, they say, that thou hast done him some noble
favour; therefore, will he listen to thee. We ask not much--only
to remain in the old house by the old well, on the soil on which I
was born. Lo! when I say we ask not much--we ask our lives. Sixty
years have I toiled and striven," holding up as he spoke his worn,
knotted hands; "I have not wasted my money on aught; I have gone no
pilgrimages; I have held no feasts; I have fed scantily; I have worked
harder than a mill bullock, but to no avail--the fruit of these hands
hath gone to the money-lenders, for once, in an evil hour, I did
borrow one hundred rupees. Alas, I am now in the toils of Saloo, the
soucar--he groweth richer and richer as we wax poorer and poorer; and
I have no son to carry on the debt--therefore am I driven forth, being
old and feeble. Speak but one word, oh, great lady, and Abdul Buk will
grant us our request."
As he pleaded the poor old creature, whose body was almost
skeleton-like in its leanness, whose only garments were a dhoti and a
ragged red turban, sobbed aloud as he went down upon his knees, and
placed his head at the feet of Mrs. Chandos.
"Bah! what have I to do with Abdul Buk?" she cried, "and his affairs?
Go! I mix not myself up with crops and beggars!" To avoid further
importunity--and secretly startled and alarmed--she retreated indoors.
The old ryot raised himself with a groan, slowly picked up his stick,
took his blind wife by the hand, and with downcast head led her away in
silence. They were a truly pitiful sight. Verona and Pussy whispered
together. Between them they had two rupees, and with these in her hand,
Pussy ran after old Razat Sing, and pressed the silver into his palm,
but he seemed to be dazed with trouble, and scarcely aware of her gift.
"I know where he lives," said Pussy to Verona, "it is the old house
under the big pepul tree, a mile off the Bhetapore road. Let us walk up
there to-morrow morning, and take them some clothes. We will get Nani
to help us."
The two girls constantly walked in the morning, but Dominga was a
lie-a-bed. And now and then they were joined by Mrs. Lepell--also an
early riser.
At tennis that same evening, Verona related the story of Saloo to Mrs.
Lepell.
"I mean to go to see old Razat Sing, too," she declared. "My husband
will give him quarters, and he can sweep up the leaves in the garden;
of course, it will be a change from his home, but still it means food
and shelter. If I could pay off his debt, I would, but if I began to
release the poor slaves, I should never have done--I might as well try
to empty the sea with a tea-spoon."
At three o'clock the next morning the three ladies set forth on their
charitable errand; the two girls carried a piece of calico for a turban
and a little shawl, Mrs. Lepell some rupees. On their way they were
overtaken by Salwey, who, strange to say, was also about to look up the
unfortunate ryot; he dismounted and walked along with Verona, his aunt
and Pussy being in advance.
It was a beautiful February morning; the dew was still glistening on
the grass, the air was cool, the sky blue and cloudless; presently
the little party came in view of a dwelling, standing some way off
the road. There was a well, an enclosed patch of garden, a ruined
cart-shed, and at the back some cow-sheds. The whole place had a
forlorn and dilapidated appearance, but once upon a time had evidently
some pretensions to importance.
Mrs. Lepell and Verona went to the door and knocked gently--no reply.
They opened it and entered; the room was bare and scrupulously clean.
The fire was out; near it were some earthen pots, an iron spoon and
plate; some very old harness hung on the wall; in one corner was a
plough and a battered leather bucket. The inner room, into which they
peeped, was dark; there they discerned a string bed, on which lay a
huddled-up figure under a tattered coverlet.
Mrs. Lepell addressed this figure in Hindustani, but there was no
reply. She went nearer, and turned back the comli, or blanket; the
old blind woman lay with her face to the wall; she did not move when
her visitor placed her hand on her shoulder, for she was quite dead.
Charged with this appalling discovery, Pussy darted out to break the
news to Salwey, who had been fastening up his horse. When he came in
and surveyed the still figure on the charpoy, he looked very grave;
then, as he led the way into the outer room, he said to the three
ladies:
"Will you wait here? I will be back in a moment."
In a very short time he returned; he had an open clasp knife in his
hand.
"It was as I feared," he said, "the poor old chap is dead too; he
hanged himself with the well rope--I have just cut him down."
Having locked up the house of death, Salwey rode off at once to make
arrangements for the inquest, while the three ladies returned home.
Pussy, who was weeping bitterly, sobbed to her sister:
"You remember yesterday, Verona, what poor old Razat Sing said, 'he was
asking for their lives'--it was true."
As the police officer galloped in to the cantonments he believed that
he held in his hand the clue to Saloo's identity, for he had found a
morsel of writing in the ragged turban of the suicide. If old Razat
Sing was the means of delivering others from the usurer's yoke--he had
not died in vain.