Could Philip Marsden have seen into Mahomed Lateef's old tower about
the time he was leaving Nilgunj his regrets might have had a still
more truthful ring, and Belle might have been saved from once more
adding to the difficulties of her own lot, and, as it were, making a
stumbling-block of her own good intentions. For in that case, Major
Marsden would have stopped another day in order to see his old friend,
and in the course of conversation would have heard things which might
have changed the current of subsequent events; but Fate decreed
otherwise.
More than once, seeing the daily increasing poverty of his patron,
Afzul Khân had suggested an appeal to the Major, as one sure to do
something for the father of the man who had stood between him and
death; but the stubborn old malcontent had lumped the whole Western
creation in his category of ingrates. "The past is past," he would say
angrily. "I will not even ask justice from one of them. And, according
to thy tales, Marsden _sahib_ has taken to trade and leagued himself
with Raby, who is no better than a _buniah_,--no better than Shunker
Bahâdur, whom God smite to hell! Hast heard what they are doing down
yonder? Pera Ditta was here last week, saying his land was to be sold
because he could not pay. And how could he pay when water never came?
And how could water come when strangers enter and build dams without
let or hindrance?"
Afzul frowned. "True, father, and 'tis about that dam I would have you
speak. Not, look you, that it did harm this year. 'Twas God's fault,
not Raby's, that the river failed, though folk will not have it so.
And next year, even, the dam will do good, not harm, if a sluice be
put in it such as they have north in the big canals. Look you, Raby is
no fool. Before Allah! he is wise; and he offered to put one, so that
the water would run every year right away to the south, if the people
would promise him to grow indigo, and dig part of the channel. But
Shunker, or God knows who, hath stuffed their ears, and they will not
listen. So Raby means the pig-headed fools shall learn reason. I blame
him not, but that is no cause why you should starve; and starve you
must if the river does not come.
"I will starve sooner than beg."
"And the child?"
That was an argument which invariably brought the discussion to a
close in vehement objections to interference, and loud-voiced
assertions of independence. Nevertheless, Afzul returned to the charge
again and again, moved to insistence by a personal desire to be free
from the necessity of eking out the expenses of the household. He gave
cheerfully enough to the women, on the sly lest the old martinet
should wring his neck for the impertinence; but for all that he wanted
to be free to go his own ways when summer came. If the sluice were
made and a constant supply of water insured, the old man and the women
would at least escape starvation. John Raby, who had found the Pathan
singularly intelligent and with some knowledge of levelling (learnt
from poor Dick), had so far given him confidence that he knew what
ought to be done; but he was not well enough up in the whole matter to
understand that his master had considerable excuse for refusing to do
it. As a matter of fact the dam had been constructed with great care
so as to avoid cutting off the water supply from the neighbouring
villages, where the floods came with fair regularity. John Raby had
even spent money in improving their chances, on certain conditions
about indigo, which he well knew would eventually be of enormous
benefit to the people themselves. In regard to those further afield he
had made a very fair proposal, which, mainly owing to Shunker's
machinations, they had rejected; briefly, he had offered a constant
supply of water at the price of a little labour and a few reasonable
concessions. When they refused his terms, he smiled and went on
building his dam. Up to a certain flood-point he knew it would be an
obstruction; beyond that, the river would still find its way. He only
enlarged the cycle of floodless years; but on this fact he counted for
eventual submission. As for the owners of the few small holdings
between the dam and the basin of alluvial soil tilled by these
pig-headed Hindus, he was sorry for them; but as it was quite
impossible for him to ensure a water-supply without giving it beyond,
their best plan would be to exert their influence towards a reasonable
solution of the difficulty. In a matter like this he was not a man to
swerve a hair's breadth from his own plan for the sake of anybody. He
conceived that he had a perfect right to do as he chose, and if others
disputed his action they could go to law about it; only, long before
the vexed question of the frequency of flood in past years could be
decided one way or the other, he felt certain that the sight of the
surrounding prosperity would have overcome all opposition.
Afzul Khân, however, only half in the secret, believed that the
sluice-gate might be made by an appeal to Major Marsden; and, when the
latter came to the factory, took a day's leave on purpose to rouse the
old Khân to action, it being quite hopeless to expect him to ask a
favour of John Raby, of whom he never spoke save with a gibe. Perhaps
the thought of seeing a familiar face influenced the old man, for when
the argument reached its usual climax of, "And the child, Khân
_sahib_, what of the child?" he gave a fierce sigh, and pressing the
boy, who was sitting on his knee, closer to his heart, muttered
impatiently, "What is the pride of a man before the hunger of a child?
I will go; so hold thy devil of a tongue, and let us have peace!"
Afterwards, however, when Afzul with solemn satisfaction at his
victory was polishing up the old warrior's sword, Mahomed Lateef
became restive again. "I know not that I will go. He owes me somewhat,
'tis true, and in past time I thought him just; but I like not this
talk of trade; 'tis not a soldier's task."
The Pathan leaning over the shining blade breathed on it to test its
lustre. "_Wah!_ Khân _sahib_, all's fair in love and war. Men do much
for the sake of a woman without tarnishing their honour longer than my
breath lingers on good steel. Marsden _sahib_ did it for love of the
_mem_, look you."
The old man scowled. "I like not that either. Let him choose the one
or the other, and use his sword to keep his choice."
Afzul smiled cunningly. "Wait a while, Khân _sahib_, wait a while; the
fowler must have time to lure his bird, and some women have cold
hearts."
"She hath a heart of ice! Yea! I will go, Afzul, and I will tell him
of Murghub Ahmad and how she bore false witness."
"Not so! Thou wilt ask for water, and get thy revenge safe in thy
pocket; it lies heavy on an empty stomach."
So they borrowed a pink-nosed pony from the pleader's father in the
next village, and with his little grandson, arrayed in huge turban and
tarnished tinsel coatee, disposed in front of the high-peaked saddle,
Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân set off to see the Major and plead the
child's cause. A picturesque group they made, as they passed along the
sandy ways and treeless stretches of hard sun-baked soil; Afzul
leading the pony, the boy laughing and clapping his hands at the
novelty, the old soldier's white beard showing whiter than ever
against the child's dark curls, Fâtma and Haiyât standing outside,
recklessly unveiled, to shriek parting blessings and injunctions. And
lo! after all these preparations, after all this screwing up of
courage and letting down of pride, the Major had gone! Afzul could
scarcely believe his ears. Gone! and he had been reckoning on giving
certain hints about Dick's will which might have served to bring
matters to a crisis. He returned to the hut where he had left the Khân
and his grandson while he went to arrange for an interview, and tried
to persuade Mahomed Lateef not to allow his journey to go for nothing,
but to prefer his request to Raby _sahib_ himself. He might even write
a petition, and demand that it should be sent on to the Major, if
pride forbade asking a favour of the former. Afzul might as well have
urged the old man to wear patent-leather shoes or perform any other
such abomination of desolation. "Am I a baboo that I should cringe and
beg?" he answered, wrathfully. "The Major is a soldier and knows what
it means to stave a blow from a comrade's head; 'tis but defending
your own in the future. But this man! He would talk of rupees, and I
have none to give. Let it be, fool! I will stop the night here as was
arranged, since the child seems tired. To-morrow we can return. I am
not so far through that a day's journey will kill me."
So, from the recesses of the windowless shanty, he watched John Raby
passing back to the house when the day's work was done; then he went
forth in the twilight and prowled about the new factory, noting the
unmistakable signs of masterful energy with a curious mixture of
admiration and contempt. "As thou sayest he is a man, and no mere
money-bag like Shunker," was his final comment. "Come, little one, say
thy evening petition and let me roll thee in thy quilt, for thine eyes
are heavy."
The child, already half asleep, slid from his grandfather's knee, and
standing, stretched his little hands skywards. "God bring justice to
those who brought my father injustice," he murmured drowsily.
A savage exultation came to the old face looking down on the curves
and dimples. "_Ameen, ameen!_ Justice! That is all we seek. Come,
light of mine eyes, and God give thee many wakenings."
Thereafter the two men sat silent, waiting for sleep to come to the
child. And it came, but not for long. Perhaps in less careful hands
the boy had taken chill, perhaps Afzul's more sumptuous fare was the
exciting cause; anyhow, a few hours afterwards Kirpo, roused by the
helpless men from the death-like slumber of the domesticated savage,
found little Hussan Ahmad struggling for breath in his grandfather's
arms, a prey to spasmodic croup. Of course she had not the remotest
idea what was the matter, or what was to be done. She could but take
the child to her capacious bosom and add to the general alarm by
shrill sympathy. It was a fit--the dear one would die--_Hai,
hai!_--some one had bewitched it. Then suddenly an inspiration seized
her. The _mem!_ let them send for the _mem!_ But last week her own boy
had had the gripes until the _mem_ came with a little bottle and cured
him. _Hai, hai!_ the darling was choking! Send for the _mem_, if they
would not have him die before their eyes.
Afzul looked at the grandfather interrogatively. Pride, fear,
resentment, and love fought hard for the mastery. "She will not come;
she hath a heart of ice," quavered the old voice, seeking for excuse,
and escape from responsibility.
"Who can count on a woman? but death is sure; and she is wise in such
ways, I know. Say, Khân _sahib_, shall I go?"
There was an instant's pause, broken by the child's hoarse crow. Then
the faith of a life-time spoke. "Go! It is Kismet. Give her the
chance; it is God's will to give it. She may not come, and then--"
But ten minutes after Belle Raby in her soft white evening dress had
the struggling child in her arms and reassuring words on her lips.
Afzul Khân, too, held a bottle and a teaspoon, whereat Kirpo's face
broadened to content. "Have no fear, master," she whispered in the old
man's ear; "'tis the same one, I swear it. A charm, a potent charm!"
Most Englishwomen in India gain some knowledge of doctoring, not only
from necessity, but from the neighbourliness which turns them into
nurses where in England they would be content with kind inquiries;
and, though croup is comparatively rare among the native children,
Belle had seen it treated among English ones. Such knowledge, a
medicine-chest, and common sense seem, and indeed often act, like
magic to the ignorant eyes helplessly watching their loved ones fight
for life. The old Mohammedan stood aside, bolt upright as if on
parade, a prey to dull regrets and keen joy as Belle's kind voice
conjured up endless things beyond the thought or comprehension even of
the child's mother, had she been there. Hot water, a bath fetched from
somewhere in the dark beyond the feeble glimmer of light in which
those bare white arms gleamed about the child's brown body, ice, a
soft white blanket, within the folds of which peace seemed to come to
the struggling limbs till sleep actually claimed the child again.
"He is all right now," said Belle smiling. "Keep him in your arms,
Kirpo, and give him plenty of air. I will come to-morrow and see him
again. Afzul, have you the lantern?"
She stood--a strange figure in that mud-floored, mud-roofed
hovel--fastening the silver clasp of her fur cloak with slim fingers
sparkling with jewels; a figure more suitable to some gay gathering on
the other side of the world. Then from the darkness into the ring of
light where she stood stepped another figure. A tall old man, made
taller by the high-twined green turban proclaiming him a past pilgrim
to the great shrine of warriors, a man with his son's medals on a
threadbare velvet coat, and a sharp curved sword held like a sacrament
in his outstretched palms. "_Huzoor!_" he said bowing his proud old
head. All the conflicting emotions of the past hour had concentrated
themselves to this. Words, either of gratitude or blame, were beyond
him. God knows which, given opportunity of calm thought, he might have
offered. But so, taken by surprise, carried beyond his own personal
interests by admiration, he gave, in the true old fighting instinct
which dies hard amongst the Mohammedans, his allegiance to what was
brave and capable. "_Huzoor!_"
The English girl had learnt enough of native customs to know her part.
Those slim white fingers lingered an instant on the cold steel, and
her bright eyes smiled up into the old man's face. "The gift is not
mine, but yours." Perhaps it was; the faculty of just admiration is a
great possession.
She found her husband still smoking cigarettes over a French novel.
"By George! Belle," he said, "you look awfully nice. That sort of
thing suits you down to the ground. You were born to be a Lady
Bountiful, and send social problems to sleep with sentiment. By the
way, do you know who the little beggar is? I asked the _khansaman_; he
is the son of that man Murghub Ahmad who was transported! His
grandfather is living on the ancestral estate about ten miles down the
old _nullah_. I'm precious glad Marsden didn't find him out, or he
would have been bothering me to do something for the old fellow. And I
haven't time just now for charity. I leave that to you, my dear; it
suits you--as I remarked just now--down to the ground."
Belle, who had turned very pale, said nothing, but she seemed to feel
the chill of the cold steel at her finger-tips. She understood better
what that offering had meant, and, sentiment or no sentiment,
something rose in her throat and kept her silent. Next morning,
according to promise, she went over to the huts again. The dew shone
on the flowers as she crossed the garden, an indescribable freshness
was in the air. The child, but newly aroused from a sweet sleep, was
still surrounded by the white blanket in the midst of which he sat
cuddled up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Afzul was smiling at the
door, the grandfather, calmed into stern politeness, standing by the
bed.
"Rise, O Hussan Ahmad!" he said to the child after a few words of
inquiry and reply. "Rise and say thy thanks to the _mem_ for her
kindness. They are due; they are justly due."
Still drowsy, and mindful only of an accustomed order, the boy
stretched his chubby little arms skyward. "May God bring justice to
those who brought injustice to my father."
Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân started as if he had been shot, and his right
hand fell sharply on the child's shoulder, then wandered to his
sword-hilt. "It is Fate," he muttered gloomily. "Out of his own mouth
I am rebuked."
Belle's heart gave a great throb of anger and pain. She had lain awake
piecing the stray threads of the story together till it had seemed to
her a sad yet beautiful pattern on the web of life, and now-- "Why do
you say that?" she asked gently of the child, as if he were the only
person present.
He looked at her fearlessly. "I say it morning and evening. Listen!
May God bring justice to those who brought injustice to my father."
The eyes of those two men watching her were like spurs to her high
spirit. "Listen," she said. "I will say it too. May God bring justice
to those who brought injustice to your father."
The eyes fell as she passed out without another word. "By the God who
made me," swore the old soldier, "she is a brave one, and she hath my
sword! Remember that, Afzul. If the time should ever come, my sword at
least is for her and hers. For the rest, the child has spoken."
Afzul smiled grimly. He was beginning to see what those two brave ones
fancied in the pale-faced _mem_. She was too good for Raby _sahib_
with his rupees, he decided; yet women are always influenced by
wealth. Perhaps the thought of what she would leave behind hindered
her from following the Major. If so, a little reverse in the business
might be beneficial. Anyhow, and come what may, he must get rid of
that cursed blue envelope ere summer opened the passes for homesick
footsteps. Even if he had to leave it behind him unconditionally, he
must do so, since by that time he would have money saved to last for
an idle year or two.