It was noon again. In the Hall of the Heavenly Hours all the chiefs and
great people of the land were gathered, and in the Palace yard without
were thousands of the people of the Bazaars and the one-storied houses.
The Bazaars were almost empty, the streets deserted. Yet silken banners
of gorgeous colours flew above the pink terraces, and the call of the
silver horn of Mandakan, which was made first when Tubal Cain was young,
rang through the long vacant avenues. A few hundred native troops and
a handful of hillsmen rode up and down, and at the Residency fifty
men kept guard under command of Sergeant Doolan of the artillery--his
superior officers and the rest of his comrades were at the Palace.
In the shade of a banyan tree sat the recovered victim of the Red Plague
and the beggar of Nangoon, playing a game of chuck-farthing, taught them
by Sergeant Doolan, a bowl of milk and a calabash of rice beside them,
and cigarettes in their mouths. The beggar had a new turban and robe,
and he sat on a mat which came from the Palace.
He had gone to the Palace that morning as Colonel Cumner had commanded,
that he might receive the thanks of the Dakoon for the people of
Mandakan; but he had tired of the great place, and had come back to play
at chuck-farthing. Already he had won everything the other possessed,
and was now playing for his dinner. He was still chuckling over his
victory when an orderly and two troopers arrived with a riderless horse,
bearing the command of Colonel Cumner for the beggar to appear at once
at the Palace. The beggar looked doubtfully at the orderly a moment,
then rose with an air of lassitude and languidly mounted the horse.
Before he had got half-way to the Palace he suddenly slid from the horse
and said:
“Why should I go? The son of the great Cumner promised for the Dakoon.
He tells the truth. Light of my soul, but truth is the greatest of all!
I go to play chuck-farthing.”
So saying, he turned and ran lazily back to the Residency and sat down
beneath the banyan tree. The orderly had no commands to bring him by
force, so he returned to the Palace, and entered it as the English
Governor was ending his speech to the people. “We were in danger,”
said Cumner, “and the exalted chief, Pango Dooni, came to save us. He
shielded us from evil and death and the dagger of the mongrel chief,
Boonda Broke. Children of heavenly Mandakan, Pango Dooni has lived at
variance with us, but now he is our friend. A strong man should rule
in the Palace of Mandakan as my brother and the friend of my people. I
speak for Pango Dooni. For whom do you speak?”
As he had said, so said all the people in the Hall of the Heavenly
Hours, and it was taken up with shouts by the people in the Palace yard.
Pango Dooni should be Dakoon!
Pango Dooni came forward and said: “If as ye say I have saved ye, then
will ye do after my desire, if it be right. I am too long at variance
with this Palace to sit comfortably here. Sometime, out of my bitter
memories, I should smite ye. Nay, let the young, who have no wrongs to
satisfy, let the young who have dreams and visions and hopes, rule; not
the old lion of the hills, who loves too well himself and his rugged
ease of body and soul. But if ye owe me any debt, and if ye mean me
thanks, then will ye make my son Dakoon. For he is braver than I, and
between ye there is no feud. Then will I be your friend, and because my
son shall be Dakoon I will harry ye no more, but bide in my hills, free
and friendly, and ready with sword and lance to stand by the faith and
fealty that I promise. If this be your will, and the will of the great
Cumner, speak.”
Cumner bowed his head in assent, and the people called in a loud voice
for Tang-a-Dahit.
The young man stepped forth, and baring his head, said:
“It is meet that the race be to the swift, to those who have proven
their faith and their swords; who have the gift for ruling, and the
talent of the sword to sustain it. For me, if ye will hear me, I will
go another way. I will not rule. My father hath passed on this honour to
me, but I yield it up to one who hath saved ye from a double death, even
to the great Cumner’s Son. He rode, as ye know, through peril to Pango
Dooni, bearing the call for help, and he hath helped to save the whole
land from the Red Plague. But for him Mandakan would be only a place of
graves. Speak, children of heavenly Mandakan, whom will ye choose?” When
Cumner’s Son stood forth he was pale and astounded before the cries
of greeting that were carried out through the Palace yard, through the
highways, and even to the banyan tree where sat the beggar of Nangoon.
“I have done nothing, I have done nothing,” said he sincerely. “It was
Pango Dooni, it was the beggar of Nangoon. I am not fit to rule.”
He turned to his father, but saw no help in his eyes for refusal. The
lad read the whole story of his father’s face, and he turned again to
the people.
“If ye will have it so, then, by the grace of God, I will do right by
this our land,” said he.
A half-hour later he stood before them, wearing the costly robe of
yellow feathers and gold and perfect silk of the Dakoon of Mandakan.
“The beggar of Nangoon who saved our city, bid him come near,” he said;
but the orderly stepped forward and told his story of how the beggar had
returned to his banyan tree.
“Then tell the beggar of Nangoon,” said he, “that if he will not visit
me, I will visit him; and all that I promised for the Dakoon of Mandakan
I will fulfil. Let Cushnan Di stand forth,” he added, and the old man
came near. “The city which was yours is yours, again, and all that was
taken from it shall be restored,” said he.
Then he called him by his real name, and the people were amazed.
Cushnan Di, as he had been known to them, said quietly:
“If my Lord will give me place near him as general of his armies and
keeper of the gates, I will not ask that my city be restored, and I will
live near to the Palace--”
“Nay, but in the Palace,” interrupted Cumner’s Son, “and thy daughter
also, who hath the wisdom of heaven, that there be always truth shining
in these high places.”
An hour later the Dakoon passed through the Path by the Bazaar.
“Whither goes the Dakoon?” asked a native chief of McDermot.
“To visit a dirty beggar in the Residency Square, and afterwards to the
little house of Cushnan Di,” was the reply.