clothes before he reaches the water,'" said Ahsan, quoting a proverb
against precipitancy. "Why fear?" he went on. "'Milk even in good time
becomes curds.' He who has patience wins. It will come to you in good
time to lead men and do great things."
"I hate your proverbs," said Ahmed; "they have no comfort in them. Will
my father never see that I am grown up?"
"Thou wouldst not fight against thy own countrymen, Ahmed-ji?"
"Why not? Sherdil fights against his countrymen, why not I? And they are
my countrymen no longer; my countrymen are here. What have I to do with
these strangers who come lording it over the free people of the hills?"
"Hush, Ahmed-ji!" said the old man. "Children cry to their parents. To
speak ill of the Feringhis is to speak ill of yourself. Let be, my son;
what a man desires he will gain if it be God's will."
And Ahmed, being a sensible boy, did not nurse his disappointment. But
perhaps the old chief would have changed his mind had he known that his
refusal had only made the boy more eager to see the white men of whom
Sherdil had told him so much.
Dilasah presently returned from his journey to Peshawar. His information
was that the expedition was to start in a week's time, and to consist of
a single troop of Sikh horsemen under the command of one sahib. He had
learnt the route it was to follow; it would pass within three days'
march of Shagpur. Rahmut praised him, and did not inquire how he had
made these discoveries; but Ahsan put the question bluntly when the
chief called his council together and told them what he had learnt.
"It was the talk of the bazar," said Dilasah, looking astonished.
"Then it cannot be true," said Ahsan. "Would the Feringhis let their
purpose be known? Are there not hundreds who would carry the news to Lal
Jan, the chief, and warn him, so that he had time to get away into the
hills? If it was the talk of the bazar, 'tis very certain that things
will be otherwise."
Dilasah appeared for a moment to be taken aback. Ahsan was certainly
right, and the older members of the council showed their agreement with
his reasoning. But Dilasah, after a hesitation so brief as to be
scarcely noticeable, said with a disdainful smile--
"The ass does not know how to laugh. Is Ahsan the only man of knowledge
and understanding? The knowing bird is not caught in the snare, and I,
Dilasah, am not a fledgeling. The expedition was in truth the talk of
the bazar, but I did not swallow what was said there. How should the
truth be known? I sought out in Peshawar a holy fakir whom I know. He
hates the infidel Feringhis, and he has means of finding out their
plans, most marvellous. The talk of the bazar and the truth were as
different as fire and water; and what I have told is not the bazar-talk,
but the truth as I learnt it from the fakir."
"Then, if he hates the Feringhis, will he not warn Lal Jan, and so Lal
Jan will fly to the hills with his treasure, and the Feringhis will get
nothing, so that when our people fall upon them their bags will be
empty?"
"Not so," said Dilasah, in answer to this further question of Ahsan. "He
is no friend to Lal Jan; Lal Jan is, indeed, a thorn in his quilt; he
will gain double delight from the spoiling, first of Lal Jan, and
afterwards of the Feringhis. But why talk thus? If Ahsan, who is old and
toothless, thinks himself so clever, let him go to Peshawar and learn
the truth of things. As for me, I have done the chief's bidding; it is
for him to command."
And with the air of one who had been deeply offended, Dilasah left the
council.
After he had gone, Rahmut asked Ahsan why he threw doubt on the accuracy
of the information; and when the old man confessed that he had no reason
save a distrust of Dilasah, the chief was angry. Dilasah could have no
object in bringing false information, for he was to accompany the chief
in the proposed raid, and would suffer equally with the rest if it
should fail. It was decided in the end to accept his report as accurate,
and preparations for the expedition were hurried on.
A few days later, Rahmut Khan left the village at the head of eighty
men--the pick of his own and of Minghal's warriors. Ahmed, left behind
with a score of fighting men to defend the village, watched his father's
departure with envy. How he longed that the place at the chief's right
hand had been bestowed on him instead of on Dilasah! But it was useless
to repine; he could only swallow his disappointment and hope that during
his father's absence something might happen to give him an opportunity
for active work.
Rahmut could scarcely be expected to return before a fortnight. The
British force would take some time in the work assigned to it, and the
chief's plan was to ambush it on its return journey, when in possession
of the revenue it had been sent to collect. Ahmed went every day to the
top of the tower to scan the surrounding country, but saw nothing to
attract his attention. Life went on in the village from day to day as
usual, the fighting men spending most of the time in playing games of
chance, the workers toiling for an hour or two and idling the rest.
Ahmed was of too active a disposition to remain idle. He practised
swordsmanship with one or two of the men, went hunting in the hills
behind the village with some of the youths, and induced some of the best
riders to join him in the game of nazabaze, in which he proved himself
easily first.
And then one day, the fifteenth since his father's departure, he saw
from his look-out on the tower a band of horsemen approaching. There was
great excitement in the village when he told them the news; nobody had
any doubt that the chief was returning successful, and all excitedly
speculated on the amount of booty he had taken. Ahmed watched the
approach of the horsemen as eagerly as any one. At first a mere blot on
the sky, sometimes disappearing behind a copse or in a valley, the band
gradually became more distinct and definite, and after two hours he was
able to assure himself that it did indeed consist of his father's men.
But it seemed somewhat diminished, and when, an hour later, it had come
so near that he could distinguish the individuals composing it, he
suddenly caught Ahsan by the arm and cried--
"Where is my father? I do not see him; do you?"
"Your eyes are better than mine, Ahmed-ji," replied the old man.
"Without doubt your father is there in the midst, and you will see him
by and by."
But after a few more minutes Ahmed cried again--
"He is not there. I do not see his red turban or his white beard. I see
Dilasah, but not my father."
And then, feeling no little alarm at the chief's absence, he ran down to
the foot of the tower, mounted his horse, and galloped out to meet the
advancing band.
"Where is my father, Dilasah?" he cried, while he was still some
distance away.
"Hai! hai! he is not here," replied the man, with a gloomy look.
"But where is he? He is not dead?"
"No, truly he is not dead, praise to Allah! Not one of us is killed,
Ahmed; but my honoured uncle, with some few more, is a prisoner with
those pigs of English, woe is me!"
"A prisoner! Then he failed?"
"We failed, all of us. We came to the place which we had appointed for
our ambush, and there we waited three days, and on the third day we saw
the accursed Feringhi and his men coming down the defile towards us.
Then we split up into three bands, as we had arranged, and my reverend
uncle went with one band to one side, and I with my band to the other
side, Rajab going with the third to the end of the defile to cut off the
enemy when they should seek to escape."
"And what then?"
"Woe is me! From our post high up in the rocks we could see the chief
with his band creeping on foot round on the other side of the defile,
and there on a sudden men seemed to spring out of the earth; my honoured
uncle had walked into a trap without doubt set for him by those accursed
sons of dogs. In an instant he was surrounded, and what could he do with
his few men against twice the number of Sikhs? There was no time even to
fight, for the Sikhs were armed with the short guns that fire quickly,
and the white-faced Feringhi called in a loud voice to the chief to
yield or he would be a dead man. What could he do? And so he was made
prisoner with all his band."
"And you--did you nothing to help him?"
"Nay, how could I tell that Sikhs were not coming on my side also to
encompass me?"
"You ran away?"
"What could I do? If we had fired a shot we should have betrayed
ourselves to the enemy, and we were not strong enough to fight them when
the chief and his party were gone. And there was danger that Rajab, who
was at the end of the defile behind us and had not seen what had
befallen the chief, might fire and so be discovered also; and it seemed
best to join him, so that our company should be stronger in case the
enemy attacked us."
A youth of Pathan blood would without doubt have burst forth into shrill
cursing and reviling; there would have been a fierce war of words, and
by and by perhaps a knife-thrust. But Ahmed never displayed anger in the
Pathan way; in this he was often a puzzle to the people of Shagpur. He
said not a word now in answer to Dilasah. The lines of his face had
hardened; his lips were pressed tight together; a strange look had come
into his grey eyes. He rode at a quick foot-pace beside Dilasah back to
the village, listening to the man's repetition of the story of the
capture. He listened to it again in the village, where Dilasah told it
in the street, and the people made great lamentation with cries and
groans. And then, when the horsemen had dismounted and gone to their
homes, he accompanied Ahsan to his little hut, and asked the old man
what he thought of the things that had happened.
"Dilasah is a coward--that is sure," said Ahsan. "Did we not know it? He
fled away as a lark flies at the first throw. A man fights; a dog turns
tail. 'Tis an evil fate has befallen the master, and this village of
Shagpur also."
"Is Dilasah's story true, think you?" asked Ahmed.
"Without doubt it is true. A lie has no legs. Did not all the men hear
what he said? He would not say what is false in the hearing of them all,
for they would put him to shame."
"And what will become of my father?"
"Hai! that Allah knows, Ahmed-ji. Jan Larrens is a stern man, they say,
and swift to punish. The Feringhis have many ways of punishing.
Sometimes they slay with a rope; sometimes they make a man pay much
money; sometimes they hold him prisoner. Who can tell what they will do
with the master!"
"And we cannot help him, can we, Ahsan?"
"Ahuh! 'tis impossible. Peshawar is a strong city: once and twice I have
been there in my youth--before the Feringhis came. Jan Larrens is the
governor now; he has many soldiers, both Feringhis and true believers
who take their pay, like Sherdil, son of Assad. It would be like a man
beating his head against the rocks to go there and try to release the
master by force. And to buy his freedom is alike impossible. In the old
days we might have sent presents to the jailer, or to the governor of
the prison, or to the governor of the city, and if the presents were
rich enough the gates of the prison would open. But that is all changed
since the servants of Jan Kumpani came. Strange are the ways of the
Feringhis! Their eyes do not shut when one offers to put rupees in their
palms; nay, I heard of a young Feringhi at Lahore, who, when Kunwar Khan
spoke of giving him a great sum if he would buy Kunwar's mildewed grain
for the soldiers--this young Feringhi doubled his fist and smote Kunwar
in the face, and he fell backward, showing the soles of his feet. Truly
the Feringhis are a strange folk."
"Well then, Ahsan, there is but one thing to do. I shall be chief now,
and I will get more and more men about me until we are strong enough to
make an attack on the prison and bring my father out. He has broken into
their places with a few men and taken their horses; why should not I
with a great company break into their prison and bring forth a man?"
Ahsan shook his head.
"You can climb the mulberry-tree, but not the thorny acacia," he said;
"that is foolish talk. And you forget Dilasah."
"What of Dilasah?"
"Hai! He will make himself chief now, Ahmed-ji; and listen, let me speak
in your ear. Did I not distrust Dilasah? Did I not doubt him when he
spoke of the talk of the bazar?"
"What do you mean? Why do you speak in whispers? Tell me, Ahsan."
"Hush! Traitors have long ears." Then, bending forward until his lips
almost touched the ears of Ahmed, he said: "Do we know that Dilasah did
not make ready this trap for the master?"
Ahmed started. This suspicion had not occurred to him. But remembering
Dilasah's long association with Minghal, the man of wiles, and his
sudden change of attitude towards his uncle, he saw that Ahsan's
suggestion might be well founded. Who stood to gain so much from Rahmut
Khan's disappearance as Dilasah? He coveted the chiefship; he had been
consumed with anger when Rahmut adopted Ahmed as his heir; nothing was
more likely than that he should seize such an opportunity of getting rid
of the old chief, and so open the way to his ambition.
"Then it will be a fight between Dilasah and me," said the boy, setting
his teeth.
"Hai! That is again foolishness," replied the old man. "What can you do,
Ahmed-ji? Dilasah is a grown man, cunning as a leopard. He will speak
soft words to the people, and when he tells them 'tis a choice between
him and you, and you a Feringhi, think you they will respect the desires
of the master when he is far away? Many love you, some are indifferent,
some are envious; but when Dilasah has said his say, and made his
promises, and got the mullah on his side--as he will do with presents of
sheep and tobacco--think you that even those who love you will offend
Allah and risk the pains of Gehenna for you? There is talk even now that
the Feringhis wish to make us all Christians. Dilasah and the mullah
will persuade the folk that you, if you become their chief, will turn
them from the true belief. I am an old man, Ahmed-ji, but though I have
a white beard and toothless gums I can yet see a cloud in the sky."
Ahmed frowned. He had not foreseen these difficulties. He repeated the
Koran and said the prayers the mullah had taught him; in nothing did he
fall short of the observances required of good Mohammedans. In the early
days of his life in Shagpur, when he went tearfully to bed, he had
repeated the little prayers learnt at his mother's knee; but in the long
years since then, during which he had heard no word of English spoken
around him, these English prayers had slipped from him. It was absurd to
suppose that when he became chief he would try to turn the people to a
religion of which he knew nothing. He could not but think that Ahsan's
fears were groundless, and when next day Dilasah met him with a frank
smile, and, after a word of commiseration of the unhappy fate of Rahmut
Khan, addressed him with apparent cordiality as the new chief, he ran to
tell Ahsan that he was quite mistaken.
There was sorrow in the village at the loss of Rahmut Khan. The people
were proud of him, and with shrill cries called down maledictions on the
Feringhis. But no one spoke of attempting anything on his behalf;
Ahsan's views on that matter were shared by them all. Dilasah led the
way in professions of loyalty to Ahmed, much to the wonderment of the
old gate-keeper. Ahsan watched him narrowly. He did not believe in his
sincerity, and yet could see no object in his feigning a loyalty he did
not feel. And it was not until some days had passed that a light flashed
upon him. Though Dilasah agreed with the rest of the men that it was
impossible to rescue the old chief, he said that it was surely desirable
that an attempt should be made to discover his fate. And at that, Assad,
the father of Sherdil, offered to make the journey to Peshawar to
inquire.
"Who better than I?" he said. "Sherdil, my son, is a great man among the
Feringhis; it is a good thing that I, his father, should visit him and
see with my own eyes the greatness that has come to him. Without doubt
he will be in Peshawar or some place near at hand; it will be easy for
me to find him, and he will assuredly know what has become of our
master. I will go to Peshawar, and bring back news of the chief, and
also, I doubt not, some manifest tokens of the estimation in which my
son is held."
This offer he made to Ahmed in the presence of Dilasah, and the latter
strongly urged its acceptance. Accordingly, two days after the return of
the luckless expedition, Assad set off disguised as a mendicant, to
escape all danger of being snapped up by a hostile tribe if he went
otherwise. And shrewd old Ahsan now saw through the conduct of Dilasah.
The man would not feel safe until he knew for certain that Rahmut Khan
was permanently out of the way. If there was the least chance of the
chief's return--whether by escape, or by payment of a fine, for Dilasah
was very hazy as to what his punishment would be--it behooved him to go
carefully. Shagpur would never side with him against its rightful chief;
and if Rahmut should come back and find that he had tried to oust Ahmed,
he knew that he could expect no mercy from his kinsman. He was thus
biding his time, thought Ahsan, until Rahmut's fate was known with
certainty, and then he would show his hand.
"You must be ready for flight when Assad comes back," said the
gate-keeper to Ahmed.
"Why should I flee?" asked the boy.
"Because if you do not it will befall you as it befell Sundar Khan. He
had a rival in the succession to his father, even as you have, and
Gulam, the rival, offered to put the matter before a council of the
clansmen and abide by their choice. The choice fell upon Sundar Khan,
whereupon Gulam made a great feast to celebrate the happy end of the
dispute, to which came Sundar Khan and many of his friends. And when the
pipe of peace was passing round after the feast, Gulam slipped away
secretly to the door and lighted a match, and even as he himself ran for
his life, Sundar Khan and all his friends were blown up into the air. So
Gulam made himself chief, and so also will Dilasah if he learns that
Rahmut Khan is put out of the way."
This advice was distasteful to Ahmed, and for some days he refused to
consider it. Dilasah was still very pleasant; made no assumption of
authority; said once, with a mournful shake of the head, that Ahmed
would soon be chief in reality, for Rahmut, being old, could not long
survive imprisonment. But a day or two after he said something which
recalled the story Ahsan had told, and Ahmed for the first time began to
think that his life might indeed be in danger.
"'Tis to be feared we shall never see Rahmut Khan again, Ahmed-ji," said
Dilasah, "and when Assad returns with the news of what has befallen him,
and we have no longer hope, we must put away our sorrow and make a feast
to hail thee as chief. Dost thou approve, Ahmed-ji?"
Ahmed looked at the fat, smiling face with the cunning little eyes, and
in the light of what Ahsan had said saw villainy there.
"It will be well, Dilasah," he said. "We will have a feast, and Rahmut's
women and my sisters shall make us sweetmeats with their own hands. That
will be a great day, Dilasah."
And Dilasah smiled and rubbed his hands, and Ahmed went off to tell
Ahsan. There was no longer any doubt that Rahmut's nephew meditated
mischief, but Ahmed was still disinclined to take flight. He was popular
with the younger men, and suggested to Ahsan that they might form a
party in opposition to Dilasah and forestall him.
"Hai!" said Ahsan. "Crows home in the nests of hawks. It is vain,
Ahmed-ji. I have seen Dilasah many times in converse with the mullah; he
is cunning as a fox. Thou wilt be safe only by flight. My counsel to
thee is to have thy good horse Ruksh ready, and when Assad returns with
the bad news--for my heart tells me it will be bad--ride out that very
night."
"And whither should I ride, Ahsan? This is my home. I have nowhere to
go."
"Make thyself known to the Feringhis, Ahmed-ji. Maybe thou hast kinsmen
among them."
"'Tis folly, Ahsan. Who would believe me? I cannot speak the Feringhi
speech, save one or two words that come back to me sometimes. I know
nothing of the Feringhis' ways; I do not know the name of my true
father. Dost thou remember it, old friend?"
"Nay, I have often sought for it in my mind, but it is gone. Rahmut
knows it, and Minghal also, but it is clean gone from me."
"Then how could I prove to the Feringhis that I am one of them? No, I
like it not; and furthermore, Rahmut lies in prison, and I begin to
believe that it is even as thou sayest--that Dilasah betrayed him. Is it
not my duty by some means to bring Rahmut back and deal with Dilasah as
he deserves?"
"Hai! foolish talk again. Think of what I say, Ahmed-ji; the time is not
long; Assad will soon be back, and then if thou art not gone, Dilasah
will seek thy life and take it."
Ahmed was impressed by the warnings of Ahsan, still more when he found
that the old gate-keeper's views were shared by Rahmut Khan's family.
Since Minghal's raid these ladies, with their children and servants,
like Ahmed himself, had remained in the tower, and the chief's usual
house had been unoccupied. Dilasah had been given the house in which he
had lived before his breach with his uncle years before. On the day
after Ahsan had spoken so seriously, when Ahmed paid his usual visit of
respect to Rahmut's principal wife, Meriem, the lady strongly urged him
not to go about the village alone.
"That evil man Dilasah hates thee," she said. "Gather some of the young
men who love Rahmut and thee, Ahmed-ji, and have them always about thee
when thou goest into the streets."
Ahmed thought the advice worth taking, but the position irked him. The
constraint was unendurable after his customary life of freedom, and he
felt that it must be ended one way or another. The obvious way--the
natural way to a Pathan--was to meet Dilasah with his own weapons and
kill him at the first opportunity. But Dilasah's party was stronger than
his own, and supposing his enemy were out of the way, the prejudice
against him as one of Feringhi birth would render his position still
very insecure. The death of Dilasah would probably result in a feud
between his faction and Ahmed's. No one could say how such a strife
would end, but certainly it would in no way help towards the restoration
of Rahmut Khan to his village, the object Ahmed had most at heart. The
boy concluded that he had better leave the village and go to Peshawar,
to see whether some means might not be found of freeing the old chief.
It was a debt he owed to the man who had saved his life and loved him so
well. Ahsan might talk of the difficulties, but Ahsan was an old man;
old men often saw difficulties where young men could see none. Ahsan
would not have crept to the shed and blown up Minghal's powder; Ahsan
would not have taken part in Sherdil's daring stratagem against
Minghal's village; yet both of these hazardous enterprises had been
successful. Ahsan might talk as he pleased: certainly this was what
Ahmed would do.
But Ahsan, when the new plan was put to him, did not speak of the
difficulties. He applauded the boy's decision, and even begged him to
carry it out at once, without waiting for Assad's return. Ahmed would
not consent to this. Assad's news might have some bearing on his future
course of action. Besides, before he left the village he wished to know
whether their suspicions of Dilasah were well founded. If they were, he
would have two aims in life: to bring back Rahmut Khan, and to punish
Dilasah.
It was three weeks before Assad returned. He came in one day weary and
footsore, and in great depression of spirits.