Chapter 4

"This is not a story about myself, but about Mirza Shah and his family," said the astrologer, with a glance around his circle of auditors, whose fixed attention showed the keen interest with which they were awaiting the unfolding of the destiny proclaimed by the stars. "So once again will I pass over my adventures. The end of them all was that, ere the passing of a full week, I was back in my little tower, and with me was Gholab Khan. It was night, for we had evaded the besiegers' watchfulness under cover of the darkness by taking the same mountain defile by which I had travelled forth on my expedition, and gaining entrance to the citadel by the private gateway the key of which had been entrusted to me.

"I lighted the lamp in the tower, and then turned to Gholab Khan. He was a petty chieftain of the mountains, a handsome man of middle age, resolute-looking and daring. In a few words I bade him wait awhile. Then I stole forth to apprize Mirza Shah that my mission was achieved.

"My lord had given orders to his attendants that he was to be immediately aroused, so soon as I returned, whatever the hour of the night might be. In a moment he strode forth from his sleeping chamber all ready dressed. I started back with affright, for in his hand was a naked sword.

"'Fear not, Syed Ali,' he said to me. 'Where is this Gholab Khan?'

"'In my tower,' I answered.

"'Good,' he replied. 'Come.' And at the word his bodyguard, all with drawn blades, closed around their master.

"About fifty paces from the tower he halted his men, and we two advanced alone.

"I entered the building first. Close behind me, up the winding stairway, pressed Mirza Shah, and I had but crossed the threshold of the room when he thrust me aside.

"'Surrender!' he cried, the point of his sword at Gholab Khan's neck before the latter could utter one word or make any movement in self-defence.

"'Bind his hands,' went on my lord, his enemy pinned helplessly against the wall. Gholab Khan dared not move, but his bulging eyes mutely protested.

"I did as I was told, using a turban cloth gathered from a peg on the wall. Of my own accord I tied ankles as well as wrists. Then Mirza Shah dropped his sword.

"'Now leave us,' he said to me. 'I wish some words with this man. Remain on guard below. Permit no one to intrude.'

"Some time passed. At the base of the stairway I could hear the voices from above, but could distinguish no words. Then came a call from Mirza Shah, bidding me to ascend.

"'Syed Ali,' he said, on my entry into the room, 'this man, Gholab Khan, has to-night had the choice between two alternatives, either to die here now at my hands, or to set forth at dawn and fight in single combat the leader of my beleaguering enemies. He has chosen the latter--the wise course.'

"'The only course,' interpolated Gholab Khan, with a shoulder shrug of protest. The fellow had recovered his equanimity, and, knowing him as I did from our few days of travel in company, I reflected that in mortal combat he would be likely to give good account of himself. But there was no time to indulge in surmises. Mirza Shah still claimed my attention.

"'My men will guard our guest here,' he continued. 'Food will be served to him.'

"'And some wine, please,' growled Gholab Khan.

"'Wine, too, then, if you will,' assented Mirza Shah, contemptuously, for he never by any chance used the fermented juice of the grape forbidden by the Prophet, and now rendered doubly hateful to him by reason of his son's excesses. 'At dawn weapons will be brought to you, and six horses from among which you can make your choice. Meanwhile the challenge will have gone forth. And once again, in the presence of this witness, I pledge my word that if you return successful from the combat, Gholab Khan, having killed your man, then will you be free to return unscathed to your home at Talakabad, and with a lac of rupees for your pains.'

"'Bismillah! I would fight any day and with any man for such a prize,' cried Gholab Khan, his face all aglow, showing that, despite the kidnapping trick played upon him, he was now well pleased.

"'That is good,' said Mirza Shah, coldly.

"Then he blew a shrill whistle, which straightway brought the guard running to the tower.

"But my narrative must hasten. With the first morning light a messenger, his mission announced by the blare of trumpets, went forth from the citadel, daring Prince Hasan to single combat with a champion fighting on behalf of Mirza Shah. There came back, as we expected, an exultant acceptance of the challenge.

"The sun had mounted only spear-high when Gholab Khan, armed with lance and sword, rode out through the gates of the citadel. For his reception the whole host of our enemies had been drawn up, and in the middle of the curved line was the massed troop of some forty elephants, their howdahs crowded with spectators eager to witness the joust at arms.

"From my observation tower Mirza Shah and I watched the scene. Although my mind was clouded with all manner of uncertainties, yet in my heart was a faint flutter of hope. Would this mountain fighter break the spell of the stars, and actually kill Prince Hasan, before the latter could accomplish the portended crime of dealing death to his father? I was torn by distracted arguments; at one moment I believed firmly as ever in the stars, at the next my trust was in the lance of the burly freebooter I had brought down with me from the mountains.

"With bated breath I watched the combat--first the riding at full tilt; the thud of the galloping horses we could hear at this distance. But both lances were successfully parried, and a moment later the combatants had leaped with one impulse from horseback, and were rushing upon each other with swords. We saw the mirror-like flash of the blades in the morning sun.

"Then next I beheld one figure go down, and, while I was yet wondering which of the twain had fallen, a mighty shout of triumph from the beleaguering army told me, alas! that it was our champion who had been worsted. And now a dissevered head raised high on sword-point by Prince Hasan told the bloody tale with final certainty. Gholab Khan was not only down but dead. At this display of the gruesome trophy of victory there were further frantic yells of delight from the assembled hosts across the valley. The sack of our citadel and town seemed now assured to them.

"I just glanced at Mirza Shah. To my surprise his face wore a look of perfect calm, and, on meeting my eyes, there came a gleam of triumph into his.

"'The stars were right,' he exclaimed, in a low, tense voice. 'Praise be to Allah! All is well. A base bibber of wine shall never rule over my people and destroy their happiness, for now that he has fulfilled his destiny Allah will assuredly deliver him into my hands.'

"I was perplexed. So far from Prince Hasan's destiny having been fulfilled, it appeared to me that the dread tragedy foretold by the stars was inexorably drawing nearer and nearer--the death of Mirza Shah at the hands of his unworthy son, a bibber of wine, as he had contemptuously called him.

"While this thought was passing through my mind, all of a sudden there arose another mighty tumult, this time from our side--a shout of astonishment, followed by cries of delight. But the roar of voices was quickly drowned by the thunder of mighty hoofs and the excited trumpeting of elephants. Turning round, I saw at a glance what had happened. The elephants, frightened by the first wild huzzas of victory, had stampeded, and were madly careering in a solid body across the plain.

"Prince Hasan, as he held aloft the severed head of his adversary, saw the oncoming danger. He made a dart for his horse, but the animal, terrified by the noise and confusion, leaped forward, and was gone up the valley like the wind.

"The youth made no attempt to run. It would have been useless. Yes, be it admitted, he died like a man. Ere the elephants were upon him, he had folded his arms across his breast, calmly prepared to meet his doom. In another instant he was whirled through the air, like a straw caught up by a tornado; then the living, irresistible billow swept over him.

"My eyes were still glued in frozen horror to the scene. The screaming of the frightened troop of elephants had receded into the distance. Out on the open, through a haze of dust, I saw the blot of coloured raiment that showed where the body of Prince Hasan lay. And for the moment there was naught but pity in my heart for the youth who had played by my side, and gathered knowledge, if not wisdom, from my lips.

"But a hand was laid on my shoulder, and, turning round, I looked into the face of Mirza Shah. It was lighted by a smile of stern satisfaction.

"'Syed Ali, as you have ever declared, even though I have detected that your faith at times has wavered, the stars cannot speak falsely. He died, that dog out there, but not until he had slain his own father.'

"'His own father!' I stammered. The truth began to break in upon my dazed brain.

"'Yes. It is right that you at least should have the explanation, if for no other reason than to confirm your trust in the stars. Beguiled to wrong by the arguments of a serving woman, the sultana had a son. It is a shameful story, yet do I know that she begot the child out of pure love for me. Hasan was no son of mine. Enough! I have spoken. You can guess the rest.'

"Mirza Shah paused. I could but drop my eyes and remain silent, for I dared to make no comment.

"After a brief pause he resumed:

"'In the end she confessed everything to me, that night when you revealed to us the full truth of what the stars had foretold. As for me, I helped the stars to run their courses: that is why I sent for Gholab Khan. Now, you who know my secret, travel away far from here. Respect the confidence I have given you. There is a bag of gold for you in my treasurer's charge. We part friends, Syed Ali. Fate, working through you, its blind instrument, spared the child so that my shame might be fully atoned. Now go, for I, too, must be up and doing. One timely sally now from the citadel, and yonder disordered host will be swept back whence it came.'

"The result was as Mirza Shah had predicted. The beleaguering army fled at the first onslaught, leaving many hundreds of dead on the field to keep the mangled corpse of their leader company.

"So, you see, my friends," commented the astrologer, concluding his tale, "as Mirza Shah most truly said, the stars cannot speak falsely. Never again have I doubted. The destiny read by me in the heavens that night when the sultana's babe was born was fulfilled in every detail."

"And the faithless wife?" asked the Rajput. "What became of her?"

"Nay, do not presume to judge her," protested the astrologer. "Judgment is for Allah. When Mirza Shah returned from his victorious charge, it was to find his sultana dead on the roof of the women's quarters. She had seen her son--yes, _her_ son, her own flesh and blood, although not her husband's--pounded to death under the elephants' feet. So the unhappy mother had pierced her breast with a dagger, and, by her side, similarly self-slain, lay the serving woman who had miscounselled her to wrongdoing, yet, as I could quite well comprehend, from motives of sincere affection, to safeguard for her her husband's love and to give her the joy of motherhood for which she craved.

"Mirza Shah lived and ruled well for five-and-twenty years longer. He remained to the end a childless man: Allah had decreed it so. But he ever revered the wife who had loved him so well, for she had sinned because of her very love for him, nor had she persisted in her sin. Mirza Shah built to her memory a splendid mosque, and these are the words engraved on her tomb beneath the central dome, showing how her virtues were esteemed and her one act of wrong was forgotten:

"'Before my tomb, O stranger, stay thy way, Reflect on fate's inexorable decree; But yestere'en I was as thou to-day, What I am now to-morrow thou wilt be. Right good the grave for those whom good deeds bless, Gentle the rest of them who tried to spread Around their lives the balm of gentleness. Trustful in God repose the worthy dead. For such as they the living need not weep-- Their death is only faith-abiding sleep.'

"By her side now lies her husband, at rest and in peace, for only death brings true rest and peace. And even now, after many years, I am on my way to pay a pilgrimage to the tombs of that truly noble man and his good--aye, his worthy--spouse, for, as I have said, let no man take upon himself to judge her. Allah alone can search the hearts of men."

IV. THE SPIRIT WAIL

TOLD BY THE MERCHANT

"Allah alone can search the hearts of men," said the hakeem, slowly and reflectively repeating the words with which the astrologer had closed his tale. He was a man of venerable appearance, with flowing, white beard that descended to his waist. And yet, although his face was furrowed with the lines of old age, his eyes were wonderfully youthful in their contemplative calm.

"No truer words have been spoken to-night," he continued. "Yet must we further reflect that, while a man cannot sit in judgment upon his fellows, he can assuredly judge himself, which goes to show that within the breast of every man there dwells the very spirit of God, the power to search his own heart, whether in condemnation or for approval. Life is a problem, and it requires a full lifetime to solve it. Only as we grow older do we come to know our own souls--our strength and our weakness, the measure of our true nobility of character and likewise the measure of our inherent meanness, the temptations not merely from without but from within that assail us, our power to conquer these or our miserable yielding at times, with no one, perhaps, even guessing at our degradation except the divine spark of conscience that inexorably turns a searching ray on every thought and on every motive for action."

"So you would argue that man is God?" queried the Rajput.

"Not so, but that the soul of man is of the essence of God, the proof of which is this very power of searching out our own hearts and sitting in judgment on our own failings: for the judgment seat belongs to Allah alone."

"A subtle philosophy which I do not presume fully to understand," interposed the merchant from Bombay.

During the night's entertainment he had shown himself to be a man of few words, yet an attentive listener. He was of middle age, of a mild dignity of mien, and of robust physique, as befitted one accustomed to long journeys through regions infested with robbers or with beasts of prey.

"But in my practical experience of life," he proceeded, "I have come to realize that, while I may know myself, no other man can I know. Therefore, if it be right to be sparing of condemnation for another, it is also wise to be chary of undue commendation. The world too often acclaims a deed as noble when the real motive prompting it is utterly ignoble."

"A true philosopher, despite your bales of merchandise," murmured the hakeem, with a smiling nod of approval for the sentiments expressed.

"Well, I suppose that every one who travels becomes a philosopher, more or less," assented the trader. "Change of scene and of companionship stimulates new ideas. Now will I relate an actual experience which aptly illustrates that, in our dealings with those around us, we never really penetrate their minds. Man knows himself; he knows no one else--friend or intimate, the child of his heart or the very wife of his bosom."

"It is more easy to discover a white crow," muttered the fakir, "than know what a woman has in her heart."

The merchant paid no heed to the interruption. He went on:

"Each of us is an inscrutable mystery to the other. Each soul is veiled to every other soul, and is naked to itself alone."

"O prince of philosophers in pedlar's disguise!" murmured the hakeem.

"If our souls sat naked for the common gaze," commented the Rajput, "if we could all read each other's hearts, then indeed would life be an abomination--an utter misery, with the twin devils of shame and disgust seated at our elbows all the time."

"Most true," concurred the trader. "For too much knowledge of another's inmost thoughts brings only disillusionment and regret, as my tale will show. The story takes us among humble people, but human nature is the same everywhere--the same in the hut of the rayat as in the palace of the rajah.

* * * * *

"Once in every two years it is my custom to travel from Bombay to Benares, and invariably I break the journey at a certain village some six or seven days from my final destination. Here dwells an old friend and caste brother, formerly, like myself, a merchant in the Bombay bazaar where silken stuffs are sold, but retired now to his own country with modest savings sufficient for the rest of his days. Baji Lal, as he is named, is all the closer to me because his wife Devaka is a sister of my own wife, and the two are always eager to have news of each other's welfare.

"At the house of this friend I rest for a day or two, enjoying his companionship, the reminiscences of old times, and the gossip of the hour. So, on my long and fatiguing journeyings, I have always looked forward to these meetings with pleasurable anticipation and remembered them with tranquil satisfaction.

"But on the occasion of one of my periodical visits judge of my surprise when I was received in silence and with apathy that made no pretence at disguise. Devaka did not rise from her cushions on the floor to bid me welcome, and her husband, similarly irresponsive, returned my customary cordial greeting with nothing better than a look of wearied dejection.

"Disturbed, I made inquiry:

"'Baji Lal, my friend, what is the matter? Are you ailing?'

"But he only shook his head, and turned away.

"To Devaka I then appealed.

"'What is the meaning of this?' I asked. 'Sadness and silence where everything used to be joy.'

"She drew aside the sari that had concealed her face, and I was shocked at its grief-stricken aspect. Her trembling lips parted to answer me, but her husband checked her with a sharp word, such as I had never heard him use to her before. Her eyes filled with tears, and I could see the big drops rolling down her cheeks as she silently replaced the sari over her head, and, bending low, rocked herself to and fro.

"For the moment I imagined that I had intruded on some scene of domestic unhappiness which would be dissipated in an hour. So, hiding my embarrassment, I turned to the door, intimating that I would seek some other lodging for the night, and return on the morrow, when I hoped my friends would be in fitter mood to receive me.

"At last Baji Lal spoke, raising his face but still remaining seated on the divan we were wont in former times to share.

"'Go thy way, Chunda Das,' he said. 'The sword of fate has descended upon this house. Come not again to a place accursed.'

"Then did I realize that the trouble was serious.

"'But, my friend and brother,' I protested, 'I cannot depart and leave you thus. Let me at least understand what calamity has befallen you, so that I may help toward its repair.'

"'Nothing can be done, so nothing need be said,' he answered, in a tone and with a look of dignified resignation to the will of God. 'If you must have the story of our misfortune, you have only to ask the first of our neighbours you encounter.'

"And he, too, covered his face with his garment, leaving me no choice but to withdraw without further attempt at this manifestly inopportune time to probe the mystery.

"If I was to be of service to my friends, however, knowledge of what had befallen was the first essential. So I took the road that would lead me to the great pipul tree in the village square, close to the tank and to the temple, where all day long there was coming and going, and where therefore I would be most likely to glean the information I desired. By a happy chance I found reclining under the pipul tree the village barber, a loquacious fellow, who counted it as part of his business to know the last detail about other people's affairs.

"After greetings, and a few remarks about the weather and the crops and the season's epidemics, I carefully broached the real purpose of my interview, for a prudent man will never divulge his thoughts to another until he knows that other's thoughts.

"'I have just come from the house of Baji Lal,' I said, in a seemingly casual way.

"The barber's face instantly lost the smile it had worn.

"'How did you find him?' he asked.

"'Strangely altered,' I replied.

"'And so does every one,' he concurred.

"'Why so?' I ventured.

"The barber looked at me squarely, and then said:

"'You and he were very good friends, Chunda Das.'

"'Yes, and are still, so far as I am concerned,' I answered.

"'I thought so. Well, I am his friend likewise. Many years I have known him and his wife, Devaka. Both are good, kind people, always willing to help their neighbours, and ready to give their last bowl of rice to a vagrant beggar. Perhaps you can assist me to clear away the shadows that have fallen around them and obscured the sunshine of their home. Let me tell you the story. A few months ago a stranger came to this village. He was on his way to Fathpur-Sikri, to witness the glories of the court of the mighty Akbar. But on the road he had fallen ill, and, arriving here, was too sick to proceed. I am ashamed to say that none of us were willing to take him in, for sickness goes from one person to another. So we have to be careful, especially in my calling, where I come into such close contact with so many.

"'There was quite a little crowd just here by the tank, discussing the situation, the sick man in their midst resting upon the ground, when Baji Lal and his wife, who happened to be passing, came forward to see what the commotion was all about. They listened to the story, and then told the stranger he might come with them. He gratefully accepted, and, after whispering some instructions to a servant by whom he was accompanied, he motioned to Baji Lal to lead the way. The little group moved off, the servant in the rear, leading the horses, which included a pack animal laden with the traveller's bedding, cooking pots, and other belongings.

"'After unloading the baggage at Baji Lal's home, the servant, as we learned later in the day, had, in obedience to orders, straightway mounted his horse, and ridden away. He had exchanged no words with any of us.

"'For weeks Baji Lal and his wife attended to the wants of the invalid, until at last he was able to move about the village, and talk with one and another. From the first we had recognized the stranger as a man of distinction. Now we learned his name--Sheikh Ahmed, a Moslem, I need not say. But in these days of Akbar all religious feuds are to be set aside, this by direct command of the Emperor himself--blessed be his name and exalted his glory! So this follower of the prophet was made quite welcome among us, a community of Hindus.

"'Day by day the Sheikh regained his strength, and often would he come of an evening when the village folk gathered under this pipul tree, listening to the chit-chat going on, sometimes joining in the conversation. Soon he began to tell us stories of far lands, for he had travelled to many distant places, even outside of Hindustan, so we grew to like him, and to watch each evening for his coming.