Chapter 5

"'But all of a sudden he disappeared from our midst. The day before he had been with us, sitting almost on the very spot where you are seated now. He did not say he was going away, nor even hint that he intended doing so. When Baji Lal was questioned, he said that the servant had returned during the night with saddle and pack horses, and that, after conferring with Sheikh Ahmed, had gathered together his master's belongings, and announced their immediate departure. Baji Lal had tried to persuade his guest to wait until daylight, but this advice was unheeded. The Sheikh promised, however, that he would come again to the village when he passed that way on his homeward journey.

"'At this time Baji Lal's story seemed a perfectly natural one, and the people only regretted that they had not had the opportunity of bidding the Sheikh farewell. Still the prospect of soon seeing him again softened this regretful feeling.

"'And now began the change in our friends. Baji Lal ceased to come to our village meetings, and Devaka shunned every woman, even her most intimate friends. For a while this strange behaviour did not attract special attention, although noted and commented on afterwards. For just a few days after Sheikh Ahmed had gone away the monsoon had burst, and the stormy weather would account for Baji Lal and his wife remaining much at home. But as time wore on, and their furtive ways grew more and more pronounced, people began to talk, and from talking they took to watching and spying. For, believe me, there is nothing so all-absorbing as for once respected and well-thought-of people to be under a cloud. We allow our imaginations to run riot, and our tongues do not rust for want of wagging.

"'Thus suspicion gradually filled the air, and it was whispered that Baji Lal and Devaka had murdered their guest for his money, and had merely invented the story of his midnight departure to hide their crime. Children who once used to run to them shrank back, or were called away by their parents.

"'But, most extraordinary thing of all, and one that brought convincing confirmation to what had at first been mere suspicion, at night there could be heard heartbreaking cries and sobs coming from the house of Baji Lal. The voice was not his, nor that of his wife; it was, in all truth, the wail of a spirit, plaintive at times, then angry as if shrieking aloud for vengeance. For I myself have heard these sounds with mine own ears; twice in the darkness of the night I mustered courage to steal forth as far as the hedge that hides the house from the roadway, and, although the monsoon winds were still boisterous, above all other noises again and again arose that wail of a soul in anguish. Others, too, went to listen, and fled from the place in terror. And soon the house of Baji Lal came to be shunned by every one as if it had been plague-stricken.

"'Now you understand why your old friends greeted you with woe-begone looks. The inner meaning of the story I do not know, but I have told you the facts that are in my possession. And glad shall I be if you can conceive any solution for the mystery, and free Baji Lal and his wife from the terrible accusation of having murdered the man who was their guest within the gate and had eaten of their salt. If you cannot, then we must just say kismet, I suppose. Man cannot strive against fate.'

"'Is it your belief, Bimjee,' I asked, 'that the stranger was really done to death in Baji Lal's home?'

"'No,' he answered decisively. 'But all the same, I have the evidence of my own ears that a curse has fallen upon the place.'

"For the moment I made no further comment, but sat silent, revolving the strange story in my mind. My reverie, however, was of short duration, for all of a sudden Bimjee sprang to his feet in great excitement.

"'Look, look,' he cried, pointing to a crowd of villagers coming in our direction. 'At last they have laid hold of Baji Lal and his wife, and are bringing them here for punishment.'

"Bewildered by the suddenness of this blow, I could but watch in helpless silence the advancing throng, with my poor friends in their midst, their hands bound, their tottering footsteps directed by rude shoves towards the pipul tree, the accustomed assembly place of the villagers and the village council.

"A minute later, however, I had regained my self-possession, and when the procession came abreast of me, I stepped in front of it and commanded a halt. Courtesy to me as a visitor to the village was sufficient to exact this measure of obedience. But when I demanded that the ropes should be cut and the prisoners liberated, a storm of angry protests was the only result.

"The leader of the crowd approached me, and in a respectful voice said they were sorry to refuse my request, but a crime had been committed that disgraced the whole community. The spirit of a murdered man haunted the house of Baji Lal and Devaka, and cried to heaven for vengeance. The villagers would never prosper if they allowed this foul deed to pass unpunished; why, only that very morning a strange sickness had seized some of their cattle, and two sacred cows had died in spasms of pain--an omen from the gods that could not be disregarded.

"I saw that it was useless to argue with the man. But I made another attempt to have the prisoners' bonds at least loosened, for I could see that the cords bit cruelly into their arms. After some consultation this point was conceded. Baji Lal shot at me a look of gratitude, but his poor little wife merely used her freed hands to hide her face in the folds of her sari.

"'Now my friends,' I cried boldly, 'this case must be properly tried. Where is the patel?'

"I had noticed that the headman of the village was not present, and in asking for him had in mind that he was my personal friend, so that I might appeal to him with better success for the release of the prisoners.

"'The patel is away on a day's journey,' cried a voice in the crowd.

"'Then must the accused be taken to the village constable,' I declared, 'and kept by him until the patel returns and the council of elders can be properly assembled.'

"My bold assumption of authority had stilled the tumult, and to my surprise every one now seemed willing to do my bidding.

"'Come along then,' cried several voices, as the prisoners were once more urged forward. I kept close by their side, and when we gained the constable's house and the staked enclosure that served as a place of detention, I too passed within, leaving the leaders of the crowd to guard the gateway.

"When we were alone, Baji Lal and Devaka threw themselves at my feet, and thanked me for the aid I had rendered them.

"'My children,' I said, as I raised them up, 'were I not assured in my own mind that there is some grievous mistake, and that you can explain the mysterious disappearance of your guest, I should not be here by your side. But tell me your story, and I shall advise you to the best of my powers.'

"Baji Lal lifted his eyes, and gazed at me mournfully but fearlessly.

"'Chunda Das,' he began, 'you have known me now for many years. Have I ever done aught to shake your confidence?'

"'Never,' I affirmed.

"'Have you ever heard me tell a lie?'

"'Never,' I again replied.

"'Well, then, you will believe me when I say that I told the truth in declaring that the stranger went away in the night. His servant came back all in a hurry for him, and he would not tarry even until daylight, although I pleaded with him to stay.'

"'I believe you,' I said, for, even apart from my prior trust, the man's look convinced me that he was speaking true words.

"'Yes, this is the simple truth,' he went on. 'And yet'----here his voice faltered, and he glanced down pityingly on his wife crouched upon the ground, rocking herself and wringing her hands. 'And yet I know, _we_ know, Devaka and I, that Sheikh Ahmed has been murdered.'

"I started aghast, and involuntarily drew my garments around me.

"'Nay,' he said reproachfully, reading my unacknowledged and almost unformed thought, 'but not at our hands, Chunda Das.'

"'Then how do you know that he is dead?' I questioned, already ashamed that a doubt could have crossed my mind as to my friends being art and part in such a dastardly deed. 'What makes you think so?'

"'I do not think; I know,' he said decisively. 'And I will tell you why. The night after the Sheikh left was cold and windy, for the monsoon was approaching. Devaka and I were sitting together, and as we listened to the wind blowing outside she expressed the hope that our guest was safely at his destination, for in his state of health the inclement weather would be harmful. Before I could answer her we were startled to hear quite close to us a faint cry. I got up and looked around, and so did Devaka, for she is brave, my wife. But we could not find anything to account for the disconcerting sound.

"'We sat down again, but before long we heard once more the wailing cry, louder now and more prolonged. We started up, and this time went outside in spite of the rain carried by the lashing wind. However, we could discover no one--neither man nor beast. So we went in again, and shut the door.

"'And all that night long this strange thing continued. Sometimes the sound was softly sobbing, then it would grow to a heartbreaking wail. We could not go to bed. Fear kept us awake, for we had come to the conclusion that it was the spirit of Sheikh Ahmed trying to make us understand that he had been murdered on the road.

"'Day after day, and night after night we were haunted by the cries and sobs of this spirit. Can you wonder that our hearts grew weak from fear, that we shunned our neighbours lest they should enter our dwelling and, hearing these sounds, suspect that we had done some grievous wrong? That is my story, Chunda Das.'

"And the strong man sank to the ground, as he buried his face in his hands.

"'It is even a relief to be here,' he cried, in broken tones, 'here, prisoners in this place of shame, because at least we are no longer haunted by the voice of the dead Sheikh.'

"He flung his hands out in an abhorrent gesture, and raised tear-filled, pleading eyes to mine.

"I had been listening intently to Baji Lal's story, and had watched the changes on his impassioned face. When the tale was ended, Devaka threw herself prone at my feet, and pressed her lips to the hem of my robe. I was touched by her silent beseeching, though I hastily, and I fear roughly, commanded her to arise.

"'Dear friends,' I said, 'this is indeed an extraordinary occurrence. And how I can help you is more than I at present know. But rest assured that I will exert myself to the utmost to remove from your heads the infamy of such an accusation.'

"I mused awhile, then put a few questions as to the personal appearance of the stranger, Sheikh Ahmed, and also that of his servant, the exact hour of their departure, and the direction in which they had gone. After learning these things, I took my leave, commending Baji Lal and his wife to the care of the constable, whose promise that nothing would happen to his prisoners until the patel's return I sealed with a handful of rupees.

"This matter settled, I strolled back to the pipul tree beside the tank, thinking that it might be useful to pick up the remarks of the loiterers. But to my surprise I found virtually the whole village in assembly, and to my dismay soon gathered that it was their fixed intention to kill Baji Lal, give to Devaka the privilege of committing suttee, and then burn down the haunted house whence the accusing sounds came, making of their own home the funeral pyre of both victims.

"I plucked my beard in my distress; I felt so helpless. If only the headman was here, together we might have devised something. But alone I was powerless. Plunged in gloomy forebodings, I did not notice the approach of the barber, until he touched my sleeve to announce his presence.

"'You have heard what they mean to do?' he asked.

"I nodded.

"'We must save them, Chunda Das. But I beg of you not to place any reliance on the patel's coming, for he sides with the rest of the villagers, and will help them to deal out the swift justice which he believes to be well deserved. Besides it was his cows that died this morning.'

"At this statement, then indeed my last hope was gone. For we were far away from any town where I could have invoked the aid of the Emperor's soldiers. I shook my head despairingly.

"'Oh, yes, Chunda Das, you will devise some way,' protested the barber, reading the hopelessness in my mind. 'You have a fleet horse, and can ride after Sheikh Ahmed, find him, and call him back again. Or, if he be really dead, you can bring word of how his end came.'

"'Will there be time for all this?' I asked dubiously.

"'We must make time,' he answered. 'The patel will be back before long. You can use the interval in getting some food, and in preparing for the road. I think your influence with him will at least secure delay for some days, until you can return with the information in quest of which you go. But mark my words, unless the Sheikh shows himself, or you can prove how he met his death on the road, then assuredly will the doom of our friends be sealed.'

"'Very well,' I said, contented in my mind; for if my search for Sheikh Ahmed failed, I could bring back with me some of our master Akbar's soldiery to rescue the prisoners.

"During the afternoon the headman returned, and I lost no time before interviewing him. I told him how firmly convinced I was that Baji Lal and Devaka were innocent, and that I would prove it if he gave me the chance to do so. At first he shook his head, but on my promising that the unfortunate couple would in the interval make no effort to escape, and that I would surely be back in two weeks' time whether or not success in my mission attended me, he yielded to my entreaties, the less reluctantly because I further undertook to pay him the value of his dead cows.

"So, after a brief good-bye visit to Baji Lal and his wife, I set forth on my journey.

"Six days later I entered the bazaar of Punderpur. I went to a travellers' rest house with which I was familiar, to see whether I could glean any information as to the present whereabouts of Sheikh Ahmed, who, in his travels, I had discovered, had been making for this place.

"Seated around the courtyard of the caravanserai were many visitors and their friends of the town. With some of the latter I was acquainted, but for the present I only returned their greetings with a silent salaam. I was anxious to meet with an old friend, a munshi, learned in many languages, whose profession kept him on the outlook for the numerous travellers from distant parts who passed this way.

"I had just espied the man of whom I was in quest, seated at some distance among a group of idlers, when I was accosted by a stranger handsomely accoutred and of line bearing. He said that he had heard I was recently arrived from Sengali. He had friends in that village, and would be glad to hear of them.

"I told him that for the present I was occupied with pressing business, but a little later I would be at his disposal, and pleased to give him any information in my power. He thanked me courteously, and said he would return in the evening, when, perhaps, I would be more at leisure. I had cut short this interview, paying, indeed, little heed to the stranger, for I had noticed that my friend, the munshi, not knowing of my presence in the inn, was in the act of taking his departure. I hastened after him.

"The venerable munshi was delighted to see me, and insisted on my sharing his evening meal. We moved in the direction of his home, and he gave me the chit-chat of the day. Until our repast was finished I did not mention the object of my visit. Only after we were comfortably seated on the veranda, enjoying the cool night air, did I approach the subject, discreetly, as was fitting, by talking on topics quite at variance from the one in my mind. But after a time I ventured to ask whether many travellers had passed recently. He looked at me shrewdly and smiled.

"'At last, my friend, you tell me the reason of your coming here. You are in search of some one.'

"'Truly I am,' I replied, 'and it is a matter of life or death to find the man I am seeking.'

"Thereupon, without further preamble, I related the story of Baji Lal and the missing Sheikh.

"At the end of my narrative Munshi Khyraz--such was my host's name--sat silent for a spell. I knew my friend, and allowed him his own time to make any comment. Presently he broke from his reflections.

"'About the time you mention,' he began, 'just before the first rains, a stranger was brought into this town by some woodcutters. Their story was that the wounded man had been attacked by his servant when travelling, and left for dead in the jungle.'

"I started, and leaned toward him eagerly.

"'A clue!' I cried. 'A clue! Where is he now?'

"The old sage looked at me with disapproval in his eyes.

"'Excitement and impetuosity of speech are for the young, my friend,' he said, gravely. 'They are not becoming in the matured.'

"I lay back again on my cushions, feeling justly censured. The light of displeasure dying from his eyes, the munshi proceeded:

"'I had the victim of this outrage carried to my house, and, his wounds not proving serious, he was soon well, and able to think of resuming his journey. He was very reticent concerning the motive of his servant for attempting his life, and foolishly, to my mind, made no effort to trace the miscreant. When leaving he said that in all probability he would return this way a few weeks later. So, my friend, he may be here any day, for it is a good long while since he left.'

"Repressing my eagerness this time, I sat still for a few minutes, then said:

"'I think it is certain from what you have told me that the wounded man was the one I am now seeking.'

"'Perhaps, perhaps, but only time will decide,' he replied, cautiously. 'You must wait and see.'

"'Wait! wait!' I cried, impatiently. 'There is no time to wait. I must act, and that quickly.'

"The munshi looked at me commiseratingly, but contented himself with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Just then a servant approached, and whispered in his master's ear. The old man sat up from his half-reclining attitude, and methought for a moment that an amused smile crept over his face.

"'Admit him,' he said to the attendant. 'Admit him at once.'

"Then, turning to me with his accustomed gravity, he added in explanation: 'A friend of mine has called. He is an interesting man, and I want you to know him.'

"I was about to protest that I had not come there to make new acquaintances, when the curtain was pushed aside, and none other than the stranger who had addressed me at the caravanserai stepped on to the veranda. He crossed over to the master of the house, and greeted him affectionately. I decided to remain at least a short time, and waited quietly until my host should introduce his visitor. This he straightway proceeded to do, presenting us to each other with a courteous wave of his hand.

"A glow of pleasure suffused the newcomer's face when he recognized me.

"'Fate is indeed kind,' said he. 'I was going to try and find you again at the rest house, when, lo and behold! here you are, the guest of my good friend, the munshi.'

"'What! Are you already acquainted?' exclaimed our host, visibly surprised, despite the philosophy of self-restraint he was so fond of preaching.

"It was my turn now to bestow a reproving look.

"'We have met,' I rejoined, with proper dignity, 'but as yet I have not the honour of acquaintance.'

"To cover this well-deserved rebuke, the munshi clapped his hands and bade the servant who responded to the summons to bring sherbet for our refreshment. After the cooling draught, and when we were all comfortably settled, the stranger, whose name had not yet been spoken, turned to me and said:

"'Now perhaps you will give me the news from Sengali.'

"'It is grievous,' I returned, 'and it is owing to trouble there that I am now here.'

"'Indeed. And what may the trouble be? As I told you this afternoon, I have friends in the village, and am consequently interested.'

"'Aye, aye, tell him the story you have just told me,' called out the munshi.

"Courteously the stranger awaited my response, in his eyes an anxious look of inquiry. As I proceeded with my recital his excitement grew apace, and he leaned forward in his eagerness to miss not a word. At the finish he started to his feet, and, catching hold of my arm, exclaimed:

"'What! You tell me they will burn down their very home?'

"I nodded assent.

"'Then must we start in all haste for Sengali,' he continued, excitedly. 'To-night, now, or it may be too late.'

"I was moved by this display of fervid sympathy on the part of a stranger for my humble friends in their sorry plight. But I could not avail myself of his proffered assistance.

"'Pardon me,' I replied, 'but I have first to find Sheikh Ahmed, who has been the cause--the innocent cause--of all this grievous anxiety, and whose presence is needed to put an end to the false charge of murder.'

"'Don't you know that I am Sheikh Ahmed?' cried the stranger.

"'Yes, yes, he is no other,' laughed our host, the munshi. 'I avoided giving the wounded traveller's name a while ago, Chunda Das, as a fitting curb to your eagerness, and now, thanks to the Sheikh paying me a visit, you have met somewhat quicker than I expected.'

"For full a minute I was speechless. Was it possible that I had so soon found my man, or, to put it more correctly, that the man had found me? The gods be praised for working on behalf of the helpless and oppressed!

"But my meditations were rudely interrupted. The Sheikh had again gripped me by the shoulder, and was speaking rapidly:

"'Rouse yourself, friend; rouse yourself. This is no time for wonderment.'

"'So you are indeed alive and well, Sheikh Ahmed?' I asked, in blundering fashion.

"'You can see for yourself,' he replied, impatiently. 'But I little thought I should have been the means of doing to these kind people who nursed and nourished me so grievous an injury. But, Allah be praised! there is yet time to repair the wrong and make amends. Let us away, away, without the delay of another hour.'

"The munshi clapped his hands once more, and the servant was quickly in attendance.

"'These friends of mine will take the road,' he said to the man, 'so soon as the moon is up. Go you now to the inn, and bid the grooms make ready their horses for a long journey. Quick--lose no time!'

"The Sheikh motioned the servant to his side, and added some whispered instructions. Then, turning to me, he said:

"'The moon will serve us ere very long.'

"By my silence I had acquiesced in the plan of speedy departure, for nothing could better suit my own wishes. But meanwhile there would be an interval of patient waiting.

"'Can you account for the strange wailing around the house of Baji Lal?' I asked of the Sheikh.

"He hesitated a moment before making answer.

"'To me it is all a mystery,' he said at last. 'Some one, perhaps, is playing a trick upon them.'

"'A sorry trick,' I commented bitterly.

"'But their home must certainly be saved,' he added.

"'Not merely their home,' said I. 'Their lives are also in jeopardy.'

"'We must save them! we shall save them!' cried the Sheikh, with upraised hand and in a tone of determination that brought great comfort to my anxious heart.

"The time soon passed, and, our horses having been brought round from the rest house, we took leave of our good host, Munshi Khyraz.

"Just as we turned on to the high road, ten or a dozen mounted troopers emerged from the shadow of a tope of trees, and came clattering behind us.

"'These are my escort,' explained the Sheikh. 'I have already encountered too many dangers on this road to run further risks.'