Part 5

"Lo! if the _Baba-sahib_ cares not for being a big _Hâkm_ (magistrate, ruler), sure the next best thing is to be a big _Hâkeem_ (doctor)," he would say, smiling simply at his own wit. "And doth not the _Guru_ say, 'Fight with no weapon but the sword of the Spirit'? Besides, when I feel like fighting I can put an edge to the knives or pound harder with the pestle. God knows they may both do more damage than a sabre. Then the rolling of pills is ever the first step towards dream-getting. Thus in all ways, I, Dhurm Singh, Sikh, ex-_duffadar_, _pinson-wallah_, and _Akâli_, am consoled. But there! God is good to the Sikh. Know you that He never made an ugly one yet?"

This was a favourite boast of the old man's, backed always, should doubts be expressed, by a modest appeal to his own looks, joined to an assertion--which, by the way, was perfectly true--that he was the meanest looking of ten brothers.

So, in due season, the doctor once more watched the odd couple pass out together into the wilderness; and this time, noticing the change in Sonny _baba_ and remembering the raw lad who had been his cabin companion, he, so to speak, put his whole pile on Dhurm Singh--unless the boy killed him with philanthropy.

The rains, after an unusually heavy fall, had ceased early, the result being an epidemic of autumnal fever. Now the cholera may kill its thousands, but year by year, with every now and again a sort of jubilee over its own strength, malaria kills its tens of thousands quietly, unostentatiously; so quietly, that it is only when the officer in charge of a district finds himself during his cold weather camp deciding the rival claims to hereditary offices day after day in village after village, that even he realises how widely the archangel Azrael has spread his wings over the people. The doctor, however, judging simply by the weather, sent Sonny into the jungles well supplied with that carmine-tinted quinine which carries the fact of its being Government property in its colour: a useless attempt to prevent the sale of charity in a land where the regulation five grain powder is as much a part of the currency as a two anna bit. Well supplied, yet at the same time with cautions not to be over generous except in genuine cases. Let him stick to the country medicines as prophylactics. Opium and aconite were to be had for the buying; and if he did wander into the low jungles close to the hills, and if he could be tolerant and learn not to despise old wisdom, let him prescribe the former in preference to the latter--though perhaps that was too much to expect from a five-and-twenty-year old who was cock-sure he knew best.

"I know nothing of myself," replied Sonny in all seriousness. "The Eternal Right decides. There lies the difference between you and me--pardon me if I say between the Christian and the Unbeliever. You trust to your finite mind, I to Something which is and was, which cannot err."

And Dhurm Singh, gleefully employed in turning a cash transport mule with its fixings into a perambulating dispensary, was keeping up his character of devotee by repeating verses from the _Adhee Grunt'h_[14] in sing-song; his round, mellow voice echoing out through the sunshine--

"Remember, oh man, the primal truth--the Truth ere the world began. The Truth which is and the Truth which must remain. How can this Truth be told, save by doing the will of the Lord?"

"Listen!" said Taylor, and Sonny _baba_ moved uneasily in his chair.

When these same preparations were complete, the old man's delight was huge; and he drove the mule forth to the wilderness before him with much futile waving of the stick which had replaced the sword. Even over that abnegation he was cheerful.

"Lo! I am turned a _dhundi-wallah_[15] in mine old age, as becomes the pious-minded. _Ari!_ thou misbegotten offspring of a mixed race doomed to childless extinction, wilt stray from the beaten path! Wouldst steal the corn of others, when thy master is a _missen sahib_, and thy tender a devotee? May the uttermost--"

Then to Sonny's pained reproof he would reply, cheerfully as ever, that he had understood the refraining of his tongue from abuse was to be towards those born of Adam; and this was not even a God-created thing, but a nondescript invented by the _sahib-logue_.

Cheerful always; even when, as time went on, his daily pills of opium were mixed with quinine. He sat and compounded them himself _dhurm nâl_, keeping no grain of the beloved dream-giver from the sacrilegious mixture, and telling the full tale of the "_fiat pillulæ_" into the master's locked medicine chest, whence they were doled out daily.

For the first month or more, everything went smoothly. Never before had Sonny _baba_ had such attentive listeners to the great truths he expounded as a preliminary to his other work; never before had he felt that he was really on the right tack, really had his opportunity of a fair hearing. The letters he wrote home to his aunt who, fond woman, had faithfully followed, as woman can do, every step in the career of her darling with unswerving confidence, filled that excellent creature with sheer, unalloyed delight. She told all her circle of friends that her nephew had fulfilled her dearest wishes in going in for the medical mission, which was undoubtedly the only way of getting at the poor, dear natives.

And Sonny, in less emotional fashion, felt this to be so true that he worked as he had never worked before. A sort of feverish desire to utilise every opportunity, to lose no occasion for preaching the great Gospel of Peace came over him, and he spared himself not at all, after the manner of his kind.

So that sometimes returning tired out in evening from some long tramp, it was a relief to find the old swash-buckler ready with kid _pullao_ or "_rose chikken_,"[16] and to see the tea-kettle swinging over a fire of twigs. Sometimes after they entered the tract of forest-land near the foot of the hills, the indefatigable old poacher would produce a stew of black partridge; and once Sonny, coming home to the tiny tent late at night, found his henchman keeping an eye on roast pork, and at the same time utilising the flame-light in giving a suspicious clean to the biggest surgical knife--a queer picture seen by the fire, leaping and dancing up into the shadows of a mango grove.

But one evening Sonny came home with no appetite for dinner, and half an hour afterwards he was blue and shivering in the cold fit of ague.

"If the _Huzoor_ would take some of my pills," said Dhurm Singh wistfully; "look at me! nothing touches me, and, lo! am I not three times as near the grave as the _Baba-sahib_?"

There is no need to describe the scorn which this suggestion met. As for the pills, where would the old sinner be but for the quinine contained therein? This was nothing but a chill, an isolated attack. He would take an extra dose of the specific and be done with it.

But the third day, suddenly, in the very middle of an eloquent appeal he felt goose skin going in thrills down his back, and five minutes after the only sound he could make was the chattering of his teeth.

"If the _Huzoor_," began Dhurm Singh, but was checked by the frown on the master's face; for the lad had grit and fire in him.

Neither of these, however, avail much against a tertian ague, and it was not long before Sonny _baba_ in the half-querulous, half-hysterical stage before the hot fit merges into perspiration, confided with tears to the old swash-buckler that it was no use. He was an accursed being. From the very beginning had it not been so? And then he retailed garrulously many and many an incident of the past three years, forgotten by his retainer, in which something had occurred to mar the smooth working of good luck. Something as often as not, it struck the listener, to be referred to his own share in the business. To the speaker it was otherwise. He was not fit for the work; he was of no account, and now when at long last the time had come, when he felt that his hand was on the plough--

"It is time the _Baba-sahib_ took his quinine," remarked Dhurm Singh sagely, unsympathetically. "If the _Huzoor_ will give the keys of the chest, this dust-like one will bring the medicine--_dhurm nâl_." The last words came softly, half to himself, and an important, self-satisfied smile broadened the open face as he made his choice among the bottles. "Lo! there it is," he continued, laying two pills in the burning hand before passing his one arm under the burning body, "but the _Huzoor_ must have faith. Without it medicine is but a bad taste in the mouth. He who believes shall be saved."

Perhaps Sonny _baba_ took his advice yet once again, perhaps the quinine got a fair hold of the enemy at last. Certain it is that from the time Dhurm Singh commenced to bring the pills _dhurm nâl_, the ague began to abate. At the end of a week Sonny _baba_ was eating "_rose chicken_" once more with appetite. That evening, as the sun was setting red over the thick brakes of sugar-cane, the old man sat pounding diligently with pestle and mortar while he intoned away at the _Adhee Grunt'h_--

"God asks no man of his birth, He asks him what he has done, Since all are the seed of God, Lo! what is the world but clay, Tho' the pots are of many moulds."

And Sonny _baba_ lying out in the shade blissfully conscious that he was getting better, nay, that he was better, raised himself on one arm and looked over with moist eyes to the old man.

"What are you doing, Dhurm Singh?"

"This slave makes pills. The _Huzoor_ hath eaten so many, and those of the dust-like one have given out also. Lo! I fill the bottles against the return of the _Baba-sahib_ to his medicine chest."

"But, I say! are you sure you have made them right?"

"The _Huzoor_ may rest satisfied. Five grains of the blessed medicine for the master, and the other as before. It is _dhurm nâl, Huzoor_."

"So you call it a blessed medicine now, Dhurm Singh?"

"Wherefore not, since the master is better?"

"Well! the addition of that small quantity of ipecacuanha which I began--let me see--that day when I was so bad, certainly had a marvellous effect. I shall write and tell Taylor about it; he was inclined to sneer at the idea just because he didn't suggest it. Doctors are awfully jealous of each other. That's the worst of them."

These remarks were made mostly for his own benefit, as he lay comfortably watching the stars come out one by one as the daylight died.

It was that same night that Dhurm Singh had his first go of ague. It shook him as a sharp attack of malarious fever does shake a native past his prime, and Sonny _baba_ amid his regrets, could not avoid a certain elation.

"So much for opium," he said, and yet in his heart of hearts a fear gained ground that perhaps he might have been over rapid in diminishing the dose. Now that the old man was actually ill, it seemed unkind to deny him comfort; so an addition was made to the number of pills, thus increasing the amount both of opium and quinine.

It was more than a month later that a small procession of two men carrying a string bed on their heads, and one man driving a pack mule, turned into the dispensary compound.

"It is the old man," said Sonny _baba_ to the doctor, "and I'm afraid--" he paused before the break in his own voice. "It was that _terai_ land. I was as bad as could be, and thought I should have to give up; but, under Providence, quinine and ipec. pulled me round to do the best work I have ever done in my life. But he--he would stick to the opium, and then I'm afraid that at first I hardly noticed--you see he went round as usual, bragging he was better. So I didn't think--the work was so absorbing, and I myself felt so fit. Otherwise, I might have gone to a healthier part, though, of course, the impression would not have been so good. Still--it came upon me quite by surprise three days ago--and--and I've brought him in by forced marches. You--" The voice failed again. Indeed, there was no need for more, the doctor being already on his knees by the bed, making his examination. Suddenly he looked up.

"Why the devil did you stop his opium, you young fool? Here, Boota Mull, the syringe and a disc of morphia--sharp. But, after all, what does anything matter so long as you save your own soul alive!"

Sonny _baba_ looking very white, drew himself up into dignity. "We can discuss that question by and by, Dr. Taylor. In the mean time, let me warn you, that the man has already had ten grains of opium in the last twenty-four hours."

The doctor's quick hands were at the closed eyelids. "Ten grains--bosh! But, as you say, those questions can be settled by and by--when he is dead, if you like."

Sonny _baba's_ face had grown whiter still. "I tell you he has had the opium--I gave it to him myself--I was afraid--" he paused abruptly, and the doctor looking up shot a rapid glance of negation towards him.

"There's a mistake, or else-- It doesn't matter now, at any rate. The thing is done."

But Sonny _baba_ did not hear the latter words; he was beside the mule, fumbling hastily in the travelling dispensary, of which the old man had been so proud, for the medicine chest. His hands trembled as he brought it back; and Dr. Taylor, his face unseen, yet with its keenness shown in every movement of the capable hands busy over the morphia, heard an odd sound--something between a gasp and a cry--behind him. Then some one came and knelt down at the other side of the bed.

"Dhurm Singh!"

But there was no answer.

"Dhurm Singh, you can tell them it was _dhurm nâl_, and that I killed you."

* * * * *

"Killed him--fudge! Though, upon my soul, it would serve you right if you had. So the old sinner changed the pills, and it wasn't the ipec. after all. Most reprehensible practice, and, upon my soul, it would serve him right if he did die. Now--don't be a fool, man! I tell you he shan't die--I won't let him die. Besides, he can't die--it's impossible--absolutely impossible."

Despite his despair and dejection, the young man gave a wan smile at the other's vehemence.

"And why?"

"Because of you, naturally. You don't suppose that you're fit to be trusted alone with a medicine chest, do you? Boota Mull, if you don't hurry up with that turpentine and the brandy mixture I'll report you. So it wasn't the ipec. after all! I'm glad of that."

In after years the young fellow used to deny strenuously that it had been the opium either. Plainly and palpably he had been cured of his fever "by faith." And as for Dhurm Singh? What the doctor said was true; he could not be spared as yet. How could he be spared when even now from the verandah came a woman's voice, soft, confident--

"Dhurm Singh, Sonny _baba_."

"_Huzoor! dhurm nâl_."

And any one looking out might have seen a very old man, gorgeous in scarlet raiment, decked with golden lace and golden curls, as a child's head nestled up against a solitary arm, and a child's fingers played with the solitary medal, or tugged unavailingly at the hilt of the old sword.

"The _Huzoor_ is too young," would come the broad, arrogant voice, "but he will learn--he will learn. Even a Sikh is made, not born. He must wait till the years bring the Sacred Steel. Let the _Huzoor_ rest awhile peacefully, and old Dhurm will sing to him."

Then there would be a surreptitious swallowing of a pill before the drowsy chant began.

"He is of the _Khâlsa_[17] Who combats in the van, Who gives in charity, Who loves the Poor.

He is of the _Khâlsa_ Whose mind is set on God, Who never fears though often overcome, Knowing all men created of one God.

He is of the _Khâlsa_ Who lives in arms, Who combats with the wrong, Who keeps--the--faith--"

So there would be a silence broken only by the even breathing of the old man and the child.

For Sonny _baba_ and his wife, watching the scene from within, only looked into each other's eyes and said nothing.

THE BHUT-BABY.

"According to established precedent it is reported, under section so and so, that one Buddha Singh of Kidderjana having died, his rightful heirs inherit." The court-reader's voice hurried the liquid Urdu syllables into long, sleepy cadences like the drone of a humble-bee entangled in the swaying punkah overhead. Backwards and forwards, rising and falling, the rhythm seemed to become part of me, until the colourless reports were a monotonous lullaby, and each wave of sound and motion bore me farther from earth, nearer to the land of dreams. Ah! if the right people always inherited, and my old uncle received ticket-of-leave from the gout, I might afford furlough, and stand once more on that big boulder at the foot of the One-stone pool waiting for a new ring of light to show on the dark eddy by the far side--a ring with a swirl and a gleam of silver scales in the centre, a tightening line under the finger, till the reel went whirr-rr-rr-rr! It was a lovely dream while it lasted.

"According to established precedent, the canal-officer reports, under section so-and-so, that certain rebellious persons in Chori-pani have opened the sluices of the cut, and taken water that did not belong to them." The heather-sweet breeze off the One-stone pool ceased to blow, and I was back, with the punkah, in the humanity-laden atmosphere of the court-house, where even the mosquitoes were glutted, and the lizards, hanging head downwards on the wall, looked as if they had congestion of the brain. Stealing water! Poor wretches, who could blame them with their crops withering in the June sun and the sluice-doors within reach? Even a juicy apple on a hot day is irresistible, despite Farmer Smith's big dog watching from below, while you sit on the lower branch, and Jerry sits on the upper, eating all the ripe fruit just to pass the time, and thanking Providence meanwhile for making you Christian children in a cider-country!

"According to established precedent it is reported, under section so-and-so, that the devil was born three days ago in village Hairan-wallah. Orders are requested. Meanwhile the _chowkidar_ [watchman] remains watching the same." Startled into wakefulness, I looked sharply to see if the reader had not been nodding in his turn; but my alertness merely produced a respectful iteration of the paragraph, which showed all too clearly my subordinate's explanation of the sudden display of attention.

The suspicion of sleep is always irritating. "_Sarishtadar!_" [clerk of the Court] I began in English, "what, the devil?"

"Nossir," interrupted the reader suavely in the same language, "pardon the suggestion, sir, but the devil is somewhat free translation, sir. In Dictionary _bhut_ (the word used, sir,) equals an _indefinite_ devil, thus _a_ devil, _a_ fiend, _a_ imp--pardon the indiscretion, sir! an imp."

A glow of proud humility at his own quick detection of these trivial errors filled up the pause which followed, while the punkah went on swinging, and I sat wondering if I were asleep or awake. Finally the _sarishtadar_ dipped his pen in the ink, fluttered the superfluous moisture on the carpet, and suggested deferentially that the _chowkidar_ was waiting for orders. A sudden curiosity as to what his self-complacent brain, surcharged with Western culture, would do with the situation made me reply curtly, "The usual orders."

I managed to forbear laughing in the grave face raised to mine in deprecating apology. "I am unable, sir," he said after a pause, "to recall, at the present moment, any section, penal or civil, suitable to occasion. Would you kindly jog memory, sir, by suggesting if it is under judicial or administrative heads? Or perhaps," he added, as a bright after-thought, "it is political job." Then, I regret to say, I went off into yells of unseemly mirth, as most Englishmen have to do at times over the portentous solemnity of the Aryan brother.

There was a stir in the verandah, a sudden waking to renewed effort on the part of the punkah coolie, resulting in a general breeziness. Or was it that Terence O'Reilly, our young Irish doctor, as he came into the darkened Court, brought with him a thought of fresh air, a remembrance of Nature in her sunniest, most lovable moods? He invariably suggested such things to me at any rate, and as he paused in astonishment at my indecorous occupation, I thought once more that it was a pleasure simply to look at him. His face sympathised promptly with the unknown joke. "Whwhat the divvle are ye laughing at--me?" he asked in a rich brogue as he seated himself astride a chair, in which equestrian position his dandy costume for polo showed to great advantage.

Nero fiddling over the flames of Rome is sympathy itself compared to the indifference with which we often speak the first lines of a coming tragedy in every-day life. So it was with a jest that I introduced Terence O'Reilly to the existence of the _bhut_-baby, and in so doing became instantly aware that he surpassed me in other things besides good looks. He could scarcely be said to become grave, for to lose brightness would have been to lose the essence of the man, but his expression grew to a still more vivid reflex of his mind. "'Twill be one of those poor little craytures that come into this worrld God knows why," he said with an infinite tenderness of voice. "Ten to wan 'tis better it should die, fifty to wan I can do nothing to help it, but I'll ride over and see annyhow."

The _sarishtadar_ laid aside his pen somewhat mournfully, the practical being out of his line; while I, smitten by admiration into immediate regret at my own indifference, murmured something about having thought of going over next morning.

"There's no time loike the present, my dear fellow," he replied buoyantly. "The pony's at the door, and sure I'm got up for riding annyhow;" and as he spoke he stretched out his long legs, and surveyed their immaculate boots and breeches critically.

"And what will your team do without their best forward?" I asked, feeling a certain captiousness at his prompt decision.

"Get along with your blarney! Sure it's practising, and you can take my place at that anny day; indeed 'twas to fetch you I ventured into the dock, for whin I caught a glimpse of your face at the jail this morning I said to meself, 'Terence, me bhoy, that's a case of polo, or blue pill, for by the powers his liver's not acting.' So 'twas to hound you into exercise I came annyhow."

A feverish desire to amend and excuse my own lukewarmness shot up through the loophole his words afforded. "To tell the truth, I _was_ feeling a bit slack; but if you'll wait five minutes while I slip over to the bungalow and change my clothes, I'll ride with you to Hairan-wallah. It will be better for me than polo; I might get over-heated, you know."

"'Tis over-_eating_, not over-_heating_ that's the matter with you, me bhoy," he replied coolly; "but I'm proud,--and by the powers!" he added, starting up in great excitement, "you shall ride my pony; I call him Blue Pill, for he's better than wan anny day; and while you're dressing I'll send me _syce_ round for the Lily of Killarney. I've a bet on her at the _gymkhana_ next Monday, and we'll try her on the quiet against the stable."

Half an hour afterwards I was enjoying plenteous exercise, and it seemed to me, far behind, as if the Lily--a great black beast without a single white hair on her--was trying to buck Terence over into the saffron-coloured horizon, as she went along in a series of wild bounds. He came back to me, however, after a time, as fresh as paint; but the mare, with head down and heaving flanks, appeared to have had enough of it.