Caste Part 2

"You name her the Gulab Begum, General,--that is a Moslem t.i.tle and, from the turbans and caste-marks on the men, they seem to be Hindus; I suppose Gulab Begum is her stage name, is it?"

Elizabeth was exhibiting unusual interest in a native--that is for Elizabeth, and Nana Sahib chuckled softly as he answered: "Names mean little in India; I know high-caste Brahmins who have given their children low-caste names to make them less an object of temptation to the G.o.ds of destruction. Also, the Gulab may have been stolen from the harem of some Nawab by this bandit."

The Gulab suggested more a Rajput princess than a dancing girl. No ring pierced the thin nostrils of her Grecian nose; neither from her ears hung circles of gold or bra.s.s, or silver; and the slim ankles that peeped from a rich skirt were guiltless of anklets. On the wrist of one arm was a curious gold bangle that must have held a large ruby, for at times the sun flicked from the moving wrist splashes of red wine.

Indeed the whole atmosphere of the girl was simplicity and beauty.

"No wonder they call her the Rose Queen," Barlow was communing with himself. For the oval face with its olive skin, as fair as a Kashmiri girl's, was certainly beautiful. The black hair was smoothed back from a wide low forehead, after the habit of the Mahratti women; the prim simplicity of this seeming to add to the girlish effect. A small white-and-gold turban, even with its jauntiness, seemed just the very thing to check the austere simplicity. The girl's eyes, like Ajeet's, were the eyes of some one unafraid, of one born to a caste that felt equality. When they turned to those who sat in the brake they were calmly meditative; they were the eyes of a child, modest; but with the unabashed confidence of youth.

Elizabeth, perhaps unreasonably, for the three of them sat so close together in the brake, fancied that the Gulab's gaze constantly picked out the handsome Captain Barlow.

An imp touched Nana Sahib, and he said: "I'd swear there was Rajput blood in that girl. If I knew of some princess having been stolen I'd say she stood yonder. The eyes are simply ripping; baby eyes, that, when roused, a.s.sist in driving a knife under a man's fifth rib. I've seen a sambhur doe with just such eyes cut into ribbons a Rampore hound with her sharp hoofs."

"Well, Prince," Elizabeth said, "I suppose you know the women of this land better than either Captain Barlow or myself, and you're probably right, for I see in a belt at her waist the jewelled hilt of a dagger."

Nana Sahib laughed: "My dear Miss Hodson, I never play with edged tools, and Captain--"

But Nana Sahib's raillery was cut short by a small turmoil as the bleating goat of sacrifice was dragged forward to a stone daubed with vermillion upon which rested a small black alabaster image of Kali; while a _guru_, with sharpened knife, hung near like a falcon over a quivering bird. Three times the goat's head was thrust downward in obeisance to the black G.o.ddess; there was a flash of steel in the sunlight, and hot blood gushed forth, to dye with its crimson flood the base of the idol.

A Bagree darted forward and with a stroke of his _tulwar_ clipped the neck from a pitcher and held it beneath the gurgling flood till it was filled.

From where Elizabeth sat she looked across the shoulder of Nana Sahib as they watched the sacrifice; she saw him quiver and lean forward, his shoulders tip as though he would spring from the brake. His face had drawn into hard lines, his lips were set tight in intensity across the teeth so that they showed between in a thin line of white. The blood seemed to have fascinated him; he was oblivious of her presence. She heard him murmur, "Parvati, Parvati! There is blood, blood--wait, thou, Parvati."

The bay Arabs--perhaps their sensitive nostrils drank in the smell of fresh blood--sprang into their collars as if they would bolt in fright.

The two syces, squatting on their heels at the horses' heads, had sprung to their feet, and now were caressing the necks of the Arabs as they held them each with a hand by the bit.

There was a curious look in the Prince's eyes as he turned them on Elizabeth; a mingling of questioning and defiance was in them.

Now the holder of the pitcher stood up and the _guru_ drew upon it four red lines and dropped through its shattered mouth a woman's bracelet of gold lacquer beads. Then the pitcher was placed upon the Kali shrine; raw sugar was inclosed in a cloth and tied to a branch of the pipal.

The voice of the Bagree Chief, somewhat coa.r.s.e in its fulness, its independence, now was heard saying: "Sirdar Sahib, and Dewan Sahib, we men of the nine castes of the Bagrees now make the sacred oath. Come close that ye may observe."

Jean Baptiste edged his horse to the side of the road, and the Dewan, heaving from the _palki_, stood upright.

Ajeet dipped a tapering finger in the pitcher of blood, touched the swaying bag of sugar, and laying the hand against his forehead said, in a loud voice:

"If I, Ajeet Singh, break faith with Maharaja Sindhia, may Bhowanee punish me!"

Sookdee and Hunsa each in turn took the same solemn oath of allegiance.

As Hunsa turned from the ordeal and pa.s.sed the Gulab Begum to where the Bagrees stood in line, Nana Sahib said, "Do you know, General, what that baboon-faced jamadar made oath to?"

"The last one, my Prince?"

"Yes, he of the splendid ugliness. He testified, 'If I fail to thrust a knife between the shoulder-blades of Ajeet Singh may Bhowanee cast me as a sacrifice.'"

"He is jamadar to the other, Prince--but why?"

"He looked upon the Rose Lady as he pa.s.sed, and as the blooded finger lay upon his forehead he looked upon Ajeet, and in his pig eyes was unholiness."

The cold grey eyes of the Frenchman rested for a second upon the burning black eyes of the speaker, and again he s.h.i.+vered. He knew that the careless words meant that Hunsa was an instrument, if needs be.

But the Prince's teeth were gleaming in a smile. And he was saying: "If the play is over, Sirdar, turn your mount over to the _syce_ and pop up here beside Captain Barlow--I'll tool you home. The Captain might like a peg."

The bay Arabs swirled the brake along the smooth roadway that lay like a wide band of coral between giant green walls of gold-mohr and tamarind; and sometimes a pipal, its white bole and branches gleaming like the bones of a skeleton through leaves of the deepest emerald, and its roots daubed with the red paint of devotion to the tree G.o.d. Here and there a neem, its delicate branches dusted with tiny white star blossoms, cast a sensuous elusive perfume to the vagrant breeze. Once a gigantic jamon stretched its gnarled arms across the roadway as if a devilfish held poised his tentacles to s.n.a.t.c.h from the brake its occupants.

When they had swung in to the Sirdar's bungalow and clambered down from the brake, Elizabeth said: "If you don't mind, General Baptiste, I'll just drift around amongst these beautiful roses while you men have your pegs. No, I don't care for tea," she said, in answer to his suggestion. There was a mirthless smile on her lips as she added: "I'm like Captain Barlow, I like the rose."

The three men sat on the verandah while a servant brought brandy-and-soda, and Nana Sahib, with a restless perversity akin to the torturing proclivity of a Hindu was quizzing the Frenchman about his recruits.

"You'll find them no good," he a.s.sured Baptiste--"rebellious cusses, worthless thieves. My Moslem friend, the King of Oudh, tried them out.

He got up a regiment of them--Budhuks, Bagrees--all sorts; it was named the Wolf Regiment--that was the only clever thing about it, the name.

They stripped the uniforms from the backs of the officers sent to drill them and kicked them out of camp; said the officers put on sw.a.n.k; wouldn't clean their own horses and weapons, same as the other men."

Then he switched the torture--made it more acute; wanted to know what Sirdar Baptiste had got them for.

The Frenchman fumed inwardly. Nana Sahib was at the bottom of the whole murderous scheme, and here, like holding a match over a keg of powder, he must talk about it in front of the Englishman.

When the brandy was brought Nana Sahib put hand over the top of his gla.s.s.

"Not drinking, Prince?" Barlow asked.

"No," Nana Sahib answered, "a Brahmin must diet; holiness is fostered by a shrivelled skin."

"But pardon me, Prince," Barlow said hesitatingly, "didn't going across the black-water to England break your caste anyway--so why cut out the peg?"

"Yes, Captain Sahib,"--the Prince's voice rasped with a peculiar harsh gravity as though it were drawn over the jagged edge of intense feeling,--"my caste _was_ broken, and to get it back I drank the dregs; a cup of liquid from the cow, and not milk either!"

Baptiste coughed uneasily for he saw in the eyes of Nana Sahib smouldering pa.s.sion.

And Barlow's face was suffused with a sudden flush of embarra.s.sment.

Perhaps it had been the sight of the blood sacrifice that had started Nana Sahib on a line of bitter thought; had stirred the smothering hate that was in his soul until frothing bubbles of it mounted to his lips.

"I was born in the shadow of Parvati," Nana Sahib said, "and when I came back from England I found that still I was a Brahmin; that the songs of the Bhagavad Gita and the philosophy of the Puranas was more to me than what I had been taught at Oxford. So I took back the caste, and under my s.h.i.+rt is the _junwa_ (sacred thread)."

A quick smile lighted his face, and he laid a hand on Barlow's arm, saying in a new voice, a voice that was as if some one spoke through his lips in ventriloquism: "And all this, Captain, is a good thing for my friends the English. The Brahmins, as you know, sway the Mahrattas, and if I am of them they will listen to me. The English boast--and they have reason to--that they have made a friend of Nana Sahib. Here, Baptiste, pour me a gla.s.s of plain soda, and we'll drink a toast to Nana Sahib and the English."

"By Jove! splendid!" and Captain Barlow held out a hand.

But Baptiste, saying that he would find Miss Hodson, went out into the suns.h.i.+ne cursing.

"Now we will go back," Nana Sahib was saying as the French General brought Elizabeth from among the oleanders and crotons.

CHAPTER IV

The day after the Bagrees had taken the oath of allegiance to Sindhia the jamadars were summoned to the Dewan's office to receive their instructions for the carrying out of the mission.