The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People Part 48

Thus he reached the temple, where he dismounted.

No one had told him, but he well understood that this was his destination, and with a firm step pa.s.sed into the inner court. For an instant the sudden change from brilliant daylight to an almost complete darkness dazzled him. He saw nothing but a moving shadow intermingled with points of fire that glowed steadily in two long rows up to the altar, where fell a single ray of golden suns.h.i.+ne. Helmet in hand, he moved slowly forward, every nerve strung taut with suspense.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the curious half-light, he saw that the unreal shadows were men grouped on either side behind rows of torch-bearers. The red flare fell on their fixed, unmoved faces, and threw weird shadows backward and forward among the ma.s.sive pillars whose capitals faded into the intensified gloom overhead. There was no other movement, no other sound save Nicholson's own footsteps, which echoed loud and threatening in that petrified silence. On the altar itself a Holy Lamp burned steadily, and behind, half obliterated by a lonely, upright figure, the great three-headed G.o.d stretched out ghost-like arms into the suns.h.i.+ne that descended in a narrow ladder of pure light to mingle with the altar fire.

Nicholson moved on. At the altar steps he came to a halt and waited.

The figure did not stir nor seem to be aware of his presence. A torch-bearer knelt on the lower step, and the fiery deflection threw into plastic relief the set and pitiless features beneath the jeweled turban. Gone was the old simplicity. The hands that lay clasped one upon the other on the splendid scimitar were loaded with gems, and from the turban a single diamond sparkled starlike in the changing light. A splendid and romantic figure, truly; harmonizing with and dominating over the mysterious background. But it was not the splendor, nor even the stern tragedy written on the worn and haggard face, which caused Nicholson to feel a cold hand grasp at his bold self-confidence. It was the sudden intuitive realization that here the battle began. He was no longer the master personality towering over a hydra-headed mult.i.tude. Here it was a man against a man, will against will, despair against despair.

"Hail, Rajah Sahib!" he said in Hindustani. "Hail!"

His voice had echoed into silence before Nehal Singh moved. Then he lifted his hand in greeting.

"Hail, Englishman!"

"You know me," Nicholson went on, drawing nearer. "I am Nicholson, Captain Nicholson of the--Gurkhas."

"I do not know you." There was a pitiless finality in the few words and in the gesture which accompanied them.

Nicholson lifted his head to the light.

"Nehal Singh, you lie. I was and am your friend."

He heard a stir behind him, and his instinct, doubly sharpened, felt how a dozen hands had flown to their weapons. Then again there was silence. His eyes had not flinched in their challenge.

"I have no friends among traitors and cowards."

The insult left Nicholson calm. Something in the tone in which the words were uttered, something that rang more like a broken-hearted despair than contempt, touched him profoundly.

"Thou hast the power to say so, Rajah," he answered quietly. "I am alone and unarmed."

The reproach went home to its mark. He saw the Rajah's hand tighten on the sword-hilt and a deeper shadow pa.s.s over the handsome features.

"Thou art right," Nehal Singh said. "I have misused my power, and that I will not do. Whilst thou art here thou needst fear neither insult nor danger."

"I fear neither," was the answer. A bitter, scornful smile lifted the corners of the set lips.

"So thou sayest." Then, with a gesture of impatience, he went on: "Thou hast sought me here, and it is well. I also have sought thee, for I have a message that thou shalt carry from me to thy people. Wilt thou bear it?"

"Bear it thyself, Rajah, to the people with whom thou hast lived in honor and friends.h.i.+p."

"In deceit and treachery!" Nehal Singh retorted, frowning. "But enough of that. Wilt thou bear my message?"

"If it must be--yes."

"It must be. Tell them first that every bond that linked us is broken.

Tell them not to count on what has been. What has been is not forgotten, but it is written on my heart in fire and blood--it has crossed out love and respect, pity and mercy."

"Rajah--"

"Hear me to the end, Englishman! I am not here to waste words with thee--henceforward my acts shall be my words. But thou shalt not go back and say that it is ambition or a mean revenge which has drawn my sword from its sheath. It is not that." He paused, and the hand which he had raised to cut short Nicholson's interruption sank slowly back upon his sword-hilt. Then he went on, and his low-pitched voice penetrated into the farthest corner of the silent temple: "Sahib, I loved thy people. I loved them for their past, for their courage, their justice, their greatness. In my boy's mind they were the heroes of the world, and as such I wors.h.i.+ped them. No poison could kill my love--it seemed a part of me, the innermost part of my soul--and when for the first time I stood before them, face to face, it was as though I lived, as though I had awakened from a dream. Be patient, Englishman, for you of all others must understand that there is for me no turning back, no yielding. Great love is sister to a greater hate, respect to scorn. I came among you, inexperienced save in dreams, a believing boy--fool if you will, whose folly received its punishment.

The outside of the platter was fair enough to have deceived those wiser than I, Sahib. There were lovely women with the faces of angels, and tall men, honest-eyed and brave-tongued. But the outside was a lie--a lie!" He lifted his hand again in a sudden storm of tortured pa.s.sion. "The women are wantons--the men tricksters--"

"Rajah!" The stern warning pa.s.sed, but not unheeded.

"Thou art hurt and stung," Nehal said, in a low, shaken voice. "The truth wounds thee! For me--it was death." He hesitated again, fighting for his self-control. "Sahib, great things are expected of a great people. Others may cheat and swindle, others may lie and blaspheme with G.o.d's holy secrets, others may seek their pleasures in the earth's mire, but _they_ must stand apart. They must bear forward the banner of righteousness, or their greatness is no more than an empty sound--a bubble which the first bold enemy may p.r.i.c.k. Perchance I blinded myself wilfully, perchance I stopped my ears. The platter was fair to my eyes, the falsehood rang like truth. Now I know. I know that the past is all that is left you--you are a fair seeming behind which is decay and corruption. Were I another, I would take my broken faith to the darkest corner of the jungle and eat out my life in despair and sorrow. But I have another task before me--my duty to my people."

"And that duty, Rajah--?"

"A great people must rule mine," was the high answer. "I thought you a great people, and I used my strength, my wealth and influence to further your power. But you are not worthy. Who are you that dare to a.s.sume authority over millions--you who can not rule yourselves, you who idle away your lives in folly and self-seeking? Well may you crown yourselves with the laurels which your fathers won! You have none of your own--and see to it that those faded emblems from a high past are not s.n.a.t.c.hed from your palsied fingers. I at least have flung from me a yoke which I despise. Parasites shall not feast upon my country!"

A low murmur arose from the serried ranks and grew and deepened as Nicholson retorted pa.s.sionately:

"Thou canst not measure thyself against an Empire!"

"Empire against Empire!"

"Marut is no Empire!"

"All India shall answer me!"

At another moment Nicholson might have smiled at so vain a boast, but it did not seem to him vain as he faced that towering figure. There was destiny written in the blazing eyes. So might a prophet have called upon his nation--so might a nation, inspired by an absolute belief, have answered him as this swaying crowd answered--with wild, triumphant shouts.

"We follow thee, Anointed One! Lead us, for thou art Vishnu, thou art G.o.d!"

"Thou hearest!" Nehal Singh said, turning to Nicholson.

"I hear," the Englishman answered significantly. "And I know, as thou knowest, that it is a lie. Thou art not G.o.d. Thou art a Christian."

"No longer. How shall I believe in a G.o.d whose disciples mock His commandments?" His voice became inaudible in the suddenly increased confusion.

The next instant, the torch-bearers, who guarded the open s.p.a.ce around the two men, were thrust violently on one side, and with a wild scream, which rang high above the uproar, a half-naked figure rushed up the steps and with outspread arms stood like an evil phantom at Nehal's side.

"He is dead!" he shrieked. "He is dead! I killed him--my knife it was that killed him--the son of the Devil Stafford is dead--my enemy is dead!" He swung around toward the light, his arms still raised and Nicholson recognized, with a start of repulsion, Behar Singh's triumphant, distorted features. "Kill!" he shrieked again. "Kill them all, son--son--of--the--so is my revenge--". The harsh, grating voice cracked like a steel blade that has been snapped in half. For a breathing s.p.a.ce Behar Singh stood there, drawn to his full height; then he reeled and rolled with a heavy thud to the lowest step, where he lay motionless, his grinning face frozen into a look of diabolical joy. A slow oozing stream of blood crept over the white marble to Nicholson's feet. The voices died into silence. Nicholson and Nehal Singh faced each other over the dead body.

"Thou seest," Nehal Singh said. "There is no turning back."

"No, there is no turning back." The Englishman drew himself upright.

The light of unchangeable resolution illuminated his face and made him, unarmed and dressed in the rigid simplicity of his uniform, a fine and impressive contrast to the brilliant bearing of his opponent.

"Not that"--pointing to Behar Singh and speaking in clear, energetic English--"not that has made retreat impossible. It was already impossible before. Nehal Singh, I came here to plead with you. I respected you and pitied you too much to allow you to bring disaster upon yourself without an effort to save you. You say you came among us inexperienced save in dreams. It is true. Only a dreamer could have hoped to find perfection. We are a great people, Rajah; we have always been great, and we shall always be.

"And if there be corruption among us, it shall be weeded out. In times of peace, vice and folly grow fast. Scoundrels, idlers, boasters and fools grow side by side with prosperity; they are the weeds which spring up on an over-cultivated soil. But war is the uprooting time of corruption, it is the harvest-time of what is best and n.o.blest in a people. And that time has come. You, like your father, have learned to despise and hate us. Perhaps you are right. You have mingled with the sc.u.m which rises to the surface of still waters. The sc.u.m shall be cleared away, and if it costs us the lives of our greatest, it will not be at too high a price. We as well as you need the bitter lesson which only disaster can teach us. We shall see our weakness face to face, we shall root out our weeds and start afresh. You and the whole world shall see that the soil is still rich with honor."

A change so rapid that it was scarcely noticeable pa.s.sed over the Hindu's face. It would have been a flash of hope but for the contradiction of the scornfully curved lips.

"My belief is dead, Sahib."

"It must live again."

"Would to G.o.d that were possible!" Suddenly he leaned forward and spoke hurriedly and in English. "Captain Nicholson, there shall be no treachery. This is not a mutiny as in the past--it is war. And war is between men. See that--your women are brought into safety. I give you till midnight."