The Flower of Forgiveness Part 12

They packed me and a half hundred pillows into a _palki ghari_ one afternoon. The servants stood, white clad, in a row beside the white pillars, dazzling in the slanting sunlight. I drove through the flower garden dusty and scorched. At the gate stood Heera Nund, one arm occupied by Dhropudi, the other supporting a huge basket of vegetables.

He looked uncertain which to present; finally, seeing the carriage drive on, he deliberately let the basket fall, and running to my side, thrust the child's chubby hands forward. They held just such ninepin bouquets as he had carried on our first introduction. "Take them, _sahib!_" he cried. "Take them for luck! and come back soon to the _madli_ and the _malin_." As the _ghari_ turned sharp down the road I saw him standing amidst the ruins of the basket with Dhropudi in his arms.

Six months pa.s.sed before I set foot on Indian soil again, and then fate and a restless Government sent me to a new station. When my servants arrived with my baggage from the old one, I naturally fell to asking questions. "And how is Heera Nund?" was one. My bearer smiled benignly.

"_Huzoor_, he is well--in the month of July he was hanged."

"Bearer!"

"Without doubt; it was in the month of July. He killed his wife with an axe. Dhropudi was bitten by a snake while she slept one day when Heera had to leave her with her mother; and that night he killed his wife as _she_ slept also. It was a mistake to be so revengeful, for every one knew Dhropudi was not really his daughter."

"Do you think that Heera knew?"

"She told him when the child died, in order to stop his grief; but it did not. She was very kind to him,--after the other one went to prison for lurking about."

"And did no one tell about it all?"

"About what, _Huzoor?_"

"About the vegetables, and Dhropudi, and the _sootullians_, and the blisters on the back of his head! Did no one say the man was mad?"

"There was a new a.s.sistant at the Dispensary, _sahib_, and her people were very rich; besides, Heera was not mad at all. He did it on purpose. He was a bad man, and the Sirkar did right to hang him--in July."

But as I turned away I could think of nothing but that _can-can_ among the _sootullians_, with little Dhropudi beating time with a carrot.

FEROZA.

Two hen sparrows quarrelling over a feather, while a girl watched them listlessly; for the rest, suns.h.i.+ne imprisoned by blank walls, save where at one end a row of scalloped arches gave on two shallow, shadowy verandah-rooms, and at the other a low doorway led to the world beyond.

But even this was veiled by a brick screen, forced by the light into unison with the brick building behind. The girl sat with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, and her little, bare, brown feet moulding themselves in the warm, sun-steeped dust of the courtyard. In the hands clasped round her green trousers she held an unopened letter from which the London post-mark stared up into the brazen Indian sky. She was waiting to have it read to her--waiting with a dull, almost sullen patience, for the afternoon was still young. It was old enough, however, to make a sheeted figure in the shadow sit up on its string bed and yawn because siesta time was past.

"Still thinking of thy letter, Feroz? _Bismillah!_ I'm glad my man doesn't live in a country where the women go about half naked."

"Who told thee so, Kareem? The Meer _sahib_ said naught."

A light laugh seemed prisoned in the echoing walls. "_Wah!_ How canst tell? 'Tis father-in-law reads thy letters. Inaiyut saith so. He saw them at Delhi dancing like bad ones with--"

"Peace, Kareema! Hast no decency?"

"Enough for my years, whilst thou art more like a grandam than a scarce-wed girl. Why should not Inaiyut be a man? A husband is none the worse for knowing a pretty woman when he sees one."

She settled the veil on her sleek black head and laughed again. Feroza Begum's small brown face hardened into scorn. "Inaiyut hath experience and practice in the art doubtless, as he hath in c.o.c.kfighting and dicing."

"Now, don't gibe at him for that. Sure 'tis the younger son's portion amongst us Moguls. Do I sneer at thy Meer amusing himself over the black water amongst the _mems?_"

"The Meer is not amusing himself. He is learning to be a barrister."

Kareema swung her legs to the ground with another giggle. "_Wah!_ Men are men all the world over, and so are women. Yea! 'tis true." She looked like some gay b.u.t.terfly as she flashed out into the sunlight, and began with outstretched arms and floating veil to imitate the sidelong graces of a dancing girl.

"_Hai! Hai!_ Bad one!" cried a quavering voice behind her, as an old woman clutching for scant covering at a dirty white sheet shambled forward. "Can I not close an eye but thou must bring iniquity to respectable houses? 'Tis all thy scapegrace husband; for when I brought thee hither thou wast meek-spirited and--"

"Deck me not out with lies, nurse," laughed Kareema. "Sure I was ever to behaviour as a babe to walking--unsteady on its legs. So wast thou as a bride; so are all women." She seized the withered old arms as she spoke, and threw them up in an att.i.tude. "Dance, Mytaben! dance! 'Tis the best way."

The forced frown faded hopelessly before the young, dimpling face.

"Kareema! Why will'st not be decent like little Feroz yonder?"

"Why? Because my man thinks I'm pretty! Because I've fine clothes!

Feroza hath old green trousers and her man is learning to be '_wise_,'

forsooth! amongst the _mems_. So she is jealous--"

"I'm not jealous," interrupted the other hotly.

"Peace, peace, little doves!" expostulated the old nurse. "Feroz is no fool to be jealous of a _mem_. Holy Prophet, Kareem! hadst thou seen them at Delhi as I have--"

"Inaiyut hath seen them too. He saith they are as _houris_ in silk and satins with bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s and arms--"

Mytaben's bony fingers crackled in a shake of horrified denial.

"Silence! shameless one! I tell thee they have no beauty, no clothes--"

"There! I said they had no clothes," pouted Kareema.

The duenna folded her sheet round her with great dignity. "Thy wit is sharp, Kareema! 'Tis as well; for thou wilt need it to protect thy nose! The _mems_ have many clothes; G.o.d knows how many, or how they bear them when even the skin He gives is too hot. They are sad-coloured, these _mems_, with green spectacles serving as veils. Not that they need them, for they are virtuous and keep their eyes from men truck. Not like bad bold hussies who dance--"

"'Tis not true," cried Kareema shrilly. "Thou sayest it to please Feroza. Inaiyut holds they are _houris_ for beauty, and he knows."

In the wrangle which ensued the London postmark revolved between earth and heaven as the letter turned over and over in Feroza's listless fingers.

"I wish I knew," she muttered with a frown puckering her forehead. "He saith they are so wise, and yet--"

Mytaben paused in the war of words and laid her wrinkled old fingers on the girl's head. "Plague on new-fangled ways!" she grumbled half to herself. "Have no fear, heart's life! they are uncomely. But for all that, 'tis a shame of the Meer to leave thee pining."

A hand was on her mouth. "Hush, Mytaben! 'Tis a wife's duty to wait her lord's pleasure to stay or come."

There is a dignity in submission, but Kareema laughed again, and even old Mytab looked at the girl compa.s.sionately. "For all that, heart's life, 'tis well to be sure. Certainty soothes the liver more than hope.

So thou shalt see a _mem_. For lo! the book-readers have come to this town, and one pa.s.seth the door every eve at sundown."

"Oh, Mytab! why didn't you tell us before?" cried both the girls in a breath.

"Because 'tis enough as it is, to keep two married girls straight, with never a mother-in-law to make them dance to her tune," grumbled the nurse evasively. "_Hai_, Kareema! I will tell thy father-in-law the Moulvie,[18] and then 'twill be bread and water."

"Bread and water is not good for brides," retorted Kareema with a giggle. "And I will see the _mems_ too, or I will cry, and then--" She nodded her head maliciously.

That evening at sundown the two girls sat huddled up by the latticed window of the outer vestibule, while Mytab watched at the door of the men's court which, with that of the women's apartments, opened into this shadowy entrance. By putting their eyes close to the fret-work they could see up and down a narrow alley where a central drain, full of black sewage, usurped the larger half of the rough brick pavement.

"Look, Feroza! look!" cried Kareema in a choked voice. A white umbrella lined with green, a huge pith hat tied round with a blue veil, a gingham dress, a bag of books, white stockings, and tan shoes,--that was all. They watched the strange apparition breathlessly till it came abreast of them.

Then Kareema's pent-up mirth burst forth in peals of laughter so distinctly audible through the open lattice that the cause stopped in surprise.