In The Permanent Way Part 14

For the first time a slow smile showed on the man's fine delicate face. "No, _Huzoor_. I live everywhere. Wherever there are things to kill, and that is in most places. But not here, sahib," he continued hastily, turning to Bannerman, who was about to launch his minnow into a likely spot. "This pool is sacred to the G.o.d yonder."

And sure enough, close to the water's edge, beneath the shade of a banyan tree, stood a crowned image of Maha-deo, with his eight arms, his necklace of snakes, and chaplet of skulls.

"Dash it all," muttered Bannerman impatiently, "as if the world were not full enough of limitations as it is! I'll have it out with that old land crab some day."

His irritation grew as the days pa.s.sed bringing continued ill-luck.

But what wonder, he said, when the fish were fed and pampered by the priests morning and evening, that they would not take his lure? For his part he did not believe there was a fin in any other pool in the river--at least when he fished it.

"The _Huzoor_ can see, if he chooses," said Sambo gravely.

"I suppose I can--as well as you, anyhow," retorted Bannerman.

"Then let him look." As he spoke Sambo swung himself into the branch of a cotton tree which, swaying with his weight, scattered its huge scarlet flowers on the water. Perhaps it was this, engendering a hope of food; perhaps it was the curious low whistle he made, but instantly the calm surface of the pool wavered, s.h.i.+fted, and broke into ripples.

Sambo stretched himself full length on the branch and craned forward with his long blue neck.

"Plenty of them, _Huzoor!_ Beauties! That one with the scar is full twenty _sirs_ weight. See! I will catch it."

He slid from the branch like an otter to reappear a second afterwards with the fish bent round his neck like a yoke of silver.

"It is bad luck," he continued, "and the _Huzoor_ must do _puja_[29]

to the great G.o.d. That is the only way."

[Footnote 29: Wors.h.i.+p.]

Bannerman's face was a study, and to soothe him I remarked that I had been lucky enough without any one's help.

"How does the _Huzoor_ know?" asked Sambo boldly. "If he had been up by dawn he might have thought otherwise, since the blood of the c.o.c.k I sacrificed in his name still reddens the feet of Ishwara."

"The devil you did," I exclaimed laughing; "then sacrifice two for Bannerman sahib to-morrow."

The latter, however, turned on him fiercely. "If you dare," he began; then pulled himself together, muttered something about its being "d----d rot," and went off declaring he would fish no more till dusk drove the glare from the water.

I found him hours after lolling on his bed, and reading a translation of the _Prem Sagar_. It was as amusing and true to life as a modern French novel, he was pleased to remark, and Krishna with his milkmaids the wisest of G.o.ds. In fact after dinner, as we sat smoking outside, he recurred to the subject, denouncing the folly of all ascetic cults from Baal downwards.

"You are awfully well up in it all," I said, surprised at his knowledge.

"Seems to come to me, to-night, somehow," he replied gaily; "things do, you know--previous state of existence and all that rot. Besides, it's needed when a fellow calmly suggests my making a blood offering!

To a brute of a land crab too--a miserable fetish evolved from the fears of a semi-ape-a creature incapable of rising above the limitations of his own discomfort, counting this lovely life as mere birth and death, and ignoring the joys between--the only realities in the world."

He went on in this fas.h.i.+on, till, declaring that he meant to be up by dawn, both to catch a fish and prevent the blood sacrifice, he turned in. I could hear him humming the refrain of a French song as I sat on the scented flood of moonlight.

It was not a night surely to waste in sleep! The very flowers kept the memory of their colours, and every now and again I could hear the silvery splash of a fish rising on the level reaches beyond. But from below came a vibration in the air like the first breathing of an organ note. That was the river racing to the gorge.

Scarcely knowing what I did, I strolled over to the backwater which circled round the oasis of the valley. A fringe of trees marked its course, and behind them the hill sloped up in a tangle of jasmine and pomegranate, while on the river side grew s.h.i.+ngle and gra.s.s tufted with oleanders. In the distance, faint yet clear, came a s.n.a.t.c.h or two of Bannerman's _fin-de-siecle_ song. And then suddenly, round a bend, rose the low note of a kingfisher. Could it be a kingfisher at that hour of the night?

By all the G.o.ds, old and new, what was this? Sambo? Could that be Sambo knee-deep in the water? Sambo with a golden tiara on his head and girt about the waist with a regal robe? Purple and red--at least you guessed the colour, just as you guessed that the shadowy pillar of that long neck was blue. Were those his arms curved above him, or were they snakes, swaying, swaying in the moonlight with hooded heads and open jaws? And was that cry Sambo's or the kingfisher's? Then, and not till then, I saw the bird perched on a branch above the strange figure; and even as I looked it swooped straight into those swaying snake-like arms, bearing something in its mouth.

I suppose in my surprise I made some exclamation, for the figure turned quickly. Then, for the first time, I felt sure it was only the diver in his diving dress. The next instant he was beside me on the bank, holding out a small land crab for my inspection.

"It is the best bait, _Huzoor_. Better than phantom or _eshspoon_."

I felt utterly bewildered and not a little aggrieved at his everyday appearance. "But, but," I began, "how the mischief did you make the bird?----"

His hand went up to his throat as if in explanation. "'Tis the trick of their cry, _Huzoor_; besides birds are afraid of the holy snake; and even the _Huzoor_ doubted his own eyes. It is good bait. If Buniah-man sahib will consent to use it, he will have luck."

"Of course he will use it," I replied angrily; and then a sudden doubt seized me. "I don't know, though. I don't seem to understand. I can't see----"

"The _Huzoor_ has two eyes," he interrupted, with another of his slow smiles. "Does he want a third, like mine?"

A third! Then I noticed a central spot on his forehead set in an oval of white. In good sooth it was not unlike a third eye placed upright between the others. I had seen similar ones painted on the images of Siva.

"'Tis but a caste sign, _Huzoor_," he explained; "I wear it sometimes." He stooped as he spoke, gathered some dust in his fingers and rubbed out the mark. "Lo! it grows late. Midnight is past. If the _Huzoor_ rises with the sun 'tis time he slept."

True enough; but as I strolled homewards to the tent my eyes fell by chance on the shade beneath the great banyan tree where the idol stood. The plinth was empty! It lay reflected in the water vacant, bare! Scarcely knowing what I did, or why I did it, I ran back to where I had left Sambo, calling him by all his names in turn. But there was no answer, and when in hopeless bewilderment I retraced my steps it was only to find myself mistaken. The eight-armed image stood in its accustomed place, reflected in the still water.

I was glad when the dawn came; one of those lemon-coloured dawns when the sky grows light at once.

"Had the jolliest dreams," said Bannerman, coming out of his tent.

"Dreamt I was Krishna among the milkmaids. Wish I could find one in this fish-forsaken place, I'd---- Hullo, what the mischief is that on my line?"

It was Sambo's land crab neatly impaled on a Stuart tackle. I began an explanation only to stop short at the--to me--absolutely incomprehensible intensity of both the faces before me. Dimly I seemed to recognise the situation and then it escaped me again.

"Tomfoolery! One might as well fish with that ridiculous fetish at once," came Bannerman's jeering voice. "What was it Chuckerb.u.t.ty drivelled about? eight attributes--tall order for any G.o.d! Well! here they go. No, Sambo, you may keep one--the soul of a man, if there be such a thing----"

He had torn off five of the crab's legs, leaving three; two of them the nipping claws, which, with gaping jaws, swayed about seeking reprisals.

"There! take your offering, Siva! snakes, and souls, and all!" He flung the maimed creature full in the idol's face as we sculled past it. I shall never forget Sambo's look.

"You shouldn't do that sort of thing," I remonstrated in a low voice.

"If the priests saw it;--then this man----"

"Bah! Nilkunta won't mind, and rupees will settle anything." I tried to make him understand they would not in these fastnesses of the Hindu faith, but almost immediately afterwards his attention wandered to a woman's figure which, as we rowed up the river, was outlined equally against earth and sky, while figure, earth, and sky shared equally the perfect reflection in the water.

"By George, a milkmaid!" he cried. She was not unlike one in dress, certainly, but her face, marked with the crescent of Siva on the forehead, was of a different type; beautiful too, and Bannerman simply couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Who is she? Who can she be? Sambo! Rudra! Nilkunta! whichever you are--do you know who she can be?" he queried in hot excitement.

"She is somebody's house, _Huzoor_." The voice was cold as an icicle.

"Somebody's house! What a way to mention a woman, beautiful--beautiful as--but it's the old Puritanical game! A house--a hearth mother--the British matron in Eastern disguise--Mrs. Grundy in a _sari_. I say, Nil-kunt, whose house do you think she is? I should like to buy the freehold."

"She is your slave's house," replied the man without a wink.