CHAPTER II.
IN THE CITY.
"Come, beauty, rare, divine, Thy lover like a vine With tendril arms entwine; Lay rose red lips to mine, Bewildering as wine."
The song came in little insistent trills and quaverings, and quaintrecurring cadences, which matched the insistency of the rhymes. Thesinger was a young man of about three-and-twenty, and as he sang,seated on a Persian rug on the top of a roof, he played an elaboratesymphony of trills and cadences to match upon a tinkling _saringi_. Hewas small, slight, with a bright, vivacious face, smooth shaven, savefor a thin mustache trimmed into a faint fine fringe. His costumemarked him as a dandy of the first water, and he smelled horribly ofmusk.
The roof on which he sat was a secluded roof, protected from view,even from other roofs, by high latticed walls; its only connectionwith the world below it being by a dizzy brick ladder of a stairclimbing down fearlessly from one corner. Across the further endstretched a sort of veranda, inclosed by lattice and screens. But themiddle arch being open showed a blue and white striped carpet, and alow reed stool. Nothing more. But a sweet voice came from its unseencorner.
"Art not ashamed, Abool, to come to my discreet house among godly folkand sing lewd songs? Will they not think ill of me? And if thou comestdrunken horribly with wine, as thou didst last week, claiming audienceof me, thine aunt, not all that title will save me from aspersion. Andif I lose this calm retreat, whither shall poor Newasi go?"
"Nay, kind one!" cried Prince Abool-Bukr, "that shall never be." Sosaying, he cast away the tinkling _saringi_ and from the litter ofmusical instruments around him laid impulsive hands on a long-neckedfiddle with a 'cello tone in it. "I would sing psalms to please mineaunt," he went on in reckless gayety, "but that I know none. Willpious Saadi suit your sober neighbors, since lovelorn Hafiz shocksthem? But no! I can never stomach his sentimental sanctity, so back wego to the wisest of all poets."
The high, thin tenor ran on without a break into a minor key, and astanza of the Great Tentmakers. And as it quivered and quavered overthe illusion of life, a woman's figure came to lean against thecentral arch, and look down on the singer with kindly eyes.
They were the most beautiful eyes in the world. Such is the consensusof opinion among all who ever saw them. Judged, indeed, by thisstandard, the Princess Farkhoonda Zamani, alias Newasi Begum, thewidow of one of the King's younger sons, must have had that mysteriouscharm which is beyond beauty. But she was beautiful also, thoughsmallpox had left its marks upon her. Chiefly, however, by athickening of the skin, which brought an opaque pallor, giving heroval face a look of carved ivory. In truth, this memento of the pasttragedy, which at the age of thirteen had brought her, the half-weddedbride, to death's door, and sent her fifteen-year-old bridegroom fromthe festival to the grave, enhanced, rather than detracted from herbeauty. Her lips were reddened after the fashion of court women, hershort-sighted hazel eyes were heavily blackened with antimony; but shewore no jewels, and her graceful, sweeping Delhi dress was of deadest,purest white, embroidered in finest needlework round hems and seams,and relieved only by the lighter folds of her white, lace-like veil.For she had forsworn colors when she fled from court-life and its manyintrigues for an alliance with the charming widow; and, on the plea ofa call to a religious and celibate life, had taken up her abode in theMufti's Alley. This was a secluded little lane off the bazaar, whichlies to the south of the Jumma Mosque, where a score or two of theMohammedan families connected with the late chief magistrate of thecity lived, decently, respectably, respectedly. To do this, havingsometimes to close the gate at the entrance of the alley, and so shutout the wicked world around them. But that whole quarter of the cityheld many such learned, well-born, well-doing folk. Hussan Askari'shouse lay within a stone's throw of the Mufti's Alley; Ahsan-Oolah'snot far off, and, all about, rose tall, windowless buildings, standingsentinel blindly over the naughtiness around them; but they had eyeswithin, and ears also. So the hands belonging to them were held up inhorror over the doings of the survival, and--despite race andreligion--an inevitably reluctant, yet inevitably firm adherence wasgiven to civilization. Even the womenfolk on the high roofs knewsomething of the mysterious woman across the sea, who reigned over theHuzoors and made them pitiful to women. And Farkhoonda Zamani read theLondon news, with great interest, in the newspaper which Abool-Bukrused to bring her regularly. Hers was the highest roof of all, saveone at the back Of her veranda room; so close to it indeed that thesame _neem_ tree touched both.
It was not a quarter, therefore, in which the leader of the fastestset in the palace might have been expected to be a constant visitor.But he was. And the decorous alley put up with his songs patiently.Partly, no doubt, for his aunt's sake; more for his own charm ofmanner, which always gained him a consideration better men might havelacked. Being the late heir-apparent's eldest son, he was certain ofsucceeding to the throne if he outlived all his uncles; for the claimsof the elder generation are, by Moghul law, paramount over those ofthe younger. Now, the inevitable harking back to the eldest branch,after years of power enjoyed by the junior ones, which this plannecessitates, being responsible for half the wars and murders whichmark an Indian succession, some of these learned progressive folkadmitted tentatively that the Western plan was better; and that ifPrince Abool-Bukr were only other than he was, he might as wellsucceed now as later on.
The idea roused a like ambition in the young idler, now and again, butas a rule he was content to be the best musician in Delhi, the boldestgambler, the fastest liver. Yet through all, he kept his hold on onekind woman's hand; and those who knew the prince and princess havenever a word to say against the friendship which led to that singingof Omar Khayyam upon the latticed roof.
"Life could be better than that for thee, nephew, didst thou butchoose," said her soft voice, interrupting the cynicism, while herdelicate fingers, touching the singer's shoulder as if in reproof,lingered there tenderly. He bent his smooth cheek impulsively tocaress the hand so close to it, with a frank, boyish action. The nextmoment, however, he had started to his feet; the minor tone changed toa dance measure, then ended in a wild discord, and a wilder laugh. Heruse of the word nephew was apt to rouse his recklessness, for she wasbut a month or two older than he.
"Thou canst not make me other than I was born----" he began; but sheinterrupted him quickly.
"Thou wast born of good parts enough, God knows."
"But my father deemed me fool, therefore I was brought up in a stable,mine aunt; and sang in brothels ere I knew what the word meant. So'tis sheer waste time to interview my scandalized relations as thoudost, and beg them to take me serious. By all the courtesans in theThunbi Bazaar, Newasi, I take not myself so. Nor am I worse than theholy, pious aunt: I take paradise now, and leave hell to the last.They choose the other way. And make a better bargain for pleasure thanI, seeing that the astrologers give me a short life, a bloody death."
Newasi caught her hand back to another resting place above her heart."A--a bloody death!" she echoed; "who--who told the lie?"
Prince Abool-Bukr shook his head with a kindly smile. "Oh! heed itnot, kind lady. Such is the fashion with soothsayers nowadays. Theheavens are black with portents. Someone's cow hath three calves,someone's child hath ten noses and a tail. Fire hath come fromheaven--thou thyself didst tell me some such wind-sucker's tale--orfrom hell more likely----"
"Nay! but it is true," she interrupted eagerly; "I had it from themilkwoman, who comes from the village where the _suttee_----"
"The mouse began to gnaw the rope. The rope began to bend the ox. Theox began----" hummed the prince irreverently.
Newasi stamped her foot. "But it is true, scoffer! There is a festivalof it to-day in some idol temple--may it be defiled! The widow wouldhave burned, after sinful custom, but was prevented by the Huzoors.And rightly. Yet, God knows--seeing the poor soul had to burn sometimethrough being an idolater--they mi
ght have let her burn with herlove----"
Abool laughed softly. "And yet thou wilt have naught of Hafiz--Hafizthe love-lorn! Verily, Newasi, thou art true woman."
She ignored the interruption. "So being hindered she went to Benares,and there this fire fell on her through prayer, and burned hands andfeet----"
"But not her face," cried Prince Abool, thrumming the muted stringsand making them sound like a tom-tom. "I'll wager my best pigeon, nother face, if she be a good-looking wench! And since fire follows onother things besides prayer, she was a fool not to get it, like me,through pleasure instead. To burn a virgin! What a dreary tale! Looknot so shocked, Newasi! a man must enjoy these presents, when folkaround him waste half the time in dreaming of a future--of somethingbetter to come--as thou dost----" He paused, and a soft eager ringcame to his voice. "If thou couldst only forget all that--forget who Imight be in the years to come--forget what thou wouldst have been hadmy respected uncle not preferred peace to pleasure--for it never cameto pass, remember, it never came to pass--then we two, you and I----"He paused again, perhaps at the sudden shrinking in her eyes, and gavea restless laugh. "As 'tis, the present must suffice," he addedlightly, "and even so thou dost mourn for what I might be if the graceof God took me unawares. Thou hast caught the dreaming trick, mayhap,from the Prince of Dreamers yonder."
He moved over to the outer parapet and waved his hand toward HussanAskuri's house. Then his vagrant attention turned swiftly to somethingwhich he could see in a peep of bazaar visible from this new point ofview.
"Three, four, five trays of sweetstuffs! and one of milk and butter,"he cried eagerly, "and by my corn-merchant's bill--which I must paysoon or starve--the carriers are palace folk! Is there, by chance, amarriage in the clan? Why didst not tell me before, Newasi? then Icould have gone as musician and earned a few rupees."
He gave a flourish of his bow, so drawing forth a lugubrious wail fromthe long-necked fiddle.
"No marriage that I wot of," she replied, smiling fondly over hisheedless gayety. "The trays will be going to the _Pir_-sahib's house.They have gone every Thursday these few weeks past, ever since theQueen took ill on hearing the answer about the heirship. She vowed itthen every week, so that the holy man's prayer might bring success toour cousin of Persia in this war. God save the very dust of it fromthe winds of misfortune so long as dust and wind exist," she addedpiously.
Prince Abool-Bukr turned round on her sharply with anxiety in hisface.
"So! Thou too canst quote the proclamation like other fools--a fool'smessage to other fools. Where didst thou see it?"
Newasi looked at him disdainfully. "Can I not read, nephew, and arethere many in Delhi as heedless as thou? Why, even the Mufti's peoplediscuss such things."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Ay! they will talk. Gossip hath a doubletongue and wings too, nowadays. In old time the first tellers of atale had half forgot it, ere the last hearer heard it; now the wholeworld is agog in half an hour. But it means naught. Even his heirship.Who cares in Delhi? None!--out of the palace, none! Not even I. Yetmischief may come of it; so have naught to do with dreamings, Newasi,if only for my sake. Remember the old saw, 'Weevils are ground withthe corn.'"
"Thou canst scarce call thyself that, Abool, and thou so near thethrone," she said, still more coldly.
"Have me what pleaseth thee, kind one," he replied, a trifleimpatiently; "but remember also that 'the body is slapped in thekilling of mosquitoes.'" Then, suddenly, an odd change came to hismobile face. It grew strained, haggard; his voice had a growing tremorin it. "Lo! I tell thee, Newasi, that Sheeah woman, Zeenut Maihl, inher plots for that young fool, her son, will hang the lot of us. Iswear I feel a rope around my neck each time I think of her. I whoonly want to be let live as I like--not to die before my time--die andlose all the love and the laughter; die mayhap in the sunlight; diewhen there is no need; I seem to see it--the sunlight--and Ihelpless--helpless!"
He hid his face in his shuddering hands as if to shut out some sightbefore his very eyes.
"Abool! Abool! What is't, dear? Look not so strange," she cried,stretching out her hand toward him, yet standing aloof as if in vaguealarm. Her voice seemed to bring him back to realities; he looked upwith a reckless laugh.
"'Tis the wine does it," he said. "If I lived sober--with thee, mineaunt--these terrors would not come. Nay! be not frightened. Hanging isa bloodless death, and that would confound the soothsayer; so it cutsboth ways. And now, since I must have more wine or weep, I will leavethee, Newasi."
"For the bazaar?" she asked reproachfully.
"For life and laughter. Lo! Newasi, thou thyself wouldst laugh atthose new-come Bunjarah folk I told thee of, who imitate the sahibs sowell. But for their eyes," here he nodded gayly to someone below,"they should get one of Mufti's folk to play," he added, his attentionas usual following the first lead. "Saw you ever such blue ones as theboy has yonder?"
Newasi, drawing her veil tighter, stepped close to his side and peeredgingerly.
"His sister's are as blue, his cousin's also. It runs in the blood,they say. I cannot like them. Dost thou not prefer the dark also?"
She raised hers to his innocently enough, then shrank back from thesudden passion of admiration she saw blazing in them. Shrank so thather arm touched his no longer. The action checked him, made himsavage.
"I like black ones best," he said insolently; "big, black, staringeyes such as my mother swears my betrothed has to perfection. Thouhast not seen her yet, Newasi; so thou canst keep me company inimagining them languishing with love. They will not have to languishlong for--hast thou heard it? The King hath fixed the wedding." Hepaused, then added in a low, cruel voice, "Art glad, Newasi?"
But her temper could be roused too, and her heart had beat in answerto his look in a way which ended calm. "Ay! It will stop this farce ofcoming thither for study and learning--as to-day--without a linescanned."
"Thou dost study enough for both, as thou art virtuous enough forboth," he retorted. "I am but flesh and blood, and my small brain willhold no more than it can gather from bazaar tongues."
"Of lies, doubtless."
"Lies if thou wilt. But they fill the mind as easily as truth, and fitfacts better. As the lie the courtesans tell of my coming hither fitsfact better than thy reason. Dost know it? Shall I tell it thee?"
"Yea! tell it me," she answered swiftly, her whole face ablaze withanger, pride, resentment. His matched it, but with a vast affectionand admiration added which increased his excitement. "The lie, did Isay?" he echoed, "nay, the truth. For why do I come? Why dost let mecome? Answer me in truth?" There was an instant's silence, then hewent on recklessly: "What need to ask? We both know. And why, in God'sname, having come--come to see thy soft eyes, hear thy soft voice,know thy soft heart, do I go away again like a fool? I who takepleasure elsewhere as I choose. I will be a fool no longer. Nay! donot struggle. I will but force thee to the truth. I will not even kissthee--God knows there are women and to spare for that--there is butone woman whom Abool-Bukr cares to----" he broke off, flung the handshe had seized away from him with a muttered curse, and stepped backfrom her, calming himself with an effort. "That comes of makingAbool-Bukr in earnest for once. Did I not warn thee it was not wise?"he said, looking at her almost reproachfully, as she stood trying tobe calm also, trying to hide the beating of her heart.
"'Tis not wise, for sure, to speak foolishness," she murmured,attempting unconsciousness. "Yet do I not understand----"
He shook his delicate hand in derisive denial. "Why, the PrincessFarkhoonda refuses to marry! Nay, Newasi, we are two fools for ourpains. That is God's truth between us. So now for lies in the bazaar."
"Peace go with thee." There was a sudden regret, almost a wistfulentreaty in the farewell she sent after him. There was none in hisreply, given with a backward look as his gay figure went downwarddizzily. "Nay! Peace stays ever with thee."
It was true. Those other women of whom he had spoken gave him kissesgalore, but this one? It was a refinement of sens
uality, in a way, togo as he had come. But Newasi went back to her books with a sigh,telling herself that her despondency was due to Abool's hopeless lackof ambition. If he would only show his natural parts, only let thesenew rulers see that he had the makings of a king in him! As for theother foolishness, if the old King would give his consent--if it weremade clear that she was not really---- She pulled herself up with astart, said a prayer or two, and went on with _The Mirror of GoodBehavior_, through which she was wading diligently. The writer of ithad not been a beautiful woman, widowed before she was a wife, but hisideals were high.
Abool-Bukr meanwhile was already in a house with a wooden balcony.There were many such in the Thunbi Bazaar, giving it an airiness, acleanliness, a neatness it would otherwise have lacked. ButGul-anari's was the biggest, the most patronized; not only for thetired heads which looked out unblushingly from it, but for the newsand gossip always to be had there. The lounging crowds looked up andasked for it, as they drifted backward and forward aimlessly,indifferently, among the fighting quails in their hooded cages, thedogs snarling in the filth of the gutters, while a mingled scent ofmusk, and drains, and humanity steamed through the hot sunshine.Sometimes a corpse lay in the very roadway awaiting burial, but itprovoked no more notice than a passing remark that Nargeeza orYasmeena had been a good one while she lasted. For there was ahideous, horrible lack of humanity about the Thunbi Bazaar; even inthe very women themselves, with their foreheads narrowed by plasteredhair to a mere wedge above a bar of continuous eyebrow, their lipscrimsoned in unnatural curves, their teeth reddened with _pan_ orstudded with gold wire, their figures stiffened to artificialprominence. It was as if humanity, tired of its own beauty, sought thelack of it as a stimulant to jaded sensuality.
"Allah! the old stale stories," yawned Gul-anari from the broad sheetof native newspaper whence, between the intervals of some of PrinceAbool-Bukr's worst songs, she had been reading extracts to herilliterate clients; that being a recognized attraction in her trade."Persia! Persia! nothing but Persia! Who cares for it? I dare swearnone. Not even the woman Zeenut herself, for all her pretense ofsympathy with Sheeahs, who----"
"Have a care, mistress!" interrupted an arrogant looking man, whoshowed the peaked Afghan cap below a regimental turban. He was asergeant in a Pathan company of the native troops cantoned outsideDelhi on the Ridge, and had been bickering all the afternoon with aRajpoot of the 38th N. I., who had ousted him in his hostess' easyaffections, being therefore in an evil temper, ready to take offenseat a word. "I am of the north--a Sheeah myself, and care not to hearthem miscalled. And I have those who would back me," he continued,glaring at the Rajpoot, who sat in the place of honor beside the stoutsiren; "for yonder in the corner is another hill-tiger." He pointed toa man who had just thanked one of the girls in Pushtoo for a glass ofsherbet she handed him.
"Hill-cat, rather!" giggled Gul-anari. "He brought me this one, butyesterday, from a caravan new-come to the serai,"--she stroked thelong fur of a Persian kitten on her lap,--"and when I asked for newscould not give them. He scarce knew enough Urdu for the settling ofprices."
A coarse joke from the Rajpoot, suggesting that he had found fewdifficulties of that sort in the Thunbi Bazaar, made the sergeantscowl still more and swear that he would get Mistress Gul-anari thenews for mere love. Whereat he called over, in Pushtoo, to the man inthe corner, who, however, took no notice.
"He is as deaf as a lizard!" giggled Gul-anari, enjoying the rejectedone's discomfiture. "Get my friend the corporal here to yell at himfor thee, sergeant. His voice goes further than thine!"
The favored Rajpoot squeezed the fat hand nearest to him. "Go up andpluck him by the beard," he suggested vaingloriously, "then we mightsee a Pathan fight for once."
"Thou wouldst see a fair one, which is more than thou canst amongthine own people."
"Peace! Peace!" cried the courtesan, smiling to see both men lookround for a weapon. "I'll have no bloodshed here. Keep that for thefuture." She dwelt on the last word meaningly, and it seemed to have asoothing effect, for the sepoys contented themselves with scowlsagain.
"The future?" echoed a graybeard who had been drinking cinnamon teacalmly. "God knows there will be wars enough in it. Didst hear,_Meean_ sahib? I have it on authority--that Jarn Larnce is to givePeshawur to Dost Mohammed and take Rajpootana instead. Take it as Oudewas taken and Sambalpore, and Jhansi, and all the others."
"Even so," assented a quiet looking man in spectacles. "When the last_Lat_-sahib went, he got much praise for having taken five kingdomsand given them to the Queen. The new one was told he must give more.This begins it."
"Let us see what we Rajpoots say first," cried the corporal fiercely."'Tis we have fought the _Sirkar's_ battles, and we are not sheep tobe driven against our own."
Gul-anari leered admiringly at her new lover. "Nay! the Rajpoots aremen! and 'twas his regiment, my masters, who refused to fight over thesea, saying it was not in the bond. Ay! and gained their point."
"That drop has gone over the sea itself," sneered a third soldier."The bond is altered now. Go we must, or be dismissed. TheThakoor-_jee_ would not be so bold now, I warrant."
The Rajpoot twirled his mustache to his very eyes and cocked histurban awry.
"Ay, would I! and more, if they dare touch our privilege."
Gul-anari leered again, rousing the Pathan sergeant to mutter curses,and--as if to change the subject--cross over to the man in the corner,lay insolent hands on his shoulder, and shout a question in his ear.The man turned, met the arrogant eyes bent on him calmly, and withboth hands salaamed profusely but slowly with a sort of measuredrhythm. Apparently he had not caught the words and was deprecatingimpatience. His hands were fine hands, slender, well-shaped, and hewore a metal ring on the seal-finger. It caught the light as hesalaamed.
"Louder, man, louder!" gibed the corporal. But the sergeant did notrepeat the question; he stood looking at the upturned face awaiting ananswer.
"Maybe he is Belooch, his speech not mine," he said suddenly, yet witha strange lack of curiosity in his tone. There was a faint quiver, asif some strain were over in the face below, and the silence was brokenby a rapid sentence.
"Yea! Belooch!" he went on in a still more satisfied tone, "I know itby the twang. So there is small use in bursting my lungs."
Here Prince Abool-Bukr, who had been dozing tipsily, his head againsthis fiddle, woke, and caught the last words. "Ay, burst! burst likethe royal kettle-drums of mine ancestors. Yet will I do my poor bestto amuse the company and--and instruct them in virtue." Whereupon,with much maudlin emotion, he thrummed and thrilled through a lamenton the fallen fortunes of the Moghuls written by that King of Poetshis Grandpapa. Being diffuse and didactic, it was met withacclamations, and Abool, being beyond the stage of discrimination, wasgoing on to give an encore of a very different nature, when a wildclashing of cymbals and hooting of conches in the bazaar below senteveryone to the balcony. Everyone save Abool, who, deprived of hisaudience, dozed off against his fiddle again, and the man from thecorner who, as he took advantage of the diversion to escape, lookeddown at the handsome drunken face as he passed it and muttered, "Poordevil! He rode honest enough always." Then the Rajpoot's arrogantvoice rising from the crush on the balcony, he paused a second inorder to listen--that being his trade.
"'Tis the holy Hindu widow to whom God sent fire on her way to thefestival. A saint indeed! I know her brother, one Soma, a YadubansiRajpoot in the 11th, new-come to Meerut."
The clashings and brayings were luckily loud enough to hide anirrepressible exclamation from the man behind. The next instant he washalfway down the dark stairs, tearing off cap, turban, beard, andpausing at the darkest corner to roll his baggy northern drawers outof sight, and turn his woolen green shawl inside out, thus disclosinga cotton lining of ascetic ochre tint. It was the work of a second,for Jim Douglas had been an apt pupil. So, with a smear of ashes fromone pocket, a dab of turmeric and vermilion from another--put on as hefinished the stairs--he emerged into the street d
isguised as amendicant; the refuge of fools, as Tiddu had called it. The easiest,however, to assume at an instant's notice; and in this case the bestfor the procession Jim Douglas meant to join. Careless and hurriedthough his get-up was, he set the very thought of detection from himas he edged his way among the streaming crowd. For in that, so he toldhimself, lay the Mysterious Gift. To be, even in your inmost thoughts,the personality you assumed was the secret. Somehow or another itimpressed those around you, and even if a challenge came there was nodanger if the challenger could be isolated--brought close, as it were,to your own certainty. To this, so it seemed to him--the many-facedone vehemently protesting--came all Tiddu's mysterious instructions,which nevertheless he followed religiously. For, be they what theymight, they had never failed him during the six months, save once,when, watching a horse-race, he had lost or rather recovered himselfin the keen interest it awakened. Then his neighbors had edged fromhim and stared, and he had been forced into slipping away and changinghis personality; for it was one of Tiddu's maxims that you shouldalways carry that with you which made such change possible. To bemany-faced, he said, made all faces more secure by taking from any theright of permanence. Jim Douglas therefore joined the procession andforced his way to the very front of it, where the red-splashed figureof Durga Devi was being carried shoulders high. It was garlanded withflowers and censed by swinging censers, and behind it with widespreadarms to show her sacred scars walked Tara. She was naked to the waist,and the scanty ochre-tinted cloth folded about her middle was raisedso as to show the scars upon her lower limbs. The sunlight gleaming onthe magnificent bronze curves showed a seam or two upon her breastalso. No more. As Abool-Bukr had prophesied, her face, full of wildspiritual exaltation, was unmarred and, with the shaven head, stoodout bold and clear as a cameo.
_Jai! Jai! Durga mai ke jai_ (Victory to Mother Durga).
The cry came incessantly from her lips, and was echoed not only by theprocession, but by the spectators. So from many a fierce throatbesides the corporal's, who from Gul-anari's balcony shouted itfrantically, that appeal to the Great Death Mother--implacable,athirst for blood--came to light the sordid life of the bazaar with asavage fire for something unknown--horribly unknown, that lay beyondlife. Even the Mohammedans, though they spat in the gutter at theidol, felt their hearts stir; felt that if miracles were indeed abroadtheir God, the only true One, would not shorten His Hand either.
_Jai! Jai! Durga mai ke jai_.
The cry met with a sudden increase of volume as, the processionpassing into the wider space before the big mosque, it was joined by aband of widows, who in rapturous adoration flung themselves beforeTara's feet so that she might walk over them if need be, yet somehowtouch them.
"Pigs of idolators!" muttered one of a group standing on the mosquesteps; a group of men unmistakable in their flowing robes and beards.
"Peace, _Kazi_-sahib!" came a mellow voice. "Let God judge when thework is done. 'The clay is base, and the potter mean, yet the pothelps man to wash and be clean.'"
The speaker, a tall, gaunt man, rose a full head above the others, andJim Douglas' keen eyes, taking in everything as they passed,recognized him instantly. It was the Moulvie of Fyzabad. It was partlyto hear what he had to say when he was preaching, partly to find outhow the people viewed the question of the heirship, which had broughtJim Douglas to Delhi, so he was not surprised.
And now the procession, reaching the Dareeba, that narrowest of laneshedged by high houses, received a momentary check. For down it,preceded by grooms with waving yak tails, came the Resident's buggy.He was taking a lady to see the picturesque sights of the city. Thiswas one, with a vengeance, as the red-splashed figure of theDeath-Goddess jammed itself in the gutter to let the aliens pass, sogetting mixed up with a Mohammedan sign-board. And the crowd followingit,--an ignorant crowd agape for wonders,--stood for a minute, hemmedin, as it were, between the buggy in front and the mosque behind, withthat group of Moulvies on its steps.
"Fire worship for a hundred years, A century of Christ and tears, Then the True God shall come again And every infidel be slain,"
quoted he of Fyzabad under his breath, and the others nodded. Theyknew the prophecy of Shah N'amut-Oolah well. It was being bandied frommouth to mouth in those days; for the Mohammedan crowd was also agapefor wonders.