CHAPTER XXVI
THE BREAKING OF THE PITCHER
It is a far cry from Peshawur to Ajmere, and Linforth travelled in thetrain for two nights and the greater part of two days before he came toit. A little State carved out of Rajputana and settled under Englishrule, it is the place of all places where East and West come nearest tomeeting. Within the walls of the city the great Dargah Mosque, with itsshrine of pilgrimage and its ancient rites, lies close against the footof the Taragarh Hill. Behind it the mass of the mountain rises steeply toits white crown of fortress walls. In front, its high bright-bluearchway, a thing of cupolas and porticoes, faces the narrow street of thegrain-sellers and the locksmiths. Here is the East, with its memories ofAkbar and Shah Jehan, its fiery superstitions and its crudities ofdecoration. Gaudy chandeliers of coloured glass hang from the roof of amarble mosque, and though the marble may crack and no one give heed toit, the glass chandeliers will be carefully swathed in holland bags. Hereis the East, but outside the city walls the pile of Mayo College riseshigh above its playing-grounds and gives to the princes and the chiefs ofRajputana a modern public school for the education of their sons.
From the roof top of the college tower Linforth looked to the cityhuddled under the Taragarh Hill, and dimly made out the high archway ofthe mosque. He turned back to the broad playing-fields at his feet wherea cricket match was going on. There was the true solution of the greatproblem, he thought.
"Here at Ajmere," he said to himself, "Shere Ali could have learned whatthe West had to teach him. Had he come here he would have been spared thedisappointments, and the disillusions. He would not have fallen in withViolet Oliver. He would have married and ruled in his own country."
As it was, he had gone instead to Eton and to Oxford, and Linforth mustneeds search for him over there in the huddled city under the TaragarhHill. Ralston's Pathan was even then waiting for Linforth at the bottomof the tower.
"Sir," he said, making a low salaam when Linforth had descended, "HisHighness Shere Ali is now in Ajmere. Every morning between ten and elevenhe is to be found in a balcony above the well at the back of the DargahMosque, and to-morrow I will lead you to him."
"Every morning!" said Linforth. "What does he do upon this balcony?"
"He watches the well below, and the water-carriers descending with theirjars," said the Pathan, "and he talks with his friends. That is all."
"Very well," said Linforth. "To-morrow we will go to him."
He passed up the steps under the blue portico a little before the hour onthe next morning, and entered a stone-flagged court which was throngedwith pilgrims. On each side of the archway a great copper vat was raisedupon stone steps, and it was about these two vats that the crowdthronged. Linforth and his guide could hardly force their way through. Onthe steps of the vats natives, wrapped to the eyes in cloths to savethemselves from burns, stood emptying the caldrons of boiling ghee. Andon every side Linforth heard the name of Shere Ali spoken in praise.
"What does it mean?" he asked of his guide, and the Pathan replied:
"His Highness the Prince has made an offering. He has filled thosecaldrons with rice and butter and spices, as pilgrims of great positionand honour sometimes do. The rice is cooked in the vats, and so many jarsare set aside for the strangers, while the people of Indrakot havehereditary rights to what is left. Sir, it is an act of great piety tomake so rich an offering."
Linforth looked at the swathed men scrambling, with cries of pain, forthe burning rice. He remembered how lightly Shere Ali had been wont tospeak of the superstitions of the Mohammedans and in what contempt heheld the Mullahs of his country. Not in those days would he havecelebrated his pilgrimage to the shrine of Khwajah Mueeyinudin Chisti bya public offering of ghee.
Linforth looked back upon the Indrakotis struggling and scrambling andburning themselves on the steps about the vast caldrons, and the crowdwaiting and clamouring below. It was a scene grotesque enough in allconscience, but Linforth was never further from smiling than at thismoment. A strong intuition made him grave.
"Does this mark Shere Ali's return to the ways of his fathers?" he askedhimself. "Is this his renunciation of the White People?"
He moved forward slowly towards the inner archway, and the Pathan at hisside gave a new turn to his thoughts.
"Sir, that will be talked of for many months," the Pathan said. "ThePrince will gain many friends who up till now distrust him."
"It will be taken as a sign of faith?" asked Linforth.
"And more than that," said the guide significantly. "This one thingdone here in Ajmere to-day will be spread abroad through Chiltistanand beyond."
Linforth looked more closely at the crowd. Yes, there were many men therefrom the hills beyond the Frontier to carry the news of Shere Ali'smunificence to their homes.
"It costs a thousand rupees at the least to fill one of those caldrons,"said the Pathan. "In truth, his Highness has done a wise thing if--"And he left the sentence unfinished.
But Linforth could fill in the gap.
"If he means to make trouble."
But he did not utter the explanation aloud.
"Let us go in," he said; and they passed through the high inner archwayinto the great court where the saint's tomb, gilded and decked out withcanopies and marble, stands in the middle.
"Follow me closely," said the Pathan. "There may be bad men. Watch anywho approach you, and should one spit, I beseech your Excellency topay no heed."
The huge paved square, indeed, was thronged like a bazaar. Along the wallon the left hand booths were erected, where food and sweetmeats werebeing sold. Stone tombs dotted the enclosure; and amongst them men walkedup and down, shouting and talking. Here and there big mango and peepultrees threw a welcome shade.
The Pathan led Linforth to the right between the Chisti's tomb and theraised marble court surrounded by its marble balustrade in front of thelong mosque of Shah Jehan. Behind the tomb there were more trees, and theshrine of a dancing saint, before which dancers from Chitral were movingin and out with quick and flying steps. The Pathan led Linforth quicklythrough the groups, and though here and there a man stood in their wayand screamed insults, and here and there one walked along beside themwith a scowling face and muttered threats, no one molested them.
The Pathan turned to the right, mounted a few steps, and passed under alow stone archway. Linforth found himself upon a balcony overhanging agreat ditch between the Dargah and Taragarh Hill. He leaned forward overthe balustrade, and from every direction, opposite to him, below him,and at the ends, steps ran down to the bottom of the gulf--twisting andturning at every sort of angle, now in long lines, now narrow as astair. The place had the look of some ancient amphitheatre. And at thebottom, and a little to the right of the balcony, was the mouth of anopen spring.
"The Prince is here, your Excellency."
Linforth looked along the balcony. There were only three men standingthere, in white robes, with white turbans upon their heads. The turban ofone was hemmed with gold. There was gold, too, upon his robe.
"No," said Linforth. "He has not yet come," and even as he turned againto look down into that strange gulf of steps the man with the gold-hemmedturban changed his attitude and showed Linforth the profile of his face.
Linforth was startled.
"Is that the Prince?" he exclaimed. He saw a man, young to be sure, butolder than Shere Ali, and surely taller too. He looked more closely. Thatsmall carefully trimmed black beard might give the look of age, the longrobe add to his height. Yes, it was Shere Ali. Linforth walked along thebalcony, and as he approached, Shere Ali turned quickly towards him. Theblood rushed into his dark face; he stood staring at Linforth like a mantransfixed.
Linforth held out his hand with a smile.
"I hardly knew you again," he said.
Shere Ali did not take the hand outstretched to him; he did not move;neither did he speak. He just stood with his eyes fixed upon Linforth.But there was recognition in his eyes, and there was somethi
ng more.Linforth recalled something that Violet Oliver had told to him in thegarden at Peshawur--"Are you going to marry Linforth?" That had beenShere Ali's last question when he had parted from her upon the steps ofthe courtyard of the Fort. Linforth remembered it now as he looked intoShere Ali's face. "Here is a man who hates me," he said to himself. Andthus, for the first time since they had dined together in the mess-roomat Chatham, the two friends met.
"Surely you have not forgotten me, Shere Ali?" said Linforth, trying toforce his voice in to a note of cheery friendliness. But the attempt wasnot very successful. The look of hatred upon Shere Ali's face had diedaway, it is true. But mere impassivity had replaced it. He had agedgreatly during those months. Linforth recognised that clearly now. Hisface was haggard, his eyes sunken. He was a man, moreover. He had beenlittle more than a boy when he had dined with Linforth in the mess-roomat Chatham.
"After all," Linforth continued, and his voice now really had somethingof genuine friendliness, for he understood that Shere Ali hadsuffered--had suffered deeply; and he was inclined to forgive histemerity in proposing marriage to Violet Oliver--"after all, it is not somuch more than a year ago when we last talked together of our plans."
Shere Ali turned to the younger of the two who stood beside him and spokea few words in a tongue which Linforth did not yet understand. Theyouth--he was a youth with a soft pleasant voice, a graceful manner andsomething of the exquisite in his person--stepped smoothly forward andrepeated the words to Linforth's Pathan.
"What does he say?" asked Linforth impatiently. The Pathan translated:
"His Highness the Prince would be glad to know what your Excellency meansby interrupting him."
Linforth flushed with anger. But he had his mission to fulfil, if itcould be fulfilled.
"What's the use of making this pretence?" he said to Shere Ali. "You andI know one another well enough."
And as he ended, Shere Ali suddenly leaned over the balustrade of thebalcony. His two companions followed the direction of his eyes; and boththeir faces became alert with some expectancy. For a moment Linforthimagined that Shere Ali was merely pretending to be absorbed in what hesaw. But he, too, looked, and it grew upon him that here was some matterof importance--all three were watching in so eager a suspense.
Yet what they saw was a common enough sight in Ajmere, or in any othertown of India. The balcony was built out from a brick wall which fellsheer to the bottom of the foss. But at some little distance from the endof the balcony and at the head of the foss, a road from the town brokethe wall, and a flight of steep steps descended to the spring. The stepsdescended along the wall first of all towards the balcony, and then justbelow the end of it they turned, so that any man going down to the wellwould have his face towards the people on the balcony for half thedescent and his back towards them during the second half.
A water-carrier with an earthen jar upon his head had appeared at the topof the steps a second before Shere Ali had turned so abruptly away fromLinforth. It was this man whom the three were watching. Slowly hedescended. The steps were high and worn, smooth and slippery. He wentdown with his left hand against the wall, and the lizards basking in thesunlight scuttled into their crevices as he approached. On his right handthe ground fell in a precipice to the bottom of the gulf. The three menwatched him, and, it seemed to Linforth, with a growing excitement as heneared the turn of the steps. It was almost as though they waited for himto slip just at that turn, where a slip was most likely to occur.
Linforth laughed at the thought, but the thought suddenly gainedstrength, nay, conviction in his mind. For as the water-carrier reachedthe bend, turned in safety and went down towards the well, there was asimultaneous movement made by the three--a movement of disappointment.Shere Ali did more than merely move. He struck his hand upon thebalustrade and spoke impatiently. But he did not finish the sentence, forone of his companions looked significantly towards Linforth and hisPathan. Linforth stepped forward again.
"Shere Ali," he said, "I want to speak to you. It is important thatI should."
Shere Ali leaned his elbows on the balustrade, and gazing across the fossto the Taragarh Hill, hummed to himself a tune.
"Have you forgotten everything?" Linforth went on. He found it difficultto say what was in his mind. He seemed to be speaking to a stranger--sogreat a gulf was between them now--a gulf as wide, as impassable, as thisone at his feet between the balcony and the Taragarh Hill. "Have youforgotten that night when we sat in the doorway of the hut under theAiguilles d'Arve? I remember it very clearly. You said to me, of your ownaccord, 'We will always be friends. No man, no woman, shall come betweenus. We will work together and we will always be friends.'"
By not so much as the flicker of an eyelid did Shere Ali betray that heheard the words. Linforth sought to revive that night so vividly that heneeds must turn, needs must respond to the call, and needs must renewthe pledge.
"We sat for a long while that night, smoking our pipes on the step of thedoor. It was a dark night. We watched a planet throw its light upwardsfrom behind the amphitheatre of hills on the left, and then rise clear toview in a gap. There was a smell of hay, like an English meadow, from thehut behind us. You pledged your friendship that night. It's not so verylong ago--two years, that's all."
He came to a stop with a queer feeling of shame. He remembered the nighthimself, and always had remembered it. But he was not given to sentiment,and here he had been talking sentiment and to no purpose.
Shere Ali spoke again to his courtier, and the courtier stepped forwardmore bland than ever.
"His Highness would like to know if his Excellency is still talking, andif so, why?" he said to the Pathan, who translated it.
Linforth gave up the attempt to renew his friendship with Shere Ali. Hemust go back to Peshawur and tell Ralston that he had failed. Ralstonwould merely shrug his shoulders and express neither disappointment norsurprise. But it was a moment of bitterness to Linforth. He looked atShere Ali's indifferent face, he listened for a second or two to the tunehe still hummed, and he turned away. But he had not taken more than acouple of steps towards the entrance of the balcony when his guidetouched him cautiously upon the elbow.
Linforth stopped and looked back. The three men were once more gazing atthe steps which led down from the road to the well. And once more awater-carrier descended with his great earthen jar upon his head. Hedescended very cautiously, but as he came to the turn of the steps hisfoot slipped suddenly.
Linforth uttered a cry, but the man had not fallen. He had tottered for amoment, then he had recovered himself. But the earthen jar which hecarried on his head had fallen and been smashed to atoms.
Again the three made a simultaneous movement, but this time it was amovement of joy. Again an exclamation burst from Shere Ali's lips, butnow it was a cry of triumph.
He stood erect, and at once he turned to go. As he turned he metLinforth's gaze. All expression died out of his face, but he spoke to hisyoung courtier, who fluttered forward sniggering with amusement.
"His Highness would like to know if his Excellency is interested in aRoad. His Highness thinks it a damn-fool road. His Highness much regretsthat he cannot even let it go beyond Kohara. His Highness wishes hisExcellency good-morning."
Linforth made no answer to the gibe. He passed out into the courtyard,and from the courtyard through the archway into the grain-market.Opposite to him at the end of the street, a grass hill, with the chalkshowing at one bare spot on the side of it, ridged up against the skycuriously like a fragment of the Sussex Downs. Linforth wondered whetherShere Ali had ever noticed the resemblance, and whether some recollectionof the summer which he had spent at Poynings had ever struck poignantlyhome as he had stood upon these steps. Or were all these memories quitedead within his breast?
In one respect Shere Ali was wrong. The Road would go on--now. Linforthhad done his best to hinder it, as Ralston had bidden him to do, but hehad failed, and the Road would go on to the foot of the Hindu Kush. OldAndrew Linforth's w
ords came back to his mind:
"Governments will try to stop it; but the power of the Road will begreater than the power of any Government. It will wind through valleys sodeep that the day's sunshine is gone within the hour. It will be carriedin galleries along the faces of the mountains, and for eight months ofthe year sections of it will be buried deep in snow. Yet it will befinished."
How rightly Andrew Linforth had judged! But Dick for once felt no joy inthe accuracy of the old man's forecast. He walked back through the citysilent and with a heavy heart. He had counted more than he had thoughtupon Shere Ali's co-operation. His friendship for Shere Ali had growninto a greater and a deeper force than he had ever imagined it until thismoment to be. He stopped with a sense of weariness and disillusionment,and then walked on again. The Road would never again be quite the bright,inspiring thing which it had been. The dream had a shadow upon it. In theEton and Oxford days he had given and given and given so much of himselfto Shere Ali that he could not now lightly and easily lose him altogetherout of his life. Yet he must so lose him, and even then that was not allthe truth. For they would be enemies, Shere Ali would be ruined and castout, and his ruin would be the opportunity of the Road.
He turned quickly to his companion.
"What was it that the Prince said," he asked, "when the first of thosewater-carriers came down the steps and did not slip? He beat his handsupon the balustrade of the balcony and cried out some words. It seemed tome that his companion warned him of your presence, and that he stoppedwith the sentence half spoken."
"That is the truth," Linforth's guide replied. "The Prince cried out inanger, 'How long must we wait?'"
Linforth nodded his head.
"He looked for the pitcher to fall and it did not fall," he said. "Thebreaking of the pitcher was to be a sign."
"And the sign was given. Do not forget that, your Excellency. The signwas given."
But what did the sign portend? Linforth puzzled his brains vainly overthat problem. He had not the knowledge by which a man might cipher outthe intrigues of the hill-folk beyond the Frontier. Did the breaking ofthe pitcher mean that some definite thing had been done in Chiltistan,some breaking of the British power? They might look upon the _Raj_ as aheavy burden on their heads, like an earthen pitcher and as easilybroken. Ralston would know.
"You must travel back to Peshawur to-night," said Linforth. "Gostraight to his Excellency the Chief Commissioner and tell him all thatyou saw upon the balcony and all that you heard. If any man caninterpret it, it will be he. Meanwhile, show me where the Prince ShereAli lodges in Ajmere."
The policeman led Linforth to a tall house which closed in at one end ashort and narrow street.
"It is here," he said.
"Very well," said Linforth, "I will seek out the Prince again. I willstay in Ajmere and try by some way or another to have talk with him."
But again Linforth was to fail. He stayed for some days in Ajmere, butcould never gain admittance to the house. He was put off with thepolitest of excuses, delivered with every appearance of deep regret. Nowhis Highness was unwell and could see no one but his physician. Atanother time he was better--so much better, indeed, that he was givingthanks to Allah for the restoration of his health in the Mosque of ShahJehan. Linforth could not reach him, nor did he ever see him in thestreets of Ajmere.
He stayed for a week, and then coming to the house one morning he foundit shuttered. He knocked upon the door, but no one answered his summons;all the reply he got was the melancholy echo of an empty house.
A Babu from the Customs Office, who was passing at the moment, stoppedand volunteered information.
"There is no one there, Mister," he said gravely. "All have skedaddled toother places."
"The Prince Shere Ali, too?" asked Linforth.
The Babu laughed contemptuously at the title.
"Oho, the Prince! The Prince went away a week ago."
Linforth turned in surprise.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
The Babu told him the very day on which Shere Ali had gone from Ajmere.It was on the day when the pitcher had fallen on the steps which led downto the well. Linforth had been tricked by the smiling courtier like anyschoolboy.
"Whither did the Prince go?"
The Babu shrugged his shoulders.
"How should I know? They are not of my people, these poor ignoranthill-folk."
He went on his way. Linforth was left with the assurance that now,indeed, he had really failed. He took the train that night back toPeshawur.