_ PHASE III. PISGAH HEIGHTS
CHAPTER VIII
"The forces that fashion, the hands that mould,
Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;--
* * * * *
They are gods no more, but their spells remain."
--SIR ALFRED LYALL.
Dewali night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of miracle....
For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning out clay chiraghs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai Lakshmi--a compound of Minerva and Ceres,--worshipped in the living gold of fire and the dead gold of minted coin.
And all day long there ebbed and flowed through the temple doors a rainbow-coloured stream of worshippers; while the dust-laden air vibrated with jangle of metal bells, wail of conches and raucous clamour of crows. Within doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells. Young or old, none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this auspicious day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and plastered with fresh cow dung, in honour of Vishnu's bride; and gayest among festal shop-fronts was the dazzling array of toys. For the Feast of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewildering variety; in sugar, in paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or gorgeously painted with colours such as never were on ox or elephant, fish or bird.
What matter? To the uncritical Eastern eye, colour is all.
And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was spilled abroad in the wide main streets that are an arresting feature of Jaipur. Men, women, and children, in gala turbans and gala draperies, laughing and talking at full pitch of their lungs; gala elephants sheathed in cloth of gold, their trunks and foreheads patterned in divers colours; scarlet outriders clearing a pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to and fro like a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate, and apricot, copper and flame colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Lakshman told Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay.
Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with his grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an airy minaret on the roof top. Then home to the Residency for tea, only to insist on carrying them all back in the car--Thea, Aruna, Flossie, and the children, who must have their share of strange sweets and toys, if only 'for luck,' the watchword of Dewali.
As for Aruna--to-day everything in the world seemed to hang on the frail thread of those two words. And what of to-night...?
All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence on the cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a private confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group of maidens who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate. She was other than they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a being apart. And for most of them it was little more than a 'game of play.' For her--but that she kept to herself--this symbolical act of faith, this childish appeal for a sign, was a matter of life and death. So--to her chosen angle of the tank, she would go alone; and there--unwatched, save by Dewali lights of earth and heaven--she would confide her lamp to the waters and the breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness.
But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewali crowd. In Dyan's absence, he claimed the right to accompany her, to be somewhere within hail. Having shed the Eastern protection of purdah, she must accept the Western protection of escort. And straightway there sprang an inspiration: he would wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every detail, at Sir Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed on the Delhi adventure--which his grandfather happily approved, with what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy did not even dimly guess.
At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city and finish up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace. That would be Aruna's moment for slipping away. Roy--having slipped away in advance--would rejoin her at a given spot. And then----?
The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill of his presence, conjured into one of her own people....
* * * * *
Sundown at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was an ecstasy no possible after-pain or disappointment could dim. As the flaming tint of sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck upward into the blue, buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas seemed to melt into the landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert dust.
Then--the first flickering points of fire--primrose-pale, in the half light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the East, and the little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own volition, so skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work.
From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony they ran: till vanished Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured: cupolas, arches, balconies, and temples, palace of the Maharaja and lofty Hall of the Winds--every detail faultlessly traced on darkness, in delicate, tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there illusion was shattered by garish globes of electric light, dimming the mellow radiance of thousands on thousands of modest chiraghs.
Aruna had seen many Dewali nights in her time; but never at a moment so charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed, she sat by Thea in the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite; Phyllis on her mother's knee; the others in the car on ahead--including a tourist of note--outriders before and behind, clearing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging on his feet, was lost in wonder. Roy, like Aruna, said little. Only Thea kept up a low ripple of talk with her babe....
By now, not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills, where bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coronets twinkled on bastions of the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve and line of Jai Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage, the crowd swayed and hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; intoxicated with the spirit of festival, that found an echo in Aruna's heart and rioted in her veins. To-night she felt merged in India, Eastern to the core; capable, almost, of wondering--could she put it away from her, even at the bidding of Roy----?
On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the Man Sagar Lake, where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and gleamed, knee deep in the darkling water; where jackals prowled and cranes nested and muggers dozed unheeding. At a point of vantage above the Lake, they halted and sat there awhile in darkness--a group of silent shadows. Words did not meet the case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered no sound: for she had fallen asleep.
Aruna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in a dream....
Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's coat-sleeve. He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect, and was probably not aware of his trespassing arm; for he did not shift it till he had gazed his fill. Then with a long sigh, he leaned back again. But Aruna's dream was shattered by sensations too startingly real to be ignored....
Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she caught his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he know----? Did he ever feel--like that?
Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her.
"I'll be quick as lightning--don't stir till I come," he said--and vanished.
* * * * *
Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands. She had brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed in a cardboard box. Mrs Leigh--angel of goodness--had lit the wick with her own hand--'for luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, she had no idea. But who could resist him,--after all? Waiting alone, her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;--so changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade her go forward.
Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they passed: and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering threads of light. Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot. A little farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked.
"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they were conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge--new birth. I am only afraid it is getting a little too strong. And if anything should hinder it from crossing, then--there is no answer. Suspense--all the time. But--we will hope. Now, please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this building, few will notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But don't--go too far."
"Trust me. And--see here, Aruna, don't make too much of it--either way. Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immortals----"
"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!"
Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she plays up--royally."
And with a formal salute, he left her.
Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her cockle-shell with its blown wisp of light.
"Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart," she addressed it, just above her breath, "sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate awaits me now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?"
With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that would be best, alike, for her and Roy.
But curiosity was claimant. She must see.... She must know....
Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all her conscious being centred on the adventuring flame that swayed and curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The effect of her concentration was almost hypnotic: as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at her very life....
Footsteps passed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached her brain. The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost capsized her chiragh. It dipped--it vanished....
With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her arm and pulled her backward--just in time.
"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water--for the precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is--safe...!"
"But what of
you, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of your Dewali lamp?"
The words were spoken in the vernacular--and not in the voice of Roy. Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height, bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved beads that hung almost to his waist.
"I am most grateful,
guru-ji,"[13] she murmured demurely, also in the vernacular; and stood so--shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little lamp with your blessing?"
His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen, lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic.
"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus boldly and alone...."
The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she answered truthfully: "I am not as those others,
guru-ji. I am--England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste."
He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no
guru; but like yourself, England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the Mother----"
It was her turn to start and scrutinise him--discreetly. "Yet you make pretence of holiness----?"
"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons--and daughters. These clothes are passports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers--just for this superstition of Dewali--not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.--Was it Oxford?"
"Yes."
"Is it possible----?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly, almost boldly.
"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh Bahadur----?"
At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him. His look and tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not call for Roy, who was playing his part too scrupulously well.
"Go----! Leave me!" she commanded desperately, louder than she had spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But--making
pujah[14]--I wish to be alone----"
His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her.
"Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened--like yourself...?"
He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure had sauntered into view.
Aruna sprang towards it--zenana airs forgotten. "Oh, Roy----!"
"Did you call, Aruna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you. This fellow bothering you----? I'll settle him----" Turning, he said politely: "My cousin is here, under my escort, to make
pujah, guru-ji. She wishes to be alone."
"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this time be permanently secure from interruption--in the belly of a
mugger,"[15] retorted the supposed ascetic--in English.
Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakable.
"Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint?
You are no
guru."
"And
you are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading--as a lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair, with play-acting--about cousins. In my capacity of
guru I feel compelled to warn this accomplished young lady that her fine cavalier is only a sham Rajput of British extraction...."
"
Sham--curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia--on one side----" The instant he had spoken, he saw his folly.
"Oho--half-caste only!"
An oath and a threatening forward move, impelled the speaker to an undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that. The fellow was beneath contempt.
"I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur in the conjunction; and I take no insults from any man...." He made another forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing Chandranath jerk backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we are grateful to you. But I told you, she wishes to be alone. So I must ask you to move on elsewhere."
"Oh, as to that ... I have no violent predilection for your society."
And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no one but himself, Roy kept pace alongside--"For all the world," he thought, "like Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to go for him; but quite prepared if need be!"
When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandranath fired a parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you can marry her, because diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your veins. But here in India, you will find forces too powerful militating against it."
But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-control. "The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in the habit of discussing their womenfolk with strangers," said he--and flattered himself he had very neatly secured the last word.
* * * * *
As for Aruna--left alone--she leaned again on the low abutment, but the hypnotic spell was broken: only acute anxiety remained. For the lamp of her life had made scant progress; and now she was aware of a disturbance in the water, little ominous whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently there emerged a long shadow, like a black expanse of rock:--unmistakably a mugger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand that had seized her in the nick of time. The next--she wrung her own together with a low, shivering cry.
For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chiragh rose with it--and so remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the horny shoulder; tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had her answer--or no answer. The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; but it would never, now, reach the farther shore. Mai Lakshmi's face was turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair....
She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the shadow--not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ...
It was only a few minutes--though it seemed an age--before she felt Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender beneath its surface note of command.
"Aruna--what the--get up. Don't cry like that--you mustn't...."
She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, battling with her sobs.
"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming to disregard her effort at control.
"There--over there. Look ... the mugger!"
"Mugger?" He sighted it. "Well, I'm--the thieving brute!" Humour lurked in his voice--more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting. Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears trembled into laughter; laughter into tears. The impact unsteadied her afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs.
"Aruna--my
dear--you mustn't, I tell you...." More tenderness now than command.
She held her breath--pain shot through with sudden ecstasy. For in speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised nerves.
"Listen, Aruna--and don't cry," he said, low and urgently. "No answer always leaves room for hope. And you shall have your Dyan, I promise you. I won't come back without him. I can't say fairer than that. So now----" his hand closed on her shoulder. "Give over--breaking your poor heart!"
Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only to-night--I would rather--not the Palace dinner, the fireworks. I would rather go home with Miss Mills and the children...."
"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole evening--for us both. No, you don't. Remember--you are Rajputni: not to be hag-ridden by a mere chiragh and a thieving mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me in the face--and promise."
As usual, he was irresistible. What matter Mai Lakshmi's indifference--since he cared so much? "Faithfully--I promise, Roy," she said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into his eyes--that seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into depths beyond depths.
For one incredible moment, his face moved a little nearer to hers--paused, as if irresolute, and withdrew.
So brief was the instant, so slight the movement, that she almost doubted her senses. But her inmost being knew--and ached, without shyness or shame, for the kiss withheld....
"You've the grit--I knew it," Roy said at last, in the level voice that had puzzled her earlier in the evening: and his hand slid from her shoulder. "Come now--we've been too long. Thea will be wondering...."
He turned; and she moved beside him, walking in a dream.
"Did you say much, before I came?" he asked, after a pause, "to that fellow--Chandranath?"
"I spoke a little--thinking him a
guru----" She paused. The name woke a chord of memory. "Chandranath," she repeated, "that is the name they said----"
"
Who?" Roy asked sharply, coming out of his own dream.
"Mataji and the widowed Aunt----"
"What do they know of him?"
"How can I tell? I think it was--through our
guru, he made offer of marriage--for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was wondering--could it be the same----?"
"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious. "If it is--you can tell them I
won't have it. Grandfather would be furious. He ought to know--and Dyan. Your menfolk don't seem to get a look in."
"Not much--with marrying arrangements. That is for women and priests. But--for now, I am safe, with Mrs Leigh----"
"And you'll stay safe--as far as he's concerned. You see, I know the fellow. He's the man I slanged in the City that day. Besides--at school----"
He unfolded the tale of St Rupert's; and she listened, amazed.
"So don't worry over that," he commanded, in his kind elder-brotherly tone. "As for your poor little chiragh, for goodness' sake don't let it get on your nerves."
She sighed--knowing it would; yet longing to be worthy of him. It seemed he understood, for his hand closed lightly on her arm.
"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding your head an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life."
"Is it? I never thought----" she murmured, puzzled, but impressed. And after that, things somehow seemed easier than she had thought possible over there, by the tank.
Secure, under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they were royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join them at table without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared--grey-bearded, courtly and extensively jewelled--supported by Sir Lakshman, the prince, and a few privileged notables; whereupon they all migrated to the Palace roof for the grand display of fireworks--fitting climax to the Feast of Lights.
Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Aruna's side. They said little, but his presence wrapped her round with a sense of companionship more intimate than she had yet felt even in their happiest times together. While rocket after rocket soared and curved and blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze reverted persistently to the outline of a man's head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky....
Still later on, when he bade her good-night in the Residency drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned queen. It certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when she had crouched in the shadows praying vain prayers--shedding vain tears....
If only one could keep it up----!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 13: Holy man.]
[Footnote 14: Prayer.]
[Footnote 15: Crocodile.] _