Indian Tales by Rudyard Kipling 35 страница

"The _hekka_-man knew there was somethin' out av the common in the air. He

grinned an' sez, '_Bote achee!_ I goin' damn fast.' I prayed that the

Kernel's b'roosh wudn't arrive till me darlin' Benira by the grace av God

was undher weigh. The little man puts his thruck into the _hekka_ an'

scuttles in like a fat guinea-pig; niver offerin' us the price av a dhrink

for our services in helpin' him home, 'He's off to the Padsahi _jhil_,'

sez I to the others."

Ortheris took up the tale--

"Jist then, little Buldoo kim up, 'oo was the son of one of the Artillery

grooms--'e would 'av made a 'evinly newspaper-boy in London, bein' sharp

an' fly to all manner o' games, 'E 'ad bin watchin' us puttin' Mister

Benhira into 'is temporary baroush, an' 'e sez, 'What _'ave_ you been a

doin' of, _Sahibs?_' sez 'e. Learoyd 'e caught 'im by the ear an 'e sez"--

"Ah says,' went on Learoyd, 'Young mon, that mon's gooin' to have t' goons

out o' Thursday--to-morrow--an' thot's more work for you, young mon. Now,

sitha, tak' a _tat_ an' a _lookri,_ an' ride tha domdest to t' Padsahi

Jhil. Cotch thot there _hekka_, and tell t' driver iv your lingo thot

you've coorn to tak' his place. T' _Sahib_ doesn't speak t' _bat_, an'

he's a little mon. Drive t' _hekka_ into t' Padsahi Jhil into t' waiter.

Leave t' _Sahib_ theer an' roon hoam; an' here's a rupee for tha,'"

Then Mulvaney and Ortheris spoke together in alternate fragments: Mulvaney

leading [You must pick out the two speakers as best you can]:--"He was a

knowin' little divil was Bhuldoo,--'e sez _bote achee_ an' cuts--wid a

wink in his oi--but _Hi_ sez there's money to be made--an' I wanted to see

the ind av the campaign--so _Hi_ says we'll double hout to the Padsahi

Jhil--an' save the little man from bein' dacoited by the murtherin'

Bhuldoo--an' turn hup like reskooers in a Vic'oria Melodrama-so we doubled

for the _jhil_, an' prisintly there was the divil av a hurroosh behind us

an' three bhoys on grasscuts' ponies come by, poundin' along for the dear

life--s'elp me Bob, hif Buldoo 'adn't raised a rig'lar _harmy_ of

decoits--to do the job in shtile. An' we ran, an' they ran, shplittin'

with laughin', till we gets near the _jhil_--and 'ears sounds of distress

floatin' molloncolly on the hevenin' hair." [Ortheris was growing poetical

under the influence of the beer. The duet recommenced: Mulvaney leading

again.]

"Thin we heard Bhuldoo, the dacoit, shoutin' to the _hekka_ man, an' wan

of the young divils brought his stick down on the top av the

_hekka_-cover, an' Benira Thrigg inside howled 'Murther an' Death.' Buldoo

takes the reins and dhrives like mad for the _jhil_, havin' dishpersed the

_hekka_-dhriver--'oo cum up to us an' 'e sez, sez 'e, 'That _Sahib's_ nigh

mad with funk! Wot devil's work 'ave you led me into?'--'Hall right,' sez

we, 'you catch that there pony an' come along. This _Sahib's_ been

decoited, an' we're going to resky 'im!' Says the driver, 'Decoits! Wot

decoits? That's Buldoo the _budmash_'--'Bhuldoo be shot!' sez we, ''Tis a

woild dissolute Pathan frum the hills. There's about eight av thim

coercin' the _Sahib_. You remimber that an you'll get another rupee!' Thin

we heard the _whop-whop-whop_ av the _hekka_ turnin' over, an' a splash av

water an' the voice av Benira Thrigg callin' upon God to forgive his

sins--an' Buldoo an' 'is friends squotterin' in the water like boys in the

Serpentine."

Here the Three Musketeers retired simultaneously into the beer.

"Well? What came next?" said I.

"Fwhat nex'?" answered Mulvaney, wiping his mouth. "Wud ye let three bould

sodger-bhoys lave the ornamint av the House av Lords to be dhrowned an'

dacoited in a _jhil?_ We formed line av quarther-column an' we discinded

upon the inimy. For the better part av tin minutes you could not hear

yerself spake. The _tattoo_ was screamin' in chune wid Benira Thrigg an'

Bhuldoo's army, an' the shticks was whistlin' roun' the _hekka_, an'

Orth'ris was beatin' the _hekka_-cover wid his fistes, an' Learoyd

yellin', 'Look out for their knives!' an' me cuttin' into the dark, right

an' lef', dishpersin' arrmy corps av Pathans. Holy Mother av Moses! 'twas

more disp'rit than Ahmid Kheyl wid Maiwund thrown in. Afther a while

Bhuldoo an' his bhoys flees. Have ye iver seen a rale live Lord thryin' to

hide his nobility undher a fut an' a half av brown swamp-wather? Tis the

livin' image av a water-carrier's goatskin wid the shivers. It tuk toime

to pershuade me frind Benira he was not disimbowilled: an' more toime to

get out the _hekka_. The dhriver come up afther the battle, swearin' he

tuk a hand in repulsin' the inimy. Benira was sick wid the fear. We

escorted him back, very slow, to cantonmints, for that an' the chill to

soak into him. It suk! Glory be to the Rigimintil Saint, but it suk to the

marrow av Lord Benira Thrigg!"

Here Ortheris, slowly, with immense pride--"'E sez, 'You har my noble

preservers,' sez 'e. 'You har a _h_onor to the British Harmy,' sez 'e.

With that e' describes the hawful band of dacoits wot set on 'im. There

was about forty of 'em an' 'e was hoverpowered by numbers, so 'e was; but

'e never lorst 'is presence of mind, so 'e didn't. 'E guv the

_hekka_-driver five rupees for 'is noble assistance, an' 'e said 'e would

see to us after 'e 'ad spoken to the Kernul. For we was a _h_onor to the

Regiment, we was."

"An' we three," said Mulvaney, with a seraphic smile, "have dhrawn the

par-ti-cu-lar attinshin av Bobs Bahadur more than wanst. But he's a rale

good little man is Bobs. Go on, Orth'ris, my son."

"Then we leaves 'im at the Kernul's 'ouse, werry sick, an' we cuts hover

to B Comp'ny barrick an' we sez we 'ave saved Benira from a bloody doom,

an' the chances was agin there bein' p'raid on Thursday. About ten minutes

later come three envelicks, one for each of us. S'elp me Bob, if the old

bloke 'adn't guv us a fiver apiece--sixty-four rupees in the bazar! On

Thursday 'e was in 'orspital recoverin' from 'is sanguinary encounter with

a gang of Pathans, an' B Comp'ny was drinkin' 'emselves into Clink by

squads. So there never was no Thursday p'raid. But the Kernal, when 'e

'eard of our galliant conduct, 'e sez, 'Hi know there's been some devilry

somewheres,' sez 'e, 'but I can't bring it 'ome to you three.'"

"An' my privit imprisshin is," said Mulvaney, getting off the bar and

turning his glass upside down, "that, av they had known they wudn't have

brought ut home. 'Tis flyin' in the face, firstly av Nature, secon' av the

Rig'lations, an' third the will av Terence Mulvaney, to hold p'rades av

Thursdays."

"Good, ma son!" said Learoyd; "but, young mon, what's t' notebook for?"

"'Let be," said Mulvaney; "this time next month we're in the _Sherapis_.

'Tis immortial fame the gentleman's goin' to give us. But kape it dhark

till we're out av the range av me little frind Bobs Bahadur."

And I have obeyed Mulvaney's order.

BEYOND THE PALE

Love heeds not caste nor sleep a broken bed. I went in search of love and

lost myself.--_Hindu Proverb_.

A man should, whatever happens, keep to his own caste, race and breed. Let

the White go to the White and the Black to the Black. Then, whatever

trouble falls is in the ordinary course of things--neither sudden, alien

nor unexpected.

This is the story of a man who wilfully stepped beyond the safe limits of

decent everyday society, and paid for it heavily.

He knew too much in the first instance; and he saw too much in the second.

He took too deep an interest in native life; but he will never do so

again.

Deep away in the heart of the City, behind Jitha Megji's _bustee_, lies

Amir Nath's Gully, which ends in a dead-wall pierced by one grated window.

At the head of the Gully is a big cow-byre, and the walls on either side

of the Gully are without windows. Neither Suchet Singh nor Gaur Chand

approve of their womenfolk looking into the world. If Durga Charan had

been of their opinion, he would have been a happier man to-day, and little

Bisesa would have been able to knead her own bread. Her room looked out

through the grated window into the narrow dark Gully where the sun never

came and where the buffaloes wallowed in the blue slime. She was a widow,

about fifteen years old, and she prayed the Gods, day and night, to send

her a lover; for she did not approve of living alone.

One day, the man--Trejago his name was--came into Amir Nath's Gully on an

aimless wandering; and, after he had passed the buffaloes, stumbled over a

big heap of cattle-food.

Then he saw that the Gully ended in a trap, and heard a little laugh from

behind the grated window. It was a pretty little laugh, and Trejago,

knowing that, for all practical purposes, the old _Arabian Nights_ are

good guides, went forward to the window, and whispered that verse of "The

Love Song of Har Dyal" which begins:

Can a man stand upright in the face of the naked Sun;

or a Lover in the Presence of his Beloved?

If my feet fail me, O Heart of my Heart, am I to blame,

being blinded by the glimpse of your beauty?

There came the faint _tchink_ of a woman's bracelets from behind the

grating, and a little voice went on with the song at the fifth verse:

Alas! alas! Can the Moon tell the Lotus of her love

when the Gate of Heaven is shut and the clouds gather for the rains?

They have taken my Beloved, and driven her

with the pack-horses to the North.

There are iron chains on the feet that were set on my heart.

Call to the bowmen to make ready--

The voice stopped suddenly, and Trejago walked out of Amir Nath's Gully,

wondering who in the world could have capped "The Love Song of Har Dyal"

so neatly.

Next morning, as he was driving to office, an old woman threw a packet

into his dog-cart. In the packet was the half of a broken glass-bangle,

one flower of the blood-red _dhak_, a pinch of _bhusa_ or cattle-food, and

eleven cardamoms. That packet was a letter--not a clumsy compromising

letter, but an innocent unintelligible lover's epistle.

Trejago knew far too much about these things, as I have said. No

Englishman should be able to translate object-letters. But Trejago spread

all the trifles on the lid of his office-box and began to puzzle them out.

A broken glass-bangle stands for a Hindu widow all India over; because,

when her husband dies, a woman's bracelets are broken on her wrists.

Trejago saw the meaning of the little bit of the glass. The flower of the

_dhak_ means diversely "desire," "come," "write," or "danger," according

to the other things with it. One cardamom means "jealousy"; but when any

article is duplicated in an object-letter, it loses its symbolic meaning

and stands merely for one of a number indicating time, or, if incense,

curds, or saffron be sent also, place. The message ran then--"A

widow--_dhak_ flower and _bhusa_,--at eleven o'clock." The pinch of

_bhusa_ enlightened Trejago. He saw--this kind of letter leaves much to

instinctive knowledge--that the _bhusa_ referred to the big heap of

cattle-food over which he had fallen in Amir Nath's Gully, and that the

message must come from the person behind the grating; she being a widow.

So the message ran then--"A widow, in the Gully in which is the heap of

_bhusa_, desires you to come at eleven o'clock."

Trejago threw all the rubbish into the fireplace and laughed. He knew that

men in the East do not make love under windows at eleven in the forenoon,

nor do women fix appointments a week in advance. So he went, that very

night at eleven, into Amir Nath's Gully, clad in a _boorka_, which cloaks

a man as well as a woman. Directly the gongs of the City made the hour,

the little voice behind the grating took up "The Love Song of Har Dyal" at

the verse where the Panthan girl calls upon Har Dyal to return. The song

is really pretty in the Vernacular. In English you miss the wail of it. It

runs something like this--

Alone upon the housetops, to the North

I turn and watch the lightning in the sky,--

The glamour of thy footsteps in the North,

_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!_

Below my feet the still bazar is laid

Far, far, below the weary camels lie,--

The camels and the captives of thy raid.

_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!_

My father's wife is old and harsh with years,

And drudge of all my father's house am I.--

My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears,

_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!_

As the song stopped, Trejago stepped up under the grating and

whispered--"I am here."

Bisesa was good to look upon.

That night was the beginning of many strange things, and of a double life

so wild that Trejago to-day sometimes wonders if it were not all a dream.

Bisesa, or her old handmaiden who had thrown the object-letter, had

detached the heavy grating from the brick-work of the wall; so that the

window slid inside, leaving only a square of raw masonry into which an

active man might climb.

In the daytime, Trejago drove through his routine of office-work, or put

on his calling-clothes and called on the ladies of the Station; wondering

how long they would know him if they knew of poor little Bisesa. At night,

when all the City was still, came the walk under the evil-smelling

_boorka_, the patrol through Jitha Megji's _bustee_, the quick turn into

Amir Nath's Gully between the sleeping cattle and the dead walls, and

then, last of all, Bisesa, and the deep, even breathing of the old woman

who slept outside the door of the bare little room that Durga Charan

allotted to his sister's daughter. Who or what Durga Charan was, Trejago

never inquired; and why in the world he was not discovered and knifed

never occurred to him till his madness was over, and Bisesa... But this

comes later.

Bisesa was an endless delight to Trejago. She was as ignorant as a bird;

and her distorted versions of the rumors from the outside world that had

reached her in her room, amused Trejago almost as much as her lisping

attempts to pronounce his name--"Christopher." The first syllable was

always more than she could manage, and she made funny little gestures with

her roseleaf hands, as one throwing the name away, and then, kneeling

before Trejago, asked him, exactly as an Englishwoman would do, if he were

sure he loved her. Trejago swore that he loved her more than any one else

in the world. Which was true.

After a month of this folly, the exigencies of his other life compelled

Trejago to be especially attentive to a lady of his acquaintance. You may

take it for a fact that anything of this kind is not only noticed and

discussed by a man's own race but by some hundred and fifty natives as

well. Trejago had to walk with this lady and talk to her at the

Band-stand, and once or twice to drive with her; never for an instant

dreaming that this would affect his dearer, out-of-the-way life. But the

news flew, in the usual mysterious fashion, from mouth to mouth, till

Bisesa's duenna heard of it and told Bisesa. The child was so troubled

that she did the household work evilly, and was beaten by Durga Charan's

wife in consequence.

A week later, Bisesa taxed Trejago with the flirtation. She understood no

gradations and spoke openly. Trejago laughed and Bisesa stamped her little

feet--little feet, light as marigold flowers, that could lie in the palm

of a man's one hand.

Much that is written about Oriental passion and impulsiveness is

exaggerated and compiled at second-hand, but a little of it is true; and

when an Englishman finds that little, it is quite as startling as any

passion in his own proper life. Bisesa raged and stormed, and finally

threatened to kill herself if Trejago did not at once drop the alien

_Memsahib_ who had come between them. Trejago tried to explain, and to

show her that she did not understand these things from a Western

standpoint. Bisesa drew herself up, and said simply--

"I do not. I know only this--it is not good that I should have made you

dearer than my own heart to me, _Sahib_. You are an Englishman. I am only

a black girl"--she was fairer than bar-gold in the Mint,--"and the widow

of a black man."

Then she sobbed and said--"But on my soul and my Mother's soul, I love

you. There shall no harm come to you, whatever happens to me."

Trejago argued with the child, and tried to soothe her, but she seemed

quite unreasonably disturbed. Nothing would satisfy her save that all

relations between them should end. He was to go away at once. And he went.

As he dropped out of the window, she kissed his forehead twice, and he

walked home wondering.

A week, and then three weeks, passed without a sign from Bisesa. Trejago,

thinking that the rupture had lasted quite long enough, went down to Amir

Nath's Gully for the fifth time in the three weeks, hoping that his rap at

the sill of the shifting grating would be answered. He was not

disappointed.

There was a young moon, and one stream of light fell down into Amir Nath's

Gully, and struck the grating which was drawn away as he knocked. From the

black dark, Bisesa held out her arms into the moonlight. Both hands had

been cut off at the wrists, and the stumps were nearly healed.

Then, as Bisesa bowed her head between her arms and sobbed, some one in

the room grunted like a wild beast, and something sharp--knife, sword, or

spear,--thrust at Trejago in his _boorka_. The stroke missed his body, but

cut into one of the muscles of the groin, and he limped slightly from the

wound for the rest of his days.

The grating went into its place. There was no sign whatever from inside

the house,--nothing but the moonlight strip on the high wall, and the

blackness of Amir Nath's Gully behind.

The next thing Trejago remembers, after raging and shouting like a madman

between those pitiless walls, is that he found himself near the river as

the dawn was breaking, threw away his _boorka_ and went home bareheaded.

*

*

*

*

*

What was the tragedy--whether Bisesa had, in a fit of causeless despair,

told everything, or the intrigue had been discovered and she tortured to

tell; whether Durga Charan knew his name and what became of

Bisesa--Trejago does not know to this day. Something horrible had

happened, and the thought of what it must have been, comes upon Trejago in

the night now and again, and keeps him company till the morning. One

special feature of the case is that he does not know where lies the front

of Durga Charan's house. It may open on to a courtyard common to two or

more houses, or it may lie behind any one of the gates of Jitha Megji's

_bustee_. Trejago cannot tell. He cannot get Bisesa--poor little

Bisesa--back again. He has lost her in the City where each man's house is

as guarded and as unknowable as the grave; and the grating that opens into

Amir Nath's Gully has been walled up.

But Trejago pays his calls regularly, and is reckoned a very decent sort

of man.

There is nothing peculiar about him, except a slight stiffness, caused by

a riding-strain, in the right leg.

THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE

Hit a man an' help a woman, an' ye can't be far wrong anyways.--_Maxims of

Private Mulvaney._

The Inexpressibles gave a ball. They borrowed a seven-pounder from the

Gunners, and wreathed it with laurels, and made the dancing-floor

plate-glass and provided a supper, the like of which had never been eaten

before, and set two sentries at the door of the room to hold the trays of

programme-cards. My friend, Private Mulvaney, was one of the sentries,

because he was the tallest man in the regiment. When the dance was fairly

started the sentries were released, and Private Mulvaney went to curry

favor with the Mess Sergeant in charge of the supper. Whether the Mess

Sergeant gave or Mulvaney took, I cannot say. All that I am certain of is

that, at supper-time, I found Mulvaney with Private Ortheris, two-thirds

of a ham, a loaf of bread, half a _pвtй-de-foie-gras_, and two magnums of

champagne, sitting on the roof of my carriage. As I came up I heard him

saying--

"Praise be a danst doesn't come as often as Ord'ly-room, or, by this an'

that, Orth'ris, me son, I wud be the dishgrace av the rig'mint instid av

the brightest jool in uts crown."

"_Hand_ the Colonel's pet noosance," said Ortheris, "But wot makes you

curse your rations? This 'ere fizzy stuff's good enough."

"Stuff, ye oncivilized pagin! 'Tis champagne we're dhrinkin' now. 'Tisn't

that I am set ag'in. 'Tis this quare stuff wid the little bits av black

leather in it. I misdoubt I will be distressin'ly sick wid it in the

mornin'. Fwhat is ut?"

"Goose liver," I said, climbing on the top of the carriage, for I knew

that it was better to sit out with Mulvaney than to dance many dances.

"Goose liver is ut?" said Mulvaney. "Faith, I'm thinkin' thim that makes

it wud do betther to cut up the Colonel. He carries a power av liver

undher his right arrum whin the days are warm an' the nights chill. He wud

give thim tons an' tons av liver. 'Tis he sez so. 'I'm all liver to-day,'

sez he; an' wid that he ordhers me ten days C.B. for as moild a dhrink as

iver a good sodger took betune his teeth."

"That was when 'e wanted for to wash 'isself in the Fort Ditch," Ortheris

explained. "Said there was too much beer in the Barrack water-butts for a

God-fearing man. You was lucky in gettin' orf with wot you did, Mulvaney."

"Say you so? Now I'm pershuaded I was cruel hard trated, seein' fwhat I've

done for the likes av him in the days whin my eyes were wider opin than

they are now. Man alive, for the Colonel to whip _me_ on the peg in that

way! Me that have saved the repitation av a ten times better man than him!

Twas ne-farious--an' that manes a power av evil!"

"Never mind the nefariousness," I said. "Whose reputation did you save?"

"More's the pity, 'twasn't my own, but I tuk more trouble wid ut than av

ut was. 'Twas just my way, messin' wid fwhat was no business av mine. Hear

now!" He settled himself at ease on the top of the carriage. "I'll tell

you all about ut. Av coorse I will name no names, for there's wan that's

an orf'cer's lady now, that was in ut, and no more will I name places, for

a man is thracked by a place."

"Eyah!" said Ortheris, lazily, "but this is a mixed story wot's comin'."

"Wanst upon a time, as the childer-books say, I was a recruity."

"Was you though?" said Ortheris; "now that's extryordinary!"

"Orth'ris," said Mulvaney, "av you opin thim lips av yours again, I will,

savin' your presince, sorr, take you by the slack av your trousers an'

heave you."

"I'm mum," said Ortheris. "Wot 'appened when you was a recruity?"

"I was a betther recruity than you iver was or will be, but that's neither

here nor there. Thin I became a man, an' the divil of a man I was fifteen

years ago. They called me Buck Mulvaney in thim days, an', begad, I tuk a

woman's eye. I did that! Ortheris, ye scrub, fwhat are ye sniggerin' at?

Do you misdoubt me?"

"Devil a doubt!" said Ortheris; "but I've 'eard summat like that before!"

Mulvaney dismissed the impertinence with a lofty wave of his hand and

continued--

"An' the orf'cers av the rig'mint I was in in thim days _was_

orfcers--gran' men, wid a manner on 'em, an' a way wid 'em such as is not

made these days--all but wan--wan o' the capt'ns. A bad dhrill, a wake

voice, an' a limp leg--thim three things are the signs av a bad man. You

bear that in your mind, Orth'ris, me son.

"An' the Colonel av the rig'mint had a daughter--wan av thim lamblike,

bleatin', pick-me-up-an'-carry-me-or-I'll-die gurls such as was made for

the natural prey av men like the Capt'n, who was iverlastin' payin' coort

to her, though the Colonel he said time an' over, 'Kape out av the brute's

way, my dear.' But he niver had the heart for to send her away from the

throuble, bein' as he was a widower, an' she their wan child."

"Stop a minute, Mulvaney," said I; "how in the world did you come to know

these things?"

"How did I come?" said Mulvaney, with a scornful grunt; "bekaze I'm turned

durin' the Quane's pleasure to a lump av wood, lookin' out straight

forninst me, wid a--a--candelabbrum in my hand, for you to pick your cards

out av, must I not see nor feel? Av coorse I du! Up my back, an' in my

boots, an' in the short hair av the neck--that's where I kape my eyes whim

I'm on duty an' the reg'lar wans are fixed. Know! Take my word for it,

sorr, ivrything an' a great dale more is known in a rig'mint; or fwhat wud

be the use av a Mess Sargint, or a Sargint's wife doin' wet-nurse to the

Major's baby? To reshume. He was a bad dhrill was this Capt'n--a rotten

bad dhrill--an' whin first I ran me eye over him, I sez to myself: 'My

Militia bantam!' I sez, 'My cock av a Gosport dunghill'--'twas from

Portsmouth he came to us--'there's combs to be cut,' sez I, 'an' by the

grace av God, 'tis Terence Mulvaney will cut thim.'

"So he wint menowderin', and minanderin', an' blandandhering roun' an'

about the Colonel's daughter, an' she, poor innocint, lookin' at him like

a Comm'ssariat bullock looks at the Comp'ny cook. He'd a dhirty little

scrub av a black moustache, an' he twisted an' turned ivry wurrd he used

as av he found ut too sweet for to spit out.

"Eyah! He was a tricky man an' a liar by natur'. Some are born so. He was

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