II.
The three men, Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das, soon reached their place of labour,—a rice-field which bordered on a great river. On the other side of the broad waters they could see the bungalow to which Manton Sahib had come but the week before. It was a large well-built bungalow with white pillars, and was partly hidden by the mango-trees and the tall palm-trees which grew in the compound around it.
“See!” cried Gunga Ram, pointing towards the river; “there is some one on horseback trying to cross the waters.”
“It is a stranger; he knows not the ford,” said Isa Das.
“If he wish not to be carried away by the stream,” observed Ya’kub, “he must turn his horse’s head more to the right.”
Isa Das lifted up his voice and shouted, “To the right—to the right!” Perhaps the stranger did not hear him; or hearing, paid no heed to the warning of a poor ryot.
“It is Manton Sahib himself,” exclaimed Gunga Ram; “I know him by the red beard and long hair.”
“He will be drowned,” said Ya’kub. “See! his horse has lost his footing already, and is plunging madly into the midst of the foaming waters. The Sahib will be carried away by the current, and drowned!”
“Let us hasten to his help!” cried Isa Das; “we know the ford well, and could find it even on a starless night.”
“And we can swim like ducks,” added Ya’kub.
“If we save the Sahib, we shall have a great reward!” cried Gunga Ram, as he eagerly hurried after Isa Das, who had already plunged into the swollen river.
All the three men battled with the waters; all three hastened to save a drowning man; all three risked their lives to do so. The act was the same, but the motive different. Gunga Ram thought of praise and reward; Isa Das thought but of the words of the Lord—“Inasmuch as ye did it, ye did it unto me.”
Before the three ryots could reach the spot where the horse had lost his footing, the commissioner was almost drowned. The rush of waters had borne him out of his saddle; only one of his feet was yet in the stirrup; the rein had escaped from his hand; he was clinging for life to the mane of the struggling horse, of which only the head could be seen above the torrent. The Sahib had scarcely even power to shout for help; but in his great need help was at hand. Ya’kub seized the rein of the horse; Gunga Ram gave his powerful aid; while Isa Das supported the half-drowned man, and assisted him to recover his seat in the saddle. With violent efforts, and with both difficulty and risk, the three ryots succeeded in bringing both the horse and his gasping rider safe back to the side of the river.
As the horse struggled up the bank, with clotted mane and streaming flanks, Manton Sahib uttered a few words which were not addressed to the ryots, and which they could not understand. Isa Das thought, and perhaps thought rightly, that the Englishman, in his own language, was thanking God for preservation from death. The Sahib shook the drops from his dripping hair; his solah topee was floating far away down the river; he had lost it in the desperate struggle for life. Manton patted the neck of his trembling horse; then turning towards the ryots, addressed them in their own tongue,—
“Brave men; you have done a good service, and shall not miss a reward. Follow me to my own house.”
“As your highness commands,” replied the three ryots at once.
“This is a fortunate day for us,” exclaimed Gunga Ram, as the three men followed the commissioner towards his handsome bungalow; “we shall be poor ryots no longer; we shall no more have to earn our rice by the sweat of our brows.”
“We will eat something better than rice,” cried the feast-loving Ya’kub. “In hopes of good food, I seem already to feel myself growing fat as a baboo!” and he patted his breast.
When the commissioner reached his house, he called aloud for his bearer, and gave command that money should be brought. A bag of silver was quickly placed in the Sahib’s hand; and before he dismounted from his horse, Manton drew from it three rupees, and gave one to each of the men.
The ryots made low saláms as they took the pieces of silver, and then together they turned from the commissioner’s house. But the worm of discontent gnawed at the heart of Gunga Ram.
“Does the Sahib value his life but at three rupees?” he muttered. “One rupee is not worth the wetting of my waist-cloth!”
Ya’kub laughed at the disappointment of his companion. “One rupee will at least buy a right good dinner!” said he. “No work to-day for me. I will hasten off to the bazaar, and have once more such a feast as that of which I partook when my younger brother was married.”
“Oh, thou man without wisdom!” cried Gunga Ram, as he tied up his piece of silver in the end of his waist-cloth; “thou wilt not surely spend all thy rupee on one meal?”
But Ya’kub was already beyond hearing of the voice of his friend. It was as if the savoury fragrance of the coming feast were drawing Ya’kub on from afar. He hastened his steps, even as the thirsty camel doth in the desert when he smelleth water, and rusheth towards the well.
“Thou wilt not spend thy money thus?” asked Gunga Ram of Isa Das.
Isa Das smiled as he made reply: “No; I will not thus spend my rupee upon feasting;” and he thought, but he spake not his thought aloud,—“The Lord hath already heard and answered my prayer. I, even I, a poor ryot, will put one brick in that church.”